Exasperating as all this was, Lorenzo, like his father and grandfather before him, could not extinguish these myriad bodies that allowed a majority of citizens at least a nominal role in their own government, and he resisted the advice of foreigners (including Sacramoro himself) to abolish them and set himself up as despot. To the citizens of Florence, inefficiency was the very essence of their liberty and they resisted any changes to the letter of their constitution, preferring instead the evasions and obfuscations that characterized the Medici regime.*
Lorenzo’s political honeymoon was brief. The sense of common purpose that had been so impressive on the night of December 2 quickly disintegrated under the pressure of events. Florence’s two key allies, Naples and Milan, continued to bicker and, like children in a messy divorce, the Florentines were pulled this way and that in a bitter contest of wills. By late December 1469, the rift was so serious that a conference of the three allies was hastily organized in Florence to try to resolve their differences. But far from bringing the two rivals closer together the conference merely served as a platform from which the ambassadors could hurl accusations at each other at closer range. The critical rupture came in late March. Responding to rumors that Ferrante was involved in secret negotiations with Venice, Galeazzo Maria Sforza, much to the consternation of Lorenzo and most Florentines, suddenly withdrew his delegates from the conference. It was for many Florentines merely the latest act of bad faith on the part of an ally who always showed himself ready to sacrifice his friends to expedience. (In the Colleonic War, for instance, Sforza had practically extorted money from the republic in return for his services, which were in any case so incompetently rendered that they would have been too expensive had they been given for free.) On April 11, 1470, the Neapolitans followed suit. Florentines formed themselves into two distinct and hostile political camps: war “hawks” favored the Neapolitans, who wished to pursue the Rimini War with vigor, and the “doves” favored Milan’s demands for an early peace. Lorenzo, who would have preferred to be guided by the collective wisdom of the reggimento, now found the leading men divided against themselves.
New to his position and still unsure of himself, he leaned heavily on his uncle Tomasso. While Sacramoro warned him that Soderini’s interests were not necessarily his own, Lorenzo had a hard time convincing himself that his uncle would pursue any policy at odds with the interests of the Medici family. Soderini had backed Lorenzo at the most critical moment and had earned his gratitude. From the beginning he was Lorenzo’s most trusted advisor and, according to many, the real power behind the throne. The consumate political insider, Soderini thrived in the chaos that resulted from the collapse of the triple alliance, using the atmosphere of crisis to shore up his own influence with Lorenzo and increase his leverage within the inner circle.* But as he consolidated his position he aroused resentment among the other magnates, who were put off by his conspiratorial ways and tendency to gorge himself at the public trough.
Respected and even feared, Soderini was not well liked. Alessandra Strozzi once declared that Soderini walked about the city with “honey in his mouth and a knife in his belt,” and there is no evidence that the years had mellowed his passion for political skullduggery. Colleagues who had recently helped him smooth the way for Lorenzo, particularly Luigi Guicciardini and Antonio Ridolfi, now felt they had been shunted aside. Jealous of his unique standing with the new ruler of Florence, they now sought every means to bring him down. It did not take them long to find an opportunity. Soderini’s propensity to mingle private affairs with public funds, a practice common to all Florentine politicians but one in which Soderini was known to be particularly adept, opened him to the charge of corruption. In an effort to embarrass him in the eyes of Lorenzo and the wider public, his rivals in the government exposed some of the shady practices by which the republic’s treasure had found its way into his pockets. It was a scandal that might have finished the career of a lesser man, but Soderini was too shrewd a player to allow himself to be so easily sidelined. Returning the disputed money, he now struck back, pushing an ordinance through the Otto di Guardia (Florence’s security apparatus, which he had filled with his own partisans), banishing his chief opponents from Florence.
Having outmaneuvered his enemies, Soderini now set his sights on Lorenzo, the one man in Florence whose prestige rivaled his own. The confrontation between the two marks not only an important moment in the education of the young ruler of Florence, but is an episode that sheds much light on the backstairs intrigue that Florentine politicians had long ago mastered.* Its resolution in Lorenzo’s favor, surprising to many who noted the wide discrepancy in the two combatants’ experience, reveals a natural instinct for the political game.
