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  In Rinuccini’s eyes Lorenzo’s native abilities combined with his hereditary position to make him doubly dangerous. These suspicions were only strengthened by the manner of Lorenzo’s upbringing in which Rinuccini detected a concerted effort to invest the young man with a prestige unsuitable to a simple citizen of a republic. He and other Medici critics were alarmed by the transformation, slow but inexorable, of the citizen-ruler, first among equals, into the uncrowned prince of the land.

  There was, in fact, a conscious strategy on the part of Medici partisans to place before the public an image of a man whose unique status was justified by his native genius. In Medici propaganda he was the paragon of the virtuous citizen. If he could not be king he could at least be il Magnifico, a man who used his immense wealth for the greater good and who embodied all the virtues and talents of the ideal gentleman. It was a point picked up by Savonarola, the Dominican monk who in later years became the Medici’s most relentless opponent. Savonarola certainly had Lorenzo (among others) in mind when he wrote, “[T]he tyrant needs to show himself superior in everything…in small things, as in sport, in conversation, in jousting, in horse racing, in doctrine and in all other things…he seeks to be first; and whenever he is not able through his own powers he seeks to through fraud and trickery.” Lorenzo’s gifts were real, but Savonarola had hit upon an important fact of Italian despotism in the fifteenth century and of Medici authority in particular: without legitimacy built on hereditary title enshrined in law, the would-be despot needed to project a self-confident image thoroughly at odds with the insecure underpinnings of his power.

  Cosimo’s death demanded an acceleration of Lorenzo’s political apprenticeship. He was still too young to hold office, a technicality that could usually be circumvented, and had to battle the prejudices of those in authority who doubted the judgment and steadiness of anyone much beneath the age of forty.* In addition he had to overcome his reputation for loose living and direct his prodigious energies into proper channels. Not least among the doubters was his own father, a traditional Florentine patrician whose attitudes toward his eldest son were colored by rigid views on the irresponsibility of youth and the deference owed to age and experience. Even after Lorenzo had given ample proof of his abilities, Piero tried to keep him on a tight rein. As late as 1469, when Lorenzo was an experienced politician and diplomat of twenty, Piero tried to micromanage his affairs. On the eve of one important voyage he instructed Lucrezia to tell Lorenzo that he “is not to exceed his orders in any way…not being ambassador, for I am determined that the gosling shall not lead the goose to drink.” He was well aware of Lorenzo’s abilities, but equally certain that the young man thought too highly of himself and failed to heed the advice of those older and wiser than he. For his part, Lorenzo chafed under his father’s close supervision. Like many adolescents, Lorenzo was impatient with those who tried to impose limits on him while at the same time he worked hard to impress them with his ability.

  His first opportunity to demonstrate what he was capable of came in April of 1465 when he represented his family at the wedding of Ippolita Maria Sforza, daughter of the duke of Milan, to Alfonso, the eldest son of King Ferrante of Naples. Lorenzo, now sixteen, accompanied by his sister Bianca’s husband, Guglielmo de’ Pazzi, and a small host of servants and retainers, headed north through the rugged mountain passes of the Apennines, stopping in Bologna (seat of the friendly Bentivoglio), Ferrara, and Venice, before arriving in Milan. The marriage was, in fact, a vindication of Medici diplomacy that, since the signing of the Peace of Lodi in 1454, had hitched the Florentine wagon to the Milanese star. With Naples now literally wedded to the alliance through its connection with the powerful northern duchy, an axis was created along the length of the peninsula that would bring stability to the normally fractious region and discourage foreign powers that might exploit Italian disunity to stake their own dynastic claims.

  In the current uncertain political climate such an occasion would also involve much behind-the-scenes maneuvering as each side in the Florentine power struggle sought to position itself for the upcoming confrontation. Even before Lorenzo and his traveling companions arrived in the northern Italian capital, the Florentine ambassador to Milan, Dietisalvi Neroni, was using his position to undermine the Medici standing at court. Piero, who was kept abreast of these intrigues by his agents in Milan, was relying on his son to overcome any doubts the ambassador had sown.

