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tter surrender。〃 My father listened。
〃That's it；〃 I said。 〃Those characters reflect his own continued promise with the forces he cannot reconcile； and they are sad； and wise； and never innocent； and always soft； reflective of mute torment。〃
On the way back home； as we were riding together through the forest； up a rather steep road； very casually my father asked me if the painters who had done our chapel were good。
〃Father； you're joking；〃 I said。 〃They were excellent。〃
He smiled。 〃I didn't know； you know；〃 he said。 〃I just hired the best。〃 He shrugged。 I smiled。
Then he laughed with good nature。 I never asked him when and if I could leave home again to study。 I think I figured I could make both of us happy。
We must have made twenty…five stops on that last journey home from Florence。 We were wined and dined at one castle after another； and wandered in and out of the new villas； lavish and full of light； and given over to their abundant gardens。 I clung to nothing in particular because I thought it was my life； all those arbors covered with purple wisteria； and the vineyards on the green slopes； and the sweet…cheeked girls beckoning to me in the loggias。
Florence was actually at war the year we made this journey。 She had sided with the great and famous Francesco Sforza； to take over the city of Milan。 The cities of Naples and Venice were on the side of Milan。 It was a terrible war。 But it didn't touch us。
It was fought in other places and by hired men； and the rancor caused by it was heard in city streets； not on our mountain。
What I recall from it were two remarkable characters involved in the fray。 The first of these was the Duke of Milan； Filippo Maria Visconti； a man who had been our enemy whether we liked it or not because he was the enemy of Florence。 But listen to what this man was like： he was hideously fat； it was said； and very dirty by nature； and sometimes would take off all his clothes and roll around naked in the dirt of his garden！ He was terrified of the sight of a sword and would scream if he saw it unsheathed； and he was terrified too to have his portrait painted because he thought he was so ugly； which he was。 But that was not all。 This man's weak little legs wouldn't carry him； so his pages had to heft him about。 Yet he had a sense of humor。 To scare people； he would suddenly draw a snake out of his sleeve！ Lovely； don't you think？
Yet he ruled the Duchy of Milan for thirty…five years somehow； this man； and it was against Milan that his own mercenary； Francesco Sforza； turned in this war。
And that man I want to describe only briefly because he was colorful in an entirely different way； being the handsome strong brave son of a peasant … a peasant who； kidnapped as a child； had managed to bee the mander of his band of kidnappers … and this Francesco became mander of the troop only when the peasant hero drowned in a stream trying to save a page boy。 Such valor。 Such purity！ Such gifts。
I never laid eyes on Francesco Sforza until I was already dead to the world and a prowling vampire； but he was true to his descriptions； a man of heroic proportions and style； and believe it or not； it was to this bastard of a peasant and natural soldier that the weak…legged crazy Duke of Milan gave his own daughter in marriage； and this daughter； by the way； was not by the Duke's wife； poor thing； for she was locked up； but by his mistress。
It was this marriage which led eventually to the war。 First Francesco was fighting bravely for Duke Filippo Maria； and then when the weird unpredictable little Duke finally croaked； naturally his son…in…law； handsome Francesco； who had charmed everybody in Italy from the Pope to Cosimo； wanted to bee the Duke of Milan！
It's all true。 Don't you think it's interesting？ Look it up。 I left out that the Duke Filippo Maria was also so scared of thunder that he was supposed to have built a soundproof room in his palace。
And there is more to it than that。 Sforza more or less had to save Milan from other people who wanted to take it over； and Cosimo had to back him； or France would have e down on us； or worse。
It was all rather amusing； and as I have said； I was well prepared already at a young age to go into war or to court if it was ever required of me； but these wars and these two characters existed for me in dinner table talk； and every time someone railed about the crazy Duke Filippo Maria； and one of his insane tricks with a snake out of his sleeve； my father would wink at me and whisper in my ear； 〃Nothing like pure lordly blood； my son。〃 And then laugh。
As for the romantic and brave Francesco Sforza； my father had wisely nothing to say as long as the man was fighting for our enemy； the Duke； but once we had all turned together against Milan； then my father mended the bold self…made Francesco and his courageous peasant father。
There had been another great lunatic running around Italy during earlier times； a freebooter and ruffian named Sir John Hawkwood； who would lead his mercenaries against anybody； including the Florentines。
But he had ended up loyal to Florence； even became a citizen； and when he departed this earth； they gave him a splendid monument in the Cathedral！ Ah； such an age！
I think it was a really good time to be a soldier； you know； to sort of pick and choose where you would fight； and get as carried away with it all as you wanted to。
But it was also a very good time for reading poetry； and for looking at paintings and for living in utter fort and security behind ancestral walls； or wandering the thriving streets of prosperous cities。 If you had any education at all； you could choose what you wanted to do。
And it was also a time to be very careful。 Lords such as my father did go down to destruction in these wars。 Mountainous regions that had been free and pretty much left alone could be invaded and destroyed。 It happened now and then that someone who had pretty much stayed out of things got himself worked up against Florence and in came the clattering and clanking mercenaries to level everything。
By the way； Sforza won the war with Milan； and part of the reason was that Cosimo lent him the required money。 What happened after that was absolute mayhem。
Well； I could go on describing this wonderland of Tuscany forever。
It is chilling and saddening for me to try to imagine what might have bee of my family had evil not befallen us。 I cannot see my father old； or imagine myself struggling as an elderly man； or envision my sister married； as I hoped； to a city aristocrat rather than a country baron。
It is a horror and a joy to me that there are villages and hamlets in these very mountains which have from that time never died out … never … surviving through the worst of even modern war； to thrive still with tiny cobbled market streets and pots of red geraniums in their windows。 There are castles which survive everywhere； enlivened by generation after generation。 Here there is darkness。 Here is Vittorio writing by the light of the stars。
Brambles and wild scratching things inhabit the chapel below； where the paintings are still visible to no one and the sacred relics of the consecrated altar stone are beneath hea