Nevertheless, shortage of bread remained the principal problem facing the young Republic. Not only were the grain harvests of 1647 and 1648 extremely poor, but the nobles and their troops blockaded the city and virtually cut off all supplies. Annese, as ‘Generalissimo of the most faithful people of this most serene republic of Naples’, therefore decreed in December 1647 that bakers must reduce the size of the standard loaf from 40 to 24 ounces and supply the militia with loaves before anyone else, ‘so that we can continue the present war’.58 Both measures naturally provoked widespread hostility within the city; and when French warships at last arrived off Naples, the duke of Guise exploited the discontent to proclaim himself Duce (leader) of a new ‘Royal Republic of Naples’. He also unfurled a ‘new banner of the Republic on the tower of the Carmine church’, published a new Constitution and started issuing coinage in his own image.59
News of these events completely unhinged the ministers of Philip IV. ‘What I hear from Naples is incredible,’ one of them wrote, ‘because losing one of the finest kingdoms in Christendom is no small thing’. He asked a colleague rhetorically: ‘When extreme necessity forces a monarch, for the sake of his conscience and reputation, to adopt extreme remedies, how long must we wait for those remedies to be taken?’ This time, the king took notice. In October 1647 he signed a new Decree of Bankruptcy, confiscating the capital of his creditors and regaining the sources of revenue assigned to them; and four months later he reluctantly offered to conclude a permanent peace with the Dutch that acknowledged their full independence and allowed them to keep all their conquests in both Asia and America.60
Philip also offered the French humiliatingly favourable terms, but Mazarin unwisely rejected them, confident that he could do better by sabotaging the Hispano-Dutch peace talks and exploiting the revolts of Naples and Sicily. He miscalculated on both counts: the Dutch accepted Philip's terms and, shortly afterwards, the ‘Royal Republic of Naples’ began to fall apart. The fleet sent by Mazarin to ‘protect Naples’ failed to defeat its Spanish adversaries and withdrew; and although the Duce continued to issue grandiloquent proclamations to his new subjects – for example, ordering the public banks to reopen, ‘giving our word as a prince’ that all deposits would be repaid – Annese and many others no longer obeyed his orders.61
The Tipping Point
According to Vincenzo d'Andrea, the lawyer who had advised Masaniello and Genoino and now served as Annese's principal counsellor, Neapolitans now faced five choices: they could declare for Spain, for France, for Guise, for the nobles, or for the former republican leaders. Such confusion could not continue indefinitely. In March 1648 letters arrived in the city reporting ‘a revolution of the people of Paris’ in which the crowds chanted ‘Long live Naples, we don't want any more taxes or wars’.62 Far from feeling flattered, the Neapolitans realized that France could not now help them. D'Andrea, seeing no alternative course of action, opened secret talks with Don Juan, whom Philip had appointed viceroy in place of the hated Arcos, and with the count of Oñate (who had closely monitored the situation from Rome, as Spanish ambassador, and now served as Don Juan's principal political adviser). Both men agreed to confirm most points in the 58 Capitoli, including a general pardon; to abolish stamp duty, the media anata and all excise duties on foodstuffs; to appoint only native Neapolitans to most offices; to confirm those appointed by the Republic; and to grant equality of votes between the nobles and the ‘people’ in the city's government. In addition, they promised compensation for the damage caused by the bombardment the previous October and agreed that citizens could retain their weapons until the king solemnly ratified all his concessions. On 6 April 1648 Annese and his followers opened the gates of Naples and Don Juan and his Spanish troops marched in.
Many leading republicans had already fled, and (despite the general pardon) Annese and a number of others found guilty of active collaboration with the French went to the scaffold. In June 1648 the Capopopoli of all cities received orders to come to Naples at once ‘on pain of being deemed rebels and confiscation of all their goods’. All were imprisoned and some executed. Nevertheless, Philip IV deemed it prudent to confirm all the concessions granted by his son and Oñate; he even put the duke of Arcos on trial. Most remarkable of all, some of the rebel leaders continued in power: Vincenzo d'Andrea became a trusted adviser to Oñate, who even persuaded the king to confirm in office the judges appointed by the ‘Most Serene Republic’.63
Three reasons explain such concessions. First, the revolt had severely weakened Naples: arson and bombardment had destroyed much property (one contemporary estimated the damage at six million ducats, roughly equivalent to a year's revenues from the entire kingdom), while between ten and fifteen thousand people had either died or fled abroad. Naples could no longer pay for imperial defence. Second, adverse weather ruined the harvest of 1648 throughout southern Italy: the price of grain in Naples itself quadrupled, increasing the risk of more popular violence. Third, rioting continued in Palermo, prolonging the risk of copycat movements on the mainland.
