Machiavelli, Dante, Petrarch, and Cosimo de Medici
From Readings in European History: A Collection of Extracts from the Sources by James Harvey Robinson, 1906.
From: 1265 C.E. To: 1527 C.E.
Location: Florence, Italy
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From Readings in European History: A Collection of Extracts from the Sources by James Harvey Robinson, 1906.
The Italian Despots
No one better understood the Italian despot and the peculiarities of his position than did Machiavelli. The following passage is from The Prince his little handbook for despots.
That prince who founds the duration of his government upon his mercenary forces will never be firm or secure; for they are divided, ambitious, undisciplined, unfaithful; insolent to their friends, abject to their enemies, without fear of God or faith to men; so the ruin of that person who trusts to them is no longer protracted than the attempt is deferred. In time of peace they plunder you, in time of war they desert you; and the reason is because it is not love nor any principle of honor that keeps them in the field, but only their pay, and that is not a consideration strong enough to prevail with them to die for you. Whilst you have no service to employ them in, they are excellent soldiers; but tell them of an engagement and they will either disband before, or run away during the battle….
The great officers of these mercenaries [i.e. the condottiere] are either men of great courage, or otherwise; if the first, you can never be safe, for they always aspire to make themselves great, either by supplanting you who are their master, or by oppressing other people whom you desire to have protected. On the other hand, if the commanders be not courageous, you are still ruined. If it should be urged that all generals will do the same, whether mercenaries or others, I would answer, that all war is managed either by a prince or a republic. The prince ought to go in person, and perform the office of general himself; the republic should depute some one of her choice citizens, who may be changed if he carries himself ill; if he behaves himself well he may be continued, but so straitened and circumscribed by his commission that he may not transgress….
Of the danger of mercenary forces we have an ancient example in the Carthaginians, who, after the end of their first war with the Romans, had like to have been ruined and overrun by their own mercenaries, though their own citizens commanded them. [In modern times] upon the death of Duke Filippo, the Milanese employed Francesco Sforza against the Venetians, and Francesco, having worsted the enemy at Caravaggio, joined himself with them, with design to have mastered his masters. Francesco's father was formerly in the service of Joan, queen of Naples, and on a sudden marched away from her with his army and left her utterly destitute, so that she was constrained to throw herself under the protection of the king of Aragon.
Though both the Venetians and Florentines have lately enlarged their dominion by employing these forces, and their generals have rather advanced than enslaved them, I answer that the Florentines may impute it to their good fortune, because, of such of their generals as they might rationally have feared, some had no victories to encourage them, others were obstructed, and others turned their ambition another way.
Humanism
Dante was not a humanist in the later sense of the term, but he clearly appreciated the distinction and worth of the ancient writers. The following passage from the Divine Comedy is his poetic conception of the fate of the famous pagans who lived worthily. He is passing through limbo, the uppermost region of hell, with Virgil for his guide. As they proceed he sees a fire that conquered a hemisphere of darkness.
We were still a little distant from it, yet not so far that I could not partially discern that honorable folk possessed that place. "O thou that honorest both science and art, these, who are they, that have such honor that from the condition of the others it sets them apart?" And he to me, "The honorable fame of them which resounds above in thy life wins grace in heaven that so advances them."
At this a voice was heard by me, "Honor the loftiest Poet! his shade returns that was departed." When the voice had ceased and was quiet, I saw four great shades coming to us: they had a semblance neither sad nor glad. The good Master [Virgil] began to say, " Look at him with that sword in hand who cometh before the three, even as lord. He is Homer, the sovereign poet; the next who comes is Horace, the satirist; Ovid is the third, and the last is Lucan. Since each shares with me the name that the solitary voice sounded, they do me honor, and in that do well."
Thus I saw assembled the fair school of that Lord of the loftiest song which above the others as an eagle flies. After they had discoursed somewhat together, they turned to me with sign of salutation; and my Master smiled thereat. And far more of honor yet they did me, for they made me of their band, so that I was the sixth amid so much wit. Thus we went on as far as the light, speaking things concerning which silence is becoming, even as was speech there where I was.
