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I went out into the piazza. It was full of men, but where was the enthusiasm we had expected, the tumult, the shouts of joy? Was not the tyrant dead? But they stood there dismayed, confounded, like sheep.... And was not the tyrant dead? I saw partisans of Checco rushing through the crowd with cries of 'Death to all tyrants,' and 'Liberty, liberty!' but the people did not move. Here and there were men mounted on barrows, haranguing the people, throwing out words of fire, but the wind was still and they did not spread.... Some of the younger ones were talking excitedly, but the merchants kept calm, seeming afraid. They asked what was to happen now—what Checco would do? Some suggested that the town should be offered to the Pope; others talked of Lodovico Sforza and the vengeance he would bring from Milan.
I caught sight of Alessandra Moratini.
'What news? What news?'
'Oh God, I don't know!' he said with an expression of agony. 'They won't move. I thought they would rise up and take the work out of our hands. But they are as dull as stones.'
'And the others?' I asked.
'They are going through the town trying to rouse the people. God knows what success they will have!'
At that moment there was a stir at one end of the square, and a crowd of mechanics surged in, headed by a gigantic butcher, flourishing a great meat-axe. They were crying 'Liberty!' Matteo went towards them and began to address them, but the butcher interrupted him and shouted coarse words of enthusiasm, at which they all yelled with applause.
Checco came on the scene, accompanied by his servants. A small crowd followed, crying,—
'Bravo, Checco! bravo!'
As soon as the mechanics saw him, they rushed towards him, surrounding him with cries and cheers.... The square was growing fuller every moment; the shops had been closed, and from all quarters came swarming artisans and apprentices. I made my way to Checco and whispered to him,—
'The people! Fire them, and the rest will follow.'
'A leader of rabble!'
'Never mind,' I said. 'Make use of them. Give way to them now, and they will do your will. Give them the body of the Count!'
He looked at me, then nodded and whispered,—
'Quickly!'
I ran to the Palace and told Marco Scorsacana what I had come for. We went into the Hall of the Nymphs; the body was lying on its face, almost doubled up, and the floor was stained with a horrible stream of blood; in the back were two wounds. Lodovico had indeed made sure that the Count was safe.... We caught hold of the body; it was not yet cold, and dragged it to the window. With difficulty we lifted it on to the sill.
'Here is your enemy!' I cried.
Then hoisting him, we pushed him out, and he fell on the stones with a great, dull thud. A mighty shout burst from the mob as they rushed at the body. One man tore the chain off his neck, but as he was running away with it another snatched at it. In the struggle it broke, and one got away with the chain, the other with the jewel. Then, with cries of hate, they set on the corpse. They kicked him and slapped his face and spat on him. The rings were wrenched off his fingers, his coat was torn away; they took his shoes, his hose; in less than a minute everything had been robbed, and he was lying naked, naked as when he was born. They had no mercy those people; they began to laugh and jeer, and make foul jokes about his nakedness.
The piazza was thronged, and every moment people entered; the women of the lower classes had come, joining their shrill cries to the shouts of the men. The noise was stupendous, and above all rang the cries of Liberty and Death.
'The Countess! The Countess!'
It became the general cry, drowning the others, and from all quarters.
'Where is the Countess? Bring her out. Death to the Countess!'
A cry went up that she was in the Palace, and the shout became,—
'To the Palace! To the Palace!'
Checco said to us,—
'We must save her. If they get hold of her she will be torn to pieces. Let her be taken to my house.'
Matteo and Pansecchi took all the soldiers they could and entered the Palace. In a few minutes they appeared with Caterina and her children; they had surrounded her and were walking with drawn swords.
A yell broke from these thousands of throats, and they surged towards the little band. Checco shouted out to them to let her go in peace, and they held back a little; but as she passed they hissed and cursed and called her foul names. Caterina walked proudly, neither turning to the right nor to the left, no sign of terror on her face, not even a pallid cheek. She might have been traversing the piazza amidst the homage of her people. Suddenly it occurred to a man that she had jewels concealed on her. He pushed through the guards and put his hand to her bosom. She lifted her hand and hit him in the face. A cry of rage broke from the populace, and they made a rush. Matteo and his men stopped, closing together, and he said,—
'By God! I swear I will kill any man who comes within my reach.'
They shrank back frightened, and taking advantage of this, the little band hurried out of the piazza.
Then the people looked at one another, waiting for something to do, not knowing where to begin. Their eyes were beginning to flame, and their hands to itch for destruction. Checco saw their feeling, and at once pointed to the Palace.
'There are the fruits of your labours, your money, your jewels, your taxes. Go and take back your own. There is the Palace. We give you the Palace.'
They broke into a cheer, a rush was made, and they struggled in by the great doors, fighting their way up the stairs in search of plunder, dispersing through the splendid rooms....
Checco looked at them disappearing through the gateway.
'Now, we have them at last.'
In a few minutes the stream at the Palace gates became double, for it consisted of those coming out as well as of those going in. The confusion became greater and greater, and the rival bands elbowed and struggled and fought. The windows were burst open and things thrown out—coverlets, linen, curtains, gorgeous silks, Oriental brocades, satins—and the women stood below to catch them. Sometimes there was a struggle for possession, but the objects were poured out so fast that everyone could be satisfied. Through the doors men could be seen coming with their arms full, their pockets bulging, and handing their plunder to their wives to take home, while they themselves rushed in again. All the little things were taken first, and then it was the turn of the furniture. People came out with chairs or coffers on their heads, bearing them away quickly lest their claim should be disputed. Sometimes the entrance was stopped by two or three men coming out with a heavy chest or with the pieces of a bedstead. Then the shouting and pushing and confusion were worse than ever.... Even the furniture gave out under the keen hands, and looking round they saw that the walls and floors were bare. But there was still something for them. They made for the doors and wrenched them away. From the piazza we saw men tear out the window frames, even the hinges were taken, and they streamed out of the Palace heavily laden, their hands bloody from the work of destruction.
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