News of the failed bombardment of Naples arrived in Sicily on 18 October 1647 and, although Viceroy Los Vélez imposed a news blackout, ‘all day, from dawn until dusk, people awaited nothing except news from Naples’. The guilds, fearful of similar aggression, demanded the restoration of the privileges granted by Charles V, while torrential rain, so ‘abundant and cruel that it broke the machinery of the mills’, reawakened fears of famine.64 Dispirited by these continuing setbacks, Los Vélez sickened and died; but the death of this unpopular and unsuccessful minister actually benefited Spain, because Cardinal Teodoro Trivulzio, the primate of Sicily who boasted extensive diplomatic and military experience, happened to be in Naples. Don Juan immediately appointed him acting viceroy of Sicily. Trivulzio arrived in Palermo just two weeks after the death of his predecessor, and deftly exploited the divisions among the insurgents to assert his authority. Paradoxically, the continuation of extreme weather conditions helped him: gales blew down walls and trees; torrential rains caused floods on a scale unequalled in living memory. The new farming towns established on marginal lands earlier in the century harvested virtually nothing and so sent no grain to the cities that had become dependent on them. Finally, an unusually cold winter filled both the hospitals and the church shelters for the homeless. It was easy for Trivulzio to represent these misfortunes as evidence of divine disapproval of rebellion. News of the fall of the Neapolitan Republic strengthened the cardinal's hand further and he immediately arrested several former associates of Alesi, even though they had previously been pardoned. The demoralized guilds then evacuated the fortifications, and Trivulzio demanded that everyone give up their weapons. As in the kingdom of Naples, the Capopopoli of other cities also relinquished power, and collection of the new excise taxes began again on 1 September 1648, just before Don Juan arrived in Palermo with his galleys and troops.
As in Naples, the prince prudently made major concessions. Collection of the restored taxes became the responsibility of a specially elected body, the ‘Deputies for the new excises’, with wide-ranging powers; imposts fell mainly upon luxury goods (tobacco, bottled wine and carriages) and less on everyday items (flour, barley, meat and olive oil); above all, there were now no exceptions. When collection of the ‘new excises’ commenced, Cardinal Trivulzio made a point of paying first, and he formally waived his right to exemption both for himself and all other clerics. The king henceforth took care to appoint only Sicilians to lucrative church livings: when one fell vacant in July 1648, Philip wrote: ‘Although I could appoint a foreigner to this abbacy without prejudice to Sicily, to please the kingdom I want it to be a native’.65 It was a far cry from the imperious commands of earlier years.
A Final ‘epidemic of uprisings’
Despite all these concessions, in 1672 ‘the most important domestic conflict faced by the Spanish Monarchy in the second half of the seventeenth century’ broke out in Messina.66 The city had received major rewards from th
e crown in return for its loyalty during the uprising in 1647–8; above all, Don Juan granted Messina a monopoly of all silk exports from the island, exempted it from several taxes and promised that every viceroy would spend as long in the eastern city as he did in Palermo, bringing with him all the institutions of the central government. Needless to say, Palermo bitterly opposed this concession (the presence of the central government brought profit as well as prestige), and few viceroys complied. The Senate of Messina therefore sent a stream of petitions and envoys to Madrid to demand compliance, and when in 1669 the viceroy – obdurately remaining in Palermo – attempted to collect a new tax from Messina, widespread rioting resulted.
