In Giuliano they had a typical young courtier, handsome, athletic, accomplished, and enthusiastic.  His physical charms appealed to every one, for most Florentines were Greeks of the Greeks.  A precocious boy of sixteen years of age, he had the promise of a brilliant young manhood and a splendid maturity.

The personal equation is always a prominent factor in human ambitions, and nowhere was it more emphatically dominant than in the mutual jealousies of the men of Florence.  The “x+y” sign of absolute assurance had its match and equal in the “x-y” sign of restrictive deference.  If one Messer arrived at some degree of prominence, then the best way for him to attain his end was to pit himself against another of his class nearest to him in influence.  If he was not to gain the guerdon, then his rival should not have it!

This was the spirit which permeated the raison d’etre of each noble lord in that great assembly.  After the first wave of enthusiasm had passed, each man began to reflect that the best way, after all, for settling the contentious question of the Headship of the Republic, was to rule every one of the “magnificent six hundred” out of the running; and by taking the line of least resistance plump for the unassuming youths before them—­Medici although they were.

“Signori!” “Signori!” again ran through the lofty chamber, “I Signori di Firenze!” Some cried out “Lorenzo,” and some “Giuliano,” and others “I tutte due”—­but shouts for Lorenzo waxed the loudest.  Thus by general acclamation was the new Capo della Repubblica elected.

Abashed by the vociferations of their elders and yet encouraged by the unanimity of the assembly, the two young men stood gravely bowing their acknowledgments, the heightened colour of their faces and the nervous tension of their frames indicating the fervency of their emotions.  In a few well-chosen sentences Lorenzo expressed his pleasure and Giuliano’s, and the gratitude of their mother at this signal mark of confidence; and promised to uphold the traditions of the City and the State, as his forbears had done, craving from the noble lords their united sympathy and support.

Gently leading the now smiling Domina Lucrezia by the hand, the two brothers returned to the private Hall of Audience, while the great bell of the Palazzo boomed forth the news to the waiting crowd outside.  The wool-workers had ceased their toil, the artists had left their botteghe, the markets were deserted, and all Florence forgathered in the Piazza to welcome “I Signori di Firenze!”

Loud plaudits greeted the noble matron and her sons—­not the battle-cry “Palle!  Palle!” indeed—­but “Evviva i Medici!” “Lorenzo!” “Giuliano!” “La buona Domina Magnifica!” ...  Their progress was a triumph, they could scarcely make their way, short as it was, to the Via Larga, for everybody pressed forward to kiss and stroke their hands.  Never had there been anything like so popular an election in Florence; men and women shed tears as they uttered rapturously their names; for were not “Lorenzo” and “Giuliano” the “pets of the people,” and was not the Domina Lucrezia beloved by everyone!