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

by Paul Strathern

  Those loyal members of the Medici circle who felt drawn to Savonarola now found themselves profoundly conflicted. None more so than Poliziano and Botticelli. It must have been some time during the preceeding months that Poliziano suggested to Botticelli that he should create a painting on the subject of the Calumny of Apelles. Significantly, this was not a religious subject, like the other works Botticelli was producing at this period. Poliziano must have intended this work to reassure Piero that, despite their admiration for Savonarola, neither he nor Botticelli had completely abandoned all that his father had stood for: the cultural transformation that we now know as the Renaissance.

  The Calumny of Apelles is the most mysterious of all the many enigmatic paintings that Botticelli created. Yet unlike The Birth of Venus and Primavara, the mystery contains no bright or optimistic philosophical idealism: there is no doubting the darkness that it conveys. The painting is based on a work by Apelles, said to have been the finest painter of the classical world, none of whose works have come down to us. All we have is a verbal description of this work by the second-century-AD Greek writer Lucian. The occasion of the original painting was when jealous rivals had slandered Apelles, telling King Ptolemy that he had taken part in a conspiracy. Apelles’ painting was his answer to this calumny, and in Botticelli’s version it depicts the naked figure of the young Apelles being dragged by the hair to face the king, who sits on his throne with the dark-robed figures of Ignorance and Suspicion whispering into his furry, donkey-like ears, which are intended to emphasise the king’s credulity. The allegorical nature of the painting leaves it open to a wide range of psychological and philosophical interpretations. Apelles can be seen as maligned truth, innocent and vulnerable in his nakedness. Is he intended as the slandered Savonarola? Is the king whose asinine ears cannot escape the whispers of Ignorance and Suspicion meant to represent Piero de’ Medici? This would seem the most obvious answer – yet other interpretations abound, not least Botticelli’s identification with the naked Apelles. And perhaps this ambiguity was what Botticelli intended. He still did not know himself what to do, what was really going on – in himself, in his divided loyalties or in his threatened city.

  Other, highly relevant questions remain about The Calumny of Apelles, especially concerning the actual painting itself. Botticelli could certainly not have afforded the time and effort required to produce such a large and complex painting unless it had been commissioned. And here the painting takes on another, even more unexpected aspect. For many years Botticelli’s chief patron had been Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici. From his distant house-arrest beyond the mountains in the Mugello, did he perhaps convey a message commissioning Botticelli to paint a work suggesting that Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco’s alleged antipathy to Piero de’ Medici was a slander put about by those who wished to divide the family? Was the painting intended to bring about a reconciliation between the cousins? Florence itself was divided and in danger: this was no time for such divisions within its leading family.

  The dark ambiguities embodied in this painting doubtless reflected the emotional atmosphere prevailing within the Palazzo Medici at this period – suspicion, slander, truth abandoned and much more. Besides Poliziano, Ficino and Pico della Mirandola would also have been caught up in this atmosphere, and they too may have added their suggestions to Botticelli. The fact that the painting was intended for Piero de’ Medici would seem to be confirmed by Vasari in his celebrated Lives of the Artists, where he records that a Latin verse was later inscribed beneath Botticelli’s canvas:

  This small picture warns earthly kings5

  Not to charge people with false things.

  When the King of Egypt did Apelles hurt,

  Apelles served him like this with just desert.

  The painting was never given to Piero de’ Medici, perhaps because Poliziano, Pico della Mirandola, Ficino and Botticelli judged the moment not ripe, or were afraid of how Piero might react. Given the tension he was under, might Piero have considered the painting a provocation from the cousin he had grown to hate? Would Poliziano, Botticelli and the others have been willing to risk appearing disloyal to Piero in his hour of need? These are indeed possible explanations. Yet by now, such was the desperate political situation, Piero de’ Medici would probably have had no time for such things. Indeed, he may not even have been in Florence when the painting was finally finished. Events were moving fast.

