DEATH IN FLORENCE: THE MEDICI, SAVONAROLA AND THE BATTLE FOR THE SOUL OF THE RENAISSANCE CITY (VIII)

 

 

14. A NEW GOVERNMENT

 

THE FRENCH ARMY had left Tuscany in ruins – its ports in French hands, its main thoroughfare under French control. As Guicciardini recorded: ‘Florence was stripped of Pisa, Leghorn [Livorno], Sarzana and Pietrasanto – places on which our power, safety, authority and reputation depended.’¹Other cities in Tuscany, such as Arezzo and Montepulciano in the south, had taken the opportunity to cast off Florentine rule: ‘so many lands had been lost and practically our whole dominion had been broken up, that the city was greatly weakened, its income and power diminished’. The Medici days were over, and the city would have to reconstitute itself. Guicciardini described how:

When Charles VIII had departed, the city was left in civic disorganisation and the citizens set about reforming the government. A plan was put forward by several of the most important citizens whose leaders included … Piero Capponi … Lorenzo di Pier Francesco [de’ Medici] and Bernardo Rucellai. When they had agreed upon this plan, the bells were rung.²

 

On 2 December 1494, just four days after the French had marched out of Florence, the Vacca tolled atop the campanile and the citizens flocked to the Piazza della Signoria for a parlamento, to hear and vote upon the plans suggested by the ‘principal citizens’. The chief proposals were the abolition of the corrupt councils brought in by the Medici to maintain their power, and that all citizens who had been banished since the Medici took full power in 1434, as well as their families and descendants, were to be allowed to return from exile. To each of these proposals the crowd shouted overwhelmingly in favour. It was also communally decided that ‘an election should take place as soon as possible. For the present twenty of the noblest and ablest men would be appointed who would do the work of the Signoria and other offices, until the election should be arranged.’³In effect, the council of twenty ‘noblest and ablest’ citizens would decide upon a new constitution that would replace the old corrupt Medici councils. The coming election would then select a new gonfaloniereand Signoria, as well as the members of any new councils set up by the twenty citizens. It was also agreed that the election would be carried out entirely openly and in a manner free from the previous corrupt practices, such as rigging the names of those eligible for office and tampering with the leather ballot bags.

By now many exiles were already beginning to return, the Signoria having posted a general amnesty immediately after Piero de’ Medici had fled. This inevitably stirred up old conflicts and a wish for revenge, especially against citizens who had openly supported the Medici and benefited from their rule. As Guicciardini describes it:

Anyone who had held public office during the time of Lorenzo or Piero was terrified. And the same was true of anyone who had ever harmed, or even whose ancestors had harmed, any of the exiles or their forefathers.⁴

 

As a precautionary measure, Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici decided that in order to dissociate himself from the previous regime, he would change his name from Medici to Popolani (that is, ‘of the people’). But there were some who were beyond such cosmetic measures. From the very day when news spread that Piero de’ Medici had fled the city, the mobs gathered, bent on revenge, and went in search of his chief henchmen. The house of Piero’s financial fixer Miniati was ransacked for cash and then burned to the ground, along with that of several other leading Medici supporters. But Miniati himself and his cronies managed to escape and went on the run within the city as best they could. According to Guicciardini, ‘although they had hidden in churches and convents, [they] were eventually taken prisoner to the gaol’.⁵Luckily for them they were arrested by the authorities, or they would certainly have been torn limb from limb by the mob. There was a mood for swift and murderous vengeance throughout the city and, in the attempt to assuage this, the authorities gave in to popular feeling. Landucci recorded in his diary:

12th December (Friday). Antonio di Bernardo di Miniato [Miniati] was hanged in the morning, from a window of the Casa del Capitano^[1]; and his body remained hanging there until 24 in the evening [8 p.m.].⁶

But the mob were in no mood to be so easily appeased and began baying for more executions of Piero’s henchmen. The Twenty caved in, and according to Guicciardini:

They decided that Ser Giovanni, the government notary, should suffer the same fate. He was widely hated and a man of little worth. But Savonarola came to his rescue, preaching from his pulpit that the time for justice was over and instead it was now a time for mercy.⁷

 

Savonarola was now well into his series of Advent sermons, which were being delivered at the cathedral to such vast crowds that ‘there were always 13 or 14 thousand people at his sermons’,⁸ and these were beginning to act on his every word. As early as 6 December, the diarist recorded how Savonarola had:

preached and ordered that alms should be given to the Poveri Vergognosi^[2] … These were collected the following day, on Sunday. Indeed, so much was given that it was not possible even to estimate its value. These alms consisted of gold and silver, woollen and linen materials, silks and pearls and all manner of other things. Everyone gave so much out of love and charity.

 

When Savonarola saw how the Twenty had been willing to follow his recommendation of mercy for Ser Giovanni, he began to sense the true extent of his power. The fate of Florence would be decided during the coming free elections and he was now determined to have his say. On 14 December, Savonarola:

did all he could in the pulpit to convince the people of Florence to adopt a good form of government … he preached in some detail about matters of State, and that we must love and fear God, and love good government; and that no one should set himself up proudly above the people. He always favoured the people.

 

By this stage Savonarola had made it clear that ‘he did not want any women to attend his sermons’. He was addressing his words to the enfranchised male population who could attend a parlamento, and he wanted as many of these as possible to be present. If Landucci’s estimate of the numbers attending his sermons at this time is correct, it means that a large majority of those who could vote were now in attendance.

In the last of Savonarola’s Advent sermons before Christmas he demanded that Christ should be declared King of Florence. The administration duly ordered the striking of a coin with the Lily of Florence on one side and on the other the words ‘Jesus Christus Rex Noster’⁹ (Jesus Christ Our King). From now on, Florence would be the ‘City of God’. Yet even at this stage Savonarola’s main concern appeared to be with the spiritual governance of the people; although he left no doubt as to his views on civil governance, political matters were ultimately to be left to the voters themselves. The freest elections in Florence that anyone could recall were now set to take place, and with Savonarola’s apparent blessing; he went so far as to declare, ‘the one form of government that suits us is a civil, collective government’, though he did admonish his congregation of voters: ‘May real misfortune strike you, if you choose a tyrant to crush and oppress everybody.’ Elections had been promised, but what precise form these would take had yet to be worked out. The difficulties here were formidable. As Villari points out, after so many years of corrupt government:

the people no longer saw themselves as a democratic body, and lacked all confidence in themselves. This made the organization of any new government exceedingly difficult … None of the old Republican forms of government were in any way suited to the present situation. As well as lacking the necessary aptitude, the people had no gifted leaders to guide them through the difficult but essential task of forming a new constitution.¹⁰

 

The obvious choice of a leader would have been Piero Capponi, but many were of the opinion that although:

Piero Capponi had won immortality by his defiance of Charles VIII and all his powerful court, he lacked the necessary qualities and patience of a statesman. When brave action was required, and he could draw his sword, he was in his element; yet his ability to sit quietly in his cloak and hood listening to endless nit-picking debates over matters of constitution was quite beyond him.

