ee.
The power of the eminent house was based only on wealth
and prestige.

[3] See Matarazzo, p. 38. It is here that he relates the
covert threat addressed by Guido Baglioni to Alexander
VI., who was seeking to inveigle him into his clutches.

It is not until 1495 that the history of the Baglioni becomes
dramatic, possibly because till then they lacked the pen of
Matarazzo.[1] But from this year forward to their final extinction,
every detail of their doings has a picturesque and awful interest.
Domestic furies, like the revel descried by Cassandra above the
palace of Mycenae, seem to take possession of the fated house; and
the doom which has fallen on them is worked out with pitiless
exactitude to the last generation. In 1495 the heads of the Casa
Baglioni were two brothers, Guido and Ridolfo, who had a numerous
progeny of heroic sons. From Guido sprang Astorre, Adriano, called
for his great strength Morgante,[2] Gismondo, Marcantonio, and
Gentile. Ridolfo owned Troilo, Gianpaolo, and Simonetto. The first
glimpse we get of these young athletes in Matarazzo's chronicle is
on the occasion of a sudden assault upon Perugia, made by the Oddi
and the exiles of their faction in September 1495. The foes of the
Baglioni entered the gates, and began breaking the iron chains,
_serragli_, which barred the streets against advancing cavalry. None
of the noble house were on the alert except young Simonetto, a lad
of eighteen, fierce and cruel, who had not yet begun to shave his
chin.[3] In spite of all dissuasion, he rushed forth alone,
bareheaded, in his shirt, with a sword in his right hand and a
buckler on his arm, and fought against a squadron. There at the
barrier of the piazza he kept his foes at bay, smiting men-at-arms
to the ground with the sweep of his tremendous sword, and receiving
on his gentle body twenty-two cruel wounds. While thus at fearful
odds, the noble Astorre mounted his charger and joined him. Upon his
helmet flashed the falcon of the Baglioni with the dragon's tail
that swept behind. Bidding Simonetto tend his wounds, he in his turn
held the square.

[1] His chronicle is a masterpiece of naive, unstudied
narrative. Few documents are so important for the student
of the sixteenth century in Italy. Whether it be really
the work of Matarazzo or Maturanzio, the distinguished
humanist, is more than doubtful. The writer seems to me as
yet unspoiled by classic studies