Management and Resolution of Conflict and Rivalries in Renaissance Europe [1 ed.] 9783737006286

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Super alta perennis Studien zur Wirkung der Klassischen Antike

Band 25

Herausgegeben von Uwe Baumann, Marc Laureys und Winfried Schmitz

Jill Kraye / Marc Laureys / David A. Lines (eds.)

Management and Resolution of Conflict and Rivalries in Renaissance Europe

With 34 figures

V&R unipress Bonn University Press

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über https://dnb.de abrufbar. Veröffentlichungen der Bonn University Press erscheinen bei V&R unipress. © 2023 Brill | V&R unipress, Robert-Bosch-Breite 10, D-37079 Göttingen, ein Imprint der Brill-Gruppe (Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, Niederlande; Brill USA Inc., Boston MA, USA; Brill Asia Pte Ltd, Singapore; Brill Deutschland GmbH, Paderborn, Deutschland; Brill Österreich GmbH, Wien, Österreich) Koninklijke Brill NV umfasst die Imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau, V&R unipress und Wageningen Academic. Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Das Werk und seine Teile sind urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung in anderen als den gesetzlich zugelassenen Fällen bedarf der vorherigen schriftlichen Einwilligung des Verlages. Umschlagabbildung: Francesco Salviati, ‚Allegory of Peace‘, Palazzo Vecchio, Florence. Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage | www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com ISSN 2198-6134 ISBN 978-3-7370-0628-6

Contents

Jill Kraye / Marc Laureys / David A. Lines Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Marta Celati Conflict and Reconciliation in Italian Renaissance Conspiracies: Literary Sources and Political Perspectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Florence Alazard Négocier l’absolution vénitienne. La résolution d’un conflit, 1509–1510 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Peter Arnold Heuser Conflict Management and Resolution at the Peace Congress of Westphalia 1643–1649 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Luca Boschetto ‘Domus veritatis et aequitatis’. Il tribunale della Mercanzia e la risoluzione delle controversie commerciali a Firenze nell’età laurenziana . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Claudio Povolo The Public Rock of Cut Heads. Violence and Banditry in the Mediterranean: The Republic of Venice in the Sixteenth Century . . . 109 David A. Lines Managing Academic Insubordination at the University of Bologna . . . . 139 Wim François Reading the Bible in the Vernacular? Erasmus’s Divinationes, Supputationes, and Appendix against the Paris Theologians . . . . . . . . 161

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Contents

Roberta Giubilini Guillaume Postel and the Idea of Universal Harmony as a Means to Overcome Religious and Cultural Divisions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 Claudia Wedepohl Church and/or Pantheon: The Tempio Malatestiano Revisited . . . . . . . 205 Claudia Daniotti Resolving Conflicts by Means of Virtue: Alexander the Great and the Family of Darius in Renaissance Italian Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249 Laurent Paya Les livres de modèles de broderies du XVIe siècle, et la résolution de conflits esthétiques par la mescolanza . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267 Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303 Index nominum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 307

Jill Kraye / Marc Laureys / David A. Lines

Foreword

This is the third and final volume of essays issuing from the Leverhulme International Network ‘Renaissance Conflict and Rivalries: Cultural Polemics in Europe, c. 1300–c. 1650’, which officially ran between 2012 to 2015. The Network comprised six institutions: the University of Warwick (its Centre for the Study of the Renaissance serving as the Network’s lead institution), the Warburg Institute (University of London), and the universities of Bonn, Leuven, Florence, and Ca’ Foscari (Venice). The project was divided into three complementary parts – Forms; Spheres; Management and Resolution – with a colloquium, followed by the publication of a volume of papers, devoted to each part. The first colloquium, ‘Forms of Conflict and Rivalries in Renaissance Europe’, took place on 9–10 May 2013 at the University of Warwick; and the papers were published in 2015.1 The second colloquium was held on 8–9 May 2014 at the University of Bonn; and the papers were belatedly published in 2020.2 Ca’ Foscari and the palazzo Franchetti in Venice provided the venues for the third colloquium, ‘Management and Resolution of Conflict and Rivalries’, on 21–22 May 2015; and, now, at last, we publish the papers in the present volume.3 The overall aim of the network, as set out in the Forewords to the previous two volumes in the series, was to examine the various ways in which conflict and rivalries made a positive contribution to cultural production and change during the Renaissance. This volume draws that examination to a close by considering a range of different strategies deployed in the period to manage conflict and rivalries and to bring them to a positive resolution. The papers explore these developments in the context of political, diplomatic, social, institutional, religious, and art history.

1 Lines / Laureys / Kraye, ed. (2015). 2 Laureys / Kraye / Lines, ed. (2020). 3 Five speakers gave papers at the Venice colloquium that are not included in this volume: Jonathan Davies, Marc Laureys, Penny Roberts, Marco Sgarbi, and Roswitha Simons.

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Marta Celati’s essay centres on fifteenth-century Italian political conspiracies, showing how rulers balanced severe punishment of the perpetrators with strenuous efforts to restore social cohesion. While concordia remained the foundation of political systems, discordia was not expunged from the historical record but was instead exorcized, at least to some extent, through narrative devices used in literary accounts of the conspiracies. Two of the contributors investigate the diplomatic manoeuvres involved in ending Renaissance wars. Florence Alazard focuses on the League of Cambrai and the attempts by the European great powers to bring down Venice. The excommunication of Venice in April 1508 by Pope Julius II was intended and understood as a temporary measure to apply diplomatic pressure on the city; nevertheless, the conflict was not resolved until February 1510, after a ceaseless campaign by the Venetian ambassadors and months of intense negotiations. In his paper, Peter Arnold Heuser returns to the Peace Congress of Westphalia, 1643–1649, which he previously considered as a sphere of conflict and rivalries in the second volume of this series.4 Here he assesses the importance of timing in the lengthy efforts to conclude the Thirty Years’ War, tracing, in particular, the impact of military stalemate. He also explains how the congress implemented, by means of direct and indirect negotiations, the principles of amnesty and restitution, along with its establishment of religious peace as a key element in the final settlement. The next three contributions deal with economic, social, and institutional conflicts. Luca Boschetto presents an archival study of the Florentine Tribunale della Mercanzia during the personal rule of Lorenzo de’ Medici, from 1469 to 1492. After setting out the court’s fifteenth-century history, he examines four cases involving the interests of Lorenzo and his circle, which question the judgement of contemporaries and of modern scholars that the Medici were able to exert undue influence on the court’s decisions. The subject of Claudio Povolo’s essay is the role of banishment as a traditional means of managing conflicts between factions and families that threatened social stability. The increasing extremism of the penal justice system in the sixteenth-century Republic of Venice, however, turned banishment into an instrument of state repression against bandits, who were portrayed as outlaws and treated as political opponents. David Lines’s inquiry centres on the University of Bologna in the sixteenth century. By scrutinizing the records of two cases of academic insubordination, he underscores the absence of clear lines of institutional authority over the studium between the officials of the university and the rulers of the city, especially the papacy and its delegates, resulting in jurisdictional conflicts that required careful management and resolution. 4 Heuser (2020).

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Foreword

As in other domains of Renaissance life, conflicts arose in religion, and these, too, had to be managed and resolved with appropriate mechanisms. Wim François chronicles Erasmus’s defence of his biblical humanist ideas, especially his belief that the Bible should be made accessible to the laity through vernacular translations, against the staunchly traditionalist views of the theological faculty of the University of Paris. The conflict, which lasted for over eight years, from 1523/4 to 1532, was finally resolved when the Paris theologians succeeded in condemning numerous propositions in Erasmus’s writings, including the promotion of vernacular Bible reading. Roberta Giubilini’s paper considers a different approach to religious conflict by surveying the visionary theories put forward by the sixteenth-century French scholar and polymath, Guillaume Postel. He held that all divisions between religions, as well as those between societies, states, and cultures, could be overcome through a universal concordia under the auspices of the Catholic church and the French monarchy. The volume concludes with three art historical contributions. Claudia Wedepohl investigates the artistic and political background to the clash between Pope Pius II and Sigismondo Malatesta over the transformation of the Church of San Francesco into the Tempio Malatestiano, with its classicizing, imperial, dynastic, and allegedly neo-pagan sculptural decoration. After Sigismondo was excommunicated, burned in effigy, and stripped of the resources to complete the project, the conflict was resolved when the pope granted his request for absolution. Claudia Daniotti provides an iconographic study of the ‘Meeting of Alexander the Great with the Family of Darius’, a popular theme in Italian Renaissance art. Paintings showcasing Alexander’s gesture of magnanimity towards the female relatives of Darius, after his defeat at the Battle of Issus, illustrated how peaceful reconciliation between the victorious Greeks and the conquered Persians was achieved through the virtuous behaviour of an outstanding individual. Laurent Paya uses sixteenth-century model embroidery books to illustrate an aspect of the Renaissance theory of ornamental arts: the aesthetic of mescolanza (mixture), by means of which conflicting forms – GrecoLatin, Gothic, and Islamic – were able to reach a decorous resolution. *** We would like to express our gratitude, once more, to the Leverhulme Trust, whose financial support made our Network possible. These proceedings could not have been published without subventions from the Philosophische Fakultät and the Centre for the Classical Tradition (University of Bonn), the Centre for the Study of the Renaissance (University of Warwick), and the Warburg Institute (London); we remain enormously grateful to all these institutions. Finally, we

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thank Nicole Simon and Nora Simmler (Bonn) for their editorial assistance and, particularly, for compiling the Index Nominum.

Bibliography Heuser, P. A. (2020), ‘The Peace Congress of Westphalia 1643–1649 as a Sphere of Conflict and Rivalries’, in Laureys / Kraye / Lines, eds, 257–77. Lines, D.A. / Laureys, M. / Kraye, J., eds (2015), Forms of Conflict and Rivalries in Renaissance Europe (Super alta perennis. Studien zur Wirkung der Klassischen Antike, 17), Göttingen. Laureys, M. / Kraye, Jill / Lines, David A., eds (2020), Spheres of Conflict and Rivalries in Renaissance Europe (Super alta perennis. Studien zur Wirkung der Klassischen Antike, 22), Göttingen.

Marta Celati

Conflict and Reconciliation in Italian Renaissance Conspiracies: Literary Sources and Political Perspectives

Abstract This contribution investigates the political tensions that characterize conspiracies in the Italian Renaissance, focusing on the uneasy relationship between the ideas of reconciliation and conflict as they emerge in a number of literary texts devoted to plots (Stefano Porcari’s conspiracy against pope Nicholas V in 1453; the assassination of Galeazzo Maria Sforza in Milan in 1476; the plot against Alfonso and Ippolito d’Este in 1506). The sources examined reveal the key role played by the complementary concepts of concordia and discordia in Renaissance political thought. Most conspiracies were followed by the plotters’ harsh punishment and, at the same time, by subtle attempts at appeasement by rulers, who sought to maintain their power by re-creating social cohesion. The combination of these seemingly contrasting policies is reflected in the literary narratives of the events, where three main approaches towards reconciliation and reprisal can be identified. We have works that urge rulers to be merciful; sources where a conciliatory attitude appears only some years after the plots; and texts where the depiction of the revenge carried out against the culprits by the common people conveys a sense of regained unity in the state. This analysis shows the complex, and not linear, process of pacification after the plots and allows us to gain a better understanding of how the notion of political conflict was seen in the pre-Machiavellian age: whereas concordia was the conceptual cornerstone in political systems, the idea of opposition was not cancelled and erased from the political debate and historical memory (as some scholars claim); rather, it became the topic of several literary and historical works and, thanks partly to this narrative means, was exorcized and brought to reconciliation.

The Italian Renaissance between the mid-fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries has been deservedly considered an age of conspiracies. This characterization was implicitly recognized already by Jacob Burckhardt in 1860 in his The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy (in particular, in the section ‘The State as a Work of Art’), where several plots of this period are mentioned;1 and, in the twentieth century, it was given a more in-depth illustration in specific contributions de1 Burckhardt (2001).

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voted to the main conspiratorial events of this epoch, above all in Riccardo Fubini’s studies on fifteenth-century history.2 Especially after the middle of the Quattrocento, conspiracies became the most frequent means of political rebellion in the Italian states, in a development closely connected with the parallel consolidation of centralized governments throughout the peninsula. This process (which had its origins already in the Trecento) was interlaced with the general affirmation of princely ideologies in the realm of political theory.3 Despite the remarkable rise of this kind of insubordination to power, however, the vast majority of conspiracies were thwarted or failed. This is only seemingly a contradiction, as Machiavelli himself already partially recognized in his reflections on political plots, which are scattered in various of his works.4 In an age that saw the considerable strengthening of central authorities, conspiracies appeared as the most viable instrument for overthrowing rulers by small groups of people who were close to (or part of) governing circles; but this very reinforcement of verticalized regimes was also behind the frequent failure of these subversive actions, which often led to only detrimental results (the ‘certissimo danno’ pointed out in Machiavelli’s account of Stefano Porcari’s conspiracy in his Istorie fiorentine, VI.29). The consequence was an even more inflexible concentration of power to the benefit of princes.5 This outcome was the product not just of historical processes, but also of the interpretation of events put forward in the numerous literary narratives of conspiracies. Indeed, a substantial corpus of works was devoted to plots: these were texts composed by writers who were often actively involved (in different ways) in the well-structured system of cultural politics of their states and who made a vital contribution towards supporting, and at the same time shaping, their centralized political ideology. Whereas scholars have paid attention to the historical causes, political implications, and modes of actualization of conspiratorial plans, not enough research has been done on the fundamental role played by literature on plots (in its various forms: histories, poetry, epistles, and 2 Fubini (1994), esp. the chapter ‘L’Età delle congiure: i rapporti tra Firenze e Milano dal tempo di Piero a quello di Lorenzo de’ Medici (1464–1478)’. See also Fubini (1996) and Martines (1968). 3 On political thought in this age, see Rubinstein (1991); Skinner (1978), 113–38; Skinner (2002); Cappelli (2005); Stacey (2007); Pastore Stocchi (2014); Hankins (1996); and now also Hankins (2019). On mirrors for princes, see Gilbert (1977); Canfora (2005); and, with a specific focus on Naples, Cappelli (2016). 4 Machiavelli focused on this political subject in his long chapter Delle congiure in the Discorsi sulla prima deca di Tito Livio (III.6), but he also dealt with this issue in chapter XIX of Il principe and, more generally, in the Istorie fiorentine: Machiavelli, ed. Bausi (2001); Machiavelli, ed. Martelli (2006); Machiavelli, ed. Montevecchi / Varotti (2010). See Fasano Guarini (2010); Campi (2018); Geuna (2015); Celati (2021), 221–48; and Benner (2009), 373–9. 5 On this view in Machiavelli’s thought, see Fasano Guarini (2010), 203–4.

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so forth) in framing and spreading a specific reading of the episodes that could function as support to political leaders.6 This article aims to fill this gap, by exploring the political tensions and complex dynamics that characterize conspiracies in the Italian Renaissance, focusing on the political ideology that informs these works and that conveys a pro-ruler message aimed at containing dissent and re-establishing social cohesion. More specifically, this study looks at the uneasy relationship between the ideas of reconciliation and conflict as they emerge in a few literary and historical texts. These case studies concern some of the most famous plots in the Italian Renaissance: Stefano Porcari’s conspiracy against Pope Nicholas V in 1453; the assassination of Galeazzo Maria Sforza in Milan in 1476; and the plot against Alfonso and Ippolito d’Este in 1506.7 This corpus of multifaceted sources is examined here from multiple angles, considering historical, literary, and ideological elements that underpin the political interpretation of the events. My main purpose is to illustrate the authors’ different stances in dealing with the delicate relation between the issues of conflict and pacification: two opposite but interconnected poles in the political debate. This new frame of analysis allows us to gain a better insight into the pivotal role played by the notions of concordia and discordia in Italian Renaissance ideologies: principles that were already crucial in the classical and medieval tradition and that acquired new prominence in early modern political theories.8 Between the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, these concepts were considered from new political viewpoints and were re-adapted to the developing historical scenario. Especially around the middle of the fifteenth century, internal political conflict was the major problem for rulers; consequently, the values of concord and unity became the chief ideological cornerstones in their states. This process was accompanied by the parallel, and increasingly intransigent, rejection of rebellion and factionalism as harmful to any political organism. Such a position was emphasized also thanks to a more substantial and sophisticated recovery of classical sources, which were placed at the foundation of political speculation. One of these models was Sallust, whose viewpoint was encapsulated in the very famous sentence: ‘concordia parvae res crescunt, discordia maximae dilabuntur’ (Bellum Iugurthinum, X.6; ‘in concord small things grow, in discord even the greatest go to ruin’). This maxim, which had enjoyed a remarkable fortuna 6 Besides the studies mentioned in nn. 1 and 2, on political murders in the Renaissance, see also Piccolomini (1991); Villard (2008); and, for literature on conspiracies, Celati (2021). 7 Bibliography on these historical events and the related works is provided in the relevant sections below. 8 For an extensive analysis of the pivotal role of the concept of concordia in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century political culture, see Pedullà (2018), 10–26. On discordia and political factions in medieval and Renaissance Italy, see Hyde (1972); Bruni (2003). On the idea of concord in the classical tradition, see esp. Loraux (2002).

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already in earlier times, was frequently re-employed in humanist texts.9 There, similar principles, though originally correlated with a republican background, were adopted through a more flexible stance and in a variety of contexts, regardless of the form of government relevant to the individual discussion – including, therefore, oligarchic and princely contexts.10 If, however, traditional scholarship has mainly underlined the centrality of the ideal of concordia in humanist political theory, the objective of this article is to expand and shift the focus by looking at the interaction of both speculative and practical perspectives and, more specifically, at the delicate equilibrium between the antithetical but complementary poles of concord and discord, as they are represented in literary works on plots.11 In particular, the texts examined reveal the crucial importance of both these notions in the literary fashioning of a model of the ideal state. This prototype of statecraft did not remain abstract but could be applied to actual historical circumstances and was also promoted thanks to the use of contemporary historical exempla. It was portrayed in its ‘action’ through the literary depiction of how real rulers reacted to internal attacks and was conveyed by establishing an uneasy balance between two contrasting elements: on the one hand, the celebration of civic harmony, re-established after abortive plots; on the other hand, the condemnation of seditious attempts as the most hideous expression of discordia, the main factor of disintegration in political organizations. The synergetic tension between these opposite domains also appears in the literary representation of the concrete policies enacted by governments in the wake of failed plots. In most cases, conspiracies were followed by the harsh punishment of those involved, but, at the same time, also by subtle attempts at reconciliation as rulers sought to maintain their power by re-creating social unity. This combination of apparently contrasting policies already betrays the emergence of forms of political realism, although this notion would be conceived in its most mature physiognomy later in the sixteenth century.12 Most importantly, literary sources mirror the different plans devised by governments in 9 On the reuse of this quotation in the medieval and humanist tradition, see Pedullà (2018), 15 (where the author provides references to the texts that include this passage); Skinner (2002), 23–4; and, more generally, Osmond (1995), 103–17; Osmond (2000), 12–14. 10 In the last decades, scholarship has reconsidered the distinction between republican and monarchic ideologies in fifteenth-century Italy, reassessing Hans Baron’s theory of ‘civic humanism’: Baron (1955). For this reconsideration, see Hankins (1995); Hankins, ed. (2000); Hankins (2010); Cappelli (2009); Cappelli (2020). On concordia in a princely perspective, see Bueno de Mesquita (1965). 11 More generally, the history of theories of political power has always continuously crossed the history of the forms of resistance to power: a formulation of this principle in Coleman (1995), 1, 12. 12 See esp. Viroli (1994).

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dealing with rebellions and suggest three main approaches to reprisal and appeasement. Some works urge political leaders to be merciful and re-unite their political communities; others exhibit a conciliatory attitude towards the seditious element, but appear only some years after the plots; and still others devote significant sections to the depiction of the eagerness of common citizens to react against the rebels, punish them, and thus defend their rulers. What is most striking is that these multiple representations all share the same goal – that is, the protection and consolidation of established regimes. In the first category of texts we can include most literary works on Stefano Porcari’s conspiracy against Nicholas V. This plot was discovered by the pope before the conspirators could carry out their attack, which was planned to take place in Rome on 6 January 1453.13 Porcari, a Roman nobleman who was born in the first years of the century, aimed to overthrow papal rule in favour of a republican regime, probably through the initial establishment of a government under his own control.14 Despite its failure, this enterprise revealed the vulnerability of papal power, in an age when it was undermined by conciliarist conflicts and by internal opposition from the most influential Roman families. Nevertheless, also in light of these pressures, in the same period papal authority was seeking to strengthen its domain in the form of an ‘ecclesiastical princedom’. This process reached a kind of peak with Nicholas V, whose profile can be associated with that of a secular princeps.15 In this complex political milieu, Nicholas V displayed a twofold approach: although he was severe with the main culprits, he also tried not to exacerbate internecine dissent, which was widespread in the city and could have resulted in the success of Porcari’s goal.16 The main conspirators were all executed on 9 January in public places: Porcari was hanged from the highest tower of Castel Sant’Angelo and his relatives, Angelo and Clemente di Maso, together with other fellow-conspirators, in the Campidoglio. The representation of this harsh reprisal plays a key role in several texts on the conspiracy. There, the condemnation of the rebellion is achieved through two different but interconnected strategies: the depiction of the leader of the plot as a corrupt and evil criminal, the enemy of the fatherland, driven by despotic intentions; and the evocation of his violent but just punishment, which mirrors, as a fair counterpart, the ferocity of his scheme. This double perspective underlies 13 The most complete historical study on Stefano Porcari’s conspiracy and the sources of the event is Modigliani (2013). 14 On the form of government that the conspirator would have established after the attack against the pope, see Modigliani (2013), 77. On the Porcari family and Stefano Porcari’s biography, see Modigliani (1994). 15 On this political scenario, see Prodi (1982). Of the vast bibliography on Nicholas V’s pontificate, see at least Miglio (1997); Miglio (2000); Coluccia (1998). 16 On this historical context, see Modigliani (2013), 44–51.

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most sources, especially two poems composed in Rome soon after the plot, in 1453, by two humanists active in the cultural circles of the Curia: the Porcaria by Orazio Romano (who lived and worked around the middle of the fifteenth century in the environment of the Roman Curia and probably died before 1467);17 and the Conformatio curie Romane by Giuseppe Brivio (1378–1457).18 What is most noteworthy is that in these (not very well-known) texts, the representation of the brutality of both the conspiratorial action and its repression is accompanied by constant allusion to the pope’s policy of pacification, not only before but also (and most remarkably) after the plot. This was intended to placate all conflicts and secure peace and wealth for the state. This two-pronged outlook imbues the whole ideological perspective of Orazio Romano’s Porcaria, a refined short poem in two books. In this work, the historical events and characters are transposed to an infernal setting: indeed, most of the poem takes place in a gruesome hell, a vividly depicted underworld where Porcari and his accomplices are harshly punished. Thus, by means of the description of this infernal damnation in the poem, the revenge against the plotters is evoked even more effectively and acquires symbolic implications, through the depiction of an eternal condemnation that matches, and amplifies, the earthly punishment. But, despite the predominant gloomy tone, the poem includes emphatic accolades of Nicholas V, whose government is immortalized as a just one-man rule, which alone is able to protect the state and assure pax and securitas – values traditionally regarded since antiquity as the principal prerogatives of monarchical regimes. In particular, Orazio praises the pope’s clemency, an attribute that was placed at the core of the system of princely virtues in humanist political thought.19 This compassionate attitude is recognized by most texts on the conspiracy as a distinguishing trait of Nicholas V’s pontificate: above all in the Porcaria, but also (among other sources) in some sections of an historical epistle on the plot written by Leon Battista Alberti (1404–1472), the Porcaria coniuratio (1453).20 Orazio highlights how the pope’s policy of mercy and rec17 Orazio Romano, ed. Lehnerdt (1907). For a critical edition based on a new examination of the only manuscript of the text still extant, Bibliotheek der Rijksuniversiteit, Utrecht, ms. 826 (5 M 22), see: Orazio Romano, ed. Celati (2022). On this poem, see Celati (2019) and D’Elia (2007). On Orazio Romano, see Oliva (1994), pp. 23–9. 18 The poem is published in Tommasini (1880), 111–23; on the author and his work, see Miglio (1972) and Modigliani (2013), 209–12. 19 On clemency in humanist political thought see esp. Cappelli (2003), L–LI, LXXIX–LXXXI, and Skinner (2002), 125–6; for the influence of Seneca’s De clementia on political humanism, see Stacey (2007), 173–200. 20 Several sources underline Nicholas V’s mercy and generosity towards Porcari, especially when the nobleman was punished with exile (and not with harsher measures) after his previous seditious attempt in 1451: see esp. Leon Battista Alberti’s Porcaria coniuratio, edited by M. Regoliosi, in Alberti, ed. Cardini (2010), 1265–81 (1266).

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onciliation allowed the common people to continue to live in tranquillity and concord. He also reinforces his point by exalting Nicholas V’s efforts at pacification and contrasting this image with the Roman citizens’ dissent and their insubordinate actions, which are presented as totally inconsiderate and the expression of ingratitude: Nuper enim indoluit cives damnare rebelles, Non odium sed causa fuit: licuisset in omnem Progeniem sevire, in pignora non tamen iram Protulit. Enixus maculas abolere pudendas Alloquio mitis genitor non plurima questus Solatur populum. […] …Simul oscula cuique Delibat gaudens patulisque amplectitur ulnis. Heu nos ingrati! […] Cernimus Italiam regisque ducisque sub arma Implicitam furiis bellorum et sortis acerbae. Nos vero immunes belli circumque ruinis Inclusi nulla tamen obsidione tenemur. Foelicem tanto vitam sub principe tuti. Quid totiens totiens totiensque vocamus Libertas? […] Illa mihi visa est digno sub principe vera Libertas.21 (Recently he [Nicholas V] reluctantly condemned the rebels; this was due not to hatred, but reason: although he could have raged against every family, nevertheless he did not display anger towards the prisoners. The clement father removes any dishonourable stain and comforts his people without rebuking them. […] Joyfully, he kisses us and hugs everyone with open arms. Alas, how ungrateful we are! […] We see Italy under the weapons of kings and condottieri, engulfed in the violence of war and a cruel destiny. By contrast, we are free from war, and, though surrounded by calamity, we are not tormented by any threat. We lead a tranquil life under such a great sovereign. What is it that we so very often call liberty? […] True liberty is, I think, what you can find under a worthy prince.)

This crucial section on the pope’s pacifying policy opens with an explicit reference to his response to the plot, which is seen as the most evident manifestation of his clemency, since he could have been much more cold-hearted in the wake of such a dangerous aggression. In a climactic ascent, however, the passage expands the viewpoint and culminates with a more general statement about Nicholas V’s 21 Porcaria, I, 499–504; 510–12; 516–20; 534–5; 537–8. All passages are quoted from the text in Orazio Romano, ed. Celati (2022), based on a new examination of the codex unicus of the poem (Utrecht, Bibliotheek der Rijksuniversiteit, ms. 826, 16r–v). All translations in this article are my own.

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style of rule, which is portrayed as idyllic and non-violent both in internal and foreign affairs. This propagandistic depiction is emphasized through the comparison between the peacefulness in the Papal State and the discord prevalent in the rest of Italy, which is seen as tormented by continuous wars and conflicts.22 This effective representation recurs in an analogous form in other texts on the plot, such as Pietro Godi’s dialogue De Porcaria coniuratione, a work aimed at legitimizing the pope’s monarchical regime,23 and, even more noticeably, in Giuseppe Brivio’s Conformatio curie Romane, a poem centred on condemning Porcari and celebrating papal power. In the work by Brivio (who was a humanist active in Rome, from around 1437, and had official appointments in the Curia), as in the Porcaria, the description of the condition of serenity guaranteed to the Romans by the pope is connected to his defeat of the conspiracy and his peaceful attitude in governing: Qui [Nicholas V] tibi [Rome] iustitia tribuit, tibi semper honores Et laudem famamque dedit […] O gentem ingratam, gentem fulvi eris avaram Gentemque indomitam dignamque ut dira tyranni Ferrea virga regat […] Ergo quid antiquam libertatem anxia queris? An tua libertas, qua nunc perfungeris, extat Parva tibi? Si tu perquiris in omnibus illam Urbibus Italie, nullam, mihi crede, profecto Invenies urbem, que sic maiore per omnem Libertate modum quam nunc tua Roma fruatur. […] Hic populum prisco de paupere ditem Efficit et placida Romam cum pace gubernat.24 (He [Nicholas V] bestows on you [Rome] justice and has always given you honours and fame and glory […] O ungrateful people, greedy for gold, indomitable people, who deserve to be ruled by the cruel and strong sceptre of a tyrant […] What kind of ancient liberty do you look for so anxiously? Do you think that you are now enjoying a restricted form of liberty? If you search for it in all the cities of Italy, you would certainly not find any city, believe me, where it would be possible to enjoy more liberty than now in your Rome. […] He [Nicholas V] makes the people wealthy by freeing them from poverty and rules Rome in a tranquil peace.)

22 On Nicholas V’s foreign politics and his apparent neutrality in the conflicts among the Italian states (which never brought about an actual pacification until the peace of Lodi in 1454), see esp. Miglio (2000), 648–9. 23 Godi’s work is published in Orazio Romano, ed. Lehnerdt (1907), 57–75 (60 for this remark). Godi was a jurist, who was born in Vicenza around the 1420s and from 1450 was active in Rome, where he died between 1474 and 1482; see Modigliani (2001). 24 Brivio’s poem is quoted from the edition in Tommasini (1880), 57–59 (ll. 146–8, 198–204, 216–17).

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Significantly, in both Brivio’s and Orazio’s poems the representation of the pax and concordia enjoyed by Romans is directly linked to a reconsideration of the idea of liberty. This notion is interpreted through the lens of princely ideology and is presented shorn of its more traditional republican overtones.25 The poets project the classical tenets of liberty and concord in a totally monarchical perspective, in which papal rule is also inscribed. They both allude to a concept of liberty that is misinterpreted by the Roman people, who are seen as misled by the illusory appeal of their seditious purposes, while the only authentic form of libertas appears to be that provided by a prince who maintains order and unity in the social body. Thus, the pope is depicted as an actual princeps, who is the sole guarantor of ‘true’ liberty and concord. It is concord, in particular, which becomes the essential requirement for maintaining peace and security in the state and preserving its cohesion. In light of this view, the image of the regained harmony after the seditious attempts, though emphasized in a highly propagandistic depiction, plays a pivotal role in the literary representations of the conspiracy and as support for papal rule. As these texts show, poetry, through its marked eulogistic diction, conveyed this political point with special effectiveness; indeed, this genre generally made a substantial contribution to the affirmation of princely ideologies in the fifteenth century. In actual fact, what we know about Nicholas V’s policy after the plot testifies, not only to his ruthlessness against the culprits, but also to his clemency, an attitude that was in part correlated with propagandistic aims and in part had more concrete implications. He was keen to subdue conflicts between the Roman people and the members of the Curia by promulgating a measure that punished with ten ‘tratti di corda’ (and the withdrawal of all benefices) any clergyman who falsely accused Roman citizens of connivance with the rebels, and, vice versa, by sentencing to death anyone who offended foreign clerics.26 His goal was to prevent further seditions and restore social accord in a city divided by deeply rooted rivalries. On a more general level, the pope’s attempts to project an image of pacification were probably aimed at preventing the risk of an alliance between internal opponents and foreign enemies, above all the king of Naples, Alfonso I the Magnanimous.27 This need for an enforced pacification is further confirmed by the document containing the transcription of Porcari’s confession (extracted 25 On some aspects related to this broader phenomenon in fifteenth-century political thought, see n. 10. On the employment in the Porcaria of numerous exempla drawn from the history of the Roman republic and on their re-elaboration in a princely perspective, see Celati (2019); for a different point of view, see D’Elia (2007). 26 Modigliani (2013), 51–2. The conflict between Romans and foreign clergymen is depicted in a sharp portrayal in the Porcaria coniuratio: Alberti, ed. Cardini (2010), 1268–70. 27 Alfonso of Aragon, in fact, was alleged to have supported the plotters; see Modigliani (2013), 34–6.

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after his arrest). There it is openly claimed that the names of some of the plotters had to be omitted from the record. Indeed, the report mentions only those whose culpability could not to be concealed, while hiding the identities of other accomplices, as stated in a sentence that explicitly leaves out the names of some men who supported Porcari in his action: ‘[…] nonnulli alii, quorum nomina pro meliori tacentur’.28 So, while the pope’s reprisal against the most manifest culprits functioned as an exemplary measure, other figures were spared – perhaps because a broader action of revenge would have shown how wide the dissent in the city was, thereby strengthening anti-papal forces. Moreover, it is also possible that Nicholas V, who at first showed a less conciliatory attitude, was persuaded to mitigate his reaction by his advisors.29 Both the Porcaria and the Conformatio concentrate on this need for reconciliation and convey their pro-papal message through the interplay of two intertwined points (which often recur as well in Renaissance mirrors for princes): they urge the ruler to be merciful, by adopting an advising attitude typical of humanists in their relationship with sovereigns; but, at the same time, by framing this appeal and idealizing the pope, they also immortalize Nicholas V as an actual clement princeps. The two works devote extensive sections to this issue and include an overt recommendation of mercy: Hosne iuvat sevire, iterum quod moenia rursus Extruis et Romam, si qua est, insignibus ornas Extollisque opibus pacemque impendis et annum Letitiae exortem bellis […]? […] meritis excellere malis Et pietate alios, quae sola in principe virtus Eminet […]30 (Do you think that it can be of any use to rage against these men, since you are erecting again the Roman walls, and you adorn Rome with great works, glorify the city with your buildings, and provide us with peace and a flourishing age free from war […]? […] You should prefer to excel for your merits and mercy towards others, since this is the only distinguishing virtue of princes […].) […] parce libenter, Parce precor […] At tua maiestas si mortem infligere cunctis Quippe velit turbata reis, fortasse reorum

28 Modigliani (2013), 45; Porcari’s confession is published in Von Pastor (1958), I, 833–8 (834). 29 For some sources that testify to this evolution, see Modigliani (2013), 51. 30 Orazio Romano, ed. Celati: Porcaria, II, 447–51, 457–9 (Utrecht, Bibliotheek der Rijksuniversiteit, ms. 826: 27v–28r).

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Infinitus erit numerus, sic mortis in illos Haud finem invenies […]31 (Forgive willingly, I pray, forgive […]. If your majesty wants to inflict death on all culprits because you are upset about the evil men, the number of culprits will perhaps become infinite, so that you will never see the end of those men’s death […].)

In both poems (though with specific differences), the focus on clemency is enhanced by interlacing this theme with references to the architectural plan conceived by Nicholas V in the same years and aimed at renovating and strengthening Rome.32 Although the building works had started a few years before the plot, in 1451, this enterprise has been interpreted in most works on Nicholas V’s pontificate as evidence of the need to reinforce the city’s protective fortification (in particular, in the pope’s testament included in his biography by Giannozzo Manetti).33 Especially in the Conformatio, however, where the pope’s government is presented as symbolically epitomized by his architectural policy, this perspective is taken a step further and is partially re-framed, with the purpose of enhancing the celebration of concordia civium as the bedrock of an ideal princely state: Consulo item, vicechriste pater, sit pre arcibus una Arx statuenda tibi, nullo expugnabilis unquam Tempore: civis amor, qui fortior omnibus extat Arcibus, ut nulle valeant sine amore virorum Arce stare diu […]34 (Father vicar of Christ, I consider that, before the city’s fortification, you should build a protection that can be never destroyed: it is the citizens’ love, which is stronger than any fortification, as all defence cannot resist without men’s love […].)

In this key passage, the poetic eulogy of papal rule intrudes into the territory of the theorization of statecraft by presenting the model of an organic political system based on the classical tenet of mutua caritas (mutual love): the highest expression of the idea that princes should be loved rather than feared.35 This concept is vividly described through the metaphor of the state’s walls: indeed, the citizens’ love is the sole shielding fortification able to provide perpetual defence for any regime. This passage condenses in a potent symbolic illustration the ideological cornerstone of papal politics in this phase. Nevertheless, these prin31 Tommasini (1880), 60 (Conformatio curie Romane, ll. 269–73). 32 On Nicholas V’s architectural plan, see Miglio (2000), 653–4; Burrough (1990), 62–7; Modigliani (2013), 54–60. 33 For Giannozzo Manetti, De vita ac gestis Nicolai quinti summi pontificis, see Manetti, ed. Modigliani (2005), 110–1, 130–1. On this work, see now Marsh (2019), 149–58. 34 Tommasini (1880), 62 (Conformatio curie Romane, ll. 346–50). 35 See esp. Cappelli (2003), LXXXI–LXXXVII, and Cappelli (2005), 170–75.

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ciples go beyond the appearance of purely ideal values, since they were actualized in concrete strategies directed at re-establishing consensus as a means of political control and affirmation of centralized power. In other historical contexts, the efforts (though purely strategic) towards reconciliation did not follow the thwarted attacks immediately but emerged only at a later stage. This was the case with the abortive conspiracy against Alfonso d’Este (1476–1534), ruler of Ferrara, and his brother Cardinal Ippolito (1479– 1520), hatched in 1506 by two other brothers, Ferrante (1477–1540) and Giulio d’Este (1478–1561), the latter a half-blood, since he was born from the relationship between Ercole d’Este and Isabella Arduini.36 One of the chief literary sources for this event is an eclogue composed by Ludovico Ariosto (1474–1533) soon after the discovery of the plot, probably between April and August 1506.37 In this bucolic transfiguration, where the episode is narrated through the dialogue of two shepherds, Melibeo and Tirsi, Giulio (identified with the poetic name Iulo) is recognized as the main culprit, in a reconstruction that matches the guidelines of official Estense propaganda. After the discovery of the plot, in April, Giulio fled to Mantua under the protection of Francesco Gonzaga and started to be seen as the principal enemy of the ruler of Ferrara. While Ferrante (Fereo in the eclogue) was mostly driven by political ambitions, Giulio’s hostility against his half-brothers has also been traced back to his love rivalry with Ippolito for Angela Borgia, which ended up in an ambush against Giulio himself organized in November 1505 by the cardinal’s men; after the attack, Giulio lost the sight in one eye, but never obtained justice from Alfonso. This resentment lay behind the organization of the conspiracy, which took shape from January 1506. The plan was never put into action, however, and Ippolito was able to collect evidence of the scheme, while Giulio fled to Mantua. Alfonso’s letters between April and May reveal that he tried to have his half-brother extradited by Francesco Gonzaga, but the marquis of Mantua agreed to hand him over only in September, after receiving assurances that Giulio’s life would be spared.38 After the trial, both the leaders of the plot were condemned and detained in prison: Ferrante died there in 1540; Giulio was freed only in 1559 by his grandnephew Alfonso II (1533–1597). Ariosto’s eclogue was written in support of Alfonso and Ippolito in the critical situation following Giulio’s escape and probably even before the beginning of the trial, in August 1506.39 For this reason, the text responded to the needs, and at the same time mirrored the guidelines, of the government of Ferrara in this delicate 36 On this plot, see Bacchelli (1931); Chiappini (1967), 215–22, 227; Portone (1993). 37 The eclogue is published in Ariosto, ed. Fatini (1961), 313–29. On this work, see Bacchelli (1931), II, 234–56. Another eclogue was composed on the same conspiracy in Ferrara by Antonio Valtellino, chancellor of Niccolò da Correggio; see Dionisotti (1937). 38 Bacchelli (1931), II, 223–4. 39 Ibid., 255–6.

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phase when the conflict within the Este family was far from reaching a reconciliation. Thus, this work should be read as a political text and not as a mere piece of flattering literature composed by a poeta cortigiano. Ariosto uses the literary conventions of bucolic poetry to promote a strongly political message of support for the Estense government: he condemns the plot as an action driven by the criminal ambition of Giulio, the chief adversary of the duke and, consequently, the embodiment of the most hideous enemy of the state. Because of the unheeded requests for the culprit’s extradition, the general hostility towards Giulio had to be enhanced by Este propaganda; however, at the same time, the reputation of the ruling family had to be preserved. Ariosto accomplishes all of this by depicting Giulio as a corrupt man, stained by the most disgraceful vices. In this lively negative portrayal, he even insinuates that Giulio was not Ercole’s own (illegitimate) son but was born from the relationship between Isabella Arduini (Ardeusa in the eclogue) and a wicked man, named Emofilo in the poem but not identified (ll. 59–81). Ariosto completes his propagandistic reconstruction by providing a lengthy eulogy of Alfonso’s government (ll. 160–201). The whole encomiastic picture stands out clearly thanks to the rhetorical construction of the text, where the duke’s virtuousness is presented as the most rightful justification for the plotters’ punishment, and the state’s prosperity under his rule is amplified by evoking the chaos, disorder, and tumult that the conspiracy would have brought about had it succeeded: Quanto è miglior [Alfonso], tanto più grave eccesso, e meritevol di maggior supplicio chi ha cercato occiderlo ha commesso. […] Veduto aresti romper tregue e paci, surger d’un foco un altro e di quel diece, anzi d’ogni scintilla mille faci. Qual cosa non faria, qual già non fece un popular tumulto che si trove sciolto, ed a cui ciò ch’appetisce lece?40 (The blameworthiness of the crime committed by those who tried to kill him and who deserve the harshest punishment is in proportion to [Alfonso’s] excellence. […] Peace and truces would have been broken, one fire would have given rise to dozens of others, and a single spark would have generated thousands of flames. What would a popular tumult not do, what has it not already done, once unleashed and allowed to follow its disordered desires?)

The political message is highlighted by the poetic medium. The Este princeps is implicitly celebrated as the only one able to maintain concord and peace: he 40 The text is quoted from Ariosto, ed. Fatini (1961), 313–29 (ll. 217–222).

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provides the essential conditions for any political system to flourish, in contrast to the alternatives of discord and public unsafety. In this context of political instability, Ariosto’s eclogue also reveals that, whereas a conciliatory approach was not possible with the plotters and, in particular, with Giulio, it was necessary to adopt a policy of ‘concealment of conflict’ in relation to the position of the other main target of the conspiracy, Ippolito. In fact, the evocation of Ippolito and his irreconcilable rivalries with the main plotter would have been inconvenient, exposing both the inconsistencies of the politics of Alfonso, who had sided with the cardinal, and the irreparable conflict within the family. This unflattering picture would have cast a negative light on rulers of Ferrara and undermined the image of concord that was being rebuilt by concentrating the blame on a figure who could function as a perfect scape-goat. Hence, Ippolito’s name was mentioned as rarely as possible in the reports of the trial, to the extent that even references to his previous hostility towards Giulio were omitted by the official documents.41 Ariosto’s eclogue reinforces this reconstruction: while Giulio emerges as a most vile criminal, guilty of jeopardizing the whole state, Ippolito, the poet’s patron, is only mentioned obliquely in the text (ll. 101, 105). It was only a few years later, in a different political milieu, that the need for reconciliation, even with the traitors, started to be felt with more urgency in Ferrara. This political change is reflected again in Ariosto’s literary work: specifically, in the 1516 edition of his Orlando furioso. As the conspiracy was now far enough in the past, there was no longer a need to apportion blame or vilify the conspirators. Rather, Ariosto portrays a pacified state and underscores Alfonso’s clemency towards his brothers, remanded in prison but not executed like the other culprits. This act of pity derived in part from the close familiar relationship of Ferrante and Giulio with the ruler of Ferrara; but, more generally, it could also function as a manifestation of mercy, one of the most distinguishing virtues of princely power. Ariosto in his Orlando furioso returns to the plot, but this time concentrates on the duke’s clemency, in the pivotal and lengthy eulogistic segment in Canto III that presents the Este dynasty:42 Veniano sospirando, e gli occhi bassi parean tener d’ogni baldanza privi; […] Ah sfortunati, a quanta pena lungo instigar d’uomini rei vi mena! O bona prole, o degna d’Ercol buono, non vinca il lor fallir vostra bontade:

41 Bacchelli (1931), II, 234–5. 42 On this evolution, see also Bacchelli (1931), II, 260.

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di vostro sangue i miseri pur sono: qui ceda la iustizia alla pietade.43 (They came sighing, with their eyes downcast, all swagger gone […]. O unfortunate ones, what sorrow comes to you from following the patient counsel of vicious men! O good offspring, worthy of the good Hercules, may your goodness not be overcome by their failures; these miserable ones are still of your same blood: here, may justice give way to mercy.)

The acrimony against the plotters is eased: they appear repentant and are even partially justified as being led astray by evil men. The accent is not on their crime, as in the eclogue, where the condemnation of civic conflict acted as a means to exalt its opposite, concordia; instead, the image of pacification, and implicitly of social cohesion, is now foregrounded.44 Finally, a third category of texts on plots consists of works that place a particular focus on the depiction of the brutal reprisal carried out against the plotters by the common people. This portrayal ends up presenting the punishment meted out to the culprits as a vengeance shared by the whole civic community. Consequently, the stress on conflict within the social body contributes to conveying the opposite idea, that of an organic and close-knit state reunified under its ruler, who is avenged thanks to the action of the society as a whole. The portrayal of this specific form of political discordia (between the common people and the insurgents) helps reformulate a higher and more strategic image of concordia, that between the princeps and honest citizens: a bond that, of course, excludes the rebels, as a minority of isolated criminals. Such a representation of the revenge against the conspirators has a crucial political bearing on some significant sources concerning the assassination of Galeazzo Maria Sforza (1444–1476) in Milan on 26 December 1476.45 The duke of Milan was murdered in front of the church of Santo Stefano by three noblemen: Giovanni Andrea Lampugnani, Gerolamo Olgiati, and Carlo Visconti (and other fellow-conspirators). The attack did not, however, achieve its ultimate aim of overthrowing the government, since the rebels were killed or captured. Lampugnani, the first to stab Galeazzo, tried to flee exploiting the tumult in the church, 43 Ariosto, ed. L. Caretti (2015), III.61.1–2 and 62.1–4. 44 Significantly, a similar, but less radical, evolution characterizes another literary work on one of the most famous plots in Renaissance Italy; see Angelo Poliziano’s Coniurationis commentarium, the account of the Pazzi conspiracy against the Medici brothers in 1478, which was written immediately after the attack and was revised in 1480, when Poliziano slightly changed the political perspective of the text in order to reflect the new condition of pacification between the Medici and their enemies. On this revision, see the ‘Introduzione’ in Poliziano, ed. Celati (2015), 24–7. 45 This perspective is also particularly evident in Poliziano’s Coniurationis commentarium; see Poliziano, ed. Celati (2015), 59–63, 66–9.

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but was immediately killed by one of the duke’s guards, called Moro (because of his dark complexion). Olgiati and Visconti, who succeeded in escaping, were later seized and imprisoned.46 Despite its failure, this conspiracy revealed the wideranging discontent against Galeazzo Maria’s maladministration and his autocratic government, which had progressively displayed despotic tendencies. The plotters’ undertaking was mainly inspired by personal hostility (in particular, the power of Lampugnani’s family had been substantially reduced)47 but also by antityrannical tenets. Yet, they were unable to gain the support of the Milanese people. The Sforza family managed to maintain their power through the regency of Bona of Savoy (1449–1503), mother of the young heir Gian Galeazzo Maria (1469–1494). The government was also quick to promulgate several measures to regain consensus, well aware that dissatisfaction with the ruling family was widespread. For instance, it abolished taxes and restored confiscated goods. Furthermore, as part of the same strategy, it disseminated the image of a strong rule supported by all the subjects. Members of the aristocracy also helped prevent possible seditions in the duchy by exhorting the people to remain calm.48 Literary and historical works were central to this operation (not just texts composed in the aftermath of the events, but also narratives produced some years after the duke’s murder): they transmitted the idea of solid ties between the Sforza and the state and marginalized the rebels. In most works on the conspiracy, it is Lampugnani who emerges as the principal leader of the plot, a figure reminiscent of the evil profile of Sallust’s Catiline, corrupted by iniquity and driven by autocratic ambitions.49 But besides providing this negative stigmatization, several sources also focus on the ferocious revenge that befell Lampugnani immediately after the attack. Even a relatively unbiased historical account like the Historia patria by Bernardino Corio (1459–c. 1519) dwells on this episode. This history of Milan (from the city’s origin to the beginning of 1500), which was written between 1485 and 1503 and was commissioned by Ludovico il Moro (1452–1508),50 incorporates the lengthy confession delivered by Olgiati after his capture, a document that can be read as an admission of guilt.51 Significantly, Corio also includes in his narrative two explicit references, in two

46 On Galeazzo Maria Sforza, see Lubkin (1994); on the conspiracy and the figures involved, see Belotti (1965); Fubini (1994), 107–35, 220–52, 327–50; Ilardi (1986); Vaglienti (2004). 47 On this issue, see Vaglienti (2004). 48 On the historical context, see esp. Ilardi (1986), 75–9. 49 Some members of the Lampugnani family also condemned the plotter and thus tried to shield themselves from reprisals; see Ilardi (1986), 75. 50 Corio, ed. Morisi Guerra (1978); on the author and the sources of his work, see Petrucci (1983) and Meschini (1995). 51 Corio, ed. Morisi Guerra (1978), II, 1401–7. On Olgiati, who was turned in by his father, see also Ilardi, 74–5.

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different passages, to Lampugnani’s death and the violation of his body by a group of young men: Giovanne Andrea, lo quale di subito volse fugire tra le donne che ivi erano per la celebratione dil sancto, da Gallo Mauro, staphero dil Sforcesco, fu morto puoi da fanciulli trasinato per la cità e disperso il suo cadavere […]52 (Giovanni Andrea, who immediately tried to flee among the ladies who were in the church for the holy celebration, was killed by Gallo Mauro, a guard of the Sforza, and was dragged through the city by some young boys, and his body was dismembered.) Morto Galeazzo Maria Sforza nel modo dimostrato, lo cadavero dil Lampugnano da fanciulli per la cità fu traxinato e vilmente disperse le osse sue e li quarteri de li altri furono posti a le porte de la cità li capi sopra il campanile […]53 (After Galeazzo Maria Sforza was assassinated as shown above, Lampugnani’s dead body was dragged through the city by some young boys, who disgracefully scattered his bones; parts of the corpses of the others [i. e., the plotters] were placed at the city gates and their heads on the bell tower.)

These two overlapping descriptions amplify the pro-princely message: they suggest that the social community disapproved of the prince’s assassination, as even some young boys from the plebs dishonoured the body of the main conspirator, while the corpses of the other plotters were dismembered and put on display in the city. A similar perspective likewise informs another work, the Lamento del Duca Galeazo Duca di Milano quando fu morto in Sancto Stephano da Gioanandrea da Lampognano, which circulated mainly as an anonymous text (though in some editions it is attributed to a Florentine author identified as Lorenzo Rota).54 This short poem in the vernacular was composed before 1482 and probably soon after the conspiracy; it enjoyed widespread diffusion especially in the early sixteenth century, when it was published in various editions (where the text displays slightly different variants).55 In the edition printed in Florence in 1505, the poem is introduced by a woodcut that provides a lively depiction of the attack against the duke (Figure 1).56 The image portrays the brutal scene of bloodshed in the 52 53 54 55

Corio, ed. Morisi Guerra (1978), II, 1401. Ibid., 1408. This attribution appears, e. g., in Rota (1585). The editio princeps was printed in Venice by Manfredo Bonelli in 1493; on the tradition of the text, see Fadini (2018), 210–12. 56 Lamento del Duca Galeazo Duca di Milano quando fu morto in Sancto Stephano da Gionanandrea da rampognano [sic.], Firenze: maestro Bernardo Zucchetta: ad instantia di ser Piero Pacini da Pescia, 1505. I have examined the copy in Milan, Archivio Storico Civico, Biblioteca Trivulziana, Rari Triv. H 314/1. It is the first edition to include this image, which would also appear in some reprints; see Fadini, 210–1. On the text and the woodcut, see also Salzberg / Rospocher (2017), 169–73.

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church, by capturing the moment just after Galeazzo’s assassination (but not the assassination itself). In particular, the visual representation intensifies the idea of violence that underlies the literary narrative and places the focus on the killing of Lampugnani by the duke’s ‘moorish’ guard, who is portrayed in the act of stabbing the conspirator to death. This brave reaction is placed in the composition’s foreground (although on the left side of the illustration), where the man depicted stands out and is easily recognizable.

Figure 1: Lamento del Duca Galeazo Duca di Milano quando fu morto in Sancto Stephano da Gioanandrea da Lampognano, Firenze: maestro Bernardo Zucchetta: ad instantia di ser Piero Pacini da Pescia, 1505, f. 1r, detail (Archivio Storico Civico Biblioteca Trivulziana, Rari Triv. H 314/1). copyright © Comune di Milano – tutti i diritti di legge riservati

The insertion of such an expressive and detailed image in this edition is especially remarkable since it was produced with the specific purpose of accompanying this text in a cheap publication. This practice is rare in ephemeral printed materials; but in this edition, although it is a modest and short pamphlet of just two folios, an exception was made. This visual representation encapsulates and vividly conveys the poet’s description of the killing and reprisal. The poem’s dramatic

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tone is even emphasized by the rhetorical choice of presenting the scene through Galeazzo’s own words, in a fictional narration in the first person: Hor chi potrebbe raccontare et dire quattordici ferite ha il corpo mio octo mortali che fer l’alma partire. Udendo e miei staffieri el caso rio che eran per chiesa si trasson avanti per volermi aiutare ma morto ero io. […] Un mio moro staffier correndo fue adosso a Giovandrea in parte armato et diegli un colpo di tanta virtue. Finalmente quel fu tucto tagliato gli altri fuggendo di poi furon presi et morto per Milan fu strascinato.57 (Now who would ever be able to speak about the fourteen wounds that my body bears and the other eight deadly wounds that killed me and let my soul depart from my body? When my guards who were in the church heard this evil deed, they came forward to help me, but I was already dead. [….] A moor guard of mine ran after Giovan Andrea, who was partly armed, and stabbed him with great valour. Finally, that man was entirely dismembered and his dead body dragged throughout Milan; the other plotters, who tried to escape, were captured.)

The narration of the attack ends with the picture of the plotters’ capture and culminates in the macabre detail of Lampugnani’s dead body dragged throughout the city. This event, which (as we have seen) recurs in different sources, epitomizes a cluster of complementary propagandistic points: the ideas of fair vengeance against the traitors of the fatherland, of the reunification of the whole state under the ruler’s power, and of the futility of any violent insubordination against established authorities. This standpoint reflects and interlocks with the various attempts at controlling public order by the Sforza’s central administration, which immediately tried to reassure the people in all its territories that the ducal power was still stable.58 This policy is testified by an official document addressed to the castellans of Masserano and Crevalcuore by the duchess Bona of Savoy: […] il nostro illustrissimo consorte […] fu percoso da più ferite da uno traditore Johanne Andrea da Lampugnano et certi altri pochi suoi seguaci, et lui poi fu subito tagliato a pezi e stracinato per li piedi per tutta la nostra cità da li puti. La qual cità ha facto e fa grande demonstratione de la fede et devotione sua verso nuy et Stato nostro et 57 The quotation is taken from the edition Lamento del Duca, 1v (original spelling has been maintained; punctuation and capitalization have been modernized; and obvious mistakes have been corrected). 58 Ilardi (1986), 75–6.

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sta costante in la solita fedeltà soa et piange la missione et la perdita del suo signore; il simili han facto et fano le altre citadi del dominio nostro.59 ([…] my illustrious husband was stabbed multiple times by the traitor Giovanni Andrea Lampugnani and a few other fellow-plotters. Lampugnani was immediately cut into pieces and dragged by his feet all over the city by a group of young boys. This city has shown and is still very clearly expressing its great faith and devotion towards us and our state, and its usual loyalty remains solid, as it grieves the loss and departure of its lord; the other cities in our domain have done and still do the same.)

This statement demonstrates the actual political orientation of the Sforza family and finds validation in the literary and historical works devoted to the event: texts imbued with a pro-signorial outlook, where political unity is elevated to the main prerogative of princely power, to be achieved, among other means, through a studied representation of concord and discord within the social body. As this analysis has shown, writings on Renaissance plots are dominated by a centralized political perspective, which is connected to the parallel affirmation of princely ideologies in Italian fifteenth-century political thought. This process goes together with the recovery of traditional monarchical views that foster the interpretation of fundamental political notions, such as libertas and concordia, through a specific princely angle. In particular, the idea of liberty is not necessarily tied to republican connotations and appears as a condition that can be granted to the people only by signorial governments that prevent disorder and guarantee social tranquillity. In this view, the principles of unity, pax, and securitas are placed at the heart of political organisms and are combined with the ideal of concordia, which is now interpreted from the same standpoint. The conservation of social cohesion and consensus, pursued by any means, is seen as an end in itself and dominates the political horizon, where the power of the princeps is regarded as coinciding with the more general entity of the state. Indeed, the ruler’s safety corresponds with the safeguarding of the entire state, whose unity is now a value to be placed above all others.60 It is well known that in the Cinquecento Machiavelli would totally reconsider the traditional idea of internal political conflict, bestowing on it a previously unknown positive function for the life and inner balance of early modern political systems, although he had a negative opinion of conspiracies, considering them as a distinct phenomenon.61 From this perspective, the outlook that emerges in the sources examined in this article allows us to shed new light on how 59 The quotation is in Andenna (1997), 354; see also Vaglienti (2004). 60 On this aspect, see also the more general study in Celati (2021). 61 On the topic of political conflict in Machiavelli’s work, see the thorough analysis in Pedullà (2018) and the extensive bibliography mentioned in his volume. For Machiavelli’s views on conspiracies, see the studies mentioned in n. 4.

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the key notion of discordia was seen in the years immediately preceding Machiavelli’s work and on the influence that these positions could have had on his political speculation. Indeed, both fifteenth- and early-sixteenth-century history and literature offered him a perfect angle for analysing the pivotal role played by internal conflict in the political and cultural domains. They also allowed him to consider all the implications, however slight, that the representation of discord had in this output and the ideological views connected to it. Despite being reassessed and partially overturned by Machiavelli himself, the views prepared the ground for a more mature form of realism. If it is true that concordia was regarded as the cornerstone of fifteenth-century theories of rulership, the opposite idea of discordia was not cancelled and erased from the political debate and historical memory in this period (as most scholarship would have us think).62 On the contrary, political conflict became the topic of several works and, also thanks to these narrative interpretations, was overcome – by being condemned, sublimated, or brought to reconciliation. Thus, these representations of dissent and rebellion (always combined symmetrically with evocations of concord) were intended to foster the processes of pacification carried out by leaders (through different and sometimes apparently contrasting strategies), with the purpose of reinforcing central power. These carefully crafted depictions even emphasize some aspects of such conflict instead of concealing it, as we have seen in the descriptions of reprisals against rebels. In doing so, these literary portrayals worked to contain opposition and to affirm centralized political ideologies: two complementary objectives in an epoch that was becoming gradually dominated by the all-embracing figure of the princeps.

Bibliography Sources Alberti, Leon Battista, ed. R. Cardini (2010), Opere latine, Roma. Anonymous, Lamento del Duca Galeazo Duca di Milano quando fu morto in Sancto Stephano da Gionanandrea da rampognano [sic.] (1505), Firenze: maestro Bernardo Zucchetta: ad instantia di ser Piero Pacini da Pescia. Ariosto, Ludovico, ed. G. Fatini (1961), Le opere minori, Firenze. –, ed. L. Caretti (2015), Orlando Furioso, Torino. Corio, Bernardino, ed. A. Morisi Guerra (1978), Storia di Milano, 2 voll., Torino. 62 Scholarship has often depicted humanists as unwilling to deal with political dissent, a view that is limited by a gap in the research on literary and historical sources (while, from this perspective, relatively more attention has been paid to political treatises); on this issue, see esp. Pedullà (2018), 12, 24–5.

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Manetti, Giannozzo, ed. A. Modigliani (2005), De vita ac gestis Nicolai quinti summi pontificis. Edizione critica e traduzione, Roma. Machiavelli, Niccolò, ed. F. Bausi (2001), Discorsi sopra la prima deca di Tito Livio (Edizione Nazionale delle Opere di Niccolò Machiavelli), Roma. –, ed. M. Martelli (2006), Il principe, ‘Corredo filologico’ di N. Marcelli, Roma. –, ed. A. Montevecchi / C. Varotti (2010), Istorie fiorentine, dir. G. M. Anselmi (Edizione Nazionale delle Opere di Niccolò Machiavelli), Roma. Orazio Romano, ed. M. Lehnerdt (1907), Horatii Romani Porcaria, seu De coniuratione Stephani Porcarii carmen cum aliis eiusdem quae inveniri potuerunt carminibus primum edidit ac praefatus est Maximilianus Lehnerdt; accedit Petri de Godis Vicentini De coniuratione Porcaria dialogus e codice vaticano erutus, Lipsiae. Orazio Romano, ed. M. Celati (2022), Porcaria, Roma. Poliziano, Angelo, ed. M. Celati (2015), Coniurationis commentarium, con introduzione, traduzione e commento, Alessandria. Pontano, Giovanni, ed. G. Cappelli (2003), De principe, Roma. Rota, Lorenzo (1585), Lamento de l’illustrissimo sig. Galeazzo duca di Milano. Composto per Lorenzo dalla Rota fiorentino, Venetia: in Frezzaria alla Regina.

