Early in March he quitted Florence suddenly, giving out that his presence was required at Rome in connection with the affairs of the Pazzi bank. To say that his departure was a relief to Lorenzo is but half the truth, for he was greatly perturbed with respect to the influence which such a passionate and reckless rival would have upon his relations with the Holy See. Francesco was the subject of watchfulness upon the part of the Medici agents in Rome, where Giovanni de’ Tornabuoni set himself to thwart any hostile movement which might be made.
Among prominent men with whom Francesco de’ Pazzi was thrown into contact were Archbishop Francesco de’ Salviati and Count Girolamo de’ Riari. The Archbishop and Francesco were no strangers to one another; their families had risen to affluence and power side by side in Florence, actuated by like sentiments and engaged in like activities—hatred of the Medici was mutual.
Sixtus had proposed, in 1474, to bestow upon Francesco de’ Salviati the Archbishopric of Florence, but theSignoria, instigated by Lorenzo, refused to confirm his appointment and declined to grant him the temporalities of the See. The Pope yielded very ungraciously to the representations of the Florentine Government and named Rinaldo d’Orsini, Lorenzo’s brother-in-law, to the vacancy. This intervention was adduced by Sixtus afterwards as insubordination worthy of punishment, and he did not forget to take his revenge.
The following year Francesco de’ Salviati was chosen as Archbishop-designate of Pisa, and again the Florentines objected—being joined by the Pisans, who conspired to prevent him taking possession. The Archbishop was, according to Agnolo Poliziano—the devoted historian and poet-laureate of Lorenzo il Magnifico—“An ignorant man, a contemner of all law—human and divine—a man steeped in crime, and a disgrace to his family and the whole State.”
Count Girolamo de’ Riari, accounted a nephew of Sixtus, was, like his elder brother Piero and Caterina his sister, a natural child of the Pope. The three were treated with parental affection by the pontiff, and had their home in his private apartments, being waited upon by their unrecognised mother in the guise of nurse and guardian.
Piero de’ Riari was created a Cardinal when a spoilt boy, and became, as a man, infamous for his debauchery and villainy. Sixtus had the effrontery to select him as successor to Archbishop Orsini in Florence, but his action was prompted by a motive, which was firmly fixed in his heart. This was nothing less than the supplanting of Lorenzo de’ Medici by Piero or Girolamo! So far, however, as Cardinal de’ Riari was concerned, Sixtus’ ambitions were wholly disappointed by his sudden death, due to violent excesses of all kinds.
Like his brother, Count Girolamo, the offspring of illicit lust, and brought up in the depraved atmosphere of the Papal court, was a reprobate; but Sixtus’ vaulting ambition stopped not at character and reputation. He was bent upon the permanent aggrandisement of all the branches of the Delle Rovere family. Casting about for territorial dignity, the Pope set his heart upon the Lordship of Imola, where Taddeo Manfredi of Faenza, being in financial difficulties, had surrendered the fief to the Duke of Milan.
The proposal to bestow the Lordship upon Count Girolamo de’ Riari by purchase was warmly resented by the Florentines. Sixtus approached the question in a most underhand and suspicious manner. He knew perfectly well that negotiations were on foot for the acquisition of the property and title by Lorenzo, on behalf of the Florentine Government. Nevertheless he sent a secret mission to Galeazzo Sforza, Duke of Milan, offering the handsome sum of fifty thousand gold ducats, with a proviso, that the Duke should bestow the hand of his illegitimate daughter Caterina upon Girolamo.
By way of adding insult to injury, Sixtus impudently sought a loan from the Medici bank, with which to pay the Duke: this greatly offended Lorenzo and all the leading men in Florence. What made the Pope’s conduct more despicable, was the knowledge that he regarded this matter as the first step in a line of policy which aimed at supersession of the Medici by the Riari in the direction of Tuscan affairs—himself being Over-Lord.
The Pope’s demand was refused indignantly by Lorenzo, who, in the name of theSignoria, administered to his Holiness a severe rebuke for his interference in the affairs of Florence. The relations between the two Governments became strained, but Sixtus was perfectly indifferent to opposition where personal interests were concerned.
His next move was the withdrawal of the Duke of Urbino, his relative, from the military service of the Republic, and his appointment as Commander-in-Chief of the Papal forces. This manoeuvre was regarded with alarm by all the Italian States, and a league was formed by Florence, Venice, and Milan, to check Papal encroachments.
Sixtus made overtures to the Duke of Milan to detach him from the alliance, but, apparently, they failed of their object. The Duke was friendly with Lorenzo and had no wish to become embroiled with Florence.
All these plots and counterplots were exactly to the liking of Francesco de’ Pazzi, and he laid himself out to make capital out of them. Not only did he encourage the Pope in his inimical policy, but he placed at his command the sum of money which had been refused by the Medici bank. Sixtus was delighted with his new and wealthy adherent, and forthwith gave the presidents of the Medici bank in Rome notice that they no longer retained his confidence as Papal bankers, and that, accordingly, he had transferred the accounts of the Curia to the care of the rival Pazzi house. Upon Francesco de’ Pazzi he conferred the accolade of knighthood. This hostile action of course further estranged Lorenzo and the Government of Florence, and, quite naturally, a system of quarrelsome incidents was set up, with a very complete equipment of spies.