In Madrid, the ministers of the infant King Carlos II resolved that ‘the affairs of Messina have reached such a state that no other remedy will be effective other than using force’ – even though some voiced concern that this might drive the Senate ‘to despair so that they commit the ultimate crime: to surrender to the enemies of this crown the port that is the key of the two kingdoms of Naples and Sicily’. The appearance of a French fleet off the island allowed the viceroy to increase the garrisons of Spanish troops stationed in the fortresses in and around the city, and in 1671 he appointed as straticò Don Luis del Hoyo, an official ‘versed in all the political arts, having served in the “school” of the count of Oñate during the time of the revolution of Naples’.67 These measures coincided with a spell of excessive heat and drought that destroyed the harvest throughout the island. Grain prices reached almost the same level as in 1647–8, forcing the viceroy to introduce rationing and the governments of most cities to subsidize the price of grain. Nevertheless, the famine caused heavy mortality and drove the major cities into debt while filling the city streets with beggars and the country roads with bandits. Several urban riots broke out against magistrates who had failed to make adequate provision for the consequences of famine.
The existence of factions in most towns exacerbated the tensions, especially in Messina, where the Senate accused the straticò of exploiting the dearth to undermine the city's independence. Hoyo took his revenge in March 1672 when rioting broke out, and he encouraged the crowds to assault the Senate building and open all the city's gaols, releasing some 500 prisoners into the streets. After an uneasy two-week truce, under cover of the religious festivities on Ash Wednesday, the senators and their supporters organized another riot – but the straticò turned the crowds against them, and the mob burnt down the houses of the leading magistrates (in many of which they claimed to have found hidden reserves of grain). The victorious faction, known as merli, outlawed the Senate's supporters, known as malvizzi (the factions took their names from two varieties of Sicilian sparrow), so that when the viceroy arrived in May 1672, ‘the city was virtually deserted, the nobles and principal citizens having fled’.68
Hoyo and the viceroy now set out to destroy Messina's autonomy, revoking many of its privileges and imposing new taxes – but then orders arrived from Madrid to send all available resources to fight in a new war against France. Like the duke of Arcos in Naples a generation before, the viceroy complied – even withdrawing the galleys that normally patrolled the Straits of Messina. On 7 July 1674, the anniversary of Masaniello's rebellion, the malvizzi staged another riot. This time they succeeded, and although they professed loyalty to the king, and displayed his image prominently on the facade of the Senate building, they arrested and executed over 50 merli, exposing their mutilated bodies to public contempt.
The viceroy of neighbouring Naples urged Madrid to overlook this provocative behaviour, and to show ‘mildness, kindness and dissimulation’ to the rebels because ‘the same influences and grievances’ existed elsewhere; and, he continued, ‘as we saw in the years 1646 and 1647, having begun in Palermo, the epidemic of uprisings immediately attacked Naples’. His words went unheeded, and instead government forces blockaded Messina, hoping to force its submission. The malvizzi responded by ‘committing the ultimate crime’ identified five years before: they invited Louis XIV to take their city under his protection.69
At first Louis declined the honour, thinking (like Richelieu and Mazarin before him) that any revolt that lacked aristocratic backing would soon fail; but in September 1674 he changed his mind, announcing that ‘it is in my interest not to allow a fire that has spontaneously broken out to be extinguished’. Sending support to Messina, he reasoned, would compel Spain ‘not only to apply to the uprising all the resources it can extract from its Italian possessions, but even to divert some of its military and naval forces fighting in Catalonia’.70 A few weeks later, a French fleet arrived in Messina with troops and food, and for the next three years Sicily became a minor theatre of operations in Louis XIV's ‘Dutch War’ (see chapters 8 and 10 above). Nevertheless, Louis had little interest in ‘liberating’ Sicily from Spanish rule. As soon as financial pressure compelled him ‘to deploy my forces only in the places where they are absolutely necessary’, he abandoned his supporters on the island to their fate. French warships evacuated the last of their troops, and several hundred malvizzi, in March 1678.71
The Spanish authorities now exacted their revenge: every town in rebellion suffered ‘civil death’ by losing all its privileges. Messina also lost its tax exemptions and its leading institutions, including the Senate, the Mint, the University and even the office of straticò (which originated in Byzantine times). In addition, the victors shipped the city's historical archive and its principal art collections to Spain; razed the palace in which its Senate had met (replacing it with a statue that showed Carlos II killing the hydra of rebellion); and erected a vast citadel to preclude any further unrest. On top of all this, another drought struck Sicily – grain prices in 1679 again reached famine levels – which compounded the misery caused by the new taxes and the abandonment of many farms as a result of the war. Messina's population in the 1681 census stood at 62,279, barely half its pre-war total.