The confrontation came over the Florentine response to the rift that had opened up between Naples and Milan. After months of prevaricating in which no one, including the Milanese ambassador, could say which side Tommaso Soderini was on, he tipped his hand at a meeting held April 11, 1470, the very day the Neapolitan delegation was set to leave Florence. Arguing that Milan was to blame, he now proposed a new system of alliances built around the axis of Naples and Venice. In tilting toward Naples, Soderini was reflecting the general mood of Florentines, who were heartily sick of the duke’s high-handed ways. Even Lorenzo and Luigi Guicciardini, both strong adherents of Milan, concluded that Naples must be placated to prevent them from bolting the alliance.
But while Lorenzo was willing to feint in the direction of Naples in order to pressure the duke to return to the fold, he could not abandon his chief foreign ally. Only a few months earlier the duke had put his prestige on the line for Lorenzo and Giuliano, writing to the Signoria that he cherished them as brothers. For almost two decades the houses of the Medici and the Sforza had been intimately linked in the minds of Florentines and however much Lorenzo was irritated by the Galeazzo Maria’s feckless policies, he could not abandon him without undercutting one of the strongest props of his regime. In other words, while Soderini could afford to adapt to circumstances, Lorenzo was wedded, for good or ill, to the Milanese cause.
At first it seemed as if Soderini would be successful in shepherding Florence into the Neapolitan camp, particularly after the appointment his close friend, the staunchly partisan Otto Niccolini, as ambassador to the southern kingdom. Immediately upon taking up his appointment, Niccolini began writing a series of letters calculated to frighten the Florentine government into precipitous action. In a private letter to Soderini, dated April 25, the ambassador indicated (prematurely as it turned out) that Naples had already concluded a treaty with Venice. (It was a sign of Soderini’s growing influence that most of Niccolini’s correspondence now went directly to him, rather than to Lorenzo or through official channels.) With the geopolitical realignment already an accomplished fact, he said, Florence must jump on board to avoid being left out in the cold.
King Ferrante’s threat to leave Florence in the lurch for an understanding with Venice presented the government with an uncomfortable dilemma. While many wished to maintain the old triple league that had kept Italy relatively peaceful, they could not afford to be shut out of the new system of alliances. With Otto’s letters in hand, Soderini now called a Pratica for May 5.* It was a typical bit of partisan sleight-of-hand of the kind so often practiced in Florentine politics: organized in haste and secrecy, most of the duke’s supporters were unaware it was taking place until after it was already over. It was a sign of how confident Soderini felt that Lorenzo was not informed of the meeting and almost missed it. By the time he arrived, Lorenzo confessed to Sforza, he “found the letter [with instructions for the ambassador] already completed, so that it was not possible to fix it, so hastily was it written and sent off by horse.” In public Soderini continued to claim that he was taking Ferrante’s side merely to save the triple alliance, but his private correspondence with Otto Niccolini reveals him to be very much the king’s man. “Let us abide by [the king’s] advice,” he wrote, “and follow where ever his Maj
esty shall lead us.”
Sforza must have been deeply disappointed that the man for whom he had done so much now proved himself unable or unwilling to fight for his interests. The Pratica of May 5 was a grave embarrassment for Lorenzo, who had been outflanked by an old hand at the political game. It also proved to be his wake-up call. When Sacramoro relayed the duke’s displeasure at the course Florence was taking, Lorenzo and Luigi Guicciardini became “upset and desperate, feeling that they have been reduced to an extremity, as they see their reputation has been placed in serious danger.”