 

Discussions concerning a new constitution continued at the Palazzo della Signoria, and Savonarola was called in several times for consultation. In his sermons he had let it be known that he was in favour of a Great Council, which would elect the gonfaloniereand the Signoria, as well as all senior posts in the administration, would approve all laws and embark upon a reform of the tax system. Membership of this Great Council would be open to all citizens who qualified for elected posts in the administration – by tradition this included any male over twenty-nine years old who paid taxes, or whose family had in the past provided a senior member of the administration. Desite such restrictions, the council’s actual membership would consist of ‘one-fifth of the male population over twenty-nine’¹² – initially some 3,200 people. In order that the assembly should retain its democratic nature without being too unwieldy, this larger group was divided into three, with each third serving for six months in turn. At the same time, ‘to encourage the young and incite older men to virtue’,¹³ every three years a further sixty men not eligible to vote would be selected for the Great Council. Despite its limitations, this institution introduced by Savonarola would make the government of Florence comparable with an independent city state in Ancient Greece – arguably the first of its kind in a major European city for more than 1,800 years.

If anything, the Great Council was an improvement on its classical counterparts – as found, for instance, in ancient Athens – for it would prove more efficient in its operation. Although such government was far from being democratic in the modern sense, ‘it so broadened the number of citizens who could take part in the making of laws and in elections to public offices that it was regarded then as a governo populare [populist government]’.¹⁴

As ever, politics remained an explosive issue. Landucci recorded how during his Advent sermons Savonarola

went on discoursing about State matters, and great fear was felt lest the citizens should not agree. Chi la volava lesso e chi arrosto (One wished it boiled another roast): i.e. everyone had a different opinion, one agreed with the Frate [Savonarola], and another was against him; and if it had not been for him there would have been bloodshed.¹⁵

Even so, the situation remained fraught. On the very Sunday (21 December) when Landucci wrote the preceding entry in his diary, he also directly contradicted himself by recording how at ten o’clock that evening when he was returning home, for no apparent reason, his son ‘was stabbed in the face, across the cheek’.

Next day, 22 December, the elections were duly held and a new Great Council was appointed. But there now arose an unforeseen difficulty, which had not been covered by the new constitution. Before the Great Council could begin what would doubtless be a lengthy process of wrangling over the selection of a new Signoria, the stop-gap Council of Twenty claimed that it remained their right as de facto rulers to appoint a new Signoria at once, so that the city could return to some semblance of proper government.

The Twenty included many leading figures who been publicly outspoken in their opposition to the rule of Piero de’ Medici, such as Piero Capponi, Bernardo Rucellai, Francesco Valori and Guidantonio Vespucci. Normally no man could be appointed to such office until he had reached the age of forty, but an exception was made in the case of the thirty-one-year-old Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco Popolani, on account of his leading role in the opposition to his cousin, and also because of the exceptional skills and foresight he had shown in the building of his business empire. The Twenty duly went ahead and elected a new Signoria, and on 1 January 1495 Landucci happily recorded:

The new Signoria entered into office, and it was a great joy to see the whole Piazza [della Signoria] filled with citizens, quite different from other times, as a new thing, thanking God who had given this impartial government to Florence, and delivered us from subjection. And all this had been done at the instigation of the Frate.¹⁶

 

Yet despite the Twenty including several figures who had been united in their public opposition to Piero de’ Medici’s rule, and all being enthusiastic proponents of the city’s new democratic form of government, its membership was riven with factions. Piero Capponi, aware that he was not favoured as a leader, had manoeuvred the situation to ensure that his main rival, Paolantonio Soderini, did not get elected to the Twenty. Likewise, the Great Council quickly began to separate into groups, each bent on pursuing their own interests, with voting patterns soon reflecting the differing social and economic aims of its members.

However, this embryo parliament was as nothing compared with the power that Savonarola now held: his sermons had attracted a dedicated following from almost all social classes and outlooks – from the likes of Botticelli and Ficino to the ciompiand the destitute. His influence extended far beyond the restrictions of the voting class: the disfranchised majority now, for the most part, hung on his every word.

A year or so later, Savonarola would describe the new democracy as this ‘government introduced by me’.¹⁷ Yet as things now stood, besides being favoured by most of those within the government, he also held sway over the majority who had no say in the government. His public forum was not the Great Council, but the pulpit, where none could debate with him or vote against him. Most agreed with the new system that Savonarola had, at the very least, played a major part in introducing, but it was not long before some began to have their misgivings about the extent of his power, both within the government and amongst the population at large, and about how he might choose to use this power. Savonarola himself had earlier warned how ‘in Italy, and most of all in Florence, where there is both force and intelligence in abundance, where men have acute minds and restless natures, government by one man can only end in tyranny’.¹⁸ Yet Savonarola had also claimed that the voice of God spoke through him; and the voice of God to which he most frequently alluded was that of the Old Testament, that which unleashed ‘the scourge of God’, a voice that was willing to destroy all who did not enter his Ark, a voice that brooked no gainsaying. There was mounting unease at this situation, and as Landucci recorded, after listening to Savonarola’s preaching many people began to express their superstitious apprehension, saying amongst themselves, ‘This wretched priest will bring us bad luck.’¹⁹

After Charles VIII left Florence, he led the French army south towards Rome. His march was unopposed, and when he reached the Eternal City, Alexander VI fled the Vatican, taking refuge in the ancient papal fortress of Castel Sant’ Angelo. By this stage Charles VIII had been joined by Alexander VI’s sworn enemy, Cardinal della Rovere. All had observed how the depravity, greed and megalomania of Alexander VI had become even more pronounced since ascending to the papal throne. With utter disregard for sacred or secular public opinion (and even for papal precedent), he had openly moved his children into the Vatican. These included the notorious Cesare Borgia and his sister Lucrezia, whose infamy would soon exceed even that of their father. Cardinal della Rovere did his utmost to persuade Charles VIII to depose Alexander VI, or at least make him submit to a council for the reform of the papacy – which would have amounted to the same thing, but would have involved considerable humiliation and taken longer.

Charles VIII lined up his artillery outside the Castel Sant’ Angelo and ordered the pope to come out and meet him, but to no avail. However, after one shot from a powerful French cannon had caused a large section of the ancient medieval walls of the castle to collapse in a heap of rubble, Alexander VI agreed to a meeting. But Cardinal della Rovere had taken into account neither the naive Charles VIII’s superstitious reverence for the pope, nor the wiliness of Alexander VI himself. When the pope emerged in all his glory, Charles VIII sank to his knees and attempted to kiss Alexander VI’s feet. With avuncular benevolence Alexander VI raised the overawed young French king to his feet and gave him his blessing. There was no question of the pope being deposed, or even called to order. Nonetheless, Charles VIII’s commissioners saw to it that Alexander VI understood the full nature of the defeat that the French were inflicting upon him. The French army occupied Rome, and the Vatican was required to contribute to Charles VIII’s needy campaign funds before he set out on the final leg of his journey to Naples.

