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Title: Renaissance in Italy, Volume 1 (of 7)

Author: John Addington Symonds

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RENAISSANCE IN ITALY
THE AGE OF THE DESPOTS

BY

JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS
AUTHOR OF
STUDIES OF THE GREEK POETS, SKETCHES IN ITALY AND GREECE,
ETC.

____________________

'Di questi adunque oziosi principi, e di queste vilissime armi, sarà piena la
mia Istoria'
MACH. 1st Fior. lib. i.
____________________

NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1888
RENAISSANCE IN ITALY.

TO

MY FRIEND

JOHN BEDDOE, M.D., F.R.S.,

I DEDICATE MY WORK

ON

THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE.

AUTHOR'S EDITION

AUTHORS NOTE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.

Though these books taken together and in the order planned by the author
form one connected study of Italian culture at a certain period of history,
still each aims at a completeness of its own, and each can be read
independently of its companions. That the author does not regard
acquaintance with any one of them as essential to a profitable reading of
any other has been shown by the publication of each with a separate title-
page and without numeration of the volumes, while all three bear the same
general heading of "Renaissance in Italy."

PREFACE.

This volume is the First Part of a work upon the 'Renaissance in Italy.' The
Second Part treats of the Revival of Learning. The Third, of the Fine Arts.
The Fourth Part, in two volumes, is devoted to Italian Literature.
Owing to the extent of the ground I have attempted to traverse, I feel
conscious that the students of special departments will find much to be
desired in my handling of each part. In some respects I hope that the several
portions of the work may complete and illustrate each other. Many topics,
for example, have been omitted from Chapter VIII. in this volume because
they seemed better adapted to treatment in the future.
One of the chief difficulties which the critic has to meet in dealing with the
Italian Renaissance is the determination of the limits of the epoch. Two
dates, 1453 and 1527, marking respectively the fall of Constantinople and
the sack of Rome, are convenient for fixing in the mind that narrow space
of time during which the Renaissance culminated. But in order to trace its
progress up to this point, it is necessary to go back to a far more remote
period; nor, again, is it possible to maintain strict chronological consistency
in treating of the several branches of the whole theme.
The books of which the most frequent use has been made in this first
portion of the work are Sismondi's 'Républiques Italiennes'; Muratori's
'Rerum Italicarum Scriptores'; the 'Archivio Storico Italiano'; the seventh
volume of Michelet's 'Histoire de France'; the seventh and eighth volumes
of Gregorovius' 'Geschichte der Stadt Rom'; Ferrari's 'Rivoluzioni d' Italia';
Alberi's series of Despatches; Gino Capponi's 'Storia della Repubblica di
Firenze'; and Burckhardt's 'Cultur der Renaissance in Italien.' To the last-
named essay I must acknowledge especial obligations. It fell under my
notice when I had planned, and in a great measure finished, my own work.
But it would be difficult for me to exaggerate the profit I have derived from
the comparison of my opinions with those of a writer so thorough in his

learning and so delicate in his perceptions as Jacob Burckhardt, or the
amount I owe to his acute and philosophical handling of the whole subject.
I must also express a special debt to Ferrari, many of whose views I have
adopted in the Chapter on 'Italian History.' With regard to the alterations
introduced into the substance of the book in this edition, it will be enough to
say that I have endeavored to bring each chapter up to the level of present
knowledge.
In conclusion, I once more ask indulgence for a volume which, though it
aims at a completeness of its own, is professedly but one part of a long
inquiry.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

THE SPIRIT OF THE RENAISSANCE.

Difficulty of fixing Date--Meaning of Word Renaissance--The
Emancipation of the Reason--Relation of Feudalism to the
Renaissance--Mediæval Warnings of the Renaissance--Abelard,
Bacon, Joachim of Flora, the Provencals, the Heretics, Frederick
II.--Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio--Physical Energy of the Italians--
The Revival of Learning--The Double Discovery of the World and
of Man--Exploration of the Universe and of the Globe--Science--
The Fine Arts and Scholarship--Art Humanizes the Conceptions of
the Church--Three Stages in the History of Scholarship--The Age
of Desire--The Age of Acquisition--The Legend of Julia's Corpse--
The Age of the Printers and Critics--The Emancipation of the
Conscience--The Reformation and the Modern Critical Spirit--
Mechanical Inventions--The Place of Italy in the Renaissance 1

CHAPTER II.

ITALIAN HISTORY.

The special Difficulties of this Subject--Apparent Confusion--Want
of leading Motive--The Papacy--The Empire--The Republics--The
Despots--The People--The Dismemberment of Italy--Two main
Topics--The Rise of the Communes--Gothic Kingdom--Lombards-
-Franks--Germans--The Bishops--The Consuls--The Podestas--
Civil Wars--Despots--The Balance of Power--The Five Italian
States--The Italians fail to achieve National Unity--The Causes of

this Failure--Conditions under which it might have been achieved--
A Republic--A Kingdom--A Confederation--A Tyranny--The Part
played by the Papacy 32

CHAPTER III.

THE AGE OF THE DESPOTS.

Salient Qualities of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries in Italy-
-Relation of Italy to the Empire and to the Church--The
Illegitimate Title of Italian Potentates--The Free Emergence of
Personality--Frederick II. and the Influence of his Example--
Ezzelino da Romano--Six Sorts of Italian Despots--Feudal
Seigneurs--Vicars of the Empire--Captains of the People--
Condottieri--Nephews and Sons of Popes--Eminent Burghers--
Italian Incapacity for Self-government in Commonwealths--
Forcible Tenure of Power encouraged Personal Ability--The
Condition of the Despot's Life--Instances of Domestic Crime in the
Ruling Houses--Macaulay's Description of the Italian Tyrant--
Savonarola's and Matteo Villani's Descriptions of a Tyrant--The
Absorption of Smaller by Greater Tyrannies in the Fourteenth
Century--History of the Visconti--Francesco Sforza--The Part
played in Italian Politics by Military Leaders--Mercenary Warfare-
-Alberico da Barbiano, Braccio da Montone, Sforza Attendolo--
History of the Sforza Dynasty--The Murder of Galeazzo Maria
Sforza--The Ethics of Tyrannicide in Italy--Relation of the Despots
to Arts and Letters--Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta--Duke
Federigo of Urbino--The School of Vittorino and the Court of
Urbino--The Cortegiano of Castiglione--The Ideals of the Italian
Courtier and the Modern Gentleman--General Retrospect 99

CHAPTER IV.

THE REPUBLICS.

The different Physiognomies of the Italian Republics--The
Similarity of their Character as Municipalities--The Rights of
Citizenship--Causes of Disturbance in the Commonwealths--Belief
in the Plasticity of Constitutions--Example of Genoa--Savonarola's
Constitution--Machiavelli's Discourse to Leo X.--Complexity of
Interests and Factions--Example of Siena--Small Size of Italian
Cities--Mutual Mistrust and Jealousy of the Commonwealths--The
notable Exception of Venice--Constitution of Venice--Her wise
System of Government--Contrast of Florentine Vicissitudes--The
Magistracies of Florence--Balia and Parlamento--The Arts of the
Medici--Comparison of Venice and Florence in respect to
Intellectual Activity and Mobility--Parallels between Greece and
Italy-- Essential Differences--The Mercantile Character of Italian
Burghs--The 'Trattato del Governo della Famiglia'--The Bourgeois
Tone of Florence, and the Ideal of a Burgher--Mercenary Arms 193

CHAPTER V.

THE FLORENTINE HISTORIANS.

Florence, the City of Intelligence--Cupidity, Curiosity, and the
Love of Beauty--Florentine Historical Literature--Philosophical
Study of History--Ricordano Malespini--Florentine History
compared with the Chronicles of other Italian Towns--The Villani--
The Date 1300--Statistics--Dante's Political Essays and Pamphlets-
-Dino Compagni--Latin Histories of Florence in Fifteenth Century-
-Lionardo Bruni and Poggio Bracciolini--The Historians of the
First Half of the Sixteenth Century--Men of Action and Men of
Letters; the Doctrinaires--Florence between 1494 and 1537--
Varchi, Segni, Nardi, Pitti, Nerli, Guicciardini--The Political
Importance of these Writers--The Last Years of Florentine
Independence, and the Siege of 1529--State of Parties--Filippo
Strozzi--Different Views of Florentine Weakness taken by the
Historians--Their Literary Qualities--Francesco Guicciardini and
Niccolo Machiavelli--Scientific Statists--Discord between Life and
Literature--The Biography of Guicciardini--His 'Istoria d'Italia,'
'Dialogo del Reggimento di Firenze,' 'Storia Fiorentina,' 'Ricordi'--

Biography of Machiavelli--His Scheme of a National Militia--
Dedication of 'The Prince'--Political Ethics of the Italian
Renaissance--The 'Discorsi'--The Seven Books on the Art of War
and the 'History of Florence. 246

CHAPTER VI.

'THE PRINCE' OF MACHIAVELLI.

The Sincerity of Machiavelli in this Essay--Machiavellism--His
deliberate Formulation of a cynical political Theory--Analysis of
'The Prince'--Nine Conditions of Principalities--The Interest of the
Conqueror acknowledged as the sole Motive of his Policy--
Critique of Louis XII.--Feudal Monarchy and Oriental Despotism--
Three Ways of subduing a free City--Example of Pisa--
Principalities founded by Adventurers--Moses, Romulus, Cyrus,
Theseus--Savonarola--Francesco Sforza--Cesare Borgia--
Machiavelli's personal Relation to him--Machiavelli's Admiration
of Cesare's Genius--A Sketch of Cesare's Career--Concerning those
who have attained to Sovereignty by Crimes--Oliverotto da Fermo-
-The Uses of Cruelty--Messer Ramiro d' Orco--The pessimistic
Morality of Machiavelli--On the Faith of Princes--Alexander VI.--
The Policy of seeming virtuous and honest--Absence of chivalrous
Feeling in Italy--The Military System of a powerful Prince--
Criticism of Mercenaries and Auxiliaries--Necessity of National
Militia--The Art of War--Patriotic Conclusion of the Treatise--
Machiavelli and Savonarola 334

CHAPTER VII.

THE POPES OF THE RENAISSANCE.

The Papacy between 1447 and 1527--The Contradictions of the
Renaissance Period exemplified by the Popes--Relaxation of their
hold over the States of the Church and Rome during the Exile in
Avignon--Nicholas V.--His Conception of a Papal Monarchy--Pius

II.--The Crusade--Renaissance Pontiffs--Paul II.--Persecution of
the Platonists--Sixtus IV.--Nepotism--The Families of Riario and
Delia Rovere--Avarice--Love of Warfare--Pazzi Conspiracy--
Inquisition in Spain--Innocent VIII.--Franceschetto Cibo--The
Election of Alexander VI.--His Consolidation of the Temporal
Power--Policy toward Colonna and Orsini Families--Venality of
everything in Rome--Policy toward the Sultan--The Index--The
Borgia Family--Lucrezia--Murder of Duke of Gandia--Cesare and
his Advancement--The Death of Alexander--Julius II.--His violent
Temper--Great Projects and commanding Character--Leo X.--His
Inferiority to Julius--S. Peter's and the Reformation--Adrian VI.--
His Hatred of Pagan Culture--Disgust of the Roman Court at his
Election--Clement VII.--Sack of Rome--Enslavement of Florence
371

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CHURCH AND MORALITY.

Corruption of the Church--Degradation and Division of Italy--
Opinions of Machiavelli, Guicciardini, and King Ferdinand of
Naples--Incapacity of the Italians for thorough Reformation--The
Worldliness and Culture of the Renaissance--Witness of Italian
Authors against the Papal Court and the Convents--Superstitious
Respect for Relics--Separation between Religion and Morality--
Mixture of Contempt and Reverence for the Popes--Gianpaolo
Baglioni--Religious Sentiments of the Tyrannicides--Pietro Paolo
Boscoli--Tenacity of Religions--The direct Interest of the Italians
in Rome--Reverence for the Sacraments of the Church--Opinions
pronounced by Englishmen on Italian Immorality--Bad Faith and
Sensuality--The Element of the Fancy in Italian Vice--The Italians
not Cruel, or Brutal, or Intemperate by Nature--Domestic Murders-
-Sense of Honor in Italy--Onore and Onesta--General Refinement--
Good Qualities of the People--Religious Revivalism 447

CHAPTER IX.

SAVONAROLA.

The Attitude of Savonarola toward the Renaissance--His
Parentage, Birth, and Childhood at Ferrara--His Poem on the Ruin
of the World--Joins the Dominicans at Bologna--Letter to his
Father--Poem on the Ruin of the Church--Begins to preach in
1482--First Visit to Florence--San Gemignano--His Prophecy--
Brescia in 1486--Personal Appearance and Style of Oratory--Effect
on his audience--The three Conclusions--His Visions--Savonarola's
Shortcomings as a patriotic Statesman--His sincere Belief in his
prophetic Calling--Friendship with Pico della Mirandola--Settles in
Florence, 1490--Convent of San Marco--Savonarola's Relation to
Lorenzo de' Medici--The death of Lorenzo--Sermons of 1493 and
1494--the Constitution of 1495--Theocracy in Florence--Piagnoni,
Bigi, and Arrabhiati--War between Savonarola and Alexander VI.--
The Signory suspends him from preaching in the Duomo in 1498--
Attempts to call a Council--The Ordeal by Fire--San Marco
stormed by the Mob--Trial and Execution of Savonarola 497

CHAPTER X.

CHARLES VIII.

The Italian States confront the Great Nations of Europe--Policy of
Louis XI. of France--Character of Charles VIII.--Preparations for
the Invasion of Italy--Position of Lodovico Sforza--Diplomatic
Difficulties in Italy after the Death of Lorenzo de' Medici--
Weakness of the Republics--Il Moro--The year 1494---Alfonso of
Naples--Inefficiency of the Allies to cope with France--Charles at
Lyons is stirred up to the Invasion of Italy by Giuliano della
Rovere--Charles at Asti and Pavia--Murder of Gian Galeazzo
Sforza--Mistrust in the French Army--Rapallo and Fivizzano--The
Entrance into Tuscany--Part played by Piero de' Medici--Charles at
Pisa--His Entrance into Florence--Piero Capponi--The March on
Rome--Entry into Rome--Panic of Alexander VI.--The March on
Naples--The Spanish Dynasty: Alfonso and Ferdinand--Alfonso II.

escapes to Sicily--Ferdinand II. takes Refuge in Ischia--Charles at
Naples--The League against the French--De Comines at Venice--
Charles makes his Retreat by Rome, Siena, Pisa, and Pontremoli--
The Battle of Fornovo--Charles reaches Asti and returns to France-
-Italy becomes the Prize to be fought for by France, Spain, and
Germany--Importance of the Expedition of Charles VIII. 537

APPENDICES.

No. I.—The Blood-madness of Tyrants 589

No. II.—Translations of Nardi, 'Istorie di Firenze,' lib. l. cap. 4;
and of Varchi, 'Storia Fiorentina,' lib. iii. caps. 20,21, 22; lib. ix.
caps. 48, 49, 46592

No. III.—The Character of Alexander VI., from Guicciardini's
'Storia Fiorentina,' cap. 27603

No. IV.—Religious Revivals in Mediæval Italy606

No. V.—The 'Sommario della Storia d' Italia dal 1511 al 1527, by
Francesco Vettori624

INDEX639

RENAISSANCE IN ITALY.

CHAPTER I.

THE SPIRIT OF THE RENAISSANCE.

Difficulty of fixing Date—Meaning of Word Renaissance—The
Emancipation of the Reason—Relation of Feudalism to the Renaissance—
Mediæval Warnings of the Renaissance—Abelard, Bacon, Joachim of
Flora, the Provençals, the Heretics, Frederick II.—Dante, Petrarch,
Boccaccio—Physical Energy of the Italians—The Revival of Learning—
The Double Discovery of the World and of Man—Exploration of the
Universe and of the Globe—Science—The Fine Arts and Scholarship—Art
Humanizes the Conceptions of the Church—Three Stages in the History of
Scholarship—The Age of Desire—The Age of Acquisition—The Legend of
Julia's Corpse—The Age of the Printers and Critics—The Emancipation of
the Conscience—The Reformation and the Modern Critical Spirit—
Mechanical Inventions—The Place of Italy in the Renaissance.
The word Renaissance has of late years received a more extended
significance than that which is implied in our English equivalent—the
Revival of Learning. We use it to denote the whole transition from the
Middle Ages to the Modern World; and though it is possible to assign
certain limits to the period during which this transition took place, we
cannot fix on any dates so positively as to say—between this year and that
the movement was accomplished. To do so would be like trying to name the
days on which spring in any particular season began and ended Yet we
speak of spring as different from winter and from summer. The truth is, that
in many senses we are still in mid-Renaissance. The evolution has not been
completed. The new life is our own and is progressive. As in the
transformation scene of some great Masque, so here the waning and the
waxing shapes are mingled; the new forms, at first shadowy and filmy, gain

upon the old; and now both blend; and now the old scene fades into the
background; still, who shall say whether the new scene be finally set up?
In like manner we cannot refer the whole phenomena of the Renaissance to
any one cause or circumstance, or limit them within the field of any one
department of human knowledge. If we ask the students of art what they
mean by the Renaissance, they will reply that it was the revolution effected
in architecture, painting, and sculpture by the recovery of antique
monuments. Students of literature, philosophy, and theology see in the
Renaissance that discovery of manuscripts, that passion for antiquity, that
progress in philology and criticism, which led to a correct knowledge of the
classics, to a fresh taste in poetry, to new systems of thought, to more
accurate analysis, and finally to the Lutheran schism and the emancipation
of the conscience. Men of science will discourse about the discovery of the
solar system by Copernicus and Galileo, the anatomy of Vesalius, and
Harvey's theory of the circulation of the blood. The origination of a truly
scientific method is the point which interests them most in the Renaissance.
The political historian, again, has his own answer to the question. The
extinction of feudalism, the development of the great nationalities of
Europe, the growth of monarchy, the limitation of the ecclesiastical
authority and the erection of the Papacy into an Italian kingdom, and in the
last place the gradual emergence of that sense of popular freedom which
exploded in the Revolution; these are the aspects of the movement which
engross his attention. Jurists will describe the dissolution of legal fictions
based upon the false decretals, the acquisition of a true text of the Roman
Code, and the attempt to introduce a rational method into the theory of
modern jurisprudence, as well as to commence the study of international
law. Men whose attention has been turned to the history of discoveries and
inventions will relate the exploration of America and the East, or will point
to the benefits conferred upon the world by the arts of printing and
engraving, by the compass and the telescope, by paper and by gunpowder;
and will insist that at the moment of the Renaissance all these instruments
of mechanical utility started into existence, to aid the dissolution of what
was rotten and must perish, to strengthen and perpetuate the new and useful
and life-giving. Yet neither any one of these answers taken separately, nor
indeed all of them together, will offer a solution of the problem. By the term
Renaissance, or new birth, is indicated a natural movement, not to be

explained by this or that characteristic, but to be accepted as an effort of
humanity for which at length the time had come, and in the onward
progress of which we still participate. The history of the Renaissance is not
the history of arts, or of sciences, or of literature, or even of nations. It is the
history of the attainment of self-conscious freedom by the human spirit
manifested in the European races. It is no mere political mutation, no new
fashion of art, no restoration of classical standards of taste. The arts and the
inventions, the knowledge and the books, which suddenly became vital at
the time of the Renaissance, had long lain neglected on the shores of the
Dead Sea which we call the Middle Ages. It was not their discovery which
caused the Renaissance. But it was the intellectual energy, the spontaneous
outburst of intelligence, which enabled mankind at that moment to make
use of them. The force then generated still continues, vital and expansive, in
the spirit of the modern world.
How was it, then, that at a certain period, about fourteen centuries after
Christ, to speak roughly, the intellect of the Western races awoke as it were
from slumber and began once more to be active? That is a question which
we can but imperfectly answer. The mystery of organic life defeats analysis;
whether the subject of our inquiry be a germ-cell, or a phenomenon so
complex as the commencement of a new religion, or the origination of a
new disease, or a new phase in civilization, it is alike impossible to do more
than to state the conditions under which the fresh growth begins, and to
point out what are its manifestations. In doing so, moreover, we must be
careful not to be carried away by words of our own making. Renaissance,
Reformation, and Revolution are not separate things, capable of being
isolated; they are moments in the history of the human race which we find it
convenient to name; while history itself is one and continuous, so that our
utmost endeavors to regard some portion of it independently of the rest will
be defeated.
A glance at the history of the preceding centuries shows that, after the
dissolution of the fabric of the Roman Empire, there was no immediate
possibility of any intellectual revival. The barbarous races which had
deluged Europe had to absorb their barbarism: the fragments of Roman
civilization had either to be destroyed or assimilated: the Germanic nations
had to receive culture and religion from the people they had superseded; the
Church had to be created, and a new form given to the old idea of the

Empire. It was further necessary that the modern nationalities should be
defined, that the modern languages should be formed, that peace should be
secured to some extent, and wealth accumulated, before the indispensable
conditions for a resurrection of the free spirit of humanity could exist. The
first nation which fulfilled these conditions was the first to inaugurate the
new era. The reason why Italy took the lead in the Renaissance was, that
Italy possessed a language, a favorable climate, political freedom, and
commercial prosperity, at a time when other nations were still semi-
barbarous. Where the human spirit had been buried in the decay of the
Roman Empire, there it arose upon the ruins of that Empire; and the Papacy,
called by Hobbes the ghost of the dead Roman Empire, seated, throned and
crowned, upon the ashes thereof, to some extent bridged over the gulf
between the two periods.
Keeping steadily in sight the truth that the real quality of the Renaissance
was intellectual, that it was the emancipation of the reason for the modern
world, we may inquire how feudalism was related to it. The mental
condition of the Middle Ages was one of ignorant prostration before the
idols of the Church—dogma and authority and scholasticism. Again, the
nations of Europe during these centuries were bound down by the brute
weight of material necessities. Without the power over the outer world
which the physical sciences and useful arts communicate, without the ease
of life which wealth and plenty secure, without the traditions of a civilized
past, emerging slowly from a state of utter rawness, each nation could
barely do more than gain and keep a difficult hold upon existence. To
depreciate the work achieved during the Middle Ages would be ridiculous.
Yet we may point out that it was done unconsciously—that it was a gradual
and instinctive process of becoming. The reason, in one word, was not
awake; the mind of man was ignorant of its own treasures and its own
capacities. It is pathetic to think of the mediæval students poring over a
single ill-translated sentence of Porphyry, endeavoring to extract from its
clauses whole systems of logical science, and torturing their brains about
puzzles hardly less idle than the dilemma of Buridan's donkey, while all the
time, at Constantinople and at Seville, in Greek and Arabic, Plato and
Aristotle were alive but sleeping, awaiting only the call of the Renaissance
to bid them speak with voice intelligible to the modern mind. It is no less
pathetic to watch tide after tide of the ocean of humanity sweeping from all

parts of Europe, to break in passionate but unavailing foam upon the shores
of Palestine, whole nations laying life down for the chance of seeing the
walls of Jerusalem, worshiping the sepulcher whence Christ had risen,
loading their fleet with relics and with cargoes of the sacred earth, while all
the time within their breasts and brains the spirit of the Lord was with them,
living but unrecognized, the spirit of freedom which erelong was destined
to restore its birthright to the world.
Meanwhile the middle age accomplished its own work. Slowly and
obscurely, amid stupidity and ignorance, were being forged the nations and
the languages of Europe. Italy, France, Spain, England, Germany took
shape. The actors of the future drama acquired their several characters, and
formed the tongues whereby their personalities should be expressed. The
qualities which render modern society different from that of the ancient
world, were being impressed upon these nations by Christianity, by the
Church, by chivalry, by feudal customs. Then came a further phase. After
the nations had been molded, their monarchies and dynasties were
established. Feudalism passed by slow degrees into various forms of more
or less defined autocracy. In Italy and Germany numerous principalities
sprang into pre-eminence; and though the nation was not united under one
head, the monarchical principle was acknowledged. France and Spain
submitted to a despotism, by right of which the king could say, 'L'Etat c'est
moi.' England developed her complicated constitution of popular right and
royal prerogative. At the same time the Latin Church underwent a similar
process of transformation. The Papacy became more autocratic. Like the
king, the Pope began to say, 'L'Eglise c'est moi.' This merging of the
mediæval State and mediæval Church in the personal supremacy of King
and Pope may be termed the special feature of the last age of feudalism
which preceded the Renaissance. It was thus that the necessary conditions
and external circumstances were prepared. The organization of the five
great nations, and the leveling of political and spiritual interests under
political and spiritual despots, formed the prelude to that drama of liberty of
which the Renaissance was the first act, the Reformation the second, the
Revolution the third, and which we nations of the present are still evolving
in the establishment of the democratic idea.
Meanwhile, it must not be imagined that the Renaissance burst suddenly
upon the world in the fifteenth century without premonitory symptoms. Far

from that: within the middle age itself, over and over again, the reason
strove to break loose from its fetters. Abelard, in the twelfth century, tried to
prove that the interminable dispute about entities and words was founded on
a misapprehension. Roger Bacon, at the beginning of the thirteenth century,
anticipated modern science, and proclaimed that man, by use of nature, can
do all things. Joachim of Flora, intermediate between the two, drank one
drop of the cup of prophecy offered to his lips, and cried that 'the Gospel of
the Father was past, the Gospel of the Son was passing, the Gospel of the
Spirit was to be.' These three men, each in his own way, the Frenchman as a
logician, the Englishman as an analyst, the Italian as a mystic, divined the
future but inevitable emancipation of the reason of mankind. Nor were there
wanting signs, especially in Provence, that Aphrodite and Phoebus and the
Graces were ready to resume their sway. The premature civilization of that
favored region, so cruelly extinguished by the Church, was itself a reaction
of nature against the restrictions imposed by ecclesiastical discipline; while
the songs of the wandering students, known under the title of Carmina
Burana, indicate a revival of Pagan or pre-Christian feeling in the very
stronghold of mediæval learning. We have, moreover, to remember the
Cathari, the Paterini, the Fraticelli, the Albigenses, the Hussites—heretics in
whom the new light dimly shone, but who were instantly exterminated by
the Church. We have to commemorate the vast conception of the Emperor
Frederick II., who strove to found a new society of humane culture in the
South of Europe, and to anticipate the advent of the spirit of modern
tolerance. He, too, and all his race were exterminated by the Papal jealousy.
Truly we may say with Michelet that the Sibyl of the Renaissance kept
offering her books in vain to feudal Europe. In vain because the time was
not yet. The ideas projected thus early on the modern world were immature
and abortive, like those headless trunks and zoophitic members of half-
molded humanity which, in the vision of Empedocles, preceded the birth of
full-formed man. The nations were not ready. Franciscans imprisoning
Roger Bacon for venturing to examine what God had meant to keep secret;
Dominicans preaching crusades against the cultivated nobles of Toulouse;
Popes stamping out the seed of enlightened Frederick; Benedictines erasing
the masterpieces of classical literature to make way for their own litanies
and lurries, or selling pieces of the parchment for charms; a laity devoted by
superstition to saints and by sorcery to the devil; a clergy sunk in sensual
sloth or fevered with demoniac zeal: these still ruled the intellectual

destinies of Europe. Therefore the first anticipations of the Renaissance
were fragmentary and sterile.
Then came a second period. Dante's poem, a work of conscious art,
conceived in a modern spirit and written in a modern tongue, was the first
true sign that Italy, the leader of the nations of the West, had shaken off her
sleep. Petrarch followed. His ideal, of antique culture as the everlasting
solace and the universal education of the human race, his lifelong effort to
recover the classical harmony of thought and speech, gave a direct impulse
to one of the chief movements of the Renaissance—its passionate outgoing
toward the ancient world. After Petrarch, Boccaccio opened yet another
channel for the stream of freedom. His conception of human existence as
joy to be accepted with thanksgiving, not as a gloomy error to be rectified
by suffering, familiarized the fourteenth century with that form of semi-
pagan gladness which marked the real Renaissance.
In Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio Italy recovered the consciousness of
intellectual liberty. What we call the Renaissance had not yet arrived; but
their achievement rendered its appearance in due season certain. With Dante
the genius of the modern world dared to stand alone and to create
confidently after its own fashion. With Petrarch the same genius reached
forth across the gulf of darkness, resuming the tradition of a splendid past.
With Boccaccio the same genius proclaimed the beauty of the world, the
goodliness of youth and strength and love and life, unterrified by hell,
unappalled by the shadow of impending death.
It was now, at the beginning of the fourteenth century, when Italy had lost
indeed the heroic spirit which we admire in her Communes of the
thirteenth, but had gained instead ease, wealth, magnificence, and that
repose which springs from long prosperity, that the new age at last began.
Europe was, as it were, a fallow field, beneath which lay buried the
civilization of the old world. Behind stretched the centuries of
mediævalism, intellectually barren and inert. Of the future there were as yet
but faint foreshadowings. Meanwhile, the force of the nations who were
destined to achieve the coming transformation was unexhausted; their
physical and mental faculties were unimpaired. No ages of enervating
luxury, of intellectual endeavor, of life artificially preserved or ingeniously
prolonged, had sapped the fiber of the men who were about to inaugurate

the modern world. Severely nurtured, unused to delicate living, these giants
of the Renaissance were like boys in their capacity for endurance, their
inordinate appetite for enjoyment. No generations, hungry, sickly, effete,
critical, disillusioned, trod them down. Ennui and the fatigue that springs
from skepticism, the despair of thwarted effort, were unknown. Their fresh
and unperverted senses rendered them keenly alive to what was beautiful
and natural. They yearned for magnificence, and instinctively
comprehended splendor. At the same time the period of satiety was still far
off. Everything seemed possible to their young energy; nor had a single
pleasure palled upon their appetite. Born, as it were, at the moment when
desires and faculties are evenly balanced, when the perceptions are not
blunted nor the senses cloyed, opening their eyes for the first time on a
world of wonder, these men of the Renaissance enjoyed what we may term
the first transcendent springtide of the modern world. Nothing is more
remarkable than the fullness of the life that throbbed in them. Natures rich
in all capacities and endowed with every kind of sensibility were frequent.
Nor was there any limit to the play of personality in action. We may apply
to them what Mr. Browning has written of Sordello's temperament:—
A footfall there
Suffices to upturn to the warm air
Half germinating spices, mere decay
Produces richer life, and day by day
New pollen on the lily-petal grows,
And still more labyrinthine buds the rose.
During the Middle Ages man had lived enveloped in a cowl. He had not
seen the beauty of the world or had seen it only to cross himself, and turn
aside and tell his beads and pray. Like S. Bernard traveling along the shores
of the Lake Leman, and noticing neither the azure of the waters, nor the
luxuriance of the vines, nor the radiance of the mountains with their robe of
sun and snow, but bending a thought-burdened forehead over the neck of
his mule; even like this monk, humanity had passed, a careful pilgrim,
intent on the terrors of sin, death, and judgment, along the highways of the
world, and had scarcely known that they were sightworthy, or that life is a
blessing. Beauty is a snare, pleasure a sin, the world a fleeting show, man
fallen and lost, death the only certainty, judgment inevitable, hell
everlasting, heaven hard to win; ignorance is acceptable to God as a proof

of faith and submission; abstinence and mortification are the only safe rules
of life: these were the fixed ideas of the ascetic mediæval Church. The
Renaissance shattered and destroyed them, rending the thick veil which
they had drawn between the mind of man and the outer world, and flashing
the light of reality upon the darkened places of his own nature. For the
mystic teaching of the Church was substituted culture in the classical
humanities; a new ideal was established, whereby man strove to make
himself the monarch of the globe on which it is his privilege as well as
destiny to live. The Renaissance was the liberation of the reason from a
dungeon, the double discovery of the outer and the inner world.
An external event determined the direction which this outburst of the spirit
of freedom should take. This was the contact of the modern with the ancient
mind which followed upon what is called the Revival of Learning. The fall
of the Greek Empire in 1453, while it signalized the extinction of the old
order, gave an impulse to the now accumulated forces of the new. A belief
in the identity of the human spirit under all previous manifestations and in
its uninterrupted continuity was generated. Men found that in classical as
well as Biblical antiquity existed an ideal of human life, both moral and
intellectual, by which they might profit in the present. The modern genius
felt confidence in its own energies when it learned what the ancients had
achieved. The guesses of the ancients stimulated the exertions of the
moderns. The whole world's history seemed once more to be one.
The great achievements of the Renaissance were the discovery of the world
and the discovery of man.[1] Under these two formulæ may be classified all
the phenomena which properly belong to this period. The discovery of the
world divides itself into two branches—the exploration of the globe, and
that systematic exploration of the universe which is in fact what we call
Science. Columbus made known America in 1492; the Portuguese rounded
the Cape in 1497; Copernicus explained the solar system in 1507. It is not
necessary to add anything to this plain statement; for, in contact with facts
of such momentous import, to avoid what seems like commonplace
reflection would be difficult. Yet it is only when we contrast the ten
centuries which preceded these dates with the four centuries which have
ensued, that we can estimate the magnitude of that Renaissance movement
by means of which a new hemisphere has been added to civilization. In like
manner, it is worth while to pause a moment and consider what is implied

in the substitution of the Copernican for the Ptolemaic system. The world,
regarded in old times as the center of all things, the apple of God's eye, for
the sake of which were created sun and moon and stars, suddenly was found
to be one of the many balls that roll round a giant sphere of light and heat,
which is itself but one among innumerable suns attended each by a cortège
of planets, and scattered, how we know not, through infinity. What has
become of that brazen seat of the old gods, that Paradise to which an
ascending Deity might be caught up through clouds, and hidden for a
moment from the eyes of his disciples. The demonstration of the simplest
truths of astronomy destroyed at a blow the legends that were most
significant to the early Christians by annihilating their symbolism. Well
might the Church persecute Galileo for his proof of the world's mobility.
Instinctively she perceived that in this one proposition was involved the
principle of hostility to her most cherished conceptions, to the very core of
her mythology. Science was born, and the warfare between scientific
positivism and religious metaphysic was declared. Henceforth God could
not be worshiped under the forms and idols of a sacerdotal fancy; a new
meaning had been given to the words: 'God is a Spirit, and they that
worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.' The reason of man
was at last able to study the scheme of the universe, of which he is a part,
and to ascertain the actual laws by which it is governed. Three centuries and
a half have elapsed since Copernicus revolutionized astronomy. It is only by
reflecting on the mass of knowledge we have since acquired, knowledge not
only infinitely curious but also incalculably useful in its application to the
arts of life, and then considering how much ground of this kind was
acquired in the ten centuries which preceded the Renaissance, that we are at
all able to estimate the expansive force which was then generated. Science,
rescued from the hand of astrology, geomancy, alchemy, began her real life
with the Renaissance. Since then, as far as to the present moment she has
never ceased to grow. Progressive and durable, Science may be called the
first-born of the spirit of the modern world.
[1] It is to Michelet that we owe these formulæ, which have passed into the
language of history.

Thus by the discovery of the world is meant on the one hand the
appropriation by civilized humanity of all corners of the habitable globe,
and on the other the conquest by Science of all that we now know about the

nature of the universe. In the discovery of man, again, it is possible to trace
a twofold process. Man in his temporal relations, illustrated by Pagan
antiquity, and man in his spiritual relations, illustrated by Biblical antiquity;
these are the two regions, at first apparently distinct, afterwards found to be
interpenetrative, which the critical and inquisitive genius of the Renaissance
opened for investigation. In the former of these regions we find two
agencies at work, art and scholarship. During the Middle Ages the plastic
arts, like philosophy, had degenerated into barren and meaningless
scholasticism—a frigid reproduction of lifeless forms copied technically
and without inspiration from debased patterns. Pictures became
symbolically connected with the religious feelings of the people, formulæ
from which to deviate would be impious in the artist and confusing to the
worshiper. Superstitious reverence bound the painter to copy the almond
eyes and stiff joints of the saints whom he had adored from infancy; and,
even had it been otherwise, he lacked the skill to imitate the natural forms
he saw around him. But with the dawning of the Renaissance, a new spirit
in the arts arose. Men began to conceive that the human body is noble in
itself and worthy of patient study. The object of the artist then became to
unite devotional feeling and respect for the sacred legend with the utmost
beauty and the utmost fidelity of delineation. He studied from the nude; he
drew the body in every posture; he composed drapery, invented attitudes,
and adapted the action of his figures and the expression of his faces to the
subject he had chosen. In a word, he humanized the altar-pieces and the
cloister-frescoes upon which he worked. In this way the painters rose above
the ancient symbols, and brought heaven down to earth. By drawing
Madonna and her son like living human beings, by dramatizing the
Christian history, they silently substituted the love of beauty and the
interests of actual life for the principles of the Church. The saint or angel
became an occasion for the display of physical perfection, and to introduce
'un bel corpo ignudo' into the composition was of more moment to them
than to represent the macerations of the Magdalen. Men thus learned to look
beyond the relique and the host, and to forget the dogma in the lovely forms
which gave it expression. Finally, when the classics came to aid this work
of progress, a new world of thought and fancy, divinely charming, wholly
human, was revealed to their astonished eyes. Thus art, which had begun by
humanizing the legends of the Church, diverted the attention of its students
from the legend to the work of beauty, and lastly, severing itself from the

religious tradition, became the exponent of the majesty and splendor of the
human body. This final emancipation of art from ecclesiastical trammels
culminated in the great age of Italian painting. Gazing at Michael Angelo's
prophets in the Sistine Chapel, we are indeed in contact with ideas
originally religious. But the treatment of these ideas is purely, broadly
human, on a level with that of the sculpture of Pheidias. Titian's Virgin
received into Heaven, soaring midway between the archangel who descends
to crown her and the apostles who yearn to follow her, is far less a Madonna
Assunta than the apotheosis of humanity conceived as a radiant mother.
Throughout the picture there is nothing ascetic, nothing mystic, nothing
devotional. Nor did the art of the Renaissance stop here. It went further, and
plunged into Paganism. Sculptors and painters combined with architects to
cut the arts loose from their connection with the Church by introducing a
spirit and a sentiment alien to Christianity.
Through the instrumentality of art, and of all the ideas which art introduced
into daily life, the Renaissance wrought for the modern world a real
resurrection of the body, which, since the destruction of antique civilization,
had lain swathed up in hair-shirts and cerements within the tomb of the
mediæval cloister. It was scholarship which revealed to men the wealth of
their own minds, the dignity of human thought, the value of human
speculation, the importance of human life regarded as a thing apart from
religious rules and dogmas. During the Middle Ages a few students had
possessed the poems of Virgil and the prose of Boethius—and Virgil at
Mantua, Boethius at Pavia, had actually been honored as saints—together
with fragments of Lucan, Ovid, Statius, Juvenal, Cicero, and Horace. The
Renaissance opened to the whole reading public the treasure-houses of
Greek and Latin literature. At the same time the Bible in its original tongues
was rediscovered. Mines of Oriental learning were laid bare for the students
of the Jewish and Arabic traditions. The Aryan and Semitic revelations were
for the first time subjected to something like a critical comparison. With
unerring instinct the men of the Renaissance named the voluminous
subject-matter of scholarship 'Litteræ Humaniores,'—the more human
literature, or the literature that humanizes.
There are three stages in the history of scholarship during the Renaissance.
The first is the age of passionate desire; Petrarch poring over a Homer he
could not understand, and Boccaccio in his maturity learning Greek, in

order that he might drink from the well-head of poetic inspiration, are the
heroes of this period. They inspired the Italians with a thirst for antique
culture. Next comes the age of acquisition and of libraries. Nicholas V., who
founded the Vatican Library in 1453, Cosimo de Medici, who began the
Medicean Collection a little earlier, and Poggio Bracciolini, who ransacked
all the cities and convents of Europe for manuscripts, together with the
teachers of Greek, who in the first half of the fifteenth century escaped from
Constantinople with precious freights of classic literature, are the heroes of
this second period. It was an age of accumulation, of uncritical and
indiscriminate enthusiasm. Manuscripts were worshiped by these men, just
as the reliques of Holy Land had been adored by their great-grandfathers.
The eagerness of the Crusades was revived in this quest of the Holy Grail of
ancient knowledge. Waifs and strays of Pagan authors were valued like
precious gems, reveled in like odoriferous and gorgeous flowers, consulted
like oracles of God, gazed on like the eyes of a beloved mistress. The good,
the bad, and the indifferent received an almost equal homage. Criticism had
not yet begun. The world was bent on gathering up its treasures, frantically
bewailing the lost books of Livy, the lost songs of Sappho—absorbing to
intoxication the strong wine of multitudinous thoughts and passions that
kept pouring from those long-buried amphora of inspiration. What is most
remarkable about this age of scholarship is the enthusiasm which pervaded
all classes Italy for antique culture. Popes and princes, captains of adventure
and peasants, noble ladies and the leaders of the demi-monde, alike became
scholars. There is a story told by Infessura which illustrates the temper of
the times with singular felicity. On the 18th of April 1485 a report
circulated in Rome that some Lombard workmen had discovered a Roman
sarcophagus while digging on the Appian Way. It was a marble tomb,
engraved with the inscription, 'Julia, Daughter of Claudius,' and inside the
coffer lay the body of a most beautiful girl of fifteen years, preserved by
precious unguents from corruption and the injury of time. The bloom of
youth was still upon her cheeks and lips; her eyes and mouth were half
open; her long hair floated round her shoulders. She was instantly removed,
so goes the legend, to the Capitol; and then began a procession of pilgrims
from all the quarters of Rome to gaze upon this saint of the old Pagan
world. In the eyes of those enthusiastic worshipers, her beauty was beyond
imagination or description: she was far fairer than any woman of the
modern age could hope to be. At last Innocent VIII. feared lest the orthodox

faith should suffer by this new cult of a heathen corpse. Julia was buried
secretly and at night by his direction, and naught remained in the Capitol
but her empty marble coffin. The tale, as told by Infessura, is repeated in
Matarazzo and in Nantiporto with slight variations. One says that the girl's
hair was yellow, another that it was of the glossiest black. What foundation
for the legend may really have existed need not here be questioned. Let us
rather use the mythus as a parable of the ecstatic devotion which prompted
the men of that age to discover a form of unimaginable beauty in the tomb
of the classic world.[1]
[1] The most remarkable document regarding the body of Julia which has yet
been published is a Latin letter, written by Bartholomæus Fontius to his friend
Franciscus Saxethus, minutely describing her, with details which appear to prove
that he had not only seen but handled the corpse. It is printed in Janitschek, Die
Gesellschaft der R. in It.: Stuttgart, 1879, p. 120.

Then came the third age of scholarship—the age of the critics, philologers,
and printers. What had been collected by Poggio and Aurispa had now to be
explained by Ficino, Poliziano, and Erasmus. They began their task by
digesting and arranging the contents of the libraries. There were then no
short cuts to learning, no comprehensive lexicons, no dictionaries of
antiquities, no carefully prepared thesauri of mythology and history. Each
student had to hold in his brain the whole mass of classical erudition. The
text and the canon of Homer, Plato, Aristotle, and the tragedians had to be
decided. Greek type had to be struck. Florence, Venice, Basle, Lyons, and
Paris groaned with printing presses. The Aldi, the Stephani, and Froben
toiled by night and day, employing scores of scholars, men of supreme
devotion and of mighty brain, whose work it was to ascertain the right
reading of sentences, to accentuate, to punctuate, to commit to the press,
and to place beyond the reach of monkish hatred or of envious time that
everlasting solace of humanity which exists in the classics. All subsequent
achievements in the field of scholarship sink into insignificance beside the
labors of these men, who needed genius, enthusiasm, and the sympathy of
Europe for the accomplishment of their titanic task. Virgil was printed in
1470, Homer in 1488, Aristotle in 1498, Plato in 1513. They then became
the inalienable heritage of mankind. But what vigils, what anxious
expenditure of thought, what agonies of doubt and expectation, were
endured by those heroes of humanizing scholarship, whom we are apt to
think of merely as pedants! Which of us now warms and thrills with

emotion at hearing the name of Aldus Manutius, or of Henricus Stephanus,
or of Johannes Froben? Yet this we surely ought to do; for to them we owe
in a great measure the freedom of our spirit, our stores of intellectual
enjoyment, our command of the past, our certainty of the future of human
culture.
This third age in the history of the Renaissance Scholarship may be said to
have reached its climax in Erasmus; for by this time Italy had handed on the
torch of learning to the northern nations. The publication of his "Adagia" in
1500, marks the advent of a more critical and selective spirit, which from
that date onward has been gradually gaining strength in the modern mind.
Criticism, in the true sense of accurate testing and sifting, is one of the
points which distinguish the moderns from the ancients; and criticism was
developed by the process of assimilation, comparison, and appropriation,
which was necessary in the growth of scholarship. The ultimate effect of
this recovery of classic literature was, once and for all, to liberate the
intellect. The modern world was brought into close contact with the free
virility of the ancient world, and emancipated from the thralldom of
unproved traditions. The force to judge and the desire to create were
generated. The immediate result in the sixteenth century was an abrupt
secession of the learned, not merely from monasticism, but also from the
true spirit of Christianity. The minds of the Italians assimilated Paganism.
In their hatred of mediæval ignorance, in their loathing of cowled and
cloistered fools, they flew to an extreme, and affected the manner of an
irrevocable past. This extravagance led of necessity to a reaction—in the
north to Puritanism, in the south to what has been termed the Counter-
Reformation effected under Spanish influences in the Latin Church. But
Christianity, that most precious possession of the modern world, was never
seriously imperiled by the classical enthusiasm of the Renaissance; nor, on
the other hand, was the progressive emancipation of the reason materially
retarded by the reaction it produced.
The transition at this point to the third branch in the discovery of man, the
revelation to the consciousness of its own spiritual freedom, is natural. Not
only did scholarship restore the classics and encourage literary criticism; it
also restored the text of the Bible, and encouraged theological criticism. In
the wake of theological freedom followed a free philosophy, no longer
subject to the dogmas of the Church. To purge the Christian faith from false

conceptions, to liberate the conscience from the tyranny of priests, and to
interpret religion to the reason has been the work of the last centuries; nor is
this work as yet by any means accomplished. On the one side Descartes and
Bacon, Spinoza and Locke, are sons of the Renaissance, champions of new-
found philosophical freedom; on the other side, Luther is a son of the
Renaissance, the herald of new-found religious freedom. The whole
movement of the Reformation is a phase in that accelerated action of the
modern mind which at its commencement we call the Renaissance. It is a
mistake to regard the Reformation as an isolated phenomenon or as a mere
effort to restore the Church to purity. The Reformation exhibits in the region
of religious thought and national politics what the Renaissance displays in
the sphere of culture, art, and science—the recovered energy and freedom
of the reason. We are too apt to treat of history in parcels, and to attempt to
draw lessons from detached chapters in the biography of the human race. To
observe the connection between the several stages of a progressive
movement of the human spirit, and to recognize that the forces at work are
still active, is the true philosophy of history.
The Reformation, like the revival of science and ofculture, had its mediæval
anticipations and foreshadowings. The heretics whom the Church
successfully combated in North Italy, France, and Bohemia were the
precursors of Luther. The scholars prepared the way in the fifteenth century.
Teachers of Hebrew, founders of Hebrew type—Reuchlin in Germany,
Aleander in Paris, Von Hutten as a pamphleteer, and Erasmus as a humanist
—contribute each a definite momentum. Luther, for his part, incarnates the
spirit of revolt against tyrannical authority, urges the necessity of a return to
the essential truth of Christianity, as distinguished from the idols of the
Church, and asserts the right of the individual to judge, interpret, criticise,
and construct opinion for himself. The veil which the Church had
interposed between the human soul and God was broken down. The
freedom of the conscience was established. Thus the principles involved in
what we call the Reformation were momentous. Connected on the one side
with scholarship and the study of texts, it opened the path for modern
biblical criticism. Connected on the other side with the intolerance of mere
authority it led to what has since been named rationalism—the attempt to
reconcile the religious tradition with the reason, and to define the logical
ideas that underlie the conceptions of the popular religious consciousness.

Again, by promulgating the doctrine of personal freedom, and by
connecting itself with national politics, the reformation was linked
historically to the revolution. It was the Puritan Church in England
stimulated by the patriotism of the Dutch Protestants, which established our
constitutional liberty, and introduced in America the general principle of the
equality of men. This high political abstraction, latent in Christianity,
evolved by criticism, and promulgated as a gospel in the second half of the
last century, was externalized in the French Revolution. The work that yet
remains to be accomplished for the modern world is the organization of
society in harmony with democratic principles.
Thus what the word Renaissance really means is new birth to liberty—the
spirit of mankind recovering consciousness and the power of self-
determination, recognizing the beauty of the outer world, and of the body
through art, liberating the reason in science and the conscience in religion,
restoring culture to the intelligence, and establishing the principle of
political freedom. The Church was the schoolmaster of the Middle Ages.
Culture was the humanizing and refining influence of the Renaissance. The
problem for the present and the future is how through education to render
knowledge accessible to all—to break down that barrier which in the
Middle Ages was set between clerk and layman, and which in the
intermediate period has arisen between the intelligent and ignorant classes.
Whether the Utopia of a modern world, in which all men shall enjoy the
same social, political, and intellectual advantages, be realized or not, we
cannot doubt that the whole movement of humanity from the Renaissance
onward has tended in this direction. To destroy the distinctions, mental and
physical, which nature raises between individuals, and which constitute an
actual hierarchy, will always be impossible. Yet it may happen that in the
future no civilized man will lack the opportunity of being physically and
mentally the best that God has made him.
It remains to speak of the instruments and mechanical inventions which
aided the emancipation of the spirit in the modern age. Discovered over and
over again, and offered at intervals to the human race at various times and
on divers soils, no effective use was made of these material resources until
the fifteenth century. The compass, discovered according to tradition by
Gioja of Naples in 1302, was employed by Columbus for the voyage to
America in 1492. The telescope, known to the Arabians in the Middle Ages,

and described by Roger Bacon in 1250, helped Copernicus to prove the
revolution of the earth in 1530, and Galileo to substantiate his theory of the
planetary system. Printing, after numerous useless revelations to the world
of its resources, became an art in 1438; and paper, which had long been
known to the Chinese, was first made of cotton in Europe about 1000, and
of rags in 1319. Gunpowder entered into use about 1320. As employed by
the Genius of the Renaissance, each one of these inventions became a lever
by means of which to move the world. Gunpowder revolutionized the art of
war. The feudal castle, the armor of the Knight and his battle-horse, the
prowess of one man against a hundred, and the pride of aristocratic cavalry
trampling upon ill-armed militia, were annihilated by the flashes of the
canon. Courage became more a moral than a physical quality. The victory
was delivered to the brain of the general. Printing has established, as
indestructible, all knowledge, and disseminated, as the common property of
every one, all thought; while paper has made the work of printing cheap.
Such reflections as these, however, are trite, and must occur to every mind.
It is far more to the purpose to repeat that not the inventions, but the
intelligence that used them, the conscious calculating spirit of the modern
world, should rivet our attention when we direct it to the phenomena of the
Renaissance.
In the work of the Renaissance all the great nations of Europe shared. But it
must never be forgotten that as a matter of history the true Renaissance
began in Italy. It was there that the essential qualities which distinguish the
modern from the ancient and the mediæval world were developed. Italy
created that new spiritual atmosphere of culture and of intellectual freedom
which has been the life-breath of the European races. As the Jews are called
the chosen and peculiar people of divine revelation, so may the Italians be
called the chosen and peculiar vessels of the prophecy of the Renaissance.
In art, in scholarship, in science, in the mediation between antique culture
and the modern intellect, they took the lead, handing to Germany and
France and England the restored humanities complete. Spain and England
have since done more for the exploration and colonization of the world.
Germany achieved the labor of the Reformation almost single-handed.
France has collected, centralized, and diffused intelligence with irresistible
energy. But if we return to the first origins of the Renaissance, we find that,
at a time when the rest of Europe was inert, Italy had already begun to

organize the various elements of the modern spirit, and to set the fashion
whereby the other great nations should learn and live.