  No sooner had Ludovico ‘il Moro’ Sforza greeted Charles VIII at Asti in September 1494 than he was beset by misgivings. As Guicciardini recorded:

  Although he was responsible for inviting the French into Italy, and knew they were his friendly allies, he now began to have his doubts about the whole enterprise. Considering the faithlessness of princes, and in particular the French, who appeared to have little honour or principle when their own interests were concerned, he began to have his suspicions about the French king … and whether Charles VIII might find an excuse to remove him from power.6

  Specifically, he suspected Charles VIII of wishing to install his young and weak nephew Gian Galeazzo Sforza, the rightful ruler of Milan, in his place – a suspicion that was strengthened when Charles VIII expressed his intention to visit Pavia, where, in accordance with protocol, he wished to be received by Gian Galeazzo. Ludovico did his best to delay Charles VIII, and the French king eventually arrived in Pavia to find Gian Galeazzo struck down with a mysterious illness. Then, in mid-September, Charles VIII himself fell ill, succumbing to a bout of chicken pox; the main bulk of the French army halted its advance while Charles VIII recovered.

  Tuscany was now the immediate hostile territory that stood between the French army and its march south. But Charles VIII had a good idea of what to expect. Philippe de Commines, his highly experienced envoy who had led the earlier French mission to Florence, had been unimpressed by Piero de’ Medici, finding him to be ‘a young man of little wisdom’.7 Piero now appeared to prevaricate, and despatched a Florentine mission to Charles VIII, purposely including amongst its members Piero di Gino Capponi, the king’s former mentor, in the hope of somehow averting conflict between Florence and the French. But when Capponi appeared before Charles VIII he betrayed Piero. According to Commines, who was present, ‘behind his hand Piero Capponi informed us that moves were afoot to turn the city of Florence against Piero’.8 Commines was convinced that the days of the Medici were numbered and that Florence would prove no impediment to the French advance.

  Yet now Charles VIII had other matters on his mind. No sooner had he recovered from his illness than news came through that on 21 October Gian Galeazzo Sforza had died. Guicciardini reported:

  A rumour was circulated that Giovan Galeazzo’s death had in fact been caused by excessive copulation; nonetheless it was believed throughout Italy that he had died not from his excesses but from poison. One of the royal doctors, who had been present when Charles visited him, indicated that he had observed evident signs of this. No one doubted that if he had been poisoned, this was the work of his uncle.9

  Indeed, the very next day Ludovico ‘il Moro’ Sforza had himself proclaimed the rightful Duke of Milan, despite the fact that Gian Galeazzo had already fathered a young son, who was thus the legitimate heir. Charles VIII now had few illusions concerning the character of his main ally in Italy, and several amongst his court (including Commines) began to have their doubts, suspecting Ludovico’s duplicity ‘with regard to the entire enterprise’.10

  This enterprise was already well under way, with the French army approaching the border of Tuscany intent upon securing the strategic port of Pisa. In mid-October Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco and his brother Giovanni managed to elude their house-arrest and made their way to the camp of Charles VIII. Here the French king was again reassured that the people of Florence had no wish to oppose him, and were utterly against Piero de’ Medici. This was certainly true, for the most part; yet it was only two years since the death of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and there were some who still remembered his patrona
ge with deep gratitude. Typical amongst these was Michelangelo, who would remember this time to the end of his days, when he recalled how a friend had come to tell him of a strange dream:

  that Lorenzo de’ Medici11 had appeared before him dressed in black garments, all in tatters so that they barely covered his nakedness, and Lorenzo had commanded him to say to his son [Piero] that in a short time he would be driven from his house, and would never return.

  Within a few days Michelangelo became so perturbed by this dream that ‘he convinced himself that it would come about and departed from Florence for Bologna … fearful that if this dream came true he would no longer be safe in the city’.

  On hearing of the French advance, in a desperate last measure Piero de’ Medici began hiring mercenaries to defend the fortresses guarding the northern border of Tuscany; 300 infantrymen and a small detachment of cavalry were despatched under the command of the trusted condottiere Paolo Orsini, Piero’s brother-in-law. But on 29 October the alarming news reached Florence that the French army had overrun the mountain fortress at Fivizzano, slaughtering its entire garrison. The French then began to lay siege to the strategic fortress of Sarzanello, which together with the fortresses on either side of it, at Sarzana and Pietrasanta, commanded the coast road to Pisa and the south of Italy, as well as the main route from Milan to Florence itself. According to Commines, ‘if the place had been well garrisoned, the king’s army would have been defeated, for this was barren territory where nothing lived to provide sustenance for the soldiers and it was also covered in deep snow’.12 But even manned by a skeleton garrison, the fortress of Sarzanello on its high rock proved impregnable to the French soldiers laying siege down below, and it looked as if the French advance was blocked, putting the entire invasion in jeopardy.