Secondary Literature Andenna, G. (1997), ‘“L’opportunità persa” ovvero la residenza ducale di Galliate nel secondo Quattrocento’, in Vigevano e i territori circostanti alla fine del Medioevo, a cura di G. Chittolini, Milano, 341–65. Bacchelli, R. (1931), La congiura di Don Giulio d’Este, 2 voll., Milano. Baron, H. (1955), The Crisis of the Early Italian Renaissance: Civic Humanism and Republican Liberty in an Age of Classicism and Tyranny, Princeton. Belotti, B. (1965), Storia di una congiura (Olgiati), Milano. Benner, E. (2009), Machiavelli’s Ethics, Princeton. Bruni, F. (2003), La città divisa. Le parti e il bene comune da Dante a Guicciardini, Bologna. Bueno de Mesquita, D. M. (1965), ‘The Place of Despotism in Italian Politics’, in Europe in the Late Middle Ages, ed. J. Hale / J. Highfield / B. Smalley, London, 301–31. Burckhardt, J. (2001), The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy, transl. S. G. C. Middlemore, Kitchener, Ontario. Burroughs, C. (1990), From Signs to Design: Environmental Process and Reform in Early Renaissance Rome, Cambridge, MA / London. Campi, A. (2018), Machiavelli and Political Conspiracies: The Struggle for Power in the Italian Renaissance, New York / London. Canfora, D. (2005), Prima di Machiavelli: Politica e cultura in età umanistica, Roma / Bari. Cappelli, G. (2003), ‘Introduzione’, in Giovanni Pontano, De principe, ed. G. Capelli, Roma.

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– (2005), ‘Petrarca e l’umanesimo politico del Quattrocento’, in Petrarca e l’umanesimo. Atti del Convegno (Piliscsaba-Budapest, 28–30 aprile 2004), Verbum. Analecta Neolatina, 7.1, 153–75. – (2009), ‘Conceptos transversales: República y monarquía en el Humanismo político’, Res publica 21, 51–69. – (2016), Maiestas: politica e pensiero politico nella Napoli aragonese (1443–1503), Roma. Cappelli, G., ed. (2020), Al di là del Repubblicanesimo. Modernità politica e origini dello Stato, Napoli. Celati, M. (2019), ‘Humanist Epic between Classical Legacy and Contemporary History: Orazio Romano’s Porcaria (1453)’, in Making and Rethinking Renaissance between Greek and Latin in 15–16th Century Europe, ed. S. Harrison / G. Abbamonte, Berlin / New York, 231–49. – (2021), Conspiracy Literature in Early Renaissance Italy: Historiography and Princely Ideology, Oxford. Chiappini, L. (1967), Gli Estensi, Milano. Coleman, J. (1995), Against the State: Studies in Sedition and Rebellion, London. Coluccia, G. L. (1998), Niccolò V umanista: papa e riformatore. Renovatio politica e morale, Venezia. D’Elia, A. F. (2007), ‘Stefano Porcari’s Conspiracy against Pope Nicholas V in 1453 and Republican Culture in Papal Rome’, Journal of the History of Ideas 68.2, 207–31. Dionisotti, C. (1937), ‘Documenti letterari d’una congiura estense’, Civiltà moderna 9, 327–40. Fadini, M. (2018), ‘Cinque edizioni sine notis di letteratura popolare in copia unica: attribuzione agli stampatori ed edizione dei testi poetici’, Tricontre. Teoria, testo, traduzione 10, 205–38. Fasano Guarini, E. (2010), ‘Congiure “contro alla patria” e congiure “contro ad uno principe” nell’opera di Niccolò Machiavelli’, in Ead., Repubbliche e principi: istituzioni e pratiche di potere nella Toscana granducale del ’500–’600, Bologna, 155–207. Fubini, R. (1994), Italia quattrocentesca: politica e diplomazia nell’età di Lorenzo de’ Medici, Milano, 220–52. – (1996), ‘Congiure e stato nel secolo XV’, in I re nudi: congiure, assassini, tracolli ed altri imprevisti nella storia del potere. Atti del convegno di studio della Fondazione Ezio Franceschini (Certosa del Galluzzo, 19 novembre 1994), a cura di G. M. Cantarella / F. Santi, Spoleto, 143–61. Geuna, M. (2015), ‘Machiavelli e il problema delle congiure’, Rivista storica italiana 127.2, 355–410. Gilbert, F. (1977), ‘The Humanist Concept of the Prince and The Prince of Machiavelli’, in Id., History: Choice and Commitment, Cambridge, MA / London, 91–114. Hankins, J. (1995), ‘The “Baron Thesis” after Forty Years and Some Recent Studies of Leonardo Bruni’, Journal of the History of Ideas 56.2, 309–38. – (1996), ‘Humanism and the Origins of Modern Political Thought’, in The Cambridge Companion to Renaissance Humanism, ed. J. Kraye, Cambridge, 118–41. – (2010), ‘Exclusivist Republicanism and the Non-Monarchical Republic’, Political Theory 38.4, 452–82. – (2019), Virtue Politics: Soulcraft and Statecraft in Renaissance Italy, Cambridge, MA.

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Hankins, J., ed. (2000), Renaissance Civic Humanism: Reappraisals and Reflections, Cambridge. Hyde, J. K. (1972), ‘Contemporary Views on Factions and Civil Strife in Thirteenth- and Fourteenth-Century Italy’, in Violence and Civil Disorder in Italian Cities, 1200–1500, ed. L. Martines, Berkeley, 273–307. Ilardi, V. (1986), ‘The Assassination of Galeazzo Maria Sforza and the Reaction of Italian Diplomacy’, in Id., Studies in Italian Renaissance Diplomatic History, London, 72–103. Loraux, N. (2002), The Divided City: On Memory and Forgetting in Ancient Athens, New York. Lubkin, G. (1994), A Renaissance Court: Milan under Galeazzo Maria Sforza, Berkeley / London. Marsh, D. (2019), Giannozzo Manetti: The Life of a Florentine Humanist, Cambridge, MA. Martines, L. (1968), ‘Political Conflict in the Italian City States’, Government and Opposition 3.1, 69–91. Meschini, S. (1995), Uno storico umanista alla corte sforzesca: biografia di Bernardino Corio, Milano. Miglio, M. (1997), ‘Niccolò V umanista di Cristo’, in Umanesimo e Padri della Chiesa. Manoscritti e incunaboli di testi patristici da Francesco Petrarca al primo Cinquecento (Catalogo della mostra, Firenze, febbraio–agosto 1997), a cura di S. Gentile, Roma, 77– 84. – (2000), ‘Niccolò V’, in Enciclopedia dei Papi, 3 voll., Roma, II, 644–58. – (1972), ‘Giuseppe Brivio’, in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Roma, XIV, 355–8. Modigliani, A. (1994), I Porcari: storie di una famiglia romana tra Medioevo e Rinascimento, Roma. – (2001), ‘Pietro Godi’, in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Roma, LVII, 515–17. – (2013), Congiurare all’antica. Stefano Porcari, Niccolò V, Roma 1453, Roma. Oliva, A. M. (1994), ‘Orazio Romano’, Roma nel Rinascimento, 23–9. Osmond, P. J. (1995), ‘“Princeps Historiae Romanae”: Sallust in Renaissance Political Thought’, Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 40, 101–43. – (2000), ‘Catiline in Fiesole and Florence: The After-Life of a Roman Conspirator’, International Journal of the Classical Tradition 7.1, 3–38. Pastore Stocchi, M. (2014), ‘Il pensiero politico degli umanisti’, in Id., Pagine di storia dell’Umanesimo italiano, Milano, 26–84. Pedullà, G. (2018), Machiavelli in Tumult: The Discourses on Livy and the Origins of Political Conflictualism, Cambridge. Petrucci, F. (1983), ‘Bernardino Corio’, in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Roma, XXIX, 75–8. Piccolomini, M. (1991), The Brutus Revival: Parricide and Tyrannicide during the Renaissance, Carbondale. Portone, P. (1993), ‘Giulio d’Este’, in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Roma, XLIII, 359–61. Prodi, P. (1982), Il sovrano pontefice. Un corpo e due anime: la monarchia papale nella prima età moderna, Bologna. Rubinstein, N. (1991), ‘Italian Political Thought, 1450–1539’, in The Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450–1700, ed. J. H. Burns, Cambridge, 30–65.

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Salzberg, R. / Rospocher, M. (2017), ‘Murder Ballads. Singing, Hearing, Writing and Reading about Murder in Renaissance Italy’, in Murder in Renaissance Italy, ed. T. Dean / K. J. P. Lowe, Cambridge, 164–85. Skinner, Q. (1978), The Foundations of Modern Political Thought, 2 vols, Cambridge, I. – (2002), Visions of Politics, 3 vols, Cambridge, II. Stacey, P. (2007), Roman Monarchy and the Renaissance Prince, Cambridge. Tommasini, O. (1880), ‘Documenti relativi a Stefano Porcari’, Archivio della Società romana di storia patria 3, 63–133. Vaglienti, F. M. (2004), ‘Giovanni Andrea Lampugnani’, in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Roma, LXIII, 272–5. Villard, R. (2008), Du bien commun au mal nécessaire: tyrannies, assassinats politiques et souveraineté en Italie, vers 1470-vers 1600, Roma. Viroli, M. (1994), Dalla politica alla ragion di stato: la scienza del governo tra XIII e XVII secolo, Roma. Von Pastor, L. (1958), Storia dei papi dalla fine del Medio Evo, 17 voll., Roma.

Florence Alazard

Négocier l’absolution vénitienne. La résolution d’un conflit, 1509–1510

Sommaire Entre décembre 1508 et avril 1509, les grandes puissances européennes se rassemblent dans la Ligue de Cambrai dont l’objectif était la chute de Venise. Parmi les moyens mis en œuvre à cette fin: l’excommunication prononcée par Jules II à la fin du mois d’avril. À partir de ce moment, et malgré sa défaite à Agnadel le 14 mai, les ambassadeurs vénitiens, envoyés par le Sénat, n’eurent de cesse de négocier l’absolution de la Sérénissime. Il s’agit ici d’observer comment ce conflit fut réglé par les outils traditionnels de la diplomatie, mais aussi par une subtile propagande qui visait le renversement des alliances scellées au cours de ces fatidiques mois.

À la fin du Moyen Âge, les conflits entre la papauté et Venise se trouvaient à leur apogée. Pendant des décennies, et en particulier depuis que Pie II avait échoué à organiser une croisade contre l’empire ottoman au début des années 1460, le pape n’avait cessé de critiquer la République qu’il accusait de résister à ses projets. Dans un discours adressé aux ambassadeurs vénitiens, Pie II avait ainsi exposé les racines de ce qui allait ensuite devenir un anti-vénétianisme largement répandu dans la péninsule au XVIe siècle: Vénitiens, vous ne vous souciez pas, à ce que nous constatons, de la défense de la religion, vous qui cherchez ici un profit impossible. Il faut déplorer que votre cité ait dégénéré au point qu’aujourd’hui, alors qu’elle avait armé jadis à ses dépens des escadres très nombreuses pour la défense de la foi, elle ne veuille plus armer ne fût-ce qu’un seul navire, à moins que nous n’en supportions tous les frais. Contre Pise, contre Gênes, contre les rois et les empereurs, pour secourir vos alliés ou vos sujets, vous avez souvent entrepris des guerres considérables sur vos propres deniers. Et maintenant, pour combattre au nom du Christ contre les Turcs impies, vous exigez votre prix et ce n’est que s’il est payé que vous prendrez les armes! Pauvre peuple vénitien! Comme tu as perdu de tes anciennes coutumes! À force de traiter avec les Turcs, tu es devenu l’ami de Mahomet, et tout souci de la religion a disparu en toi.1

1 Pie II, éd. / trad. I. Cloulas / V. Castiglione Minischetti (2001), 184.

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Le pape reprochait à la Sérénissime sa supposée collusion avec l’empire ottoman, mais aussi sa proverbiale cupidité2 et, finalement mais peut-être surtout, son républicanisme. Dans un autre discours, Pie II avait accusé Venise de substituer à la vraie religion une sorte de religion civique3: la République était ainsi décrite comme un État contre-nature.4 Au début du XVIe siècle, sous le pontificat de Jules II, le conflit s’aggrave pour deux raisons principales. La première tient à l’expansion vénitienne sur la Terre Ferme, et en particulier vers la Romagne: après la chute de César Borgia, Venise jette son dévolu sur Faenza et Rimini, provoquant la colère du pape. Comme le rapporte Antonio Giustinian, l’ambassadeur vénitien auprès du pontife, le 16 avril 1503: ‘ mal umore del papa contra la Repubblica Veneta per voci a lui contrarie pervenutegli di là ’.5 À partir de cette date, Jules II réclame le retour des deux villes dans les États pontificaux et menace la Sérénissime. Ainsi que le précise le cardinal Giovanni Antonio Sangiorgio, un des conseillers du pape, Jules ‘ intende di procedere contro la medesima non solamente colle censure, ma colle armi ’.6 La seconde raison qui peut expliquer la dégradation des rapports entre Venise et la papauté tient au développement d’un puissant sentiment anti-vénitien, dans toute l’Europe, et particulièrement en France et dans le Saint-Empire. La conclusion, à la fin de l’année 1508, de la ligue de Cambrai en témoigne: si elle se présentait d’abord comme un traité d’amitié, ses chapitres secrets visaient bien à préparer la guerre contre Venise.7 La plupart des puissances européennes rejoignent d’ailleurs rapidement cette coalition d’abord organisée par la France et l’Empire: les ducs de Ferrare et de Savoie, le marquis de Mantoue, les rois d’Angleterre et de Hongrie et, quelques semaines après, le pape Jules II et Ferdinand d’Espagne. Jamais Venise n’avait dû affronter une telle menace. Parmi les coalisés, Jules II dispose d’une arme singulière: l’excommunication. Elle était loin d’être nouvelle: les papes l’avaient déjà expérimentée, pour toutes sortes de raisons.8 Plus récemment, les Vénitiens l’avaient déjà subie en 1483, lorsque Sixte IV avait publié un interdit contre Venise pendant la Guerre de Ferrare. L’excommunication pose des problèmes historiographiques nombreux et doit être considérée avec circonspection: elle était de fait une arme puissante et 2 Pie II, éd. / trad. I. Cloulas / V. Castiglione Minischetti (2001), 387: ‘ Vos motivations sont semblables à celles des bandits et des voleurs, et elles ne sont dictées que par les lois de l’utilité. L’entremetteur et la prostituée sont, eux aussi, animés par le désir du gain. […] Il n’y a aucune limite à votre avidité, aucune limite à votre ambition. ’ 3 Ibid.: ‘ La république est votre dieu: vous l’adorez au mépris du Créateur de l’univers. ’ 4 Ibid.: ‘ La république est un être sans âme, elle n’éprouve pas de honte, elle est effrontée et irrévérencieuse. Les décisions du Sénat abrogent les lois divines. ’ 5 Giustinian, ed. Villari (1876), I, 480–81. 6 Giustinian, ed. Villari (1876), II, 427. 7 Bonardi (1904); Finlay (1976); Finlay (2000); Gilbert (1973); Lenci (1979). 8 Hyland (1928); Logan (1968); Trexler (1974); Vodola (1986).

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terrifiante, mais son caractère dramatique peut être relativisé. À la fin du Moyen Âge, ‘ l’excommunication est terrible et pourtant elle n’est plus crainte; l’excommunication ne fait plus peur et pourtant il faut y échapper ’.9 Il n’en reste pas moins qu’en 1509, Jules II avait bien conscience de détenir un moyen de pression supplémentaire pour faire plier Venise, déjà menacée par la coalition de Cambrai. Le 27 avril, il publie son Monitorium contra Venetos chez l’imprimeur Eucario Silber. Très vite, le texte est imprimé à plusieurs reprises aussi bien en latin et en italien qu’en français.10 Les Vénitiens ne furent pas surpris: le 25 mars, Marino Sanudo rapportait dans son Diario qu’une lettre venue de Rome annonçait que le pape s’apprêtait à excommunier la Sérénissime.11 Une autre lettre, datée du 17 avril, et arrivée à Venise le 26, rapporte que le cardinal Grimani avait dîné avec le pape, ‘ el qual si lamentava molto e fulminava contra la Signoria, e havia la excommunicha in tascha, qual era terribilissima ’.12 La nouvelle de la publication – à six cents exemplaires – de l’excommunication atteint Venise le 4 mai.13 Le reste de l’histoire est bien connu: le 14 mai, Venise subit une lourde défaite à la bataille d’Agnadel et, dans les semaines qui suivent, elle perd la presque totalité de sa Terre Ferme, conquise par les alliés de Cambrai.14 Submergée, Venise était dépossédée de ses territoires comme de sa suprématie politique. Une tâche immense s’annonçait: les Vénitiens devaient reconstruire leur réseau diplomatique et leur première mission consistait à détacher le pape – qui en était clairement le maillon le plus faible – de la ligue de Cambrai. Venise poursuivait donc deux buts: d’abord l’absolution, qui était une condition préalable, indispensable à la reprise de son activité diplomatique, et ensuite la destruction de la ligue de Cambrai et la création d’une nouvelle coalition. L’interdit que le pape impose à Venise en 1509 permet donc d’étudier la façon dont un conflit était régi dans l’Europe de la Renaissance, mais aussi la manière dont la papauté et Venise parvinrent à sortir du conflit, en renouvelant les pratiques diplomatiques et les usages de la propagande, et en explorant la nature même de ce conflit si particulier.

9 Beaulande (2006), 263. 10 Monitorium contra Venetos, [27 avril 1509]; Admonitione contra li Venetiani. Iulio episcopo Servo de li Servi de Dio a futura Memoria de questa Cosa &c, [1509]; Admonitione contra li Venetiani, [1509]; La Monicion excomuniment Anathematisation et Malediction donnee par nostre Saint Pere le Pape Iulle moderne contre les Veniciens et ceulx qui les favorisent aident et supportent, [1509]; Monitoire de Part nostre sainct Pere le Pape contre les Venitiens, [1509]. 11 Sanudo, ed. Berchet et al. (1879–1903), VIII, 39. 12 Ibid., 134. 13 Ibid., 182. 14 Sur la bataille d’Agnadel, ses prémices et ses développements: Alazard (2017).

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La nature du conflit

L’excommunication de Venise intervient à un moment bien étrange. En effet, depuis le 17 avril, Louis XII avait déjà formellement déclaré la guerre à la Sérénissime et les escarmouches s’étaient multipliées à la frontière entre Milan et Venise, même si la confrontation tardait à venir. Dans ce contexte, pourquoi excommunier Venise? Quel était le sens de cette arme spirituelle, alors que Venise allait bientôt subir le feu des alliés de Cambrai? Il faut d’abord observer que l’excommunication représentait, pour Jules II, sa propre contribution à la guerre. Il était certes un guerrier,15 mais en avril 1509, il n’était pas encore prêt à l’affrontement, et l’interdit lui permettait de gagner du temps et de donner quelques gages à son principal allié, le roi de France Louis XII qui s’était exaspéré des tergiversations du pape au moment d’adhérer à la ligue. Ensuite, il importe de rappeler que l’excommunication n’était pas censée s’installer dans la durée, encore moins être définitive. Elle supposait en effet la contrition, la demande de pardon, la réconciliation et le retour du banni dans la communauté des chrétiens. Elle contenait donc en elle-même le moyen de résoudre le conflit, dont on peut dire qu’il faisait lui-même partie du conflit. Le premier moyen qui s’offrait aux excommuniés pour sortir de l’interdit était proposé par le droit canon: Venise pouvait ainsi faire appel de la décision du pape, ce qu’elle fit très rapidement en rédigeant un texte qui répondait aux accusations portées contre elle.16 Il n’y a pas lieu ici d’insister sur ce texte au contenu somme toute sans surprise: Venise y défendait son droit à occuper les territoires réclamés par le pape et assurait ce dernier de sa bonne volonté. Il est en revanche plus intéressant d’observer comment Venise affrontait cet aspect du conflit. En effet, l’appel ne fut pas rendu public dans la cité elle-même et, d’une manière générale, il ne fit l’objet d’aucune attention particulière. Mais il servit tout de même au moins un objectif, en provoquant l’exaspération du pape. Le 6 mai 1509, il était placardé sur l’une des portes de l’église Saint-Pierre de Rome et sur un pilier du château Saint-Ange, déclenchant ainsi la colère de Jules II qui accusa Venise de l’offenser sur ses propres terres. Peut-on alors considérer cet appel comme un moyen efficace de résoudre le conflit inauguré par le monitoire du pape contre les Vénitiens? Ces derniers pensaient-ils sincèrement que leur appel pouvait influencer le pape et le conduire à renoncer à l’interdit? Probablement pas. Et pour plusieurs raisons. D’abord, et même si elle était déclarée, la guerre, en ce début de mois de mai 1509, n’était pas encore une réalité tangible et Venise pensait encore qu’il était possible de vaincre la ligue de Cambrai. Ensuite, cet appel s’inscrivait dans un contexte singulier: malgré la rédaction de ce texte, le silence régnait à 15 Shaw (1993). 16 Le texte de l’appel a été publié dans: Dalla Santa (1899) and (1900).

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Venise sur l’excommunication elle-même, comme sur ses développements. Bien sûr, de même que l’appel, le texte de l’interdit n’avait pas été publié à Venise. De plus, le Conseil des Dix et le Collège avaient veillé à ce qu’aucun imprimé ni aucun avviso ne contribue à diffuser la nouvelle dans la ville. Venise, centre du monde, marché de l’information, se trouvait ainsi privée de la nouvelle qui, pourtant, la concernait au premier chef. Il était sans doute impossible de garder le secret absolu sur le monitoire du pape, mais tout était fait pour qu’il ne soit pas compris comme un événement dramatique, mais au contraire comme un épisode insignifiant. Quelques années plus tard, dans sa Storia veneziana, Pietro Bembo expliquera cette dissimulation par la nécessité de maintenir le popolo dans l’ignorance et de préserver la paix sociale.17 De plus, il faut interroger l’effectivité même de l’excommunication. Le 2 mai, le Sénat reçut, depuis Faenza, la nouvelle que les prêtres de la ville ne voulaient plus dire la messe ‘ per la scommunega dil papa ’. L’évêque fut semoncé et le proveditore fut appelé en renfort afin qu’il ‘ facesse dir messa et li altri officij ’.18 Mais malgré le zèle des prêtres de Faenza, l’excommunication tardait à s’imposer et, à lire Sanudo, Priuli et d’autres contemporains comme Leonardo Amaseo, on prend difficilement la mesure des conséquences concrètes de l’interdit sur la vie quotidienne des Vénitiens. Étudiant l’autre interdit – et le dernier, celui de 1606 – Filippo de Vivo a montré que ‘ the government wanted no controversy: to refuse, not to refute, the interdict ’ et que les Vénitiens avaient développé ‘ a strategy of denial ’.19 Vraisemblablement, cette stratégie n’avait rien de neuf au début du XVIIe siècle et puisait ses racines dans l’expérience du précédent interdit. Le conflit, de même que la façon dont Venise y réagit, relèvent du paradoxe: hormis la guerre qui représentait déjà une forme de radicalité dans l’expression du conflit, l’excommunication était sans concurrence pour témoigner de la violence des antagonismes dans les sociétés chrétiennes, mais dans le même temps, cet interdit de 1509 œuvrait comme un conflit à bas bruit. C’est sans doute la raison pour laquelle Venise, dans un premier temps, n’avait guère intérêt à le résoudre trop rapidement. La défaite d’Agnadel, le 14 mai 1509, et la perte de la Terre Ferme modifièrent sensiblement la situation et rendirent nécessaire l’usage des traditionnels outils de la diplomatie.

17 Bembo (1552), 199–200. 18 Sanudo, ed. Berchet et al. (1879–1903), VIII, 158. 19 De Vivo (2007), 167.

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Des conflits pour résoudre le conflit

Après Agnadel, l’anti-vénétianisme, très répandu dans la péninsule, façonna ce qu’on pourrait appeler les linéaments d’une opinion publique, certes encore peu consciente d’elle-même, mais néanmoins capable de soutenir une forte production imprimée.20 Il s’agissait de prendre en charge l’interprétation de la défaite vénitienne et de montrer la responsabilité des Vénitiens dans leur chute. Parmi les cantari rédigés dans le camp pro-français, l’opuscule intitulé Le grandissime rotte de Venetiani affirme que si Venise avait pris au sérieux l’avertissement que représentait l’interdit, la République ne serait pas tombée: Se havessero obedito i Venetiani Il monitorio a lor prima mandato Sprezati non serian come vil cani Ne harebbro perso con fama il stato.21

Il est difficile de savoir si les Vénitiens, après leur chute, comprirent que le déni dans lequel ils avaient tenu l’excommunication n’était plus désormais d’un grand secours. Leur nouvel isolement et leur situation territoriale réduite à une peau de chagrin les forcèrent à chercher de nouveaux alliés. Leur première démarche en direction de Maximilien, immédiatement après Agnadel, s’était avérée un échec,22 mais le pape demeurait leur priorité car les Vénitiens savaient qu’il ne pouvait longtemps supporter que la puissance française s’installe durablement dans le nord de la péninsule. En désignant, dès le début du mois de juin, six ambassadeurs chargés de négocier l’absolution de Jules II,23 le Sénat vénitien inaugurait donc une nouvelle étape diplomatique dans un contexte toutefois particulièrement difficile si l’on en croit Sanudo qui rapporte que ‘ il papa era più incrudelido che mai contra la Signoria nostra, chiamano venitiani heretici e sismatici, e voleno mandar le scomunache per tutto il mondo, e far non posiamo vivere ’.24 Malgré les réticences du pape, les six ambassadeurs vénitiens quittèrent Venise à la fin du mois de juin. Domenico Trevisan, Leonardo Mocenigo, Alvise Maripetro, Paolo Capello, Paolo Pisani, et Girolamo Donà avaient une mission particulièrement délicate: étant vénitiens, ils étaient excommuniés et devaient se comporter en conséquence. Ainsi, pendant leur voyage vers Rome, ils se vêtirent de violet, la couleur de l’affliction et de la pénitence, et ils durent se passer de toute pompe, accompagnés seulement par quelques serviteurs non-vénitiens. De même, ils 20 Sur cette question: Boucheron / Offenstadt, ed. (2011); Landi (2010). 21 La grandissime rotte de Venetiani (1513), 8. 22 Dès le 17 mai, le Sénat vénitien avait signé une commission pour envoyer Antonio Giustinian auprès de l’empereur, mais ce dernier n’avait finalement jamais accepté cette ambassade. 23 ASVe, Senato, Deliberazioni, Secreti, r. 41, 19r–20v. 24 Sanudo, ed. Berchet et al. (1879–1903), VIII, 389.

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arrivèrent à Rome la nuit, pour éviter toute démonstration publique, et renoncèrent à toute cérémonie ou procession. Ainsi que le raconte un prêtre français qui séjournait à Rome en 1509: ‘ la brigade des Cardinaulx n’allèrent point au devant pour ce qu’ils estoient excommuniés ’.25 Il y avait cependant plus compliqué encore: excommuniés, les six ambassadeurs n’étaient pas autorisés à parler directement au pape, ce qui alourdissait singulièrement les négociations: comment convaincre Jules II d’absoudre l’État vénitien si les envoyés de ce dernier n’étaient pas en mesure de lui parler? La solution fut trouvée par le pape lui-même qui choisit ses intermédiaires (les cardinaux Caraffa et Riario, son secrétaire Sigismondo de’ Conti, et Pietro Accolti, le chef de la Rota). Mais chacun fut vite persuadé qu’il n’était pas possible de négocier en l’absence du principal acteur. Finalement, Jules II se décida à absoudre Girolamo Donà au début du mois de juillet et, quelques semaines plus tard, les cinq autres ambassadeurs subirent la même faveur. Leurs conditions de vie à Rome ne s’en trouvèrent pas pour autant améliorées: leur correspondance avec le Sénat vénitien est remplie de plaintes regardant aussi bien leurs difficultés financières (dont était en grande partie responsable l’État vénitien lui-même) et le manque de considération dont ils souffraient car, malgré l’absolution, ils n’en restaient pas moins, aux yeux des Romains et de la Curie, des Vénitiens.26 Une fois réglés ces préliminaires, les négociations demeuraient complexes. De nombreuses tensions se manifestèrent, à la fois entre les Vénitiens eux-mêmes (les ambassadeurs et le Sénat n’étaient pas toujours d’accord et se plaignaient de leurs difficultés à communiquer) et entre les Vénitiens et le pape. Le contexte n’aidait pas toujours à la pacification. En décembre 1509, Venise devait affronter un autre conflit. La guerre de la ligue de Cambrai n’était pas achevée et la Sérénissime subissait les coups du duché de Ferrare et subit une nouvelle cuisante défaite le 22 décembre lors de la bataille de la Polesella, sorte de réplique d’Agnadel.27 Durant l’hiver 1509–1510, Ferrare devint le centre névralgique de la propagande imprimée contre Venise. Un grand nombre de textes, dont l’ambition était d’abaisser un peu plus la puissance vénitienne, sortirent en effet des presses de Ferrare: le Processo degli Venetiani, la Barzeleta de Venetiani, ou encore le faux discours d’Antonio Giustinian à l’empereur participaient à cette vaste entreprise européenne qui consistait, après Agnadel, à amplifier la défaite vénitienne.28 25 Madelin (1902), 266–7. 26 Pour prendre la mesure de la richesse de cette correspondance: Dispacci, ed. Cessi (1932); Donà, ed. Venturini (2009). 27 Mazzetti (2010), 255–84. 28 Processo de mali Fruti e pensadi omicidi de li Segnori Venetiani con la Presa del Polesne e di Legnano e tute le altre Terre e la soa Rovina, [1510]; Barzeleta de Venetiani con la resposta de ferraresi, [1509?]; Oratione fatta per miser Antonio Gustiniano e recitata in Nome del Senato de Venetia a Maximiliano Imperatore i Inspruch a xviii de Decebr. M. D. IX. cum la Resposta del

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Certains aussi cherchaient à éviter l’absolution des Vénitiens. Ainsi, dès juillet 1509, Domenico Trevisan, l’un des six ambassadeurs, informa le Sénat qu’une lettre, rédigée le 5 juin par le doge Leonardo Loredan et adressée à Jules II, venait d’être publiée. Cette lettre rappelait au pape que les Vénitiens s’étaient finalement soumis au monitoire et demandaient pardon. Mais Domenico Trevisan se plaignait de la falsification de cette lettre: Tal lettera è sta zampata zà più zorni in questa terra, et per malignità del stampator, o chi che sia, dove la Sublimità Vostra dice ‘ si monitorio Sanctitatis Vestre, ut fecimus, paruimus prompte et in tempore ’ è messo ‘ non ’ et dice ‘ non paruimus ’, chè chiaramente se vede la malignità per la subsequentia.29

Trevisan avait raison: imprimée à Rome par Stephanus Guilliretus, la lettre était conforme à l’original. Le doge rappelait au pape sa fidélité et son dévouement, et assurait que la restitution des villes de la Romagne témoignait de la contrition vénitienne. À la différence du discours à l’empereur imprimé à Ferrare, cette lettre n’avait rien d’un faux: comme le rapporte Trevisan et Sanudo, la lettre manuscrite avait bien été adressée à Jules II.30 Mais la version imprimée en avait modifié la signification: une phrase qui était censée insister sur la bonne volonté des Vénitiens présentait au contraire ces derniers comme les maîtres du double jeu. Le texte dépassait sans doute l’entendement, mais une chose est sûre: cet imprimé était malveillant et participait à ce qu’on pourrait appeler un harcèlement imprimé dont les Vénitiens étaient la victime depuis de nombreux mois. Les ambassadeurs devaient affronter de nombreux obstacles, et l’hostilité comme la mauvaise volonté du pape n’étaient pas les pires. Par exemple, le milanais Antonio Grumello rapporte dans sa chronique que lorsqu’il fut informé de l’arrivée à Rome de la délégation vénitienne, Louis XII datta expedictione a Nicolao da Correggio che pigliassi il camino di Roma da Iullio pontifice, che sua Sanctità non volesse per modo alchuno dare audiencia ali leghati Veneti; et che quando esso pontifice levasse epsi Veneti de lo interdicto et donarghe venia, li hera protestato essere rotta la legha, et epso re Gallicho esserli il pegiore nemicho che fusse in Ittalia.31

Grumello se trompait sans doute sur l’identité du messager qui ne pouvait être Niccolò da Corregio, mort en février 1508. Peut-être s’agissait-il de Giovanni Mercurio da Corregio, poète hermétique et hétérodoxe stipendié à la cour de prefato Imperatore. Recitata e registrata ispruch et traducta delatino i vulgare die et M. supdicto, [1509]. Pour une analyse de cette production ferraraise, voir Alazard (2017), 215– 26. 29 Lettre du 5 juillet 1509: Dispacci, ed Cessi (1932), 23. 30 Sanudo, ed. Berchet et al. (1879–1903), VIII, 370–1. Une copie manuscrite est aussi conservée à Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine, ms. 3885, f. 94. 31 Grumello, ed. Müller (1856), 121.

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France.32 Cet épisode est malheureusement trop peu documenté: non seulement l’identité du messager est confuse, mais la réalité de la mission semble aussi discutable, car Grumello semble le seul contemporain à l’évoquer. Il n’empêche. Grumello rapporte avec une précision extrême cette supposée rencontre entre da Corregio et le pape, témoignant ainsi de la suspicion des Français: Louis XII était bien conscient que sa présence dans la péninsule se trouvait menacée si Venise et la papauté se réconciliaient.

3.

Aléas

Les six ambassadeurs vénitiens subissaient une forte pression: régler ce conflit entre Venise et la papauté ne signifiait pas mettre fin à la guerre de la ligue de Cambrai. Bien au contraire, le résoudre voulait dire en fait ouvrir un nouveau conflit. Le pape le savait, tout comme il n’ignorait pas qu’il allait nécessairement accorder aux Vénitiens l’absolution, qui était de toutes façons déjà présumée par l’excommunication. Il se souciait donc surtout de tirer quelques avantages de la Sérénissime, de l’affaiblir et d’en faire son obligée. C’est la raison pour laquelle il n’hésita pas à porter des revendications excessives: il voulait que le doge lui-même se rende à Rome pour demander pardon; il réclamait le même geste des nobles vénitiens qu’il jugeait responsable de ne pas lui avoir remis les villes de la Romagne; il souhaitait aussi que le Sénat soit privé de sa capacité à délivrer les bénéfices ecclésiastiques. Autant dire que les négociations commencèrent dans la douleur … Il n’empêche: ce furent de vraies négociations dont le principal effet fut de renforcer l’activité politique de Venise qui, après Agnadel, s’était singulièrement contractée. Le gouvernement vénitien voyait ainsi dans ces négociations la promesse d’une renaissance politique de la République. La correspondance entre les ambassadeurs à Rome et le gouvernement vénitien met en évidence les progrès comme les atermoiements de ces négociations. En août 1509, Venise se trouvait dans un état d’extrême exaspération face à l’inertie du pape. Les Vénitiens étaient persuadés que Jules II s’apprêtait à les absoudre, jusqu’à ce que, au dernier moment, il ne choisisse finalement de sursoir à sa décision, ce qui fut interprété comme le résultat des manœuvres françaises, ainsi que le rapporte une lettre du Sénat aux ambassadeurs: ‘ Tutto credemo procedi da el dicto Re de Franza il quale cum menaçe fa fare simile operatione ala Bne sua contra il stato nro. ’33 À la fin du mois d’août, Girolamo Priuli, rapporte que

32 Sur cette hypothèse, voir Alazard (2017), 240–50. 33 ASVe, Senato, Deliberazioni, Secreti, r. 42, 57r.

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se intendeva come il Pontifice prolungava la absolutione dela exchomunicatione del Stato Veneto, che non li volevanno absolverli, et che tuta Roma cridava contra il Papa, perchè desideravanno che li Venetiani non fussenno ruinati del tutto, et molti Cardinali haveanno dicto al Pontifice che, avendo Venetiani obedicto alo interdicto et restituito le citade ala Romana Sede, meritavanno essere absoluti.34

Mais ce contexte favorable ne profita guère aux Vénitiens. Le 27 octobre, les ambassadeurs informèrent le Sénat que il Pontifice dimorava sopra la sua consuetta voluntade inimica ali Signori Venetiani, nè volevanno absolverli dela schomunicatione publicata contra de loro.35

Échaudé, le Sénat envisagea sérieusement le retour à Venise de cinq des ambassadeurs (Girolamo Donà devait, quant à lui, rester à Rome). Mais Jules II, soupçonnant un complot, s’y opposa: ‘ o tuti, o nissun ’ affirma-t-il plusieurs fois à Girolamo Donà, et finalement ils restèrent tous.36 C’est en janvier 1510 que le pape changea vraiment d’attitude, en particulier parce qu’il prit conscience du danger que représentaient les Français dans la péninsule. À partir de ce moment, les ambassadeurs vénitiens rapportèrent de bonnes nouvelles au Sénat: les négociations progressaient, comme en témoigne la lettre rédigée par Girolamo Donà le 30 janvier: La absolution nostra veramente è tanto publica per quella terra che la non possi esser più. Nui che havemo visto gran mal per el passato, non se potemo firmar in el piè. Ma stiamo in bona speranza et cum timor, pregando la divina bontà che ne dia quel bon successo che desideramo.37

Mais l’affaire n’était pas aussi simple: Jules II était certes conscient du danger français et désireux de se rapprocher de Venise, mais il hésitait encore à construire une nouvelle ligue qu’il le conduirait à déclarer la guerre au roi de France. Quant aux ambassadeurs vénitiens, ils avaient peut-être écouté le conseil que leur avait livré le cardinal Raffaele Riario, soucieux de les voir accepter les demandes du pape: ‘ Facte quel el vole et poy cum el tempo farete quello voreti. ’38 Cette recommandation résume bien l’esprit des négociations. La sortie du conflit reposait en effet sur un malentendu: Venise était pressée d’être absoute et, épuisée par des mois de négociations, se résolvait à accepter la plupart des demandes du pape (que ce dernier avait d’ailleurs ramenées à une plus juste mesure). Jules II renâclait à mettre fin à ce conflit pour en ouvrir un nouveau, mais il savait bien qu’il ne pouvait se permettre de laisser la France s’installer dans le nord de l’Italie. 34 35 36 37 38

Priuli, ed. Segre / Cessi (1912–1941), 4, 288. Ibid., 425. Dispacci, ed. Cessi (1932), 159–63. Donà, ed. Venturini (2009), 29. Dispacci, ed. Cessi (1932), 157.

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C’est ainsi que l’absolution fut finalement décidée. Le texte qui la proclamait ne nécessite guère de commentaires: composé de onze chapitres (dans lesquels Venise renonçait à collecter la dîme ou à empêcher la désignation des bénéfices et promettait de respecter les territoires soumis au pape), il ne modifiait guère la situation en termes de souveraineté, si ce n’est que Venise pouvait de nouveau signer des traités et faire de nouvelles alliances. Le véritable aboutissement du conflit était moins le texte que la cérémonie, célébrée à Rome le 24 février 1510. Le pape avait finalement renoncé à demander la présence du doge et seuls les ambassadeurs représentaient la République. Selon la tradition – celle que les ambassadeurs florentins avaient subie en 1478 lorsque Sixte IV avait absous Florence – les pénitents devaient suivre une procession le long des sept églises romaines avant de se faire flageller par le pape. Mais en février 1510, Jules II fit exception et renonça à imposer une telle humiliation aux Vénitiens. Après la procession, ils se présentèrent donc devant le pape et, agenouillés, embrassèrent ses pieds. Puis Jules II les prit dans ses bras et toucha leurs joues. Peu de paroles furent alors échangées, mais la cérémonie dura longtemps, ainsi qu’en témoignèrent, en s’en lamentant, Capello, Maripetro, et Trevisan.39 La cérémonie était fondée sur une grammaire des gestes, qui devait révéler à la fois la contrition des Vénitiens et la magnanimité du pape: la longueur relevait du rituel lui-même. La résolution du conflit fut-elle célébrée à Venise? Nous savons que la résidence des ambassadeurs vénitiens à Rome fut le théâtre d’un banquet remarquable.40 Mais la nouvelle, quand elle atteignit Venise, ne provoqua pas d’excessives manifestations de joie. Bien sûr, comme le rappelle quelques années plus tard Pietro Bembo, ‘ ordinarono i Padri che supplichevoli processioni si facessero, e in tutte le chiese a Dio grazie si rendessero ’.41 Mais, à l’exception de Padoue,42 aucune source ne signale une explosion de joie. Cette retenue s’explique peut-être d’abord par le fait que les Vénitiens attendaient cette nouvelle qu’ils tenaient à accueillir comme une évidence: l’absolution était constitutive de l’excommunication, elle ne devait donc pas manquer d’advenir. Mais si les Vénitiens célébrèrent si peu l’absolution, c’est aussi parce que les festivités et les célébrations n’étaient pas compatibles avec la modération, la discrétion, la contrition, l’hu39 Sanudo, ed. Berchet et al. (1879–1903), X, 9–13: ‘ fo lecto i capitoli a uno a uno facti d’acordo et in obligatiom secondo forma de camera, el qual stete una hora che ne fo molto nojosa a tutti nuj si per l’ato come per esser stat accompagnati da un gran populo con gran fastidio a li nostri ’ écrit Maripetro. ‘ E cussi lexe tutti i capitoli fati tra nostro Signor et noi per nome de la illustrissima Signoria, la quel letura fu tanto bassa che apena el pontifice la intendesse, tamen fu per spazio di una hora sempre stando nui in zenochioni ’ se plaint Capello. 40 Ibid., 9: ‘ Fin a questo hora 22 l’è tanto piena questa caxa de instrumenti de ogni sorte et bufoni che io ne son storno, e tanti quanti vanno tanti piui ne vengono, per Dio è cossa miranda vengono etiam francesi di reverendissimi cardinali ’ raconte Polo Capello. 41 Bembo (1552), 260. 42 Sanudo, ed. G. Berchet et al. (1879–1903), X, 14.

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milité, et la pénitence, toutes qualités requises pour revenir dans la communauté des chrétiens. La résolution du conflit passait aussi par la fabrique d’un nouvel éthos de la République. En quoi cet épisode – l’absolution de la République de Venise après son excommunication par Jules II – nous permet-il de comprendre ce que résoudre un conflit signifiait à la Renaissance? Entre 1509 et 1510, et malgré les précédents, Venise expérimente une situation somme toute inédite: il ne s’agit pas seulement de mettre fin à son ostracisation, mais aussi de refonder le paysage diplomatique européen. De ce point de vue, la sortie du conflit ne signe pas, en réalité, la pacification mais plutôt le début d’une nouvelle ère conflictuelle. Il n’en reste pas moins que la résolution du conflit – et particulièrement de ce conflit-là – réside dans le conflit lui-même: l’excommunication prenait pour acquis l’absolution, qui lui était constitutive. Trouver la voie pour sortir du conflit n’était pas non plus un long fleuve tranquille: entre juin 1509 et février 1510, les aléas des négociations montrent combien il était difficile de résoudre un conflit, quand bien même tous les acteurs s’attendaient à en finir avec l’excommunication. Le contexte explique aussi cette modalité singulière de règlement d’un conflit: Venise cherchait d’abord et avant tout une alliance qui lui permettrait de faire face à la ligue de Cambrai, voire de démembrer cette dernière. C’est la raison pour laquelle elle a rapidement cédé au pape. Un siècle plus tard, en 1606, la République, une fois de plus interdite, résoudra le conflit d’une toute autre manière. Mais c’est une autre histoire.43

Bibliographie Sources 1.

Sources manuscrites

Venezia, Archivio di Stato [ASVe], Senato, Deliberazioni, Secreti, r. 41–42.

2.

Sources imprimées

Admonitione contra li Venetiani, [s.l.: s.n. 1509]. Admonitione contra li Venetiani. Iulio episcopo Servo de li Servi de Dio a futura Memoria de questa Cosa &c, [Ferrara: L. de Rubeis 1509]. Barzeleta de Venetiani con la resposta de ferraresi, [Ferrara?: s.n. 1509?]. Bembo, Pietro (1552), Della Historia vinitiana, Venezia: Gualtero Scotto.

43 De Vivo (2007).

Négocier l’absolution vénitienne. La résolution d’un conflit, 1509–1510

49

Dispacci degli ambasciatori veneziani alla corte di Roma presso Giulio II (25 giugno 1509–9 gennaio 1510), ed. R. Cessi (1932), Venezia. Donà, Girolamo, ed. V. Venturini (2009), Dispacci da Roma, 19 gennaio–30 agosto 1510, Venezia. Giustinian, Antonio, ed. P. Villari (1876), Dispacci di Antonio Giustinian Ambasciatore veneto a Roma dal 1502 al 1505, 2 voll., Firenze. Grumello, Antonio, ed. G. Müller (1856), Cronaca pavese dal MCCCCLXVII al MDXXIX, Milano. La Monicion excomuniment Anathematisation et Malediction donnee par nostre Saint Pere le Pape Iulle moderne contre les Veniciens et ceulx qui les favorisent aident et supportent. Publiee et imprimée a Rome le xxvii Iour davril mil. Vc. Et ix. Par le Commandement de notre dit Saint Pere le Pape et depuis translatee en francoys, [s.l.: s.n. 1509]. La grandissime Rotte de Venetiani & Perdictione de Paiesi quali hanno hauti da lo summo pon. Iulio secundo da lo Imperador & da lo Re spagna & da lo Re de Franza & molti Signori con la Presa di Peschera nuovamente composta, [Roma: Giacomo Mazzocchi 1513]. Monitoire de Part nostre sainct Pere le Pape contre les Venitiens, [Lyon: Noël Abraham 1509]. Monitorium contra Venetos, [Roma: Eucario Silber 27 avril 1509]. Oratione fatta per miser Antonio Gustiniano e recitata in Nome del Senato de Venetia a Maximiliano Imperatore i Inspruch a xviii de Decebr. M. D. IX. cum la Resposta del prefato Imperatore. Recitata e registrata ispruch et traducta delatino i vulgare die et M. supdicto, [Ferrara?: s.n. 1509]. Pie II (Enea Silvio Piccolomini), éd. / trad. I. Cloulas / V. Castiglione Minischetti (2001), Mémoires d’un pape de la Renaissance. Les Commentarii de Pie II, Paris. Priuli, Girolamo, ed. A. Segre / R. Cessi (1912–1941), I Diarii, 3 voll., Bologna. Processo de mali Fruti e pensadi omicidi de li Segnori Venetiani con la Presa del Polesne e di Legnano e tute le altre Terre e la soa Rovina, [Ferrara: s.n. 1510]. Sanudo, Marino, ed. G. Berchet et al. (1879–1903), I Diarii, 58 voll., Venezia.

Littérature secondaire Alazard, F. (2017), La bataille oubliée. Agnadel 1509: Louis XII contre les Vénitiens, Rennes. Beaulande, V. (2006), Le malheur d’être exclu? Excommunication, réconciliation et société à la fin du Moyen Âge, Paris. Bonardi, A. (1904), ‘ Venezia e la lega di Cambrai ’, Nuovo archivio veneto 7, 209–44. Boucheron, P. / Offenstadt, N., ed. (2011), L’espace public au Moyen Âge. Débats autour de Jürgen Habermas, Paris. Dalla Santa, G. (1899), ‘ Le appellazioni della Repubblica di Venezia dalle scomuniche di Sisto IV e Giulio II ’, Nuovo archivio veneto 17, 216–42. – (1900) ‘ Il vero testo dell’appellazione di Venezia dalla scomunica di Giulio II ’, Nuovo archivio veneto 19, 349–61.

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De Vivo, F. (2007), Information and Communication in Venice. Rethinking Early Modern Politics, Oxford. Finlay, R. (1976), ‘ Venice, the Po Expedition and the End of the League of Cambrai, 1509– 1510 ’, Studies in Modern European History and Culture 2, 37–72. – (2000), ‘ Fabius Maximus in Venice: Doge Andrea Gritti, the War of Cambrai and the Rise of Habsburg Hegemony, 1509–1530 ’, Renaissance Quarterly 53, 988–1031. Gilbert, F. (1973), ‘ Venice in the Crisis of the League of Cambrai ’, in Renaissance Venice, ed. J. Hale, London, 274–92. Hyland, F. E. (1928), Excommunication: Its Nature, Historical Development and Effect, Washington DC. Landi S. (2010), ‘ Opinion publique ’, in Dictionnaire des concepts nomades en sciences humaines, ed. O. Christin, Paris, 350–69. Lenci, A. (1979), Arte militare, eserciti e guerra al tempo della Lega di Cambrai, Padova. Logan, F. D. (1968), Excommunication and the Secular Arm in Medieval England. A Study in Legal Procedure from the Thirteenth to the Sixteenth Century, Toronto. Madelin, L. (1902), ‘ Le journal d’un habitant français de Rome au XVIe siècle (1509– 1540) ’, Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire de l’École française de Rome 22, 251–300. Mazzetti, A. (2010), ‘ Polesella 22 dicembre 1509: l’armata veneta marittima “ ruynata ” in Po ’, Archivio veneto 210, Venezia, 255–84. Shaw, C. (1993), Julius II: The Warrior Pope, Oxford. Trexler, R. C. (1974), The Spiritual Power: Republican Florence under Interdict, Leiden. Vodola, E. (1986), Excommunication in the Middle Ages, Berkeley.

Peter Arnold Heuser

Conflict Management and Resolution at the Peace Congress of Westphalia 1643–1649

Abstract In any peace negotiation, the substance of the peace proposals is not the only key to a successful resolution of the conflict, but also their appropriate timing within the peace process. Inspired by the ‘theory of ripeness’ used in peace and conflict studies following Ira William Zartman, Section 1 reassesses the Westphalian Peace Congress 1643–1649 as an example for the impact of military stalemate on conflict settlement in early modern history. Section 2 provides a brief overview of the most important ‘media ad pacem’ implemented by actors at the level of congress management and of the final peace treaties, taking into account the guiding principles of general amnesty and restitution, the direct and indirect forms of negotiation that the congress established, and religious peace as an integral part of the Peace of Westphalia (24 October 1648).

1.

The Westphalian Peace Congress 1643–1649: Timing and Shaping of a European Peace Process

Within the framework of the Leverhulme International Network (LIN) ‘Renaissance Conflict and Rivalries: Cultural Polemics in Europe, c. 1300–c. 1650’, the present article on conflict management and resolution at the Peace Congress of Westphalia,1 a delegate conference of European dimensions which took place 1 For a general overview and further guidance, see Dickmann (1998); Duchhardt, ed. (1996); Bussmann / Schilling (1998); Duchhardt, ed. (1998); Repgen (1998a); Repgen (1999); Croxton / Tischer (2002); Kampmann (2008); Bosbach (2011); Westphal (2015). In the following pages, I will preserve the lecture style. Therefore, references are only provided to the most indispensable bibliography. Current debates and literature have been considered up to May 2015, when the research colloquium ‘Management and Resolution’ of the LIN ‘Renaissance Conflict and Rivalries: Cultural Polemics in Europe, c. 1300–c. 1650’ took place at the Ca’ Foscari (University of Venice). Some texts whose contents were already taken into account, but published later on, are cited under their respective date of publication, e. g., Heuser (2020a). For additional insight ever since, see the conference publication Goetze / Oetzel (2019), the handbook Dingel et al., ed. (2020), and some new monographs on the Thirty Years’ War 1618–1648, published on the occasion of the commemorative year 2018 (e. g., by Herfried

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between 1643 and 1649 in the mid-sized Westphalian cities of Münster and Osnabrück, returns to the subject of a recently published paper that I originally delivered in 2014 at the LIN colloquium ‘Spheres of Conflict and Rivalries’ held at Bonn University.2 In that piece, I described the Westphalian Peace Congress as a ‘public sphere’, a political arena created and commissioned to negotiate a universal and lasting peace in the Christian West,3 while the great wars of the period continued to rage without armistice, causing interference between each other and also with the peace talks in Westphalia: the Eighty Years’ War (1568–1648) between Spain and the emerging Dutch Republic, the Thirty Years’ War (1618– 1648) in the Holy Roman Empire and the Franco-Spanish War (1635–1659), the confrontation between the Republic of Venice and the Ottoman Empire in the Mediterranean Sea reaching new heights with the Cretan War (1645–1669), and the siege of Candia (1648–1669).4 As a focal point of political communication and decision-making, the Westphalian Peace Congress was a ‘melting pot’ of European diplomacy. With no official starting point and open-ended, it was attended, between 1643 and 1649, by an overall total of 300 envoys (ambassadors, residents, agents, and solicitors),5 each of them staying in Westphalia for a more or less limited period of time. As negotiators, these delegates depended on the instructions of their respective backers in their home courts and governments, with whom they kept up, over the years, an active correspondence and reporting, in order to consult and to coordinate their agenda. Additionally, envoys and their collaborators in Westphalia were interwoven in complex correspondence networks with courtly, political, religious, and military elites in European capitals and on the battlegrounds throughout Europe, with their respective allies inside and outside their home countries, with agents and spies, with members of particular political factions and family groups.6 Their congress embassies and delegations represented nearly 190 legal entities of different sizes and political importance, among them the emperor and the pope, the European crowns of France, Spain, and Sweden, the Republic of Venice, the United Provinces of the Low Countries, and many imperial estates, including the electors, prince-archbishops, prince-bishops, and imperial prelates, princes, and counts of the Holy Roman Empire, and imperial cities.

2 3 4 5 6

Münkler and Georg Schmidt). I feel deeply indebted to Marc Laureys (Bonn) and Jill Kraye (London) for their critical reading of my manuscript. Heuser (2020a). APW III B 1,1 (1998), 98: ‘Pax sit christiana, universalis, perpetua’, the 1648 Peace Treaties of Westphalia declared in Art. I IPO € § 1 IPM. Kohlhaas (1978). For the statistical details, see Bosbach (1984), 15 (table no. 2a and 2b). Heuser (2020a).

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Although the years from 1643 to 1649 belong to the Baroque era, the Westphalian Peace Congress provides an appropriate final chord to the third LIN colloquium on ‘Renaissance Conflict and Rivalries: Cultural Polemics in Europe’, since the educational profile of the envoys emerged from Renaissance culture that was ‘moulding their diplomatic or familiar letter-writing, the memoranda and pamphlets which they wrote and their ars disputandi – its rhetorical design and its oratorical shaping in gestures, facial expression or voice formation, its adaptation of literary forms and the literary models to which they referred’.7 The specific forms of inclusion, exclusion, and restrictions that the delegates practised or that their European backers imposed made the Peace Congress of Westphalia the largest and – as far as its internal structures were concerned – the most complex secular congress ever to take place in early modern Europe. The French ambassador Abel Servien, marquis de Sablé et de Boisdauphin, comte de La Roche des Aubiers (1593–1659), compared it, when he arrived at Münster in April 1644, to one of the great ecclesiastical councils and characterized the congress as ‘une espèce de concile politicque, où presque toutes les nations de l’Europe auront des députéz’ (‘some kind of political council, where nearly all nations of Europe will have their deputies’).8 Therefore, considering the complexity of the peace congress and its international character, he recommended the ceremonial practised at the papal court in Rome as an appropriate model for diplomatic interaction in Münster and Osnabrück. His plea for a consistent ceremonial practice at the congress underlines here, by way of a preliminary observation, that already in its initial phase, the shaping of the congress promoted conflict management and resolution, the laborious and often painstaking stipulation of arrangements between the various parties. The same applies to the series of peace initiatives which preceded the Westphalian Peace Congress and were intended to pacify Central and Western Europe in the Spanish-Dutch Eighty Years’ War, the Thirty Years’ War in the Holy Roman Empire, and the Franco-Spanish War. During the Spanish-Dutch conflict, in 1579, the Cologne Peace Congress (the Pazifikationstag) established some standard procedures, even though it eventually failed.9 To avoid any face-to-face confrontation between the opposing parties, congress members engaged in indirect negotiations with imperial mediators acting as proxies; and the opposing parties also adopted some leading principles of a peace settlement, in particular ‘amnesty’ and ‘restitution’,10 which were finally taken up in 1648 and accomplished by the Westphalian Peace Treaties. But the failure to impose a prior 7 Ibid., 259. 8 Servien an Brienne, Münster 1648 April 9 (APW II B 1, Nr. 37, S. 68, Z. 35−8); for the context see Heuser (2008), 293–4. 9 Dethlefs (1998); Groenveld (1998). 10 For details, see Heuser (2013); Heuser (2020b).

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armistice seriously affected the negotiations: Spanish troops continually gained ground, while the delegates in Cologne tried to work out a peace agreement. And it also proved rather unhelpful for a decisive resolution of the conflict that the way the congress was organized, as far as the Dutch party was concerned, forced the delegates from the insurgent northern provinces to act together with those of the southern provinces in one and the same delegation. In addition, the negotiators of the Westphalian Peace Treaties took up earlier efforts to restore peace in the Holy Roman Empire since the Treaty of Passau (1552) and the religious peace of Augsburg (1555). In 1635, Emperor Ferdinand II (1578–1637) and the Prince-Elector Johann Georg I of Saxony (1585–1656) had signed the Peace of Prague,11 gathering together the emperor and the imperial estates again in an effort to restore peace by expelling all French and Swedish troops and mercenaries from the empire. Although the treaty was (step by step) ratified by most of the imperial estates, except for some close allies of both foreign crowns such as Hessen-Kassel and Sachsen-Weimar, it soon proved not to be the right means to advance peace in the Holy Roman Empire, since it excluded, with France and Sweden, two leading military actors from the peace process. Based on a papal peace initiative, the Cologne Peace Congress 1636–1640 addressed this deficit. The congress aimed at a peace settlement between the emperor and the Catholic crowns of France and Spain, mediated by the papal nuncio Marzio Ginetti (1585–1671).12 But the parties never managed to reach an agreement even for the most pressing preliminaries of a peace congress: the emperor refused to admit all the imperial estates who were allies of the French crown, while the French refused to recognize Ferdinand III as the legitimate Holy Roman Emperor. Cardinal Richelieu (1585–1642), the French chief minister, solicited a universal peace congress including all the Protestant allies of the French, the Lutheran crown of Sweden as well as either Hessen-Kassel or Sachsen-Weimar. The opposing crowns, hoping to improve their position on the battlegrounds of Europe, trusted more in the fortunes of war than in the Cologne peace project and delayed it, endlessly quarrelling about the details of safe conduct, in particular about the correct formulae for the envoys’ passes, until the discouraged papal nuncio left Cologne in 1640. Preparing a congress under wartime conditions, the main actors lacked the will for peace and the willingness to compromise which are necessary for any negotiated peace; according to their cost-benefit analysis, peace negotiations were not yet sufficiently attractive.

11 Bierther (1997). 12 Repgen (1954).

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When the emperor, France, and Sweden, mediated by the Danish crown, agreed, on 25 December 1641, on the preliminary peace of Hamburg,13 the framework conditions had changed, both politically and with respect to the military situation, and this modified the parties’ cost-benefit ratio. Above all, the course of war had diminished all the actors’ hopes to gain, at an acceptable cost, a final victory. This insight strengthened their disposition to achieve peace and to open peace negotiations. But fundamental conflicts between the actors persisted. The French, for example, still did not accept Ferdinand III as the Holy Roman Emperor.14 Therefore, the envoys had to find a way to avoid addressing one another directly. Despite this obstacle, the preliminary peace of Hamburg laid the groundwork for a universal peace congress in the Westphalian cities of Münster (where the Catholic participants would assemble and the Spanish-Dutch peace would be negotiated) and Osnabrück (the destination for peace talks between the emperor, Sweden, and the Protestant estates). But again, the main actors could not agree on a preceding armistice. Therefore, the Westphalian Peace Congress had to take place under wartime conditions. For the peace talks both cities and the delegates’ passageways were given neutral status, while the war actions around and on the European battlegrounds continued, constantly influencing the cost-benefit ratio of all congress actors. It was left to the representatives of the European powers who gradually arrived at Münster and Osnabrück between 1643 and 1645 to organize and broker, in consultation with each other and with their European backers, an acceptable setup for the congress. The spatial division of the congress, taking place simultaneously in the two Westphalian cities of Münster and Osnabrück situated a day’s journey apart from each other, made it impossible to negotiate in one plenary body. Consequently, the actors had to define several parallel lines of negotiation. Ultimately, the congress had to integrate four main lines of peace negotiations, which constantly interfered with each other and with the course of warfare:15 – the peace negotiations between the emperor and the Swedish crown in Osnabrück, leading to the Instrumentum pacis Osnabrugensis (IPO) of the Westphalian Peace Treaties, signed on 24 October 1648 in Münster;16

13 14 15 16

Hartmann (1998); Kampmann (2008), 135–8; Schmidt-Rösler (2008). Hartmann (1998). For the details, see Repgen (1998a); Bosbach (2011). APW III B 1,1 (1998), 95–170. See also Die Westfälischen Friedensverträge vom 24. Oktober 1648. Texte und Übersetzungen (Acta Pacis Westphalicae. Supplementa electronica, 1) (= http://www.pax-westphalica.de/ [15 December 2020]).