CHAPTER II.
ITALIAN HISTORY

The special Difficulties of this Subject—Apparent Confusion—Want of
leading Motive—The Papacy—The Empire—The Republics—The Despots
—The People—The Dismemberment of Italy—Two main Topics—The
Rise of the Communes—Gothic Kingdom—Lombards—Franks—Germans
—The Bishops—The Consuls—The Podestàs—Civil Wars—Despots—The
Balance of Power—The Five Italian States—The Italians fail to achieve
National Unity—The Causes of this Failure—Conditions under which it
might have been achieved—A Republic—A Kingdom—A Confederation—
A Tyranny—The Part played by the Papacy.
After a first glance into Italian history the student recoils as from a chaos of
inscrutable confusion. To fix the moment of transition from ancient to
modern civilization seems impossible. There is no formation of a new
people, as in the case of Germany or France or England, to serve as
starting-point. Differ as the Italian races do in their original type; Gauls,
Ligurians, Etruscans, Umbrians, Latins, Iapygians, Greeks have been fused
together beneath the stress of Roman rule into a nation that survives
political mutations and the disasters of barbarian invasions. Goths,
Lombards, and Franks blend successively with the masses of this complex
population, and lose the outlines of their several personalities. The western
Empire melts imperceptibly away. The Roman Church grows no less
imperceptibly, and forms the Holy Roman Empire as the equivalent of its
own spiritual greatness in the sphere of secular authority. These two
institutions, the crowning monuments of Italian creative genius, dominate
the Middle Ages, powerful as facts, but still more powerful as ideas. Yet
neither of them controls the evolution of Italy in the same sense as France
was controlled by the monarchical, and Germany by the federative,
principle. The forces of the nation, divided and swayed from side to side by
this commanding dualism, escaped both influences in so far as either Pope
or Emperor strove to mold them into unity. Meanwhile the domination of
Byzantine Greeks in the southern provinces, the kingdom of the Goths at

Ravenna, the kingdom of the Lombards and Franks at Pavia, the incursions
of Huns and Saracens, the kingdom of the Normans at Palermo, formed but
accidents and moments in a national development which owed important
modifications to each successive episode, but was not finally determined by
any of them. When the Communes emerge into prominence, shaking off the
supremacy of the Greeks in the South, vindicating their liberties against the
Empire in the North, jealously guarding their independence from Papal
encroachment in the center, they have already assumed shapes of marked
distinctness and bewildering diversity. Venice, Milan, Genoa, Florence,
Bologna, Siena, Perugia, Amalfi, Lucca, Pisa, to mention only a few of the
more notable, are indiscriminately called Republics. Yet they differ in their
internal type no less than in external conditions. Each wears from the first
and preserves a physiognomy that justifies our thinking and speaking of the
town as an incarnate entity. The cities of Italy, down to the very smallest,
bear the attributes of individuals. The mutual attractions and repulsions that
presided over their growth have given them specific qualities which they
will never lose, which will be reflected in their architecture, in their
customs, in their language, in their policy, as well as in the institutions of
their government. We think of them involuntarily as persons, and reserve
for them epithets that mark the permanence of their distinctive characters.
To treat of them collectively is almost impossible. Each has its own
biography, and plays a part of consequence in the great drama of the nation.
Accordingly the study of Italian politics, Italian literature, Italian art, is
really not the study of one national genius, but of a whole family of cognate
geniuses, grouped together, conscious of affinity, obeying the same general
conditions, but issuing in markedly divergent characteristics. Democracies,
oligarchies, aristocracies spring into being by laws of natural selection
within the limits of a single province. Every municipality has a separate
nomenclature for its magistracies, a somewhat different method of
distributing administrative functions. In one place there is a Doge appointed
for life; in another the government is put into commission among officers
elected for a period of months. Here we find a Patrician, a Senator, a
Tribune; there Consuls, Rectors, Priors, Ancients, Buonuomini,
Conservatori. At one period and in one city the Podestà seems paramount;
across the border a Captain of the People or a Gonfaloniere di Giustizia is
supreme. Vicars of the Empire, Exarchs, Catapans, Rectors for the Church,
Legates, Commissaries, succeed each other with dazzling rapidity. Councils

are multiplied and called by names that have their origin and meaning
buried in the dust of archæology. Consigli del Popolo, Credenza, Consiglio
del Comune, Senato, Gran Consiglio, Pratiche, Parlamenti, Monti,
Consiglio de' Savi, Arti, Parte Guelfa, Consigli di Dieci, di Tre, I Nove, Gli
Otto, I Cento—such are a few of the titles chosen at random from the
constitutional records of different localities.
Not one is insignificant. Not one but indicates some moment of importance
in the social evolution of the state. Not one but speaks of civil strife,
whereby the burgh in question struggled into individuality and defined itself
against its neighbor. Like fossils, in geological strata, these names survive
long after their old uses have been forgotten, to guide the explorer in his
reconstruction of a buried past. While one town appears to respect the
feudal lordship of great families, another pronounces nobility to be a crime,
and forces on its citizens the reality or the pretense of labor. Some
recognize the supremacy of ecclesiastics. Others, like Venice, resist the least
encroachment of the Church, and stand aloof from Roman Christianity in
jealous isolation. The interests of one class are maritime, of another
military, of a third industrial, of a fourth financial, of a fifth educational.
Amalfi, Pisa, Genoa, and Venice depend for power upon their fleets and
colonies; the little cities of Romagna and the March supply the Captains of
adventure with recruits; Florence and Lucca live by manufacture; Milan by
banking; Bologna, Padua, Vicenza, owe their wealth to students attracted by
their universities. Foreign alliances or geographical affinities connect one
center with the Empire of the East, a second with France, a third with Spain.
The North is overshadowed by Germany; the South is disquieted by Islam.
The types thus formed and thus discriminated are vital, and persist for
centuries with the tenacity of physical growths. Each differentiation owes
its origin to causes deeply rooted in the locality. The freedom and apparent
waywardness of nature, when she sets about to form crystals of varying
shapes and colors, that shall last and bear her stamp for ever, have governed
their uprising and their progress to maturity. At the same time they exhibit
the keen jealousies and mutual hatreds of rival families in the animal
kingdom. Pisa destroys Amalfi; Genoa, Pisa; Venice, Genoa; with ruthless
and remorseless egotism in the conflict of commercial interests. Florence
enslaves Pisa because she needs a way to the sea. Siena and Perugia, upon
their inland altitudes, consume themselves in brilliant but unavailing efforts

to expand. Milan engulfs the lesser towns of Lombardy. Verona absorbs
Padua and Treviso. Venice extends dominion over the Friuli and the
Veronese conquests. Strife and covetousness reign from the Alps to the
Ionian Sea. But it is a strife of living energies, the covetousness of
impassioned and puissant units. Italy as a whole is almost invisible to the
student by reason of the many-sided, combative, self-centered crowd of
numberless Italian communities. Proximity foments hatred and stimulates
hostility. Fiesole looks down and threatens Florence. Florence returns frown
for frown, and does not rest till she has made her neighbor of the hills a
slave. Perugia and Assissi turn the Umbrian plain into a wilderness of
wolves by their recurrent warfare. Scowling at one another across the
Valdichiana, Perugia rears a tower against Chiusi, and Chiusi builds her
Becca Questa in responsive menace. The tiniest burgh upon the Arno
receives from Dante, the poet of this internecine strife and fierce town-
rivalry, its stigma of immortalizing satire and insulting epithet, for no
apparent reason but that its dwellers dare to drink of the same water and to
breathe the same air as Florence. It would seem as though the most ancient
furies of antagonistic races, enchained and suspended for centuries by the
magic of Rome, had been unloosed; as though the indigenous populations
of Italy, tamed by antique culture, were reverting to their primal instincts,
with all the discords and divisions introduced by the military system of the
Lombards, the feudalism of the Franks, the alien institutions of the
Germans, superadded to exasperate the passions of a nation blindly
struggling against obstacles that block the channel of continuous progress.
Nor is this the end of the perplexity. Not only are the cities at war with one
another, but they are plunged in ceaseless strife within the circuit of their
ramparts. The people with the nobles, the burghs with the castles, the
plebeians with the burgher aristocracy, the men of commerce with the men
of arms and ancient lineage, Guelfs and Ghibellines, clash together in
persistent fury. One half the city expels the other half. The exiles roam
abroad, cement alliances, and return to extirpate their conquerors. Fresh
proscriptions and new expulsions follow. Again alliances are made and
revolutions accomplished, till the ancient feuds of the towns are crossed,
recrossed, and tangled in a web of madness that defies analysis. Through
the medley of quarreling, divided, subdivided, and intertwisted factions,
ride Emperors followed by their bands of knights, appearing for a season on
vain quests, and withdrawing after they have tenfold confounded the

confusion. Papal Legates drown the cities of the Church in blood, preach
crusades, fulminate interdictions, rouse insurrections in the States that own
allegiance to the Empire. Monks stir republican revivals in old cities that
have lost their liberties, or assemble the populations of crime-maddened
districts in aimless comedies of piety and false pacification, or lead them
barefooted and intoxicated with shrill cries of 'Mercy' over plain and
mountain. Princes of France, Kings of Bohemia and Hungary, march and
countermarch from north to south and back again, form leagues, establish
realms, head confederations, which melt like shapes we form from clouds to
nothing. At one time the Pope and Emperor use Italy as the arena of a
deadly duel, drawing the congregated forces of the nation into their dispute.
At another they join hands to divide the spoil of ruined provinces. Great
generals with armies at their backs start into being from apparent
nothingness, dispute the sovereignty of Italy in bloodless battles, found
ephemeral dynasties, and pass away like mists upon a mountain-side
beneath a puff of wind. Conflict, ruin, desolation, anarchy are ever yielding
place to concord, restoration, peace, prosperity, and then recurring with a
mighty flood of violence. Construction, destruction, and reconstruction play
their part in crises that have to be counted by the thousands.
In the mean time, from this hurricane of disorder rises the clear ideal of the
national genius. Italy becomes self-conscious and attains the spiritual
primacy of modern Europe. Art, Learning, Literature, State-craft,
Philosophy, Science build a sacred and inviolable city of the soul amid the
tumult of seven thousand revolutions, the dust and crash of falling cities,
the tramplings of recurrent invasions, the infamies and outrages of tyrants
and marauders who oppress the land. Unshaken by the storms that rage
around it, this refuge of the spirit, raised by Italian poets, thinkers, artists,
scholars, and discoverers, grows unceasingly in bulk and strength, until the
younger nations take their place beneath its ample dome. Then, while yet
the thing of wonder and of beauty stands in fresh perfection, at that supreme
moment when Italy is tranquil and sufficient to fulfill the noblest mission
for the world, we find her crushed and trampled under foot. Her
tempestuous but splendid story closes in the calm of tyranny imposed by
Spain.
Over this vertiginous abyss of history, where the memories of antique
civilization blend with the growing impulses of modern life in an

uninterrupted sequence of national consciousness; through this many-
chambered laboratory of conflicting principles, where the ideals of the
Middle Age are shaped, and laws are framed for Europe; across this
wonder-land of waning and of waxing culture, where Goths, Greeks,
Lombards, Franks, and Normans come to form themselves by contact with
the ever-living soul of Rome; where Frenchmen, Spaniards, Swiss, and
Germans at a later period battle for the richest prize in Europe, and learn by
conquest from the conquered to be men; how shall we guide our course? If
we follow the fortunes of the Church, and make the Papacy the thread on
which the history of Italy shall hang, we gain the advantage of basing our
narrative upon the most vital and continuous member of the body politic.
But we are soon forced to lose sight of the Italians in the crowd of other
Christian races. The history of the Church is cosmopolitan. The Sphere of
the Papacy extends in all directions around Italy taken as a local center. Its
influence, moreover, was invariably one of discord rather than of harmony
within the boundaries of the peninsula. If we take the Empire as our
standing-ground, we have to write the annals of a sustained struggle, in the
course of which the Italian cities were successful, when they reduced the
Emperor to the condition of an absentee with merely nominal privileges.
After Frederick II. the Empire played no important part in Italy until its
rights were reasserted by Charles V. upon the platform of modern politics. A
power so external to the true life of the nation, so successfully resisted, so
impotent to control the development of the Italians, cannot be chosen as the
central point of their history. If we elect the Republics, we are met with
another class of difficulties. The historian who makes the Commune his
unit, who confines attention to the gradual development, reciprocal
animosities, and final decadence of the republics, can hardly do justice to
the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and the Papacy, which occupy no less than
half the country. Again, the great age of the Renaissance, when all the free
burghs accepted the rule of despots, and when the genius of the Italians
culminated, is for him a period of downfall and degradation. Besides, he
leaves the history of the Italian people before the starting-point of the
Republics unexplained. He has, at the close of their career, to account for
the reason why these Communes, so powerful in self-development, so
intelligent, so wealthy, and so capable of playing off the Pope against the
Empire, failed to maintain their independence. In other words he selects one
phase of Italian evolution, and writes a narrative that cannot but be partial.

If we make the Despots our main point, we repeat the same error in a worse
form. The Despotisms imply the Communes as their predecessors. Each and
all of them grew up and flourished on the soil of decadent or tired
Republics. Though they are all-important at one period of Italian history—
the period of the present work—they do but form an episode in the great
epic of the nation. He who attempts a general history of Italy from the point
of view of the despotisms, is taking a single scene for the whole drama.
Finally we might prefer the people—that people, instinctively and
persistently faithful to Roman traditions, which absorbed into itself the
successive hordes of barbarian invaders, civilized them, and adopted them
as men of Italy; that people which destroyed the kingdoms of the Goths and
Lombards humbled the Empire at Legnano, and evolved the Communes;
that people which resisted alien feudalism, and spent its prime upon
eradicating every trace of the repugnant system from its midst; that people
which finally attained to the consciousness of national unity by the recovery
of scholarship and culture under the dominion of despotic princes. This
people is Italy. But the documents that should throw light upon the early
annals of the people are deficient. It does not appear upon the scene before
the reign of Otho I. Nor does it become supreme till after the Peace of
Constance. Its biography is bound up with that of the republics and the
despots. Before the date of their ascendency we have to deal with Bishops
of Rome, Emperors of the East and West, Exarchs and Kings of Italy, the
feudal Lords of the Marches, the Dukes and Counts of Lombard and
Frankish rulers. Through that long period of incubation, when Italy freed
herself from dependence upon Byzantium, created the Papacy and formed
the second Roman Empire, the people exists only as a spirit resident in
Roman towns and fostered by the Church, which effectually repelled all
attempts at monarchical unity, playing the Lombards off against the Goths,
the Franks against the Lombards, the Normans against the Greeks, merging
the Italian Kingdom in the Empire when it became German, and resisting
the Empire of its own creation when the towns at last were strong enough to
stand alone. To speak about the people in this early period is, therefore, to
invoke a myth; to write its history is the same as writing an ideal history of
mediæval Europe.
The truth is that none of these standpoints in isolation suffices for the
student of Italy. Her inner history is the history of social and intellectual

progress evolving itself under the conditions of attraction and repulsion
generated by the double ideas of Papacy and Empire. Political unity is
everywhere and at all times imperiously rejected. The most varied
constitutional forms are needed for the self-effectuation of a race that has no
analogue in Europe. The theocracy of Rome, the monarchy of Naples, the
aristocracy of Venice, the democracy of Florence, the tyranny of Milan are
equally instrumental in elaborating the national genius that gave art,
literature, and mental liberty to modern society. The struggles of city with
city for supremacy or bare existence, the internecine wars of party against
party, the never-ending clash of principles within the States, educated the
people to multifarious and vivid energy. In the course of those long
complicated contests, the chief centers acquired separate personalities,
assumed the physiognomy of conscious freedom, and stamped the mark of
their own spirit on their citizens. At the end of all discords, at the close of
all catastrophes, we find in each of the great towns a population released
from mental bondage and fitted to perform the work of intellectual
emancipation for the rest of Europe. Thus the essential characteristic of
Italy is diversity, controlled and harmonized by an ideal rhythm of
progressive movement.[1] We who are mainly occupied in this book with
the Italian genius as it expressed itself in society, scholarship, fine art, and
literature, at its most brilliant period of renascence, may accept this fact of
political dismemberment with acquiescence. It was to the variety of
conditions offered by the Italian communities that we owe the unexampled
richness of the mental life of Italy. Yet it is impossible to overlook the
weakness inflicted on the people by those same conditions when the time
came for Italy to try her strength against the nations of Europe.[2] It was
then shown that the diversities which stimulated spiritual energy were a
fatal source of national instability. The pride of the Italians in their local
independence, their intolerance of unification under a single head, the
jealousies that prevented them from forming a permanent confederation,
rendered them incapable of coping with races which had yielded to the
centripetal force of monarchy. If it is true that the unity of the nation under a
kingdom founded at Pavia would have deprived the world of much that
Italy has yielded in the sphere of thought and art, it is certainly not less true
that such centralization alone could have averted the ruin of the sixteenth
century which gives the aspect of a tragedy to each volume of my work on
the Renaissance.

[1] See Guicciardini (Op. Ined. vol. i. p. 28) for an eloquent demonstration of the
happiness, prosperity, and splendor conferred on the Italians by the independence
of their several centers. He is arguing against Machiavelli's lamentation over
their failure to achieve national unity.
[2] This was the point urged by Machiavelli, in the Principe, the Discorsi, and
the Art of War. With keener political insight than Guicciardini, he perceived that
the old felicity of Italy was about to fail her through the very independence of
her local centers, which Guicciardini rightly recognized as the source of her
unparalleled civilization and wealth. The one thing needful in the shock with
France and Spain was unity.

Without seeking to attack the whole problem of Italian history, two main
topics must be briefly discussed in the present chapter before entering on
the proper matter of this work. The first relates to the growth of the
Communes, which preceded, necessitated, and determined the despotisms
of the fifteenth century. The second raises the question why Italian differs
from any other national history, why the people failed to achieve unity
either under a sovereign or in a powerful confederation. These two subjects
of inquiry are closely connected and interdependent. They bring into play
the several points that have been indicated as partially and imperfectly
explanatory of the problem of Italy. But, since I have undertaken to write
neither a constitutional nor a political history, but a history of culture at a
certain epoch, it will be enough to treat of these two questions briefly, with
the special view of showing under what conditions the civilization of the
Renaissance came to maturity in numerous independent Communes,
reduced at last by necessary laws of circumstance to tyranny; and how it
was checked at the point of transition to its second phase of modern
existence, by political weakness inseparable from the want of national
coherence in the shock with mightier military races.
Modern Italian history may be said to begin with the retirement of Honorius
to Ravenna and the subsequent foundation of Odoacer's Kingdom in 476.
The Western Empire ended, and Rome was recognized as a Republic. When
Zeno sent the Goths into Italy, Theodoric established himself at Ravenna,
continued the institutions and usages of the ancient Empire, and sought by
blending with the people to naturalize his alien authority. Rome was
respected as the sacred city of ancient culture and civility. Her Consuls,
appointed by the Senate, were confirmed in due course by the Greek
Emperor; and Theodoric made himself the vicegerent of the Cæsars rather
than an independent sovereign. When we criticise the Ostro-Gothic

occupation by the light of subsequent history, it is clear that this exclusion
of the capital from Theodoric's conquest and his veneration for the Eternal
City were fatal to the unity of the Italian realm. From the moment that
Rome was separated from the authority of the Italian Kings, there existed
two powers in the Peninsula—the one secular, monarchical, with the
military strength of the barbarians imposed upon its ancient municipal
organization; the other ecclesiastical, pontifical, relying on the undefined
ambitions of S. Peter's See and the unconquered instincts of the Roman
people scattered through the still surviving cities.[1] Justinian, bent upon
asserting his rights as the successor of the Cæsars, wrested Italy from the
hands of the Goths; but scarcely was this revolution effected when Narses,
the successor of Belisarius, called a new nation of barbarians to support his
policy in Italy. Narses died before the advent of the Lombards; but they
descended, in forces far more formidable than the Goths, and established a
second kingdom at Pavia. Under the Lombard domination Rome was left
untouched. Venice, with her population gathered from the ruins of the
neighboring Roman cities, remained in quasi-subjection to the Empire of
the East. Ravenna became a Greek garrison, ruling the Exarchate and
Pentapolis under the name of the Byzantine Emperors. The western coast
escaped the Lombard domination; for Genoa grew slowly into power upon
her narrow cornice between hills and sea, while Pisa defied the barbarians
intrenched in military stations at Fiesole and Lucca. In like manner the
islands, Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica, were detached from the Lombard
Kingdom; and the maritime cities of Southern Italy, Bari, Naples, Amalfi,
and Gaeta asserted independence under the shadow of the Greek
ascendency. What the Lombards achieved in their conquest, and what they
failed to accomplish, decided the future of Italy. They broke the country up
into unequal blocks; for while the inland regions of the north obeyed Pavia,
while the great duchies of Spoleto in the center and of Benevento in the
south owned the nominal sway of Alboin's successors,[2] Venice and the
Riviera, Pisa and the maritime republics of Apulia and Calabria, Ravenna
and the islands, repelled their sovereignty. Rome remained inviolable
beneath the ægis of her ancient prestige, and the decadent Empire of the
East was too inert to check the freedom of the towns which recognized its
titular supremacy.
[1] When I apply the term Roman here and elsewhere to the inhabitants of the
Italian towns, I wish to indicate the indigenous Italic populations molded by

Roman rule into homogeneity. The resurgence of this population and its
reattainment of intellectual consciousness by the recovery of past traditions and
the rejection of foreign influence constitutes the history of Italy upon the close of
the Dark Ages.
[2] It will be remembered by students of early Italian history that Benevento and
Spoleto joined the Church in her war upon the Lombard kingdom. Spoleto was
broken up. Benevento survived as a Lombard duchy till the Norman Conquest.

The kingdom of the Lombards endured two centuries, and left ineffaceable
marks upon Italy. A cordon of military cities was drawn round the old
Roman centers in Lombardy, Tuscany, and the Duchy of Spoleto. Pavia rose
against Milan, which had been a second Rome, Cividale against Aquileia,
Fiesole against Florence, Lucca against Pisa. The country was divided into
Duchies and Marches; military service was exacted from the population,
and the laws of the Lombards, asininum jus, quoddam jus quod faciebant
reges per se, as the jurists afterwards defined them, were imposed upon the
descendants of Roman civilization. Yet the outlying cities of the sea-coast,
as we have already seen, were independent; and Rome remained to be the
center of revolutionary ideas, the rallying-point of a policy inimical to
Lombard unity. Not long after their settlement, the princes of the Lombard
race took the fatal step of joining the Catholic communion, whereby they
strengthened the hands of Rome and excluded themselves from tyrannizing
in the last resort over the growing independence of the Papal See. The
causes of their conversion from Arianism to orthodox Latin Christianity are
buried in obscurity. But it is probable that they were driven to this measure
by the rebelliousness of their great vassals and the necessity of resting for
support upon the indigenous populations they had subjugated. Rome,
profiting by the errors and the weakness of her antagonists, extended her
spiritual dominion by enforcing sacraments, ordeals, and appeals to
ecclesiastical tribunals, organized her hierarchy under Gregory the Great,
and lost no opportunity of enriching and aggrandizing her bishoprics. In
718 she shook off the yoke of Byzantium by repelling the heresies of Leo
the Isaurian; and when this insurrection menaced her with the domestic
tyranny of the Lombard Kings, who possessed themselves of Ravenna in
728, she called the Franks to her aid against the now powerful realm.
Stephen II. journeyed in 753 to Gaul, named Pippin Patrician of Rome, and
invited him to the conquest of Italy. In the war that followed, the Franks
subdued the Lombards, and Charles the Great was invested with their
kingdom and crowned Emperor in 800 by Leo III. at Rome.

The famous compact between Charles the Great and the Pope was in effect
a ratification of the existing state of things. The new Emperor took for
himself and converted into a Frankish Kingdom all the provinces that had
been wrested from the Lombards. He relinquished to the Papacy Rome with
its patrimony, the portions of Spoleto and Benevento that had already
yielded to the See of S. Peter, the southern provinces that owned the
nominal ascendency of Byzantium, the islands and the cities of the
Exarchate and Pentapolis which formed no part of the Lombard conquest.
By this stipulation no real temporal power was accorded to the Papacy, nor
did the new Empire surrender its paramount rights over the peninsula at
large. The Italian kingdom, transferred to the Franks in 800, was the
kingdom founded by the Lombards; while the outlying and unconquered
districts were placed beneath the protectorate of the power which had
guided their emancipation. Thus the dualism introduced into Italy by
Theodoric's veneration for Rome, and confirmed by the failure of the
Lombard conquest, was ratified in the settlement whereby the Pope gave a
new Empire to Western Christendom. Venice, Pisa, Genoa, and the
maritime Republics of the south, excluded from the kingdom, were left to
pursue their own course of independence; and this is the chief among many
reasons why they rose so early into prominence. Rome consolidated her
ancient patrimonies and extended her rectorship in the center, while the
Frankish kings, who succeeded each other through eight reigns, developed
the Regno upon feudal principles by parceling the land among their Counts.
New marches were formed, traversing the previous Lombard fabric and
introducing divisions that decentralized the kingdom. Thus the great vassals
of Ivrea, Verona, Tuscany, and Spoleto raised themselves against Pavia. The
monarchs, placed between the Papacy and their ambitious nobles, were
unable to consolidate the realm; and when Berengar, the last independent
sovereign strove to enforce the declining authority of Pavia, he was met
with the resistance and the hatred of the nation.
The kingdom Berengar attempted to maintain against his vassals and the
Church was virtually abrogated by Otho I., whom the Lombard nobles
summoned into Italy in 951. When he reappeared in 961, he was crowned
Emperor at Rome, and assumed the title of the King of Italy. Thus the
Regno was merged in the Empire, and Pavia ceased to be a capital.
Henceforth the two great potentates in the peninsula were an unarmed

Pontiff and an absent Emperor. The subsequent history of the Italians shows
how they succeeded in reducing both these powers to the condition of
principles, maintaining the pontifical and imperial ideas, but repelling the
practical authority of either potentate. Otho created new marches and gave
them to men of German origin. The houses of Savoy and Montferrat rose
into importance in his reign. To Verona were intrusted the passes between
Germany and Italy. The Princes of Este at Ferrara held the keys of the Po,
while the family of Canossa accumulated fiefs that stretched from Mantua
across the plain of Lombardy, over the Apennines to Lucca, and southward
to Spoleto. Thus the ancient Italy of Lombards and Franks was superseded
by a new Italy of German feudalism, owing allegiance to a suzerain whose
interests detained him in the provinces beyond the Alps. At the same time
the organization of the Church was fortified. The Bishops were placed on
an equality with the Counts in the chief cities, and Viscounts were created
to represent their civil jurisdiction. It is difficult to exaggerate the
importance of Otho's concessions to the Bishops. During the preceding
period of Frankish rule about one third of the soil of Italy had been yielded
to the Church, which had the right of freeing its vassals from military
service; and since the ecclesiastical sees were founded upon ancient sites of
Roman civilization, without regard to the military centers of the barbarian
kingdoms, the new privileges of the Bishops accrued to the benefit of the
indigenous population. Milan, for example, down-trodden by Pavia, still
remained the major See of Lombardy. Aquileia, though a desert, had her
patriarch, while Cividale, established as a fortress to coerce the neighboring
Roman towns, was ecclesiastically but a village. At this epoch a third power
emerged in Italy. Berengar had given the cities permission to inclose
themselves with walls in order to repel the invasions of the Huns.[1] Otho
respected their right of self-defense, and from the date of his coronation the
history of the free burghs begins in Italy. It is at first closely connected with
the changes wrought by the extinction of the kingdom of Pavia, by the
exaltation of the clergy, and by the dislocation of the previous system of
feud-holding, which followed upon Otho's determination to remodel the
country in the interest of the German Empire. The Regno was abolished.
The ancient landmarks of nobility were altered and confused. The cities
under their Bishops assumed a novel character of independence. Those of
Roman origin, being ecclesiastical centers, had a distant advantage over the
more recent foundations of the Lombard and the Frankish monarchs. The

Italic population everywhere emerged and displayed a vitality that had been
crushed and overlaid by centuries of invasion and military oppression.
[1] It is worthy of notice that to this date belongs the war-chant of the Modenese
sentinels, with its allusions to Troy and Hector, which is recognized as the
earliest specimen of the Italian hendecasyllabic meter.

The burghs at this epoch may be regarded as luminous points in the dense
darkness of feudal aristocracy.[1] Gathering round their Cathedral as a
center, the towns inclose their dwellings with bastions, from which they
gaze upon a country bristling with castles, occupied by serfs, and lorded
over by the hierarchical nobility. Within the city the Bishop and the Count
hold equal sway; but the Bishop has upon his side the sympathies and
passions of the burghers. The first effort of the towns is to expel the Count
from their midst. Some accident of misrule infuriates the citizens. They fly
to arms and are supported by the Bishop. The Count has to retire to the open
country, where he strengthens himself in his castle.[2] Then the Bishop
remains victor in the town, and forms a government of rich and noble
burghers, who control with him the fortunes of the new-born state. At this
crisis we begin to hear for the first time a word that has been much
misunderstood. The Popolo appears upon the scene. Interpreting the past by
the present, and importing the connotation gained by the word people in the
revolutions of the last two centuries, students are apt to assume that the
Popolo of the Italian burghs included the whole population. In reality it was
at first a close aristocracy of influential families, to whom the authority of
the superseded Counts was transferred in commission, and who held it by
hereditary right.[3] Unless we firmly grasp this fact, the subsequent
vicissitudes of the Italian commonwealths are unintelligible, and the
elaborate definitions of the Florentine doctrinaires lose half their meaning.
The internal revolutions of the free cities were almost invariably caused by
the necessity of enlarging the Popolo, and extending its franchise to the
non-privileged inhabitants. Each effort after expansion provoked an
obstinate resistance from those families who held the rights of burghership;
and thus the technical terms primo popolo, secondo popolo/i>, popolo
grasso, popolo minuto, frequently occurring in the records of the Republics,
indicate several stages in the progress from oligarchy to democracy. The
constitution of the city at this early period was simple. At the head of its
administration stood the Bishop, with the Popolo of enfranchised burghers.

The Commune included the Popolo, together with the non-qualified
inhabitants, and was represented by Consuls, varying in number according
to the division of the town into quarters.[4] Thus the Commune and the
Popolo were originally separate bodies; and this distinction has been
perpetuated in the architecture of those towns which still can show a
Palazzo del Popolo apart from the Palazzo del Commune. Since the affairs
of the city had to be conducted by discussion, we find Councils
corresponding to the constituent elements of the burgh. There is the
Parlamento, in which the inhabitants meet together to hear the decisions of
the Bishop and the Popolo, or to take measures in extreme cases that affect
the city as a whole; the Gran Consiglio, which is only open to duly
qualified members of the Popolo; and the Credenza, or privy council of
specially delegated burghers, who debate on matters demanding secrecy and
diplomacy. Such, generally speaking, and without regard to local
differences, was the internal constitution of an Italian city during the
supremacy of the Bishops.
[1] It is not necessary to raise antiquarian questions here relating to the origin of
the Italian Commune. Whether regarded as a survival of the ancient Roman
municipium or as an offshoot from the Lombard guild, it was a new birth of
modern times, a new organism evolved to express the functions of Italian as
different from ancient Roman or mediæval Lombard life. The affection of the
people for their past induced them to use the nomenclature of Latin civility for
the officers and councils of the Commune. Thus a specious air of classical
antiquity, rather literary and sentimental than real, was given to the Commune at
the outset. Moreover, it must be remembered that Rome herself had suffered no
substantial interruption of republican existence during the Dark Ages. Therefore
the free burghs, though their vitality was the outcome of wholly new conditions,
though they were built up of guilds and associations representing interests of
modern origin, flattered themselves with an uninterrupted municipal succession
from the Roman era, and pointed for proof to the Eternal City.
[2] The Italian word contado is a survival from this state of things. It represents a
moment in the national development when the sphere of the Count outside the
city was defined against the sphere of the municipality. The Contadini are the
people of the Contado, the Count's men.
[3] Even Petrarch, in his letter to four Cardinals (Lett. Fam. xi. 16, ed.
Fracassetti) on the reformation of the Roman Commonwealth, recommends the
exclusion of the neighboring burghs and all strangers, inclusive of the Colonna
and Orsini families, from the franchise. None but pure Romans, how to be
discovered from the colluviet omnium gentium deposited upon the Seven Hills
by centuries of immigration he does not clearly say, should be chosen to revive
the fallen majesty of the Republic. See in particular the peroration of his

argument (op. cit. vol. iii. p. 95). In other words, he aims at a narrow Popolo, a
pura cittadinanza, in the sense of Cacciaguida Par. xvi.
[4] In some places we find as many as twelve Consuls. It appears that both the
constituent families of the Popolo and the numbers of the Consuls were
determined by the Sections of the city, so many being told off for each quarter.

In the North of Italy not a few of the greater vassals, among whom may be
mentioned the houses of Canossa, Montferrat, Savoy, and Este, creations of
the Salic Emperors, looked with favor upon the development of the towns,
while some nobles went so far as to constitute themselves feudatories of
Bishops.[1] The angry warfare carried on against Canossa by the Lombard
barons has probably to be interpreted by the jealousy this popular policy
excited. At the same time, while Lombardy and Tuscany were establishing
their municipal liberties, a sympathetic movement began in Southern Italy,
which resulted in the conquest of Apulia, Calabria, and Sicily by the
Normans. Omitting all the details of this episode, than which nothing more
dramatic is presented by the history of modern nations, it must be enough to
point out here that the Normans finally severed Italy from the Greek
Empire, gave a monarchical stamp to the south of the peninsula, and
brought the Regno they consolidated into the sphere of national politics
under the protection of the Pope. Up to the date of their conquest Southern
Italy had a separate and confused history. It now entered the Italian
community, and by the peculiar circumstances of its cession to the Holy See
was destined in the future to become the chief instrument whereby the
Popes disturbed the equilibrium of the peninsula in furtherance of their
ambitious schemes.
[1] The Pelavicini of S. Donnino, for example, gave themselves to Parma.

The greatness of the Roman cities under the popular rule of their Bishops is
illustrated by Milan, second only to Rome in the last days of the Empire.
Milan had been reduced to the condition of abject misery by the Kings, who
spared no pains to exalt Pavia at the expense of her elder sister. After the
dissolution of the kingdom, she started into a new life, and in 1037 her
archbishop, Heribert, was singled out by Conrad II. as the protagonist of the
episcopal revolution against feudalism.[1] Heribert was in truth the hero of
the burghs in their first strife for independence. It was he who devised the
Carroccio, an immense car drawn by oxen, bearing the banner of the
Commune, with an altar and priests ministrant, around which the pikemen

of the city mustered when they went to war. This invention of Heribert's
was soon adopted by the cities throughout Italy. It gave cohesion and
confidence to the citizens, reminded them that the Church was on their side
in the struggle for freedom, and served as symbol of their military strength
in union. The first authentic records of a Parliament, embracing the nobles
of the Popolo, the clergy, and the multitude, are transmitted to us by the
Milanese Chronicles, in which Heribert figures as the president of a
republic. From this date Milan takes the lead in the contests for municipal
independence. Her institutions like that of the Carroccio, together with her
tameless spirit, are communicated to the neighboring cities of Lombardy,
cross the Apennines, and animate the ancient burghs of Tuscany.
[1] He was summoned before the Diet of Pavia for having dispossessed a noble
of his feud.

Having founded their liberties upon the episcopal presidency, the cities now
proceeded to claim the right of choosing their own Bishops. They refused
the prelates sent them by the Emperor, and demanded an election by the
Chapters of each town. This privilege was virtually won when the war of
Investitures broke out in 1073. After the death of Gregory VI. in 1046, the
Emperors resolved to enforce their right of nominating the Popes. The two
first prelates imposed on Rome, Clement II. and Damatus II., died under
suspicion of poison. Thus the Roman people refused a foreign Pope, as the
Lombards had rejected the bishops sent to rule them. The next Popes, Leo
IX. and Victor II., were persuaded by Hildebrand, who now appears upon
the stage, to undergo a second election at Rome by the clergy and the
people. They escaped assassination. But the fifth German, Stephen X.,
again died suddenly; and now the formidable monk of Soana felt himself
powerful enough to cause the election of his own candidate, Nicholas II. A
Lateran council, inspired by Hildebrand, transferred the election of Popes to
the Cardinals, approved by the clergy and people of Rome, and confirmed
the privilege of the cities to choose their bishops, subject to Papal
ratification. In 1073 Hildebrand assumed the tiara as Gregory VII., and
declared a war that lasted more than forty years against the Empire. At its
close in 1122 the Church and the Empire were counterposed as mutually
exclusive autocracies, the one claiming illimitable spiritual sway, the other
recognized as no less illimitably paramount in civil society. From the
principles raised by Hildebrand and contested in the struggles of this duel,

we may date those new conceptions of the two chief powers of
Christendom which found final expression in the theocratic philosophy of
the Summa and the imperial absolutism of the De Monarchiâ. Meanwhile
the Empire and the Papacy, while trying their force against each other, had
proved to Italy their essential weakness. What they gained as ideas,
controlling the speculations of the next two centuries, they lost as potentates
in the peninsula. It was impossible for either Pope or Emperor to carry on
the war without bidding for the support of the cities; and therefore, at the
end of the struggle, the free burghs found themselves strengthened at the
expense of both powers. Still it must not be forgotten that the wars of
Investitures, while they developed the independent spirit and the military
energies of the Republics, penetrated Italy with the vice of party conflict.
The ineradicable divisions of Guelf and Ghibelline were a heavy price to
pay for a step forward on the path of emancipation; nor was the
ecclesiastical revolution, which tended to Italianize the Papacy, while it
magnified its cosmopolitan ascendency, other than a source of evil to the
nation.
The forces liberated in the cities by these wars brought the Consuls to the
front. The Bishops had undermined the feudal fabric of the kingdom,
depressed the Counts, and restored the Roman towns to prosperity. During
the war both Popolo and Commune grew in vigor, and their Consuls began
to use the authority that had been conquered by the prelates. At first the
Consuls occupied a subordinate position as men of affairs and notaries,
needed to transact the business of the mercantile inhabitants. They now took
the lead as political agents of the first magnitude, representing the city in its
public acts, and superseding the ecclesiastics. The Popolo was enlarged by
the admission of new burgher families, and the ruling caste, though still
oligarchical, became more fairly representative of the inhabitants. This
progress was inevitable, when we remember that the cities had been
organized for warfare, and that, except their Consuls, they had no officials
who combined civil and military functions. Under the jurisdiction of the
Consuls Roman law was everywhere substituted for Lombard statutes, and
another strong blow was thus dealt against decaying feudalism. The school
of Bologna eclipsed the university of Pavia. Justinian's Code was studied
with passionate energy, and the Italic people enthusiastically reverted to the
institutions of their past. In the fable of the Codex of the Pandects brought

by Pisa from Amalfi we can trace the fervor of this movement, whereby the
Romans of the cities struggled after resurrection.
One of the earliest manifestations of municipal vitality was the war of city
against city, which began to blaze with fury in the first half of the twelfth
century, and endured so long as free towns lasted to perpetuate the conflict.
No sooner had the burghs established themselves beneath the presidency of
their Consuls than they turned the arms they had acquired in the war of
independence, against their neighbors. The phenomenon was not confined
to any single district. It revealed a new necessity in the very constitution of
the commonwealths. Penned up within the narrow limits of their petty
dependencies, throbbing with fresh life, overflowing with a populace inured
to warfare, demanding channels for their energies in commerce, competing
with each other on the paths of industry, they clashed in deadliest duels for
breathing space and means of wealth. The occasions that provoked one
Commune to declare war upon its rival were trivial. The animosity was
internecine and persistent. Life or death hung in the balance. It was a
conflict for ascendency that brought the sternest passions into play, and
decided the survival of the fittest among hundreds of competing cities. The
deeply rooted jealousies of Roman and feudal centers, the recent
partisanship of Papal and Imperial principles, imbittered this strife. But
what lay beneath all superficial causes of dissension was the economic
struggle of communities, for whom the soil of Italy already had begun to
seem too narrow. So superabundant were the forces of her population, so
vast were the energies emancipated by her attainment of municipal
freedom, that this mighty mother of peoples could not afford equal
sustenance to all her children. New-born, they had to strangle one another
as they hung upon the breast that gave them nourishment. It was impossible
for the Emperor to overlook the apparent anarchy of his fairest province.
Therefore, when Frederick Barbarossa was elected in 1152, his first thought
was to reduce the Garden of the Empire to order. Soon after his election he
descended into Lombardy and formed two leagues among the cities of the
North, the one headed by Pavia, the center of the abrogated kingdom, the
other by Milan, who inherited the majesty of Rome and contained within
her loins the future of Italian freedom. It is not necessary to follow in detail
the conflict of the Lombard burghs with Frederick, so enthusiastically
described by their historian, Sismondi, It is enough for our present purpose

to remember that in the course of that contention both leagues made
common cause against the Emperor, drew the Pope Alexander III. into their
quarrel, and at last in 1183, after the victory of Legnano had convinced
Frederick of his weakness, extorted by the Peace of Constance privileges
whereby their autonomy was amply guaranteed and recognized. The
advantages won by Milan who sustained the brunt of the imperial
onslaughts, and by the splendor of her martyrdom surmounted the petty
jealousies of her municipal rivals, were extended to the cities of Tuscany.
After the date of that compact signed by the Emperor and his insurgent
subjects, the burghs obtained an assured position as a third power between
the Empire and the Church. The most remarkable point in the history of this
contention is the unanimous submission of the Communes to what they
regarded as the just suzerainty of Cæsar's representative. Though they were
omnipotent in Lombardy, they took no measures for closing the gates of the
Alps against the Germans. The Emperor was free to come and go as he
listed; and when peace was signed, he reckoned the burghers who had
beaten him by arms and policy, among his loyal vassals. Still the spirit of
independence in Italy had been amply asserted. This is notably displayed in
the address presented to Frederick, before his coronation, by the senate of
Rome. Regenerated by Arnold of Brescia's revolutionary mission, the
Roman people assumed its antique majesty in these remarkable words:
'Thou wast a stranger; I have made thee citizen; thou camest from regions
from beyond the Alps; I have conferred on thee the principality.'[1]
Presumptuous boast as this sounded in the ears of Frederick, it proved that
the Italic nation had now sharply defined itself against the Church and the
barbarians. It still accepted the Empire because the Empire was the glory of
Italy, the crown that gave to her people the presidency of civilization. It still
recognized the authority of the Church because the Church was the eldest
daughter of Italy emergent from the wrecks of Roman society. But the
nation had become conscious of its right to stand apart from either.
[1] 'Hospes eras, civem feci. Advena fuisti ex transalpinis partibus, principem
constitui. Quod meum jure fuit, tibi dedi.' See Ottonis Episcopi Frisingensis
Chronicon, De Rebus Gestis Frid. i. Imp. Lib. ii. cap. 21. Basileæ, 1569. The
Legates appointed by the Senate met the Emperor at Sutri, and delivered the
oration of which the sentence just quoted was part. It began: 'Urbis legati nos,
rex optime, ad tuam a Senatu, populoque Romano destinati sumus excellentiam,'
and contained this remarkable passage: 'Orbis imperium affectas, coronam
præbitura gratanter assurgo, jocanter occurro ... indebitum clericorum excussurus
jugum.' If the words are faithfully reported, the Republic separates itself abruptly

from the Papacy, and claims a kind of precedence in honor before the Empire.
Frederick is said to have interrupted the Legates in a rage before they could
finish their address, and to have replied with angry contempt. The speech put
into his mouth is probably a rhetorical composition, but it may have expressed
his sentiments. 'Multa de Romanorum sapientia seu fortitudine hactenus
audivimus, magis tamen de sapientia. Quare satis mirari non possumus, quod
verba vestra plus arrogantiæ tumore insipida quam sale sapientiæ condita
sentimus.... Fuit, fuit quondam in hac Republica virtus. Quondam dico, atque o
utinam tam veracitur quam libenter nunc dicere possemus,' etc.

Strengthened by their contest with Frederick Barbarossa, recognized in their
rights as belligerent powers, and left to their own guidance by the Empire,
the cities were now free to prosecute their wars upon the remnants of
feudalism. The town, as we have learned to know it, was surrounded by a
serried rank of castles, where the nobles held still undisputed authority over
serfs of the soil. Against this cordon of fortresses every city with singular
unanimity directed the forces it had formed in the preceding conflicts. At
the same time the municipal struggles of Commune against Commune lost
none of their virulence. The Counts, pressed on all sides by the towns that
had grown up around them, adopted the policy of pitting one burgh against
another. When a noble was attacked by the township near his castle, he
espoused the animosities of a more distant city, compromised his
independence by accepting the captaincy or lieutenancy of communes
hostile to his natural enemies, and thus became the servant or ally of a
Republic. In his desperation he emancipated his serfs, and so the folk of the
Contado profited by the dissensions of the cities and their feudal masters.
This new phase of republican evolution lasted over a long and ill-defined
period, assuming different characters in different centers; but the end of it
was that the nobles were forced to submit to the cities. They were admitted
to the burghership, and agreed to spend a certain portion of every year in
the palaces they raised within the circuit of the walls. Thus the Counts
placed themselves beneath the jurisdiction of the Consuls, and the Italic
population absorbed into itself the relics of Lombard, Frank, and German
aristocracy. Still the gain upon the side of the republics was not clear.
Though the feudal lordship of the nobles had been destroyed, their wealth,
their lands, and their prestige remained untouched. In the city they felt
themselves but aliens. Their real home was still the castle on the
neighboring mountain. Nor, when they stooped to become burghers, had
they relinquished the use of arms. Instead of building peaceable dwelling-
houses in the city, they filled its quarters with fortresses and towers, whence

they carried on feuds among themselves and imperiled the safety of the
streets. It was speedily discovered that the war against the Castles had
become a war against the Palaces, and that the arena had been transferred
from the open Contado to the Piazza and the barricade. The authority of the
consuls proved insufficient to maintain an equilibrium between the people
and the nobles. Accordingly a new magistrate started into being, combining
the offices of supreme justiciary and military dictator. When Frederick
Barbarossa attempted to govern the rebellious Lombard cities in the
common interest of the Empire, he established in their midst a foreign
judge, called Podestà quasi habens potestatem Imperatoris in hâc parte.
This institution only served at the moment to inflame and imbitter the
resistance of the Communes: but the title of Podestà was subsequently
conferred upon the official summoned to maintain an equal balance
between the burghers and the nobles. He was invariably a foreigner, elected
for one year, intrusted with summary jurisdiction in all matters of dispute,
exercising the power of life and death, and disposing of the municipal
militia. The old constitution of the Commune remained to control this
dictator and to guard the independence of the city. All the Councils
continued to act, and the Consuls were fortified by the formation of a
College of Ancients or Priors. The Podestà was created with the express
purpose of effecting a synthesis between two rival sections of the burgh. He
was never regarded as other than an alien to the city, adopted as a temporary
mediator and controller of incompatible elements. The lordship of the burgh
still resided with the Consuls, who from this time forward began to lose
their individuality in the College of the Signoria—called Priori, Anziani, or
Rettori, as the case might be in various districts.
The Italian republics had reached this stage when Frederick II. united the
Empire and the kingdom of the Two Sicilies. It was a crisis of the utmost
moment for Italian independence. Master of the South, Frederick sought to
reconquer the lost prerogatives of the Empire in Lombardy and Tuscany;
nor is it improbable that he might have succeeded in uniting Italy beneath
his sway but for the violent animosity of the Church. The warfare of
extermination carried on by the Popes against the house of Hohenstauffen
was no proof of their partiality for the cause of freedom. They dreaded the
reality of a kingdom that should base itself on Italy and be the rival of their
own authority. Therefore they espoused the cause of the free burghs against

Frederick, and when the North was devastated by his Vicars, they preached
a crusade against Ezzelino da Romano. In the convulsions that shook Italy
from North to South the parties of Guelf and Ghibelline took shape, and
acquired an ineradicable force. All the previous humors and discords of the
nation were absorbed by them. The Guelf party meant the burghers of the
consular Communes, the men of industry and commerce, the upholders of
civil liberty, the friends of democratic expansion. The Ghibelline party
included the naturalized nobles, the men of arms and idleness, the advocates
of feudalism, the politicians who regarded constitutional progress with
disfavor. That the banner of the Church floated over the one camp, while
the standard of the Empire rallied to itself the hostile party, was a matter of
comparatively superficial moment. The true strength of the war lay in the
population, divided by irreconcilable ideals, each eager to possess the city
for itself, each prepared to die for its adopted principles. The struggle is a
social struggle, played out within the precincts of the Commune, for the
supremacy of one or the other moiety of the whole people. A city does not
pronounce itself either Guelf or Ghibelline till half the burghers have been
exiled. The victorious party organizes the government in its own interest,
establishes itself in a Palazzo apart from the Commune, where it develops
its machinery at home and abroad, and strengthens its finance by forced
contributions and confiscations.[1] The exiles make common cause with
members of their own faction in an adverse burgh; and thus, by the
diplomacy of Guelfs and Ghibellines, the most distant centers are drawn
into the network of a common dualism. In this way we are justified in
saying that Italy achieved her national consciousness through strife and
conflict; for the Communes ceased to be isolated, cemented by temporary
leagues, or engaged in merely local conflicts. They were brought together
and connected by the sympathies and antipathies of an antagonism which
embraced and dominated the municipalities, set Republics and Regno on
equal footing, and merged the titular leaders of the struggle, Pope and
Emperor, in the uncontrollable tumult. The issue was no vulgar one; no
merely egotistic interests were at stake. Guelfs and Ghibellines alike
interrogated the oracle, with perfect will to obey its inspiration for the
common good; but they read the utterances of the Pythia in adverse senses.
The Ghibelline heard Italy calling upon him to build a citadel that should be
guarded by the lance and shield of chivalry, where the hierarchies of
feudalism, ranged beneath the dais of the Empire, might dispense culture

and civil order in due measure to the people. The Guelf believed that she
was bidding him to multiply arts and guilds within the burgh, beneath the
mantle of the Pope, who stood for Christ, the preacher of equality and peace
for all mankind, in order that the beehive of industry should in course of
time evolve a civil order and a culture representative of its own freely
acting forces.

[1] It is enough to refer to the importance of the Parte Guelfa in the history of
Florence.

During the stress and storm of the fierce warfare carried on by Guelfs and
Ghibellines, the Podestà fell into the second rank. He had been created to
meet an emergency; but now the discord was too vehement for arbitration.
A new functionary appears, with the title of Captain of the People. Chosen
when one or other of the factions gains supreme power in the burgh, he
represents the victorious party, takes the lead in proscribing their opponents,
and ratifies on his responsibility the changes introduced into the
constitution. The old magistracies and councils, meanwhile, are not
abrogated. The Consiglio del Popolo, with the Capitano at its head, takes
the lead; and a new member, called the Consiglio della Parte, is found
beside them, watchful to maintain the policy of the victorious faction. But
the Consiglio del Comune, with the Podestà, who has not ceased to exercise
judicial functions, still subsists. The Priors form the signory as of old. The
Credenza goes on working, and the Gran Consiglio represents the body of
privileged burghers. The party does but tyrannize over the city it has
conquered, and manipulates the ancient constitution for its own advantage.
In this clash of Guelf with Ghibelline the beneficiaries were the lower
classes of the people. Excluded from the Popolo of episcopal and consular
revolutions, the trades and industries of the great cities now assert their
claims to be enfranchised. The advent of the Arti is the chief social
phenomenon of the crisis.[1] Thus the final issue of the conflict was a new
Italy, deeply divided by factions that were little understood, because they
were so vital, because they represented two adverse currents of national
energy, incompatible, irreconcilable, eternal in antagonism as the poles. But
this discordant nation was more commercial and more democratic. Families
of merchants rose upon the ruins of the old nobility. Roman cities of
industry reduced their military rivals of earlier or later origin to
insignificance. The plain, the river, and the port asserted themselves against
the mountain fastness and the barrackburgh. The several classes of society,
triturated, shaken together, leveled by warfare and equalized by industry,
presented but few obstacles to the emergence of commanding personalities,
however humble, from their ranks. Not only had the hierarchy of feudalism
disappeared; but the constitution of the city itself was confused, and the
Popolo, whether 'primo' or 'secondo or even 'terzo,' was diluted with

recently franchised Contadini and all kinds of 'novi homines.'[2] The Divine
Comedy, written after the culmination of the Guelf and Ghibelline
dissensions, yields the measure of their animosity. Dante finds no place in
Hell Heaven, or Purgatory for the souls who stood aloof from strife, the
angels who were neither Guelf nor Ghibelline in Paradise. His Vigliacchi,
'wretches who never lived,' because they never felt the pangs or ecstasies of
partisanship, wander homeless on the skirts of Limbo, among the abortions
and offscourings of creation. Even so there was no standing-ground in Italy
outside one or the other hostile camp. Society was riven down to its
foundation. Rancors dating from the thirteenth century endured long after
the great parties ceased to have a meaning. They were perpetuated in
customs, and expressed themselves in the most trivial details. Banners,
ensigns, and heraldic colors followed the divisions of the factions.
Ghibellines wore the feathers in their caps upon one side, Guelfs upon the
other. Ghibellines cut fruit at table crosswise, Guelfs straight down. In
Bergamo some Calabrians were murdered by their host, who discovered
from their way of slicing garlic that they sided with the hostile party.
Ghibellines drank out of smooth, and Guelfs out of chased, goblets.
Ghibellines wore white, and Guelfs red, roses. Yawning, passing in the
street, throwing dice, gestures in speaking or swearing, were used as
pretexts for distinguishing the one half of Italy from the other. So late as the
middle of the fifteenth century, the Ghibellines of Milan tore Christ from
the high-altar of the Cathedral at Crema and burned him because he turned
his face to the Guelf shoulder. Every great city has a tale of love and death
that carries the contention of its adverse families into the region of romance
and legend. Florence dated her calamities from the insult offered by
Buondelmonte dei Buondelmonti to the Amidei in a broken marriage.
Bologna never forgot the pathos of Imelda Lambertazzi stretched in death
upon her lover Bonifazio Gieremei's corpse. The story of Romeo and Juliet
at Verona is a myth which brings both factions into play, the well-meaning
intervention of peace-making monks, and the ineffectual efforts of the
Podestà to curb the violence of party warfare.
[1] The history of Florence illustrates more clearly than that of any other town
the vast importance acquired by trades and guilds in politics at this epoch of the
civil wars.
[2] This is the sting of Cacciaguida's scornful lamentation over Florence Par. xvi.

Ma la cittadinanza, ch' è or mista
Di Campi e di Certaldo e di Figghine,
Pura vedeasi nell' ultimo artista.

Tal fatto è fiorentino, e cambia e merca,
Che si sarebbe volto a Semifonti,
Là dove andava l' avolo alia cerca.

Sempre la confusione delle persone
Principio fu del mal della cittade,
Come del corpo il cibo che s' appone.

So deep and dreadful was the discord, so utter the exhaustion, that the
distracted Communes were fain at last to find some peace in tyranny. At the
close of their long quarrel with the house of Hohenstauffen, the Popes
called Charles of Anjou into Italy. The final issue of that policy for the
nation at large will be discussed in another portion of this work. It is enough
to point out here that, as Ezzelino da Romano introduced despotism in its
worst form as a party leader of the Ghibellines, so Charles of Anjou became
a typical tyrant in the Guelf interest. He was recognized as chief of the
Guelf party by the Florentines, and the kingdom of the Two Sicilies was
conferred upon him as the price of his dictatorship. The republics almost
simultaneously entered upon a new phase. Democratized by the extension
of the franchise, corrupted, to use Machiavelli's phrase, in their old
organization of the Popolo and Commune, they fell into the hands of
tyrants, who employed the prestige of their party, the indifference of the
Vigliacchi, and the peace-loving instincts of the middle class for the
consolidation of their selfish autocracy.[1] Placing himself above the law,
manipulating the machinery of the State for his own ends, substituting the
will of a single ruler for the clash of hostile passions in the factions, the
tyrant imposed a forcible tranquillity upon the city he had grasped. The
Captaincy of the people was conferred upon him.[2] The Councils were
suffocated and reduced to silence. The aristocracy was persecuted for the
profit of the plebs. Under his rule commerce flourished; the towns were
adorned with splendid edifices; foreign wars were carried on for the
aggrandizement of the State without regard to factious rancors. Thus the
tyrant marked the first emergence of personality supreme within the State,
resuming its old forces in an autocratic will, superseding and at the same
time consciously controlling the mute, collective, blindly working impulses
of previous revolutions. His advent was welcomed as a blessing by the

recently developed people of the cities he reduced to peace. But the great
families and leaders of the parties regarded him with loathing, as a reptile
spawned by the corruption and disease of the decaying body politic. In their
fury they addressed themselves to the two chiefs of Christendom. Boniface
VIII., answering to this appeal, called in a second Frenchman, Charles of
Valois, with the titles of Marquis of Ancona, Count of Romagna, Captain of
Tuscany, who was bidden to reduce Italy to order on Guelf principles.
Dante in his mountain solitudes invoked the Emperor, and Italy beheld the
powerless march of Henry VII. Neither Pope nor Emperor was strong
enough to control the currents of the factions which were surely whirling
Italy into the abyss of despotism. Boniface died of grief after Sciarra
Colonna, the terrible Ghibelline's outrage at Anagni, and the Papal Court
was transferred to Avignon in 1316. Henry VII. expired, of poison probably,
at Buonconvento, in 1313. The parties tore each other to fragments. Tyrants
were murdered. Whole families were extirpated. Yet these convulsions bore
no fruit of liberty. The only exit from the situation was in despotism—the
despotism of a jealous oligarchy as at Florence, or the despotism of new
tyrants in Lombardy and the Romagna.[3]
[1] Not to mention the republics of Lombardy and Romagna, which took the
final stamp of despotism at the beginning of the fourteenth century, it is
noticeable that Pisa submitted to Uguccione da Faggiuola, Lucca to Castruccio
Castracane, and Florence to the Duke of Athens. The revolution of Pisa in 1316
delivered it from Uguccione; the premature death of Castruccio in 1328
destroyed the Tuscan duchy he was building up upon the basement of
Ghibellinism; while the rebellion of 1343 averted tyranny from Florence for
another century.
[2] Machiavelli's Vita di Castruccio Castracane, though it is rather a historical
romance than a trustworthy biography, illustrates the gradual advances made by
a bold and ambitious leader from the Captaincy of the people, conferred upon
him for one year, to the tyranny of his city.
[3] The Divine comedy is, under one of its aspects, the Epic of Italian tyranny, so
many of its episodes are chosen from the history of the civil wars:

Chè le terre d' Italia tutte piene
Son di tiranni; ed un Marcel diventa
Ogni villan che parteggiando viene.
Those lines occur in the apostrophe to Italy (Purg. vi.) where Dante refers to the
Empire, idealized by him as the supreme authority in Europe.

