After the blows and humiliation which the Milanese Church suffered in the eleventh century from the united attack of Rome and the people, it was no longer able to stem the popular movement towards freedom. Throughout the long civil war the incipient Republic had been developing and gradually limiting, more and more, the domination of the archbishop and the nobles. This process, which was being repeated everywhere in Lombardy, was greatly favoured by the weakness of the Empire during the long minority of Henry IV. The cities, freed from the intervention of a foreign suzerain, were able to shake off to some extent the rule of feudalism. The great war waged later by Gregory VII. and his kindred spirit, the Gran Contessa Matilda, against Henry IV. and the claims of imperialism, promoted, with the power of the Papacy, the freedom of the Communes, and showed in these two great elements of the national life unity of aim, Italy’s best defence against the stranger.

By the end of the eleventh century Milan was, in all its external relations, practically a free city, owning little more than nominal allegiance and a ceremonious reverence to the Emperor, and allying herself now with him, now with his resolute foe Matilda, or defying the one and the other, as it pleased her best. Within the community itself the principle of popular freedom and representation was recognised in the government, and by means of constant insurrections the lower orders had forced the nobles to recognise their rights. The Commune, whose birth historians have dated from the great revolution of 1066 when Lanzone kept Archbishop Ariberto and the nobles in exile for three years, was now in full being. The institution about this time of elective magistrates, whose title of Consuls revived the old Latin tradition of the city, marks the emancipation of the young Republic from the archiepiscopal despotism. But the share of the ordinary citizens in the privileges of this Constitution was still much restricted. The Consuls appear to have been chosen exclusively at first from the higher class, whose hereditary habit of authority fitted them to govern, and under a constitutional form these officials tended to repeat the old aristocratic oligarchy. But the nobles had no longer any legal support in their attempts to tyrannise, and the whole system of government was in a state of flux, and subjected to ceaseless modifications and change by the continual revolts of the people, who, by the simple force of numbers, made their strength felt, and vindicated their growing pretensions to a larger part in the affairs of their city.

The same vitality which had won Milan her own freedom impelled her to the oppression of the weaker communities around her. Her first fulfilment of this tragic law of progress was the destruction of her neighbour, Lodi, a strong and flourishing community, whose rivalry was a constant menace to her own trade and prosperity. There was a long-standing hatred between the two cities. The times lent abundant pretext to the Communes to make war upon one another. The quarrel between Empire and Church entangled them all in its immense web. Each, in embracing the one or the other cause, was guided by its local sympathies and antipathies, and reflected the general strife on a smaller scale in its relations with its neighbours.

In 1111, Milan, ally of the Church, scarcely waiting till Lodi’s protector, the Emperor Henry V., had turned his back for the time on Lombardy, attacked the smaller city in full force, and ruined it to the foundations. The miserable inhabitants, sternly forbidden to rebuild their old homes, made poor little hamlets in which to shelter themselves in the vicinity, and there dragged on a poverty-stricken existence under the oppressive yoke of their conquerors, who jealously deprived them of every means of recovery. Yet the wonderful vitality which animated these young Italian communities preserved Lodi from utter despair, and smouldered in her, ready to burst out in revolt on the first opportunity.

Milan’s next enterprise was the subjugation of Como, which was fast developing into a rich and powerful community, strong in the possession of a lake navy. That city, however, resisted with great vigour, retaliating with frequent success upon her aggressors, and before she was finally subdued the war dragged on for ten years. Nearly all the North Italian cities united with Milan against her, and she was finally captured and burnt down in 1127, and her inhabitants compelled to swear fealty to Milan. During the quarrel for the Empire between Lothair and Conrad, after the death of Henry V., and the preoccupation of each of those monarchs in turn with the affairs of Germany, the great Lombard city pursued her sovereign way unchecked. Pavia, the old royal city, and her chief rival, whose subjugation was to cost Milan yet three centuries of almost ceaseless warfare, now felt, as often before, the strength of her arm, and was compelled to bow to her will in the general councils of Lombardy, and, with powerful Cremona and the rest of North Italy, to follow her lead.

