hority. It has, at any rate, the
value of a mythus, since it epitomises the attitude assumed by the
great preacher to the prince. Florence enslaved, the soul of Lorenzo
cannot lay its burden down, but must go with all its sins upon it to
the throne of God.

The year 1492 was a memorable year for Italy. In this year Lorenzo's
death removed the keystone of the arch that had sustained the fabric
of Italian federation. In this year Roderigo Borgia was elected Pope.
In this year Columbus discovered America; Vasco de Gama soon after
opened a new way to the Indies, and thus the commerce of the world
passed from Italy to other nations. In this year the conquest of
Granada gave unity to the Spanish nation. In this year France, through
the lifelong craft of Louis XI., was for the first time united under a
young hot-headed sovereign. On every side of the political horizon
storms threatened. It was clear that a new chapter of European history
had been opened. Then Savonarola raised his voice, and cried that the
crimes of Italy, the abominations of the Church, would speedily be
punished. Events led rapidly to the fulfilment of this prophecy.
Lorenzo's successor, Piero de' Medici, was a vain, irresolute, and
hasty princeling, fond of display, proud of his skill in fencing and
football-playing, with too much of the Orsini blood in his hot veins,
with too little of the Medicean craft in his weak head. The Italian
despots felt they could not trust Piero, and this want of confidence
was probably the first motive that impelled Lodovico Sforza to call
Charles VIII. into Italy in 1494.

It will not be necessary to dwell upon this invasion of the French,
except in so far as it affected Florence. Charles passed rapidly
through Lombardy, engaged his army in the passes of the Apennines, and
debouched upon the coast where the Magra divided Tuscany from Liguria.
Here the fortresses of Sarzana and Pietra Santa, between the marble
bulwark of Carrara and the Tuscan sea, stopped his further progress.
The keys were held by the Florentines. To force these strong positions
and to pass beyond them seemed impossible. It might have been
impossible if Piero de' Medici had possessed a firmer will. As it was,
he rode off to the French camp, delivered up the forts to Charles,
bound the King by no engagements, and returned not otherwise than
proud of his folly to Florence. A terrible reception awaited him. The
Florentines, in their fury, had risen and sacked