When the French army left Rome it was accompanied by a ‘gift’ from Alexander VI consisting of no fewer than nineteen mules laden with boxes of jewels, gold plate and rich tapestries. (It had cost Alexander VI just six similarly laden mules to buy the papacy.) The French insisted that this mule-train should be accompanied by the pope’s son, Cesare Borgia, who would join their campaign as a show of goodwill (and as a hostage). But the French were no match for the guile and treachery of the Borgia family. Within two days Cesare Borgia had eluded his captors, taking with him no less than half the train of mules. The boxes carried by the other mules were found to be empty.

Charles VIII was enraged, but was persuaded nonetheless to continue on to Naples. On hearing of the French approach, King Alfonso II immediately abdicated and entered the sanctuary of a monastery, whereupon the new king, his son Ferrante II, simply fled the country, allowing the French army to enter Naples unopposed in triumph. For the next few months Charles VIII indulged his gargantuan sexual appetites on the aristocratic ladies of Naples and their virgin daughters, whilst his soldiers indulged their similar appetites on the less virtuous women of the city, unaware that syphilis had just reached Naples by way of Spain from the New World.

The French king was eventually persuaded to abandon his ambitious scheme to liberate Constantinople from the Turks and then take Jerusalem. Instead, he would return with his army to France. However, Alexander VI was determined to avenge his humiliation; he set about persuading the other Italian powers that the French insult to the leader of the Christian flock, St Peter’s representative on Earth, should not go unpunished. He even managed to persuade Ludovico ‘il Moro’ Sforza, who now regretted his original invitation to Charles VIII to invade Italy, to join an alliance with the papal forces and the powerful Venetian army, so that in March 1495 a Holy League against the French was signed in Venice. Only Florence refused to join: Savonarola insisted that the city could not resist Charles VIII, as he was the instrument of God’s will.

In May 1495 Charles VIII duly led his vast French army out of Naples, leaving Ferrante II to be welcomed back by the relieved population. The French soldiers now began their 700-mile march north, followed by their long medieval train of hangers-on, their collection of pillaged holy relics and Charles VIII’s precious Sword of Charlemagne, spreading syphilis through Italy in their wake. At their approach, Alexander VI fled from Rome; meanwhile Commines was despatched on a French diplomatic mission to Florence to determine whether the city would renege on its word and join the Holy League. Here he went straight to meet Savonarola:

because he had always preached strongly in favour of the King, and it was his word which had prevented the Florentines from turning against us, for never had any preacher ever had so much influence over the city.²⁰

 

The worldly Commines was once again impressed by Savonarola and began asking him about his prophecies:

He has preached that the present state of the Church will be reformed by force of arms. This has not yet happened, although it very nearly did [when Charles VIII was in Rome], and he still insists that it will happen … I also asked him if the king will be able to get back [to France] without danger to himself, in view of the great army which has been assembled by the Venetians, about which he seemed to know more than I did … He replied that the King would have to fight his way back, but his courage would see him through, though he might only have one hundred men with him, because God who had led him here would also lead him back.

In the event, Savonarola’s prediction had more than an element of truth. A month later, on 6 July, the French army encountered the combined forces of the Holy League at Fornovo on the banks of a tributary of the Po, some seventy miles south-east of Milan. The French troops were heavily outnumbered – some say by as much as three to one, though they were supported by their fearsome artillery. The battle was fought in chaotic conditions amidst a thunderstorm, and even if technically it resulted in a French victory, there was a devastating loss of life on both sides. Charles VIII was able to proceed back to France with considerably more than 100 men, but he lost much of his army’s booty, holy relics and his beloved Sword of Charlemagne.

Alexander VI was outraged at Charles VIII’s escape. He blamed Florence for the defeat of the army of the Holy League, and more specifically the malign influence of Savonarola. Senior clergy in Rome were urging Alexander VI to use his prerogative and take direct action against Savonarola. Amongst the most enthusiastic of these was Fra Mariano da Genazzano, the one-time favourite preacher of Florence, whom Savonarola had humiliated to the point where he had left the city. Fra Mariano was now head of the Augustinian order and had the ear of Alexander VI.

Though Savonarola had for years now been preaching, in the strongest possible terms, against corruption in the Church, he had not yet made any direct reference to Alexander VI. In the light of this, Alexander VI chose to exercise guile, rather than any heavy-handed papal authority, in dealing with Savonarola. On 25 July he wrote a papal Brief addressed to Savonarola in Florence. Ridolfi accurately characterises this as ‘a most peculiar document which might be figuratively compared to the famous poisoned sweets of Borgia’.²¹ Alexander VI’s Brief was coached in the most friendly and disarming diplomatic terms, explaining:

We have heard you proclaim that what you have said concerning future events does not proceed from yourself but comes from God. We therefore desire, as it is the duty of our pastoral office, to discourse with you so that we may gain from you a greater understanding of what is agreeable to God, and put this into practice. Thus we exhort you, in the name of holy obedience, to come to Rome without further delay, where we will receive you with love and charity.²²

Savonarola may have been an idealist, but he was not naive. He well knew what would happen if he took up Alexander VI’s invitation: trial, imprisonment or, more likely, assassination en route would be his fate. On 31 July he wrote to Alexander VI apologising for not being able to take up his invitation:

firstly, because my body has been weakened by illness, and I am suffering from fever and dysentery. Secondly, my constant exertions on behalf of the welfare of the state of Florence have caused me to suffer from a constant agitation, in both my body and my mind … so bad is this that my physicians have ordered me to cease preaching and give up my studies, for unless I take proper remedies I will be bound for an early grave … It is God’s will that I remain here for the time being, and I have been urged by prudent counsel not to leave … However, if Your Holiness wishes to learn what I have publicly preached concerning coming events such as the ruin of Italy and the renewal of the Church, I am in the process of printing a small book on these matters^[3]. As soon as this is completed, I shall be most careful to send Your Holiness a copy.²³

 

This may seem on the surface like a blend of effrontery and defiance (to say nothing of sheer bravado), and there is little doubt this was how it was received by the Church authorities in Rome. In fact, as we have seen, Savonarola was a stickler for the truth. This illness was no manufactured excuse: his constant exertions both in the government and in the pulpit, to say nothing of his self-imposed regimen of vigils and fasting, seem to have led him to the verge of a severe mental and physical breakdown. Indeed, so serious was this debilitation that even he himself feared that he might not recover from it. On Wednesday 29 July, just two days before sending his letter to Alexander VI, Savonarola had preached a ‘last sermon’²⁴ in the cathedral. The Signoria and all the leading figures in the administration were amongst the packed and expectant congregation.

