_Via Ghibellina._
After the battle of Figline in 1250, when the Guelphs obtained so
decided a victory over the Ghibellines, it was decided to create a
Captain of the People and a Council of Elders; and soon afterwards the
erection of a palace worthy of the new government was decreed. Many
houses (built both of stone and wood), towers, and plots of land were
bought, the last chiefly from the monks of the Badia. The contracts for
these still exist, stating that they were bought _a edificatum est pro
particula palatium populi fiorentini_, one of the houses belonged to
the brothers Riccomanni, and its tower is the one we still see crowning
the fine old building. Another house belonged to the Boscoli, in which
the Captain of the People temporarily took up his abode. In 1255, as
is recorded by an inscription, building was commenced. According to
Vasari the first architect was Arnolfo di Lapo, but some ten years
later the Dominican friars, Fra Sisto da Firenze and Fra Ristoro da
Campo, who together built the church of Sta. Maria Novella, were called
in. Whether the palace was ever inhabited by the Captain of the People,
or when it was finished, is not known, but in 1261 Guido Novello, the
Podestà who ruled the city in the name of King Manfred, was living
in it, and named the street Ghibellina, after his party. By law the
Podestà had to be a “foreigner,” _i. e._ not a citizen of Florence, or
of any town within fifty miles of Florence, as he might be supposed
to be influenced by friendship or by fear. He remained in office for
one year and took precedence of every one in the city, administering
civil and criminal justice, but not interfering in political matters.
In 1282, when the city of Florence was “reformed,” the Podestà and
his councillors met in the loggia which led into the great hall, so
that the heads of the Guilds and the principal citizens could assist
at their deliberations. The first notice we find of any internal
decoration being attempted in the palace of the Commune, as it was then
called, where the Podestà lived, to distinguish it from the palace of
the People, the residence of the Priors, is in 1292, when the painter,
Fino di Tedaldo, painted certain images above the door of the hall and
above the judge’s seat. These frescoes probably perished three years
later when, as old Villani tells us, the Podestà absolved Corso Donati
who had been accused of treacherously murdering a Florentine burgher,
an adherent of Simone Galastrone. “No sooner was the sentence read
condemning Messer Simone Galastrone as the perpetrator of the deed,
than the _popolo minuto_ shouted ‘death to the Podestà,’ and rushed
out of the palace crying, ‘To arms, to arms, long live the People.’
Many seized their weapons, and went to the house of their head man,
Giano della Bella who, they say, sent them with his brother to the
palace of the Priors to follow the Gonfalonier of Justice. But they
went not thither, but to the palace of the Podestà, which the said
people furiously assaulted with arms and arquebuses; they stormed the
palace and set fire to the doors thereof, and entering, they took the
Podestà and his followers prisoners and robbed them without shame.”[60]
Dino Compagni, who was an eyewitness of the storming of the palace,
however says that the Podestà with his wife, “who was greatly esteemed
in Lombardy, and of wonderful beauty, hearing the shouts of the mob
calling for their death, fled to an adjacent house and were taken in
and hid. The next day the Council met and decided, for the honour of
the city, that what had been stolen from the Podestà should be given
back to him and his salary be paid. This was done, and he departed.”
The damage done was great, and the loss of prestige suffered by the
Podestà almost greater, so the Commune decided to fortify the building.
Three rooms for the use of the judges of the Sestieri of S. Pier
Scheraggio, Borgo and the Oltrarno were added, and a new entrance
was constructed on the south side (Via della Vigna Vecchia) with the
Keys, the arms of the Holy See, sculptured above, those of the house
of Anjou immediately beneath them, the Cross, emblem of the People, to
the right, and to the left, the Lily of Florence. The two empty shields
may, Passerini thinks, have borne the arms of Messer Antonio Galluzzi,
who held the office of Podestà while the repairs were being done.
These were probably effaced in obedience to a law of 1329, forbidding
any Podestà, or any Captain, to have his portrait painted or his arms
inscribed in the palace, and ordering any then existing to be effaced.
Paintings of Our Saviour and of the Madonna, the arms of the Church,
of King Charles of Anjou, of the Commune and of the People, were alone
allowed. But a Podestà was allowed to place his arms within the palace,
if they commemorated any notable event, or in the courtyard of the
palace, or in the apartments of the tribunals of the Sestieri.[61]
Canti de’ Gabrielli of Gubbio was installed as Podestà in 1298 by
Charles of Anjou, and four years later the crier of the Republic called
Dante degl’Alighieri to appear before the Podestà’s court to hear the
sentence of banishment with the loss of all his worldly goods and
possessions pronounced against him.
[Illustration: PALAZZO DEL PODESTÀ (THE BARGELLO).]
The new fortifications did not prove strong enough to withstand the
furious onslaught of a mob led by the Adimari, which broke into the
palace in 1304, liberated Messer Talamo from prison and forced the
Podestà, Messer Gigliolo de’ Puntagli, of Parma, to fly for his life.