Meanwhile the perils to which the tyrants were exposed taught them to
employ cruelty and craft in combination. From the confused and spasmodic
efforts of the thirteenth century, when Captains of the people and leaders of
the party seized a momentary gust of power, there arose a second sort of
despotism, more cautious in its policy, more methodic in its use of means to
ends, which ended by metamorphosing the Italian cities and preparing the
great age of the Renaissance. It would be sentimental to utter lamentations
over this change, and unphilosophical to deplore the diminution of
republican liberty as an unmixed evil. The divisions of Italy and the
weakness of both Papacy and Empire left no other solution of the political
problem. All branches of the municipal administration, strained to the
cracking-point by the tension of party conflict, were now isolated from the
organism, abnormally developed, requiring the combining effort of a single
thinker to reunite their scattered forces in one system or absorb them in
himself. The indirect restraints which a calmer period of municipal vitality
had placed upon tyrannic ambition, were removed by the leveling of classes
and the presentation of an equal surface to the builder of the palace-dome of
monarchy. Moreover, it must be remembered that what the Italians then
understood by freedom was municipal autonomy controlled by ruling
houses in the interest of the few. These considerations need not check our
sympathy with Florence in the warfare she carried on against the Milanese
tyrants. But they should lead us to be cautious in adopting the conclusions
of Sismondi, who saw Italian greatness only in her free cities. The
obliteration of the parties beneath despotism was needed, under actual
conditions, for that development of arts and industry which raised Italy to a
first place among civilized nations. Of the manners of the Despots, and of
the demoralization they encouraged in the cities of their rule, enough will
be said in the succeeding chapters, which set forth the social conditions of
the Renaissance in Italy. But attention should here be called to the general
character of despotic authority, and to the influence the Despots exercised
for the pacification of the country. We are not justified by facts in assuming
that had the free burghs continued independent, arts and literature would
have risen to a greater height. Venice, in spite of an uninterrupted
republican career, produced no commanding men of letters, and owed much
of her splendor in the art of painting to aliens from Cadore, Castelfranco,
and Verona. Genoa remained silent and irresponsive to the artistic
movement of Italy until the last days of the republic, when her

independence was but a shadow. Pisa, though a burgh of Tuscany, displayed
no literary talent, while her architecture dates from the first period of the
Commune. Siena, whose republican existence lasted longer even than that
of Florence, contributed nothing of importance to Italian literature. The art
of Perugia was developed during the ascendency of despotic families. The
painting of the Milanese School owed its origin to Lodovico Sforza, and
survived the tragic catastrophes of his capital, which suffered more than any
other from the brutalities of Spaniards and Frenchmen. Next to Florence,
the most brilliant centers of literary activity during the bright days of the
Renaissance were princely Ferrara and royal Naples. Lastly, we might insist
upon the fact that the Italian language took its first flight in the court of
imperial Palermo, while republican Rome remained dumb throughout the
earlier stage of Italian literary evolution. Thus the facts of the case seem to
show that culture and republican independence were not so closely united in
Italy as some historians would seek to make us believe. On the other hand it
is impossible to prove that the despotisms of the fifteenth century were
necessary to the perfecting of art and literature. All that can be safely
advanced upon this subject, is that the pacification of Italy was demanded
as a preliminary condition, and that this pacification came to pass through
the action of the princes, checked and equilibrated by the oligarchies of
Venice and Florence. It might further be urged that the Despots were in
close sympathy with the masses of the people, shared their enthusiasms, and
promoted their industry. When the classical revival took place at the close
of the fourteenth century, they divined this movement of the Italic races to
resume their past, and gave it all encouragement. To be a prince, and not to
be the patron of scholarship, the pupil of humanists, and the founder of
libraries, was an impossibility. In like manner they employed their wealth
upon the development of arts and industries. The great age of Florentine
painting is indissolubly connected with the memories of Casa Medici.
Rome owes her magnificence to the despotic Popes. Even the pottery of
Gubbio was a creation of the ducal house of Urbino.
After the death of Henry VII. and the beginning of the Papal exile at
Avignon, the Guelf party became the rallying-point of municipal
independence, with its headquarters in Florence. Ghibellinism united the
princes in an opposite camp. 'The Guelf party,' writes Giovanni Villani,
'forms the solid and unalterable basis of Italian liberty, and is so

antagonistic to all tyranny that, if a Guelf become a tyrant, he must of
necessity become at the same moment Ghibelline.' Milan, first to assert the
rights of the free burghs, was now the chief center of despotism; and the
events of the next century resume themselves in the long struggle between
Florence and the Visconti. The chronicle of the Villani and the Florentine
history of Poggio contain the record of this strife, which seemed to them the
all-important crisis of Italian affairs. In the Milanese annals of Galvano
Fiamma and Mussi, on the other hand, the advantages of a despotic
sovereignty in giving national coherence, the crimes of the Papacy, which
promoted anarchy in its ill-governed States, and the prospect of a
comprehensive Italian tyranny under the great house of the Visconti, are
eloquently pleaded. The terms of the main issue being thus clearly defined,
we may regard the warfare carried on by Bertrand du Poiet and Louis of
Bavaria in the interests of Church and Empire, the splendid campaigns of
Egidio d'Albornoz, and the delirious cruelty of Robert of Geneva, no less
than the predatory excursions of Charles IV., as episodical. The main profits
of those convulsions, which drowned Italy in blood during nearly all the
fourteenth century, accrued to the Despots, who held their ground in spite of
all attempts to dispossess them. The greater houses, notably the Visconti,
acquired strength by revolutions in which the Church and Empire
neutralized each other's action. The lesser families struck firm roots into
cities, infuriated rather than intimidated by such acts of violence as the
massacres of Faenza and Cesena in 1377. The relations of the imperial and
pontifical parties were confused; while even in the center of republican
independence, at Florence, social changes, determined in great measure by
the exhaustion of the city in its conflict, prepared the way for the Medicean
tyranny. Neither the Church nor the Empire gained steady footing in Italy,
while the prestige of both was ruined.[1] Municipal freedom, instead of
being enlarged, was extinguished by the ambition of the Florentine
oligarchs, who, while they spent the last florin of the Commune in opposing
the Visconti, never missed an opportunity of enslaving the sister burghs of
Tuscany. In a word, the destiny of the nation was irresistibly impelling it
toward despotism.
[1] Machiavelli, in his Istorie Fiorentine (Firenze, 1818, vol. i. pp. 47, 48),
points out how the competition of the Church and Empire, during the Papacies of
Benedict XII. and Clement VI. and the reign of Louis strengthened the tyrants of
Lombardy, Romagna, and the March. Each of the two contending powers gave

away what did not belong to them, bidding against each other for any support
they might obtain from the masters of the towns.

In order to explain the continual prosperity of the princes amid the clash of
forces brought to bear against them from so many sides, we must remember
that they were the partisans of social order in distracted burghs, the heroes
of the middle classes and the multitude, the quellers of faction, the
administrators of impartial laws, and the aggrandizers of the city at the
expense of its neighbors. Ser Gorello, singing the praises of the Bishop
Guido dei Tarlati di Pietra Mala, who ruled Arezzo in the first half of the
fourteenth century, makes the Commune say:[1] 'He was the lord so valiant
and magnificent, so full of grace and daring, so agreeable to both Guelfs
and Ghibellines. He, for his virtue, was chosen by common consent to be
the master of my people. Peace and justice were the beginning, middle, and
end of his lordship, which removed all discord from the State. By the
greatness of his valor I grew in territory round about. Every neighbor
reverenced me, some through love and some through dread; for it was dear
to them to rest beneath his mantle.' These verses set forth the qualities
which united the mass of the populations to their new lords. The Despot
delivered the industrial classes from the tyranny and anarchy of faction,
substituting a reign of personal terrorism that weighed more heavily upon
the nobles than upon the artisans or peasants. Ruling more by perfidy,
corruption, and fraud than by the sword, he turned the leaders of parties into
courtiers, brought proscribed exiles back into the city as officials, flattered
local vanity by continuing the municipal machinery in its functions of
parade, and stopped the mouths of unruly demagogues by making it their
pecuniary interest to preach his benefits abroad. So long as the burghers
remained peaceable beneath his sway and refrained from attacking him in
person, he was mild. But at the same moment the gallows, the torture-
chamber, the iron cage suspended from the giddy height of palace-roof or
church tower, and the dreadful dungeons, where a prisoner could neither
stand nor lie at ease, were ever ready for the man who dared dispute his
authority. That authority depended solely on his personal qualities of will,
courage, physical endurance. He held it by intelligence, being as it were an
artificial product of political necessities, an equilibrium of forces,
substituted without legal title for the Church and Empire, and accumulating
in his despotic individuality the privileges previously acquired by centuries
of consuls, Podestàs, and Captains of the people. The chief danger he had to

fear was conspiracy; and in providing himself against this peril he expended
all the resources suggested by refined ingenuity and heightened terror. Yet,
when the Despot was attacked and murdered, it followed of necessity that
the successful conspirator became in turn a tyrant. 'Cities,' wrote
Machiavelli,[2] 'that are once corrupt and accustomed to the rule of princes,
can never acquire freedom, even though the prince with all his kin be
extirpated. One prince is needed to extinguish another; and the city has no
rest except by the creation of a new lord, unless it chance that one burgher
by his goodness and great qualities may during his lifetime preserve its
temporary independence.' Palace intrigues, therefore, took the place of
Piazza revolutions, and dynasties were swept away to make room for new
tyrants without material change in the condition of the populace.
[1] Mur. Scr. R. It. xv. 826. Compare what G. Merula wrote about Azzo Visconti:
'He conciliated the people to him by equal justice without distinction of Guelf or
Ghibelline.'
[2] Discorsi. i. 17.

It was the universal policy of the Despots to disarm their subjects. Prompted
by considerations of personal safety, and demanded by the necessity of
extirpating the factions, this measure was highly popular. It relieved the
burghers of that most burdensome of all public duties, military service. A
tax on silver and salt was substituted in the Milanese province for the
conscription, while the Florentine oligarchs, actuated probably by the same
motives, laid a tax upon the country. The effect of this change was to make
financial and economical questions all-important, and to introduce a new
element into the balance of Italian powers. The principalities were
transformed into great banks, where the lords of cities sat in their bureau,
counted their money, and calculated the cost of wars or the value of towns
they sought to acquire by bargain. At first they used their mercenary troops
like pawns, buying up a certain number for some special project, and
dismissing them when it had been accomplished. But in course of time the
mercenaries awoke to the sense of their own power, and placed themselves
beneath captains who secured them a certainty of pay with continuity of
profitable service. Thus the Condottieri came into existence, and Italy
beheld the spectacle of moving despotisms, armed and mounted, seeking to
effect establishment upon the weakest, worst-defended points of the
peninsula. They proved a grave cause of disquietude alike to the tyrants and

the republics; and until the settlement of Francesco Sforza in the Duchy of
Milan, when the employers of auxiliaries had come to understand the arts of
dealing with them by perfidy, secret assassination, and a system of elaborate
counter-checks, the equilibrium of power in Italy was seriously threatened.
The country suffered at first from marauding excursions conducted by
piratical leaders of adventurous troops, by Werner of Urslingen, the Conte
Lando, and Fra Moriale; afterwards from the discords of Braccio da
Montone and Sforza Attendolo, incessantly plotting to carve duchies for
themselves from provinces they had been summoned by a master to subdue.
At this period gold ruled the destinies of Italy. The Despots, relying solely
on their exchequer for their power, were driven to extortion. Cities became
bankrupt, pledged their revenues, or sold themselves to the highest bidder.
[1]
Indescribable misery oppressed the poorer classes and the peasants. A
series of obscure revolutions in the smaller despotic centers pointed to a
vehement plebeian reaction against a state of things that had become
unbearable. The lower classes of the burghers rose against the 'popolani
grassi,' and a new class of princes emerged at the close of the crisis. Thus
the plebs forced the Bentivogli on Bologna and the Medici on Florence, and
Baglioni on Perugia and the Petrucci on Siena.
[1] Perugia, for example, farmed out the tax upon her country population for
12,000 florins, upon her baking-houses for 7,266, upon her wine for 4,000, upon
her lake for 5,200, upon contracts for 1,500. Two bankers accepted the Perugian
loan at this price in 1388.

The emergence of the Condottieri at the beginning of the fourteenth century,
the anarchy they encouraged for their own aggrandizement, and the
financial distress which ensued upon the substitution of mercenary for civic
warfare, completed the democratization of the Italian cities, and marked a
new period in the history of despotism. From the date of Francesco Sforza's
entry into Milan as conqueror in 1450, the princes became milder in their
exercise of power and less ambitious. Having begun by disarming their
subjects, they now proceeded to lay down arms themselves, employing
small forces for the protection of their person and the State, engaging more
cautiously in foreign strife, and substituting diplomacy, wherever it was
possible, for warfare. Gold still ruled in politics, but it was spent in bribery.
To the ambitious military schemes of Gian Galeazzo Visconti succeeded the
commercial cynicism of Cosimo de' Medici, who enslaved Florence by
astute demoralization.[1] The spirit of the age was materialistic and positive.

The Despots held their state by treachery, craft, and corruption. The element
of force being virtually eliminated, intelligence at last gained undivided
sway; and the ideal statecraft of Machiavelli was realized with more or less
completeness in all parts of the peninsula. At this moment and by these
means Italy obtained a brief but golden period of peace beneath the
confederation of her great powers. Nicholas V. had restored the Papal court
to Rome in 1447; where he assumed the manners of despotism and counted
as one among the Italian Signori. Lombardy remained tranquil under the
rule of Francesco Sforza, and Tuscany under that of the Casa Medici. The
kingdom of Naples, conquered by Alfonso of Aragon in 1442, was equally
ruled in the spirit of enlightened despotism, while Venice, who had so long
formed a state apart, by her recent acquisition of a domain on terra firma,
entered the community of Italian politics. Thus the country had finally
resolved itself into five grand constituent elements—the Duchy of Milan,
the Republic of S. Mark, Florence, Rome, and the kingdom of Naples—all
of them, though widely differing in previous history and constitutional
peculiarities, now animated by a common spirit.[2] Politically they tended to
despotism; for though Venice continued to be a republic, the government of
the Venetian oligarchy was but despotism put into commission.
Intellectually, the same enthusiasm for classical studies, the same artistic
energy, and the same impulse to revive Italian literature brought the several
centers of the nation into keener sympathy than they had felt before. A
network of diplomacy embraced the cities; and round the leaders of the
confederation were grouped inferior burghs, republican or tyrannical as the
case might be, like satellites around the luminaries of a solar system. When
Constantinople was taken by the Turks in 1453, Italy felt the need of
suppressing her old jealousies, and Nicholas V. induced the four great
powers to sign with him a treaty of peace and amity. The political tact and
sagacity of Lorenzo de' Medici enabled him to develop and substantiate the
principle of balance then introduced into Italian politics; nor was there any
apparent reason why the equilibrium so hardly won, so skillfully
maintained, should not have subsisted but for Lodovico Sforza's invitation
to the French in 1494. Up to that date the more recent wars of Italy had
been principally caused by the encroachments of Venice and the nepotism
of successive Popes. They raised no new enthusiasm hostile to the interests
of peace. The Empire was eliminated and forgotten as an obsolete antiquity.

Italy seemed at last determined to manage her own affairs by mutual
agreement between the five great powers.
[1] I have attempted to analyze Cosimo's method in the article on 'Florence and
the Medici,' Studies and Sketches in Italy.
[2] This centralization of Italy in five great powers was not obtained without the
depression or total extinction of smaller cities. Ferrari counts seventeen towns,
who died, to use his forcible expression, at the close of the civil wars. Storia
delle Rivoluzioni d' Italia, iii. 239.

Still the ground beneath this specious fabric of diplomacy rung hollow. The
tyrannies represented a transient political necessity. They were not the
product of progressive social growth, satisfying and regulating organic
functions of the nation. Far from being the final outcome of a slow,
deliberate accretion in the states they had absorbed, we see in them the
climax of conflicting humors, the splendid cancers and imposthumes of a
desperate disease. That solid basis of national morality which grounds the
monarch firm upon the sympathies and interests of the people whom he
seems to lead, but whom he in reality expresses, failed them. Therefore
each individual despot trembled for his throne, while Italy, as in the
ominous picture drawn by her historian, felt that all the elements were
combining to devour her with a coming storm. The land of earthquakes
divined a cataclysm, to cope with which she was unable. An apparently
insignificant event determined the catastrophe. The Sforza appealed to
France, and after the disastrous descent of Charles VIII. the whole tide of
events turned. Instead of internal self-government by any system of
balance, Italy submitted to a succession of invasions terminating in foreign
tyranny.
The problem why the Italians failed to achieve the unity of a coherent
nation has been implicitly discussed in the foregoing pages upon the history
of the Communes and the development of despotism. We have already seen
that their conception of municipal independence made a narrow oligarchy
of enfranchised burghers lords of the city, which in its turn oppressed the
country and the subject burghs of its domain. Every conquest by a republic
reduced some village or center of civil life to the condition of serfdom. The
voices of the inhabitants were no longer heard debating questions that
affected their interests. They submitted to dictation from their masters, the
enfranchised few in the ascendant commonwealth. Thus, as Guicciardini

pointed out in his 'Considerations on the Discourses of Machiavelli,' the
subjection of Italy by a dominant republic would have meant the extinction
of numberless political communities and the sway of a close oligarchy from
the Alps to the Ionian Sea.[1] The 3,200 burghers who constituted Florence
in 1494, or the nobles of the Golden Book at Venice, would by such
unification of the country under a victorious republic have become
sovereigns, administering the resources of the nation for their profit. The
dread of this catastrophe rendered Venice odious to her sister
commonwealths at the close of the fifteenth century, and justified,
according to Guicciardini's views of history, the action taken by Cosimo de'
Medici in 1450, when he rendered Milan strong by supporting her despot,
Francesco Sforza.[2] In a word republican freedom, as the term is now
understood, was unknown in Italy. Municipal autonomy, implying the right
of the municipality to rule its conquests for its own particular profit, was the
dominant idea. To have advanced from this stage of thought to the highly
developed conception of a national republic, centralizing the forces of Italy
and at the same time giving free play to its local energies, would have been
impossible. This kind of republican unity implies a previous unification of
the people in some other form of government. It furthermore demands a
system of representation extended to all sections of the nation. Their very
nature, therefore, prevented the republican institutions won by the Italians
in the early Middle Ages from sufficing for their independence in a national
republic.
[1] Op. Ined. vol. i. p. 28.
[2] Ib. vol. iii. p. 8.

It may with more reason be asked in the next place why Italy did not
become a monarchy, and again why she never produced a confederation,
uniting the Communes as the Swiss Cantons were combined for mutual
support and self-defense. When we attack the first of these two questions,
our immediate answer must be that the Italians had a rooted disinclination
for monarchical union.[1] Their most strenuous efforts were directed against
it when it seemed to threaten them. It may be remembered that they were
not a new people, needing concentration to secure their bare existence.
Even during the great days of ancient Rome they had not been what we are
wont to call a nation, but a confederacy of municipalities governed and

directed by the mistress of the globe. When Rome passed away, the
fragments of the body politic in Italy, though rudely shaken, retained some
portion of the old vitality that joined them to the past. It was to the past
rather than the future that the new Italians looked; and even as they lacked
initiative forces in their literature, so in their political systems they ventured
on no fresh beginning. Though Rome herself was ruined, the shadow of the
name of Rome, the mighty memory of Roman greatness, still abode with
them. Instead of a modern capital and a modern king, they had an idea for
their rallying-point, a spiritual city for their metropolis. Nor was there any
immediate reason why they should have sacrificed their local independence
in order to obtain the security afforded by a sovereign. It was not till a later
epoch that Italy learned by bitter experience that unity at any cost would be
acceptable, face to face with the organized armies of modern Europe. But
when the chance of securing that safeguard was offered in the Middle Ages,
it must have been bought by subjection to foreigners, by toleration of
feudalism, by the extinction of Roman culture in the laws and customs of
barbarians. Thus it is not too much to say that the Italians themselves
rejected it. Moreover, the problem of unifying Italy in a monarchy was
never so practically simple as that of forming nations out of the Teutonic
tribes. Not only was the instinct of clanship absent, but before the year 800
all attempts to establish a monarchical state were thwarted by the still
formidable proximity of the Greek Empire and by the growing power of
ecclesiastical Rome. We have seen how the Goths erred by submitting-to
the Empire and merging their authority in a declining organization. We have
seen again how the Lombards erred by adopting Catholic Christianity and
thus entangling themselves in the policy of Papal Rome. Both Goths and
Lombards committed the mistake of sparing the Eternal City; or it may be
more accurate to say that neither of them were strong enough to lay hands
of violence upon the sacred and mysterious metropolis and hold it as their
seat of monarchy against the world. So long as Rome remained
independent, neither Ravenna nor Pavia could head a kingdom in the
peninsula. Meanwhile Rome lent her prestige to the advancement of a
spiritual power which, subject to no dynastic weakness, with the persistent
force of an idea that cannot die, was bent on subjugating Europe. The
Papacy needed Italy as the basis of its operations, and could not brook a
rival that might reduce the See of S. Peter to the level of an ordinary
bishopric. Rome therefore, generation after generation, upheld the so-called

liberties of Italy against all comers; and when she summoned the Franks, it
was to break the growing power of the Lombard monarchs. The pact
between the Popes and Charles the Great, however we may interpret its
meaning, still further removed the possibility of a kingdom by dividing
Italy into two sections with separate allegiances; and since the sway of
neither Pope nor Emperor, the one unarmed, the other absent, was stringent
enough to check the growth of independent cities, a third and all-important
factor was added to the previous checks upon national unity.
[1] Guicciardini (Op. Ined. i. 29) remarks: 'O sia per qualche fato d' Italia, o per
la complessione degli uomini temperata in modo che hanno ingegno e forze, non
è mai questa provincia stata facile a ridursi sotto uno imperio.' He speaks again
of her disunion as 'quello modo di vivere che è più secondo la antiquissima
consuetudine e inclinazione sua.' But Guicciardini, with that defect of vision
which rendered him incapable of appreciating the whole situation while he
analyzed its details so profoundly, was reckoning without the great nations of
Europe. See above, pp. 40, 41.

After 1200 the problem changes its aspect. We have now to ask ourselves
why, when the struggle with the Empire was over, when Frederick
Barbarossa had been defeated at Legnano, when the Lombard and the
Tuscan Leagues were in full vigor before the Guelf and Ghibelline factions
had confused the mainsprings of political activity, and while the national
militia was still energetic, the Communes did not advance from the
conception of local and municipal independence to that of national freedom
in a confederacy similar to the Swiss Bund. The Italians, it may be
suggested, saw no immediate necessity for a confederation that would have
limited the absolute autonomy of their several parcels. Only the light cast
by subsequent events upon their early history makes us perceive that they
missed an unique opportunity at this moment. What they then desired was
freedom for expansion each after his own political type, freedom for the
development of industry and commerce, freedom for the social organization
of the city beloved by its burghers above the nation as a whole. Special
difficulties, moreover, lay in the way of confederation. The Communes
were not districts, like the Swiss Cantons, but towns at war with the
Contado round them and at war among themselves. Mutually jealous and
mistrustful, with a country population that but partially obeyed their rule,
these centers of Italian freedom were in a very different position from the
peasant communities of Schwytz, Uri, Untenvalden. Italy, moreover, could
not have been federally united without the consent of Naples and the

Church. The kingdom of the Two Sicilies, rendered definitely monarchical
by the Norman Conquest, offered a serious obstacle; and though the Regno
might have been defied and absorbed by a vigorous concerted movement
from the North and center, there still remained the opposition of the Papacy.
It had been the recent policy of the Popes to support the free burghs in their
war with Frederick. But they did this only because they could not tolerate a
rival near their base of spiritual power; and the very reasons which had
made them side with the cities in the wars of liberation would have roused
their hostility against a federative union. To have encouraged an Italian
Bund, in the midst of which they would have found the Church unarmed
and on a level with the puissant towns of Lombardy and Tuscany, must
have seemed to them a suicidal error. Such a coalition, if attempted, could
not but have been opposed with all their might; for the whole history of
Italy proves that Machiavelli was right when he asserted that the Church
had persistently maintained the nation in disunion for the furtherance of her
own selfish ends. We have furthermore to add the prestige which the
Empire preserved for the Italians, who failed to conceive of any civilized,
human society whereof the representative of Cæsar should not be the God-
appointed head. Though the material power of the Emperors was on the
wane, it still existed as a dominant idea. Italy was still the Garden of the
Empire no less than the Throne of Christ on earth. After the burghs had
wrung what they regarded as their reasonable rights and privileges from
Frederick, they laid down their arms, and were content to flourish beneath
the imperial shadow. To raise up a political association as a bulwark against
the Holy Roman Empire, and by the formation of this defense to become an
independent and united nation, instead of remaining an aggregate of
scattered townships, would have seemed to their minds little short of
sacrilege. Up to this point the Church and the Empire had been,
theoretically at least, concordant. They were the sun and moon of a sacred
social system which ruled Europe with light and might. But the Wars of
Investiture placed them in antagonism, and the result of that quarrel was
still further to divide the Italians, still further to remove the hope of national
unity into the region of things unattainable. The great parties accentuated
communal jealousies and gave external form and substance to the struggles
of town with town. So far distant was the possibility of confederation on a
grand scale that every city strove within itself to establish one of two
contradictory principles, and the energies of the people were expended in a

struggle that set neighbor against neighbor on the field of war and in the
market-place. The confusion, exhaustion, and demoralization engendered
by these conflicts determined the advent of the Despots; and after 1400
Italy could only have been united under a tyrant's iron rule. At such an
universal despotism Gian Galeazzo Visconti was aiming when the plague
cut short his schemes. Cesare Borgia played his highest stakes for it. Leo X.
dreamed of it for his family. Machiavelli, at the end of the Principe, when
the tragedy of Italy was almost accomplished, invoked it. But even for this
last chance of unification it was now too late. The great nations of Europe
were in movement, and the destinies of Italy depended upon France and
Spain. When Charles V. remained victor in the struggle of the sixteenth
century, he stereotyped and petrified the divisions of Italy in the interest of
his own dynastic policy. The only Italian power that remained unchangeable
throughout all changes was the Papacy—the first to emerge into
prominence after the decay of the old Western Empire, the last to suffer
diminution in spite of vicissitudes, humiliations, schisms, and internal
transformation. As the Papacy had created and maintained a divided Italy,
as it had opposed itself to every successive prospect of unification, so it
survived the extinction of Italian independence, and lent its aid to that
imperial tyranny whereby the disunion of the nation was confirmed and
prolongated till the present century.

CHAPTER III.
THE AGE OF THE DESPOTS.

Salient Qualities of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries in Italy—
Relation of Italy to the Empire and to the Church—The Illegitimate Title of
Italian Potentates—The Free Emergence of Personality—Frederick II. and
the Influence of his Example—Ezzelino da Romano—Six Sorts of Italian
Despots—Feudal Seigneurs—Vicars of the Empire—Captains of the People
—Condottieri—Nephews and Sons of Popes—Eminent Burghers—Italian
Incapacity for Self-Government in Commonwealths—Forcible Tenure of
Power encouraged Personal Ability—The Condition of the Despot's Life—
Instances of Domestic Crime in the Ruling Houses—Macaulay's
Description of the Italian Tyrant —Savonarola's and Matteo Villani's
Description of a Tyrant—The Absorption of Smaller by Greater Tyrannies
in the Fourteenth Century—History of the Visconti—Francesco Sforza—
The Part played in Italian Politics by Military Leaders—Mercenary Warfare
—Alberico da Barbiano, Braccio da Montone, Sforza Attendolo—History
of the Sforza Dynasty—The Murder of Galeazzo Maria Sforza—The Ethics
of Tyrannicide in Italy—Relation of the Despots to Arts and Letters—
Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta—Duke Federigo of Urbino—The School
of Vittorino and the Court of Urbino—The Cortegiano of Castiglione—The
Ideals of the Italian Courtier and the Modern Gentleman—General
Retrospect.
The fourteenth and fifteenth centuries may be called the Age of the Despots
in Italian history, as the twelfth and thirteenth are the Age of the Free
Burghs, and as the sixteenth and seventeenth are the Age of Foreign
Enslavement. It was during the age of the Despots that the conditions of the
Renaissance were evolved, and that the Renaissance itself assumed a
definite character in Italy. Under tyrannies, in the midst of intrigues, wars,
and revolutions, the peculiar individuality of the Italians obtained its
ultimate development. This individuality, as remarkable for salient genius
and diffused talent as for self-conscious and deliberate vice, determined the
qualities of the Renaissance and affected by example the whole of Europe.

Italy led the way in the education of the Western races, and was the first to
realize the type of modern as distinguished from classical and mediæval
life.
During this age of the despots, Italy presents the spectacle of a nation
devoid of central government and comparatively uninfluenced by
feudalism. The right of the Emperor had become nominal, and served as a
pretext for usurpers rather than as a source of order. The visits, for instance,
of Charles IV. and Frederick III. were either begging expeditions or holiday
excursions, in the course of which ambitious adventurers bought titles to the
government of towns, and meaningless honors were showered upon vain
courtiers. It was not till the reign of Maximilian that Germany adopted a
more serious policy with regard to Italy, which by that time had become the
central point of European intrigue. Charles V. afterwards used force to
reassert imperial rights over the Italian cities, acting not so much in the
interest of the Empire as for the aggrandizement of the Spanish monarchy.
At the same time the Papacy, which had done so much to undermine the
authority of the Empire, exercised a power at once anomalous and ill-
recognized except in the immediate States of the Church. By the extinction
of the House of Hohenstauffen and by the assumed right to grant the
investiture of the kingdom of Naples to foreigners, the Popes not only
struck a death-blow at imperial influence, but also prepared the way for
their own exile to Avignon. This involved the loss of the second great
authority to which Italy had been accustomed to look for the maintenance
of some sort of national coherence. Moreover, the Church, though impotent
to unite all Italy beneath her own sway, had power enough to prevent the
formation either by Milan or Venice or Naples of a substantial kingdom.
The result was a perpetually recurring process of composition,
dismemberment, and recomposition, under different forms, of the scattered
elements of Italian life. The Guelf and Ghibelline parties, inherited from the
wars of the thirteenth century, survived the political interests which had
given them birth, and proved an insurmountable obstacle, long after they
had ceased to have any real significance, to the pacification of the country.
[1]
The only important state which maintained an unbroken dynastic
succession of however disputed a nature at this period was the kingdom of
the Two Sicilies. The only great republics were Venice, Genoa, and
Florence. Of these, Genoa, after being reduced in power and prosperity by

Venice, was overshadowed by the successive lords of Milan; while Florence
was destined at the end of a long struggle to fall beneath a family of
despots. All the rest of Italy, especially to the north of the Apennines, was
the battle-field of tyrants, whose title was illegitimate—based, that is to say,
on no feudal principle, derived in no regular manner from the Empire, but
generally held as a gift or extorted as a prize from the predominant parties
in the great towns.
[1] So late as 1526 we find the burlesque poet Folengo exclaiming (Orlandino,
ii. 59)—

Chè se non fusser le gran parti in quella,
Dominerebbe il mondo Italia bella.

If we examine the constitution of these tyrannies, we find abundant proofs
of their despotic nature. The succession from father to son was always
uncertain. Legitimacy of birth was hardly respected. The last La Scalas
were bastards. The house of Aragon in Naples descended from a bastard.
Gabriello Visconti shared with his half-brothers the heritage of Gian
Galeazzo. The line of the Medici was continued by princes of more than
doubtful origin. Suspicion rested on the birth of Frederick of Urbino. The
houses of Este and Malatesta honored their bastards in the same degree as
their lawful progeny. The great family of the Bentivogli at Bologna owed
their importance at the end of the fifteenth century to an obscure and
probably spurious pretender, dragged from the wool-factories of Florence
by the policy of Cosimo de' Medici. The sons of popes ranked with the
proudest of aristocratic families. Nobility was less regarded in the choice of
a ruler than personal ability. Power once acquired was maintained by force,
and the history of the ruling families is one long catalogue of crimes. Yet
the cities thus governed were orderly and prosperous. Police regulations
were carefully established and maintained by governors whose interest it
was to rule a quiet state. Culture was widely diffused without regard to rank
or wealth. Public edifices of colossal grandeur were multiplied. Meanwhile
the people at large were being fashioned to that self-conscious and
intelligent activity which is fostered by the modes of life peculiar to
political and social centers in a condition of continued rivalry and change.

Under the Italian despotisms we observe nearly the opposite of all the
influences brought to bear in the same period upon the nations of the North.
There is no gradual absorption of the great vassals in monarchies, no fixed
allegiance to a reigning dynasty, no feudal aid or military service attached
to the tenure of the land, no tendency to centralize the whole intellectual
activity of the race in any capital, no suppression of individual character by
strongly biased public feeling, by immutable law, or by the superincumbent
weight of a social hierarchy. Everything, on the contrary, tends to the free
emergence of personal passions and personal aims. Though the vassals of
the despot are neither his soldiers nor his loyal lieges, but his courtiers and
taxpayers, the continual object of his cruelty and fear, yet each subject has
the chance of becoming a prince like Sforza or a companion of princes like
Petrarch. Equality of servitude goes far to democratize a nation, and
common hatred of the tyrant leads to the combination of all classes against
him. Thence follows the fermentation of arrogant and self-reliant passions
in the breasts of the lowest as well as the highest.[1] The rapid mutations of
government teach men to care for themselves and to depend upon
themselves alone in the battle of the world; while the necessity of craft and
policy in the conduct of complicated affairs sharpens intelligence. The
sanction of all means that may secure an end under conditions of social
violence encourages versatility unprejudiced by moral considerations. At
the same time the freely indulged vices of the sovereign are an example of
self-indulgence to the subject, and his need of lawless instruments is a
practical sanction of force in all its forms. Thus to the play of personality,
whether in combat with society and rivals, or in the gratification of
individual caprice, every liberty is allowed. Might is substituted for right,
and the sense of law is supplanted by a mere dread of coercion. What is the
wonder if a Benvenuto Cellini should be the outcome of the same society as
that which formed a Cesare Borgia? What is the miracle if Italy under these
circumstances produced original characters and many-sided intellects in
greater profusion than any other nation at any other period, with the single
exception of Greece on her emergence from the age of her despots? It was
the misfortune of Italy that the age of the despots was succeeded not by an
age of free political existence, but by one of foreign servitude.
[1] See Guicciardini, 'Dialogo del Reggimento di Firenze,' Op. Ined. vol. ii. p.
53, for a critique of the motives of tyrannicide in Italy.

Frederick II. was at the same time the last emperor who maintained imperial
sway in Italy in person, and also the beginner of a new system of
government which the despots afterwards pursued. His establishment of the
Saracen colony at Nocera, as the nucleus of an army ready to fulfill his
orders with scrupulous disregard for Italian sympathies and customs, taught
all future rulers to reduce their subjects to a state of unarmed passivity, and
to carry on their wars by the aid of German, English, Swiss, Gascon,
Breton, or Hungarian mercenaries, as the case might be. Frederick, again,
derived from his Mussulman predecessors in Sicily the arts of taxation to
the utmost limits of the national capacity, and founded a precedent for the
levying of tolls by a Catasto or schedule of the properties attributed to each
individual in the state. He also destroyed the self-government of burghs and
districts, by retaining for himself the right to nominate officers, and by
establishing a system of judicial jurisdiction which derived authority from
the throne. Again, he introduced the example of a prince making profit out
of the industries of his subjects by monopolies and protective duties. In this
path he was followed by illustrious successors—especially by Sixtus IV.
and Alfonso II. of Aragon, who enriched themselves by trafficking in the
corn and olive-oil of their famished provinces. Lastly, Frederick established
the precedent of a court formed upon the model of that of Oriental Sultans,
in which chamberlains and secretaries took the rank of hereditary nobles,
and functions of state were confided to the body-servants of the monarch.
This court gave currency to those habits of polite culture, magnificent
living, and personal luxury which played so prominent a part in all
subsequent Italian despotism. It is tempting to overstrain a point in
estimating the direct influence of Frederick's example. In many respects
doubtless he was merely somewhat in advance of his age; and what we may
be inclined to ascribe to him personally, would have followed in the natural
evolution of events. Yet it remains a fact that he first realized the type of
cultivated despotism which prevailed throughout Italy in the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries. Italian literature began in his court, and many Saracenic
customs of statecraft were transmitted through him from Palermo to
Lombardy.
While Frederick foreshadowed the comparatively modern tyrants of the
coming age, his Vicar in the North of Italy, Ezzelino da Romano,
represented the atrocities towards which they always tended to degenerate.

Regarding himself with a sort of awful veneration as the divinely appointed
scourge of humanity, this monster in his lifetime was execrated as an
aberration from 'the kindly race of men,' and after his death he became the
hero of a fiendish mythus. But in the succeeding centuries of Italian history
his kind was only too common; the immorality with which he worked out
his selfish aims was systematically adopted by princes like the Visconti, and
reduced to rule by theorists like Machiavelli. Ezzelino, a small, pale, wiry
man, with terror in his face and enthusiasm for evil in his heart, lived a foe
to luxury, cold to the pathos of children, dead to the enchantment of
women. His one passion was the greed of power, heightened by the lust for
blood. Originally a noble of the Veronese Marches, he founded his illegal
authority upon the captaincy of the Imperial party delegated to him by
Frederick. Verona, Vicenza, Padua, Feltre, and Belluno made him their
captain in the Ghibelline interest, conferring on him judicial as well as
military supremacy. How he fearfully abused his power, how a crusade was
preached against him,[1] and how he died in silence, like a boar at bay,
rending from his wounds the dressings that his foes had placed to keep him
alive, are notorious matters of history. At Padua alone he erected eight
prisons, two of which contained as many as three hundred captives each;
and though the executioner never ceased to ply his trade there, they were
always full. These dungeons were designed to torture by their noisomeness,
their want of air and light and space. Ezzelino made himself terrible not
merely by executions and imprisonments but also by mutilations and
torments. When he captured Friola he caused the population, of all ages,
sexes, occupations, to be deprived of their eyes, noses, and legs, and to be
cast forth to the mercy of the elements. On another occasion he walled up a
family of princes in a castle and left them to die of famine. Wealth,
eminence, and beauty attracted his displeasure no less than insubordination
or disobedience. Nor was he less crafty than cruel. Sons betrayed their
fathers, friends their comrades, under the fallacious safeguard of his
promises. A gigantic instance of his scheming was the coup-de-main by
which he succeeded in entrapping 11,000 Paduan soldiers, only 200 of
whom escaped the miseries of his prisons. Thus by his absolute contempt of
law, his inordinate cruelty, his prolonged massacres, and his infliction of
plagues upon whole peoples, Ezzelino established the ideal in Italy of a
tyrant marching to his end by any means whatever. In vain was the
humanity of the race revolted by the hideous spectacle. Vainly did the

monks assemble pity-stricken multitudes upon the plain of Paquara to atone
with tears and penitence for the insults offered to the saints in heaven by
Ezzelino's fury. It laid a deep hold upon the Italian imagination, and, by the
glamor of loathing that has strength to fascinate, proved in the end
contagious. We are apt to ask ourselves whether such men are mad—
whether in the case of a Nero or a Maréchal de Retz or an Ezzelino the love
of evil and the thirst for blood are not a monomaniacal perversion of
barbarous passions which even in a cannibal are morbid.[2] Is there in fact
such a thing as Hæmatomania, Bloodmadness? But if we answer this
question in the affirmative, we shall have to place how many Visconti,
Sforzeschi, Malatesti, Borgias, Farnesi, and princes of the houses of Anjou
and Aragon in the list of these maniacs? Ezzelino was indeed only the first
of a long and horrible procession, the most terror-striking because the
earliest, prefiguring all the rest.
[1] Alexander IV. issued letters for this crusade in 1255. It was preached next
year by the Archbishop of Ravenna.
[2] See Appendix, No. I.

Ezzelino's cruelty was no mere Berserkir fury or Lycanthropia coming over
him in gusts and leaving him exhausted. It was steady and continuous. In
his madness, if such we may call this inhumanity, there was method; he
used it to the end of the consolidation of his tyranny. Yet, inasmuch as it
passed all limits and prepared his downfall, it may be said to have obtained
over his nature the mastery of an insane appetite. While applying the
nomenclature of disease to these exceptional monsters, we need not allow
that their atrocities were, at first at any rate, beyond their control. Moral
insanity is often nothing more than the hypertrophy of some vulgar passion
—lust, violence, cruelty, jealousy, and the like. The tyrant, placed above
law and less influenced by public opinion than a private person, may easily
allow a greed for pleasure or a love of bloodshed to acquire morbid
proportions in his nature. He then is not unjustly termed a monomaniac.
Within the circle of his vitiated appetite he proves himself irrational. He
becomes the puppet of passions which the sane man cannot so much as
picture to his fancy, the victim of desire, ever recurring and ever destined to
remain unsatisfied; nor is any hallucination more akin to lunacy than the
mirage of a joy that leaves the soul thirstier than it was before, the
paroxysm of unnatural pleasure which wearies the nerves that crave for it.

In Frederick, the modern autocrat, and Ezzelino, the legendary tyrant, we
obtain the earliest specimens of two types of despotism in Italy. Their fame
long after their death powerfully affected the fancy of the people, worked
itself into the literature of the Italians, and created a consciousness of
tyranny in the minds of irresponsible rulers.
During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries we find, roughly speaking, six
sorts of despots in Italian cities.[1] Of these the first class, which is a very
small one, had a dynastic or hereditary right accruing from long seignioral
possession of their several districts. The most eminent are the houses of
Montferrat and Savoy, the Marquises of Ferrara, the Princes of Urbino. At
the same time it is difficult to know where to draw the line between such
hereditary lordship as that of the Este family, and tyranny based on popular
favor. The Malatesti of Rimini, Polentani of Ravenna, Manfredi of Faenza,
Ordelaffi of Forli, Chiavelli of Fabriano, Varani of Camerino, and others,
might claim to rank among the former, since their cities submitted to them
without a long period of republican independence like that which preceded
despotism in the cases to be next mentioned. Yet these families styled
themselves Captains of the burghs they ruled; and in many instances they
obtained the additional title of Vicars of the Church.[2] Even the Estensi
were made hereditary captains of Ferrara at the end of the thirteenth
century, while they also acknowledged the supremacy of the Papacy. There
was in fact no right outside the Empire in Italy; and despots of whatever
origin or complexion gladly accepted the support which a title derived from
the Empire, the Church, or the People might give. Brought to the front amid
the tumults of the civil wars, and accepted as pacificators of the factions by
the multitude, they gained the confirmation of their anomalous authority by
representing themselves to be lieutenants or vicegerents of the three great
powers. The second class comprise those nobles who obtained the title of
Vicars of the Empire, and built an illegal power upon the basis of imperial
right in Lombardy. Of these, the Della Scala and Visconti families are
illustrious instances. Finding in their official capacity a ready-made
foundation, they extended it beyond its just limits, and in defiance of the
Empire constituted dynasties. The third class is important. Nobles charged
with military or judicial power, as Capitani or Podestàs, by the free burghs,
used their authority to enslave the cities they were chosen to administer. It
was thus that almost all the numerous tyrants of Lombardy, Carraresi at

Padua, Gonzaghi at Mantua, Rossi and Correggi at Parma, Torrensi and
Visconti at Milan, Scotti at Piacenza, and so forth, first erected their
despotic dynasties. This fact in the history of Italian tyranny is noticeable.
The font of honor, so to speak, was in the citizens of these great burghs.
Therefore, when the limits of authority delegated to their captains by the
people were overstepped, the sway of the princes became confessedly
illegal. Illegality carried with it all the consequences of an evil conscience,
all the insecurities of usurped dominion all the danger from without and
from within to which an arbitrary governor is exposed. In the fourth/i> class
we find the principle of force still more openly at work. To it may be
assigned those Condottieri who made a prey of cities at their pleasure. The
illustrious Uguccione della Faggiuola, who neglected to follow up his
victory over the Guelfs at Monte Catini, in order that he might cement his
power in Lucca and Pisa, is an early instance of this kind of tyrant. His
successor, Castruccio Castracane, the hero of Machiavelli's romance, is
another. But it was not until the first half of the fifteenth century that
professional Condottieri became powerful enough to found such kingdoms
as that, for example, of Francesco Sforza at Milan.[3] The fifth class
includes the nephews or sons of Popes. The Riario principality of Forli, the
Della Rovere of Urbino, the Borgia of Romagna, the Farnese of Parma,
form a distinct species of despotisms; but all these are of a comparatively
late origin. Until the Papacies of Sixtus IV. and Innocent VIII. the Popes
had not bethought them of providing in this way for their relatives. Also, it
may be remarked, there was an essential weakness in these tyrannies. Since
they had to be carved out of the States of the Church, the Pope who had
established his son, say in Romagna, died before he could see him well
confirmed in a province which the next Pope sought to wrest from his
hands, in order to bestow it on his own favorite. The fabric of the Church
could not long have stood this disgraceful wrangling between Papal
families for the dynastic possession of Church property. Luckily for the
continuance of the Papacy, the tide of counter-reformation which set in after
the sack of Rome and the great Northern Schism, put a stop to nepotism in
its most barefaced form.
[1] This classification must of necessity be imperfect, since many of the
tyrannies belong in part to two or more of the kinds which I have mentioned.
[2] See Guicc. Ist. end of Book 4.

[3] John Hawkwood (died 1393), the English adventurer, held Cotignola and
Bagnacavallo from Gregory XI. In the second half of the fifteenth century the
efforts of the Condottieri to erect tyrannies were most frequent. Braccio da
Montone established himself in Perugia in 1416, and aspired, not without good
grounds for hope, to acquiring the kingdom of Italy. Francesco Sforza, before
gaining Milan, had begun to form a despotism at Ancona. Sforza's rival,
Giacomo Piccinino, would probably have succeeded in his own attempt, had not
Ferdinand of Aragon treacherously murdered him at Naples in 1465. In the
disorganization caused by Charles VIII., Vidovero of Brescia in 1495 established
himself at Cesena and Castelnuovo, and had to be assassinated by Pandolfo
Malatesta at the instigation of Venice. After the death of Gian Galeazzo Visconti,
in 1402, the generals whom he had employed in the consolidation of his vast
dominions attempted to divide the spoil among themselves. Naples, Venice,
Milan, Rome, and Florence were in course of time made keenly alive to the risk
of suffering a captain of adventure to run his course unchecked.

There remains the sixth and last class of despots to be mentioned. This
again is large and of the first importance. Citizens of eminence, like the
Medici at Florence, the Bentivogli at Bologna, the Baglioni of Perugia, the
Vitelli of Città di Castello, the Gambacorti of Pisa, like Pandolfo Petrucci in
Siena (1502), Roméo Pepoli, the usurer of Bologna (1323), the plebeian,
Alticlinio, and Agolanti of Padua (1313), Giovanni Vignate, the millionaire
of Lodi (1402), acquired more than their due weight in the conduct of
affairs, and gradually tended to tyranny. In most of these cases great wealth
was the original source of despotic ascendency. It was not uncommon to
buy cities together with their Signory. Thus the Rossi bought Parma for
35,000 florins in 1333; the Appiani sold Pisa; Astorre Manfredi sold Faenza
and Imola in 1377. In 1444 Galeazzo Malatesta sold Pesaro to Alessandro
Sforza, and Fossombrone to Urbino; in 1461 Cervia was sold to Venice by
the same family. Franceschetto Cibo purchased the County of Anguillara.
Towns at last came to have their market value. It was known that Bologna
was worth 200,000 florins, Parma 60,000, Arezzo 40,000 Lucca 30,000, and
so forth. But personal qualities and nobility of blood might also produce
despots of the sixth class. Thus the Bentivogli claimed descent from a
bastard of King Enzo, son of Frederick II., who was for a long time an
honorable prisoner in Bologna. The Baglioni, after a protracted struggle
with the rival family of Oddi, owed their supremacy to ability and vigor in
the last years of the fifteenth century. But the neighborhood of the Papal
power, and their own internal dissensions, rendered the hold of this family
upon Perugia precarious. As in the case of the Medici and the Bentivogli,

many generations might elapse before such burgher families assumed
dynastic authority. But to this end they were always advancing.
The history of the bourgeois despots proves that Italy in the fifteenth
century was undergoing a natural process of determination toward tyranny.
Sismondi may attempt to demonstrate that Italy was 'not answerable for the
crimes with which she was sullied by her tyrants.' But the facts show that
she was answerable for choosing despots instead of remaining free, or
rather that she instinctively obeyed a law of social evolution by which
princes had to be substituted for municipalities at the end of those fierce
internal conflicts and exhausting wars of jealousy which closed the Middle
Ages. Machiavelli, with all his love of liberty, is forced to admit that in his
day the most powerful provinces of Italy had become incapable of freedom.
'No accident, however weighty and violent, could ever restore Milan or
Naples to liberty, owing to their utter corruption. This is clear from the fact
that after the death of Filippo Visconti, when Milan tried to regain freedom,
she was unable to preserve it.'[1] Whether Machiavelli is right in referring
this incapacity for self-government to the corruption of morals and religion
may be questioned. But it is certain that throughout the states of Italy, with
the one exception of Venice, causes were at work inimical to republics and
favorable to despotisms.
[1] Discorsi, i. 17. The Florentine philosopher remarks in the same passage,
'Cities, once corrupt, and accustomed to the rule of a prince, can never acquire
their freedom even though the prince with all his kith and kin be extirpated. One
prince is needed to extinguish another; and the city has no rest except by the
creation of a new lord, unless one burgher by his goodness and his great qualities
may chance to preserve its independence during his lifetime.'

It will be observed in this classification of Italian tyrants that the tenure of
their power was almost uniformly forcible. They generally acquired it
through the people in the first instance, and maintained it by the exercise of
violence. Rank had nothing to do with their claims. The bastards of Popes,
who like Sixtus IV. had no pedigree, merchants like the Medici, the son of a
peasant like Francesco Sforza, a rich usurer like Pepoli, had almost equal
chances with nobles of the ancient houses of Este, Visconti, or Malatesta.
The chief point in favor of the latter was the familiarity which through long
years of authority had accustomed the people to their rule. When exiled,
they had a better chance of return to power than parvenus, whose party-cry
and ensigns were comparatively fresh and stirred no sentiment of loyalty—

if indeed the word loyalty can be applied to that preference for the
established and the customary which made the mob, distracted by the
wrangling of doctrinaires and intriguers, welcome back a Bentivoglio or a
Malatesta. Despotism in Italy as in ancient Greece was democratic. It
recruited its ranks from all classes and erected its thrones upon the
sovereignty of the peoples it oppressed. The impulse to the free play of
ambitious individuality which this state of things communicated was
enormous. Capacity might raise the meanest monk to the chair of S. Peter's,
the meanest soldier to the duchy of Milan. Audacity, vigor, unscrupulous
crime were the chief requisites for success. It was not till Cesare Borgia
displayed his magnificence at the French Court, till the Italian adventurer
matched himself with royalty in its legitimate splendor, that the lowness of
his origin and the frivolity of his pretensions appeared in any glaring light.
[1]
In Italy itself, where there existed no time-honored hierarchy of classes
and no fountain of nobility in the person of a sovereign, one man was a
match for another, provided he knew how to assert himself. To the
conditions of a society based on these principles we may ascribe the
unrivaled emergence of great personalities among the tyrants, as well as the
extraordinary tenacity and vigor of such races as the Visconti. In the contest
for power, and in the maintenance of an illegal authority, the picked athletes
came to the front. The struggle by which they established their tyranny, the
efforts by which they defended it against foreign foes and domestic
adversaries, trained them to endurance and to daring. They lived habitually
in an atmosphere of peril which taxed all their energies. Their activity was
extreme, and their passions corresponded to their vehement vitality. About
such men there could be nothing on a small or mediocre scale. When a
weakling was born in a despotic family, his brothers murdered him, or he
was deposed by a watchful rival. Thus only gladiators of tried capacity and
iron nerve, superior to religious and moral scruples, dead to national
affection, perfected in perfidy, scientific in the use of cruelty and terror,
employing first-rate faculties of brain and will and bodily powers in the
service of transcendent egotism, only the virtuosi of political craft as
theorized by Machiavelli, could survive and hold their own upon this
perilous arena.
[1] Brantôme Capitaines Etrangers, Discours 48, gives an account of the
entrance of the Borgia into Chinon in 1498, and adds: 'The king being at the

window saw him arrive, and there can be no doubt how he and his courtiers
ridiculed all this state, as unbecoming the petty Duke of Valentinois.'

The life of the despot was usually one of prolonged terror. Immured in
strong places on high rocks, or confined to gloomy fortresses like the
Milanese Castello, he surrounded his person with foreign troops, protected
his bedchamber with a picked guard, and watched his meat and drink lest
they should be poisoned. His chief associates were artists, men of letters,
astrologers, buffoons, and exiles. He had no real friends or equals, and
against his own family he adopted an attitude of fierce suspicion, justified
by the frequent intrigues to which he was exposed.[1] His timidity verged on
monomania. Like Alfonso II. of Naples, he was tortured with the ghosts of
starved or strangled victims; like Ezzelino, he felt the mysterious
fascination of astrology; like Filippo Maria Visconti, he trembled at the
sound of thunder, and set one band of body-guards to watch another next
his person. He dared not hope for a quiet end. No one believed in the
natural death of a prince: princes must be poisoned or poignarded.[2] Out of
thirteen of the Carrara family, in little more than a century (1318-1435),
three were deposed or murdered by near relatives, one was expelled by a
rival from his state, four were executed by the Venetians. Out of five of the
La Scala family, three were killed by their brothers, and a fourth was
poisoned in exile.
[1] See what Guicciardini in his History of Florence says about the suspicious
temper of even such a tyrant as the cultivated and philosophical Lorenzo de'
Medici. See too the incomparably eloquent and penetrating allegory of Sospetto,
and its application to the tyrants of Italy in Ariosto's Cinque Canti (C. 2. St. 1-9).
[2] Our dramatist Webster, whose genius was fascinated by the crimes of Italian
despotism, makes the Duke of Bracciano exclaim on his death-bed:—
'O thou soft natural Death, thou art joint-twin
To sweetest Slumber! no rough-bearded comet
Stares on thy mild departure; the dull owl
Beats not against thy casement; the hoarse wolf
Scents not thy carrion: pity winds thy corse,
Whilst horror waits on princes.'
Instances of domestic crime might be multiplied by the hundred. Besides those
which will follow in these pages, it is enough to notice the murder of Giovanni
Francesco Pico, by his nephew, at Mirandola (1533); the murder of his uncle by
Oliverotto da Fermo; the assassination of Giovanni Varano by his brothers at
Camerino (1434); Ostasio da Polenta's fratricide (1322); Obizzo da Polenta's
fratricide in the next generation, and the murder of Ugolino Gonzaga by his
brothers; Gian Francesco Gonzaga's murder of his wife; the poisoning of

Francesco Sforza's first wife, Polissena, Countess of Montalto, with her little
girl, by her aunt; and the murder of Galeotto Manfredi, by his wife, at Faenza
(1488).