We came to the foot of a noble castle, seven times circled by high walls, defended roundabout by a fair streamlet. This we passed as if hard ground; through seven gates I entered with these sages; we came to a meadow of fresh verdure. People were there with eyes slow and grave, of great authority in their looks; they spake seldom and with soft voices. Thus we drew apart, on one side, into a place open, luminous, and high, so that they all could be seen. There opposite upon the green enamel were shown to me the great spirits, whom to have seen I inwardly exalt myself.
I saw Electra with many companions, among whom I knew Hector and AEneas, Caesar in armor, with his gerfalcon eyes; I saw Camilla and Penthesilea on the other side, and I saw the King Latinus, who was seated with Lavinia, his daughter. I saw that Brutus who drove out Tarquin; Lucretia, Julia, Marcia, and Cornelia; and alone, apart, I saw the Saladin. When I raised my brow a little more, I saw the Master of those who know, seated amid the philosophic family; all regard him, all do him honor. Here I saw both Socrates and Plato, who before the others stand nearest to him; Democritus, who ascribes the world to chance; Diogenes, Anaxagoras, and Thales, Empedocles, Heraclitus, and Zeno; and I saw the good collector of the qualities, Dioscorides, I mean; and I saw Orpheus, Tully, and Linus, and moral Seneca, Euclid the geometer, and Ptolemy, Hippocrates, Avicenna, Galen, and Averroes, who made the great comment. I cannot report of all in full, because the long theme so drives me that many times speech comes short of fact.
Dante excuses himself for a certain obscurity which he has introduced into his Banquet, with the hope of giving it some dignity in the eyes of the many Italians who had seen him during his wanderings, and perhaps had formed a low estimate of him.
Alas! would that it might have pleased the Dispenser of the Universe that the cause of my excuse might never have been, that others might neither have sinned against me, nor I have suffered punishment unjustly; the punishment, I say, of exile and poverty! Since it was the pleasure of the citizens of the most beautiful and the most famous daughter of Rome, Florence, to cast me out from her most sweet bosom (wherein I was born and nourished even to the height of my life, and in which, with her good will, I desire with all my heart to repose my weary soul, and to end the time which is given to me), I have gone through almost all the land in which this language lives—a pilgrim, almost a mendicant—showing forth against my will the wound of Fortune, with which the ruined man is often unjustly reproached.
Truly I have been a ship without a sail and without a rudder, borne to divers ports and lands and shores by the dry wind which blows from grievous poverty; and I have appeared vile in the eyes of many, who perhaps through some report may have imaged me in other form. In the sight of whom not only my person became vile, but my work was held to be of less value, both that already done and that which remained still to do.
Petrarch well knew how to describe himself and his aspirations. He writes thus to posterity:
Greeting.—It is possible that some word of me may have come to you, though even this is doubtful, since an insignificant and obscure name will scarcely penetrate far in either time or space. If, however, you should have heard of me, you may desire to know what manner of man I was, or what was the outcome of my labors, especially those of which some description or, at any rate, the bare titles may have reached you.
To begin with myself, then: the utterances of men concerning me will differ widely, since in passing judgment almost every one is influenced not so much by truth as by preference, and good and evil report alike know no bounds. I was, in truth, a poor mortal like yourself, neither very exalted in my origin, nor, on the other hand, of the most humble birth, but belonging, as Augustus Caesar says of himself, to an ancient family. As to my disposition, I was not naturally perverse or wanting in modesty, however the contagion of evil associations may have corrupted me.
My youth was gone before I realized it; I was carried away by the strength of manhood; but a riper age brought me to my senses and taught me by experience the truth I had long before read in books, that youth and pleasure are vanity,—nay, that the Author of all ages and times permits us miserable mortals, puffed up with emptiness, thus to wander about, until finally, coming to a tardy consciousness of our sins, we shall learn to know ourselves.
In my prime I was blessed with a quick and active body, although not exceptionally strong; and while I do not lay claim to remarkable personal beauty, I was comely enough in my best days. I was possessed of a clear complexion, between light and dark, lively eyes, and for long years a keen vision, which however deserted me, contrary to my hopes, after I reached my sixtieth birthday, and forced me, to my great annoyance, to resort to glasses. Although I had previously enjoyed perfect health, old age brought with it the usual array of discomforts.