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– the negotiations between the emperor and the crown of France in Münster, leading to the Instrumentum pacis Monasteriensis (IPM) of the Westphalian Peace Treaties, signed on 24 October 1648 in Münster;17 – the Franco-Spanish peace-talks in Münster, leading to the Treaty of Münster, signed on 31 January 1648 and confirmed by oath on 15 May 1648 in Münster;18 – the Spanish-Dutch peace negotiations in Münster, which ultimately failed.19 Moreover, the ambassadors had to find and to settle, for each line of negotiation, the appropriate method of negotiating, taking into account the parties’ respective ‘go’ and ‘no-go’ issues. The imperial and the Swedish delegates in Osnabrück, for example, agreed to negotiate face-to-face; and the envoys of Spain and the United Provinces of Netherland chose the same method for their peace talks in Münster. The French ambassadors, by contrast, preferred, for their peace talks with both the imperial and the Spanish delegates, an indirect mode of negotiation handled by two proxy mediators, the papal nuncio Fabio Chigi and the Venetian ambassador Alvise Contarini, who were both acceptable since all the participants were Catholic. Because Chigi, the papal mediator, was instructed to mediate exclusively between Catholic powers, his backers in Rome denied him the right to establish any official contact with Protestant participants in the peace congress. For France and Spain, an indirect mode of negotiating via mediators was the only feasible option and the precondition for any bilateral peace talks, since both crowns were caught up in an unresolved conflict about their ranking in the hierarchy of the monarchies in the Christian West.20 Therefore, their ambassadors in Münster were never allowed, for the entire five years of peace talks, to meet in public, because any such encounter could have been interpreted as a decisive precedent in this controversy. During the years 1643 to 1645, the competing crowns and their ambassadors in Münster and Osnabrück had to work out, with a great deal of effort and of conflict management and resolution, the organizational details of a congress that would satisfy all parties. Most notably, the guidelines for the peace talks had to be determined through consent, in particular to the principles of amnesty and restitution. Appointments had to be made to fix the items on the agenda, the objects of negotiation, and their proper sequence. Even the circle of participants to be admitted to the congress had to be brokered. The Spanish crown, for 17 APW III B 1,1 (1998), 1–49. See also Die Westfälischen Friedensverträge vom 24. Oktober 1648. Texte und Übersetzungen (Acta Pacis Westphalicae. Supplementa electronica, 1) (= http:// www.pax-westphalica.de/ [15 December 2020]). 18 Poelhekke (1948); Dethlefs (1998); Groenveld (1998). 19 Rohrschneider (2007); Duchhardt, ed. (2010). 20 Rohrschneider (2008); Rohrschneider (2009).

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instance, rejected the Portuguese delegates attending the congress under the protection of the French embassy as ‘rebels’.21 And the emperor, in his struggle for an exclusive external representation of the Holy Roman Empire, sought to restrict the admission of the imperial estates to the congress. France and Sweden, by contrast, campaigned for the participation of all the imperial estates.22 It was not until the defeat of the imperial troops in the battle near Jankau (Bohemia) on 6 March 1645 that the emperor granted all the imperial estates the right to send their representatives to the congress. As a result, the estates added a whole imperial assembly to the peace congress, consulting either in three curiae: the Electoral Council (in Münster), the Council of Princes (which held its sessions, subdivided into confessional sections, in Münster and in Osnabrück), and the Council of the Imperial Cities (which also held its sessions, subdivided into confessional groupings, in Münster and in Osnabrück), or, as far as confessional questions were concerned, in two bodies: the Corpus Evangelicorum, which held its sessions in Osnabrück, and the Corpus Catholicorum, which held its sessions in Münster, since these confessional bodies were obliged to achieve their results not by majority vote, but exclusively via an amicabilis compositio, an amicable settlement of conflicts. In writing this account of conflict management and resolution at the Westphalian Peace Congress, I am strongly indebted to the Acta Pacis Westphalicae (APW) project of the ‘Nordrhein-Westfälische Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Künste’,23 published since 1962, whose editors and staff members have produced, over several decades, a scholarly critical edition of selected congress records, presently comprising 46 volumes. Thanks to the APW and to its online version, the Acta Pacis Westphalicae digital (APW digital),24 and supported by complementary source editions, such as that for the Electorate of Bavaria,25 the Westphalian Peace Congress is the first and only European peace congress for which a substantial portion of the main acta have been meticulously collected and published in modular units, including several series of congress correspondences, congress diaries, records of proceedings, and the heterogeneous group of negotiation documents, the so-called ‘Verhandlungsakten’. The modularized organization makes it possible for future extensions to be compiled in successive 21 Cardim (1998). 22 For the admission of the imperial estates to the Westphalian Peace Congress, see Albrecht (1984), 249, 255; Dickmann (71998), 164–6; Malettke (1998); Kampmann (2008), 142–51; Westphal (2015), 35–40; Schulze (2018), 515–6. 23 For the APW, see the Bibliography (Sources) at the end of this article. 24 Link: https://apw.digitale-sammlungen.de. 25 Since 2000, the ‘Kommission für Bayerische Landesgeschichte bei der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften’ has published the diplomatic correspondence of the electorate of Bavaria concerning the Westphalian Peace Congress in its series ‘Quellen zur neueren Geschichte Bayerns 1’.

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modules. Already at the current state of editorial work, the collected evidence constitutes a unique corpus of texts for the exploration of conflict and rivalries at the Westphalian Peace Congress. Its density and multi-faceted structure renders accessible the diverging perspectives which the different actors and observers had on the same topic, their changing cost-benefit analysis, and their perception of their parties’ political aims, and enables researchers to take an actor-centred historical look at conflict management and resolution. The APW are the home base for rich and multi-faceted historical research. First and foremost, the research interest was focused on the congress policy of the major participants: the emperor,26 the crowns of France,27 Spain,28 Sweden,29 and the Dutch Republic,30 the Electoral Council31 and the Council of the Imperial Cities,32 the Swiss Confederation,33 and selected imperial estates,34 including the Electorates of Bavaria and the Palatinate,35 Cologne36 and Trier,37 the Landgraviates of Hessen-Kassel and Hessen-Darmstadt,38 Pomerania, which was finally partitioned between Sweden and the Prince-Elector of Brandenburg,39 and the archbishopric of Bremen.40 Both congress cities, Münster and Osnabrück,41 have been the subject of painstaking research, as has the Nürnberger Exekutionstag 1649–1650,42 an assembly destined to implement the IPO and the IPM, especially its financial and military stipulations. Current research on the Westphalian Peace Congress is focused in particular on the actors involved in congress politics: on their motives, their agenda and conflicting roles, on their group-related allegiance or antagonism to certain 26 Ruppert (1979); see also Auer (1998); Repgen (1998d). 27 Sonnino (1998); Croxton (1999); Tischer (1999); Malettke, ed. (1999); Tischer (2005); Rohrschneider (2007); Tischer (2007); Sonnino (2008); see also Kraus (1990); Bély (1998); Repgen (1998d); Bosbach (2002); Rohrschneider (2008); Rohrschneider (2009); Braun (2011). 28 Rohrschneider (2007). 29 Lundquist (1998); Droste (2006). 30 Poelhekke (1948); Groenveld (1998). 31 Becker (1973). 32 Buchstab (1976). 33 Stadler (1998). 34 Albrecht (1984). 35 Immler (1992); see also Kraus (1990); Albrecht (1998); Bosbach (2002). 36 Knoch (1966); Foerster (1976). 37 Abmeier (1986). 38 Beck (1978); Bettenhäuser (1983); Burmeister (1995); Malettke (1998); Malettke, ed. (1999). 39 Langer (2001); Brunert (2005). 40 Lorenz (1969). 41 For Osnabrück, see Steinwascher (2000); for Münster, see APW III D 1 (Lahrkamp); for other negotiation venues, see Teske (1997). 42 Oschmann (1991).

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political and social networks,43 on their educational background, academic horizon, and Streitkultur,44 on their use of languages and on peace-making as a process of translation,45 on their techniques and practice of negotiation,46 on their usage of periodical and non-periodical media for political purposes.47 Research topics include mediation and arbitration as tools for a non-violent settlement of conflicts;48 the appointment of an ‘arbiter’ by the opposing parties as a political judge to give his verdict on controversial points that the parties, during their negotiations, were unable to resolve by themselves. Researchers investigate the political dimensions of congress ceremonial;49 the pros and cons of reparation claims (in the form of monetary payments or territorial assignments as ‘satisfactions’, in this case for the crowns of Sweden and France and their allies);50 the question of how to establish, after the signing, the ratification and the publication of the peace treaties, an effective ‘assecuratio pacis’51 which guaranteed that the future compliance of the parties to the agreed terms would be monitored in order to establish a sustainable peace; and, last but not least, the reputation that the congress acquired later on, for example, in the juridical genre of Reichspublizistik, in early modern handbooks for diplomats (Diplomatenspiegel), in historiography and with respect to the politics of memory and history, and in international diplomatic practice and the training of diplomats up to the present day. The APW edition, with a density of source material which comes close to what is normally only available for contemporary history and current issues,52 forms – together with the research resources listed above – a rich database for the analysis of conflict management and resolution at the Westphalian Peace Congress. Above all, the abundance of data makes the congress and its results – the Spanish-Dutch Peace of Münster (1648), as well as the Westphalian Peace Treaties (IPM and IPO) between the emperor and the crowns of France and Sweden (1648) and the failed Spanish-French Treaty – a paramount example of the historical impact of military stalemate on the settlement of conflicts. The 43 For the internal conflicts, e. g., in the French congress embassy and their group-related background, see Bély (1998); Sonnino (1998); Tischer (2005); Sonnino (2008). 44 Heuser (2008). 45 Braun (2005); Duchhardt / Espenhorst, ed. (2012); Espenhorst, ed. (2012); Espenhorst, ed. (2013). 46 Bosbach (2011); Brunert (2011); Brunert (2014). 47 Babel (1992); Burmeister (1995); Repgen (1998b); Babel, ed. (2005); Bosbach (2005); Mayer-Gürr (2007); Heuser (2010a); Heuser (2010b); Rosseaux (2010); Böning (2019). 48 Kampmann (2001); Kampmann (2005). 49 Stiglic (1998a); Rohrschneider (2008); May (2009); Rohrschneider (2009); May (2010); May (2011); Stollberg-Rilinger (2011); May (2012); May (2014); May (2016). 50 Repgen (1998d); Bosbach (2002). 51 Braun (2011). 52 Auer (1998), 143–4; Heuser (2020b), 262.

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timing of peace efforts as a key to a better understanding of peace processes is much discussed in studies interested in the ‘ripeness’ of conflicts,53 since it is not only the substance of peace proposals which leads to the successful resolution of conflicts, but also their timing.54 Henry Kissinger knew about the pacifying effects of a military stalemate when, in October 1974, he identified it as ‘the most propitious condition’ for the settlement of conflicts,55 because a mutually harmful stalemate disposed the opposing parties to reconsider their cost-benefit ratio. The ‘theory of ripeness’ is applicable to the Westphalian Peace Congress in the years 1643–1649. The delegates and their backers in the European capitals, motivated by the changing fortunes of war and under pressure from war-related tax and price increases, from uprisings and an encroaching war-weariness in their territories, eventually found themselves confronted with a military stalemate that could not be overcome at an acceptable cost. Compelled to adapt their costbenefit analysis, they had to find pragmatic solutions to their disputes, even for those conflicts which proved to be intractable at a peace congress. So, forced by military reasons and also by political, financial, economic, and social necessities, the parties shifted towards pragmatism and compromise to solve their ongoing conflicts, searching for ‘media ad pacem’,56 on the level of congress organization and management as well as on the level of the peace treaties (see Section 2 below). Already in the seventeenth century, such ‘ripe moments’ for peace were transitory, as the failing Spanish-French peace project in Münster shows.57 In 1648, due to the French internal crisis of the ‘Fronde’ (1648–1653) and to the Spanish-Dutch separate peace, which prompted the United Dutch Provinces, an important ally of the French crown, to lay down their arms, the cost-benefit ratio for the Spanish crown changed. Political and military leaders in Spain cherished the hope that the changing framework circumstances would make future military successes against France possible and could alter the harsh conditions for peace that the French and Spanish congress ambassadors had previously negotiated in Münster. A new ‘ripe moment’ for peace negotiations between France and Spain and for a new Spanish-French peace project arose only some years later, leading, in 1659, to the Peace of the Pyrenees.58 53 On ‘harmful stalemates’ and ‘ripe moments’ for conflict settlement in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, see Zartman (2000); Zartman (2001); Podszun (2011). 54 Zartman (2001), 8. 55 For Henry Kissinger, in New York Times, 12 October 1974, see Zartman (2000), 227; Zartman (2001), 8; Podszun (2011), 81–2. 56 For the contemporary terminology ‘medium / media ad pacem’, see, e. g., Meiern I (1734), 858, 868. 57 Rohrschneider (2007). 58 Duchhardt, ed. (2010).

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‘Media ad pacem’: Conflict Management and Resolution at the Westphalian Peace Congress 1643–1649

To bring together, to run, and to handle a peace congress of the unprecedented size and complexity of the Westphalian Peace Congress required meticulous conflict management and carefully thought-out resolution. The same applies to the implementation of its results in establishing a peaceful order. Peace initiatives and proposals, claims and liabilities had to be pondered, considered, and balanced, not only with respect to their substance, but also with regard to their timing in the negotiation process and in the course of wartime events. Results had to be secured and to be stipulated in the legal form of peace contracts. During the peace talks up to 1648, none of the parties at the congress or alliances had been able to prevail over the others in the long term on the battlegrounds of Europe and to impose, on its own authority and power, a dictated peace. The stalemate between the big players created an environment favourable to pragmatic solutions and compromises aimed at reaching an agreement on acceptable ‘media ad pacem’. The present section focuses on this pragmatism as a means to peace at the Westphalian Peace Congress, but is limited to the peace negotiations for the Holy Roman Empire and to their results, the IPM and the IPO signed on 24 October 1648, which restored the external peace between the crowns of France, Sweden, the emperor and the Holy Roman Empire, and the internal peace between the emperor and certain imperial estates, as well as between certain estates which were in conflict with each other.59 Regarding congress management and organization, the envoys and their principals were able to settle many a conflict that the Cologne Congress of the years 1636 to 1640 had failed to resolve, including the implementation of safeconduct for the delegates and their passageways,60 and the admission of the imperial estates to the assembly.61 And, with wise pragmatism, they overcame all the dangers and risks inherent in the struggle between the parties for rank and precedence. For instance, in 1644, the delegates finally abolished the welcome ceremonial, or solemn entry, for the arrival of envoys, since it caused insurmountable procedural conflicts, threatening to scupper the whole assembly and to endanger future peace talks.62 In order not to fan the flames of such conflicts, the parties at the congress devised strategies of avoidance and prevention. The French and the Spanish ambassadors in Münster, for example,

59 60 61 62

For the details, see Steiger (1998), 33–4; Steiger (2000), 207–8. See n. 12 above. See n. 22 above. APW II A 2, 262–3; APW II B 2, 498; APW III C 2, 385–6; Stiglic (1998b).

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managed to avoid, during five years of indirect negotiations via mediators,63 ever meeting in public, so as not to fuel the unresolved dispute over their precedence. By entering formalized peace talks, all parties attending the conference benefited from conciliatory aspects of the procedure, such as submitting themselves to the agreed rules of the congress and defusing their conflicts, not by force of arms, but by legal means. The peace talks relied on the principle that items on the agenda, after they had been confirmed and agreed on by the respective parties, could not be called into question again. Partial results of the peace projects – single articles, paragraphs, or entire pre-contracts – were confirmed, signed, and deposited, for example, in the hands of the relevant congress parties or mediators, or they were delivered to the imperial chancellery under the guidance of the prince-elector of Mainz, the imperial arch-chancellor of the Holy Roman Empire.64 And the rules-based procedure of the peace congress also ensured a clear mechanism for the enactment of the peace treaties, leading from the negotiators’ signature via the ratification by their sovereigns up to the final exchange of ratification documents. Regarding content, a well-ordered procedure meant, in addition, fixing guidelines and guiding principles for the peace talks and peace projects. A central guideline for the peace talks was the general amnesty implemented by the parties in both peace instruments (Art. II IPO = § 2 IPM). The parties committed themselves to basing the peace on a perpetual oblivion (‘perpetua oblivio et amnestia’) of all damage which the warring parties had done to each other or to third parties since the outbreak of hostilities. No unjust action, no crime or wartime atrocity committed by the belligerents, should in future be the subject of any political debate or judicial treatment, no recourse should be taken to legal means for calling perpetrators to account. The agreed amnesty did not free any belligerents or war profiteers from the individual guilt they had burdened themselves with; but to make peace possible, the treaty prevented war victims from any this-worldly retribution for the injustice they had suffered. The perpetrators’ guilt remained, but its evaluation or punishment remained reserved to the judgement of God, not man:65 Sit utrimque perpetua oblivio et amnistia omnium eorum, quae ab initio horum motuum quocunque loco modove ab una vel altera parte ultro citroque hostiliter facta sunt, ita ut nec eorum nec ullius alterius rei causa vel praetextu alter alteri posthac quidquam hostilitatis aut inimicitiae, molestiae vel impedimenti quoad personas, statum, bona vel securitatem per se vel per alios, clam aut palam, directe vel indirecte, specie iuris aut via facti, in Imperio aut uspiam extra illud (non obstantibus ullis

63 Tischer (1999); Rohrschneider (2007). 64 For the procedure of the ‘Reichsdiktatur’, see Brunert (2014). 65 See nn. 16 and n. 17.

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prioribus pactis in contrarium facientibus) inferat vel inferri faciat aut patiatur, sed omnes et singulae hinc inde tam ante bellum quam in bello verbis, scriptis aut factis illatae iniuriae, violentiae, hostilitates, damna, expensae absque omni personarum rerumve respectu ita penitus abolitae sint, ut quidquid eo nomine alter adversus alterum praetendere posset, perpetua sit oblivione sepultum.

In an English translation dating from 1713, Art. 2 IPO and §2 IPM reads:66 That there be on both sides a perpetual Oblivion and Amnesty of all that has been done since the beginning of these Troubles, in what Place or in what Manner soever Hostilities may have been exercise’d by the one or the other Party; so that neither for any of those things, nor upon any other Account or Pretext whatsoever, any Act of Hostility or Enmity, Vexation or Hindrance shall be exercis’d or suffer’d, or caus’d to be exercis’d, either as to Persons, Condition, Goods or Security, either by one’s self or by others, in private or openly, directly or indirectly, under form of Right of Law, or by open Deed, either within, or in any Place whatsoever without the Empire, notwithstanding all former Compacts to the contrary; but that all Injuries, Violences, Hostilities and Damages, and all Expences that either side has been oblig’d to be at, as well before as during the War, and all Libels by Words or Writing shall be entirely forgotten, without any regard to Persons or Things; so that whatever might be demanded or pretended by one against another upon this account, shall be bury’d in perpetual Oblivion.

Early twenty-first-century readers of Article II of IPO and Paragraph 2 of IPM in the Westphalian Peace Treaties will find these texts disturbing, since they are accustomed to a culture of remembrance established after the Second World War, stressing the need to be aware of any victim of injustice, war, war crimes, or crimes against humanity; and their sense of justice will be offended by a historical peace treaty which left war atrocities unpunished, at least in the present life, and rendered them immune from prosecution. The difference between overall concepts of peace policy as ‘remembrance’ versus ‘oblivion’ should, however, raise awareness that every peace order is embedded in cultural and historical settings, the parameters of which change over time and space. In contrast to the present day, the actors in Münster and Osnabrück searched for peace on the basis of a general amnesty and oblivion. They did not insist on the blame game of mutual recriminations and did not require a decision on war guilt or a case-related juridical accounting of war injuries as a prerequisite for peace. Another guiding principle of the peace project caused major problems on all sides: the restitution of possessions and dignities in the Holy Roman Empire

66 A General Collection of Treatys, Declarations of War, Manifestos, and other Publick Papers, Relating to Peace and War, Among the Potentates of Europe, from 1648 to the present Time, Vol. II, London 1713, 374–6; text cited from http://www.pax-westphalica.de/ipmipo/inde x.html.

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which had been alienated since the outbreak of hostilities in 1618.67 As the principle of restitutio collided with the territorial claims raised by some powerful parties at the congress, its implementation in the Peace of Westphalia required pragmatic solutions and willingness to compromise. The emperor and the House of Habsburg, on the one hand, insisted on a special status for the Habsburg hereditary lands, including Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia, where the emperor refused – for political, dynastical, and confessional reasons – to restore the prewar state. On the other hand, the crown of Sweden, in return for its military intervention in the Holy Roman Empire, insisted not only on a financial reimbursement of the Swedish troops but also on territorial ‘satisfactions’ in northern Germany and on the coast of the Baltic Sea.68 The crown of France pursued the cession of the Alsace and Lorraine bishoprics of Metz, Toul, and Verdun;69 and the Landgraviate of Hessen-Kassel, a French ally, also pushed through a satisfaction.70 The Swedish claims implied the need for compensations for several imperial estates such as Brandenburg,71 Mecklenburg,72 and Braunschweig-Lüneburg,73 which lost territories and titles to the Swedish crown. The fate of the prince-bishopric of Osnabrück reveals how difficult the struggle for single territories could be: between 1648 and the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire in 1806, the line of succession in the prince-bishopric of Osnabrück alternated between a Catholic bishop and a secular prince, a Lutheran [!] member of the younger branch of the Braunschweig-Lüneburg dynasty, which belonged to the Guelphic House of Hanover. ‘In religiosis’, with regard to the rights and possessions of the three confessional groups that the Peace of Westphalia accredited in the Holy Roman Empire (the Roman Catholic Church, the Lutheran Church, and the Reformed Church), the fixing of 1 January 1624 as the ‘normal year’ (‘annus normalis’), that is, the point of reference for any restitution of rights and possessions (except for the Habsburg hereditary lands), was the outcome of a long and hard struggle, the 67 See art. III,1 IPO (~ § 5 IPM): ‘Iuxta hoc universalis et illimitatae amnestiae fundamentum universi et singuli Sacri Romani Imperii electores, principes, status (comprehensa immediata Imperii nobilitate) eorumque vasalli, subditi, cives et incolae, quibus occasione Bohemiae Germaniaeve motuum vel foederum hinc inde contractorum ab una vel altera parte aliquid praeiudicii aut damni quocunque modo vel praetextu illatum est, tam quoad ditiones et bona feudalia, subfeudalia et allodialia quam quoad dignitates, immunitates, iura et privilegia restituti sunto plenarie in eum utrinque statum in sacris et profanis, quo ante destitutionem gavisi sunt aut iure gaudere potuerunt, non obstantibus sed annullatis quibuscunque interim in contrarium factis mutationibus.’ 68 Art. X IPO. 69 § 69–91 IPM. 70 § 48–57 IPM; art. XV, 1–12 IPO. 71 Art. XI IPO. 72 Art. XII IPO. 73 Art. XIII IPO, for the prince-bishopric of Osnabrück, see art. XIII, 1–8 IPO.

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phases of which reflected the changing power structures in the Holy Roman Empire during the peace talks in Münster and Osnabrück between 1643 and 1648.74 The congress made the pragmatic decision to leave the choice between direct and indirect forms of negotiation to the parties affected. As a result, in addition to direct peace talks (such as between the ambassadors of the emperor and the Swedish crown), the congress developed a variety of official, semi-official, and non-official forms of indirect negotiations. The Spanish-French peace talks, to give just one example, did not rely solely on the papal nuncio Fabio Chigi and the Venetian ambassador Alvise Contarini as mediators, but also de facto (since June/July 1646, officially since September 1646, and with a break in 1647) on the Dutch ambassadors to the congress acting as ‘interpositeurs’ or ‘entremetteurs’ between both powers, with the result that in the peace talks between the crowns of France and Spain, it is necessary to distinguish between a papal-Venetian ‘mediation’ and a Dutch ‘interposition’.75 Both mediators and ‘interpositeurs’ were (at least in theory) obliged to observe and to maintain strict neutrality, but this theoretical ideal clashed with the vested interests of every single mediator or ‘interpositeur’ and their respective backers. If needed, opposing parties could commission a political judge, the ‘arbiter’, who was authorized to make legally binding decisions.76 And in the spring of 1648, when the military dynamics in the Holy Roman Empire prompted an interdenominational group of imperial estates under the leadership of the Electorates of Mainz and Bavaria to assemble in Osnabrück and to assist directly in the peace negotiations between the emperor and the Swedish crown, this formation of a ‘third party’ initiated a negotiation dynamics that strengthened the position of the imperial estates and created a powerful momentum towards peace.77 To cope with the multitude of conflicts relevant to the peace settlement in Westphalia, negotiations for conflict resolution could also be outsourced from the congress. One example is the Hessen-Marburg struggle for succession between the Landgraviates of Hessen-Kassel (Reformed) and Hessen-Darmstadt (Lutheran). The succession conflict was handed over to both parties for a prior bilateral agreement, the treaty of Kassel (14 April 1648), which was finally confirmed in the Peace of Westphalia.78 74 For the details, see Fuchs (2010a); additionally (to offer a choice) Fuchs (2010b; 2013; 2016, 2020). 75 Rohrschneider (2007), 251. 76 Kampmann (2001); Kampmann (2005); Rohrschneider (2007), 250–70. 77 For details, see Heuser (2011), CIX–CXIII. For additional insight, see Arnke / Westphal, ed. (2021). 78 Art. XV, 13–15 IPO. For the details, see Beck (1978); Bettenhäuser (1983); Burmeister (1995); Malettke (1998); Malettke, ed. (1999).

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The religious peace included in the Peace of Westphalia is a paramount example of a conflict settlement which was reached without any agreement on the original conflict. The resolution factored out and ignored the question of religious truth disputed by the competing churches and created – via juridification – a stable basis for their continued existence and mutual relations, protecting their respective possessions and rights according to the status quo of the ‘annus normalis’ of 1624. The religious peace of 1648 was negotiated not at Münster, but at Osnabrück, and is hence part of the IPO, but confirmed in the IPM,79 since the French ambassadors to the congress were not instructed to negotiate ‘in religiosis’, and one mediator of the peace talks between France and the emperor, the papal nuncio Fabio Chigi, was not allowed to negotiate with Protestants. Emerging from political and military stalemate, the religious peace of 1648 was no document of religious or confessional tolerance, but of securitization via juridification, providing the religious groups which were party to it with a set of well-defined and legally enforceable rights that the churches could defend, since 1648, with persistence. But in the overall context of the Peace of Westphalia, above all by strengthening the position of the princes in their imperial free territories of the Holy Roman Empire, the juridification of church life in the Holy Roman Empire prepared the ground on which interconfessional tolerance and religious pluralism could grow.80 With the aim of stabilizing the Peace of Westphalia as a long-lasting order, the parties at the congress found creative legal solutions. The anti-protest-clause of the Westphalian Peace Treaties,81 for instance, was designed to include even those opposing parties which sooner or later made a formal protest against the peace agreement or against special clauses of it, in particular against the religious peace.82

3.

Conclusion

The Westphalian Peace Congress (1643–1649) is the first and only European peace congress for which the main acta, a unique corpus of written sources, have been meticulously collected and, to a substantial degree, published. As such, it enriches international peace and conflict studies by introducing well-docu79 Art. V, 1–58 IPO; art. VII, 1–2 IPO; § 47 IPM. 80 For the details of the peace agreement, see Heuser (2017), 60–3. For the historical weight and significance of the Westphalian Peace Contracts, see from a legal history point of view: Steiger (1998). 81 Art. V, 1 IPO; art. XVII, 3 IPO. 82 For the papal protest against the Peace of Westphalia, see Repgen (1998c). For the Imperial City of Cologne, see Bergerhausen (2005).

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mented historical data for a type of peace negotiation occasioned by military stalemate and growing war-weariness. It also raises our awareness of the importance of the appropriate timing of all peace initiatives or proposals and of the importance of the ‘media ad pacem’ which the congress adopted and refined for conflict management and settlement: the guiding principles of amnesty and restitution, the techniques of direct and indirect negotiation via mediators, conflict settlement by formalized procedure and juridification, and the attempts of diplomats to include even dissenting parties in the peace treaties, for instance by means of the famous anti-protest clause of the Peace of Westphalia. The inquiry into the possibilities and limitations of conflict management and resolution in the diplomatic sphere of seventeenth-century Europe sharpens the viewers’ perception of the available means, the options and the limitations of peace politics in general.

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– (2002), ‘Auf dem Weg zum Frieden. Maximilian von Bayern und die Elsaßabtretung auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongreß’, Zeitschrift für bayerische Landesgeschichte 65, 265–91. – (2005), ‘Gedruckte Informationen für Gesandte auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress – eine Dokumentation des Angebotes, der Preise und der Verwendung’, in Babel, ed. (2005), 59–137. – (2011), ‘Verfahrensordnungen und Verhandlungsabläufe auf den Friedenskongressen des 17. Jahrhunderts. Überlegungen zu einer vergleichenden Untersuchung der äußeren Formen frühneuzeitlicher Friedensverhandlungen’, in Kampmann et al., ed. (2011), 93–118. Braun, G. (2005), ‘Une tour de Babel? Les langues de la négociation et les problèmes de traduction au Congrès de la paix de Westphalie (1643–1649)’, in Babel, ed. (2005), 139– 72. – (2011), ‘Die französische Diplomatie und das Problem der Friedenssicherung auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress’, in Assecuratio pacis. Französische Konzeptionen von Friedenssicherung und Friedensgarantie 1648–1815 (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 35), ed. G. Braun, Münster, 67–130. Brunert, M.-E. (2005), ‘Der Mehrfachherrscher und das politische System des Reiches. Das Ringen um Pommern auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongreß’, in Membra unius capitis. Studien zu Herrschaftsauffassungen und Regierungspraxis in Kurbrandenburg (1640–1688), ed. M. Kaiser / M. Rohrschneider (Forschungen zur brandenburgischen und preußischen Geschichte, NF 7), Berlin, 147–69. – (2011), ‘Nonverbale Kommunikation als Faktor frühneuzeitlicher Friedensverhandlungen. Eine Untersuchung am Beispiel des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses’, in Kampmann et al., ed. (2011), 281–331. – (2014), ‘Vom Rapular zum Dictatum. Entstehungsstufen der reichsständischen Protokolle’, in Gerstenberg, ed. (2014), 201–23. Brunert, M.-E. / Lanzinner, M., ed. (2010), Diplomatie, Medien, Rezeption. Aus der editorischen Arbeit an den ‘Acta Pacis Westphalicae’ (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der neueren Geschichte, 32), Münster. Buchstab, G. (1976), Reichsstädte, Städtekurie und Westfälischer Friedenskongress. Zusammenhänge von Sozialstruktur, Rechtsstatus und Wirtschaftskraft (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der neueren Geschichte, 7), Münster. Burmeister, H. (1995), ‘Der hessische Bruderkampf – gespiegelt in Flugschriften 1623– 1652’, Zeitschrift des Vereins für hessische Geschichte und Landeskunde 100, 251–62. Bussmann, K. / Schilling, H., ed. (1998), 1648 – Krieg und Frieden in Europa [Katalog der 26. Europarats-Ausstellung in Münster/Osnabrück 24. 10. 1998–17. 1. 1999], Textbde. I– II und Katalog, Münster / Osnabrück. Cardim, P. (1998), ‘“Portuguese Rebels” at Münster. The Diplomatic Self-Fashioning in mid-17th Century European Politics’, in Duchhardt, ed. (1998), 293–333. Croxton, D. (1999), Peacemaking in Early Modern Europe. Cardinal Mazarin and the Congress of Westphalia, 1643–1648, Selinsgrove / London. Croxton, D. / Tischer, A. (2002), The Peace of Westphalia. A Historical Dictionary, Westport, CT / London. Dethlefs, G., ed. (1998), Der Frieden von Münster. De Vrede van Munster 1648. Der Vertragstext nach einem zeitgenössischen Druck und die Beschreibungen der Ratifika-

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tionsfeiern. De verdragstekst naar een contemporaine druk en de beschrijvingen van de ratificatievieringen, mit Beiträgen von J. Arndt und R. Klötzer, Münster. Dickmann, F. (1998), Der Westfälische Frieden, 7. Aufl., ed. K. Repgen, Münster. Dingel et al., ed. (2020), Handbuch Frieden im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit = Handbook of Peace in Early Modern Europe, Berlin. Droste, H. (2006), Im Dienst der Krone. Schwedische Diplomaten im 17. Jahrhundert (Nordische Geschichte, 2), Münster. Duchhardt, H., ed. (1996), Bibliographie zum Westfälischen Frieden, bearbeitet von E. Ortlieb / M. Schnettger (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 26), Münster. –, ed. (1998), Der Westfälische Friede. Diplomatie – politische Zäsur – kulturelles Umfeld – Rezeptionsgeschichte (Historische Zeitschrift, Beiheft 26), München. –, ed. (2010), Der Pyrenäenfriede 1659. Vorgeschichte, Widerhall, Rezeptionsgeschichte (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz, Beiheft 83), Göttingen. Duchhardt, H., / Espenhorst, M., ed. (2012), Frieden übersetzen in der Vormoderne. Translationsleistungen in Diplomatie, Medien und Wissenschaft (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz, Beiheft 92), Göttingen. Espenhorst, M., ed. (2012), Frieden durch Sprache? Studien zum kommunikativen Umgang mit Konflikten und Konfliktlösungen (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz, Beiheft 91), Göttingen. –, ed. (2013), Unwissen und Missverständnisse im vormodernen Friedensprozess (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz, Beiheft 94), Göttingen. Foerster, J. F. (1976), Kurfürst Ferdinand von Köln. Die Politik seiner Stifter in den Jahren 1634–1650 (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 6), Münster. Fuchs, R.-P. (2010a): Ein “Medium zum Frieden”. Die Normaljahrsregel und die Beendigung des Dreißigjährigen Krieges (Bibliothek Altes Reich, 4), München. – (2010b), ‘Normaljahrsverhandlungen als moralischer Diskurs‘, in Pax perpetua. Neuere Forschungen zum Frieden in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. I. Schmidt-Voges et al. (Bibliothek Altes Reich, 8), München, 123–39. – (2013), ‘Vertrauensbildung durch Unwissen? Friedensverhandlungen über Normaljahre und die Black Box im Dreißigjährigen Krieg’, in Espenhorst, ed. (2013), 71–87. – (2016), ‘Ein Termin als Rechtsgrundlage für die Konfession. Das Normaljahr 1624 in der Region’, in Zeiten und Räume – Rhythmus und Region, ed. D. Schiersner, Konstanz / München, 277–94. – (2020), ‘Normaljahr’, in: Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit Online, Consulted online on 26 February 2020: http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2352-0248_edn_COM_319357. Gerstenberg, A., ed. (2014), Verständigung und Diplomatie auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress. Historische und sprachwissenschaftliche Zugänge, Köln / Weimar / Wien. Goetze, D. / Oetzel, L., ed. (2019): Warum Friedenschließen so schwer ist: Frühneuzeitliche Friedensfindung am Beispiel des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses (Schriftenreihe zur neueren Geschichte, 39 = NF, 2), Münster. Groenveld, S., ed. (1998), Vrede van Munster 1648–1998. Tractaat van ‘een aengename, goede, en oprechte Vrede’, Den Haag.

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Hartmann, A. V. (1998), Von Regensburg nach Hamburg. Die diplomatischen Beziehungen zwischen dem französischen König und dem Kaiser vom Regensburger Vertrag (13. Oktober 1630) bis zum Hamburger Präliminarfrieden (25. Dezember 1641) (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 27), Münster. Heuser, P. A. (2008), ‘“Ars disputandi”: Kunst und Kultur des Streitens frühneuzeitlicher Diplomaten als Aufgabenfeld einer historischen Friedens- und Konfliktforschung. Prolegomena am Beispiel des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses 1643–1649’, in Baumann / Becker / Steiner-Weber, ed. (2008), 265–315. – (2010a), ‘Französische Korrespondenzen beim Westfälischen Friedenskongress als Quellen zur politischen Publizistik’, in Brunert / Lanzinner, ed. (2010), 55–140. – (2010b), ‘Bayern in der Pariser “Gazette” zur Zeit des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses’, in Babel et al., ed. (2010), 327–61. – (2011), ‘Einleitung’, in Acta Pacis Westphalicae, Serie II: Korrespondenzen, Abteilung B: Die französischen Korrespondenzen, VIII (= APW II B 8), LXVII–LX. – (2013), ‘Kaspar Schetz von Grobbendonk oder Pedro Ximénez? Studien zum historischen Ort des “Dialogus de pace” (Köln und Antwerpen 1579)’, in Frieden und Friedenssicherung in der Frühen Neuzeit. Das Heilige Römische Reich und Europa. Festschrift für Maximilian Lanzinner, ed. G. Braun / A. Strohmeyer (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 36), Münster, 387–411. – (2014), ‘Der Souveränitätsbegriff auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress 1643–1649. Eine Studie zur Geschichte der politisch-diplomatischen Terminologie’, in Gerstenberg, ed. (2014), 107–32. – (2017), ‘Vom Augsburger Religionsfrieden (1555) zur konfessionellen Friedensordnung des Westfälischen Friedens (1648)’, in Friedensordnungen in geschichtswissenschaftlicher und geschichtsdidaktischer Perspektive, ed. P. Geiss / P. A. Heuser (Wissenschaft und Lehrerbildung, 2), Göttingen, 47–68. – (2020a), ‘The Peace Congress of Westphalia 1643–1649 as a Sphere of Conflict and Rivalries’, in Spheres of Conflict and Rivalries in Renaissance Europe, ed. M. Laureys / J. Kraye / D. A. Lines (Super alta perennis. Studien zur Wirkung der Klassischen Antike, 22), Göttingen, 257–77. – (2020b), ‘Ideengeschichtliche Dimensionen humanistischer Politikberatung. Jean Matal, Pedro Ximénez und der Kölner Friedenskongress (“Pazifikationstag”) 1579’, in Frühneuzeitliche Friedensstiftung in landesgeschichtlicher Perspektive (Rheinisches Archiv, 160), ed. M. Rohrschneider, Wien / Köln / Weimar, 119–36. Immler, G. (1992), Kurfürst Maximilian I. und der Westfälische Friedenskongreß. Die bayerische auswärtige Politik von 1644 bis zum Ulmer Waffenstillstand (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 20), Münster. Kampmann, C. (2001), Arbiter und Friedensstiftung. Die Auseinandersetzung um den politischen Schiedsrichter im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit (Quellen und Forschungen aus dem Gebiete der Geschichte, NF 21), Paderborn / München / Wien / Zürich. – (2005), ‘Friedensstiftung von außen? Zur Problematik von Friedensvermittlung und Schiedsgerichtsbarkeit in frühneuzeitlichen Staatenkonflikten’, in Gewalt in der Frühen Neuzeit. Beiträge zur 5. Tagung der Arbeitsgemeinschaft Frühe Neuzeit im VHD, ed. C. Ulbrich et al. (Historische Forschungen, 81), Berlin, 245–59. – (2008), Europa und das Reich im Dreißigjährigen Krieg. Geschichte eines europäischen Konflikts, Stuttgart (2. Aufl. 2013).

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Kampmann, C. et al., ed. (2011), L’art de la paix. Kongresswesen und Friedensstiftung im Zeitalter des Westfälischen Friedens (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 34), Münster. Knoch, A. (1966), ‘Die Politik des Bischofs Franz Wilhelm von Wartenberg während der Westfälischen Friedensverhandlungen (1644–48)’, PhD Dissertation, Universität Bonn. Kohlhaas, W. (1978), Candia 1645–1669. Die Tragödie einer abendländischen Verteidigung mit dem Nachspiel Athen 1687 (Studien zur Militärgeschichte, Militärwissenschaft und Konfliktsforschung, 12), Osnabrück. Kraus, A. (1990), ‘Frankreich und die Pfalzfrage auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongreß’, Zeitschrift für bayerische Landesgeschichte 53, 681–96. Langer, H. (2001), ‘Die Entwicklung der Pommernfrage bis zum Friedensschluss in Münster und Osnabrück 1648’, in Der Westfälische Friede von 1648 – Wende in der Geschichte des Ostseeraums. Für Prof. Dr. Dr. h. c. Herbert Ewe zum 80. Geburtstag, ed. H. Wernicke / H.-J. Hacker (Greifswalder Historische Studien, 3), Hamburg, 65–83. Lorenz, G. (1969), Das Erzstift Bremen und der Administrator Friedrich während des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des schwedisch-dänischen Machtkampfes im 17. Jahrhundert (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 4), Münster. Lundkvist, S. (1998), ‘Die schwedischen Friedenskonzeptionen und ihre Umsetzung in Osnabrück’, in Duchhardt, ed. (1998), 349–59. Malettke, K. (1998), ‘Scheffers Gesandtschaft in Osnabrück: “Stände seyn nicht nur Räthe, die man hören, sondern deren Räthen man auch folgen müsse”’, in Duchhardt, ed. (1998), 501–22. –, ed. (1999), Frankreich und Hessen-Kassel zur Zeit des Dreißigjährigen Krieges und des Westfälischen Friedens (Veröffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission für Hessen, 46; Kleine Schriften, 5), Marburg. May, N. F. (2009), ‘Les querelles des titres: une vanité? L’attribution du titre d’altesse au duc de Longueville lors des négociations de Münster; rang juridique et social’, Revue d’histoire diplomatique 123, 241–53. – (2010), ‘Auseinandersetzungen über den Majestätstitel für Frankreich während der Westfälischen Friedensverhandlungen (1643–1648)’, in Babel et al., ed. (2010), 427–45. – (2011), ‘Zeremoniell in vergleichender Perspektive: Die Verhandlungen in Münster/ Osnabrück, Nijmegen und Rijswijk (1643–1697)’, in Kampmann et al., ed. (2011), 261– 79. – (2012), ‘Cérémonial et statut. L’impact des négociations westphaliennes sur l’évolution du cérémonial diplomatique’, PhD Dissertation, Universität Münster/ Centre de recherche sur l’histoire d’Europe centrale, Paris. – (2014), ‘Le cérémonial diplomatique et les transformations du concept de représentation au XVIIe siècle’, in À la place du roi: Vice-rois, gouverneurs et ambassadeurs dans les monarchies française et espagnole (XVIe–XVIIIe siècles), ed. D. Aznar / G. Hanotin / N. F. May (Collection de la Casa de Velázquez, 144), Madrid, 35–49. – (2016), Zwischen fürstlicher Repräsentation und adliger Statuspolitik. Das Kongresszeremoniell bei den westfälischen Friedensverhandlungen (Beihefte der Francia, 82), Ostfildern.

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Mayer-Gürr, S. (2007), ‘“Die Hoffnung zum Frieden wird täglich besser.” Der Westfälische Friedenskongress in den Medien seiner Zeit’, PhD Dissertation, Universität Bonn (http://hss.ulb.uni-bonn.de/2007/0994/0994.htm). Meiern, J. G. v. (1734–1736), Acta Pacis Westphalicæ Publica. Oder: Westphälische Friedens=Handlungen und Geschichte. Erster – Sechster Theil, Hannover 1734–1736 (reprint Osnabrück 1969). Oschmann, A. (1991), Der Nürnberger Exekutionstag 1649–1650. Das Ende des Dreißigjährigen Krieges in Deutschland (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 17), Münster. Podszun, L. (2011), Does Development Aid Affect Conflict Ripeness? The Theory of Ripeness and Its Applicability in the Context of Development Aid, Wiesbaden. Poelhekke, J. J. (1948), De vrede van Munster, Den Haag. Repgen, K. (1954), ‘Die Hauptinstruktion Ginettis für den Kölner Kongress’, Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken 34, 250–87. – (1998a), ‘Die Westfälischen Friedensverhandlungen. Überblick und Hauptprobleme’, in Bussmann / Schilling, ed. (1998), I, 355–72. – (1998b), ‘Der Westfälische Friede und die zeitgenössische Öffentlichkeit’, in K. Repgen, Dreißigjähriger Krieg und Westfälischer Friede. Studien und Quellen, ed. F. Bosbach / C. Kampmann, / München / Wien / Zürich, 723–65. – (1998c), ‘Die Proteste Chigis und der päpstliche Protest gegen den Westfälischen Frieden (1648/50). Vier Kapitel über das Breve “Zelo Domus Die”’, in K. Repgen, Dreißigjähriger Krieg und Westfälischer Friede. Studien und Quellen, ed. F. Bosbach / C. Kampmann, München / Wien / Zürich, 539–61. – (1998d), ‘Die kaiserlich-französischen Satisfaktionsartikel vom 13. September 1646 – ein befristetes Agreement’, in Duchhardt, ed. (1998), 175–216. – (1999), ‘Die Hauptprobleme der Westfälischen Friedensverhandlungen von 1648 und ihre Lösungen’, Zeitschrift für bayerische Landesgeschichte 62, 399–438. Rohrschneider, M. (2007), Der gescheiterte Frieden von Münster. Spaniens Ringen mit Frankreich auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongreß (1643–1649) (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 30), Münster. – (2008), ‘Friedenskongress und Präzedenzstreit. Frankreich, Spanien und das Streben nach zeremoniellem Vorrang in Münster, Nijmegen und Rijswijk (1643/44–1697)’, in Bourbon – Habsburg – Oranien: Konkurrierende Modelle im dynastischen Europa um 1700, ed. C. Kampmann et al., Köln / Weimar / Wien, 228–40. – (2009), ‘Das französische Präzedenzstreben im Zeitalter Ludwigs XIV. Diplomatische Praxis – zeitgenössische französische Publizistik – Rezeption in der frühen deutschen Zeremonialwissenschaft’, Francia 36, 135–79. Rosseaux, U. (2010), ‘Friedensverhandlungen und Öffentlichkeit. Der Westfälische Friedenskongress in den zeitgenössischen gedruckten Zeitungen’, in Brunert / Lanzinner, ed. (2010), 21–54. Ruppert, K. (1979), Die kaiserliche Politik auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongreß (1643– 1648) (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 10), Münster. Schmidt-Rösler, A. (2008), ‘Prälimarfriedensverträge als Friedensinstrumente der Frühen Neuzeit’, in Instrumente des Friedens. Vielfalt und Formen von Friedensverträgen

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im vormodernen Europa, ed. H. Duchhardt / M. Peters, Mainz (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz, Beiheft online 3), 56–77. Schulze, F. (2018), Die Reichskreise im Dreißigjährigen Krieg. Kriegsfinanzierung und Bündnispolitik im Heiligen Römischen Reich deutscher Nation, Berlin / Boston. Sonnino, P. (1998), ‘Prelude to the Fronde. The French Delegation at the Peace of Westphalia’, in Duchhardt, ed. (1998), 217–33. – (2008), Mazarin’s Quest. The Congress of Westphalia and the Coming of the Fronde, Cambridge / London. Stadler, P. (1998), ‘Der Westfälische Friede und die Eidgenossenschaft’, in Duchhardt, ed. (1998), 369–91. Steiger, H. (1998), ‘Der westfälische Frieden: Grundgesetz für Europa?’, in Duchhardt, ed. (1998), 33–80. Also published in Steiger (2009), 383–429. – (2000), ‘Friedensschluß und Amnestie in den Verträgen von Münster und Osnabrück’, in Krieg und Frieden im Übergang vom Mittelalter zur Neuzeit: Theorie – Praxis –Bilder = Guerre et paix du moyen âge aux temps modernes (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz, Beiheft 52: Abteilung Universalgeschichte), ed. H. Duchhardt / P. Veit, Mainz, 207–45. Also published in Steiger (2009), 445–83. – (2009), Von der Staatengesellschaft zur Weltrepublik? Aufsätze zur Geschichte des Völkerrechts aus vierzig Jahren (Studien zur Geschichte des Völkerrechts, 22), BadenBaden. Steinwascher, G. (2000), Osnabrück und der Westfälische Frieden. Die Geschichte der Verhandlungsstadt 1641–1650 (Osnabrücker Geschichtsquellen und Forschungen, 42), Osnabrück. Stiglic, A. (1998a), ‘Ganz Münster ist ein Freudental …’. Öffentliche Feierlichkeiten als Machtdemonstration auf dem Münsterschen Friedenskongreß (agenda Geschichte, 13), Münster. – (1998b), ‘Zeremoniell und Rangordnung auf der europäischen diplomatischen Bühne am Beispiel der Gesandteneinzüge in die Kongreß-Stadt Münster’, in Bussmann / Schilling, ed. (1998), I, 391–6. Stollberg-Rilinger, B. (2011), ‘Völkerrechtlicher Status und zeremonielle Praxis auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongreß’, in Rechtsformen internationaler Politik. Theorie, Norm und Praxis vom 12. bis zum 18. Jahrhundert, ed. M. Jucker et al. (Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung, Beiheft 45), Berlin / New York, 147–64. Teske, G. (1997), ‘Verhandlungen zum Westfälischen Frieden außerhalb der Kongreßstädte Münster und Osnabrück’, Westfälische Zeitschrift 147 (1997), 63–92. Tischer, A. (1999), Französische Diplomatie und Diplomaten auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress. Außenpolitik unter Richelieu und Mazarin (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 29), Münster. – (2005), ‘Diplomaten als Patrone und Klienten: der Einfluß personaler Verflechtungen in der französischen Diplomatie auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongreß‘, in Babel, ed. (2005), 173–97. – (2007), ‘Von Westfalen in die Pyrenäen: französisch-spanische Friedensverhandlungen zwischen 1648 und 1659‘, in Französisch-deutsche Beziehungen in der neueren Geschichte. Festschrift für Jean Laurent Meyer zum 80. Geburtstag, ed. K. Malettke / C. Kampmann (Forschungen zur Geschichte der Neuzeit. Marburger Beiträge, 10), Berlin, 83–96.

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Westphal, S. (2015), Der Westfälische Frieden (C.H. Beck Wissen, 2851), München. Wolff, F. (1966), Corpus Evangelicorum und Corpus Catholicorum auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongreß. Die Einfügung der konfessionellen Ständeverbindungen in die Reichsverfassung (Schriftenreihe der Vereinigung zur Erforschung der Neueren Geschichte, 2), Münster. Zartman, I. W. (2000), ‘Ripeness: The Hurting Stalemate and Beyond’, in International Conflict Resolution after the Cold War, ed. P. Stern / D. Druckman, Washington DC, 225–50. – (2001), ‘The Timing of Peace Initiatives: Hurting Stalemates and Ripe Moments’, The Global Review of Ethnopolitics 1.1, 8–18.

Luca Boschetto

‘Domus veritatis et aequitatis’. Il tribunale della Mercanzia e la risoluzione delle controversie commerciali a Firenze nell’età laurenziana

Sommario Il saggio affronta, a partire dallo studio di alcuni casi concreti, la giurisdizione del tribunale della Mercanzia di Firenze nel periodo compreso fra il 1469 e il 1492, quando la città si trovava sotto il governo di Lorenzo il Magnifico. Dopo aver illustrato brevemente l’organizzazione del tribunale, così come venne delineandosi nel corso del XV secolo, la ricerca illustra infatti quattro vertenze portate dinanzi all’organo interno del ‘ricorso’, che videro i giudici della corte impegnati a decidere proprio su questioni che toccavano direttamente gli interessi di Lorenzo de’ Medici e degli uomini della sua cerchia. Protagonisti di questi processi sono un mercante inglese che nel 1479 chiede giustizia contro Antonio di Niccolò Martelli, vicedirettore della filiale veneziana del Banco Medici, e poi socio in affari di Lorenzo; Agostino di Sandro Biliotti, che nel 1484 chiama in causa la compagnia di Lorenzo e del defunto Giuliano de’ Medici; il mercante fiorentino residente a Marsiglia Rinaldo d’Oddo Altoviti che domanda un risarcimento alle compagnie commerciali di Lorenzo di Firenze, Napoli, Lione, e Montpellier; e infine un semplice ‘farsettaio’, un oscuro artigiano fiorentino che all’indomani della Congiura dei Pazzi non esita a citare in tribunale il Magnifico in persona, per rivendicare i suoi diritti su una casa che Lorenzo aveva appena acquistato. In tal modo, ricorrendo alle carte processuali, è possibile sottoporre a verifica i giudizi dei contemporanei, alcuni dei quali raccolti allora da storici e umanisti e quindi largamente amplificati dalla storiografia moderna, che ritenevano il ‘cittadino principale’ di Firenze capace di esercitare una influenza indebita sulle decisioni della corte.

Le parole domus veritatis et aequitatis (cioè ‘casa della verità e dell’equità’) accoglievano chi nel Quattrocento a Firenze si accingeva a varcare la soglia della corte della Mercanzia. Erano dipinte infatti sulla facciata, sopra l’ingresso principale, risultando perciò ben visibili anche dalla piazza della Signoria, dove il palazzo di quello che fu il più importante tribunale commerciale della città ancor oggi si affaccia.1 ‘Verità’ ed ‘equità’, contrapposte al ‘rigore del diritto’, erano in 1 L’incarico di far dipingere ‘in domo dicte universitatis’, nel luogo da essi ritenuto più opportuno, la figura di Dio accompagnata dalle parole ‘Domus hec mea, domus veritatis et equitatis’ fu assegnato nel novembre del 1445 a Ugolino di Niccolò Martelli e Bartolomeo di

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effetti i principi fondamentali cui si ispirava, a Firenze come altrove, la giustizia dei mercanti: una giustizia, cioè, attenta soprattutto alla ‘verità del fatto’, che ricorreva diffusamente allo strumento dell’arbitrato e prometteva di essere più spedita, meno costosa, e priva di molte delle formalità in uso invece presso gli altri tribunali cittadini, primo fra tutti quello del podestà.2 L’idea di presentare in questa sede uno studio sulla giurisdizione della Mercanzia durante l’età laurenziana si lega principalmente a due considerazioni. La prima è che la Mercanzia di Firenze ci ha lasciato un archivio di dimensioni eccezionali, che consente di studiare meglio che altrove il metodo con cui le controversie giungevano a soluzione.3 La seconda ragione è che non c’è forse Guidaccio Pecori, due membri del consiglio che governava allora la Mercanzia. Cfr. Archivio di Stato di Firenze [d’ora in poi ASF], Mercanzia, 278, 20v, 23 novembre 1445. Il lavoro venne eseguito sopra la porta d’ingresso del tribunale, dove infatti trent’anni più tardi Bartolomeo Scala, che ricorda questo particolare nel suo Dialogus de legibus et iudiciis, era ancora in grado di leggere quelle parole. La scelta dei consiglieri non dovette discostarsi troppo dalla situazione preesistente, visto che già nel 1409, in un polemico accenno rivolto nel ‘protesto di giustizia’ da lui forse composto quando ricoprì per la prima volta la carica di gonfaloniere di compagnia, Giovanni Morelli aveva affermato che ai giudici della Mercanzia era sufficiente ‘avere dipinto di fuori della porta l’equità et la verità’: se ne veda il testo completo in Branca (1996), 120, e quindi, con ampio commento, in Böninger (2016), 157–9, cui spetta il merito di aver posto in relazione questa singolare testimonianza con la giurisdizione della Mercanzia; per la testimonianza di Scala cfr. qui sotto la nota 25. Sul palazzo della Mercanzia fiorentina, costruito a partire dal 1359, e che sarebbe rimasto sede del tribunale fino alla metà del Cinquecento, si veda Astorri / Friedman (2005). Il caratteristico legame che in molte città dell’Italia tardomedievale si stabilisce tra le forme architettoniche e di arredo urbano e l’esaltazione dei valori mercantili è stato recentemente illustrato in Romano (2015), 153–220. 2 È indicativo che la frase dipinta sopra l’ingresso della corte venga impiegata per indicare la specificità della giurisdizione delle corti mercantili anche in apertura di un consilium di Angelo degli Ubaldi († 1407), il quale tra l’altro nel 1388 aveva probabilmente insegnato presso lo Studio fiorentino: ‘Arbitror dictam litem et controversiam agitari coram tribunali mercatorum in quo tribunali potius ex aequo et bono procedendum est quam rigorose, quia domus eorum debet esse domus veritatis et aequitatis, potissime cum ad fidem eorum communiter decurratur.’ Si tratta del consilium 219 (Arnaldus Ferici de Barselona, Arbitror dictam litem), citato dall’edizione di Francoforte del 1575 dei Consilia del giureconsulto perugino (148ra) in Donahue (2004), 18–19, saggio cui si rinvia per la riflessione intorno al concetto di aequitas applicato nella ‘giustizia dei mercanti’ e per il suo rapporto con lo ‘strictum ius’. In modo non dissimile, si rivolgeva alcuni anni dopo ai consiglieri della Mercanzia il giurista Piero de’ Feliciari da Sant’Angelo in Vado, che della corte era stato in passato Giudice forestiero, in un ‘rapporto’ volgare commissionatogli per aiutarli a decidere intorno a un caso di pirateria. Egli premetteva infatti che la sua valutazione si sarebbe attenuta alla ‘verità et equità in su che la vostra chasa è fondata’. Cfr. ASF, Mercanzia, 10785, non cartulato, 8 novembre 1459. Si avverte che qui e di seguito, la trascrizione delle testimonianze volgari tratte direttamente dai manoscritti è data attenendosi ai consueti criteri conservativi propri dell’edizione interpretativa; per agevolare la lettura ho introdotto tuttavia, indicandole con il carattere corsivo, i e h diacritiche per distinguere c/g velari e palatali, così come ho omesso di segnalare il raddoppiamento fonosintattico. 3 Il suo imponente archivio è di gran lunga il più ricco e meglio documentato fra tutti i tribunali commerciali e corporativi italiani del tardomedioevo e dell’età moderna. Il fondo della Mer-

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periodo più interessante per osservare da vicino l’attività del tribunale della cosiddetta età laurenziana, gli anni cioè compresi fra il 1469 e il 1492, in cui Firenze fu governata da Lorenzo de’ Medici. Forse mai come allora, infatti, i Fiorentini s’interrogarono sulla corrispondenza tra le sentenze emesse dal tribunale e quella promessa di una giustizia ‘equa’ inscritta tanto solennemente sulla facciata del palazzo. Il fatto che le voci circa l’influenza esercitata dal Magnifico sulle decisioni della corte, raccolte allora da storici e umanisti, siano state grandemente amplificate dalla storiografia moderna, mi ha spinto a riconsiderare questo problema, partendo però questa volta da un esame concreto delle carte dei processi.4 Dopo aver accennato brevemente all’organizzazione del tribunale, così come si venne delineando nel corso del XV secolo (§ 1), e aver ricordato qualcuno dei giudizi espressi in quel periodo intorno alla corte (§ 2), mi soffermerò perciò sugli esiti di alcune vertenze che videro i giudici della Mercanzia impegnati a decidere proprio su questioni che toccavano gli interessi di Lorenzo de’ Medici, il cittadino ‘principale’ di Firenze, e degli uomini della sua cerchia (§§ 3 e 4).

1.

L’organizzazione del tribunale nel Quattrocento

Fondata al principio del Trecento dall’associazione tra cinque delle più importanti corporazioni mercantili fiorentine (Lana, Cambio, Calimala, Por Santa Maria, Medici e Speziali), e ben presto titolare di significative prerogative politiche, la Mercanzia s’impose nel primo secolo della sua vita come un’istituzione chiave nella società cittadina.5 Nel corso del Quattrocento, se vide attenuarsi il suo peso politico, essa non perse invece importanza come corte di giustizia, continuando perciò a svolgere una funzione di grande rilievo nella regolazione

canzia vanta infatti oltre 14000 volumi, che coprono cinque secoli di storia di questa corte, dalle origini trecentesche fino alla soppressione dell’istituto nel 1770. Su alcuni aspetti del processo che portò alla produzione di questa documentazione, costituita per di più fin dalla metà del Trecento quasi esclusivamente da atti scritti in lingua volgare, cfr. sotto la nota 14. 4 La posizione dei Medici e di Lorenzo nella Firenze del XV secolo, un tema classico e ancor oggi assai dibattutto della storiografia sul Rinascimento italiano, è stato recentemente oggetto di riconsiderazione in Black / Law, ed. (2015). Per l’attività della Mercanzia negli anni in cui il Magnifico esercitò il suo controllo sul governo cittadino, con un’utile ricognizione e discussione dei principali interventi legislativi, cfr. invece Astorri (1992). 5 Lo studio di riferimento sulle origini del tribunale e sul ruolo da esso giocato nella Firenze della prima metà del Trecento è Astorri (1998), che discute la bibliografia precedente. Sulla prassi giudiziaria seguita dalla corte in questo periodo, fondamentale Colli (2006). Le funzioni politiche esercitate dalla Mercanzia nel corso del XIV secolo sono state studiate soprattutto da Najemy (1982).

