Life and Times of Girolamo Savonarola

BOOK 2

CHAPTER 1.

THE COMING OF THE FRENCH INTO ITALY.

(1494.)

AFTER the death of Lorenzo de’ Medici, and the election of Alexander VI, the state of affairs in Italy grew rapidly worse. The Borgian Pontiff, with his devouring ambition to create principalities for his children, turned a greedy eye on every feeble or timid potentate; he made and unmade treaties, alliances, and solemn engagements, and was ready to expose Italy and the whole of Europe to any catastrophe, in order to gain his ends.No less dangerous was the temper of Ludovico the Moor, for he was equally dominated by fear and ambition. His duplicity and bad faith were notorious throughout Italy; he concluded treaties only to violate them at the first opportunity; sometimes, indeed, in the act of signing them he was scheming how best to break the contract, should it seem expedient to do so. He prided himself on being the craftiest man in Italy, and was incessantly weaving fresh designs and fresh plots in order to strengthen his sovereignty, crush his enemies, and increase his power. And when suffering from attacks of fear, all his mental faculties were quickened and developed into a kind of spasmodic activity; so that at these moments it was impossible for any one to foretell what he would decide to do next. Unfortunately, both for himself and for Italy, he was a prey to fear at the time of which we are now speaking, and consequently in a state of continual suspense.

    He had made himself lord of Milan by an act of cruel usurpation; he kept his nephew, Giovan Galeazzo, the rightful duke, a prisoner at Pavia, and has been suspected of having compassed his death by slow poison. The young man was already weak and ailing, and his strength daily declined. Accordingly he could make no attempt to resist his uncle; but his wife, Isabella of Aragon, daughter of Alphonso of Naples, refused to submit tamely to the loss of their rights, and the humiliating confinement imposed by their usurper. Therefore she proclaimed her grievances to all Italy, and repeatedly summoned her father and grandfather to come to avenge her wrongs and replace herself and husband at the head of their State. King Ferdinand and his son Alphonso, sovereigns of a vast kingdom and proud of the military renown they had won in their wars with the Barons, and at the siege of Otranto, treated the Moor with the utmost contempt. In their despatches they addressed him either as the Duke of Bari, or merely as Messer Ludovico, and they continually threatened to deprive him of his ill-gotten power, and restore it to Isabella and Galeazzo. It is impossible to describe the agonies of fear endured by Ludovico at these moments, nor the wild plans he conceived. Had it been in his power, he would have unhesitatingly set all Italy and the whole world on fire, in order to be freed from these alarms.

    Lorenzo de’ Medici had always shown much prudence in acting as mediator between the two parties, and while preserving his own neutrality, maintaining friendly relations with both. He contrived to effect this by means of a kind of political see-saw, and was therefore styled by his contemporaries the beam of the Italian scales. As early as 1480 he had concluded a treaty of union between the States of Naples, Milan, and Florence; and later, by throwing his weight alternately to this side and that, had always contrived to keep this alliance intact. But after his death the aspect of affairs instantly changed, and Ludovico’s first thought was to test in some way the disposition of his allies. He therefore proposed that, to do honour to the newly-elected Pope, the ambassadors from the three courts should go to Rome at the same moment, and be presented together as friends to Alexander. But Piero de’ Medici, being desirous to figure as the head of a special embassy from Florence, for which he had already made splendid preparations, induced the King of Naples to find some excuse for rejecting Ludovico’s proposal. Ferdinand eagerly seized the opportunity to wound his personal enemy, giving him to understand, at the same time, that it was in compliance with the wishes of Piero. It is difficult to imagine to what an extent Ludovico’s suspicions were aroused by this reply. And before long he was forced to regard it as a token of profound and general hostility, and of his own isolation in Italy, inasmuch as the Orsini had accepted commands in the pay of the Neapolitan king, and already won Piero de’ Medici over to their side. Accordingly Ludovico began to give serious attention to his own safety, and could not rest until he finally hit upon the plan of inviting the French to undertake the conquest of the Neapolitan kingdom. This proved to be the beginning of the long string of disasters which was to desolate Italy for ages to come, destroy her commercial prosperity, stifle her literary and scientific culture, and extinguish every spark of her liberty. Ludovico undoubtedly gave the first impetus to these woes, but he has been unjustly execrated as almost the sole author of events for which, in truth, the way had long been prepared. He has thus been raised to an historical importance to which even the evil he wrought upon his country can give him no claim.

