Magnifico (38 page)

The crisis over Città di Castello hastened the disintegration of the already fragile system of alliances that had kept Italy relatively tranquil for two decades. The Peace of Lodi, masterminded by Cosimo in 1454, had substituted the republic’s traditional allegiance to Venice for one with Milan, her traditional enemy. Once the kingdom of Naples was added, this triple alliance largely succeeded in preventing those vast conflagrations that had disturbed the peninsula throughout the early decades of the century. By the time Lorenzo succeeded his father this system of alliances had already begun to fray due to the mutual distrust between the duke of Milan and the king of Naples. For a time Lorenzo was able to paper over the disagreements between his two principal allies, but he could not ultimately bridge their differences.
*
The fact that this breakup was taking place at the very moment a dynamic new pope was ascending the throne was particularly inauspicious, since one of the main advantages of the triple alliance, at least as far as Florence was concerned, was that it served to contain the ambitions of the papacy. The collapse of the triple alliance allowed Sixtus to wriggle out of the diplomatic box into which he had been placed.

To exploit this opening, Sixtus needed to overcome an additional hurdle: the traditional rivalry between the pope and his neighbor to the south, the Aragonese kingdom of Naples. Papal relations with the kingdom of Naples had long suffered from the same kinds of irritations that plagued his relations with his neighbors to the north. Sixtus knew that his ambitions in central Italy required the acquiescence, if not the cooperation, of the southern kingdom, and so from the moment of his election he had worked hard to repair the damage caused by centuries of mistrust. Early in his reign he had shown his friendly disposition to the Aragonese kingdom by treating Ferrante’s daughter, Leonora, to such lavish entertainment during her stay in Rome that the festivities, presided over by Pietro Riario, scandalized the more sober-minded of the clergy. As Ferrante’s relations with Duke Sforza went from bad to worse, Sixtus sensed an opportunity to rearrange the diplomatic map of Italy more to his liking.

The other state pushing for a major realignment was that most mercurial of the peninsular powers, the Most Serene Republic of Venice. For many centuries the Venetians had remained proudly aloof from the chaotic affairs on terra firma, growing fabulously wealthy through trade and devoting their energies to protecting the republic’s extensive possessions in the Aegean and Mediterranean. But as Ottoman advances in the eastern Mediterranean threatened her maritime empire, Venice had begun to make good her losses by expanding her holdings in northern Italy. This inevitably involved her in conflicts with Milan, the other great regional power, and then with Milan’s ally Florence. But after meddling unsuccessfully in Florentine affairs during Piero’s reign—primarily through her secret backing of the
condottiere
Bartolomeo Colleoni—the Most Serene Republic decided to reverse course. The royal treatment given Giuliano during his visit in May of 1472 was one of the first signs of a softening of attitude toward Florence and to the Medici family in particular. Soon the Venetian ambassador was signaling a desire to come to a more formal understanding, an offer that grew more appealing to Lorenzo as the old alliances disintegrated.

The war of Città di Castello exposed the stark truth that the triple alliance had run its course. Florence, which had the greatest stake in preventing an expansion of papal power on her doorstep, felt understandably let down; most Florentines had concluded that King Ferrante was treacherous and Duke Sforza unreliable. Under the circumstances it was natural that Lorenzo should lend a receptive ear to the blandishments of the Venetian ambassador, who now proposed a defensive treaty between the two great republics of Italy. Rumors of an impending agreement soon reached Sforza, who tried to discourage Lorenzo from taking such a momentous step, reminding him of the “faithlessness” of the Venetians. But in the aftermath of the Città di Castello fiasco, the duke’s influence over his former protégé had waned. Lorenzo was particularly critical of Sforza’s incoherent diplomacy that one day favored Venice, the next Naples, and the following week sought to renew a general league that included the pope. He decided that the time had come to act, assuming that once his determination to bind himself with Venice was known, the duke would be forced to come on board. With this in mind he asked Tommaso Soderini, then the Florentine ambassador in residence at Milan, to make his way to Venice, where he was to finalize an agreement with the Senate, even over the objections of the duke. Lorenzo’s hunch proved correct; once the Venice-Florence alliance became a virtual fait accompli, Sforza made up his mind to join. On November 2, 1474, a new triple alliance among Venice, Florence, and Milan was announced.

