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

by Paul Strathern

  Not only ourselves, but men of much greater wisdom, were persuaded by Fra Girolamo’s cunning. The sheer power and quality of his preaching, his exemplary life, the holiness of his behaviour, what appeared to us as his devotion, and the effect it had in purging the city of its immorality, usury and all manner of vices, as well as the events which appeared to confirm his prophecies in a way beyond any human power or imagining, and were so numerous and of such a nature that if he had not retracted his claims, and confessed that his words were not the words of God, we would never have been able to renounce our belief in him. For so great was our faith in him that all of us were ready to go through fire in order to support his doctrine.23

  This revelatory admission would seem to be an accurate and succinct summary of the entire Savonarola ‘phenomenon’ and its effect upon those who came into contact with him. It certainly accords with the way many modern commentators view what took place in Florence during these years: a collective delusion, which was almost certainly shared by Savonarola himself. The impressionable friars, many of whom were young, educated, of good families, and were genuinely appalled at the humanism that had been adopted by so many of the city’s intellectuals, as well as by what they saw as the lax morals that accompanied this renaissance of classical values, had quickly fallen under the spell cast by the charismatic ‘little friar’. His influence had proved both intellectually radical and powerfully inspirational, whilst its prophetic religious manner included a heady mix of fundamentalism and passion bordering on fanatic hysteria.

  The bewildered young friars of San Marco believed in Savonarola; amidst a world of profound change, they longed for the certainty of which he preached. This was the truth, and it would be realised if only the people could be induced to adopt the virtue and purity necessary for Florence to become the ‘City of God’. The evidence given in the letter by the monks of San Marco is the most concise and clear insight we have into the faith that Savonarola infused in his believers – which, as we have seen, ranged through all classes. At some point this may even have touched Lorenzo the Magnificent himself – after all, it was he who had invited Savonarola back to Florence, and he who had called for the prior of San Marco to visit him on his deathbed. Others, from Pico della Mirandola, through the monks of San Marco, to the lowest Piagnoni, eventually embraced his ideas. This was the faith that had inspired Fra Domenico under torture, to the verge of martyrdom.

  The Arrabbiati now decided to take matters into their own hands. They knew that many Piagnoni, more obdurate than Landucci, had not been convinced by the public reading of Savonarola’s confession, and that for as long as Savonarola lived they would have a figurehead to rally around. He needed to be discredited, once and for all, and it was clear that forged evidence would never do this. Only genuine and utterly convincing evidence would now suffice. So on 27 April the Arrabbiati launched a round-up of people known, or suspected, of remaining Piagnoni sympathisers. Their intentions were twofold: first, they wished to uncover convincing incriminating evidence of a plot which would ensure that Savonarola was executed for treason; and second, they wished to launch a lightning reign of terror, which would permanently destroy the Piagnoni movement. Landucci recorded the events of that day: ‘All the citizens arrested for this cause were scourged, so that from 15 in the morning [11 a.m.] till the evening there were unending howls of agony coming from the Bargello.’24 Yet despite all the cries of terror and abject confessions, still no convincing evidence against Savonarola emerged, and on 1 May, ‘All citizens were sent back home; and only the three poor Frati remained.’

  By this stage the Arrabbiati were becoming desperate, and on 5 May the new gonfaloniere and the Signoria, now exclusively composed of Arrabbiati, called a Pratica to decided what to do. Alexander VI was still insisting that all three friars should be transported to Rome to be tried by the Church courts, as was their due. It was suggested that the only way to prevent this was for the friars to be tried yet again in Florence, in the hope that this time genuine incriminating evidence would be obtained from at least one of them. Summoning all his authority as the former gonfaloniere, Popoleschi protested against this:

  both on account of the way in which the previous examinations were conducted, and for the sake of peace and public order in the city. If we proceed to examine them in the same way as before this will only give rise to a scandal, as we have already been informed by the diplomatic representatives of every state in Italy.25

  The ‘examinations’ may have been held in the privacy of the Bargello, but word of the way in which they had been conducted had by now spread throughout Italy, where it provoked widespread public revulsion. That a civilised republic like Florence could behave in such a manner towards men of the cloth was nothing less than a disgrace to the entire country. On top of this, the French ambassador Giovanni Guasconi, who was known to be a close friend of the new king Louis XII, had made plain his sympathy for Savonarola and the Piagnoni. The support of Florence’s ally was at stake.