Sixtus never concealed his desire for the overthrow of Lorenzo and the subversion of the Florentine Government, and his hostility found a whole-hearted response in the persons of Count Girolamo de’ Riari, Archbishop Francesco de’ Salviati, and Cavaliere Francesco de’ Pazzi. The Pope exulted openly in what capital he could make out of tales and gossip about Lorenzo and his entourage. Two prominent Florentines fomented this factious spirit. Giovanni Neroni—the Archbishop of Florence in succession to Archbishop d’Orsini, brother of the notorious Diotisalvi, who was banished in 1466—and Agnolo Acciaiuolo—also banished the same year, who resided in Rome and was an especial favourite at the Vatican.
Charges of opposition to the policy of the Pope were freely thrown in the teeth of Lorenzo, and some of them were true, for the actions of the Pope led all observant men to the conclusion that he proposed to assume the rôle of arbiter in the affairs of all the Italian States. On the other hand, Lorenzo’s policy was peaceful, his aim being the consolidation of Medicean domination in the affairs of the Republic.
Causes such as these brought about the initiation of the dastardly plot known in history as “The Pazzi Conspiracy.” The name is somewhat open to criticism, for, although the Pazzi were the chief instruments employed, and exceeded all others in detestation of the Medici, the “forefront and head of the offending” was no less a personage than Pope Sixtus IV.
“His Holiness hates Lorenzo,” said Count Girolamo de’ Riari; this was the cue to all that followed. Doubtless the Pope was much in the power of sycophants and adventurers—all immoral rulers are. Each knew his man and held him in the palm of his left hand; and none were backward in impressing this knowledge upon him.
“We can always make our lord the Pope do as we please,” was Archbishop Salviati’s very apposite declaration! It was re-echoed by Francesco de’ Pazzi, who added significantly, “and we mean to rid Florence of the Medici.”
All through the year 1477 the three arch-conspirators were elaborating their plan of action. Possibly Sixtus—and we may give the miscreant the favour of the doubt—at first merely wished to upset the Government of Florence and banish Lorenzo and Giuliano by direct means. When, however, it was borne in upon him that the immense popularity of the Medici would, in the event of their supersession, only lead to their triumphant recall, he agreed that there was nothing for it but the removal of the two brothers in a more summary manner.
This association of Giuliano with Lorenzo was a miserable exhibition of personal spite. He had refused him the Cardinalate simply because he foresaw the succession of a Medici to the Papal throne, whilst he purposed handing over the triple tiara to his son, Cardinal Piero de’ Riari. Nevertheless, there was some idea in the mind of Sixtus, which he conveyed to his fellow-conspirators, of making an agreement with Giuliano, that if he would condone the exile of his brother, then his should be the reversion of the Popedom after Cardinal de’ Riari!
Some authorities say Giuliano lent a not unwilling ear to those overtures, but a saner view is that expressed by Agnolo Poliziano in an epigram:—
“Lorenzo—Giuliano—one spirit, love, and aim Animate you both—this, truly, I, your friend, proclaim.”
Giuliano’s love for Lorenzo was, like that of David and Jonathan, “a love surpassing that of women.” He consistently submitted his own ambitions to the exaltation of his brother’s magnificence.
The cogitations of the leaders of the conspiracy were disturbed by the fact that, however excellent their schemes might be, there was absolute necessity for the co-operation of other influences. Rome unaided could not cope with Florence, backed as she was by France, Venice, Milan, Ferrara, and Mantua. Sixtus consequently broached the subject of the suppression of the Medici to the King of Naples and to the Duke of Urbino—the support of Siena was always assured in any attack on her great rival.
The king had a personal quarrel with Lorenzo, because he had married Clarice d’Orsini in preference to his daughter, whose hand he had, in a way, offered to the young prince. He at once acceded to the Pope’s invitation, and, as good as his word, he despatched his son, the Duke of Calabria, at the head of an armed force, professedly to demand prompt payment by the Republic of arrears due to him for service rendered to Florence.
At the solicitation of Sixtus these troops were retained in Tuscany on the pretext that the Papal fief of Imola required protection. Of course the real purpose was a menace to Lorenzo: the force being at hand to strike a swift blow when necessary.
Duke Federigo of Urbino was made more or less conversant with the Papal policy, and with the special question of Lorenzo’s removal. He at once rejected the proposition that resort should be had to violent or secret measures, and in disgust at Sixtus’s conduct, he threw up his appointment as Commander of the Papal forces.