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dell’attività economica.6 Tra la nuova redazione statutaria del 1394 e gli anni Trenta del Quattrocento, in coincidenza, probabilmente non casuale, con la trasformazione di Firenze in uno stato regionale (del 1406 è la conquista di Pisa, del 1421 l’acquisto di Livorno), si verificò anzi un aumento spettacolare del volume delle cause portate dinanzi ai suoi giudici. ‘Nella detta corte della Mercatantia sono cresciute molto le faccende’, ‘le fatiche sono multiplicate’, ‘la Casa è assai magnificata et ampliata’ e ‘multiplicata in honore et utilità’: questo, invariabilmente, il tenore delle osservazioni con cui i vertici della Mercanzia giustificano le modifiche introdotte allora a più riprese nell’organizzazione del tribunale.7 Di fatto, le cause trattate in questo periodo risultano grosso modo triplicate rispetto alla metà del secolo precedente e soprattutto investono una gamma crescente di materie e interessi, tale da abbracciare in pratica quasi ogni aspetto della vita economica e sociale del tempo. In seguito a questo fenomeno la Universitas Mercatorum fiorentina, che fu guidata per tutto il XV secolo da un Ufficiale forestiero, un giurista che restava in carica per sei mesi, e da Sei Consiglieri (noti come Sei della Mercanzia), eletti a rotazione tra i più importanti mercanti cittadini, accrebbe il suo personale e si dotò tra l’altro, sul modello di un’altra antica e prestigiosa magistratura cittadina come la Parte Guelfa, di una cancelleria autonoma.8 Il Giudice forestiero, che era formalmente l’autorità suprema del tribunale, nel cui palazzo aveva infatti la sua residenza, era scelto dai consiglieri in carica e da un certo numero di ‘arroti’ (cioè membri che per l’occasione si aggiungevano ai Sei della Mercanzia), provenienti dai vertici delle Arti. Con il salario ricevuto, integrato con i guadagni provenienti dai diritti corrisposti dai litiganti e da eventuali multe comminate durante la sua permanenza in carica, il Giudice doveva pagare la sua piccola familia di collaboratori, composta in base agli statuti del 1394 da due notai (anch’essi forestieri) e da sei berrovieri, che lo accompagnava, non diversamente da quanto accadeva nel caso degli altri rettori forestieri della città.9 6 Su quest’ultimo punto cfr. Goldthwaite (2009), ad indices. La collocazione del tribunale all’interno del composito panorama delle corti di giustizia cittadine, fra cui i fiorentini si muovevano con una ammirabile disinvoltura, è illustrata invece in Martines (1968), 130–45. 7 ASF, Mercanzia, 5, 47v e 48v (dicembre 1410); 56v (febbraio 1419/20). I provvedimenti in questione, adottati nei primi decenni del secolo, furono via via deliberati dalle apposite commissioni di ‘statutari’ della Mercanzia, che venivano eletti a rotazione restando in carica per sei mesi. Il loro contenuto si può leggere ibid., 42r–89v, di seguito alla redazione statutaria del 1394, trascritta invece alle carte 3r–41r (entrambi i testi saranno citati d’ora in poi, da questo stesso manoscritto, che fu il volume ufficiale utilizzato dalla corte, rispettivamente come Addizioni agli Statuti della Mercanzia e Statuti della Mercanzia del 1394). 8 L’introduzione della figura del cancelliere, che da parte della Mercanzia rispondeva probabilmente anche all’esigenza di veder accresciuto il proprio prestigio culturale sulla scena cittadina, è esaminata in Boschetto (2010), 168–70. 9 Per quanto segue si veda Statuti della Mercanzia 1394, 5v–6v (Libro I, rubrica i: De electione, habitudinibus, deveto et sindicatu Offitialis forensis mercatorum).

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La fondamentale differenza rispetto a questi ultimi era invece che mentre gli stipendi del Podestà, del Capitano del Popolo, dell’Esecutore di Giustizia, e del Giudice degli Appelli gravavano sul bilancio del Comune, la Mercanzia, in quanto ente autonomo, almeno fino alle riforme che la interessarono alla metà degli anni Settanta, fu in grado di pagare con le proprie entrate gli emolumenti del suo rettore, che del resto sceglieva in piena indipendenza. La preparazione dell’ufficiale, un giurista cui a partire dal 1425 si richiese il possesso del dottorato da almeno tre anni, sembra essere stata una preoccupazione ricorrente per gli organi dirigenti della Mercanzia, e questa preoccupazione potrebbe essersi fatta più viva nel corso del Quattrocento, anche se non pare che il giudice della corte sia stato oggetto di critiche pari a quelle rivolte alla professionalità ed efficienza degli altri giusdicenti stranieri.10 Le zone di provenienza di questi giudici, come già nel Trecento, erano in prevalenza le regioni dell’Italia centrale (Umbria, Marche, Romagna), e settentrionale (Lombardia, Veneto). Il giudice della Mercanzia che in una novella di Franco Sacchetti il fiorentino Massaleo degli Albizzi incontra nelle carceri cittadine parla ad esempio con uno spiccato accento veneto. Il novelliere scherza sulla sua giovane età e inesperienza, dando nel complesso di questa figura un ritratto poco lusinghiero; tutto ciò, pur conformandosi evidentemente a una lunga tradizione satirica, non sarà stato forse troppo lontano dall’impressione che alcuni di questi personaggi finivano per ingenerare tra i mercanti fiorentini.11 Nei primi decenni del secolo venne deciso di incrementare la familia che il Giudice portava con sé. Dapprima, si stabilì che l’Ufficiale forestiero avrebbe dovuto tenere ‘otto fanti’ invece dei sei previsti dagli ultimi statuti, ormai insufficienti di fronte al grande aumento delle ‘faccende’ che si era registrato nella corte – e ciò, va sottolineato, senza che il suo stipendio conoscesse variazioni, visto che con l’incremento delle cause portate dinanzi al tribunale anche i suoi gua-

10 Vi sono molte lamentele sulle capacità di questi giudici, sulla qualità della loro familia, sugli abusi di cui potevano rendersi responsabili. Cfr. Zorzi (1988), 72–8. La norma dei tre anni dal conseguimento di questo titolo costituiva una precauzione ulteriore, forse fin troppo rigida, se già nel settembre del 1427 gli electionarii che allora erano al lavoro per selezionare le candidature vennero dispensati dall’osservare questa regola, considerato che essi avevano messo gli occhi su ‘un dottore famosissimo’, il quale, tuttavia, possedeva il titolo da meno di tre anni. È quanto stabilito da una deliberazione presa dagli statutari della corte in quella circostanza, considerato appunto ‘quod plerunque contingit quod etiam non doctorati per triennium sunt famosissimi et sufficientes doctores, et maxime ad presens dicitur quod electionarii noviter extracti habent prae manibus quemdam famosissimum doctorem’ (Addizioni agli Statuti della Mercanzia, 66r, 19 settembre 1427). 11 Cfr. Sacchetti, ed. Marucci (1996), 423–4 (Novella 139): ‘Uno Massaleo da Firenze, essendo in prigione con uno iudice stato della Mercatantia con una strana piacevolezza usata nel iudice si mostra avere errato.’

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dagni ‘straordinari’ erano cresciuti in modo consistente.12 In un secondo momento, fu disposto che l’Ufficiale dovesse essere accompagnato da tre notai, invece che dai due consueti. L’innovazione comportava una modifica rilevante nell’organizzazione del lavoro interno alla corte: incaricati di gestire gli uffici dell’‘ordinario’ e dello ‘straordinario’, denominati così, almeno inizialmente, per la diversa tipologia di processi su cui avevano competenza, i due notai forestieri dovevano prendere in consegna gli atti presentati dai litiganti, raccoglierli in filze secondo l’ordine cronologico di presentazione, e infine copiarne il testo in registri che divenivano così gli atti ufficiali della corte. È noto che questi volumi, distribuiti nelle serie degli ‘Atti in cause ordinarie’ e degli ‘Atti in cause straordinarie’, costituiscono la parte di gran lunga più consistente della documentazione quattrocentesca presente oggi nell’archivio della Mercanzia.13 Con l’introduzione di un terzo notaio divenne possibile inaugurare una nuova serie di registri, dedicata esclusivamente alle sentenze, che fino ad allora erano rimaste frammiste agli altri atti processuali. Furono perciò i tre notai forestieri che ogni Ufficiale era tenuto a portare con sé a produrre materialmente gran parte delle scritture che costituiscono l’enorme archivio quattrocentesco della corte. Soltanto alla fine del Quattrocento, in conformità con un processo che aveva investito anche altri ambiti della burocrazia fiorentina, essi furono infatti gradualmente sostituiti da notai cittadini.14 Insieme al Giudice, i Sei consiglieri della Mercanzia erano l’altro organo fondamentale della corte, composto nel Quattrocento da cinque membri appartenenti alle Arti maggiori fondatrici e da un sesto componente, espresso invece congiuntamente da tutte le Arti minori cittadine. In base a quanto stabilito dagli statuti di fine Trecento, che facevano propria una norma rimasta in vigore du12 Nel dicembre 1410, ‘considerato che nella detta corte della Mercatantia sono cresciute molto le faccende e veduto che l’Ufficiale non à se non sei fanti, i quali non sono a sufficiençia al detto ufficio, per evidente utilità e honore della detta Università e degli Uficiali che per lo tempo saranno’, gli statutari deliberano che d’ora in avanti ogni Ufficiale forestiero eletto ‘sia tenuto e debba tenere otto fanti’, e questo senza tuttavia che il suo salario sia aumentato, dal momento ‘che l’utilità del detto ufficio all’Ufficiale è molto più lucrativo che non fu quando gli furono conceduti sei fanti’ (Addizioni agli Statuti della Mercanzia, 47v). 13 Quest’ultima modifica venne deliberata nel novembre del 1426: considerato infatti, affermavano gli statutari, ‘che per le faccende multiplicate alle scripture, maxime al’ordinario, non è possibile uno notaio che ivi è diputato possa suplire etc. Volendo che mancamento o inconveniente nelle scripture non abbia a concorrere, statuto è che l’Ufficiale di detta Università, dove prima era tenuto per la sua electione menare seco due notai l’uno de’ quali era diputato allo ordinario et l’altro allo extraordinario, da quinci innanzi avuto rispetto che uno non può suplire come è detto, sieno tenuti et abbino a menare con loro tre notai et con loro continuamente tenere, l’uno de’ quali stia allo extraordinario et gli altri al’ordinario’ (Addizioni agli Statuti della Mercanzia, 62v–63r). 14 Sul lavoro di questi notai, osservato anche nelle sue implicazioni linguistiche, cfr. Boschetto (2011).

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rante tutto il secolo, oltre all’età, di almeno trentacinque anni, alla fede ‘guelfa’, e all’esercizio continuativo dell’attività professionale, gli appartenenti alle Arti maggiori, con l’eccezione degli iscritti all’Arte del Cambio, molti dei quali svolgevano la loro attività su base strettamente locale, dovevano essere tutti mercanti impegnati in traffici di rango internazionale.15 Il valore di questo requisito, che era stato fondamentale nel primo secolo di storia della Mercanzia, consentendo un’aggregazione di interessi tra gli esponenti più eminenti delle maggiori corporazioni, venne tuttavia a perdere gradualmente importanza nel corso del Quattrocento. È invece utile ricordare che i Sei, in quanto mercanti o artigiani, erano quasi tutti privi di una specifica preparazione giuridica, sebbene esperti ovviamente nella materia oggetto delle dispute, intorno a cui dovevano decidere in base alla propria esperienza, al buon senso e alla consuetudine mercantile.16 Le decisioni dei Sei erano prese a maggioranza di due terzi. Le loro funzioni comportavano la facoltà di scegliere e inviare in missione i messaggeri e gli ambasciatori, eleggere il cancelliere, convocare i consoli delle Arti cittadine, che essi contribuivano a scegliere, e addirittura revocare o sospendere dal suo incarico l’Ufficiale forestiero e la sua familia. Oltre che su queste facoltà, il peso effettivo dei Sei nella vita politica derivava soprattutto dal diritto acquisito fin dal 1328 di partecipare alle commissioni di scrutinio per i più importanti uffici politici della Repubblica (i cosiddetti Tre Maggiori), nonché, secondo una consuetudine iniziata alla fine del Trecento che si interruppe soltanto nel 1466, dalla loro partecipazione ex officio a tutte le balìe – i consigli straordinari a cui in particolari situazioni un ‘parlamento’ affidava le funzioni legislative normalmente svolte dai consigli statutari del Popolo e del Comune.17 L’entrata in carica dei Sei consiglieri al principio di ogni trimestre (gennaio, aprile, luglio, ottobre), non era priva di solennità. Il cancelliere, alla presenza dell’Ufficiale, provvedeva a farli giurare sul libro degli statuti della corte, che nella seconda metà del secolo si sarebbe provveduto a far ornare e rilegare lussuosamente. La loro prima azione era quindi la designazione del ‘proposto’, cui spettava tra l’altro il compito di custodire il ‘sigillum maius’ della Mercanzia, e di 15 I consiglieri dovevano essere ‘tales qui consueverunt mictere et mictant mercantias extra civitatem Florentie, vel ad ipsam civitatem, per se vel eorum consotios aut factores, conduci et deferri faciant’. La norma non valeva naturalmente per gli artefici iscritti alle Arti minori e all’Arte del Cambio, ai quali era richiesta soltanto una ‘continuam residentiam’, presso i rispettivi ‘fundacos seu apothecas’. Cfr. Statuti del 1394, 6v–9v (Libro I, rubrica ii: De reductionibus, habitudinibus, imbursationibus, extractionibus, deveto, offitio et balia Sex consiliariorum Mercantie civitatis Florentie), a carta 7r. 16 L’unica eccezione, da questo punto di vista, dal momento che a Firenze la doppia immatricolazione era legittima, era la possibilità che ad essere selezionati ed estratti per questa carica fossero quei giureconsulti iscritti, in aggiunta all’Arte dei Giudici e Notai, anche ad una delle cinque Arti maggiori mercantili. Per un esempio in questo senso cfr. qui sotto, la nota 35. 17 Su questa materia cfr. Rubinstein (1999).

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parlare a nome dei Sei nei consigli dei ‘richiesti’ convocati dalla Signoria.18 In quanto il loro ufficio era considerato di ‘onore’, e non di ‘utile’, l’emolumento che i Sei ricevevano non era costituito da un compenso in denaro, ma dalla distribuzione di spezie (zafferano e pepe), al cui acquisto doveva provvedere il camarlingo della Mercanzia, utilizzando le entrate della corte. Quanto invece al concreto svolgimento dei processi, va ricordato che il compito di pronunciare le sentenze ricadeva in larga misura proprio sull’Ufficiale forestiero e sui Sei consiglieri, i quali per tutto il corso del Quattrocento si divisero questa incombenza in modo preciso. Le cause di minore entità, fino al valore di venticinque lire, in cui quasi mai si giungeva alla litis contestatio, venivano giudicate infatti con la massima celerità dal solo Ufficiale, che aveva la facoltà di decidere da solo, secondo il suo arbitrio, attenendosi a poche formalità (di fatto soltanto rispetto della correttezza nella citazione e nella probatio). Il Giudice aveva inoltre l’incarico di far applicare, qualunque ne fosse il valore, tutte le precedenti sentenze pronunciate dalla stessa Mercanzia, dal tribunale della Grascia o dai singoli tribunali delle ventuno Arti, e di rendere effettivi i titoli dotati di valore esecutivo prodotti dai litiganti. Le cause di valore più elevato, di entità superiore alle venticinque lire, venivano invece giudicate congiuntamente dall’Ufficiale e dai Sei. In questo caso le decisioni venivano prese a maggioranza, con votazione segreta, seguendo, quanto a tipologia degli atti, tempi del procedimento, garanzie offerte alle parti, le caratteristiche del processo abbreviato e della procedura civile tardomedievale, adottata anche nelle altre corti civili e commerciali del tempo, e illustrata in tutti i più importanti manuali contemporanei.19 Nella risoluzione di molte controversie portate dinanzi alla corte un ruolo importantissimo era giocato dall’arbitrato, in quanto i giudici si valevano regolarmente della consulenza di commissioni di mercanti e di esperti ragionieri, detti ‘praticatores’, cui sovente venivano delegate le vertenze più delicate, o dell’appoggio di veri e propri arbitri, che a seconda dei casi i Sei o le stesse parti provvedevano a nominare. I lodi pronunciati dagli arbitri e i rapporti stilati dai

18 Il 4 febbraio 1471 (stile moderno 1472) venne deliberato che ‘pro utilitate et honore’ della corte, il libro degli statuti deputato ‘pro deferendo iuramento in introitu officii Sex ornetur et coperietur drappo sirico coloris rubei vel alterius coloris et cum serraminibus et capitellis et bullettis argenteis’. Cfr. ASF, Mercanzia, 311, 24v–25r (deliberazione presa dai Sei in carica insieme ai consoli delle cinque Arti maggiori). Il volume in questione è giunto fino a noi ed è il codice pergamenaceo cui si fa riferimento sopra alla nota 7. A partire dal 1° luglio 1477 la durata dell’ufficio dei Sei venne portata da tre a quattro mesi, con ingresso in carica il 1° marzo, il 1° luglio e il 1° novembre. 19 Si veda, su questa materia, sebbene con riferimento soprattutto al XIV secolo, l’analisi della procedura giudiziaria della Mercanzia nel quadro del sistema della giustizia civile fiorentina, in Colli (2006).

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‘praticatores’ costituivano in questo caso la base della sentenza emessa dai giudici della corte. La collaborazione fra Giudice forestiero e Sei, cruciale per il buon funzionamento del tribunale, non ha lasciato purtroppo testimonianze dirette, anche se di essa possiamo farci un’idea grazie a una particolare tipologia di sentenze, dette del ‘ricorso’, cui si darà ampio spazio nella terza parte di questo saggio. Non va dimenticato comunque che alludono in qualche modo a una simile collaborazione anche le famose tavole delle Sette Virtù commissionate tra il 1469 e il 1470 per la sala grande terrena delle udienze della Mercanzia a Piero del Pollaiolo e Sandro Botticelli. Il numero sette veniva infatti a corrispondere perfettamente alle esigenze scenografiche dell’occasione più solenne, quando cioè a pronunciare la sentenza fossero stati i Sei insieme al Giudice forestiero.20 Le tavole con le Virtù (Fortezza, Temperanza, Prudenza, Giustizia, Fede, Speranza, Carità) saranno state disposte in fila sulla parete dietro al lungo ‘seggio’ in cui prendeva posto il collegio giudicante, in modo tale che ciascuno dei Sei consiglieri avesse dietro di sé la figura di una di esse. Il Giudice forestiero si sarà seduto al centro, presumibilmente sotto la figura della Giustizia.21

2.

Giudizi quattrocenteschi sulla corte della Mercanzia

Nonostante la grande espansione dell’attività della corte avvenuta nel XV secolo, che mise in grado la sua giurisdizione di raggiungere strati sempre più ampi della cittadinanza, le valutazioni espresse in questo periodo sul tribunale dai cronisti e dagli umanisti cittadini risultano tutt’altro che lusinghiere. In effetti, sembra che non pochi Fiorentini nel Quattrocento si siano trovati d’accordo sul fatto che la Mercanzia avesse perduto il grande prestigio che si era guadagnata nel primo secolo della sua vita: quando i suoi ‘bellissimi giudìcii’, come aveva affermato Gregorio Dati nella sua Istoria di Firenze, erano capaci di attirare ‘tutte le grandi questioni e grandi casi’, e ‘liti di cose fatte per mare o per terra’ da ogni angolo del mondo.22 Il disappunto per questa situazione, che ha in Giovanni Morelli un 20 Rubin / Wright (1999), 52; Wright (2005), 228. 21 È questa ricostruzione, proposta da Ettlinger (1978), 145, che infatti continua a mio avviso ad essere la più probabile, rispetto all’ipotesi, avanzata da Wright (2005), 232–41 e ripresa nel recente allestimento della Galleria degli Uffizi, che invece preferisce collocare in posizione centrale la figura della Carità. Cfr. Cecchi (2007), 44. Su questo argomento mi propongo di ritornare, anche con l’intenzione di offrire qualche nuovo documento relativo alla celebre commissione. 22 Si tratta dell’elogio del tribunale svolto da Dati agli inizi del secolo nel nono e ultimo libro della sua Istoria, dedicato all’illustrazione delle principali magistrature del governo fiorentino. Cfr. Dati (1902), 157. Di un elogio siffatto, in quello stesso giro d’anni, sembra invece fare un polemico controcanto Giovanni Morelli, nel testo citato per esteso nella nota successiva.

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testimone tanto precoce quanto polemico, pare accentuarsi verso la fine degli anni Settanta, a ridosso della congiura dei Pazzi dell’aprile del 1478 e durante la guerra che successivamente il papa e il re di Napoli mossero a Firenze, quando vengono proposte ben tre diverse spiegazioni della decadenza del tribunale.23 In una importante legge di riforma votata nel 1477 si mette ad esempio sotto accusa il fatto che la corte abbia esteso indebitamente la sua giurisdizione ben al di là delle ‘cause mercantili’, ‘da’ giudìcii delle quali’, si diceva, la Mercanzia ‘hebbe a tempi passati gran reputatione’.24 Qualche anno dopo fu invece il cancelliere della repubblica Bartolomeo Scala a tornare sulla questione nel suo dialogo De legibus et iudiciis, dedicato nel 1483 a Lorenzo il Magnifico. Scala, che tra l’altro ricorda anch’egli le parole dipinte sopra l’ingresso del palazzo, e che apprezza la specificità della giustizia amministrata dai mercanti della sua città, selezionati non per 23 Dell’aspra e lunga invettiva, ferocemente satirica, rivolta contro i Sei della Mercanzia, oltre che contro altre magistrature cittadine, un dettaglio che rende assolutamente improbabile che questo singolare ‘protesto’ risalente forse al 1409 sia mai stato effettivamente pronunciato in pubblico, si cita qui soltanto la parte finale: ‘[…] e non che le quistioni venghino di fuori, ma quelle di qui sono portate altrove; però che se ’l menipossente à ragione, tiemelo a parole et tanto è stratiato, che per forza chonviene che s’accordi. Et anche alle volte gli è data la sententia contro, quando all’achordo stessi troppo duro; ma s’egli à il torto, dicho che lla ragione gli è facta sommaria. De, facciamo a dire il vero: quante quistioni havete voi innanzi, che sono durate non mesi, ma anni? La qual chosa non passa sanza verghogna dell’uficio vostro et generalmente di tutta la nostra ciptà. Ma di questo vi churate voi pocho, che vi basta avere dipinto di fuori della porta l’equità et la verità, e dentro equità e menzognie.’ Cfr. Branca (1996), 120; Böninger (2015), p. 161 n. 37; Böninger (2016), 157–9. È curioso peraltro ricordare che lo stesso Giovanni di Pagolo Morelli, nel trimestre ottobre-dicembre 1435, avrebbe comunque fatto parte dei Sei consiglieri, come si evince tra l’altro dalla consultazione della banca dati online basata sui registri delle ‘Tratte’. Cfr. Herlihy / Litchfield / Molho / Barducci (2002). 24 ASF, Consiglio del Cento – Registri, 2, 5r–7v (num. mod. 12r–14r), 14 giugno 1477; il cui testo è anche a stampa nella raccolta Leggi di Toscana riguardanti affari contenziosi tra i privati (classe V, Volume V), in Tavanti (1778). La legge in questione rientra in un più ampio progetto di riforma del sistema giudiziario cittadino, che portò tra l’altro alla soppressione del Capitano del Popolo e alla riduzione delle competenze del Podestà. L’intervento sulla Mercanzia fu in quell’occasione non meno energico, diretto soprattutto a circoscrivere la competenza della corte alla sola materia mercantile, rovesciando in tal modo le decisioni prese in senso opposto, soltanto un anno prima, dagli statutari della Mercanzia. Cfr. Addizioni agli Statuti della Mercanzia, 86v–89v, 14 maggio 1476. La riforma del 1477 è stata vista spesso in continuità con i provvedimenti che a partire dal settembre del 1471 avevano limitato l’indipendenza finanziaria della Mercanzia, imponendole di chiedere per ogni spesa straordinaria l’approvazione preliminare dei Consigli cittadini e di porre di fatto le proprie entrate sotto il controllo degli Ufficiali del Monte. Quanto alla matrice ‘laurenziana’ generalmente attribuita a entrambi questi provvedimenti, tuttavia vale la pena ricordare che Lorenzo de’ Medici fu coinvolto ufficialmente nell’attività della corte soltanto nell’estate del 1471, quando egli fu uno dei sei ‘segretari’ incaricati delle operazioni elettorali collegate con il nuovo scrutinio per l’ufficio dei Sei consiglieri della Mercanzia. Lo scrutinio, che era stato decretato in luglio, fu completato entro la fine di agosto, mentre Lorenzo e i suoi colleghi portarono a termine il proprio lavoro il 24 dicembre (ASF, Mercanzia, 309, 37v–39r, 165v).

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la loro preparazione in campo giuridico, ma per la loro onestà e competenza nella materia oggetto delle dispute, fa risalire la crisi della Mercanzia al momento in cui anche in quel tribunale cominciarono a insinuarsi le formalità del processo dotto (‘litigandi hae civiles formulae’).25 In quegli anni fu però soprattutto un altro umanista, Alamanno Rinuccini, a puntare il dito sugli effetti negativi determinati dalla politica del ‘tiranno’ Lorenzo de’ Medici. Nel dialogo De libertate, ambientato e composto nel 1479, un anno particolarmente difficile per la posizione personale di Lorenzo, giunto a parlare dei ‘processi che riguardano il commercio’ Rinuccini ricordava dunque che in questo settore ‘la giustizia era un tempo talmente fiorente nella nostra città che si raggiungevano i tribunali di Firenze anche da regioni lontanissime’. La situazione era invece del tutto mutata ai suoi giorni, a causa della prevaricazione dei potenti e dell’assenza di libertà. E così continuava: Oggi invece quando sorgono cause in città sono giudicate soltanto dopo moltissimo tempo, con grandi spese, con numerosi intrighi, corruzioni d’ogni sorta e con l’immancabile intervento dei potenti, in modo tale che molto spesso ottiene ragione non chi ne ha diritto, ma semplicemente chi è più forte.26

La linea sposata da Rinuccini riscosse ovviamente grande successo all’indomani della cacciata dei Medici da Firenze, nel novembre del 1494, quando si molti25 Scala, ed. Brown / transl. Watkins (2008), 188–90: ‘Mercatorium tandem forum civitatis nostrae quid inter naturae pectorisque, ut aiunt, iudicia legumque intersit facile declarat, ubi minus implicatae causae agitari consueverunt et iudicari facilius. Sex viros, non iuris expertos illos quidem, sed natura scitos et bonos deligunt. Hi audiunt controversias quae ex negotiatoribus plurimae oriuntur quodque aequum et bonum sit visum decernunt. Neque ab eorum fas est iudiciis provocare. Huic foro adscriptum supra portam est: “domus aequitatis et veritatis,” ut intelligant qui ad id accesserint nihil plus apud loci eius iudices quam veritatis monstrandae studium esse valiturum. Ingens quondam fama fuit apud exteras etiam gentes mercatorii Florentini fori, atque ex universo prope orbe si quae viderentur causae implicatiores, huc afferebantur, quemadmodum Dodonam olim et Delphos et Delon in rebus suis dubiis scitatum oracula veniebant. Quod sex viri statuissent, referebant ad suos et ad oraculi modum venerabantur. Nos eam iudicandi gloriam amisimus ex eo iam tempore, arbitror, quo litigandi hae civiles formulae huc quoque sensim irrepsere.’ 26 Rinuccini, comm. / transl. Civati (2003), 80–3: ‘Nam quid ego de commertiorum iudiciis loquar? […] Quae maxime incorrupta servari in civitate libera solent, ea quo pacto apud nos exerceantur etiam referre turpissimum est. Illud certe non sine magno dolore commemorare possum, neminem nec verbo nec suffragio contradicere audere iis quae, plerunque falsis quorundam denuntiationibus, potentiorum alicui videri feruntur, ut inter fortunae bona et quidem non in postremis ponendum arbitrer, siquis honesta ratione iudicandi necessitatem possit effugere. Cuius tamen rei gloria quandoque in nostra civitate sic floruit, ut ab ultimis terris diiudicandae controversiae Florentiam mitterentur. Nunc autem quae in civitate oriuntur disceptationes non nisi longissimo tempore, magis sumptibus, maxima ambitione et multis corruptelis aut potentium studiis iudicantur, ut saepissime non qui iure, sed qui potentia praevalet sententiam pro se capiat. Hinc multi domibus aut avitis fundis sese eiectos, multi paternis et avitis domibus pulsos, multi fortunis atque opibus per vim et iniuriam spoliatos queruntur.’

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plicarono le accuse circa i soprusi che Lorenzo il Magnifico avrebbe compiuto negli anni precedenti. Questa è la posizione su cui si attesta ad esempio anche l’interlocutore più dichiaratamente avverso ai Medici del Dialogo del reggimento di Firenze di Francesco Guicciardini, opera ambientata nei mesi in cui si profilava ormai all’orizzonte il governo popolare ispirato da Savonarola, sebbene composta, come è noto, alcuni decenni più tardi, tra il 1521 e il 1526. Il personaggio in questione è Pier Capponi, il famoso oppositore del re di Francia Carlo VIII, il quale, pur premettendo nel suo discorso che i Medici non erano stati in fondo ‘molto appetitosi’ nella giustizia civile, rivela però che i favoritismi alla Mercanzia non erano mancati, perché Lorenzo aveva fatto in modo che al vertice della magistratura salissero sempre uomini a lui fedeli. La spiegazione che egli dà a proposito della decadenza del tribunale è in tutto simile a quella di Rinuccini: ‘E perché credete voi’, chiedeva infatti, ‘che e’ giudìci de’ sei e de’ ricorsi, che solevano al tempo de’ passati nostri essere in tanta riputazione in tutte le parti del mondo, non abbino ora più credito?’ Dal momento che i cittadini del suo tempo non si intendevano certo meno degli antichi di questioni mercantili, la logica conclusione era che ciò ‘Non poteva esser proceduto altro che dal sospetto del favore.’27 Chi si fermasse a questa pagina dell’opera di Guicciardini, sarebbe inevitabilmente portato a concludere che l’età laurenziana finì per infliggere un colpo mortale alla buona fama del tribunale della Mercanzia. In realtà, come rivela una lettura più accurata, la posizione assunta da Guicciardini in quella pagina era probabilmente più sfumata. Il mediceo Bernardo del Nero, colui cioè che nel dialogo è considerato il portavoce delle idee dell’autore, si affretta infatti a confutare puntualmente le argomentazioni di Pier Capponi. Bernardo afferma cioè non solo che ‘ne’ sei e nelli altri uffici andavano le cose civili nette dal canto dello stato’, ma anche che Lorenzo non si era mai seriamente occupato di riempire le borse elettorali della Mercanzia con i suoi partigiani, e che la reputazione della corte era declinata già da molto tempo, per quel naturale processo che investe ‘tutte le cose del mondo’.28 Quanto al cancelliere della Mercanzia, Bernardo esclude che fosse stato messo in quella posizione da Lorenzo ‘per pascere gli amici’, come invece sostenuto poco prima da Pier Capponi, un’illazione del resto che gli stessi documenti si incaricano di smentire.29 Dopo la caduta dei Medici, 27 Guicciardini, ed. Anselmi / Varotti (1994), 51. 28 Ibid., 91: ‘né la riputazione mancò loro per questa causa, perché si sa che era mancata molto innanzi e imbastardito quello giudicio, come fanno ogni dì tutte le cose del mondo’. 29 Ibid., 91–2: ‘Né e’ cancellieri che vi si tenevano a proposito loro, era a altro effetto che per pascere gli amici e forse per sapere gli andamenti e modi di ognuno, conoscere le qualità e passioni de’ cittadini, per valersi di questa notizia; perché si stava a bottega a questo mestiero e si teneva conto e diligenza di ogni cosa’; laddove Pier Capponi aveva appunto sostenuto, parlando di Lorenzo de’ Medici: ‘credo che per la medesima ragione di potere favorire

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lungi dall’essere perseguitato, come accadde a molti funzionari compromessi con il regime, ser Antonio Bartolomei, che dal 1476 aveva rivestito la carica di cancelliere della Mercanzia, venne infatti promosso al prestigioso incarico di ‘notaio delle riformagioni’, prendendo il posto dell’odiatissimo ser Giovanni Guidi: fu perciò il neoeletto ufficiale a scrivere e autenticare il testo delle leggi della repubblica che istituivano il nuovo ordine politico fondato sul Consiglio maggiore.30 La questione, insomma, sembra quasi voler dire Guicciardini, dando risalto a un confronto tanto acceso fra queste due posizioni, già ai suoi tempi era al centro di forti controversie. Dobbiamo dunque dar credito semplicemente alle accuse di Pier Capponi, come ha fatto in pratica tutta la storiografia moderna, o sarà meglio invece attenersi all’interpretazione più prudente di Bernardo del Nero? La risposta a questo interrogativo non è certo semplice; è sicuro però che le valutazioni espresse dallo storico fiorentino meritano tutta la nostra attenzione, non solo perché egli conosceva personalmente la corte, dove aveva lavorato in gioventù come avvocato;31 ma anche perché ancor più a fondo, nella realtà storica, conoscevano la Mercanzia i quattro interlocutori che nella finzione del dialogo sono chiamati a discuterne. Essi infatti, oltre ad aver ricoperto in svariate occasioni le posizioni di vertice di quell’organismo, erano stati membri di varie commissioni incaricate, prima e dopo il 1494, di riformarlo.32 L’esigenza di esaminare alcuni copertamente le cose degli amici, tenessi sempre alla mercatantia uno cancelliere fatto a mano, il che faceva ancora in tutte le Arti e offici’: Ibid., 51. 30 Ser Antonio di ser Battista Bartolomei era stato eletto a vita alla carica di cancelliere della Mercanzia nel 1476, come egli stesso annota orgogliosamente nel suo libro di ricordi. Cfr. ASF, Acquisti e doni, 11 (inserto 1), 19r: ‘Richordo chome adì 31 di luglio 1476 e Sei della Merchatantia per auctorità a loro data da’ Consigli, sotto decto dì, pe· l’ultima conclusione nel consiglio del Cento, chon grande honore della mia persona m’elessono a vita chancelliere della Merchatantia’. La testimonianza continuava ricordando a beneficio dei suoi discendenti tanto il nome del notaio incaricato di redigere il documento ufficiale di nomina (ser Benedetto da Staggia), quanto i luoghi dove esso era custodito e poteva essere consultato: ‘ènne in Palagio alle Reformagioni lo strumento publico, et chosì l’ò io, et anche nel libro degli Statuti della Merchatantia puossi vedere, ché molto sono in mio honore’ – osservazione quest’ultima che trova conferma in Addizioni agli Statuti della Mercanzia, 89v–90v, dove è trascritta integralmente la deliberazione presa dai Sei all’atto dell’elezione di ser Antonio a cancelliere a vita. Quanto invece alla ‘novissimam assumptionem ad officium Reformationum Palatii Florentini factam de provido et circumspecto viro ser Antonio condam ser Baptiste’, sopraggiunta dopo la fuga da Firenze di Piero de’ Medici, essa sarebbe stata registrata regolarmente nelle deliberazioni dei Sei consiglieri della Mercanzia, all’atto di eleggere il suo successore. Cfr. ASF, Mercanzia, 332, 5r, 5 dicembre 1494. Sulla deposizione, in seguito agli eventi del novembre 1494, di ser Giovanni di Bartolomeo Guidi da Pratovecchio e sulle funzioni svolte da ser Antonio Bartolomei all’interno della Cancelleria, cfr. Marzi (1910), rispettivamente 262–3 e 264 e nota 1. 31 Cavallar (1991), 65–8. 32 Tanto Bernardo del Nero e Pier Capponi, quanto Pagolantonio Soderini (su cui si veda qui più avanti la nota 53), erano stati inclusi ad esempio dalla Signoria nella commissione di quei ‘savi

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casi concreti, ricavandoli dalle carte processuali, nasce insomma proprio dalla consapevolezza di aver a che fare con una situazione tanto intricata. Considerate le caratteristiche della documentazione, per realizzare un simile obiettivo è stato necessario adottare però una strategia di ricerca selettiva, che consentisse di muoversi all’interno di un archivio sterminato senza rinunciare tuttavia a intraprendere un’indagine sistematica. Si è scelto perciò di concentrare l’attenzione su una speciale tipologia di cause discusse davanti alla Mercanzia, le cause, appunto, che prevedevano l’intervento dei cosiddetti ‘mercanti del ricorso’.

3.

L’ufficio del ‘ricorso’

Il ‘ricorso’ non era anzitutto, o non era soltanto, un giudizio di appello nel senso moderno del termine, come invece il suo nome potrebbe indurre a pensare; a partire dalla metà del Quattrocento esso si configurò piuttosto come un mezzo per risolvere vertenze che fossero in procinto di decadere per scadenza dei termini o la cui istanza fosse da poco decaduta. Istituito alla metà del Trecento, in coincidenza con la grande crisi economica di quegli anni, per far fronte al numero crescente di richieste presentate da coloro che ritenevano di essere stati danneggiati dall’operato dei sindaci incaricati di seguire l’iter dei singoli casi di fallimento, questo sistema si estese infatti gradualmente a tutti gli altri litiganti, che potevano, in casi particolari, chiederne l’attivazione.33 Mentre le normali sentenze venivano infatti pronunciate soltanto dai Sei insieme con il Giudice forestiero, se questi ultimi non pervenivano a una decisione nei termini previsti dagli statuti, le parti potevano ancora ottenere giustizia rivolgendosi al ricorso. In questo caso, entro un mese dalla presentazione della domanda, venivano estratti da speciali borse altri dieci mercanti, noti come ‘uomini del ricorso’, che si aggiungevano ai Sei della Mercanzia e che insieme ad essi e alla presenza dell’Ufficiale forestiero, al quale a partire dalla metà del secolo fu attribuito un ruolo esclusivamente consultivo, dovevano esaminare la questione emettendo in tempi assai stretti una sentenza. Il giudizio, volto a stabilire se il ricorrente avesse ‘bene o male ricorso’, doveva essere espresso a scrutinio segreto e a maggioranza cittadini’ deputati nel settembre del 1493, e rimasti in carica fino all’agosto del 1494, con il compito di riformare il sistema giudiziario cittadino, i quali avevano finito però, come si diceva in una delle leggi approvate in quei mesi, per concentrarsi soprattutto ‘circha e casi della merchatantia, perché la materia era più facile’. I risultati complessivi del lavoro di questa commissione, cui si accenna anche qui sotto alla nota 38, vennero infine presentati il 21 agosto 1494. Cfr. ASF, Consiglio del Cento – Registri, 3, 34r–38r. 33 L’istituto sembra prendere forma tra il 1344 e il 1345 (Astorri, 1998, 135–50), estendendosi successivamente a quanto pare anche ad alcune delle Arti cittadine. Cfr. infatti Doren (1940), II, 37 n. 4 e 41–2, secondo cui il termine ‘ricorso’ comparirebbe per la prima volta nello statuto del 1347 degli Oliandoli.

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qualificata (di due terzi: 11 su 16). Questa è la procedura prevista dagli statuti del 1496, che accoglie varie modifiche introdotte dalle commissioni degli statutari della corte soprattutto a partire dalla metà del secolo.34 Tra le riforme più significative va segnalata senz’altro quella promossa nel dicembre 1455, interamente dedicata al ricorso. In particolare, in quell’occasione si stabilì che l’attore, entro un mese dalla ‘perenzione’ della sua causa (ovvero dal momento in cui sarebbe scaduto il termine di sei mesi entro cui la stessa doveva arrivare al giudizio o decadere, per essere iniziata di nuovo per la via ordinaria), potesse rivolgersi al ricorso, beneficiando di un termine analogo per produrre e allegare tutte le sue ragioni. Sempre entro un mese dal giorno in cui fosse stata presentata la domanda in questione, i Sei consiglieri erano tenuti a procedere all’estrazione dei dieci mercanti del ricorso, i quali a loro volta, avevano trenta giorni di tempo per pronunciare la sentenza definitiva.35

34 Su tutto ciò si veda qui sotto la nota 39. È difficile avere un’idea chiara del periodo precedente, poiché la disciplina del ricorso contenuta negli statuti di fine Trecento non affronta la tipologia delle cause che erano oggetto di questo particolare giudizio, mentre si sofferma invece ampiamente soprattutto sui criteri di selezione dei mercanti che in questa occasione si aggiungevano ai Sei e che venivano scelti all’interno delle cinque Arti maggiori fondatrici. Di fatto, secondo un sistema che sarebbe rimasto in vigore per tutta la prima metà del Quattrocento, ciascuna Arte predisponeva una borsa elettorale contenente i nominativi dei membri della corporazione che i consoli e altri iscritti avevano con uno scrutinio giudicati all’altezza di questo compito (‘pro decidendo causas recursium’). Successivamente, questa volta presso la Mercanzia, ogniqualvolta fosse stato necessario esaminare una petizione presentata al ricorso, si procedeva ad estrarre due nomi per ognuna delle cinque borse presso le singole corporazioni. I mercanti così eletti, insieme al Giudice forestiero e ai Sei consiglieri, erano tenuti a pronunciare il loro giudizio entro un mese dalla presentazione della prima petizione da parte del ricorrente. Cfr. Statuti della Mercanzia del 1394, 12r–v (Libro I, rubrica viii: De imbursationibus extractionibus offitio et deveto illorum del ricorso). 35 Cfr. ASF, Notarile antecosimiano, 2197, non cartulato, sotto la data 8 dicembre 1455. Devo la segnalazione di questo importante protocollo, tenuto dal cancelliere della Mercanzia, alla cortesia di Lorenz Böninger. In quella stessa occasione gli statutari modificarono anche il sistema di elezione dei Dieci del ricorso, sostituendo lo scrutinio presso le Arti con l’inserimento automatico nelle apposite borse elettorali dei nominativi di tutti quei membri delle cinque Arti maggiori che a partire dall’anno 1434 fossero stati ‘veduti’, cioè estratti, per la carica dei Sei consiglieri. D’ora in poi il sistema si sarebbe articolato in due borse, una ‘ordinaria’ e una ‘subsidiaria’, che avrebbero reso superfluo qualunque nuovo scrutinio, le due borse cioè sarebbero state tali da ‘veghiare et avere effecto per ogni tempo sença avere a squictinare altrimenti mercatanti’ per le decisioni del ricorso. È quasi superfluo ricordare che il 1434, coincidente con il ritorno di Cosimo de’ Medici a Firenze, era, per così dire, l’anno di fondazione del suo regime: tutto ciò dava senza dubbio maggiori garanzie circa la composizione del gruppo di mercanti chiamati a pronunciarsi insieme ai Sei, anche se andrà ricordato che questa decisione risale a un momento in cui la presa sul governo fiorentino da parte di Cosimo era tutt’altro che salda e che d’altra parte tra gli statutari della Mercanzia che proposero e approvarono la riforma figurava ad esempio il giurista messer Girolamo Machiavelli, il quale sarebbe presto caduto in disgrazia presso i Medici per le sue posizioni improntate al tradizionale costituzionalismo fiorentino. Su questa fase della politica fio-

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I ripetuti interventi legislativi che nella seconda metà del Quattrocento ebbero ancora come oggetto i ricorsi, una procedura esplicitamente ricordata, come abbiamo visto, accanto alle sentenze dei Sei consiglieri, dallo stesso Guicciardini, rivelano la delicatezza di questo strumento, che il gruppo dirigente cittadino volle tenere evidentemente sotto il suo diretto controllo. Dal punto di vista dello svolgimento dei processi, questi interventi mirarono da un lato a una riduzione dei tempi entro cui i giudici erano tenuti a pronunciare la loro sentenza; dall’altro a far sì che solo le cause di valore davvero elevato potessero finire davanti al ricorso. Negli ultimi anni del Quattrocento, in particolare, si stabilì dapprima che il ricorso potesse essere chiesto soltanto per le cause di valore superiore alle quattrocento lire (pari a circa sessanta fiorini),36 limite quasi subito innalzato fino alla soglia delle seicento lire (pari a circa novanta fiorini).37 Al tempo stesso si continuò a esercitare grandi pressioni sui Sei consiglieri affinché cercassero comunque di concludere, nei tempi previsti, anche le cause più importanti, le quali pareva che essi invece avessero la tendenza, per usare le parole dei legislatori, di ‘non le volere expedire per loro soli, ma con richorso’.38 È significativo che tutte le modifiche più importanti approvate nel corso dell’età medicea confluiscano alla fine del secolo nella nuova codificazione degli statuti della Mercanzia promulgata nel 1496, quando dunque il governo cittadino, imperniato sul Consiglio Maggiore e influenzato da Savonarola, si trovava ormai in una ben diversa situazione politica.39

36 37

38

39

rentina e sulle difficoltà che fino al 1458 avrebbe sofferto il regime mediceo, cfr. Rubinstein (1999), 30–1, 117–37. Il provvedimento in questione, definito nei registri ufficiali ‘Mercantie curie ordinatio’, fu approvato dai Consigli del Popolo, del Comune e del Cento, rispettivamente nei giorni 19, 20 e 22 giugno 1489. Cfr. ASF, Provvisioni-Registri, 180, 43v–45v. È quanto stabilisce la ‘Mercantie curie secunda reformatio’, approvata dai Consigli del Popolo, del Comune e del Cento, rispettivamente nei giorni 16, 17 e 18 settembre 1489. Dopo aver ricordato che la legge approvata nel precedente mese di giugno era stata concepita ‘per cominciare a riordinare la casa della Mercatantia’, mirando a ‘che le cause si expedisseno pe’ Sei et meno andassino al ricorso’, la Signoria infatti precisava che i Sei consiglieri in carica avevano fatto sapere ‘ch’egli è necessario andare più oltre, acciò che quello che è facto si possa observare’, disponendo che le cause mosse nella corte di valore di meno di seicento lire, della ‘qualità che non s’haranno dall’Ufficiale solo a expedire, s’abbino a terminare diffinitive per lo Officiale et Sei della Mercatantia pe’ tempi existenti et non per via di ricorso in alcuno modo’. Cfr. ASF, Provvisioni-Registri, 180, 65v–68r (corsivo mio). Il provvedimento rappresenta la conclusione dell’azione riformatrice formulata dalla commissione di cittadini restata in carica dal settembre 1493 all’agosto dell’anno successivo. Nel caso che i Sei non fossero riusciti entro i termini stabiliti a pronunciarsi su queste cause di valore superiore alle seicento lire, permaneva naturalmente la possibilità di domandare il ricorso con le modalità consuete. Cfr. ASF, Consiglio del Cento, Registri, 3, 34r–38r, 21 agosto 1494. Cfr. ASF, Mercanzia, 9 [d’ora in poi citato come Statuti della Mercanzia del 1496] (Libro I, rubrica viii: De imbursationibus, extractionibus et devetu illorum de recursis), 15r–18r, dove tra l’altro si riduceva a soli 15 giorni il termine entro il quale, una volta effettuata l’estrazione

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Gli atti presentati dinanzi ai mercanti del ricorso risalenti al periodo quattrocentesco sono conservati nella serie di libri-registri del fondo della Mercanzia denominata ‘Atti avanti a’ Sei del Ricorso’, che inizia, stando agli strumenti di corredo (inventario n. 35), soltanto nel 1418, per concludersi col marzo del 1494 (ASF, Mercanzia, 10617–10733); e questo anche se a dire il vero, per il periodo precedente, i documenti attinenti al ricorso risultano frammisti ai registri delle deliberazioni prese dal vertice della magistratura (ASF, Mercanzia, 236–59). Va precisato inoltre che i libri degli ‘Atti avanti a’ Sei del Ricorso’ nel Quattrocento non accolgono le sentenze, che venivano raccolte e archiviate a parte. Il solo dispositivo delle sentenze del ricorso, accompagnato dalle sue premesse, ma privo di tutti i documenti prodotti nel corso della causa, è registrato nei volumi delle ‘Deliberazioni dell’Ufficiale e de’ Sei di Mercanzia’ per mano del cancelliere della corte, il quale, oltre a trascrivere la data e l’esito della sentenza, era anche incaricato di prendere nota dei nomi dei dieci mercanti che partecipavano coi Sei al giudizio e della data in cui essi erano stati estratti.40 I libri e le filze originali in cui erano raccolte le sentenze, complete degli atti prodotti dalle parti, sono invece andati perduti, ad eccezione di un’unica filza che copre il periodo compreso tra il 1478 e il 1492, permettendo perciò di gettare lo sguardo, relativamente agli anni della permanenza al potere di Lorenzo de’ Medici, su un aspetto assai caratteristico della giurisdizione del tribunale.41 La particolarità di queste sentenze, infatti, è che in esse i giudici spiegavano di solito le ragioni che li avevano guidati nel prendere una determinata decisione, introducendo perciò una sorta di motivazione, il che, a questa altezza cronologica, è un fenomeno del tutto inconsueto, dei mercanti del ricorso, si doveva giungere a un pronunciamento: ‘Et tucti e ricorsi delle cause o nelle cause pendenti o instantie perempte nella presente chorte si debbino per diffinitiva sententia terminare et decidere per decti Sei et mercatanti et le due parti di tutti loro a solemne et secreto squittino, dovendosi sempre obtenere fra loro ciaschuno partito almeno per xi fave nere infra xv dì proximi futuri dal dì della tracta de merchatanti in tali o per tali ricorsi’; gli stessi statuti così definivano il ruolo del Giudice forestiero: ‘Et alla expeditione di qualunque tali ricorsi l’Officiale forestiero della presente università debba esser presente et consentire a ogni sententia et terminatione che in alchuni tali ricorsi si facessi o farà per e Sei et merchatanti, obtenendosi il partito come è decto almeno per xi fave nere. Et proponghasi bene et male ricorso, alternatis vicibus, tante volte, o vero quella sententia et iudicio et in quello modo et forma che a’ decti Sei parrà et chome iudicheranno convenirsi secondo la loro volontà et arbitrio.’ 40 Cfr. ASF, Mercanzia, 260 e numeri seguenti. In vigore per larga parte del Quattrocento, questo compito del cancelliere è codificato ufficialmente negli Statuti della Mercanzia del 1496, 17v: ‘Et le conclusioni di tucte le sententie che si daranno in alchuno o per alchuno ricorso el chancelliere sia tenuto notare in sul libro delle deliberationi. Et dipoi le decte sententie faccia fornire nel modo et forma et come è ordinato ne’ capitoli facti sopra il secondo statuto del presente libro.’ 41 La filza in questione, non cartulata, ha la segnatura: ASF, Mercanzia, 10770. Le sentenze si citeranno perciò facendo semplicemente riferimento alla data in cui esse furono pronunciate, presente in fondo ad ogni documento.

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sia a Firenze che altrove.42 Il vocabolario impiegato, come prevedibile, era strettamente legato ai valori cui si attenevano gli uomini che sedevano al vertice della Mercanzia, i quali dunque si preoccupavano di dichiarare che loro ferma intenzione era stata ‘giudichare chome più equamente et merchantilmente si convengha’, usando, se necessario, la ‘discrezione’ – termine che in questo contesto significherà soprattutto saper adeguare la norma generale al caso particolare, il che, vale a dire, giudicare secondo equità.43

4.

Il Magnifico e i mercanti della sua ‘cerchia’ dinanzi ai giudici del ricorso

Data l’importanza della procedura del ricorso, di cui si valevano normalmente i più importanti operatori cittadini, non stupirà perciò che fra queste sentenze ve ne siano alcune che riguardano in prima persona Lorenzo de’ Medici e i suoi soci e collaboratori.44 E così, nella primavera del 1479, vediamo ad esempio fronteggiarsi in un processo di questo tipo un mercante di Londra, chiamato nei documenti ‘Giovanni Neve’ (John Neville?) e Antonio di Niccolò Martelli, esponente di una famiglia che per tutto il Quattrocento aveva svolto un ruolo significativo nel Banco Medici. Quest’ultimo era stato infatti per alcuni anni vicedirettore della filiale di Venezia, per passare poi a gestire a Pisa un’altra compagnia, di cui i Medici erano soci.45 È superfluo ricordare che Antonio Martelli, il cui ritratto 42 L’esigenza di motivare la sentenza emerge infatti soltanto ‘con il primo Cinquecento’, in coincidenza ‘con la creazione di ‘grandi’ tribunali regionali, Rote o Senati’. Cfr. Ascheri (1989), 23–7, 57–61. 43 Per uno studio delle sentenze del ricorso in questa prospettiva, con un’attenzione specifica cioè al modo in cui i Sei e i Dieci, assistiti dal Giudice forestiero, giungevano alle loro decisioni, cfr. Boschetto (2016), da cui è ricavata anche la citazione presente nel testo (200). 44 In generale, sulla vita politica nella Firenze laurenziana e sulla cerchia di collaboratori del Magnifico, si veda il panorama tracciato in Brown (1992 e 2011). Sulla figura di Lorenzo de’ Medici, Kent (2004 e 2013); nonché, sul suo duplice ruolo di ‘civic leader’ e ‘merchant banker’, con particolare riferimento all’atteggiamento tutto sommato rispettoso delle prerogative delle magistrature cittadine da lui tenuto in alcuni casi di ‘rappresaglie’, un campo sottoposto almeno parzialmente alla giurisdizione della Mercanzia, Böninger (2015). 45 Oltre a De Roover (1970), 82, 356–8, 397–8, sull’intensa attività commerciale di Antonio di Niccolò Martelli (1404–1480) e sui suoi rapporti con il Banco Medici, si veda Pezzarossa (1980), che ripercorre le vicende della compagnia, di cui i Medici erano soci accomandatari, gestita a Pisa fin dal 1450 da Antonio insieme al fratello Ugolino. La compagnia di Pisa era ancora in attività tra il 1475 e il 1480, quando soci erano i fratelli Ugolino, Antonio e Bartolomeo Martelli, insieme a un ‘amico segreto’, in cui si è proposto di identificare proprio Lorenzo de’ Medici. La prova che quest’ultimo avesse una partecipazione nella ‘ragione nuova di Pisa’, società aperta proprio nei mesi in cui il mercante inglese intentava il suo ricorso contro Antonio Martelli presso la Mercanzia, si trova nel libro segreto della compagnia, dove i

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burlesco compare tra l’altro nel poemetto laurenziano Simposio (noto anche come I beoni), faceva insomma parte dell’élite mercantile fiorentina, ed era stato egli stesso più volte estratto tanto fra i Sei, quanto fra gli uomini del ricorso.46 La vicenda, diceva nella sua petizione il mercante inglese, era iniziata dieci anni prima, nel 1469, quando su consiglio e mediazione del fiorentino Agnolo Tani (impiegato allora nella filiale dei Medici di Londra), egli si era accordato con Antonio Martelli e compagni per inviare loro dall’Inghilterra ‘et lane et panni’, affinché essi, in cui Giovanni aveva ‘buona fede’, le vendessero secondo le sue indicazioni sulla piazza fiorentina. Il valore della mercanzia affidata ai Martelli ammontava, secondo il ricorrente, a circa trentamila fiorini, ma egli aveva cominciato a nutrire dubbi sui resoconti delle vendite effettuate che Antonio gli trasmetteva a Londra, così che ‘per potere meglio vedere et examinare il facto suo’ aveva deciso di ‘venire et passare di qua’ (cioè a Firenze). Alla richiesta di avere pieno accesso alla documentazione contabile, ‘contro a ogni giustizia et contro a ogni buono uso merchantile’, Martelli e i suoi compagni avevano però sempre opposto un deciso diniego. Dal momento che le sue querele, presentate ‘in molti luoghi’, si erano finora rivelate inefficaci, e considerato che egli era ormai da troppo tempo lontano da casa, ‘con grandissimo suo disastro et grandissimi suoi dampni, spese et interessi’ , Giovanni Neve si era infine risolto, ‘pel chonforto d’alchuni buoni huomini et merchatanti fiorentini’, a ‘venire al giudicio della presente chorte’, non senza prima aver dovuto procurarsi degli interpreti, ‘perché’, diceva, ‘non intendeva né intende bene il parlare et ydioma di qua’. Ai giudici del ricorso il mercante inglese chiedeva perciò che i Martelli venissero costretti a produrre i libri da cui, secondo i suoi calcoli, essi sarebbero risultati suoi debitori per l’ammontare di tremila fiorini, somma di cui tuttavia per ora, senza rinunciare ai suoi diritti sull’ammontare totale, egli rivendicava soltanto la metà. Nonostante gli stretti rapporti che legavano allora Antonio Martelli a Lorenzo de’ Medici, la sentenza riconobbe che il mercante forestiero aveva ‘bene ricorso’ e Martelli fu dichiarato intanto suo debitore per cinquecento fiorini, da integrarsi poi con quanto fosse eventualmente emerso dopo un ‘saldo et conto’ che le due

Martelli parlano di una ‘rimessa nostra per la ragione nuova dove interviene Lorenzo di Piero de’ Medici chome appare per la scritta sotto dì xxv di marzo 1479, la quale atiene a ciascuno di noi’ (ASF, Carte Strozziane, serie V, 1462, 24a e 29b). Da questa compagnia, secondo quanto Antonio riferisce nella portata al Catasto del 1480, era stato inoltre tratto un capitale per costituire un ‘traffico’ a Firenze, la cui ragione sociale era intitolata a suo figlio Niccolò e a suo nipote Niccolò di Ugolino Martelli (ASF, Catasto, 1015, 85r–89v). 46 Si tratta del II capitolo del Simposio, opera composta tra la fine degli anni Sessanta e l’inizio del decennio successivo, dove ai versi 82–96 è ritratto ‘Anton Martegli’. Cfr. Medici, ed. Zanato (1992), 192–3. Fra il 1442 e il 1480 Antonio Martelli ricoprì in almeno tre occasioni la carica di consigliere della Mercanzia. Cfr. Herlihy / Litchfield / Molho / Barducci (2002).

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parti dovevano fare tra loro ‘merchantilmente et bonariamente et a uso di buono et leale merchatante’.47 La seconda sentenza su cui vorrei attirare l’attenzione, risalente al 1484, vide un altro importante operatore fiorentino, Agostino di Sandro Biliotti, chiamare in causa la compagnia di Lorenzo de’ Medici e del suo defunto fratello Giuliano, nonché Niccolò e Girolamo, figli ed eredi del già menzionato Antonio Martelli (che era scomparso qualche anno prima).48 In altre parole, i protagonisti della vicenda sono ‘uomini da bene’, membri cioè d’importanti famiglie cittadine, che per di più appartengono tutti alla cerchia laurenziana, il che induce ad osservare con particolare attenzione il comportamento tenuto dai giudici del ricorso. I fatti questa volta risalivano addirittura al 1472, quando Biliotti era governatore della compagnia dei Medici di Napoli, e nel porto di quella città erano giunte la San Matteo e la San Giorgio, due ‘galee grosse da merchato’, note come ‘le galee di Borgogna’, appartenenti per metà a Lorenzo e a Giuliano de’ Medici e per l’altra 47 I dieci mercanti incaricati di decidere sulla vertenza vennero estratti il 16 aprile 1479 (ASF, Mercanzia, 320, 19v), pronunciando quindi due settimane dopo insieme ai Sei consiglieri la sentenza, il cui testo integrale, dal quale sono tratte tutte le citazioni riportate sopra, è conservato nella filza ASF, Mercanzia, 10770, sotto la data 30 aprile 1479. I giudici, mentre rigettavano le ragioni opposte dal convenuto, stabilivano che in attesa del saldo definitivo i cinquecento fiorini che Antonio Martelli era tenuto a versare restassero in deposito presso la compagnia dei Da Rabatta di Bruges. Limitatamente al suo esito, come di consueto, la sentenza è registrata sotto la medesima data anche nel registro delle deliberazioni dei Sei consiglieri (ASF, Mercanzia, 320, 30v–31r, 30 aprile 1479). I Sei in carica furono in questa occasione: Lorenzo di Lutozzo Nasi, Pandolfo di Giovanni Rucellai, Luigi di Bernardo Niccolini, Francesco di Lorenzo Amadori, Giovambattista di Lionardo Bartoli, Giovanni di Simone Berti. I dieci mercanti del ricorso: Lorenzo di Francesco Segni, Recco d’Uguccione Capponi,Tommaso di Luigi Ridolfi, Ruggeri di Niccolò Corbinelli, Matteo di Nofri del Caccia, Piero di Francesco Corsellini, Bertoldo di Gherardo Corsini, Francesco di Niccolò Cambini, Tommaso di Luca degli Albizzi, Iacopo d’Orsino Lanfredini. 48 La vicenda fu portata dinanzi al ricorso il 6 maggio 1484 dagli eredi di Antonio Martelli, che il precedente 22 dicembre erano stati chiamati in causa, insieme ai Medici, da Agostino Biliotti, con una petizione ordinaria, cui però non era stato dato seguito, ragion per cui i ricorrenti chiedevano adesso l’estrazione dei mercanti del ricorso e il loro pronunciamento (ASF, Mercanzia, 10723, 3v–5v). Agostino Biliotti aveva avuto importanti incarichi nell’amministrazione del Banco mediceo e su di lui Lorenzo avrebbe fatto più volte affidamento per delicate missioni diplomatiche, tra cui si può ricordare, data la familiarità acquisita con la corte aragonese durante gli anni in cui Biliotti era stato governatore della filiale napoletana del Banco, da un lato il ruolo svolto nelle trattative di pace tra Firenze e il re Ferrante che portarono il 13 marzo del 1480 alla stipulazione della lega fra il papa, Napoli, Milano e Firenze; dall’altro il supporto offerto nella primavera di quell’anno a Francesco Nacci per riaprire nella città partenopea dopo la fine della guerra la filiale che egli aveva governato dal 1471 al 1475, e i cui crediti verso il re e vari personaggi della corte erano stati congelati a seguito del conflitto sorto dopo la congiura dei Pazzi. Cfr. De Roover (1970), 368–71, e Medici, ed. Rubinstein (1981), 331–40 e 377–89 (testo del trattato di pace); Medici, ed. Mallett (1989), 279–90; Medici, ed. Mallett (1990), 5–6. Nel 1489 Agostino Biliotti fu incluso del resto nel Consiglio dei Settanta, l’organo fondamentale del potere mediceo durante l’età laurenziana. Cfr. Rubinstein (1999), 413.