It is worth paying some attention to the details of this sermon, for at the time Savonarola certainly viewed it as a specific, possibly even final, testament. Although he opened by proclaiming that his preaching that day was ‘inspired by love’, he soon returned to his constant theme, in his usual passionate manner, fulminating against the sinners whom he saw all around him in Florence – the gamblers, the loose women, the blasphemers, the sodomites and others whose sins were too vile to mention. Their very presence polluted the city, and despite his presence they persisted in their vices. How much worse would it be when he was no longer able to preach? An example must be made: any found to be guilty of such sins merited no less than the death penalty. ‘I warn you, Almighty God desires justice … Renounce all dancing, gaming, and close down the taverns. This is a time for weeping, not for rejoicing … as punishment for just one sinner, God vented his wrath upon the entire tribe of Israel. God would only be appeased by the death of this sinner.’

Turning his attention to the Signoria and the rulers of the city, he insisted that they proceed at once with plans for building a new hall to house the Great Council, and that a law should be passed abolishing the parlamento, which had been used by previous unscrupulous rulers to bring in new measures to protect their rule^[4].

Finally, at the end of his sermon, Savonarola bade his flock farewell: ‘O My People, when I stand here before you in this pulpit I am always strong, but when I descend from it down those stairs, I believe that my ailments will return. It will be some time before I see you once more. Then I will preach to you again, if I am still alive.’ He mentioned that his absence might only be ‘for a few months’. Yet then he exclaimed, ‘I am content to be a martyr, indeed I pray for this each day.’

Some have seen this final remark as a presentiment of his death. He was now to take on directly the full might of the papacy, in the form of the devious and vengeful Alexander VI, and he may well have felt that he was venturing out of his depth. Savonarola was not a man to be easily cowed, yet direct personal contact with the pope – even if only in the form of a papal Brief – must surely have made him aware of the full enormity of the task he had so blithely taken upon himself in his idealistic youth. Other commentators on this sermon have pointed to its lack of modesty and supreme ambition. For all his wish for rule by the people, and freedom from tyranny, Savonarola was in fact advocating a tyranny of his own. He preached freedom from evil, yet both his ‘freedom’ and his ‘evil’ were double-edged. The freedom, as well as the evil, fell into two categories: freedom from political evil (tyranny), and freedom from spiritual evil (vice). The people must be made free to rule themselves, but they must also be made free from rule by their vices. Both would require coercion – one by the people on their own behalf, the other exerted on the people themselves. Here we are brought face to face with the profound distinction between public life and private life. Reflecting on his own life, Savonarola saw little or no distinction between the two: one must reflect the other. Few would disagree that there is an overlap between the civic and the spiritual (or personal) realm; but Savonarola had chosen to see them as synonymous, even identical. Just as there was no room for personal vice, so there was no room for opposition to the rule of the people. Here was a testament that would resound through each ensuing century, right down to our own: fundamentalism seeing itself as freedom from all things that do not conform to its principles, with the necessity to purge society of these corrupting elements. Such missionary fundamentalism may begin in the monastery, yet it must by its very nature spread out into the world – and here it is contrary to its very being to coexist with any opposition.

Having delivered himself of his testament, Savonarola retired to his cell at San Marco to finish his letter replying to Alexander VI, and to make the final corrections to his ‘Compendium of Revelations’. This short work of around a hundred pages, which appeared in Latin and Italian versions, is a key document in our understanding of Savonarola at this stage in his life. Significantly, it opens with a justification: he wishes to set down in his own words his most widely known prophecies and visions. Many of these had become exaggerated and distorted as they had been passed on by word of mouth, and he now wished people to understand their truth: to see them for what they were, in the very words that he had used to describe them. Where previously he had not always claimed to be a prophet, he now fully accepted the mantle, claiming: ‘The Lord has placed me here, and said to me: “I have placed thee as a watchman in the centre of Italy … that thou mayest hear My words and announce them.”’²⁵ He claimed that he was able to tell his visions came from God because ‘they are infused with a certain supernatural light’. Modern psychological patients afflicted with hallucinations frequently speak of an ‘ethereal light’ that accompanies their visions, once again reinforcing Savonarola’s claim that he almost certainly ‘saw’ what he characterised as his ‘symbolical visions’ and ‘heard’ the prophetic voices that he claimed were ‘spoken by angels’^[5].

Revealingly, Savonarola also described how his supernatural gift evolved:

To begin with I predicted the future by saying what was written in the Bible, using reason and parables, because people were not yet ready to hear me. After this I began to reveal what I knew of the future from a source other than the Bible. Until at last I confessed openly that what I was saying came directly from God.

 

It is not difficult to detect the growth of self-induced belief here, as it evolved from intense but reassuring readings of biblical events, through identification with those who featured in these events, to full-blown self-delusion – aided as it was by extreme fasting, vigils and a regime of the strictest self-denial. Alone in his cell, in a mental world of the Old Testament and the Book of Revelation – a world of prophets, the wrath of God being visited upon the errant tribe of Israel, and the vision of doom accompanying the end of time – it is not surprising that he began to see himself as inhabiting such an essentially pre-Christian world^[6].

The tongue-tied mumbler who had delivered his first feeble sermons in Florence had at last found release in his revelatory Lenten sermons at San Gimignano. Comforting himself that he had not been abandoned by God, he had read avidly of this apocalyptic world, and now he had taken his first steps into it. Even so, in his ‘Compendium’ Savonarola faced up to the question that he must, as a devout believer, have asked himself many times: ‘Could these visions be the work of the Devil?’ He decided, on his own empirical grounds, that these could not be the work of the Devil – his visions and prophecies had come true, and not once had they deceived him. However, such ‘symbolical visions’ are notoriously open to all manner of interpretation. Savonarola harked back to the visions he had seen of the sword of God poised ready to scourge the corrupt world, as well as the black cross rising out of the city of Rome. These visions had either come to pass (at least metaphorically) or were about to do so. We have already seen how Savonarola’s prophecy that the ‘scourge of God’ would arrive from ‘across the mountains’ could just as well have applied to the Turks as to the French. Seward even mentions how in the ‘Compendium’ Savonarola made a revealing admission:

Describing his embassy to Charles, he recalls explaining that God had appointed the King as His ‘minister of justice’. He had told Charles that he knew the French were coming long before, but God would not let him speak the king’s name.

 

At the time Savonarola had made his original prophecy (1492), Charles VIII had only just come of age and taken full possession of the French throne. Few had then known of the young king’s dreams of glorious conquest, which had not materialised until two years later. Besides, Florence remained France’s close ally and, as such, would have had nothing to fear from any French invasion. Up until this point Savonarola’s prophecy had been vague and general (predicting only that ‘the new Cyrus’ would come from ‘across the mountains’). It was not until Piero de’ Medici had begun to vacillate in his loyalty to France that Florence had reason to fear Charles VIII. Only then, according to Savonarola, had God ‘let him speak the king’s name’. Probably it would be more exact to say that only then had Savonarola realised the new Cyrus was to be Charles VIII.

