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.'