Magnifico (28 page)

When Inghirami and his associates came to Florence in November 1471, they received a warm reception from a government now dominated by Lorenzo’s men. Having rushed precipitously toward the brink, the priors of Volterra now seemed anxious to find a face-saving way out of the crisis. On January 4, 1472, the apparently chastened priors voted to give Lorenzo full power to arbitrate the dispute.

Thus far a diplomatic solution still seemed within reach. No blood had been shed and both sides appeared willing to resolve their differences in a peaceable manner. But while in public a spirit of compromise reigned, in private there were those who saw profit in a more violent outcome. It is not clear if the ruling body of Volterra deliberately set out to deceive Lorenzo or, as seems more likely, its erratic course was the result of an internal power struggle. What is certain, however, is that at least some members of the priorate were determined to push events past the point where a peaceful resolution was possible. The new and more dangerous phase of the crisis came on February 23, 1472, when Paolo Inghirami, surrounded by an armed escort provided by the Florentine government, attempted to return to Volterra. Awaiting Inghirami as he entered the city gates was a mob of armed peasants who quickly overwhelmed his bodyguards and chased him into the
palazzo,
where he and his father-in-law were murdered.

The peasants who hacked Inghirami to death were not simply a spontaneous mob of Volterran patriots but a well-organized vigilante squad assembled on orders from at least some members of the government. Their complicity was confirmed over the next few days when the priors appointed an extraordinary committee (a
Balìa
selected, as in similar emergencies in Florence, by hand), deliberately excluding all Lorenzo’s supporters. While Lorenzo was seeking a negotiated settlement, the city of Volterra was girding for war.

Most disturbing to Lorenzo, this act of rebellion was abetted by members of his own government. According to Sacramoro, the treacherous behavior of the Volterrans was encouraged by certain “malcontents who do not wish to be governed by [Lorenzo],” and who “tolerate and perhaps even secretly favor those things that create difficulties.” Among those who secretly wished to embarrass Lorenzo was Antonio Ridolfi, a man who had been among Lorenzo’s staunchest allies in the crisis over the triple alliance. A contemporary poem celebrating the life of Federico da Montefeltro, lord of Urbino, contains a passage that reveals the dangerous synergy between the Volterran rebels and malcontents within Florence:

Adding to this catalogue of woes was the fact, soon uncovered, that Dietisalvi Neroni and Jacopo and Neri Acciaiuoli had once again jumped into the fray and were proposing a secret pact with the Volterrans to bring about “the destruction of the house of Medici.” Nor could the irrepressible Bartolomeo Colleoni be kept on the sidelines; in April, Sacramoro learned that the
condottiere
was preparing to cross the mountains once again in yet another attempt to topple Lorenzo’s government.

The story of the war of Volterra is usually framed as a cautionary tale about an impetuous young politician in over his head, resisting the counsel of older and wiser men in a desperate desire to prove his mettle. Tommaso Soderini in particular is credited for giving a sage speech in the months leading up to the war in which he quoted the old Tuscan proverb, “Better a lean peace than a fat victory.” But the details tell a somewhat different tale, one in which Lorenzo appears rather less hotheaded than is usually presumed and in which he had the backing of many of those older men whose counsel he is supposed to have rejected.

By April the Florentine government had responded to Inghirami’s murder and the treachery of the Volterran government by appointing its own extraordinary committee, the Ten of War, on which Lorenzo was assigned a prominent place. But even now he hoped to avoid all-out confrontation. Sacramoro reported to Duke Galeazzo Maria Sforza in March that Lorenzo hoped that by exploiting the rivalries that usually beset the Volterran regime he might yet achieve his goals without war. In the meantime, backed by the rest of the Ten of War, he prepared for the worst.

The Volterrans, though overmatched, hoped that the mutual jealousies among the leading powers of Italy would persuade at least some of them to leap to her aid. To encourage them they hastily dispatched emissaries to all the major courts, including Milan, Naples, and Rome, pleading their case and inviting them to intercede on their behalf. Lorenzo had reason to be concerned: Colleoni, as we have seen, was itching to renew his Tuscan adventures and behind him stood the wealth and power of the Venetian empire; the pope, the newly elected Sixtus IV, might also be tempted to discomfit the Florentines, whose expansion always came at the expense of the Papal States. Most worrisome to Lorenzo was the stance of King Ferrante, who had revived his dreams of a peninsula-wide empire. He had just disembarked 1,500 of his own men in the Tuscan coastal city of Piombino, who could as easily be employed against Florentine interests as on her behalf. Even Duke Sforza, Lorenzo’s most reliable ally, equivocated. According to the secret correspondence of Sacramoro, Milan had decided to let Lorenzo twist in the wind for a while. (The duke was worried that if Lorenzo grew too powerful in Florence he would lose his dependence on the court of Milan.)

War was officially declared by the Ten on April 26, 1472, and 100,000 ducats raised to hire and equip an army. Lorenzo scored a great coup when he persuaded Federico da Montefeltro, the most distinguished
condottiere
of the day, to spearhead the assault.