To enumerate all the catastrophes of reigning families, occurring in the
fifteenth century alone, would be quite impossible within the limits of this
chapter. Yet it is only by dwelling on the more important that any adequate
notion of the perils of Italian despotism can be formed. Thus Girolamo
Riario was murdered by his subjects at Forli (1488), and Francesco Vico dei
Prefetti in the Church of S. Sisto at Viterbo[1] (1387). At Lodi in 1402
Antonio Fisiraga burned the chief members of the ruling house of Vistarini
on the public square, and died himself of poison after a few months. His
successor in the tyranny, Giovanni Vignate, was imprisoned by Filippo
Maria Visconti in a wooden cage at Pavia, and beat his brains out in despair
against its bars. At the same epoch Gabrino Fondulo slaughtered seventy of
the Cavalcabò family together in his castle of Macastormo, with the
purpose of acquiring their tyranny over Cremona. He was afterwards
beheaded as a traitor at Milan (1425). Ottobon Terzi was assassinated at
Parma (1408), Nicola Borghese at Siena (1499). Altobello Dattiri at Todi
(about 1500), Raimondo and Pandolfo Malatesta at Rimini, and Oddo
Antonio di Montefeltro at Urbino (1444).[2] The Varani were massacred to a
man in the Church of S. Dominic at Camerino (1434), the Trinci at Foligno
(1434), and the Chiavelli of Fabriano in church upon Ascension Day
(1435). This wholesale extirpation of three reigning families introduces one
of the most romantic episodes in the history of Italian despotism. From the
slaughter of the Varani one only child, Giulio Cesare, a boy of two years
old, was saved by his aunt Tora. She concealed him in a truss of hay and
carried him to the Trinci at Foligno. Hardly had she gained this refuge,
when the Trinci were destroyed, and she had to fly with her burden to the
Chiavelli at Fabriano. There the same scenes of bloodshed awaited her. A
third time she took to flight, and now concealed her precious charge in a
nunnery. The boy was afterwards stolen from the town on horseback by a
soldier of adventure. After surviving three massacres of kith and kin, he
returned as despot at the age of twelve to Camerino, and became a general
of distinction. But he was not destined to end his life in peace. Cesare
Borgia finally murdered him, together with three of his sons, when he had
reached the age of sixty. Less romantic but not less significant in the annals
of tyranny is the story of the Trinci. A rival noble of Foligno, Pietro

Rasiglia, had been injured in his honor by the chief of the ruling house. He
contrived to assassinate two brothers, Nicolà and Bartolommeo, in his
castle of Nocera; but the third, Corrado Trinci, escaped, and took a fearful
vengeance on his enemy. By the help of Braccio da Montone he possessed
himself of Nocera and all its inhabitants, with the exception of Pietro
Rasiglia's wife, whom her husband flung from the battlements. Corrado
then butchered the men, women, and children of the Rasiglia clan, to the
number of three hundred persons, accomplishing his vengeance with details
of atrocity too infernal to be dwelt on in these pages. It is recorded that
thirty-six asses laden with their mangled limbs paraded the streets of
Foligno as a terror-striking spectacle for the inhabitants. He then ruled the
city by violence, until the warlike Cardinal dei Vitelleschi avenged society
of so much mischief by destroying the tyrant and five of his sons, in the
same year. Equally fantastic are the annals of the great house of the
Baglioni at Perugia. Raised in 1389 upon the ruins of the bourgeois faction
called Raspanti, they founded their tyranny in the person of Pandolfo
Baglioni, who was murdered together with sixty of his clan and followers
by the party they had dispossessed. The new despot, Biordo Michelotti, was
stabbed in the shoulders with a poisoned dagger by his relative, the abbot of
S. Pietro. Then the city, in 1416, submitted to Braccio da Montone, who
raised it to unprecedented power and glory. On his death it fell back into
new discords, from which it was rescued again by the Baglioni in 1466,
now finally successful in their prolonged warfare with the rival family of
Oddi. But they did not hold their despotism in tranquillity. In 1500 one of
the members of the house, Grifonetto degli Baglioni, conspired against his
kinsmen and slew them in their palaces at night. As told by Matarazzo, this
tragedy offers an epitome of all that is most, brilliant and terrible in the
domestic feuds of the Italian tyrants.[3] The vicissitudes of the Bentivogli at
Bologna present another series of catastrophes, due less to their personal
crimes than to the fury of the civil strife that raged around them. Giovanni
Bentivoglio began the dynasty in 1400. The next year he was stabbed to
death and pounded in a wine-vat by the infuriated populace, who thought he
had betrayed their interests in battle. His son, Antonio, was beheaded by a
Papal Legate, and numerous members of the family on their return from
exile suffered the same fate. In course of time the Bentivogli made
themselves adored by the people; and when Piccinino imprisoned the heir
of their house, Annibale, in the castle of Varano, four youths of the

Marescotti family undertook his rescue at the peril of their lives, and raised
him to the Signory of Bologna. In 1445 the Canetoli, powerful nobles, who
hated the popular dynasty, invited Annibale and all his clan to a christening
feast, where they exterminated every member of the reigning house. Not
one Bentivoglio was left alive. In revenge for this massacre, the Marescotti,
aided by the populace, hunted down the Canetoli for three whole days in
Bologna, and nailed their smoking hearts to the doors of the Bentivoglio
palace. They then drew from his obscurity in Florence the bastard Santi
Bentivoglio, who found himself suddenly lifted from a wool-factory to a
throne. Whether he was a genuine Bentivoglio or not, mattered little. The
house had become necessary to Bologna, and its popularity had been
baptized in the bloodshed of four massacres. What remains of its story can
be briefly told. When Cesare Borgia besieged Bologna, the Marescotti
intrigued with him, and eight of their number were sacrificed by the
Bentivogli in spite of their old services to the dynasty. The survivors, by the
help of Julius II., returned from exile in 1536, to witness the final
banishment of the Bentivogli and to take part in the destruction of the
palace, where their ancestors had nailed the hearts of the Canetoli upon the
walls.
[1] The family of the Prefetti fed up the murderer in their castle and then gave
him alive to be eaten by their hounds.
[2] Sforza Attendolo killed Terzi by a spear-thrust in the back. Pandolfo Petrucci
murdered Borghese, who was his father-in-law. Raimondo Malatesta was
stabbed by his two nephews disguised as hermits. Dattiri was bound naked to a
plank and killed piecemeal by the people, who bit his flesh, cut slices out, and
sold and ate it—distributing his living body as a sort of infernal sacrament
among themselves.
[3] See the article 'Perugia' in my Sketches in Italy and Greece.

To multiply the records of crime revenged by crime, of force repelled by
violence, of treason heaped on treachery, of insult repaid by fraud, would be
easy enough. Indeed, a huge book might be compiled containing nothing
but the episodes in this grim history of despotism, now tragic and pathetic,
now terror-moving in sublimity of passion, now despicable by the baseness
of the motives brought to light, at one time revolting through excess of
physical horrors, at another fascinating by the spectacle of heroic courage,
intelligence, and resolution. Enough however, has been said to describe the
atmosphere of danger in which the tyrants breathed and moved, and from

which not one of them was ever capable of finding freedom. Even a
princely house so well based in its dynasty and so splendid in its parade of
culture as that of the Estensi offers a long list of terrific tragedies. One
princess is executed for adultery with her stepson (1425); a bastard's bastard
tries to seize the throne, and is put to death with all his kin (1493); a wife is
poisoned by her husband to prevent her poisoning him (1493); two brothers
cabal against the legitimate heads of the house, and are imprisoned for life
(1506). Such was the labyrinth of plot and counterplot, of force repelled by
violence, in which the princes praised by Ariosto and by Tasso lived.
Isolated, crime-haunted, and remorseless, at the same time fierce and
timorous, the despot not unfrequently made of vice a fine art for his
amusement, and openly defied humanity. His pleasures tended to
extravagance. Inordinate lust and refined cruelty sated his irritable and
jaded appetites. He destroyed pity in his soul, and fed his dogs with living
men, or spent his brains upon the invention of new tortures. From the game
of politics again he won a feverish pleasure, playing for states and cities as
a man plays chess, and endeavoring to extract the utmost excitement from
the varying turns of skill and chance. It would be an exaggeration to assert
that all the princes of Italy were of this sort. The saner, better, and nobler
among them—men of the stamp of Gian Galeazzo Visconti, Can Grande
della Scala, Francesco and Lodovico Sforza, found a more humane
enjoyment in the consolidation of their empire, the cementing of their
alliances, the society of learned men, the friendship of great artists, the
foundation of libraries, the building of palaces and churches, the execution
of vast schemes of conquest. Others, like Galeazzo Visconti, indulged a
comparatively innocent taste for magnificence. Some, like Sigismondo
Pandolfo Malatesta, combined the vices of a barbarian with the enthusiasm
of a scholar. Others again, like Lorenzo de' Medici and Frederick of Urbino,
exhibited the model of moderation in statecraft and a noble width of culture.
But the tendency to degenerate was fatal in all the despotic houses. The
strain of tyranny proved too strong. Crime, illegality, and the sense of peril,
descending from father to son, produced monsters in the shape of men. The
last Visconti, the last La Scalas, the last Sforzas, the last Malatestas, the last
Farnesi, the last Medici are among the worst specimens of human nature.
Macaulay's brilliant description of the Italian tyrant in his essay on
Machiavelli deserves careful study. It may, however, be remarked that the

picture is too favorable. Macaulay omits the darker crimes of the despots,
and draws his portrait almost exclusively from such men as Gian Galeazzo
Visconti, Francesco and Lodovico Sforza, Frederick of Urbino, and
Lorenzo de' Medici. The point he is seeking to establish—that political
immorality in Italy was the national correlative to Northern brutality—leads
him to idealize the polite refinement, the disciplined passions, the firm and
astute policy, the power over men, and the excellent government which
distinguished the noblest Italian princes. When he says 'Wanton cruelty was
not in his nature: on the contrary, where no political object was at stake, his
disposition was soft and humane'; he seems to have forgotten Gian Maria
Visconti, Corrado Trinci, Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta, and Cesare
Borgia. When he writes, 'His passions, like well-trained troops, are
impetuous by rule, and in their most headstrong fury never forget the
discipline to which they have been accustomed,' he leaves Francesco Maria
della Rovere, Galeazzo Maria Sforza, Pier Luigi Farnese, Alexander VI.,
out of the reckoning. If all the despots had been what Macaulay describes,
the revolutions and conspiracies of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries
would not have taken place. It is, however, to be remarked that in the
sixteenth century the conduct of the tyrant toward his subjects assumed an
external form of mildness. As Italy mixed with the European nations, and as
tyranny came to be legalized in the Italian states, the despots developed a
policy not of terrorism but of enervation (Lorenzo de' Medici is the great
example), and aspired to be paternal governors.
What I have said about Italian despotism is no mere fancy picture. The
actual details of Milanese history, the innumerable tragedies of Lombardy,
Romagna, and the Marches of Ancona, during the ascendency of despotic
families, are far more terrible than any fiction; nor would it be easy for the
imagination to invent so perplexing a mixture of savage barbarism with
modern refinement. Savonarola's denunciations[1] and Villani's descriptions
of a despot read like passages from Plato's Republic, like the most pregnant
of Aristotle's criticisms upon tyranny. The prologue to the sixth book of
Matteo Villani's Chronicle may be cited as a fair specimen of the judgment
passed by contemporary Italian thinkers upon their princes (Libro Sesto,
cap. i.): 'The crimes of despots always hinder and often neutralize the
virtues of good men. Their pleasures are at variance with morality. By them
the riches of their subjects are swallowed up. They are foes to men who

grow in wisdom and in greatness of soul in their dominions. They diminish
by their imposts the wealth of the peoples ruled by them. Their unbridled
lust is never satiated, but their subjects have to suffer such outrages and
insults as their fancy may from time to time suggest. But inasmuch as the
violence of tyranny is manifested to all eyes by these and many other
atrocities, we need not enumerate them afresh. It is enough to select one
feature, strange in appearance but familiar in fact; for what can be more
extraordinary than to see princes of ancient and illustrious lineage bowing
to the service of despots, men of high descent and time-honored nobility
frequenting their tables and accepting their bounties? Yet if we consider the
end of all this, the glory of tyrants often turns to misery and ruin. Who can
exaggerate their wretchedness? They know not where to place their
confidence; and their courtiers are always on the lookout for the despot's
fall, gladly lending their influence and best endeavors to undo him in spite
of previous servility. This does not happen to hereditary kings, because their
conduct toward their subjects, as well as their good qualities and all their
circumstances, are of a nature contrary to that of tyrants. Therefore the very
causes which produce and fortify and augment tyrannies, conceal and
nourish in themselves the sources of their overthrow and ruin. This indeed
is the greatest wretchedness of tyrants.'
[1] See the passage condensed from his Sermons in Villari's Life of Savonarola
(Eng. Tr. vol. ii. p. 62). The most thorough-going analysis of despotic criminality
is contained in Savonarola's Tractato circa el Reggimento e Governo della Città
di Firenze, Trattato ii. cap. 2. Della Malitia e pessime Conditioni del Tyranno.

It may be objected that this sweeping criticism, from the pen of a Florentine
citizen at war with Milan, partakes of the nature of an invective. Yet
abundant proofs can be furnished from the chronicles of burghs which owed
material splendor to their despots, confirming the censure of Villani.
Matarazzo, for example, whose sympathy with the house of Baglioni is so
striking, and who exults in the distinction they conferred upon Perugia,
writes no less bitterly concerning the pernicious effects of their
misgovernment.[1] It is to be noticed that Villani and Matarazzo agree about
the special evils brought upon the populations by their tyrants. Lust and
violence take the first place. Next comes extortion; then the protection of
the lawless and the criminal against the better sort of citizens. But the
Florentine, with intellectual acumen, lays his finger on one of the chief
vices of their rule. They retard the development of mental greatness in their

states, and check the growth of men of genius. Ariosto, in the comparative
calm of the sixteenth century, when tyrannies had yielded to the protectorate
of Spain, sums up the records of the past in the following memorable
passage:[2] 'Happy the kingdoms where an open-hearted and blameless man
gives law! Wretched indeed and pitiable are those where injustice and
cruelty hold sway, where burdens ever greater and more grievous are laid
upon the people by tyrants like those who now abound in Italy, whose
infamy will be recorded through years to come as no less black than
Caligula's or Nero's.' Guicciardini, with pregnant brevity, observes:[3] 'The
mortar with which the states of the tyrants are cemented is the blood of the
citizens.'
[1] Arch. Stor. xvi. 102. See my Sketches in Italy and Greece, p. 84.
[2] Cinque Canti, ii. 5.
[3] Ricordi Politici, ccxlii.

In the history of Italian despotism two points of first-rate importance will
demand attention. The first is the process by which the greater tyrannies
absorbed the smaller during the fourteenth century. The second is the
relation of the chief Condottieri to the tyrants of the fifteenth century. The
evolution of these two phenomena cannot be traced more clearly than by a
study of the history of Milan, which at the same time presents a detailed
picture of the policy and character of the Italian despot during this period.
The dynasties of Visconti and Sforza from 1300 to 1500 bridged over the
years that intervened between the Middle Age and the Renaissance,
between the period of the free burghs and the period during which Italy was
destined to become the theater of the action of more powerful nations. Their
alliances and diplomatic relations prepared the way for the interference of
foreigners in Italian affairs. Their pedigree illustrates the power acquired by
military adventurers in the peninsula. The magnitude of their political
schemes displays the most soaring ambition which it was ever granted to
Italian princes to indulge. The splendor of their court and the intelligence of
their culture bear witness to the high state of civilization which the Italians
had reached.
The power of the Visconti in Milan was founded upon that of the Della
Torre family, who preceded them as Captains General of the people at the
end of the thirteenth century. Otho, Archbishop of Milan, first laid a

substantial basis for the dominion of his house by imprisoning Napoleone
Della Torre and five of his relatives in three iron cages in 1277, and by
causing his nephew Matteo Visconti to be nominated both by the Emperor
and by the people of Milan as imperial Vicar. Matteo, who headed the
Ghibelline party in Lombardy, was the model of a prudent Italian despot.
From the date 1311, when he finally succeeded in his attempts upon the
sovereignty of Milan, to 1322, when he abdicated in favor of his son
Galeazzo, he ruled his states by force of character, craft, and insight, more
than by violence or cruelty. Excellent as a general, he was still better as a
diplomatist, winning more cities by money than by the sword. All through
his life, as became a Ghibelline chief at that time, he persisted in fierce
enmity against the Church. But just before his death a change came over
him. He showed signs of superstitious terror, and began to fear the ban of
excommunication which lay upon him. This weakness alarmed the
suspicions of his sons, terrible and wolf-like men, whom Matteo had
hitherto controlled with bit and bridle. They therefore induced him to
abdicate in 1322, and when in the same year he died, they buried his body
in a secret place, lest it should be exhumed, and scattered to the winds in
accordance with the Papal edict against him.[1] Galeazzo, his son, was less
fortunate than Matteo, surnamed Il Grande by the Lombards. The Emperor
Louis of Bavaria threw him into prison on the occasion of his visit to Milan
in 1327, and only released him at the intercession of his friend Castruccio
Castracane. To such an extent was the growing tyranny of the Visconti still
dependent upon their office delegated from the Empire. This Galeazzo
married Beatrice d' Este, the widow of Nino di Gallura, of whom Dante
speaks in the eighth canto of the Purgatory, and had by her a son named
Azzo. Azzo bought the city, together with the title of Imperial Vicar, from
the same Louis who had imprisoned his father.[2] When he was thus seated
in the tyranny of his grandfather, he proceeded to fortify it further by the
addition of ten Lombard towns, which he reduced beneath the supremacy of
Milan. At the same time he consolidated his own power by the murder of
his uncle Marco in 1329, who had grown too mighty as a general. Giovio
describes him as fair of complexion, blue-eyed, curly-haired, and subject to
the hereditary disease of gout.[3] Azzo died in 1339, and was succeeded by
his uncle Lucchino. In Lucchino the darker side of the Visconti character
appears for the first time. Cruel, moody, and jealous, he passed his life in
perpetual terror. His nephews, Galeazzo and Barnabas, conspired against

him, and were exiled to Flanders. His wife, Isabella Fieschi, intrigued with
Galeazzo and disgraced him by her amours with Ugolino Gonzaga and
Dandolo the Doge of Venice. Finally suspicion rose to such a pitch between
this ill-assorted couple, that, while Lucchino was plotting how to murder
Isabella, she succeeded in poisoning him in 1349. In spite of these domestic
calamities, Lucchino was potent as a general and governor. He bought
Parma from Obizzo d' Este, and made the town of Pisa dependent upon
Milan. Already in his policy we can trace the encroachment which
characterized the schemes of the Milanese despots, who were always
plotting to advance their foot beyond the Apennines as a prelude to the
complete subjugation of Italy. Lucchino left sons, but none of proved
legitimacy.[4] Consequently he was succeeded by his brother Giovanni, son
of old Matteo il Grande, and Archbishop of Milan. This man, the friend of
Petrarch, was one of the most notable characters of the fourteenth century.
Finding himself at the head of sixteen cities, he added Bologna to the
tyranny of the Visconti in 1350, and made himself strong enough to defy the
Pope. Clement VI., resenting his encroachments on Papal territory,
summoned him to Avignon. Giovanni Visconti replied that he would march
thither at the head of 12,000 cavalry and 6,000 infantry. In the Duomo of
Milan he ascended his throne with the crosier in his left hand and a drawn
sword in his right; and thus he is always represented in pictures. The story
of Giovanni's answer to the Papal Legate is well told by Corio:[5] 'After
Mass in the Cathedral the great-hearted Archbishop unsheathed a flashing
sword, which he had girded on his thigh, and with his left hand seized the
cross, saying, "This is my spiritual scepter, and I will wield the sword as my
temporal, in defense of all my empire."' Afterwards he sent couriers to
engage lodgings for his soldiers and his train for six months. Visitors to
Avignon found no room in the city, and the Pope was fain to decline so
terrible a guest. In 1353 Giovanni annexed Genoa to the Milanese
principality, and died in 1354, having established the rule of the Visconti
over the whole of the North of Italy, with the exception of Piedmont,
Verona, Mantua, Ferrara and Venice.
[1] We may compare what Dante puts into the mouth of Manfred in the
'Purgatory' (canto iii.). The great Ghibelline poet here protests against the use of
excommunication as a political weapon. His sense of justice will not allow him
to believe that God can regard the sentence of priests and pontiffs, actuated by
the spite of partisans; yet the examples of Frederick II. and of this Matteo
Visconti prove how terrifying, even to the boldest, those sentences continued to

be. Few had the resolute will of Galeazzo Pico di Mirandola, who expired in
1499 under the ban of the Church, which he had borne for sixteen years.
[2] This was in 1328. Azzo agreed to pay 25,000 florins. The vast wealth of the
Visconti amassed during their years of peaceful occupation always stood them in
good stead when bad times came, and when the Emperor was short of cash. Azzo
deserves special commendation from the student of art for the exquisite
octagonal tower of S. Gottardo, which he built of terra cotta with marble
pilasters, in Milan. It is quite one of the loveliest monuments of mediæval Italian
architecture.
[3] Lucchino and Galeazzo Visconti were both afflicted with gout, the latter to
such an extent as to be almost crippled.
[4] This would not have been by itself a bar to succession in an Italian tyranny.
But Lucchino's bastards were not of the proper stuff to continue their father's
government, while their fiery uncle was precisely the man to sustain the honor
and extend the power of the Visconti.
[5] Storia di Milano, 1554, p. 223.

The reign of the archbishop Giovanni marks a new epoch in the despotism
of the Visconti. They are now no longer the successful rivals of the Della
Torre family or dependents on imperial caprice, but self-made sovereigns,
with a well-established power in Milan and a wide extent of subject
territory. Their dynasty, though based on force and maintained by violence,
has come to be acknowledged; and we shall soon see them allying
themselves with the royal houses of Europe. After the death of Giovanni,
Matteo's sons were extinct. But Stefano, the last of his family, had left three
children, who now succeeded to the lands and cities of the house. They
were named Matteo, Bernabo, and Galeazzo. Between these three princes a
partition of the heritage of Giovanni Visconti was effected. Matteo took
Bologna, Lodi, Piacenza, Parma, Bobbio, and some other towns of less
importance. Bernabo received Cremona, Crema, Brescia, and Bergamo.
Galeazzo held Como, Novara, Vercelli, Asti, Tortona, and Alessandria.
Milan and Genoa were to be ruled by the three in common. It may here be
noticed that the dismemberment of Italian despotisms among joint-heirs
was a not unfrequent source of disturbance and a cause of weakness to their
dynasties. At the same time the practice followed naturally upon the illegal
nature of the tyrant's title. He dealt with his cities as so many pieces of
personal property, which he could distribute as he chose, not as a coherent
whole to be bequeathed to one ruler for the common benefit of all his
subjects. In consequence of such partition, it became the interest of brother
to murder brother, so as to effect a reconsolidation of the family estates.

Something of the sort happened on this occasion. Matteo abandoned
himself to bestial sensuality; and his two brothers, finding him both feeble
and likely to bring discredit on their rule, caused him to be assassinated in
1355.[1] They then jointly swayed the Milanese, with unanimity remarkable
in despots. Galeazzo was distinguished as the handsomest man of his age.
He was tall and graceful, with golden hair, which he wore in long plaits, or
tied up in a net, or else loose and crowned with flowers. Fond of display
and magnificence, he spent much of his vast wealth in shows and festivals,
and in the building of palaces and churches. The same taste for splendor led
him to seek royal marriages for his children. His daughter Violante was
wedded to the Duke of Clarence, son of Edward III. of England, who
received with her for dowry the sum of 200,000 golden florins, as well as
five cities bordering on Piedmont.[2] It must have been a strange experience
for this brother of the Black Prince, leaving London, where the streets were
still unpaved, the houses thatched, the beds laid on straw, and where wine
was sold as medicine, to pass into the luxurious palaces of Lombardy,
walled with marble, and raised high above smooth streets of stone. Of his
marriage with Violante Giovio gives some curious details. He says that
Galeazzo on this occasion made splendid presents to more than 200
Englishmen, so that he was reckoned to have outdone the greatest kings in
generosity. At the banquet Gian Galeazzo, the bride's brother, leading a
choice company of well-born youths, brought to the table with each course
fresh gifts.[3] 'At one time it was a matter of sixty most beautiful horses with
trappings of silk and silver; at another, plate, hawks, hounds, horse-gear,
fine cuirasses, suits of armor fashioned of wrought steel, helmets adorned
with crests, surcoats embroidered with pearls, belts, precious jewels set in
gold, and great quantities of cloth of gold and crimson stuff for making
raiment. Such was the profusion of this banquet that the remnants taken
from the table were enough and to spare for 10,000 men.' Petrarch, we may
remember, assisted at this festival and sat among the princes. It was thus
that Galeazzo displayed his wealth before the feudal nobles of the North,
and at the same time stretched the hand of friendly patronage to the greatest
literary man of Europe. Meanwhile he also married his son Gian Galeazzo
to Isabella, daughter of King John of France, spending on this occasion, it is
said, a similar sum of money for the honor of a royal alliance.[4]
[1] M. Villani, v. 81. Compare Corio, p. 230. Corio gives the date 1356.

[2] Namely, Alba, Cuneo, Carastro, Mondovico, Braida. See Corio, p. 238, who
adds sententiously, 'il che quasi fu l' ultima roina del suo stato.'
[3] Corio (pp. 239, 240) gives the bill of fare of the banquet.
[4] Sismondi says he gave 600,000 florins to Charles, the brother of Isabella, but
authorities differ about the actual amount.

Galeazzo held his court at Pavia. His brother reigned at Milan. Bernabo
displayed all the worst vices of the Visconti. His system of taxation was
most oppressive, and at the same time so lucrative that he was able,
according to Giovio's estimate, to settle nine of his daughters at an expense
of something like two millions of gold pieces. A curious instance of his
tyranny relates to his hunting establishment. Having saddled his subjects
with the keep of 5,000 boar-hounds, he appointed officers to go round and
see whether these brutes were either too lean or too well-fed to be in good
condition for the chase. If anything appeared defective in their
management, the peasants on whom they were quartered had to suffer in
their persons and their property.[1] This Bernabo was also remarkable for his
cold-blooded cruelty. Together with his brother, he devised and caused to be
publicly announced by edict that State criminals would be subjected to a
series of tortures extending over the space of forty days. In this infernal
programme every variety of torment found a place, and days of respite were
so calculated as to prolong the lives of the victims for further suffering, till
at last there was little left of them that had not been hacked and hewed and
flayed away.[2] To such extremities of terrorism were the despots driven in
the maintenance of their illegal power.
[1] 'Per cagione di questa caccia continoamente teneva cinque mila cani; e la
maggior parte di quelle distribuiva alla custodia de i cittadini, e anche a i
contadini, i quali niun altro cane che quelli potevano tenere. Questi due volte il
mese erano tenuti a far la mostra. Onde trovandoli macri in gran somma di
danari erano condannati, e se grossi erano, incolpandoli del troppo, erano
multati; se morivano, li pigliava il tutto.—Corio, p. 247.
Read M. Villani, vii. 48, for the story of a peasant who was given to Bernabo's
dogs to be devoured for having killed a hare. Corio (p. 247) describes the
punishments which he inflicted on his subjects who were convicted of poaching
—eyes put out, houses burned, etc. A young man who dreamed of killing a boar
had an eye put out and a hand cut off because he imprudently recounted his
vision of sport in sleep. On one occasion he burned two friars who ventured to
remonstrate. We may compare Pontanus, 'De Immanitate,' vol. i. pp. 318, 320,
for similar cruelty in Ferdinand, King of Naples.
[2] This programme may be read in Sismondi, iv. 282.

Galeazzo died in 1378, and was succeeded in his own portion of the
Visconti domain by his son Gian Galleazzo. Now began one of those long,
slow, internecine struggles which were so common between the members of
the ruling families in Italy. Bernabo and his sons schemed to get possession
of the young prince's estate. He, on the other hand, determined to supplant
his uncle, and to reunite the whole Visconti principality beneath his own
sway. Craft was the weapon which he chose in this encounter. Shutting
himself up in Pavia, he made no disguise of his physical cowardice, which
was real, while he simulated a timidity of spirit wholly alien to his
temperament. He pretended to be absorbed in religious observances, and
gradually induced his uncle and cousins to despise him as a poor creature
whom they could make short work of when occasion served. In 1385,
having thus prepared the way for treason, he avowed his intention of
proceeding on a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Varese. Starting from Pavia with
a body guard of Germans, he passed near Milan, where his uncle and
cousins came forth to meet him. Gian Galeazzo feigned a courteous
greeting; but when he saw his relatives within his grasp, he gave a
watchword in German to his troops, who surrounded Bernabo and took him
prisoner with his sons. Gian Galeazzo marched immediately into Milan,
poisoned his uncle in a dungeon, and proclaimed himself sole lord of the
Visconti heirship.[1]
[1] The narrative of this coup-de-main may be read with advantage in Corio, p.
258.

The reign of Gian Galeazzo, which began with this coup-de-main (1385-
1402), forms a very important chapter in Italian history. We may first see
what sort of man he was, and then proceed to trace his aims and
achievements. Giovio describes him as having been a remarkably sedate
and thoughtful boy, so wise beyond his years that his friends feared he
would not grow to man's estate. No pleasures in after-life drew him away
from business. Hunting, hawking, women, had alike no charms for him. He
took moderate exercise for the preservation of his health, read and
meditated much, and relaxed himself in conversation with men of letters.
Pure intellect, in fact, had reached to perfect independence in this prince,
who was far above the boisterous pleasures and violent activities of the age
in which he lived. In the erection of public buildings he was magnificent.
The Certosa of Pavia and the Duomo of Milan owed their foundation to his

sense of splendor. At the same time he completed the palace of Pavia, which
his father had begun, and which he made the noblest dwelling-house in
Europe. The University of Pavia was raised by him from a state of
decadence to one of great prosperity, partly by munificent endowments and
partly by a wise choice of professors. In his military undertakings he
displayed a kindred taste for vast engineering projects. He contemplated
and partly carried out a scheme for turning the Mincio and the Brenta from
their channels, and for drying up the lagoons of Venice. In this way he
purposed to attack his last great enemy, the Republic of S. Mark, upon her
strongest point. Yet in the midst of these huge designs he was able to attend
to the most trifling details of economy. His love of order was so precise that
he may be said to have applied the method of a banker's office to the
conduct of a state. It was he who invented Bureaucracy by creating a
special class of paid clerks and secretaries of departments. Their duty
consisted in committing to books and ledgers the minutest items of his
private expenditure and the outgoings of his public purse; in noting the
details of the several taxes, so as to be able to present a survey of the whole
state revenue; and in recording the names and qualities and claims of his
generals, captains, and officials. A separate office was devoted to his
correspondence, of all of which he kept accurate copies.[1] By applying this
mercantile machinery to the management of his vast dominions, at a time
when public economy was but little understood in Europe, Gian Galeazzo
raised his wealth enormously above that of his neighbors. His income in a
single year is said to have amounted to 1,200,000 golden florins, with the
addition of 800,000 golden florins levied by extraordinary calls.[2] The
personal timidity of this formidable prince prevented him from leading his
armies in the field. He therefore found it necessary to employ paid generals,
and took into his service all the chief Condottieri of the day, thus giving an
impulse to the custom which was destined to corrupt the whole military
system of Italy. Of these men, whom he well knew how to choose, he was
himself the brain and moving principle. He might have boasted that he
never took a step without calculating the cost, carefully considering the
object, and proportioning the means to his end. How mad to such a man
must have seemed the Crusaders of previous centuries, or the chivalrous
Princes of Northern Germany and Burgundy, who expended their force
upon such unprofitable and impossible undertakings as the subjugation, for
instance, of Switzerland! Not a single trait in his character reminds us of the

Middle Ages, unless it be that he was said to care for reliques with a
superstitious passion worthy of Louis XI. Sismondi sums up the description
of this extraordinary despot in the following sentences, which may be
quoted for their graphic brevity: 'False and pitiless, he joined to
immeasurable ambition a genius for enterprise, and to immovable
constancy a personal timidity which he did not endeavor to conceal. The
least unexpected motion near him threw him into a paroxysm of nervous
terror. No prince employed so many soldiers to guard his palace, or took
such multiplied precautions of distrust. He seemed to acknowledge himself
the enemy of the whole world. But the vices of tyranny had not weakened
his ability. He employed his immense wealth without prodigality; his
finances were always flourishing; his cities well garrisoned and victualed;
his army well paid; all the captains of adventure scattered throughout Italy
received pensions from him, and were ready to return to his service
whenever called upon. He encouraged the warriors of the new Italian
school; he knew well how to distinguish, reward, and win their
attachment.'[3] Such was the tyrant who aimed at nothing less than the
reduction of the whole of Italy beneath the sway of the Visconti, and who
might have achieved his purpose had not his career of conquest been
checked by the Republic of Florence, and afterwards cut short by a
premature death.
[1] Giovio is particular upon these points: 'Ho veduto io ne gli armari de' suoi
Archivi maravigliosi libri in carta pecora, i quali contenevano d' anno in anno i
nomi de' capitani, condottieri, e soldati vecchi, e le paghe di ogn' uno, e 'l rotulo
delle cavallerie, et delle fanterie: v' erano anco registrate le copie delle lettere le
quali negli importantissimi maneggi di far guerra o pace, o egli haveva scritto ai
principi o haveva ricevuto da loro.'
[2] The description given by Corio (pp. 260, 266-68) of the dower in money,
plate, and jewels brought by Valentina Visconti to Louis d'Orleans is a good
proof of Gian Galeazzo's wealth. Besides the town of Asti, she took with her in
money 400,000 golden florins. Her gems were estimated at 68,858 florins, and
her plate at 1,667 marks of Paris. The inventory is curious.
[3] 'History of the Italian Republics' (1 vol. Longmans), p. 190.

At the time of his accession the Visconti had already rooted out the
Correggi and Rossi of Parma, the Scotti of Piacenza, the Pelavicini of San
Donnino, the Tornielli of Novara, the Ponzoni and Cavalcabò of Cremona,
the Beccaria and Languschi of Pavia, the Fisiraghi of Lodi, the Brusati of
Brescia. Their viper had swallowed all these lesser snakes.[1] But the

Carrara family still ruled at Padua, the Gonzaga at Mantua, the Este at
Ferrara, while the great house of Scala was in possession of Verona. Gian
Galeazzo's schemes were first directed against the Scala dynasty. Founded,
like that of the Visconti, upon the imperial authority, it rose to its greatest
height under the Ghibelline general Can Grande and his nephew Mastino, in
the first half of the fourteenth century (1312-51). Mastino had himself
cherished the project of an Italian Kingdom; but he died before approaching
its accomplishment. The degeneracy of his house began with his three sons.
The two younger killed the eldest; of the survivors the stronger slew the
weaker and then died in 1374, leaving his domains to two of his bastards.
One of these, named Antonio, killed the other in 1381,[2] and afterwards fell
a prey to the Visconti in 1387. In his subjugation of Verona Gian Galeazzo
contrived to make use of the Carrara family, although these princes were
allied by marriage to the Scaligers, and had everything to lose by their
downfall. He next proceeded to attack Padua, and gained the co-operation
of Venice. In 1388 Francesco da Carrara had to cede his territory to
Visconti's generals, who in the same year possessed themselves for him of
the Trevisan Marches. It was then that the Venetians saw too late the error
they had committed in suffering Verona and Padua to be annexed by the
Visconti, when they ought to have been fortified as defenses interposed
between his growing power and themselves. Having now made himself
master of the North of Italy,[3] with the exception of Mantua, Ferrara, and
Bologna, Gian Galeazzo turned his attention to these cities. Alberto d' Este
was ruling in Ferrara; Francesco da Gonzaga in Mantua. It was the
Visconti's policy to enfeeble these two princes by causing them to appear
odious in the eyes of their subjects.[4] Accordingly he roused the jealousy of
the Marquis of Ferrara against his nephew Obizzo to such a pitch that
Alberto beheaded him together with his mother, burned his wife, and hung a
third member of his family, besides torturing to death all the supposed
accomplices of the unfortunate young man. Against the Marquis of Mantua
Gian Galeazzo devised a still more diabolical plot. By forged letters and
subtly contrived incidents he caused Francesco da Gonzaga to suspect his
wife of infidelity with his secretary.[5] In a fit of jealous fury Francesco
ordered the execution of his wife, the mother of several of his children,
together with the secretary. Then he discovered the Visconti's treason. But it
was too late for anything but impotent hatred. The infernal device had been
successful; the Marquis of Mantua was no less discredited than the Marquis

of Ferrara by his crime. It would seem that these men were not of the stamp
and caliber to be successful villans, and that Gian Galeazzo had reckoned
upon this defect in their character. Their violence caused them to be rather
loathed than feared. The whole of Lombardy was now prostrate before the
Milanese tyrant. His next move was to set foot in Tuscany. For this purpose
Pisa had to be acquired; and here again he resorted to his devilish policy of
inciting other men to crimes by which he alone would profit in the long-run.
Pisa was ruled at that time by the Gambacorta family, with an old merchant
named Pietro at their head. This man had a friend and secretary called
Jacopo Appiano, whom the Visconti persuaded to turn Judas, and to entrap
and murder his benefactor and his children. The assassination took place in
1392. In 1399 Gherardo, son of Jacopo Appiano, who held Pisa at the
disposal of Gian Galeazzo, sold him this city for 200,000 florins.[6] Perugia
was next attacked. Here Pandolfo, chief of the Baglioni family, held a semi-
constitutional authority, which the Visconti first helped him to transmute
into a tyranny, and then, upon Pandolfo's assassination, seized as his own.[7]
All Italy and even Germany had now begun to regard the usurpations of the
Milanese despot with alarm. But the sluggish Emperor Wenceslaus refused
to take action against him; nay, in 1395 he granted to the Visconti the
investiture of the Duchy of Milan for 100,000 florins, reserving only Pavia
for himself. In 1399 the Duke laid hands on Siena; and in the next two years
the plague came to his assistance by enfeebling the ruling families of Lucca
and Bologna, the Guinizzi and the Bentivogli, so that he was now able to
take possession of those cities.

[1] Il Biscione, or the Great Serpent, was the name commonly given to the
tyranny of the Visconti (see M. Villani, vi. 8), in allusion to their ensign of a
naked child issuing from a snake's mouth.
[2] Corio, p. 255, tells how the murder was accomplished. Antonio tried to make
it appear that his brother Bartolommeo had met his death in the prosecution of
infamous amours.
[3] Savoy was not in his hands, however, and the Marquisate of Montferrat
remained nominally independent, though he held its heir in a kind of honorable
confinement. Venice, too, remained in formidable neutrality, the spectator of the
Visconti's conquests.
[4] The policy adopted by the Visconti against the Estensi and the Gonzaghi was
that recommended by Machiavelli (Disc. iii. 32): 'quando alcuno vuole o che un
popolo o un principe levi al tutto l' animo ad uno accordo, non ci è altro modo
più vero, nè più stabile, che fargli usare qualche grave scelleratezza contro a
colui con il qual tu non vuoi che l' accordo si faccia.'
[5] This lady was a first cousin as well as sister-in-law of Gian Galeazzo
Visconti, who in second marriage had taken Caterina, daughter of Bernabo
Visconti, to wife. This fact makes his perfidy the more disgraceful.
[6] The Appiani retired to Piombino, where they founded a petty despotism.
Appiano's crime, which gave a tyranny to his children, is similar to that of
Tremacoldo, who murdered his masters, the Vistarini of Lodi, and to that of
Luigi Gonzaga, who founded the Ducal house of Mantua by the murder of his
patron, Passerino Buonacolsi.
[7] Pandolfo was murdered in 1393. Gian Galeazzo possessed himself of Perugia
in 1400, having paved his way for the usurpation by causing Biordo Michelotti,
the successor of the Baglioni to be assassinated by his friend Francesco
Guidalotti. It will be noticed that he proceeded slowly and surely in the case of
each annexation, licking over his prey after he had throttled it and before he
swallowed it, like a boa-constrictor.

There remained no power in Italy, except the Republic of Florence and the
exiled but invincible Francesco da Carrara, to withstand his further
progress. Florence delayed his conquests in Tuscany. Francesco managed to
return to Padua. Still the peril which threatened the whole of Italy was
imminent. The Duke of Milan was in the plenitude of manhood—rich,
prosperous, and full of mental force. His acquisitions were well cemented;
his armies in good condition; his treasury brim full; his generals highly
paid. All his lieutenants in city and in camp respected the iron will and the
deep policy of the despot who swayed their action from his arm-chair in
Milan. He alone knew how to use the brains and hands that did him service,
to keep them mutually in check, and by their regulated action to make
himself not one but a score of men. At last, when all other hope of

independence for Italy had failed, the plague broke out with fury in
Lombardy. Gian Galeazzo retired to his isolated fortress of Marignano in
order to escape infection. Yet there in 1402 he sickened. A comet appeared
in the sky, to which he pointed as a sign of his approaching death—'God
could not but signalize the end of so supreme a ruler,' he told his attendants.
He died aged 55. Italy drew a deep breath. The danger was passed.
The systematic plan conceived by Gian Galeazzo for the enslavement of
Italy, the ability and force of intellect which sustained him in its execution,
and the power with which he bent men to his will, are scarcely more
extraordinary than the sudden dissolution of his dukedom at his death. Too
timid to take the field himself, he had trained in his service a band of great
commanders, among whom Alberico da Barbino, Facino Cane, Pandolfo
Malatesta, Jacopo dal Verme, Gabrino Fondulo, and Ottobon Terzo were the
most distinguished. As long as he lived and held them in leading strings, all
went well. But at his death his two sons were still mere boys. He had to
intrust their persons, together with the conduct of his hardly won
dominions, to these captains in conjunction with the Duchess Catherine and
a certain Francesco Barbavara. This man had been the Duke's body-servant,
and was now the paramour of the Duchess. The generals refused to act with
them; and each seized upon such portions of the Visconti inheritance as he
could most easily acquire. The vast tyranny of the first Duke of Milan fell
to pieces in a day. The whole being based on no legal right, but held
together artificially by force and skill, its constituent parts either reasserted
their independence or became the prey of adventurers.[1] Many scions of the
old ejected families recovered their authority in the subject towns. We hear
again of the Scotti at Piacenza, the Rossi and Correggi at Parma, the
Benzoni at Crema, the Rusconi at Como, the Soardi and Colleoni at
Bergamo, the Landi at Bobbio, the Cavalcabò at Cremona. Facino Cane
appropriated Alessandria; Pandolfo Malatesta seized Brescia; Ottonbon
Terzo established himself in Parma. Meanwhile Giovanni Maria Visconti
was proclaimed Duke of Milan, and his brother Filippo Maria occupied
Pavia. Gabriello, a bastard son of the first duke, fortified himself in Crema.
[1] The anarchy which prevailed in Lombardy after Gian Galeazzo's death makes
it difficult to do more than signalize a few of these usurpations. Corio, pp. 292 et
seq., contain the details.

In the despotic families of Italy, as already hinted, there was a progressive
tendency to degeneration. The strain of tyranny sustained by force and craft
for generations, the abuse of power and pleasure, the isolation and the dread
in which the despots lived habitually, bred a kind of hereditary madness.[1]
In the case of Giovanni Maria and Filippo Maria Visconti these
predisposing causes of insanity were probably intensified by the fact that
their father and mother were first cousins, the grandchildren of Stefano, son
of Matteo il Grande. Be this as it may, the constitutional ferocity of the race
appeared as monomania in Giovanni, and its constitutional timidity as
something akin to madness in his brother. Gian Maria, Duke of Milan in
nothing but in name, distinguished himself by cruelty and lust. He used the
hounds of his ancestors no longer in the chase of boars, but of living men.
All the criminals of Milan, and all whom he could get denounced as
criminals, even the participators in his own enormities, were given up to his
infernal sport. His huntsman, Squarcia Giramo, trained the dogs to their
duty by feeding them on human flesh, and the duke watched them tear his
victims in pieces with the avidity of a lunatic.[2] In 1412 some Milanese
nobles succeeded in murdering him, and threw his mangled corpse into the
street. A prostitute is said to have covered it with roses. Filippo Maria
meanwhile had married the widow of Facino Cane,[3] who brought him
nearly half a million of florins for dowry, together with her husband's
soldiers and the cities he had seized after Gian Galeazzo's death. By the
help of this alliance Filippo was now gradually recovering the Lombard
portion of his father's dukedom. The minor cities, purged by murder of their
usurpers, once more fell into the grasp of the Milanese despot, after a series
of domestic and political tragedies that drenched their streets with blood.
Piacenza was utterly depopulated. It is recorded that for the space of a year
only three of its inhabitants remained within the walls.
[1] I may refer to Dr. Maudsley (Mind and Matter) for a scientific statement of
the theory of madness developed by accumulated and hereditary vices.
[2] Corio, p. 301 mentions by name Giovanni da Pusterla and Bertolino del
Maino as 'lacerati da i cani del Duca.' Members of the families of these men
afterwards helped to kill him.
[3] Beatrice di Tenda, the wife of Facino Cane, was twenty years older than the
Duke of Milan. As soon as the Visconti felt himself assured in his duchy, he
caused a false accusation to be brought against her of adultery with the youthful
Michele Oranbelli, and, in spite of her innocence, beheaded her in 1418.
Machiavelli relates this act of perfidy with Tacitean conciseness (1st. Fior. lib. i.

vol. i. p. 55): 'Dipoi per esser grato de' benefici grandi, come sono quasi sempre
tutti i Principi, accusè Beatrice sua moglie di stupro e la fece morire.'

Filippo, the last of the Visconti tyrants, was extremely ugly, and so sensitive
about his ill-formed person that he scarcely dared to show himself abroad.
He habitually lived in secret chambers, changed frequently from room to
room, and when he issued from his palace refused salutations in the streets.
As an instance of his nervousness, the chroniclers report that he could not
endure to hear the noise of thunder.[1] At the same time he inherited much
of his father's insight into character, and his power of controlling men more
bold and active than himself. But he lacked the keen decision and broad
views of Gian Galeazzo. He vacillated in policy and kept planning plots
which seemed to have no object but his own disadvantage. Excess of
caution made him surround the captains of his troops with spies, and check
them at the moment when he feared they might become too powerful. This
want of confidence neutralized the advantage which he might have gained
by his choice of fitting instruments. Thus his selection of Francesco Sforza
for his general against the Venetians in 1431 was a wise one. But he could
not attach the great soldier of fortune to himself. Sforza took the pay of
Florence against his old patron, and in 1441 forced him to a ruinous peace;
one of the conditions of which was the marriage of the Duke of Milan's
only daughter, Bianca, to the son of the peasant of Cotignola. Bianca was
illegitimate, and Filippo Maria had no male heir. The great family of the
Visconti had dwindled away. Consequently, after the duke's death in 1447,
Sforza found his way open to the Duchy of Milan, which he first secured by
force and then claimed in right of his wife. An adverse claim was set up by
the House of Orleans, Louis of Orleans having married Valentina, the
legitimate daughter of Gian Galeazzo.[2] But both of these claims were
invalid, since the investiture granted by Wenceslaus to the first duke
excluded females. So Milan was once again thrown open to the competition
of usurpers.
[1] The most complete account of Filippo Maria Visconti written by a
contemporary is that of Piero Candido Decembrio (Muratori, vol. xx.). The
student must, however, read between the lines of this biography, for Decembrio,
at the request of Leonello d' Este, suppressed the darker colors of the portrait of
his master. See the correspondence in Rosmini's Life of Guarino da Verona.
[2] This claim of the House of Orleans to Milan was one source of French
interference in Italian affairs. Judged by Italian custom, Sforza's claim through
Bianca was as good as that of the Orleans princes through Valentina, since

bastardy was no real bar in the peninsula. It is said that Filippo Maria bequeathed
his duchy to the Crown of Naples, by a will destroyed after his death. Could this
bequest have taken effect, it might have united Italy beneath one sovereign. But
the probabilities are that the jealousies of Florence, Venice, and Rome against
Naples would have been so intensified as to lead to a bloody war of succession,
and to hasten the French invasion.

The inextinguishable desire for liberty in Milan blazed forth upon the death
of the last duke. In spite of so many generations of despots, the people still
regarded themselves as sovereign, and established a republic. But a state
which had served the Visconti for nearly two centuries, could not in a
moment shake off its weakness and rely upon itself alone. The republic,
feeling the necessity of mercenary aid, was short-sighted enough to engage
Francesco Sforza as commander-in-chief against the Venetians, who had
availed themselves of the anarchy in Lombardy to push their power west of
the Adda.
Sforza, though the ablest general of the day, was precisely the man whom
common prudence should have prompted the burghers to mistrust. In one
brilliant campaign he drove the Venetians back beyond the Adda, burned
their fleet at Casal Maggiore on the Po, and utterly defeated their army at
Caravaggio. Then he returned as conqueror to Milan, reduced the
surrounding cities, blockaded the Milanese in their capital, and forced them
to receive him as their Duke in 1450. Italy had lost a noble opportunity. If
Florence and Venice had but taken part with Milan, and had stimulated the
flagging energies of Genoa, four powerful republics in federation might
have maintained the freedom of the whole peninsula and have resisted
foreign interference. But Cosimo de' Medici, who was silently founding the
despotism of his own family in Florence, preferred to see a duke in Milan;
and Venice, guided by the Doge Francesco Foscari, thought only of
territorial aggrandizement. The chance was lost. The liberties of Milan were
extinguished. A new dynasty was established in the duchy, grounded on a
false hereditary claim, which, as long as it continued, gave a sort of color to
the superior but still illegal pretensions of the house of Orleans. It is
impossible at this point in the history of Italy to refrain from judging that
the Italians had become incapable of local self-government, and that the
prevailing tendency to despotism was not the results of accidents in any
combination, but of internal and inevitable laws of evolution.

It was at this period that the old despotisms founded by Imperial Vicars and
Captains of the People came to be supplanted or crossed by those of
military adventurers, just as at a somewhat later time the Condottiere and
the Pope's nominee were blent in Cesare Borgia. This is therefore the proper
moment for glancing at the rise and influence of mercenary generals in
Italy, before proceeding to sketch the history of the Sforza family.
After the wars in Sicily, carried on by the Angevine princes, had ceased
(1302), a body of disbanded soldiers, chiefly foreigners, was formed under
Fra Ruggieri, a Templar, and swept the South of Italy. Giovanni Villani
marks this as the first sign of the scourge which was destined to prove so
fatal to the peace of Italy.[1] But it was not any merely accidental outbreak
of Banditti, such as this, which established the Condottiere system. The
causes were far more deeply seated, in the nature of Italian despotism and
in the peculiar requirements of the republics. We have already seen how
Frederick II. found it convenient to employ Saracens in his warfare with the
Holy See. The same desire to procure troops incapable of sympathizing
with the native population induced the Scala and Visconti tyrants to hire
German, Breton, Swiss, English, and even Hungarian guards. These foreign
troops remained at the disposal of the tyrants and superseded the national
militia. The people of Italy were reserved for taxation; the foreigners carried
on the wars of the princes. Nor was this policy otherwise than popular. It
relieved all classes from the conscription, leaving the burgher free to ply his
trade, the peasant to till his fields, and disarming the nobles who were still
rebellious and turbulent within the city walls. The same custom gained
ground among the Republics. Rich Florentine citizens preferred to stay at
home at ease, or to travel abroad for commerce, while they intrusted their
military operations to paid generals.[2] Venice, jealous of her own citizens,
raised no levies in her immediate territory, and made a rule of never
confiding her armies to Venetians. Her admirals, indeed, were selected from
the great families of the Lagoons. But her troops were placed beneath the
discipline of foreigners. The warfare of the Church, again, had of necessity
to be conducted on the same principles; for it did not often happen that a
Pope arose like Julius II., rejoicing in the sound of cannon and the life of
camps. In this way principalities and republics gradually denationalized
their armies, and came to carrying on campaigns by the aid of foreign
mercenaries under paid commanders. The generals, wishing as far as

possible to render their troops movable and compact, suppressed the
infantry, and confined their attention to perfecting the cavalry. Heavy-armed
cavaliers, officered by professional captains, fought the battles of Italy;
while despots and republics schemed in their castles, or debated in their
council-chambers, concerning objects of warfare about which the soldiers
of fortune were indifferent. The pay received by men-at-arms was more
considerable than that of the most skilled laborers in any peaceful trade.
The perils of military service in Italy, conducted on the most artificial
principles, were but slight; while the opportunities of self-indulgence—of
pillage during war and of pleasure in the brief intervals of peace—attracted
all the hot blood of the country to this service.[3] Therefore, in course of
time, the profession of Condottiere fascinated the needier nobility of Italy,
and the ranks of their men-at-arms were recruited by townsfolk and
peasants, who deliberately chose a life of adventure.
[1] VIII. 51.
[2] We may remember how the Spanish general Cardona, in 1325, misused his
captaincy of the Florentine forces to keep rich members of the republican militia
in unhealthy stations, extorting money from them as the price of freedom from
perilous or irksome service.
[3] Matarazzo, in his Chronicle of Perugia, gives a lively picture of an Italian
city, in which the nobles for generations followed the trade of Condottieri, while
the people enlisted in their bands—to the utter ruin of the morals and the peace
of the community.

At first the foreign troops of the despots were engaged as body-guards, and
were controlled by the authority of their employers. But the captains soon
rendered themselves independent, and entered into military contracts on
their own account. The first notable example of a roving troop existing for
the sake of pillage, and selling its services to any bidder, was the so-called
Great Company (1343), commanded by the German Guarnieri, or Duke
Werner who wrote upon his corselet: 'Enemy of God, of Pity and of Mercy.'
This band was employed in 1348 by the league of the Montferrat, La Scala,
Carrara, Este, and Gonzaga houses, formed to check the Visconti.

'In the middle of the fourteenth century,' writes Sismondi,[1] 'all the soldiers
who served in Italy were foreigners: at the end of the same century they
were all, or nearly all, Italian.' This sentence indicates a most important
change in the Condottiere system, which took place during the lifetime of

Gian Galeazzo Visconti. Alberico da Barbiano, a noble of Romagna, and the
ancestor of the Milanese house of Belgiojoso, adopted the career of
Condottiere, and formed a Company, called the Company of S. George, into
which he admitted none but Italians. The consequence of this rule was that
he Italianized the profession of mercenary arms for the future. All the great
captains of the period were formed in his ranks, during the course of those
wars which he conducted for the Duke of Milan. Two rose to paramount
importance—Braccio da Montone, who varied his master's system by
substituting the tactics of detached bodies of cavalry for the solid phalanx in
which Barbiano had moved his troops; and Sforza Attendolo, who adhered
to the old method. Sforza got his name from his great physical strength. He
was a peasant of the village of Cotignola, who, being invited to quit the
mattock for a sword, threw his pickax into an oak, and cried, 'If it stays
there, it is a sign that I shall make my fortune.' The ax stuck in the tree, and
Sforza went forth to found a line of dukes.[2] After the death of Barbiano in
1409, Sforza and Braccio separated and formed two distinct companies,
known as the Sforzeschi and Bracceschi, who carried on between them,
sometimes in combination, but usually in opposition, all the wars of Italy
for the next twenty years. These old comrades, who had parted in pursuit of
their several advantage, found that they had more to lose than to gain by
defeating each other in any bloody or inconveniently decisive engagement.
Therefore they adopted systems of campaigning which should cost them as
little as possible, but which enabled them to exhibit a chess-player's
capacity for designing clever checkmates.[3] Both Braccio and Sforza died
in 1424, and were succeeded respectively by Nicolo Piccinino and
Francesco Sforza. These two men became in their turn the chief champions
of Italy. At the same time other Condottieri rose into notice. The Malatesta
family at Rimini, the ducal house of Urbino, the Orsini and the Vitelli of the
Roman States, the Varani of Camerino, the Baglioni of Perugia, and the
younger Gonzaghi furnished republics and princes with professional leaders
of tried skill and independent resources. The vassals of these noble houses
were turned into men-at-arms, and the chiefs acquired more importance in
their roving military life than they could have gained within the narrow
circuit of their little states.
[1] Vol. v. p. 207.

