s the majority of the Italian States were in their internal
constitution works of art, that is, the fruit of reflection and careful
adaptation, so was their relation to one another and to foreign
countries also a work of art. That nearly all of them were the result
of recent usurpations, was a fact which exercised as fatal an influence
in their foreign as in their internal policy. Not one of them
recognized another without reserve; the same play of chance which had
helped to found and consolidate one dynasty might upset another. Nor
was it always a matter of choice with the despot whether to keep quiet
or not. The necessity of movement and aggrandizement is common to all
illegitimate powers. Thus Italy became the scene of a 'foreign policy'
which gradually, as in other countries also, acquired the position of a
recognized system of public law. The purely objective treatment of
international affairs, as free from prejudice as from moral scruples,
attained a perfection which sometimes is not without a certain beauty
and grandeur of its own. But as a whole it gives us the impression of a
bottomless abyss.
Intrigues, armaments, leagues, corruption and treason make up the
outward history of Italy at this period. Venice in particular was long
accused on all hands of seeking to conquer the whole peninsula, or
gradually so to reduce its strength that one State after another must
fall into her hands. But on a closer view it is evident that this
complaint did not come from the people, but rather from the courts and
official classes, which were commonly abhorred by their subjects, while
the mild government of Venice had secured for it general confidence
Even Florence, with its restive subject cities, found itself in a false
position with regard to Venice, apart from all commercial jealousy and
from the progress of Venice in Romagna. At last the League of Cambrai
actually did strike a serious blow at the State which all Italy ought
to have supported with united strength.
The other States, also, were animated by feelings no less unfriendly,
and were at all times ready to use against one another any weapon which
their evil conscience might suggest. Lodovico il Moro, the Aragonese
kings of Naples, and Sixtus IV--to say nothing of the smaller powers--kept
Italy in a constant perilous agitation. It would have been well if
the atrocious game had been confined to Italy; but it lay in the nature
of the case that intervention sought from abroad--in particular the
French and the Turks.
The sympathies of the people at large were throughout on the side of
France. Florence had never ceased to confess with shocking naivete
its old Guelph preference for the French. And when Charles VIII
actually appeared on the south of the Alps, all Italy accepted him with
an enthusiasm which to himself and his followers seemed unaccountable.
In the imagination of the Italians, to take Savonarola for an example
the ideal picture of a wise, just, and powerful savior and ruler was
still living, with the difference that he was no longer the emperor
invoked by Dante, but the Capetian king of France. With his departure
the illusion was broken; but it was long before all understood how
completely Charles VIII, Louis XII, and Francis I had mistaken their
true relation to Italy, and by what inferior motives they were led. The
princes, for their part, tried to make use of France in a wholly
different way. When the Franco-English wars came to an end, when Louis
XI began to cast about his diplomatic nets on all sides, and Charles of
Burgundy to embark on his foolish adventures, the Italian Cabinets came
to meet them at every point. It became clear that the intervention of
France was only a question of time, even if the claims on Naples and
Milan had never existed, and that the old interference with Genoa and
Piedmont was only a type of what was to follow. The Venetians, in fact,
expected it as early as 1462. The mortal terror of the Duke Galeazzo
Maria of Milan during the Burgundian war, in which he was apparently
the ally of Charles as well as of Louis, and consequently had reason to
dread an attack from both, is strikingly shown in his correspondence.
The plan of an equilibrium of the four chief Italian powers, as
understood by Lorenzo the Magnificent, was but the assumption of a
cheerful optimistic spirit, which had outgrown both the recklessness of
an experimental policy and the superstitions of Florentine Guelphism,
and persisted in hoping for the best. When Louis XI offered him aid in
the war against Ferrante of Naples and Sixtus IV, he replied, 'I cannot
set my own advantage above the safety of all Italy; would to God it
never came into the mind of the French kings to try their strength in
this country! Should they ever do so, Italy is lost.' For the other
princes, the King of France was alternately a bugbear to themselves and
their enemies, and they threatened to call him in whenever they saw no
more convenient way out of their difficulties. The Popes, in their
turn, fancied that they could make use of France without any danger to
themselves, and even Innocent VIII imagined that he could withdraw to
sulk in the North, and return as a conqueror to Italy at the head of a
French army.
Thoughtful men, indeed, foresaw the foreign conquest long before the
expedition of Charles VIII. And when Charles was back again on the
other side of the Alps, it was plain to every eye that an era of
intervention had begun. Misfortune now followed on misfortune; it was
understood too late that France and Spain, the two chief invaders, had
become great European powers, that they would be no longer satisfied
with verbal homage, but would fight to the death for influence and
territory in Italy. They had begun to resemble the centralized Italian
States, and indeed to copy them, only on a gigantic scale. Schemes of
annexation or exchange of territory were for a time indefinitely
multiplied. The end, as is well known, was the complete victory of
Spain, which, as sword and shield of the counter-reformation, long held
Papacy among its other subjects. The melancholy reflections of the
philosophers could only show them how those who had called in the
barbarians all came to a bad end.