    Italy had been so worn out by the over-active and restless life of preceding times, that now, in the fifteenth century, she had fallen into a state of premature decrepitude, was politically aged, divided, and feeble. Great and powerful States had sprung up around her, and were rapidly gaining maturity and strength. The Turks, now at the height of their power, had already established a firm foothold in Europe, and were threatening Italy and the whole Western continent, both by sea and by land. Spain had united the kingdoms of Aragon and Castille, expelled the Moors, and, guided by the daring genius of Christopher Columbus, was already traversing the Atlantic. In France the iron despotism of Louis XI. had lowered the aristocracy and raised the people, re-established the finances, united the country, and extended its frontiers towards the Rhine and the Pyrenees. At the same time the decease of Rene of Anjou, by giving the French king possession of that Duchy and Provence, had invested him with all the boasted rights of the Angevins to the Neapolitan throne. Germany, although apparently weakened by the feeble and vacillating rule of Maximilian I., was nevertheless developing increased energy as a military power. And lastly the Swiss, now the best foot soldiers of Europe, were ready to cross the Alps in formidable numbers at the bidding of any paymaster.

    At this moment, partly from consciousness of their own strength, spirit of enterprise, desire for advanced civilization, but, above all, from a certain national jealousy, all these races were disposed to attack Italy. They deemed it unpardonable that Italy should still be the world’s preceptress; that students from all parts of Europe should flock to her universities; that she should be the sole centre of art and literature; that her manners should be imitated, her language studied in every Court throughout Christendom; that the writers, artists, philosophers, physicians, astrologers, and navigators of Italy should still surpass all others in glory, as much as her princes and merchants eclipsed all others in wealth. Hence the mingled sentiment of love and hate that instinctively attracted the rest of Europe to Italy. Hence as Italy scattered the seeds of culture all over the world, while no longer able to conquer by force, it was inevitable that she should now be conquered. In fact, during the fifteenth century the Italian enterprise was regarded by Europe in the light of a crusade; captains and statesmen expected to reap from it precious and easy victories; scholars looked to it as to a revelation of the world of art and science; soldiers dreamt of the rich booty to be gleaned from the sack of palaces and villas; and all coveted the blue skies and fruitful soil of Italy.

    But of all these nations, the first destined to pass the Alps was inevitably the French. The position of France, in the centre of Europe and on the confines of Italy, the temper of her people, her political and military standing everything, in short, summoned her to the van of the mighty movement that was to bring life to Europe by Italy’s death. Besides, at this juncture France had a new sovereign, Charles VIII., a youth of twenty-two years, filled with a strange passion for adventure. Of weakly constitution, stunted and almost deformed, scarcely able to read the alphabet, and devoid both of judgment and prudence, he was eager to rule, while incapable of maintaining his authority even over his courtiers. He was always surrounded by men of low origin, who, by winning his favour, were raised to the highest dignities of the State; and these satellites continually stirred his childish ambition to emulate the deeds of St. Louis of France, and immortalize his name by a crusade against the Turks, of which the conquest of Naples was to be the first step. And while these men were urging him to assert the claim to the Neapolitan throne, supposed to have devolved upon the sovereign of France from the House of Anjou, the Neapolitan exiles were always at his side striving to direct his ambition to the same end. The princes of Salerno and Bisignano, who had escaped the massacre of the Neapolitan Barons, were incessantly declaiming against the cruel tyranny of Ferdinand and Alphonso, declaring that there was a powerful Angevin party in the kingdom, and that King Charles would be welcomed with open arms by the population at large. In fact the distressed condition of the Neapolitans was a matter of universal notoriety; and, apart from the exaggerations of the exiles, it was also true that there was a general desire for a change of some sort. 