Whilst Sixtus was making all these military preparations for the furtherance of his intentions, his co-conspirators removed the scene of their activities to the neighbourhood of Florence, where the Pazzi and Salviati were at one in their readiness to lay down their lives for the undoing of the Medici. They first of all took into their confidence one of the Papal Condottieri, a man of undoubted courage and ability—Giovanni Battista da Montesicco, a native of the Roman Campagna—who was under heavy obligation to Count Girolamo de’ Riari. Of course he was perfectly willing, as became his calling, to sell his sword for good payment: he further undertook to enlist his lieutenant, Hieronimo Comiti, in the cause.
The Condottiere was sent off to Florence to communicate to Cavaliere Giacopo de’ Pazzi the “idea” of the three chief plotters, to test his feelings, and, if possible, secure his adherence. At first the old man was “as cold as ice”—so Montesicco said in his confession later on—and declined to take any part in the conspiracy. After hearing all that was put before him, he enquired whether Sixtus approved the scheme.
“Why, his Holiness,” replied the Condottiere, “has sent me straight to your Honour to ask your support.... I speak for the Pope.”
“Then,” said Giacopo, “I am with you.”
A few days later Archbishop Salviati and Francesco de’ Pazzi joined Montesicco at Giacopo’s country villa, at Montughi, just beyond the Porta Rosso, on the high road to Bologna. Consultations between the heads of the two families, Pazzi and Salviati—were held there, with the concurrence of a certain number of influential citizens inimical to the Medici.
These meetings were given out as hunting-parties and, to blind their eyes, overtures were made to both Lorenzo and Giuliano to honour the sport with their presence. Needless to say, Francesco de’ Pazzi’s return to Florence, in company with the unfriendly Archbishop, aroused Lorenzo’s suspicions, but he does not appear to have taken any action.
Montesicco was instructed to make himself and his lieutenant familiar with the stage upon which he was destined to play his part of the plot, and especially to observe the persons and the habits of the two Medici princes. Furthermore, he was directed to seek a personal interview with Lorenzo, on the pretence of submitting suggestions, propounded by Count Girolamo, with respect to the acquisition of somepoderinear Faenza.
Lorenzo received his visitor with his usual courtesy and hospitality, and, whilst he wondered why Riario should depute such a redoubtable warrior to deal with peaceful matters, he never dreamt that foul play was intended. Montesicco was greatly impressed by the Magnifico’s ingenuousness and nobility of character, and still more by the evident esteem and affection in which he was held by all classes of the population. He earnestly reconsidered the bargain he had made: “I resolved,” he said in his confession, “that my sword should not slay that just man.”
The counsels at Montughi were divergent and acrimonious. At length a resolution was agreed to, as offering a suitable and secure locality for the perpetration of the deed in contemplation, namely, to invite Lorenzo to Rome in the name of Sixtus. Such a step would be regarded as a proof that the Pope no longer opposed Lorenzo’s government, but that amodus vivendihad been reached, agreeable to all parties. Giuliano was to be included in the invitation as well. Of course the hope was entertained that a favourable opportunity would be afforded, during the Papal hospitalities, for the murder of the two brothers.
The Archbishop took the lead in all these deliberations—he and Giacopo de’ Pazzi were boon companions. “They made no profession of any virtue,” wrote Ser Varillas, in hisSecret History of the Medici, “either moral or Christian; they played perpetually at dice, swore confoundedly, and showed no respect for religion.”
Confident in the general support of all the members of his family, in any demonstration against the hated Medici, he took into his personal confidence his brother, Giacopo de’ Salviati—“an obscure, sordid man”—and his nephew, Giacopo—“a wastrel and a fanatical anti-Medicean.”
Among the trustworthy Florentine confederates the Archbishop enrolled Giacopo, son of the famous scholar, Poggio Gucchio de’ Bracciolini, originally a protégé of Lorenzo, but “dismissed his service for insolence and rapacity”; Giovanni Perugino, of San Gimignano, a physician attached to Cavaliere Giacopo’s household; Giovanni Domenico, a bridle-maker and athlete, but “an idle sort of fellow”; and Napoleone de’ Franzesi, a friend of Guglielmo de’ Pazzi, Lorenzo’s brother-in-law. Another adherent was Messer Giovanni da Pisa, a notary, but “a factious and bad man.”
Before leaving Rome, Francesco de’ Pazzi and the Archbishop had agreed with Count Girolamo de’ Riari to engage the services of two desperadoes in the pay of the Pope—Bernardo Bandino of the Florentine family of Baroncelli, “a reckless and a brutal man and a bankrupt to boot,” and Amerigo de’ Corsi, “the renegade son of a worthy father,”—Messer Bernardo de’ Corsi of the ancient Florentine house of that ilk. Two ill-living priests were also added to the roll of the conspirators —Frate Antonio, son of Gherardo de’ Maffei of Volterra, and Frate Stefano, son of Niccolo Piovano da Bagnore. The former was exasperated against Lorenzo for the reckless sack of Volterra, and because he had taken possession of a valuable alum-pit belonging to his family. The latter wasVicarioof Monte Murlo, an upstart Papal précis-writer, whose family was plebeian and employed upon Pazzi property in that locality; he was “a man steeped in crime and a creature of Cavaliere Giacopo de’ Pazzi.”