  It was a proud moment for the adolescent who itched to show his detractors what he was capable of. For the first time Lorenzo could regard himself as a player in the strategic chess match of European diplomacy. It was a role in which he would ultimately show himself a consummate master, but even in taking his first tentative steps he exhibited some of the nimbleness that would later make him the arbiter of war and peace in Italy.

  No friendship was more important to the Medici family than that with the ruling dynasty of Milan, though the policy was not without its critics back home, particularly after the death of Cosimo, principal architect of the alliance.* The fissures that had begun to appear among leaders of the reggimento in the months since Cosimo’s death made it all the more urgent that the Medici make sure of the Duke’s friendship. Above all, duke Francesco Sforza wanted a reliable partner to the south and looked on the emerging disunity in the government of Florence with displeasure. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that Sforza would abandon his old friends if they seemed likely to lose out in the power struggle now underway. Piero’s opponents, for their part, were hoping to undermine his position at home by throwing his alliances abroad into confusion. Neroni in particular was engaged in a whispering campaign aimed at shaking Duke Sforza’s confidence in his Florentine client. Piero was weak, he claimed, unable to promote the duke’s interests in Florence.* It was a difficult argument to refute since every complaint on Piero’s part as to the perfidy of his former colleagues merely strengthened the impression that he had lost control of the situation.

  Sending Lorenzo on such an important mission was a vote of confidence on Piero’s part, but it did not stop him from barraging his son with missives filled with detailed instructions on how he should comport himself. Piero informed him that he was to be guided by the advice and instructions of Pigello Portinari, director of the Medici bank in Milan. With his betters, Piero reminded him, he was to behave with becoming modesty, especially with the duke and his family, noting, “you should regard yourself as a servant and familiar of the household of his Illustrious Lordship.” But modesty should be combined with a proper sense of the dignity of his family; there were few social deficits that could not be overcome by a handful of gold florins wisely spent. After urging Lorenzo to invite don Federigo, younger son of the King of Naples, to dine with him, he added the rather unnecessary reminder, “do not spare any expense to do yourself honor.”

  His honor was something Lorenzo knew well how to promote, particularly when that meant spending freely on himself and his friends. Don Federigo was apparently well pleased with his reception and even more pleased with his host, striking up an instant friendship with the young Florentine. A second friendship forged at this time that later proved to be of vital importance to Lorenzo was with Ippolita Sforza, a woman as devoted to art and literature as he was. Their relationship would prove enduring and mutually beneficial. While at the chronically underfunded Neapolitan court, Ippolita was often forced to call upon her Florentine friend to advance her the funds necessary for the upkeep of a future queen, and it is not an overstatement to say that Lorenzo would owe his life, or at the very least his position in Florence, to her advocacy and affection.

  Lorenzo found time between the various wedding festivities to meet several times in private with the duke and his twenty-year-old son and heir, Galeazzo Maria. In these discussions it was not simply Lorenzo’s persuasiveness that helped the Medici cause, though the young man evidently made a good impression. In weighing the competing claims of the Medici and their opponents, the duke had good r
eason to be suspicious of the latter, particularly after being informed by his agent in Florence, Nicodemo Tranchedini (who was fed the damaging information by Piero himself), that the Medici’s opponents had been involved in secret talks with Venice, Milan’s chief rival in the north of Italy.* Despite the best efforts of Neroni to downplay such rumors, the duke concluded that future good relations between Florence and Milan were best guaranteed by the continued success of the Medici.