   Throughout the rest of Italy it was plain that all friends of liberty looked forward to the coming of the French with much greater pleasure than alarm. The easy and yielding temper of that people, and the known element of uncertainty and unexpectedness in their character, caused all to hope from them that which they most desired, so that every oppressed city or republic expected relief from its woes at the hands of the French. Louis XI. had been frequently solicited by this or that party to cross the Alps, and now that Ludovico the Moor was sending ambassadors to tempt Charles VIII., it appeared that even the Pope was by no means averse to the plan. Whether it was that Alexander wished to frighten the King of Naples, in order to make peace with him on more advantageous terms, or had let himself be ensnared by the subtle devices and crafty policy of the Moor, or merely, like so many others, hoped in the unknown, it is positive that he also encouraged the French to come down into Italy.

    Indeed, by a strange anomaly, the French invasion, fated to bring so many woes on our country, was, at that moment, positively desired by almost all Italians, and only opposed by the French. The Barons of France met in council and openly declared themselves adverse to so ill judged and perilous an enterprise. No reliance, they said, could be placed on the aid of an ally such as the Moor, nor of a Pope so fickle and changeable as the Borgia; the forces of the Neapolitan king were no contemptible foes, and France, with her exhausted treasury, had no means of pursuing a lengthy campaign. At bottom, their chief distrust was in their own king, whom they judged to be quite unfit to be the leader of so great an enterprise. But Charles paid no heed to their advice, and allowed himself to be guided by two individuals who were totally unversed either in war or in statesmanship. One of these was Etienne de Vers, originally a lackey, and now Seneschal Beaucaire; the other, Guillaume Brissonet, a petty tradesman, first made Minister of Finance, and afterwards a cardinal. Incited by the hope of fresh gains, and the promises of Ludovico and the Pope, they were the only Frenchmen who favoured the war, and urged Charles VIII to undertake it.

    The monarch finally dismissed the agents of the Neapolitan king and sent four envoys to ascertain the intentions of the other Italian States. But they received no real sympathy from any of the Governments: the Venetian Republic was neutral; Piero de’ Medici entirely devoted to the House of Aragon, and the Pope, in spite of his invitation to the French, had now changed his views, and seemed to be on the Neapolitan side. King Ferdinand had done his utmost to win Borgia’s friendship as soon as his own fortunes were threatened with danger, but his lavish attentions and promises had produced no effect. He died on January 25, 1494, tormented by agonies of remorse, and his last hours were also embittered by the thought of bequeathing a tottering throne to his heirs. Thus, after a long and prosperous life, he ended his days—to use the words of a contemporary writer—sine luce, sine cruce, sine Deo. But his son Alphonso made the most vigorous preparations for war, and, while collecting soldiers and re-organizing the fleet, succeeded in buying the Pope’s alliance at the price of thirty thousand ducats to Alexander himself, and generous donations to his sons.

   But although the French envoys found that all the Italian powers, excepting Ludovico of Milan, were opposed to the coming of King Charles, they also ascertained that the masses regarded it very favourably. This was particularly the case in Florence. Savonarola, from the pulpit, boldly invited the new Cyrus to cross the Alps, and public opinion was decidedly friendly to the French and opposed to Piero de’ Medici. The latter had been compelled to relegate his own cousins to their country houses because they had joined the popular party and declared their almost unanimous hostility to the Medicean rule, at the time when he had sent envoys to France to explain and justify his policy to Charles. Piero Capponi, always a man of extreme measures, had been one of these ambassadors, and had advised the king to expel all Florentine merchants from France, and by this severe blow to the material interests of the Republic, rouse the whole population against the Medici.

