Death in Florence: the Medici, Savonarola and the Battle for the Soul of the Renaissance City

by Paul Strathern

  Around 10 May 1493, the Florentine delegation set out from San Marco for Rome to meet up with Cardinal Caraffa. At the insistent request of Savonarola himself, this small delegation included two of the prior’s most trusted colleagues: his confidant and San Marco’s future historian, Fra Roberto Ubaldini, and Fra Domenico da Pescia, one of Savonarola’s earliest and most fervent followers in the monastery. Appearing beside the elegant Cardinal Caraffa in his ceremonial silk scarlet, his two monastic fellow delegates in their threadbare robes would not have seemed the kind of experienced political advisers likely to impress Alexander VI, but Savonarola insisted that he be represented at least in part by men of his own religious conviction.

  On arrival in Rome, the delegation from San Marco met up with Cardinal Caraffa, and received further support from Filippo Valori, the sophisticated and knowledgeable Florentine ambassador. Just under a year previously, when the new Cardinal Giovanni de’ Medici had first arrived in Rome, he had been accompanied by Valori, who had done his best to instruct him in the protocols, as well as the extracurricular ways, of the papal court. Valori had also attempted to monitor the young cardinal’s behaviour, ensuring that he conformed to the advice set down at such length in Lorenzo the Magnificent’s final long letter of instructions – above all rising early, living an abstemious life and taking sufficient exercise. This had proved a difficult task, for news of the death of Lorenzo the Magnificent had soon followed Cardinal Giovanni’s arrival in Rome, whereupon the likeable and intelligent young Giovanni had quickly found himself invited to dine by one after another of his fellow cardinals, all eager to sound out the policies that the Medici and Florence were liable to pursue under their new ruler, his brother Piero. During the course of these sumptuous repasts, Cardinal Giovanni had developed a particular delectation for Roman cuisine, which was much richer than its Florentine counterpart, a taste that had soon begun to have a deleterious effect on his waistline. However, with regard to other sensual pleasures Cardinal Giovanni had remained remarkably abstinent – indeed, Valori and his informants, in common with other observers, had soon been convinced that he maintained a life of the strictest chastity, an all-but-unique virtue amongst the Roman cardinals of the period. But the attentions of Valori and the other Roman observers had been misdirected. Young Cardinal Giovanni was not in the least interested in women, and may already have begun indulging discreetly in the homosexual practices that would later flourish under his façade of jovial clerical chastity.

  Cardinal Giovanni’s careful tutelage by ambassador Valori had been reinforced by Lorenzo the Magnificent’s advice on how to treat with the pope:

  At all times take the advice of His Holiness … yet ask as few favours of him as you can. The Pope soon tires of those who bend his ears … so when you see him, talk of amusing subjects, but modestly, in order to please him.5

  All this had served the new cardinal in good stead, and he had been welcomed by the ailing Innocent VIII. However, this happy situation had not lasted for long. With the pope’s death in August 1492 the situation in Rome had changed drastically, in a way that even a seasoned member of the College of Cardinals would have found difficult to foresee or even to handle. During the ensuing papal elections, Cardinal Giovanni had eventually been persuaded to favour the most popular candidate, Cardinal della Rovere, a man who was known to be well disposed towards the Medici. Della Rovere also had the backing of the powerful King of France, who had placed 200,000 ducats at his disposal to facilitate votes from ‘undecided’ cardinals. Unfortunately, Cardinal della Rovere’s not altogether scrupulous canvassing for votes amongst his fellow cardinals had been devastatingly sabotaged by the unprecedented magnitude of Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia’s bribery. To paraphrase a contemporary annalist of the Church:6

  [Cardinal] Rodrigo Borgia was proclaimed as pope Alexander VI. The result was unexpected; it was obtained by the rankest simony. Such were the means … by which in accordance with the inscrutable counsels of Divine Providence, a man attained to the highest dignity, who in the early days of the Church would not have been admitted even to the lowest rank of the clergy, on account of his immoral life.

  Besides simony, his immoral life included a succession of mistresses, some of whose children (including the notorious Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia) would take up residence with him in the Vatican, an unprecedented violation of contemporary papal convention. Quite apart from his scorn for public opinion, the new pope already had a reputation for being ruthless and unforgiving.