  Francesco Sforza’s decision to back his old friends may also have been influenced by his sober assessment of the belt-tightening that would be required if the bank withdrew the easy credit it was in the habit of extending to the Milanese court, and Lorenzo’s extravagance while visiting the city helped remind the duke of the apparently inexhaustible wells of Medici largesse. Thus while Neroni was fobbed off with the empty honor of a knighthood, Lorenzo met secretly with Galeazzo Maria, who told him that he and his father continued to be “very well-disposed towards our city and very much your partisans.” In the upcoming struggle in Florence the Sforza would remain true to their word.

  As Lorenzo turned toward home, then, he could be well satisfied with all he had accomplished. He also had time to reflect on the difference between his own family’s position in Florence and that of the various despots at whose courts he had been elaborately feted. On the one hand he must have envied the stability and certainty that hereditary titles brought. The Sforza of Milan and the Este of Ferrara wielded power not through subterfuge and indirection but openly and without apology, and upon his father’s death, Galeazzo Maria could count on a seamless transition.* Lorenzo, on the other hand, was guaranteed nothing on his father’s death. The situation was sufficiently volatile—and the history of Florence gave little encouragement in this regard—that even as he made his way back to his native city he could not be certain that the gates would not be barred against him. The rumblings of discontent with his father’s regime—which he had observed firsthand at the Sforza court—were a reminder of his family’s uneasy position. Even in the best of circumstances the lack of legitimate authority led the Medici into thickets of political ambiguity in which disaster was avoided only through constant vigilance.

  Being the duke had other advantages that did not accrue to the unofficial rulers of Florence, including the right to indulge in a pubic display of power and magnificence that would have seemed an intolerable pretension on the part of private citizens. The Sforza’s principal residence in the city was the Castle of the Porta Giovia (now known as the Castello Sforzesco), a massive fortress meant to overawe the populace and discourage any hope of a return to republican government. Here the duke, duchess, and their children lived surrounded by elaborate and stultifying etiquette, attended by graded ranks of courtiers, chamberlains, and personal servants whose duties and obligations—down to the details of their wardrobe and the way they were to address their lord and master—were spelled out in a special handbook. Such a life was unthinkable in republican Florence.*

  For all the complaints about his tyrannical disposition and for all the extravagance of his tastes, Lorenzo never showed the least inclination to imitate the feudal splendor of his northern colleagues. In fact he had internalized the republican values of his country. True, he took a boyish delight in elaborate martial display but was realistic about his own shortcomings as a potential warrior. Galeazzo Maria, by contrast, always aspired to the status of a great general, a role he knew would enhance his ducal prestige. Similar ambitions were discouraged in Florence, where it was assumed that any aspiring tyrant would first seek to dazzle the masses through easy victories on the battlefield.

  The most tangible evidence of Lorenzo’s diplomatic triumph came some months later in the form of a magnificent tunic embroidered with the Sforza crest, a gift from the ducal family to their most devoted servant. The letter of thanks Lorenzo penned to the duke and duchess offers eloquent testimony as to the nature of the Sforza-Medici alliance: “I do not know how I can begin to thank Your Most Illustrious and Excellent Lordships for this most noble and gracious gift…. For as long as I live, my family and I shall carry the device of Your Excellencies, not so much upon our shoulders as in our hearts where it shall be forever fixed.” With its somewhat servile tone, the letter reveals a relationship not of equals but of master and protégé. The timing of the gift, which arrived in June of 1466, is significant: the embroidered surcoat, sent posthaste on horseback, came just at the moment when the Medici were in greatest need of friends in high places. Wearing the embroidered coat on the occasion of his sister Nannina’s wedding to Bernardo Rucellai, Lorenzo was reminding his fellow citizens that the Medici enjoyed the protection of powerful men.

  Mino da Fiesole, Bust of Piero de’ Medici, 1453 (Art Resource)

  V. DEVIL’S PARADISE

  “[A] paradise inhabited by devils.”