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metà ad Antonio Martelli.49 Le due navi erano in partenza per le Fiandre e le isole britanniche e Biliotti sulla San Giorgio aveva imbarcato una grande quantità di allume (cinquemila ‘cantari’, pari a circa due tonnellate e mezzo), uno dei prodotti più richiesti dall’industria tessile fiamminga e inglese. L’accordo stipulato con i ‘padroni’ e i ‘governatori’ delle galee prevedeva che l’allume dovesse essere scaricato, risalendo il Tamigi, quanto più possibile vicino a Londra e qui consegnato alla compagnia dei Medici di Bruges, i quali allora avrebbero provveduto a pagare il nolo del viaggio e un ducato per ogni cantaro di allume. Le galee avevano toccato il porto fiammingo di Sluys, imbarcando altre mercanzie, e ripreso quindi il mare verso l’Inghilterra, da dove poi avrebbero dovuto far ritorno in Toscana. La San Matteo tuttavia durante la navigazione venne catturata dai corsari anseatici e non potè raggiungere le coste inglesi. La sua disavventura è abbastanza nota, perché essa trasportava anche la tavola d’altare raffigurante il Giudizio universale eseguito dal pittore tedesco Hans Memling per conto di Agnolo Tani, un mercante che intendeva collocare il dipinto nella sua cappella di famiglia, a Firenze, dove tuttavia il quadro, che infatti si trova tuttora a Danzica, non sarebbe mai arrivato.50 Sfuggita ai pirati e rifugiatasi a Southampton, la San Giorgio aveva invece scaricato in quel porto la merce di Biliotti, all’insaputa di quest’ultimo e in violazione degli accordi. L’allume era stato poi trasportato via terra verso Londra ad opera dei Medici di Bruges, che avendo speso per quell’operazione quasi mille fiorini, avevano deciso di trattenerli dal ricavato della vendita della merce loro affidata.51 Biliotti si dichiarava perciò doppiamente danneggiato da questa si49 Le due galee erano dette ‘di Borgogna’ perché originariamente costruite nel cantiere di Pisa per conto del duca di Borgogna in vista di una crociata che non ebbe luogo. Esse furono successivamente concesse in affitto alla compagnia dei Medici di Bruges, con il patto tuttavia che continuassero a battere bandiera borgognona. Cfr. Mallett (1967), 98–103. 50 Su questa celebre tavola, imbarcata a Sluys insieme a diverse merci di lusso, cfr. De Vos (1994), 23–6, 83–9. La cattura della galea borgognona mise in moto una complessa azione diplomatica, che coinvolse, oltre Firenze, dove nel 1477 in connessione con questa vicenda ebbe luogo una dura rappresaglia contro tre viandanti tedeschi (Böninger, 2015, 163–6), anche il papa Sisto IV, il ducato di Borgogna, la lega anseatica e l’Inghilterra (con cui la città di Danzica era allora effettivamente in guerra, senza per questo avere il diritto di attaccare navi che come meta finale del loro viaggio non avevano le coste britanniche). Sul fronte della giurisdizione mercantile, Tommaso Portinari, il governatore della filiale di Bruges del Banco Medici, negli anni successivi avrebbe tenacemente cercato di ottenere un risarcimento per il carico perduto, riuscendo soltanto molti anni dopo, nel 1496, a veder infine riconosciuti i suoi diritti dalla suprema corte di giustizia dei Paesi Bassi. Cfr. de Roover (1945), 8 e nota, con ampia bibliografia; su Portinari, inoltre, Boone (1999). 51 I Medici di Bruges sostenevano di aver pagato contestualmente anche l’intero nolo della galea e il compenso pattuito per il carico di allume ai capitani della galea, ma Biliotti contestava la legittimità di entrambe queste iniziative, poiché non dovevano esservi costi aggiuntivi per trasportare la merce a Londra, né si vedeva come i capitani potessero pretendere l’intero nolo, dal momento che non avevano raggiunto, come invece si erano impegnati a fare, Londra. La

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tuazione, in quanto la compagnia di cui era governatore, non solo in questo modo aveva sofferto un notevole ammanco, ma non essendosi potuta valere di quegli utili, per continuare a svolgere la sua attività era stata costretta a ‘torre a cambio et stare in su’ cambi’, a prendere cioè denaro in prestito, pagandone gli interessi. Biliotti e i Medici di Napoli a causa della ‘inobservantia delle dette galee et di chi le governava’ avevano ricevuto perciò ‘grandissimi danni et sinistri et perduti infiniti ghuadagni’. D’altro canto, era invece innegabile che Lorenzo, Giuliano de’ Medici e Antonio Martelli, ai quali ‘le dette galee attenevano’, e che ne erano i ‘maestri principali’, insieme ai ‘governatori’ preposti a quelle navi, avevano tratto da questa situazione un consistente vantaggio. Essi infatti avevano riscosso del nolo e del prezzo pattuito per il trasporto dell’allume ben più di quello che avrebbero dovuto e dal 1474, quando il pagamento era stato effettuato, avevano potuto utilizzare quel denaro, di cui si erano ‘soprappagati, et godutosi dette pecunie ànno ghuadagnato assai, maxime in su’ cambi, in che comunemente si sono exercitati’. Di conseguenza, argomentava Biliotti, essi dovevano ora risarcirlo ‘secondo ogni buona equità e costume mercantile’.52 I mercanti del ricorso, estratti il 24 maggio, esaminate le scritture prodotte, la comparizione degli eredi di Antonio Martelli e la replica presentata da Agostino Biliotti, nonché i rapporti stilati sulla vertenza da quattro mercanti eletti dalle parti, riconobbero infine le ragioni dell’ex governatore della compagnia di Napoli e insieme ai Sei consiglieri decretarono che Niccolò e Girolamo Martelli avevano ‘male ricorso’. Tanto questi ultimi, quanto Lorenzo de’ Medici, anche come erede del fratello Giuliano, vennero perciò riconosciuti ‘legittimi debitori’ di Agostino Biliotti, ciascuno per la somma di cinquecento fiorini.53 Il protagonista della terza sentenza che qui interessa, pronunciata nell’aprile del 1486, è invece il mercante fiorentino residente a Marsiglia Rinaldo d’Oddo San Giorgio nel luglio 1473 avrebbe ripreso il mare per rientrare infine, nel febbraio 1474, a Porto Pisano. 52 La replica di Agostino Biliotti contro gli eredi di Antonio Martelli fu presentata dinanzi al ricorso il 24 maggio 1484 (ASF, Mercanzia, 10723, 9v–10r), lo stesso giorno in cui vennero estratti i dieci del ricorso, i quali a distanza di pochi giorni resero nota la loro decisione. 53 Il testo della sentenza, completo di tutti gli atti prodotti nel corso della causa, e da cui si è citato quanto riportato sopra, si trova in ASF, Mercanzia 10770, sotto la data 5 giugno 1484. La decisione fu presa dopo aver esaminato anche il rapporto stilato sulla questione da quattro mercanti fiorentini eletti dalle parti, e dopo aver sentito il parere di Giovanni di Francesco Tornabuoni (che era anche zio del Magnifico) e di Ludovico d’Antonio Masi, entrambi collaboratori del Banco Medici. I Sei in carica furono in questa occasione: Pagolantonio di messer Tommaso Soderini, Giovanni d’Antonio Serristori, Bernardo d’Inghilese Ridolfi, Matteo di Nofri del Caccia, Duti d’Antonio Masi, Zanobi di Bonaiuto Landi. I dieci mercanti del ricorso: Amerigo di Simone Carnesecchi, Bartolomeo di Niccolò Popoleschi, Francesco di Lorenzo Amadori, Francesco di Lutozzo Nasi, Giuliano di Francesco Corsellini, Maso di Luca degli Albizzi, Filippo d’Antonio Giugni, Antonio di Bernardo Paganelli, Lorenzo di Piero Davanzati, Gino di Giuliano Ginori.

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Altoviti, membro di una famiglia di notevole antichità e prestigio, i cui rapporti con il governo mediceo si erano però notevolmente complicati a partire dalla metà degli anni Sessanta.54 Incurante di questa situazione Altoviti non aveva esitato a chiamare in causa, così recitano i documenti, il procuratore del ‘magnifico huomo Lorenzo di Piero di Cosimo de’ Medici e de’ compagni di Firenze, così del bancho chome dell’arte della lana, et de Lorenzo de’ Medici et compagnia di Vinegia, et de Lorenzo de’ Medici et compagni de Napoli, et de Lorenzo de’ Medici et compagni di Lione, et de Lorenzo de’ Medici et compagni de Monpolieri’.55 Il motivo all’origine di questa azione risaliva al dicembre del 1478, quando ‘le galeazze fiorentine’ provenienti dalla Tunisia con un carico appartenente per intero alle compagnie dei Medici avevano dovuto riparare per alcune settimane nel porto di Marsiglia. Era giunta infatti notizia che al largo delle coste toscane le attendeva, per catturarle, un’armata del re di Napoli, allora in guerra con Firenze.56 I capitani, su precise istruzioni della magistratura fiorentina dei 54 Sebbene i rapporti di Rinaldo e di suo padre Oddo con il regime non abbiano conosciuto momenti particolarmente critici, il loro congiunto Roberto di Giovanni Altoviti si era schierato invece nel 1466 al fianco di Agnolo Acciaiuoli, Dietisalvi Neroni e Luca Pitti, venendo di conseguenza esiliato, con i suoi discendenti, dopo la vittoriosa reazione medicea. In una lettera scritta a Lorenzo de’ Medici il 30 settembre del 1475, Francesco Altoviti, uno dei figli di Roberto, invocava la riammissione in patria per sé e per i fratelli, ricordando appunto le ‘fatiche e gl’errori ch’io ho passati e passo in questo exilio’, sostenuto tuttavia, per quanto in condizioni difficilissime, ‘comportando più presto ogni povertà e ogni vil servitù, che far mai o in parole o in fatti o in dimostrationi contro al comandamento della patria o de’ nostri cittadini’. Cfr. ASF, Carte Strozziane, serie I, n. 3, 91, segnalata in Rubinstein (1999), 227 n. 227. 55 La documentazione si trova, sotto la data 8 aprile 1486, in ASF, Mercanzia, 10770, dove oltre alla sentenza del ricorso è riportato anche il testo dei principali atti relativi a questa vertenza, per cui cfr. anche ASF, Mercanzia, 10724, 98r–99r, 13 marzo 1485/86 (comparizione di Rinaldo Altoviti, ricorrente) e 101r–101v, 3 aprile 1486 (comparizione di Pierozzo di Giovanni di Pierozzo, procuratore di Lorenzo de’ Medici e delle sue compagnie, convenuto; con la precisazione che da questo documento si è trascritto l’elenco delle compagnie riportato qui sopra nel testo). Nel presentare il suo ricorso Altoviti ricordava di aver inoltrato il 12 novembre scorso una petizione ai Sei, che non aveva però avuto conclusione attraverso la via ordinaria nonostante i molti atti prodotti dall’una parte e dall’altra. Su Rinaldo Altoviti, che si era trasferito nel 1471 a Marsiglia, città di cui avrebbe preso poi la cittadinanza, entrando anche al servizio del re Renato, cfr. Giordanengo (1994), 188, citato in Goldhtwaite (2009), 163. Dopo la caduta dei Medici i suoi collegamenti con il mondo francese lo avrebbero reso prezioso come intermediario per le trattative diplomatiche con i funzionari militari di Carlo VIII. Cfr. ad esempio la testimonianza, risalente al luglio 1495, nella Storia fiorentina di Piero Parenti, quando Rinaldo, inviato ‘verso Lunigiana, con commessione parlassi con quelli castellani franzesi e confortassili al darci le nostre fortezze’, venne catturato dai Pisani in territorio di Lucca. Le proteste di Firenze furono immediate, ma la sua ‘liberazione’ giunse in realtà perché fu ‘aiutata massime da’ Franzesi a cui Rinaldo, per essere stato a lunga in Francia, era amicissimo’. Cfr. Parenti, ed. Matucci (1994), 252. 56 Le galee, capitanate da Zanobi Biliotti (fratello del già menzionato Agostino), seguivano la rotta per la Catalogna e per l’Africa. Il convoglio salpò in luglio, fu a Valencia il 27 di quel mese, toccò poi Almeria, per far sosta infine a Marsiglia. Cfr. Mallett (1967), 75, 98. Molti dettagli

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Dieci di Balìa, avevano perciò deciso che era opportuno armare con ‘marinai’, ‘munitioni’ e ‘altre artiglierie’ le galee, in modo che esse potessero ‘combattere et difendersi da tale armata et da chi havessi voluto fare loro villania’. Il denaro per allestire queste difese, una somma che superava i duemila fiorini, era stato anticipato proprio da Altoviti, il quale aveva acconsentito di buon grado, stando a quanto dice nella sua petizione, ‘come buono cittadino afectionato alla patria et per la afectione portava a’ padroni et partionieri di dette galee’ (ossia agli armatori e ai possessori delle quote del capitale investito in quella spedizione);57 concetto che egli aveva ribadito del resto in quei giorni in una lettera privata indirizzata a ‘Lorenzo de’ Medici e compagni’.58 Tale denaro, tuttavia, per quanto Rinaldo fosse stato ‘scripto creditore sul libro delle galee della maona’ tenuto dallo scrivano di bordo, non gli era stato restituito se non in piccola parte, ragion per cui egli si rivolgeva adesso al ricorso, chiedendo di essere risarcito per un ammontare di poco più di mille fiorini dai proprietari delle merci che viaggiavano sulle galee.59 I giudici, respinte le ragioni allegate dal procuratore di Lorenzo de’ Medici, riconobbero la legittimità delle richieste di Altoviti, dichiarando suoi debitori per la somma in questione i proprietari del carico trasportato a bordo delle galeazze, i quali tuttavia furono condannati a corrispondergli in contanti soltanto quatsu questa vicenda sono offerti da diverse lettere scritte a partire dal 10 dicembre 1478 dai Dieci di Balìa ai Consoli del mare di Pisa, al Capitano di Livorno, ai Capitani e patroni delle galee di Ponente e Barberia e naturalmente allo stesso Altoviti. Cfr. ASF, Dieci di Balìa. Missive, 6, 90v– 91r e ASF, Dieci di Balìa. Missive, 7, 5v, 10v, 11r–v, 11v–12r–v, 74v, 87v, 154v. 57 In particolare, i Dieci inviarono il 15 dicembre a Marsiglia a Rinaldo Altoviti la seguente missiva: ‘Noi mandiamo questo aportatore volando alle nostre galee le quali speriamo che doverrà trovare costì, notificando loro come in porto a largo è surta una armata de’ nimici nostri di nave et galee di qualità che sarebbe inpossibile che le galee nostre si salvassino se venissino al presente et comandiamo a’ capitani et padroni che si fermino costì insino a tanto che habbino altra comissione da noi. Ma dubitiamo che alla havuta le dette galee non sieno partite di costì, che pure potrebbe essere; però voliamo che se dette galee fussino partite di costì d’uno dì o dua che di subito spacci uno liuto armato et mandi loro drieto le lettere et questa nostra volontà […] con comissione che trovandole in ogni modo le facci tornare indrieto, perché non veggiamo luogo alcuno dove si possino salvare se non costì: fa’ quanto ti comettiamo con ogni diligentia come habbiamo fede in te, perché vedi quanto questa cosa inporta et allo honore et utile, et tucto quello che spendessi per fare questa nostra comissione ti faremo fare buoni secondo che ci ordinerai; provederai ancora secondo che ti parrà necessario che costì quando fussi il bisogno sieno difese et non possino portare pericolo; piaceracci ancora che spacci in qua il presente aportatore con aviso di quello che è di dette nostre galee.’ Cfr. ASF, Dieci di Balia. Missive, 7, 11v–12r. 58 ASF, Map, XXXI, doc. 13r (Marsiglia, 1° gennaio 1478/79): ‘Noi, chome v’abbiamo detto, non abbiamo restato né restaremo d’aiutarle tutto quel possibile […] chome nostro debito richiede.’ 59 La somma richiesta nella causa di ricorso, che Altoviti aveva intentato dopo che la causa per via ordinaria era decaduta, era pari a 1043 fiorini, leggermente inferiore dunque all’ammontare complessivo del suo credito. Le due galee rientrarono infine a Porto Pisano l’8 febbraio 1478/79. Cfr. Mallett (1967), 75, 98.

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trocento fiorini, dal momento che nelle mani di Rinaldo erano rimasti ‘cinque panni’, lasciatigli ‘per sicurtà’ dai conduttori delle navi prima di salpare.60 Qualche mese dopo Altoviti, non troppo soddisfatto dell’esito della sentenza, scrisse in due occasioni a Lorenzo de’ Medici, da un lato ricordando di essersi rivolto alla Mercanzia proprio dietro ‘indirizo e chonsiglio’ del Magnifico, che egli aveva evidentemente consultato prima di intraprendere la sua azione legale; dall’altro, anticipando di aver mandato a Firenze i suoi procuratori per riscuotere il denaro che gli spettava e dunque raccomandandosi affinché Lorenzo rendesse più facili le operazioni di pagamento cui i suoi agenti erano ormai tenuti.61 L’ultimo caso cui vorrei accennare è un po’ diverso dai precedenti, perché non consiste in un episodio legato al grande commercio internazionale, ma riguarda piuttosto l’opposizione alla vendita di due abitazioni, un’altra questione per cui si poteva chiedere l’intervento dei giudici del ricorso. In questa occasione ad attirare il nostro interesse è soprattutto l’identità dell’acquirente, e cioè, come recitano i documenti, il ‘magnifico huomo Lorenzo di Piero di Cosimo de’ Medici’, il quale dunque compare in questi atti come privato cittadino. Nel marzo del 1478 l’uomo d’armi Gianfrancesco da Tolentino aveva venduto infatti a Lorenzo il Magnifico per la somma di milleottocento fiorini una grande casa, con giardino e corte, e una casetta più piccola, posta accanto alla prima, 60 Nonostante l’opposizione del procuratore di Lorenzo de’ Medici, i giudici del ricorso, affermando che il ‘caso’ era ‘di qualità che merita s’usi discretione’, riconobbero dunque, sia pur defalcando dal credito il valore dei ‘panni’ lasciati a Marsiglia, la legittimità delle richieste del ricorrente. I Sei in carica furono in questa occasione: Agostino di Sandro Biliotti, Lorenzo d’Agnolo di Lorenzo Carducci, Lorenzo d’Anfrione Lenzi, Bernardo di Pazzino di Luca Alberti, Lorenzo di Federigo Gori, Bastiano di Giovanni Monti. I dieci mercanti del ricorso: Gino di Giuliano Ginori, Niccolò di messer Carlo Federighi, Francesco di Lutozzo Nasi, Simone d’Amerigo Zati, Pandolfo di Giovanni Rucellai, Matteo di messer Giovanni, Cesare di Domenico Petrucci, Nerozzo di Piero del Nero, Bonaccorso di messer Luca Pitti, Antonio di messer Alessandro degli Alessandri (ASF, Mercanzia 10770, 8 aprile 1486). 61 ASF, Map, XXXIX, 574r–v (Marsiglia, 7 ottobre 1486): ‘Mangnificho Lorenzo quanto posso mi rachomando ala vostra buona grazia […] chome sa vostra mangnificienza per vostro indirizo e chonsiglio me ne andai alla Merchatantia a domandare quelo mi dovieno le ghalee di barberia e ’ parzonieri di dete galee, di che oteni sentenza di fiorini 400 d’oro larghi, e la detta sentienzia s’adirizò contro a ciaschuno parzioniere per rata e in voi per lo tutto. E anchora che a me parese esere grandemente gravato, perché restavo avere […] più di ducati 1000, ora che sia, sto chontentyo al giudichato, ma che almancho gli potesi avere!’. E quindi ASF, Map, XXXIX, 437r–v (Marsiglia, 23 gennaio 1486/87): ‘[…] di questa fia aportatore Alesandro di Gino Chappony al qualle ò dato charicho et fatta prochura a ryschuotere per me da’ parzyoniery delle ghalee di barberya de’ ducati 400 di che eby la sentenza; charamente vy pregho, mangnyficho Lorenzo, chossì chommy fusti favorevole ala sentenza, vogliate alssy darmy favore a farmela risquotere, ché tutto mi pare esere suto gravato nella sentenza; sto paciente, ma che me ne potese valere, cioè rysquotere dety 400 ducati: quanto so e poxo vi pregho vogliate farne dyre qualche parola a chi tochono a paghare […] e io senpre ve ne resterò obrighatisimo’. L’elenco dettagliato dei ‘partionieri’, ognuno con l’indicazione della sua rata, è indicato negli atti che precedono la sentenza di ricorso pronunciata a favore di Rinaldo Altoviti.

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situate entrambe nella via Larga, la strada dove sorgeva l’imponente palazzo costruito da Cosimo de’ Medici e dove lo stesso Lorenzo risiedeva. Il venditore aveva agito tramite il suo procuratore Jacopo Bracciolini, figlio dell’umanista Poggio e umanista egli stesso.62 Detto per inciso, sembra proprio che la vendita avesse luogo in previsione della congiura organizzata dai Pazzi contro Lorenzo e Giuliano de’ Medici, destinata a scattare esattamente un mese dopo: tanto Gianfrancesco da Tolentino, quanto Jacopo Bracciolini, che fu impiccato alle finestre del palazzo della Signoria la sera stessa di quel fatidico 26 aprile, erano infatti pesantemente implicati nel complotto.63 Dopo che il banditore comunale ebbe annunciato la vendita per le vie cittadine, contro di essa, secondo quanto consentiva la legge, vennero dunque presentate davanti al ricorso due petizioni. Il primo ad agire fu all’inizio di maggio un oscuro artigiano fiorentino, il farsettaio Domenico di Giovanni di Lorenzo di Cecco, che asseriva di avere maggiori diritti del Magnifico sulla più piccola delle due abitazioni. La casetta, acquistata nel 1366 dal suo bisnonno, era poi appartenuta ai discendenti di quest’ultimo ed era perciò vincolata alla dote della defunta madre di Domenico, di cui egli (insieme a un fratello) era erede.64 Una settimana più tardi si erano mossi anche i mercanti Rinieri e Lorenzo di Andrea da Ricasoli, due personaggi influenti nel panorama cittadino, e ben noti a Lorenzo de’ Medici: protestavano anch’essi contro la vendita, a motivo di un credito preesistente che vantavano nei confronti di Gianfrancesco da Tolentino.65 62 La notizia si ricava dalle comparizioni presentate dinanzi ai giudici del ricorso rispettivamente da Domenico di Giovanni di Lorenzo di Cecco (ASF, Mercanzia, 10718, 3v–5r, 7 maggio 1478) e da Rinieri e Lorenzo di Andrea Ricasoli: ASF, Mercanzia, 10718, 6v–9v, 15 maggio 1478. La compravendita delle due case era avvenuta in data 13 marzo 1478/79, ed era stata quindi pubblicizzata dal banditore del Comune il 17 marzo, perché chi eventualmente si sentisse danneggiato da questa transazione potesse ricorrere contro la vendita presso il tribunale della Mercanzia, entro due mesi dal giorno della stipula del contratto (o entro quattro mesi, nel caso di forestieri). La possibilità del ricorso era stata prevista espressamente in base ad una legge approvata il febbraio precedente, che stabiliva come la vendita dei due immobili, appartenuti allo zio di Gianfrancesco, il capitano della Repubblica fiorentina Niccolò da Tolentino, potesse godere di tutti i privilegi e le immunità garantite ‘a qualunche vendite facte da qualunche uficiali del Comune di Firenze o da qualunche sindici di cessanti’. Cfr. ASF, ProvvisioniRegistri, 168, 83r–v, 19–20 febbraio 1477/78. 63 Dopo il fallimento della congiura Lorenzo de’ Medici avrebbe posto una taglia sulla testa del condottiero, cfr. Vittozzi (2009), 415–16. Su Jacopo Bracciolini e la sua vicenda politica e intellettuale si veda Bausi (2011), 1–193. 64 Le dettagliate argomentazioni e i documenti prodotti per sostenere le proprie ragioni da Domenico di Giovanni sono elencati nella comparizione del 7 maggio 1478 citata qui sopra alla n. 62. 65 Le argomentazioni e i documenti prodotti da Rinieri e Lorenzo di Andrea da Ricasoli sono elencati nella comparizione del 15 maggio 1478 citata qui sopra alla n. 62. I da Ricasoli, due ricchi lanaioli, avevano stretti rapporti con Lorenzo il Magnifico, che l’anno successivo avrebbe assegnato proprio a Rinieri una delicata missione da svolgere a Bruges per conto del Banco Medici. Cfr. De Roover (1970), 510–13, e Medici, ed. Rubinstein (1981), 193–8.

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Si deve ammettere che fa un certo effetto leggere nelle carte processuali come i due messi della Mercanzia, soprannominati ‘Fontana’ e ‘Tio’, certo abituati a trattare con creditori di ben altra estrazione sociale, nel giro di una settimana si presentarono in due occasioni nel palazzo di via Larga, per consegnare personalmente, come prevedeva la legge, una ‘cedola’ con la citazione a Lorenzo de’ Medici, affinché potesse recarsi nei locali del tribunale per prendere visione delle petizioni che lo riguardavano. Ed è altrettanto innegabile che tanto la copiosa documentazione prodotta dai ricorrenti (testamenti, contratti di acquisto, libri di conti, leggi della repubblica), quanto le puntuali argomentazioni presentate dai procuratori di Lorenzo, dovettero offrire ai giudici una materia abbondante da vagliare.66 Le due sentenze vennero emesse il 18 giugno, quando i Sei consiglieri, insieme ai dieci mercanti del ricorso, dichiararono che la vendita di entrambe le case era stata regolare e che perciò tanto Domenico di Giovanni, quanto i fratelli Rinieri e Lorenzo da Ricasoli avevano ‘male ricorso’.67

5.

Conclusione

Che cosa possiamo dire dunque, in base a questi esempi, sulla risoluzione delle controversie commerciali a Firenze sotto il governo di Lorenzo de’ Medici? La prima considerazione direi che riguarda il funzionamento e l’efficacia del ricorso. Questa procedura sembra infatti in grado di sbloccare proprio quelle liti ‘immortali’ che costituiscono uno dei principali bersagli delle critiche rivolte alla Mercanzia nel corso del Quattrocento – le prime tre vertenze di cui abbiamo trattato avevano tutte avuto origine in media dieci anni prima e il ricorso era

66 Lorenzo di Bernardo de’ Medici, procuratore del Magnifico, replicò a entrambi i ricorsi il 13 giugno 1478 (ASF, Mercanzia, 10718, 18r–21r); seguirono le controrepliche dei da Ricasoli, il 16 giugno (ASF, Mercanzia, 10718, 22r–23r), e di Domenico di Giovanni, il 18 giugno (ASF, Mercanzia, 10718, 24v–25v). 67 Le sentenze, con il riferimento ai principali atti prodotti nel corso delle due vertenze, si trovano sotto la data 18 giugno 1478 in ASF, Mercanzia, 10770. I Sei consiglieri chiamati a pronunciarsi su entrambi i ricorsi furono: Matteo di Stagio Bonaguisi, Piero di Giovanni Bini, Felice di Meo del Beccuto, Tommaso di Giovanni Lapi, Priore di messer Giannozzo Pandolfini. I dieci mercanti estratti dalle borse del ricorso furono: Simone d’Amerigo Zati, Piero di Francesco Mellini, Francesco di Niccolò Cocchi, Francesco di Giovanni Nesi, Lorenzo di Piero Davanzati, Maso di Luca di messer Maso degli Albizzi, Bernardo di Stoldo Rinieri, Iacopo d’Orsino Lanfredini, Matteo di Nofri del Caccia, Cristofano di Bernardo Carnesecchi. Il Giudice forestiero era invece il riminese Roberto Orsi, che Lorenzo de’ Medici avrebbe raccomandato poco tempo dopo al marchese di Mantova Federico Gonzaga, affinché lo agevolasse nella competizione per il posto di podestà di quella città, vantandogli la ‘iustitia, integrità et modestia’ che lo avevano contraddistinto in qualità di ‘officiale de la Mercatantia nostra’ e che gli avevano guadagnato la ‘gratia’ di tutti i Fiorentini. Cfr. Medici, ed. Rubinstein (1981), 47–8.

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sempre giunto dopo che con le vie ordinarie non era stato possibile addivenire a una sentenza. La seconda considerazione riguarda invece il grado d’imparzialità della giustizia in età laurenziana; per quanto certo non m’illuda che sia possibile arrivare, su una questione tanto sfuggente e controversa, a conclusioni meno che provvisorie, l’impressione tuttavia è che si possa escludere che i giudici, almeno nelle vertenze che abbiamo esaminato, siano manifestamente venuti meno ai valori dell’equità, della verità e della buona fede mercantile. Nel primo processo un forestiero ottiene infatti giustizia contro un influente mercante fiorentino come Antonio Martelli, il quale da molti anni era in rapporti d’affari con Lorenzo. La seconda sentenza, tutta interna alla cerchia laurenziana, riconosce le ragioni di Agostino Biliotti contro Lorenzo e contro i figli dello stesso Antonio Martelli, il cui rapporto con il Magnifico in quel momento doveva considerarsi ancora buono.68 La terza vicenda sembra escludere invece che nel giudizio del ricorso avessero un peso decisivo valutazioni di carattere politico o personale.69 La sentenza pronunciata a favore di Altoviti contro gli interessi di Lorenzo e delle sue compagnie non fa infatti che confermare quel che sappiamo sulla solidità della rete internazionale costruita dai mercanti fiorentini, a dispetto 68 Niccolò, che era stato inviato da Lorenzo a Milano nel corso delle frenetiche trattative diplomatiche che ebbero luogo durante la guerra seguita alla congiura dei Pazzi (‘sùbito che hebbi il vostro primo aviso, spacciai Nicolò d’Antonio Martelli, che è molto intrinseco di Sua Signoria, et altre volte per suo mezzo ho tenute tutte le pratiche che ho havute con Sua Signoria’, diceva il Magnifico nella lettera spedita a Girolamo Morelli nella città lombarda l’11 settembre 1479), veniva ad esempio definito in quella stessa occasione da Ludovico Sforza ‘fidele amico verso el M.co Lorenzo de’ Medici et affectionato verso de me’. Cfr. Medici, ed. Rubinstein (1981), 191 e n. 5. E questo sebbene qualche mese dopo la nostra sentenza, in occasione dello scrutinio del 1484, egli finisse per irritare Lorenzo organizzando, senza prima consultarlo, un gruppo di pressione, cioè una ‘intelligenza’ Cfr. Rubinstein (1999), 286–7 e n. 245. Come è noto, furono invece in seguito soprattutto Carlo e Giovan Battista, i figli di Ugolino Martelli, a manifestare una aperta ostilità nei confronti di Lorenzo. La loro avversione, testimoniata ad esempio in Medici, ed. Mallett (1990), 32–3 e n. 8, sarebbe culminata dopo il 1494 nelle accuse mosse da Carlo al ‘tiranno’ Lorenzo de’ Medici, il quale, egli scrisse tra l’altro nel suo libro di creditori e debitori, riferendosi a una vertenza portata dinanzi alla corte commerciale di Firenze, ‘contro a ogni iustitia me fé dare sentenza contro alla Merchantia l’anno 84’. Cfr. ASF, Carte Strozziane, serie V, 1466, 126v e 128v. A questo caso, a dir la verità assai più complesso di quanto Martelli non esponga, e che sarebbe interessante ricostruire, si riferiscono due sentenze di ricorso pronunciate rispettivamente il 10 giugno 1484, in cui Carlo Martelli è riconosciuto creditore di mille fiorini d’oro nei confronti di Tommaso Portinari, socio di Lorenzo de’ Medici nella compagnia di Bruges, e il successivo 16 giugno, in cui la decisione dei giudici, questa volta su richiesta del procuratore di Portinari, è interlocutoria, ma non sfavorevole a Carlo Martelli. Cfr. ASF, Mercanzia, 10770. 69 È possibile infatti che Rinaldo Altoviti si trovasse a Marsiglia anche perché a Firenze, per parafrasare un famoso detto di Lorenzo, non gli sarebbe stato facile ‘vivere ricco senza lo stato’, senza cioè quell’accesso alle cariche pubbliche che per la sua famiglia si era fatto in quegli anni alquanto difficoltoso.

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di ogni divisione di ordine politico — come dimostra il fatto che di questo sistema facevano pienamente parte anche gli esponenti di famiglie che erano state punite ed esiliate (l’esempio più noto riguarda, ovviamente, la famiglia Strozzi).70 Né smentisce la sostanza di questo ragionamento il contenuto delle lettere che Rinaldo Altoviti, una volta ottenuta la sentenza, scrisse a Lorenzo, per sollecitare garbatamente un intervento del Magnifico affinché i suoi soci e collaboratori ne agevolassero l’esecuzione, pagando quanto dovuto.71 La vicenda della vendita delle due abitazioni sulla Via Larga potrebbe forse dare adito a maggiori dubbi, visto che in quell’occasione i giudici diedero in pieno ragione a Lorenzo il Magnifico. Eppure, anche in questo caso, sarebbe sbagliato non cogliere quanto ciò che accadde è in grado invece di dirci intorno alla fiducia riposta dai fiorentini nella Mercanzia. Dopo un decennio di governo della città da parte di Lorenzo de’ Medici, e per di più all’indomani della sanguinosa repressione della congiura promossa dai Pazzi, un oscuro artigiano e due esponenti del gruppo dirigente non esitarono infatti a citare Lorenzo di fronte ai giudici della Mercanzia, per proteggere i loro diritti di proprietà. Visto l’esito della sentenza, qualcuno probabilmente obietterà che una simile fiducia non era ben riposta; quel che è innegabile, tuttavia, è che i ricorrenti agirono senza mostrare comunque alcun timore per le conseguenze che poteva avere la loro iniziativa: quasi fossero certi, insomma, che a Firenze una cosa era il mondo della politica, un’altra il mondo del commercio e degli affari, dove neppure al Magnifico, almeno in quel momento della sua ascesa, era in fondo consentito di sottrarsi al rispetto di quel principio della verità e dell’equità mercantile proclamato con tanta solennità sopra l’ingresso del tribunale fiorentino.

Bibliografia Fonti Dati, Gregorio (1902), L’istoria di Firenze di Gregorio Dati dal 1380 al 1405, Norcia. Guicciardini, Francesco, ed. G. M. Anselmi / C. Varotti (1994), Dialogo del reggimento di Firenze, Torino. Medici, Lorenzo de’, ed. N. Rubinstein (1981), Lettere, IV (1479–1480), Firenze. –, ed. M. Mallett (1989), Lettere, V (1480–1481), Firenze. –, ed. M. Mallett (1990), Lettere, VI (1481–1482), Firenze. –, ed. T. Zanato (1992), ‘Simposio’, in Id., Opere, Torino, 175–225. Parenti, Piero di Marco, ed. A. Matucci (1994), Storia fiorentina, vol. I: 1476–1478, 1492– 1496, Firenze. 70 Su questa rete di rapporti, cfr. Goldthwaite (1987) e Goldthwaite (2009), 511–16. 71 Si veda qui sopra la n. 61.

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Rinuccini, Alamanno, comm. / transl. G. Civati (2003), La libertà perduta. Dialogus de libertate, Monza. Sacchetti, Franco, ed. V. Marucci (1996), Il Trecentonovelle, Roma. Scala, Bartolomeo, ed. A. Brown / transl. R. Watkins (2008), ‘De legibus et iudiciis dialogus’, in Id., Essays and Dialogues (I Tatti Renaissance Library, 31), Cambridge, MA, 158–231. Tavanti, Angelo, ed. (1778), Raccolta di leggi fiorentine e toscane emanate dal 1444 al 1778, stampata a Firenze da Gaetano Cambiagi: classe V, vol. V: Leggi di Toscana riguardanti affari contenziosi tra i privati.

Studi Ascheri, M. (1989), Tribunali, giuristi e istituzioni dal medioevo all’età moderna, Bologna. Astorri, A. (1992), ‘Note sulla Mercanzia fiorentina sotto Lorenzo de’ Medici: aspetti istituzionali e politici’, Archivio storico italiano 110, 965–93. – (1998), La Mercanzia a Firenze nella prima metà del Trecento. Il potere dei grandi mercanti, Firenze. Astorri, A. / Friedman, D. (2005), ‘The Florentine Mercanzia and Its Palace’, I Tatti Studies 10, 11–68. Bausi, F. (2011), Umanesimo a Firenze nell’età di Lorenzo e Poliziano: Jacopo Bracciolini, Bartolomeo Fonzio, Francesco da Castiglione, Roma. Black, R. / Law, J. E., ed. (2015), The Medici: Citizens and Masters, Firenze. Böninger, L. (2015), ‘Lorenzo de’ Medici and Foreigners: Recommendations and Reprisals’, in The Medici: Citizens and Masters, ed. R. Black / J. E. Law, Firenze, 155–68. – (2016), ‘Gli uomini e le donne d’affari tedeschi e la Mercanzia di Firenze nei primi decenni del XV secolo’, in Tribunali di mercanti e giustizia mercantile nel tardo Medioevo, a cura di E. Maccioni e S. Tognetti, Firenze, 157–81. Boone, M. (1999), ‘Apologie d’un banquier médiéval: Tommaso Portinari et l’état bourguignon’, Le Moyen Âge 105, 31–54. Boschetto, L. (2010), ‘Salutati e la cultura notarile’, in Coluccio Salutati e l’invenzione dell’Umanesimo. Atti del convegno internazionale di studi (Firenze, 29–31 ottobre 2008), a cura di C. Bianca, Roma, 145–71. – (2011), ‘Writing the Vernacular at the Merchant Court of Florence’, in Textual Cultures of Medieval Italy. Essays from the 41st Conference on Editorial Problems, ed. W. Robins, Toronto, 217–62. – (2016), ‘L’ufficio del ricorso presso la Mercanzia fiorentina tra Quattro e Cinquecento’, in Tribunali di mercanti e giustizia mercantile nel tardo Medioevo, a cura di E. Maccioni e S. Tognetti, Firenze, 183–205. Branca, V. (1996), ‘Con amore volere’. Narrar di mercatanti fra Boccaccio e Machiavelli, Venezia. Brown, A. (1992), The Medici in Florence: The Exercise of Language and Power, Firenze / Perth. – (2011), Medicean and Savonarolan Florence: The Interplay of Politics, Humanism, and Religion, Turnhout.

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Cavallar, O. (1991), Francesco Guicciardini giurista. I ricordi degli onorari. Presentazione di J. Kirschner, Milano. Cecchi, A. (2007), ‘Piero o Antonio? Considerazioni sulle Virtù del Tribunale della Mercanzia e le altre opere degli Uffizi alla luce dei restauri’, in La stanza dei Pollaiolo. I restauri, una mostra, un nuovo ordinamento, a cura di A. Natali / A. Tartuferi, Firenze, 41–53. Colli, V. (2006), ‘Acta civilia in curia potestatis: Firenze 1344’, in Praxis der Gerichtsbarkeit in europäischen Städten des Spätmittelalters, ed. F.-J. Arlinghaus et al., Frankfurt am Main. De Roover, F. E. (1945), ‘A Prize of War: A Painting of Fifteenth Century Merchants’, Bulletin of the Business Historical Society 19, no. 1, 3–12. De Roover, R. (1970), Il Banco Medici dalle origini al declino: 1397–1494, Firenze. De Vos, D. (1994), Hans Memling. The Complete Works, Ghent / New York. Donahue, C. Jr. (2004), ‘Equity in the Courts of Merchants’, Tijdscherift voor rechtsgeschiedenis 72, 1–36. Doren, A. (1940), Le arti fiorentine, trad. di G. B. Klein, 2 voll., Firenze. Ettlinger, L. D. (1978), Antonio and Piero Pollaiuolo: Complete Edition with a Critical Catalogue, New York. Giordanengo, G. (1994), ‘Le élites internazionali in area provenzale: artisti, mercanti, uomini di lege (secoli XI–XV)’, in Sistema di rapporti ed élites economiche in Europa (secoli XII–XVII), a cura di M. Del Treppo, Pisa / Napoli, 179–98. Goldthwaite, R. A. (1987), ‘The Medici and the World of Florentine Capitalism’, Past and Present 114, 3–31. – (2009), The Economy of Renaissance Florence, Baltimore. Herlihy, D. / Litchfield, R. Burr / Molho, A. / Barducci, R. (2002), Florentine Renaissance Resources, Online Tratte of Office Holders, 1282–1532. Machine readable data file (Florentine Renaissance Resources/STG: Brown University, Providence, R. I.) Kent, F. W. (2004), Lorenzo de’ Medici and the Art of Magnificence, Baltimore. – (2013), Princely Citizen: Lorenzo de’ Medici and Renaissance Florence, ed. C. James, Turnhout. Mallett, M. E. (1967), The Florentine Galleys in the Fifteenth Century. With the Diary of Luca di Maso degli Albizzi, Captain of the Galleys, 1429–1430, Oxford. Martines, L. (1968), Lawyers and Statecraft in Renaissance Florence, Princeton. Marzi, D. (1910), La cancelleria della Repubblica fiorentina, Rocca San Casciano. Najemy, J. (1982), Corporatism and Consensus in Florentine Electoral Politics, 1280–1400, Chapel Hill. Pezzarossa, F. (1980), ‘La “ragione di Pisa” nelle “Ricordanze” di Ugolino Martelli’, Archivio storico italiano 138, 527–76. Romano, D. (2015), Markets and Marketplaces in Medieval Italy, c. 1100 to c. 1440, New Haven / London. Rubinstein, N. (1999), Il governo di Firenze sotto i Medici (1434–1494), nuova edizione a cura di G. Ciappelli, Milano. Rubin, P. L. / Wright, A. (1999), Renaissance Florence: The Art of the 1470s, London. Vittozzi, E. (2009), ‘Mauruzzi, Giovanfrancesco’, in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Roma, LXXII, s.v. Walsh, R. (2005), Charles the Bold and Italy, 1467–1477: Politics and Personnel, Liverpool.

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Wright, A. (2005), The Pollaiuolo Brothers: The Arts of Florence and Rome, New Haven. Zorzi, A. (1988), L’amministrazione della giustizia penale nella Repubblica fiorentina. Aspetti e problemi, Firenze.

Claudio Povolo

The Public Rock of Cut Heads. Violence and Banditry in the Mediterranean: The Republic of Venice in the Sixteenth Century*

Abstract The banishment penalty reflected European political and constitutional polycentrism and its interrelations with a society that for a long time had been characterized by conflicts between factions and family groups. Reaching a lasting peace between the opponents was an essential aim of the vendetta system, as was ensuring the tranquillity and safekeeping of community values. The system was endowed with a pronounced juridical dimension that at the constitutional level interacted with the role played by the courts as well as with trial and customary rites. These rites aimed at managing conflicts between opposing groups by distancing those who broke social stability, through banishment, if necessary. During the sixteenth century, a series of important social, demographic, and economic problems reshaped the conception of social control and order, as well as the longestablished management of penal justice. No longer embedded in its traditional constitutional dimension and made more extreme with regard to both repression and rewards, the banishment penalty became an efficient instrument for imposing new political legitimacy. Faced with these transformations, bandits quickly took on the physiognomy of actual outlaws, portrayed as political opponents to be dealt with by any repressive instrument available.

In the Moors around Verona (October 1607) Guided by the young man who had been waiting for them at the tavern in Progno, the small group of soldiers silently crossed the marshes and moors over the wasteland only a few kilometres outside the town. The rain from the night before had made the ground wet and slippery. Dawn had not yet broken when they reached the solitary abandoned house at the foot of a hill. They had left their * My particular thanks go to my two collaborators, Martino Mazzon and Andrew Vidali, for the assistance given me in preparing the diagrams that accompany this article and in locating some of the archival sources used. I also wish to give a special thanks to Laura Amato, who has shown great competence in translating and editing the article.

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horses further back, along with most of the men who were waiting for the order to advance. The bandits – they surmised – were probably sleeping in the hayloft of the barn attached to the house. As they waited for daylight, they cautiously surrounded the building. The podestà of Verona had recommended the utmost caution, and so to avoid being seen they had gone out in the middle of the night, after the customary closing of the city gates. The small army of roughly eighty armed men was made up of soldiers provided by the Provveditore Generale of the Terraferma,1 Benedetto Moro, by the podestà’s police and by two companies of soldiers, Corsican and Cappelletti.2 They had been told that a young man wearing a red shirt, one of the group that had taken shelter in the house with another companion the night before, would wait for them in the tavern to lead them to the bandits’ hideout. The two informers had been secretly in touch with the heads of the Council of Ten for several months and had offered to collaborate in turning over their companions to the forces of justice in exchange for immunity and the promised head money. The band in question was known as the Brothers of la Grimana. For the occasion, they had been joined by other bands and planned to hold up a coach bound for Venice, carrying a large amount of public money. They were considered extremely dangerous men, held to be responsible for numerous robberies and murders. In the last days of September 1607, the authorities had been informed that there were seventeen men in the band, fully armed with hackbuts, pistols, and abundant munitions. It was rumoured that among them were even a Venetian patrician and a Veronese nobleman. Almost all of them were by then known as ‘famous bandits’, a label meaning that they were individuals used to every possible sort of difficult situation and daring enterprise. But, above all, they had nothing to lose, because they knew what their fate would be if they were taken alive. Even their bodily features strongly expressed the continual challenge they had been facing for years now, as they moved along state borders to take the territory delimited by the rivers Po and Adige by surprise, at times even venturing as far as the border of the Venetian lagoon. The army had cautiously advised the men of the neighbouring communities that they were to start tolling the bells as soon as they received the order. At daybreak the small army attacked, and the heath was full of the deafening noise of ceaseless gunshots from both sides. As a last measure, the barn was set on fire. The group of bandits poured out and managed to break their way through the ranks of besiegers. Four of them were killed, but the remaining bandits, pursued by the soldiers and men from the neighbouring villages, managed to cross the marsh and reach the village of Marcelise, where they found shelter in a house. Its 1 Provveditore generale: the magistracy in charge of the local territory. 2 Soldiers recruited in Dalmatia and Albania.

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siege lasted all day, even though the house had been set on fire. Towards evening the attack ended with an incursion of the soldiers into the burning building. Only one of the bandits, who was wounded, was captured. All the others preferred death to surrender. The heads of those whose bodies had not been consumed by the flames were cut off and carried into the city to be placed on the pietra del bando, a public stone where the heads of executed bandits were put on display, as an example.3

Violence and Banditry The detailed reconstruction of this bloody attack was made possible by referring to the description of it given by the protagonists who organized or participated in it. It took place at dawn on 1 October 1607,4 not far from the city of Verona. The bandits’ version would likely have furnished other details and doubtless a different assessment of the facts.5 Similar episodes were, in any case, quite frequent in those years, and they pose a series of very important questions to an observer examining them, above all, as regards the extraordinary outbreaks of violence that characterized the war against banditry across the Mediterranean region between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.6 In the last few decades, historiography on the topic of banditry has dwelled in particular on the thesis formulated by Eric Hobsbawm concerning the figure of the social bandit. This thesis has been strongly contested from various points of view, though it has undoubtedly continued to be influential in the field of studies aimed at investigating the social and cultural implications of banditry. Nor have Hobsbawm’s subsequent adjustments resolved the perplexity of scholars who emphasize the importance of the reconstruction of the political and social 3 To demonstrate their real identity, which would be confirmed by witnesses, who would testify under oath that they recognized them. 4 The activities of this band, called ‘Della Grimana’ in judiciary sources, occupy the first years of the seventeenth century, though Zuan Giacomo Della Grimana, who like his brother Zanon was born in the village of Biadene near Treviso, was banished for the first time in 1596. The two informers, Domenico Ceccato and Augusto Soccal, came from the nearby village of Cavaso (today Cavaso del Tomba). The information about their murders is taken from the dispatches of the rectors of Verona and from the documentation of the Council of Ten: Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASV), Consiglio dei dieci, Comuni, filza 263, 17 October 1607. Some of the men who were killed were without a precise identification, but a brief description was given of them; for instance: ‘One called il Gallo, who was said to be from Cremona, tall, 30 years old, with a black beard. One who also was said to be from Cremona, tall, with a red beard, 30 years old…’: ibid., description attached to the dispatch of the podestà of Verona, Giulio Contarini of 10 October 1607. 5 As in the case of Giovanni Beatrice described below. 6 Povolo (1997).

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context in which bandits operated.7 Indeed, Hobsbawm’s work failed to consider, as did the successive studies based on it, the close connections between banditry and the banishment penalty that characterized the Middle Ages and the early modern period. Recognizing the interrelations between feuds and banditry has placed the figure of the bandit closer to local conflicts and their interaction with dominant political systems.8 We still, however, lack an adequate investigation of the constitutional context of these interrelations, which could be useful in explaining not only the specificity of conflicts,9 but also the historiographical approaches that have allowed us to focus on the sphere of violence.10

7 Hobsbawm (1969); see the ‘Postscript’, 167–99, of the 2000 edition, where Hobsbawm addresses most of the criticisms of his ideas. Besides the observations of Blok (1972), reported by Hobsbawm, I mention here Slatta (1994 and 1987) and Sant Cassia (1993). In fact, much of the discussion about Hobsbawm’s book arose out of an underlying misunderstanding, which considered the bandito (social or not) to be a person persecuted by those who controlled justice, without taking account of the constitutional and juridical aspects. See, on this point, Jütte (2004), but also Slatta (1994), 99, in which the definition of banditry ‘is the taking of property by force or by the threat of force’. It seems clear that this definition can be accepted only when the form of state, in its contemporary meaning, presupposed a widespread control of its territories and borders. 8 This approach has allowed us to appreciate important aspects of conflicts and banditry. For some significant examples regarding the Italian context, see Raggio (1990) and Lepori (2010). On Corsica, see Wilson (1988). In these works, there is a clear focus on judiciary activities introduced from outside or on attempts by the political authorities to enter the dynamics of conflicts with various forms of pacification. Nevertheless, the relationship between banditry and the penalty of banishment that is at its origin, have not been investigated in their constitutional implications, which clearly influenced the dynamics of feuds. 9 I mention here only some of the works that have tried to treat this topic more generally: Kamen (2000), in which the phenomenon of banditry is significantly dealt in the chapter ‘Crime and Punishment’, and Ruff (2001), especially 216–47. Ruff ’s perspective covers in detail the whole of Europe, but though he stresses the widespread jurisdictional fragmentation (223) and the use of the banishment penalty (230), the term ‘banditry’ is generally attributed to essential criminal actions (e. g., 221–2) made possible by the weakness of the state authority. See also Thomas Gallant’s penetrating observations cited below. For the medieval and modern ages, the term ‘bandit’, used for the perpetrator of actions against community or state, is almost always inseparable from that of a person subjected to the penalty of banishment. 10 This topic has aroused the interest of many scholars in recent years and has led to increasingly detailed considerations on the complexity of feud conflicts and peace-making rites. The bibliography on the topic is extremely large. I mention here Carroll (2007), Broggio / Paoli, ed. (2011), Davies, ed. (2013), and Kounine / Cummins (2016). Particularly significant is the weighty introduction to Carroll (2007), in which the theme of violence is handled in its cultural and historiographical dimensions; Carroll opportunely observes, 5–6: ‘The concept of medieval man as innately barbaric was less influential among constitutional historians who had always had a high regard for the role of law in regulating behaviour, or those who studied politics and viewed aristocratic violence, in particular, in terms of limited and self-interested political motives; and these traditional pillars of the historical discipline were lent support by the emerging discipline of anthropology …’

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It may be interesting to mention here the observations of the English traveller, Fynes Moryson, who in the early 1590s passed through a good part of the Italian peninsula: The Italyans in generall are most strict in the courses of Justice, without which care they could not possiblie keepe in due order and awe the exorbitant dispositions of that nation, and the discontented myndes of theire subiects. Yet because only the Sergiants and such ministers of Justice are bound to apprehend Malefactours, or at least will doe that office (which they repute a shame and reproch), and because the absolute Principalities are very many and of little circuite, the malefactors may easily flye out of the confines, where in respect of mutuall ielosies betweene the Princes, and of theire booty in parte giuen to those who should prosecute them, they finde safe retrayt. In the meane tyme where the Fact was donne, they are prescribed and by publike Proclamations made knowne to be banished men vulgarly called Banditi. And where the ruine is haynous besydes the bannishment rewardes are sett vpon theire heades to him that shall kill them or bring them in to the tryall of Justice, yea to theire fellow banished men not only those rewardes but releases of theire owne banishments are promised by the word of the State vpon that condition, which proclamation vpon the head is vulgarly called Bando della Testa.11

Moryson grasped the image of banditry in its original judiciary derivation, principally by seeing it in relation to the extreme jurisdictional fragmentation of the Italian peninsula and the extraordinary measures adopted in those years to cope with this phenomenon, which originated in local and family conflicts. For Moryson, the outlaw was essentially a person under penalty of banishment, who could therefore be killed with impunity even by others in the same condition. These were mainly men who were surprisingly unwilling to abandon definitively the territories they had been banished from, though they were aware of the tragic destiny that might await them. This English traveller also observed that – in borderlands – banditry and violence were inevitably more habitual, nourishing the idea of the outlaw and his inexorable destiny: These Outlawes fynde more safe being in those parts, by the wickednes of the people commonly incident to all borderers, and more spetially proper to the Inhabitants thereof. But these rewards, and impunityes promised to outlawes for bringing in the heads or persons of other outlawes hath broken their fraternity. So as hauing found that their owne Consorts haue sometymes betrayed others to capitall Judgment or themselues killed them, they are so ielous one of another, and soaffrighted with the horror of their owne Consciences, as they both eat and sleep armed, and vppon the least noyse or shaking of a leafe, haue their hands vppon their Armes, ready to defend themselues from assault.12

11 Moryson, ed. Hughes (1903), 157. 12 Ibid., 158.

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In truth, the climate described by Moryson reflected a state of emergency widespread not only in the Mediterranean area but also in much of Europe in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.13 Its specific features undoubtedly varied according to the diverse political and constitutional structures that framed the new concept of social order which was emerging, along with the extraordinary explosion of violence linked to feuds and banditry.14 The numerous monographic and collective works that in recent years have dwelt on the origins and modes of violence in the medieval and modern ages have underscored the interpretative weakness of theses like those of Norbert Elias and Max Weber, which presuppose the gradual emergence of the force of a state able to legitimize or monopolize the use of violence.15 Some years ago, Charles Tilly stressed that diverse state entities imposed themselves gradually and in a contradictory fashion, by making use of the various social forces existing in their territory and representing themselves as guarantors of the existing constitutional order.16 This is a highly evocative hypothesis if we consider the ways in which institutional violence interacted with that of the forces of opposition. In reality, the extraordinary outburst of violence, starting from the last decades of the sixteenth century, clearly rested on the banishment laws issued by the central powers in those years.17 These laws were particularly effective; their real importance can be grasped fully only by setting them alongside the introduction of inquisitorial trials recorded all over Europe in the sixteenth century. It is evident 13 Moryson understood well that banditry was associated with feuds: ‘They haue many other meanes also to redeeme themselues from banishment, as for murthers by intercession of freinds at home, vppon agreement made with the next freinds of the party murthered.’ But he also noticed that the climate had greatly changed following the intervention of the central powers: ‘But in Crimes extraordinarily haynous, the Princes and States are so seuere, as in their publique Edict of banishment, besides rewards sett vppon their heads, great punishments and Fynes according to the qualityes of offence and person are denounced against them who at home shall make petition or vse other meanes at any tyme to haue them restored to their Countryes Lands and livings’: ibid., 158–9. See also below, p. 127. 14 On banditry, I refer to the proceedings of the two important international conferences that were held on the topic: Ortalli, ed. (1986) and Manconi, ed. (2003). 15 In addition to the above-mentioned studies, in which the theses of Elias and Weber are fully explored, see the observations made from a different perspective in Goody (2006), 154–79. 16 See Tilly (1985), 171–2, and Thomson (1994), 3, who, following up Tilly’s observations, remarks: ‘States did not monopolize violence even within their territorial borders. Urban militias, private armies, fiscal agents, armies of regional lords and rival claimants to royal power, police forces, and state armies all claimed the right to exercise violence. Authority and control over domestic violence was dispersed, overlapping, and democratized.’ 17 This aspect has chiefly been dealt with in Italian historiography. Along with the various contributions in Ortalli, ed. (1986) and Manconi, ed. (2003) mentioned above, see Fosi (1985), Fosi (2011), esp. 78–89, Gaudosio (2006), and Black (2011), 189–91. For Germany, and in particular the town of Ulm, I refer to Coy (2008), where the frequent use of the penalty of banishment by the city authorities does not seem to imply the death penalty for those returning without authorization.

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that criminal policy concerning banditry as well as the new trial rites could be carried out effectively only if they had the consensus and encouragement of broad sectors of the society of the time. This is true also because these policies implied an actual and substantial modification of existing constitutional arrangements which had guaranteed political legitimacy to the various territories since the late Middle Ages and which would not disappear definitively until the end of the eighteenth century. Banditry and the vendetta system were closely tied together, as were their outcomes. Above all, they reflected the weakening of constitutional arrangements that had for centuries characterized the various political structures of the Mediterranean basin. The interconnections between feuds and banditry found in certain areas of Spain and the Italian peninsula seem to refer implicitly to their specific institutional features, which were characterized by the well-organized system of vendetta existing in the territory.18 Factions, bandos (different camps), and kinship structures endowed with some sort of legal legitimacy seem to be less visible in social contexts where, as for instance in northern Italy, the towns had spread their jurisdiction over a wide territory. In this case the penalty of banishment, though still a reflection of conflicts between family groups, was, however, the expression of courts whose main goal was to assure peace and social tranquillity.

The Banishment Penalty Widely used in all ages and across diverse political structures, the penalty of banishment took on great importance starting from the late Middle Ages, both as an arm of political struggle (so-called political banishment) and as an instrument of social control used in defence of community order and values, and also to facilitate the resolution of conflicts between families in competition for honour and the management of economic resources.19 Thus, this penalty expressed the complexity of juridical institutions based both on a culture of writing and the existence of legal professionals, and on a system of conflict regulated by custom and characterized by honour and vendetta.20 It was, therefore, a penalty that 18 For Spain, I refer particularly to the summary by Pomara Severino (2011), which provides an ample survey of works on Spanish bandolerismo, especially those by X. Torres i Sans. In Manconi, ed. (2003), the situation in Catalonia is dealt with by X. Torres i Sans, 35–52, and by E. Serra i Puig, 147–69, who treats the topic of banditry by focusing on the constitutional structure; the situation in Valencia, by L. J. Guia Marìn, 87–106; and that in Murcia, by G. Lemeunier, 181–95. An overall general framework is provided in Casey (1999), 165–91. 19 Cavalca (1978). For France, see Carbasse (1990), 2235. 20 Stein (1984).

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interacted with judiciary trial rites and that reflected the heteronomous – that is, subject to external controls and impositions – medieval constitutional system, characterized almost everywhere by a dense network of jurisdictions, each of which was endowed with its own autonomy, even if moral, religious, and political values were largely shared.21 In every medieval community restorative and retributive justice were intertwined; although the vendetta system was by and large informal and regulated by custom, the judicial courts recognized its potential for violence, and their chief aim was to reduce its threat to the security and peace of the town.22 Not by chance, a person under the penalty of banishment could usually be killed with impunity if he trespassed beyond the borders forbidden to him.

RESTORATIVE JUSTICE

A) CUSTOMS

SYSTEM OF VENDETTA

HONOR – ANGER

COMPENSATE VICTIM AND MAKE PEACE

RESTORATIVE JUSTICE

B) COURTS

COURT – DEFENSE «PER PATREM» – JUDICIAL RITES

PEACE BETWEEN PARTIES IN CONFLICT

PECUNIARY PENALTY BANISHMENT

Figure 1

21 Ruggie (1998), 146–7: ‘The medieval system of rule was legitimated by common bodies of law, religion and custom that expressed inclusive natural rights pertaining to the social totality formed by the constituent units. These inclusive legitimations posed no threat to the integrity of the constituent units, however, because the units viewed themselves as municipal embodiments of a universal moral community.’ 22 Lenman / Parker (1980), 11–48. On this important article, see my observations in Povolo (2015a), 212–13. Of great interest for the interrelations between the administration of justice and the vendetta system is Smail (2013).

