Magnifico (41 page)

On his second visit, this time to Cafaggiolo, Montesecco was even more impressed by the man he had been hired to kill. Lorenzo was a most attentive host, showing him about the estate like any country squire proud of the improvements he had made to his land. A highlight of the tour was the stables, among the finest in all of Europe, where Lorenzo discoursed at length about the animals he loved and about his preference for life in the country. Among the qualities Montesecco found most attractive was Lorenzo’s unassuming manner with the grooms and servants, with whom he joked and carried on as if he was among friends. As a further gesture of goodwill, Lorenzo insisted on accompanying Montesecco back to Florence. If Lorenzo had charmed the old general, Montesecco had made a favorable impression as well. After his two official visits he could come and go across Florentine territory without arousing suspicion.

The real goal of Montesecco’s visits to Florence was to try to persuade the Pazzi patriarch, old Jacopo, to join the conspiracy. Their first meeting, held secretly at an inn on the outskirts of Florence, proved difficult. Francesco de’ Pazzi had already reported that his uncle was “cold as ice” and Montesecco found that the intervening months had not thawed him.

Apprised of the old man’s continued resistance, the conspirators determined to make a second attempt to win over the Pazzi patriarch. When, some weeks later, Montesecco returned to Florence, he was accompanied by Francesco dé Pazzi. The three men met in the Pazzi palace, where they talked long into the night. The passionate pleading of Francesco finally wore down his uncle. Perhaps the decisive factor in Jacopo’s change of heart was his realization that he was now so deeply implicated that whether or not he actually participated the authorities would hold him responsible. In the event the coup failed, what chance would there be that his life and fortune would be spared?

Though Jacopo was the most reluctant participant in the plot, once he made up his mind he strained every nerve to bring about a successful outcome. As the only conspirator intimately acquainted with local conditions he immediately saw the glaring weakness of the plan—the dearth of prominent Florentines willing to risk their necks to overthrow the Medici. After eight years as the unofficial head of state Lorenzo had achieved unprecedented control over the levers of power; the opposition that had been so prominent in the time of his father was all but invisible, having either been bought off through patronage or bullied into submission. Knowing his fellow citizens’ disdain for foreigners, Jacopo insisted that Salviati (who would have preferred to watch events unfold from the safety of his Roman apartments) be on the scene to present a Florentine face to the public. This was the one major contribution that Jacopo made to the planning of the coup, but it was to have profound consequences not only for Salviati himself but for the course of the conflict that followed.

The cathedral of Florence rises from the crowded alleyways of the quarter of San Giovanni in muscular ripples like a great and gentle beast.
*
Crowned by Brunelleschi’s soaring dome, the Duomo was the most potent symbol of the independent republic, a testament to the pride, wealth, and piety of her people. On the morning of April 26, 1478, the crowd streaming toward the cathedral for the celebration of High Mass—urged on by the happy chiming from Giotto’s bell tower—was larger than usual. It was the tail end of the holy Easter season, the week before the Feast of the Ascension, and many had been drawn to the city by the festivities and the fine April weather. In addition to the usual crowd of pious Florentines there were others who had come to catch a glimpse of the newest cardinal, the pope’s nephew, Raffaele Sansoni Riario, who was attending by special invitation of Lorenzo.

It was also the kind of vast, milling throng perfect for anyone who wished to conceal himself in plain sight. In fact for the past few weeks and days men had been trickling into Florence who had good reason for wishing to remain inconspicuous. Taken one at a time their presence in the city was not alarming, but had anyone in authority possessed the imagination to sift out patterns from the ambient noise he might have discerned suggestions of trouble. There were, for instance, more than the usual number of rough-looking men about, burly types bearing weapons that seemed more functional than decorative. Some were Perugians, some from Imola, and others from scattered mountain hamlets in Tuscany and the Papal States, where the vendetta and blood feud were the local sports. All had legitimate reasons for being here and, presumably, their presence had been noted and approved of by the Eight: the Perugians had come in the train of the Francesco Salviati, while a nattily attired contingent consisting of thirty mounted crossbowmen and fifty on foot had accompanied the count of Montesecco, who had been hired to escort Cardinal Raffaele back to Rome.

