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

by Paul Strathern

  Even so, the situation remained fraught. On the very Sunday (21 December) when Landucci wrote the preceding entry in his diary, he also directly contradicted himself by recording how at ten o’clock that evening when he was returning home, for no apparent reason, his son ‘was stabbed in the face, across the cheek’.

  Next day, 22 December, the elections were duly held and a new Great Council was appointed. But there now arose an unforeseen difficulty, which had not been covered by the new constitution. Before the Great Council could begin what would doubtless be a lengthy process of wrangling over the selection of a new Signoria, the stop-gap Council of Twenty claimed that it remained their right as de facto rulers to appoint a new Signoria at once, so that the city could return to some semblance of proper government.

  The Twenty included many leading figures who been publicly outspoken in their opposition to the rule of Piero de’ Medici, such as Piero Capponi, Bernardo Rucellai, Francesco Valori and Guidantonio Vespucci. Normally no man could be appointed to such office until he had reached the age of forty, but an exception was made in the case of the thirty-one-year-old Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco Popolani, on account of his leading role in the opposition to his cousin, and also because of the exceptional skills and foresight he had shown in the building of his business empire. The Twenty duly went ahead and elected a new Signoria, and on 1 January 1495 Landucci happily recorded:

  The new Signoria entered into office, and it was a great joy to see the whole Piazza [della Signoria] filled with citizens, quite different from other times, as a new thing, thanking God who had given this impartial government to Florence, and delivered us from subjection. And all this had been done at the instigation of the Frate.16

  Yet despite the Twenty including several figures who had been united in their public opposition to Piero de’ Medici’s rule, and all being enthusiastic proponents of the city’s new democratic form of government, its membership was riven with factions. Piero Capponi, aware that he was not favoured as a leader, had manoeuvred the situation to ensure that his main rival, Paolantonio Soderini, did not get elected to the Twenty. Likewise, the Great Council quickly began to separate into groups, each bent on pursuing their own interests, with voting patterns soon reflecting the differing social and economic aims of its members.

  However, this embryo parliament was as nothing compared with the power that Savonarola now held: his sermons had attracted a dedicated following from almost all social classes and outlooks – from the likes of Botticelli and Ficino to the ciompi and the destitute. His influence extended far beyond the restrictions of the voting class: the disfranchised majority now, for the most part, hung on his every word.

  A year or so later, Savonarola would describe the new democracy as this ‘government introduced by me’.17 Yet as things now stood, besides being favoured by most of those within the government, he also held sway over the majority who had no say in the government. His public forum was not the Great Council, but the pulpit, where none could debate with him or vote against him. Most agreed with the new system that Savonarola had, at the very least, played a major part in introducing, but it was not long before some began to have their misgivings about the extent of his power, both within the government and amongst the population at large, and about how he might choose to use this power. Savonarola himself had earlier warned how ‘in Italy, and most of all in Florence, where there is both force and intelligence in abundance, where men have acute minds and restless natures, government by one man can only end in tyranny’.18 Yet Savonarola had also claimed that the voice of God spoke through him; and the voice of God to which he most frequently alluded was that of the Old Testament, that which unleashed ‘the scourge of God’, a voice that was willing to destroy all who did not enter his Ark, a voice that brooked no gainsaying. There was mounting unease at this situation, and as Landucci recorded, after listening to Savonarola’s preaching many people began to express their superstitious apprehension, saying amongst themselves, ‘This wretched priest will bring us bad luck.’19

  After Charles VIII left Florence, he led the French army south towards Rome. His march was unopposed, and when he reached the Eternal City, Alexander VI fled the Vatican, taking refuge in the ancient papal fortress of Castel Sant’ Angelo. By this stage Charles VIII had been joined by Alexander VI’s sworn enemy, Cardinal della Rovere. All had observed how the depravity, greed and megalomania of Alexander VI had become even more pronounced since ascending to the papal throne. With utter disregard for sacred or secular public opinion (and even for papal precedent), he had openly moved his children into the Vatican. These included the notorious Cesare Borgia and his sister Lucrezia, whose infamy would soon exceed even that of their father. Cardinal della Rovere did his utmost to persuade Charles VIII to depose Alexander VI, or at least make him submit to a council for the reform of the papacy – which would have amounted to the same thing, but would have involved considerable humiliation and taken longer.