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This was, then, a system that involved a close correlation between violence and banditry, along with a somewhat blurred distinction between the two concepts of restorative and retributive justice. The concept of restorative justice entailed significant importance given to the victim and the obligation of the offender to compensate adequately the damage caused. In the medieval period, and in some parts of Europe in the following centuries as well, this kind of justice was strictly linked to revenge, which typically involved anger, hatred, and resentment, but also peace and amor (see Figure 1). The banishment penalty, which excluded the person accused of a crime from the community, could therefore be conceived of as an instrument for establishing a necessary truce, in the expectation that the antagonistic groups would reach a peace agreement. The various trial rites were theoretically meant to lead to this result, and their features and outcomes revealed the implicit language of vendetta that underlay formal justice. Certain trial rites, such as the defence per patrem, which provided that the fugitive murderer’s father could present himself in his place, also explain why, in these forms of justice, pecuniary penalties often accompanied banishment, as well as the peace agreements that frequently put a halt to judicial proceedings. But in medieval society, there also obviously existed retributive forms of justice, according to which certain behaviours were considered a crime against the community, its values, and its social arrangements. Though this system of justice was harsh, it often had a restorative dimension as well, since its primary goal was to reduce the impact of the conflicts driven by the vendetta system (see Figure 2).23 Though characterized by the action of a judge in the processo informativo (inquisitio) – that is, the investigation phase preceding the actual trial – this form of justice allowed lawyers ample room for procedures aimed at using justifying facts such as provocation, legitimate defence, and, above all, anger or temporary madness.24 In this judicial dimension, the victim continued to have an important role and could intervene in the initial phases of the trial. In the end, the banishment penalty constituted a kind of link joining the various requirements of justice and a balanced role for both victim and defendant.

23 See Povolo (2015a), 207–18. As Carbasse (1990), 226, notes, generally speaking, the purpose of the penalty of banishment was to relieve tensions: ‘ce peut être aussi, parfois, l’instrument d’une politique criminelle intelligente; l’éloignement passage d’un petit delinquent permet d’apaiser les passions familiales, de calmer le conflits de voisinage, de restaurer la convivialité villageoise’. 24 Povolo (2015b).

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RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE

RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE

CRIMINAL COURTS

‘INQUISITIO’ TORTURE

VICTIMS

DEATH AND OTHER SEVERE PENALTIES

Guarantees Self defense Provoca!on Anger and other forms of justifica!on

Figure 2

Banditry in the Venetian Republic In August 1531 the Council of Ten, which constituted the highest political-judiciary organ of the Venetian Republic, deliberated a measure concerning banditry. This measure reflected the jurisdictional and constitutional tensions that the problem caused, as it was spreading to all the territories ruled over by the Republic, da terra and da mar. As usual, the first section of the parte (document) specified contents well known to all subjects of the Republic. It stated that the measures taken concerning banditry, both in Venice and the other cities, had proved ineffective, and that all bandits found in territories from which they had been exiled could be killed with impunity. But then it added that the ineffectiveness of the laws was essentially due to the network of protection and assistance the bandits could safely count on. It was therefore resolved that anyone who lent any form whatsoever of assistance to a bandit would incur the same heavy penalty and could be killed with impunity ‘even if he was a very close blood relative’. The 1531 measure was extremely serious, not so much because it involved the sphere of kinship and vendetta underlying the banishment penalty as because it visibly interfered with the existing constitutional structure, according to which the policy of banishment was the exclusive competence of local jurisdictions. So much so that the very next year this parte was substantially revised since it had

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caused numerous problems when maligni (malicious persons) used schemes and tricks to accuse innocent people. In reality, the new measure reflected the problems involved in regulating from outside the complex interrelations among vendetta, kinship, and banditry.25 Indeed, a few decades earlier something similar had happened when the Council of Ten passed a measure regarding banditry. In 1489 it had been decided that bandits could not be killed with impunity by premeditated aggression carried out using ambushes or traps. This parte was contradictory, since it clearly failed to take into consideration the system of vendetta that inspired banditry. It also seemed deliberately to ignore the constitutional prerogatives of the large towns of the Veneto and Lombard Terraferma; and, the following year, faced by the protests of the town of Vicenza, the measure was revoked.26 Obviously, the Venetian ruling class and the highest political-judiciary institutions of the Serenissima were well aware of the social and cultural complexities underlying both banditry and the constitutional balances inherent in its regulation in the subject cities. In this connection the diarist Marin Sanudo reported a discussion that took place in 1525 in the Council of Ten concerning a murder committed in Corfù by a soldier enrolled in one of the galleys of the provveditore all’Armata. The councillors had proposed that the case should be assigned to this provveditore with authority to banish anyone charged with murder from all the territories of the Republic, also stipulating that this authority should be introduced in the commissioni addressed to the provveditori generali. The proposal clearly did not take into account the constitutional prerogatives of the provveditore of Corfù or, more broadly, of the competent jurisdictions of the subject towns. But in the end, as Sanudo noted with satisfaction, the proposal of the councillors was voted down by the majority of the council, because its approval would have meant ‘taking away the jurisdiction of the governors of the Terre’.27 In fact, although it was frequently used by Venetian magistrates, especially from the fifteenth century onwards, banishment seems to have been foreign to the city’s juridical tradition. As has been observed, it is not found in the Promissio maleficiorum of Doge Orio Malipiero (1181) or Doge Jacopo Tiepolo (1232).28 This absence does not seem to indicate so much a cultural peculiarity of Venice as a specificity in its constitutional structure, characterized by a city-state with a very small hinterland (the Dogado). But, with the formation of a territorial state, it would have been very difficult for the highest Venetian magistracies to ignore 25 26 27 28

Leggi criminali del Serenissimo dominio veneto (1751), 30–31. Ibid., 18–19. On this law, see Cozzi (1982), 81–2. Sanudo, ed. Stefani / Berchet / Barozzi (1984), XL, 89. Cozzi (1982), 82–4.

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the complexity and urgency of a phenomenon that inevitably pressed against the gates of the dominant city. The measures of the high magistracies regarding banditry were actually for the most part solicited by single families or individuals involved in conflicts between opposing factions. These factions often tended to go beyond local contexts in order to bend the conflict in their favour. Such measures inevitably produced a reaction on the part of the subject towns, which demanded the immediate restoration of the constitutional rights violated by the dominant city. The penalty of banishment was an important prerogative envisioned in the statutes of every large town of the Venetian state. In particular, at the moment of its acquisition of the Terraferma, Venice had stipulated pacts that the representatives it sent to govern those towns were required to respect both in form and substance. The ban inflicted by local courts envisioned expulsion from the town, its territory, and the customary fifteen miles beyond its boundaries. In certain cases, as in Vicenza in 1545, the Council of Ten had considerably broadened the prerogatives of local courts to banish people from all territories between the rivers Mincio and Quarnaro.29 And in 1503 the highest Venetian magistracy had also decided that anyone who had been banished by the courts of its dominium da terra e da mar and who had not left the prohibited territories within eight days was to consider himself banished from the whole state, including the dominant city itself. This criminal policy clearly emphasized the jurisdiction of the subject towns.30 The choices made by the highest Venetian governing body evidently aimed to favour peacekeeping in its subject territories, and, to that end, the jurisdiction of local courts over the matter of banishment was extremely important. Indeed, the purpose of the banishment penalty was not only to exile all those who threatened the tranquillity of urban life; it also sought to create the premises for re-establishing peace among antagonistic groups and factions. With the removal of those who had committed a serious crime, banishment constituted the essential premise for establishing a truce, the necessary first step to start negotiating peace 29 Vicenza, Biblioteca civica Bertoliana, Archivio Torre, busta 684, fasc. 22: in cases of especially serious crimes, such as armed robbery and arson, the Vicentine court, which already possessed considerable jurisdictional privileges, could pronounce banishment from the city, the territory, the customary fifteen miles ‘et anco più’ (‘and even more’). 30 Leggi criminali, 21–2. A similar measure had been taken in 1485 (ASV, Consiglio dei dieci, Misti, reg. 22, c. 154, 24 March 1485). Towards the end of the sixteenth century, the renowned expert in criminal law Lorenzo Priori observed: ‘Therefore, bandits should beware of coming to the places forbidden them, because even if according to the law of 29 July 1489 bandits or those condemned to fifty lire could not be accosted except for actual murder, and not by traps or ambushes, nonetheless on 11 September 1490 the aforesaid law 89 was revoked so that according to this revocation the bandit or condemned person – as said above – can with impunity be accosted by traps and ambushes, in a sect and monopoly, as described by the title of this law, and also with the exoneration of arquebuses, on which there had been many and diverse judgments’: Priori (1738), 58–9.

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THE MECHANICS OF THE VENDETTA SYSTEM IN THE CITIES AND TERRITORIES UNDER VENETIAN RULE BEFORE THE MIDDLE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY DOMINANT CITY (VENICE) THE LIBERATION AND RETURN OF BANDIT

PEACEFUL OUTCOME

INFLICTION OF BANISHMENT PENALTY

SUBJECT TOWNS (e.g. VICENZA or BRESCIA)

INTERIOR REGULATION OF VENDETTA SYSTEM NEGOTIATIONS

POSSIBILITY OF KILLING THE BANDIT WHO REENTERS THE TERRITORY

EXPULSION OF BANDIT

Figure 3

between rival groups. Moreover, it was essential for reinforcing the role played by the local courts in affirming a system of justice that could reconcile the various demands of order and safety.31 In order to make the ostracism decreed by the local courts truly effective, it was also envisioned that anyone who had violated the geographical limits established by the penalty of banishment could be killed with impunity. The clear objective of this provision was to affirm the jurisdiction of the town court, but it also sought to allow the family that had been offended in blood and honour to continue its vendetta. Thus, the penalty of banishment was indissolubly tied to the customary system of the vendetta, which obeyed its own rules, but which also had to stand up against a judicial system whose priorities of peace and order aimed at guaranteeing the safety of towns as well as an equilibrium between opposing factions in constant economic and political competition.32 Only after peace between opposing factions had been reached would the city court decree the return of the person who had been banished. In this way the informal vendetta system, which obeyed the laws of custom, and the formal system of judiciary institutions mediated and interpreted by a class of pro31 For instance, the statutes of Verona made clearly explicit the interrelations between the banishment penalty and truces, see Statuta magnificae civitatis Veronae (1582), 165–8. 32 This question was not always dealt with explicitly in the statutes, also because these texts interacted with customary norms; on this point, see Calvaca (1978), 168–213.

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fessional jurists, met in the name of an order whose indispensable premise was the re-establishment of peace in the city (see Figure 3).33

The Phase of Suspension (1549–1580) Thus, the complex relationship between the vendetta system and the banishment penalty existed both informally, through negotiations and agreements between the conflicting parties, and on a formal judiciary level interspersed with trial rites like various forms of summons, difese per patrem and safe-conducts, all of which aimed at re-establishing the equilibrium broken by a conflict and at bringing about a peaceful resolution.34 So that this could proceed positively, ostracism towards the banished person had to remain in force until the conclusion of the peace. And this ostracism could be effective only if it envisioned the bandit’s being killed with impunity if he violated the confines of the territory prohibited to him.35 Based on this consideration, we can grasp the impact created by the law that the Council of Ten passed in 1549, which began what can be defined as the policy of suspension (see Figure 4). On that day the highest political-judiciary organ of the Republic decreed the suspension of the possibility for bandits to free themselves by killing or capturing other bandits (evidently in the sphere of the competent jurisdiction). This clear violation of the jurisdiction of the subject towns was motivated by a widespread climate of insecurity and was in any case adopted for a period limited to two years: all those who have been banished to this day and those who will be banished for whatsoever atrocious reason can be thought of, likewise, either perpetually or temporarily […] can no longer be freed from their banishment by way of capturing or killing another bandit […] nor for effect of any law or parte up to now taken that gives them that benefit, in order that all hope of being able to remedy their situation be removed from these bandits.36

This law remained in force until 1555; then it was suspended, but it was intermittently reintroduced until 1580, when it was effectively substituted by the law 33 These aspects can be grasped in all their complexity only through the trial rites, which evidently aimed at reconciling the bitter social conflict with the demands of the city courts. For some examples, see Povolo (2013), 513–14. 34 Again, I refer to Povolo (2015a). 35 Ostracism becomes concrete in the penalty of banishment at the moment when conflict management merges with the system of common law (ius commune) that was prevalent all over Europe from the late Middle Ages onwards. In previous centuries it had been a prerogative of the world of custom. The person expelled from the community was considered homo sacer, entrusted to God, and was without any rights. The bandit was also looked on as a virtual criminal. On all of this, see Knoll / Sˇejvl (2010), 144–5. 36 Leggi criminali (1751), 44.

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passed that year, which was to initiate a phase of continuation (see below). The law of 1549 was accompanied by a measure providing for two companies of Dalmatian soldiers, each made up of seventy men led by two country chieftains, to be created and assigned to the task of scouring the territories of the Terraferma.37 The intervention of the Council of Ten had the intention of marking a real turning point, since it dealt with the tormented question of banditry with determination, clearly impacting the dynamics that fed the conflicts between groups and families. Many statutes of the subject cities not only provided that bandits could be killed with impunity by anyone, but also that they could win their freedom by killing each other. This was a norm aimed to assure respect for the periods of truce needed by local judicial institutions and conflicting families to lessen internal tensions and start peace negotiations. The measure taken by the Council of Ten interfered with the local dynamics of conflict, and undoubtedly the establishment of the country chieftains could only with great difficulty have coped with the endemic problems caused by banditry. Yet the long phase of suspension begun with the 1549 law allowed the highest Venetian organ to dictate the rhythms of a criminal policy that was no longer entrusted exclusively to the subject towns. VENETIAN INTERVENTION (LAW OF 1549): PERIODIC SUSPENSION OF THE RIGHT OF BANDITS TO KILL EACH OTHER DOMINANT CITY (VENICE) LIBERATION AND RETURN OF BANDIT

PEACEFUL OUTCOME

SUBJECT TOWNS (e.g. VICENZA or BRESCIA)

INTERIOR REGULATION OF VENDETTA SYSTEM NEGOTIATIONS

PERIODIC ODI SUSPENSION OF THE RIGHT GHT OF BANDITS ANDITS TO KILL EACH OTHER ER

INFLICTION OF BANISHMENT PENALTY

EXPULSION OF BANDIT

Figure 4

37 Basaglia (1985), 203–4. As Basaglia points out, in 1549 a fund for the payment of reward money was also set up.

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This was true interference, differing from the single measures concerning banditry that had been temporarily taken in the past, since the 1549 law constituted a reference point of interference for some decades. As a matter of fact, in 1555 it was suspended for three years; and this happened again in 1559 (for five years), 1569 (for one year), 1573 (for one year), 1574 (for one year), 1577 (for two years), and 1579 (for two years).38 In the periods when, due to its suspension, it was not in effect, local jurisdictions regained their autonomy, and the system centring on the complex relationship between vendetta and local judiciary institutions was once again active. It is likely that the 1549 law should be seen as part of a complicated open exchange with the governing classes of the subject towns, and that it was intended to help towns contain heated permanent local conflicts.39 What is certain is that for roughly three decades this apparently contradictory and intermittent measure influenced some of the mechanisms fundamental to the vendetta system, at the same time as it suspended the legitimacy of the statutes and their judiciary and procedural provisions.

From Suspension to Extension Faced by a serious situation explicitly attributed to the emergence of a type of banditry considered aggressive and dangerous,40 on 20 May 1580 the Venetian Senate passed an exceptional measure that remained in force for a long time. The rettori (governors) of the main towns were given the authority to proceed summarily and sopra il luogo (in the places where they had been identified and captured) against bandits found trespassing in prohibited territories. The measure was openly addressed to the network of support and aid associated with certain sectors of the aristocracy. It stipulated that, once those who protected the bandits were identified, the rettori were to inflict on them the penalty of confinement and the destruction of their houses if these had been turned into strongholds. This law was particularly effective, since it confronted with deter38 Povolo (1997), 144. For instance, on 5 June 1577 it was decided: ‘The audacity and temerity of bandits, who do not have high regard for the forces of justice, is such that they allow themselves to cross the boundaries unlawfully and commit new crimes and misdeeds, so it is fitting to take the same provisions as was done other times to uproot this sort of people. Hence, the resolution of the Council of 11 July 1549, which cancels the faculty of bandits to free themselves from their banishment by capturing or killing other bandits, is to be suspended for the next two years.’ See Leggi criminali (1751), 220. 39 A hypothesis put forward by me in Povolo (1997), 122–3. 40 ‘The turmoil that at present is heard in several parts of our state, caused by the insurrection of many villains, who joined together in large number commit various violent acts, assaults, robberies and murders against our faithful populace’ (ASV, Senato, Terra, reg. 53, c. 18). I refer again to Povolo (1997), 153–7.

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mination the climate of heated conflict that characterized significant sectors of the nobility of the Terraferma.41 The real leap, however, was made in July of the same year when a law definitively put an end to the long period of suspension begun in 1549: the Council of Ten took firmly into its own hands the complicated matter of banditry, which, though with significant interference, had for roughly two centuries been the competence of the local jurisdictions. Implicitly repealing the 1549 measure, the highest Venetian organ resolved that all bandits could obtain their freedom by killing other bandits in the same condition as they were. Opportunely adjusted and modified, the law was intermittently extended for several decades.42 Thus, from a long intermittent phase of suspension of a law that interfered in the dynamics of conflicts linked to banditry, a new phase was introduced, one characterized by extensions of a law that gave authority in this matter to the Council of Ten (see Figure 5). THE SECOND PHASE OF VENETIAN INTERVENTION: LAW OF 1580 AND THE EXTENSION SYSTEM DOMINANT CITY (VENICE) THE HE LIBERATIO LIBERATION AND RETURN OF O THE HE BANDIT

PEACEFUL OUTCOME

SUBJECT TOWNS (E.G. VICENZA OR BRESCIA)

INTERIOR NTERIOR REGULATION OF VENDETTA SYSTEM NEGOTIATIONS GOTIATIO

POSSIBILITY OF KILLING THE BANDIT TH WHO REENTERS EENTERS THE TERRITORY

INFLICTION NFLICTION OF BANISHMENT PENALTY

EXPULSION OF BANDIT

INTRODUCTION AND PERIODIC EXTENSION OF A NEW BANISHMENT LEGISLATION CONCERNING THE WHOLE STATE

Figure 5

With the law of 1580, legislation on banditry was therefore directly taken over by the central organs of the dominant city, at least with regard to its politically most 41 Povolo (1997), 163–6. 42 For example, a one-year extension was proposed in 1581, 1582, 1583, 1584, and for two years in 1587; see Povolo (1997), 200.

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important dimension. This control was even more significant in that it went alongside the gradual interference of the Council of Ten in the judiciary activity of the courts of the subject towns. By frequently delegating inquisitorial proceedings to the rettori of the large towns of the Terraferma, the highest politicaljudiciary organ determinedly involved itself in conflicts and in the vendetta system that for centuries had regulated equilibriums among families, factions, and rival groups. Indeed, the inquisitorial rite of the Council of Ten envisioned the exclusion of all privileges enjoyed by the subject towns, secret proceedings, and, above all, the exclusion of a lawyer for the defence.43 The penalty of banishment inflicted by authority of the Council of Ten comprised all the territories of the state, going beyond traditional boundaries, and was made more effective by the concession of bounties and, above all, by the granting of voci liberar bandito (the right to release a bandit allowed by a public institution).44 The arrest or killing of a bandit was awarded with the acquisition of a voce that could be used by the person directly interested or could be passed on to others, who could in turn ask for the liberation of another bandit. In this way a concrete market of voci was created, and most importantly the figure of the bounty killer came into being.45 This was a person who could remain anonymous, but who more often carried on his activity in agreement with the Venetian institutions. One example is a certain Francesco Canova, who with a following of roughly fifty men dedicated himself for a decade to hunting down bandits, winning many bounties and voci liberar bandito. In January1588 he carried out his most spectacular enterprise, recorded in 1590 by the rettori of Verona, who had regularly put his experience to use. On that occasion, Canova, with his following of fifty armed men, entered the archducal territory on the trail of Count Ottavio Giusti, ‘most famous murderer and implacable disturber of the public peace’. The count had taken refuge at Avio with some of his followers. As the Venetian representatives noted with satisfaction, the bounty killer was successful in this enterprise, bringing ‘six heads to the pietra del bando of this city, along with that of the aforesaid Ottavio’.46 As the names of his men and their places of 43 On the procedure of the Council of Ten, see Cozzi (1982), 103–4. On the inquisitorial procedures introduced in Europe during the sixteenth century, see Langbein (1974), 130–31, who underlines the difference of quality of the new procedures compared to the traditional medieval inquisitio. For an analytical examination of a trial in the context, see Povolo (2003), VII–LXVI. 44 The bounty killer had to demonstrate this right through witnesses who testified under oath that he was the one who had killed the bandit inside the state borders. In some cases, if the banishment sentence had so declared, the concession of the voce was guaranteed even if the bandit had been killed outside the borders of the Republic; see Povolo (2018), 136–41. 45 Ibid., 163–74. 46 Records of Canova’s activities are to be found in ASV, Consiglio dei dieci, Comuni, filza 182, documents attached to the parte of 21 March 1590.

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origin seem to suggest, Canova’s activities had their start in conflicts originating in the local vendetta system, in which he had been more or less a direct protagonist. In agreement with the rettori of Verona and the Council of Ten, his initiatives were then enlarged to include the repression of banditry. Large companies of armed men like his had become necessary to fight banditry along the borders, which inevitably attracted outlaws of diverse provenance. But the war against banditry could only be effective by taking advantage of the widespread situation of conflict existing in the various territories, which was nourished by a vendetta system no longer mediated by local judiciary institutions. In this context, Fynes Morison reported the changes he found at the end of the century: In Crimes extraordinarily haynous, the Princes and States are so seuere, as in their publique Edict of banishment, besides rewards settvppon their heads, great punishments and Fynes according to the qualityes of offence and person are denounced against them who at home shall make petition or vse other meanes at any tyme to haue them restored to their Countryes Lands and livings.47 THE NEW LEGISLATION ON BANISHMENT (EXTENSION SYSTEM AND ITS EFFECTS)

DOMINANT CITY (VENICE)

COUNCIL OF TEN

BANISHMENT FROM WHOLE THE STATE (AND SOMETIMES BEYOND)

BOUNTIES WARRANTS AND «VOCI LIBERAR BANDITI»

BOUNTY KILLERS COMMUNITY INVOLVEMENT – KILLING AMONGST BANDITS

Figure 6

The new legislation adopted against banditry at the end of the century created a short circuit between the vendetta system and traditional practices of mediation aimed at reaching truces and pacification. Its effectiveness could be achieved by intervening in the dynamics of local conflicts and by making use of awards and 47 Moryson, ed. Hughes (1903), 158.

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benefits to encourage informers and the involvement of communities and bounty killers (see Figure 6). The judiciary activity of the Council of Ten and the use of its inquisitional rites was an essential support for the repression that hinged principally on the banishment laws. A telling example of the complex interrelations sparked off by the judiciary activity of the Council of Ten is given by the episode whose protagonist was the Vicentine count, Ludovico da Porto. In 1579 he was first investigated and then banished from all the territories of the Republic following a series of violent acts (skilfully magnified by the enemy faction) he had committed in the village of Cresole. Determined to avenge himself, Ludovico da Porto trespassed on the frontiers of the state on more than one occasion, showing no mercy to his enemies. The Council of Ten put a conspicuous price on his head and issued repeated decrees of banishment against him. He joined a group of bandits from Vicenza and Verona, and in 1586 he was killed in his sleep along with some of his fellow bandits at Sabbioneta in the territory of Mantua. Their murderer, the Veronese nobleman Andrea Del Ben, cut off their heads and sent them to Vicenza to be viewed by da Porto’s enemies and displayed on the pietra del bando.48

Borders and Outlaws The new legislation on banditry undoubtedly increased its violent dimension, but, above all, it brought to light its instrumental and repressive aspects. The traditional relationship between feud and the banishment penalty, on the one hand, and the constitutional dimension, on the other, were swept away by the impact of a criminal policy characterized by reward-based legislation and a different perception of territory and borders.49 This phase was destined to last a long time. It was essentially characterized by the use of violence on the part of the dominant powers. These depended on forms of violence already in existence in the territory, but now sought a new concept of order and social safety. Thus, any attempt to grasp the origins, modalities, and transformations of violence in the early modern period cannot fail to reflect on the term ‘banditry’. On the whole, historiography has dwelt on the concept of social banditry coined by Eric Hobsbawm or, on the contrary, it has used the same word, ‘bandit’, in the broader, more general sense of ‘criminal or outlaw’. As has been observed, this

48 For this episode, see Povolo (1997), 319, and Lavarda 2007). 49 A perception that, on the juridical level, is not without significant ambiguity throughout the early modern period, since, while until the late eighteenth century it reflected the original and pluralistic jurisdictional dimension, it also, nonetheless, reflected the tensions that had developed in the political sphere. See Marchetti (2007).

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ambiguity has made it difficult to grasp the problem in its specific constitutional and cultural dimensions: So long as the target of inquiry was banditry historians and anthropologists limited themselves to exploring only one facet of a much more complex process. As soon as the term ‘bandit’ was applied, inquiry was restricted only to those armed predators who operated outside the law.50

In fact, the complexity of the problem is first of all terminological: The word ‘bandit’ itself is derived from the Italian verb ‘bandire’ meaning to exile or banish and thus at its root a bandit is a man who has been barred from normal society […]; the same men who at some points in their lives were bandits often operated at times inside the law as well. But a legal bandit is an oxymoron. By definition a bandit stands outside the law.51

Based on these considerations, it has been observed that the figures of bandits and pirates are related to the profound economic and political changes that in different periods and territories were decisive in building and strengthening states. For this reason, the term ‘military entrepreneurs’ has been adopted. These were ambiguous figures who flourished in areas characterized by economic expansion, as well as in peripheral and borderline territories: Military entrepreneurs, especially when they operated as outlaws, facilitated capitalist penetration of the countryside […]; [and] were deeply implicated and involved in the processes of state formation and consolidation. The political environments in which they flourished were characterized by weak and imperfectly centralized states incapable of exerting effective control […]; they participated in power struggles between big men […]; they provided the armed forces, or at least some of them. When the conflict was resolved, those on the winning side often became irregular members of the legitimate security forces, while the losers became labelled as outlaws once more.52

In the economic and political changes that concern the Italian peninsula and other European countries starting from the second half of the sixteenth century, banditry served as a social and cultural catalyst. This phenomenon was greatly heightened by the constitutional and political tensions that surrounded it.53 As a result of the criminal policy and banishment legislation adopted by state entities, borders, which were constitutionally fragmentary and jurisdictionally vague, became the privileged terrain for the action of groups of bandits and outlaws devoted to robbery and plunder, as well as to carrying out vendettas, which were now far more difficult to resolve with the customary modes and procedures 50 51 52 53

Gallant (1999), 26. Ibid. Ibid., 51. See my reflections in Povolo (1997), 158–62.

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envisioned by restorative justice. This fact can explain, for instance, the widespread occurrence all over the Italian peninsula of banditry of aristocratic or feudal origin. As has been observed: It is because the bandit throws down a challenge to law, state violence and the territorial imaginary that the state sees in the bandit not just a criminal but a political opponent and, conversely, why many bandits become ‘primitive rebels’.54

While violence still had its origins prevalently in conflicts stemming from the vendetta system and the language of honour, its increase came about when the central powers began to ignore customary jurisdictional arrangements in favour of extraordinary repressive instruments.55 The emergence of banditry in borderline areas was the inevitable result of the challenge to the traditional banishment penalty. But in order to enforce this new conception of order and security, central authorities did not hesitate to take advantage of the dynamics and ambiguities that inspired banditry itself, betting on figures that could be considered bandit- and/or bounty-killers, more or less openly permitted to operate in the territory. As Thomas Gallant has remarked, the new emerging state entities were compelled to make use of these irregular forces to guard their frontiers. Very often it was difficult to distinguish them from the bandits who operated along the borders or trespassed into forbidden territories to commit robbery or carry out their vendettas. In any case, the repression used highlighted the role of the central powers in the legal use of violence and the political redefinition of frontiers.56 Despite the harsh and decidedly negative language used when dealing with banditry, judiciary sources still do not succeed in masking the size of a phenomenon that, especially from the late sixteenth century onwards, takes on unprecedented dimensions. The figure of the famous bandit, frequently evoked in repressive acts, alternates with that of his antagonists, who hunt him down without respite, either to carry out a nerve-wracking vendetta or to win the rich rewards promised by the central authorities. But it is, above all, in literature that the bandit was paid particular attention, having by now assumed the stature of outlaw. The most famous of all was the 54 Neocleous (2003), 103. 55 As observed by Janice Thomson: ‘The process by which control over violence was centralized, monopolized, and made hierarchical entailed not the state’s establishment and defense of a new legal order but the state’s imposing itself as the defender of that order. Societal groups vigorously resisted state-builders’ drive to monopolize political authority and the coercion on which it ultimately rested. In the process state rulers struck bargains with various societal groups in which the latter provided war-making resources in exchange for property, political, and other rights. These bargains constitute subplots in the central drama in which the state achieved ultimate authority, especially on the use of coercion, within its territory’: Thomson (1994), 3. 56 Gallant (1999), 47.

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Catalan bandit Perot Rocaguinarda, handed down to us by Miguel de Cervantes in the second volume of his masterpiece Don Quixote, which appeared in 1615. Through the pen of this great novelist, Rocaguinarda narrates the fatal destiny that led him to become a great outlaw: ‘I should not wonder’said he, ‘Signor Don Quixote, that our life should appear to you a restless complication of hazards and disquiets; for it is no more than what daily experience has made me sensible of. You must know, that this barbarity and austere behaviour which I affect to shew is a pure force upon my nature, being urged to this extremity by the resentment of some severe injuries, which I could not put up with without a satisfactory revenge, and now I am in, I must go through; one sin draws on another, in spite of my better designs; and I am now involved in such a chain of wrongs, factions, abettors, and engagements, which are not only my own but I also take charge of those of others, that no less than the divine power of providence can free me from this maze of confusion. Nevertheless, I despair not still of a successful end of my misfortunes.’57

Literature adopted the image and the myth of the bandit-outlaw, uprooted from his social and family context to become at one and the same time a public enemy for the authorities58 and a virtual hero for the local population, which was well aware of his misfortunes. The figure of the traditional bandit, an expression of feudal conflicts, was transformed into that of the outlaw. Hunted down and attacked by the local elites and central powers alike, in time he often took on the allure of a local hero.59 Certainly, within the community the bandit was felt as a threat and a constant source of insecurity and, as such, was pursued with determination, also because of the rich rewards and bounties placed on his head. In no other way can we explain why the harsh banishment legislation was in the end accepted, despite its clear violation of age-old constitutional arrangements. Yet the same judiciary sources that often document the network of protection and 57 Cervantes, transl. Motteux (1908), cap. LX, 22. In the following chapter of Don Quixote, Cervantes describes Rocaguinarda’s behaviour not very differently from the picture that Fynes Moryson had given of the Italian bandits some years before. And, above all, Cervantes stresses that he had become an outlaw only after numerous banishments had been inflicted on him by political authorities: ‘They slept in one place, and ate in another, sometimes fearing they knew not what, then lying in wait for they knew not whom. Sometimes forced to steal a nap standing, never enjoying a sound sleep. Now in this side the country, then presently in another quarter; always upon the watch, spies hearkening, scouts listening, carbines presenting; though of such heavy guns they had but few, being armed generally with pistols. Roque himself slept apart from the rest, making no man privy to his lodgings; for so many were the proclamations against him from the viceroy of Barcelona, and such were his disquiets and fears of being betrayed by some of his men, for the price of his head, that he durst trust nobody. A life most miserable and uneasy’: Cervantes, transl. Motteux (1908), cap. LXI, 29–30. On Rocaguinarda, see also Casey (1999), 174. 58 For further literary examples, see Guarienti Baja (2012). 59 A topic dealt with by Graham Seal, especially in Seal (1996).

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assistance surrounding the bandit, which went beyond the enmity between antagonistic kin groups, indicate that he was seen differently by the poorer sectors of the population, who were familiar with the social and conflictual dynamics that were the cause of his ostracism on the part of the authorities. Thus, it comes as no surprise that the bandit, now to all effects an outlaw, was considered virtually an avenger opposing the economic and political logic of the local establishment and even challenging the central power. In this regard, the biography of the great outlaw Giovanni Beatrice, known as Zanzanù, is emblematic. For roughly fifteen years he operated in the lands bordering the western shore of Lake Garda. Banished following a feud and the murder of his father by a rival faction, he very soon became a famous outlaw.60 To put an end to the uncontested supremacy of the so-called band of the Zanoni, the Provveditore Generale of the Terraferma, Benedetto Moro, secretly contacted the bandits’ enemies, who evidently knew the lie of the land. Acting through a group of interested merchants and mediators from Brescia, he put several armed bandits at their disposal, authorizing them to enter the territories from which they had been banished. After winning the encounter with their adversaries, Beatrice and his band widened the scope of their action with the aim of gaining control over the flourishing smuggling activity around the wide basin of Lake Garda. At this point, a group of influential traders from Brescia who sought to regain control over this profitable illegal activity, with the backing of both local and Venetian authorities, recruited dozens of bandits and armed men drawn by the promise of rewards and bounties. In the years that followed Zanzanù, who had survived the enemy ambushes that exterminated the rest of the band, was able to operate almost without disturbance thanks to the mountainous territory and its borderline location, but also to the open support of a part of the population. His destiny was sealed, however, in 1617, along those very borders, which had become a place of tension between opposing political powers after the so-called war of Gradisca.61 His death was brought about by a coordinated attack on some of the communities situated on the western shore of the lake, which for years had been repeatedly spurred by the local nobility and the Venetian authorities to oppose the incursions of the bandits and the disturbances they caused. Wishing to mark the exceptional nature of the event, the communities that took part in his murder commissioned an artist to portray the great battle in a large ex-voto, still conserved today in the sanctuary of the Madonna di Montecastello di Tignale. 60 Povolo (2011). 61 This was the 1615–1617 war between Venice and the Habsburg monarchy; although it mainly took place in the eastern part of Friuli and in Istria, the conflict originated, above all, in the piracy practised by the population of Senj in the Adriatic.

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This painting can be seen to represent the great changes in banditry between the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. But there is another extraordinary testimony of Beatrice that has reached us. As already mentioned, in 1616 a bitter conflict broke out between Venice and the Archduchy of Austria. In order to face this military emergency, the Republic offered numerous bandits the possibility of freeing themselves from the penalty of banishment by enrolling in the Venetian army along with their following. Beatrice judged that the time had come to retrace his footsteps, and so he presented a petition to the Heads of the Council of Ten, in which he described the most significant moments of his life. He bitterly recalled his father’s murder and the uninterrupted chain of violence he had been drawn into by the thirst for vendetta. In this remarkable document, he also proudly recalls his valour as a bandit that had allowed him to survive the attacks of his numerous enemies for so many years – a valour that could be of use to the Republic on the occasion of this military encounter: My father, Giovanni Zannoni of the Riviera di Salò, who was an innkeeper in that land, the usual pass for those taking the lake route down from Germany, and from which he earned a living for all his poor family, while he lived peacefully, founded on a solemn peace with a signed vow, on the sacrament of the altar, was impiously murdered by someone from the Riviera. For this inhuman and barbarous action, and also because I, the aforesaid Giovanni, doubted my own safety from the felony of such cruel men, induced by desperation, resolved to avenge such a serious offence and to assure my own life, and so taking the path of violence, I avenged with the death of my enemies the loss of my father and of my family’s means of support; for which operations I was banished and, since the persecutions of our enemies continued, I responded with new vendettas, and drawing one after another, I received a large number of banishments, not only with the authority of the excellent Council of Ten, but one of the Council itself.62

This passage is reminiscent of the dialogue between Don Quixote and Rocaguinarda. The injustice suffered, the imperative of vendetta, and the chain of violent encounters with enemies are the features that, apart from any literary rhetoric or notary mediation, seem to distinguish the biographies of many outlaws in this period. And in his petition, while Beatrice refers to the inevitability of his becoming a bandit, he implies that this does not affect his status as a man or his loyalty to the ‘Serenissimo Principe’, the Venetian doge. But, above all, like his literary counterpart Rocaguinarda, he does not conceal that his image as an outlaw was inevitably enlarged by the new political and conflictual climate: I confess to being guilty of many banishments, all however for private crimes and none even minimally pertaining to public or state affairs, neither with a condition to be excluded from the current parte, nor with the burden of compensating anybody, and 62 Povolo (2011), 156.

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may I still be allowed to say fairly that, while many excesses have been committed in my name, as I had no hope of freeing myself, I never took the trouble to exonerate myself.

And so, the great outlaw begged to be pardoned by his prince, by placing himself at his service. This service he intended to perform honourably and expertly, as his past conduct suggested: Wherefore, I, Giovanni your subject, humbly beg Your Sublimity to deign to look upon my deep affection with the eye of pity, condoning the punishments of banishment and the errors committed up to the day of publication of the present parte and also to pardon my wife, who has been banished for twenty years because of the service rendered to me, in this way allowing me to show the results of my ardent wish to be able, just as I have been careless of my life a good thousand times in the midst of the arquebus shots of enemies, so equally to conserve the same gloriously in your service.63

Beatrice’s offer was tacitly refused, unlike that of other bandits who received pardon even though they had committed crimes far more serious and heinous than his. For Beatrice had underestimated the degree to which his image had become that of a great outlaw and that, as such, he was considered a political opponent to be eliminated at all costs in order to reaffirm the new social and political order. By contrast, two years previously the Catalan bandit Perot Rocaguinarda had managed to avoid this destiny, winning a pardon and the possibility of serving under the arms of the sovereign he had fought against for so long.64

Bibliography Archival References Archivio di Stato di Venezia (=ASV) – ASV, Consiglio dei dieci, Comuni, filza 182. – ASV, Consiglio dei dieci, Comuni, filza 263. – ASV, Consiglio dei dieci, Misti, reg. 22, c. 154, 24 March 1485. – ASV, Senato, Terra, reg. 53, c. 18. Biblioteca civica Bertoliana, Vicenza, Archivio Torre, busta 684, fasc. 22.

63 Ibid., 157. 64 As has been observed, the second part of Cervantes’s work appeared in 1615, a year after Rocaguinarda had won pardon and already served in the ranks of the Spanish army in Naples. The description of this famous bandit thus expressed the solution Cervantes hoped for with regard to the vast phenomenon of banditry, in his judgment uselessly prosecuted with the repressive measures adopted by the Spanish monarchy; see Martinez-Lopez (1991).

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Sources Cervantes, Miguel de, transl. P. A. Motteux (1908), The History of the Ingenious Gentleman don Quixote of la Mancha, Edinburgh (1st edition 1605–15). Leggi criminali del Serenissimo dominio veneto (1751), Venezia: presso i figliuoli del qu[ondam] Giovanni Antonio Pinelli. Moryson, Fynes, ed. C. Hughes (1903), Shakespeare’s Europe. Unpublished Chapters of Fynes Moryson’s Itinerary: Being a Survey of the Condition of Europe at the End of the 16th Century, London. Priori, Lorenzo (1738), Pratica criminale secondo le leggi della Serenissima Repubblica di Venezia, Venezia: Gasparo Girardi. Sanudo, Marino, ed. F. Stefani / G. Berchet / N. Barozzi (1894), I diarii … , Venezia, XL. Statuta magnificae civitatis Veronae (1582), Veronae: apud Sebastianum a Donnis.

Secondary Literature Basaglia, E. (1985), ‘Giustizia criminale e organizzazione dell’autorità centrale. La Repubblica di Venezia e la questione delle taglie in denaro (secoli XVI–XVII)’, in Stato, società e giustizia nella Repubblica di Venezia (sec. XV–XVIII), ed. G. Cozzi, Roma, 193– 220. Black, C. F. (2011), Early Modern Italy. A Social History, London / New York. Blok, A. (1972), ‘The Peasant and the Brigand: Social Banditry Reconsidered’, Comparative Studies in Society and History 14, 495–504. Broggio, P. / Paoli, M. P., ed. (2011), Stringere la pace. Teorie e pratiche della conciliazione nell’Europa moderna, Roma. Carroll, S., ed. (2007), Cultures of Violence: Interpersonal Violence in Historical Perspective, New York. Casey J. (1999), Early Modern Spain. A Social History, London / New York. Cavalca, D. (1978), Il bando nella prassi e nella dottrina giuridica medievale, Milano. Carbasse, J. M. (1990), Introduction historique au droit pénal, Paris. Coy, J. P. (2008), Strangers and Misfits. Banishment, Social Control and Authority in Early Modern Germany, Leiden / Boston. Cozzi, G. (1982), Repubblica di Venezia e stati italiani. Politica e giustizia dal secolo XVI al secolo XVIII, Torino. Davies, J., ed. (2013), Aspects of Violence in Renaissance Europe, Farnham. Fosi, I. (1985), La società violenta. Il banditismo nello Stato pontificio nella seconda metà del Cinquecento, Roma. –, (2011), Papal Justice. Subjects and Courts in the Papal State, 1500–1750, Washington, DC. Gallant, T. W. (1999), ‘Brigandage, Piracy, Capitalism and State-Formation: Transnational Crime from Historical World-Systems Perspective’, in States and Illegal Practices, ed. J. McC. Heyman, Oxford / New York, 25–61. Gaudosio, F. (2006), Il potere di punire e perdonare. Banditismo e politiche criminali nel Regno di Napoli in età moderna, Lecce.

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Goody, J. (2006), The Theft of History, Cambridge. Guarienti Baja, C. (2012), ‘Il bandito e la sua gente. Appunti su fuorilegge e comunità in età moderna’, in Storie di invisibili, marginali ed esclusi, ed. V. Lagioia, Bologna, 169–78. Hobsbawm, E. J. (1969), Bandits, London (2nd edition New York, 2000). Jütte, R. (2004), ‘Banditry’ in Europe 1450–1789: Encyclopedia of the Early Modern World, ed. J. Dewald, New York, I, 212–15. Kamen, H. (2000), Early Modern European Society, London / New York. Knoll, V. / Sˇejvl, M. (2010), ‘Living Dead-Outlaw, Homo Sacer and Werewolf: Legal Consequences of Imposition of Ban’, in Leben nach dem Tod. Rechtliche Probleme im Dualismus: Mensch – Rechtssubjekt, ed. A. Gulczyn´ski, Graz, 139–53. Kounine, L. / Cummins, S. (2016), Cultures of Conflict Resolution in Early Modern Europe, Farnham (reprint 2017). Langbein, J. H. (1974), Prosecuting Crime in the Renaissance. England, Germany, France, Cambridge, MA Lavarda, S. (2007), ‘Banditry and Social Identity in the Republic of Venice. Ludovico da Porto, his Family and his Property (1567–1640)’, Crime, History and Society 11.1, 55–82. Lenman, B. / Parker, G. (1980), ‘The State, the Community and the Criminal Law in Early Modern Europe’, in Crime and the Law: The Social History of Crime in Western Europe Since 1500, ed. V. A. C. Gatrell / B. Lenman / G. Parker, London, 11–48. Lepori, M. (2010), Faide. Nobili e banditi nella Sardegna sabauda del Settecento, Roma. Manconi, F., ed. (2003), Banditismi mediterranei. Secoli XVI–XVII, Roma. Marchetti, P. (2007), ‘Spazio politico e confini nella scienza giuridica del tardo Medioevo’, in Confini e frontiere nell’età moderna. Un confronto tra discipline, ed. A. Pastore, Milano, 65–80. Martinez-Lopez, E. (1991)‘Sobre la amnistía de Roque Guinart: El laberinto de la bandositat catalana y los moriscos en el Quijote’, Cervantes: Bulletin of the Cervantes Society of America 11.2, 69–84. Neocleous, M. (2003), Imagining the State, Maidenhead / Philadelphia. Ortalli, G., ed. (1986), Bande armate, banditi, banditismo e repressione di giustizia negli stati europei di antico regime, Roma. Pomara Severino, B. (2011), ‘Tra violenze e giustizie. La società del mondo mediterraneo occidentale e cattolico in antico regime’, in Il palindromo. Storie di rovescio e di frontiera I.3, 83–110. Povolo, C. (1997), L’intrigo dell’onore. Poteri e istituzioni nella Repubblica di Venezia tra Cinque e Seicento, Verona. – (2003), ‘Introduzione’ a Il processo a Paolo Orgiano (1605–1607), ed. C. Povolo (in collaborazione con C. Andreato / M. Marcarelli / V. Cesco), Roma, VII–LXVI. – (2011), Zanzanù. Il bandito del lago (1576–1617), Arco (Trento). – (2013), ‘Liturgies of Violence: Social Control and Power Relationships in the Republic of Venice between the 16th and 18th Centuries’, in A Companion to Venetian History, 1400–1797, ed. E. Dursteler, Leiden / Boston, 513–42. – (2015a), ‘Feud and Vendetta: Customs and Trial Rites in Medieval and Modern Europe. A Legal Anthropological Approach’, Acta Histriae 23, 195–244. – (2015b), Furore. Elaborazione di un’emozione nella seconda metà del Cinquecento, Verona.

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– (2018), ‘Voci liberar bandito (Repubblica di Venezia, 1580–1592): narrazioni di un’etnografia della violenza in età moderna’, in Studi per Livio Antonielli, ed. S. Levati / S. Mori, Milano, 126–48. Raggio, O. (1990), Faide e parentele. Lo stato genovese visto dalla Fontanabuona, Torino. Ruff, J. R. (2001), Violence in Early Modern Europe, 1500–1800, Cambridge. Ruggie, J. G. (1998), Constructing World Polity. Essays on International Institutionalization, London / New York. Sant Cassia, P. (1993), ‘Banditry, Myth and Terror in Cyprus and Other Mediterranean Societies’, Comparative Studies in Society and History 35.4, 773–95. Seal, G. (1996), The Outlaw Legend: A Cultural Tradition in Britain, America and Australia, Cambridge. Slatta, R. W. (1987), Bandidos: The Varieties of Latin American Banditry, Westport. – (1994), ‘Banditry’, in Encyclopedia of Social History, ed. P. N. Sterns, New York / London, 99–100. Smail, D. L. (2013), The Consumption of Justice. Emotions, Publicity and Legal Culture in Marseille, 1264–1423, Ithaca, NY. Stein, P. (1984), Legal Institutions. The Development of Dispute Settlement, London. Thomson, J. E. (1994), Mercenaries, Pirates and Sovereigns, Princeton. Tilly, C. (1985), ‘War Making and State Making as Organized Crime’, in Bringing the State back in, ed. P. B. Evans / D. Rueschemeyer / T. Skocpol, Cambridge / New York, 170–87. Wilson, S. (1988), Feuding, Conflict and Banditry in Nineteenth-Century Corsica, Cambridge.

David A. Lines

Managing Academic Insubordination at the University of Bologna

Abstract Although medieval and early modern universities were hierarchical institutions, it was not always clear who held ultimate power. This was particularly the case in Bologna, where the pope and his local representative added an extra layer to that of influential city authorities such as the Senate. In normal circumstances, turf wars and jurisdictional overlaps could remain hidden. Unforeseen events such as academic insubordination, however, exposed them and demanded a resolution. What happened when individual professors or, even worse, colleges of doctors refused to do as they were told? How did they play off city authorities and committees against the papacy? In the end, how were the resulting tensions and debates managed and resolved? This essay considers the cases of two professors who, to different degrees, demanded special treatment. The most striking instance is the resistance of a professor of canon law, Francesco Gioannetti, to the actions of the Riformatori dello Studio, who wished to move his hour of teaching. But other professors too, such as Ulisse Aldrovandi, objected to similar initiatives, providing insights into contemporary discussions about the academic calendar of teaching and into the jurisdictional unclarity surrounding some early modern universities.

As illustrated in the second volume of these Proceedings, conflict and rivalries could take place in many different spheres and contexts in Renaissance Europe – the political and cultural spheres were just two of many interconnected domains. In this essay, I wish to concentrate on the universities (or, more specifically, on Europe’s oldest university, that of Bologna) and ask how the issue of conflict arose and, especially, was resolved within that particular sphere. I will argue that it is hard to separate the universities from the political sphere, especially in the Italian context, where universities were governed by local or regional city authorities (in the case of Padua, by the Venetian Senate) or, alternatively, by ducal or princely authorities (Pavia by the ducal family in Milan, Pisa by the dukes in Florence, Mantua by the Gonzaga princes, and Naples by the local king). The case of Bologna – like that of other universities of the Papal State outside of Rome – was peculiar because, while the city authorities claimed to govern the studium

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autonomously, the city was in fact subject to Rome and therefore ultimately had to bow to papal rule. This considerably complicated the running of the university when the city fathers and the papacy did not see eye to eye. In these various universities the issue no longer concerned, as in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the extent of student power, which had long since become largely ineffectual, given that communes had early on assumed the responsibility of paying professors and, as a consequence, saw themselves as having the right both to hire them and to regulate their teaching. It is true that formal restrictions of student power intensified, particularly – in Bologna’s case – with the disappearance of the office of the student rector by the end of the sixteenth century.1 But this was simply the culmination of a long-term trend. More remarkable, especially from the second half of the sixteenth century, is the number of occasions in which professors, either individually or corporately (as part of doctoral colleges), flexed their muscles and more or less openly opposed instructions handed down to them by the studium’s overseers. This study analyses two specific instances of individual resistance in Bologna: the first and milder one is that of Ulisse Aldrovandi (1522–1605), who taught natural philosophy and natural history in the studium; the second is that of a professor of canon law, Francesco Gioannetti (1510–1586). How did these two professors voice their opposition to mooted changes to their hour of teaching, and how did the authorities respond to such resistance? The surviving documentation is unfortunately somewhat unbalanced: for Aldrovandi, one is largely dependent on his own proposals for reform; for Gioannetti, the main sources are the writings of the city authorities, who – as we shall see – were rather critical of him. Other sources on Gioannetti remain to be explored. Before considering the moves made in the case of these two professors, however, one needs to understand the structures governing Bologna’s studium. By the second half of the sixteenth century, these had evolved as follows. The supreme civic authority (the Senate, also called the Quaranta) was – or, perhaps better, saw itself as – the ultimate arbiter of large and small matters concerning the university: requests for individual pay rises or initiatives to reform the studium, for instance, needed to meet with its approval. Yet the Senate left the management of the university to two committees: the older one, the Riformatori dello Studio, put together each year’s teaching rolls, which listed all professors teaching in a particular academic year, their subjects, and the hours in which they were obliged to deliver their teaching. Less relevant for the present study is a second committee, the Assunti di Studio. This body was a more recent sixteenthcentury addition and was largely in charge of negotiations to hire professors,

1 Details in Malagola (1888); Malagola, ed. Brizzi (1988); Lines (2023), 37–43.

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especially those from other cities.2 Also accountable to the Senate were the overseers of the Gabella Grossa, a tax on goods coming into and leaving the city that was used mainly to fund the salaries of professors and other university personnel. (By this point, these overseers were a group of university professors.) Furthermore, each university faculty had its own doctoral college, made up of the most senior academics, which examined candidates for the doctoral degrees and ensured that those practising law and medicine in Bologna’s territories were accredited to do so. The Senate did not, however, govern the city on its own. Rather, it did so alongside the papal legate, in an arrangement (known as ‘mixed government’ or governo misto) that in principle conferred equal standing to the civic government and the papal representative. The legate was more influential for university affairs than is often thought, since he was expected to implement instructions that came from Rome. In addition to those of a political nature, these increasingly concerned matters relative to the university, such as the size of the budget, specific appointments, additions to the doctoral college, pay rises for certain professors, or pedagogical initiatives or practices. Other figures who, to a lesser degree, might exert some influence on the studium included the archdeacon and the city’s (arch)bishop.3 The university therefore found itself at the centre of a jurisdictional minefield. When all parties agreed, all was good and well, but troublemakers could easily instigate turf wars and exploit the ensuing chaos for their own advantage, leaving the official university overseer (the Senate) with no concrete way to impose its will and quell insubordination.

The Objections of Ulisse Aldrovandi Ulisse Aldrovandi had a very long teaching career in Bologna, stretching from his first appointment (to logic) in 1554 and reaching to 1600, when he was allowed to retire from his teaching on fossils, plants, and animals.4 Among the most eminent professors of the university, Aldrovandi was fully embedded in the life of the city and depended on public funds to keep his various activities going, such as the oversight of the city’s botanical garden. The Aldrovandi family was prominent in Bologna’s civic life, and on several occasions its members occupied important functions, including that of ambassador to Rome. Ulisse himself was influential within the doctoral college of arts and medicine and – given his closeness to 2 For both the Riformatori and the Assunti there are important archival series in Bologna’s Archivio di Stato (ASB). For these and other series on the studium, see Lines (2018), 458–61. 3 For these various structures, see Lines (2013); Lines (2012), 5–7; and Lines (2023), 35–68. 4 There is a large bibliography on Aldrovandi. For his teaching career and some fundamental references, see Lines (2001), 314, no. 170. Additionally, see at least Olmi (1976) and Tugnoli Pattaro (1981).

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Bologna’s (arch)bishop, Gabriele Paleotti – was entrusted with various delicate functions. For example, in 1583 he seems to have coordinated the response of the college of arts and medicine to the papacy’s request for information about how teaching was taking place, and whether it was respecting recent decrees on the matter from the Council of Trent.5 In September 1573, Aldrovandi wrote an information brief to Bishop Paleotti. This document, entitled Informatione del Rotulo del Studio di Bologna di Philosophi et Medici (see Appendix A), was apparently written in response to some proposals circulating in Bologna to reform the schedule of classes. One mooted possibility was that of freeing the third morning hour from its glut of lessons.6 As Aldrovandi shows, most slots during the day were assigned only two or three subjects at most, with attention given to potential clashes for students. But the third hour had become a collecting ground for all kinds of classes: metaphysics, practical medicine, mathematics, ordinary philosophy, and Aldrovandi’s own teaching of natural history, which was called De plantis, fossilibus et animalibus. Apparently a proposal had been put forward to change the place of some of these subjects in the daily schedule: Aldrovandi’s teaching, it was said, might profitably be moved from the third to the second morning hour. Aldrovandi offers a series of counterproposals in his Informatione, along with a brief overview of how the class schedule has developed in Bologna since the 1550s.7 Apart from its usefulness as a historical document, Aldrovandi’s Informatione offers the reader a humorous (if rather unpersuasive) explanation of why his lectures should not be moved. Noting that the number of students would not, in fact, increase if he were to be placed in a different teaching slot, Aldrovandi argues that an earlier time would not be convenient for his students, especially for the noblemen who wish to hear him; he tries to pull rank by reminding the bishop of his twenty years of service to the university; he complains that an earlier teaching time would be an impediment to his scientific activities and a threat to his health. As a coda to his reasoning, he pays homage to the Senate and – importantly – claims that he has an eye to what is useful to all students.8 5 For this and further details on Aldrovandi’s proposals regarding the timetable of teaching in the faculty of arts and medicine, see Lines (2012) and Lines (2013). For the influence of the Council of Trent on Bologna’s teaching of arts and medicine, see Lines (2023), 274–81 and passim. 6 At this point in time, Bologna’s schedule of teaching included four hours in the morning and another four in the afternoon. For approximate correspondences to the modern clock on the basis of the schedule in Rome, see Grendler (2002), 147 (Table 5.1). 7 For more details on this document, see Lines (2012), 11–13. 8 Ibid., 8v: ‘Sapendo al certo che a me non conviene dar legge e norma a tanti illustri e prudenti Senatori, nondimeno parendoli potrebbono forsi (!) considerare per rimedio quale che hora dirò a V.S. Ill.ma, havendo davanti gl’occhi sempre l’utilità universale dei studiosi et non altrimente.’

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Aldrovandi’s memorandum serves as a reminder that a pompous sense of one’s own importance and a reluctance to teach outside of one’s preferred timeslot are not merely foibles of modern-day academics. There is also, however, a more serious side to all this. For timetable clashes really were an increasing problem in Bologna. Indeed, all of the university documentation for the second half of the sixteenth century indicates that this was an issue that required constant attention, lest academic progression become impossible for students. Aldrovandi’s Informatione is therefore not simply a rejection of moves that were being considered to change his own hour of teaching, but also presents a proposal for how the entire timetable might be rethought. In the end, Aldrovandi managed to preserve his slot, something that may have been due in no small part to his argument about what would function best for the studium as a whole. He may also have benefited from his friendship with Bishop Paleotti, who would have been able to smooth matters with the papal legate, and from his powerful family connections with the Senate. The Bolognese authorities do not seem to have made a big fuss about Aldrovandi’s resistance. In the next section we shall see that matters were considerably different, however, with Aldrovandi’s colleague Gioannetti (also known as Franciscus de Zanitis or Zoanetto).9

The Case of Francesco Gioannetti In 1574, one year after Aldrovandi’s Informatione, the Riformatori dello Studio issued changes to the class schedule that affected, not only the faculty of arts and medicine, but also that of law. In particular, the Riformatori wanted to have two ordinary lectures of law in the evening as well as two in the morning. Furthermore, they explicitly wished one senior lecturer (1º loco) to be paired with a more junior one (2º loco). This may have been a response to Aldrovandi’s suggestion, in the Informatione, that Bologna should adopt the system of concorrenti that was common in Padua and that was, in his opinion, highly successful in stimulating competition.10 In any case, in 1573–1574 the Riformatori decided that, for the following academic year, some professors should be transferred from teaching law in the morning to the evening. Gioannetti was one of these: his

9 See https://data.cerl.org/thesaurus/cnp01303466. In addition to the biographical sources cited in the CERL Thesaurus, see Fantuzzi (1784), 165–72. 10 See Lines (2012), 12–13.

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teaching of the Decretals was to be moved from the morning to the evening, where his junior competitor would be Camillo Bordone.11 The archival documentation shows that the Riformatori were not expecting expressions of opposition on the part of the Bolognese professors. They were therefore caught off guard when Gioannetti objected to this change, even though there was no official demotion involved (he was still an ordinary professor and apparently now taught in 1º loco instead of 2º loco; he continued to be promised his considerable salary of L. 600 – the second-highest among the jurists).12 Gioannetti seems to have first petitioned the Riformatori and the Senate for reinstatement to his former position. After failing, he took his complaint higher up, to the pope himself (Gregory XIII Boncompagni), whom he knew personally from their student days in Bologna.13 The importance of the saga that followed emerges from the fact that there is an entire dossier on Gioannetti in Bologna’s Archivio di Stato.14 After studies with Andrea Alciato, Gioannetti had obtained his degree in utroque iure on 4 March 1540 in Bologna, where he then taught in 1540–1541 and again in 1543–1545.15 Afterwards he spent several years teaching at the University of Ingolstadt before returning to Bologna in 1564. The reasons behind this return home are unclear and are formulated in slightly different ways in the official

11 ASB, Archivio dell’Ambasciata Bolognese a Roma, Posizioni degli affari trattati a Roma, b. 128 (henceforth, ASB, Ambasciata, Posizioni), 2r (undated, but probably late summer 1574): ‘Essendo parso alli Reformatori del Studio di Bologna con molta maturità et consiglio di renovar una lettura di ragion Canonica la sera, che altre volte era solita leggersi, come quella che è stata con grandi instanze richiesta et che è giudicata utile e necessaria, vi hanno posto a detta lettura Canonica della sera messer Camillo Bordone; et perché non resti solo a questa lettura et senza concorrente, delli quattro Canonisti della mattina, che erano il Sangiorgio, il Zoanetto, il Costo et l’Horatio, hanno levato il secondo, che è il Zoanetto, come più proportionato, et postolo in capite alla lettura Canonica della sera in concorrentia del Bordono, lasciando il primo che è il Sangiorgio con gli altri dua alla lettura Canonica della mattina, sendo a questo modo ben provisto al beneficio et honor del Studio. In evento che il predetto dottor Zoanetti reclamasse, si supplica humilmente ch’egli non sia esaudito per le ragioni et rispetti sopradetti.’ On Pietro Maria Sangiorgi, Luca Costa, and Nicolò Orazi, see Guerrini (2005), nos. 717, 1247, and 1899, respectively. 12 ASB, Riformatori dello Studio, b. 37 (ad annum). For Gioannetti’s intended transfer, see Appendix B below. 13 Costa (1907), 53–54. See the information in Brizzi, ed. (2011–2012), I, 269 (entry 644), which provides further biographical details. 14 ASB, Ambasciata, Posizioni, b. 128. 15 Guerrini (2005), no. 826 for degree information; for his teaching, see Dallari (1888–1924), ad indicem. Although the teaching rolls list Gioannetti from 1542 until 1548, the payments indicate that, after 1540–1541, he was first paid for the 1543–1544 academic year, whereas the last date on which he was paid was 11 December 1545 (ASB, Riformatori dello Studio, Quartironi degli Stipendi, b. 33), when he was given L. 25 as a part of his yearly salary of L. 100. In later years the payment records note ‘non ha letto’ next to his name.