The Commune was then engaged in war, and did not begin to repair
the palace until peace was made with Pisa, thirteen years later. The
work must have continued for two years, as in August, 1319, eighteen
golden florins were expended in order to render the house of the
Cerchi a fit habitation for the Count of Battifolle, Vicario of King
Robert of Naples. He only took up his abode in the Palazzo del Podestà
the following year. Even then the masons were still busy, as in the
State archives a deed exists showing that the loggia on the first
floor was then altered to its present form by an architect called
Toni di Giovanni; at all events as far as regards the columns and the
pilasters. The vaulted roof, as Passerini points out, was finished
later, during the tyrannical rule of Walter de Brienne, Duke of Athens,
as his arms are on the keystones. In 1326 the Duke of Calabria, who
had been elected ruler of Florence after the disastrous defeat of the
Florentine arms at Altopascio, held his court in the renovated palace,
until his death, two years later, freed Florence from his hated rule.
The Commune then voted thirty golden florins to restore the palace to
its pristine condition, an additional sum was spent for desks in the
audience chamber, for a rostrum in the great hall and for a fire-place.
But in the terrible conflagration of 28th February, 1332, as Villani
tells us, “the palace of the Podestà caught fire, the entire roof of
the old palace was burnt and two-thirds of the new, from the first
vault upwards. So the Commune ordered that it should be rebuilt and
every room be vaulted up to the very roof.” After fire came water,
for in the same year the Arno rose to an unprecedented height, and
devastated the city and the surrounding country. “The water stood 6
braccie deep in the courtyard,” reports Villani. Neri di Fioravanti, a
skilful architect, whose name often occurs in the books of the Commune
as superintendent of the principal works of the city, was called in to
restore, or rather, to rebuild the palace. Vasari attributes this work
to Agnolo Gaddi, and writes that, “according to his orders all the
rooms in the palace of the Podestà were built with vaults instead of
flat ceilings, so that, besides being more beautiful, they should not
again be exposed to damage from fire as had happened not long before.
And afterwards, by the advice of Agnolo, the battlements we still see
were built round the said palace, of which there had formerly been no
trace.” The name of Gaddi, who was then a mere youth, does not however
exist in the account books of the work done in the palace, only _Nerio
Fioravantis magister lapidum et lignaminum_, is mentioned.
The reader may have wondered why the frescoes in the chapel of the
palace have not yet been mentioned; “where,” writes Vasari, “Giotto
depicted amongst others, as can be seen to-day, Dante Alighieri, his
contemporary and very great friend, no less famous as a poet than was
Giotto as a painter.” The theory is that Giotto painted the chapel in
1295, or between 1300 and 1304 when Florence was at peace, thanks to
the mediation of the Pope’s Legate, Cardinal Aquasparta. Now every one
acquainted with Florentine history knows that the city was then in a
state of internecine warfare and that the well-intentioned efforts of
the Cardinal were abortive. The Bianchi were driven out in 1302 when
furious faction fights ensued between the “Grandi” and the “Neri,”
or popular party, ending in the murder of Corso Donati. The Italian
translation of the old chronicler Filippo Villani’s booklet, _De
origine civitatis Florentiae et eiusdem famosis civibus_, is often
quoted to prove that the portrait of Dante is by Giotto; it says:
“He, [Giotto] painted himself, by the aid of a looking-glass, and his
contemporary the poet Dante Alighieri in the chapel of the palace of
the Podestà, on the wall.” Now the original Latin text runs: _pinxit
insuper speculorum suffragio semetipsum sibique contemporaneum Dantem
IN TABULA alteris cappelle palatii potestatis_, that is to say, he
painted his own and Dante’s portrait in the altar picture on panel.
This picture was still extant in 1382, as it is mentioned in an
inventory then made of the contents of the palace. Many other cogent
reasons, too long to quote here, against the possibility of the fresco
being by Giotto are given by Milanesi, in his notes to Vasari’s life of
Giotto, and both he and Passerini agree that no mural paintings could
have survived the terrible fire which devastated the building in 1332.
The altar picture, on the other hand, must have been saved, or it would
not have been mentioned by Filippo Villani, or be in the inventory.
