Having consolidated his position at home, and formed an alliance with the pope that complemented his alliance with Milan, Lorenzo seemed to be in full control of his situation. But it was now that he made a major blunder. Fresh alum deposits had recently been discovered at Volterra, forty miles south-west of Florence. Volterra lay in Florentine territory and was subject to Florentine rule: tribute was paid, and a Florentine governor was installed, but otherwise the city largely ran itself. Perhaps inevitably, a dispute now arose, between a group backed by the governor and one backed by the local council, as to who should be granted the mining contract for the alum. In 1471 this was sent for arbitration to Florence, where Lorenzo unsurprisingly decided in favour of the governor, whom he had appointed. When this news reached Volterra, the city erupted in a riot, several Florentines were killed and the governor was fortunate to escape with his life.
Against the advice of the Signoria, Lorenzo decided that firm action should be taken. Only recently, Prato had fallen with surprising ease to the Party of the Hill dissidents, and he knew that several Tuscan cities were growing impatient of Florentine rule. Once again, Florence hired the condottiere Federigo da Montefeltro and his army, which Lorenzo ordered to march on Volterra. Here Montefeltro found the gates barred, and embarked upon a siege. On 16 June 1472, after twenty-five days, Volterra surrendered, whereupon Montefeltro’s mercenary troops went on the rampage – looting, raping and murdering the defenceless citizens. As soon as Lorenzo heard what had happened he rode post-haste to Volterra, where he made a heartfelt apology to the citizens, at the same time distributing alms in an attempt to alleviate their distress. But the harm had been done. It was he who had ordered in the troops, and he would for ever be blamed for the atrocity they had committed.
Although Lorenzo was practised in diplomacy from an early age, it was evident that he still had lessons to learn. Within months it was discovered that the alum mine at Volterra was far from matching the rich deposits at Tolfa. In the end it produced only limited quantities of low-grade alum, and mining was soon abandoned. Had Lorenzo not acted so precipitately, all this might have come to light earlier and the threat been defused. As it was, he now had to fortify the local garrison in order to maintain Florentine rule and prevent the city from switching its allegiance to nearby Siena.
As if to underline this irony, the Medici bank now began to suffer its own setbacks in the alum trade. One Florentine galley, and then another, was lost carrying alum on the long sea voyage around Spain to Bruges. Then the Venetians and the Genoese broke the papal monopoly and began shipping in Turkish alum to Bruges, seriously undercutting the alum reserves held in the Medici warehouses. Eventually the situation would become so dire that the Medici bank, which still had to pay papal dues on all alum that was mined at Tolfa, was actually making a loss on alum trading.
Meanwhile life at the Palazzo Medici continued as before, with its patronage of the Renaissance entering a golden age. Amongst the many and varied cultural figures associated with the Palazzo Medici during this period was the artist Sandro Botticelli, who was just thirty years old when he completed The Adoration of the Magi in 1475. Apart from being a masterpiece in its own right, this painting is also a monument to the Medici family. Although ostensibly depicting the three wise men and their entourage bearing their traditional gifts to the infant Christ, it also served as a family portrait depicting three generations of the Medici family. There are recognisable portraits of Cosimo, Piero and Lorenzo, along with his younger brother Giuliano; also included are likenesses of several influential Medici supporters and leading members of the Medici intellectual circle. As well as these, the picture included a strikingly assertive self-portrait of Botticelli himself at the edge of the crowd, one of the first indications of the emergent importance of the Renaissance artist, both in his own eyes and in those of his patrons.
Other leading artists in the Medici circle around this time included the ageing Michelozzo Michelozzi, who was now commissioned to create a tomb for Piero. Lorenzo also did his best to secure commissions, and smooth over controversies, for one of his more difficult geniuses, the young Leonardo da Vinci, whose ever-active mind leapt from project to project, from art to invention, frequently losing interest in the work for which he had been paid before he got round to completing it.