[2] This is the commonly received legend. Corio, p. 255, does not draw attention
to the lowness of Sforza's origin, but says that he was only twelve years of age
when he enlisted in the corps of Boldrino da Panigale, condottiere of the Church.
His robust physical qualities were hereditary for many generations in his family.
His son Francesco was tall and well made, the best runner, jumper, and wrestler
of his day. He marched, summer and winter, bareheaded; needed but little sleep;
was spare in diet, and self-indulgent only in the matter of women. Galeazzo
Maria, though stained by despicable vices was a powerful prince, who ruled his
duchy with a strong arm. Of his illegitimate daughter, Caterina, the wife of
Girolamo Riario, a story is told, which illustrates the strong coarse vein that still
distinguished this brood of princes. [See Dennistoun, 'Dukes of Urbino,' vol. i. p.
292, for Boccalini's account of the Siege of Forli, sustained by Caterina in 1488.
Compare Sismondi, vol. vii. p. 251.] Caterina Riario Sforza, as a woman, was no
unworthy inheritor of her grandfather's personal heroism and genius for
government.
[3] I shall have to notice the evils of this system in another place, while
reviewing the Principe of Machiavelli. In that treatise the Florentine historian
traces the whole ruin of Italy during the sixteenth century to the employment of
mercenaries.

The biography of one of these Condottieri deserves special notice, since it
illustrates the vicissitudes of fortune to which such men were exposed, as
well as their relations to their patrons. Francesco Carmagnuola was a
Piedmontese. He first rose into notice at the battle of Monza in 1412, when
Filippo Maria Visconti observed his capacity and bravery, and afterwards
advanced him to the captaincy of a troop. Having helped to reduce the
Visconti duchy to order, Carmagnuola found himself disgraced and
suspected without good reason by the Duke of Milan; and in 1426 he took
the pay of the Venetians against his old master. During the next year he
showed the eminence of his abilities as a general; for he defeated the
combined forces of Piccinino, Sforza, and other captains of the Visconti,
and took them prisoners at Macalo. Carmagnuola neither imprisoned nor
murdered his foes.[1] He gave them their liberty, and four years later had to
sustain a defeat from Sforza at Soncino. Other reverses of fortune followed,
which brought upon him the suspicion of bad faith or incapacity. When he
returned to Venice, the state received their captain with all honors, and
displayed unusual pomp in his admission to the audience of the Council.
But no sooner had their velvet clutches closed upon him, than they threw
him into prison, instituted a secret impeachment of his conduct, and on May
5, 1432, led him out with his mouth gagged, to execution on the Piazza. No
reason was assigned for this judicial murder. Had Carmagnuola been
convicted of treason? Was he being punished for his ill success in the

campaign of the preceding years? The Republic of Venice, by the secrecy in
which she enveloped this dark act of vengeance, sought to inspire the whole
body of her officials with vague alarm.
[1] Such an act of violence, however consistent with the morality of a Cesare
Borgia, a Venetian Republic, or a Duke of Milan, would have been directly
opposed to the code of honor in use among Condottieri. Nothing, indeed, is more
singular among the contradictions of this period than the humanity in the field
displayed by hired captains. War was made less on adverse armies than on the
population of provinces. The adventurers respected each other's lives, and treated
each other with courtesy. They were a brotherhood who played at campaigning,
rather than the representatives of forces seriously bent on crushing each other to
extermination. Machiavelli says (Princ. cap. xii.) 'Aveano usato ogni industria
per levar via a se e a' soldati la fatica e la paura, non s'ammazzando nelle zuffe,
ma pigliandosi prigioni e senza taglia.' At the same time the license they allowed
themselves against the cities and the districts they invaded is well illustrated by
the pillage of Piacenza in 1447 by Francesco Sforza's troops. The anarchy of a
sack lasted forty days, during which the inhabitants were indiscriminately sold as
slaves, or tortured for their hidden treasure. Sism. vi. 170.

But to return to the Duchy of Milan. Francesco Sforza entered the capital as
conqueror in 1450, and was proclaimed Duke. He never obtained the
sanction of the Empire to his title, though Frederick III. was proverbially
lavish of such honors. But the great Condottiere, possessing the substance,
did not care for the external show of monarchy. He ruled firmly, wisely, and
for those times well, attending to the prosperity of his states, maintaining
good discipline in his cities, and losing no ground by foolish or ambitious
schemes. Louis XI. of France is said to have professed himself Sforza's
pupil in statecraft, than which no greater tribute could be paid to his
political sagacity. In 1466 he died, leaving three sons, Galeazzo, Duke of
Milan, the Cardinal Ascanio, and Lodovico, surnamed Il Moro.
'Francesco's crown,' says Ripamonti, 'was destined to pass to more than six
inheritors, and these five successions were accomplished by a series of
tragic events in his family. Galeazzo, his son, was murdered because of his
abominable crimes, in the presence of his people, before the altar, in the
middle of the sacred rites. Giovanni Galeazzo, who followed him, was
poisoned by his uncle Lodovico. Lodovico was imprisoned by the French,
and died of grief in a dungeon.[1] One of his sons perished in the same way;
the other, after years of misery and exile, was restored in his childless old
age to a throne which had been undermined, and when he died, his dynasty
was extinct. This was the recompense for the treason of Francesco to the

State of Milan. It was for such successes that he passed his life in perfidy,
privation, and danger.' In these rapid successions we trace, besides the
demoralization of the Sforza family, the action of new forces from without.
France, Germany, and Spain appeared upon the stage; and against these
great powers the policy of Italian despotism was helpless.
[1] In the castle of Loches, there is said to be a roughly painted wall-picture of a
man in a helmet over the chimney in the room known as his prison, with this
legend, Voilà un qui n'est pas content. Tradition gives it to Il Moro.

We have now reached the threshold of the true Renaissance, and a new
period is being opened for Italian politics. The despots are about to measure
their strength with the nations of the North. It was Lodovico Sforza who, by
his invitation of Charles VIII. into Italy, inaugurated the age of Foreign
Enslavement. His biography belongs, therefore, to another chapter. But the
life of Galeazzo Maria, husband of Bona of Savoy, and uncle by marriage to
Charles VIII. of France, forms an integral part of that history of the
Milanese despots which we have hitherto been tracing. In him the passions
of Gian Maria Visconti were repeated with the addition of extravagant
vanity. We may notice in particular his parade-expedition in 1471 to
Florence, when he flaunted the wealth extorted from his Milanese subjects
before the soberminded citizens of a still free city. Fifty palfreys for the
Duchess, fifty chargers for the Duke, trapped in cloth of gold; a hundred
men-at-arms and five hundred foot soldiers for a body-guard; five hundred
couples of hounds and a multitude of hawks; preceded him. His suite of
courtiers numbered two thousand on horseback: 200,000 golden florins
were expended on this pomp. Machiavelli (1st. Fior. lib. 7) marks this visit
of the Duke of Milan as a turning-point from austere simplicity to luxury
and license in the manners of the Florentines, whom Lorenzo de' Medici
was already bending to his yoke. The most extravagant lust, the meanest
and the vilest cruelty, supplied Galeazzo Maria with daily recreation.[1] He
it was who used to feed his victims on abominations or to bury them alive,
and who found a pleasure in wounding or degrading those whom he had
made his confidants and friends. The details of his assassination, in 1476,
though well known, are so interesting that I may be excused for pausing to
repeat them here; especially as they illustrate a moral characteristic of this
period which is intimately connected with the despotism. Three young
nobles of Milan, educated in the classic literature by Montano, a

distinguished Bolognese scholar, had imbibed from their studies of Greek
and Latin history an ardent thirst for liberty and a deadly hatred of tyrants.
[2]
Their names were Carlo Visconti, Girolamo Olgiati, and Giannandrea
Lampugnani. Galeazzo Sforza had wounded the two latter in the points
which men hold dearest—their honor and their property[3]—by outraging
the sister of Olgiati and by depriving Lampugnani of the patronage of the
Abbey of Miramondo. The spirit of Harmodius and Virginius was kindled
in the friends, and they determined to rid Milan of her despot. After some
meetings in the garden of S. Ambrogio, where they matured their plans,
they laid their project of tyrannicide as a holy offering before the patron
saint of Milan.[4] Then having spent a few days in poignard exercise for the
sake of training,[5] they took their place within the precincts of S. Stephen's
Church. There they received the sacrament and addressed themselves in
prayer to the Protomartyr, whose fane was about to be hallowed by the
murder of a monster odious to God and man. It was on the morning of
December 26, 1476, that the duke entered San Stefano. At one and the same
moment the daggers of the three conspirators struck him—Olgiati's in the
breast, Visconti's in the back, Lampugnani's in the belly. He cried 'Ah, Dio!'
and fell dead upon the pavement. The friends were unable to make their
escape; Visconti and Lampugnani were killed on the spot; Olgiati was
seized, tortured, and torn to death.
[1] Allegretto Allegretti, Diari Sanesi, in Muratori, xxiii. p. 777, and Corio, p.
425, should be read for the details of his pleasures. See too his character by
Machiavelli, 1st. Fior. lib. 7, vol. ii. p. 316. Yet Giovio calls him a just and firm
ruler, stained only with the vice of unbridled sensuality.
[2] The study of the classics, especially of Plutarch, at this time, as also during
the French Revolution, fired the imagination of patriots. Lorenzino de' Medici
appealed to the example of Timoleon in 1537, and Pietro Paolo Boscoli to that of
Brutus in 1513.
[3] 'Le ingiurie conviene che siano nella roba, nel sangue, o nell' onore.... La
roba e l'onore sono quelle due cose che offendono più gli uomini che alcun' altra
offesa, e dalle quali il principe si debbe guardare: perchè e' non può mai
spogliare uno tanto che non gli resti un coltello da vendicarsi; non può tanto
disonorare uno che non gli resti un animo ostinato alla vendetta.' Mach. Disc. iii.
6.
[4] See Olgiati's prayer to Saint Ambrose in Sismondi, vii. 87, and in Mach. Ist.
Fior. lib. 7.
[5] Giovanni Sanzi's chronicle, quoted by Dennistoun, vol. i. p. 223, describes
the conspirators rehearsing on a wooden puppet.

In the interval which elapsed between the rack and the pincers, Olgiati had
time to address this memorable speech to the priest who urged him to
repent: 'As for the noble action for which I am about to die, it is this which
gives my conscience peace; to this I trust for pardon from the Judge of all.
Far from repenting, if I had to come ten times to life in order ten times to
die by these same torments, I should not hesitate to dedicate my blood and
all my powers to an object so sublime.' When the hangman stood above
him, ready to begin the work of mutilation, he is said to have exclaimed:
Mors acerba, fama perpetua, stabit vetus memora facti—my death is
untimely, my fame eternal, the memory of the deed will last for aye.' He
was only twenty-two years of age.[1] There is an antique grandeur about the
outlines of this story, strangely mingled with mediæval Catholicism in the
details, which makes it typical of the Renaissance. Conspiracies against
rulers were common at the time in Italy; but none were so pure and
honorable as this. Of the Pazzi Conjuration (1478) which Sixtus IV. directed
to his everlasting infamy against the Medici, I shall have to speak in another
place. It is enough to mention here in passing the patriotic attempt of
Girolamo Gentile against Galeazzo Sforza at Genoa in 1476, and the more
selfish plot of Nicolo d' Este, in the same year, against his uncle Ercole,
who held the Marquisate of Ferrara to the prejudice of his own claim. The
latter tragedy was rendered memorable by the vengeance taken by Ercole.
He beheaded Nicolo and his cousin Azzo together with twenty-five of his
comrades, effectually preventing by this bloodshed any future attempt to set
aside his title. Falling as these four conspiracies do within the space of two
years, and displaying varied features of antique heroism, simple patriotism,
dynastic dissension, and ecclesiastical perfidy, they present examples of the
different forms and causes of political tragedies with a noteworthy and
significant conciseness.[2]
[1] The whole story may be read in Ripamonti, under the head of 'Confessio
Olgiati;' in Corio, who was a page of the Duke's and an eye-witness of the
murder; and in the seventh book of Machiavelli's 'History.' Sismondi's summary
and references, vol. vii. pp. 86-90, are very full.
[2] It is worthy of notice that very many tyrannicides took place in Church—for
example, the murders of Francesco Vico dei Prefetti, of the Varani, the Chiavelli,
Giuliano de' Medici, and Galeazzo Maria Sforza. The choice of public service, as
the best occasion for the commission of these crimes, points to the guarded
watchfulness maintained by tyrants in their palaces and on the streets. Banquets
and festivities offered another kind of opportunity; and it was on such occasions

that domestic tragedies, like Oliverotto's murder of his uncle and Grifonetto
Baglioni's treason, were accomplished.

Such was the actual condition of Italy at the end of the fifteenth century.
Neither public nor private morality in our sense of the word existed. The
crimes of the tyrants against their subjects and the members of their own
families had produced a correlative order of crime in the people over whom
they tyrannized. Cruelty was met by conspiracy. Tyrannicide became
honorable; and the proverb, 'He who gives his own life can take a tyrant's,'
had worked itself into popular language. At this point it may be well to
glance at the opinions concerning public murder which prevailed in Italy.
Machiavelli, in the Discorsi iii. 6, discusses the whole subject with his usual
frigid and exhaustive analysis. It is no part of his critical method to consider
the morality of the matter. He deals with the facts of history scientifically.
The esteem in which tyrannicide was held at Florence is proved by the
erection of Donatello's Judith in 1495, at the gate of the Palazzo Pubblico,
with this inscription, exemplum salutis publicæ cives posuere. All the
political theorists agree that to rid a state of its despot is a virtuous act. They
only differ about its motives and its utility. In Guicciardini's Reggimento di
Firenze (Op. Ined. vol. ii. pp. 53, 54, 114) the various motives of
tyrannicide are discussed, and it is concluded that pochissimi sono stati
quelli che si siano mossi meramente per amore della libertà della sua
patria, a' quali si conviene suprema laude.[1] Donato Giannotti (Opere, vol.
i. p. 341) bids the conspirator consider whether the mere destruction of the
despot will suffice to restore his city to true liberty and good government—
a caution by which Lorenzino de' Medici in his assassination of Duke
Alessandro might have profited; for he killed one tyrant in order only to
make room for another. Lorenzino's own Apology (Varchi, vol. iii. pp. 283-
295) is an important document, as showing that the murderer of a despot
counted on the sympathy of honorable men. So, too, is the verdict of
Boscolo's confessor (Arch. Stor. vol. i. p. 309), who pronounced that
conspiracy against a tyrant was no crime. Nor did the demoralization of the
age stop here. Force, which had been substituted for Law in government,
became, as it were, the mainspring of society. Murders, poisoning, rapes,
and treasons were common incidents of private as of public life.[2] In cities
like Naples bloodguilt could be atoned at an inconceivably low rate. A
man's life was worth scarcely more than that of a horse. The palaces of the
nobles swarmed with professional cut-throats, and the great ecclesiastics

claimed for their abodes the right of sanctuary. Popes sold absolution for the
most horrible excesses, and granted indulgences beforehand for the
commission of crimes of lust and violence. Success was the standard by
which acts were judged; and the man who could help his friends intimidate
his enemies, and carve a way to fortune for himself by any means he chose,
was regarded as a hero. Machiavelli's use of the word virtù is in this relation
most instructive. It has altogether lost the Christian sense of virtue, and
retains only so much of the Roman virtus as is applicable to the courage,
intellectual ability, and personal prowess of one who has achieved his
purpose, be that what it may. The upshot of this state of things was that
individuality of character and genius obtained a freer scope at this time in
Italy than during any other period of modern history.
[1] 'Very few indeed have those been, whose motive for tyrannicide was a pure
love of their country's liberty; and these deserve the highest praise.'
[2] It is quite impossible to furnish a complete view of Italian society under this
aspect. Students must be referred to the stories of the novelists, who collected the
more dramatic incidents and presented them in the form of entertaining legends.
It may suffice here to mention Bartolommeo Colleoni, Angelo Poliziano, and
Pontano, all of whom owed their start in life to the murder of their respective
fathers by assassins; to Varchi and Filelfo, whose lives were attempted by cut-
throats; to Cellini, Perugino, Masaccio, Berni, in each of whose biographies
poison and the knife play their parts. If men of letters and artists were exposed to
these perils, the dangers of the great and noble may be readily imagined.

At the same time it must not be forgotten that during this period the art and
culture of the Renaissance were culminating. Filelfo was receiving the gold
of Filippo Maria Visconti. Guarino of Verona was instructing the heir of
Ferrara, and Vittorino da Feltre was educating the children of the Marquis
of Mantua. Lionardo was delighting Milan with his music and his magic
world of painting. Poliziano was pouring forth honeyed eloquence at
Florence. Ficino was expounding Plato. Boiardo was singing the prelude to
Ariosto's melodies at Ferrara. Pico della Mirandola was dreaming of a
reconciliation of the Hebrew, Pagan, and Christian traditions. It is necessary
to note these facts in passing; just as when we are surveying the history of
letters and the arts, it becomes us to remember the crimes and the madness
of the despots who patronized them. This was an age in which even the
wildest and most perfidious of tyrants felt the ennobling influences and the
sacred thirst of knowledge. Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta, the Lord of
Rimini, might be selected as a true type of the princes who united a

romantic zeal for culture with the vices of barbarians.[1] The coins which
bear the portraits of this man, together with the medallions carved in red
Verona marble on his church at Rimini, show a narrow forehead,
protuberant above bushy eyebrows, a long hooked nose, hollow cheeks, and
petulant, passionate, compressed lips. The whole face seems ready to flash
with sudden violence, to merge its self-control in a spasm of fury.
Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta killed three wives in succession, violated
his daughter, and attempted the chastity of his own son. So much of him
belongs to the mere savage. He caused the magnificent church of S.
Francesco at Rimini to be raised by Leo Alberti in a manner more worthy of
a Pagan Pantheon than of a Christian temple. He incrusted it with exquisite
bas-reliefs in marble, the triumphs of the earliest Renaissance style, carved
his own name and ensigns upon every scroll and frieze and point of vantage
in the building, and dedicated a shrine there to his concubine—Divæ Isottæ
Sacrum. So much of him belongs to the Neo-Pagan of the fifteenth century.
He brought back from Greece the mortal remains of the philosopher
Gemistos Plethon, buried them in a sarcophagus outside his church, and
wrote upon the tomb this epigraph: 'These remains of Gemistus of
Byzantium, chief of the sages of his day, Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta,
son of Pandolfo, commander in the war against the king of the Turks in the
Morea, induced by the mighty love with which he burns for men of
learning, brought hither and placed within this chest. 1466.' He, the most
fretful and turbulent of men, read books with patient care, and bore the
contradictions of pedants in the course of long discussions on philosophy
and arts and letters. So much of him belonged to the new spirit of the
coming age, in which the zeal for erudition was a passion, and the spell of
science was stronger than the charms of love. At the same time, as
Condottiere, he displayed all the treasons, duplicities, cruelties, sacrileges,
and tortuous policies to which the most accomplished villain of the age
could have aspired.
[1] For a fuller account of him, see my 'Sketches in Italy and Greece,' article
Rimini.

It would be easy, following in the steps of Tiraboschi, to describe the
patronage awarded in the fifteenth century to men of letters by princes—the
protection extended by Nicholas III. of Ferrara to Guarino and Aurispa—the
brilliant promise of his son Leonello, who corresponded with Poggio,

Filelfo, Guarino, Francesco Barbaro, and other scholars—the liberality of
Duke Borso, whose purse was open to poor students. Or we might review
the splendid culture of the court of Naples, where Alfonso committed the
education of his terrible son Ferdinand to the care of Lorenzo Valla and
Antonio Beccadelli.[1] More insight, however, into the nature of Italian
despotism in all its phases may be gained by turning from Milan to Urbino,
and by sketching a portrait of the good Duke Frederick.[2] The life of
Frederick, Count of Montefeltro, created Duke of Urbino in 1474 by Pope
Sixtus IV., covers the better part of the fifteenth century (b. 1422, d. 1482).
A little corner of old Umbria lying between the Apennines and the Adriatic,
Rimini and Ancona, formed his patrimony. Speaking roughly, the whole
duchy was but forty miles square, and the larger portion consisted of bare
hillsides and ruinous ravines. Yet this poor territory became the center of a
splendid court. 'Federigo,' says his biographer, Muzio, 'maintained a suite so
numerous and distinguished as to rival any royal household.' The chivalry
of Italy flocked to Urbino in order to learn manners and the art of war from
the most noble general of his day. 'His household,' we hear from
Vespasiano, 'which consisted of 500 mouths entertained at his own cost,
was governed less like a company of soldiers than a strict religious
community. There was no gaming nor swearing, but the men conversed
with the utmost sobriety.' In a list of the court officers we find forty-five
counts of the duchy and of other states, seventeen gentlemen, five
secretaries, four teachers of grammar, logic, and philosophy, fourteen clerks
in public offices, five architects and engineers, five readers during meals,
four transcribers of MSS. The library, collected by Vespasiano during
fourteen years of assiduous labor, contained copies of all the Greek and
Latin authors then discovered, the principal treatises on theology and
church history, a complete series of Italian poets, historiographers, and
commentators, various medical, mathematical, and legal works, essays on
music, military tactics and the arts, together with such Hebrew books as
were accessible to copyists. Every volume was bound in crimson and silver,
and the whole collection cost upwards of 30,000 ducats. For the expenses of
so large a household, and the maintenance of this fine library, not to
mention a palace that was being built and churches that required adornment,
the mere revenues of the duchy could not have sufficed. Federigo owed his
wealth to his engagements as a general. Military service formed his trade.
'In 1453,' says Dennistoun, 'his war-pay from Alfonso of Naples exceeded

8,000 ducats a month, and for many years he had from him and his son an
annual peace-pension of 6,000 in name of past services. At the close of his
life, when captain-general of the Italian league, he drew in war 165,000
ducats of annual stipend, 45,000 being his own share; in peace, 65,000 in
all.' As a Condottiere, Federigo was famous in this age of broken faith for
his plain dealing and sincerity. Only one piece of questionable practice—the
capture of Verucchio in 1462 by a forged letter pretending to come from
Sigismondo Malatesta—stained his character for honesty. To his soldiers in
the field he was considerate and generous; to his enemies compassionate
and merciful.[3] 'In military science,' says Vespasiano, 'he was excelled by
no commander of his time; uniting energy with judgment, he conquered by
prudence as much as by force. The like wariness was observed in all his
affairs; and in none of his many battles was he worsted. Nor may I omit the
strict observance of good faith, wherein he never failed. All to whom he
once gave his word, might testify to his inviolate performance of it.' The
same biographer adds that 'he was singularly religious, and most observant
of the Divine commands. No morning passed without his hearing mass
upon his knees.'
[1] The Panormita; author, by the way, of the shameless 'Hermaphroditus.' This
fact is significant. The moral sense was extinct when such a pupil was intrusted
to such a tutor.
[2] For the following details I am principally indebted to 'The Memoirs of the
Dukes of Urbino,' by James Dennistoun; 3 vols., Longmans, 1851. Vespasiano's
Life of Duke Frederick (Vite di uomini illustri, pp. 72-112) is one of the most
charming literary portraits extant. It has, moreover, all the value of a personal
memoir, for Vespasiano had lived in close relation with the Duke as his librarian.
[3] See the testimony of Francesco di Giorgio; Dennistoun, vol. i. p. 259. The
sack of Volterra was, however, a blot upon his humanity.

While a boy, Federigo had been educated in the school of Vittorino da
Feltre at Mantua. Gian Francesco Gonzaga invited that eminent scholar to
his court in 1425 for the education of his sons and daughter, assembling
round him subordinate teachers in grammar, mathematics, music, painting,
dancing, riding, and all noble exercises. The system supervised by Vittorino
included not only the acquisition of scholarship, but also training in manly
sports and the cultivation of the moral character. Many of the noblest
Italians were his pupils. Ghiberto da Correggio, Battista Pallavicíni, Taddeo
Manfredi of Faenza, Gabbriello da Cremona, Francesco da Castiglione,

Niccolo Perrotti, together with the Count of Montefeltro, lived in Vittorino's
house, associating with the poorer students whom the benevolent
philosopher instructed for the love of learning. Ambrogio Camaldolese in a
letter to Niccolo Niccoli gives this animated picture of the Mantuan school:
'I went again to visit Vittorino and to see his Greek books. He came to meet
me with the children of the prince, two sons and a daughter of seven years.
The eldest boy is eleven, the younger five. There are also other children of
about ten, sons of nobles, as well as other pupils. He teaches them Greek,
and they can write that language well. I saw a translation from Saint
Chrysostom made by one of them which pleased me much.' And again a
few years later: 'He brought me Giovanni Lucido, son of the Marquis, a boy
of about fourteen, whom he has educated, and who then recited two
hundred lines composed by him upon the shows with which the Emperor
was received in Mantua. The verses were most beautiful, but the sweetness
and elegance of his recitation made them still more graceful. He also
showed me two propositions added by him to Euclid, which prove how
eminent he promises to be in mathematical studies. There was also a little
daughter of the Marquis, of about ten, who writes Greek beautifully; and
many other pupils, some of noble birth, attended them.' The medal struck by
Pisanello in honor of Vittorino da Feltre bears the ensign of a pelican
feeding her young from a wound in her own breast—a symbol of the
master's self-sacrifice.[1] I hope to return in the second volume of this work
to Vittorino. It is enough here to remark that in this good school the Duke of
Urbino acquired that solid culture which distinguished him through life. In
after years, when the cares of his numerous engagements fell thick upon
him, we hear from Vespasiano that he still prosecuted his studies, reading
Aristotle's Ethics, Politics, and Physics, listening to the works of S. Thomas
Aquinas and Scotus read aloud, perusing at one time the Greek fathers and
at another the Latin historians.[2] How profitably he spent his day at Urbino
may be gathered from this account of his biographer: 'He was on horseback
at daybreak with four or six mounted attendants and not more, and with one
or two foot servants unarmed. He would ride out three or four miles, and be
back again when the rest of his court rose from bed. After dismounting, he
heard mass. Then he went into a garden open at all sides, and gave audience
to those who listed until dinner-time. At table, all the doors were open; any
man could enter where his lordship was; for he never ate except with a full
hall. According to the season he had books read out as follows—in Lent,

spiritual works; at other times, the history of Livy; all in Latin. His food
was plain; he took no comfits, and drank no wine, except drinks of
pomegranate, cherry, or apples.' After dinner he heard causes, and gave
sentence in the Latin tongue. Then he would visit the nuns of Santa Chiara
or watch the young men of Urbino at their games, using the courtesy of
perfect freedom with his subjects. His reputation as a patron of the arts and
of learning was widely spread. 'To hear him converse with a sculptor,' says
Vespasiano, 'you would have thought he was a master of the craft. In
painting, too, he displayed the most acute judgment; and as he could not
find among the Italians worthy masters of oil colors, he sent to Flanders for
one, who painted for him the philosophers and poets and doctors of the
Church. He also brought from Flanders masters in the art of tapestry.'
Pontano, Ficino, and Poggio dedicated works of importance to his name;
and Pirro Perrotti, in the preface to his uncle's 'Cornucopia,' draws a quaint
picture of the reception which so learned a book was sure to meet with at
Urbino.[3] But Frederick was not merely an accomplished prince.
Concurrent testimony proves that he remained a good husband and a
constant friend throughout his life, that he controlled his natural quickness
of temper, and subdued the sensual appetites which in that age of lax
morality he might have indulged without reproach. In his relations to his
subjects he showed what a paternal monarch should be, conversing
familiarly with the citizens of Urbino, accosting them with head uncovered,
inquiring into the necessities of the poorer artisans, relieving the destitute,
dowering orphan girls, and helping distressed shopkeepers with loans.
Numerous anecdotes are told which illustrate his consideration for his old
servants, and his anxiety for the welfare and good order of his state. At a
time when the Pope and the King of Naples were making money by
monopolies of corn, the Duke of Urbino filled his granaries from Apulia,
and sold bread during a year of scarcity at a cheap rate to his poor subjects.
Nor would he allow his officers to prosecute the indigent for debts incurred
by such purchases. He used to say: 'I am not a merchant; it is enough to
have saved my people from hunger.' We must remember that this excellent
prince had a direct interest in maintaining the prosperity and good-will of
his duchy. His profession was warfare, and the district of Urbino supplied
him with his best troops. Yet this should not diminish the respect due to the
foresight and benevolence of a Condottiere who knew how to carry on his
calling with humanity and generosity. Federigo wore the Order of the

Garter, which Henry VII. conferred on him, the Neapolitan Order of the
Ermine, and the Papal decorations of the Rose, the Hat, the Sword. He
served three pontiffs, two kings of Naples, and two dukes of Milan. The
Republic of Florence and more than one Italian League appointed him their
general in the field. If his military career was less brilliant than that of the
two Sforzas, Piccinino, or Carmagnuola, he avoided the crimes to which
ambition led some of these men and the rocks on which they struck. At his
death he transmitted a flourishing duchy, a cultivated court, a renowned
name, and the leadership of the Italian League to his son Guidobaldo.
[1] Prendilacqua, the biographer of Vittorino, says that he died so poor that his
funeral expenses had to be defrayed.
[2] Pius II. in his Commentaries gives an interesting account of the conversations
concerning the tactics of the ancients which he held with Frederick, in 1461, in
the neighborhood of Tivoli.
[3] The preface to the original edition of the 'Cornucopia' is worth reading for the
lively impression which it conveys of Federigo's personality: 'Admirabitur in te
divinam illam corporis proceritatem, membrorum robur eximium, venerandam
oris dignitatem, ætatis maturam gravitatem, divinam quandam majestatem cum
humanitate conjunctam, totum præterea talem qualem esse oportebat eum
principem quem nuper pontifex maximus et universus senatus omnium rerum
suarum et totius ecclesiastici imperii ducem moderatoremque constituit.'

The young Duke, whose court, described by Castiglione, may be said to
have set the model of good breeding to all Europe, began life under the
happiest auspices. From his tutor Odasio of Padua we hear that even in
boyhood he cared only for study and for manly sports. His memory was so
retentive that he could repeat whole treatises by heart after the lapse of ten
or fifteen years, nor did he ever forget what he had resolved to retain. In the
Latin and Greek languages he became an accomplished scholar,[1] and
while he appreciated the poets, he showed peculiar aptitude for philosophy
and history. But his development was precocious. His zeal for learning and
the excessive ardor with which he devoted himself to physical exercises
undermined his constitution. He became an invalid and died childless, after
exhibiting to his court for many years an example of patience in sickness
and of dignified cheerfulness under the restraints of enforced inaction. His
wife, Elizabetta Gonzaga, one of the most famous women of her age, was
no less a pattern of noble conduct and serene contentment.

Such were the two last princes of the Montefeltro dynasty.[2] It is necessary
to bear their virtues in mind while dwelling on the characteristics of Italian
despotism in the fifteenth century. The Duchy of Urbino, both as an
established dynasty not founded upon violence, and also as a center of
really humane culture, formed, it is true, an exception to the rule of Italian
tyrannies: yet, if we omitted this state from our calculation, confining our
attention to the extravagant iniquities of the Borgia family, or to the
eccentricities of the Visconti, or to the dark crimes of the court of Naples,
we should gain a false notion of the many-sided character of Italy, in which
at that time vices and virtues were so strangely blended. We must never
forget that the same society which produced a Filippo Maria Visconti, a
Galeazzo Maria Sforza, a Sigismondo Malatesta, a Ferdinand of Aragon,
gave birth also to a Lorenzo de' Medici and a Federigo da Montefeltro. It is
only by studying the lives of all these men in combination that we can
obtain a correct conception of the manifold personality, the mingled polish
and barbarism, of the Italian Renaissance.
[1] It is not easy to say what a panegyrist of that period intended by 'a complete
knowledge of Greek,' or 'fluent Greek writing,' in a Prince. I suspect, however,
that we ought not to understand by these phrases anything like a real familiarity
with Greek literature, but rather such superficial knowledge as would enable a
reader of Latin books to understand allusions and quotations. Poliziano, it may
be remarked, thought it worth while to flatter Guidobaldo in a Greek epigram.
[2] After Guidobaldo's death the duchy was continued by the Della Rovere
family, one of whom, Giovanni, Prefect of Rome and nephew of Sixtus IV.,
married the Duke's sister Giovanna in 1474.

Some more detailed account of Baldassare Castiglione's treatise Il
Cortegiano will form a fitting conclusion to this Chapter on the Despots. It
is true that his book was written later than the period we have been
considering,[1] and he describes court life in its most graceful aspect. Yet all
the antecedent history of the past two centuries had been gradually
producing the conditions under which his courtier flourished; and the Italian
of the Renaissance, as he appeared to the rest of Europe, was such a
gentleman as he depicts. For the historian his book is of equal value in its
own department with the Principe of Machiavelli, the Autobiography of
Benvenuto Cellini, and the Diary of Burchard.
[1] It was written in 1514, and first published in folio by the Aldi of Venice in
1528. We find an English translation so early as 1561 by Thomas Hoby. At this
time it was in the hands of all the gentlefolk of Europe. It is interesting to

compare the 'Cortegiano' with Della Casa's 'Galateo,' published in 1558. The
'Galateo' professes to be a guide for gentlemen in social intercourse, and the
minute rules laid down would satisfy the most exacting purist of the present
century. In manners and their ethical analysis we have certainly gained nothing
during the last three centuries. The principle upon which these precepts of
conduct are founded is not etiquette or fashion, but respect for the sensibilities of
others. It would be difficult to compose a more philosophical treatise on the
lesser duties imposed upon us by the conditions of society—such minute matters
as the proper way to blow the nose or use the napkin, being referred to the one
rule of acting so as to cause no inconvenience to our neighbors.

In the opening of his 'Cortegiano' Castiglione introduces us to the court of
Urbino—refined, chivalrous, witty, cultivated, gentle—confessedly the
purest and most elevated court in Italy. He brings together the Duchess
Elizabetta Gonzaga; Emilia Pia, wife of Antonio da Montefeltro, whose wit
is as keen and active as that of Shakespeare's Beatrice; Pietro Bembo, the
Ciceronian dictator of letters in the sixteenth century; Bernardo Bibbiena,
Berni's patron, the author of 'Calandra,' whose portrait by Raphael in the
Pitti enables us to estimate his innate love of humor; Giuliano de' Medici,
Duke of Nemours, of whom the marble effigy by Michael Angelo still
guards the tomb in San Lorenzo; together with other knights and gentlemen
less known to fame—two Genoese Fregosi, Gasparo Pallavicini, Lodovico,
Count of Canossa, Cesare Gonzaga, l' Unico Aretino, and Fra Serafino the
humorist. These ladies and gentlemen hold discourse together, as was the
custom of Urbino, in the drawing-room of the duchess during four
consecutive evenings. The theme of their conversation is the Perfect
Courtier. What must that man be who deserves the name of Cortegiano, and
how must he conduct himself? The subject of discussion carries us at once
into a bygone age. No one asks now what makes the perfect courtier; but in
Italy of the Renaissance, owing to the changes from republican to despotic
forms of government which we have traced in the foregoing pages, the
question was one of the most serious importance. Culture and good
breeding, the amenities of intercourse, the pleasures of the intellect,
scarcely existed outside the sphere of courts; for one effect of the Revival of
Learning had been to make the acquisition of polite knowledge difficult,
and the proletariat was less cultivated then than in the age of Dante. Men of
ambition who desired to acquire a reputation whether as soldiers or as
poets, as politicians or as orators, came to court and served their chosen
prince in war or at the council-table, or even in humbler offices of state. To
be able, therefore, to conduct himself with dignity, to know how to win the

favor of his master and to secure the good-will of his peers, to retain his
personal honor and to make himself respected without being hated, to
inspire admiration and to avoid envy, to outshine all honorable rivals in
physical exercises and the craft of arms, to maintain a credable equipage
and retinue, to be instructed in the arts of polite intercourse, to converse
with ease and wit, to be at home alike in the tilting-yard, the banquet-hall,
the boudoir, and the council-chamber, to understand diplomacy, to live
before the world and yet to keep a fitting privacy and distance,—these and a
hundred other matters were the climax and perfection of the culture of a
gentleman. Courts being now the only centers in which it was possible for a
man of birth and talents to shine, it followed that the perfect courtier and the
perfect gentleman were synonymous terms. Castiglione's treatise may
therefore be called an essay on the character of the true gentleman as he
appeared in Italy. Eliminating all qualities that are special to any art or
calling, he defines those essential characteristics which were requisite for
social excellence in the sixteenth century. It is curious to observe how
unchangeable are the laws of real politeness and refinement. Castiglione's
courtier is, with one or two points of immaterial difference, a modern
gentleman, such as all men of education at the present day would wish to
be.
The first requisite in the ideal courtier is that he must be noble. The Count
of Canossa, who proposed the subject of debate, lays down this as an
axiom. Gaspar Pallavicino denies the necessity.[1] But after a lively
discussion, his opinion is overruled, on the ground that, although the gentle
virtues may be found among people of obscure origin, yet a man who
intends to be a courtier must start with the prestige of noble birth. Next he
must be skillful in the use of weapons and courageous in the battle-field. He
is not, however, bound to have the special science of a general, nor must he
in times of peace profess unique devotion to the art of war: that would argue
a coarseness of nature or vainglory. Again, he must excel in all manly sports
and exercises, so as, if possible, to beat the actual professors of each game,
or feat of skill on their own ground. Yet here also he should avoid mere
habits of display, which are unworthy of a man who aspires to be a
gentleman and not an athlete. Another indispensable quality is gracefulness
in all he does and says. In order to secure this elegance, he must beware of
every form of affectation: 'Let him shun affectation, as though it were a

most perilous rock; and let him seek in everything a certain carelessness, to
hide his art, and show that what he says or does comes from him without
effort or deliberation.' This vice of affectation in all its kinds, and the ways
of avoiding it, are discussed with a delicacy of insight which would do
credit to a Chesterfield of the present century, sending forth his son into
society for the first time. Castiglione goes so far as to condemn the pedantry
of far-fetched words and the coxcombry of elaborate costumes, as
dangerous forms of affectation. His courtier must speak and write with
force and freedom. He need not be a purist in his use of language, but may
use such foreign phrases and modern idioms as are current in good society,
aiming only at simplicity and clearness. He must add to excellence in arms
polite culture in letters and sound scholarship, avoiding that barbarism of
the French, who think it impossible to be a good soldier and an
accomplished student at the same time. Yet his learning should be always
held in reserve, to give brilliancy and flavor to his wit, and not brought
forth for merely erudite parade. He must have a practical acquaintance with
music and dancing; it would be well for him to sing and touch various
stringed and keyed instruments, so as to relax his own spirits and to make
himself agreeable to ladies. If he can compose verses and sing them to his
own accompaniment, so much the better. Finally, he ought to understand the
arts of painting and sculpture; for criticism, even though a man be neither
poet nor artist, is an elegant accomplishment. Such are the principal
qualities of the Cortegiano.
[1] Italy, earlier than any other European nation, developed theoretical
democracy. Dante had defined true nobility to consist of personal excellence in a
man or in his ancestors; he also called 'nobiltà' sister of 'filosofia.' Poggio in his
'Dialogue De Nobilitate,' into which he introduces Niccolo Niccoli and Lorenzo
de' Medici (Cosimo's brother), decides that only merit constitutes true nobility.
Hawking and hunting are far less noble occupations than agriculture; descent
from a long line of historic criminals is no honor. French and English castle-life,
and the robber-knighthood of Germany, he argues, are barbarous. Lorenzo pleads
the authority of Aristotle in favor of noble blood; Poggio contests the passage
quoted, and shows the superiority of the Latin word 'nobilitas' (distinction) over
the Greek term [Greek: eugeneia] (good birth). The several kinds of aristocracy
in Italy are then discussed. In Naples the nobles despise business and idle their
time away. In Rome they manage their estates. In Venice and Genoa they engage
in commerce. In Florence they either take to mercantile pursuits or live upon the
produce of their land in idleness. The whole way of looking at the subject betrays
a liberal and scientific spirit, wholly free from prejudice. Machiavelli ('Discorsi,'
i. 55) is very severe on the aristocracy, whom he defines as 'those who live in
idleness on the produce of their estates, without applying themselves to

agriculture or to any other useful occupation.' He points out that the Venetian
nobles are not properly so called, since they are merchants. The different districts
of Italy had widely different conceptions of nobility. Naples was always
aristocratic, owing to its connection with France and Spain. Ferrara maintained
the chivalry of courts. Those states, on the other hand, which had been
democratized, like Florence, by republican customs, or like Milan, by despotism,
set less value on birth than on talent and wealth. It was not until the age of the
Spanish ascendency (latter half of sixteenth century) that Cosimo I. withdrew the
young Florentines from their mercantile pursuits and enrolled them in his order
of S. Stephen, and that the patricians of Genoa carried daggers inscribed 'for the
chastisement of villeins.'

The precepts which are laid down for the use of his acquirements and his
general conduct, resolve themselves into a strong recommendation of tact
and caution. The courtier must study the nature of his prince, and show the
greatest delicacy in approaching him, so as to secure his favor, and to avoid
wearying him with importunities. In tendering his advice he must be
modest; but he should make a point of never sacrificing his own liberty of
judgment. To obey his master in dishonorable things would be a derogation
from his dignity; and if he discovers any meanness in the character of the
prince, it is better to quit his service.[1] A courtier must be careful to create
beforehand a favorable opinion of himself in places he intends to visit.
Much stress is laid upon his choice of clothes and the equipment of his
servants. In these respects he should aim at combining individuality with
simplicity, so as to produce an impression of novelty without extravagance
or eccentricity. He must be very cautious in his friendships, selecting his
associates with care, and admitting only one or two to intimacy.
[1] From many passages in the 'Cortegiano' it is clear that Castiglione is painting
the character of an independent gentleman, to whom self-culture in all humane
excellence is of far more importance than the acquisition of the art of pleasing.
Circumstances made the life of courts the best obtainable; but there is no trace of
French 'oeil-de-boeuf' servility.

In connection with the general subject of tact and taste, the Cardinal
Bibbiena introduces an elaborate discussion of the different sorts of jokes,
which proves the high value attached in Italy to all displays of wit. It
appears that even practical jokes were not considered in bad taste, but that
irreverence and grossness were tabooed as boorish. Mere obscenity is
especially condemned, though it must be admitted that many jests approved
of at that time would now appear intolerable. But the essential point to be

aimed at then, as now, was the promotion of mirth by cleverness, and not by
mere tricks and clumsy inventions.
In bringing this chapter on Italian Despotism in the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries to a conclusion, it will be well to cast a backward glance over the
ground which has been traversed. A great internal change took place and
was accomplished during this period. The free burghs which flourished in
the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, gave place to tyrannies, illegal for the
most part in their origin, and maintained by force. In the absence of
dynastic right, violence and craft were instruments by means of which the
despots founded and preserved their power. Yet the sentiments of the
Italians at large were not unfavorable to the growth of principalities. On the
contrary, the forces which move society, the inner instinct of the nation, and
the laws of progress and development, tended year by year more surely to
the consolidation of despotisms. City after city lost its faculty for self-
government, until at last Florence, so long the center of political freedom,
fell beneath the yoke of her merchant princes. It is difficult for the historian
not to feel either a monarchical or a republican bias. Yet this internal and
gradual revolution in the states of Italy may be regarded neither as a matter
for exultation in the cause of sovereignty, nor for lamentation over the
decay of liberty. It was but part of an inevitable process which the Italians
shared, according to the peculiarities of their condition, in common with the
rest of Europe.
In tracing the history of the Visconti and the Sforzas our attention has been
naturally directed to the private and political vices of the despot. As a
contrast to so much violence and treachery, we have studied the character of
one of the best princes produced in this period. Yet it must be borne in mind
that the Duke of Urbino was far less representative of his class than
Francesco Sforza, and that the aims and notions of Gian Galeazzo Visconti
formed the ideal to which an Italian prince of spirit, if he had the
opportunity, aspired. The history of art and literature in this period belongs
to another branch of the inquiry; and a separate chapter must be devoted to
the consideration of political morality as theorized by the Italians at the end
of these two centuries of intrigue. But having insisted on the violence and
vices of the tyrants, it seemed necessary to close the review of their age by
describing the Italian nobleman as court-life made him. Castiglione shows
him at the very best: the darker shadows of the picture are omitted; the

requirements of the most finished culture and the tone of the purest society
in Italy are depicted with the elegance of a scholar and the taste of a true
gentleman. The fact remains that the various influences at work in Italy
during the age of the despots had rendered the conception of this ideal
possible. Nowhere else in Europe could a portrait of so much dignity and
sweetness, combining the courage of a soldier with the learning of a student
and the accomplishments of an artist, the liberality of freedom with the
courtesies of service, have been painted from the life and been recognized
as the model which all members of polite society should imitate. Nobler
characters and more heroic virtues might have been produced by the Italian
commonwealths if they had continued to enjoy their ancient freedom of
self-government. Meanwhile we must render this justice to Italian
despotism, that beneath its shadow was developed the type of the modern
gentleman.

CHAPTER IV.
THE REPUBLICS.

The different Physiognomies of the Italian Republics—The Similarity of
their Character as Municipalities—The Rights of Citizenship—Causes of
Disturbance in the Commonwealths—Belief in the Plasticity of
Constitutions—Example of Genoa—Savonarola's Constitution—
Machiavelli's Discourse to Leo X.—Complexity of Interests and Factions—
Example of Siena—Small Size of Italian Cities—Mutual Mistrust and
Jealousy of the Commonwealths—The notable Exception of Venice—
Constitution of Venice—Her wise System of Government—Contrast of
Florentine Vicissitudes—The Magistracies of Florence—Balia and
Parlamento—The Arts of the Medici—Comparison of Venice and Florence
in respect to Intellectual Activity and Mobility—Parallels between Greece
and Italy—Essential Differences—The Mercantile Character of Italian
Burghs—The 'Trattato del Governo della Famiglia'—The Bourgeois Tone
of Florence, and the Ideal of a Burgher—Mercenary Arms.
The despotisms of Italy present the spectacle of states founded upon force,
controlled and molded by the will of princes, whose object in each case has
been to maintain usurped power by means of mercenary arms and to
deprive the people of political activity. Thus the Italian principalities,
however they may differ in their origin, the character of their
administration, or their relation to Church and Empire, all tend to one type.
The egotism of the despot, conscious of his selfish aims and deliberate in
their execution, formed the motive principle in all alike.
The republics on the contrary are distinguished by strongly marked
characteristics. The history of each is the history of the development of
certain specific qualities, which modified the type of municipal organization
common to them all. Their differences consist chiefly in the varying forms
which institutions of a radically similar design assumed, and also in those
peculiar local conditions which made the Venetians Levant merchants, the
Perugians captains of adventure, the Genoese admirals and pirates, the

Florentines bankers, and so forth. Each commonwealth contracted a certain
physiognomy through the prolonged action of external circumstances and
by the maintenance of some political predilection. Thus Siena, excluded
from maritime commerce by its situation, remained, broadly speaking,
faithful to the Ghibelline party; while Perugia at the distance of a few miles,
equally debarred from mercantile expansion, maintained the Guelf cause
with pertinacity. The annals of the one city record a long succession of
complicated party quarrels, throughout the course of which the State
continued free; the Guelf leanings of the other exposed it to the gradual
encroachment of the Popes, while its civic independence was imperiled and
enfeebled by the contests of a few noble families. Lucca and Pistoja in like
manner are strongly contrasted, the latter persisting in a state of feud and
faction which delivered it bound hand and foot to Florence, the former after
many vicissitudes attaining internal quiet under the dominion of a narrow
oligarchy.
But while recognizing these differences, which manifest themselves partly
in what may be described as national characteristics, and partly in
constitutional varieties, we may trace one course of historical progression in
all except Venice. This is what natural philosophers might call the
morphology of Italian commonwealths. To begin with, the Italian republics
were all municipalities. That is, like the Greek states, they consisted of a
small body of burghers, who alone had the privileges of government,
together with a larger population, who, though they paid taxes and shared
the commercial and social advantages of the city had no voice in its
administration. Citizenship was hereditary in those families by whom it had
been once acquired, each republic having its own criterion of the right, and
guarding it jealously against the encroachments of non-qualified persons. In
Florence, for example, the burgher must belong to one of the Arts.[1] In
Venice his name must be inscribed upon the Golden Book. The rivalries to
which this system of municipal government gave rise were a chief source of
internal weakness to the commonwealths. Nor did the burghers see far
enough or philosophically enough to recruit their numbers by a continuous
admission of new members from the wealthy but unfranchised citizens.[2]
This alone could have saved them from the death by dwindling and decay to
which they were exposed. The Italian conception of citizenship may be set
forth in the words of one of their acutest critics, Donato Giannotti, who

writes concerning the electors in a state:[3] 'Non dico tutti gli abitanti della
terra, ma tutti quelli che hanno grado; cioè che hanno acquistato, o eglino o
gli antichi loro, facultà d'ottenere i magistrate; e in somma che sono
participes imperandi et parendi.' No Italian had any notion of representative
government in our sense of the term. The problem was always how to put
the administration of the state most conveniently into the hands of the fittest
among those who were qualified as burghers, and how to give each burgher
his due share in the government; not how to select men delegated from the
whole population. The wisest among their philosophical politicians sought
to establish a mixed constitution, which should combine the advantages of
principality, aristocracy, and democracy. Starting with the fact that the
eligible burghers numbered some 5,000, and with the assumption that
among these the larger portion would be content with freedom and a voice
in the administration, while a certain body were ambitious of honorable
distinctions, and a few aspired to the pomp of titular presidency, they
thought that these several desires might be satisfied and reconciled in a
republic composed of a general assembly of the citizens, a select Senate,
and a Doge. In these theories the influence of Aristotelian studies[4] and the
example of Venice are apparent. At the same time it is noticeable that no
account whatever is taken of the remaining 95,000 who contributed their
wealth and industry to the prosperity of the city.[5] The theory of the State
rests upon no abstract principle like that of the divine right of the Empire,
which determined Dante's speculation in the Middle Ages, or that of the
divine right of kings, with which we Englishmen were made familiar in the
seventeenth century, or that again of the rights of men, on which the
democracies of France and America were founded. The right contemplated
by the Italian politicians is that of the burghers to rule the commonwealth
for their advantage. As a matter of fact, Venice was the only Italian republic
which maintained this kind of oligarchy with success through centuries of
internal tranquillity. The rest were exposed to a series of revolutions which
ended at last in their enslavement.
[1] Villari, Life of Savonarola, vol. i. p. 259, may be consulted concerning the
further distinction of Benefiziati, Statuali, Aggravezzati, at Florence. See also
Varchi, vol. i. pp. 165-70. Consult Appendix ii.
[2] It must be mentioned that a provision for admitting deserving individuals to
citizenship formed part of the Florentine Constitution of 1495. The principle was
not, however, recognized at large by the republics.

[3] On the Government of Siena (vol. i. p. 351 of his collected works): 'I say not
all the inhabitants of the state, but all those who have rank; that is, who have
acquired, either in their own persons or through their ancestors, the right of
taking magistracy, in short those who are participes imperandi et parendi.' What
has already been said in Chapter II. about the origin of the Italian Republics will
explain this definition of burghership.
[4] It would be very interesting to trace in detail the influence of Aristotle's
Politics upon the practical and theoretical statists of the Renaissance. The whole
of Giannotti's works; the discourses of de' Pazzi, Vettori, Acciaiuoli, and the two
Guicciardini on the State of Florence (Arch. St. It. vol. i.); and Machiavelli's
Discorso sul Reggimento di Firenze, addressed to Leo X., illustrate in general the
working of Aristotelian ideas. At Florence, in 1495, Savonarola urged his
Constitution on the burghers by appeals to Aristotle's doctrine and to the example
of Venice [see Segni, p. 15, and compare the speeches of Pagolo Antonio
Soderini and Guido Antonio Vespucci, in Guicciardini's Istoria d' Italia, vol. ii.
p. 155 of Rosini's edition, on the same occasion]. Segni, p. 86, mentions a speech
of Pier Filippo Pandolfini, the arguments of which, he says, were drawn from
Aristotle and illustrated by Florentine history. The Italian doctrinaires seem to
have imagined that, by clever manipulation of existing institutions, they could
construct a state similar to that called [Greek: politeia] by Aristotle, in which all
sections of the community should be fairly represented. Venice, meanwhile, was
a practical instance of the possible prosperity of such a constitution with a strong
oligarchical complexion.
[5] These numbers, 100,000 for the population, and 5,000 for the burghers, are
stated roundly. In Florence, when the Consiglio Maggiore was opened in 1495, it
was found that the Florentines altogether numbered about 90,000, while the
qualified burghers were not more than 3,200. In 1581 the population of Venice
numbered 134,890, whereof 1,843 were adult patricians [see below, p. 209].

Intolerant of foreign rule, and blinded by the theoretical supremacy of the
Empire to the need of looking beyond its own municipal institutions, each
city in the twelfth century sought to introduce such a system into the
already existing machinery of the burgh as should secure its independence
and place the government in the hands of its citizens. But the passing of bad
laws, or the non-observance of wise regulations, or, again, the passions of
individuals and parties, soon disturbed the equilibrium established in these
little communities. Desire for more power than their due prompted one
section of the burghers to violence. The love of independence, or simple
insubordination, drove another portion to resistance. Matters were further
complicated by resident or neighboring nobles. Then followed the wars of
factions, proscriptions, and exiles. Having banished their rivals, the party in
power for the time being remodeled the institutions of the republic to suit
their own particular interest. Meanwhile the opposition in exile fomented
every element of discontent within the city, which this short-sighted policy

was sure to foster. Sudden revolutions were the result, attended in most
cases by massacres consequent upon the victorious return of the outlaws. To
the action of these peccant humors—umori is the word applied by the elder
Florentine historians to the troubles attendant upon factions—must be
added the jealousy of neighboring cities, the cupidity of intriguing princes,
the partisanship of the Guelfs and Ghibellines, the treason and the egotism
of mercenary generals, and the false foreign policy which led the Italians to
rely for aid on France or Germany or Spain. Little by little, under the
prolonged action of these disturbing forces, each republic in turn became
weaker, more confused in policy, more mistrustful of itself and its own
citizens, more subdivided into petty but ineradicable factions, until at last it
fell a prey either to some foreign potentate, or to the Church, or else to an
ambitious family among its members. The small scale of the Italian
commonwealths, taken singly, favored rapid change, and gave an undue
value to distinguished wealth or unscrupulous ability among the burghers.
The oscillation between democracy and aristocracy and back again, the
repetition of exhausting discords, and the demoralizing influences of
occasional despotism, so broke the spirit of each commonwealth that in the
end the citizens forgot their ancient zeal for liberty, and were glad to accept
tyranny for the sake of the protection it professed to extend to life and
property.
To these vicissitudes all the republics of Italy, with the exception of Venice,
were subject. In like manner, they shared in common the belief that
constitutions could be made at will, that the commonwealth was something
plastic, capable of taking the complexion and the form impressed upon it by
speculative politicians. So firmly rooted was this conviction, and so highly
self-conscious had the statesmen of Italy become, partly by the experience
of their shifting history, and partly by their study of antiquity, that the idea
of the State as something possessed of organic vitality can scarcely be said
to have existed among them. The principle of gradual growth, which gives
its value, for example, to the English Constitution, was not recognized by
the Italians. Nor again had their past history taught them the necessity, so
well defined and recognized by the Greek statesmen, of maintaining a fixed
character at any cost in republics, which, in spite of their small scale,
aspired to permanence.[1] The most violent and arbitrary changes which the

speculative faculty of a theorist could contrive, or which the prejudices of a
party could impose, seemed to them not only possible but natural.
[1] The value of the [Greek: êthos] was not wholly unrecognized by political
theorists. Giannotti (vol. i. p. 160, and vol. ii. p. 13), for example translates it by
the word 'temperamento.'

