Revealingly, Savonarola also described how his supernatural gift evolved:
To begin with I predicted the future by saying what was written in the Bible, using reason and parables, because people were not yet ready to hear me. After this I began to reveal what I knew of the future from a source other than the Bible. Until at last I confessed openly that what I was saying came directly from God.
It is not difficult to detect the growth of self-induced belief here, as it evolved from intense but reassuring readings of biblical events, through identification with those who featured in these events, to full-blown self-delusion – aided as it was by extreme fasting, vigils and a regime of the strictest self-denial. Alone in his cell, in a mental world of the Old Testament and the Book of Revelation – a world of prophets, the wrath of God being visited upon the errant tribe of Israel, and the vision of doom accompanying the end of time – it is not surprising that he began to see himself as inhabiting such an essentially pre-Christian world.fn6
The tongue-tied mumbler who had delivered his first feeble sermons in Florence had at last found release in his revelatory Lenten sermons at San Gimignano. Comforting himself that he had not been abandoned by God, he had read avidly of this apocalyptic world, and now he had taken his first steps into it. Even so, in his ‘Compendium’ Savonarola faced up to the question that he must, as a devout believer, have asked himself many times: ‘Could these visions be the work of the Devil?’ He decided, on his own empirical grounds, that these could not be the work of the Devil – his visions and prophecies had come true, and not once had they deceived him. However, such ‘symbolical visions’ are notoriously open to all manner of interpretation. Savonarola harked back to the visions he had seen of the sword of God poised ready to scourge the corrupt world, as well as the black cross rising out of the city of Rome. These visions had either come to pass (at least metaphorically) or were about to do so. We have already seen how Savonarola’s prophecy that the ‘scourge of God’ would arrive from ‘across the mountains’ could just as well have applied to the Turks as to the French. Seward even mentions how in the ‘Compendium’ Savonarola made a revealing admission:
Describing his embassy to Charles, he recalls explaining that God had appointed the King as His ‘minister of justice’. He had told Charles that he knew the French were coming long before, but God would not let him speak the king’s name.
At the time Savonarola had made his original prophecy (1492), Charles VIII had only just come of age and taken full possession of the French throne. Few had then known of the young king’s dreams of glorious conquest, which had not materialised until two years later. Besides, Florence remained France’s close ally and, as such, would have had nothing to fear from any French invasion. Up until this point Savonarola’s prophecy had been vague and general (predicting only that ‘the new Cyrus’ would come from ‘across the mountains’). It was not until Piero de’ Medici had begun to vacillate in his loyalty to France that Florence had reason to fear Charles VIII. Only then, according to Savonarola, had God ‘let him speak the king’s name’. Probably it would be more exact to say that only then had Savonarola realised the new Cyrus was to be Charles VIII.
The next part of the ‘Compendium’ describes in some detail a pilgrimage that Savonarola claimed to have made to see the Virgin Mary in heaven, accompanied by four companions: Faith, Simplicity, Prayer and Patience. His inspiration here was undoubtedly Dante’s Divine Comedy, though his description of his actual meeting with the Virgin has echoes of the early sixth-century Roman philosopher Boethius’ description of his encounter with the female embodiment of Philosophy. This appears in Boethius’ The Consolation of Philosophy, a book that widely influenced medieval and Renaissance Christianity and was certainly well known to Savonarola. Others have remarked upon the similarity between Savonarola’s detailed description of the Virgin’s bejewelled throne and that which appears in the Coronation of the Virgin, the last of the Mysteries of the Rosary, a subject that was not only popular with Dominican monks, but also inspired many artists. These borrowings would appear to have been unconscious, as is frequently the case in the poetic imagination. Savonarola’s visions and prophecies may have been biblical in manner, yet they undeniably contained elements that were beyond purely biblical poetry. He may on occasion have referred to his visions as ‘symbolical’, yet at other times he undeniably stressed that he wished his visions to be taken literally.