However, the figure to whom Lorenzo was most closely drawn was Angelo Poliziano, whom Lorenzo soon recognised as an even more accomplished poet than himself. Poliziano was born in 1454 in the town of Montepulciano, at the very southern limits of Tuscan territory, where his father was the Florentine-appointed governor. At the same time as the attempt to assassinate Piero de’ Medici in 1466, the citizens of Montepulciano had staged an anti-Florentine uprising, during which Poliziano’s father had been murdered. The twelve-year-old Poliziano was then brought up in Florence, where he quickly displayed precocious brilliance, writing Latin poetry at the age of thirteen and Greek verse four years later. This brought him to the attention of Lorenzo, and some time later he was invited to take up residence at the Palazzo Medici. By now Lorenzo had two sons, Piero and Giovanni, and Poliziano became their tutor, along with the Platonic scholar Ficino. Lorenzo seems to have been particularly drawn to Poliziano’s combination of profound scholarship and sheer joie de vivre, and their affectionately shared ebullience led some to suspect that for a time they were even lovers. Lorenzo’s sexual omnivorousness had not abated with his marriage. Poliziano also composed an epic featuring Lorenzo’s beloved younger brother Giuliano, who had originally been encouraged by Lorenzo to take an equal role in ruling the city, but preferred to remain out of the limelight and now acted more in an advisory capacity. Although Giuliano resembled his brother in his discriminating patronage and zest for life, he struck his contemporaries as lovable, rather than powerfully charismatic like his brother. As distant from his older brother, Giuliano was strikingly handsome, and attempted to emulate Lorenzo in the pursuit of women; but he was unfitted for the role of ruthless womaniser, and would frequently fall in love with women who rejected his advances. As a consequence, he was often plunged into a love-lorn state. In order to bolster Giuliano’s pride, Poliziano composed a companion poem to Pulci’s The Joust of Lorenzo de’ Medici, calling it The Joust of Giuliano de’ Medici. Although this poem did in fact describe an actual joust similar to the one won by his brother six years previously, Poliziano’s embellishments upon the event were intended as a private joke amongst the Medici circle. These related how the most beautiful woman in Florence, a title now held by the seventeen-year-old Simonetta Vespucci, fell in love with Giuliano, but failed to win his affection, ‘because none could melt the ice within his breast’.23
Some time around 1476, Lorenzo’s cousin Pierfrancesco de’ Medici, the non-active half-owner of the Medici bank who was related by marriage to the Acciaiuoli family, had died. Lorenzo immediately took Pierfranceso’s thirteen-year-old-son Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici and his younger brother Giovanni to live with him in the Palazzo Medici, where they too were educated by Ficino and Poliziano.fn7 However, Lorenzo’s motives for this were not entirely philanthropic. In becoming guardian of his cousin’s sons, he was intending to nullify the influence of the opposing Acciaiuoli family; at the same time he also became ‘guardian’ of their inheritance, which included their father’s half-share of the Medici bank, a sum that by this stage was far greater than that held by Lorenzo, who had sold off part of his assets to finance the Medici party machine.
By now the market for alum had become so glutted, and the price fallen so low, that in order to cut their losses the Medici bank had reduced to a mere trickle the quantity of alum leaving the Tolfa mines. Consequently this so reduced the amount paid in papal dues that Sixtus IV became suspicious and ordered an audit of the Medici accounts. Such distrust in Medici banking practice was unprecedented, and Lorenzo was deeply affronted. In a retaliatory move he refused to allow Francesco Salviati, the new papally appointed Archbishop of Pisa, to take up his office in the cit
y, on the grounds that the pope should have consulted him before making such an appointment in Florentine territory.
The relationship deteriorated further when Sixtus IV, who was constantly short of cash, approached the Medici bank for a loan of 40,000 florins, with which he wished to purchase the lordship of Imola for his ‘nephew’ Girolamo Riario (who was widely suspected of being his son). Imola’s strategic position in the Romagna meant that it controlled Florence’s eastern trade route across the Apennine mountains to the Adriatic, and Lorenzo’s suspicions were immediately aroused. He politely refused the pope his loan, and advised all other Florentine bankers to do the same.