The next part of the ‘Compendium’ describes in some detail a pilgrimage that Savonarola claimed to have made to see the Virgin Mary in heaven, accompanied by four companions: Faith, Simplicity, Prayer and Patience. His inspiration here was undoubtedly Dante’s Divine Comedy, though his description of his actual meeting with the Virgin has echoes of the early sixth-century Roman philosopher Boethius’ description of his encounter with the female embodiment of Philosophy. This appears in Boethius’ The Consolation of Philosophy, a book that widely influenced medieval and Renaissance Christianity and was certainly well known to Savonarola. Others have remarked upon the similarity between Savonarola’s detailed description of the Virgin’s bejewelled throne and that which appears in the Coronation of the Virgin, the last of the Mysteries of the Rosary, a subject that was not only popular with Dominican monks, but also inspired many artists. These borrowings would appear to have been unconscious, as is frequently the case in the poetic imagination. Savonarola’s visions and prophecies may have been biblical in manner, yet they undeniably contained elements that were beyond purely biblical poetry. He may on occasion have referred to his visions as ‘symbolical’, yet at other times he undeniably stressed that he wished his visions to be taken literally.

Did Savonarola convince himself that he had actually visited the Virgin Mary in heaven? There can be no doubt that he persuaded many amongst his congregation that he had done so. This was not a sceptical age: in the previous century people would point out Dante in the street, believing that he had travelled through hell, purgatory and paradise, just as he had described in his Divine Comedy. Not for nothing was Savonarola accompanied on his divine pilgrimage by ‘Simplicity’: the ‘little friar’ always maintained that his sermons were primarily addressed to ‘simple folk’. Others less simple, such as Ficino and Botticelli, were left to judge in their own minds the veracity – poetic or actual – of his visions. In the ‘Compendium of Revelations’, which would not have been available to illiterate ‘simple folk’, Savonarola answered his more sophisticated critics:

They know I do not mean to claim that my mortal body has visited Paradise, only that I experienced this in a mental vision. For certain, the trees, streams, doors and thrones that I describe do not exist in Paradise. If these sceptical critics had not been so blinded by their own malice, they would understand how such scenes were placed before my mind’s eye by the angels.

 

Such a defence is credible as a description of poetic inspiration, even for those who do not believe in angels. Yet Savonarola allowed no room for such open interpretation of the messages contained in his visions: here the word of God spoke through him. And his conversation with the Virgin Mary in heaven certainly fell into the latter category. She told him how:

The City of Florence shall become more glorious, more powerful and more wealthy than it has ever been. All the territory that it has lost shall be restored, and its borders will be extended further than ever before. With the guidance of the Holy Spirit, you have prophesied the conversion of the infidels, of the Turks and the Moors, and more, and this will all take place in good time, soon enough for it to be seen by many who are alive today … But as you have said, the renovation of the Church cannot take place without the suffering of many tribulations. Therefore, let it not seem strange that Florence shall have her share of troubles, though she shall suffer less than the rest … The good citizens will be less afflicted, according to their conduct, and in particular according to how severely they pass laws against the blasphemers, the gamblers, the sodomites and other evil doers … And with these words I was dismissed from the company of the Holy Virgin.

 

In Savonarola’s ‘Compendium of Revelations’ we see him as the potent blend of a medieval religious poet (the mystic visionary) and an Old Testament prophet^[7]. Here lay the further strength of Savonarola’s appeal to both intellectuals and the ‘simple folk’. Yet whereas the religious mystic usually existed at the fringes of society, the Old Testament prophets placed themselves fair and square at its heart. They sought to lead the people of Israel, to castigate them in the name of God and rule over them. If Savonarola was to fulfil the role he had now created for himself, it was inevitable that he would have to intensify the political leadership he had assumed, on behalf of democracy and the poor, and take over a greater measure of secular power.

The publication of the ‘Compendium of Revelations’ in Florence on 18 August 1485 meant that Savonarola’s influence, if not his actual power, began to reach a far wider audience. Such was its popularity that within three weeks four further editions had come out in Italian. A month later the first Latin edition appeared, translated by Savonarola himself. This was the edition that spread his name far and wide amongst the clergy and scholars; and just as he hoped, it was soon being read beyond the borders of Italy. During 1496 no fewer than four further Latin editions would be printed, including one in Paris and one in southern Germany. According to Burlamacchi, even Sultan Bejazit II in Constantinople ordered a copy, which was translated for him.

The widely perceived corruption of the Church, especially since Alexander VI had become the successor to St Peter and thus God’s representative on Earth, had created a thirst for revelation which came directly from the divine source. Indeed, Savonarola’s apocalyptic visions were so reminiscent of the Revelation of St John the Divine, the last book of the Bible, that some even wondered if these visions might not be a long-awaited continuation of the holy book. Likewise, Savonarola’s prophecies of the renewal of the Church were seen as nothing less than a vision of a miraculous reformation^[8], and struck many throughout Christendom with the full force of a miracle that was long overdue.

 

NOTES

1. ‘Florence was stripped …’: Guicciardini, Opere, ed. F. Palamanocchi (Bari, 1931), Vol. VI, p.105

2. ‘When Charles VIII …’: Guicciardini, Opere (Milan, 1998), p.208

3. ‘an election …’: Landucci, Diario, p.89

4. ‘Anyone who had …’: Guicciardini, Opere, ed. F. Palmanocchi (Bari, 1931), Vol. VI, p.101

5. ‘although they had …’: ibid., p.25

6. ‘12th December (Friday) …’: Landucci, Diario, p.91

7. ‘They decided that …’: Guicciardini, Opere, (Milan, 1998), p.209

8. ‘there were always …’ et seq.: Landucci, Diario, pp.94, 90, 92

9. ‘Jesus Christus …’ et seq.: see Seward, Savonarola, pp.94, 96, citing Savonarola, Predica XIII sopra Aggeo

10. ‘the people no longer …’ et seq.: Villari, La Storia … Savonarola, Vol. I, pp.265–6

11. For details of the Great Council, see Villari, La Storia … Savonarola, Vol. I, pp.285–7

12. ‘one-fifth of the male population …’: Gene Brucker, Renaissance Florence(New York, 1968), p.268

13. ‘to encourage …’: Guicciardini, cited in Villari, La Storia … Savonarola, Vol. I, p.287

14. ‘it so broadened …’: see Lightbown, Botticelli, Vol. I, p.133

15. ‘went on discoursing …’ et seq.: Landucci, Diario, p.93

16. ‘The new Signoria …’: ibid., p.78

17. ‘government introduced …’: letter from Savonarola, written 1495–6, cited in Seward, Savonarola, p.95

18. ‘in Italy …’: see Savonarola, Predica XIII sopra Aggeo (12 December 1494)