  In the end, the Pratica decide to send a despatch to ambassador Bonsi in Rome. He was instructed to inform Alexander VI that the Signoria wished to make an example of Savonarola and his two friars in Florence, where the execution would be witnessed by his remaining supporters, who would realise once and for all that their cause was now futile. On the other hand, if Alexander VI insisted upon further examination of the friars concerning religious matters, he was welcome to despatch a Papal Commission to Florence for this purpose.

  fn1 The original Italian refers to tratti di fune (pulls on the rope) – in other words, they were subjected to the traditional Florentine strappado, rather than the customary conception of the rack.

  fn2 Rumours of the arrival of such a prophet may also well have prompted the Franciscans’ insistence upon inspecting Fra Domenico’s genitals for any ‘supernatural signs’ before the ordeal by fire.

  fn3 Where the Inquisition was concerned, torture was in practice frequently inflicted for its own sake. Then, as now, the ‘truth’ extracted by such extreme methods was always liable to conform with what the victim thought the torturer required of him, and this method was thus not always reliable as a method of extracting trustworthy information.

  fn4 ‘Art thou that prophet? And he saith, I am not.’ John, Ch. 1, v.21.

  fn5 This improbable prophecy, which almost certainly fell into the same psychological category as that concerning Charles VIII, would also be fulfilled. However, the only source for this prophecy is the fervently pro-Savonarolan Burlamacchi.

  fn6 More widely known as the Spanish Boot or Iron Boot, this was a widespread instrument of torture in medieval Europe. It usually consisted of iron plates, which would be strapped to encase the foot so that iron wedges could be hammered between the casing into the flesh. Sometimes the ‘boot’ would consist of two casings with inner iron spikes, which could be strapped tighter and tighter. Or it could be larger and sealed, so that water could be poured over the foot inside, which could then be held over a fire until it gradually boiled.

  24

  Judgement

  TO THE SURPRISE of the Signoria, Alexander VI agreed to their proposal. In fact, he now wished to see Savonarola eliminated as quickly as possible. This would not only destroy a dangerous source of public defiance to his authority, but would put an end to Savonarola’s call for a Council of the Church, with the aim of deposing him. As ever, Alexander VI also had a further, more devious motive. The execution of Savonarola in Florence was liable to result in public disturbances, making the city ungovernable. This would provide an ideal opportunity for the reimposition of Medici rule. In a stroke, the city would be returned to stability, and would be ruled by an ally in the form of Piero de’ Medici, who would regard him with gratitude.

  Alexander VI selected his two-man Papal Commission with some care. His first choice was the aged theologian Giovacchino Torriani, general of the Dominican order, who would lend the commission indisputable dignity and authority. Although just five years prev
iously, in 1493, Torriani had in fact supported Savonarola’s wish to form a breakaway Tuscan Congregation, more recent events in Florence had deeply disturbed him. However, the leading figure in the delegation was undoubtedly Alexander VI’s second choice: his thirty-six-year-old protégé, Bishop Francesco Remolino,fn1 an ambitious forceful character, whose legal expertise as a judge in Rome had proved his great worth to the pope in eliminating several of his enemies. Like the pope, Remolino was of Spanish descent and had become a close friend of the pope’s notorious son, Cesare Borgia. His loyalty had already seen him rewarded with no fewer than four bishoprics.