Although the Medici bank had experienced a decline during the five years since Lorenzo had succeeded his father in 1469, other banks in Florence had continued to prosper – in particular that run by the ancient Pazzi family, whose wealth now surpassed that of the Medici. The Pazzi family saw their opportunity to displace the Medici as the papal bankers, and willingly loaned Sixtus IV his 40,000 florins. Lorenzo was incensed; at the same time he also saw the serious implications of the Pazzi’s move. Acting as the papal bankers would add to their already considerable wealth, which could only pose a threat to Medici power. Indeed, it was well known that the Pazzi family were becoming increasingly resentful of the Medici’s pre-eminent position in Florence.
Lorenzo vowed to strike back at the Pazzi at the first opportunity, which was not long in coming. In March 1477, the death was announced of the rich father of a woman who had married into the Pazzi family, whereupon his daughter claimed the large inheritance, which would then have passed into the Pazzi family, further adding to their wealth and power. Instead of allowing this inheritance to fall to the Pazzi, Lorenzo chose to intervene: he ruled that the inheritance should pass instead to the woman’s cousin, as he was the closest male relative. This was a judgement that nullified centuries-old tradition, at the same time setting a precedent that would have severe implications for every family in Florence, but Lorenzo refused to be dissuaded from his decision. According to Machiavelli, ‘Lorenzo, heady with youth and power, was determined to decide on everything and show Florence that all policy came from him.’24 Even his closest circle was beginning to have qualms about Lorenzo’s attitude, which the Pazzi inheritance seemed to have brought to a head. Once more, in the words of Machiavelli, ‘With regard to this business, Giuliano de’ Medici again and again expressed his misgivings, telling his brother that by wanting to take over too much he was liable to lose everything.’25 Giuliano’s misgivings were soon to be fulfilled.
Just over a year later, on Sunday 26 April 1478, Lorenzo was attending Mass at Florence Cathedral when a commotion broke out amongst the congregation. At the same time, two priests standing near the altar beside Lorenzo withdrew daggers from beneath their robes and attempted to stab him. One stabbed him in the neck, but he broke free of the mêlée and, supported by friends, managed to reach the safety of the sacristy, where he boarded himself in. Only later did Lorenzo learn that in the midst of the congregation his brother Giuliano had been stabbed to death.
Meanwhile there was an attempt by Francesco Salviati, the recently appointed Archbishop of Pisa, to seize the Florentine seat of government, the Palazzo della Signoria, but this too was foiled. Upon hearing of the assassination attempts, the city erupted in turmoil, but Medici supporters were quick to rally the citizens to their cause, spreading word that this was an attempt by foreign enemies to take over Florence. Still clad in his ecclesiastical robes, the Archbishop of Pisa was flung out of a high window of the Palazzo della Signoria with a noose around his neck. Below, the crowd in the piazza jeered as he danced in his death-throes on the end of the rope. Eventually the bloodstained Lorenzo appeared at a high window of the Palazzo Medici and reassured the alarmed citizens gathered below that he was still their leader and would resist all foreign attempts to take over their city. Lorenzo’s dramatic speech was received with heartfelt patriotic cheers, and the mob dispersed, hell-bent on revenge.
Only gradually, during the course of the day, did Lorenzo manage to piece together what had in fact happened. In a well-planned bid to overthrow the Medici, the Pazzi family had mounted an assassination attempt and a simultaneous coup, which had covertly been backed by Sixtus IV. The Medici’s enemies had united in the plot – one of the priests who had attempted to stab him came from Volterra, while Giuliano’s assassin was a leading member of the Pazzi family, and the coup itself was financed by Pazzi money. In retaliation, many genuine (or even suspected) Pazzi sympathisers were dragged from their houses and torn to pieces by the mob. The Volterran priest was caught and castrated, before being hanged.
Over the following week, Lorenzo ordered all leading members of the Pazzi family who had survived to be killed, thrown into prison or banished into exile. All Pazzi property and possessions were to be seized, and Medici agents were ordered in the name of the republic to attempt to sequester all assets of the Pazzi bank throughout Europe.