    These things might have been supposed to hasten King Charles’s movements, but, apparently, hesitation was his normal state of mind. When all was prepared, and the moment for action arrived, he always began to have doubts. Thus, no sooner was it ascertained that the masses had declared in his favour, than he instantly recognized the full difficulty of the undertaking. But now, while he was at Lyons, there came to him the Cardinal of St. Piero in Vincoli, who had escaped from the Castle of Ostia, where, after having defied and alarmed the Pope, he had been so strictly besieged and in such danger that he had been barely able to save his life by flight. He was the mortal enemy of Borgia, whom he always designated as a heretic and unbeliever, was one of the few cardinals who had refused to sell him their votes, and afterwards became Pope Julius II. For a long time he warred against Alexander with untiring energy, did his best to assemble a Council for the purpose of deposing him, and, in spite of his years, undauntedly faced every kind of danger and hardship. When admitted to the king’s presence his fiery words swept away all Charles’s doubts, and at last decided him to set forth towards Italy.

    But first of all funds had to be provided, and money was very scarce in France just then, although Ludovico the Moor was ready to pay down 200,000 ducats, and had given his promise for more. Meanwhile a loan was obtained at high interest from Genoese bankers, and the Crown jewels were pledged, together with those of several nobles of the Court. It was also requisite to arrange an agreement with Spain and the emperor, in order not to be attacked in the rear. Accordingly Charles concluded a treaty of alliance with the former Power, ceding Perpignan and the county of Roussillon, which had been gloriously gained to France by the hard-fought victories of Louis XI., and formed the key of the Pyrenean district. The county of Artois, also conquered by the late king, was yielded to Maximilian. The emperor’s daughter was likewise restored to him, for although long repudiated by Charles, the latter had hitherto refused to send her back, in spite of her father’s repeated demands. The French were naturally enraged by all these concessions. They considered the surrender of such important provinces a grave offence to the national honour, and that Charles had lowered the dignity of the country by his treaties and burdened it with new debts which it was in no position to redeem. Therefore every one augured ill of an enterprise disapproved by all captains and statesmen, and that could only be undertaken at the price of degrading acts of submission to neighbouring Powers. Nevertheless France had Providence on her side, and her fortunes were bound to prosper since Italy was incapable of resistance.

    Our military strength was then very low, if not entirely extinguished, for the reputation gained by the troops of the Neapolitan king in their petty warfare against the Barons was not likely to stand the test of pitched battles. The celebrated Condottieri and free captains, who had formerly encountered foreign armies with so much honour, been the first to found the science of war, and instruct all Europe in modern strategy and tactics, had now ceased to exist. None of their best qualities had been inherited by their successors, who had converted war into a shameful trade, in which their chief concern was to get the highest pay without risking their skins. Those were the times of which Machiavelli said that two armies would often fight for hours without any one falling by the sword, and that the only men killed were those who were thrown down and trampled under the horses’ hoofs. In fact the chief strength of the Italian armies of the period lay in the cavalry, and the trooper and his horse were both so loaded with armour that, once down, neither could rise without help. The infantry, on the other hand, was too lightly armed, the arquebuse and pike having been only just introduced; so the foot soldiers fought in skirmishing form, or behind trenches and embankments, and, when drawn up in bands, formed so wide a line and so shallow a flank as to be very easily routed. The artillery consisted of a few heavy guns drawn by oxen, very difficult to load, and the large balls fired from them, being generally of stone, inflicted little damage on the foe.

    The French army, on the other hand, was a model to all Europe in the art of war. It had adopted all the latest improvements, and its main strength lay in the infantry, which, moving in large and compact bodies, and being excellently drilled, could execute many new and startling manoeuvres, and be handled with the utmost rapidity. The vanguard consisted of eight thousand Swiss, and the strength of the cavalry force was increased by the spirit of emulation existing between the great French lords and the flower of Scottish chivalry who rode in its ranks. The French also used the best weapons which had then been invented. Their infantry were armed with shining halberds and pikes, and every thousand foot soldiers comprised one hundred arquebusiers. Besides culverins and falconets, they had thirtysix guns drawn by horses and mounted on four-wheeled carriages. Two of these wheels were detached when the pieces had to be placed in position. On the march the guns moved almost as quickly as the infantry, which was considered a great marvel in those days.Every one talked of the prodigies to be expected from the French cannon; and the Florentine ambassadors had already given minute descriptions of “these fearsome things.”