Alliances were at the same time formed with the Turks too, with as
little scruple or disguise; they were reckoned no worse than any other
political expedients. The belief in the unity of Western Christendom
had at various times in the course of the Crusades been seriously
shaken, and Frederick II had probably outgrown it. But the fresh
advance of the Oriental nations, the need and the ruin of the Greek
Empire, had revived the old feeling, though not in its former strength,
throughout Western Europe. Italy, however, was a striking exception to
this rule. Great as was the terror felt for the Turks, and the actual
danger from them, there was yet scarcely a government of any
consequence which did not conspire against other Italian States with
Mohammed II and his successors. And when they did not do so, they still
had the credit of it; nor was it worse than the sending of emissaries
to poison the cisterns of Venice, which was the charge brought against
the heirs of Alfonso, King of Naples. From a scoundrel like Sigismondo
Malatesta nothing better could be expected than that he should call the
Turks into Italy. But the Aragonese monarchs of Naples, from whom
Mohammed--at the instigation, we read, of other Italian governments,
especially of Venice--had once wrested Otranto (1480), afterwards
hounded on the Sultan Bajazet II against the Venetians. The same charge
was brought against Lodovico il Moro. 'The blood of the slain, and the
misery of the prisoners in the hands of the Turks, cry to God for
vengeance against him,' says the State historian. In Venice, where the
government was informed of everything, it was known that Giovanni
Sforza, ruler of Pesaro, the cousin of Lodovico, had entertained the
Turkish ambassadors on their way to Milan. The two most respectable
among the Popes of the fifteenth century, Nicholas V and Pius II, died
in the deepest grief at the progress of the Turks, the latter indeed
amid the preparations for a crusade which he was hoping to lead in
person; their successors embezzled the contributions sent for this
purpose from all parts of Christendom, and degraded the indulgences
granted in return for them into a private commercial speculation.
Innocent VIII consented to be gaoler to the fugitive Prince Djem, for a
salary paid by the prisoner's brother Bajazet II, and Alexander VI
supported the steps taken by Lodovico il Moro in Constantinople to
further a Turkish assault upon Venice (1498), whereupon the latter
threatened him with a Council. It is clear that the notorious alliance
between Francis I and Soliman II was nothing new or unheard of.
Indeed, we find instances of whole populations to whom it seemed no
particular crime to go over bodily to the Turks. Even if it were held
out as a threat to oppressive governments, this is at least a proof
that the idea had become familiar. As early as 1480 Battista Mantovano
gives us clearly to understand that most of the inhabitants of the
Adriatic coast foresaw something o f this kind, and that Ancona in
particular desired it. When Romagna was suffering from the oppressive
government of Leo X, a deputy from Ravenna said openly to the Legate,
Cardinal Giulio Medici: 'Monsignore, the honorable Republic of Venice
will not have us, for fear of a dispute with the Holy See; but if the
Turk comes to Ragusa we will put ourselves into his hands.'
It was a poor but not wholly groundless consolation for the enslavement
of Italy then begun by the Spaniards, that the country was at least
secured from the relapse into barbarism which would have awaited it
under the Turkish rule. By itself, divided as it was, it could hardly
have escaped this fate.
If, with all these drawbacks, the Italian statesmanship of this period
deserves our praise, it is only on the ground of its practical and
unprejudiced treatment of those questions which were not affected by
fear, passion, or malice. Here was no feudal system after the northern
fashion, with its artificial scheme of rights; but the power which each
possessed he held in practice as in theory. Here was no attendant
nobility to foster in the mind of the prince the mediaeval sense of
honour with all its strange consequences; but princes and counsellors
were agreed in acting according to the exigencies of the particular
case and to the end they had in view. Towards the men whose services
were used and towards allies, come from what quarter they might, no
pride of caste was felt which could possibly estrange a supporter; and
the class of the Condottieri, in which birth was a matter of
indifference, shows clearly enough in what sort of hands the real power
lay; and lastly, the government, in the hands of an enlightened despot,
had an incomparably more accurate acquaintance with its own country and
with that of its neighbors than was possessed by northern
contemporaries, and estimated the economical and moral capacities of
friend and foe down to the smallest particular. The rulers were,
notwithstanding grave errors, born masters of statistical science. With
such men negotiation was possible; it might be presumed that they would
be convinced and their opinion modified when practical reasons were
laid before them. When the great Alfonso of Naples was (1434) a
prisoner of Filippo Maria Visconti, he was able to satisfy his gaoler
that the rule of the House of Anjou instead of his own at Naples would
make the French masters of Italy; Filippo Maria set him free without
ransom and made an alliance with him. A northern prince would scarcely
have acted in the same way, certainly not one whose morality in other
respects was like that of Visconti. What confidence was felt in the
power of self-interest is shown by the celebrated visit (1478) which
Lorenzo Magnifico, to the universal astonishment of the Florentines,
paid the faithless Ferrante at Naples--a man who would certainly be
tempted to keep him a prisoner, and was by no means too scrupulous to
do so. For to arrest a powerful monarch, and then to let him go alive,
after extorting his signature and otherwise insulting him, as Charles
the Bold did to Louis XI at Peronne (1468), seemed madness to the
Italians; so that Lorenzo was expected to come back covered with glory,
or else not to come back at all. The art of political persuasion was at
this time raised to a point--especially by the Venetian ambassadors of
which northern nations first obtained a conception from the Italians,
and of which the official addresses give a most imperfect idea. These
are mere pieces of humanistic rhetoric. Nor, in spite of an otherwise
ceremonious etiquette was there in case of need any lack of rough and
frank speaking in diplomatic intercourse. A man like Machiavelli
appears in his 'Legazioni' in an almost pathetic light. Furnished with
scanty instructions, shabbily equipped, and treated as an agent of
inferior rank, he never loses his gift of free and wide observation or
his pleasure in picturesque description.
A special division of this work will treat of the study of man
individually and nationally, which among the Italians went hand in hand
with the study of the outward conditions of human life.