But the aggressive and tyrannic conduct of the great city was preparing for her an awful day of retribution. In 1152, the death of the Emperor Conrad and the election of his nephew, Frederick Barbarossa, opened a new era for Italy. The young monarch, half barbarian, half Paladin, was resolved to restore the power of the Empire in Italy. The first step towards this end was the reduction of the chief vassal, Milan, to the obedience which she had so long forgotten. Her sins against her neighbours gave him a pretext. One day, at a Diet at Constance (1153), two citizens of Lodi, bearing heavy crosses upon their shoulders, to signify the grievous afflictions which Milan had put upon their community, entered the hall, and kneeling before the Emperor, besought his protection and help. Frederick, having listened to their tale, swore to punish their arrogant and usurping foe. He straightway despatched an envoy, named Sicherius, to the Milanese, commanding them to cease from oppressing Lodi. But so little was the distant power of the Empire feared, in comparison with that of the great Lombard city near at hand, that when the two Lodigiani, who had undertaken their mission without the knowledge of their fellow-citizens, returned home, and proclaimed the benevolent intentions of the new monarch, the people were inexpressibly dismayed. With woeful countenances they execrated the ‘most stupid men’ who had brought them into this plight, and when Sicherius appeared shortly after, they entreated him to abandon his journey, lest he should bring the vengeance of Milan upon them. The envoy, however, not daring to disobey the imperial mandate, proceeded on his way, and presented his letters in Milan. The Consuls read them, flung them on the ground, and stamped them under foot, imperial seal and all, with fury and contempt. Sicherius himself escaped with difficulty from their hands. Returning to Lodi, he told his tale, and the unhappy citizens prepared themselves for immediate ruin.

But Milan, having recovered calmness and begun to contemplate her rash act with some trepidation, spared them for the time, and awaited the development of events. This was not slow. Frederick, deeply offended, descended upon Lombardy in the following year, with an enormous host, fully resolved to humble the arrogant Milanese. He held a great Diet at Roncaglia. Hither with the rest of the princes and magnates of Italy came the Consuls of Milan, and offered all the ceremonial tokens of submission and reverence. But the impossibility of reconciling the differences between the monarch and the Republic quickly became evident. Milan utterly refused to release Lodi and Como from her rule. The Emperor soon proceeded to open hostility against the city. But he found his task no light one. Milan’s sister communities were still withheld by fear from lending aid to her foe, whose glittering show of authority they held for transitory and insubstantial. Even Lodi was only persuaded with difficulty to forswear her forced oath of fealty to her oppressor and give credence to Frederick’s promises of protection. Her diffidence was well justified. Frederick contented himself with besieging and destroying Milan’s faithful ally, Tortona, capturing a few outlying castles and laying waste her territory, and then, intent on compelling Pope Hadrian to confirm his election by crowning him in Rome, he passed on southwards (1155). The defiant Milanese immediately proceeded to rebuild Tortona and to wage fierce war with the Pavesi, who, true to their traditions, had given enthusiastic obedience to the new representative of the Empire. Meanwhile Frederick, having received the imperial diadem, made his way back through the eastern parts of Italy, translating his heroic aspirations into a reality of fire and blood and spoliation, and finally, having exhausted his treasury, returned into Germany. His unlucky protÉgÉs of Lodi were abandoned to the mercy of their enemies. Their villages were surprised and captured by the Milanese, and the people compelled to flee in the darkness of night. ‘Who, seeing the women stumbling along the way, with their little ones, some in their arms, some clinging to their garments, some falling behind wailing—who seeing them fall into the ditches in the darkness and the rain, would not have been sad and moved to compassion? Who would not have been melted into tears?’ cries the chronicler Morena. Many died from the hardships which they suffered, and the rest took refuge in hamlets and in friendly Cremona. For the second time the Milanese destroyed their homes and razed their city to the ground.

The other allies of the Emperor also suffered the vengeance of the arrogant city. Novara and Pavia and other communes had to lament defeat and devastation. Thus Milan prepared for the new coming of the Emperor, who, all well knew, was but biding his time and gathering strength for the work of punishment. In 1158 he crossed the Alps again, followed by a mighty host of vassals. He proceeded directly against Milan. The citizens, who had fortified themselves during his absence with an immense fosse and huge earthworks which enclosed a much wider circuit than the old walls, calmly awaited his attack. With his company of tributary kings and princes and archbishops, the Emperor sat down with all solemn preparation round the city. To each gate was allotted a prince in command of an army. Seeing the magnificent array and the determined purpose of the invader, Milan’s fickle allies, one and all, sent their forces to join him, anxious to propitiate the stronger party, and not unwilling to strike a blow at their domineering leader. No less than a hundred thousand fighting-men surrounded the city. Milan was confronted with the fate which she had pitilessly inflicted on others. Struck by sudden dismay, or persuaded by treacherous counsels, she had hardly endured the siege for a month before she surrendered and humbled herself to acknowledge the supremacy of the Emperor. Satisfied with her prompt submission, Frederick confined his revenge to the exaction of his full imperial rights, a penalty grievous enough to a community so long accustomed to complete freedom. She was compelled to take the oath of fealty to the Emperor, to restore to him the regalia—which consisted chiefly of the produce of certain taxes—to renounce all pretensions of sovereignty over Lodi and Como, and to accept an imperial legate as her supreme magistrate.

