Even granting extenuating circumstances, it is hard to escape the conclusion that Clarice was not, and never had been, the center of his life. In truth, their relationship ended very much as it had begun—with Lorenzo wrapped up in his own affairs and Clarice forced to endure her husband’s inattentiveness. In his own way he was devoted to his wife and to his family, but the domestic realm over which she presided could not hold the attention of this restless and ambitious man. Nonetheless her death was a severe blow. Two days later he vented his feelings in a letter to Pope Innocent:
Too often I am obliged to trouble and worry Your Beatitude with accidents sent by fortune and divine interposition, which as they are not to be resisted must be borne with patience. But the death of Clarice, which has just occurred, my most dear and beloved wife, has been and is so prejudicial, so great a loss, and such a grief to me for many reasons, that it has exhausted my patience and my power of enduring anguish, and the persecution of fortune, which I did not think would have made me suffer thus. The deprivation of such habitual and such sweet company has filled my cup and has made me so miserable that I can find no peace. Naught is left but to pray God that He may give me peace, and I have faith that in His infinite love He will alleviate my sorrow and not overwhelm me with so many disasters as I have endured during these last years.
There is no reason to doubt the sincerity of these words. For almost two decades she had shared his bed, if not exclusively, then at least with sufficient regularity that she bore him seven healthy children. The children bound them together in common purpose and the well-being of their children was the main object of Lorenzo and Clarice’s collaborative effort. Indeed, securing the future of their children was the one goal to which they both contributed equally and the one thing that could unite two minds that otherwise shared few interests.
Clarice’s death had the effect of drawing Lorenzo closer to his children, particularly his daughters. Their mutual affection comes through clearly in a letter Lorenzo wrote to the eleven-year-old Contessina: “My Contessina. I hear that you ask about me every hour, how I am and when I shall return, so I write to tell you that, by the grace of God, I am very well, and I hope, if it pleases God, to return as well as ever I was. I shall come back soon, and in a few days I shall be there to see you. Take care that I find you well and cheerful.”
Like many a firstborn son, Lorenzo had grown accustomed to the doting attention of the female members of his family, and now that Clarice was gone this role was taken over by his sister Bianca and by his daughters, particularly Maddalena. Even after Maddalena had been espoused to the pope’s bastard son, Lorenzo wished to have her by his side: “I should be glad if you could mention the matter to his Holiness and get it arranged that Maddalena should remain here for the rest of the summer and autumn [1487]. I have not so far had time to see my daughter comfortably, so I earnestly beg His Holiness that of his kindness he will let me have her a few months more.”
As his health worsened, Lorenzo was consumed with providing for his children’s future. Though his own position in Florence seemed unassailable, the deliberate ambiguity of the Medici role in government made the transition from one generation to the next a perilous undertaking. Lorenzo expected that, initially at least, his oldest son would be accepted by the reggimento, but doubts about Piero’s character and about the loyalty of the Florentine people continued to haunt him. Of utmost importance was finding a bride for Piero, who turned sixteen at the beginning of 1487. Ready or not, Piero would soon be forced to step into a role of greater responsibility.
Like his father, Lorenzo was determined to look outside the circle of eligible Florentine families. There is no doubt that the selection of Clarice Orsini contributed to the ill will that eventually culminated in the Pazzi conspiracy, but now the Medici were simply too exalted to consider marrying their oldest son to one of the local girls. Piero’s bride would come from a powerful foreign family whose aristocratic pedigree could further the Medici’s dynastic ambitions.* Lorenzo ultimately settled on Alfonsina Orsini, daughter of the grand constable of Naples, a man whose martial feats of arms earned him the nickname, “The Knight Without Fear.”
At first glance the thirteen-year-old seems a curious choice. It was certainly not Alfonsina’s personal charms that recommended her (Bernardo Rucellai reported, “She does not seem particularly good or bad”). Nor did strengthening their ties to the Orsini initially appear to offer great advantages. Lorenzo once complained of his in-laws, “The brains of these Orsini citizens are of a strange and peculiar nature…they are greedy and ambitious, and if not kept in order by necessity, they are unstable.”