Signor Milanesi suggests that it was painted about 1326, when large
sums were being spent on the decoration of the palace to fit it for
the reception of the Duke of Calabria, and Florence was beginning to
recognize the genius of the man she had exiled and vilified. Certainly
it is unlikely that Giotto, however great his friendship for Dante may
have been, would have painted the portrait of a condemned exile, as
Dante was in 1302, in a picture destined for an altar in the palace of
the chief magistrate of the city. The frescoes on the east wall of the
chapel, divided by a window, represent Paradise in three divisions. The
King standing in front of the almost entirely repainted effigy of Dante
probably represents Robert of Anjou, King of Naples, and the cardinal
on the opposite side of the window, Messer Bertrando del Poggetto; at
his feet a kneeling figure, part of whose face and head is effaced,
may be the Bishop of Florence. The figure beside Dante is supposed to
be his master, Brunetto Latini. Above the entrance door the wall still
bears faint traces of Hell. Episodes from the life of S. Mary Magdalene
are painted on the right hand wall and continued on the opposite
one, where the two windows are divided by a pilaster on which is
painted S. Venantius, whose name is almost illegible. Below is another
inscription (with many abbreviations) which indicates the date of the
frescoes,[62] as Messer Fidesmini da Varano was Podestà of Florence in
1337, the year of Giotto’s death.[63]
Work was still going on in the palace in 1342 when Baglione Baglioni
was installed as Podestà by Walter de Brienne, Duke of Athens and Count
of Lecce, whose arms, a lion with two tails, are still to be traced on
the large windows of the courtyard. When the Florentines rose against
the tyrant, Baglioni fled and took refuge with the Albizzi while the
people sacked the palace, burst open the prisons, made a bonfire of
all the archives and carried off everything that was portable, even
the windows. Six citizens were elected to govern the city in the place
of the Podestà, and took up their abode in the palace. They effaced
the Duke’s arms and summoned, writes Vasari, Tommaso di Stefano,[64]
commonly called Giottino, to paint him and his followers “in infamous
fashion, hanging by the neck,” on one side of the tower, with verses
descriptive of their evil deeds attached to each figure.[65]
This was not the first time that malefactors were thus held up to
public execration. In 1288 Ciampollo di Cantino and Andrea di Guido
Cavalcanti, whose lives were spared at the intercession of the
ambassadors of Siena, were condemned to lose all their possessions
and to be painted on the walls of the Podestà’s palace. In 1308 Carlo
Ternibili of Amelia, who stole the seal of the Commune, was not only
painted on the tower with the seal in his hand, but on the gates of the
town.
In 1345 Neri Fioravanti, with seven _maestri_ under him, one of whom
was Benci di Cione, finished the great Hall of Council, restored
various rooms and the vaultings of others, which were painted by
Bartolo di Corso and Jacopo di Baldo, artists of whom nothing, save
their names, is known, and put battlements round the top of the walls;
while the eastern door and the magnificent staircase, which was only
completed in 1367, were begun. Under the lion at the foot of the
staircase are the arms of Baruffaldi de Griffis, who was Podestà at
that time.
Hardly had the palace risen from its ashes when the Ciompi riots broke
out and once more the mob devastated the building. Uccelli gives a
curious extract from an old manuscript written by an eyewitness of
the doings on the 21st July, 1378. “Then the people sent for all the
Minor Guilds, some came, some did not; and when there were about
seven thousand men with arms collected together, they took counsel
and decided to do much mischief. But it pleased God that rain should
fall in such abundance that none could go about the streets. So they
remained until the third hour and then deliberated amongst themselves
to attack the Palazzo del Podestà, and moving all together they went to
the said palace and surrounded it. The followers of the Podestà, who
were on the tower, began to throw stones and hail arrows on the people
and the artificers, who then said that if the palace was not given up
to them they would have the blood of all within. Bowmen climbed up into
the campanile of the Badia and shot with arquebuses at the followers
of the Podestà, but little harm did they do; none could get near the
palace by reason of the shower of stones. So the people took tables
out of the taverns and, getting under them, advanced to the door of
the said palace and set fire to it with many faggots. Some citizens,
neighbours of the Podestà, then made signs to him with their hoods not
to throw any more stones, and said that if the palace was given up all
the persons therein should be saved. He answered that he was willing
to surrender the palace, save only the chamber of the Commune. And
they replied that they were content. He descended with his followers
in great fear, begging in God’s name for mercy; the people entered and
he left without any harm being done to him. They went up the tower
and there placed the emblem of the smiths, that is, a pair of pincers;
and all the other emblems of the Great Guilds and of the Minor Guilds
were placed in the windows of the palace, save that of the Guild of
Wool. Everything that was in the palace was thrown out, and every book
or written page was burnt. All that day and night much people remained
in the palace for the honour of God, and rich and poor stayed to guard
each one the banner of his Guild.”[66]
The great bell _La Montanina_, which tolled when the Podestà and
the judges administered justice, was injured and had to be re-cast,
after which it rang every evening, to notify that no man could leave
his house unarmed or without a lantern, and also whenever a prisoner
was executed. Some two hundred years later a law was passed that
any servant, unless he was with his master, who was found armed in
the streets after the last stroke of the bell at ten at night in
winter, and twelve in summer, should lose his hand. The law fell into
abeyance, but the deep notes of the bell were heard every night until
1848, when the ringing was abolished. The Podestà of 1457 was a great
admirer of Dante, and in the Magliabechiana library is a copy of the
Divine Comedy, curious as having been written in the old Palazzo. It
belonged to “the noble and illustrious lady Madonna Marina, wife of the
magnificent knight and noble Count Messer Cristofano degli Amieri of
Pesaro, which book the aforesaid M. Cristofano had written in the city
of Fiorenza at the time when he was Podestà of the excellent and noble
city of Fiorenza, where, on account of his good government, he received
great honours.” The honours conferred on him are set forth and the
inscription concludes: “this book the aforesaid M. Cristofano has had
written in his office with great affection for his wife to whom he gave
it, and whom he loves beyond aught else. And it was written by the
hand of the worshipful man maestro Lodovico de Bella, a soldier from
Savoy in the city of Fiorenza. He began to write it on the first day of
September, 1457, and finished it on the sixteenth day of November of
the same year.”