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documentation provided by the Quaranta.16 In any case, the Bolognese authorities soon seem to have regretted this homecoming. As explained below, Gioannetti was to be a thorn in their side for many years. (He is listed in the rolls until 1586.) The dossier on Gioannetti in the Archivio di Stato, as well as additional information that can be gleaned from other archival series,17 shows how difficult the Senate found Gioannetti’s opposition. Having caught wind of his appeal to the pope, the Senate sent a letter to Rome on 16 October setting out the reasons behind their decision and underlining that the Riformatori’s goal was simply ‘la dignità et servitio del Studio et non l’interesse particolare’ (‘to observe the dignity of the studium and act in its service, rather than serving the interest of any individual’).18 They were therefore not supposed to make decisions based on individual cases or to take into account a particular professor’s honour or other similar considerations. By the following week, however, they were writing to their representative in Rome again, with the news that Gioannetti’s request had been approved by the cardinal of San Sisto, i. e., by the pope’s secretary of state (Filippo Boncompagni). Indeed, already on 13 October, San Sisto had stated: ‘Sua Santità mi ha commesso ch’io faccio intendere con la presente alle Signorie Vostre che non manchino di farlo [i. e., Gioannetto] subito rimettere al luogo suo [i. e., Canonica de mane]’ (‘His Holiness has instructed me to advise your lordships, through the present letter, that you should immediately reinstate him [Gioannetto] to his former place [in the rolls, i. e., canon law de mane’).19 No specific reasons were offered (nor did they need to be) for this instruction. While the Quaranta pledged to obey the missive from Rome,20 they also explained in detail how this move would be detrimental to the studium. Furthermore, they expressed the hope that an audience with the pope would change matters: after all, the rolls had already been published.21 The correspondence indicates that the Bolognese Senate continued to press on several occasions in subsequent years for Gioannetti’s privilege to be revoked; but despite a feeling that they had obtained a 16 A five-page document with the superscription ‘Dottor Francesco Zoanetti’ (undated and unpaginated, inc. Dell’anno 1564) in ASB, Ambasciata, Posizioni, b. 128, fascicle on Gioannetti, states that Bologna hired him back from Ingolstadt ‘per mostrarsi benigno et amorevole verso lui’; another four-page document, ibid. (Memoria a V.S. Ill.ma et R.ma di tutte le grazie fatte dal Reggimento al Dottore Giannotti; undated, but post-1582) presents this hire as a favour to Gioannetti’s family in Bologna. 17 Especially relevant is the correspondence in ASB, Senato, Lettere del Senato, Serie I, b. 13 (covering the years 1574–1580). 18 See Appendix B. 19 ASB, Ambasciata, Posizioni, b. 128, 3r. 20 This apparently happened very soon; the surviving roll for 1564–1565 lists Gioannetti only for decretals de mane; see Dallari (1888–1924), II, 160. 21 See Appendix B.

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victory in 1577,22 Gioannetti continued to be listed on the rolls for the lectura Decretalium de mane. From his file, Gioannetti emerges as a rather cantankerous individual. At an unspecified date, he apparently demanded that he should continue to draw his usual salary of 150 scudi, but only teach on feast days and in vacation periods. The Bolognese ambassador in Rome ended up writing a strongly worded letter to the pope (see Appendix C), pointing out that the extraordinary lessons in diebus festivis were not held in high regard by students, and that therefore the studium had abolished them several years earlier; that, in any case, the salary for lectures of that kind could not exceed 50 scudi; that this would set a negative precedent that other professors would try to exploit; and that Gioannetti was really only a self-interested individual who did not have at heart what would be best for the studium as a whole. All the evidence available, however, suggests that the pope was unmoved by these requests and allowed his favourite to keep his full salary while reducing his teaching load. Many aspects of the situation will seem strange unless one acknowledges that Gioannetti was much more than a university professor.23 He came from an illustrious (though not senatorial) Bolognese family with considerable political and diplomatic experience. His father Antenore had served Caterina Sforza, the ruler of Imola and Forlì, whom he represented in various courts, including those of France, Venice, and the Holy Roman Empire. Documents from the family archive show that he was made count of the Holy Roman Empire and count palatine by privileges conferred by Charles V and Paul III in 1544. He moved to Ingolstadt under the auspices of the duke of Bavaria, William II of Wittelsbach; there, in addition to teaching in the university, he was vigorous in defending Catholicism and opposing the Protestants. He also gathered other honours (Councillor of the Duchy of Ingolstadt) and found a wife. Eventually he was summoned by Emperor Ferdinand I and became a councillor of the imperial Concistory in Vienna. There he produced a number of constitutions for the Empire. (It seems that he had a considerable correspondence, now lost, with the imperial electors.) He continued in the good graces of successive popes, who appreciated his involvement in the Council of Trent and usefulness against the Protestants. (Gregory XIII wanted him as an adviser to the Holy Office in Rome.) Among the signs of his closeness to the papacy is his commission to write a biography of Sixtus V.

22 ASB, Senato, Lettere del Senato, Serie I, b. 13, 319v (letter of 24-VIII-1577). 23 For the information in this paragraph (sometimes provided, however, in a confused and slightly contradictory manner), see Gioannetti Mola (1963), who also provides (23–26) information on his local functions and honours. I have not accepted some elements that appear unreliable, such as Gioannetti’s membership in Bologna’s Senate.

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Three further aspects of the ‘Gioannetti affair’ require comment. One is the accusation that he was only looking out for his own interests, and not for those of the university more generally. This point needs to be weighed against the description of what the Riformatori were doing. Secondly, documents from the Senate suggest that Gioannetti was not a very good teacher, attracted few students, and was much more interested in his salary than in teaching. Finally, many of the arguments brought forward by the civic authorities for not giving in to papal pressure are couched in terms that relate to the preservation of lines of authority within the studium and of the long-term flourishing of the university. This was one of their main strategies to manage Gioannetti’s insubordination and bring matters to a positive resolution. Their failure to convince the papacy set the stage for well over two centuries of fraught relationships within the studium. The first point may be seen in terms of attempted character assassination on the part of the Quaranta: they tried to weaken the influence of Gioannetti on the pontiff by impugning his character and trustworthiness. They presented his desire to be paid even when he was not teaching (for example, when he was in the service of the papacy in Rome) as a mark of greed. His request for a pension in perpetuity for his son Galeazzo did not help matters. And his unwillingness to follow the Riformatori’s instructions to teach in the evening rather than the morning was the final straw, substantiating – to their eyes – the charge of selfinterest. The Quaranta, for their part, staunchly defended the actions of the Riformatori dello Studio, whose aim was always (or so they claimed) the general good of the studium, and not the interests of particular individuals. Behind this high-minded reasoning more practical concerns may have lurked, as Bologna’s authorities increasingly resented the interference of the papacy on various fronts and feared where it might lead. Yet they hoped that this appeal to the legitimacy and far-sightedness of the Riformatori’s actions (when contrasted with their depiction of Gioannetti as a greedy, self-centred scoundrel) would do the trick.24

24 Whether this was the view of his students as well might be an interesting point to consider: the walls of the Archiginnasio bear the following inscription (reported, with minor errors, in Fantuzzi (1784), 168); see badgit.comune.bologna.it/stemmi/ricerchestemmi2.asp: ‘Ad excellen. d. Franciscvm Ioannetvm iuris divini interpretem clariss. tetrastychon. Vt tva tevtonicis qvae parta est gloria terris: dvm retegis veris, abdita ivra sonis Qvaeq. tvae accessit famae nova gloria lavdi Avstriacvm monitis dvm regis ipse dvcem, nvbila fortvnae, valeant transcendere, saevae arctaq. finitimo, vincvla facta, pede Iane tvo haec cirvmfvlgentia stemmate signa constitvuit parili pectore tota cohors. Annvuente D. Io. Vdalrico Stinglhaimer priore digniss.’

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The Riformatori may actually have been slightly naïve and underhanded in assigning Gioannetti to evening teaching of the Decretals and then presenting this as a promotion. Although many of the evening lectures in the studium came to be at least as important as the morning ones in the second half of the Cinquecento, the Quaranta’s letters suggest that Gioannetti taught to empty desks and did not inspire the enthusiasm of the students. So perhaps the move was a way of relegating Gioannetti to a less popular part of the day. Furthermore, if Gioannetti was informed of this move at a fairly late date (in October, it would seem), he might have resented the need to prepare lectures on different passages of the Decretals.25 One wonders whether some score-settling was taking place, given that Gioannetti was just back from a year away in which he, nonetheless, both drew his entire salary and had obtained a tidy yearly income for his son. But the most germane point here relates to the Quaranta’s strategy for managing Gioannetti’s insubordination. Whereas universities today would be able to sack an individual in cases of continued resistance and insubordination (although they might also have an eye on the danger of claims reaching an employment tribunal), in Bologna’s case the city authorities could only resort to diplomacy with the university’s ultimate overseer – the pope. Fear of lasting damage to the studium caused the Quaranta to throw their weight behind the Riformatori and mobilize their contacts (including the papal legate) as they tried to persuade the pope to reverse his decision concerning Gioannetti. It is clear, in fact, that pleas were made to Gregory XIII in person, but matters had reached an impasse. As a result, it was inevitable that someone should lose face, and the papacy (as the sovereign entity over Bologna) was not prepared to find itself in that position. So it was the Quaranta, via the Riformatori, who had to beat a humiliating retreat. Yet, what is remarkable is how tenacious they were, over the years, in arguing their case, possibly because exceptions of this kind did indeed promote disquiet and rebelliousness among other professors as well. In the end, Gioannetti’s case proved the impossibility of resisting the obstinacy of a wellconnected professor if he decided that his income and position trumped the demands of the university and city authorities. Bologna’s position vis-à-vis Rome meant that, once diplomacy had failed, there was no recourse. In later years this failure of diplomacy would be especially evident in the increasingly independent attitude of the colleges of doctors. Their considerable influence came to marginalize the role of the archdeacon, who officially presided over the public exams of doctoral candidates, as well as conferring their degrees. It also sometimes put them at odds with the other overseers of the studium and 25 Those appointed to morning teaching of the Decretals in 1574–1575 were to cover the sections ‘De iudiciis usque ad titulum De probationibus exclusive’, whereas those teaching in the evening were instructed ‘Legant De usuris usque ad finem libri’; Dallari (1888–1924), II, 188.

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especially the Senate: in the course of a furious standoff in 1689–1694 they even appealed to the papacy over what the Senate wished to keep as a local affair. There were also plenty of disagreements in the eighteenth century.26 In these situations we can see conflict taking place on multiple levels: Gioannetti’s unwillingness to follow the instructions of the Riformatori was interpreted as insubordination, both to them and, ultimately, to the Senate, which had appointed them. Gioannetti tried to resolve the situation by appealing directly to the sovereign of the Papal State. By granting Gioannetti’s request, the Holy See poured fuel on a long-running dispute with Bologna’s city authorities. At the same time, Bologna made use of its connections in Rome (both its representative there and friendly cardinals), hoping to realize its aims and bring about a resolution of the conflict in a way that upheld (at least the fiction of) its oversight of the studium. The initiative to manage and resolve conflict in this circumstance therefore collided with the reality that the parties in question were not on an equal footing: technically, as well as juridically, Gioannetti was subject to the Riformatori and the Senate; but the Bolognese authorities were subject to the city’s sovereign, the pontiff. The attempt to counter the local insubordination of one professor did not succeed because that specific issue was swallowed up in the larger one of who held ultimate political power. The issue of Gioannetti’s position in the studium makes more sense if one considers it from the broader perspective of the political relationship between Bologna and the papacy. The defeat of the rebellious city by Pope Julius II in 1506 ushered in a period in which the papacy tried anew to affirm its rights over Bologna in very practical terms. The continued presence of papal legates in the city was, of course, a sign of the enduring ties between the capital and the secondlargest city of the Papal State. But it was not until the second half of the sixteenth century that Bologna came under sustained pressure from the papacy to dispense with the local myth of its autonomy. Curiously, this began to happen in an especially evident way during the pontificate of Gregory XIII (Ugo Boncompagni), a Bolognese who had studied and taught law in its university. Indeed, well before the pontificates of Sixtus V (1585–1590) and Paul V (1605–1621), there was increasing pressure on Bologna’s presumed autonomy and special status.27 If we look at Bologna from the perspective of the studium (one of the city’s most symbolic institutions, a source of civic pride and an often-cited evidence for Bologna’s special status), it soon becomes clear that the papacy was quick to take advantage of requests of help coming from the university – these allowed it to intervene and affirm its authority in a very concrete and public way.28 26 Guerrini (2012); Lines (2023), 55–59 and ad indicem. 27 For the later situation, see especially Gardi (1994) and Reinhardt (2000). 28 Lines (2013); Lines (2023), 63–68.

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Even from the perspective of the university, the conflict with Gioannetti was not the sole instance of outside intervention in these years. In 1575 Rome recommended that Aldrovandi should be given a pay rise – something that the overseers of the studium were reluctant to countenance, not least since they would have had to foot the bill themselves, and such an action risked creating obvious inequities at a time of fiscal austerity (see below).29 There were also disagreements and tensions over hiring. Around 1561 the cardinal legate placed considerable pressure on the Assunti to hire Girolamo Cardano: an audience of the Bolognese ambassador with the papal legate in Rome revealed that ‘nella cosa del Cardano […] sopra modo desidera che le Signorie Vostre lo compiacciano in questo, et si duole che vogliano elegger di star piuttosto un anno senza Medico Eccellente forestiere, che per compiacer Lei condurre il Cardano’ (‘In the matter of Cardano, he is greatly desirous that your lordships should humour him; it pains him that you would rather do without an eminent foreign medical professor for a year than hire Cardano so as to please him’).30 Cardano was duly hired, but the Bolognese were not especially happy with him and must have felt vindicated in their hesitancy when he was brought before the Inquisition in 1570. (Subsequently, they rescinded his contract.) There was also a sense in Bologna that its financial oversight of the studium was being eroded. This matter became particularly acute with the building of the Archiginnasio in order to house all of the lectures in one place in 1561–1563. Apparently it was not clear to the Bolognese until construction had already begun that they would be required to pay for the new building themselves, out of the monies reserved for the payment of professors’ salaries.31 As a consequence, for around twenty years very few pay rises were approved. (Gregory XIII also refused to allow the studium of his native city to resume hiring on a larger scale until the debt had been paid off.) Furthermore, towards the end of the sixteenth century, the correspondence of the secretary of state with the papal legate in Bologna channelled a veritable flood of demands from the centre: as Rome’s clientary network became ever stronger, the Bolognese were asked to do more and more favours for the pope’s friends (or, at times, for friends of friends).32 These ‘requests’ – though not necessarily related

29 ASB, Senato, Lettere del Senato, Serie I, b. 13, 98v–99v (letter from the Assunteria di Studio to the Bolognese ambassador in Rome, 9-III-1575). 30 ASB, Senato, Lettere del Senato, Serie VII, b. 36, pp. nn. (letter from Vincenzo Campeggi, ambassador in Rome, on 12(?)-XII-1561). See also below, Appendix D. For the whole business of Cardano’s hire, see especially Simili (1966). 31 For the freezing of salaries as a consequence of the building of the Archiginnasio, see ASB, Senato, Lettere del Senato, Serie VII, b. 36, pp. nn. (Campeggi, letter to Bologna of 17-XII1561). 32 The correspondence is contained in Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Segreteria di Stato, Legazione di Bologna. But there are also numerous records of the interactions between the Bolognese

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to specific conflicts – functioned as a regulatory mechanism on the flow of competing requests from individuals who were in rivalry with each other to obtain positions of favour within either the papal administration or its allied bureaucratic contexts. Inasmuch as they concerned the university, they continued to grate with the Senate, which continued to regard itself as the studium’s sole true overseer. There is, however, a further issue to be considered concerning Gioannetti. As mentioned above, the documents in the Archivio di Stato used for this study provide an (unusually acerbic) account that comes from the perspective of the city authorities alone. These negative points are wholly absent from the pages dedicated to Gioannetti by Fantuzzi: documents from the family archive apparently impressed him with Gioannetti’s sweetness, the high reputation of his teaching, his considerable scholarship and publications, as well as his connections with notables of the papal court such as Cardinal Guglielmo Sirleto.33 Moreover, it emerges that in 1574 Pope Gregory XIII instituted (or, in any case, formalized) a new office in Bologna for the resolution of conflicts before they reached trial stage. This office or congregation, called the Concordia, brought together twelve men, drawn equally (two members each) from among Bologna’s highest six social groups – clergy, doctors, senators, notaries, nobles, and merchants. The body lasted at least until the pontificate of Sixtus V.34 Very little is known about how it operated in practice; but, in an ironic twist of history, who should be a member of this congregation but Gioannetti himself, if we are to believe Fantuzzi’s account?35 In fact, this institution was part of a more general effort in the second part of the sixteenth century (but extending also far into the seventeenth) to find ways to bring about peace and reconciliation between private citizens, as is well illustrated by the writings of Fausto Albergati and by Ottavia Niccoli’s valuable study.36 Yet the disagreements between Gioannetti and the Senate (via the Riformatori dello Studio) were juridically on a different plane, meaning that there was no clear forum to address them. (The Tribunale del

33

34 35 36

and the papal see in the letters by and to the Bolognese ambassador in Rome; for the case of civil law in the sixteenth century, see Costa (1903–1904). I have not yet been able to consult this documentation. Prof. Andrea Gardi kindly informs me that most of it is now held in Bologna’s Confraternita della Misericordia, Fondazione Gioannetti, Archivio Gioannetti. More information on this archive is apparently available in Fornasini (1936), 118–21. Again, I owe this reference to the courtesy of Prof. Gardi. Information in Gioannetti Mola (1957), 306, indicates that Gioannetti’s letters were published by Cardinal (!) Lagomarsini, while other unedited correspondence is held by the Istituto Giuridico of Bologna. His reference is to: Julii Pogiani Sunensis epistolae et orationes, olim collectae ab A. M. Gratiano (ed. G. Lagomarsini), 4 voll., Roma, 1756–1762, which however contains only two letters (not relevant to this study) to Cardinal Sirleto in IV, 39–40. Prodi (1959–1967), II, 189–91; Gardi (1994), 423; Niccoli (1999), 247–8. Fantuzzi (1784), 167. Niccoli (1999), 237–9.

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Torrone heard criminal cases and, given that it was a symbol of Rome’s despotism in Bologna, the Senate would hardly have entered a plea there.) Another irony, as great as that of Gioannetti’s part in the Concordia, is that the Senate was itself willing to occupy the borderlands of insubordination towards its formal overseer, although it couched its attitude in terms of readiness to obey the pontiff. By so doing, in practical terms it came close to the rebelliousness of other elements of Bolognese society – such as noble families (which, not coincidentally, held sway in the Senate). Bologna’s long traditions of local autonomy in turn led the papacy to be somewhat more rigid towards this city than towards other subject cities of the Papal State.37 This study has shown that there were not many avenues in sixteenth-century Bologna to quell academic insubordination other than the diplomatic one with Rome. When that failed, arrangements had to bow to the realities of political power (which was, of course, unequal). But one may ask whether all of this Streit, or at least its management, was in any way productive (as these volumes have argued) in terms of generating Kultur. In the case of Bologna, there is no doubt that the conflict gave rise to a very substantial correspondence, which we can use to gain perspective on a number of issues related to (or even outside of) the university context, so in that sense it can be helpful to us as historians. It is harder to think of specific instances of literary, philosophical, historical, or artistic production that came out of the management of the conflicts with Aldrovandi and Gioannetti as such. Yet, it could be argued that the perceived need to bring conflicts of various kinds to an end, in an era in which violence and rebelliousness were extremely frequent and prominent, did yield significant cultural and institutional results, such as the establishment of the Concordia as well as the later, seventeenth-century Assunteria delle Paci.38 There was, in other words, a sense that extra-judicial channels for bringing about resolution might be even more important (and considerably less costly and time-consuming) than the courts. It is a pity that, in the early modern period, initiatives of this kind did not extend to cases such as those examined here, and that conflicts between the Senate and various members and groupings of the studium continued until the end of the eighteenth century.

37 De Benedictis (2003); Fosi (2011), 14–19. 38 Niccoli (1999), 239–44.

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Appendix A: Extract from memorandum by Ulisse Aldrovandi to Gabriele Paleotti (September 1573), entitled Informatione del Rotulo del Studio di Bologna di Philosophi et Medici (Bologna, BCAB, ms. B3803, 7v–9r) […] Hora mi resta dire a Vostra Signoria Illustrissima le ragioni et cause che mi movono a non mi partire dalla mia hora et andare ad un altra, ancorche l’Illustre Padre Volta habbia considerato che mutandomi da questa classe a quella di theorica di medicina per esser meno numero dei dottori, ivi, che non è nell’hora ch’io leggo, mi dovria contentare, parendoli ch’io havessi a migliorare il numero di auditori. Non le dico che sarebbe tutto l’opposto perche sminuiria di auditori si come le mostrarò con ragioni dimonstrative, però per questo primo capo è noto che io non mi possa movere dalla mia hora, perché diminuiria l’honore mio andando ad un altra classe, non è dubio che la lettura di loica e theorica di medicina per essere state sempre insieme congionte senz’altra terza classe, ha sempre abbracciato tutto il numero di auditori che qui si ritrovano per essere letture necessarie e principali senza le quali non si puote pervenire alla philosophia e pratica di medicina. Se io andassi a leggere all’hora di questi loici e medici theorici tutte queste classi s’indebolirebbero, perché sarebbe necessario fare tre parti degli auditori dove che hora se ne fanno due, di modo che la debolezza sarebbe congiunta con danno delli studiosi, e con sminutione dell’honore dei dottori che in quella classe leggessero. Sappia ancora che i lettori di quell’hora non paterebbono (!) e farebbono rumore che ivi si aggiungesse nuova classe per non essere mai stato usitato in tante centinaia d’anni che il studio è fatto, dove che non sono mai state altre che due classi, cioè loice e theorica di medicina, quali stanno bene insieme. Oltra di questo la vede che ancorch’io legga in hora dove molti leggono, nondimeno per non essere le letture tanto necessarie ed essentiali come quelle prime due, anchorché siano molti lettori non mi danno quel nocimento nei auditori che farebbe la logica e theorica di medicina, perché la theorica di medicina della mattina, tutti li studiosi finché stanno a studio l’odono, il che non avviene così nell’altre letture. Che la moltitudine non mi dia nocimento lo mostro perché alla metaphysica la maggior parte sono frati che l’ascoltano, e pochi altri studiosi e principianti, perché udendo philosophia continuamente li studiosi, da se ponno (!) intendere metaphysica senza altre letioni. Di poi quando in un’hora sono più classi insieme li studiosi considerano qual sia in quella hora più necessaria et quella si deliberano di udire, di modo che sendo la mia lettura necessaria né letta in altra hora che in questa, non è dubio che, volendo possedere questa parte tanto utile, non li darà impedimento le classi che in quell’hora sono, e tanto più che potranno udire consimili in altra hora.

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Quanto ai medici pratici extraordinarii che leggono nella mia hora per non esser udita se non da provetti, non mi dà quel nocimento che farebbe la theorica, e tanto più che li studiosi possono odire practica ordinaria la sera. Circa poi alla philosophia ordinaria che legge Messer Claudio Betto nell’hora che leggo io, possono ascultare la sera gli ordinarii philosophi. Quanto alla letione di matematica, pochi l’ascoltano per essere lettura, come si suol dire, che non è da pane lucrando. Appresso questo sappia che alcuni gentilhuomini che si dilettano di belle lettere, mi vengono ascoltare, et ancora alcuni leggisti, a quali questa hora è commoda; se io leggessi più presto non verrebbe alcuno di questi, perché venendo per loro ricreatione non avrebbono lasciare le letioni sue principali, massime li signori leggisti, e li gentiluomini poi non vorrebbono venire tanto a bon hora. Di poi non è giusto e conveniente, che io essendo il più vecchio lettore che ho letto in quest’hora XVI anni, cioè 14 l’Historia delle Piante et animali, et due anni philosophia ordinaria a concorrenza dell’Eccellente S. Scipione Fava quale legge hora l’Eccellente Betto, sia mosso se gl’altri ne stiano ivi. Non tacerò che ancora alcuni che si dilettano di lettere humane che per leggere gli humanisti dopo me questa hora li torna commoda. Ma un altra ragione che più importa, io sono sicuro se leggessi più a buon hora che mi saria di gran nocimento alla sanità mia, perché la sera e mattina commodamente faccio i miei studii, et a questo modo mi sono assuefatto per molti anni, se hora leggessi più a buon hora, saria necessario ch’io mi levassi avanti giorno. Il che apportaría gran danno alla sanità mia, per essermi usitato a questo modo, e tanto più leggendo un’hora intiera per maggiore utilità dei studiosi, non crederò mai che questi Signori a quali ho sempre servito, et riverito come era mio debito, et letto publicamente XX anni, havendo continuo cercato affatticarmi per util pubblico, mi volessero levare hora dalla mia hora, quale ho avuto in possesso tanti anni più degli altri onde faría pregiuditio all’honore mio, alla sanità et all’utile universale del Studio, che sono tutti capi degni di essere considerati dall’Illustre Senato, che sempre ha avuto con gran prudenza l’occhio alla conservatione et grandezza del Studio nostro.

Appendix B: Letters from the Senate to their secretary regarding the Gioannetti affair (ASB, Senato, Lettere del Senato, Serie I, b. 13) Letter of the Quaranta to secretary Matteoni (?), 16-X-1574, 52r–53r: […] occorre dire che, considerando li Signori Riformatori del Studio esser stato alcuni anni sospesa et pretermessa la lettura Canonica della sera per diffetto de subietti, giudicarno esser bene, per honore et reputatione del Studio, rimetterla in piedi; acciò, come la mattina si legevano due letture ordinarie, cioè una Canonica

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et una Civile, così anco la sera, per correspondenza se ne dovessero legere duo altre simili, una Canonica et una Civile, come già era solito di farsi, et in esecutione della mente loro posero alla lettura Canonica della mattina dui dottori, cioè un provetto primo loco che è il Dottor Costa, et un giovine secundo loco, che è il Dottor Oratio, et alla sera [inserted: primo loco] trasferirno il Dottor Gioannetti, che era alla mattina, et secundo loco [erased: posero il] fu posto il Dottor Bordone. La quale resolutione, come prudente et necessaria per beneficio del Studio, fecero et poterno fare li Riformatori del Studio per l’autorità et facultà data a loro dalla constitutione della quale vi si manda copia. Et di questo il Dottor Gioannetti non si può né deve giustamente dolere, havendosi il primo loco la sera, come havea la mattina […] la constitutione non obbliga li Reformatori né li dà facoltà di dare augumento, ma mira et scoppo (!) loro ha da esser solo la dignità et servitio del Studio et non l’interesse particolare. […] Di tutte queste ragioni, ci pare dobbiate dare conto all’Illustrissimo [cardinale Filippo] Guastavillani, alla quale scriviamo la allegata […] tenendo per certo che le pareranno talmente vive et considerabili, che non vorranno alterare gli ordini antichi et soliti di questo studio, né li Rotuli fatti da detti Riformatori et già publicati con l’autorità del Reverendissimo Monsignor Governatore. Letter to the same, 23-X-1574, ibid., 53v–56r: [the Quaranta state, concerning the pope’s decision to transfer Gioannetti back to the morning teaching:] Non vogliamo né dobbiamo replicare, anzi debito nostro è di obedire prontamente come sempre obediremo a quanto piace et comanda la Santità Sua. È ben vero, che supponendo noi che Sua Beatitudine non ci nieghi, anzi benignamente ci conceda, il ricorso alli suoi Santissimi piedi, non restiamo fuori di speranza, che informate delle ragioni nostre, si degnarà volere che gli ordini et constitutioni del Studio non siano alterati, ma sì bene conservati et osservati et sopratutto, che non sia vilipesa né violata la facoltà data legitimamente alli Riformatori del Studio per il Decreto overo constitutione di cui vi si è mandata copia, la quale fu fatta maturamente et consideratamente, per provedere all’inobedienze et arrossi delli dottori che osavano di volere legere quello et come più piaceva all’appetito loro, senza riguardo alcuno del beneficio et [erased: profetto] reputatione del Studio. Ma quello che anco ci dispiace assai è che, dall’ottenere il Dottor Gioannetti per sua importunità il suo poco ragionevole intento si causerà, oltra il sprezzamento dell’autorità delli Riformatori et nostra, un mal essempio et abuso ad imitatione del quale gli altri dottori ardiriano tentare la medesima strada di recalcitrare et legere a modo et gusto loro, et così le cose del Studio andariano totalmente in disordine senza colpa delli Riformatori et nostra, sendo che nel fare li Rotoli si mira principalmente a beneficio del Studio et non alla satisfattione de’ particolari, come si è fatto nel Rotolo presente […] si giudicò, non solo bene ma necessario per rimettere in piedi la lettura Canonica della sera,

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massime sendo domandata da qualche scolari […]. Et di ciò ci pare strano ch’esso Gioannetti [erased: senza causa] si doglia, dovendosi contentare et reputare honorato [erased: et non gravato] per havere il primo luoco alla sera, dove la mattina haveva il secondo. Et tanto più si dovria contentare considerando havere un grosso salario di L. 600 per legere (che pure è forza a dirlo) alle banche […].

Appendix C: Undated copy of letter from the ambassador to the pope [Gregory XIII] (ASB, Ambasciata, Posizioni, b. 128, fascicle on Gioannetti) Le lettioni straordinarie chiamate delle Feste nel Studio di Bologna non sono punto stimate da scolari, essendo inutili et di nissun profitto, et per estinguerle, passò alcuni anni fa un decreto,39 che per l’avenir non si potesse mettere a simili lettioni dottor alcuno. Et quelli pochi che vi sono addesso, vi erano per prima, et hanno letto molti anni in quel Studio, né hanno maggior salario l’anno di presenti, che di cinquanta scudi. Domandando hora il Dottore Zoanetto di essere posto a tali letture delle feste col suo solito salario, che è di 150 scudi, col ponere humilmente in consideratione alla Santità Vostra quello che occorre, si dice che la lettione ordinaria del Canonico ch’esso hora legge, patiria infinitamente per simil’habilitatione, et sarebbe necessario ponere un’altro in luoco suo, essendo la lettura canonica molta importanza, massimamente nel papale studio di Santa Chiesa. Ci è poi l’essempio, col quale molti dottori vecchi cercarieno d’essere levati dalle lettioni ordinarie et essere posti alle straordinarie delle feste, per minore fatica et più utile loro, ma a total destruttione del studio. Ci è che, havendo questo dottore fato dire dal Confaloniere et Deputati sopra il Studio in pieno Reggimento, di voler leggere quest’anno ad ogni modo la sua lettura ordinaria del Canonico, vi è stato rotulato con gli altri dottori, che transferendosi da essa a quella delle feste sarebbe com’havere deluso tutto il Studio. Ci è ancora il divieto del decreto fatto com’è detto da sopra. Imperò con ogni debita sommissione et humiltà l’Ambasciatore di Bologna per nome di quel Reggimento supplica a Vostra Santità che per sua mera benignità et per salute di quel celebre Studio, si degni non dare orecchio alle petizioni del Zoanetto, che non mira ad altro, salvo che al suo particolare interesse et utile, senza haver una consideratione che sia al beneficio et honor di quel Studio, membro principalissimo di quella sua divotissima città.

39 This was on 5 May 1572; see ASB, Senato, Partiti, b. 9, 79r–80r.

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Appendix D: extract of letter from Vincenzo Campeggi, ambassador in Rome, on 12(?) December 1561 (ASB, Senato, Lettere del Senato, Serie VII, b. 36, pp. nn.) Hieri mattina inanzi Signatura Mons. [Francesco] Alciato mi disse che qua erano state date di molte querele contra il Magnifico Reggimento in materia del Studio, et che le Signorie Vostre non volevano havere consideratione alla mente di Nostro Signore [Pius IV] et del Signor Legato [Carlo Borromeo]; ch’è che cotesto Studio si rimetti in quel pristino credito ch’è stato per il passato et che le Signorie Vostre Illustri facevano ogni cosa per ruinarlo a fatto. Et che del tutto n’eran causa le discordie et passioni loro. Io confesso a Vostre Signorie ch’io non potei fare di non riscaldarmi alquanto, parendo a me che questa fosse stata una relatione molto maligna, onde che cominciai a render conto a Sua Signoria Reverendissima un’altra volta della diligenza, fatica et spesa usata da loro in mandare un et dui secretarii et rimandarli per condurre il Boldoni, il Paleario, il Francanzano et il Faloppia,40 et che la condutta d’esso Faloppia poteva ben chiarire Sua Signoria Reverendissima et qualonque altro se le Signorie Vostre hanno a cor le cose di cotesto Studio o non. All’ultimo Sua Signoria Reverendissima restò capace della verità, et molto amorevolmente mi disse, ch’io eshortassi Vostre Signorie a provedere due huomini valenti per cotesto Studio in ogni facoltà, et in particolar mi nominò il Canonico. Io non contento di ciò, nel primo ragionamento che hieri io hebbi col Signor Legato feci conoscere a Sua Signoria Illustrissima esser vero tutto quello ch’io havevo prima detto a Monsignor Alciato in questa materia. Del che ne rimase sodisfatto, eccetto che nella cosa del Cardano, perché sopra modo desidera che le Signorie Vostre lo compiacciano in questo, et si duole che vogliano elegger di star piu tosto un anno senza Medico Eccellente forestiere, che per compiacer Lei condurre il Cardano; in caso però ch’esse non possino haver il Boldone, la condutta del quale feci conoscere a Sua Signoria Illustrissima che non era desperata sì com’egli affirmava che fosse, et sì come Monsignor Alciato m’havea affirmato il medesmo. Et Sua Signoria Illustrissima argumenta in questa foggia, che d’accordo si conclude ch’egli non può venir sin a Pasqua, et non venendo a Pasca, ella tien per certo ch’egli non sia più per poter venir con honor suo fin’al principio del Studio novo, che è quasi un anno. Onde che per questo Sua Signoria Illustrissima conclude ch’elle possino al presente condurre il Cardano 40 The individuals named seem to be: Niccolò Boldoni, who is recorded as teaching theoretical medicine in the rolls for the studium of Pisa, at least 1543–1554 (see Barsanti (1993), 510); Aonio Paleario, professor of the humanities in Siena, Lucca, and Milan; Antonio Fracanzani, who taught practical medicine in Bologna, at least 1562–1564 (see Dallari (1888–1924), II, 156 and 159); and Gabriele Falloppio, who taught medicine mainly in Padua and – though hired by Bologna starting in the academic year 1562–1563 – died before leaving Padua (see Belloni Speciale (1994)).

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per questo tempo. A me sopra ciò non parve dovere replicarle altro, se non ch’io havevo scritto a’ Vostre Signorie la rissolutione che Sua Signoria Illustrissima fece sopra questo subietto con li Signori Cardinali Ferrario et Gonzaga. Et ch’ella si degnasse aspettarne risposta.

Bibliography Primary Sources Dallari, U. (1888–1924), I rotuli dei lettori legisti e artisti dello Studio di Bologna dal 1384 al 1799, 4 voll., Bologna.

Secondary Literature Barsanti, D. (1993), ‘I docenti e le cattedre dal 1543 al 1737’ in Storia dell’Università di Pisa, Pisa, II, 505–66. Belloni Speciale, G. (1994), ‘Falloppia, Gabriele’, Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Roma, 1960–, XLIV, 479–86. Brizzi, G. P., ed. (2011–2012), Imago Universitatis: celebrazioni e autorappresentazioni di maestri e studenti nella decorazione parietale dell’Archiginnasio, 2 voll., Bologna. Costa, E. (1903–1904), ‘La prima cattedra pomeridiana di diritto civile nello Studio bolognese durante il sec. XVI’, Atti e memorie della R. Deputazione di Storia Patria per le provincie di Romagna, s. III, 22 (1903–1904), 213–52. – (1907), Ulisse Aldrovandi e lo Studio bolognese nella seconda metà del secolo XVI, Bologna. De Benedictis, A. (2003), ‘Per l’onore del principe e per il servizio della patria: Bologna suddita di Gregorio XIII’, Rivista di storia della Chiesa in Italia 57.2 (luglio-dicembre), 365–83. Fantuzzi, G. (1784), Notizie degli scrittori bolognesi, IV, Bologna. Fornasini, G. (1936), Sette secoli di storia della nobile famiglia Gioannetti. MCCXXVI– MCMXXXVI, Bologna. Fosi, I. (2011), Papal Justice: Subjects and Courts in the Papal State, 1500–1750, trans. T. V. Cohen, Washington, DC. Gardi, A. (1994), Lo Stato in provincia: l’amministrazione della Legazione di Bologna durante il regno di Sisto V (1585–1590), Bologna. Gioannetti Mola, G. (1957), ‘Un insigne giurista bolognese: Francesco Gioannetti conte e consigliere imperiale 1515–1586’, Strenna storica bolognese 7, 300–6. – (1963), ‘La figura del nobile bolognese il Conte F. Gioannetti giureconsulto e giurista imperiale’, offprint (32 pp.) of Atti dell’Accademia Umanistica Riperiense in Revere di Mantova (first published in Rivista araldica in May 1960). Grendler, P. F. (2002), The Universities of the Italian Renaissance, Baltimore.

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Guerrini, M. T. (2005), ‘Qui voluerit in iure promoveri …’ I dottori in diritto nello Studio di Bologna (1501–1796), Bologna. – (2012) Collegi dottorali in conflitto. I togati bolognesi e la Costituzione di Benedetto XIV, 1744, Bologna. Lines, D. A. (2001), ‘Natural Philosophy in Renaissance Italy: The University of Bologna and the Beginnings of Specialization’, in Science and Universities of Early Modern Europe: Teaching, Specialization, Professionalization, special issue of Early Science and Medicine 6.4 (Winter), ed. D. A. Lines, 267–323. – (2012), ‘Reorganizing the Curriculum: Teaching and Learning in the University of Bologna, c. 1560–c. 1590’, History of Universities 26.2, 1–59. – (2013), ‘Papal Power and University Control in Early Modern Italy: Bologna and Gregory XIII’, The Sixteenth Century Journal 44.3, 663–82. – (2018), ‘The University and the City: Cultural Interactions’, in A Companion to Medieval and Renaissance Bologna, ed. S. Rubin Blanshei, Leiden, 436–73. – (2023), The Dynamics of Learning in Early Modern Italy: Arts and Medicine at the University of Bologna, Cambridge, MA. Malagola, C. (1888), ‘I rettori nell’antico Studio e nella moderna Università di Bologna’, in idem, Monografie storiche sullo Studio bolognese, Bologna, rpt. 1979, 1–127. –, ed. G. P. Brizzi (1988), I rettori: dall’antico studio alla moderna università, Bologna. Niccoli, O. (1999), ‘Rinuncia, pace, perdono. Rituali di pacificazione della prima età moderna’, Studi storici 40, 219–61. Olmi, G. (1976), Ulisse Aldrovandi. Scienza e natura nel secondo Cinquecento, Trento. Prodi, P. (1959–1967), Il cardinale Gabriele Paleotti (1522–1597), 2 voll., Roma. Reinhardt, N. (2000), Macht und Ohnmacht der Verflechtung: Rom und Bologna unter Paul V. Studien zur frühneuzeitlichen Micropolitik im Kirchenstaat, Tübingen. Simili, A. (1966), ‘Gerolamo Cardano lettore e medico a Bologna. Nota 2: Il soggiorno e gli insegnamenti’, L’Archiginnasio 61, 384–507. Tugnoli Pattaro, S. (1981), Metodo e sistema delle scienze nel pensiero di Ulisse Aldrovandi, Bologna.

Wim François

Reading the Bible in the Vernacular? Erasmus’s Divinationes, Supputationes, and Appendix against the Paris Theologians

Abstract Several of Erasmus’s biblical humanist and theological ideas, as expressed in his Annotationes and Paraphrases on books of the New Testament, provoked the ire of the Paris theologians, and especially their traditionalist syndic, Noël Béda. Among Erasmus’s ideas that ignited the conflict with the theologians was his plea that the Bible should be translated into the languages of all people and read by the laity for their spiritual edification. Erasmus’s views on these matters are the first focus of this essay. Secondly, I deal with the distrust of vernacular Bible reading on the part of Noël Béda, Petrus Sutor, and the other Paris theologians, and how this was a constitutive element of the conflict in which they were entangled with Erasmus for more than eight years (1523/24–1532). I pay particular attention to Erasmus’s sustained defence of his views in the treatises he published in the summer of 1526 and the spring of 1527: his Divinationes, Supputationes, and Appendix respondens ad quaedam Antapologiae Petri Sutoris – treatises that have not been the object of much scholarly interest. After analysing the strategies the Paris theologians deployed to push through a condemnation of Erasmus, as well as his efforts to avoid such a condemnation, I conclude with a treatment of the final resolution of the conflict: the Paris theologians managed to issue a condemnation of Erasmus’s plea for vernacular Bible reading, among dozens of his other propositions.

Erasmus’s Pleas for Vernacular Bible Reading Erasmus wrote several pleas unambiguously defending the right of laypeople to read the Bible in the vernacular. The first of these was his commentary on Psalm 1 (Beatus vir), dating from 1515. He went on to develop his ideas in later texts, such as the Paraclesis, one of the prefaces to his Latin-Greek edition of the New Testament, published for the first time in 1516. We also find a similar defence in a ‘Praefatio’ to the Paraclesis included from 1520 onwards in certain editions of his edition of the New Testament. The themes raised by Erasmus are elaborated and

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deepened in his preface to his Paraphrases on the Gospel of Matthew, published in March 1522.1 In this text, Erasmus demonstrates that Jesus did not address his euangelica philosophia to scholars in the first instance, but to ordinary men and women, who therefore should not be prevented from reading the Scriptures.2 Apart from scriptural proof texts to substantiate his plea, Erasmus also invokes the authority of the Church Fathers to validate his claim. He first cites the obvious example of Jerome, who depicted familiarity with the Scriptures among consecrated virgins (such as Eustochium and Marcella).3 Next, he mentions John Chrysostom, who in several texts encouraged people to read the Scriptures at home since it would sharpen their interest and better prepare them for the church gatherings where the Scriptures would be explained.4 Erasmus laid great stress on the importance of such oral communication of the Gospel message by competent preachers. The question remains, however, whether he considered the absence of competent preachers as a prior and necessary condition for the laity to be allowed to draw edification from the private reading of the Scriptures. When confronted with criticism of his plea for vernacular Bible reading, he seems to bend towards such an interpretation of his own work. Nevertheless, an unbiased reading leads to the conclusion that Erasmus did grant the laity the right to read the Bible in the vernacular in an absolute and unconditional way. He further argues that if laypeople are granted permission to read the Bible, the logical consequence can only be that the Scriptures should be translated into all vernacular languages. Erasmus emphasizes that the Evangelists wrote down in 1 Erasmus, Pio Lectori […] Paraphrasin in Euangelium Matthaei […], ed. / transl. Cottier / Vanautgaerden (2005) (henceforth abbreviated as Pio Lectori in Par. in Mt.). For an introduction to Erasmus’s preface to his Paraphrases on the Gospel of Matthew, see esp. Cottier (2005) and François (2005), with references to Erasmus’s earlier pleas for Bible reading in the vernacular. See also Holeczek (1975) and Thompson (1977). 2 See, e. g., Erasmus, Pio Lectori in Par. in Mt., ed. / transl. Cottier / Vanautgaerden (2005), I, 60 ll. 43–55: ‘[…] non video tamen cur idiotae sint ab euangelicis praecipue litteris seu prophani a sacris submovendi, quae doctis pariter et indoctis, quae Graecis aeque ac Scythis, quae servis itidem ut liberis, quae feminis simul et viris, quae plebeis non minus atque regibus proditae sunt […] Et ita proditae sunt ut citius intelligantur ab idiota pio modestoque quam ab arrogante philosopho’; I, 76 l. 267–78 l. 272: ‘Certe Scripturarum suarum penum nulli pio claudit Christus, etiam si subulcus esset […] In huius igitur libris versentur omnes qui venantur christianam philosophiam.’ 3 See, e. g., Hieronymus, Ep. 22, Ad Eustochium 17 and 35, also 29, ed. Hilberg (²1996a), 165 ll. 9– 10 and 198 ll. 3–4, also 187 ll. 4–6; Ep. 46, Paulae et Eustochiae ad Marcellam 12, ed. Hilberg (²1996a), 342 l. 17–343 l. 2. For further references, see François (2005), 369. 4 Among the many passages, see esp. Chrysostomus, De Lazaro concio 3.1 and 3, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 991–2 and 994–5; In Joannem Homil. 11.1 and Homil. 32.3, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 77 and 186–7. See also In Gen. Homil. 35.2, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 323–4; In Matth. Homil. 2.5–6, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 30–31; In Act. Apost. Homil. 34.5, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 250; In Heb. Homil. 8.4, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 74.

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Greek what Jesus had spoken in his Aramaic (‘Syriace’) tongue and that the Latinspeaking people had, without hesitation, translated the preaching of the Apostles into their language, that is, into the vernacular of their day. Erasmus even adds that Jerome translated the Holy Scriptures into his own Dalmatian language, thus launching an argument among Western humanists which would acquire a following, but which proved to be a complete misconception. It is possible that the confusion had to do with the ‘scriptura hieronymitana’, the Glagolitic script in which the mostly Slavic-language liturgical books (of the Latin rite), used in large parts of Dalmatia, were transcribed and which Dalmatian-Croatian humanists believed to be the work of Jerome.5 Whatever the case, Erasmus firmly believed that the process of translating the Scriptures into the languages of all nations should be continuously expanded.6 In his preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew, Erasmus also maintains that the reading of the Scriptures should be prepared for by a substantial initiation into the Christian faith. Here he has a kind of biblical catechesis in mind, which should be composed by learned and faithful scholars and offered to the laity by parish priests and preachers within the ecclesiastical community.7 It is striking that Erasmus’s pleas for vernacular Bible translations and, in particular, his preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew, extend and radicalize the arguments which are already present among apologists influenced by the Devotio Moderna in the Low Countries and thus may have been influenced by them – as I have argued elsewhere.8 The treatises in question stem for the most part from Gerard Zerbolt of Zutphen (1367–1398), librarian to the house of the Brethren of the Common Life in Deventer, who wrote De libris teutonicalibus in the years 1393–1394 and who put together a couple of years later, in 1396–1397, a dossier which has been given the title Circa Modum. This dossier contains several texts, juridical and other kinds, which were aimed at obtaining official approval of the way of life of the Brethren and Sisters of the Common Life from the ecclesiastical 5 See Thompson (1981), 20, and Barbieri (1991–1992), 167–71. See also Madunic´ (2010), 193– 5. 6 See Erasmus, Pio Lectori in Par. in Mt., ed. / transl. Cottier / Vanautgaerden (2005), I, 84 l. 368– 86 l. 380: ‘Quidam piaculum arbitrantur, si sacri Libri vertantur in linguam gallicam aut britannicam. Sed Euangelistae non veriti sunt Graece scribere, quod Christus Syriace locutus est. Neque Latini veriti sunt Apostolorum sermonem in romanam linguam vertere. Neque Hieronymo religio fuit sacras literas dalmatice vertere. Equidem cupiam in omnes verti linguas. Cupit Christus suam philosophiam quam latissime propagari […] Ad id conducet, si aut illius libri vertantur in omnes omnium gentium linguas […].’ 7 See esp. ibid., I, 90 l. 439–92 l. 454: ‘Videorque mihi videre viam qua fieri possit, ut posthac paulo minus inidoneos habeamus sacrae lectioni, videlicet, si summa fidei ac doctrinae Christianae lucida brevitate et docta simplicitate proponeretur quotannis populo Christiano […] libellum confici velim a doctis et integris viris […] Eum concinnari cupiam non ex humanis lacunis, sed ex fontibus euangelicis, ex apostolis literis, ex Symbolo […].’ 8 François (2008), with references to the original writings by Gerard Zerbolt of Zutphen.

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hierarchy. The point is that there are good reasons to assume that Erasmus was indebted to arguments in favour of a lay Bible that were already circulating in the milieu in which he was educated in the Low Countries, a milieu that was deeply influenced by the Devotio Moderna. In France, the biblical humanist Jacques Lefèvre d’Étaples (c. 1455–1536) engaged in textual-critical work of the Latin Bible which resulted in the following publications: Quincuplex Psalterium (1509), the Commentarii in Pauli epistolas (1512; several reprints), and the Commentarii initiatorii in quatuor evangelia (1522). In contrast to Erasmus, who never made a vernacular translation of the Bible himself, Lefèvre embarked on a programme of vernacular translations of the Scriptures, although not based on Erasmus’s new Latin-Greek text, but instead on the Vulgate. Starting with the Gospels, Lefèvre’s translations were published from June 1523 onwards and were always accompanied with pleas for the laity’s reading of the Scriptures. These versions were strongly believed to support the Bible-based reform movement, deployed in the diocese of Meaux, where Guillaume Briçonnet (1470–1534) was bishop and Lefèvre d’Étaples, since 1523, his vicar in spiritualibus.9

Béda, Sutor, and the Paris Theologians’ Distrust of Vernacular Bible Reading The biblical humanists’ textual-critical work on the Vulgate – and a priori Erasmus’s Latin-Greek edition of the New Testament – as well as their pleas for and even personal engagement in the work of vernacular Bible translation, caused more and more suspicion among the ranks of the Paris theologians, who were whipped up by Noël Bédier or Béda (c. 1470–1537), their powerful syndicus since the creation of this position in 1520. Suspicion of vernacular Bible reading was not a new phenomenon in the Paris theological milieu, as heterodox movements which based their ideas on vernacular religious literature had long been active on French soil. Among these movements, the Poor of Lyons, also called the Waldensians, and even some groups of Beghards are worth mentioning. And when confronted with the Bible-based ‘heresies’ of Wycliffites and Hussites, Jean Gerson (1363–1429), one of the historic leaders of the Paris Faculty of Theology, implored the fathers at the Council of Constance in 1417 to issue a prohibition on Bible reading in the vernacular that would extend to the entire Church. The council did not issue this general prohibition and, for the time being 9 On Lefèvre’s biblical work and its importance for l’évangélisme in France, see Bedouelle (2008); Bogaert / Gilmont (1991), 54–5; Veissière (1986), 197–237; Cameron (1970) 123–6; Laune (1895).

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in France, the production of large quantities of manuscripts containing (parts of) the Bible continued unabated, and copies of the Bible were also printed. The most notable of these were the Bible historiale complétée (first edition 1496–1499) and the Bible abrégée (1473–1474) in addition to versions of the Life of Jesus. Gerson’s standpoint, however, was taken up by his colleagues and successors at the Faculty of Theology in Paris.10 When confronted with humanist pleas for Bible reading by the laity, as well as with the new French Bible translations by Lefèvre d’Étaples, Béda and the majority of the Paris theologians reacted with deep mistrust. They considered them to be a spin-off of the évangélisme, the French Bible-based reform movement, firmly rooted in the diocese of Meaux, and suspected of propagating erroneous teachings. It reinforced their view, thoroughly inspired by that of Jean Gerson – ‘Béda’s favourite doctor’11 – that the laity’s reading of the vernacular Bible and especially their claim to be able to interpret it went hand in hand with the rise of errors and even heresies.12 On 22 August 1523, the Paris Faculty of Theology, after having silenced the more moderate voices of about five of its members, decided during a solemn congregation that the new Bible versions which were translated into Latin on the basis of Greek and Hebrew must be forbidden, specifically mentioning the work of Erasmus and Lefèvre d’Étaples. A similar ban was declared on translations of the Bible into the vernacular.13 Nevertheless, as long as Lefèvre and Erasmus had the support of the French king, François Ier (1494–1547), the Paris theologians had to move with discretion and circumspection. On 3 November the faculty received through the mediation of Guillaume Petit (c. 1470–1536), bishop of 10 See esp. Gerson (1973), 57–8. It is possible that Gerson, precisely because of his confrontation in Constance with the Bible-based ‘heresies’ of Wycliffites and Hussites, became far more restrictive regarding Bible reading in the vernacular. Earlier statements ascribed to him are more nuanced. See Posthumus Meyjes (1999), 335–9, and Bogaert (1991), 42–3. See also Hoogvliet (2013), 259–60. 11 Bense (1977), 99. 12 See François (2009), 112–18. Of the many publications on the controversy between Erasmus and the Paris theologians, those particularly interesting for our topic are Farge (1985), 176– 96, and Higman (1979), 13–35 and 73–82. The Regestum conclusionum Sacrae Facultatis Theologiae in Universitate Parisiensi 1 (1505–1533), (henceforth abbreviated as RCFT 1), is published in Clerval (1917) and Farge (1990). The conclusions of the faculty were also published in Du Plessis d’Argentré (1728) and in Bulaeus (1673). 13 RCFT 1, 22 August 1523, 105v–106r, ed. Clerval (1917), 380: ‘Deinde auditis omnibus conclusit sacra Facultas organo domini decani Boussart, quod non sunt utiles Ecclesie nove traductiones biblie, que de greco vel hebreo in latinum fiunt, verbi causa per Erasmum et Jacobum Fabrum, sed pernitiose propter optimas nec id quidem paucas que adducte sunt a magistris rationes et ideo nullomodo permittende aut tollerande sed per Ecclesie prelatos omni via ab Ecclesia elimande […] Consimiliter judicavit eadem Facultas de traductione ejusdem biblie de latino in wulgare [sic!], quod scilicet sunt omnino prohibende nec ferende […].’ See François (2009), 115; Farge (1985), 177–8; Veissière (1986), 238–43, 251–4, and 288–9.

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Troyes and the king’s confessor, a message that was perfectly clear. It was notified that the king intended to invite Erasmus to France and therefore wished to be kept informed about any errors deserving of condemnation – set out in wellordered articles – which the theologians discovered in his works. The Paris theologians understood that it was not feasible for them, as a body, to embark on an official examination of Erasmus’s works; however, they allowed Noël Béda to engage in a critical scrutiny of these works in his own name and according to his own judgement (‘suo privato jure’) and to send his annotations to Guillaume Petit. Béda received an explicit order to leave the Paris Faculty of Theology, as a body, out of this enterprise.14 Here we see the deployment of an interesting strategy: if royal protection obliged the faculty to abandon further procedures against the biblical humanists, it gave an individual master the right to embark on a ‘personal’ examination and to give vent to this opinion through the appropriate media. As such, the faculty’s views found an avenue of expression, while it remained officially in the background. Yet another strategy was also put into operation: if the ‘bigwigs’ were untouchable, then lower-level figures could still be challenged, as a kind of warning to the higher-ups. Following this strategy, the Paris theologians targeted members of the Meaux group who were less famous and therefore enjoyed less protection. On 2 December 1523, they issued an official Determination condemning forty-one propositions that Martial Mazurier (d. 1550) and Pierre Caroli (1480– 1550), two preachers from the group, were said to have defended during their sermons. One of the condemned propositions concerned the exhortation (clearly by Mazurier) to all Christians, and not only to the clergy, to apply themselves to the study of the Scriptures. Another proposition that the Paris theologians condemned stated that the common people were permitted to gather together in order to discuss the Bible and its problematic passages. The Parisians were, of course, opposed to such informal meetings, or ‘conventicles’, where points of the faith were discussed, since they regarded them as a breeding ground for errors and heresies.15 Strictly speaking, the Determination did not tackle the issue of Bible translations in the vernacular, but it was a further step in this direction. The climate of increased suspicion towards the biblical humanist programme continued to gather steam in the second half of 1523, and this may have been the reason why Konrad Resch (d. c. 1552), the official bookseller of the University of Paris, asked for explicit and official permission to republish an edition of Erasmus’s Paraphrases on the Gospel of Luke. He did this even though he had 14 RCTF 1, 3 November 1523, 116r, ed. Clerval (1917), 401–2. See Rabbie (2013), 4 (this introduction is largely based on Rabbie [2010]) and Farge (1985), 176 and 256–7. 15 Du Plessis d’Argentré (1728), II.1, XIV–XX, esp. XVII. See François (2009), 116–17, and Veissière (1986), 254–8.

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already republished, earlier in the same year and without asking for permission, Erasmus’s Paraphrases on Matthew, John, and the Epistles (of Paul and the Catholic Epistles). In order to obtain permission to republish the Paraphrases on Luke, Resch submitted the book in its original Basel print to the Parlement de Paris for examination. The président aux enquêtes of the Parlement, François Deloynes (d. 1524), handed the book over to Béda, who had already started his critical examination of Erasmus’s works but could now focus on the Paraphrases on Luke, a task which he began on Saturday, 9 January 1524.16 As a result of his study, Béda sent to Deloynes around fifty notes about questionable or possibly erroneous points in the Paraphrases. He also brought the questions to the meetings of the faculty, which appointed three doctors to conduct a further examination, which they did not, apparently, complete.17 In any event, no positive advice was issued, so that Resch had to drop the project of issuing a Paris reprint of the Paraphrases on Luke. Deloynes, for his part, passed Béda’s critical notes to Erasmus himself at some point between January and July 1524. Erasmus, however, left Béda’s notes untouched for about a year.18 As mentioned above, one of the strategies that the Paris Faculty of Theology had adopted to circumvent the royal protection of leading humanists, such as Lefèvre and Erasmus, was to grant an individual magister permission to exercise ‘his’ theological judgement, so that the faculty as a body could keep its official distance. This strategy was again put into operation on 30 August 1524, when the faculty gave Pierre Cousturier, better known as Petrus Sutor (1475–1537), an alumnus of the faculty and from 1523 prior of the charterhouse of Preize near Troyes, the permission to publish a book against the new Bible translations.19 Sutor’s book De tralatione bibliae (‘On the Translation of the Bible’) appeared early in 1525, voicing de facto the judgement of the Paris Theological Faculty and thus targeting the biblical humanist work of Lefèvre and Erasmus. The book’s twenty-second and final chapter is entirely devoted to the question of vernacular Bible translations and, as such, has the dubious honour of being the first systematic treatise against Bible reading in the vernacular in the early modern era.20 16 Rabbie (2013), 2, with a reference to Erasmus’s Supputationes. 17 RCTF 1, 16, 18, 22 January, 6, 11, 12, 16 February, 5 March, and 1 April 1524, 124v–128r and 131r–v, ed. Farge (1990), nos 4B, 5A, 6B, 8A, 9A–B, 10A, 11A, 16A, 18C, 5–12, and 17; also 6 n. 15. For an analysis, see Rabbie (2013), 2–4; Farge (1985), 177 and 187; Rummel (1989), II, 30; cf. François (2009), 130. 18 Rabbie (2013), 4. 19 RCFT 1, 30 August 1524, 149r, ed. Farge (1990), no. 43 A, 50. See also Farge (1985), 179 and 187. 20 Sutor (1525). For an analysis of Sutor’s work and particularly of his stance on Bible translations in the vernacular, see François (2006), with a summary in François (2014); see also Holeczek (1975), 203–23. For a more general analysis of Sutor’s standpoint, see Rummel (1989), II, 61–7.

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It contains a clear-cut repudiation of vernacular Bible translations and especially of reading, studying, and discussing them in semi-clandestine ‘conventicles’ by commoners. For support, Sutor refers to the Paris theologians who, he says, rightly condemned pleas in the favour of such practices, since they risked reviving the errors of the Waldensians and Bohemians (that is, Hussites).21 He quotes almost literally the Determination that the Paris theologians had issued on 2 December 1523 against Martial Mazurier and Pierre Caroli. In particular, he emphasizes that the Scriptures are obscure in places and that only skilled theologians who lead a holy and pious life are able to penetrate the Bible’s literal surface and grasp its deeper spiritual sense.22 Sutor, however, leaves a little room for devout people to have a book containing the Epistle and Gospel readings from the mass, as long as they are accompanied by a sound commentary on these pericopes.23 It is important to note that in the same period, and more specifically on 24 February 1525, François Ier was defeated at the Battle of Pavia and was subsequently sent as Charles V’s captive to Madrid. The humanists in France were therefore deprived of their powerful protector and became vulnerable to the theologians’ attacks – leading swiftly to the dismantling of the circle of Meaux.24

Erasmus in Direct Debate with Béda and Sutor It is likely that Erasmus decided to engage in a direct debate with the Paris theologians after Sutor published his book and due to the new and delicate politico-religious circumstances. Digging up Béda’s critical notes on his Paraphrases on Luke, which he had received about a year earlier through the intermediary of Deloynes, Erasmus sent a letter to Béda on 28 April 1525, accompanied by his reply to several of the notes. Erasmus treated Béda with tact and even invited him to further criticism, not only of the Paraphrases on other New 21 Sutor (1525), XCVIIr: ‘Et nihilominus audio quosdam nuper asseruisse christianos omnes esse inducendos ad studium scripturae sanctae, et licitum quoque esse simplici populo diebus festis aut aliis convenire, ut de sacra scriptura et eius difficultatibus conferat, et denique etiam licere ipsi populo de fide disceptare, et sacram scripturam exponere […] Bene igitur coetus theologorum parisiensium vesanias huiusmodi reprobans dixit propositiones illas temerarias ac falsas esse, et errores waledensium et Bohemorum instaurare. Neque vero ferenda sunt ydiotarum conventicula pro talibus negotiis tractandis, utpote quae iure damnantur.’ 22 Ibid., XCVIIv–XCIXv. 23 Ibid., XCVIIIv–XCIXr, esp. XCIXr: ‘Et nihilominus vt votis eius plenius respondeatur, dicimus epistolas et euangelia quae in ecclesia palam decantari et a praedicatoribus proponi, exponique solent, cum decenti, fidelique explanatione in vernaculam linguam transfundi posse. Qua quidem tralatione plene contentus esse debet simplex populus, nec ab eo desideranda est totius bibliae vernacula traductio.’ 24 Farge (1985), 183–5, and François (2009), 124–5.