My parents were honorable folk, Florentine in their origin, of medium fortune, or, I may as well admit it, in a condition verging upon poverty. They had been expelled from their native city, and consequently I was born in exile, at Arezzo, in the year 1304 of this latter age, which begins with Christ's birth, July the 20th, on a Monday, at dawn....
In my familiar associations with kings and princes, and in my friendship with noble personages, my good fortune has been such as to excite envy. But it is the cruel fate of those who are growing old that they can commonly only weep for friends who have passed away. The greatest kings of this age have loved and courted me. They may know why; I certainly do not. With some of them I was on such terms that they seemed in a certain sense my guests rather than I theirs; their lofty position in no way embarrassing me, but, on the contrary, bringing with it many advantages. I fled, however, from many of those to whom I was greatly attached; and such was my innate longing for liberty, that I studiously avoided those whose very name seemed incompatible with the freedom that I loved.
I possessed a well-balanced rather than a keen intellect,—one prone to all kinds of good and wholesome study, but especially inclined to moral philosophy and the art of poetry. The latter, indeed, I neglected as time went on, and took delight in sacred literature. Finding in that a hidden sweetness which I had once esteemed but lightly, I came to regard the works of the poets as only amenities.
Among the many subjects which interested me, I dwelt especially upon antiquity, for our own age has always repelled me, so that, had it not been for the love of those dear to me, I should have preferred to have been bom in any other period than our own. In order to forget my own time, I have constantly striven to place myself in spirit in other ages, and consequently I delighted in history. The conflicting statements troubled me, but when in doubt I accepted what appeared most probable, or yielded to the authority of the writer.
Vespasiano, a Florentine bookseller who died in 1498, gives us some very interesting accounts of his distinguished patrons in his Lives of Illustrious Men.
Owing to the jubilee of 1450 a great quantity of money came in by this means to the apostolic see, and with this the pope [Nicholas V] commenced building in many places, and sent for Greek and Latin books, wherever he was able to find them, without regard to price. He gathered together a large band of writers, the best that he could find, and kept them in constant employment. He also summoned a number of learned men, both for the purpose of composing new works and of translating such existing works as were not already translated, giving them most abundant provision for their needs meanwhile; and when the works were translated and brought to him, he gave the translators large sums of money, in order that they should do more willingly that which they undertook to do.
He made great provision for the needs of learned men. He gathered together great numbers of books upon every subject, both Greek and Latin, to the number of five thousand volumes. So at his death it was found by inventory that never since the time of Ptolemy had half that number of books of every kind been brought together. All books he caused to be copied, without regard to what it cost him, and there were few places where his Holiness had not copiers at work. When he could not procure a book for himself in any way, he had it copied….
When Cosimo [de Medici] had finished the monastery [near Florence] and a good part of the church, he fell to thinking how he should have the place peopled with honest men of letters; and in this way it occurred to him to found a fine library; and one day when I happened to be present in his chamber, he said to me, "In what way would you furnish this library?" I replied that as for buying the books it would be impossible, for they were not to be had. Then he said, "How is it possible then to furnish it?" I told him that it would be necessary to have the books copied. He asked in reply if I would be willing to undertake the task. I answered him, that I was willing. He told me to commence my work and he would leave everything to me; and as for the money that would be necessary, he would refer the matter to Con Archangel, then prior of the monastery, who would draw bills upon the bank, which should be paid.
The library was commenced at once, for it was his pleasure that it should be done with the utmost possible celerity; and as I did not lack for money, I collected in a short time forty-five writers, and finished two hundred volumes in twenty-two months; in which work we made use of an excellent list, that of the library of Pope Nicholas, which he had given to Cosimo; in the form of a catalogue made out with his own hands . . . and all the other works necessary to a library, of which no one was wanting. And since there were not copies of all these works in Florence, we sent to Milan, to Bologna, and to other places, wherever they might be found.
Cosimo lived to see the library wholly completed, and the cataloguing and the arranging of the books; in all of which he took great pleasure, and the work went forward, as was his custom, with great promptness. .
Robinson, James Harvey. Readings in European History: A Collection of Extracts from the Sources. Vol. 1. Ginn and Co. 1906.
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