Given this track record, why did he seek to bind himself more closely to this great but lawless clan? In part, Lorenzo seems to have believed that the best way to ensure future Medici greatness was through the inclusion of his descendants among the feudal nobility.† Critically, Alfonsina belonged to the Neapolitan branch of the clan, and this connection could prove to be a great help at a time when Lorenzo was seeking to increase his influence in the southern kingdom. Though the Medici could not hope to marry into the royal house itself, they had achieved the next best thing. The wedding, carried out by proxy, was held in the royal palace of Naples in February of 1488, with the king and queen and all their court in attendance, gratifying recognition once again of how far this family of bankers had come from their humble origins.
Piero’s marriage also confirmed the slant of Lorenzo’s foreign policy in the aftermath of the Pazzi war. In 1486 when war broke out between the pope and the kingdom of Naples, Lorenzo remained committed to the Neapolitan side despite the misgivings of his compatriots, who remembered that not so long ago Ferrante’s armies had marched almost to the gates of Florence itself. “To me,” wrote Giovanni Lanfredini, conveying the mood of mistrust, “it seems the King is arrogant and vile to those he cannot ride.” Lorenzo’s pro-Aragonese policy in the so-called Barons War* was motivated less by the merits of his cause—no one was as aware of Ferrante’s capacity for treachery than Lorenzo himself—but because he knew he could not afford to offend the leader of one of the peninsula’s two great military powers, particularly at a time when his relations with Lodovico Sforza were strained. The papacy, by contrast, would always be an unreliable friend, more capable of causing mischief than building constructive, long-term alliances. “[T]his ecclesiastical state has always been the ruin of Italy,” Lorenzo grumbled, “because they are ignoramuses and they know nothing of governing states, and so they endanger the entire world.”
The wisdom of Lorenzo’s pro-Naples policy was quickly demonstrated as Ferrante marched his armies within sight of St. Peter’s. Though they were turned back at the last minute by the redoubtable Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, it was clear that the pope was in no position to challenge the Neapolitan army on the battlefield. In August of 1486 peace was concluded between Ferrante and the pope that narrowly averted a wider European conflagration.
Though Lorenzo appeared to be firmly on the side of Naples, he realized that the security of both the city and of his family could not be achieved without the goodwill of the man who sat on St. Peter’s throne. Innocent’s incessant squabbling with his southern neighbor made such a rapprochement difficult, but after his recent thumping at the hands of Ferrante’s armies he seemed more amenable to a policy of detente. It was, in fact, Innocent who made the first move. In November 1486, Pierfilippo Pandolfini relayed a message from Innocent to Lorenzo. “Lorenzo will know that there was never a pope who so loved his house as I do,” he quoted Innocent. “And having seen from experience his faith, integrity, and wisdom, I will govern myself according to his thoughts and wishes.” Lorenzo, despite some initial skepticism, was soon convinced that the pope’s desire for peace was genuine. He explained his change of course in a letter to his brother-in-law Bernardo Rucellai: “We have been for twelve or perhaps thirteen years always in contumacy with the church, and most of the time in open war. And you know very well how much of a burd
en I, in particular, have shouldered, because this city inclines naturally towards the church. I believe that had I refused this union, I would have suffered greatly with the people.”
Pursuing a policy of rapprochement with the pope, while at the same time keeping the mercurial Ferrante on board, was the kind of diplomatic juggling act Lorenzo had now grown accustomed to and that was well worth the trouble if it kept Italy from plunging once again into war. Never far from Lorenzo’s mind, however, were the profits his own family might reap if he could restore the Medici to their old standing in the Vatican. The explanation for the success of this policy, when similar attempts to find a modus vivendi with Sixtus had failed so miserably, can be attributed largely to the character of Innocent himself. Unlike Sixtus, Innocent was a man of fundamentally peaceful instincts. Devoted to his own comfort, Innocent preferred whenever possible to avoid anything that would detract from his enjoyment of the perquisites of his office. Another factor was that, again in stark contrast to Sixtus, he was indecisive and in need of a guide to lead him through a geopolitical landscape whose treacherous terrain he could barely discern. “The Pope seems rather a man in need of advice than one capable of giving it to others,” explained one of Lorenzo’s agents in Rome. Lorenzo, now acclaimed as the unsurpassed statesman of Italy, seemed just the man to take him by the hand and show him the way.