‘We need to think about bending in order to avoid breaking’
A generation before, when faced with domestic rebellions, the count-duke of Olivares had advised his master that ‘we need to think about bending in order to avoid breaking’; and seldom had the need for concessions been greater than during the rebellion of Messina because, as Luis Ribot observed, it ‘put to the test the entire Spanish system in the kingdom of Sicily, laying bare both its weaknesses and its strengths’.72 On the one hand, the malvizzi received support both from neighbouring communities in eastern Sicily and from sympathizers across the straits: several barons of Calabria, eager not only to make an exorbitant profit but also to make trouble for their suzerain, sent both supplies and reinforcements to Messina. On the other hand, the rebels and their French allies made little progress by force of arms: no community welcomed them spontaneously and no anti-Spanish uprising occurred elsewhere on the island. Given that bitterly opposed factions like the merli and malvizzi existed in every town, and given the four-year duration of the conflict, the absence of a general uprising is notable: those who hated Spanish rule had ample opportunity to act, yet few did so. By contrast, pro-Spanish riots took place in some areas under French control while several areas under government control staged demonstrations of loyalty.73
In part, this outcome reflects the ancient hostility between the leading cities of Sicily. Messina had rebelled alone in 1646 and it had stood aloof when Palermo and other cities rebelled the following year. It also reflected a tradition of hostility towards the French, originating in the massacre known as the ‘Sicilian Vespers’ in 1282, which ended their rule over the island. Nevertheless, Spain did not prevail solely by default: despite the xenophobic propaganda of the Risorgimento, in the seventeenth century Spanish rule was accepted by most of its vassals in other areas. In the Netherlands, for example, many citizens of Lille lamented their transfer from Spanish to French rule after Louis XIV captured the town in 1667. They regarded the ensuing settlement as ‘a peace without joy, because it left us under the king of France’, and for sever
al decades afterwards they celebrated the births and marriages of the Spanish royal family, drank the health of Carlos II and protested at any criticism of him.74 Had Spain lost its Italian territories, there is every reason to suppose that similar loyalty to the Habsburgs would have persisted.
Furthermore, as in Lombardy, so in Sicily, Madrid created a convivenza that turned important groups of its vassals into ‘stakeholders’ in the regime. In the wake of the rebellion of 1647–8, the government curtailed the political powers of the nobles, abolished tax exemptions for the privileged and entrusted collection of the new taxes (which fell upon luxury goods rather than everyday items) to a new elected body (‘the Deputies for the new excises’). In addition, henceforth the treasury paid interest on its bonds at 4 per cent for Palermitans, 3.5 per cent for other Sicilians, and 3 per cent for foreigners, and it created a ‘sinking fund’ to amortize the debt in an orderly fashion. The new system proved so successful that it remained in force, with only minor alterations, until the revolution of 1860.75
Philip IV and his ministers went to considerable trouble to create the same convivenza in Naples after Masaniello's revolt. A single example demonstrates the lengths to which they were prepared to go: the count of Oñate, the new viceroy, decided to confirm in office the judges appointed by the revolutionary regime, instead of reinstating those previously appointed by the crown. ‘This decision has caused great astonishment,’ the king protested, reminding his viceroy that ‘the nomination of these judges on 21 August 1647 was at the insistence of the populace during the seditions and tumults: that is what obliged and compelled that decision. Now that these disturbances have ceased, it does not seem appropriate to confirm it.’ Furthermore, ‘when we saw that the appointments failed to include Spaniards, as has always been the case, it caused even greater astonishment’, and so, he thundered, ‘it seems that neither the appointments then nor the decision now can be legal’. And yet, after rehearsing all these arguments, the king crumbled. ‘Considering the zeal with which you serve me, and the need to authorize all your actions,’ he concluded meekly,
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