  When Cardinal Giovanni heard who had won the election, he exclaimed: ‘Now we are in the clutches of the wolf, the most rapacious in the world. If we do not flee, he will devour us all.’7 Cardinal della Rovere had well understood the truth of these words and had immediately fled Rome in fear of his life – first barricading himself in the port of Ostia, and then removing himself into exile to France, where he remained under the protection of the king. For the time being, Cardinal Giovanni had remained in the Holy City, as his father would have wished, in order that he should gain experience of the papal court, but then he too had found it prudent to retire to Florence, where for a while he took up residence with his brother Piero in the family palazzo.

  Giovanni remained in Florence and did not make the trip to Rome, which meant that the delegation to put Savonarola’s case for the independence of the Tuscan Congregation included just one cardinal, when it could have had two. The presence of two cardinals on the Tuscany delegation, both well connected, could easily have swayed the issue against the Lombardy delegation, which contained just the one cardinal. Indeed, Cardinal Ascanio Sforza may have been the recipient of the vital mule-train of valuables that had confirmed Alexander VI as pope, but he was not quite the powerful force he appeared. As so often happens with collaborators in such enterprises, the benefactor was beginning to have his suspicions about Cardinal Ascanio, who was not only dangerously wealthy, but had now served his purpose.

  Upon taking up residence in Rome, the Tuscan delegation began doggedly arguing their case, encouraged by regular supportive letters from Savonarola assuring them that they were following the will of God. However, it soon became clear that the Lombardy delegation were winning Alexander VI to their cause. The pope made it plain that he was finding the entire issue increasingly tiresome, to the point where it looked as if only a miracle could save the Tuscan case. Savonarola’s most fervent follower, Fra Domenico da Pescia, certainly seemed to think so. Overcome with zeal by Savonarola’s inspirational letters from Florence, he suggested throwing himself at the feet of Alexander VI, and promising to perform a miracle by reviving a man from the dead, thus demonstrating to one and all that God was in favour of the independence of the Tuscan Congregation.

  Fortunately, Cardinal Caraffa decided against this radical tactic: raising the dead would have less effect on the bored Alexander VI than raising his spirits. On 22 May, when the time set aside for the daily negotiations had finally expired and the two delegations had duly been escorted from the papal presence, Cardinal Caraffa remained behind with His Holiness. Alexander VI had been rendered exhausted and irritable by the day’s proceedings, but Cardinal Caraffa soon managed to raise his spirits, playing on the close connection between his Neapolitan charm and Alexander VI’s Spanish ways. They were friends, foreigners amongst these resentful Romans with their outmoded aristocratic customs and pretentious disdain for all such ‘foreigners’ as themselves. The two men were soon laughing together, at which point Cardinal Caraffa drew from his robes the Brief of Separation, granting independence to the Tuscan Congregation, which he had had the foresight to prepare beforehand. Alexander VI was highly amused by Caraffa’s subterfuge, but refused to attach his seal to it, declaring that he was far too tired to undertake any further business that day. Whereupon, with a deft move, Caraffa laughingly slipped the pope’s ring from his finger and used it to seal the Brief, thus imbuing it with the papal authority. Alexander VI appears to have taken this as something of a jest, and merely laughed at Caraffa�
�s impudence. But Cardinal Caraffa had plotted this subterfuge down to the last detail. After taking his leave of the pope, he at once passed on the Brief to Fra Domenico da Pescia, who had been ordered to wait outside in the antechamber. Fra Domenico then hastily left the Vatican and at once despatched the Brief to Savonarola in Florence.fn2

  Unaware of what had taken place, the Lombardy delegation now arrived at the Vatican, demanding a private audience with the pope, during which they also presented the pope with a Brief for him to sign, this one withholding independence from the Tuscan Congregation. During the earlier negotiations it had already been made clear to Alexander VI that Ludovico ‘il Moro’ Sforza of Milan regarded this matter with some seriousness. If the Tuscan Congregation was granted independence, he would regard this as a personal slight upon his honour – one which would jeopardise relations between Milan and Rome, an alliance upon which it was known the new pope depended to further his political schemes. But by now Alexander VI wished to be rid of the whole affair and merely replied to the Lombardy delegation: ‘If you had arrived less than ten minutes earlier, your request would have been granted.’9 It was all too late: what had been done had been done.