The presence of both Salviati and Cardinal Riario was a welcome sign of the recent thaw in relations between Lorenzo and the Holy See. Montesecco had played a role in the easing of tensions, delivering the message to Lorenzo that Count Girolamo was anxious to put past differences behind them. Reciprocating the gesture, Lorenzo had invited to Florence both Francesco Salviati and the young cardinal, who for the past few months had been studying canon law at the University of Pisa. By extending the hand of friendship Lorenzo hoped to win his way back into the good graces of the pope at little cost to himself.

Given the general direction of Lorenzo’s policy at this time it was no surprise that another of his old enemies was also present in the city that day. Francesco de’ Pazzi, long estranged from his native land, was staying at the family villa in Montughi and was giving every indication that he, too, wished to put aside old grudges. With him were numerous friends and Pazzi clients, like the scholar Jacopo Bracciolini and the ne’er-do-well gambler Bernardo Bandini. The climax of these diplomatic efforts had come the day before (April 25) as Lorenzo hosted a magnificent luncheon in his villa in Fiesole. Held in honor of seventeen-year-old Cardinal Raffaele, the feast was attended by both Francesco Salviati and Francesco de’ Pazzi. The ambassadors from Milan, Ferrara, and Naples were also present, happy to put their seal of approval on this feast of reconciliation.

It was, as usual when Lorenzo wanted to charm his guests, a delightful affair. While the guests wandered about the terraced gardens sampling the various delicacies set out on silver plate, musicians sent their lilting strains floating in the limpid springtime air. Adding to the enjoyment of the plentiful food and drink were the magnificent views of Florence below, framed by cypress trees and laurel hedges. The villa had been built by Lorenzo’s pleasure-loving uncle Giovanni and it continued to be a favored haunt of many of his friends, including Marsilio Ficino, Pico della Mirandola, and Angelo Poliziano, all of whom found the shaded groves and magnificent views a stimulant to poetic and philosophical musings.

But the pleasant surroundings and rich food were wasted on the archbishop and Francesco de’ Pazzi, who passed the afternoon in a state of almost unbearable anxiety. When Lorenzo had first announced his intention to invite the cardinal to his villa, the conspirators realized that the luncheon would provide them with the perfect opportunity to do away with both of the Medici brothers. In his eagerness to please the pope’s friends and relations Lorenzo neglected even the most basic precautions. He was so indiffernt to his own security that Montesecco had managed to insinuate a number of armed men into the crowd (members of the cardinal’s personal retinue), more than sufficient to do the job. But with all the pieces in place, the plan had to be called off when the one guest whose presence was vital to its success failed to make an appearance: at the last minute Giuliano sent his regrets, declaring that an infection of his eye prevented him from attending.
*

Giuliano’s sudden change of plans might have proved fatal to the conspirators. With so many now in on the plot and with armies poised to march, how much longer would they be able to conceal their preparations from Lorenzo and his spies? As soon as the luncheon ended the conspirators reassembled at the Pazzi villa of La Loggia in nearby Montughi, where they scrambled to come up with an alternate plan. It was clear to them that they would have to act the next day if the whole elaborate scheme were not to unravel, particularly since the signal had already been given for their armies to begin their descent on Florence and could not now easily be called back.

With time running out, Archbishop Salviati devised a stratagem to get the two brothers together in the presence of enough armed men to finish them off. In his chronicle of the conspiracy, Poliziano recalled how Lorenzo and Giuliano proceeded like two sleepwalkers, blissfully unaware of the precipice opening up under their feet: “Again, [the conspirators] sent a servant to say that the cardinal would also like to be invited for dinner to the house in Florence—he wished to see the way the house was decorated, the draperies, the tapestries, the jewels and silver and elegant furniture.” It was a favor that Lorenzo, justly proud of his possessions and eager to show his friendliness toward any relative of the pope’s, would be sure to grant. “The fine young men did not suspect a trap,” Poliziano wrote: “they got their home ready, exhibited their beautiful things, laid out the linens, set out the metal and leather work and jewels in cases, and had a magnificent banquet ready.”