The first sign that Lorenzo had found his stride came late in May of 1470. Ferrante, hoping to prod Florence into committing to the Neapolitan side, demanded that she openly declare her intentions without consulting her northern ally. Not wishing to offend Ferrante, still one of the pillars of the triple alliance, but now certain that he must defend the duke’s interests at any cost, Lorenzo deftly played for time. Without dismissing the king’s offer, he convinced the government of Florence that it should accept no deal from Naples until after it had heard from the duke. This was a critical step since the king and his Florentine supporters—among whom Soderini was now a leading exponent—hoped they could commit Florence to the Neapolitan side before Milan could respond, thus placing Sforza in the difficult position of reentering the alliance on their terms or risk being left out altogether.
The delay was a tactical victory for Lorenzo and the duke, one that halted the momentum that had been building in favor of Naples. The critical showdown came the following month. By this time Soderini had publicly committed himself to the king. Indeed rumors were rife that his newfound allegiance to Ferrante had been helped along by generous donations to Soderini’s bank account.
But Sacramoro had been busy as well, urging his usually tight-fisted boss to match the king bribe for bribe. If ducats in the pockets of his partisans was the carrot, the Milanese ambassador also wielded a heavy stick, threatening that the duke would withdraw his ambassador should Florence cut a separate deal with Naples. In this charged atmosphere another Pratica was called for June 27. Lorenzo now showed that he had learned a thing or two since the council held the previous month. This time Lorenzo made sure that the meeting was dominated by his men, who now succeeded in shouting down their rivals. The demonstration of vigor and purpose by the newly minted Medici patriarch was enough to convince many fence-sitters to leap into the fray on Lorenzo’s side. By the end of the tempestuous meeting Soderini and his followers, seeing that the winds had suddenly shifted, reluctantly agreed to instruct Otto Niccolini not to conclude a separate treaty with Naples. The pro-Naples faction was dealt another blow when it was discovered that Venice had rejected King Ferrante’s terms for an alliance, paving the way for an eventual restoration of the league on its original terms. Lorenzo could thus plausibly declare that through delay he had salvaged the triple alliance and secured the peace of Italy. In Sacramoro’s account, Soderini and the pro-Naples faction were “white” with shock over the sudden turn of events.
On the twelfth of July Lorenzo reported the happy news that Naples had agreed to rejoin the league. So overjoyed were Florentines at the restoration of the old league, Lorenzo reported to his ambassador in Milan, that church bells pealed throughout the city and at night the streets were illuminated by dozens of bonfires. Much of the credit went to Lorenzo himself, who now emerged from the shadow of the men who had raised him to power. Soderini, by contrast, had been knocked down a peg or two. He had faltered because he forgot the lesson he seemed to have absorbed in December—that is, how difficult it was to go toe-to-toe against a Medici, even one as inexperienced as Lorenzo, because however much the ruling family was resented, most of the principali preferred to take their business to the Via Larga rather than to try their luck on someone else’s doorstep. Now properly chastened, Soderini returned to the fold. Throughout the remainder of his political career he would serve as a diligent, if by no means uncritical, servant of the Medici regime.
Lorenzo’s triumph was marked by a visit in March 1471 by the duke and duchess of Milan, accompanied by 1,500 mounts and four hundred footmen, “all lords and worthy persons and…all in courtly style, with pomp and without arms.” The official reason given for the trip was to visit the church of Santissima Annunziata, whose miracle-working image of the Virgin was the destination of many a pilgrim, but it was also a public affirmation of the ties of friendship binding the two cities and the two leaders. As on his earlier trip to Florence, Galeazzo Maria Sforza was put up in Lorenzo’s palace on the Via Larga. Florentines were both fascinated and scandalized by the splendor of the Milanese: there were men to tend the hawks, others to keep the hounds, liveried grooms and liveried servants, trumpeters and fife players, along with assorted courtiers, cooks, jesters, and bodyguards—not to mention a separate suite to attend to the needs of the duchess. It was said that the cost of furnishing them all with mounts and wardrobes of silk and gold amounted to no less than 200,000 florins. For Lorenzo the visit provided both an opportunity to bask in the reflected glory of his princely friend and to demonstrate, by way of contrast, the relative sobriety of his own lifestyle.