Frederick’s victory was, however, little more than a mockery. Milan’s vitality and spirit of independence were too strong to be so easily subdued. As soon as the Emperor had passed on to another part of Italy, she boldly broke the newly-established peace and assaulted the German garrisons left behind in Lombardy. Her example fired many of the other cities to violate the obedience which they had sworn to the Emperor, and the whole of North Italy was soon in arms again. Too rashly, however, had the Milanese disregarded the nature of him whom they were defying. Vowing to accomplish his purpose without mercy this time, Frederick hastened back. Before attacking Milan again, he encamped before her devoted ally, the small city of Crema, which, after a siege conducted with barbarous ferocity, he captured and burnt. Still delaying his vengeance on the chief offender, he spent two years in laying waste the Milanese territory and capturing her castles, and having effectually destroyed her sources of supply, he sat down once more (1161) before the city marked by his implacable will for destruction.

The siege lasted for seven months. No noble deeds of valour and chivalry distinguished the German Paladin’s emprise; he accomplished his work by the slow and cruel hand of famine. Every gate was closely blockaded, and all compassionate bearers of food from outside to the starving people were almost without exception captured, and either ruthlessly scourged or maimed of the right hand. Frederick showed the besieged none of the respect due to gallant foes. He strung up his prisoners on gallows, nobles and plebeians alike, in the view of their kinsfolk and friends within, or sent them back sightless into the city. Within the walls, hunger reached such a pitch that in their madness husbands and wives, fathers and sons, turned upon one another. The hideous selfishness of bodily need disfigured the gaunt faces in the streets, while the spectacle of the mutilated wretches who had passed through the Emperor’s hands, breathed into all hearts dreadful apprehensions of their future fate. In their despair the people cried out for surrender, and at last the Consuls, aware of the inflexibility of the foe, and fearing that to resist longer was to sacrifice the entire people to the extremity of his vengeance, threw themselves upon the mercy of the Emperor, and surrendered the city at discretion (1162).

The scenes which follow paint vividly for us the tragedy of the great city’s downfall. The magnitude of the punishment which Frederick meted out to Milan invests him with a kind of sublimity. This was his opportunity to deliver a blow which should resound to the four corners of the earth, and accomplish, once for all, by the horror of its mere narration, the subjugation of the rest of rebellious Lombardy. None knew better than this mediÆval monarch how to surround his revenge with all those awful aspects and illusions of terror that impress the minds of men. Day after day, processions of citizens, with bowed heads, and ropes round their necks, presented themselves before him at his command, as he sat enthroned in state in rebuilt Lodi, the Empress Beatrice at his side, his vassal kings and princes on either hand, and still the doom of the city remained unspoken. The eight Consuls—some of the noblest patricians of Milan—came, holding their naked swords in their right hands, and swore to do the will of the Conqueror. Next appeared three hundred cavaliers, and kissing the Emperor’s foot, delivered up to him the Milanese standards; while to Mastro Guitelmo, a man much revered by his fellow-citizens, was committed the bitter charge of laying the keys at his feet. Still another mark of humiliation was demanded of them, and a day or two later came the Sacred Car itself, with the banner of the Cross, and all the most venerable insignia of the Republic, to be surrendered for the completion of Milan’s shame.