The new pact, celebrated with bonfires and fireworks in the piazzas of Florence, appeared to provide Lorenzo with a much needed diplomatic success. He had replaced the crumbling alliance of 1454 with a new system of accords that included the three greatest states of the north. He was hopeful that faced with such a formidable array, Sixtus would curb his appetite for adventures in central Italy. But Lorenzo overestimated the strength of his hand. The pact he believed would tame the pope merely strengthened Sixtus’s determination to oppose the new confederation with every means at his disposal. The king of Naples was equally suspicious of Florentine motives. According to a Milanese observer, Ferrante predicted that “should Lorenzo pursue this league [with Venice and Milan], within a year he will have reason to repent,” adding ominously, “it will provide much stimulus to exiles who want to come to live in Naples, with the intention and promise of stirring up trouble for him.”

Thus instead of guaranteeing the peace of Italy, the new system led halfway down the path to war. Machiavelli sums up the situation succinctly: “Italy…was divided into two factions: pope and king on one side; Venetians, duke, and Florentines on the other. And although war had not yet been ignited between them, nonetheless every day gave them new causes for igniting one; and the pontiff, especially, in whatever his enterprise, strove to offend the state of Florence.”

With the major states of the peninsula now arrayed in two mutually hostile camps, attention turned to those small city-states that often supplied both the generals and the fighting men employed by the great powers. Federico da Montefeltro, Count of Urbino, was the most accomplished warrior of his day.
*
This mercenary captain, ruler of the minor power in the Apennines that had long been a nursery of doughty warriors, had already distinguished himself in the service of the Florentine state, though Lorenzo might well have wondered if he had been well served by his conduct in the war with Volterra. (It was Montefeltro’s troops who were largely responsible for the sack of that town that earned Lorenzo so much ill will among its citizens.) The shifting of loyalties that followed the disintegration of the first triple alliance meant not only that this professional warrior was free to choose a new master but that the services he supplied would be in even greater demand. It was with satisfaction, then, that from his splendid hilltop palace he contemplated the shifting map of Italy. The fact that this learned gentleman, whose home would serve as the setting for Baldassare Castiglione’s
The Courtier
, was Lorenzo’s godfather did not seem to weigh too heavily on his conscience as he considered his options.

Sixtus was determined to win over the
condottiere,
deploying in the process of seduction such charms as only a pope had at his disposal.
†
First he arranged a marriage between Giovanni della Rovere, brother of Cardinal Giuliano, and Montefeltro’s daughter Giovanna. In May 1474, while attending Mass in Rome, Montefeltro was seated in the papal chapel on the benches of the Sacred College just below the last cardinal, “an honor hitherto reserved for the eldest sons of Kings.” Finally, acting in his role as Montefeltro’s feudal overlord, Sixtus offered to the lord of Urbino and his descendants the exalted title of duke. For Montefeltro, no less enamored of gold and titles than most soldiers of fortune, these honors proved sufficient to win him to the papal cause. The courtship paid immediate dividends when the mere appearance of Montefeltro’s army at the gates of Città di Castello led to the capitulation of Vitelli.

The new Italian order was confirmed when, in January 1475, King Ferrante, accompanied by hundreds of retainers, made his triumphal entry into Rome.
*
The pernicious nature of the papal-Aragonese alliance, at least as far as Lorenzo was concerned, was quickly revealed when Ferrante offered to Antonio de’ Pazzi, Francesco’s cousin, the bishopric of Sarno. It was a slap in the face of the Florentine leader, whom not so long ago he had praised to the skies for his “prudence and manly courage.” But it was more than simply a public rebuke: in raising up a Pazzi against Lorenzo’s known wishes, the king was reminding Florentines that while Lorenzo’s favorites saw their careers grind to a halt, those who threw in their lot with the pope prospered. Invidious comparisons were inevitably drawn between Giuliano, whose ecclesiastical ambitions had come to nothing, and Francesco Salviati, now comfortably ensconced in his Pisan see.

If one also considers the precarious state of Lorenzo’s finances, it must have seemed likely that his days as ruler of Florence were numbered; the cabal that had formed in Rome had simply to play out its apparently winning hand. But it is a testament to the passions that drove them, the impatience that clouded their judgment, and the arrogance that caused them to believe their own propaganda, that instead of pursuing a successful strategy to its logical conclusion, they rushed heedlessly down a path that would lead to the ruin of so many.