In the end, the carefully orchestrated visit was less than a resounding success. Many Florentines resented the burden of putting up such a vast and hungry horde and were offended by their self-indulgent guests, who would not even forgo eating meat during Lent. It was as punishment for such impiety that, according to popular opinion, the church of Santo Spirito caught fire during a spectacle staged in honor of the duke. While Sforza offered to pay for repairs, for many Florentines, including no doubt Lorenzo himself, the visit could not end soon enough.
Though Lorenzo had won a decisive victory over his domestic rivals, the divisions and political infighting that marked his first months as leader illustrated the inadequacy of the ad hoc electoral controls that served as the basis of Medici power. The council of One Hundred (il Cento)—a body created in 1458 that had co-opted much of the authority of the older, more democratic councils of the people and of the commune—had become a club of powerful and ambitious men who were as likely to oppose as to support the head of the Medici household. Most of the opposition to Lorenzo came, in fact, from those who served on this elite council, just as it was members of the inner circle who almost succeeded in overthrowing Piero’s regime in 1466. According to Francesco Guicciardini, whose grandfather and great-uncle were both frequent members, it was not uncommon for the One Hundred to reject a slate of candidates proposed by Lorenzo and his friends.
How could Lorenzo guarantee that the vast majority of the reggimento would consist of Medici loyalists?—something that neither he nor his predecessors had been able to achieve with any consistency. The Gonfaloniere di Giustizia himself, Carlo Pandolfini, had been among those who conspired with Tommaso in the Pratica of March to ensure that Lorenzo and his partisans were shut out. The key was the committee of the Accoppiatori, usually five in number, whose job it was to screen the names that were to fill the various electoral bags used when selecting men for the Tre Maggiori, that is, the three highest offices of the land (the Signoria, which included at its head the Gonfaloniere di Giustizia, the Dodici Buonuomini, and the Sedici Gonfalonieri).* “If I understand matters correctly,” wrote the somewhat befuddled ambassador from Milan, “whether or not Lorenzo will preserve his ascendancy depends on the reforms of the Accoppiatori.” The Accoppiatori effectively managed the electoral process but the system was only as reliable as the men who comprised it.
Over the next months Lorenzo employed all his diplomatic skills and powers of persuasion, as well as the usual arm-twisting and bribery, to reform the Accoppiatori. His opportunity finally came when, with his staunch ally Agnolo della Stufa occupying the Gonfaloniere’s seat, he rammed through a bill that went a long way toward removing the One Hundred from the electoral process. Prospects for victory were greatly enhanced when the Signoria, following della Stufa’s lead, declared that the reforms need only be passed by a bare m
ajority in the One Hundred, rather than the usual two-thirds. Even so, the new legislation was approved by a margin of only two votes.
In the new system the Accoppiatori were to be selected each year by the outgoing members and the current Signoria. Since the Accoppiatori were in turn responsible for electing the Signoria, the whole electoral system became a kind of closed loop from which the majority of Florentine citizens was effectively excluded. As the Milanese ambassador commented, “In this way the Signoria will always be that which [Lorenzo] wishes.”
Having achieved a greater degree of control over the electoral process than either Cosimo or Piero, Lorenzo used the momentum to push through other initiatives. The close vote within the One Hundred over the reform of the Accoppiatori revealed the extent of opposition to his rule. In July 1471, with a friendly Signoria again seated, he called a special council (a Balìa) to enact a series of new measures to “arrange and correct many things in the city, where are born continuously many harmful sentiments.”*
The oligarchic nature of the One Hundred was diluted by opening up membership to those from outside the ruling clique, a liberalization that allowed Lorenzo to bring in favorites who were personally dependent on his favor.† But the most important reform to emerge from the Balìa of 1471 was the creation of a permanent steering committee within the council of the One Hundred. The newly minted council of the Forty, as it was called—a permanent core within the One Hundred, largely made up of Lorenzo’s closest friends and supporters and given the critical responsibility of co-opting the others—became the most effective instrument for imposing his will on the direction and composition of the government.
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