  Charles VIII lined up his artillery outside the Castel Sant’ Angelo and ordered the pope to come out and meet him, but to no avail. However, after one shot from a powerful French cannon had caused a large section of the ancient medieval walls of the castle to collapse in a heap of rubble, Alexander VI agreed to a meeting. But Cardinal della Rovere had taken into account neither the naive Charles VIII’s superstitious reverence for the pope, nor the wiliness of Alexander VI himself. When the pope emerged in all his glory, Charles VIII sank to his knees and attempted to kiss Alexander VI’s feet. With avuncular benevolence Alexander VI raised the overawed young French king to his feet and gave him his blessing. There was no question of the pope being deposed, or even called to order. Nonetheless, Charles VIII’s commissioners saw to it that Alexander VI understood the full nature of the defeat that the French were inflicting upon him. The French army occupied Rome, and the Vatican was required to contribute to Charles VIII’s needy campaign funds before he set out on the final leg of his journey to Naples.

  When the French army left Rome it was accompanied by a ‘gift’ from Alexander VI consisting of no fewer than nineteen mules laden with boxes of jewels, gold plate and rich tapestries. (It had cost Alexander VI just six similarly laden mules to buy the papacy.) The French insisted that this mule-train should be accompanied by the pope’s son, Cesare Borgia, who would join their campaign as a show of goodwill (and as a hostage). But the French were no match for the guile and treachery of the Borgia family. Within two days Cesare Borgia had eluded his captors, taking with him no less than half the train of mules. The boxes carried by the other mules were found to be empty.

  Charles VIII was enraged, but was persuaded nonetheless to continue on to Naples. On hearing of the French approach, King Alfonso II immediately abdicated and entered the sanctuary of a monastery, whereupon the new king, his son Ferrante II, simply fled the country, allowing the French army to enter Naples unopposed in triumph. For the next few months Charles VIII indulged his gargantuan sexual appetites on the aristocratic ladies of Naples and their virgin daughters, whilst his soldiers indulged their similar appetites on the less virtuous women of the city, unaware that syphilis had just reached Naples by way of Spain from the New World.

  The French king was eventually persuaded to abandon his ambitious scheme to liberate Constantinople from the Turks and then take Jerusalem. Instead, he would return with his army to France. However, Alexander VI was determined to avenge his humiliation; he set about persuading the other Italian powers that the French insult to the leader of the Christian flock, St Peter’s representative on Earth, should not go unpunished. He even managed to persuade Ludovico ‘il Moro’ Sforza, who now regretted his original invitation to Charles VIII to invade Italy, to join an alliance with the papal forces and the powerful Venetian army, so that in March 1495 a Holy League against the French was signed in Venice. Only Florence refused to join: Savonarola insisted that the city could not resist Charles VIII, as he was the instrument of God’s will.

  In May 1495 Charles
VIII duly led his vast French army out of Naples, leaving Ferrante II to be welcomed back by the relieved population. The French soldiers now began their 700-mile march north, followed by their long medieval train of hangers-on, their collection of pillaged holy relics and Charles VIII’s precious Sword of Charlemagne, spreading syphilis through Italy in their wake. At their approach, Alexander VI fled from Rome; meanwhile Commines was despatched on a French diplomatic mission to Florence to determine whether the city would renege on its word and join the Holy League. Here he went straight to meet Savonarola:

  because he had always preached strongly in favour of the King, and it was his word which had prevented the Florentines from turning against us, for never had any preacher ever had so much influence over the city.20

  The worldly Commines was once again impressed by Savonarola and began asking him about his prophecies:

  He has preached that the present state of the Church will be reformed by force of arms. This has not yet happened, although it very nearly did [when Charles VIII was in Rome], and he still insists that it will happen … I also asked him if the king will be able to get back [to France] without danger to himself, in view of the great army which has been assembled by the Venetians, about which he seemed to know more than I did … He replied that the King would have to fight his way back, but his courage would see him through, though he might only have one hundred men with him, because God who had led him here would also lead him back.