  Meanwhile Savonarola languished in gaol. Much mythology has grown up around this period, and it features heavily in various forms in the contemporary biographies, which at this point tend heavily towards hagiography. Even so, certain facts seem evident. Savonarola’s cell was bare and he was forced to sleep on the stone floor. During the day it was dim, at night pitch-black, and he was allowed few visitors. His gaoler, a man of evil repute, was very much in favour of the Arrabbiati and treated his prisoner accordingly. However, close contact with the ‘little friar’ and observation of his saintly fortitude are said to have convinced this uncouth fellow of Savonarola’s cause. In response, Savonarola is said to have written for him a small tract entitled ‘A Rule for Leading the Good Life’. Given Savonarola’s pitiful physical and spiritual state, this seems unlikely, yet just such a tract would be published later in the year. The hagiographies also speak of Savonarola writing pious scraps for his gaoler to deliver to his daughter, and even of miraculously curing him of syphilis.

  However, there is a second, more profound tract that shows many signs of having been written by Savonarola himself, and as such could not have been written at any other time in his life. Given his bodily condition, this was probably dictated to one of the loyal friars who were permitted to visit him. Entitled ‘An Exposition and Meditation on the Psalm ‘Miserere’, it begins:

  Unfortunate am I, abandoned by all, I who have offended heaven and earth, where am I to go? With whom can I seek refuge? Who will have pity on me? I dare not raise my eyes to heaven because I have sinned against heaven. On earth I can find no refuge, because here I have created a scandalous state of affairs … Thus to Thee, most merciful God, I return filled with melancholy and grief, for Thou alone art my hope, Thou alone my refuge.1

  Savonarola then quoted the celebrated opening lines of Psalm 51, ‘Miserere mei, Deus: secundum magnam misericordiam tuam’2 (‘Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness’). Later, he compared himself with Christ’s favourite disciple, St Peter, whom Christ had told on the night before his crucifixion: ‘Verily I say unto thee, That this day, even in this night, before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice.’3 And so it had come about. Yet St Peter had only denied Christ when he was asked whether he knew him:

  But these questions were just words; what would he have done if the Jews had come and threatened to beat him … He would have denied once more if he had seen them getting out whips … If St Peter, to whom Thou granted so many gifts and so many favours, failed so miserably in his test, what was I capable of, O Lord? What could I do?4

  This would appear to prove that Savonarola did indeed break down under torture and made certain untrue confessions concerning his faith. Possibly he agreed that he gave up going to confession (which we know was untrue); maybe he even went so far as to agree that his words did not come from God (despite his conviction that they did); possibly he even denied that he saw visions (his description in the ‘Compendium of Revelations’ of how he had these visions is utterly in accord with the modern psychological findings). However, it is still difficult to believe, as Ser Ceccone’s document claimed, that he confessed his ‘aim was … the glory of the world’ and that he ‘lost his faith and his soul’. It is worth considering a seemingly pedantic distinction here. St Peter denied that he knew Christ; he certainly did not deny his faith. Savonarola may well have denied that he knew God’s words; yet, like St Peter, he seems not to have denied his faith. The similarity would appear to have been intentionally exact – a comparison that would have been all too evident to an exceptional theologian such as Savonarola. He may have been cowed into signing a document that denied his faith, but he had not actually done so.

  It is difficult to doubt the authenticity of the words in this last document attributed to Savonarola, now usually known simply as ‘Exposition’. Over the coming years they would profoundly move the many who eventually read them. Indeed, Savonarola’s ‘Exposition’ would have an ‘extraordinary fortune’5: over the course of the following two years no fewer than fourteen editions of this tract would be published – in Latin, ‘vulgar Italian’, and even ‘vulgar German’. Here was an almost saintly expression of spiritual despair: a document of rare profundity and passion, which was appreciated by scholars, clergy and laymen throughout Italy, Germany and beyond. Here was a document whose popularity would prove a dangerous focus, as dissatisfaction with the corrupt behaviour of the Church and its clergy on all levels grew ever more widespread.fn2

  Judging from the intensity and bleakness of emotion expressed by Savonarola in ‘Exposition’, by this stage he felt certain that he would soon be executed. In which case he was aware that this would probably involve him being burned at the stake as a heretic. Events were soon to confirm this likelihood. On 19 May 1498 the Papal Commission reached Florence, and by now the public mood was evident, for as the commission members rode through the city, the crowd of onlookers lining the streets shouted, ‘Death to the friar!’7 Remolino replied, ‘Indeed he will die.’ The Arrabbiati were overjoyed at the attitude of the ambitious young bishop from Rome, and in gratitude despatched to his residence a beautiful young prostitute dressed as a pageboy. The grateful Remolino assured his hosts that there could be no doubt about the outcome of the coming trial: ‘We shall have a good bonfire. I have reached the verdict already in my heart.’