Despite signs of impending trouble, Lorenzo did not seem entirely displeased with the new state of affairs. From the rubble of the old triple alliance had emerged a new confederation, as formidable (at least on paper) as the one it had replaced. With the military might of Milan and the economic might of Venice solidly behind the Florentine Republic, Lorenzo felt confident he could weather the storm of papal disapproval. Even Sixtus’s sanctions against the Roman branch of the Medici bank did not dampen his spirits. He still had plenty of pocket money and intended to use it as he always did, to burnish his own and his family’s image. To this end Lorenzo arranged a splendid joust in which Giuliano was to play the starring role, just as he himself had done six years earlier. Officially the joust was held to celebrate the recently concluded treaty with Venice and Milan, but it was simultaneously a coming-out party for Giuliano, recalling Lorenzo’s own debut on the public stage made under similar circumstances.
*
Like that earlier event, this one would be staged in the Piazza Santa Croce, whose squat, workaday buildings would be transformed into faerie castles by banners, pennants, and rich brocades such as only the workshops of Florence could supply. The greatest artists, artisans, goldsmiths, armorers, poets, and musicians of the age were once again assembled to display the magnificence and sing the praises of the Medici family.

Lorenzo spared no expense to ensure that this festival was even more magnificent than his had been.
†
Giuliano himself was deeply involved with the preparations, conferring with artists on the details of his outfit and scouring the country for the finest mounts. The one sour note came when Giuliano wrote to the duke of Urbino asking him to loan him a particularly fine jousting horse. The answer he received was brusque to the point of rudeness. “I sent it to Renato de’ Pazzi,” replied Lorenzo’s godfather, “who requested it from me.”

The twenty-one-year-old Giuliano could shrug off this snub in the general excitement of the moment. The prince of Florentine youth was in his element, orchestrating the elaborate program and relishing the chance to show off his athletic prowess. If Lorenzo tended to have mixed feelings about such pomp and empty display, Giuliano not only knew the value of projecting a splendid image but could show off with unself-conscious enthusiasm.

As the populace streamed into the stands around the square on the morning of January 29, 1475, it appeared to many that the city had never been more prosperous nor the Medici family more firmly in control. Even those who resented the Medici and their high-handed ways could not deny that they knew how to put on a show. Statecraft in Florence was as much about spectacle as policy and Lorenzo was a master impresario. Giuliano rode into the square resplendent in armor designed by the famous Milanese armorer Antonio Missaglia, holding aloft a banner painted by Botticelli, and a shield with an image of the head of Medusa picked out in pearls. His entourage, comprised of the flower of Florentine youth, was almost equally sumptuously attired in silk brocades of a richness that only a city made up of bankers and merchants could afford.

The task of immortalizing his special day was given to Giuliano’s good friend Angelo Poliziano. While on the occasion of Lorenzo’s joust, Luigi Pulci stuck fairly close to the day’s events, thinly disguising the more prosaic elements in an epic language that made all merchants’ sons appear like chivalric knights, Angelo Poliziano kept to his reportorial task only long enough to launch into a dreamlike allegory that transported readers far from the narrow streets of Florence. It is a testament to the new cultural era that was coming into being under Lorenzo’s aegis that Poliziano’s epic poem,
Stanzas Begun for the Joust of the Magnificent Giuliano de Medici,
bears so little resemblance to its predecessor. The poet himself acknowledges his debt. Beginning his verses by praising the city “that bridles and gives rein to the magnanimous Tuscans,” he then pays tribute to his patron, “well-born Laurel,
*
under whose shelter / happy Florence resting in peace, fearing neither / winds nor threat of heaven.” A more significant measure of Lorenzo’s influence than the flattery, typical for an artist who wished to please the man who paid his bills, is the poetry itself, which is steeped in the imagery that Poliziano had absorbed in the stimulating atmosphere of the Via Larga. Unlike Pulci’s poem, which follows the courtly conventions of northern Europe, Poliziano’s is a truly Renaissance creation that shows the fruits of the classical revival then in full force in the city on the Arno. Giuliano’s joust is recounted as a magical tale filled with the gods, goddesses, and supernatural creatures of pagan mythology, couched in a language whose allegorical richness reflects the sophisticated philosophical conversation that was the daily fare of those who supped at Lorenzo’s table.