Yet despite this apparent victory, Lorenzo soon became aware of the extent and continuing determination of his enemies. Not only had the Pazzi been backed by Sixtus IV, but they had also been assured of the support of the pope’s close ally King Ferrante I of Naples. Even Florence’s trusted condottiere Federigo da Montefeltro had secretly been standing by in his nearby territory at Urbino, ready to move into Florentine territory to enforce the Pazzi takeover.
The pope was livid at the failure of the coup, and was especially outraged at the treatment of the Archbishop of Pisa, whilst dressed in his robes of office no less. Such an act was an offence against the Holy Church, and for this he excommunicated the entire population of Florence. These may have been mere words, but they were soon backed by action. War was declared on Florence, and papal troops, Montefeltro’s troops, as well as King Ferrante’s troops were launched into Florentine territory. Worse still, Florence could no longer even rely upon her usual ally Milan, as Lorenzo’s friend Duke Galeazzo Maria Sforza had been assassinated two years previously. Florence was defenceless, and threatened on all sides.
It was now that Lorenzo showed his true mettle. The headstrong impetuousness that had been his failing in his dealings with Volterra and early handling of the Pazzi opposition now proved the saving of himself and his city. Acting on impulse, Lorenzo suddenly rode out of Florence without telling anyone of his intentions. Only when it was too late to stop him did he write to the Signoria, informing them somewhat disingenuously: ‘Therefore, with the blessing of Your Excellencies of the Signoria, I have decided to go openly to Naples.’26 He then boarded a galley at Pisa and sailed down the coast, disembarking at Naples – where he planned to present himself before King Ferrante and intercede personally on behalf of Florence.
This was an act of truly foolhardy courage. The fifty-six-year-old King Ferrante was a merciless tyrant of mixed Spanish and Moorish descent whose upbringing had ‘embittered and darkened his nature, and it is certain that he was equalled in ferocity by none among the princes of his time’.27 Ominously for Lorenzo, Ferrante retained his unique way of dealing with his enemies: ‘He liked to have his opponents near him … dead and embalmed, dressed in the costume which they wore in their lifetime.’ But to widespread astonishment, Lorenzo’s gamble paid off. King Ferrante welcomed Lorenzo de’ Medici to his court, charmed by the daring young man who now proceeded to do all in his power to win over the king and the people of Naples. The galley slaves who had rowed Lorenzo’s ship from Pisa to Naples were granted their freedom, clothed in becoming outfits to replace their rags, and awarded with ten florins each to speed them on their way. Dowries were dispensed to families too poor to marry off their daughters, so that they could make good marriages. Setting himself up at the local residence of the Medici bank, Lorenzo began a round of lavish entertaining for the leading families of the city.
All this involved funds that neither he nor the Medici bank possessed. Years later, the Medici family would order all documents from these years to be destroyed, bu
t one survived. This disclosed that at some unspecified date Lorenzo de’ Medici had embezzled no fewer than 74,948 florins from the Florentine exchequer, diverting it into his own personal account ‘without the sanction of any law and without authority’.28 This colossal amount almost certainly dates from this period, and seems to have been used for two purposes. First and foremost, it funded Lorenzo’s lavish behaviour in Naples; and second, in the opinion of Raymond de Roover, the foremost authority on the Medici bank: ‘It is likely, therefore, that bankruptcy after the Pazzi conspiracy was diverted only by dipping into the public treasury.’29
On 13 March 1480 Lorenzo de’ Medici returned to Florence from Naples as a conquering hero. Not only had he persuaded King Ferrante to sign a peace treaty with Florence, but in the interests of Italian unity even Sixtus IV had joined this alliance. Florence was saved, although its citizens remained unaware of precisely how, and precisely how much, they themselves had contributed to this near-miraculous turn of events.
Death in Florence: the Medici, Savonarola and the Battle for the Soul of the Renaissance City Page 5