  In the event, Savonarola’s prediction had more than an element of truth. A month later, on 6 July, the French army encountered the combined forces of the Holy League at Fornovo on the banks of a tributary of the Po, some seventy miles south-east of Milan. The French troops were heavily outnumbered – some say by as much as three to one, though they were supported by their fearsome artillery. The battle was fought in chaotic conditions amidst a thunderstorm, and even if technically it resulted in a French victory, there was a devastating loss of life on both sides. Charles VIII was able to proceed back to France with considerably more than 100 men, but he lost much of his army’s booty, holy relics and his beloved Sword of Charlemagne.

  Alexander VI was outraged at Charles VIII’s escape. He blamed Florence for the defeat of the army of the Holy League, and more specifically the malign influence of Savonarola. Senior clergy in Rome were urging Alexander VI to use his prerogative and take direct action against Savonarola. Amongst the most enthusiastic of these was Fra Mariano da Genazzano, the one-time favourite preacher of Florence, whom Savonarola had humiliated to the point where he had left the city. Fra Mariano was now head of the Augustinian order and had the ear of Alexander VI.

  Though Savonarola had for years now been preaching, in the strongest possible terms, against corruption in the Church, he had not yet made any direct reference to Alexander VI. In the light of this, Alexander VI chose to exercise guile, rather than any heavy-handed papal authority, in dealing with Savonarola. On 25 July he wrote a papal Brief addressed to Savonarola in Florence. Ridolfi accurately characterises this as ‘a most peculiar document which might be figuratively compared to the famous poisoned sweets of Borgia’.21 Alexander VI’s Brief was coached in the most friendly and disarming diplomatic terms, explaining:

  We have heard you proclaim that what you have said concerning future events does not proceed from yourself but comes from God. We therefore desire, as it is the duty of our pastoral office, to discourse with you so that we may gain from you a greater understanding of what is agreeable to God, and put this into practice. Thus we exhort you, in the name of holy obedience, to come to Rome without further delay, where we will receive you with love and charity.22

  Savonarola may have been an idealist, but he was not naive. He well knew what would happen if he took up Alexander VI’s invitation: trial, imprisonment or, more likely, assassination en route would be his fate. On 31 July he wrote to Alexander VI apologising for not being able to take up his invitation:

  firstly, because my body has been weakened by illness, and I am suffering from fever and dysentery. Secondly, my constant exertions on behalf of the welfare of the state of Florence have caused me to suffer from a constant agitation, in both my body and my mind … so bad is this that my physicians have ordered me to cease preaching and give up my studies, for unless I take proper remedies I will be bound for an early grave … It is God’s will that I remain here for the time being, and I have been urged by prudent counsel not to leave … However, if Your Holiness wishes to learn what I have publicly preached concerning coming events such as the ruin of Italy and the renewal of the Church, I am in the process of printing a small book on these matters.fn3 As soon as this is completed, I shall be most careful to send Your Holiness a copy.23

  This may seem on the surface like a blend of effrontery and defiance (to say nothing of sheer bravado), and there is little doubt this was how it was received by the Church authorities in Rome. In fact, as we have seen, Savonarola was a stickler for the truth. This illness was no manufactured excuse: his constant exertions both in the government and in the pulpit, to say nothing of his self-imposed regimen of vigils and fasting, seem to have led him to the verge of a severe mental and physical breakdown. Indeed, so serious was this debilitation that even he himself feared that he might not recover from it. On Wednesday 29 July, just two days before sending his letter to Alexander VI, Savonarola had preached a ‘last sermon’24 in the cathedral. The Signoria and all the leading figures in the administration were amongst the packed and expectant congregation.