  Savonarola was now free to run San Marco as he saw fit, instituting his reforms without the possibility of their being rescinded by any superior authority in the Lombardy Congregation. One of his first reforms was perhaps his most radical, yet it was also most true to the spirit of his order. The dying words of St Dominic to his disciples, the pioneers of the Dominican order, had been unequivocal:

  Have charity, maintain humility, observe voluntary poverty: may my malediction and that of God fall upon whosoever shall bring possessions into this Order.10

  Although these words were indeed inscribed on the walls of the monastery of San Marco in Florence, their observance had long fallen into abeyance. Around the time when Cosimo de’ Medici had completely renovated the monastery, which had been publicly blessed by Pope Eugene IV in 1443, an appendage had been added to its constitution expressly exempting the community of San Marco from the Dominican ban on possessions, thus allowing them to own the various gifts that had been lavished upon them by their grateful benefactor. Besides renovating San Marco itself, Cosimo had also passed on to the monastery considerable properties from the Medici estates outside Florence, thus enabling the friars to work these lands, or live off the agricultural rents accruing to them, rather than remain completely dependent upon public charity. One of Savonarola’s first reforms was to divest the monastery of these lands and return them to their previous Medici ownership.

  Piero de’ Medici was particularly gratified by this move, which he regarded as a payback for supporting Savonarola’s cause. These properties would certainly help to augment his ailing income, enabling him the better to weather the uncertain financial state of affairs that had been left by his father. The city’s exchequer remained in a parlous state, and Miniati was hard put to divert sufficient funds to Piero, who continued to maintain the lifestyle at the Palazzo Medici that he had come to expect under his father. On top of this, Piero still had the considerable expense of maintaining the Medici political machine, involving the payment of his loyal lieutenants and their ‘enforcers’.

  An indication of the Florentine administration’s financial difficulties, and the extent of the population’s poverty, can be seen in the fact that during these years around 30 per cent of the taxable population (that is, almost 10,000 people) were so impoverished that they paid no tax at all, while 50 per cent of the working population paid little more than a florin each. The citizens of Florence were assessed for tax puposes according to the catasto – initially a land registry, this soon became extended to a register in which each family in the city was required to list all its properties, income, investments and valuables. The catasto was originally carried out every three years, and later at longer intervals, by teams of highly inquisitive official inspectors; however, tax payment assessed in accordance with the catasto was enforced annually – though in times of need this could take place two or even three times a year. Another method of raising money by the government was the dreaded prestanze – an enforced loan pressed upon taxpaying citizens in a sliding scale according to their assets. Much like a modern government bond, it paid interest and waivers (which could amount to as much as 15 per cent of the full loan), and the initial sum could be redeemed after a certain number of years. Yet during lean economic times the government would frequently be forced to suspend these terms – with interest payments becoming sporadic (at best) and full repayments being delayed for an indefinite period. An indication of the confidence in these bonds can be seen in the fact that bond certificates, which were negotiable, would sometimes be exchanged during these lean times for as little as 30 per cent of the cash value of the initial loan. Even so, it was always in the administration’s interest not to act in too high-handed a fashion with regard to such pressed loans. Genuine efforts would be made to pay back as much as the city’s coffers could reasonably afford – for the members of the administration came from amongst the very families which were required to pay the most in the prestanze.

  Savonarola now began to make plans for his new community on the slopes amidst the wild chestnut woods near Fiesole, a pious haven for ‘simple people’. Although semplici was the actual word that Savonarola himself used, a more apt description would be a monastery for simple living, or living the simple life. In no way were most of the recruits that Savonarola was now attracting to the Dominicans simple in any mental sense; indeed, often the deepest enthusiasm for his cause was amongst highly educated young men – intellectual young idealists who appreciated Savonarola’s learning and profound understanding of the message actually imparted by the Bible, which contrasted so acutely with the life lived by corrupt members at all levels of the Church during this period.