A very notable instance of this tendency to treat the State as a plastic
product of political ingenuity, is afforded by the annals of Genoa. After
suffering for centuries from the vicissitudes common to all Italian free cities
—discords between the Guelf and Ghibelline factions, between the nobles
and the people, between the enfranchised citizens and the proletariat—after
submitting to the rule of foreign masters, especially of France and Milan,
and after being torn in pieces by the rival houses of Adorni and Fregosi, the
Genoese at last received liberty from the hands of Andrea Doria in 1528.
They then proceeded to form a new Constitution for the protection of their
freedom; and in order to destroy the memory of the old parties which had
caused their ruin, they obliterated all their family names with the exception
of twenty, under one or other of which the whole body of citizens were
bound to enroll themselves.[1] This was nothing less than an attempt to
create new gentes by effacing the distinctions established by nature and
tradition. To parallel a scheme so artificial in its method, we must go back
to the history of Sicyon and the changes wrought in the Dorian tribes by
Cleisthenes.
[1] See Varchi, St. F. lib. vii. cap. 3.

Short of such violent expedients as these, the whole history of towns like
Florence reveals a succession of similar attempts. When, for example, the
Medici had been expelled in 1494, the Florentines found themselves
without a working constitution, and proceeded to frame one. The matter
was at first referred to two eminent jurists, Guido Antonio Vespucci and
Paolo Antonio Soderini, who argued for and against the establishment of a
Grand Council on the Venetian model, before the Signory in the Palazzo. At
this juncture Savonarola in his sermon for the third Sunday in Advent[1]
suggested that each of the sixteen Companies should form a plan, that these
should be submitted to the Gonfaloniers, who should choose the four best,
and that from these four the Signory should select the most perfect. At the
same time he pronounced himself in favor of an imitation of the Venetian

Consiglio Grande. His scheme, as is well known, was adopted.[2] Running
through the whole political writings of the Florentine philosophers and
historians, we find the same belief in artificial and arbitrary alterations of
the state. Machiavelli pronounces his opinion that, in spite of the corruption
of Florence, a wise legislator might effect her salvation.[3] Skill alone was
needed. There lay the wax; the scientific artist had only to set to his hand
and model it.
[1] December 12, 1494.
[2] Segni (pp. 15, 16) says that Savonarola deserved to be honored for this
Constitution by the Florentines no less than Numa by the Romans. Varchi (vol. i.
p. 169) judges the Consiglio Grande to have been the only good institution ever
adopted by the Florentines. We may compare Giannotti (Sopra la Repubblica di
Siena p. 346) for a similar opinion. Guicciardini, both in the Storia d' Italia and
the Storia di Firenze, gives to Savonarola the whole credit of having passed this
Constitution. Nardi and Pitti might be cited to the same effect. None of these
critics doubt for a moment that what was theoretically best ought to have been
found practically feasible.
[3] St. Fior. lib. iii. 1. 'Firenze a quel grado è pervenuta che facilmente da uno
savio dator di leggi potrebbe essere in qualunque forma di governo riordinata.'

This is the dominant thought which pervades his treatise on the right
ordering of the State of Florence addressed to Leo X.[1] A more
consummate piece of political mechanism than that devised by Machiavelli
in this essay can hardly be imagined. It is like a clock with separate actions
for hours, minutes, seconds, and the revolutions of the moon and planets.
All the complicated interest of parties and classes in the state, the traditional
pre-eminence of the Medicean family, the rights of the Church, and the
relation of Florence to foreign powers, have been carefully considered and
provided for. The defect of this consummate work of art is that it remained
a mere machine, devised to meet the exigencies of the moment, and
powerless against such perturbations as the characters and passions of
living men must introduce into the working of a Commonwealth. Had
Florence been a colony established in a new country with no neighbors but
savages, or had it been an institution protected from without against the
cupidity of selfish rivals, then such a constitution might have been imposed
on it with profit. But to expect that a city dominated by ancient prejudices,
connected by a thousand subtle ties not only with the rest of Italy but also
with the states of Europe, and rotten to the core in many of its most
important members, could be restored to pristine vigor by a doctrinaire

however able, was chimerical. The course of events contradicted this vain
expectation. Meanwhile a few clear-headed and positive observers were
dimly conscious of the instability of merely speculative constitution-
making. Varchi, in a weighty passage on the defects of the Florentine
republic, points out that its weakness arose partly from the violence of
factions, but also in a great measure from the implicit faith reposed in
doctors of the law.[2] The history of the Florentine Constitution, he says, is
the history of changes effected by successions of mutually hostile parties,
each in its own interest subverting the work of its predecessor, and each in
turn relying on the theories of jurists, who without practical genius for
politics make arbitrary rules for the control of state-affairs. Yet even Varchi
shares the prevailing conviction that the proper method is first to excogitate
a perfect political system, and then to impress that like a stamp upon the
material of the commonwealth. His criticism is directed against lawyers, not
against philosophers and practical diplomatists.
[1] The language of this treatise is noteworthy. After discoursing on the
differences between republics and principalities, and showing that Florence is
more suited to the former, and Milan to the latter, form of government, he says:
'Ma perchè fare principato dove starebbe bene repubblica,' etc. ... 'si perche
Firenze è subietto attissimo di pigliare questa forma,' etc. The phrases in italics
show how thoroughly Machiavelli regarded the commonwealth as plastic. We
may compare the whole of Guicciardini's elaborate essay 'Del Reggimento di
Firenze' (Op. Ined. vol. ii.), as well as the 'Discourses' addressed by Alessandro
de' Pazzi, Francesco Vettori, Ruberto Acciaiuoli, Francesco Guicciardini, and
Luigi Guicciardini, to the Cardinal Giulio de' Medici, on the settlement of the
Florentine Constitution in 1522 (Arch. Stor. vol. i.). Not one of these men
doubted that his nostrum would effect the cure of the republic undermined by
slow consumption.
[2] St. Fior. lib. vi. cap. 4; vol. i. p. 294.

In this sense and to this extent were the republics of Italy the products of
constructive skill; and great was the political sagacity educed among the
Italians by this state of things. The citizens reflected on the past, compared
their institutions with those of neighboring states, studied antiquity, and
applied the whole of their intelligence to the one aim of giving a certain
defined form to the commonwealth. Prejudice and passion distorted their
schemes, and each successive modification of the government was apt to
have a merely temporary object. Thus the republics, as I have already
hinted, lacked that safeguard which the Greek states gained by clinging
each to its own character. The Greeks were no less self-conscious in their

political practice and philosophy; but after the age of the Nomothetæ, when
they had experienced nearly every phase through which a commonwealth
can pass, they recognized the importance of maintaining the traditional
character of their constitutions inviolate. Sparta adhered with singular
tenacity to the code of Lycurgus; and the Athenians, while they advanced
from step to step in the development of a democracy, were bent on realizing
the ideal they had set before them.
Religion, which in Greece, owing to its local and genealogical character,
was favorable to this stability, proved in Italy one of the most potent causes
of disorder. The Greek city grew up under the protection of a local deity,
whose blood had been transmitted in many instances to the chief families of
the burgh. This ancestral god gave independence and autonomy to the State;
and when the Nomothetes appeared, he was understood to have interpreted
and formulated the inherent law that animated the body politic. Thus the
commonwealth was a divinely founded and divinely directed organism,
self-sufficing, with no dependence upon foreign sanction, with no question
of its right. The Italian cities, on the contrary, derived their law from the
common jus of the Imperial system, their religion from the common font of
Christianity. They could not forget their origin, wrung with difficulty from
existing institutions which preceded them and which still remained
ascendant in the world of civilized humanity. The self-reliant autonomy of a
Greek state, owing allegiance only to its protective deity and its inherent
Nomos, had no parallel in Italy outside Venice. All the other republics were
conscious of dependence on external power, and regarded themselves as ab
initio artificial rather than natural creations.
Long before a true constitutional complexion had been given to any Italian
State but Venice, parties had sprung up, and taken such firm root that the
subsequent history of the republics was the record of their factions. To this
point I have already alluded; but it is too important to be passed by without
further illustration. The great division of Guelf and Ghibelline introduced a
vital discord into each section of the people, by establishing two
antagonistic theories respecting the right of supreme government. Then
followed subordinate quarrels of the nobles with the townsfolk, schisms
between the wealthier and poorer burghers, jealousies of the artisans and
merchants, and factions for one or other eminent family. These different
elements of discord succeed each other with astonishing rapidity; and as

each gives place to another, it leaves a portion of its mischief rankling in the
body politic, until last there remains no possibility of self-government.[1]
The history of Florence, or Genoa, or Pistoja would supply us with ample
illustrations of each of these obstacles to the formation of a solid political
temperament. But Siena furnishes perhaps the best example of the extent to
which such feuds could disturb a state. The way in which this city
conducted its government for a long course of years, justified Varchi in
calling it 'a jumble, so to speak, and chaos of republics, rather than a well-
ordered and disciplined commonwealth.'[2] The discords of Siena were
wholly internal. They proceeded from the wrangling of five successive
factions, or Monti, as the people of Siena called them. The first of these was
termed the Monte de' Nobili; for Siena, like all Italian free burghs, had
originally been controlled by certain noble families, who formed the people
and excluded the other citizens from offices of state. In course of time the
plebeians acquired wealth, and the nobles split into parties among
themselves. To such a pitch were the quarrels of these nobles carried, that at
last they found it impossible to conduct the government, and agreed to
relinquish it for a season to nine plebeian families chosen from among the
richest and most influential. This gave rise to the Monte de' Nove, who were
supposed to hold the city in commission for the nobles, while the latter
devoted themselves to the prosecution of their private animosities.
Weakened by feuds, the patricians fell a prey to their own creatures, the
Monte de' Nove, who in their turn ruled Siena like oligarchs, refusing to
give up the power which had been intrusted to them. In time, however, their
insolence became insufferable. The populace rebelled, deposed the Nove,
and invested with supreme authority twelve other families of mixed origin.
The Monte de' Dodici, created after this fashion, ran nearly the same course
as their predecessors, except that they appear to have administered the city
equitably. Getting tired of this form of government, the people next
superseded them by sixteen men, chosen from the dregs of the plebeians,
who assumed the title of Riformatori. This new Monte de' Sedici or de'
Riformatori showed much integrity in their management of affairs, but, as is
the wont of red republicans, they were not averse to bloodshed. Their
cruelty caused the people, with the help of the surviving patrician houses,
together with the Nove and the Dodici, to rise and shake them off. The last
governing body formed in this diabolical five-part fugue of crazy statecraft
received the name of Monte del Popolo, because it included all who were

then eligible to the Great Council of the State. Yet the factions of the elder
Monti still survived; and to what extent they had absorbed the population
may be gathered from the fact that, on the defeat of the Riformatori, 4,500
of the Sienese were exiled. It must be borne in mind that with the creation
of each new Monte a new party formed itself in the city, and the traditions
of these parties were handed down from generation to generation. At last, in
the beginning of the sixteenth century, Pandolfo Petrucci, who belonged to
the Monte de' Nove, made himself in reality, if not in name, the master of
Siena, and the Duke of Florence, later on in the same century extended his
dominion over the republic.[3] There is something almost grotesque in the
bare recital of these successive factions; yet we must remember that beneath
their dry names they conceal all elements of class and party discord.
[1] Machiavelli, in spite of his love of freedom, says (St. Fior. lib. vii. 1): 'Coloro
che sperano che una repubblica possa essere unita assai di questa speranza
s'ingannano.'
[2] Vol. i. pp. 324-30. See, too, Segni, p. 213, and Giannotti, vol. i. p. 341. De
Comines describes Siena thus: 'La ville est de tout temps en partialité, et se
gouverne plus follement que ville d'Italie.'
[3] Siena capitulated, in 1555, to the Spanish troops, who resigned it to Duke
Cosmo I. in 1557.

What rendered the growth of parties still more pernicious, as already
mentioned, was the smallness of Italian republics. Varchi reckoned 10,000
fuochi in Florence, 50,000 bocche of seculars, and 20,000 bocche of
religious. According to Zuccagni Orlandini there were 90,000 Florentines in
1495, of whom only 3,200 were burghers. Venice, according to Giannotti,
counted at about the same period 20,000 fuochi, each of which supplied the
state with two men fit to bear arms. These calculations, though obviously
rough and based upon no accurate returns, show that a republic of 100,000
souls, of whom 5,000 should be citizens, would have taken distinguished
rank among Italian cities.[1] In a state of this size, divided by feuds of every
kind, from the highest political antagonism down to the meanest personal
antipathy, changes were very easily effected. The slightest disturbance of
the equilibrium in any quarter made itself felt throughout the city.[2] The
opinions of each burgher were known and calculated. Individuals, by their
wealth, their power of aiding or of suppressing poorer citizens, and the
force of their personal ability, acquired a perilous importance. At Florence
the political balance was so nicely adjusted that the ringing of the great bell

in the Palazzo meant a revolution, and to raise the cry of Palle in the streets
was tantamount to an outbreak in the Medicean interest. To call aloud
Popolo e libertà was nothing less than riot punishable by law. Segni tells
how Jacopino Alamanni, having used these words near the statue of David
on the Piazza in a personal quarrel, was beheaded for it the same day.[3] The
secession of three or four families from one faction to another altered the
political situation of a whole republic, and led perhaps to the exile of a sixth
part of the enfranchised population.[4] After this would follow the intrigues
of the outlaws eager to return, including negotiations with lukewarm party-
leaders in the city, alliances with hostile states, and contracts which
compromised the future conduct of the commonwealth in the interest of a
few revengeful citizens. The biographies of such men as Cosimo de' Medici
the elder and Filippo Strozzi throw the strongest light upon these delicacies
and complexities of party politics in Florence.
[1] It may be worth while to compare the accurate return of the Venetian
population in 1581 furnished by Yriarte (Vie d'un Patricien de Venise, p. 96). The
whole number of the inhabitants was 134,600. Of these 1,843 were adult
patricians; 4,309 women and children of the patrician class; Cittadini of all ages
and both sexes, 3,553; monks, nuns, and priests, 3,969; Jews, 1,043; beggars,
187.
[2] We might mention, as famous instances, the Neri and Bianchi factions
introduced into Pistoja in 1296 by a quarrel of the Cancellieri family, the
dismemberment of Florence in 1215 by a feud between the Buondelmonti and
Amidei, the tragedy of Imelda Lambertazzi, which upset Bologna in 1273, the
student riot which nearly delivered Bologna into the hands of Roméo de' Pepoli
in 1321, the whole action of the Strozzi family at the period of the extinction of
Florentine liberty, the petty jealousies of the Cerchi and Donati detailed by Dino
Compagni, in 1294.
[3] Segni, St. Fior. p. 53.
[4] As an instance, take what Marco Foscari reported in 1527 to the Venetian
Senate respecting the parties in Florence (Rel. Ven. serie ii. vol. i. p. 70). The
Compagnacci, one of the three great parties, only numbered 800 persons.

In addition to the evils of internal factions we must reckon all the sources of
mutual mistrust to which the republics were exposed. As the Italians had no
notion of representative government, so they never conceived a
confederation. The thirst for autonomy in each state was as great as of old
among the cities of Greece. To be independent of a sister republic, though
such freedom were bought at the price of the tyranny of a native family was
the first object of every commonwealth. At the same time this passion for

independence was only equaled by the greed of foreign usurpation. The
second object of each republic was to extend its power at the expense of its
neighbors. As Pisa swallowed Amalfi, so Genoa destroyed Pisa, and Venice
did her best to cripple Genoa. Florence obliterated the rival burgh of
Semifonte, and Milan twice reduced Piacenza to a wilderness. The notion
that the great maritime powers of Italy or the leading cities of Lombardy
should permanently co-operate for a common purpose was never for a
moment entertained. Such leagues as were formed were understood to be
temporary. When their immediate object had been gained, the members
returned to their initial rivalries. Milan, when, on the occasion of Filippo
Maria Visconti's death, she had a chance of freedom, refused to recognize
the liberties of the Lombard cities, and fell a prey to Francesco Sforza.
Florence, under the pernicious policy of Cosimo de' Medici, helped to
enslave Milan and Bologna instead of entering into a republican league
against their common foes, the tyrants. Pisa, Arezzo, and the other subject
cities of Tuscany were treated by her with such selfish harshness that they
proved her chiefest peril in the hour of need.[1] Competition in commerce
increased the mutual hatred of the free burghs. States like Venice, Florence,
Pisa, Genoa, depending for their existence upon mercantile wealth, and
governed by men of business, took every opportunity they could of ruining
a rival in the market. So mean and narrow was the spirit of Italian policy
that no one accounted it unpatriotic or dishonorable for Florence to suck the
very life out of Pisa, or for Venice to strangle a competitor so dangerous as
Genoa.
[1] See the instructions furnished to Averardo dei Medici, quoted by Von
Reumont in his Life of Lorenzo, vol. ii. p. 122, German edition.

Thus the jealousy of state against state, of party against party, and of family
against family, held Italy in perpetual disunion; while diplomatic habits
were contracted which rendered the adoption of any simple policy
impossible. When the time came for the Italians to cope with the great
nations of Europe, the republics of Venice, Genoa, Milan, Florence ought to
have been leagued together and supported by the weight of the Papal
authority. They might then have stood against the world. Instead of that,
these cities presented nothing but mutual rancors, hostilities, and jealousies
to the common enemy. Moreover, the Italians were so used to petty
intrigues and to a system of balance of power within the peninsula, that they

could not comprehend the magnitude of the impending danger. It was
difficult for a politician of the Renaissance, accustomed to the small theater
of Italian diplomacy, schooled in the traditions of Lorenzo de' Medici,
swayed in his calculations by the old pretensions of Pope and Emperor,
dominated by the dread of Venice, Milan, and Naples, and as yet but dimly
conscious of the true force of France or Spain, to conceive that absolutely
the only chance of Italy lay in union at any cost and under any form.
Machiavelli indeed seems too late to have discerned this truth. But he had
been lessoned by events, which rendered the realization of his cherished
schemes impossible; nor, could he find a Prince powerful enough to attempt
his Utopia. Of the Republics he had abandoned all hope.
To the laws which governed the other republics of Italy, Venice offered in
many respects a notable exception. Divided from the rest of Italy by the
lagoons, and directed by her commerce to the Eastern shores of the
Mediterranean, Venice took no part in the factions which rent the rest of the
peninsula, and had comparatively little to fear from foreign invasion. Her
attitude was one of proud and almost scornful isolation. In the Lombard
Wars of Independence she remained neutral, and her name does not appear
among the Signataries to the Peace of Constance. Both the Papacy and the
Empire recognized her independence. Her true policy consisted in
consolidating her maritime empire and holding aloof from the affairs of
Italy. As long as she adhered to this course, she remained the envy and the
admiration of the rest of Europe.[1] It was only when she sought to extend
her hold upon the mainland that she aroused the animosity of the Italian
powers, and had to bear the brunt of the League of Cambray alone.[2] Her
selfish prudence had been a source of dread long before this epoch: when
she became aggressive, she was recognized as a common and intolerable
enemy.
[1] De Comines, in his Memoirs of the Reign of Charles VIII. (tom. ii. p, 69),
draws a striking picture of the impression made upon his mind by the good
government of the state of Venice. This may be compared with what he says of
the folly of Siena.
[2] See Mach. 1st. Fior. lib. i. 'Avendo loro con il tempo occupata Padova,
Vicenza, Trevigi, e dipoi Verona, Bergamo e Brescia, e nel Reame e in Romagna
molte città, cacciati dalla cupidità del dominare vennero in tanta opinione di
potenza, che non solamente ai principi Italiani ma ai Rè oltramontani erano in
terrore. Onde congiurati quelli contra di loro, in un giorno fu tolto loro quello
stato che si avevano in molti anni con infiniti spendii guadagnato. E benchè ne

abbino in questi ultimi tempi racquistato parte, non avendo racquistata nè la
riputazione, nè le forze, a discrezione d'altri, come tutti gli altri principi Italiani
vivono.' It was Francesco Foscari who first to any important extent led the
republic astray from its old policy. He meddled in Italian affairs, and sought to
encroach upon the mainland. For this, and for the undue popularity he acquired
thereby, the Council of Ten subjected him and his son Jacopo to the most
frightfully protracted martyrdom that a relentless oligarchy has ever inflicted
[1445-57].

The external security of Venice was equaled by her internal repose. Owing
to continued freedom from party quarrels, the Venetians were able to pursue
a consistent course of constitutional development. They in fact alone of the
Italian cities established and preserved the character of their state. Having
originally founded a republic under the presidency of a Doge, who
combined the offices of general and judge, and ruled in concert with a
representative council of the chief citizens (697-1172), the Venetians by
degrees caused this form of government to assume a strictly oligarchical
character. They began by limiting the authority of the Doge, who, though
elected for life, was in 1032 forbidden to associate his son in the supreme
office of the state. In 1172 the election of the Doge was transferred from the
people to the Grand Council, who, as a co-opting body, tended to become a
close aristocracy. In 1179 the Ducal power was still further restricted by the
creation of a senate called the Quarantia for the administration of justice;
while in 1229 the Senate of the Pregadi, interposed between the Doge and
the Grand Council, became an integral part of the constitution. To this latter
Senate were assigned all deliberations upon peace and war, the voting of
supplies, the confirmation of laws. Both the Quarantia and the Pregadi were
elected by the Consiglio Grande, which by this time had become the virtual
sovereign of the State of Venice. It is not necessary here to mention the
further checks imposed upon the power of the Doges by the institution of
officials named Correttori and Inquisitori, whose special business it was to
see that the coronation oaths were duly observed, or by the regulations
which prevented the supreme magistrate from taking any important action
except in concert with carefully selected colleagues. Enough has been said
to show that the constitution of Venice was a pyramid resting upon the basis
of the Grand Council and rising to an ornamented apex, through the Senate,
and the College, in the Doge. But in adopting this old simile—originally the
happy thought of Donato Giannotti, it is said[1]—we must not forget that the
vital force of the Grand Council was felt throughout the whole of this

elaborate system, and that the same individuals were constantly appearing
in different capacities. It is this which makes the great event of the years
1297-1319 so all-important for the future destinies of Venice. At this period
the Grand Council was restricted to a certain number of noble families who
had henceforth the hereditary right to belong to it. Every descendant of a
member of the Grand Council could take his seat there at the age of twenty-
five; and no new families, except upon the most extraordinary occasions,
were admitted to this privilege.[2] By the Closing of the Grand Council, as
the ordinances of this crisis were termed, the administration of Venice was
vested for perpetuity in the hands of a few great houses. The final
completion was given to the oligarchy in 1311 by the establishment of the
celebrated Council of Ten,[3] who exercised a supervision over all the
magistracies, constituted the Supreme Court of judicature, and ended by
controlling the whole foreign and internal policy of Venice. The changes
which I have thus briefly indicated are not to be regarded as violent
alterations in the constitution, but rather as successive steps in its
development. Even the Council of Ten, which seems at first sight the most
tyrannous state-engine ever devised for the enslavement of a nation, was in
reality a natural climax to the evolution which had been consistently
advancing since the year 1172. Created originally during the troublous
times which succeeded the closing of the Grand Council, for the express
purpose of curbing unruly nobles and preventing the emergence of
conspirators like Tiepolo, the Council of Ten were specially designed to act
as a check upon the several orders in the state and to preserve its
oligarchical character inviolate. They were elected by the Consiglio Grande,
and at the expiration of their office were liable to render strict account of all
that they had done. Nor was this magistracy coveted by the Venetian nobles.
On the contrary, so burdensome were its duties, and so great was the odium
which from time to time the Ten incurred in the discharge of their functions,
that it was not always found easy to fill up their vacancies. A law had even
to be passed that the Ten had not completed their magistracy before their
successors were appointed.[4] They may therefore be regarded as a select
committee of the citizens, who voluntarily delegated dictatorial powers to
this small body in order to maintain their own ascendency, to centralize the
conduct of important affairs, to preserve secrecy in the administration of the
republic, and to avoid the criticism to which the more public government of
states like Florence was exposed.[5] The weakness of this portion of the

state machinery was this: created with ill-defined and almost unlimited
authority,[6] designed to supersede the other public functionaries on
occasions of great moment, and composed of men whose ability placed
them in the very first rank of citizens, the Ten could scarcely fail, as time
advanced, to become a permanently oppressive power—a despotism within
the bosom of an oligarchy. Thus in the whole mechanism of the state of
Venice we trace the action of a permanent aristocracy tolerating, with a
view to its own supremacy, an amount of magisterial control which in
certain cases, like that of the two Foscari, amounted to the sternest tyranny.
By submitting to the Council of Ten the nobility of Venice secured its hold
upon the people and preserved unity in its policy.

[1] Vol. ii. of his works, p. 37. On p. 29 he describes the population of Venice as
divided into 'Popolari,' or plebeians, exercising small industries, and so forth:
'Cittadini,' or the middle class, born in the state, and of more importance than the
plebeians; 'Gentiluomini,' or masters of Venice by sea and land, about 3,000 in
number, corresponding to the burghers of Florence. What he says about the
Constitution refers solely to this upper class. The elaborate work of M. Yriarte,
La Vie d'un Patricien de Venise an Seizième Siècle, Paris, 1874, contains a
complete analysis of the Venetian state-machine. See in particular what he says
about the helplessness of the Doges, ch. xiii. 'Rex in foro, senator in curiâ,
captivus in aulâ,' was a current phrase which expressed the contrast between
their dignity of parade and real servitude. They had no personal freedom, and
were always ruined by office. It was necessary to pass a law compelling the
Doge elect to accept the onerous distinction thrust upon him. The Venetian
oligarchs argued that it was good that one man should die for the people.
[2] See Giannotti, vol. ii. p. 55, for the mention of fifteen, admitted on the
occasion of Baiamonte Tiepolo's conspiracy, and of thirty ennobled during the
Genoese war.
[3] The actual number of this Council was seventeen, for the Ten associated with
the Signoria, which consisted of the Doge and six Counselors.
[4] Giannotti, vol. ii. p. 123.
[5] The diplomatic difficulties of a popular government, a 'governo largo,' as
opposed to a 'governo stretto,' are set forth with great acumen by Guicciardini,
Op. Ined. vol. ii. p. 84. Cf. vol. iii. p. 272.
[6] 'è la sua autorità pari a quella del Consiglio de' Pregati e di utta la città,' says
Giannotti, vol. ii. p. 120.

No state has ever exercised a greater spell of fascination over its citizens
than Venice. Of treason against the Republic there was little. Against the
decrees of the Council, arbitrary though they might be, no one sought to
rebel. The Venetian bowed in silence and obeyed, knowing that all his
actions were watched, that his government had long arms in foreign lands,
and that to arouse revolt in a body of burghers so thoroughly controlled by
common interests, would be impossible. Further security the Venetians
gained by their mild and beneficent administration of subject cities, and by
the prosperity in which their population flourished. When, during the war of
the League of Cambray, Venice gave liberty to her towns upon the
mainland, they voluntarily returned to her allegiance. At home, the
inhabitants of the lagoons, who had never seen a hostile army at their gates,
and whose taxes were light in comparison with those of the rest of Italy,
regarded the nobles as the authors of their unexampled happiness.
Meanwhile, these nobles were merchants. Idleness was unknown in Venice.

Instead of excogitating new constitutions or planning vengeance against
hereditary foes the Venetian attended to his commerce on the sea, swayed
distant provinces, watched the interests of the state in foreign cities, and
fought the naval battles of the republic. It was the custom of Venice to
employ her patricians only on the sea as admirals, and never to intrust her
armies to the generalship of burghers. This policy had undoubtedly its
wisdom; for by these means the nobles had no opportunity of intriguing on
a large scale in Italian affairs, and never found the chance of growing
dangerously powerful abroad. But it pledged the State to that system of paid
condottieri and mercenary troops, jealously watched and scarcely ever
trustworthy, which proved nearly as ruinous to Venice as it did to Florence.
It is difficult to imagine a greater contrast than that which is presented by
Florence to Venice. While Venice pursued one consistent course of gradual
growth, and seemed immovable, Florence remained in perpetual flux, and
altered as the strength of factions or of party-leaders varied.[1] When the
strife of Guelfs and Ghibellines, Neri, and Bianchi, had exhausted her in the
fourteenth century, she submitted for a while to the indirect ascendency of
the kings of Naples, who were recognized as Chiefs of the Guelf Party.
Thence she passed for a few months into the hands of a despot in the person
of the Duke of Athens (1342-43). After the confirmation of her republican
liberty, followed a contest between the proletariat and the middle classes
(Ciompi 1378). During the fifteenth century she was kept continually
disturbed by the rivalry of her great merchant families. The rule of the
Albizzi, who fought the Visconti and extended the Florentine territory by
numerous conquests, was virtually the despotism of a close oligarchy. This
phase of her career was terminated by the rise of the Medici, who guided
her affairs with a show of constitutional equity for four generations. In
1494, this state of things was violently shaken. The Florentines expelled the
Medici, who had begun to throw off their mask and to assume the airs of
sovereignty; then they reconstituted their Commonwealth as nearly as they
could upon the model of Venice, and to this new form of government
Savonarola gave a quasi-theocratic complexion by naming Christ the king
of Florence.[2] But the internal elements of the discord were too potent for
the maintenance of this régime. The Medici were recalled; and this time
Florence fell under the shadow of Church-rule, being controlled by Leo X.
and Clement VII., through the hands of prelates whom they made the

guardians and advisers of their nephews. In 1527 a final effort for liberty
shed undying luster on the noblest of Italian cities. The sack of Rome had
paralyzed the Pope. His family were compelled to quit the Medicean palace.
The Grand Council was restored: a Gonfalonier was elected; Florence
suffered the hardships of her memorable siege. At the end of her trials,
menaced alike by Pope and Emperor, who shook hands over her prostrate
corpse, betrayed by her general, the infamous Malatesta Baglioni, and sold
by her own selfish citizens, she had to submit to the hereditary sovereignty
of the Medici. It was in vain that Lorenzino of that house pretended to play
Brutus and murdered his cousin the Duke Alessandro in 1536. Cosimo
succeeded in the same year, and won the title of Grand Duke, which he
transmitted to a line of semi-Austrian princes.
[1] 'Nunquam in eodem statu permanserunt,' says Marco Foscari (as quoted
above, p. 42 of his report). The flux of Florence struck a Venetian profoundly.
[2] The Gonfalonier Capponi put up a tablet on the Public Palace, in 1528, to this
effect: 'Jesus Christus Rex Florentini Populi S.F. decreto electus.' This inscription
is differently given. See Varchi, vol. i. p. 266; Segni, p. 46. Nothing is more
significant of the difference between Venice and Florence than the political
idealism implied in this religious consecration of the republic by statute. In my
essay on 'Florence and the Medici' (Sketches and Studies in Italy) I have
attempted to condense the internal history of the Republic and to analyze the
state-craft of the Medici.

Throughout all these vicissitudes every form and phase of republican
government was advocated, discussed, and put in practice by the
Florentines. All the arts of factions, all the machinations of exiles, all the
skill of demagogues, all the selfishness of party-leaders, all the learning of
scholars, all the cupidity of subordinate officials, all the daring of
conspirators, all the ingenuity of theorists, and all the malice of traitors,
were brought successively or simultaneously into play by the burghers, who
looked upon their State as something they might mold at will. One thing at
least is clear amid so much apparent confusion, that Florence was living a
vehemently active and self-conscious life, acknowledging no principle of
stability in her constitution, but always stretching forward after that ideal
Reggimento which was never realized.[1]
[1] In his 'Proemio' to the 'Trattato del Reggimento di Firenze, Guicciardini thus
describes the desideratum: 'introdurre in Firenze un governo onesto, bene
ordinato, e che veramente si potesse chiamare libero, il che dalla sua prima

origine insino a oggi non è mai stato cittadino alcuno che abbia saputo o potuto
fare.'

It is worth while to consider more in detail the different magistracies by
which the government of Florence was conducted between the years of
1250 and 1531, and the gradual changes in the constitution which prepared
the way for the Medicean tyranny.[1] It is only thus an accurate conception
of the difference between the republican systems of Venice and of Florence
can be gained. Before the date 1282, which may be fixed as the turning-
point in Florentine history we hear of twelve Anziani, two chosen for each
Sestiere of the city, acting in concert with a foreign Podestà, and a Captain
of the People charged with military authority. At this time no distinction
was made between nobles and plebeians; and the town, though Guelf, had
not enacted rigorous laws against the Ghibelline families. Towards the end
of the thirteenth century, however, important, changes were effected in the
very elements of the commonwealth. The Anziani were superseded by the
Priors of the Arts. Eight Priors, together with a new officer called the
Gonfalonier of Justice, formed the Signoria, dwelling at public charge in the
Palazzo and holding office only for two months.[2] No one who had not
been matriculated into one of the Arti or commercial guilds could
henceforth bear office in the state. At the same time severe measures, called
Ordinanze della Giustizia, were passed, by which the nobles were for ever
excluded from the government, and the Gonfalonier of Justice was
appointed to maintain civil order by checking their pride and turbulence.[3]
These modifications of the constitution, effected between 1282 and 1292,
gave its peculiar character to the Florentine republic. Henceforward
Florence was governed solely by merchants. Both Varchi and Machiavelli
have recorded unfavorable opinions of the statute which reduced the
republic of Florence to a commonwealth of shop-keepers.[4] But when we
read these criticisms, we must bear in mind the internecine ferocity of
party-strife at this period, and the discords to which a city divided between
a territorial aristocracy and a commercial bourgeoisie was perpetually
exposed. If anything could make the Ordinanze della Giustizia appear
rational, it would be a cool perusal of the Chronicle of Matarazzo, which
sets forth the wretched state of Perugia owing to the feuds of its patrician
houses, the Oddi and the Baglioni.[5] Peace for the republic was not,
however, secured by these strong measures. The factions of the Neri and

Bianchi opened the fourteenth century with battles and proscriptions; and in
1323 the constitution had again to be modified. At this date the Signoria of
eight Priors with the Gonfalonier of Justice, the College of the twelve
Buonuomini, and the sixteen Gonfaloniers of the companies—called
collectively i tre maggiori, or the three superior magistracies—were
rendered eligible only to Guelf citizens of the age of thirty, who had
qualified in one of the seven Arti Maggiori, and whose names were drawn
by lot. This mode of election, the most democratic which it is possible to
adopt, held good through all subsequent changes in the state. Its immediate
object was to quiet discontent and to remove intrigue by opening the
magistracies to all citizens alike. But, as Nardi has pointed out, it weakened
the sense of responsibility in the burghers, who, when their names were
once included in the bags kept for the purpose, felt sure of their election,
and had no inducement to maintain a high standard of integrity. Sismondi
also dates from this epoch the withdrawal of the Florentines from military
service.[6] Nor, as the sequel shows, was the measure efficient as a check
upon the personal ambition of encroaching party leaders. The Squittino and
the Borse became instruments in the hands of the Medici for the
consolidation of their tyranny.[7] By the end of the fourteenth century (about
1378)the Florentines had to meet a new difficulty. The Guelf citizens began
to abuse the so-called Law of Admonition, by means of which the
Ghibellines were excluded from the government. This law had formed an
essential part of the measures of 1323. In the intervening half-century a new
aristocracy, distinguished by the name of nobili popolani, had grown up and
were now threatening the republic with a close oligarchy.[8] The discords
which had previously raged between the people and the patricians were now
transferred to this new aristocracy and the plebeians. It was found necessary
to abolish the Admonition, which had been made a pretext of excluding all
novi homines from the government, and to place the members of the inferior
Arti on the same footing as those of the superior.[9] At this epoch the
Medici, who neither belonged to the ancient aristocracy nor y the more
distinguished houses of the nobili popolani, but rather to the so-called gente
grassa or substantial tradesmen, first acquired importance. It was by a law
of Salvestro de' Medici's in 1378 that the constitution received its final
development in the direction of equality. Yet after all this leveling, and in
the vehement efforts made by the proletariat on the occasion of the Ciompi
outbreak, the exclusive nature of the Florentine republic was maintained.

The franchise was never extended to more than the burghers, and the matter
in debate was always virtually, who shall be allowed to rank as citizen upon
the register? In fact, by using the pregnant words of Machiavelli, we may
sum up the history of Florence to this point in one sentence: 'Di Firenze in
prima si divisono intra loro i nobili, dipoi i nobili e il popolo, e in ultimo il
popolo e la plebe; e molte volte occorse che una di queste parti rimasa
superiore, si divise in due.'[10]
[1] I will place in an appendix (No. ii.) translations of Varchi, book iii. sections
20-22, and Nardi, book i. cap. 4, which give complete and clear accounts of the
Florentine constitution after 1292.
[2] See Machiavelli, Ist. Fior. lib. ii. sect. II. The number of the Priors was first
three, then six, and finally eight. Up to 1282 the city had been divided into
Sestieri. It was then found convenient to divide it into quarters, and the numbers
followed this alteration.
[3] Machiavelli, Ist. Fior. lib. ii. sect. 13, may be consulted for the history of
Giano della Bella and his memorable ordinance. Dino Compagni's Chronicle
contains the account of a contemporary.
[4] See Varchi, vol. i. p. 169; Mach. Ist. Fior. end of book ii.
[5] Archivio Storico, vol. xvi. See also the article 'Perugia,' in my Sketches in
Italy and Greece.
[6] Vol. iii. p. 347.
[7] See App. ii. for the phrases 'Squittino' and 'Borse.'
[8] Of these new nobles the Albizzi and Ricci, deadly foes, were the most
eminent. The former strove to exclude the Medici from the government.
[9] The number of the Arti varied at different times. Varchi treats of them as
finally consisting of seven maggiori and fourteen minori.
[10] Proemio to Storia Fiorentina. 'In Florence the nobles first split up, then the
nobles and the people, lastly the people and the multitude; and it often happened
that when one of these parties got the upper hand, it divided into two camps.' For
the meaning of Popolo see above, p. 55.

In the next generation the constitutional history of Florence exhibits a new
phase. The equality which had been introduced into all classes of the
commonwealth, combined with an absence of any state machinery like that
of Venice, exposed Florence at this period to the encroachments of astute
and selfish parvenus. The Medici, who had hitherto been nobodies, begin
now to aspire to despotism. Partly by his remarkable talent for intrigue,
partly by the clever use which he made of his vast wealth, and partly by

espousing the plebeian cause, Cosimo de' Medici succeeded in
monopolizing the government. It was the policy of the Medici to create a
party dependent for pecuniary aid upon their riches, and attached to their
interests by the closest ties of personal necessity. At the same time they
showed consummate caution in the conduct of the state, and expended large
sums on works of public utility. There was nothing mean in their ambition;
and though posterity must condemn the arts by which they sought to sap the
foundations of freedom in their native city, we are forced to acknowledge
that they shared the noblest enthusiasms of their brilliant era. Little by little
they advanced so far in the enslavement of Florence that the elections of all
the magistrates, though still conducted by lot, were determined at their
choice: the names of none but men devoted to their interests were admitted
to the bags from which the candidates for office were selected, while
proscriptive measures of various degrees of rigor excluded their enemies
from participation in the government.[1] At length in 1480 the whole
machinery of the republic was suspended by Lorenzo de' Medici in favor of
the Board of Seventy, whom he nominated, and with whom, acting like a
Privy Council, he administered the state.[2] It is clear that this revolution
could never have been effected without a succession of coups d'état. The
instrument for their accomplishment lay ready to the hands of the Medicean
party in the pernicious system of the Parlamento and Balia, by means of
which the people, assembled from time to time in the public square, and
intimidated by the reigning faction, intrusted full powers to a select
committee nominated in private by the chiefs of the great house.[3] It is also
clear that so much political roguery could not have been successful without
an extensive demoralization of the upper rank of citizens. The Medici in
effect bought and sold the honor of the public officials, lent money, jobbed
posts of profit, and winked at peculation, until they had created a sufficient
body of âmes damnées, men who had everything to gain by a continuance
of their corrupt authority. The party so formed, including even such
distinguished citizens as the Guicciardini, Baccio Valori, and Francesco
Vettori, proved the chief obstacle to the restoration of Florentine liberty in
the sixteenth century.
[1] What Machiavelli says (Ist. Fior. vii. 1) about the arts of Cosimo contains the
essence of the policy by which the Medici rose. Compare v. 4 and vii. 4-6 for his
character of Cosimo. Guicciardini (Op. Ined. vol. ii. p. 68) describes the use
made of extraordinary taxation as a weapon of offense against his enemies, by

Cosimo: 'usò le gravezze in luogo de' pugnali che communemente suole usare
chi ha simili reggimenti nelle mani.' The Marchese Gino Capponi (Arch. Stor.
vol. i. pp. 315-20) analyzes the whole Medicean policy in a critique of great
ability.
[2] Guicciardini (Op. Ined. vol. ii. pp. 35-49) exposes the principle and the
modus operandi of this Council of Seventy, by means of which Lorenzo
controlled the election of the magistracies, diverted the public moneys to his own
use, and made his will law in Florence. The councils which he superseded at this
date were the Consiglio del Popolo and the Consiglio del Comune, about which
see Nardi, lib i. cap. 4.
[3] For the operation of the Parlamento and Balia, see Varchi, vol. ii. p. 372;
Segni, p. 199; Nardi, lib. vi. cap. 4. Segni says: 'The Parlamento is a meeting of
the Florentine people on the Piazza of the Signory. When the Signory has taken
its place to address the meeting, the piazza is guarded by armed men, and then
the people are asked whether they wish to give absolute power (Balia) and
authority to the citizens named, for their good. When the answer, yes, prompted
partly by inclination and partly by compulsion, is returned, the Signory
immediately retires into the palace. This is all that is meant by this parlamento,
which thus gives away the full power of effecting a change in the state.' The
description given by Marco Foscari, p. 44 (loc. cit. supr.) is to the same effect,
but the Venetian exposes more clearly the despotic nature of the institution in the
hands of the Medici. It is well known how hostile Savonarola was to an
institution which had lent itself so easily to despotism. This couplet he inscribed
on the walls of the Council Chamber, in 1495:—

'E sappi che chi vuol parlamento
Vuol torti dalle mani il reggimento.'
Compare the proverb, 'Chi disse parlamento disse guastamento.'

This tyranny of a commercial family, swaying the republic without the title
and with but little of the pomp of princes, subsisted until the hereditary
presidency of the state was conferred upon Alessandro de' Medici, Duke of
Cività di Penna, in 1531. Cosimo his successor, obtained the rank of Grand
Duke from Pius V. in 1569, and his son received the imperial sanction to the
title in 1575. The re-establishment at two different periods of a free
commonwealth upon the sounder basis of the Consiglio Grande (1494-1512
and 1527-30) formed but two episodes in the history of this masked but
tenacious despotism. Had Savonarola's constitution been adopted in the
thirteenth instead of at the end of the fifteenth century, the stability of
Florence might have been secured. But at the latter date the roots of the
Medicean influence were too widely intertwined with private interests, the
jealousies of classes and of factions were too inveterate, for any large and
wholesome form of popular government to be universally acceptable.

Besides, the burghers had been reduced to a nerveless equality of servitude,
in which ambition and avarice took the place of patriotism; while the
corruption of morals, fostered by the Medici for the confirmation of their
own authority, was so widely spread as to justify Segni, Varchi, Giannotti,
Guicciardini, and Machiavelli in representing the Florentines as equally
unable to maintain their liberty and to submit to control.
The historical vicissitudes of Florence were no less remarkable than the
unity of Venice. If in Venice we can trace the permanent and corporate
existence of a state superior to the individuals who composed it, Florence
exhibits the personal activity and conscious effort of her citizens. Nowhere
can the intricate relations of classes to the commonwealth be studied more
minutely than in the annals of Florence. In no other city have opinions had
greater value in determining historical events; and nowhere was the
influence of character in men of mark more notable. In this agitated
political atmosphere the wonderful Florentine intelligence, which Varchi
celebrated as the special glory of the Tuscan soil, and which Vasari referred
to something felicitous in Tuscan air, was sharpened to the finest edge.[1]
Successive generations of practical and theoretical statesmen trained the
race to reason upon government, and to regard politics as a science. Men of
letters were at the same time also prominent in public affairs. When, for
instance, the exiles of 1529 sued Duke Alessandro before Charles V. at
Naples, Jacopo Nardi drew up their pleas, and Francesco Guicciardini
rebutted them in the interest of his master. Machiavelli learned his
philosophy at the Courts of France and Germany and in the camp of Cesare
Borgia. Segni shared the anxieties of Nicolo Capponi, when the Gonfalonier
was impeached for high treason to the state of Florence. This list might be
extended almost indefinitely, with the object of proving the intimate
connection which subsisted at Florence between the thinkers and the actors.
No other European community of modern times has ever acquired so subtle
a sense of its own political existence, has ever reasoned upon its past
history so acutely, or has ever displayed so much ingenuity in attempting to
control the future. Venice on the contrary owed but little to the creative
genius of her citizens. In Venice the state was everything: the individual
was almost nothing. We find but little reflection upon politics, and no
speculative philosophy of history among the Venetians until the date of
Trifone Gabrielli and Paruta. Their records are all positive and detailed. The

generalizations and comparisons of the Florentines are absent; nor was it till
a late date of the Renaissance that the Venetian history came to be written as
a whole. It would seem as though the constitutional stability which formed
the secret of the strength of Venice was also the source of comparative
intellectual inertness. This contrast between the two republics displayed
itself even in their art. Statues of Judith, the tyrannicide, and of David, the
liberator of his country, adorned the squares and loggie of Florence. The
painters of Venice represented their commonwealth as a beautiful queen
receiving the homage of her subjects and the world. Florence had no
mythus similar to that which made Venice the Bride of the Sea, and which
justified the Doge in hailing Caterina Cornaro as daughter of S. Mark's
(1471). It was in the personal courage and intelligence of individual heroes
that the Florentines discovered the counterpart of their own spirit; whereas
the Venetians personified their city as a whole, and paid their homage to the
Genius of the State.
[1] Varchi, ix. 49; Vasari, xii. p. 158; Burckhardt, p. 270.

It is not merely fanciful to compare Athens, the city of self-conscious
political activity, variable, cultivated, and ill-adapted by its very freedom
for prolonged stability, with Florence; Sparta, firmly based upon an ancient
constitution, indifferent to culture, and solid at the cost of some rigidity,
with Venice. As in Greece the philosophers of Athens, especially Plato and
Aristotle, wondered at the immobility of Sparta and idealized her
institutions; so did the theorists of Florence, Savonarola, Giannotti,
Guicciardini, look with envy at the state machinery which secured repose
and liberty for Venice. The parallel between Venice and Sparta becomes still
more remarkable when we inquire into the causes of their decay. Just as the
Ephors, introduced at first as a safeguard to the constitution, by degrees
extinguished the influence of the royal families, superseded the senate, and
exercised a tyrannous control over every department of the state; so the
Council of Ten, dangerous because of its vaguely defined dictatorial
functions, reduced Venice to a despotism.[1] The gradual dwindling of the
Venetian aristocracy, and the impoverishment of many noble families,
which rendered votes in the Grand Council venal, and threw the power into
the hands of a very limited oligarchy, complete the parallel.[2] One of the
chief sources of decay both to Venice and to Sparta was that shortsighted
policy which prevented the nobles from recruiting their ranks by the

admission of new families. The system again of secret justice, the
espionage, and the calculated terrorism, by means of which both the Spartan
Ephoralty and the Venetian Council imposed their will upon the citizens,
were stifling to the free life of a republic.[3] Venice in the end became
demoralized in politics and profligate in private life. Her narrowing
oligarchy watched the national degeneration with approval, knowing that it
is easier to control a vitiated populace than to curb a nation habituated to
the manly virtues.
[1] Aristotle terms the Spartan Ephoralty [Greek: isotyrannos]. Giannotti (vol-ii.
p. 120) compares the Ten to dictators. We might bring the struggles of the
Spartan kings with the Ephoralty into comparison with the attempts of the Doges
Falieri and Foscari to make themselves the chiefs of the republic in more than
name. Müller, in his Dorians, observes that 'the Ephoralty was the moving
element, the principle of change, in the Spartan constitution, and, in the end, the
cause of its dissolution.' Sismondi remarks that the precautions which led to the
creation of the Council of Ten 'dénaturaient entièrement la constitution de l'état.'
[2] See what Aristotle in the Politics says about [Greek: oliganthrôpia], and the
unequal distribution of property. As to the property of the Venetian nobles, see
Sanudo, Vite dei Duchi, Murat. xxii. p. 1194, who mentions the benevolences of
the richer families to the poor. They built houses for aristocratic paupers to live
in free of rent.
[3] A curious passage in Plutarch's Life of Cleomenes (Clough's Translation, vol.
iv. p. 474) exactly applies to the Venetian statecraft:—'They, the Spartans,
worship Fear, not as they do supernatural powers which they dread, esteeming it
hurtful, but thinking their polity is chiefly kept up by fear ... and therefore the
Lacedæmonians placed the temple of Fear by the Syssitium of the Ephors,
having raised that magistracy to almost regal authority.'

Between Athens and Florence the parallel is not so close. These two
republics, however, resemble one another in the freedom and variety of
their institutions. In Athens, as in Florence, there was constant change and a
highly developed political consciousness. Eminent men played the same
important part in both. In both the genius of individuals was even stronger
than the character of the state. Again, as Athens displayed more of a
Panhellenic feeling than any other Greek city, so Florence was invariably
more alive to the interests of Italy at large than any other state of the
peninsula. Florence, like Athens, was the center of culture for the nation.
Like Athens, she give laws to her sister towns in language, in literature, in
fine arts, poetry, philosophy, and history. Without Florence it is not probable
that Italy would have taken the place of proud pre-eminence she held so
long in Europe. Florence never attained to the material greatness of Athens,

because her power, relatively to the rest of Italy, was slight, her factions
were incessant, and her connection with the Papacy was a perpetual source
of weakness. But many of the causes which ruined Athens were in full
operation at Florence. First and foremost was the petulant and variable
temper of a democracy, so well described by Plato, and so ably analyzed by
Machiavelli. The want of agreement among the versatile Florentines, fertile
in plans but incapable of concerted action, was a chief source of political
debility. Varchi and Segni both relate how, in spite of wealth, ability, and
formidable forces, the Florentine exiles under the guidance of Filippo
Strozzi (1533-37) became the laughing-stock of Italy through their
irresolution. The Venetian ambassadors agree in representing the burghers
of Florence as timid from excess of intellectual mobility. And Dante, whose
insight into national characteristics was of the keenest, has described in
ever-memorable lines the temperament of his fickle city (Purg. vi. 135-51).
Much of this instability was due to the fact that Florentine, like Athenian,
intelligence was overdeveloped. It passed into mere cleverness, and
overreached itself. Next we may note the tyranny which both republics
exercised over cities that had once been free. Athens created a despotic
empire instead of forming an Ionian Confederation. Florence reduced Pisa
to the most miserable servitude, rendered herself odious to Arezzo and
Volterra, and never rested from attempts upon the liberties of Lucca and
Siena. All these states, which as a Tuscan federation should have been her
strength in the hour of need, took the first opportunity of throwing off her
yoke and helping her enemies. What Florence spent in recapturing Pisa,
after the passage of Charles VIII. in 1494, is incalculable. And no sooner
was she in difficulties during the siege of 1329, than both Arezzo and Pisa
declared for her foes.
It will not do to push historical parallels too far, interesting as it may be to
note a repetition of the same phenomena at distant periods and under
varying conditions of society. At the same time, to observe fundamental
points of divergence is no less profitable. Many of the peculiarities of Greek
history are attributable to the fact that a Greek commonwealth consisted of
citizens living in idleness, supported by their slaves, and bound to the state
by military service and by the performance of civic duties. The distinctive
mark of both Venice and Florence, on the other hand, was that their citizens
were traders. The Venetians carried on the commerce of the Levant; the

Florentines were manufacturers and bankers: the one town sent her sons
forth on the seas to barter and exchange; the other was full of speculators,
calculating rates of interest and discount, and contracting with princes for
the conduct of expensive wars. The mercantile character of these Italian
republics is so essential to their history that it will not be out of place to
enlarge a little on the topic. We have seen that the Florentines rendered
commerce a condition of burghership. Giannotti, writing the life of one of
the chief patriots of the republic,[1] says: 'Egli stette a bottega, come fanno
la maggior parte de' nostri, cosi nobili come ignobili.' To quote instances in
a matter so clear and obvious would be superfluous: else I might show how
Bardi and Peruzzi, Strozzi, Medici, Pitti, and Pazzi, while they ranked with
princes at the Courts of France, or Rome, or Naples, were money-lenders,
mortgagees and bill-discounters in every great city of Europe. The Palle of
the Medici, which emboss the gorgeous ceilings of the Cathedral of Pisa,
still swing above the pawnbroker's shop in London. And though great
families like the Rothschilds in the most recent days have successfully
asserted the aristocracy of wealth acquired by usury, it still remains a
surprising fact that the daughter of the mediæval bankers should have given
a monarch to the French in the sixteenth century.
[1] Sulle azioni del Ferruccio, vol. i. p. 44. The report of Marco Foscari on the
state of Florence, already quoted more than once, contains a curious aristocratic
comment upon the shop-life of illustrious Florentine citizens. See Appendix ii.
Even Piero de' Medici refused a Neapolitan fief on the ground that he was a
tradesman.