  It is worth paying some attention to the details of this sermon, for at the time Savonarola certainly viewed it as a specific, possibly even final, testament. Although he opened by proclaiming that his preaching that day was ‘inspired by love’, he soon returned to his constant theme, in his usual passionate manner, fulminating against the sinners whom he saw all around him in Florence – the gamblers, the loose women, the blasphemers, the sodomites and others whose sins were too vile to mention. Their very presence polluted the city, and despite his presence they persisted in their vices. How much worse would it be when he was no longer able to preach? An example must be made: any found to be guilty of such sins merited no less than the death penalty. ‘I warn you, Almighty God desires justice … Renounce all dancing, gaming, and close down the taverns. This is a time for weeping, not for rejoicing … as punishment for just one sinner, God vented his wrath upon the entire tribe of Israel. God would only be appeased by the death of this sinner.’

  Turning his attention to the Signoria and the rulers of the city, he insisted that they proceed at once with plans for building a new hall to house the Great Council, and that a law should be passed abolishing the parlamento, which had been used by previous unscrupulous rulers to bring in new measures to protect their rule.fn4

  Finally, at the end of his sermon, Savonarola bade his flock farewell: ‘O My People, when I stand here before you in this pulpit I am always strong, but when I descend from it down those stairs, I believe that my ailments will return. It will be some time before I see you once more. Then I will preach to you again, if I am still alive.’ He mentioned that his absence might only be ‘for a few months’. Yet then he exclaimed, ‘I am content to be a martyr, indeed I pray for this each day.’

  Some have seen this final remark as a presentiment of his death. He was now to take on directly the full might of the papacy, in the form of the devious and vengeful Alexander VI, and he may well have felt that he was venturing out of his depth. Savonarola was not a man to be easily cowed, yet direct personal contact with the pope – even if only in the form of a papal Brief – must surely have made him aware of the full enormity of the task he had so blithely taken upon himself in his idealistic youth. Other commentators on this sermon have pointed to its lack of modesty and supreme ambition. For all his wish for rule by the people, and freedom from tyranny, Savonarola was in fact advocating a tyranny of his own. He preached freedom from evil, yet both his ‘freedom’ and his ‘evil’ were double-
edged. The freedom, as well as the evil, fell into two categories: freedom from political evil (tyranny), and freedom from spiritual evil (vice). The people must be made free to rule themselves, but they must also be made free from rule by their vices. Both would require coercion – one by the people on their own behalf, the other exerted on the people themselves. Here we are brought face to face with the profound distinction between public life and private life. Reflecting on his own life, Savonarola saw little or no distinction between the two: one must reflect the other. Few would disagree that there is an overlap between the civic and the spiritual (or personal) realm; but Savonarola had chosen to see them as synonymous, even identical. Just as there was no room for personal vice, so there was no room for opposition to the rule of the people. Here was a testament that would resound through each ensuing century, right down to our own: fundamentalism seeing itself as freedom from all things that do not conform to its principles, with the necessity to purge society of these corrupting elements. Such missionary fundamentalism may begin in the monastery, yet it must by its very nature spread out into the world – and here it is contrary to its very being to coexist with any opposition.

  Having delivered himself of his testament, Savonarola retired to his cell at San Marco to finish his letter replying to Alexander VI, and to make the final corrections to his ‘Compendium of Revelations’. This short work of around a hundred pages, which appeared in Latin and Italian versions, is a key document in our understanding of Savonarola at this stage in his life. Significantly, it opens with a justification: he wishes to set down in his own words his most widely known prophecies and visions. Many of these had become exaggerated and distorted as they had been passed on by word of mouth, and he now wished people to understand their truth: to see them for what they were, in the very words that he had used to describe them. Where previously he had not always claimed to be a prophet, he now fully accepted the mantle, claiming: ‘The Lord has placed me here, and said to me: “I have placed thee as a watchman in the centre of Italy … that thou mayest hear My words and announce them.”’25 He claimed that he was able to tell his visions came from God because ‘they are infused with a certain supernatural light’. Modern psychological patients afflicted with hallucinations frequently speak of an ‘ethereal light’ that accompanies their visions, once again reinforcing Savonarola’s claim that he almost certainly ‘saw’ what he characterised as his ‘symbolical visions’ and ‘heard’ the prophetic voices that he claimed were ‘spoken by angels’.fn5