  His dream of establishing this simple community separate from the world was no passing fad. As late as the following year, on 1 May 1494, Savonarola’s close colleague Fra Roberto Ubaldini would write to him from Rome, explaining that he had at last managed to obtain permission from Alexander VI for Savonarola to build such a monastery ‘vivae vocis oraculo’12 (in other words, on the pope’s verbal authority).

  It is worth bearing in mind that as long as Piero de’ Medici remained ruler of Florence, it was this spiritual aim rather than political power that remained Savonarola’s main concern. His priority at this time was establishing a frugal way of life for the Dominicans in his new Tuscan Congregation, rather than inciting unrest amongst the citizens of Florence. The mystical Noah’s Ark that would save the community, both sacred and secular, from God’s scourge in the form of the coming Flood, now remained little more than a figure of speech, which he had used in his sermons. The enigmatic ‘ten planks’ for building this Ark also remained part of a growing, not yet fully articulated, dream. With hindsight, it is possible to discern that these two ideas – a salvation achievable only through a simple remote monastic life, as distinct from salvation for all those repentant and downtrodden souls throughout Florence who chose to enter the Ark – were inherently contradictory. A similar and simultaneous salvation would not be possible for both the elite few living a simple life consecrated to God and at the same time the many sufferers who had to continue to labour amidst the secular world. Either the few would have to expand to become the many, or the many would have to be made to emulate the few.

  For the time being, Savonarola concentrated on the newly independent Tuscan Congregation, of which he was now the official Vicar General. At San Marco he introduced sweeping reforms that emphasised the simple life, made the Dominicans less reliant upon public charity (especially from the Medici family) and at the same time encouraged the monks to develop their intellectual skills and learn new crafts. The emphasis was on austerity: from now on, the friars would wear plain cloth robes, partake in fasting and prayer vigils, as well as developing a more egalitarian collective spirit. All meals would be communal, consisti
ng of plain food and pure water – private dining in cells with influential secular friends on sumptuous repasts accompanied by fine wines would no longer be permitted. The cells themselves were to be stripped of all unnecessary ornamentation and possessions, such as gold and bejewelled crucifixes, private libraries of valuable or secular books, unnecessary or opulent furnishings. All friars were expected to work, in order to contribute to the cost of their bed and board as well as to the maintenance of the monastery. Each friar was encouraged to develop to the full whatever skills he possessed, whilst others were taught new crafts. Lay brethren and friars were instructed in wood-carving, others became copyists, transcribing sacred manuscripts. Some even became sculptors and architects. More intellectually gifted members of the community studied theology and philosophy, and there is evidence that Savonarola consulted with Pico on which of the foreign and ancient languages these friars should learn. Burlamacchi mentions that these included ‘Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Chaldean, Moorish and Turkish’,13 which suggests that Pico may well have been employed as a regular teacher at San Marco, along with Mithridates (who would have taught Hebrew), Poliziano and Ficino (who could have taught Ancient Greek).

  Savonarola’s purpose in having his friars instructed in such an extensive range of languages was twofold. The ancient languages would enable them to understand the Bible with the aid of earlier, more original texts, thus enhancing their theological insight and enabling them better to understand Savonarola’s essential message. His second motive was characteristically sensational. In later sermons, Savonarola revealed that his friars were learning Turkish and Moorish in anticipation of the day when they would be sent on missions to the Ottoman Empire and North Africa to preach the gospel and convert the heathens. Such astonishing optimism can only be regarded as parochial in the extreme – severely limited in both a literal and a historical sense. Although it was evident that Savonarola had by this stage developed a supreme intuition with regard to the political situation in Florence, and even to a certain extent the whole of Italy, his claim that he wished to convert the Islamic world indicates an uncharacteristic ignorance of the wider political and religious situation. It would also seem to run contrary to his prophecy that a new Cyrus would cross the mountains to act as God’s scourge and destroy everything in his path. Once again we are faced with a dichotomy that lay buried in Savonarola’s vision: on the one hand was the impossible dream, and on the other the apocalyptic revelation that would destroy the world. Was it to be utopian simplicity or revolution?