19. ‘This wretched priest …’: Landucci, Diario, p.97

20. ‘because he had …’: et seq.: Commynes, Mémoires, ed. Calmette, Vol. III, pp.144–5

21. ‘a most peculiar …’: Ridolfi, Vita … Savonarola, Vol. I, p.197

22. ‘We have heard you …’: for the text of this letter, see Villari, La Storia … Savonarola, Vol. I, Documento XXIII

23. ‘firstly, because …’: for the full text of this letter, see Savonarola, Le Lettere(Ridolfi), pp.55–8, also Villari, La Storia … Savonarola, Vol. I, Documento XXIV

24. ‘last sermon’ et seq.: see Savonarola, Prediche XXVI sopra i Salmi, ed. Vincenzo Romano, 2 vols (Rome, 1969–74)

25. ‘The Lord has placed me …’: et seq.: for the Latin version, see Girolamo Savonarola, Compendium Revelationum, in Giovanni Francesco Pico della Mirandola, Vita R.P.Fr. Hieronimi (ed. Quétif). For a modern Italian version, see Girolamo Savonarola, Tratto sul governo della Città di Firenze (Casale Monferrato, 1996), which includes theCompendio di rivelazione (ed. Fausto Sbaffoni), pp.37–161. For English citations, see Herbert Lucas, Fra Girolamo Savonarola (London, 1906), pp.49–73; E. L. S. Horsborough, Girolamo Savonarola (London, 1911), pp.88–91; David Weinstein, Savonarola and Florence (Princeton, 1970), pp.116–8; and Seward, Savonarola, pp.140–5

 

Entrance of Charles VIII in Florence

 

15. THE VOICES OF FLORENCE

 

DESPITE THE EVIDENT popularity of Savonarola’s sermons, along with widespread satisfaction that Medici rule had been replaced by a more republican government, Florence was now a divided city. And the focus of this division was undeniably Savonarola. The most loyal supporters of the ‘little friar’ remained the Frateschi (the ‘Friar’s Men’), mainly drawn from amongst the monks of San Marco and their intellectual friends. However, Savonarola’s largest support came from those referred to derisively as the Piagnoni – a word that covered a spectrum of meanings. Literally, it means ‘snivellers’, ‘grumblers’ or ‘wailers’ – that is the downtrodden who were always snivelling away or complaining, and wailing out their prayers. These were Savonarola’s beloved ‘simple folk’, who despite his pleas for forgiveness and reconciliation still retained a deep-seated hatred for the Medici and their supporters, many of whom had of course fled the city. However, although those who remained behind had for the time being prudently adopted a low profile, they nonetheless represented a considerable force, who referred to themselves as the Bigi (the ‘Greys’), and would soon begin plotting for the return of Piero de’ Medici. As for Piero de’ Medici himself, he too still represented a distinct threat to Florence. Along with his well-connected brother Cardinal Giovanni, he had begun to solicit support for the Medici cause amongst various states, as well as the upper echelons of the Church, especially Alexander VI. Savonarola’s rejection of the Holy League had ensured that opinion in Rome, and indeed amongst leaders throughout Italy, was now swinging behind the reinstatement of the Medici.

However, the main opposition to Savonarola soon emerged from within Florence itself, in the form of the Arrabbiati (the ‘Enraged Ones’)^[9], a widespread group who resented Savonarola’s interference in the city’s secular government, some of whom also favoured a return to the old Medici days. Then there were the secular liberals who called themselves the Bianchi (the ‘Whites’), to distinguish themselves from the ‘Greys’; though glad to see the back of the Medici, they retained a nostalgic affection for the easygoing times of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and also believed that priests had no place in a republican government. Another group on the same side of the divide as the Arrabbiati, though hardly as passionate in their views, were the Tiepidi(the ‘Tepid Ones’ – that is, lukewarm, or moderate in their opinions). The Tiepidiwere opposed to Savonarolan reform and drew much of their support from the permissive priests who saw no reason why their vows should confine them to a life of puritan penury. Besides being popular amongst the wealthy families from which many of the Tiepidi originated, this faction also had important links with Rome.

Nonetheless, the two main opposing groups in Florence remained the Arrabbiati and the Piagnoni, with the others aligning themselves alongside either one of these, with more or less sympathy. Savonarola remained the essential divisive factor. Both of these leading factions had their fervent advocates in the Great Council, even though the disenfranchised Piagnoni were not directly represented. Savonarola made it his duty to see that Piagnoni interests were taken into account, and their sheer numbers amongst the population, who now felt a new confidence as a result of the city’s liberation, ensured that their influence was felt.

The importance that Savonarola attached to the Great Council cannot be overestimated, at least at this early stage. He saw it as the safeguard of the citizens’ recently gained freedom, and pressed the Signoria to start as soon as possible on the building of a large chamber in the Palazzo della Signoria where the working quorum of 500 members of the Great Council could conduct their daily business. This chamber would be a material and symbolic manifestation of the new government, and the site chosen was on the first floor above a courtyard on the north side of the building known as the Dogana (formerly used as a customs house). The Signoria seems to have handed over the entire project to Savonarola from the outset, and he quickly appointed the local architect Simone del Pollaiuolo, a close friend and firm believer in his ideas. The building of this great chamber attracted widespread popular attention, and an indication of this interest (as well as the speed with which it was constructed) can be judged from entries in Landucci’s diary. On 18 July 1495 he recorded: ‘at the Dogana the foundations for the Great Hall were being laid; and the Fratewas constantly encouraging this work’.¹ Less than a month later, on 12 August, he noted: ‘The vaulting of the roof of the Great Hall has been finished.’ This must have been some feat for a hall of such a size. The present Salone dei Cinquecento (Chamber of the Five Hundred), as it is still known, is only a slight extension of the original hall, yet it measures 170 feet long, 75 feet wide and more than 25 feet high.

Some have seen this chamber, and the range of groups across the political spectrum that met within it, as the beginnings of modern political party politics as we know it. There is no doubting an embryonic resemblance here, but as the modern historian Lauro Martines argues: ‘though we may use the word “party”, we must [not confuse] the implied meaning with anything like the anatomy of a modern political machine’.²Even in republican Florence, there was nothing approaching democratic politics in our modern Western sense, just as there was no idea of universal suffrage. Class, group and family interests held sway, whilst ideology remained for the most part incoherent, certainly not articulated in any explicit programme.