That traitor to his country, Ridolfo Varano, Captain-General of the
Republic during the war with Gregory IX., who went over to the Pope,
was also figured, hung by the feet, in 1377, not only on the tower of
the palace, but on the gates of the town. But when peace was made with
Urban VI., the painting was effaced. Eleven years later Bonaccorso di
Lapo Giovanni, who had been three times a Prior and twice Gonfalonier
of Justice, intrigued with Gian Galeazzo Visconti against the Republic,
and was condemned to death _in contumaciam_. As a warning to all
traitors his effigy was painted at the foot of the tower of the Palazzo
del Podestà, hung in chains and surrounded with devils.[67] The old
palace must have been covered with these ghastly frescoes when, at the
instigation of Cosimo de’ Medici, Albizzi, Peruzzi and Strozzi, who
had taken up arms to oppose his return to Florence in 1434, were also
gibbeted as traitors to their country. Nearly fifty years later, after
the conspiracy of the Pazzi, Vasari tells us: “the Signori passed a
resolution that the portraits of all those concerned in the conspiracy
should be painted on the façade of the Palazzo del Podestà. The work
was offered to Andrea del Castagno who, as a servant of the house of
Medici and much indebted to them, willingly accepted the commission
and performed it so well that it was a marvel. It is impossible to
describe the art and the judgment displayed in these figures which were
nearly the size of life, hanging by their feet in strange attitudes,
all varied and of great beauty. This work was so pleasing to the whole
city, particularly to those who were learned in the art of painting,
that Andrea was ever after called Andrea degli impiccati (of the
hanged), instead of by his own name Andrea del Castagno.” In 1480,
when peace was made with Sixtus IV., these paintings were effaced,
as amongst them were his nephew Girolamo Riario, Francesco Salviati,
Archbishop of Pisa, and a priest, Stefano di Bagnone. Fourteen years
later, when the Medici were driven out of Florence, the portraits of
Albizzi, Peruzzi and Strozzi were also destroyed.
In 1502 the powers of the Podestà were curtailed by the institution of
a Council of Justice, the _Ruota_, which necessitated great changes in
the old palace. Room had to be found for the five judges constituting
the council, and Baccio d’Agnolo and Giuliano da San Gallo were the
architects selected by the Signoria to do the work. They abolished an
old staircase which led up into the great hall (now filled with the
works of Donatello) where the 300 citizens, forming the council of the
Commune, used to meet, and built a new hall of audience looking out
on the Piazza S. Apollinare (now Piazza S. Firenze). Fourteen rooms
were decorated by the painters Agnolo Donnini and Domenico di Marco,
while Bernardino of Settignano sculptured the windows and the doors.