So many having been admitted into the secret of the conspiracy, it became a matter of urgent importance that no delay should arise in the fulfilment of the design; the fear of espionage and leakage was ever present to the minds of the leaders. But what to do, and where, and how, baffled all their ingenuity. At last a lead came, quite unexpectedly from Sixtus himself.
At Pisa was a youth, studying law and philosophy—Raffaelle Sansoni—the son of Count Girolamo’s only sister, just sixteen years of age, and “very tender in the heart of the Pope.” Early in 1478 Sixtus had preconised him Cardinal of San Giorgio, and added the honour of Legate for Archbishop Salviati’s induction to that See—the richest, by the way, in all Italy.
The boy Cardinal, in April, was directed, by Sixtus, to make a progress to Imola on a visit to his uncle and aunt, and to take Florence on his way, for the purpose of paying his respects to Lorenzo. There was, of course, much more in this apparently innocent proceeding than appeared at first view. Francesco de’ Pazzi at once obtained Cavaliere Giacopo’s permission to offer the hospitality of his villa to his youthful eminence and his suite.
Montesicco was ordered to furnish an escort of cavalry in the name of the Pope—“men who were perfectly trustworthy and prepared to carry out whatever commands they received.”
After the cavalcade had set forth, Francesco sent a message to Lorenzo de’ Medici, suggesting that it might be agreeable to all parties if he could see his way to entertain the Cardinal. Both he and the Archbishop, who was in the company of the Cardinal, knew very well that the proposition would be cordially entertained by the hospitable Magnifico.
As they had anticipated, no sooner had the news reached Florence that the distinguished visitors were approaching the city, than a dignified deputation ofSignoriset out to meet them, conveying a courteous invitation to be Lorenzo’s guests at Fiesole.
A splendid reception was followed by a noble entertainment, whereat all the more notable dignitaries of the city and the principal members of the Platonic Academy assisted. Among the guests of honour were Archbishop Francesco de’ Salviati, with the Ambassadors—Giovanni Morino, representing Ferrante, King of Naples; Filippo Sagramoro, the Duke of Milan; and Ercole di Bendio, the Duke of Ferrara. In special attendance upon Lorenzo, and of ambassadorial rank, were the Cavalieri Agnolo della Stufa, Luigi de’ Guicciardini, Bernardo de’ Buongirolami, and Buongiano de’ Gianfigliazzi, and others.
The conspirators were in a state of the highest expectation that Montesicco and his lieutenant would have no difficulty in finding opportunities to effect their dastardly purpose during the festivities. They were doomed to disappointment, for at the last moment, and when the banquet was in progress, it was remarked that Giuliano was absent—he was indisposed and unable to attend the function!
The Sunday following, 26th April, happened to be the name-day of the Cardinal, and he expressed a wish to hear High Mass in Santa Maria del Fiore. Lorenzo announced his intention of personally conducting his eminence to the Duomo, and requested him to honour the Domina Clarice and himself by attending a State dinner at the Medici Palace, in the Via Larga, at the conclusion of the ceremony.
This was much to the mind of the confederates, for, surely, there would be a favourable opportunity for the execution of the plot. In secret session it was arranged that, at the moment of the Elevation of the Host, Giovanni Battista da’ Montesicco should stab Lorenzo, whilst Francesco de’ Pazzi and Bernardo Bandino should fall upon Giuliano.
The Condottiere, however, firmly refused to commit the double crime of sacrilege and murder, and, point-blank, declined all further share in the conspiracy. Here was an entirely unlooked-for situation, and an alternative plan was not easy to arrange. Francesco de’ Pazzi seemed inclined to step into the breach, but detestation of Lorenzo checked his ardour—he would not soil his hands with the blood of such a contemptible tyrant, a menial should administer the blow! There was no lack of volunteers ready to take Montesicco’s place, but excessive caution was requisite that no prominent Florentine conspirator should be chosen, lest suspicion should be aroused.
Finally the two clerical members of the conspiracy, Frati Antonio and Stefano, were entrusted with the grim duty. The appointment was quite the best that could be made, because, at the Cathedral, Lorenzo and his immediate entourage would be placed with the clergy, within the choir, whereas to the Pazzi and the other confederates places would be assigned outside the screen, among the unofficial congregation.
Everything was in order, the great bell of the Duomo was sounding its invitation, and the sacred building was packed with worshippers and spectators. In full state Lorenzo, accompanied by Domina Clarice and their Court, led Cardinal Sansoni to his chair of estate by the high altar.
If, as he himself affirmed, Lorenzo was deprived of the pleasure of smell, he had compensation in the greater acuteness of the other four senses, and it must have struck his keen eyes, as he passed to his place, that there seemed to be an unusually large muster of adherents of the Pazzi and Salviati. Probably he reflected that they were there armed in honour of the Cardinal, who was the guest of Cavaliere Giacopo and under the guidance of Archbishop Francesco, as deputy of his Holiness the Pope.