While preparations were under way for the next day’s feast, Lorenzo proposed that his guests join him Sunday morning for High Mass in the cathedral.
*
This new invitation caused the conspirators to revise their plans once more. “They did not think there would be time to do it [that is, kill the brothers] at Lorenzo’s house,” Guicciardini explains, “and besides, they doubted that Giuliano would be eating there. So they decided to do it that morning in Santa Reparata, where a solemn high Mass was to be sung. Lorenzo and Giuliano would surely be present.”

But this adjustment touched off another crisis. Upon hearing of the change, Count Montesecco seems to have been overcome by a pang of conscience, refusing to commit murder “where,” as he put it, “God would see him.” Salviati and Francesco de’ Pazzi insisted that the anonymity of the crowd would provide them with the perfect cover, but Montesecco would not budge. Not averse to murder under the proper circumstances, he refused to add sacrilege to the crime. From the beginning he had doubted the wisdom of the course his superiors were taking and, in addition, his two meetings with Lorenzo had given him a favorable impression of his intended victim. The demand that he now commit murder in a church provided him with an excuse to avoid something for which he never really had the taste.

The last-minute defection of the one professional military man was a costly setback. Montesecco was to have initiated the attack on Lorenzo, and a single blow from his muscular arm almost certainly would have proved fatal. A substitute had to be found without delay. Fortunately replacements were near at hand. Stepping in to take Montesecco’s place were two priests, Antonio Maffei, a Volterran who dreamed of avenging the sack of his native city, and Stefano da Bagnone, a chaplain in the employ of Jacopo de’ Pazzi. Though men of the cloth, neither of them seemed to share the soldier’s scruples about committing murder in a church.

Early the next morning Cardinal Raffaele and his retinue set out for the city, arriving less than an hour later at Lorenzo’s palace, where the cardinal changed from his riding clothes into his scarlet robes. Lorenzo was apparently surprised by this unannounced visit: he was already at the cathedral and had to hurry back to the palace to greet his guest. Then, arm in arm, the two headed back toward the Duomo. Upon arriving, Lorenzo and the cardinal parted company, the latter making his way to the altar, where a seat of honor had been prepared for him, while Lorenzo was quickly surrounded by citizens eager to catch his attention. Among those clustering about Lorenzo were many of his closest friends and associates, including the two Cavalcanti brothers, Francesco Nori, manager of the Medici bank, his neighbor and childhood friend Sigismondo della Stufa, Antonio Ridolfi, and Angelo Poliziano. Swept up in the talkative crowd, more interested in gossip and socializing than in the liturgy, Lorenzo made his way to a point just to the right of the High Altar. Easily lost in the crowd were the would-be assassins, including the two armed priests, who had maneuvered themselves into position a few feet from where Lorenzo stood.

The already intricate choreography of the assassination was made infinitely more difficult by the need to improvise. While armies marched on a prearranged schedule toward the walls of Florence, those inside the city scrambled to adapt to changing circumstances. Salviati, accompanied by Jacopo Bracciolini and his escort of Perugian soldiers, had barely entered the cathedral when he excused himself, ostensibly to pay a visit his mother, who had taken ill. Just as the choir, housed in twin lofts carved in the workshops of Donatello and Luca della Robbia, began to sing, Francesco de’Pazzi and Bernardo Bandini also left the church in a great hurry, realizing that, once again, Giuliano had failed to make his expected appearance. Rushing back up the Via Larga they coaxed the malingerer out of bed. Whatever had been ailing Giuliano, he had recovered sufficiently so that his visitors had little trouble convincing him to leave his chambers and accompany them back to the cathedral. All three appeared in high spirits as they made their way toward the church, even the usually morose Francesco de’ Pazzi joining in the levity. At one point he wrapped his arm around Giuliano, remarking, “Your illness seems to have made you fat.” This uncharacteristic bit of playfulness was apparently Francesco’s attempt to feel whether Guiliano was wearing any armor beneath his doublet. Much to his relief he discovered that Giuliano had come unprotected.