In his handling of Innocent, Lorenzo demonstrated once again his knack for tailoring his diplomacy to the goal at hand and to the people involved. It helped that Innocent had a taste for the kinds of things that Medici money and connections could easily supply; learning of the pope’s fondness for ortolans (small birds prized by epicurean palates), Lorenzo made sure that every courier to Rome was supplied with some for the pope’s table, as well as a barrel or two of the local vernaccia to wash them down. For Innocent the benefits of friendship with Lorenzo came not only in the form of tasty treats carried in Medici saddlebags, but in access to ready credit. Sixtus’s extravagant building projects and even more wasteful foreign adventures had practically bankrupted the Holy See, and the Medici bank, while still not fully recovered from the disasters of recent years, remained among the largest financial concerns in Europe.
Lorenzo was anticipating equally tangible benefits. The Medici bank profited from the restoration of good relations with the pope almost immediately as Innocent ordered the repayment of the papal debts reneged on by Sixtus. Much more was to follow. Perhaps most gratifying was Innocent’s restoration in 1488 of the valuable alum concession withdrawn by Sixtus after the Imola affair, a move that returned the Medici bank to the dominant position in Rome it had enjoyed in the reign of Paul II. Giovanni Tornabuoni exulted, “our affairs here, as I have told you, succeed better and better every day because of the love and affection Our Lord feels towards you.”*
The pope’s new attitude also paid dividends on the military front. Innocent raised no objection when in the spring of 1487 Lorenzo reopened the campaign against the Genoese-held fortress of Sarzana. In fact the pope was now so anxious to retain Lorenzo’s good opinion that he put pressure on his compatriots to cede the strategic stronghold to the Florentines. Lorenzo took an active personal interest in the progress of the Florentine troops, riding out to camp when it appeared the siege had stalled. Shortly after his arrival the Genoese capitulated, adding one more feather to Lorenzo’s still rather sparse military headdress. “The Magnificent Lorenzo arrived here [Florence] on the vigil of S. Giovanni [June 23],” recorded the Ferrarese ambassador, “and was received with more joy and caresses by the people than I can describe, as they say they owe the taking of Sarzana to him more than to others.”
Equally important to Lorenzo was his belief that his improved relations with the Holy Father might well revive the dream, long deferred, of having a cardinal in the family. It was largely with this goal in mind that he agreed to the betrothal of Maddalena to Franceschetto Cibo, Innocent’s fat, hard-drinking, hard-gambling son, in March 1487.* Lorenzo was saddened by the prospect of having to part with his beloved daughter, particularly to someone as unprepossessing as Francesco, but the benefits of such a connection could not be passed up.
Lorenzo had good reason to be concerned for Maddalena’s happiness. Most distressing to her father was the fact that the forty-year-old Francesco proved to be an inconsiderate husband to the frail fifteen-year-old girl. “The bad health of Madonna Maddalena and the thoughtless behavior of my Lord [Francesco Cibo] in keeping her up,” complained Matteo Franco, who had accompanied her to Rome as her chaplain, “for all this winter he has gambled every night, supping at six or seven and coming to bed at daylight, and she will not, and cannot, eat or sleep without him. Thus she has lost sleep and appetite and has become as thin as a lizard.” Adding to Lorenzo’s worries was the uncertain future for anyone whose status depended on his relationship with the reigning pope. While Lorenzo had provided for the newlyweds by bestowing on the couple the Pazzi villa at Montughi (where the final plans for the Pazzi conspiracy had been laid) and another at Spedaletto, he had difficulty persuading Franceschetto’s father to provide adequately for his son. “It is urgent that his Holiness should once and for all arrange the affairs of Signor Francesco so that I should not be daily worried about them,” Lorenzo wrote to Innocent in October 1489, “and that we can live in peace and harmony. To speak plainly, Signor Francesco has not the position the nephew† of a Pope ought to have, and yet we are now approaching the seventh year of the Pontificate.” One wonders if Lorenzo saw the irony in the situation, which exactly reversed the one that prevailed in the previous regime when Sixtus’s anxiety to provide for his family caused the Medici no end of trouble.