In the vast congregation everybody of importance in Florence was assembled, with two notable exceptions—the mother and the only brother of Lorenzo il Magnifico. The Domina Lucrezia, who had suddenly retired from the prominent position she held at the Court of her son, remained at Careggi with the venerable Madonna Contessina, Cosimo’s widow, upon whom she waited with the utmost devotion.
The other absentee was, once more, Giuliano! Consternation seized upon the conspirators, for the slaughter would not be complete without the shedding of his blood.
The preliminary anthems were being sung as the procession of the celebrant of the Mass, with his sacred ministers moved from the New Sacristy, and every head was bowed before the symbol of the cross. Hesitation on the part of the confederates meant ruin, and, perhaps, death: this no one knew better than Francesco de’ Pazzi. Beckoning to Bernardo Bandino, he led the way to the north door of the Cathedral, and hurried off with him to the Medici Palace, not many yards away.
Asking to see the Lord Giuliano, the porter led them into the courtyard, and presently the groom of the chamber conducted them into the young prince’s apartment. Giuliano was nearly dressed, and his valet was giving some final touches to his abundant brown hair and to his robes.
“Hasten, my lord, the Mass is in saying, or you will be too late,” exclaimed Francesco, “we have come to conduct you to the Duomo.” Giuliano was in a gleeful mood, and joked his visitors upon their unexpected attentions. At length he cried out: “Lead on, Pazzo—Medico will follow!”
Taking him in his humour, Francesco slipped his arm round Giuliano’s waist—apparently as a mark of good-fellowship, but really for the purpose of feeling whether he was wearing armour under his blue velvet tunic. With Bandino on the other side, the three made the rest of their way through the dense crowd in the Via Larga, being greeted respectfully by old and young, though many wondered at “Il bel Giulio’s” unwonted companions.
Entering the Duomo, the three stood a moment whilst a clear course was made for Giuliano to the centre of the congregation. Lorenzo and the clergy and dignitaries within the choir were already upon their knees, ready to prostrate themselves as the celebrant held aloft the Sacred Host. Near Lorenzo were Giovanni de’ Tornabuoni, his uncle,—famous for his wealth, influence at Rome, and his probity,—Antonio and Lorenzo de’ Cavalcanti, Lorenzo de’ Tornabuoni, Marco de’ Vespucci, and Filippo degli Strozzi, Chamberlains of Honour, and other distinguished Florentines and the foreign ambassadors.
No sooner had Giuliano reached the entrance to the choir and was about to genuflect, than Francesco de’ Pazzi, who had followed him closely, whipped out his sword, at the very moment of the Elevation, and ran the devout prince, through the back! At the same time Bandino leaped upon him and stabbed him repeatedly in the breast!
It was all the work of an instant, and Giuliano fell over upon his side, his crimson life’s blood ebbing swiftly out of nineteen gaping wounds and dyeing his scarlet robe deep purple. Francesco’s frenzy was diabolical, for he leaped upon the still quivering body of his victim, and stabbed him again and again—wounding his own thigh in his fury!
Bandino next attacked Francesco Nori, a chief agent or manager of the Medici bank, a man of renown and honour, who vainly threw himself forward to shield his unhappy young patron, and he cut him down to the ground. With a filthy execration, he raised the dripping weapon in the air, prepared for yet another victim.
Meanwhile the two perjured priests, who, by the mock grace of their Order were placed within the choir, had taken up positions immediately behind Lorenzo, as though to render him assistance in the divine service, suddenly attacked him with daggers, but unskilfully. Lorenzo scrambled to his feet, and, casting his heavy mantle of State over his shoulders, drew his sword in self-defence. Turning to see who his opponents were, he received a scratch in the neck from Stefano’s steel. Then, from the raised dais, he descried the tumult at the choir gates, whilst cries of “Il Giuliano e morto” reached his ears!
Desperadoes were struggling with the clergy and the acolytes by the great lectern, and calling out his name for vengeance. One, more murderous than the rest, was scaling the low sanctuary wall, holding his gory dagger in the air, and making for the chairs of estate—it was Bernardo Bandino. Commending the Domina Clarice to the care of his uncle, Lorenzo passed hurriedly up the steps of the altar and gained the New Sacristy, followed closely by the two Cavalcanti, who were battling with the infuriated Bandino and his confederates—“Abbasso il Lorenzo,” they yelled.