The judges’ rooms were on the ground floor, near the prisons and the
torture chambers.[68] There were also a few underground cells, and in
the courtyard suspected people, whom the Podestà wished to have under
his own eye, were kept, but he could not detain them more than three
days. A chain near the doorway marked the limit beyond which they were
forbidden to go, under pain of severe punishment. In a curious and
rare little pamphlet a list is given of the malefactors condemned to
death in Florence from 1328 to 1759, and their crimes. Three hundred
and three names, many of them of the most illustrious Florentine
families, are set down; some were burnt alive, others hung and others
decapitated. Such names as Alberti, Strozzi, Ridolfi, Salviati,
Vitelli, Soderini, etc., are nearly all followed by the short sentence,
“for affairs of state,” or “for speaking ill of the Republic,” or “for
unknown reasons.” There are also common robbers and thieves and some
heretics, the latter were always condemned to the stake.[69] Massimo
d’Azeglio has taken one of the political “delinquents,” Niccolò de
Lapo, as the hero of his well-known novel. But far more interesting is
a description by Luca della Robbia, great-nephew of the famous Luca,
of a night he passed in the Bargello with his friend Pietro Pagolo
Boscoli, who was condemned to death. It is so curious a human document
that I have translated the greater part.[70]
“I record how on the 22nd Feb. 1513, Agostino di Bernardo Capponi
and Pietro Pagolo di Giachineotto Boscoli were condemned to death as
conspirators against the house of Medici, for wishing to free the city
and to kill Giuliano, Lorenzo and Messer Giulio. On the evening of
Tuesday I, Luca di Simone di Marco della Robbia, having heard that they
were to die and being impelled by a desire to console Pietro Pagolo,
my great friend, went to the Bargello and remained there the whole
night.... At about 2 the said Boscoli, having supped, was brought
with his legs in irons into the chapel where were the Brethren of
the Black Confraternity and others. The Captain in a low voice, not
like one of the vulgar, spoke but two words, so that few were aware
of what he said; until Pagolo exclaimed: Oh, Pietro Pagolo! Oh, poor
Pietro Pagolo, whither hast thou been led! Then I, moved to great
compassion seeing my beloved friend in such agony, as affectionately
as I could, with gestures of sorrow went towards him and thus saluted
him: God preserve thee, dearest of friends. _Noli timere eos qui
occidunt corpus, animam autem non possunt occidere._ And he, as though
he knew me not, only said: I wish for Fra Zanobi Acciaiuoli, I asked
the Signoria, in case I had to die, to let me have a confessor for
four hours and they promised; see that he comes. And I, comforting
him, said he should be satisfied. Then came news that Fra Zanobi was
not in Florence, and he said: Get me one from there [S. Marco], as
I want a learned and a good man. I answered: Do not fear, it shall
be done. And he continued: I have but little time and I have supped
too heartily and of salted things; so that I seem unable to lift my
spirit to God. And louder; God have mercy upon me, they have given
me too much food. Shame on them! Had they told me before supper, I
should have taken but a few mouthfuls. Agostino Capponi, also heavily
ironed, then came up, and thinking Pagolo was lamenting, said: O Pietro
Pagolo, Pietro Pagolo, do you die unwillingly? What are you about?
And he replied: O Agostino, I die willingly, but I grieve for two
things: one is that Anton Serristori and Piero Ridolfi held out to me
this morning hopes of life, and in a manner I believed and clung to
this hope; the other is that they have given me over-much food. How
can I turn my heart to God? And Agostino: Never fear, we will die all
the more merrily. Boscoli, sitting down, then said to me: You see,
dear Luca. And I answered: Yes, dear friend; adding, some time ago I
became convinced of a thing which, if you can sincerely believe, will
doubtless aid you to take this step, which is a terrible one, with less
pain. It is that not a leaf falls but by the will of God. He answered:
I certainly believe so. But see, Luca, that I get this confessor, for
time is very short and I have a great load. It is true that I owe no
man anything. Then I: That is good. And he continued: O Luca, I have
ever been ungrateful to God and have offended him in every way; yet I
trust in his mercy. I answered: That is the important thing. _Quare
igitur tristis est anima tua, et quare conturbat te? Spera in Deo
quoniam adhuc confiteberis illi, salutare vultus tui, et Deus tuus._
Then he said: ’Tis well. And raising himself from the chair he placed
himself on the mattress with his chained legs, and continued: Since
it pleases God that we are to be the first to give an example to the
people, let us begin. But Luca, this confessor? And I: Yes, but you
understand that I am not sure if you can have a friar of S. Marco, you
know they are gravely suspected and I doubt if they will come here.
Is there no one in the Badia you would like? Who is there? he asked.
There is the Abbot, Don Giovanni Battista Sacchetti, I replied, and
some others who are held to be good confessors. Then he said: I need
a man who can touch my heart, see if I can have such a one. Stefano
the miniature painter came up and offered to go to S. Marco, in order
that he might be contented; then another said: Messer Jacopo Manegli
is here, you can have him. But with loud and clear voice he answered:
I will not have Messer Jacopo, and turning to Stefano said: Go to S.
