the thought of his slavery, and he compassionated the sufferings of
his country, for the Visconti were hard, stern rulers. He asked
permission of the Visconti to reside in Asti, which lay near the
frontier of the Milanese territory. A little later he quitted the town,
disguised as a pilgrim and accompanied by his wife and two servants,
under pretext of visiting the shrine of Sant' Antonio at Vienne in
France. The emissaries of the Visconti follow him to Avignon, where he
treats with the pope in person and by letter with other influential
personages. Having obtained promises of assistance, he returns to Italy
by way of the coast. Moneyless, friendless, dreading arrest at every
step, burdened with a sick wife, Francesco knocks at the gate of Genoa.
The haughty city favors the Visconti, will have nothing to do with the
wanderer, and threatens him with the dungeons of the ducal palace. So
they follow the coast down to Pisa, the wife almost dead with fatigue
and privation, for they are often obliged to walk all day, and no
peasant is bold enough to offer them assistance. At last, one of their
servants, by much diplomacy, procures a miserable nag and a shaky
market-wagon filled with straw, and in this state the outcast rulers of
Padua drive up to the gates of Pisa. They are refused admittance, and
wander sorrowfully on. Outside the town they chance upon a deserted
hovel. How these princes praise God for his goodness, for now Madonna
Taddea can have a night's rest on the straw in the corner! One of the
servants steals back to the town and bribes a shopkeeper to sell him
bread and meat and wine. They build a fire and warm their poor
weatherbeaten limbs, and are right merry in a desperate, reckless way.
With the morrow they take up their march, and at last reach a friendly
city, where the wife rejoins her children. Francesco is provided with
men and arms to enable him to attack his native town, which is ready to
welcome him back. He assaults the city one midnight, surprises the
Milanese, is welcomed by the Paduans with the old shout, "Viva il
Carro!" and at dawn is encamped in triumph upon the Prato. He ruled for
a long time wisely and well, for he had known the discipline of life,
and had hungered and thirsted like the lowest of his subjects. How he
must have laughed, this stately soldier banqueting in his palace-halls,
at the thought of the night when he had been so thankful for that bit of
bread and drop of wine snatched from