Did Savonarola convince himself that he had actually visited the Virgin Mary in heaven? There can be no doubt that he persuaded many amongst his congregation that he had done so. This was not a sceptical age: in the previous century people would point out Dante in the street, believing that he had travelled through hell, purgatory and paradise, just as he had described in his Divine Comedy. Not for nothing was Savonarola accompanied on his divine pilgrimage by ‘Simplicity’: the ‘little friar’ always maintained that his sermons were primarily addressed to ‘simple folk’. Others less simple, such as Ficino and Botticelli, were left to judge in their own minds the veracity – poetic or actual – of his visions. In the ‘Compendium of Revelations’, which would not have been available to illiterate ‘simple folk’, Savonarola answered his more sophisticated critics:
They know I do not mean to claim that my mortal body has visited Paradise, only that I experienced this in a mental vision. For certain, the trees, streams, doors and thrones that I describe do not exist in Paradise. If these sceptical critics had not been so blinded by their own malice, they would understand how such scenes were placed before my mind’s eye by the angels.
Such a defence is credible as a description of poetic inspiration, even for those who do not believe in angels. Yet Savonarola allowed no room for such open interpretation of the messages contained in his visions: here the word of God spoke through him. And his conversation with the Virgin Mary in heaven certainly fell into the latter category. She told him how:
The City of Florence shall become more glorious, more powerful and more wealthy than it has ever been. All the territory that it has lost shall be restored, and its borders will be extended further than ever before. With the guidance of the Holy Spirit, you have prophesied the conversion of the infidels, of the Turks and the Moors, and more, and this will all take place in good time, soon enough for it to be seen by many who are alive today … But as you have said, the renovation of the Church cannot take place without the suffering of many tribulations. Therefore, let it not seem strange that Florence shall have her share of troubles, though she shall suffer less than the rest … The good citizens will be less afflicted, according to their conduct, and in particular according to how severely they pass laws against the blasphemers, the gamblers, the sodomites and other evil doers … And with these words I was dismissed from the company of the Holy Virgin.
In Savonarola’s ‘Compendium of Revelations’ we see him as the potent blend of a medieval religious poet (the mystic visionary) and an Old Testament prophet.fn7 Here lay the further strength of Savonarola’s appeal to both intellectuals and the ‘simple folk’. Yet whereas the religious mystic usually existed at the fringes of society, the Old Testament prophets placed themselves fair and square at its heart. They sought to lead the people of Israel, to castigate them in the name of God and rule over them. If Savonarola was to fulfil the role he had now created for himself, it was inevitable that he would have to intensify the political leadership he had assumed, on behalf of democracy and the poor, and take over a greater measure of secular power.
The publication of the ‘Compendium of Revelations’ in Florence on 18 August 1485 meant that Savonarola’s influence, if not his actual power, began to reach a far wider audience. Such was its popularity that within three weeks four further editions had come out in Italian. A month later the first Latin edition appeared, translated by Savonarola himself. This was the edition that spread his name far and wide amongst the clergy and scholars; and just as he hoped, it was soon being read beyond the borders of Italy. Duri
ng 1496 no fewer than four further Latin editions would be printed, including one in Paris and one in southern Germany. According to Burlamacchi, even Sultan Bejazit II in Constantinople ordered a copy, which was translated for him.