Facing Federico’s well-equipped troops, five thousand foot soldiers and five hundred cavalry, the Volterrans, disappointed in their efforts to create an anti-Florentine coalition, could muster barely one thousand men. Only Siena, governed, according the Florentine diarist Benedetto Dei, “by a crowd of mad adventurers,” came to her aid. The other major powers, including the pope, Naples, and, tardily, Milan, decided to back Florence, now in a commanding position and capable of punishing those who had deserted her in her hour of need.

Realizing the precariousness of their position, the priors of Volterra sent an emissary to plead for mercy with the government of Florence. He was met by Tommaso Soderini, who told the ambassador that the crisis was the fault of the Volterrans, who were “not observing their agreements, because of which the people of Florence were constrained to defend their honor and dignity.” He threatened that unless the city were given up freely to Florentine troops they would impose their will “so as to conform to their obligations and to preserve honor.”

Federico’s army, strengthened by troops from Milan, the Papal States, and Naples, was encamped before the walls of Volterra by late April, having met little or no resistance on its approach to the city. Throughout the course of the twenty-five-day siege soldiers hurled insults back and forth across the walls of the city. During the night cries could be heard rising from around the twinkling campfires that encircled the town: “
Marzocho, Marzocho
!” for the Florentine lion,
*
and “
Palle! Palle
!” for the Medici. Cries also went out from the camps of the troops of the duke, the king, and the pope, a constant reminder to the besieged townspeople of the formidable coalition arrayed against them. Inside the city the troops were demoralized and restive. Ill-fed and ill-paid, they were almost as much a threat to the people as the armies on the plains below. The inevitable outcome was clear to even the most patriotic Volterran. On June 4, the government of Florence invited the Volterrans to offer their city “freely” into the hands of Federico’s army in return for guarantees that life and property would be protected. The offer was immediately accepted and on June 17, 1472, the gates of Volterra were opened to the victorious army.

Had the crisis ended there Lorenzo would have achieved an unadulterated triumph. In reasserting his authority in Volterra with a minimum of bloodshed he had boosted his popularity at home and his prestige abroad. But once the hounds of war are unleashed they are difficult to call back. The disaster was sparked when one of the priors, upon returning from the
palazzo,
was accosted by a soldier from Federico’s army. What had begun as a peaceful occupation quickly turned violent as the mercenaries who were supposed to be defending Volterra—but who had gone without pay and with little food and who now saw little prospect of profit from their long ordeal—started shouting “Sack it! Sack it!” Rampaging through the city streets they were quickly joined by allied forces. So sudden and violent was this outburst that Federico was caught completely off guard. Apparently this bibliophile general was so enraptured by a rare polyglot Bible he had discovered that the sack went on for hours before it was called to his attention.

By the time Federico had captured and hanged the ringleaders, much of the city lay in ruins and many citizens lay dead in the streets. Upon hearing of the calamity, Lorenzo himself lamented that the victory was much diminished by “the cruelty of the sack.” A kinsman of the murdered Inghirami begged for Lorenzo’s help, noting that the violent rampage made no distinctions between rebels and loyalists. “You have seen the afflicted and faithful friends and servants of Your Magnificence,” he wrote to Lorenzo in March of 1473, “naked, despoiled of all their goods, robbed without mercy, for everything was taken during the sack of the city; and I doubt not that Your Magnificence with your kindly nature was moved to great compassion. Your arrival and seeing with your own eyes has been the sole hope of this people and has consoled and comforted them greatly.” And indeed, after touring the ruined city, Lorenzo was sufficiently moved that he pledged 2,000 florins of his own money toward its rebuilding.

But despite his evident distress, the war had been completely justified from his point of view and the sack merely an unfortunate consequence of the Volterrans’ own intransigence. Nor, at least in the short run, did the sack greatly tarnish Lorenzo’s reputation at home. Florentines appreciated firm leadership, particularly when it came to asserting their dominion over weaker neighbors. No one was more bellicose than a Florentine when victories were cheaply won, nor as quick to turn upon his leaders when things turned sour.
*
When Federico returned to Florence, the victorious general was awarded a banner, two basins, two silver ewers, 180 lire, and a silver helmet, as well as honorary citizenship, by a public apparently well satisfied with his services.

The most enduring legacy of the war was the huge fortress Lorenzo ordered built on the site of the ruined bishop’s palace. It still dominates the Volterran skyline, a permanent reminder of the gamble her leaders took and lost. If the Volterrans for centuries afterward blamed Lorenzo for their miseries, there is no doubt that in Florence his popularity increased. The victory, coming as it did on the heels of his successful reforms—which placed unprecedented powers in the hands of a single man—provided ample proof that the youth at the helm had grown into a vigorous and decisive leader. But there were some—including Lorenzo himself—concerned with the long-term consequences of the war and its violent aftermath. Machiavelli, writing with the value of hindsight, records the following encounter on the streets of Florence, which took place shortly after the war:

Like most of the speeches Machiavelli puts into his protagonists’ mouths, this one is intended not so much as a literal record of what was said but as a foreshadowing of future events. What Machiavelli knew, and what many Florentines probably suspected even at the time, was that the seeds of war, so hopefully planted that spring, might well bear bitter fruit a few years hence.