Then at last the voice from the throne spoke, commanding that beside every gate of the city the fosse should be filled up and the walls destroyed, so that he might march in in triumph. Milan—who for centuries had proudly claimed the right of keeping all sovereigns excluded from the enclosure of her walls—was now herself to lay low her defences to admit a victorious monarch. A few days later Frederick made his entrance with his army over the ruined walls, and the dreadful fiat went forth, dooming the great city to complete destruction. The inhabitants were ordered to quit their homes, taking with them what they could carry. No entreaty, no tears, even of his own followers, could move Frederick’s resolve. The piteous spectacle of the outcast people, huddled in masses outside the walls in the bitter cold of March, homeless, not knowing where to go, and uttering loud lamentations, could not change his inexorable purpose. With an extremity of cruelty he committed the work of ruin to Milan’s neighbours and bitterest foes—the men of Lodi, Pavia, Novara, Como, Cremona—all burning to retaliate a thousand wrongs. They threw themselves with fury upon the doomed buildings, each community satiating its vengeance on the quarter facing towards its own city. In a very few days an incredible amount of destruction was wrought. But it was the work of months to raze to the ground the towers, the fine palaces and public buildings, many of them surviving from the days of the Roman Empire, and the crowded habitations of a vast population. The churches and religious houses alone were spared, and for a while the campanile of the Cathedral, a tower of admirable beauty and height, which had not its like, they say, in all Italy, still rose untouched above the ruins, a beacon of consolation to the despairing people. But at last, the implacable decree of the conqueror pronounced its sentence, and that, too, fell. Finally not more than a fifth part of the fair city, which men called the flower of Italy—the May City—was left standing.

From the spectacle of burning Milan, which he watched with his own eyes, the magnanimous Avenger passed on with his Empress to celebrate the Feast of Olives at Pavia! Frederick was now the dread of all Italy. The trembling cities of Lombardy crept to his feet and kissed them. The crown of Italy, hitherto withheld from him and now conceded by fear, was set upon his head. As for the Milanese, crowded in the poor villages and suburbs around their ruined city, and barely able to exist, they were fain to accept any conditions which he imposed.

But the great Emperor’s fortunes had reached the flood, and the turn was at hand. To have made his triumph enduring he must have exterminated all Lombardy. While the Milanese people breathed, the Republic lived in spirit, only awaiting the least relief from the pressure of the conqueror to take substance once again. And now that its sins and arrogance had been wiped out by such an awful expiation, the hatred and jealousy of the sister Communes changed to compassion. The deep roots of a common nationality began to stir. Moreover, all were enslaved alike, all groaned together under the intolerable oppression of the imperial officers who had been substituted for their old system of self-government. ‘They who had been used to live without restraint at ease and in liberty, and to dispose of their own affairs according to their will, held this bondage as the deepest shame, saying among themselves that it was better to die than to suffer such shame, such dishonour,’ writes Morena. Ground down with grievous and irregular taxation, their noblest citizens flung as hostages into the governors’ dungeons, their industry and commerce strangled, they began to regard war even with the terrible Barbarossa as preferable to this degradation and slow ruin. Their spirit of revolt was encouraged by that great counterbalancing power to the Empire, the Papacy, which after a period of schism and depression was lifting its head once more. In Alexander III., now completely victorious over the rival Pope Victor, nominated by Barbarossa, the Communes found that inspiration and direction which it was Rome’s traditional part to give to the cause of freedom and nationality. The papal excommunication laid upon their oppressor gave the consecration of a religious cause to rebellion. Fomented by secret emissaries from Rome, the movement grew and gathered head. Disturbances broke out everywhere in North Italy, and culminated in a meeting of envoys from five Communes—Brescia, Bergamo, Cremona, Mantua, Ferrara—with the delegates of Milan at a convent near Bergamo (1167), and the formation of a defensive alliance, which was to become the famous Lombard League. The first thing resolved on by the allies was the rebuilding of Milan and the protection of the city from every foe until she should grow strong enough to defend herself. A week or two later the unhappy Milanese, huddling together in their wretched hovels, and momentarily expecting a second destruction from their old enemies of Pavia, were rejoiced at the sight of the horsemen of Bergamo, with their banner displayed, riding swiftly to their succour. Troops from the other friendly cities followed. The Milanese were solemnly conducted into their ruined city on the 27th April 1167, and the work of restoration began. With marvellous rapidity new walls and dwellings grew up. Gathering confidence and strength every day, the League soon broke into active hostility against those communities which remained faithful to the Emperor, and the castles occupied by his garrisons. Lodi was compelled by force to join the new fellowship. Fresh accessions came continually, and by the end of the following year the League numbered twenty-three cities, all sworn to resist the usurpations of the emperor with the sword. Pavia, almost alone, remained aloof, faithful to her hate of Milan.