  Yet it was now that Piero de’ Medici embarked upon an enterprise that, as much as any during his often inept and frequently ill-fated rule, would result in confirming the nickname by which he has become known in history – namely, Piero the Unfortunate. It was a move that revealed his true character – demonstrating in equal measure that mixture of indecision and impulsiveness he had developed from living in the shadow of his exceptional father, while striving to outshine him. Instead of resisting the French invasion, he would emulate his father’s most famous gesture, when he had travelled alone to Naples to confront King Ferrante and had so impressed him that he had saved Florence. Following precisely his father’s actions, Piero de’ Medici rode out of Florence without consulting the Signoria, only informing them of what he was doing in a letter despatched to them en route, when it was too late for them to thwart his plans. He would present himself before Charles VIII, intercede on the city’s behalf and personally save the day for Florence.

  However, Piero’s arrival at the French court, where the king and his army had by now been camped out beneath the besieged rock at Sarzanello for three days, evoked no admiration for his brave gesture. On the contrary, Piero was received with ill-disguised disdain by Charles VIII – an attitude that was quickly mirrored by his counsellors and advisers. According to Commines, ‘those who had dealings with Piero counted this as nothing, mocking him and paying little attention to him’.13 This treatment evidently unnerved Piero, precisely as intended: Charles VIII knew that his entire invasion hung in the balance. The French king opened the bargaining by announcing his most extravagant demands:

  He told [Piero] that he required the immediate surrender of Sarzanello [as well as its twin fortresses at Sarzana and Pietrasanta]. He also demanded that he be allowed to take possession of Livorno and Pisa.14

  This would not only secure his route to the south, and deprive the republic of its two major coastal cities, but would also leave the city of Florence cut off and at his mercy. To the secret astonishment of all, Piero de’ Medici dispensed with any pretence at negotiation and at once agreed to all the French king’s demands, declaring that Charles VIII could occupy these forts and cities for as long as he required. Piero then went even further: when Charles VIII demanded that Florence should loan him money to replenish his dwindling exchequer, Piero agreed to give him a massive 200,000 florins. And when the French King expressed his intention to pass through Florence with his army, Piero went so far as to offer him the use of the Palazzo Medici, which Commines had described as ‘the most beautiful house owned by any citizen or merchant that I have ever seen’.

  Meanwhile Piero Capponi, who had now been elected gonfaloniere, had summoned his Signoria and immediately despatched a delegation in pursuit of Piero de’ Medici, with the aim of thwarting his mission to Charles VIII. But this had proved too little too late. Back in Florence, the whole city now waited in trepidation. All shops remained closed, whilst the streets became forlorn, with rubbish uncleared in the gutters. According to the envoy from Mantua: ‘All the girls and many of the wives have taken refuge in the convents so that only men and youths and old women are to be seen in the streets.’15 But Savonarola was determined that the people should be made aware of the meaning of what was taking place. On 1 November, while Piero de’ Medici was still away at the French court, he began delivering his All Saints’ Day sermon in the cathedral to a packed and fearful congregation:

  Before there was even the slightest rumour of these wars which have come to us from across the mountains, I foretold that great tribulations were to come. You also know that less than two years ago I warned you, ‘Ecce gladius Domini super terram, cito et velociter’ [Behold, the sword of the Lord, striking and swift]. This prophecy was given to you not by me, but by the word of God, and now it is being fulfilled.16

  This was Savonarola’s moment of truth, the vindication of all that he had predicted, and he was determined to seize his opportunity. Rousing himself, he went on:

  O Italy, because of your lust, your avarice, your pride, your envy, your thieving, your extortion, you will suffer all manner of afflictions and many scourges … O Florence, for your sins, your brutality, your avarice, your lust, many trials and tribulations will be heaped upon you … O Clergy, who are the principal cause of so many evils, woe unto you!

