DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.61902#0314
294
THE MAKERS OF FLORENCE.
uge—had come to an appropriate and striking point
which chimed in strangely with the event of which all
his great congregation had just heard with excitement,
agitation, and terror. “ Behold, I, even I, do bring a
flood of waters on the earth,” were the words of his text.
He gave it forth “with a terrible voice” over the heads
of the hushed and awe-stricken multitude in the gloom of
the great cathedral; his voice sounded like sudden thun-
der, and a shudder of painful interest and emotion rose
through the vast assembly, moving the preacher as much
as the hearers. He had prophesied the death of the
tyrant, and Lorenzo was dead; he had prophesied the
coming of this Cyrus, and for a long time had held up,
so to speak, over the head of the guilty city, that sword
of the Lord which was to avenge and destroy. Now
the crisis and the very moment had come. The people,
we are told, hurried through the streets after his dis-
course, “ more dead than alive,” in gloomy silence, not
venturing even to confide to each other the alarm that
filled their souls. They had indeed almost wished for,
almost invited, the new Cyrus, feeling that indefinable
hope in his coming which, when human circumstances are
desperate, every great change brings with it—but the
stranger became appalling as he drew near. And soon
other news arrived, which added to the terrible uncertainty
of the districts which lay in the invader’s way, whether
they were to regard him as the scourge of God or the
great deliverer, as both of which he had been promised by
the prophet. At the very beginning of the campaign the
French dispersed the Neapolitan fleet, and taking a small
sea-side town, in which they had left a garrison, sacked
and destroyed the unhappy little place—a terrible ex-
ample and warning to all others. This happened when
Charles was making his way across the fiats of Lombardy ;
and Florence was the next stage in his progress. The
THE MAKERS OF FLORENCE.
uge—had come to an appropriate and striking point
which chimed in strangely with the event of which all
his great congregation had just heard with excitement,
agitation, and terror. “ Behold, I, even I, do bring a
flood of waters on the earth,” were the words of his text.
He gave it forth “with a terrible voice” over the heads
of the hushed and awe-stricken multitude in the gloom of
the great cathedral; his voice sounded like sudden thun-
der, and a shudder of painful interest and emotion rose
through the vast assembly, moving the preacher as much
as the hearers. He had prophesied the death of the
tyrant, and Lorenzo was dead; he had prophesied the
coming of this Cyrus, and for a long time had held up,
so to speak, over the head of the guilty city, that sword
of the Lord which was to avenge and destroy. Now
the crisis and the very moment had come. The people,
we are told, hurried through the streets after his dis-
course, “ more dead than alive,” in gloomy silence, not
venturing even to confide to each other the alarm that
filled their souls. They had indeed almost wished for,
almost invited, the new Cyrus, feeling that indefinable
hope in his coming which, when human circumstances are
desperate, every great change brings with it—but the
stranger became appalling as he drew near. And soon
other news arrived, which added to the terrible uncertainty
of the districts which lay in the invader’s way, whether
they were to regard him as the scourge of God or the
great deliverer, as both of which he had been promised by
the prophet. At the very beginning of the campaign the
French dispersed the Neapolitan fleet, and taking a small
sea-side town, in which they had left a garrison, sacked
and destroyed the unhappy little place—a terrible ex-
ample and warning to all others. This happened when
Charles was making his way across the fiats of Lombardy ;
and Florence was the next stage in his progress. The