Frederick, returning hastily from a campaign against the Pope, found his castles captured, Milan re-risen defiant from her ashes, and all North Italy armed against him. The Emperor was not equal to this new situation. His former triumph had, in fact, only been achieved by the aid of a part of the cities themselves, and his German levies, diminished by fighting and pestilence, were powerless to contend with a vast hostile combination of all together. His army and his very person were in utmost peril. There was one way only of salvation for him—retreat. In a manner very different to the majesty of his coming, with furtive haste, unknown even to his allies, he stole back to Germany early in 1168.

Six years passed before the Emperor felt himself strong enough to confront his rebellious vassals again. In his prolonged absence the Lombard League had acquired mighty strength. Milan had arisen from her chastening of shame and sorrow stronger and more honourable than before. Renouncing her old vexatious claims upon her smaller neighbours, she now contented herself with the dignity of leadership among the Communes. The League gathered itself together to meet the new onslaught of Barbarossa, and though he spread terror and desolation throughout the land, his effort to subdue the steady resistance of the cities was fruitless. His purpose was contrary to the laws of nature, and the stars in their courses fought against him. Pavia, Como and the Marquis of Montferrat supported him alone of all North Italy. In May 1176, impatient to strike a crushing blow against the rebels, Frederick was marching with new reinforcements from Germany to join his Lombard allies when, a few miles from Milan, between Busto Arsizio and Legnano, he encountered the Milanese army, which had come forth with the Sacred Car in its midst to stay his progress. A great battle took place. Driven back at first by the Teuton cavalry, the Republican soldiers, who had taken a desperate vow to conquer or to die, rallied around the Caroccio, and fought with such obstinate courage that they beat back every assault of the foe, and at last, with a sudden rush, utterly routed them and drove them into flight. The slain, the captives, and the fugitives drowned in the Ticino could not be numbered. The monarch’s treasure-chest fell into the hands of the victors, and a more precious booty still, his shield, his banner and his lance. His very person was missing after the battle, and the Empress, waiting in the Castle of Baradello, clothed herself in black and mourned him for dead. He had, however, escaped in safety, and a few days later made his way to Pavia.

The splendid victory of Legnano decided once and for all the fate of Lombardy. Frederick realised at last the strength of the despised citizen forces, and condescended to seek for peace. In the following year (1177) at Venice was held that famous meeting of Pope, Emperor and the Consuls of the Lombard Communes, at which legend and art express the humiliation of the invader and the triumph of Italy, by picturing the monarch prostrate beneath the foot of the Pope. A truce of six years was agreed upon at this Congress, and at the end of that period the famous Peace of Constance (1183) finally confirmed to the cities all the privileges for which they had so nobly fought. The right of self-government, of war and peace, the possession of the regalia, with other minor prerogatives, were secured to them in perpetuity, and the only dues to be paid by them to the Emperor were a ceremonial fealty, an annual tribute, certain supplies when he visited the country in person, and the acceptance of his legate as the ultimate judge in the courts of judicature.

Thus did Lombardy win freedom. For reborn Milan, her new position and dignity was signalised in 1186 by the appearance of her late foe and oppressor in the character of a gracious guest, and the celebration of the marriage of his son, Henry, King of the Romans, with Constance of Sicily, in the basilica of St. Ambrogio. But the narrow crooked streets that had grown hastily up around the churches, and the few surviving fragments from the destruction of 1162, were no image of the imperial Milan of the past, nor did the fair words and mutual promises of friendship which passed between Frederick and the citizens express the real feelings of either party. When, sick at the failure of his worldly projects, the yet vigorous warrior turned his ambition to that holier enterprise, the conquest of the Sepulchre of Christ, and leaping one hot day into an insignificant stream in Syria, was drowned in its shallow flow, all Milan broke into rejoicing. Nor was there ever kindness between the Republic and his descendants. The Milanese consistently opposed and thwarted the policy of Henry VI., and after his early death did their utmost to depress the House of Suabia by warmly supporting Otho IV. against the interests of Henry’s infant son Frederick.

During the reign of Otho, while the political field was divided between him and the young Suabian prince, the disputed imperial authority had no power to harm, and Milan was free to resume the interrupted process of development and expansion. As before, this process was not a peaceful one. The subsidence of the Teutonic flood had left behind bitter dregs in Lombardy in the shape of new causes of feud and animosity between individual Communes. Relieved from the pressure of Frederick’s tyranny, the cities readjusted themselves on the lines of their former divisions. The Lombard League broke up into warring elements, and the restless land fermented with a cruel internecine strife.