A very lively picture of the modes of life and the habits of mind peculiar to
the Italian burgher may be gained by the perusal of Agnolo Pandolfini's
treatise, Del Governo della Famiglia. This essay should be read side by side
with Castiglione's Cortegiano, by all who wish to understand the private
life of the Italians in the age of the Renaissance.[1] Pandolfini lived at the
time of the war of Florence with Filippo Visconti the exile, and the return of
Cosimo de' Medici. He was employed by the republic on important
missions, and his substance was so great that, on occasion of extraordinary
aids, his contributions stood third or fourth upon the list. In the Councils of
the Republic he always advocated peace, and in particular he spoke against
Impresa di Lucca. As age advanced, he retired from public affairs, and
devoted himself to study, religious exercises, and country excursions. He
possessed a beautiful villa at Signa, notable for the splendor of its

maintenance in all points which befit a gentleman. There he had the honor
on various occasions of entertaining Pope Eugenius, King Réné, Francesco
Sforza, and the Marchese Piccinino. His sons lived with him, and spent
much of their spare time in hawking and the chase. They were three, Carlo,
who rose to great dignity in the republic, Giannozzo, still more eminent as a
public man, and Pandolfo, who died young. His wife, one of the Strozzi,
died while Agnolo was between thirty and forty; but he never married
again. He was a great friend of Lionardo Aretino, who published nothing
without his approval. He lived to be upwards of eighty-five, and died in
1446. These facts sufficiently indicate what sort of man was the supposed
author of the "Essay on the Family," proving, as they do, that he passed his
leisure among princes and scholars, and that he played some part in the
public affairs of the State of Florence. Yet his view of human life is wholly
bourgeois, though by no means ignoble. In his conception, the first of all
virtues is thrift, which should regulate the use not only of money, but of all
the gifts of nature and of fortune. The proper economy of the mind involves
liberal studies, courteous manners, honest conduct, and religion.[2] The right
use of the body implies keeping it in good health by continence, exercise
and diet.[3] The thrift of time consists in being never idle. Agnolo's sons,
who are represented as talking with their father in this dialogue, ask him, in
relation to the gifts of fortune, whether he thinks the honors of the State
desirable. This question introduces a long and vehement invective against
the life of a professional statesman, as of necessity fraudulent, mendacious,
egotistic, cruel.[4] The private man of middle station is really happiest; and
only a sense of patriotism should induce him, not seeking but when sought,
to serve the State in public office. The really dear possessions of a man are
his family, his wealth, his good repute, and his friendships. In order to be
successful in the conduct of the family, a man must choose a large and
healthy house, where the whole of his offspring—children and
grandchildren, may live together. He must own an estate which will supply
him with corn, wine, oil, wood, fowls, in fact with all the necessaries of life,
so that he may not need to buy much. The main food of the family will be
bread and wine. The discussion of the utility of the farm leads Agnolo to
praise the pleasure and profit to be derived from life in the Villa. But at the
same time a town-house has to be maintained; and it is here that the sons of
the family should be educated, so that they may learn caution, and avoid
vice by knowing its ugliness. In order to meet expenses, some trade must be

followed, silk or wool manufacture being preferred; and in this the whole
family should join, the head distributing work of various kinds to his
children, as he deems most fitting, and always employing them rather than
strangers. Thus we get the three great elements of the Florentine citizen's
life: the casa, or town-house, the villa, or country-farm, and the bottega, or
place of business. What follows is principally concerned with the details of
economy. Expenses are of two sorts: necessary, for the repair of the house,
the maintenance of the farm, the stocking of the shop; and unnecessary, for
plate, house decoration, horses, grand clothes, entertainments. On this topic
Agnolo inveighs with severity against household parasites, bravi, and
dissolute dependents.[5] A little further on he indulges in another diatribe
against great nobles, i signori, from whom he would have his sons keep
clear at any cost.[6] It is the animosity of the industrious burgher for the
haughty, pleasure-loving, idle, careless man of blood and high estate. In the
bourgeois household described by Pandolfini no one can be indolent. The
men have to work outside and collect wealth, the women to stay at home
and preserve it. The character of a good housewife is sketched very
minutely. Pandolfini describes how, when he was first married, he took his
wife over the house, and gave up to her care all its contents. Then he went
into their bedroom, and made her kneel with him before Madonna, and
prayed God to give them wealth, friends, and male children. After that he
told her that honesty would be her great charm in his eyes, as well as her
chief virtue, and advised her to forego the use of paints and cosmetics.
Much sound advice follows as to the respective positions of the master and
the mistress in the household, the superintendence of domestics, and the
right ordering of the most insignificant matters. The quality of the dress
which will beseem the children of an honored citizen on various occasions,
the pocket money of the boys, the food of the common table, are all
discussed with some minuteness: and the wife is made to feel that she must
learn to be neither jealous nor curious about concerns which her husband
finds it expedient to keep private.
[1] I ought to state that Pandolfini is at least a century earlier in date than
Casliglione, and that he represents a more primitive condition of society. The
facts I have mentioned about his life are given on the authority of Vespasiano da
Bisticci. The references are made to the Milanese edition of 1802. It must also be
added that there are strong reasons for assigning the treatise in question to Leo
Battista Alberti. As it professes, however, to give a picture of Pandolfini's family,
I have adhered to the old title. But the whole question of the authorship of the

Famiglia will be fully discussed in the last section of my book, which deals with
Italian literature. Personally. I accept the theory of Alberti's authorship.
[2] A beautiful description of the religious temper, p. 74.
[3] What Pandolfini says about the beauty of the body is worthy of a Greek: what
he says about exercise might have been written by an Englishman, p. 77.
[4] Pp. 82-89 are very important as showing how low the art of politics had sunk
in Italy.
[5] P. 125.
[6] P. 175.

The charm of a treatise like that of Pandolfini on the family evaporates as
soon as we try to make a summary of its contents. Enough, however, has
been quoted to show the thoroughly bourgeois tone which prevailed among
the citizens of Florence in the fifteenth century.[1] Very important results
were the natural issue of this commercial spirit in the State. Talking of the
Ordinanze di Giustizia, Varchi observes: 'While they removed in part the
civil discords of Florence, they almost entirely extinguished all nobility of
feeling in the Florentines, and tended as much to diminish the power and
haughtiness of the city as to abate the insolence of the patriciate.'[2] A little
further on he says: 'Hence may all prudent men see how ill-ordered in all
things, save only in the Grand Council, has been the commonwealth of
Florence; seeing that, to speak of nought else, that kind of men who in a
wisely constituted republic ought not to fulfill any magistracy whatever, the
merchants and artisans of all sorts, are in Florence alone capable of taking
office, to the exclusion of all others.' Machiavelli, less wordy but far more
emphatic than Varchi, says of the same revolution: 'This caused the
abandonment by Florence not only of arms, but of all nobility of soul.'[3]
The most notable consequence of the mercantile temper of the republics
was the ruinous system of mercenary warfare, with all its attendant evils of
ambitious captains of adventure, irresponsible soldiery, and mock
campaigns, adopted by the free Italian States. It is true that even if the
Italians had maintained their national militias in full force, they might not
have been able to resist the shock of France and Spain any better than the
armies of Thebes, Sparta, and Athens averted the Macedonian hegemony.
But they would at least have run a better chance, and not perhaps have
perished so ignobly through the treason of an Alfonso d'Este (1527), of a
Marquis of Pescara (1525), of a Duke of Urbino (1527), and of a Malatesta

Baglioni (1530).[4] Machiavelli, in a weighty passage at the end of the first
book of his Florentine History, sums up the various causes which
contributed to the disuse of national arms among the Italians of the
Renaissance. The fear of the despot for his subjects, the priest-rule of the
Church, the jealousy of Venice for her own nobles, and the commercial
sluggishness of the Florentine burghers, caused each and all of these
powers, otherwise so different, to intrust their armies to paid captains. 'Di
questi adunque oziosi principi e di queste vilissime armi sarà piena la mia
istoria,' is the contemptuous phrase with which he winds up his analysis.[5]
[1] Varchi (book x. cap. 69) quotes a Florentine proverb: 'Chiunque non sta a
bottega è ladro.' See above, p. 239.
[2] Varchi, vol. i. p. 168; compare vol. ii. p. 87, however.
[3] Ist. Fior. lib. ii. end. Aristotle's contempt for the [Greek: technitai] emerges in
these comments of the doctrinaires.
[4] To multiply the instances of fraud and treason on the part of Italian
condottieri would be easy. I have only mentioned the notable examples which
fall within a critical period of five years. The Marquis of Pescara betrayed to
Charles V. the league for the liberation of Italy, which he had joined at Milan.
The Duke of Ferrara received and victualed Bourbon's (then Frundsberg's) army
on its way to sack Rome, because he spited the Pope, and wanted to seize
Modena for himself. The Duke of Urbino, wishing to punish Clement VII. for
personal injuries, omitted to relieve Rome when it was being plundered by the
Lutherans, though he held the commission of the Italian League. Malatesta
Baglioni sold Florence, which he had undertaken to defend, to the Imperial army
under the Prince of Orange.
[5] 'With the records of these indolent princes and most abject armaments, my
history will, therefore, be filled.' Compare the following passage in a letter from
Machiavelli to Francesco Guicciardini (Op. vol. x. p. 255): 'Comincio ora a
scrivere di nuovo, e mi sfogo accusando i principi, che hanno fatto ogni cosa per
condurci qui.'

CHAPTER V.
THE FLORENTINE HISTORIANS.

Florence, the City of Intelligence—Cupidity, Curiosity, and the Love of
Beauty—Florentine Historical Literature—Philosophical Study of History
—Ricordano Malespini—Florentine History compared with the Chronicles
of other Italian Towns—The Villani—The Date 1300—Statistics—Dante's
Political Essays and Pamphlets—Dino Compagni—Latin Histories of
Florence in Fifteenth Century—Lionardo Bruni and Poggio Bracciolini—
The Historians of the First Half of the Sixteenth Century—Men of Action
and Men of Letters: the Doctrinaires—Florence between 1494 and 1537—
Varchi, Segni, Nardi, Pitti, Nerli, Guicciardini—The Political Importance of
these Writers—The Last Years of Florentine Independence, and the Siege of
1529—State of Parties—Filippo Strozzi—Different Views of Florentine
Weakness taken by the Historians—Their Literary Qualities—Francesco
Guicciardini and Niccolo Machiavelli—Scientific Statists—Discord
between Life and Literature—The Biography of Guicciardini—His 'Istoria
d'Italia,' 'Dialogo del Reggimento di Firenze,' 'Storia Fiorentina,' 'Ricordi'—
Biography of Machiavelli—His Scheme of a National Militia—Dedication
of 'The Prince'—Political Ethics of the Italian Renaissance—The Discorsi
—The Seven Books on the Art of War and the 'History of Florence.'
Florence was essentially the city of intelligence in modern times. Other
nations have surpassed the Italians in their genius—the quality which gave
a superhuman power of insight to Shakespeare and an universal sympathy
to Goethe. But nowhere else except at Athens has the whole population of a
city been so permeated with ideas, so highly intellectual by nature, so keen
in perception, so witty and so subtle, as at Florence. The fine and delicate
spirit of the Italians existed in quintessence among the Florentines. And of
this superiority not only they but the inhabitants also of Rome and
Lombardy and Naples, were conscious. Boniface VIII., when he received
the ambassadors of the Christian powers in Rome on the occasion of the
Jubilee in 1300, observed that all of them were citizens of Florence. The
witticism which he is said to have uttered, i Fiorentini essere il quinto

elemento, 'that the men of Florence form a fifth element,' passed into a
proverb. The primacy of the Florentines in literature, the fine arts, law,
scholarship, philosophy, and science was acknowledged throughout Italy.
When the struggle for existence has been successfully terminated, and the
mere instinct of self-preservation no longer absorbs the activities of a
people, then the three chief motive forces of civilization begin to operate.
These are cupidity, or the desire of wealth and all that it procures; curiosity,
or the desire to discover new facts about the world and man; and the love of
beauty, which is the parent of all art. Commerce, philosophy, science,
scholarship, sculpture, architecture, painting, music, poetry, are the products
of these ruling impulses—everything in fact which gives a higher value to
the life of man. Different nations have been swayed by these passions in
different degrees. The artistic faculty, which owes its energy to the love of
beauty, has been denied to some; the philosophic faculty, which starts with
curiosity, to others; and some again have shown but little capacity for
amassing wealth by industry or calculation. It is rare to find a whole nation
possessed of all in an equal measure of perfection. Such, however, were the
Florentines.[1] The mere sight of the city and her monuments would suffice
to prove this. But we are not reduced to the necessity of divining what
Florence was by the inspection of her churches, palaces, and pictures. That
marvelous intelligence which was her pride, burned brightly in a long series
of historians and annalists, who have handed down to us the biography of
the city in volumes as remarkable for penetrative acumen as for definite
delineation and dramatic interest. We possess picture-galleries of pages in
which the great men of Florence live again and seem to breathe and move,
epics of the commonwealth's vicissitudes from her earliest commencement,
detailed tragedies and highly finished episodes, studies of separate
characters, and idylls detached from the main current of her story. The
whole mass of this historical literature is instinct with the spirit of criticism
and vital with experience. The writers have been either actors or spectators
of the drama. Trained in the study of antiquity, as well as in the council-
chambers of the republic and in the courts of foreign princes, they survey
the matter of their histories from a lofty vantage ground, fortifying their
speculative conclusions by practical knowledge and purifying their
judgment of contemporary events with the philosophy of the past. Owing to
this rare mixture of qualities, the Florentines deserve to be styled the

discoverers of the historic method for the modern world. They first
perceived that it is unprofitable to study the history of a state in isolation,
that not wars and treaties only, but the internal vicissitudes of the
commonwealth, form the real subject matter of inquiry,[2] and that the
smallest details, biographical, economical, or topographical, may have the
greatest value. While the rest of Europe was ignorant of statistics, and little
apt to pierce below the surface of events to the secret springs of conduct, in
Florence a body of scientific historians had gradually been formed, who
recognized the necessity of basing their investigations upon a diligent study
of public records, state-papers, and notes of contemporary observers.[3] The
same men prepared themselves for the task of criticism by a profound study
of ethical and political philosophy in the works of Aristotle, Plato, Cicero,
and Tacitus.[4] They examined the methods of classical historians, and
compared the annals of Greece, Rome, and Palestine with the chronicles of
their own country. They attempted to divine the genius and to characterize
the special qualities of the nations, cities, and individuals of whom they had
to treat.[5] At the same time they spared no pains in seeking out persons
possessed of accurate knowledge in every branch of inquiry that came
beneath their notice, so that their treatises have the freshness of original
documents and the charm of personal memoirs. Much, as I have elsewhere
noted, was due to the peculiarly restless temper of the Florentines,
speculative, variable, unquiet in their politics. The very qualities which
exposed the commonwealth to revolutions, developed the intelligence of
her historians; her want of stability was the price she paid for intellectual
versatility and acuteness unrivaled in modern times. '"O ingenia magis
acria quam matura," said Petrarch, and with truth, about the wits of the
Florentines; for it is their property by nature to have more of liveliness and
acumen than of maturity or gravity.'[6]
[1] Since the Greeks, no people have combined curiosity and the love of beauty,
the scientific and the artistic sense, in the same proportions as the Florentines.
[2] See Machiavelli's critique of Lionardo d'Arezzo and Messer Poggio, in the
Proemio to his Florentine History. His own conception of history, as the attempt
to delineate the very spirit of a nation, is highly philosophical.
[3] The high sense of the requirements of scientific history attained by the
Italians is shown by what Giovio relates of Gian Galeazzo's archives (Vita di
Gio. Galeazzo, p. 107). After describing these, he adds: 'talche, chi volesse
scrivere un' historia giusta non potrebbe desiderare altronde nè più abbondante

nè più certa materia; perciocchè da questi libri facilissimamente si traggono le
cagioni delle guerre, i consigli, e i successi dell' imprese.' The Proemio to
Varchi's Storie Fiorentine (vol. i. pp. 42-44), which gives an account of his
preparatory labors, is an unconscious treatise on the model historian. Accuracy,
patience, love of truth, sincerity in criticism, and laborious research, have all
their proper place assigned to them. Compare Guicciardini, Ricordi, No. cxliii.,
for sound remarks upon the historian's duty of collecting the statistics of his own
age and country.
[4] The prefaces to Giannotti's critiques of Florence and of Venice show how
thoroughly his mind had been imbued with the Politics of Aristotle. Varchi
acknowledges the direct influence of Polybius and Tacitus. Livy is Machiavelli's
favorite.
[5] On this point the Relazioni of Italian ambassadors are invaluable. What dryly
philosophical compendia are the notes of Machiavelli upon the French Court and
Cesare Borgia! How astute are the Venetian letters on the opinions and qualities
of the Roman Prelates!
[6] Guicc. Ricordi, cciii. Op. Ined. vol. i. p. 229.

The year 1300 marks the first development of historical research in
Florence. Two great writers, Dante Alighieri and Giovanni Villani, at this
epoch pursued different lines of study, which determined the future of this
branch of literature for the Italians. It is not uncharacteristic of Florentine
genius that while the chief city of Tuscany was deficient in historians of her
achievements before the date which I have mentioned, her first essays in
historiography should have been monumental and standard-making for the
rest of Italy. Just as the great burghs of Lombardy attained municipal
independence somewhat earlier than those of Tuscany, so the historic sense
developed itself in the valley of the Po at a period when the valley of the
Arno had no chronicler. Sire Raul and Ottone Morena, the annalists of
Milan, Fra Salimbene, the sagacious and comprehensive historian of Parma,
Rolandino, to whom we owe the chronicle of Ezzelino and the tragedy of
the Trevisan Marches, have no rivals south of the Apennines in the
thirteenth century. Even the Chronicle of the Malespini family, written in
the vulgar tongue from the beginning of the world to the year 1281, which
occupies 146 volumes of Muratori's Collection, and which used to be the
pride of Tuscan antiquarians, has recently been shown to be in all
probability a compilation based upon the Annals of Villani.[1] This makes
the clear emergence of a scientific sense for history in the year 1300 at
Florence all the more remarkable. In order to estimate the high quality of
the work achieved by the Villani it is only necessary to turn the pages of

some early chronicles of sister cities which still breathe the spirit of
unintelligent mediæval industry, before the method of history had been
critically apprehended. The naïveté of these records may be appreciated by
the following extracts. A Roman writes[2]: 'I Lodovico Bonconte
Monaldeschi was born in Orvieto, and was brought up in the city of Rome,
where I have resided. I was born in the year 1327, in the month of June, at
the time when the Emperor Lodovico came. Now I wish to relate the whole
history of my age, seeing that I lived one hundred and fifteen years without
illness, except that when I was born I fainted, and I died of old age, and
remained in bed twelve months on end.' Burigozzo's Chronicle of Milan,
again, concludes with these words:[3] 'As you will see in the Annals of my
son, inasmuch as the death which has overtaken me prevents my writing
more.' Chronicles conceived and written in this spirit are diaries of events,
repertories of strange stories, and old wives' tales, without a deep sense of
personal responsibility, devoid alike of criticism and artistic unity. Very
different is the character of the historical literature which starts into being in
Florence at the opening of the fourteenth century.
[1] See Paul Scheffer-Boichorst, Florentiner Studien, Leipzig, 1874, Carl Hegel,
in his defense of Compagni, Die Chronik des Dino Compagni, Versuch einer
Rettung, Leipzig, 1875, admits the proof of spuriousness. See the preface, p. v.
The point, however, is still disputed by Florentine scholars of high authority.
Gino Capponi, in his Storia della Repubblica di Firenze (vol. i. Appendix, final
note), observes that while the Villani are popular in tone the Malespini Chronicle
is feudal. Adolfo Bartoli (Storia della Lett. It. vol. iii. p. 155) treats the question
as still open. The custom of preserving brief fasti in the archives of great houses
rendered such compilations as the Malespini Chronicle is now supposed to have
been both easy and attractive. The Christian name Ricordano given to the first
Malespini annalist does not exist. It has been suggested that it is due to a
misreading of an initial sentence, Ricordano i Malespini.
[2] Muratori, vol. xii. p. 529.
[3] Arch. Stor. vol. iii. p. 552. Both Monaldeschi and Burigozzo appear to
mention their own death. The probability is that their annals, as we have them,
have been freely dealt with by transcribers or continuators adopting the historic
'I' after the decease of the titular authors.

Giovanni Villani relates how, having visited Rome on the occasion of the
Jubilee, when 200,000 pilgrims crowded the streets of the Eternal City, he
was moved in the depth of his soul by the spectacle of the ruins of the
discrowned mistress of the world.[1] 'When I saw the great and ancient
monuments of Rome, and read the histories and the great deeds of the

Romans, written by Virgil, and by Sallust, and by Lucan, and by Livy, and
by Valerius, and Orosius, and other masters of history, who related small as
well as great things of the acts and doings of the Romans, I took style and
manner from them, though, as a learner, I was not worthy of so vast a work.'
Like our own Gibbon, musing upon the steps of Ara Celi, within sight of
the Capitol, and within hearing of the monks at prayer, he felt the genius
loci stir him with a mixture of astonishment and pathos. Then 'reflecting
that our city of Florence, the daughter and the creature of Rome, was in the
ascendant toward great achievements, while Rome was on the wane, I
thought it seemly to relate in this new Chronicle all the doings and the
origins of the town of Florence, as far as I could collect and discover them,
and to continue the acts of the Florentines and the other notable things of
the world in brief onwards so long as it shall be God's pleasure, hoping in
whom by His grace I have done the work rather than by my poor
knowledge; and therefore in the year 1300, when I returned from Rome, I
began to compile this book, to the reverence of God and Saint John and the
praise of this our city Florence.' The key-note is struck in these passages.
Admiration for the past mingles with prescience of the future. The artist and
the patriot awake together in Villani at the sight of Rome and the thought of
Florence.
[1] Lib. viii. cap. 36.

The result of this visit to Rome in 1300 was the Chronicle which Giovanni
Villani carried in twelve books down to the year 1346. In 1348 he died of
the plague, and his work was continued on the same plan by his brother
Matteo. Matteo in his turn died of plague in 1362, and left the Chronicle to
his son Filippo, who brought it down to the year 1365. Of the three Villani,
Giovanni is the greatest, both as a master of style and as an historical artist.
Matteo is valuable for the general reflections which form exordia to the
eleven books that bear his name. Filippo was more of a rhetorician. He is
known as the public lecturer upon the Divine Comedy, and as the author of
some interesting but meager lives of eminent Florentines, his predecessors
or contemporaries.
The Chronicle of the Villani is a treasure-house of clear and accurate
delineations rather than of profound analysis. Not only does it embrace the
whole affairs of Europe in annals which leave little to be desired in

precision of detail and brevity of statement; but, what is more to our present
purpose, it conveys a lively picture of the internal condition of the
Florentines and the statistics of the city in the fourteenth century. We learn,
for example, that the ordinary revenues of Florence amounted to about
300,000 golden florins,[1] levied chiefly by way of taxes—90,200
proceeding from the octroi, 58,300 from the retail wine trade, 14,450 from
the salt duties, and so on through the various imposts, each of which is
carefully calculated. Then we are informed concerning the ordinary
expenditure of the Commune—15,240 lire for the podestà and his
establishment, 5,880 lire for the Captain of the people and his train, 3,600
for the maintenance of the Signory in the Palazzo, and so on down to a sum
of 2,400 for the food of the lions, for candles, torches, and bonfires. The
amount spent publicly in almsgiving; the salaries of ambassadors and
governors; the cost of maintaining the state armory; the pay of the night-
watch; the money spent upon the yearly games when the palio was run; the
wages of the city trumpeters; and so forth, are all accurately reckoned. In
fact the ordinary Budget of the Commune is set forth. The rate of
extraordinary expenses during war-time is estimated on the scale of sums
voted by the Florentines to carry on the war with Martino della Scala in
1338. At that time they contributed 25,000 florins monthly to Venice,
maintained full garrisons in the fortresses of the republic, and paid as well
for upwards of 1,000 men at arms. In order that a correct notion of these
balance-sheets may be obtained, Villani is careful to give particulars about
the value of the florin and the lira, and the number of florins coined yearly.
In describing the condition of Florence at this period, he computes the
number of citizens capable of bearing arms, between the ages fifteen and
seventy, at 25,000; the population of the city at 90,000, not counting the
monastic communities, nor including the strangers, who are estimated at
about 15,000. The country districts belonging to Florence add 80,000 to this
calculation. It is further noticed that the excess of male births over female
was between 300 and 500 yearly in Florence, that from 8,000 to 10,000
boys and girls learned to read; that there were six schools, in which from
10,000 to 12,000 children learned arithmetic; and four high schools, in
which from 550 to 600 learned grammar and logic. Then follows a list of
the religious houses and churches: among the charitable institutions are
reckoned 30 hospitals capable of receiving more than 1,000 sick people.
Here too it may be mentioned that Villani reckons the beggars of Florence

at 17,000, with the addition of 4,000 paupers and sick persons and religious
mendicants.[2] These mendicants were not all Florentines, but received
relief from the city charities. The big wool factories are numbered at
upwards of two hundred; and it is calculated that from sixty to eighty
thousand pieces of cloth were turned out yearly, to the value in all of about
1,200,000 florins. More than 30,000 persons lived by this industry. The
calimala factories, where foreign cloths were manufactured into fine
materials, numbered about twenty. These imported some 10,000 pieces of
cloth yearly, to the value of 300,000 florins. The exchange offices are
estimated at about eighty in number. The fortunes made in Florence by
trade and by banking were colossal for those days. Villani tells us that the
great houses of the Bardi and Peruzzi lent to our King Edward III. more
than 1,365,000 golden florins.[3] 'And mark this,' he continues, 'that these
moneys were chiefly the property of persons who had given it to them on
deposit.' This debt was to have been recovered out of the wool revenues and
other income of the English; in fact, the Bardi and Peruzzi had negotiated a
national loan, by which they hoped to gain a superb percentage on their
capital. The speculation, however, proved unfortunate; and the two houses
would have failed, but for their enormous possessions in Tuscany. We hear,
for example, of the Bardi buying the villages of Vernia and Mangona in
1337.[4] As it was, their credit received a shock from which it never
thoroughly recovered; and a little later on, in 1342, after the ruinous wars
with the La Scala family and Pisa, and after the loss of Lucca, they finally
stopped payment and declared themselves bankrupt.[5] The shock
communicated by this failure to the whole commerce of Christendom is
well described by Villani.[6] The enormous wealth amassed by Florentine
citizens in commerce may be still better imagined when we remember that
the Medici, between the years 1434 and 1471, spent some 663,755 golden
florins upon alms and public works, of which 400,000 were supplied by
Cosimo alone. But to return to Villani; not content with the statistics which
I have already extracted, he proceeds to calculate how many bushels of
wheat, hogsheads of wine, and head of cattle were consumed in Florence by
the year and the week.[7] We are even told that in the month of July 1280,
40,000 loads of melons entered the gate of San Friano and were sold in the
city. Nor are the manners and the costume of the Florentines neglected: the
severe and decent dress of the citizens in the good old times (about 1260) is

contrasted with the new-fangled fashions introduced by the French in 1342.
[8]
In addition to all this miscellaneous information may be mentioned what
we learn from Matteo Villani concerning the foundation of the Monte or
Public Funds of Florence in the year 1345,[9] as well as the remarkable
essay upon the economical and other consequences of the plague of 1348,
which forms the prelude to his continuation of his brother's Chronicle.[10]
[1] xi. 62.
[2] x. 162.
[3] xi. 88.
[4] xi. 74. On this occasion a law was passed forbidding citizens to become lords
of districts within the territory of Florence.
[5] xi. 38.
[6] xi. 88.
[7] xi, 94.
[8] vi. 69; xii. 4.
[9] iii. 106.
[10] i. 1-8.

In his survey of the results of the Black Death, Matteo notices not only the
diminution of the population, but the alteration in public morality, the
displacement of property, the increase in prices, the diminution of labor, and
the multiplication of lawsuits, which were the consequences direct or
indirect of the frightful mortality. Among the details which he has supplied
upon these topics deserve to be commemorated the enormous bequests to
public charities in Florence—350,000 florins to the Society of
Orsammichele, 25,000 to the Compagnia della Misericordia, and 25,000 to
the Hospital of Santa Maria Nuova. The poorer population had been almost
utterly destroyed by the plague; so that these funds were for the most part
wasted, misapplied, and preyed upon by mal-administrators.[1] The
foundation of the University of Florence is also mentioned as one of the
extraordinary consequences of this calamity.
[1] Matteo Villani expressly excepts the Hospital of S. Maria Nuova, which
seems to have been well managed.

The whole work of the Villani remains a monument, unique in mediæval
literature, of statistical patience and economical sagacity, proving how far in
advance of the other European nations were the Italians at this period.[1]
Dante's aim is wholly different. Of statistics and of historical detail we gain
but little from his prose works. His mind was that of a philosopher who
generalizes, and of a poet who seizes salient characteristics, not that of an
annalist who aims at scrupulous fidelity in his account of facts. I need not
do more than mention here the concise and vivid portraits, which he has
sketched in the Divine Comedy, of all the chief cities of Italy; but in his
treatise 'De Monarchiâ' we possess the first attempt at political speculation,
the first essay in constitutional philosophy, to which the literature of
modern Europe gave birth; while his letters addressed to the princes of Italy,
the cardinals, the emperor and the republic of Florence, are in like manner
the first instances of political pamphlets setting forth a rationalized and
consistent system of the rights and duties of nations. In the 'De Monarchiâ'
Dante bases a theory of universal government upon a definite conception of
the nature and the destinies of humanity. Amid the anarchy and discord of
Italy, where selfishness was everywhere predominant, and where the
factions of the Papacy and Empire were but cloaks for party strife, Dante
endeavors to bring his countrymen back to a sublime ideal of a single
monarchy, a true imperium, distinct from the priestly authority of the
Church, but not hostile to it,—nay, rather seeking sanction from Christ's
Vicar upon earth and affording protection to the Holy See, as deriving its
own right from the same Divine source. Political science in this essay takes
rank as an independent branch of philosophy, and the points which Dante
seeks to establish are supported by arguments implying much historical
knowledge, though quaintly scholastic in their application. The Epistles
contain the same thoughts: peace, mutual respect, and obedience to a
common head, the duty of the chief to his subordinates and of the governed
to their lord, are urged with no less force, but in a more familiar style and
with direct allusion to the events which called each letter forth. They are in
fact political brochures addressed by a thinker from his solitude to the chief
actors in the drama of history around him. Nor would it here be right to
omit some notice of the essay 'De Vulgari Eloquio,' which, considering the
date of its appearance, is no less original and indicative of a new spirit in
the world than the treatise 'De Monarchiâ.' It is an attempt to write the
history of Italian as a member of the Romance Languages, to discuss the

qualities of its several dialects, and to prove the advantages to be gained by
the formation of a common literary tongue for Italy. Though Dante was of
course devoid of what we now call comparative philology, and had but little
knowledge of the first beginnings of the languages which he discusses, yet
it is not more than the truth to say that this essay applies the true method of
critical analysis for the first time to the subject, and is the first attempt to
reason scientifically upon the origin and nature of a modern language.
[1] We must remember that our own annalists, Holinshed and Stow, were later by
two centuries than the Villani.

While discussing the historical work of Dante and the Villani, it is
impossible that another famous Florentine should not occur to our
recollection, whose name has long been connected with the civic contests
that resulted in the exile of Italy's greatest poet from his native city. Yet it is
not easy for a foreign critic to deal with the question of Dino Compagni's
Chronicle—a question which for years has divided Italian students into two
camps, which has produced a voluminous literature of its own, and which
still remains undecided. The point at issue is by no means insignificant.
While one party contends that we have in this Chronicle the veracious
record of an eye-witness, the other asserts that it is the impudent fabrication
of a later century, composed on hints furnished by Dante, and obscure
documents of the Compagni family, and expressed in language that has
little of the fourteenth century. The one regards it as a faithful narrative,
deficient only in minor details of accuracy. The other stigmatizes it as a
wholly untrustworthy forgery, and calls attention to numberless mistakes,
confusions, misconceptions, and misrepresentations of events, which place
its genuineness beyond the pale of possibility. After a careful consideration
of Scheffer's, Fanfani's, Gino Capponi's, and Isidoro del Lungo's arguments,
it seems to me clearly established that the Chronicle of Dino Compagni can
no longer be regarded as a perfectly genuine document of fourteenth-
century literature. In the form in which we now possess it, we are rather
obliged to regard it as a rifacimento of some authentic history, compiled
during the course of the fifteenth century in a prose which bears traces of
the post-Boccaccian style of composition.[1] Yet the authority of Dino
Compagni has long been such, and such is still the literary value of the
monograph which bears his name, that it would be impertinent to dismiss
the 'Chronicle' unceremoniously as a mere fiction. I propose, therefore, first

to give an account of the book on its professed merits, and then to discuss,
as briefly as I can, the question of its authenticity.
[1] The first critic to call Compagni's authenticity in question was Pietro Fanfani,
in an article of Il Pievano Arlotto, 1858. The cause was taken up, shortly after
this date, by an abler German authority, P. Scheffer-Boichorst. The works which
I have studied on this subject are, 1. Florentiner Studien, von P. Scheffer-
Boichorst, Leipzig, Hirzel, 1874. 2. Dino Compagni vendicato dalla Calunnia di
Scrittore della Cronica, di Pietro Fanfani, Milano, Carrara, 1875. 3. Die Chronik
des Dino Compagni, Versuch einer Rettung, von Dr. Carl Hegel, Leipzig, Hirzel,
1875. 4. Die Chronik des Dino Compagni, Kritik der Hegelschen Schrift, von P.
Scheffer-Boichorst, Leipzig, Hirzel, 1875. 5. The note appended to Gino
Capponi's Storia della Repubblica di Firenze. 6. Dino Compagni e la sua
Chronica, per Isidoro del Lungo, Firenze, Le Mornier. Unluckily, the last-named
work, though it consists already of two bulky volumes in large 8vo, is not yet
complete; and the part which will treat of the question of authorship and MS.
authority has not appeared.

The year 1300, which Dante chose for the date of his descent with Virgil to
the nether world, and which marked the beginning of Villani's 'Chronicle,' is
also mentioned by Dino Compagni in the first sentence of the preface to his
work. 'The recollections of ancient histories,' he says, 'have a long while
stirred my mind to writing the perilous and ill-fated events, which the noble
city, daughter of Rome, has suffered many years, and especially at the time
of the jubilee in the year 1300.' Dino Compagni, whose 'Chronicle'
embraces the period between 1280 and 1312, took the popular side in the
struggles of 1282, sat as Prior in 1289, and in 1301, and was chosen
Gonfalonier of Justice in 1293. He was therefore a prominent actor in the
drama of those troublous times. He died in 1324, two years and four months
after the date of Dante's death, and was buried in the church of Santa
Trinità. He was a man of the same stamp as Dante;[1] burning with love for
his country, but still more a lover of the truth; severe in judgment, but
beyond suspicion of mere partisanship; brief in utterance, but weighty with
personal experience, profound conviction, prophetic intensity of feeling,
sincerity, and justice. As a historian, he narrowed his labors to the field of
one small but highly finished picture. He undertook to narrate the civic
quarrels of his times, and to show how the commonwealth of Florence was
brought to ruin by the selfishness of her own citizens; nor can his
'Chronicle,' although it is by no means a masterpiece of historical accuracy
or of lucid arrangement, be surpassed for the liveliness of its delineation,
the graphic clearness of its characters, the earnestness of its patriotic spirit,

and the acute analysis which lays bare the political situation of a republic
torn by factions, during the memorable period which embraced the
revolution of Giano della Bella and the struggles of the Neri and Bianchi.
The comparison of Dino Compagni with any contemporary annalist in Italy
shows that here again, in these pages, a new spirit has arisen. Muratori,
proud to print them for the first time in 1726, put them on a level with the
'Commentaries of Cæsar'; Giordani welcomed their author as a second
Sallust. The political sagacity and scientific penetration, possessed in so
high a degree by the Florentines, appear in full maturity. Compagni's
'Chronicle' heads a long list of similar monographs, unique in the literature
of a single city.[2]
[1] The apostrophes to the citizens of Florence at large, and the imprecations on
some of the worst offenders among the party-leaders (especially in book ii. on
the occasion of the calamities of 1301) are conceived and uttered in the style of
Dante.
[2] Among these I may here mention Gino Capponi's history of the Ciompi
Rebellion, Giovanni Cavalcanti's memoirs of the period between 1420 and 1452,
Leo Battista Alberti's narrative of Porcari's attempt upon the life of Nicholas V.,
Vespasiano's 'Biographies,' and Poliziano's 'Essay on the Pazzi Conspiracy.' Gino
Capponi, born about 1350, was Prior in 1396, and Gonfalonier of Justice in 1401
and 1418; he died in 1421. Giovanni Cavalcanti was a zealous admirer of
Cosimo de' Medici; he composed his 'Chronicle' in the prison of the Stinche,
where he was unjustly incarcerated for a debt to the Commune of Florence.
Vespasiano da Bisticci contributed a series of most valuable portraits to the
literature of Italy: all the great men of his time are there delineated with a
simplicity that is the sign of absolute sincerity, Poliziano was present at the
murder of Giuliano de' Medici in the Florentine Duomo. The historians of the
sixteenth century will be noticed together further on.

The arguments against the authenticity of Dino Compagni's 'Chronicle' may
be arranged in three groups. The first concerns the man himself. It is urged
that, with the exception of his offices as Prior and Gonfalonier, we have no
evidence of his political activity, beyond what is furnished by the disputed
'Chronicle.' According to his own account, Dino played a part of the first
importance in the complicated events of 1280-1312. Yet he is not mentioned
by Giovanni Villani, by Filippo Vallani, or by Dante. There is no record of
his death, except a MS. note in the Magliabecchian Codex of his 'Chronicle'
of the date 1514.[1] He is known in literature as the author of a few lyrics
and an oration to Pope John XXII., the style of which is so rough and
mediæval as to make it incredible that the same writer should have

composed the masterly paragraphs of the 'Chronicle.'[2] The second group
of arguments affects the substance of the 'Chronicle' itself. Though Dino
was Prior when Charles of Valois entered Florence, he records that event
under the date of Sunday the fourth of November, whereas Charles arrived
on the first of November, and the first Sunday of the month was the fifth.
He differs from the concurrent testimony of other historians in making the
affianced bride of Buondelmonte dei Buondelmonti a Giantruffetti instead
of an Amidei, and the Bishop of Arezzo a Pazzi instead of an Ubertini. He
reckons the Arti at twenty-four, whereas they numbered twenty-one. He
places the Coronation of Henry VII. in August, instead of in June, 1312. He
seems to refer to the Palace of the Signory, which could not have been built
at the date in question. He asserts that a member of the Benivieni family
was killed by one of the Galligai, whereas the murderer was of the blood of
the Galli. He represents himself as having been the first Gonfalonier of
Justice who destroyed the houses of rebellious nobles, while Baldo de'
Ruffoli, who held the office before him, had previously carried out the
Ordinances. Speaking of Guido Cavalcanti about the year 1300, he calls
him 'uno giovane gentile'; and yet Guido had married the daughter of
Farinata degli Uberti in 1266, and certainly did not survive 1300 more than
a few months. The peace with Pisa, which was concluded during
Compagni's tenure of the Gonfalonierate, is not mentioned, though this
must have been one of the most important public events with which he was
concerned. Chronology is hopelessly and inextricably confused; while
inaccuracies and difficulties of the kind described abound on every page of
the 'Chronicle,' rendering the labor of its last commentator and defender one
of no small difficulty. The third group of arguments assails the language of
the 'Chronicle' and its MS. authority. Fanfani, who showed more zeal than
courtesy in his destructive criticism, undertook to prove that Dino's style in
general is not distinguished for the 'purity, simplicity, and propriety' of the
trecento[3]; that it abounds in expressions of a later period, such as armata
for oste, marciare for andare, acciò for acciocchè, onde for affinchè; that
numerous imitations of Dante can be traced in it; and that to an acute
student of early Italian prose its palpable quattrocentismo is only slightly
veiled by a persistent affectation of fourteenth-century archaism. This
argument from style seems the strongest that can be brought against the
genuineness of the 'Chronicle'; for while it is possible that Dino may have
made innumerable blunders about the events in which he took a part, it is

incredible that he should have anticipated the growth of Italian by at least a
century. Yet judges no less competent than Fanfani in this matter of style,
and far more trustworthy as witnesses, Vincenzo Nannucci, Gino Capponi,
Isidoro del Lungo, are of opinion that Dino's 'Chronicle' is a masterpiece of
Italian fourteenth-century prose; and till Italian experts are agreed, foreign
critics must suspend their judgment. The analysis of style receives a
different development from Scheffer-Boichorst. In his last essay he
undertakes to show that many passages of the 'Chronicle,' especially the
important one which refers to the Ordinamenti della Giustizia, have been
borrowed from Villani.[4] This critical weapon is difficult to handle, for it
almost always cuts both ways. Yet the German historian has made out an
undoubtedly good case by proving Villani's language closer to the original
Ordinamenti than Compagni's. With regard to MS. authority, the codices of
Dino's 'Chronicle' extant in Italy are all of them derived from a MS.
transcribed by Noferi Busini and given by him to Giovanni Mazzuoli,
surnamed Lo Stradino, who was a member of the Florentine Academy and a
greedy collector of antiquities. This MS. bears the date 1514. The recent
origin of this parent codex, and the questionable character of Lo Stradino,
gave rise to not unreasonable suspicions. Fanfani roundly asserted that the
'Chronicle' must have been fabricated as a hoax upon the uncritical
antiquary, since it suddenly appeared without a pedigree, at a moment when
such forgeries were not uncommon. Scheffer-Boichorst, in his most recent
pamphlet, committed himself to the opinion that either Lo Stradino himself,
nicknamed Cronaca Scorretta by his Florentine cronies, or one of his
contemporaries, was the forger.[5] An Italian impugner of the 'Chronicle,'
Giusto Grion of Verona, declared for Antonfrancesco Doni as the fabricator.
[6]
These hypotheses, however, are, to say the least, unlucky for their
suggestors, and really serve to weaken rather than to strengthen the
destructive line of argument. There exists an elder codex of which Fanfani
and his followers were ignorant. It is a MS. of perhaps the middle of the
fifteenth century, which was purchased for the Ashburnham Library in
1846. This MS. has been minutely described by Professor Paul Meyer; and
Isidoro del Lungo publishes a fac-simile specimen of one of its pages.[7] By
some unaccountable negligence this latest and most determined defender of
Compagni has failed to examine the MS. with his own eyes.

[1] This is Isidoro del Lungo's Codex A. The note occurs also in the Ashburnham
MS. which Del Lungo refers to the fifteenth century.
[2] On this point it is worth mentioning that some good critics refer the poems to
an elder Dino Compagni, who sat as Ancient in 1251. See the discussion of this
question, as also of the authorship of the Intelligenza, claimed by Isidoro del
Lungo for the writer of the 'Chronicle,' in Borgognini's Essays (Scritti Vari,
Bologna, Romagnoli, 1877, vol. i.). With regard to the oration to Pope John
XXII. date 1326, it must be noted that this performance was first printed by
Anton Francesco Doni in 1547, and that its genuineness may be disputed. See
Carl Hegel, op. cit. pp. 18-22.
[3] The most important of Fanfani's numerous essays on the Compagni
controversy, together with minor notes by his supporters, are collected in the
book quoted above, Note to p. 241. Fanfani exceeds all bounds of decency in the
language he uses, and in his arrogant claims to be considered an unique judge of
fourteenth-century style. These claims he bases in some measure upon the fact
that he deceived the Della Crusca by a forgery of his own making, which was
actually accepted for the Archivio Storico. See op. cit. p. 181.
[4] Die Chronik, etc., pp. 53-57.
[5] Die Chronik, etc., p. 39.
[6] See Hegel's op. cit. p. 6.
[7] See Del Lungo, op. cit. vol. ii. pp. 19-23, and fac-simile, to face p. 1. This
MS. was bought by G. Libri from the Pucci family in 1840, and sold to Lord
Ashburnham. Del Lungo identifies it with a MS. which Braccio Compagni in the
seventeenth century spoke of as 'la copia più antica, appresso il Signor senatore
Pandolfini.'

Thus stands the question of Dino Compagni's 'Chronicle.' The defenders of
its authenticity, forced to admit Compagni's glaring inaccuracies, fall back
upon arguments deduced from the internal spirit of the author, from the
difficulties of fabricating a personal narrative instinct with the spirit of the
fourteenth century, from the hypotheses of a copyist's errors or of a
thorough-going literary process of rewriting at a later date, from the
absence of any positive evidence of forgery, and from general
considerations affecting the validity of destructive criticism. One thing has
been clearly proved in the course of the controversy, that the book can have
but little historical value when not corroborated. Still there is a wide gap
between inaccuracy and willful fabrication. Until the best judges of Italian
style are agreed that the 'Chronicle' could not have been written in the
second decade of the fourteenth century, the arguments adduced from an
examination of the facts recorded in it are not strong enough to demonstrate
a forgery. There is the further question of cui bono? which in all problems

of literary forgery must first receive some probable solution. What proof is
there that the vanity or the cupidity of any parties was satisfied by its
production? A book exists in a MS. of about 1450, acquires some notice in a
MS. of 1514, but is not published to the world until 1726. Supposing it to
have been a forgery, the labor of concocting it must have been enormous.
With all its defects, the 'Chronicle' would still remain a masterpiece of
historical research, imagination, sympathy with bygone modes of feeling,
dramatic vigor, and antiquarian command of language. But who profited by
that labor? Not the author of the forgery, since he was dead or buried more
than two centuries before his fabrication became famous. Not the Compagni
family; for there is no evidence to show that they had piqued themselves
upon being the depositaries of their ancestors masterpiece, nor did they
make any effort, at a period when the printing-press was very active, to give
this jewel of their archives to the public. If it be objected that, on the
hypothesis of genuineness, the MS. of the 'Chronicle' must have been
divulged before the beginning of the sixteenth century, we can adduce two
plausible answers. In the first place, Dino was the partisan of a conquered
cause; and his family had nothing to gain by publishing an acrimonious
political pamphlet during the triumph of his antagonists. In the second
place, MSS. of even greater literary importance disappeared in the course of
the fourteenth century, to be reproduced when their subjects again excited
interest in the literary world. The history of Dante's treatise De Vulgari
Eloquio is a case in point. With regard to style, no foreigner can pretend to
be a competent judge. Reading the celebrated description of Florence at the
opening of Dino's 'Chronicle,' I seem indeed, for my own part, to discern a
post-Boccaccian artificiality of phrase. Still there is nothing to render it
impossible that the 'Chronicle,' as we possess it, in the texts of 1450(?) and
1514, may be a rifacimento of an elder and simpler work. In that section of
my history which deals with Italian literature of the fifteenth century, I shall
have occasion to show that such remodeling of ancient texts to suit the
fashion of the time was by no means unfrequent. The curious discrepancies
between the Trattato della Famiglia as written by Alberti and as ascribed to
Pandolfini can only be explained upon the hypothesis of such rifacimento.
If the historical inaccuracies in which the 'Chronicle' abounds are adduced
as convincing proof of its fabrication, it may be replied that the author of so
masterly a romance would naturally have been anxious to preserve a strict
accordance with documents of acknowledged validity. Consequently, these

very blunders might not unreasonably be used to combat the hypothesis of
deliberate forgery. It is remarkable, in this connection, that only one meager
reference is made to Dante by the Chronicler, who, had he been a literary
forger, would scarcely have omitted to enlarge upon this theme. Without,
therefore, venturing to express a decided opinion on a question which still
divides the most competent Italian judges, I see no reason to despair of the
problem being ultimately solved in a way less unfavorable to Dino
Compagni than Scheffer-Boichorst and Fanfani would approve of.
Considered as the fifteenth century rifacimento of an elder document, the
'Chronicle' would lose its historical authority, but would still remain an
interesting monument of Florentine literature, and would certainly not
deserve the unqualified names of 'forgery' and 'fabrication' that have been
unhesitatingly showered upon it.[1]
[1] It is to be hoped that the completion of Del Lungo's work may put an end to
the Compagni controversy, either by a solid vindication of the 'Chronicle,' or by
so weak a defense as to render further partisanship impossible. So far as his book
has hitherto appeared, it contains no signs of an ultimate triumph. The weightiest
point contained in it is the discovery of the Ashburnham MS. If Del Lungo fails
to prove his position, we shall be left to choose between Scheffer-Boichorst's
absolute skepticism or the modified view adopted by me in the text.

The two chief Florentine historians of the fifteenth century are Lionardo
Bruni of Arezzo, and Poggio Bracciolini, each of whom, in his capacity of
Chancellor to the Republic, undertook to write the annals of the people of
Florence from the earliest date to his own time. Lionardo Aretino wrote
down to the year 1404, and Poggio Bracciolini to the year 1455. Their
histories are composed in Latin, and savor much of the pedantic spirit of the
age in which they were projected.[1] Both of them deserve the criticism of
Machiavelli, that they filled their pages too exclusively with the wars and
foreign affairs in which Florence was engaged, failing to perceive that the
true object of the historian is to set forth the life of a commonwealth as a
continuous whole, to draw the portrait of a state with due regard to its
especial physiognomy.[2] To this critique we may add that both Lionardo
and Poggio were led astray by the false taste of the earlier Renaissance.
Their admiration for Livy and the pedantic proprieties of a labored Latinism
made them pay more attention to rhetoric than to the substance of their
work.[3] We meet with frigid imitations and bombastic generalities, where
concise details and graphic touches would have been acceptable. In short,

these works are rather studies of style in an age when the greatest stylists
were but bunglers and beginners, than valuable histories. The Italians of the
fifteenth century, striving to rival Cicero and Livy, succeeded only in
becoming lifeless shadows of the past. History dictated under the
inspiration of pedantic scholarship, and with the object of reproducing an
obsolete style, by men of letters who had played no prominent part in the
Commonwealth,[4] cannot pretend to the vigor and the freshness that we
admire so much in the writings of men like the Villani, Gino Capponi,
Giovanni Cavalcanti, and many others. Yet even after making these
deductions, it may be asserted with truth that no city of Italy at this period
of the Renaissance, except Florence, could boast historiographers so
competent. Vespasiano at the close of his biography of Poggio estimates
their labor in sentences which deserve to be remembered: 'Among the other
singular obligations which the city of Florence owes to Messer Lionardo
and to Messer Poggio, is this, that except the Roman Commonwealth no
republic or free state in Italy has been so distinguished as the town of
Florence, in having had two such notable writers to record its doings as
Messer Lionardo and Messer Poggio; for up to the time of their histories
everything was in the greatest obscurity. If the republic of Venice, which
can show so many wise citizens, had the deeds which they have done by sea
and land committed to writing, it would be far more illustrious even than it
is now. And Galeazzo Maria, and Filippo Maria, and all the Visconti—their
actions would also be more famous than they are. Nay, there is not any
republic that ought not to give every reward to writers who should
commemorate its doings. We see at Florence that from the foundation of the
city to the days of Messer Lionardo and Messer Poggio there was no record
of anything that the Florentines had done, in Latin, or history devoted to
themselves. Messer Poggio follows after Messer Lionardo, and writes like
him in Latin. Giovanni Villani, too, wrote an universal history in the vulgar
tongue of whatsoever happened in every place, and introduces the affairs of
Florence as they happened. The same did Messer Filippo Villani, following
after Giovanni Villani. These are they alone who have distinguished
Florence by the histories that they have written.'[5] The pride of the citizen
and a just sense of the value of history, together with sound remarks upon
Venice and Milan, mingle curiously in this passage with the pedantry of a
fifteenth-century scholar.

[1] Poggio's Historia Populi Florentini is given in the XXth volume of
Muratori's collection. Lionardo's Istoria Fiorentina, translated into Italian by
Donato Acciajuoli, has been published by Le Monnier (Firenze, 1861). The high
praise which Ugo Foscolo bestowed upon the latter seems due to a want of
familiarity.
[2] See the preface to the History of Florence, by Machiavelli.
[3] Lionardo Bruni, for example, complains in the preface to his history that it is
impossible to accommodate the rude names of his personages to a polished style.
[4] Both Poggio and Lionardo began life as Papal secretaries; the latter was not
made a citizen of Florence till late in his career.
[5] Vite di Uomini Illustri. Barbera, 1859; p. 425.

The historians of the first half of the sixteenth century are a race apart.
Three generations of pedantic erudition and of courtly or scholastic trifling
had separated the men of letters from the men of action, and had made
literature a thing of curiosity. Three generations of the masked Medicean
despotism had destroyed the reality of freedom in Florence, and had
corrupted her citizens to the core. Yet, strange to say, it was at the end of the
fifteenth century that the genius of the thirteenth revived. Italian literature
was cultivated for its own sake under the auspices of Lorenzo de' Medici.
The year 1494 marks the resurrection of the spirit of old liberty beneath the
trumpet-blast of Savonarola's oratory. Amid the universal corruption of
public morals, from the depth of sloth and servitude, when the reality of
liberty was lost, when fate and fortune had combined to render
constitutional reconstruction impossible for the shattered republics of Italy,
the intellect of the Florentines displayed itself with more than its old vigor
in a series of the most brilliant political writers who have ever illustrated
one short but eventful period in the life of a single nation. That period is
marked by the years 1494 and 1537. It embraces the two final efforts of the
Florentines to shake off the Medicean yoke, the disastrous siege at the end
of which they fell a prey to the selfishness of their own party-leaders, the
persecution of Savonarola by Pope Alexander, the Church-rule of Popes
Leo and Clement, the extinction of the elder branch of the Medici in its two
bastards (Ippolito, poisoned by his brother Alessandro, and Alessandro
poignarded by his cousin Lorenzino), and the final eclipse of liberty
beneath the Spain-appointed dynasty of the younger Medicean line in Duke
Cosimo. The names of the historians of this period are Niccolo Machiavelli,
Jacopo Nardi, Francesco Guicciardini, Filippo Nerli, Donato Giannotti,

Benedetto Varchi, Bernardo Segni, and Jacopo Pitti.[1] In these men the
mental qualities which we admire in the Villani, Dante, and Compagni
reappear, combined, indeed, in different proportions, tempered with the new
philosophy and scholarship of the Renaissance, and permeated with quite
another morality. In the interval of two centuries freedom has been lost. It is
only the desire for freedom that survives. But that, after the apathy of the
fifteenth century, is still a passion. The rectitude of instinct and the intense
convictions of the earlier age have been exchanged for a scientific
clairvoyance, a 'stoic-epicurean acceptance' of the facts of vitiated
civilization, which in men like Guicciardini and Machiavelli is absolutely
appalling. Nearly all the authors of this period bear a double face. They
write one set of memoirs for the public, and another set for their own
delectation. In their inmost souls they burn with the zeal for liberty: yet they
sell their abilities to the highest bidder—to Popes whom they despise, and
to Dukes whom they revile in private. What makes the literary labors of
these historians doubly interesting is that they were carried on for the most
part independently; for though they lived at the same time, and in some
cases held familiar conversation with each other, they gave expression to
different shades of political opinion, and their histories remained in
manuscript till some time after their death.[2] The student of the
Renaissance has, therefore the advantage of comparing and confronting a
whole band of independent witnesses to the same events. Beside their own
deliberate criticism of the drama in which all played some part as actors or
spectators, we can use the not less important testimony they afford
unconsciously, according to the bias of private or political interest by which
they are severally swayed.
[1] The dates of these historians are as follows:—

BORN. DIED.
Machiavelli 1469 1527
Nardi 1485 1556
Guicciardini 1492 1540
Nerli 1485 1536
Giannotti 1492 1572
Varchi 1502 1565
Segni 1504 1558

Pitti 1519 1589
[2] Varchi, it is true, had Nardi's History of Florence and Guicciardini's History
of Italy before him while he was compiling his History of Florence. But Segni
and Nerli were given for the first time to the press in the last century; Pitti in
1842, and Guicciardini's History of Florence in 1859.