Escaping through the doorway, Luca della Robbia’s great bronze gates were slammed to, by Angelo Poliziano, almost crushing Antonio Cavalcanti, who fell with a deep wound in his shoulder, and actually flinging to the ground, outside in the aisle, the raging, baffled Bandino. “Then arose,” wrote Filippo Strozzi, in his familyRicordi—he was an eye-witness of the tragedy—“a great tumult in the church. Messer Bongiano and other knights, with whom I was conversing, were stupefied, one fled hither and another thither, loud shouts filled the building, and the hands of friends of the Pazzi and Salviati all held gleaming weapons.... The young Cardinal remained alone, crouching by the high altar, until he was led away by some priests into the Old Sacristy, whence he was escorted by two of the ‘Eight,’ with a strong bodyguard, to the Palazzo del Podesta.”
Inside the New Sacristy it was discovered that Lorenzo’s wound was serious enough to call for immediate treatment, and one of his devoted pages, young Antonio de’ Ridolfi, sucked it for fear of poison. The great heavy metal doors were incessantly battered from without, but no one dared to open them, and Lorenzo remained where he was until the hubbub in the Duomo appeared to be abating. Then another page, Sismondo della Stufa, climbed up into the organ gallery, whence he could look into the church, and reported that none but friends of the Medici remained, and they were crying out for Lorenzo to accept their escort to the palace. So the Magnifico departed.
All the while the great bell of the Palazzo Vecchio was booming out its dread summons for the city trained bands and the armed members of the Guilds to assemble for the defence of the city and the maintenance of their liberties. Loud cries of “Liberta!” “Liberta!” rolled up the street, drowned by a great chorus of “Evviva le Palle!” “Abasso i Traditori!” The whole city was in an uproar and blood was being spilt on every side.
What had happened was tragically this. Whilst one half of the conspirators was told off to strike the fatal blow, the other half was directed to rally round Archbishop Salviati, who, by the way, made some excuse for not assisting ministerially at the Mass, but took up his station close to the north door of the Duomo. Directly they saw Giuliano struck to the ground, they made all haste to the Palazzo Vecchio, and demanded an interview with Messer Cesare de’ Petrucci, theGonfaloniere di Giustizia, who had been detained by urgent matters in the Courts.
When Messer Petruccio enquired the nature of their business, the Archbishop replied: “We are come, all the family of Salviati, to pay our respects to theGonfaloniere, as in duty bound.” Messer Cesare was at lunch, but, rising from table, he welcomed the Archbishop, who entered the apartment alone. He asked him to be speedy, as he had to join the banquet to the Cardinal di San Giorgio almost immediately.
Salviati said he was the bearer of his family’s greetings to theGonfaloniere, and also of a private Brief to him from the Pope. His manner seemed so strange, and his errand so irregular, that Petruccio’s suspicions were aroused, and raising the arras, he saw the passage was filled with armed men. At once he called the palace guard to arrest the intruders, and caused every door of exit to be locked.
The object, of course, of the Archbishop and those with him was to seize the person of theGonfaloniereand possess themselves of the Banner of Justice—that they might rouse the citizens to fight in its defence.
On the contrary, the people were for the Medici, and “Palle!” “Palle!” prevailed. Noting that the Salviati did not leave the palace, and that the guards had been withdrawn from the gate and every door was bolted, the populace broke into the building, rescued theGonfaloniere, and theSignoriwith him, and seized the persons of the intruders.
Without more ado they ran the miscreants, Francesco, Giacopo, and Giacopo di Giacopo de’ Salviati, Giacopo de’ Bracciolini, and Giovanni da Perugia, up to the lantern of the Campanile, and, thrusting their bodies through the machicolations, hung them head downwards! Others of the party and some of the Cardinal’s servants, who had accompanied the Archbishop, were flung from the windows.
Cavaliere Giacopo de’ Pazzi was neither at the Duomo, nor did he accompany the Archbishop to the Palazzo Vecchio. His part was to await news from Salviati that he had seized theGonfaloniereand the palace, and then to ride fully armed with a retinue of mercenaries and Montesicco’s bodyguard of the Cardinal to the Piazza della Signoria. Without awaiting the signal he advanced, raising the cry “Liberta!” “Liberta!” but none rallied to his side.
Instead, he and his escort were pelted with stones and, on arriving in the Piazza, he beheld the gruesome human decoration of the Campanile. Without a moment’s hesitation, spurring his horse, he rode swiftly towards the Porta della Croce, and set off into the open country—a fugitive!
Francesco de’ Pazzi, after the slaughter of Giuliano, escaped to his uncle’s house, and stripping himself, received attention to his wound, which was of a very serious nature. He was not, however, left very long in peace, for the cry had gone forth in the streets—“Death to the traitors!” “Down with the Pazzi and the Salviati!” “Fire their houses!” The sword, still reeking red with the bluest blood of Florence, was swiftly crossed by the sword of retribution. Francesco was dragged forth, naked as he was from his bed, buffeted, pelted, and spat upon, they thrust him with staves, weapons, hands and feet, right through the Piazza della Signoria; up they forced him to the giddy gallery of the Campanile, and then, flinging his bleeding, battered body out among his bloodthirsty comrades, they left him to dangle and to die with them there! The Archbishop, still in his gorgeous vestments, turned in fury, as he hung head downwards in that ghastly company, and, seizing his fiendish confederate, fixed his teeth in his bare breast, and so the guilty pair expiated their hellish rage—unlovely in their lives, revolting in their deaths!