Marco and fetch him of Lucca (meaning Fra Santi). And I added: If he
cannot come, bring Fra Serafino (a friar whose nature I considered was
much allied to Boscoli’s). Then addressing those around he said: I pray
you do not confuse my head (for one or another was ever going up to
him), Luca suffices, he knows my character; if I want anything I can
tell him. And taking from his sleeve a paper written by him in prison
for his brothers, he told me to give it to them, saying: All my wishes
are written here. I leave no burthen on any one, save to pray to God
sometimes for me.... Then naming his mother he said: Who will console
her in such affliction? Poor woman, the blow will be a hard one. So I
replied: Pagolo, I have spoken with her. And he: Is it true? Yes, I
answered, I have been there every day since last Sunday, and although
the body is weak, nevertheless the spirit is upheld by God; for you
know she is of high quality. He answered: Yes, truly she is of high
quality.... Now Luca, help me to drive Brutus from my head, that I may
die like a good Christian. And I: That will not be difficult as you
desire to die a Christian. Besides you know these Roman stories are not
written simply and nakedly, but dressed out with much art. He replied:
And even if true, what matter they to me as they do not contain the
true faith. And I: See, you have answered and helped yourself. Luca, he
said, do not praise me. And I: I am here to aid you. Tell me all your
wants, with God’s help, I will try to comfort you; and yet, ’tis you
who comfort me. He replied: My intellect, but with difficulty, believes
in the true faith and desires to die like a Christian. But my heart
seems hard, and I cannot explain my thoughts even to myself. And I: I
understand; you desire a tender love of God, with tears and sobs, and
that your intellect should accept the true faith. Then he: Yes, that
is so. And I: Pietro Pagolo, this last is necessary for salvation, but
’tis well also to have the former. You must force your intellect to
submit to the faith; I am sure you will soon find it needs no forcing,
and then tears will come, because you will be helped by confession,
communion, indulgences and the prayers of those around. Fear not, let
all your thoughts be concentrated on God, for does he not say: _fili,
præbe mihi cor tuum_. Give him your heart and leave the rest in his
hands. He replied: If that be sufficient, I do so; but is it? Adding:
Lord, I am thine, do with me what thou wilt, if only I am pleasing to
thee.... O Luca, you must have known I was lost when you heard I had
been seized. And I: You may believe I knew the danger; I prayed to God
for you and shed many tears. Then I said to myself, if Pagolo saw me
he would reprove me, and say that friendship should not be weak and
effeminate. He answered: You know full well that death has no sting
for me, for we must all die; but my Mother stands ever before me. Am
I not even to see my brothers? And I: Christ is your mother and your
brothers according to Scripture.... I have scant time, Luca, he said,
I should need to be for a month with the friars, then might I become
full of faith; but I trust that God will help me this night. Then he
asked for water to quench the thirst arising from the salt food, and
drinking with a good grace, he said: Luca, they put me eight times to
torture, and then I understood that I was lost: nevertheless, thanks
to God, I feel no spark of hatred against any citizen.... I asked him:
Shall we say a psalm? And he: Luca, I can only say paternosters and
_Ave Maria’s_; meaning that he knew no psalms by heart--and this he
said with sorrow. And I: That is the best prayer there is: say, if it
pleases you, a paternoster to yourself. And with great devotion he did
so.... Then to me: Read me the Creed of St. Athanasius; and when I had
found it, he said: It will be better I read it myself, and holding the
booklet between his handcuffs, he read about twelve verses with such
expression that all around cried.... Seeing me cry, he said: Luca, do
not do so, help me this little while, and when I am dead pray to God
for me. And I, restraining my tears as well as I could, said: I will;
and when you are among the Blessed, where I trust surely you will go,
remember me. He answered: I will, adding: What death are we to die? And
I: I know not. He said: God’s will be done, and then suddenly: Luca,
I have a fantastic wish to know when I spoke to you last before I was
taken? And I: It was on Friday evening about 24 o’clock, in the shop
of Pier Guicciardini, and Lorenzo Segni was there. I held your hand
awhile, desiring to accompany you to the Palace whither you were bound,
and you refused. About 2 I think you were taken. He answered: It was
then in the evening? I said: Yes. And he: ’Tis true, I now remember
well. Luca, do not abandon me; you are put to great trouble. I said:
Ah, Pietro Pagolo, abandon you! why am I here? You know the love I have
always borne you. And he: It is reciprocal, and not without reason.
’Tis well, read me a passage, what you will. So I took S. John, but
before I began to read he said: Whenever an explanation is needed,
make it. And I: Pagolo, that is a heavy load for my shoulders; I have
not the knowledge, neither am I well exercised in Holy Writ. This is
no time for ceremony, he answered; do as I tell you, and what God
inspires you say. And thus I began to read, and where I thought well,
God aiding, I spoke, and it seemed to comfort him.... Then reading
the passage where S. Peter denies Jesus, I stopped, and motioned the
others to withdraw a little, and in an undertone said: Pagolo, a man
of great worth was once in the same position as yourself--Savonarola.