The widely perceived corruption of the Church, especially since Alexander VI had become the successor to St Peter and thus God’s representative on Earth, had created a thirst for revelation which came directly from the divine source. Indeed, Savonarola’s apocalyptic visions were so reminiscent of the Revelation of St John the Divine, the last book of the Bible, that some even wondered if these visions might not be a long-awaited continuation of the holy book. Likewise, Savonarola’s prophecies of the renewal of the Church were seen as nothing less than a vision of a miraculous reformation,fn8 and struck many throughout Christendom with the full force of a miracle that was long overdue.
fn1 The residence of the Podestà, the militia captain in charge of policing and justice for the city. This building, which resembles a smaller version of the nearby Palazzo della Signoria, is better known as the Bargello.
fn2 Literally ‘the shamed poor’ – that is to say, those who lived in a state of humiliating destitution.
fn3 This was his Compendium Revelationum (‘Compendium of Revelations’).
fn4 Here, contrary to appearances, Savonarola was being historically accurate. The Florentines may have been proud of their parlamento, but it was nonetheless open to abuse. The citizens who came to vote were unarmed, but the entrances to the Piazza della Signoria were manned by armed men, ostensibly to keep order. However, these had on occasion been used to turn away voters who were known to be anti-Medici, while those who were allowed to enter the square had then been intimidated into voting for the establishment of new councils whose sole purpose had been to preserve Medici power. Savonarola placed his political faith in the less pliable democracy of the Great Council.
fn5 Many migraine sufferers experience scintillation or flickering brilliance during their hallucinations, whose content can be utterly convincing to those undergoing this condition. Hildegard of Bingen’s descriptions of her religious visions, as well as the visionary paintings of William Blake and Van Gogh, all contain these characteristic features.
fn6 The Book of Revelation is of course far from being pre-Christian, yet its tone and indeed many of its images hark back to the prophets of the Judaic era.
fn7 An interesting comparison can be made here with Joan of Arc, who was both a mystic visionary (hearing voices and seeing angels) and a prophet (who led France to the victories she had foreseen).
fn8 The actual Reformation, instigated by Martin Luther, would not begin until twenty-two years later, in 1517. This would not bring about the internal revolution Savanarola sought, but would become essentially external and resulted in a schism that he would have deplored.
15
The Voices of Florence
DESPITE THE EVIDENT popularity of Savonarola’s sermons, along with widespread satisfaction that Medici rule had been replaced by a more republican government, Florence was now a divided city. And the focus of this division was undeniably Savonarola. The most loyal supporters of the ‘little friar’ remained the Frateschi (the ‘Friar’s Men’), mainly drawn from amongst the monks of San Marco and their intellectual friends. However, Savonarola’s largest support came from those referred to derisively as the Piagnoni – a word that covered a spectrum of meanings. Literally, it means ‘snivellers’, ‘grumblers’ or ‘wailers’ – that is the downtrodden who were always snivelling away or complaining, and wailing out their prayers. These were Savonarola’s beloved ‘simple folk’, who despite his pleas for forgiveness and reconciliation still retained a deep-seated hatred for the Medici and their supporters, many of whom had of course fled the city. However, although those who remained behind had for the time being prudently adopted a low profile, they nonetheless represented a considerable force, who referred to themselves as the Bigi (the ‘Greys’), and would soon begin plotting for the return of Piero de’ Medici. As for Piero de’ Medici himself, he too still represented a distinct threat to Florence. Along with his well-connected brother Cardinal Giovanni, he had begun to solicit support for the Medici cause amongst various states, as well as the upper echelons of the Church, especially Alexander VI. Savonarola’s rejection of the Holy League had ensured that opinion in Rome, and indeed amongst leaders throughout Italy, was now swinging behind the reinstatement of the Medici.
However, the main opposition to Savonarola soon emerged from within Florence itself, in the form of the Arrabbiati (the ‘Enraged Ones’),fn1 a widespread group who resented Savonarola’s interference in the city’s secular government, some of whom also favoured a return to the old Medici days. Then there were the secular liberals who called themselves the Bianchi (the ‘Whites’), to distinguish themselves from the ‘Greys’; though glad to see the back of the Medici, they retained a nostalgic affection for the easygoing times of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and also believed that priests had no place in a republican government. Another group on the same side of the divide as the Arrabbiati, though hardly as passionate in their views, were the Tiepidi (the ‘Tepid Ones’ – that is, lukewarm, or moderate in their opinions). The Tiepidi were opposed to Savonarolan reform and drew much of their support from the permissive priests who saw no reason why their vows should confine them to a life of puritan penury. Besides being popular amongst the wealthy families from which many of the Tiepidi originated, this faction also had important links with Rome.