  Savonarola’s trial before the Papal Commissioners began the next day, with Bishop Remolino as the sole interrogator and just five Florentine dignitaries present as observers for the secular government. During the course of the preliminary questioning it became clear that Savonarola had recovered some of his composure during the month since his previous trial, which he had put to such good use composing his ‘Exposition’. This work may reveal an author amidst the most profound spiritual turmoil, yet he depicts the travails of this crisis with the clarity of a man who has regained his previous intellectual perspicacity. When Remolino began questioning Savonarola about his previous confessions, he ‘observed how [Savonarola] would pretend to answer a question, first by telling some of the truth and then obscuring it, but always without lying’.8

  His interrogator’s patience soon snapped in the face of such apparent deviousness:

  Remolino ordered that he be stripped of his robes so that he could be given the rope [strappado]. In absolute terror, he fell to his knees and said: ‘Now hear me. God, Thou hast caught me. I confess that I have denied Christ, I have told lies. O you Florentine Lords, be my witness here: I have denied Him from fear of being tortured. If I have to suffer, I wish to suffer for the truth: what I said, I heard from God. O God, Thou art making me do penance for having denied Thee under fear of torture. I deserve it.9

  The transcript continued: ‘It was now that Savonarola was undressed, whereupon he sank to his knees once more, showing his left arm, saying that it was completely useless.’ Evidently it had been permanently dislocated during his previous subjection to the strappado, and must have remained dangling uselessly at his side during the previous month. As Savonarola had his hands bound behind his back, in preparation for them to be yanked into the air, he was clearly raving with terror, repeating: ‘I have denied you, I have denied you, God, for fear of torture.’ While he was being hauled into the air, he kept repeating frantically, ‘Jesus help me. This time you have caught me.’

  Savonarola was by now reduced to the limi
ts of endurance. One can but imagine the actual incoherence, raving and screaming which must have punctuated the more coherent words that appeared in the transcript. As Ridolfi observed, this included ‘such things as Ser Ceccone would never have recorded in his collection of lies’.10 There is no denying that this document of Savonarola’s third trial has a chilling ring of truth, evoking all manner of terror, its narrative and tone uninterrupted by any out-of-context insertions.

  Remolino was an expert judicial examiner, having refined his technique in the interrogation chambers of Rome, where there were far fewer restraints upon procedure than in republican Florence. By this stage Savonarola was all but out of his mind, pleading ‘Don’t tear me apart!’ and ‘Jesus help me!’

  Sadistically playing with his victim, Remolino asked, ‘Why do you call upon Jesus?’

  Savonarola managed to reply, ‘So I seem like a good man.’

  But when Remolino persisted with the question, Savonarola could only reply, ‘Because I am mad.’ Soon he was begging, ‘Do not torture me any further. I will tell you the truth, I will tell you the truth.’

  Amidst the goading questions, Remolino suddenly asked, ‘Why did you deny what you had already confessed?’

  Savonarola could only reply, ‘Because I am a fool.’

  What was Remolino doing here? Savonarola had already revealed quite plainly why he had confessed to Ceccone. He had denied that he spoke with God, and that he saw visions of the future, only through his terror of torture. Yet this time he had told Remolino that he wished to suffer for the truth, that what he had said he had indeed heard from God. It was as if Remolino was determined to force Savonarola to admit that his earlier confession to Ceccone was true. For all his ruthless ambition, Remolino was still a man of God. Did he wish to make utterly sure that he was not an instrument in the interrogation (and possible martyrdom) of a prophet? This is certainly one of the interpretations that can be put on the bare outline that has come down to us through the various versions of this transcript – an interpretation that is reinforced by the later questions, where Remolino subtly sought to discredit the orthodoxy, and thus the validity, of Savonarola’s faith.