And he: I understand you. I continued: Whilst explaining the _Misere
mei Deus_ and meditating over the denial of S. Peter, he obtained
faith that God would pardon him, therefore take you courage and have
faith.... And he: Fools that we are! Lord have mercy on me, for I will
follow thee this night as well as I can. O Luca, these explanations
have entered into me. Fra Hieronimo was a great man; he was learned;
but I am not as he. I replied: Here is no question of learning, only of
faith, hope and charity. He was in the midst of religion in a convent
studying the Scriptures, and so it is no great wonder that he died
with discernment. It is enough for you that God gives you grace to
take this step for his honour, that is for the love of him, repenting
of your sins.... I was then called away to see the confessor, Fra
Cipriano of S. Marco.... Returning to Pagolo I said: The confessor has
come. His name is Fra Cipriano, son of a peasant at Pont’ a Sieve, a
learned and a good man; God has sent him to you, I doubt not he will
satisfy you. And he: God be praised! bring him to me. So Fra Cipriano
came to Boscoli, who received him with every mark of respect; for lying
on a mattress, with his legs manacled and handcuffs on his hands,
he raised himself as far as he was able and uncovered himself with
both hands, replying to Fra Cipriano, who had said God preserve thee
beloved brother: And you also, my father, you are most welcome. Then
turning to me: Arrange things a little, so that he may be as much at
ease as possible. And we did so, and then retired a little so that he
might confess in secret.... The Black Brethren now began, as is their
custom, to sing the penitential psalms and to recite; whereupon Pagolo
in a quick, loud voice exclaimed: Fathers and brethren, I dislike
such noise, it much annoys me. I have but a short time: I pray you be
silent so that I may make my confession, your singing disturbs me. If
you will pray to God for me in your hearts, I shall be beholden to
you. And Fra Cipriano added: Yes, pray each one silently, that will be
as good and not disturb us.... Pagolo called me several times during
his confession, recalling his life, and once said: Luca, as a youth I
made a vow to go on foot to Santa Maria Impruneta, which I have not
fulfilled. I pray you take my vow on yourself; I impose it on you
_jure amicitiæ_. I answered: I accept it. Another time he said: Luca,
I commend my Mother to you; be to her a third son. Console her with
all your strength, she needs it; go and visit her often during her
life, which will not be long, for I know she will soon follow me. Go to
the house, talk to her, exhort her to have patience, tell her I die
willingly and that she is to pray to God for me. And I, with tears,
promised.... Seeing that preparations were being made to give him the
communion he turned to Fra Cipriano, saying: Will not the sacrament
I am about to take give me greater courage? You well know that it
will, answered the friar; _ambulabis in fortitudine cibi isitus usque
ad montem Dei Oreb_. And he: I trust so.... The Holy Sacrament was
then brought, and Pagolo exclaimed: O infinite goodness! O boundless
charity! O salvation of the world! Be merciful to me. And the tears
streamed from his eyes with such devotion and tenderness that he
seemed a young girl.... Agnolo, the bookseller, came up afterwards
and he said: O my Agnolo, kiss me. And when Agnolo consoled him with
loving words, he said: Agnolo, I am prepared to die, but I would give
myself entirely up to God and I cannot. I cannot satisfy myself. I
wish to meet death without fear and to attain God with my intellect.
Then Agnolo, and Giovanni Covoni who had joined us, both said: Pagolo,
have no fear; have faith and do not lose yourself in subtleties.
The Lord is merciful; give yourself to him, that is sufficient. I
do, he answered, adding: _Deus in adjutorium meum intende, Domine
ad adjuvandum me festina. In te, Domine, speravi; non confundar in
æternum._ O Giovanni, pray God to give me strength, for the time is
drawing nigh.... Turning to Fra Cipriano, he said: Do not leave me till
the last; aid me to complete the sacrifice; God will repay you for me.
And the friar: Have no fear, my brother. I shall be with thee, and
Luca, thy beloved friend, will also aid thee. So be it, he replied, I
entreat thee, Luca. And I: Eh! we will not fail thee; but put thy hope
in God. _Viriliter age, confortetur cor tuum, et sustine Dominum._ And
the time having come he rose with great courage, and when one of the
police wished to put the cloak on him, he exclaimed: There is no need
for the cloak, and turning to me with a gesture of affection said:
Farewell, and nought else. And the word nigh broke my heart, I felt
such grief; and could only reply: _Vale_, God is with thee. Thus we
went down, the friar comforting him with verses from the psalms....
And as he descended the stairs he kept his eyes on the little picture
and with most loving accent said: Lord, thou art my love; I give to
thee my heart; I love thee only and therefore I love all things, for
I love all for love of thee. Here am I, Lord; I come willingly; grant
me courage and strength. And this he said with such tenderness that
all who heard were in tears.... And half-way down the stairs he met
the Crucifix of the Brotherhood, and said: What ought I to do? And the
friar replied: This is your captain, who comes to arm you. Salute him,
honour him and pray that he may give you strength. Then he: _Salve
Domine Jesu; adoro te in croce pendentem_. Let me, I pray thee, partake
of thy passion. True Lord, I beg for peace. And whilst descending the
second flight of steps, he ceased not to pray, saying: _In manus tuas,
Domine, commendo spiritum meum. Redemisti me, Domine, Deus veritas._...
The head executioner, advancing to blindfold him, asked his pardon
and offered to pray for him, and Pagolo answered: Do what thou hast
to do; but when thou hast placed me on the block let me remain for a
short while, and then finish me; that thou prayest to God for me, I
accept.... Before he was placed on the block he drew himself up very
straight and standing firmly said: I submit myself in the faith of
Jesus Christ and desire to die in it; and although my offences against
the divine goodness have been infinite, nevertheless I hope to be saved
through the blood of Christ and by nought else. As it is pleasing to
thee, Jesus mine, that I suffer this death, I accept it willingly for
love of thee, and he knelt down. The executioner, giving him but a very
short reprieve, severed his head at one blow, and for a time his mouth
twitched somewhat. Then Agostino, fervently praying, advanced with
great courage, and the executioner cut off his head with two strokes.