Hence, even comparatively democratic Florence was unable to sustain a political party system as such. Any notion of semi-permanent adherence was unlikely to survive in a constitution where the elected Signoria only lasted in office for two months, and where membership of the Great Council expired after six months. Under such circumstances alliances between leading figures were liable to switch, and any that reached beyond family ties were quick to revert to trusted kinship loyalty at the first signs of difficulty. At the same time, there remained the all-important matter of commercial partnerships so essential for business of any sort, and the power of patronage, without which no young man could fulfil his political, administrative, commercial or artistic ambitions. These too were mainly structures of extended family loyalties, cemented by marriages and so forth. You did not send a man to represent your business or act as your manager in another city unless you could be absolutely sure of his loyalty and willingness to follow instructions. On top of this, as Martines makes clear, the political process was simply not capable of tolerating overt dissent, ‘or even – as an acknowledged right – peaceful opposition to a governing clique’. The entire notion of a democratic opposition remained unacceptable. Those who spoke out publicly against government policy were liable to be arrested and thrown in prison. Even if a senior member of a leading family voiced his opposition publicly, he and his entire family could be sent into exile or silenced by punitive taxes which could reduce them to ruin.

Indeed, opposition remained a clandestine and dangerous business. Not for nothing were the ardent Medici supporters known as the Bigi, a bland colour tone that was intended to emphasise their low-profile invisibility – for their contacts with Piero de’ Medici, as well as their suggestion that he launch an invasion that they would support, were undeniably treason, and as such punishable by death. Opposition thus manifested itself in subversive action, the opposite of loyalty to the state. Violence, such as assassination, was another political measure to which opposing factions were liable to resort. Savonarola was a particular target, and when he left San Marco to walk through the streets to another church where he was delivering a sermon, he was invariably accompanied by a bodyguard of loyal followers. As Landucci recorded: ‘On 24 May some people attempted to attack Frate Girolamo in the Via del Cocomero after he had delivered a sermon.’³ Indeed, Savonarola himself in his letter to Alexander VI on 31 July included amongst the reasons for his inability to visit Rome:

There are many enemies here who are thirsting after my blood and have made several attempts upon my life, both by assassination and by poison. For this reason I am unable to venture out of doors in safety without endangering myself, unless I am accompanied by armed guards, even within the city, let alone abroad.⁴

 

There had also been a serious downturn in trade, resulting largely from the continuing independence of Pisa, which had simply refused to resubmit to Florentine rule once the French garrison imposed by Charles VIII had withdrawn. The port of Pisa stood at the mouth of the River Arno and thus controlled much of Florence’s overseas trade. In an attempt to remedy this stranglehold the Signoria in Florence had hired a mercenary army to retake Pisa, but so far this had proved both ineffective and costly. Even such wealthy merchants as Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco could no longer afford to support the art that had played such a leading role in the Renaissance in Florence. As a result, Florentine artists were beginning to seek employment in other cities, and the Renaissance was spreading throughout Italy with profound effect upon an age when, according to the great nineteenth-century Swiss historian Jacob Burckhardt:

both sides of human consciousnesss – that which turned inwards as well as that which turned towards the outer world – lay obscured beneath a common veil, either dreaming or merely half awake. This veil was woven out of faith, childlike prejudices and illusion; and seen through it, the world and its history appeared tinted in strange hues. Man was conscious of himself only as a member of a race, a nation, a party, a corporation, a family, or in some other general category. It was in Italy that this veil first dissolved into thin air, allowing an objective perception and treatment of the state, as well as all things of this world in general. At the same time, the subjectiveside asserted itself with similar emphasis, allowing man to become a self-aware individual and to recognise himself as such.⁵

 

Perceptive minds, such as those of Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco, understood that this profound transformation which was taking place within their culture was progressive in nature – despite its insistence upon harking back to the achievements of the classical era. Western European humanity was evolving – commercially expanding trade routes into new continents, and culturally expanding on a similar scale into territory previously unexplored by Europeans. The clock could not be turned back. Savonarola may have been a moving force for a more equitable society, yet ironically such political progressivism was yoked to a cultural and moralistic conservatism. As a patron of the arts, Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco was determined that, at least in its progressive sense, Lorenzo the Magnificent’s legacy should be encouraged. When his favourite young artist Michelangelo returned to Florence a year after his flight to Bologna, Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco resolved to help him as best he could during these difficult times. According to Ascanio Condivi, to whom Michelangelo recounted his life during his last years:

When Michelangelo returned to his homeland he began carving a marble statue of Eros, at the age of six or seven, lying as if asleep. When Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici saw this work he could not but admire its classical beauty, and suggested a plan to Michelangelo, telling him, ‘If you could treat the marble so that it looks as if it has been buried, I can send this to Rome and pass it off as a rare ancient work which has recently been unearthed, and you could get a far better price for it.’ Michelangelo was such a genius that he knew even the most devious tricks of his trade, and when he heard Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco’s words he immediately set to work as he had suggested.⁶

 

But this scam did not go entirely according to plan. The man chosen by Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco to negotiate the sale in Rome of Michelangelo’s statue to the wealthy Cardinal Raffaele Riario succeeded in persuading the cardinal of the authenticity of this ‘rare ancient find’, for which he then paid an undisclosed, but substantial, sum. The go-between then kept most of this for himself, cheating both Michelangelo and Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco. Meanwhile Cardinal Riario, who was a renowned connoisseur, soon discovered that his ‘ancient’ sculpture was in fact a contemporary fake. However, he was so impressed by the sheer skill of Michelangelo’s work that he invited the artist to Rome to work for him – thus fulfilling what had probably been Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco’s intention all along. Michelangelo would live in Rome for the next three years, producing some of his first masterpieces for a series of rich patrons. These included a magnificent larger than life-sized statue of a tipsy Bacchus, the Ancient Roman god of wine, which Vasari perceptively noted has ‘all the slenderness of male youth somehow combined with the sensuality and roundness of the female form’.⁷ By contrast, this was also the period when Michelangelo produced his first transcendent religious masterpiece, the Pietà, depicting Mary grieving over the naked body of the dead Christ in her lap, a work that caused Michelangelo’s contemporary Vasari to wonder at:

the miracle of how such a formless block of stone could be transformed to such a perfection of the flesh as nature herself is scarce capable of producing.⁸

 

Such depictions of the delights of wine and the perfection of naked flesh were hardly the kind of work that Michelangelo could have produced in Savonarola’s ‘City of God’. Michelangelo’s profound belief in God may have been attuned to that of Savonarola, but only by escaping from his influence was Michelangelo capable of fulfilling the genius that had first been recognised in him by Lorenzo the Magnificent. Only amidst the corruption of Rome would this most religious of artists be able to carry forward the promise of the Renaissance and realise his own leading role in its promulgation.

Botticelli, on the other hand, remained behind in Florence. According to Vasari, who grew up in Florence just two decades later and must therefore have heard at first hand from fellow citizens who had lived through these times:

Botticelli became such an ardent follower of Savonarola’s teachings that he was induced to give up painting altogether. As this meant he had no means of earning a living his life fell into the greatest disorder. Yet this only served to make him an even more fervent member of the Piagnoni and abandon all thought of following his vocation.⁹

 

Vasari was almost certainly wrong about Botticelli abandoning painting during this period, for several canvases have been reliably dated from these years. However, there is no doubt that the market for paintings all but ceased in Savonarola’s ‘City of God’, leaving many accomplished artists without any source of income. Possibly as a result of poverty, Botticelli is known to have transferred his studio and moved in with his brother Simone Filipepi, who lived in the Via Nuova. Simone was renowned as a strongPiagnoni sympathiser, though his continuing love of secular literature would seem to go against his alleged belief in the imminent and absolute truth of Savonarola’s apocalyptic predictions. Around this time, in the latter half of 1495, Botticelli was probably still involved in completing his drawings to illustrate Dante’s Divine Comedy – a private task that may well have encouraged the rumours concerning his abandonment of his vocation.