Nonetheless, the two main opposing groups in Florence remained the Arrabbiati and the Piagnoni, with the others aligning themselves alongside either one of these, with more or less sympathy. Savonarola remained the essential divisive factor. Both of these leading factions had their fervent advocates in the Great Council, even though the disenfranchised Piagnoni were not directly represented. Savonarola made it his duty to see that Piagnoni interests were taken into account, and their sheer numbers amongst the population, who now felt a new confidence as a result of the city’s liberation, ensured that their influence was felt.
The importance that Savonarola attached to the Great Council cannot be overestimated, at least at this early stage. He saw it as the safeguard of the citizens’ recently gained freedom, and pressed the Signoria to start as soon as possible on the building of a large chamber in the Palazzo della Signoria where the working quorum of 500 members of the Great Council could conduct their daily business. This chamber would be a material and symbolic manifestation of the new government, and the site chosen was on the first floor above a courtyard on the north side of the building known as the Dogana (formerly used as a customs house). The Signoria seems to have handed over the entire project to Savonarola from the outset, and he quickly appointed the local architect Simone del Pollaiuolo, a close friend and firm believer in his ideas. The building of this great chamber attracted widespread popular attention, and an indication of this interest (as well as the speed with which it was constructed) can be judged from entries in Landucci’s diary. On 18 July 1495 he recorded: ‘at the Dogana the foundations for the Great Hall were being laid; and the Frate was constantly encouraging this work’.1 Less than a month later, on 12 August, he noted: ‘The vaulting of the roof of the Great Hall has been finished.’ This must have been some feat for a hall of such a size. The present Salone dei Cinquecento (Chamber of the Five Hundred), as it is still known, is only a slight extension of the original hall, yet it measures 170 feet long, 75 feet wide and more than 25 feet high.
Some have seen this chamber, and the range of groups across the political spectrum that met within it, as the beginnings of modern political party politics as we know it. There is no doubting an embryonic resemblance here, but as the modern historian Lauro Martines argues: ‘though we may use the word “party”, we must [not confuse] the implied meaning with anything like the anatomy of a modern political machine’.2 Even in republican Florence, there was nothing approaching democratic politics in our modern Western
sense, just as there was no idea of universal suffrage. Class, group and family interests held sway, whilst ideology remained for the most part incoherent, certainly not articulated in any explicit programme.
Hence, even comparatively democratic Florence was unable to sustain a political party system as such. Any notion of semi-permanent adherence was unlikely to survive in a constitution where the elected Signoria only lasted in office for two months, and where membership of the Great Council expired after six months. Under such circumstances alliances between leading figures were liable to switch, and any that reached beyond family ties were quick to revert to trusted kinship loyalty at the first signs of difficulty. At the same time, there remained the all-important matter of commercial partnerships so essential for business of any sort, and the power of patronage, without which no young man could fulfil his political, administrative, commercial or artistic ambitions. These too were mainly structures of extended family loyalties, cemented by marriages and so forth. You did not send a man to represent your business or act as your manager in another city unless you could be absolutely sure of his loyalty and willingness to follow instructions. On top of this, as Martines makes clear, the political process was simply not capable of tolerating overt dissent, ‘or even – as an acknowledged right – peaceful opposition to a governing clique’. The entire notion of a democratic opposition remained unacceptable. Those who spoke out publicly against government policy were liable to be arrested and thrown in prison. Even if a senior member of a leading family voiced his opposition publicly, he and his entire family could be sent into exile or silenced by punitive taxes which could reduce them to ruin.
Death in Florence: the Medici, Savonarola and the Battle for the Soul of the Renaissance City Page 28