The Brethren then took the body of Boscoli, and his head was like that
of an angel. He was borne to his vault in the Badia, and I begged to be
allowed to carry the head, and it was granted to me. Thus I was able
to fulfil the demands of friendship, and perhaps, or rather certainly,
those of patriotism. He was buried amid the tears of all, many of the
monks being present. I saw Agostino also after death, and his face
still bore a sort of sneer. He was buried in his vault in S. Spirito.
God be merciful to them. This is the truth, in memory thereof I have
writ these pages, foolish perhaps, but true....”
Notwithstanding the execution of Boscoli and Capponi, another plot
to assassinate the Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici was discovered a few
years later. A French courier was arrested in Florence, and although
nothing of a treasonable nature was found upon him he was condemned
to death. A police spy, dressed as a friar, was sent to hear his last
confession, and learned that the wretched man had a letter, pieces of
which were sewn in his cloak. The courier disappeared, and the letter
went to the Cardinal. In the evening Jacopo Diaceto, already ill looked
upon because he frequented the Rucellai gardens, where the Alamanni,
Buondelmonti and others hostile to the Medicean rule met, was arrested.
At the first turn of the rack he confessed everything, and answered
every question. When at the point of death, Nardi tells us that the
poor young fellow begged his confessor, in the hearing of the Black
Brethren, to inform the judges that he had been driven by fearful
torture to inculpate Tommaso Soderini, who was innocent. The poet Luigi
Alamanni was at his villa near Figline, and a friend took horse and
rode hard to warn him of his danger. He got away to Urbino, but his
cousin and namesake, who was at Arezzo, was seized, brought to Florence
and beheaded, together with Jacopo Diaceto, in the courtyard of the
Bargello on 7th June, 1522. Zanobi Buondelmonti escaped, thanks to his
wife’s presence of mind (see p. 59).
During the siege of Florence in 1529, Vasari says, “On the feast of
the Resurrection portraits of three citizens were uncovered on the
façade of the palace of the Podestà; Alessandro di Gherardo Corsini,
in mantle and hood; Taddeo di Francesco Guiducci, blind of one eye,
in like dress; and Giorgio Ridolfi, hung by the leg; and the name of
each was written below, with TRAITOR TO HIS COUNTRY added in capital
letters.”[71] After the surrender of the city these were whitewashed
over; only the portraits of the Duke of Athens, of his followers, and
of Giovanni Bonaccorso, were left as a warning to all tyrants and
traitors.
In 1574 the Podestà and the judges of the _Ruota_ moved into the old
castle of Altafronte, which Cosimo I. some twenty years before had
bought from the family of the Castellani, and the captain of the city,
or head of the police, called the Bargello, took up his abode in the
Palazzo del Podestà. The fine building was barbarously maltreated. The
arcades of the courtyard and of the beautiful loggia were walled up,
and turned into cells, and three floors, each containing many cells,
were put into the magnificent hall. The same was done in the chapel,
where the frescoes disappeared under many coats of whitewash; the lower
floor, being next to the kitchen, was turned into a pantry, and above
were cells. The very name of the palace was lost, for henceforth it
took the name of its new inmate, and was known as the Bargello. Uccelli
says the word is derived from the debased Latin _Barigaldus_ (Barachel
in Spanish), meaning head of the police, _princeps apparitorum_. The
Roman _apparitores_ were the administrators of justice who preceded
the magistrate, called by the Longobards _berrovieri_. The word was
shortened, the “e” became an “i,” and thence the familiar Tuscan
appellation of _birri_, a name of opprobrium given by the criminal
classes to the police.[72]
In 1841 an Englishman and an American, Mr. Seymour Kirkup and Mr.
Wilde, applied for permission to uncover the frescoes in the chapel
of the Bargello. After infinite delays the government decided to do
the work itself, but unluckily employed an incompetent artist who
“restored” the portrait of Dante. A nail had been driven into the
eye, and when pulled out it brought away a piece of plaster; this he
restored, and then heightened the colour of the face to suit his own
eye, altered the shape of the headdress and changed the green of the
white, red and green dress, into a dingy brown. Mr. Kirkup fortunately
made a tracing and a coloured sketch of the head when it was first
uncovered, which was published by the Arundel Society of London, and
thus a record of the real portrait exists.
In 1847 the people rose against the _birri_, who had made themselves
odious by their insolence and violence, and would have released the
prisoners in the Bargello if the civic guard had not been called out.
Ten years later the Grand Duke gave orders that the building should be
restored, and all the prisoners removed to the Murate. In 1860 it was
finally decreed that the weatherbeaten, stern old Palazzo del Podestà
should be turned into a national museum.