The Storia Fiorentina of Varchi extends from the year 1527 to the year
1538; that of Segni from 1527 to 1555; that of Nardi from 1494 to 1552;
that of Pitti from 1494 to 1529; that of Nerli from 1494 to 1537; that of
Guicciardini from 1420 to 1509. The prefatory chapters, which in most
cases introduce the special subject of each history, contain a series of
retrospective surveys over the whole history of Florence extremely valuable
for the detailed information they contain, as well as for the critical
judgments of men whose acumen had been sharpened to the utmost by their
practical participation in politics. It will not, perhaps, be superfluous to
indicate the different parts played by these historians in the events of their
own time. Guicciardini, it is well known, had governed Bologna and
Romagna for the Medicean Popes. He too was instrumental in placing Duke
Cosimo at the head of the republic in 1536. At Naples, in 1535, he pleaded
the cause of Duke Alessandro against the exiles before Charles V. Nardi on
this occasion acted as secretary and advocate for Filippo Strozzi and the
exiles; his own history was composed in exile at Venice, where he died.
Segni was nephew of the Gonfalonier Capponi, and shared the anxieties of
the moderate liberals during the siege of Florence. Pitti was a member of
the great house who contested the leadership of the republic with the
Medici in the fifteenth century; his zeal for the popular party and his hatred
of the Palleschi may still perhaps be tinctured with ancestral animosity.
Giannotti, in whose critique of the Florentine republic we trace a spirit no
less democratic than Pitti's, was also an actor in the events of the siege, and
afterwards appeared among the exiles. In the attempt made by the Cardinal
Salviati (1537) to reconcile Duke Cosimo and the adherents of Filippo
Strozzi, Giannotti was chosen as the spokesman for the latter. He wrote and
died in exile at Venice. Nerli again took part in the events of those troublous
times, but on the wrong side, by mixing himself up with the exiles and
acting as a spy upon their projects. All the authors I have mentioned were
citizens of Florence, and some of them were members of her most
illustrious families. Varchi, in whom the flame of Florentine patriotism
burns brightest, and who is by far the most copious annalist of the period,

was a native of Montevarchi. Yet, as often happens, he was more Florentine
than the Florentines; and of the events which he describes, he had for the
most part been witness. Duke Cosimo employed him to write the history; it
is a credit both to the prince and to the author that its chapters should be full
of criticisms so outspoken, and of aspirations after liberty so vehement. On
the very first page of his preface Varchi dares to write these words
respecting Florence—'divenne, dico, di stato piuttosto corrotto e licenzioso,
tirannide, che di sana e moderata repubblica, principato';[1] in which he
deals blame with impartial justice all round. It must, however, be
remembered that at the time when Varchi wrote, the younger branch of the
Medici were firmly established on the throne of Florence. Between this
branch and the elder line there had always been a coldness. Moreover, all
parties had agreed to accept the duchy as a divinely appointed instrument
for rescuing the city from her factions and reducing her to tranquillity.[2]
[1] 'It passed, I say, from the condition of a corrupt and ill-conducted
commonwealth to tyranny, rather than from a healthy and well-tempered republic
to principality.'
[2] See Arch. Stor. vol. i. p. xxxv.

It would be beyond the purpose of this chapter to enter into the details of
the history of Florence between 1527 and 1531—those years of her last
struggle for freedom, which have been so admirably depicted by her great
political annalists. It is rather my object to illustrate the intellectual qualities
of philosophical analysis and acute observation for which her citizens were
eminent. Yet a sketch of the situation is necessary in order to bring into
relief the different points of view maintained by Segni, Nardi, Varchi, Pitti,
and Nerli respectively.
At the period in question Florence was, according to the universal
testimony of these authors, too corrupt for real liberty and too turbulent for
the tranquil acceptance of a despotism. The yoke of the Medici had
destroyed the sense of honor and the pride of the old noble families; while
the policy pursued by Lorenzo and the Popes had created a class of greedy
professional politicians. The city was not content with slavery; but the
burghers, eminent for wealth or ability, were egotistical, vain, and mutually
jealous. Each man sought advantage for himself. Common action seemed
impossible. The Medicean party, or Palleschi, were either extreme in their

devotion to the ruling house, and desirous of establishing a tyranny; or else
they were moderate and anxious to retain the Medici as the chiefs of a
dominant oligarchy. The point of union between these two divisions of the
party was a prejudice in favor of class rule, a hope to get power and wealth
for themselves through the elevation of the princely family The popular
faction on the other hand agreed in wishing to place the government of the
city upon a broad republican basis. But the leaders of this section of the
citizens favored the plebeian cause from different motives. Some sought
only a way to riches and authority, which they could never have opened for
them under the oligarchy contemplated by the Palleschi. Others, styled
Frateschi or Piagnoni, clung to the ideas of liberty which were associated
with the high morality and impassioned creed of Savonarola. These were
really the backbone of the nation, the class which might have saved the
state if salvation had been possible. Another section, steeped in the study of
ancient authors and imbued with memories of Roman patriotism, thought it
still possible to secure the freedom of the state by liberal institutions. These
men we may call the Doctrinaires. Their panacea was the establishment of a
mixed form of government, such as that which Giannotti so learnedly
illustrated. To these parties must be added the red republicans, or Arrabbiati
—a name originally reserved for the worst adherents of the Medici, but now
applied to fanatics of Jacobin complexion—and the Libertines, who only
cared for such a form of government as should permit them to indulge their
passions.
Amid this medley of interests there resulted, as a matter of fact, two policies
at the moment when the affairs of Florence, threatened by Pope and
Emperor in combination, and deserted by France and the rest of Italy, grew
desperate. One was that of the Gonfalonier Capponi, who advocated
moderate counsels and an accommodation with Clement VII. The other was
that of the Gonfalonier Carducci, who pushed things to extremities and used
the enthusiasm of the Frateschi for sustaining the spirit of the people in the
siege.[1] The latter policy triumphed over the former. Its principles were an
obstinate belief in Francis, though he had clearly turned a deaf ear to
Florence; confidence in the generals, Baglioni and Colonna, who were
privately traitors to the cause they professed to defend; and reliance on the
prophecies of Savonarola, supported by the preaching of the Friars Foiano,
Bartolommeo, and Zaccaria. Ill-founded as it was in fact, the policy of

Carducci had on its side all that was left of nobility, patriotism, and the fire
of liberty among the Florentines. In spite of the hopelessness of the attempt,
we cannot now read without emotion how bravely and desperately those
last champions of freedom fought, to maintain the independence of their
city at any cost, and in the teeth of overwhelming opposition. The memory
of Savonarola was the inspiration of this policy. Ferrucci was its hero. It
failed. It was in vain that the Florentines had laid waste Valdarno, destroyed
their beautiful suburbs, and leveled their crown of towers. It was in vain
that they had poured forth their treasures to the uttermost farthing, had
borne plague and famine without a murmur, and had turned themselves at
the call of their country into a nation of soldiers, Charles, Clement, the
Palleschi, and Malatesta Baglioni—enemies without the city walls and
traitors within its gates—were too powerful for the resistance of burghers
who had learned but yesterday to handle arms and to conduct a war on their
own account.[2] Florence had to capitulate. The venomous Palleschi,
Francesco Guicciardini and Baccio Valori, by proscription, exile, and
taxation, drained the strength and broke the spirit of the state. Cæsar and
Christ's Vicar, a new Herod and a new Pilate, embraced and made friends
over the prostrate corpse of sold and slaughtered liberty. Florence was paid
as compensation for the insult offered to the Pontiff in the sack of Rome.

[1] Guicciardini, writing his Ricordi during the first months of the siege, remarks
upon the power of faith (Op. Ined. vol. i. p. 83. Compare p. 134): 'Esemplo a' dì
nostri ne è grandissimo questa ostinazione de' Fiorentini, che essendosi contro a
ogni ragione del mondo messi a aspettare la guerra del papa e imperadore, senza
speranza di alcuno soccorso di altri, disuniti e con mille difficultà, hanno
sostenuto in quelle mura già sette mesi gli e serciti, e quali non sì sarebbe
creduto che avessino sostenuti sette dì; e condotto le cose in luogo che se
vincessino, nessuno più se ne maraviglierebbe, dove prima da tutti erano
giudicati perduti; e questa ostinazione ha causata in gran parte la fede di non
potere perire, secondo le predicazioni di Fra Jeronimo da Ferrara.'
[2] See above, p. 238, for what Giannotti says of the heroic Ferrucci.

The part played by Filippo Strozzi in this last drama of the liberties of
Florence is feeble and discreditable, but at the same time historically
instructive, since it shows to what a point the noblest of the Florentines had
fallen. All Pitti's invectives against the Ottimati, bitter as they may be, are
justified by the unvarnished narrative we read upon the pages of Varchi and
Segni concerning this most vicious, selfish, vain, and brilliant hero of
historical romance. Married to Clarice de' Medici, by whom he had a
splendid family of handsome and vigorous sons, he was more than the rival
of his wife's princely relatives by his wealth. Yet though he made a
profession of patriotism, Filippo failed to use this great influence
consistently as a counterpoise to the Medicean authority. It was he, for
instance, who advised Lorenzo the younger to make himself Duke of
Florence. Distinguished, as he was, above all men of his time for wit,
urbanity, accomplishments, and splendid living, his want of character
neutralized these radiant gifts of nature. His private morals were infamous.
He encouraged by precept and example the worst vices of his age and
nation, consorting with young men whom he instructed in the arts of
dissolute living, and to whom he communicated his own selfish
Epicureanism. To him in a great measure may be attributed the corruption
of the Florentine aristocracy in the sixteenth century. In his public action he
was no less vacillating than unprincipled in private life. After prevailing
upon Ippolito and Alessandro de' Medici to leave Florence in 1527, he
failed to execute his trust of getting Pisa from their grasp (moved, it is said,
by a guilty fondness for the young and handsome Ippolito), nor did he
afterwards share any of the hardships and responsibilities of the siege.
Indeed, he then found it necessary to retire into exile in France, on the
excuse of superintending his vast commercial affairs at Lyons. After the

restoration of the Medici he returned to Florence as the courtier of Duke
Alessandro, whom he aided and abetted in his juvenile debaucheries.
Quarreling with Alessandro on the occasion of an insult offered to his
daughter Luisa, and the accusation of murder brought against his son Piero,
he went into opposition and exile, less for political than for private reasons.
After the murder of Alessandro, he received Lorenzo de' Medici, the
fratricide, with the title of 'Second Brutus' at Venice. Meanwhile it was he
who paid the dowry of Catherine de' Medici to the Duke of Orleans, helping
thus to strengthen the house of princes against whom he was plotting, by
that splendid foreign alliance which placed a descendant of the Florentine
bill-brokers on the throne of France. After all these vicissitudes Filippo
Strozzi headed an armed attack upon the dominions of Duke Cosimo, was
taken in the battle of Montemurlo, and finally was murdered in that very
fortress, outside the Porto a Faenza, which he had counseled Alessandro to
construct for the intimidation of the Florentines.[1] The historians with the
exception of Nerli agree in describing him as a pleasure-loving and self-
seeking man, whose many changes of policy were due, not to conviction,
but to the desire of gaining the utmost license of disorderly living. At the
same time we cannot deny him the fame of brilliant mental qualities, a
princely bearing, and great courage.
[1] See Varchi, vol. iii. p. 61, for the first stone laid of this castle. It should be
said that accounts disagree about Filippo's death. Nerli very distinctly asserts that
he committed suicide. Segni inclines to the belief that he was murdered by the
creatures of Duke Cosimo.

The moral and political debility which proved the real source of the ruin of
Florence is accounted for in different ways by the historians of the siege.
Pitti, whose insight into the situation is perhaps the keenest, and who is by
far the most outspoken, does not refer the failure of the Florentines to the
cowardice or stupidity of the popular party, but to the malignity of the
Palleschi, the double-dealing and egotism of the wealthy nobles, who to suit
their own interests favored now one and now another of the parties. These
Ottimati—as he calls them, by a title borrowed from classical phraseology
—whether they professed the Medicean or the popular cause, were always
bent on self-aggrandizement at the expense of the people or their princes.[1]
The sympathies of Pitti were on the side of the plebeians, whose policy
during the siege was carried out by the Gonfalonier Carducci. At the same
time he admitted the feebleness and insufficiency of many of these men,

called from a low rank of life and from mechanical trades to the
administration of the commonwealth. The state of Florence under Piero
Soderini—that 'non mai abbastanza lodato cavaliere,' as he calls him—was
the ideal to which he reverted with longing eyes. Segni, on the other hand,
condemns the ambition of the plebeian leaders, and declares his opinion
that the State could only have been saved by the more moderate among the
influential citizens. He belonged in fact to that section of the Medicean
party which Varchi styles the Neutrals. He had strong aristocratic leanings,
and preferred a government of nobles to the popular democracy which
flourished under Francesco Carducci. While he desired the liberty of
Florence, Segni saw that the republic could not hold its own against both
Pope and Emperor, at a crisis when the King of France, who ought to have
rendered assistance in the hour of need, was bound by the treaty of
Cambray, and by the pledges he had given to Charles in the persons of his
two sons. The policy of which Segni approved was that which Niccolo
Capponi had prepared before his fall—a reconciliation with Clement
through the intervention of the Emperor, according to the terms of which
the Medici should have been restored as citizens of paramount authority,
but not as sovereigns. Varchi, while no less alive to the insecurity of
Carducci's policy, was animated with a more democratic spirit. He had none
of Segni's Whig leanings, but shared the patriotic enthusiasm which at that
supreme moment made the whole state splendidly audacious in the face of
insurmountable difficulties. Both Segni and Varchi discerned the
exaggerated and therefore baneful influence of Savonarola's prophecies
over the populace of Florence. In spite of continued failure, the people kept
trusting to the monk's prediction that, after her chastisement, Florence
would bloom forth with double luster, and that angels in the last resort
would man her walls and repel the invaders. There is something pathetic in
this delusion of a great city, trusting with infantine pertinacity to the
promises of the man whom they had seen burned as an impostor, when all
the while their statesmen and their generals were striking bargains with the
foe. Nardi is more sincerely Piagnone than either Segni or Varchi. Yet,
writing after the events of the siege, his faith is shaken; and while he
records his conviction that Savonarola was an excellent Nomothetes, he
questions his prophetic mission, and deplores the effect produced by his
vain promises. Nerli, as might have been expected from a noble married to
Caterina Salviati, the niece of Leo and the aunt of Cosimo, who had himself

been courtier to Clement and privy councilor to Alessandro, sustains the
Medicean note throughout his commentaries.
[1] He goes so far as to assert that Leo X. and Clement VII. wished to give a
liberal constitution to Florence, but that their plans were frustrated by the avarice
and jealousy of the would-be oligarchs. See Arch. Stor. vol. i. pp. 121,131. The
passages quoted from his 'Apologia de' Cappucci,' relative to Machiavelli,
Filippo Strozzi, and Francesco Guicciardini (Arch. Stor. vol. i. pp. xxxix.
xxxviii.), are very instructive; with such greedy self-seeking oligarchs, it was
impossible for the Medicean Popes to establish any government but a tyranny in
Florence.

Thus from these five authors, writing from different points of view, we gain
a complete insight into the complicated politics of Florence, at a period
when her vitality was still vigorous, but when she had lost all faculty for
centralized or concerted action. In sagacity, in the power of analysis with
which they pierce below the surface, trace effects to causes, discern
character, and regard the facts of history as the proper subject-matter of
philosophical reflection, they have much in common. He who has seen
Rembrandt's painting of the dissecting-room might construct for himself
another picture, in which the five grave faces of these patient observers
should be bent above the dead and diseased body of their native city. Life is
extinct. Nothing is left for science but, scalpel in hand, to lay bare the secret
causes of dissolution. Each anatomist has his own opinion to deliver upon
the nature of the malady. Each records the facts revealed by the autopsy
according to his own impressions.
The literary qualities of these historians are very different, and seem to be
derived from essential differences in their characters. Pitti is by far the most
brilliant in style, concentrated in expression to the point of epigram, and
weighty in judgment. Nardi, though deficient in some of the most attractive
characteristics of the historian, is invaluable for sincerity of intention and
painstaking accuracy. The philosophical, rhetorical, and dramatic passages
which add so much splendor to the works of Guicciardini are absent from
the pages of Nardi. He is anxious to present a clear picture of what
happened; but he cannot make it animated, and he never reflects at length
upon the matter of his history. At the same time he lacks the naïiveté which
makes Corio, Allegretti, Infessura, and Matarazzo so amusing. He gossips
as little as Machiavelli, and has no profundity to make up for the want of
piquancy. The interest of his chronicle is greatest in the part which concerns

Savonarola, though even here the peculiarly reticent and dubitative nature
of the man is obvious. While he sympathizes with Savonarola's political and
moral reforms, he raises a doubt about his inner sincerity, and does not
approve of the attitude of the Piagnoni.[1] In his estimation of men Nardi
was remarkably cautious, preferring always to give an external relation of
events, instead of analyzing motives or criticising character.[2] He is in
especial silent about bad men and criminal actions. Therefore, when he
passes an adverse judgment (as, for instance, upon Cesare Borgia), or notes
a dark act (as the stuprum committed upon Astorre Manfredi), his
corroboration of historians more addicted to scandal is important. Segni is
far more lively than Nardi, while he is not less painstaking to be accurate.
He shows a partisan feeling, especially in his admiration for Niccolo
Capponi and his prejudice against Francesco Carducci, which gives the
relish of personality that Nardi's cautiously dry chronicle lacks. Rarely have
the entangled events of a specially dramatic period been set forth more
lucidly, more succinctly, and with greater elegance of style. Segni is
deficient, when compared with Varchi, only perhaps in volume, minuteness,
and that wonderful mixture of candor, enthusiasm, and zeal for truth which
makes Varchi incomparable. His sketches of men, critiques, and digressions
upon statistical details are far less copious than Varchi's. But in idiomatic
purity of language he is superior. Varchi had been spoiled by academic
habits of composition. His language is diffuse and lumbering. He lacks the
vivacity of epigram, selection, and pointed phrase. But his Storia Fiorentina
remains the most valuable repertory of information we possess about the
later vicissitudes of the republic, and the charm of detail compensates for
the lack of style. Nerli is altogether a less interesting writer than those that
have been mentioned; yet some of the particulars which he relates, about
Savonarola's reform of manners, for example, and the literary gatherings in
the Rucellai gardens, are such as we find nowhere else.
[1] Book ii. cap. 16.
[2] See lib. ii. cap. 34: 'Nel nostro scrivere non intendiamo far giudizio delle cose
incerte, e massimamente della intenzione e animo segreto degli uomini, che non
apparisce chiara se non per congettura e riscontro delle cose esteriori. E però
stando termo il primo proposito, vogliamo raccontare quanto più possibile ci sia,
la verità delle cose fatte, più tosto che delle pensate o immaginate.' This is
dignified and noble language in an age which admired the brilliant falsehoods of
Giovio.

Many of my readers will doubtless feel that too much time has been spent
in the discussion of these annalists of the siege of Florence. Yet for the
student of history they have a value almost unique. They suggest the
possibilities of a true science of comparative history, and reveal a vivacity
of the historic consciousness which can be paralleled by no other nation.
How different might be our conception of the vicissitudes of Athens
between 404 and 338 B.C. if we possessed a similar Pleiad of contemporary
Greek authors!
Having traced the development of historical research and political
philosophy in Florence from the year 1300 to the fall of the Republic, it
remains to speak of the two greatest masters of practical and theoretical
statecraft—Francesco Guicciardini and Niccolo Machiavelli. These two
writers combine all the distinctive qualities of the Florentine
historiographers in the most eminent perfection. At the same time they are,
not merely as authors but also as men, mirrors of the times in which they
both played prominent parts. In their biographies and in their works we
trace the spirit of an age devoid of moral sensibility, penetrative in analysis,
but deficient in faith, hope, enthusiasm, and stability of character. The dry
light of the intellect determined their judgment of men, as well as their
theories of government. On the other hand, the sordid conditions of
existence to which they were subjected as the servants of corrupt states, or
the instruments of wily princes—as diplomatists intent upon the plans of
kings like Ferdinand or adventurers like Cesare Borgia, privy councilors of
such Popes as Clement VII. and such tyrants as Duke Alessandro de' Medici
—distorted their philosophy and blunted their instincts. For the student of
the sixteenth century they remain riddles, the solution of which is difficult,
because by no strain of the imagination is it easy to place ourselves in their
position. One half of their written utterances seem to be at variance with the
other half. Their actions often contradict their most brilliant and emphatic
precepts; while contemporaries disagree about their private character and
public conduct. All this confusion, through which it is now perhaps
impossible to discern what either Guicciardini or Machiavelli really was,
and what they really felt and thought, is due to the anomaly of consummate
ability and unrivaled knowledge of the world existing without religious or
political faith, in an age of the utmost depravity of public and private
morals. No criticism could be more stringent upon the contemporary

disorganization of society in Italy than is the silent witness of these men,
sublimely great in all mental qualities, but helplessly adrift upon a sea of
contradictions and of doubts, ignorant of the real nature of mankind in spite
of all their science, because they leave both goodness and beauty out of
their calculations.
Francesco Guicciardini was born in 1482. In 1505, at the age of twenty-
three, he had already so distinguished himself as a student of law that he
was appointed by the Signoria of Florence to read the Institutes in public.
However, as he preferred active to professorial work, he began at this time
to practice at the bar, where he soon ranked as an able advocate and
eloquent speaker. This reputation, together with his character for gravity
and insight, determined the Signoria to send him on an embassy to the
Court of Ferdinand of Aragon in 1512. Thus Guicciardini entered on the
real work of his life as a diplomatist and statesman. We may also conclude
with safety that it was at the court of that crowned hypocrite and traitor to
all loyalty of soul that he learned his first lessons in political cynicism. The
court of Spain under Ferdinand the Catholic was a perfect school of perfidy,
where even an Italian might discern deeper reaches of human depravity and
formulate for his own guidance a philosophy of despair. It was whispered
by his enemies that here, upon the threshold of his public life, Guicciardini
sold his honor by accepting a bribe from Ferdinand.[1] Certain it is that
avarice was one of his besetting sins, and that from this time forward he
preferred expediency to justice, and believed in the policy of supporting
force by clever dissimulation.[2] Returning to Florence, Guicciardini was, in
1515, deputed to meet Leo X. on the part of the Republic at Cortona. Leo,
who had the faculty of discerning able men and making use of them, took
him into favor, and three years later appointed him Governor of Reggio and
Modena. In 1521 Parma was added to his rule. Clement VII. made him
Viceroy of Romagna in 1523, and in 1526 elevated him to the rank of
Lieutenant-General of the Papal army. In consequence of this high
commission, Guicciardini shared in the humiliation attaching to all the
officers of the League who, with the Duke of Urbino at their head suffered
Rome to be sacked and the Pope to be imprisoned in 1527. The blame of
this contemptible display of cowardice or private spite cannot, however, be
ascribed to him: for he attended the armies of the League not as general, but
as counselor and chief reporter. It was his business not to control the

movements of the army so much as to act as referee in the Pope's interest,
and to keep the Vatican informed of what was stirring in the camp. In 1531
Guicciardini was advanced to the governorship of Bologna, the most
important of all the Papal lord-lieutenancies. This post he resigned in 1534
on the election of Paul III., preferring to follow the fortunes of the
Medicean princes at Florence. In this sketch of his career I must not omit to
mention that Guicciardini was declared a rebel in 1527 by the popular
government on account of his well-known Medicean prejudices, and that in
1530 he had been appointed by Clement VII. to punish the rebellious
citizens. On the latter occasion he revenged himself for the insults offered
him in 1527 by the cruelty with which he pushed proscription to the utmost
limits, relegating his enemies to unhealthy places of exile, burdening them
with intolerable fines, and using all the indirect means which his ingenuity
could devise for forcing them into outlawry and contumacy.[3] Therefore
when he returned to inhabit Florence, he did so as the creature of the
Medici, sworn to maintain the bastard Alessandro in his power. He was
elected a member of the Senate of eighty; and so thoroughly did he espouse
the cause of his new master, that he had the face to undertake the Duke's
defense before Charles V. at Naples in 1535. On this occasion Alessandro,
who had rendered himself unbearable by his despotic habits, and in
particular by the insults which he offered to women of all ranks and
conditions in Florence, was arraigned by the exiles before the bar of Cæsar.
Guicciardini won the cause of his client, and restored Alessandro with an
Imperial confirmation of his despotism to Florence. This period of his
political career deserves particular attention, since it displays a glaring
contradiction between some of his unpublished compositions and his
actions, and confirms the accusations of his enemies.[4] That he should have
preferred a government of Ottimati, or wealthy nobles, to a more popular
constitution, and that he should have adhered with fidelity to the Medicean
faction in Florence, is no ground for censure.[5] But when we find him in
private unmasking the artifices of the despots by the most relentless use of
frigid criticism, and advocating a mixed government upon the type of the
Venetian Constitution, we are constrained to admit with Varchi and Pitti that
his support of Alessandro was prompted less by loyalty than by a desire to
gratify his own ambition and avarice under the protective shadow of the
Medicean tyranny.[6] He belonged in fact to those selfish citizens whom
Pitti denounces, diplomatists and men of the world, whose thirst for power

induced them to play into the hands of the Medici, wishing to suck the
state[7] themselves, and to hold the prince in the leading-strings of vice and
pleasure for their own advantage.[8] After the murder of Alessandro, it was
principally through Guicciardini's influence that Cosimo was placed at the
head of the Florentine Republic with the title of Duke. Cosimo was but a
boy, and much addicted to field sports. Guicciardini therefore reckoned that,
with an assured income of 12,000 ducats, the youth would be contented to
amuse himself, while he left the government of Florence in the hands of his
Vizier.[9] But here the wily politician overreached himself. Cosimo wore an
old head on his young shoulders. With decent modesty and a becoming
show of deference, he used Guicciardini as his ladder to mount the throne
by, and then kicked the ladder away. The first days of his administration
showed that he intended to be sole master in Florence. Guicciardini,
perceiving that his game was spoiled, retired to his villa in 1537 and spent
the last years of his life in composing his histories. The famous Istoria d'
Italia was the work of one year of this enforced retirement. The question
irresistibly rises to our mind, whether some of the severe criticisms passed
upon the Medici in his unpublished compositions were the fruit of these
same bitter leisure hours.[10] Guicciardini died in 1540 at the age of fifty-
eight, without male heirs.
[1] See the 'Apologia de' Cappucci,' Arch. Stor. vol. iv. part 2, p. 318.
[2] For the avarice of Guicciardini, see Varchi, vol. i. p. 318. His Ricordi Politici
amply justify the second, though not the first, clause of this sentence.
[3] See Varchi, book xii. (and especially cap. xxv.), for these arts; he says, 'Nel
che messer Francesco Guicciardini si scoperse più crudele e più appassionato
degli altri.'
[4] Knowing what sort of tyrant Alessandro was, and remembering 'hat
Guicciardini had written (Ricordi, No. ccxlii.): 'La calcina con che si murano gli
stati de' tiranni è il sangue de' cittadini: però doverebbe sforzarsi ognuno che
nella città sua non s'avessino a murare tali palazzi,' it is very difficult to approve
of his advocacy of the Duke.
[5] Though even here the selfish ambition of the man was apparent to
contemporaries: 'egli arebbe voluto uno stato col nome d' Ottimati, ma in fatti de'
Pochi, nel quale larghissima parte, per le sue molte e rarissime qualità,
meritissimamente gli si venia.'—Varchi, vol. i. p. 318.
[6] Guicciardini's Storia Fiorentina and Reggimento di Firenze (Op. Ined. vols. i,
and iii.) may be consulted for his private critique of the Medici. What was the
judgment passed upon him by contemporaries may be gathered from Varchi,

vols. i. pp. 238, 318; ii. 410; iii. 204. Segni, pp. 219, 332. Nardi, vol. ii. p. 287.
Pitti, quoted in Arch. Stor. vol. i. p. xxxviii., and the 'Apologia de' Cappucci'
(Arch. Stor. vol. iv. pt. 2). It is, however, only fair to Guicciardini to record here
his opinion, expressed in Ricordi, Nos. ccxx. and cccxxx., that it was the duty of
good citizens to seek to guide the tyrant: 'Credo sia uficio di buoni cittadini,
quando la patria viene in mano di tiranni, cercare d'avere luogo con loro per
potere persuadere il bene, e detestare il male; e certo è interesse della città che in
qualunque tempo gli uomini da bene abbino autorità; e ancora che gli ignoranti e
passionati di Firenze l' abbino sempre intesa altrimenti, si accorgerebbono quanta
pestifero sarebbe il governo de' Medici, se non avessi intorno altri che pazzi e
cattivi.'
[7] See Varchi, vol. iii. p. 204. 'Che Cosimo ... succiarsi lo stato.'
[8] Pitti dips his pen in gall when he describes these citizens: 'Cotesti vogliosi
Ottimati; i quali non hanno saputo mai ritrovare luogo che piaccia loro,
sottomendosi ora al Medici per l'ingorda avarizia; ora gittandosi al popolo, per
non potere a modo loro tiraneggiare; ora rivendendolo a' Medici, vedutisi
scoperti e raffrenati da lui; e sempre mai con danno della Repubblica, e di
ciascuna parte, inquieti, insaziabili e fraudolenti.—'Apologia de' Cappucci,'
Arch. Stor. xv. pt. ii. p. 215.
[9] Here is a graphic touch in Varchi's History, vol. iii. p. 202. Guicciardini is
discussing the appointment of Cosimo de' Medici: 'Gli dovessero esser pagati per
suo piatto ogn' anno 12,000 fiorini d' oro, e non più, avendo il Guicciardino,
abbassando il viso e alzando gli occhi, detto: "Un 12,000 fiorini d' oro è—un
bello spendere."'
[10] Pitti seems to have taken this view: see 'Apologia de' Cappucci' (Arch. Stor.
vol. iv. part ii. p. 329): 'Tosto che 'l duca Cosimo lo pose a sedere insieme con
certi altri suoi colleghi, si adirò malamente; e se la disputa della provvisione non
l' avesse ritenuto, sarebbe ito a servire papa Pagolo terzo. Onde, restato confuso e
disperato, si tratteneva alla sua villa di Santa Margarita a Montici; dove
transportato dalla stizza ritoccò in molte parti la sua Istoria, per mostrare di non
essere stato della setta Pallesca; e dove potette, accattó l' occasione di parere
istrumento della Repubblica.' Guicciardini's own apology for his treatment of the
Medici, in the proemio to the treatise Del Reggimento di Firenze, deserves also
to be read.

Turning now from the statesman to the man of letters, we find in
Guicciardini one of the most consummate historians of any nation or of any
age. The work by which he is best known, the Istoria d' Italia, is one that
can scarcely be surpassed for masterly control of a very intricate period, for
subordination of the parts to the whole, for calmness of judgment and for
philosophic depth of thought. Considering that Guicciardini in this great
work was writing the annals of his own times, and that he had to
disentangle the raveled skein of Italian politics in the sixteenth century,
these qualities are most remarkable. The whole movement of the history

recalls the pomp and dignity of Livy, while a series of portraits sketched
from life with the unerring hand of an anatomist and artist add something of
the vivid force of Tacitus. Yet Guicciardini in this work deserves less
commendation as a writer than as a thinker. There is a manifest straining to
secure style, by manipulation and rehandling, which contrasts unfavorably
with the unaffected ease, the pregnant spontaneity, of his unpublished
writings. His periods are almost interminable, and his rhetoric is prolix and
monotonous. We can trace the effort to emulate the authors of antiquity
without the ease which is acquired by practice or the taste that comes with
nature.
The transcendent merit of the history is this—that it presents us with a
scientific picture of politics and of society during the first half of the
sixteenth century. The picture is set forth with a clairvoyance and a candor
that are almost terrible. The author never feels enthusiasm for a moment: no
character, however great for good or evil, rouses him from the attitude of
tranquil disillusioned criticism. He utters but few exclamations of horror or
of applause. Faith, religion, conscience, self-subordination to the public
good, have no place in his list of human motives; interest, ambition,
calculation, envy, are the forces which, according to his experience, move
the world. That the strong should trample on the weak, that the wily should
circumvent the innocent, that hypocrisy and fraud and dissimulation should
triumph, seems to him but natural. His whole theory of humanity is tinged
with the sad gray colors of a stolid, cold-eyed, ill-contented, egotistical
indifference. He is not angry, desperate, indignant, but phlegmatically
prudent, face to face with the ruin of his country. For him the world was a
game of intrigue, in which his friends, his enemies, and himself played
parts, equally sordid, with grave faces and hearts bent only on the
gratification of mean desires. Accordingly, though his mastery of detail, his
comprehension of personal motives, and his analysis of craft are alike
incomparable, we find him incapable of forming general views with the
breadth of philosophic insight or the sagacity of a frank and independent
nature. The movements of the eagle and the lion must be unintelligible to
the spider or the fox. It was impossible for Guicciardini to feel the real
greatness of the century, or to foresee the new forces to which it was giving
birth. He could not divine the momentous issues of the Lutheran schism;
and though he perceived the immediate effect upon Italian politics of the

invasion of the French, he failed to comprehend the revolution marked out
for the future in the shock of the modern nations. While criticising the
papacy, he discerned the pernicious results of nepotism and secular
ambition: but he had no instinct for the necessity of a spiritual and religious
regeneration. His judgment of the political situation led him to believe that
the several units of the Italian system might be turned to profit and account
by the application of superficial remedies,—by the development of
despotism, for example, or of oligarchy, when in reality the decay of the
nation was already past all cure.
Two other masterpieces from Guicciardini's pen, the Dialogo del
Reggimento di Firenze and the Storia Fiorentina, have been given to the
world during the last twenty years. To have published them immediately
after their author's death would have been inexpedient, since they are far too
candid and outspoken to have been acceptable to the Medicean dynasty. Yet
in these writings we find Guicciardini at his best. Here he has not yet
assumed the mantle of the rhetorician, which in the Istoria d' Italia sits
upon him somewhat cumbrously. His style is more spontaneous; his
utterances are less guarded. Writing for himself alone, he dares to say more
plainly what he thinks and feels. At the same time the political sagacity of
the statesman is revealed in all its vigor. I have so frequently used both of
these treatises that I need not enter into a minute analysis of their contents.
It will be enough to indicate some of the passages which display the literary
style and the scientific acumen of Guicciardini at their best. The
Reggimento di Firenze is an essay upon the form of government for which
Florence was best suited. Starting with a discussion of Savonarola's
constitution, in which ample justice is done to the sagacity and promptitude
by means of which he saved the commonwealth at a critical juncture (pp.
27-30), the interlocutors pass to an examination of the Medicean tyranny
(pp. 34-49). This is one of the masterpieces of Guicciardini's analysis. He
shows how the administration of justice, the distribution of public honors,
and the foreign policy of the republic were perverted by this family. He
condemns Cosimo's tyrannical application of fines and imposts (p. 68),
Piero the younger's insolence (p. 46), and Lorenzo's appropriation of the
public moneys to his private use (p. 43). Yet while setting forth the vices of
this tyranny in language which even Sismondi would have been contented
to translate and sign, Guicciardini shows no passion. The Medici were only

acting as befitted princes eager for power, although they crushed the spirit
of the people, discouraged political ardor, extinguished military zeal, and
did all that in them lay to enervate the nation they governed. The scientific
statist acknowledges no reciprocal rights and duties between the governor
and the governed. It is a trial of strength. If the tyrant gets the upper hand,
the people must expect to be oppressed. If, on the other side, the people
triumph, they must take good care to exterminate the despotic brood: 'The
one true remedy would be to destroy and extinguish them so utterly that not
a vestige should remain, and to employ for this purpose the poignard or
poison, as may be most convenient; otherwise the least surviving spark is
certain to cause trouble and annoyance for the future'(p. 215). The same
precise criticism lays bare the weakness of democracy. Men, says
Guicciardini, always really desire their own power more than the freedom
of the state (p. 50), and the motives even of tyrannicides are very rarely
pure (pp. 53-54). The governments established by the liberals are full of
defects. The Consiglio Grande, for example, of the Florentines is ignorant
in its choice of magistrates, unjust in its apportionment of taxes, scarcely
less prejudiced against individuals than a tyrant would be, and incapable of
diplomatic foreign policy (pp. 58-69). Then follows a discussion of the
relative merits of the three chief forms of government—the Governo dell'
Uno, the Governo degli Ottimati, and the Governo del Popolo (p. 129).
Guicciardini has already criticised the first and the third.[1] He now
expresses a strong opinion that the second is the worst which could be
applied to the actual conditions of the Florentine Republic (p. 130). His
panegyric of the Venetian constitution (pp. 139-41) illustrates his plan for
combining the advantages of the three species and obviating their respective
evils. In fact he declares for that Utopia of the sixteenth century—the
Governo Misto—a political invention which fascinated the imagination of
Italian statesmen much in the same way as the theory of perpetual motion
attracted scientific minds in the last century.[2] What follows is an elaborate
scheme for applying the principles of the Governo Misto to the existing
state of things in Florence. This lucid and learned disquisition is wound up
(p. 188) with a mournful expression of the doubt which hung like a thick
cloud over all the political speculations of both Guicciardini and
Machiavelli: 'I hold it very doubtful, and I think it much depends on chance
whether this disorganized constitution will ever take new shape or not ...
and as I said yesterday, I should have more hope if the city were but young;

seeing that not only does a state at the commencement take form with
greater facility than one that has grown old under evil governments, but
things always turn out more prosperously and more easily while fortune is
yet fresh and has not run its course,' etc.[3] In reading the Dialogue on the
Constitution of Florence it must finally be remembered that Guicciardini
has thrown it back into the year 1494, and that he speaks through the
mouths of four interlocutors. Therefore we may presume that he intended
his readers to regard it as a work of speculative science rather than of
practical political philosophy. Yet it is not difficult to gather the drift of his
own meaning.
[1] Cf. Ricordi, cxl.: 'Chi disse uno popolo, disse veramente uno animale pazzo,
pieno ni mille errori, di mille confusioni, sanza gusto, sanza diletto, sanza
stabilità.' It should be noted that Guicciardini here and elsewhere uses the term
Popolo in its fuller democratic sense. The successive enlargements of the burgher
class in Florence, together with the study of Greek and Latin political
philosophy, had introduced the modern connotation of the term.
[2] A lucid criticism of the three forms of government is contained in
Guicciardini's Comment on the second chapter of the first book of Machiavelli's
Discorsi (Op. Ined. vol. i. p. 6): 'E non è dubio che il governo misto delle tre
spezie, principi, ottimati e popolo, è migliore e più stabile che uno governo
semplice di qualunque delle tre spezie, e massime quando è misto in modo che di
qualunque spezie è tolto il buono e lasciato indietro il cattivo.' Machiavelli had
himself, in the passage criticised, examined the three simple governments and
declared in favor of the mixed as that which gave stability to Sparta, Rome, and
Venice. The same line of thought may be traced in the political speculations of
both Plato and Aristotle. The Athenians and Florentines felt the superior stability
of the Spartan and Venetian forms of government, just as a French theorist might
idealize the English constitution. The essential element of the Governo Misto,
which Florence had lost beyond the possibility of regaining it, was a body of
hereditary and patriotic patricians. This gave its strength to Venice; and this is
that which hitherto has distinguished the English nation.
[3] Compare Ricordi Politici e Civili, No. clxxxix., for a lament of this kind over
the decrepitude of kingdoms, almost sublime in its stoicism.

The Istoria Fiorentina is a succinct narrative of the events of Italian
History, especially as they concerned Florence, between the years 1378 and
1509. In other words it relates the vicissitudes of the Republic under the
Medici, and the administration of the Gonfalonier Soderini. This
masterpiece of historical narration sets forth with brevity and frankness the
whole series of events which are rhetorically and cautiously unfolded in the
Istoria d' Italia. Most noticeable are the characters of Lorenzo de' Medici
(cap. ix.), of Savonarola (cap. xvii.), and of Alexander VI. (cap. xxvii.). The

immediate consequences of the French invasion have never been more ably
treated than in Chapter xi., while the whole progress of Cesare Borgia in his
career of villany is analyzed with exquisite distinctness in Chapter xxvi.
The wisdom of Guicciardini nowhere appears more ripe, or his intellect
more elastic, than in the Istoria Fiorentina. Students who desire to gain a
still closer insight into the working of Guicciardini's mind should consult
the 403 Ricordi Politici e Civili collected in the first volume of his Opere
Inedite. These have all the charm which belongs to occasional utterances,
and are fit, like proverbs, to be worn for jewels on the finger of time.
The biography of Niccolo Machiavelli consists for the most part of a record
of his public services to the State of Florence. He was born on May 3, 1469,
of parents who belonged to the prosperous middle class of Florentine
citizens. His ancestry was noble; for the old tradition which connected his
descent with the feudal house of Montespertoli has been confirmed by
documentary evidence.[1] His forefathers held offices of high distinction in
the Commonwealth; and though their wealth and station had decreased,
Machiavelli inherited a small landed estate. His family, who were originally
settled in the Val di Pesa, owned farms at San Casciano and in other villages
of the Florentine dominion, a list of which may be seen in the return
presented by his father Bernardo to the revenue office in 1498.[2] Their
wealth was no doubt trivial in comparison with that which citizens amassed
by trade in Florence; for it was not the usage of those times to draw more
than the necessaries of life from the Villa: all superfluities were provided by
the Bottega in the town.[3] Yet there can be no question, after a comparison
of Bernardo Machiavelli's return of his landed property with Niccolo
Machiavelli's will,[4] that the illustrious war secretary at all periods of his
life owned just sufficient property to maintain his family in a decent, if not
a dignified, style. About his education we know next to nothing. Giovio[5]
asserts that he possessed but little Latin, and that he owed the show of
learning in his works to quotations furnished by Marcellus Virgilius. This
accusation, which, whether it be true or not, was intended to be injurious,
has lost its force in an age that, like ours, values erudition less than native
genius. It is certain that Machiavelli knew quite enough of Latin and Greek
literature to serve his turn; and his familiarity with some of the classical
historians and philosophers is intimate. There is even too much parade in
his works of illustrations borrowed from Polybius, Livy, and Plutarch: the

only question is whether Machiavelli relied upon translations rather than
originals. On this point, it is also worthy of remark that his culture was
rather Roman than Hellenic. Had he at any period of his life made as
profound a study of Plato's political dialogues as he made of Livy's
histories, we cannot but feel that his theories both of government and
statecraft might have been more concordant with a sane and normal
humanity.
[1] See Villani's Machiavelli, vol. i. p. 303. Ed. Le Monnier.
[2] See vol. i. of the edition of Machiavelli, by Mess. Fanfani and Passerini,
Florence, 1873; p. lv. Villani's Machiavelli, ib. p. 306. The income is estimated at
about 180l.
[3] See Pandolfini, Trattato del Governo della Famiglia.
[4] Fanfani and Passerini's edition, vol. i. p. xcii.
[5] Elogia, cap. 87.

In 1494, the date of the expulsion of the Medici, Machiavelli was admitted
to the Chancery of the Commune as a clerk; and in 1498 he was appointed
to the post of chancellor and secretary to the Dieci di libertà e pace. This
place he held for the better half of fifteen years, that is to say, during the
whole period of Florentine freedom. His diplomatic missions undertaken at
the instance of the Republic were very numerous. Omitting those of less
importance, we find him at the camp of Cesare Borgia in 1502, in France in
1504, with Julius II. in 1506, with the Emperor Maximilian in 1507, and
again at the French Court in 1510.[1] To this department of his public life
belong the dispatches and Relazioni which he sent home to the Signory of
Florence, his Monograph upon the Massacre of Sinigaglia, his treatises
upon the method of dealing with Pisa, Pistoja, and Valdichiana, and those
two remarkable studies of foreign nations which are entitled Ritratti delle
Cose dell' Alemagna and Ritratti delle Cose di Francia. It was also in the
year 1500 that he laid the first foundations of his improved military system.
The political sagacity and the patriotism for which Machiavelli has been
admired are nowhere more conspicuous than in the discernment which
suggested this measure, and in the indefatigable zeal with which he strove
to carry it into effect. Pondering upon the causes of Italian weakness when
confronted with nations like the French, and comparing contemporary with
ancient history, Machiavelli came to the conclusion that the universal
employment of mercenary troops was the chief secret of the insecurity of

Italy. He therefore conceived a plan for establishing a national militia, and
for placing the whole male population at the service of the state in times of
war. He had to begin cautiously in bringing this scheme before the public;
for the stronghold of the mercenary system was the sloth and luxury of the
burghers. At first he induced the Dieci di libertà e pace, or war office, to
require the service of one man per house throughout the Florentine
dominion; but at the same time he caused a census to be taken of all men
capable of bearing arms. His next step was to carry a law by which the
permanent militia of the state was fixed at 10,000. Then in 1503, having
prepared the way by these preliminary measures, he addressed the Council
of the Burghers in a set oration, unfolding the principles of his proposed
reform, and appealing not only to their patriotism but also to their sense of
self-preservation. It was his aim to prove that mercenary arms must be
exchanged for a national militia, if freedom and independence were to be
maintained. The Florentines allowed themselves to be convinced, and, on
the recommendation of Machiavelli, they voted in 1506 a new magistracy,
called the Nove dell' Ordinanza e Milizia, for the formation of companies,
the discipline of soldiers, and the maintenance of the militia in a state of
readiness for active service.[2] Machiavelli became the secretary of this
board; and much of his time was spent thenceforth in the levying of troops
and the practical development of his system. It requires an intimate
familiarity with the Italian military system of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries to understand the importance of this reform. We are so
accustomed to the systems of Militia, Conscription, and Landwehr, by
means of which military service has been nationalized among the modern
races, that we need to tax our imagination before we can place ourselves at
the point of view of men to whom Machiavelli's measure was a novelty of
genius.[3]
[1] Machiavelli never bore the title of Ambassador on these missions. He went as
Secretary. His pay was miserable. We find him receiving one ducat a day for
maintenance.
[2] Documents relating to the institution of the Nove dell' Ordinanza e Milizia,
and to its operations between December 6, 1506, and August 6, 1512, from the
pen of Machiavelli, will be found printed by Signor Canestrini in Arch. Stor. vol.
xv. pp. 377 to 453. Machiavelli's treatise De re militari, or I libri sull' arte della
guerra, was the work of his later life; it was published in 1521 at Florence.
[3] Though Machiavelli deserves the credit of this military system, the part of
Antonio Giacomini in carrying it into effect must not be forgotten. Pitti, in his

'Life of Giacomini' (Arch. Stor. vol. iv. pt. ii. p. 241), says: 'Avendo per dieci anni
continovi fatto prova nelle fazioni e nelle battaglie de' fanti del dominio e delli
esterni, aveva troppo bene conosciuto con quanta più sicurezza si potesse la
repubblica servire de' suoi propri che delli istranieri.' Machiavelli had gone as
Commissary to the camp of Giacomini before Pisa in August 1505; there the
man of action and the man of theory came to an agreement: both found in the
Gonfalonier Soderini a chief of the republic capable of entering into their views.

It must be admitted that the new militia proved ineffectual in the hour of
need. To revive the martial spirit of a nation, enervated by tyranny and
given over to commerce, merely by a stroke of genius, was beyond the
force of even Machiavelli. When Prato had been sacked in 1512, the
Florentines, destitute of troops, divided among themselves and headed by
the excellent but hesitating Piero Soderini, threw their gates open to the
Medici. Giuliano, the brother of Pope Leo, and Lorenzo, his nephew, whose
statues sit throned in the immortality of Michael Angelo's marble upon their
tombs in San Lorenzo, disposed of the republic at their pleasure.
Machiavelli, as War Secretary of the anti-Medicean government, was of
course disgraced and deprived of his appointments. In 1513 he was
suspected of complicity in the conjuration of Pietropaolo Boscoli and
Agostino Capponi, was imprisoned in the Bargello, and tortured to the
extent of four turns of the rack. It seems that he was innocent. Leo X.
released him by the act of amnesty passed upon the event of his assuming
the tiara; and Machiavelli immediately retired to his farm near San
Casciano.
Since we are now approaching the most critical passage of Machiavelli's
biography, it may be well to draw from his private letters a picture of the
life to which this statesman of the restless brain was condemned in the
solitude of the country.[1] Writing on December 10 to his friend Francesco
Vettori, he says, 'I am at my farm; and, since my last misfortunes, have not
been in Florence twenty days. I rise with the sun, and go into a wood of
mine that is being cut, where I remain two hours inspecting the work of the
previous day and conversing with the woodcutters, who have always some
trouble on hand among themselves or with their neighbors. When I leave
the wood, I proceed to a well, and thence to the place which I use for
snaring birds, with a book under my arm—Dante, or Petrarch, or one of the
minor poets, like Tibullus or Ovid. I read the story of their passions, and let
their loves remind me of my own, which is a pleasant pastime for a while.

Next I take the road, enter the inn door, talk with the passers-by, inquire the
news of the neighborhood, listen to a variety of matters, and make note of
the different tastes and humors of men. This brings me to dinner-time, when
I join my family and eat the poor produce of my farm. After dinner I go
back to the inn, where I generally find the host and a butcher, a miller, and a
pair of bakers. With these companions I play the fool all day at cards or
backgammon: a thousand squabbles, a thousand insults and abusive
dialogues take place, while we haggle over a farthing, and shout loud
enough to be heard from San Casciano. But when evening falls I go home
and enter my writing-room. On the threshold I put off my country habit,
filthy with mud and mire, and array myself in royal courtly garments; thus
worthily attired, I make my entrance into the ancient courts of the men of
old, where they receive me with love, and where I feed upon that food
which only is my own and for which I was born. I feel no shame in
conversing with them and asking them the reason of their actions. They,
moved by their humanity, make answer; for four hours' space I feel no
annoyance, forget all care; poverty cannot frighten, nor death appall me. I
am carried away to their society. And since Dante says "that there is no
science unless we retain what we have learned," I have set down what I
have gained from their discourse, and composed a treatise, De
Principatibus, in which I enter as deeply as I can into the science of the
subject, with reasonings on the nature of principality, its several species,
and how they are acquired, how maintained, how lost. If you ever liked any
of my scribblings, this ought to suit your taste. To a prince, and especially
to a new prince, it ought to prove acceptable. Therefore I am dedicating it to
the Magnificence of Giuliano.'
[1] This letter may be compared with others of about the same date. In one (Aug.
3, 1514) he says: 'Ho lasciato dunque i pensieri delle cose grandi e gravi, non mi
diletta più leggere le cose antiche, nè ragionare delle moderne; tutte si son
converse in ragionamenti dolci,' etc. Again he writes (Dec. 4, 1514): 'Quod
autem ad me pertinet, si quid agam scire cupis, omnem meae vitae rationem ab
eodem Tafano intelliges, quam sordidam ingloriamque, non sine indignatione, si
me ut soles amas, cognosces.' Later on, we may notice the same language. Thus
(Feb. 5, 1515), 'Sono diventato inutile a me, a' parenti ed agli amici,' and (June 8,
1517) 'Essendomi io ridotto a stare in villa per le avversità che io ho avuto ed ho,
sto qualche volta un mese che non mi ricordo di me.'

Further on in the same letter he writes: 'I have talked with Filippo
Casavecchia about this little work of mine, whether I ought to present it or

not; and if so, whether I ought to send or take it myself to him. I was
induced to doubt about presenting it at all by the fear lest Giuliano should
not even read it, and that this Ardinghelli should profit by my latest labors.
On the other hand, I am prompted to present it by the necessity which
pursues me, seeing that I am consuming myself in idleness, and I cannot
continue long in this way without becoming contemptible through poverty. I
wish these Signori Medici would begin to make some use of me, if it were
only to set me to the work of rolling a stone.[1] If I did not win them over to
me afterwards, I should only complain of myself. As for my book, if they
read it, they would perceive that the fifteen years I have spent in studying
statecraft have not been wasted in sleep or play; and everybody ought to be
glad to make use of a man who has so filled himself with experience at the
expense of others. About my fidelity they ought not to doubt. Having
always kept faith, I am not going to learn to break it now. A man who has
been loyal and good for forty-three years, like me, is not likely to change
his nature; and of my loyalty and goodness my poverty is sufficient witness
to them.'
[1] Compare the letter, dated June 10, 1514, to Fr. Vettori: 'Starommi dunque
così tra i miei cenci, senza trovare uomo che della mia servitù si ricordi, o che
creda che io possa esser buono a nulla. Ma egli è impossibile che io possa star
molto così, perchè io mi logoro,' etc. Again, Dec. 20, 1514: 'E se la fortuna
avesse voluto che i Medici, o in cosa di Firenze o di fuora, o in cose loro
particolari o in pubbliche, mi avessino una volta comandato, io sarei contento.'

This letter, invaluable to the student of Machiavelli's works, is prejudicial to
his reputation. It was written only ten months after he had been imprisoned
and tortured by the Medici, just thirteen months after the republic he had
served so long had been enslaved by the princes before whom he was now
cringing. It is true that Machiavelli was not wealthy; his habits of
prodigality made his fortune insufficient for his needs.[1] It is true that he
could ill bear the enforced idleness of country life, after being engaged for
fifteen years in the most important concerns of the Florentine Republic. But
neither his poverty, which, after all, was but comparative, nor his inactivity,
for which he found relief in study, justifies the tone of the conclusion to this
letter. When we read it, we cannot help remembering the language of
another exile, who while he tells us— another exile, who while he tells us—
Come sa di sale

Lo pane altrui, e com' è duro calle
Lo scendere e 'l salir per l' altrui scale
—can yet refuse the advances of his factious city thus: 'If Florence cannot
be entered honorably, I will never set foot within her walls. And what? Shall
I not be able from any angle whatsoever of the earth to gaze upon the sun
and stars? shall I not beneath whatever region of the heavens have power to
meditate the sweetest truths, unless I make myself ignoble first, nay
ignominious, in the face of Florence and her people? Nor will bread, I
warrant, fail me!' If Machiavelli, who in this very letter to Vettori quoted
Dante, had remembered these words, they ought to have fallen like drops of
molten lead upon his soul. But such was the debasement of the century that
probably he would have only shrugged his shoulders and sighed, 'Tempora
mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.'
[1] See familiar letter, June 10, 1514.

In some respects Dante, Machiavelli, and Michael Angelo Buonarroti may
be said to have been the three greatest intellects produced by Florence.
Dante in exile and in opposition, would hold no sort of traffic with her
citizens. Michael Angelo, after the siege, worked at the Medici tombs for
Pope Clement, as a makepeace offering for the fortification of Samminiato;
while Machiavelli entreats to be put to roll a stone by these Signori Medici,
if only he may so escape from poverty and dullness. Michael Angelo, we
must remember, owed a debt of gratitude as an artist to the Medici for his
education in the gardens of Lorenzo. Moreover, the quatrain which he wrote
for his statue of the Night justifies us in regarding that chapel as the
cenotaph designed by him for murdered Liberty. Machiavelli owed nothing
to the Medici, who had disgraced and tortured him, and whom he had
opposed in all his public action during fifteen years. Yet what was the gift
with which he came before them as a suppliant, crawling to the footstool of
their throne? A treatise De Principatibus; in other words, the celebrated
Principe; which, misread it as Machiavelli's apologists may choose to do, or
explain it as the rational historian is bound to do, yet carries venom in its
pages. Remembering the circumstances under which it was composed, we
are in a condition to estimate the proud humility and prostrate pride of the
dedication. 'Niccolo Machiavelli to the Magnificent Lorenzo, son of Piero
de' Medici:' so runs the title. 'Desiring to present myself to your