and his features expressionless—paralysed by that face, like a small animal hypnotised by the stare of a snake.
Then, just before the date of his departure, something occurred to shake him out of his stupor. The Duke was in council with his secretaries and a document was required. He sent Lytto out to fetch it. Lytto returned, set it down before him, then allowed the hand, whose whiteness had once been such a source of pride to him, to play briefly, with a fine, unconscious grace, on the table. Galeazzo’s glance strayed towards it, Lytto noticed the look, and suddenly it was as if he had woken from a dream.
Now he understood exactly why the Duke had said “You have a sure hand, Franghipani”. The Duke’s diabolical line of thought was clarified in a flash. Galeazzo had thought him capable
of the very same act
: he had been afraid that Lytto would kill him! So little did he believe in love, and so thoroughly had he banished the feeling from his own heart, that he was capable of conceiving such a thought in his head.
The boy’s earlier lethargy gave way to a fever of excitement . Once the notion had taken hold in him he could not shake it off. It was with him night and day. He stared at his trembling hand as at some alien object, one on which Fate had laid a terrible summons.
Now his mind was clear: Galeazzo was a tyrant—of all tyrants the most abominable—and the death of such a person was an act pleasing to God. By the end of a feverishnight his plans had ripened to certainty, and the next morning he was once again as calm as he had been before temptation troubled his soul. He felt a strange strength in his limbs. His body seemed to him a light, comely thing, as if he were walking on air—as if it were something apart from him, with a will of its own, that might fly off uncontrollably.
At last came the day before St Lawrence’s. The following day he would have to leave. His project could be deferred no longer. That morning he washed and tended his appearance with particular care. Throughout the day people were struck by his youthful beauty, and many were sorry that he was going. At matins he confessed his sins and received the body of the Lord. In his free time he read Plutarch’s portrait of Brutus in the
Parallel Lives
. When darkness fell, he closed the book and made his way up to the castle chapel.
There he prostrated himself before the statue of St Ambrose. Words of profound meaning poured from his lips, as if someone were prompting him. On the evening of his great deed, Ippolyto di Franghipani prayed in the following terms:
“Good Bishop St Ambrose, you who watch by night over the fate of your people, help me to accomplish the deed attempted by that brave young man from Milan. Grant that I might be courageous and calm in the fateful moment, worthy of my illustrious ancestors, and a faithful emulator of the many glorious heroes of antiquity. It is surely right that it should fall to me to complete whathas already cost the lives of so many people. Those brave souls would merely have ended the life of a hated stranger, but I shall sacrifice the one person I have loved above all others. My soul has been washed of its sins, and no selfish desire directs my weapon—I shall act only for the city and for divine Justice. For in the fullness of my heart I believe and confess that the true Christ lives, Christ who, though God himself, suffered for all mankind—while here, Father, is a man who refuses to enter into the sweet and tender ties of love with anyone. I acknowledge that the Tempter has come close to my soul, and I too have built a tower of solitude. But I also love the people of Milan, whom I do not know, as I love all humanity. Shut away in this castle of wickedness, I have felt their blood pulsing through my heart, and I listen to the words of my heart. I have no wish to set myself above the common people, but rather to suffer on my own behalf, on behalf of others, and all mankind. No sense of
Then, just before the date of his departure, something occurred to shake him out of his stupor. The Duke was in council with his secretaries and a document was required. He sent Lytto out to fetch it. Lytto returned, set it down before him, then allowed the hand, whose whiteness had once been such a source of pride to him, to play briefly, with a fine, unconscious grace, on the table. Galeazzo’s glance strayed towards it, Lytto noticed the look, and suddenly it was as if he had woken from a dream.
Now he understood exactly why the Duke had said “You have a sure hand, Franghipani”. The Duke’s diabolical line of thought was clarified in a flash. Galeazzo had thought him capable
of the very same act
: he had been afraid that Lytto would kill him! So little did he believe in love, and so thoroughly had he banished the feeling from his own heart, that he was capable of conceiving such a thought in his head.
The boy’s earlier lethargy gave way to a fever of excitement . Once the notion had taken hold in him he could not shake it off. It was with him night and day. He stared at his trembling hand as at some alien object, one on which Fate had laid a terrible summons.
Now his mind was clear: Galeazzo was a tyrant—of all tyrants the most abominable—and the death of such a person was an act pleasing to God. By the end of a feverishnight his plans had ripened to certainty, and the next morning he was once again as calm as he had been before temptation troubled his soul. He felt a strange strength in his limbs. His body seemed to him a light, comely thing, as if he were walking on air—as if it were something apart from him, with a will of its own, that might fly off uncontrollably.
At last came the day before St Lawrence’s. The following day he would have to leave. His project could be deferred no longer. That morning he washed and tended his appearance with particular care. Throughout the day people were struck by his youthful beauty, and many were sorry that he was going. At matins he confessed his sins and received the body of the Lord. In his free time he read Plutarch’s portrait of Brutus in the
Parallel Lives
. When darkness fell, he closed the book and made his way up to the castle chapel.
There he prostrated himself before the statue of St Ambrose. Words of profound meaning poured from his lips, as if someone were prompting him. On the evening of his great deed, Ippolyto di Franghipani prayed in the following terms:
“Good Bishop St Ambrose, you who watch by night over the fate of your people, help me to accomplish the deed attempted by that brave young man from Milan. Grant that I might be courageous and calm in the fateful moment, worthy of my illustrious ancestors, and a faithful emulator of the many glorious heroes of antiquity. It is surely right that it should fall to me to complete whathas already cost the lives of so many people. Those brave souls would merely have ended the life of a hated stranger, but I shall sacrifice the one person I have loved above all others. My soul has been washed of its sins, and no selfish desire directs my weapon—I shall act only for the city and for divine Justice. For in the fullness of my heart I believe and confess that the true Christ lives, Christ who, though God himself, suffered for all mankind—while here, Father, is a man who refuses to enter into the sweet and tender ties of love with anyone. I acknowledge that the Tempter has come close to my soul, and I too have built a tower of solitude. But I also love the people of Milan, whom I do not know, as I love all humanity. Shut away in this castle of wickedness, I have felt their blood pulsing through my heart, and I listen to the words of my heart. I have no wish to set myself above the common people, but rather to suffer on my own behalf, on behalf of others, and all mankind. No sense of
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