On the very eve of the day on which King Ferdinand II.

was thus seeking his last refuge in the island of Ischia, Charles VIII.

was entering Naples in triumph at the head of his troops, on horseback, beneath a pall of cloth of gold borne by four great Neapolitan lords, and "received," says Guicciardini, "with cheers and a joy of which it would be vain to attempt a description; the incredible exultation of a crowd of both sexes, of every age, of every condition, of every quality, of every party, as if he had been the father and first founder of the city." And the great French historian bears similar witness to that of the great Italian historian: "Never," says Commynes, "did people show so much affection to king or nation as they showed to the king, and thought all of them to be free of tyranny." At the news hereof the disquietude and vexation of the principal Italian powers were displayed at Venice as well as at Milan and at Rome.

The Venetian senate, as prudent as it was vigilant, had hitherto maintained a demeanor of expectancy and almost of good will towards France; they hoped that Charles VIII.

would be stopped or would stop of himself in his mad enterprise, without their being obliged to interfere.