But when, some years later, Frederick II., grown to manhood, had cast off the bondage in which the Pope had fettered his youth, and seated on the imperial throne proved himself indeed the third blast of Suabia, heir in spirit as in blood of his mighty grandsire, the Communes proved true to one another, and to the newly threatened cause of freedom, and the great Lombard League, with Milan at its head, sprang to life again to face the tyrant. During the long and desolating wars which Frederick’s ambition inflicted upon North Italy, Milan steadfastly fought against him, even when most of her fellows had been induced by fear or self-interest to desert the good cause. Late in 1237 her army, which had marched to the aid of the Brescians, was surprised by the imperial host at Cortenuova and suffered a crushing defeat. Multitudes of her soldiers perished, and the Sacred Car itself, stuck fast in morasses, had to be abandoned in the retreat. Its defenders were able, however, to save the Cross and Banner, and break the car to pieces. Frederick’s exultation over these fragments, upon which he bound the captive PodestÀ of Milan, Pietro Tiepolo, son of the Doge of Venice, and dragged him, in imitation of a Roman triumph, through the streets of Cremona, is a measure of the importance which he attached to his victory over the Lombard city.

With the defeat of Cortenuova the cause of the Communes seemed lost. All trembled beneath the heel of the conqueror, save Milan and the ‘lioness’ Brescia, and one or two others. To the Emperor’s summons to surrender at discretion the Milanese returned messages of defiance. They had the support of the Pope, whose emissaries, the mendicant friars, mingled everywhere with the masses of the people, exhorting them to resistance. In 1239, Gregory proclaimed a crusade against the oppressor, whose destruction thus became a sacred obligation upon the faithful. The Cross and the Sceptre, irreconcilable emblems, now confronted each other with a clear and definite issue.

A year and a half passed after Cortenuova before Frederick actually invaded the Milanese territory. The Republic, heartened by the magnificent example of Brescia, whose successful resistance to a nine months’ siege had delayed the Emperor’s designs against the chief city and greatly dimmed his military glory, went boldly forth to meet him. A noble of gigantic stature, named Ottobello da Mandello, towering in his mail of proof over friends and foes alike, led the citizen knights undauntedly against Frederick’s Saracen troops from Sicily, whose dark faces and infidel garb, joined to ferocious courage, made them a name of terror throughout Italy. With the Milanese fought Gregorio da Montelungo, papal legate, and the Franciscan Fra Leone da Perego, afterwards Archbishop of Milan, besides a great number of friars, Minor, Preaching and Umiliati, who not only, girding themselves with swords and putting on helmets, displayed the false image of soldiers, but also excited the citizens to the conflict by promising absolution to all who offended the person of the Emperor or of any of his followers, as Frederick himself complained in a letter to the King of England. No regular pitched battle, however, took place. The Republicans fought with the stratagem of those attacked in their own country, and by cunningly entangling the enemy amid their streams and canals, opening dams and loosing the waters upon him, plunging him into hidden pitfalls, and surprising him with sudden attacks in his most embarrassed moments, drove him by the aid of sword and flood out of their territory.

Six years later (1245) the Emperor again invaded the Milanese country, which in the meanwhile had been laid bare by a desolating war of several years with his ally, Pavia. But fortune was still against him. His son Enzo, newly created King of Sardinia, encountering a citizen force one day, ventured himself too boldly in single combat with a Republican knight, and was overthrown and made prisoner. Frederick, having obtained his release, withdrew his army, and made no further attempt to subdue the great Lombard city.

Thus was Milan’s account with the House of Suabia closed for ever. With the failure of Frederick’s fortunes and his death in 1250 was extinguished the last appearance of that great mediÆval idea—the Holy Roman Empire—as a dangerous element in Italian politics. The imperial tradition might linger on and cause a temporary disturbance from time to time in the peninsula, influencing the vicissitudes of its internal quarrels, but it had no longer power to revolutionise or molest the settled constitution of the free Lombard Communes. The mediÆval triumph of Italy over the foreigner was accomplished. In the course of the last two centuries, Milan, in whose development is mirrored that of all Lombardy, had completely asserted and defined her nationality. In her Church, in her constitution, law and sentiment, she was now one at last with the rest of Italy. It remained for her, leader in the long struggle now happily determined, to produce in the epoch of Strong Men which was about to succeed the epoch of the People, the man strong enough to overthrow all rivals and to weld the many independent cities and States of the peninsula into a united Italy under an Italian king. How she tried to do this and failed will be seen later.