It was impossible to conceal the truth that Maddalena’s happiness had been sacrificed for the greater glory of the Medici family. A bit of contemporary doggerel summed up the bargain Lorenzo had struck:
To join the Medici girl to his son Franceschetti,
Innocent made a little boy a cardinal.
If it’s true that the Holy Spirit
makes the pope superhuman,
in this case the Holy Spirit
made him a matchmaker.
The little boy in question was Lorenzo’s second son, Giovanni, a studious lad who from the beginning had been groomed for a life in the Church. “He is so strictly bred,” remarked his tutor, Poliziano, “that never from his mouth comes a lewd or even a light expression. He does not yield to his teachers in learning, nor to old men in gravity of manner.” In laying the groundwork for Giovanni’s ecclesiastical career, Lorenzo was far more deliberate than he had been in the case of his brother. Giovanni’s bookish tastes made him a more suitable candidate, and his early education, despite Poliziano’s preference for basing the boy’s lessons on pagan authors, had been arranged with an eye to preparing him for a life in the Church. At the tender age of seven he had taken holy orders, and from then on Lorenzo kept up a continual pressure to ensure that local cathedrals held positions open for him. Additional plums for Giovanni were plucked from abroad. As a reward for Lorenzo’s helpful role in the Barons War, Ferrante had bestowed on the boy the wealthy Benedictine abbey of Montecassino, while Lodovico Sforza had chipped in with the equally remunerative Miramodo near Milan. Lorenzo also went trawling for likely prospects in French waters where his friendship with the king gave him a leg up on the competition. On one occasion the king proved a little overzealous and was forced to withdraw the particularly rich prize of Aix after discovering that the current occupant was not dead as had been reported.
By 1487, the year of Maddalena’s wedding, Giovanni was a plump lad of twelve with a taste for fine food, fine clothes, and classical literature. The twenty-seven benefices he now held provided the adolescent with a handsome yearly income, sufficient even for someone of his expensive habits. Lorenzo left nothing to chance in his campaign to further Giovanni’s career, flattering, cajoling, and otherwise tending to the needs of the Holy Father. He had gained such influence in the Vatican that the Ferrarese a
mbassador grumbled, “the Pope sleeps with the eyes of the Magnificent Lorenzo,” while the Neapolitan ambassador claimed “that the Florentine ambassador…governs the policy of Rome.”
Lorenzo did not have long to wait for his reward. On March 10, 1489, a large crowd of jubilant citizens began to gather around the Medici palace. “We had heard,” wrote the apothecary Luca Landucci, “that the Pope had made six cardinals, who were as follows: two French, one Milanese, two of his nephews [shades of Sixtus], and one Florentine, son of Lorenzo de’ Medici. Thank God! It is a great honor to our city in general, and in particular to his father and his house.” The spontaneous joy of the Florentine people reveals the extent to which most had come to identify with the ruling family, believing that when a Medici distinguished himself the entire nation could take pride in the achievement. Lorenzo was overjoyed, declaring the news to be “the greatest honor that has ever befallen our house.” In naming Giovanni Cardinal Deacon of Santa Maria in Domenica, Innocent had fulfilled the dream of the family that was generations old. Now, surely, the Medici could count themselves among the great families of Europe. In Machiavelli’s memorable phrase, Giovanni’s elevation “was a ladder enabling [Lorenzo’s] house to rise to heaven.”
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