Many experts believe that during this time Botticelli also painted his late masterpiece Lamentation over the Dead Christ, which depicts the traditional grieving figures around Christ’s prostrate body. This is the work of a soul coming to terms with his new life. The Virgin Mary’s expression is utterly blank with grief, the saints around her exhibiting their own range of sorrowful emotions. The face of the female figure to the right all but blends with that of the dead Christ; as she presses her cheek to his, one can almost sense the closeness of her breath against Christ’s deathly palllid cheek. Yet if we look more closely we can see that this is unmistakably the face that Botticelli once depicted in The Birth of Venus, as she rose from the waves. Whilst the figure to the left tending to the wounds in the dead Christ’s feet is recognisable as one of the dancing goddesses fromPrimavera. Botticelli’s serene pagan beauties have succumbed to heart-rending grief over the figure who has succeeded them in Botticelli’s heart.

In many ways this Lamentation reflected a similar transformation that was taking place amongst the people of Florence – or at least among the majority who now saw Savonarola as their leader, politically as well as spiritually. They would no longer just be his followers, they would believe in him. They would abandon their old way of life, their joys and their sadnesses, to dedicate themselves as the new citizens of the ‘City of God’. There was no denying the strength of faith, amounting almost to a contained collective hysteria, that now began to infuse the downtrodden Piagnoniand their followers.

Yet as we have seen, not all of Savonarola’s followers were Piagnoni. Even amongst those who fervently believed in him and his call for a return to the simplicity of the early Christian way of life, there still remained that intellectual element that had once included so many of Lorenzo the Magnificent’s circle at the Palazzo Medici. Representative of these was Ficino, who wished Savonarola to reinforce his colleagues’ blind faith with the strength of an earlier tradition. Where Savonarola harked back to the Old Testament prophets, Ficino still wished to persuade him to incorporate the philosophical tradition of Platonism into his faith. As well as inspiring humanism, Plato’s ideas had also provided an intellectual backing for much Christian theology. Ficino regarded Plato much like a Christian saint whose ideas had prepared the ground prior to the arrival of Christ himself. Where St John the Baptist had come to be regarded as Christ’s religious herald, Plato should be recognised as his intellectual forerunner.

Plato’s inclusion in the Christian heritage would unite all who were attracted to Savonarola’s beliefs, as well as giving this faith a philosophical foundation that few amongst the growing number of Renaissance intellectuals throughout Italy could have resisted. Here was a faith that would eliminate the growing pagan element amongst the humanists. If Savonarola was to establish Florence as the centre of a new Christendom, surely this was the way forward. Here lay the foundations of a religious Renaissance to match – indeed, surpass – the artistic and intellectual Renaissance that had been born in Florence. What the Bible promised for the Piagnoni, Plato could provide for intellectual believers and leaders all over Italy, who had become so disillusioned with the corrupt Church establishment in Rome.

Yet now, to Ficino’s consternation, Savonarola continued to have his doubts about the orthodoxy of some of Plato’s later thinking, and especially that of his followers. Such late Platonic thinking had led Ficino to believe in a number of hermetic ideas, some of which had originally struck a peculiar chord with a number of Savonarola’s metaphysical notions. We know from Savonarola’s record of his revelations that he believed in the existence of, and even saw, such things as angels and demons. He was also a profound believer in prophecy, most notably when this sprang from the visions he saw in his mind’s eye. But such notions of prophecy derived directly from the prophets of the Old Testament. On the other, hand, Savonarola detested other more esoteric forms of prophecy such as astrology. Such beliefs were pure heresy.

 

NOTES

1. ‘at the Dogana …’ et seq.: Landucci, Diario, pp.112, 114

2. ‘though we may use …’ et seq.: Martines, Savonarola, p.149

3. ‘On 24 May …’: Landucci, Diario (1883 edn), p.106

4. ‘There are many enemies …’: see Savonarola’s letter of 31 July 1495, cited in full in Villari, La Storia … Savonarola (1887), Vol. I, Doc. XXIV, pp. cv–cvii

5. ‘both sides of human …’ Jakob Burckhardt, Die Kultur der Renaissance in Italien(1926 Leipzig edn), p.119

6. ‘When Michelangelo returned …’: Condivi, Vita di Michelangelo (1928), pp. 59–60

7. ‘all the slenderness …’: Giorgio Vasari, Le Vite dei piu eccelenti pittori, scultori e architetti, 4 vols, ed. Carlo L. Ragghianti (Milan, 1943–7), Vol. III, p.410

8. ‘the miracle of how …’: ibid., Vol. III, p.411

9. ‘Botticelli became such an …’: ibid., Vol. I, p.869

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

[1] The residence of the Podestà, the militia captain in charge of policing and justice for the city. This building, which resembles a smaller version of the nearby Palazzo della Signoria, is better known as the Bargello.

 

[2] Literally ‘the shamed poor’ – that is to say, those who lived in a state of humiliating destitution.

[3] This was his Compendium Revelationum (‘Compendium of Revelations’).

[4] Here, contrary to appearances, Savonarola was being historically accurate. The Florentines may have been proud of their parlamento, but it was nonetheless open to abuse. The citizens who came to vote were unarmed, but the entrances to the Piazza della Signoria were manned by armed men, ostensibly to keep order. However, these had on occasion been used to turn away voters who were known to be anti-Medici, while those who were allowed to enter the square had then been intimidated into voting for the establishment of new councils whose sole purpose had been to preserve Medici power. Savonarola placed his political faith in the less pliable democracy of the Great Council.

[5] Many migraine sufferers experience scintillation or flickering brilliance during their hallucinations, whose content can be utterly convincing to those undergoing this condition. Hildegard of Bingen’s descriptions of her religious visions, as well as the visionary paintings of William Blake and Van Gogh, all contain these characteristic features.

 

[6] The Book of Revelation is of course far from being pre-Christian, yet its tone and indeed many of its images hark back to the prophets of the Judaic era.

[7] An interesting comparison can be made here with Joan of Arc, who was both a mystic visionary (hearing voices and seeing angels) and a prophet (who led France to the victories she had foreseen).

[8] The actual Reformation, instigated by Martin Luther, would not begin until twenty-two years later, in 1517. This would not bring about the internal revolution Savanarola sought, but would become essentially external and resulted in a schism that he would have deplored.

[9] Not for nothing does this word have connotations with ‘rabid’ and thus ‘rabies’.