  In the midst of these incantations against Italy, Florence and ‘the clergy’, he exclaimed: ‘O Florence, I have wished this morning to speak to each and every one of you, openly and sincerely, for I can no longer do otherwise.’ At last, now that Piero de’ Medici was out of Florence, Savonarola felt that he could speak more candidly, without breaking the promise he had made to Lorenzo on his deathbed. Yet significantly, he still did not mention the Medici by name. His message was emotional and forceful, yet he expressed himself only in terms of biblical metaphor. God was smiting Italy, and in particular Florence, for its evil. The people of Florence were being invited – nay, implored – to placate God’s wrath by offering up their prayers and repentance. He returned once more to his old theme of the Flood and Noah’s Ark. When God unleashed his Flood over the Earth, only those worthy of salvation would be allowed to enter the Ark. Yet what precisely was this Ark, constructed out of ten planks, which curiously echoed Florence’s ten ancient districts?

  Savonarola had so longed to speak to the people of Florence ‘openly and sincerely’, yet still his ultimate aim remained unclear – perhaps even to himself. Unconsciously, it seemed, two ideas struggled in his mind: his promise to Lorenzo to refrain from attacking the Medici status quo, and his wish to convert Florence into a spiritual ‘Ark’. His voice resonated through the cathedral, filled with passion, invigorated by the openly expressed conviction that God spoke through him. First would come ‘God’s scourge’, yet after this it remained unclear precisely what would happen. He had placed himself in God’s hands, and would do his utmost to fulful God’s will – as and when it revealed itself.

  Savonarola would deliver a long and impassioned sermon in the cathedral on three consecutive days, working himself up to fever pitch on each occasion. ‘During the course of those three days, as he later recalled, he shouted so vehemently from the pulpit that the vein in his chest almost b
urst, and he reached such a point of physical exhaustion that he almost fell seriously ill.’17

  Guicciardini and other contemporary sources indicate that this was a pivotal time. Piero Capponi and the Signoria were at a loss. With Piero de’ Medici out of the city, and the Medici supporters in an increasingly conflicted state, the authorities were reduced to paralysis. As details of the deal that Piero de’ Medici had made with Charles VIII began reaching Florence, spreading rapidly through the city, the entire population was soon on the verge of anarchy. Then the news arrived that the French army was on the march, on its way to ‘occupy’ Florence. The structure of civic power was on the point of crumbling, with the people liable to erupt and destroy the city in their state of panic, fear and pent-up rage at what was happening. But, miraculously, Savonarola’s sermons appeared to have averted this disastrous disorder. According to the despatch by the Mantuan envoy, ‘A Dominican friar has so terrified all the Florentines that they are wholly given up to piety.’18 In the eyes of the people, Savonarola’s preaching – the voice of God – was their only hope.

  The Signoria were quick to recognise the effective power that had now passed into Savonarola’s hands. On 4 November, Gonfaloniere Capponi and the Signoria summoned the Council of Seventy, the body that Lorenzo the Magnificent had created to maintain Medici power and influence the Signoria. With Piero de’ Medici out of the city, and circumstances as they were, even the Council of Seventy began voicing anti-Medici sentiments. Piero Capponi expressed the opinion ‘that it is time we stopped being ruled by children’19 (a reference not only to the twenty-three-year-old Piero de’ Medici, but also to his younger nineteen-year-old brother Cardinal Giovanni, whom he still intermittently turned to as his adviser). Capponi suggested that the only way to save Florence, or at least try to ameliorate the present dire situation, was to send to Charles VIII a delegation of four ambassadors as true representatives of the people of Florence. He himself was willing to serve as one of these ambassadors, but in his opinon the person best suited to lead this delegation was ‘a man of holy life … courageous and intelligent, of high ability and great renown’20 – namely Savonarola. The Signoria and the Council of Seventy quickly backed Capponi in this proposal. Savonarola’s de facto leadership of the city was now evident to all.