Poor Giuliano’s corpse was left weltering in his blood, where he had been done to death, outside the choir screen of the Duomo. At length he was picked up tenderly by the goodMisericordia. His terrible wounds were reverently washed and his godlike body prepared for sepulture. News of his assassination had been swiftly carried out to Careggi, and Domina Lucrezia, bracing herself for the afflicting sight, hastened to lay his fair head in her lap, a very real replica of “La Pietà”—Blessed Mary and her Son.
Ah! how she and the women who bore her company wept for the beloved dead. Ah! how with tender fingers they counted each gaping wound. Ah! how gently they cut off locks of his rich hair, as memorials of a sweet young life.
They buried Giuliano that same evening, with all the honours due to his rank, amid the tears of an immense concourse of people—stayed for a while from their savage man-hunt. To the Medici shrine of San Lorenzo they bore him—the yellow light of the wax candles revealing the tombs of Cosimo and Piero.
“There was not a citizen,” says Macchiavelli, “who, armed or unarmed, did not go to the palace of Lorenzo in this time of trouble, to offer him his person and his property—such was the position and the affection that the Medici had acquired by their prudence and their liberality.”
Lorenzo came out on the loggia, and addressed the people massed in the street. He thanked them for their devotion and assistance, but entreated them, for his dear, dead brother’s sake, to abstain from further atrocities and to disperse to their homes in peace.
Nevertheless, all the Pazzi and Salviati were proclaimed “Ammoniti” and they were pursued from house to house, whilst the peasants took up the hue and cry in thecontado. Bleeding heads and torn limbs were everywhere scattered in the streets; door-posts and curb-stones were dashed with gore; men and women and the children, too, were all relentless avengers of “Il bel Giulio’s” blood. It is said that one hundred and eighty stark corpses were borne away by the mercifulMisericordiaand buried secretly!
Cavaliere Giacopo, who had escaped into the hilly country of the Falterona, near the source of the Arno, was recognised by a couple of countrymen, who were frequenters of the markets in Florence. They seized him and took him to the city gate, where they sold him for fifty gold florins. His shrift was short, for his purchasers, adherents of the Medici, hacked off his head in the street, and carried it upon a pole to the Ponte Vecchio! Buried at Santa Croce, in the chapel of the Pazzi, his mutilated body was not left long in its grave. It was pulled up, denuded of the shroud, and, with a rope tied round the feet, dragged by men and women and even children to the Lung’ Arno, and pitched, like a load of refuse, into the dusky river!
Several of the arch-conspirators hid for a while in various places, mostly in convents, but their time came for punishment. The two priests, Antonio and Stefano, were, two days after the tragedy in the Duomo, brought out of the cellars of theBadiaof the Benedictines at Santa Firenze, and killed, not swiftly and mercifully, but tortured and mutilated to the satisfaction of the rabble.
Bernard Bandino, after picking himself up at the New Sacristy doors, immediately realised the failure of the conspiracy, and, wise man that he was, put his own safety before all other considerations. He worked his way through the struggling crowd in the Cathedral and got out by the south portal. Luckily enough, the Cardinal’s horse had been left tethered by its affrighted groom hard by, so without awaiting news from the Archbishop, he vaulted into the saddle and made off at a hand gallop to the Porta Santa Croce.
With more cunning than Giacopo had shown, he made, not to the Tuscan hills, but to the Tuscan sea, and reached Corneto just in time to board a ship bound for the East, and at the point of weighing anchor. At Galata he went ashore and communicated with Sixtus, who sent him a goodly sum of money and sundry Papal safeguards, with his blessing!
There he lay hid for many weeks, but, as luck would have it, one day he came out of his lair in a Turkish divan, and encountered an agent of the Medici, who recognised him, followed him, and charged him before the Pasha. Put in irons by the Sultan’s command, communication was made with Lorenzo. An envoy was despatched to Constantinople, to whom the wretch was handed, and, two months after his crimes in Santa Maria del Fiore, his living body was added to the string of stinking corpses, upon the side of the Campanile, which still dangled in their iron chains, betwixt earth and heaven, rained on and withered by the elements, and fed upon by carrion!
All the seven sons of Piero de’ Pazzi were banished for life. They seem to have had no very intimate knowledge of the conspiracy; indeed, they were all away from Florence, except the fourth, Renato, and he was beheaded “for not having revealed the plot, he being privy to the treachery of his uncle Giacopo and his cousin Francesco.”
Renato, indeed, tried to escape, knowing that he was implicated, although not engaged in the plot, but the garrison of Radicofani discovered him and his hiding-place, and he was despatched under guard to Florence. Giovanni de’ Pazzi, Francesco’s brother, who had married Beatrice Buonromeo, hid, for a time, in the monastery of Degli Angeli, and then, with his wife, was banished to the castle of Volterra, where he died in 1481. It does not appear that he took any active part in the plot, although his wronging by Lorenzo was the spark which fired the whole conspiracy.
