R. Nisbet Bain - The Cambridge Modern History

The year 1510 witnessed the first stages of the conflict between the Pope and France. At Florence it was common knowledge that Julius II was hostile both to Soderini and to the Republican government, and that he already entertained the idea of a Medicean restoration. The difficulties of the situation were not lightened by Louis XII’s demand that the city should definitely declare her intentions. The danger from the papal troops was at the moment more directly pressing than any other: to declare for France would not only have exposed the Florentine territory to an immediate attack, but would have also alienated the sympathies of all those citizens who dreaded a conflict with the head of the Church, and wished also to stand well with the Medici. The city was full of antagonistic parties and irreconcilable interests, and an abortive conspiracy was formed to murder the Gonfaloniere. In order to gain time Machiavelli was sent upon a mission to France. On his arrival at Blois in July, 1510, he found Louis XII eager for war and inclined towards the idea of a General Council, which should secure the deposition of the Pope. This Council actually met in the following year (September), and although consisting of only a handful of members, held three sessions at Pisa, the Florentines allowing the use of the town for that purpose. It was powerless to harm Julius II, who replied by giving notice of a Council to be held at the Lateran, and thus ipso facto disqualified the Council of Pisa. It served, however, to embitter the Pope against Florence; and both Florence and Pisa were placed under an interdict.

During the winter of 1510-11 Julius II successfully continued his military operations, until his progress was checked by the appointment of Gaston de Foix to the command of the French forces, in conjunction with Gian Giacomo Trivulzio. Throughout the spring reverse followed reverse, and by June the Pope was back in Rome; indeed, if Louis XII had permitted it, Trivulzio might have followed him unhindered to Rome itself. Had he done so, France would have commanded the whole of Northern and Central Italy, and once more cleared the road to Naples. Knowing this, Ferdinand of Aragon had, so early as June, 1511, made proposals to Julius for the formation of a league to check the progress of the French. The idea, momentarily delayed by the illness of the Pope in August, was realised in October; and on the fifth of that month the Holy League was published at Rome. The contracting parties were Julius, Ferdinand and the Venetians: the ostensible object was the defence of Church interests and the recovery of Church property. The command of the allied forces was entrusted to the Viceroy of Naples, Ramon de Cardona.

Whichever side proved victorious in the inevitable struggle, the result would be equally disastrous to the Florentine Republic. Soderini still represented what might be considered the official policy of the State—friendship with France: but his authority was growing steadily weaker, and the collision of parties made any combined action impossible. It was the battle of Ravenna (April 11,1512) that finally cleared the situation. Though the French were victorious, the death of Gaston de Foix deprived them of their most efficient general, and they were henceforward helpless. By the end of June they were driven from Lombardy and ceased for the time to exist at all as factors in the politics of Italy. Florence was at the mercy of the confederates. The supreme moment had come.

By the expulsion of the French the object for which the Holy League had been really formed was accomplished, and it was necessary for the allied powers to readjust their policy and to determine their future movements. For this purpose they held a congress at Mantua in August, at which among other subjects the reconstitution of the Italian States was discussed. It was decided to restore the Medici at Florence. This had been the Pope’s avowed object since 1510, and he was not likely at this stage to see that it was, from his point of view, an impolitic blunder. The work was entrusted to Ramon de Cardona, who joined his army at Bologna and began to march southwards. He arrived without resistance at Barberino, about fifteen miles north of Florence. From there he sent to the city to demand the deposition of Soderini and the return of the Medici as private citizens. The Florentines refused to depose Soderini, though willing to receive the Medici on those terms. At the same time they sent a force of troops to garrison Prato. Ramon de Cardona therefore continued his advance; Prato was captured on August 30, and its inhabitants were with ruthless barbarity tortured, debauched and butchered. Further resistance was impossible. On September 1 Soderini was deposed, and on the same evening Giuliano de’ Medici entered Florence, to be followed on the 14th by Giovanni and other members of the family. Nothing remained but to fix the form of the new government. The Consiglio Grande and the Died di balia were abolished, as well as the Nove della milizia and the national militia; Accoppiatori were appointed to select the Signoria and Colleges a mano, and it was resolved that the Gonfaloniere should henceforth hold office for two months only. During the close of the year Florence settled down quietly under Medicean rule. The revolution was accomplished with more moderation than might have been expected; and even those who, like Machiavelli, had been zealous servants of Soderini, suffered as a rule no more than loss of official employment or temporary banishment.

These years, in which the fate of Florence was decided, while the Republic was dragged helpless in the chain of events, helpless to determine her own fortunes, were the period in which Machiavelli’s term of political activity was comprised.

Niccolò Machiavelli was born at Florence in 1469, and died, comparatively young, in 1527. For about fourteen years he was employed by the Florentine government in a subordinate official capacity, and even his intimate friends hardly recognised that he was a really great man. Although his position as Secretary to the Dieci kept him constantly in touch with political movements in Central Italy, and although he was employed almost without intermission from 1499 till 1512 upon diplomatic missions, he exerted hardly any influence upon the course of events; if he were known only by his official letters and despatches, there would be little in his career to arrest attention. It is only as an author that Machiavelli has any abiding place in the world’s history. He has a claim upon the attention of the modern world because, living at a time when the old political order in Europe was collapsing and new problems both in State and in society were arising with dazzling rapidity, he endeavoured to interpret the logical meaning of events, to forecast the inevitable issues, and to elicit and formulate the rules which, destined henceforth to dominate political action, were then taking shape among the fresh-forming conditions of national life.

His natural gifts marked him out as peculiarly fitted to be an intellectual pioneer. He has more in common with the political thinkers of later generations than with the bulk of his contemporaries, on whom still pressed the dead hand of medievalism. It is true, of course, that he did not stand alone; both in Italy and in France there were a few men who worked along the same lines and were approaching the same goal. Commines had nothing to learn from Machiavelli; and Guicciardini, his equal in ability and his superior in moral detachment, was harder and colder, and more logical. And there were men of lesser note, Vettori and Buonaccorsi and the long line of eminent historians from Nardi to Ammirato, who helped, each in one way or another, to break the fetters of tradition and to usher in the modern world. But there is no one among them all, except Machiavelli, who has won ecumenical renown. And the ultimate reason is that, although the area which he was able to observe was small, the horizon which he guessed was vast; he was able to overstep the narrow limits of Central Italy and Lombardy, to think upon a large scale, and to reach some real elevation of view. He made, it is true, many mistakes, and there is much in his writings that is indefensible; but, on the whole, later history has done much to justify him, and the view which is most essentially Machiavellian, that the art of government, like the art of navigation, is out of relation to morals, has hardly ever lacked authoritative support.