  —AGNOLO ACCIAIUOLI’S DESCRIPTION OF FLORENCE

  “In Florence men naturally love equality and are therefore very unwilling to accept and recognize others as their superiors. We are by temperament full of strong passions and restlessness, and it is this which is the cause of discord and disunity among the ruling elite. Through their desire to dominate each other, they pull this person here and that one there…. The fact that others dislike anyone being superior to themselves ensures that whenever this happens, these men are destroyed.”

  —FRANCESCO GUICCIARDINI,DIALOGUE ON THE GOVERNMENT OF FLORENCE

  LORENZO WAS BACK IN FLORENCE BY EARLY JUNE 1465, just in time to arrange a splendid reception for Ippolita Sforza and don Federigo, who were wending their way back to Naples. There the young bride would take up her new role as the queen-in-waiting of the southern kingdom. For Lorenzo the festivities provided only a temporary distraction from the deteriorating political situation; divisions among the leading men had only grown during his two-month absence. Indeed Lorenzo’s mission to Milan may have exacerbated those tensions as his success in cementing the friendship between his family and the Sforza was countered by their rivals’ renewed attempt to resurrect the old alliance with Venice.

  On the domestic front, Cosimo’s former lieutenants had begun a full-scale assault on the edifice of Medicean power. An early sign of trouble was the defeat of a bill Piero had sponsored to extend the special judicial powers granted five years earlier to the Eight, the all-important committee in charge of state security. Agnolo Acciaiuoli was particularly vehement in his opposition, claiming that to renew their power to arrest and imprison those suspected of sedition would “be the death of the city.” Without these extraordinary powers, which were intended to be employed only in moments of crisis, the regime’s ability to intimidate its opponents was considerably diminished.

  Even more distressing was a successful drive on the part of the reformers to close the electoral purses. One of the most powerful weapons in the regime’s arsenal had been the ability to select by hand (a mano) those whose names were placed in the bags from which officeholders were drawn. The special committee in charge of handpicking candidates, known as the Accoppiatori, was a vital cog in the Medici political machine because it allowed the Medici to screen out those whose loyalties were suspect.* In September, reformers, led by Agnolo Acciaiuoli, Dietisalvi Neroni, and, especially, Luca Pitti, succeeded in abolishing the Accoppiatori and restoring the earlier methods of filling the purses with the names of all eligible citizens. So strong was the momentum for reform that Piero himself felt compelled to support the measure in order to avoid an embarrassing defeat.

  October of 1465 saw the high-water mark of the reform movement when Niccolò Soderini’s name was drawn from the newly closed purses as Gonfaloniere di Giustizia. Such was the public jubilation that “a great crowd not only of honored citizens but of all people accompanied him to the palace, and on the route a wreath of olive was placed on his head to show that on him both the safety and the liberty of his fatherland must depend.” Buoyed by this popular support, Soderini was determined to pursue a bold agenda. “Not without
cause did our ancestors ordain that high offices be filled by lot, and not handed over,” he proclaimed to the assembled dignitaries, calling on them to dismantle the last vestiges of Medici control.

  Initially, Soderini’s initiatives met with widespread approval, but with each success his program became more ambitious and with each new proposal he lost a few of his supporters, who now began to suspect that the long arm of reform might reach out to pick their own pockets. Throughout the next days and weeks Soderini proposed steps that would not only curb the abuses and excesses of the Medicean regime but, if enacted, would transform the government of Florence in profound ways. It was a platform so radical that many of those who had initially welcomed his election now began desperately to look for ways to rein in the beast they had unleashed.*

  Niccolò Soderini was the most impressive and charismatic of the anti-Medici leaders of the Hill. Bold to the point of rashness, he was also quick to anger and prone to violence. Some saw him as the one true visionary of the bunch, a Tiberius Gracchus standing for the people against the forces of corruption and oligarchy. Parenti described him as “a man both proud and bold, of forceful speech,” but to others he was a hypocrite and a demagogue, a populist rabble-rouser who used his talents to grab power and to line his own pockets.