Guglielmo de’ Pazzi, the husband of Bianca de’ Medici, Lorenzo and Giuliano’s sister, was protected byIl Magnifico, and allowed to reside in a villa twelve miles outside Florence.
Napoleone de’ Franzesi, alone of all the conspirators, effected his escape, but Piero de’ Vespucci, father-in-law to “La bella Simonetta”—“Il bel Giulio’s”innamorata,—who assisted him, was sentenced to two years’ imprisonment in the Stinche, with a heavy fine.
Giovanni Battista da Montesicco’s fate was, perhaps, the only one which excited commiseration, even from the point of view of the Medici. A soldier of fortune, his weapon was at your command, did you but fill his pouch with ducats of Rome or florins of Florence. To him it mattered not whether the adventure partook of romance and espionage, or of intrigue and murder. Unlike many of his profession, he was a religious man, and just. He drew back from his bargain as soon as he had experience of Lorenzo’s character, and he refused point-blank to slay him in a spot “where Christ could see him,” as he said. It does not appear that he was inside the Cathedral that dread April morning, but remained on watch to see what transpired. On the defeat of the conspiracy he fled, with many more, right out of Tuscany. Agents of the Medici, however, pursued him and, having captured him, dragged him back to Florence. Before the Lords of theSignoriahe made confession of what he knew of the conspiracy and of his own part therein. On 4th May, just seven days after the tragedy, he paid the penalty of his misplaced devotion, and he was hanged within the Palace of the Podesta.
Two arch-conspirators are still to be accounted for, Pope Sixtus IV. and Count Girolamo de’ Riari! The former never expressed the least regret or concern at the tragic occurrences in Florence, but openly deplored the failure of his scheme to replace Lorenzo by Girolamo. Furthermore, he issued a “Bull,” which began: “Iniquitatis filius et perditionis alumnus,” and ended by anathema of Lorenzo, whereby he was excommunicated, and all Florence placed under an Interdict!
Moreover, he laid violent hands upon Donato Acciaiuolo, the Florentine ambassador, and, but for the prompt intervention of the envoys of Venice and Milan, would have cast him, uncharged, into the dungeons of the castle of Sant Angelo. The majority of the Florentine merchants in Rome were arrested, their property confiscated, and, to add insult to injury, Sixtus demanded from theSignoriathe immediate banishment of Lorenzo. He expressed his keen sorrow for the deaths of the Pazzi and Salviati, his “devoted sons and trusty counsellors.” He spoke of the execution of the Archbishop as “a foul murder caused by the tyranny of the Medici,” and he put a price upon the head of Cesare de’ Petrucci, theGonfaloniere di Giustizia!
As for Count Girolamo, who had, coward-like, kept in the background—he was probably little more than a complacent tool in the hands of the pontiff—he was permitted to leave Florence in the train of the young Cardinal, immediately before the reception of the Interdict. He returned to Rome and abandoned himself to a life of profligacy; his palace became a brothel and a gambling hell, and there he lived for ten years, dishonoured and diseased. His retributive death was by the hand of an assassin in 1488.
The failure of the plot, whilst it added tremendously to the popularity of the Medici and strengthened still more Lorenzo’s position, threw the Pope frantically into the arms of the King of Naples. He persuaded him to join in a combined and powerful invasion of Tuscany. At Ironto the Neapolitan troops crossed the frontier and encamped, whilst the Papal forces moved on from Perugia and Siena.
Lorenzo at once called a Parliament to consider the position, and to take steps for the protection of the city and the defence of the State. He addressed the assembly as follows: “I know not, Most Excellent Lords and Most Worshipful Citizens, whether to mourn or to rejoice with you over what has happened. When I think of the treachery and hatred wherewith I have been attacked, and my brother slain, I cannot but grieve; but when I reflect with what eagerness and zeal, with what love and unanimity, on the part of the whole city, my brother has been avenged and myself defended, I am moved not merely to rejoice, but even to glory in what has transpired. For, if I have found that I have more enemies in Florence than I had thought I had, I have at the same time discovered that I have warmer and more devoted friends than I knew.... It lies with you, my Most Excellent Lords, to support me still, or to throw me over.... You are my fathers and protectors, and what you wish me to do, I shall do only too willingly....”
All the hearers were deeply affected by Lorenzo’s oration, some indeed shed tears, but all vowed to support him in resisting the enemy at the gate. “Take courage,” they cried, “it behoves thee, Lorenzo, to live and die for the Republic!”
At the same time they enrolled a bodyguard of twelve soldiers, whose duty it should be to accompany Lorenzo whenever he went abroad, and to protect him in his palace or at his villas. Doubtless they thought the Pope might resort to further secret measures for the slaughter of his enemy.
Thus ended the terrible “Conspiracy of the Pazzi.”