    It is almost impossible to arrive at any certainty as to the number of the French forces, for the old writers are always very inexact in their figures, and their mode of counting by men at arms greatly adds to the confusion. Nevertheless most of them calculate that King Charles’s army consisted of 22,000 foot and 24,000 horse, and with the addition of all his other followers, and the Milanese soldiery that was to join him in Italy, his whole force must have amounted to 60,000 men.

    Meanwhile King Alphonso of Naples was actively preparing for war to the best of his strength. His brother, Don Frederic, was leading an army against Genoa, where the French fleet was assembled; Don Ferdinand, Duke of Calabria, together with the Count of Pitigliano and Gian Giacomo Trivulzi, two of the most renowned captains of the day, was advancing into Romagna to divert the war from the Neapolitan frontier.

    This state of things made it imperative for King Charles to hasten his movements, and the very generals who had opposed the expedition were now anxious to begin it, being convinced that its difficulties would only be increased by delay. But at this juncture fresh doubts assailed the king. He was perplexed by a thousand uncertainties, and seemed, indeed, to have changed his intentions altogether, for some of his troops, who were already on the march, received orders to retrace their steps. Thereupon the Cardinal of St. Piero in Vincoli again sought his presence and addressed him in an almost violent tone. His Majesty, he said, was endangering not only his own honour, but that of the whole nation. His vehemence carried the day, and all hesitation was at an end.

    So, at last, on the 22nd of August, 1494, the king set forth with his army, and crossing Monte Ginevra, halted at Asti, where he was met by Ludovico the Moor, together with his wife and the Duke of Ferrara.

    But, amid festivities and women, Charles again forgot the war and indulged in so many excesses, that he fell seriously ill, and was detained at Asti for a month. He then went on to Pavia, where he found the unfortunate Giovan Galeazzo wasting away, bedridden, in the prime of his youth, and heard the lamentations of the prince’s wife, who, casting herself sobbing at his feet, besought him to deliver them from their misery. The king appeared to be greatly moved and promised to give them effectual help. But he had hardly reached Piacenza before news arrived of the poor young prince’s decease, and rumour added that he had been poisoned by his uncle, the Moor. The whole army was stirred to indignation by this event, for it revealed the nature of the ally with whom they had to deal. The king alone seemed to attach no importance to it. He had relapsed into his usual state of uncertainty, could not decide whether to march towards Romagna or through Tuscany, and meanwhile again halted in order to give himself up to fresh excesses.

    During this time good news poured in from all sides of successes achieved by the French. The valiant General D’Aubigny, who had been sent to Romagna to hold the Neapolitans in check, had succeeded in harassing them so cruelly with his small force, that, without coming to a pitched battle, he had succeeded in driving them back across their own frontiers. At Genoa the Duke of Orleans with a powerful fleet had forced Don Frederic to withdraw his troops. At Rapallo the scanty Neapolitan garrison was surprised by a small body of Swiss, who effected a landing under cover of the ship’s guns, sacked and fired the town, and although the garrison had surrendered, put them and all the inhabitants to the sword without even sparing forty sick persons, who were killed in their beds. The news of this deed spread indescribable terror throughout Italy, where warfare of so ferocious a kind was then unknown. The Neapolitan army beat a retreat; every city, down to the smallest town within range of the hostile fleet, expected to share the sad fate of Rapallo; the name of the French became a word of terror, and scarcely any resistance was offered to their advance.

    About this time Piero de’ Medici’s cousins, Giovanni and Lorenzo, who had joined the popular party, and escaped from the villas to which they had been banished, arrived at the royal camp and assured the king that all Tuscany would welcome the passage of the French. Accordingly the army at last set out through the Lunigiana territory and skirted the banks of the Magra. On reaching Fivizzano they took its castle by assault, and rivalled the cruelties of the Swiss. But they soon discovered that their way was beset with dangers. They were in a barren district, shut in by mountains to the left; on the right lay the sea, where the enemy’s vessels might appear at any moment; and before them rose the fortresses of Sarzana, Sarzanello, and Pietrasanta, which, even with scanty garrisons, were enough to check the advance of any army, no matter how formidable. Had Piero de’ Medici possessed the courage to strike a bold blow, even at this moment, he might have inflicted on the French a severe and ignominious defeat. But their armies seemed to be miraculously guided by Providence to work our ruin, and, notwithstanding the blind indolence of their king, and their neglect of the most ordinary precautions, all was fated to go well with them.

    Meanwhile the utmost confusion reigned in Florence. The popular party had always been favourable to France; but now, owing to Piero’s mad policy, the king was advancing as an enemy, and devastating the land by fire and sword. What was to be done in this state of things? To open the road to the French, without first coming to terms with them, would be both imprudent and cowardly; while to refuse them passage would be equivalent to a declaration of war. The government of the city was still in the hand of the weak and incapable Piero, the sole cause of all these disturbances; accordingly every one waited to see what line of conduct he would adopt, and amid the general danger all took pleasure in witnessing his discomfiture. In fact Piero’s position was the worst that could be conceived. The victorious enemy now drawing near was personally incensed against him; he was penniless, with no friends to whom he could turn for supplies; the country was against him, and he had no one to give him advice! He sent Paolo Orsini with a few horse and three hundred foot to reinforce the garrison of Sarzana; but no sooner had he done this than, assailed by fresh fears, he resolved to go to the royal camp and sue for peace. In this way he thought to imitate his father’s journey to Naples, when, by daringly putting himself in King Ferdinand’s power, Lorenzo had succeeded in obtaining honourable terms from him. But it is very difficult for history to reproduce itself, and Piero, urged by fear to that which Lorenzo had done from courage, reaped nothing but humiliation and ruin by an act that had brought increased power and prestige to his father.

    On his departure he sent letters to Florence full of discouragement and confusion, in which he tried to explain his intentions. He felt that he was rushing to his ruin, traho ad immolandum; he was forsaken by all, and this was his last resource. He should always remain faithful to the King of Naples. Meanwhile, on the 2nd November, the Florentines despatched seven ambassadors to overtake Piero. They were to keep a strict watch on his actions, and endeavour to obtain easy terms, without giving too much offence to the king. But Piero was already at Pietrasanta, and had there learnt that Orsini had been defeated on the march by a small body of French. This news having increased his anxiety to obtain peace at any price, he sent to demand a safe-conduct, and directly he received it, repaired to the camp. There he found that the king and his advanced guard had been attacking the fortress of Sarzanello for three days without success. Any other man would have known how to turn this failure and the perilous position of the enemy’s forces to his own advantage; but Piero was unable to shake off his terrors, and was additionally cowed by the cold and haughty reception he met with from the king. Without even questioning the ambassadors, he had the incredible folly to cede all the three fortresses to Charles, despatching peremptory orders to their governors for their consignment to the French, who lost no time in taking possession of them. He also promised Charles 200,000 florins and permission to hold the fortresses of Pisa and Leghorn so long as the war should last.

    Being now masters of the Tuscan territory the French made a rapid advance, scarcely able to believe in the change, by which they had been so miraculously delivered from danger. They all accepted it as a sign that Heaven favoured their enterprise; and this belief was not only shared by generals as well as soldiery, but even by the king, who was now convinced that he was really the new Cyrus, foretold by the preacher of St. Mark’s.When the news of these events reached Florence, it roused the public to indescribable fury, and led to startling and most important events.