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Testament books, but also of his Annotations to the New Testament.25 According to Edwin Rabbie, the editor of the controversy between Béda and Erasmus for the ASD series – the ongoing ‘Amsterdam edition’ of Erasmus’s Opera omnia – the humanist strategically feigned interest in collaboration, because he wanted to avoid a public condemnation from the powerful Paris Faculty of Theology.26 Rabbie notes that ‘in the same letter, Erasmus treats another critic, the Carthusian Petrus Sutor […] in a much more confrontational manner […]’, since Sutor’s book was already published, so Erasmus had no choice but to respond.27 His letter to Béda of 28 April was the beginning of a comprehensive correspondence between the humanist and the leader of the Paris theologians, a correspondence which lasted for more than a year and in which vernacular Bible translations were a recurrent point of discussion.28 The controversy entered a new phase in the late summer of 1525. In August, Erasmus published an extensive reply to Sutor’s De tralatione Bibliae, entitled Apologia adversus Petri Sutoris debacchationes (‘Apology against Petrus Sutor’s Furies’),29 containing several pages which explicitly refuted his opponent’s arguments against vernacular Bible reading.30 Erasmus begins by declaring that the case for translating the Bible into the vernacular should not be considered as ‘his dogma’ (‘dogma meum non est’). By this, he obviously wished to indicate that it was not his intention to elevate the question of vernacular Bible translation to the level of an established article of faith (‘dogma […] non est’). Moreover, he emphasizes that he himself had never encouraged a single person to translate the Bible into the vernacular, let alone undertaken such an enterprise himself.31 He stresses that preference should be given to the laity receiving instruction orally (‘viva voce’), at least if a competent preacher was available, and that ‘not everything had to be diffused without restriction among the people’. In the remainder 25 26 27 28

Erasmus, ed. Allen (1926), VI, 65–9 (Ep. 1571: Erasmus to Béda, 28 April 1525). Rabbie (2013), 4. Ibid., 4–5. For an analysis of this correspondence, see Rabbie (2013), 4–7; Renaudet (1939), 241–7, 254–6, 259–60, 262–3; Farge (1985), 187–90; Rummel (1989), II, 30–33; Nauert (2002), 45– 53; Crane (2005), 44–50; Farge (2015b), 5–9. 29 Erasmus assumed that Sutor expressed, in a semi-official way, the position of the Paris Theological Faculty; see Erasmus, ed. Allen (1926), VI, 155 l. 33–156 l. 35 (Ep. 1603: Erasmus to Pirckheimer, 26 August 1525). 30 See Erasmus, Apologia, ed. Céard (2018), ASD IX–9, 94–207, esp. 175 l. 270–180 l. 435. For a concise introduction, see Céard (2018), 87–91. For a further analysis, see François (2014), 239–50; also Holeczek (1975), 224–33, and Thompson (1977), 16–7 and 25. For Erasmus’s reply to Sutor’s opinions about Bible versions in general, see Rummel (1989), II, 67–9. 31 Holeczek [1975], 226, rightly observes: ‘Andererseits kann er nicht einfach leugnen, daß Lefèvre oder Luther starke Anregungen bei ihm fanden und sein “Novum Testamentum” für die zeitgenössischen Bibelübersetzungen in die Volkssprachen eine wichtige Voraussetzung abgab.’

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of his Apology, Erasmus repeats the main points he had already defended in his previous pleas for vernacular Bible reading, stressing that the Scriptures at the time of their composition were written in the language of the common people and that later they were translated into the languages of the regions where the Gospel was spread. Erasmus insists that reading is the first step in the process of understanding the Bible – the complexity and obscurity of which Sutor exaggerated – and that this applies both to theologians and to the laity.32 One of the focal points of the second part of Erasmus’s Apologia adversus Petri Sutoris debacchationes is his assertion that the Church authorities had never promulgated a general ban on Bible reading in the vernacular. He even adds that if a prohibition had been issued, it could only have been in response to a very specific circumstance. It even looks as if he was seeking to demonstrate that, if such a general prohibition had been promulgated, then the Apostles and the Fathers would have erred in consensu.33 Erasmus further deals with Sutor’s argument that the sacred books should be snatched out of the common people’s hands since they are bound to misunderstand the meaning and lapse into heresy, as had already happened with the Waldensians. Cleverly using this argument for his own line of reasoning, Erasmus concludes that the learned should also be kept away from the Scriptures, because most initiators of heresies, such as Origen, Arius, John Wycliffe (c. 1320–1384), and John Hus (c. 1369–1415), had been scholars and not common people.34 Sutor seemed to allow devout laypeople to read vernacular books containing the Epistle and Gospel readings from the mass (although accompanied by explanations); and Erasmus remarks that laypeople may also be confronted with equivocal scriptural passages in church, such as when publicly hearing about Solomon’s ‘Love’ Song (‘Canticum amatorium Solomonis’). His argument may sound strange here and may even appear to reinforce Sutor’s concerns, since it was precisely this type of biblical material that he did not want simple laypeople to encounter. Erasmus, however, uses this argument of public church reading as 32 Erasmus, Apologia, ed. Céard (2018), ASD IX–9, 176 l. 274–177 l. 328: ‘[…] et ingenue fateor optimum esse vt populus discat viua voce, si contingat boni doctoris copia, nec omnia tamen apud populum promiscuum effundenda […] Iam quod scripseram apostolos scripsisse lingua vulgo nota, et hanc translationem fuisse cerdonibus etiam notam apud Italos, Hispanos, et Gallos, Sutor rem tam euidentem suauiter deridet tanquam incredibilem […] Exaggerat difficultatem Scripturae Sacrae, cuius agnitio sine summis sudoribus percipi non possit. At primus laborum gradus est lectio […].’ See François (2014), 239–45. 33 Erasmus, Apologia, ed. Céard (2018), ASD IX–9, 178 l. 346–179 l. 374: ‘Proinde si qua constitutio prodita est a patribus, ne vulgus habeat sacros libros, sic censeri debet vt pharmacum, pro ratione temporum ac personarum datum […].’ See François (2014), 245–7. 34 Erasmus, Apologia, ed. Céard (2018), ASD IX–9, 179 ll. 374–6: ‘Sed ideo sunt populo eripiendi sacri libri, quod hinc Valdenses prolapsi sint in errorem, eripiendi forent et eruditis, quod Origenes, et Arius, et Vuycleuus, et Hussus, hinc hauserint suas haereses.’ See François (2014), 247–9.

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leverage to broaden what Sutor permitted to the laity, extending it from only the Epistle and Gospel readings to all of Scripture, while at the same time ironically questioning why Sutor allowed the Epistle and Gospel readings to be translated if the Church had indeed forbidden the laity to read the Bible in the vernacular (which, in Erasmus’s view, it had not).35 When resuming his most important arguments towards the end of his Apology, and especially when recalling that the Scriptures were originally translated into languages that the greater part of the world understood, Erasmus again brings up the story that Jerome translated some of the sacred books into the language of Dalmatia – a story which lacks historical foundation, as we have seen.36 Around the same time as Erasmus published his extensive reply to Sutor’s De tralatione bibliae, that is, on 26 August 1525, the Paris Theological Faculty proclaimed an official condemnation of Bible translations in the vernacular.37 Two days later, the Parlement de Paris took over the Determination in its own registers, giving it official approbation and legal force.38 Only three weeks later, in a letter of 12 September 1525, Béda sent Erasmus his critical notes on his Paraphrases on New Testament books – those on Luke had earlier been sent to him by Deloynes.39 Among them were seven propositions that were taken from Erasmus’s preface to his Paraphrases on Matthew which related to his plea for reading the Bible in the vernacular, as we can deduce from the later publication of Béda’s Annotationes:40

35 Erasmus, Apologia, ed. Céard (2018), ASD IX–9, 179 l. 382–180 l. 429: ‘[…] tandem permittit idiotis, vt habeant lingua vulgata decenter versa Euangelia et epistolas, quae solent in templis recitari, et a concionatoribus exponi […] Quid quod canticum amatorium Salomonis canitur et legitur in templis? […] An hic non licebit habere versum quod audiunt? […] Sin auctoritas ecclesiastica in totum submouet laicos a lectione sacrorum voluminum, qua nam autoritate Sutor permittit hoc quod permittit?’ See François (2014), 249. 36 Erasmus, Apologia, ed. Céard (2018), ASD IX–9, 180 ll. 430–35. See François (2014), 249–50. 37 Du Plessis d’Argentré (1728), II.1, 7*: ‘[…] neque expediens est, neque utile Reipublicae Christianae, imo visa hujus temporis conditione, prorsus pernitiosum, non solum illam translationem Horarum, sed etiam alias translationes Bibliae, aut partium ejus, prout jam passim fieri videntur, admitti; et quod illae quae jam emissae sunt, supprimi magis deberent, quam tolerari’ [italics in the original]. See François (2009), 125. 38 ‘[…] et seront faictes defenses a tous imprimeurs de ne exposer ne imprimer aucuns livres de la saincte Escripture en langaige françoys sans permission de lad. Court; et sera la determinacion de lad. faculté de theologie enregistree es registres de lad. Cour, afin qu’elle puisse estre veue lors que aucuns libraires ou imprimeurs vouldront requerir leur estre permis imprimer aucuns livres.’ See Farge (2015a), 198–9, with reference to Paris, Archives Nationales de France X1A 1528, fols. 723v–724r. Also quoted in Higman (1979), 25–6 n. 16 and 77–8. Cf. François (2009), 125; Farge (1985), 178–9. 39 Farge (1985), 189; cf. Farge (2015b), 7–8. 40 See section ‘Erasmus’s Divinationes’ below.

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(1) ‘They (i. e., the doctors of theology) cry out against it as an intolerable offence if a woman or a tanner should speak about Holy Scripture. I for my part would prefer to hear some young girls (‘puellas quasdam’) talking about Christ than some of those who, in the opinion of common folk, are supreme scholars (‘quosdam summos […] rabinos’).’ (2) ‘If I have my way, the farmer will read, the smith and the mason, as well as the courtesans and pimps, and even the Turks will read. Since Christ has not removed them from his audience, I will certainly not keep them from his books.’ (3) ‘And I would not forbid any person to read the prophet Ezekiel or the Song of Songs or any books of the Old Testament.’ (4) ‘It must be added immediately that the illiterate should not be kept from the Scriptures because it was the occasion that one or another person might have fallen into errors.’ (5) ‘Some consider it an offence if the sacred books are translated into the French or English language. I would like them to be translated into all languages.’ (6) ‘Why does it seem to be indecent if somebody lets the Gospel resound in the native language that another understands; the Frenchman in French, the British in English, the German in German, the Indian in Indian?’ (7) ‘To me (Erasmus says), it seems more inappropriate, or even ridiculous, for uneducated people and simple-minded women to mumble their psalms and the Lord’s Prayer like parrots, without understanding what the sounds mean.’41 Erasmus had now obtained the kind of material that he had so long pressed for with Béda. Since the syndic in his letter of 21 October 1525 also announced that he was in the process of collecting these censures in the form of a book which he intended to add to the book(s) he was preparing against Lefèvre, Erasmus put a stop to their correspondence, obviously in order to prepare his reply to Béda’s critical notes. The correspondence between Erasmus and Béda only resumed in March 1526.42 The first days of February 1526 brought a further intensification of the conflict. On 5 February, the Parlement confirmed the prohibition on French vernacular Bible translations, as had been proclaimed in August the year before, with the proviso that now the word ‘new’ was added to the French translations of the Bible that were forbidden, which seems to imply that only versions issued 41 English translations are mine; see also Erasmus, Paraphrase on Matthew, transl. / annot. Simpson / contrib. ed. Sider (2008). 42 Rabbie (2013), 7–8. On the correspondence, see n. 28 above.

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from the milieus of biblical humanists or Reformers were targeted, whereas the older medieval Bible versions, which continued to be printed (such as Bible historiale complétée and Bible abrégée), were kept out of harm’s way. The decree further re-emphasized the danger of having free and open discussions about the Scriptures and other matters of the faith during conventicles.43 In the same month, another step was taken in the controversy between Erasmus and Sutor. On 15 February 1526, the Paris Faculty of Theology approved Sutor’s Antapologia […] in quandam Erasmi apologiam (‘Discursive Reply to […] a Certain Apology of Erasmus’). The book – which was called Anterasmycum Petri Sutoris in the faculty’s proceedings – was approved without the customary preceding examination and report by the deputati, or deputies, who should have been appointed for that purpose. In fact, the approval was given on the very same day that the faculty granted its approbation to Béda’s famous Annotationes against Lefèvre d’Étaples’s commentaries on the New Testament, although in this case, it was granted after hearing the report of the deputies Jean Gaillard (d. 1538), Jacques Pasquet (d. c. 1540), and Jacques Berthélemy (d. 1543).44 In his Antapologia, published in June 1526, Sutor criticizes Erasmus’s work for its lack of coherence, and he elaborates on the arguments he had formerly presented in his De tralatione Bibliae. He also lashes out against the Paraphrases – to which Erasmus had referred to in his apology – and although he admits that he has

43 Farge (2015a), 250, with reference to Paris, Archives Nationales de France X1A, 1529, 107r– 108r: ‘Et pource que plusieurs personnes au moien de ce qu’ilz lisent les livres de la Saincte Escripture translatez de latin en françoys sont initiateurs de plusieurs hérésies, font conventicules, disputent et traictent de la foy catholicque, contemnent les commandemens et ministres de l’eglise, se divertissent du train commun des vrays fideles [et du devoir deu] [quant] aux sacremens, predicacions et services de l’eglise, et sement grans erreurs, dont viennent et pourroient advenir plusieurs scandales, maulx et inconveniens en ce royaume […] il sera enjoinct de par le roy et lad. Court a tous ceux qui ont en leur possession les livres des canticques, des psaulmes, Apocalipse, les Évangiles, epistres sainct Pol et autres livres du Vieil et Nouveau Testament contenuz en la sainct Bible qui ont esté de nouvel translatez de latin en françoys et imprimez, et aussi un livre imprimé contenant aucunes evangiles et epistres des dimenches et aucunes solemnitez de l’an avecques certaines exortacions en françoys, qu’ilz en vuydent leurs mains et les mectent et apportent dedans huit jours apres la publicacion de ce present arrest […] pour estre sequestrez et gardez soubz la main de justice par maniere de provision, et jusques a ce que autrement en sera ordonné. Et seront faictes inhibicions et defenses a tous imprimeurs doresenavant de non imprimer aucune des livres dessusd. en françoys; et, si aucuns en ont, de ne les exposer en vente mais les apporter esd. greffes sur peine de confiscation de leurs biens et de bannissement de ce royaume.’ For a slightly different transcription, see Labarre (1999), 403; Veissière (1986), 313 and 363–4, as well as Higman (1979), 26–7 and 80. See also François (2009), 126; Farge (1985), 178–9; Doucet (1926), 189. 44 RCTF 1, 15 February 1526, 186r, ed. Farge (1990), nos 141A and 141C, 126–7. See also Farge (1985), 190.

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never read the book under discussion, he takes it for granted that it contains misrepresentations and errors, for no single book by Erasmus was free of errors.45

Erasmus’s Divinationes About the same time, February 1526, Erasmus finished his more elaborate reply to Béda’s critical notes, a work that he had probably begun during the autumn of 1525 (and which should be distinguished from his reaction to Béda’s notes on the Paraphrases on Luke, which Erasmus had already sent to him in April 1525). Erasmus sent his reply not to Béda directly, but to the Paris Faculty of Theology and had it accompanied by a letter dated 6 February 1526. It looks as if Erasmus’s notes were not able to influence the decisions taken in the meeting of the faculty on 15 February. Erasmus’s reply, including his earlier reaction to the Paraphrases on Luke, would be published a few months later under the title Divinationes.46 The term means here ‘Conjectures’ or ‘Guesses’, since Erasmus writes that he had to guess more than once what it was that Béda had objected to.47 It was indeed true that Béda had simply extracted several propositions from Erasmus’s works without explicitly giving the reasons why he had censured them. In the Divinationes, which are not an example of a well-structured and well-considered work, and which bear the traces of hasty writing, Erasmus first quotes the proposition censured by Béda, and then follows it with his reply, which, in some cases, was quite short. The first proposition from Erasmus’s preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew censured by Béda was: ‘They cry out (‘exclamant’) against it as an intolerable offence if a woman or a tanner should speak about Holy Scripture. I for my part would prefer to hear some young girls (‘puellas quasdam’) talking about Christ than some of those who, in the opinion of the common folk, are supreme scholars (‘quosdam summos […] rabinos’).’ In his rendering of this first proposition, Béda had the impersonal ‘exclamant’ completed by the supposed subject ‘doctores’, or ‘doctors (of theology)’.48 Of course, Erasmus immediately objects to this 45 Sutor (1526). For a summary of the contents, see Rummel (1989), II, 69–71. For a concise introduction, see Céard (2018), 91. 46 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 41–158. 47 Rabbie (2013), 8–9, and Rummel (1989), II, 33; cf. Rummel (2002), 266, where she explains Divinationes as ‘a legal term referring to a preliminary hearing to determine who will prosecute a case’. This interpretation is refuted by Rabbie. 48 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 58 ll. 163–5: ‘Exclamant (scilicet doctores) “indignum facinus” si mulier aut coriarius loquatur de sacris literis; at ego puellas quasdam audire mallem de Christo loquentes quam quosdam summos vulgi opinione rabinos’ (cf. Erasmus, Pio Lectori in Par. in Mt., ed. / transl. Cottier / Vanautgaerden [2005], I, 62 ll. 65–9).

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addition, pointing out that he had only spoken in a general way and that jurists and some drunkards also expressed themselves in this way. There is, however, little doubt that Béda’s interpretation was right, since Erasmus in the sequel to his reasoning lashes out against the ‘rabini’, who logically constitute the subject of ‘exclamant’. Erasmus had used the predicate ‘rabini’ more than once to denounce scholastic theologians; and, in his reply to Béda’s censure, he does not take back his critical words about the ‘rabini’, who, in the Divinationes, are reproached for wasting their time on the hair-splitting subtleties of Duns Scotus (c. 1266–1308) instead of reading the Scriptures.49 The ‘rabini’ are contrasted to the ‘puellae’, girls or young women who, generally speaking, were well grounded in the Scriptures. As an example, Erasmus refers to Marcella, Eustochium, and Principia,50 religious women from Jerome’s circle in Palestine to whom he always recommended the reading and meditation of the Scriptures, and whom Erasmus regularly brings up in his pleas for Bible reading in the vernacular. He finally adds to his reply that people who dare to assert that it is an intolerable offence if a woman or a tanner speaks about Holy Scripture cannot be called genuine theologians and that they, at least, cannot be the subject of ‘exclamant’.51 The second proposition of Erasmus’s censured by Béda was: ‘If I have my way, the farmer will read, the smith and the mason, as well as the courtesans and pimps, and even the Turks will read. Since Christ has not removed them from his audience, I will certainly not keep them from his books.’52 In his reply to Béda’s censure, Erasmus repeats one of the main arguments that he had also brought up in his response to Sutor and in his earlier correspondence with Béda: that not a single decree from the Church can be found which prohibits the laity from reading the Scriptures. And if such a decree had perhaps been promulgated, it 49 For the ‘rabini’, see Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 59; see also François (2005), 366 n. 30. 50 For the references to Eustochium and Marcella, see n. 3 above. For Principia, see Hieronymus, Ep. 127, Ad Principiam virginem de vita sanctae Marcellae 4, ed. Hilberg (²1996b), 148 ll. 3–22. This is a kind of memoir of Marcella, written by Jerome to her friend and companion Principia. See also Hieronymus, Ep. 65, Ad Principiam, ed. Hilberg (²1996a). At Principia’s request, Jerome offers an explanation of Psalm 44. He justifies himself by stating: ‘Si doceri a femina non fuit turpe apostolo, mihi quare turpe sit post viros docere et feminas?’ (Ep. 65.1, 618 ll. 14–16). 51 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 58 l. 163–60 l. 176: ‘Quum ego loquutus sim in genere, quur Beda interpretatur doctores, quasi totum ordinem theologorum taxauerim […] sunt rabini qui detriuerunt aetatem in spinetis Scoti, sacras literas nunquam attigerunt, deinde pleni mundane spiritus; quid miri si malim audire talem puellam per cuius os Christus loquitur quam indoctum, superciliosum et fastu turgidum rabinum? […] Dixerit aliquis hos non esse theologos.’ 52 Ibid., 60 l. 179–81: ‘Me autore libros sacros leget agricola, leget faber, leget latomus, legent et meretrices et lenones, denique legent et Turcae. Si hos non submouit a sua voce Christus, nec ego submouebo eos ab illius libris’ (cf. Erasmus, Pio Lectori in Par. in Mt., ed. / transl. Cottier / Vanautgaerden [2005], I, 66 l. 133–68 l. 138).

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had no impact at all, he adds, since several parts of the Scriptures have been widely read in the vernacular.53 In this regard, Erasmus refers to the beguines who say their prayers in the vernacular and to the consecrated virgins who read and sing publicly the Song of Songs in their sanctuaries. He admits that a prohibitive measure may have been aimed at counteracting the temerity of certain groups for a determined period of time, but that it could not be valid forever nor apply to everyone. After having affirmed that there was no general ecclesiastical ban on vernacular Bible reading, Erasmus repeats the conditions to which such reading was subject: Bible readers should give proof of a devout mind and renounce their own rash judgement (‘temeritatem iudicandi’). He also repeats his view that listening is more important than reading, even if only a mediocre doctor is available.54 The third censured proposition reads: ‘And I would not forbid any person to read the prophet Ezechiel or the Song of Songs or any books of the Old Testament.’55 As a reply to Béda’s censure, Erasmus repeats a motif that he has already touched on in the discussion of the previous censure and had also brought up in his response to Béda: that consecrated virgins publicly read and sing the Song of Songs in their sanctuaries with the approval of the Church, which shows that there cannot be a general prohibition. He also emphasizes how prudent he was when allowing the laity to read the Bible in the vernacular: they should not take it as an occasion to behave as amateur theologians but should consider it as a preliminary reading at home in order to listen to sermons at church in a more instructed and better prepared manner. This topos is found in several pleas for Bible reading in the vernacular and was borrowed from John Chrysostom, to whom Erasmus explicitly refers in this instance. Erasmus, moreover, states that the Council of Nicaea had decreed that no Christian should be left without the Scriptures, although it is unclear to which decision he is alluding.56 Another proposition of Erasmus’s that Béda censored was: ‘It must be added immediately that the illiterate should not be kept from the Scriptures because it 53 See Erasmus, ed. Allen (1926), VI, 105 l. 733–6 (Ep. 1581: Erasmus to Béda, 15 June 1525). 54 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 60 l. 179–93: ‘Nec mihi constat vllum esse decretum Ecclesiae prohibens ne laici legant sacros libros. Et si quod est factum, non est receptum vsu populi […] Et hic concedens lectionem laicis prius stipulor piam mentem, adimo temeritatem iudicandi, hortor ad audiendum si detur vel mediocris doctoris copia.’ 55 Ibid., 62 ll. 196–7: ‘Nec Ezechielis prophetae nec Cantici Canticorum aut cuiusquam librorum Veteris Testamenti lectionem ulli hominum interdixero’ (cf. Erasmus, Pio Lectori in Par. in Mt., ed. / transl. Cottier / Vanautgaerden [2005], I, 68 ll. 139–147). 56 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 62 ll. 196–204: ‘Nimirum hac de causa Chrysostomus hortatur populum vt domi legant Euangelium, quo dociliores veniant ad concionem.’ Obviously a reference to Chrysostomus, In Joannem Homil. 11.1, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 77. See also In Joannem Homil. 32.3, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 186–7, and De Lazaro concio 3.1, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 991–2. For further references, see n. 4 above.

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was the occasion that one or another person might have fallen into errors.’57 Among the most common reasons given why simple people should be kept away from the vernacular Scriptures, and one that Béda had made his own, was that an idiosyncratic reading of the Scriptures ran the risk of giving rise to errors and heresies. In his reply, Erasmus repeats what he mentioned in his apology to Sutor: that if this reasoning is correct, then the learned should also be kept away from reading the Scriptures since most heresies had their origin among them (and not among the commoners), citing the Origenists and the Arians as examples.58 In addition, Erasmus asks why the Holy Books are printed and disseminated in Paris if it is forbidden for the laity to touch them. Vernacular Bibles did indeed continue to be printed in France, especially late medieval versions, and even Lefèvre’s editions had at first been published in Paris. But precisely during the days when Erasmus sent this reply to the Paris Faculty of Theology, and specifically on 5 February 1526, the Parlement de Paris promulgated a prohibition on ‘new’ translations of the Bible in French, renewing an earlier prohibition of August 1525 issued by the Paris Faculty of Theology and confirmed by the Parlement.59 Erasmus must have been aware of this prohibition, so the question arises whether his ignorance of it was feigned or not. Béda had also added the following comments to the censured propositions: ‘Almost everywhere Erasmus makes efforts to convince others that it is permitted for the Sacred Scriptures to be translated into the languages of all nations […].’60 To which Erasmus replies in his Divinationes: ‘I do not make efforts to convince, but merely allow this, under the conditions that I recount and drive home there. And even if I have made efforts to convince, no wrongdoing was involved.’61 Two final propositions relating to vernacular Bible reading censured by Béda are two subsequent sentences from Erasmus’s preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew. The first of these is: ‘Why does it seem to be indecent if somebody lets the Gospel resound in the native language another understands; the Frenchman

57 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 62 ll. 207–8: ‘Non protinus arcendi sunt a sacris libris idiotae, si quis exortus fuerit qui per hanc occasionem prolapsus sit in errores’ (cf. Erasmus, Pio Lectori in Par. in Mt., éd. / transl. Cottier / Vanautgaerden [2005], I, 80 l. 305–7). 58 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 62 ll. 207–13: ‘Si arcentur omnes idiotae a sacris libris quod aliquibus hinc data sit errandi occasio, arcebuntur et docti, quod pleraeque haereses natae sunt a doctissimis, velut Origenistarum et Arianorum.’ 59 See Hoogvliet (2013), 249–50 and 264. 60 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 62 ll. 216–17: ‘Fere per totum persuadere nititur Erasmus quod literas sacras expediat transferri in omnium nationum linguas inter caetera sic dicens in fine illius paginae.’ 61 Ibid., 62 ll. 218–19: ‘Non persuadeo, sed permitto quum abest copia doctoris idonei, et his conditionibus permitto quas illic refero et inculco. Et si suaderem nihil video flagitii.’

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in French, the British in English etc.’62 And the second is: ‘To me, Erasmus says, it seems more inappropriate, or even ridiculous, for uneducated people and simple-minded women to mumble their psalms and the Lord’s Prayer like parrots, without understanding what the sounds mean.’63 Confronted with this censure, Erasmus expresses his suspicion that Béda was offended by these words because he supposed that they were intended to argue for reading the Gospel in the vernacular during liturgy, which was, of course, a different debate from individual Bible reading. Erasmus adds that some have recently tried to enforce this practice, which may be an allusion to the churches of the diocese of Meaux, where, under the reform-minded bishop Guillaume Briçonnet, the Epistle and Gospel were read during the mass in the vernacular and were usually followed by an exhortation on behalf of the parish priest. Erasmus replies that in past times this was indeed the custom, but that he has never tried to convince anyone to reintroduce it in contemporary times, save with the consent of the public authorities and without giving offence. If the practice were reintroduced under such circumstances, Erasmus continues, there is no more inconvenience to be expected than in times past when commoners understood the language in which the sacred books were recited in the sanctuaries. Furthermore, he repeats that he does not see any good in women reciting their psalms and prayers without knowing what they are saying (in Latin).64

Béda’s Annotationes and Erasmus’s Initial Response On 13 March 1526, only five weeks after he sent his reply to the Faculty of Theology in Paris, Erasmus resumed his correspondence with Béda, which he had interrupted in October the year before. While he continued his outbursts aimed at Petrus Sutor, Erasmus adopted a more moderate tone in addressing Béda. This strategy was of no avail, however, since in his rather harsh response of 29 March, 62 Ibid., 62 ll. 221–2: ‘Quur indecorum videatur si quisquam sonet Euangelium ea lingua qua natus est et quam intelligit, Gallus Gallica, Britannus Britannica, et caetera?’ (cf. Erasmus, Pio Lectori in Par. in Mt., ed. / transl. Cottier / Vanautgaerden [2005], I, 88 ll. 401–5). 63 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 60 ll. 223–5: ‘Mihi, ait Erasmus, magis indecorum vel ridiculum potius videtur quod idiotae et mulierculae psitaci exemplo psalmos suos et precationem dominicam Latine murmurant, quum ipsae quod sonant non intelligent’ (cf. Erasmus, Pio Lectori in Par. in Mt., ed. / transl. Cottier / Vanautgaerden [2005], I, 88 ll. 405–10). 64 Erasmus, Divinationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 62 l. 221–64 l. 234: ‘Hic non video quid offendat Bedam, nisi forte suspicatur me sentire Euangelium vulgata lingua legendum in templis [… ] nihilo plus mali fuerit quam olim, quum promiscua multitudo intelligeret linguam qua sacri libri in templis recitabantur. Quid decori sit in mulierculis suos psalmos et preculas recitantibus Latine, quum ipsae Latine prorsus nesciant, ego sane non video, nisi alius oculatior commonstrarit.’

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Béda announced that his critical notes on Erasmus’s Paraphrases, as well as his Annotationes to Lefèvre d’Étaples’s commentaries on the New Testament, were then at the press.65 The faculty gave formal approval for this book on 16 May 1526 – the very same day that Erasmus’s Colloquies received an official condemnation66 – and the work was eventually published on 28 May by Josse Bade in Paris.67 Among the censured passages, Béda includes the seven propositions taken from Erasmus’s preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew and pertaining to his plea for Bible reading in the vernacular.68 Whereas Béda had, until then, largely limited himself to a list of censured passages, he now adds more extensive commentaries, which open with the view that, notwithstanding Erasmus’s attempts to demonstrate that it was permitted to everybody to read the Bible in the vernacular and that it might even aid one’s salvation, this position should nevertheless be regarded as harmful to the Christian cause (‘rei Christianae noxius’). Béda does not elaborate on this point much further, since, he says, it has been demonstrated by ‘recent and very outstanding writers’ (‘recentes et sane egregios scriptores’), by which he undoubtedly means Petrus Sutor. Béda, however, raises an important new issue: he argues that a prohibition on Bible translations in the vernacular had actually been promulgated by the Holy See, referring specifically to Pope Innocent III (r. 1198–1216). Béda undoubtedly alludes here to Innocent III’s famous letter entitled Cum ex iniuncto (1199), which was a reply to a letter from the bishop of Metz regarding the Waldensians. Cum ex iniuncto had been included among the Decretals of Gregory IX in 1234 and, as such, had become part of the Western Church’s canon law. In his letter, Innocent III did not denounce vernacular Bible reading in itself, but instead opposed secret conventicles in which the Bible was freely discussed, as well as the practice of preaching without having received any prior ecclesiastical approval.69 Béda, for his part, interprets Innocent III’s letter as a prohibition on Bible reading in the vernacular and claims that Erasmus contravenes this prohibition by his plea for the ver65 On this correspondence, see nn. 28 and 41 above. 66 See RCTF 1, 16 May 1526, 191r–v, ed. Farge (1990), no. 152A–B, 136–8. See also Rabbie (2013), 10, and Farge (1985), 191. 67 Béda (28 May 1526). For an analysis of the content of Béda’s Annotationes, see Balley (2006); Rummel (2002); Cameron (1970), 136–47 (with regard to Lefèvre); for a short analysis of the preface to the Annotationes, which can be regarded as ‘the most programmatic statement Béda ever makes against humanists’ application of their critical method to the text of the Bible’, see Crane (2005), 50–57 (51 for the quotation), and earlier in Bense (1977), 96– 9. 68 Béda (28 May 1526), 185r–v. Cf. François (2009), 131. 69 Béda (28 May 1526), 185v: ‘Et propterea ne id fieret olim per sedis apostolicae decreta intentissima cura prohibitum extitit eandem dirigente sedem viro cum doctissimo tum optimo Innocentio eius nominis tertio.’ For a discussion of Cum ex iniuncto, see Boyle (1985), 97–107.

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nacular Bible and, a priori, by his statement that the books of the Song of Songs and Ezekiel may be translated into the languages of all people.70 ‘Erasmus immediately started working on a response, which he finished within a few days. Less than three weeks after the publication date of Béda’s book, Erasmus sent two letters […] to the Parliament of Paris and to King Francis I’, who had been released from captivity in Madrid and had returned to France in March 1526. The king’s return would prove to be a very important element in the further evolution of the conflict. In his letters, Erasmus ‘complained about Béda’s actions. Attached to the first letter [addressed to the Parliament and dated 14 June 1526] was his (provisional) response, a refutation entitled In censuras erroneas Natalis Bedae Elenchus’, which, according to Edwin Rabbie, was added in printed form.71 The sale of Béda’s Annotationes was eventually halted by the order of François Ier, who resumed his role as a protector of the biblical humanists; but the king could not prevent another edition from being immediately printed in Cologne.72 In August 1526 Erasmus published a more elaborate reply, consisting of the Elenchus and the Divinationes – here called Responsiunculae – both preceded by a Prologus, in which he announced the publication of a further reply, entitled the Supputatio. Two appendices were added to the treatise, one against Sutor and the other against Josse Clichtove (1472/73–1543), a prominent member of the Paris Faculty of Theology.73

Erasmus’s Supputationes Erasmus eventually published his Supputatio (‘Final Account’) in March 1527. It was part of a treatise containing a reprint of his 1526 reply (the Prologus, Divinationes, Elenchus, and appendices), in which very little was changed.74 Rabbie describes the omnibus Supputationes as ‘the most voluminous of Erasmus’s

70 Béda (28 May 1526), 185v: ‘Qua vero consideratione praesumpserit tam impense aduersus eiusmodi apostolicam et iustissimam inhibitionem Erasmus contendere decernens etiam in omnium linguas nationum transfundendos esse libros Cantici canticorum et Ezechielis, quod nemo antea fuerat ausus asserere, ipse viderit.’ 71 Rabbie (2013), 11–12 (11 for quotations in this paragraph); Rummel (1989), II, 35–6. See Erasmus, ed. Allen (1926), VI, 357–60 (Ep. 1721: Erasmus to the Parliament of Paris, 14 June 1526). 72 Beda (1526), esp. 236r–v. See Farge (1985), 192–3, and Rummel (1989), II, 36–7. 73 Rabbie (2013), 12. 74 Erasmus, Supputationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 209–588. For a concise commentary on these apologies, and esp. the Supputationes, see Rummel (1989), II, 37–43.

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polemics against any of his Roman Catholic adversaries (only the Hyperaspistes in two books against Martin Luther is somewhat longer)’.75 In the Supputatio, before quoting the seven propositions censured by Béda, Erasmus states that he had only added the preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew at the request of the printer, since otherwise a few sheets would have remained blank. He also promises to remove the prologue from the subsequent editions76 – something that he would never put into practice. After having listed the seven propositions one after the other, Erasmus immediately gives his reply using the format of a continuous response – a different approach from the one he took in the Divinationes, where he had dealt with each proposition separately. Erasmus adopted this method to show his dissatisfaction with Béda’s method of excerpting several propositions from his preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew, which gave the impression that Erasmus had committed several offences against the doctrine of faith, whereas, in his own view, they all related to the same basic position. As in his previous replies, Erasmus starts by reproaching Béda for his rendering of the first proposition, that is, for connecting the impersonal ‘exclamant’ with ‘the doctors of theology’. Erasmus cleverly states that ‘there was nothing preceding his words that related to the theologians in the strict sense’ and that other groups in society may also consider it an intolerable offence if a woman or tanner should speak about the Scriptures: in the Supputationes he refers to the baccalaurei, the monks or the seamen, while in the Divinationes, he points to jurists and drunkards.77 As was mentioned above, it was only in what followed in his reply – and not in what preceded ‘exclamant’ – that Erasmus lashed out against the ‘rabini’. Strictly speaking, he was right when he protested that ‘there was nothing preceding his words that related to the theologians in the strict sense’, but there can be no doubt that they were the subject of ‘exclamant’ since he used the term ‘rabini’ more than once to denounce the scholastic theologians. Erasmus adduces further procedural grievances in the Supputationes, about what he calls a stratagem to make false accusations against him (‘calumniandi studium’). He complains that Béda has excerpted several propositions from his preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew which all relate to the same fundamental position: that everyone is fully allowed to read the Bible and that, in pursuit of that aim, the Scriptures should be translated into the vernacular. According to Erasmus, Béda’s tactic was to create the impression that he had formulated several propositions that ran counter to the doctrine of faith and endangered the 75 Rabbie (2013), 1 and also 12. 76 Erasmus, Supputationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 290 ll. 742–6. 77 Erasmus, Supputationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 291 ll. 775–7: ‘[…] quum ego simpliciter dixerim exclamant indignum facinus, ille duo verba interserit, scilicet doctores theologi, quum in verbis meis nihil praecedat quod ad theologos proprie pertineat’.

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salvation of his soul; however, Erasmus insists that this is not the case. And just as he had done in his Apologia adversus Petri Sutoris debacchationes, Erasmus denies that his encouragement of vernacular Bible translation and reading had to do with any established article of faith. In the same breath he remarks that he himself was never engaged personally in the translation of the Scriptures into the vernacular, so that the issue does not concern his own mores or personal salvation.78 He asserts, moreover, that he has gone to great lengths to explain the reasons why the Scriptures should be read: he has made determined efforts to stop readers from rash judgements, and – again – he insists that listening is far more important than attempting to expound the Bible, provided an opportunity for listening is available (by which Erasmus seems to understand that this was dependent on the presence of a skilful preacher). Béda, however, had neglected all these nuances, Erasmus continues in his reply, and had selected only those elements that seemed to prove his slanderous allegations. Furthermore, Erasmus complains that Béda had insufficiently addressed the arguments on which he had based his opinion and with which he had refuted the viewpoints of his adversaries.79 Erasmus, however, had to deal with the important new issue that Béda had brought forward in his Annotationes: his plea for Bible reading in the vernacular contravened the constitution of Innocent III in Cum ex iniuncto. Although Erasmus had several months to do research, he claims in his Supputationes that he does not know exactly which document Béda is referring to and invites his adversary to provide more concrete information. But in anticipation, Erasmus tries again to minimize the import of such an ecclesiastical document by saying that if it had indeed been promulgated, it could never have had a general application but could only have been an answer to a specific situation and hence tied to a particular place and time. Drawing on his earlier debate with Sutor, Erasmus points to the practice of the Evangelists and Church Fathers, obviously invoking their authority to plead for a quite different practice from what was called for by the (alleged) papal constitution. He notes again that the Evangelists wrote in Greek, the vernacular language of their day, and that translations into Latin were produced in the same spirit, a movement that was constantly ex-

78 Ibid., 291 ll. 778–81: ‘[…] quum haec omnia faciant ad eandem sententiam, tamen eam secuit in multas propositiones, quo lectori indocto fumos offundat. Illud vanitatis est potius quod ante pollicitus se nihil positurum nisi quod vel ad salutem meam vel ad fidei doctrinam pertineat […]’. 79 Ibid., 291 ll. 784–7: ‘[…] quum ego tot verbis inculcarim qua ratione legi debeant sacrae literae, tanta sollicitudine deterream a praecipitando iudicio, tum diligenter inculcarim audiendos esse potius doctores quoties datur audiendi copia’.

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panding.80 Erasmus further observes that in churches and sanctuaries the sacred books are recited in Latin, a language that many people, even young ones, can master. Among these texts are the Song of Songs, which are, moreover, publicly sung by consecrated virgins in their sanctuaries. Nevertheless, there are those like Béda who consider understanding these texts to be dangerous, whereas Erasmus asks himself, by contrast, for whom is it that they sing them, if they do not understand them: ‘May I guess, for the Angels?’81 Erasmus also repeats that he approves the reading of the vernacular Scriptures by the laity as long as certain conditions are met. Priests should prepare the laity for this reading by means of guidelines and rules (‘monitis ac rationibus’) – a central argument already present in the Paraphrases on Matthew – and pastors should be assiduous in their instruction. Depending on the presence or absence of zealous priests – Erasmus seems to say – there may either be no need at all for a personal reading of the Scriptures or, instead, a very great need. He also repeats that no one is incapable of comprehending the philosophia euangelica, provided they have a faithful and devout attitude of mind.82 One of the patristic authorities whom Erasmus, like other proponents of Bible reading in the vernacular, repeatedly refers to is Chrysostom, whose third homily on Lazarus he extensively quotes in this section of his Supputationes. Chrysostom encouraged people to read the Gospel at home so that they would be better prepared when attending meetings at church. Erasmus adds: ‘Chrysostom rebukes the Christians who do not have the sacred books, and Noël Béda does not permit [them] to have them.’ And again, Erasmus refers to a – it must be admitted, quite untraceable – decree of the Council of Nicaea, where, according to him, it was stated that no Christian should remain without the sacred books.83 Before concluding this section of the Supputationes, Erasmus argues that whoever wants to know more should turn to the Divinationes or to what he has answered to Sutor ‘since he produced the same calumnies’. And finally, he goes more deeply into the last words of Béda’s Annotationes, which he describes as an 80 See, e. g., ibid., 292 ll. 806–14: ‘In praesentia nihil aliud excusabo quam me nunquam fuisse suspicatum eiusmodi constitutionem profectam a sede Romana praesertim perpetuam et vniuersalem, quum et tot seculorum diuersa consuetudo et tot rationes reclamare videantur. Etenim si per se malum ac perniciosum est moribus Christianorum vt laici legant libros sacros, non oportebat eos ab Euangelistis scribi lingua Graeca […] Non oportuit eos in linguam Latinam vertere […].’ 81 Ibid., 292 l. 818–294 l. 823. 82 Ibid., 294 ll. 832–5: ‘Itidem laici per sacerdotes monitis ac rationibus instruendi sunt ad lectionem sacrorum voluminum, pastores assidui sint in erudienda plebe. Ita fiet vt non sit opus lectione aut certe vt vtilis sit lectio. Nec iam laici dicendi sunt qui studiose versantur in philosophia euangelica.’ 83 Ibid., 294 ll. 837–51: ‘Chrysostomus obiurgat laicos quod non habeant sacros libros, et Beda non permittit vt habeant […].’ The quotation is from Chrysostomus, De Lazaro concio 3.1, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), 991–2.

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‘impudens epiphonema’: ‘No one had ever dared to claim that the Sacred Scriptures should be translated into all languages.’ And although Béda’s statement related specifically to the Song of Songs and the Prophet Ezekiel, Erasmus shrewdly gives it a more general slant and juxtaposes it to Christ’s injunction: ‘Go ye into the whole world and preach the gospel to every creature’ (Mark 16:15). Anyone who preaches or proclaims in every tongue, Erasmus adds, will also want what he says to be read in every language. Furthermore, the most ancient Fathers did so when they translated the sacred books into Greek, Chaldean, Indian, and Egyptian.84 In passing, it should be mentioned that Erasmus, at the end of his Supputationes, once again mentions the argument that Jerome translated the Sacred Scriptures into Dalmatian, a remark that he also included in his preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew and in his Apology to Sutor, but that was, historically speaking, incorrect.85

Erasmus’s Appendix respondens ad Antapologiam Sutoris Erasmus considered his Appendix respondens ad quaedam Antapologiae Petri Sutoris as a kind of conclusion of his months-long controversy with Sutor. Froben finalized its printing in August 1526, and it was published in March 1527, together with Erasmus’s apologies against Béda. In the Appendix Erasmus repeats the main arguments he had brought up in his Divinationes and Supputationes.86 According to him, the constitution of Innocent III was too narrow a basis to argue for a prohibition of vernacular Bible reading; and more authoritative instances led to the opposite conclusion, such as the Council of Nicaea and the explicit exhortation by Chrysostom. Sutor, however, had produced a counterargument that Erasmus had to address: it was unproblematic in Chrysostom’s time to possess a copy of the Scriptures, since no scandal was to be expected from this; but in the present day, that is, the sixteenth century, a prohibition was justified, given the evil that might now come from the reading of the (vernacular) Scriptures. In his reply to this position, Erasmus states that the situation in Chrysostom’s time was not necessarily different from his own day, since, at that time, the heresy of the Anthropomorphitae was raging, so that simple and illit84 Erasmus, Supputationes, ed. Rabbie (2013), ASD IX–5, 294 l. 853–61: ‘Claudit hanc censuram Beda impudenti epiphonemate, neminem ausum vnquam asserere libros sacros in omnium linguas vertendos. Atque hoc primus asseruit Christus: ite in orbem vniuersum, praedicate Euangelium omni creaturae […].’ 85 Ibid., 294 l. 861–295 l. 862. 86 Erasmus, Appendix, ed. Céard (2018), ASD IX–9, 208–22 (220 l. 333–221 l. 346). See also Rummel (1989), II, 71.

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erate monks, reading in the Scriptures about the face, the eyes, the ears, the feet, and the hands of God, frequently ascribed human shape and form to him. Erasmus makes the point that this was not seen by the authorities at the time as an occasion to prohibit the reading of the Scriptures.87

The Final Resolution of Erasmus’s Conflict with the Paris Theologians Since the topic of this article is primarily how controversies were managed (or mismanaged) and resolved, I will now deal with the final resolution of Erasmus’s conflict with the Paris theologians, which boiled down to an explicit censure of his plea for vernacular Bible reading. In September 1527 the king asked the university to examine a small anonymous booklet, entitled Duodecim articuli infidelitatis magistri Natalis Bedae, which claimed to discover heresies in Béda’s Annotationes and which was obviously issued ‘from the courtly circles that favoured Erasmus’.88 Hence, the examination of the booklet automatically entailed the complete scrutiny of the works of both Béda and Erasmus. Since the university entrusted the theological faculty with this ‘omnibus examination’, Erasmus once again had serious reasons to be concerned. He was kept informed about the deliberations at the faculty through the intermediary of his friend Gervais Wain (c. 1491–1554), and he tried to avert a condemnation by sending four letters in which he reaffirmed his adherence to doctrinal orthodoxy and denounced Luther and his ideas. One letter was addressed to the faculty, another to the Parlement, a third to Noël Béda personally, and a fourth to Jean de Guise, Cardinal of Lorraine (1498–1550), who was trusted by the king.89 Erasmus’s letters, however, were of no avail, for on 16 December 1527, the faculty decided to issue an official condemnation of dozens of propositions taken from Erasmus’s Paraphrases on the Gospels and the Epistles of Paul, as well as from his defences

87 Erasmus, Appendix, ed. Céard (2018), ASD IX–9, 222 l. 340–44: ‘Immo circa tempora Chrysostomi, saeuiebat factio anthropomorphitarum. Eam Monachi simplices et idiotae hauserant e sacris libris, in quibus legerant, faciem, oculos, aures, pedes, et manus Dei, nec tamen ideo lex lata est, quae submoueret laicos a lectione sacrorum voluminum.’ On the involvement of Chrysostom in the controversy, see Clark (1992), 46–52. 88 Rabbie (2013), 13. See Erasmus, ed. Allen (1928), VII, 234–5 (Ep. 1902: Francis I to the Theological Faculty at Paris, 7 [?] July 1527). 89 See Farge (1985), 194–5; see also Farge (1999), 36 (quotation); Farge (1996), 10; Rummel (1989), II, 43–4 and 46–51. See RCTF 1, 14, 23, 24, 28 September, and 12 October 1527, 210v– 211r and 212r, ed. Farge (1990) no. 209B–C, 210A, 211A, 212B, and 214A, 177–9 and 180–81.

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addressed to Noël Béda. Among the condemned propositions, five were from his preface to the Paraphrases on Matthew (whereas Béda had excerpted seven):90 (1) ‘I would like the Sacred Scriptures to be translated into all languages.’ (2) ‘They cry out against it as an intolerable offence if a woman or a tanner should speak about Holy Scripture.’ (3) ‘If I have my way, the farmer will read, the smith and the mason.’ (4) ‘And I would not forbid any person to read the prophet Ezekiel or the Song of Songs or any books of the Old Testament.’ (5) ‘It seems inappropriate or even ridiculous, for uneducated people and simple-minded women to mumble their psalms and the Lord’s Prayer like parrots, without understanding what the sounds mean.’ The theologians’ censures amounted to an unequivocal prohibition on vernacular Bible reading (and a priori on Bible interpretation) by simple commoners, and thus to a condemnation of Erasmus’s plea for this. Nevertheless, they did not characterize any of Erasmus’s propositions as unequivocally heretical, but labelled as ‘shameless’ and/or ‘reckless’ the first, the second, and the fourth propositions (‘temere est’, ‘impudenti temeritate’, ‘temerarie & impudenter asseritur’, respectively), the third as ‘not sufficiently in harmony with sound doctrine’ (‘sanae Doctrinae non satis consentire’), and the fifth proposition they judged to be the most serious of all, censoring it as ‘impious and erroneous’ (‘impia est & erronea’).91 It seems that the Paris theologians only left an opening to the reading of books, like Psalters and those containing the Epistle and Gospel readings for the mass, provided that they were accompanied by a sound commentary.92 The Parisian condemnation, however, was not immediately published. In the meantime, the controversy continued with Béda publishing a Responsio in reaction to the Duodecim articuli infidelitatis magistri Natalis Bedae (February 1529), and Erasmus ‘answering with his Responsio ad notulas Bedaicas, written in three days and published in March [of the same year 1529]’.93 The Parisian condemnation of several propositions taken from Erasmus’s works was eventually published in July 1531 under the title Determinatio Fa90 A copy of the manuscript, containing the official condemnation, is published in du Plessis d’Argentré (1728), II.1, 60–62, also 73–4. For an analysis see François (2005), 380–85, with a summary in François (2014), 132–5. 91 All quotations are from du Plessis d’Argentré (1728), II.1, 60–62; cf. Farge (1999), 37; Farge (1985), 195; also Rummel (1989), 50–1. 92 Du Plessis d’Argentré (1728), II.1, 61: ‘Neque eis obiter interdicit usum nonnullorum sacrorum Librorum, qui cum explicatione convenienti aedificationi morum sint accomodati: si sic tamen tales Libri ab ipsis legantur pie ac sobrie, citra supercilium et arrogantiam, ut non inde contemnant praedicationes, aut a crebra verbi Dei auditione retrahantur.’ 93 Rabbie (2013), 13; Rummel (1989), II, 44–6.

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cultatis Theologiae in schola Parisiensi super quam plurimis assertionibus D. Erasmi Roterodami. James K. Farge counts 176 censured propositions that are included in the printed version, whereas Du Plessis d’Argentré’s edition has only 112 propositions since it was based on a manuscript with a different numbering system.94 That Erasmus attached a great deal of importance to it is shown by the fact that, at the beginning of 1532, he published a reply, Declarationes ad censuras Facultatis Theologiae Parisiensis.95 In comparison to the Divinationes and the Supputatio, this apology – which I have analysed elsewhere96 – is a more evolved and thorough reply to the objections made by the Paris divines. Erasmus’s apology made little impression, however, on the Paris masters. They immediately took measures to prohibit the sale of the book in Paris; and although deputies were assigned to extract all kinds of new errors in the book,97 Béda aimed to finish off Erasmus once and for all. In May 1532, he had the apology as a whole issued with an official doctrinal condemnation.98 Erasmus eventually published a second edition of his Declarationes in September 1532, which may be considered the conclusion and culmination of his controversy with the Paris theologians, one that had lasted for more than eight years.

Conclusion The controversy over vernacular Bible reading was only one aspect of the larger conflict between Erasmus, on the one hand, and Noël Béda and the Paris Faculty of Theology, on the other. The powerful faculty considered itself the defender of sound doctrine in a time when theological orthodoxy was tremendously important. And although the faculty did not maintain that Erasmus’s plea for the laity’s reading of the Bible was ‘heretical’, it censured several of his propositions. In order to argue for their point of view, the parties used a combination of

94 There were two editions that year. See Farge (2015b), 1–2 and 14–15; cf. Farge (1985), 195. 95 Erasmus, Declarationes, ed. Miller (2015), ASD IX–7, 25–228. An introduction to the Declarationes, which also includes an elaborate account of Erasmus’s ‘previous involvements with the University of Paris, its Faculty of Theology, and Noël Béda’, is to be found in Farge (2015b), 1–20 (for the quotation, see ibid., 2). For the passages dealing with vernacular Bible reading, see Erasmus, Declarationes, ed. Miller (2015), ASD IX–7, 128–38. 96 François (2005), 388–96. For a short commentary, see also Rummel (1989), II, 51–5, and Thompson (1977), 26–7. 97 See RCTF 1, 3 April 1532, 249r–v, ed. Farge (1990), no. 339B, 263. 98 Ibid., 1, 2 May 1532, 249v–250r, ed. Farge (1990), no. 342A, 263–4: ‘[…] fuit conclusum et dictum quod liber non est declaratio veritatis sed involutor et errorum defenssio [sic]; et propterea, cum sit pernitiosus plurimum judicio doctrinali, censuit facultas quod sit omnino suprimendus [sic] et a manibus fidelium deponendus.’ See François (2005), 396–8; Farge (1999), 38; Rummel (1989), II, 55.

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content-related arguments, political strategy, and – especially in the case of Erasmus – rhetorical devices. In the initial phase, when the king took up the role of protector of the humanists, the Paris theologians had to act with discretion and circumspection, and a direct confrontation between the protagonists Béda and Erasmus was held off. Instead, the theologians proceeded against humanist-minded figures of second rank, those who defended the same positions as Erasmus but did not enjoy the same royal protection, such as Martial Mazurier and Pierre Caroli. Another strategy was for an individual theologian to take it on himself to attack Erasmus, while the faculty as a whole remained at a distance. This was the case with Petrus Sutor, an alumnus of the faculty and prior of the charterhouse in Preize, near Troyes. Sutor wrote De tralatione Bibliae against Erasmus, Lefèvre, and others who had engaged in new versions of the Bible, de facto voicing the faculty’s viewpoint. The rules of the game changed when François Ier was Charles V’s captive in Madrid, from the spring of 1525 onwards. Due to the political change, Béda and the Paris theologians felt free to act against Erasmus. In his famous and muchdiscussed private correspondence with Béda, Erasmus tried to get hold of the growing list of propositions from his works which Béda wanted to see censured, in order to avert an actual condemnation. Since, however, Sutor had already published his book, Erasmus did not hesitate to adopt a more confrontational tone towards him. In the last days of May 1526, Béda eventually published his Annotationes against Lefèvre and Erasmus. Since the publication of the collection coincided with the king’s return from captivity in the spring of that year, Erasmus successfully appealed to his royal protector to halt the distribution of the book. Béda, however, managed once again to circumvent the royal protection by having the book published in Cologne. In the subsequent years, the Paris theologians felt themselves even less hindered by the king’s position to act against Erasmus. It was, however, of great importance for Erasmus to keep the question out of the doctrinal sphere. He had emphasized that having the Bible translated and read in the vernacular was not a dogma and that the Church had never promulgated a prohibition against such reading, which the Paris theologians believed that it had, referring to Innocent III’s Cum ex iniuncto. In a skilful way, Erasmus tried to counter the theologians’ objections by suggesting that, in the absence of a competent preacher, the laity could be allowed to read the Bible in the vernacular. This argument has left his readers, both past and present, with some confusion regarding his actual viewpoint. A preferred strategy of Erasmus, and one that he deployed here, was twisting and turning his adversaries’ arguments so that they fitted his own line of reasoning and could be re-used as an argument against his opponents’ position. If the Paris theologians allowed lay-

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people to read books containing the Epistle and Gospel lessons, publicly sung or recited during the mass – notwithstanding the alleged papal prohibition on vernacular Bible translations – and given that the laity encountered the text of the Song of Songs in the liturgy, there was no reason anymore to deny them access to the whole of the Scriptures in the vernacular. Another favourite tactic of Erasmus, which he eagerly exercised in every new treatise or apology, was employing irony and sarcasm against his opponents (although he became quite angry and disturbed when they treated him in the same way). Erasmus’s political strategy and rhetorical talent, however, were to no avail, and the Paris theologians manoeuvred irresistibly to procure a censure of his position, which they succeeded in accomplishing during the years 1527–31. Given the faculty’s status as a beacon of orthodoxy, its censure of vernacular Bible production and reading was considered to be an authoritative precedent by likeminded theologians in the Catholic world for decades and even centuries to come.99

Bibliography Sources Béda, Noël (1526, 28 May), Annotationum in Jacobum Fabrum Stapulensem libri duo et in Desiderium Erasmum liber unus, qui ordine tertius est, [Paris:] Josse Bade. – (1526, 31 August), Annotationum in Jacobum Fabrum Stapulensem libri duo et in Desiderium Erasmum liber unus, qui ordine tertius est, [Köln:] Peter Quentel. Bulaeus, Caesar Egassius (1673), Historia Universitatis Parisiensis […], VI: Ab Anno 1500 ad annum 1600, Paris: Pierre de Bresche / Jacques de Laize de Bresche. Chrysostomus, Johannes, Conciones VII de Lazaro, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), in Patrologia Graeca 48, Paris, 963–1051. – In Genesin Homiliae, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), in Patrologia Graeca 53, Paris. – In Matthaeum Homiliae, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), in Patrologia Graeca 57, Paris, 21–472. – In Joannem Homiliae. ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), in Patrologia Graeca, 59, Paris, 23–482. – In Acta Apostolorum Homiliae, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), in Patrologia Graeca 60, Paris, 13–384. – In Epistolam ad Hebraeos Homiliae, ed. J.-P. Migne (1862), in Patrologia Graeca 63, Paris, 9–236.

99 François (2005), 399–403, with reference to Henneau / Massaut (1997), 416: ‘En 1531, elle [= la Faculté de Théologie de Paris] publie une longue censure contre Érasme, notamment à ce sujet, texte qui a servi de référence pendant deux siècles.’ Cf. Aquilon (1987), 17: ‘[…] la doctrine de la Faculté était dorénavant fixée et […] elle pouvait servir de référence dans tous les débats qui s’engageraient sur cette question’.

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Determinatio Facultatis Theologiae in schola Parisiensi super quam plurimis assertionibus D. Erasmi Roterodami, Paris: Josse Bade, 1531. du Plessis d’Argentré, Charles (1728), Collectio judiciorum de novis erroribus […] Censoria etiam judicia insignium academiarum […], II: In quo exquisita monumenta ab anno 1521 usque ad annum 1632 continentur, 2 parts in 1 tome, Paris: André Cailleau. Erasmus, Desiderius, Apologia adversus debacchationes Petri Sutoris, ed. J. Céard (2018), in id., Opera omnia [= ASD], IX–9, Leiden / Boston, 94–207. – Appendix Eras. Roterod. respondens ad quaedam Antapologiae Petri Sutoris, ed. J. Céard (2018), in Opera omnia [= ASD], IX–9, Leiden / Boston, 208–22. – Opus epistolarum … , ed. P. S. Allen et al. (1906–1958), 12 vols, Oxford. – Paraphrase on Matthew, transl. / annot. D. Simpson / contrib. ed. R. D. Sider (2008) (Collected Works of Erasmus [= CWE], 45), Toronto / Buffalo / London. – Pio Lectori […] Paraphrasin in Euangelium Matthaei […], ed. / transl. J.-F. Cottier / A. Vanautgaerden (2005), in Exhortation à la lecture de l’Évangile (Notulae Erasmianae, 5), 2 voll., Turnhout / Anderlecht, I, 55–119. – Divinationes ad notata per Bedam, ed. E. Rabbie (2013), in id., Opera omnia [= ASD], IX–5, Leiden / Boston, 41–158. – Supputationes errorum in censuris Natalis Bedae, ed. E. Rabbie (2013), in id., Opera omnia [= ASD], IX–5, Leiden / Boston, 209–588. – Declarationes ad censuras Lutetiae vulgatas sub nomine Facultatis Theologiae Parisiensis, ed. C. H. Miller (2015), in id., Opera omnia [= ASD], IX–7, Leiden / Boston, 25–228. Farge, J. K. (2015a), Religion, Reformation, and Repression in the Reign of Francis I, I: Documents 1515–1543 (Studies and Texts, 196), Toronto. Gerson, Jean, ed. P. Glorieux (1973), De necessaria communione laicorum sub utraque specie, in id., Œuvres complètes, X, Paris, 55–68. Hieronymus, Epistulae I–LXX, ed. I. Hilberg (²1996a) (Corpus scriptorum ecclesiasticorum Latinorum [= CSEL], LIV), Wien. – Epistulae CXXI–CLIV, ed. I. Hilberg (²1996b) (Corpus scriptorum ecclesiasticorum Latinorum [= CSEL], LVI/1), Wien. Registre des procès-verbaux de la Faculté de Théologie de Paris, I: de 1505–1523, ed. J.-A. Clerval (1917), Paris. – [II:] de janvier 1524 à novembre 1533, ed. J. K. Farge (1990) (Textes et documents sur l’histoire des universités, 2), Paris. Sutor, Petrus (1525), De tralatione bibliae, et novarum reprobatione interpretationum […], Paris: Jean Petit. – (1526), Antapologia Petri Sutoris gallice Couturier in quamdam Erasmi apologiam cui titulum dedit adversus Petri Sutoris […] debaccationem, Paris: Pierre Vidoüe for Jehan Petit.

Secondary Literature Aquilon, P. (1987), ‘Paris et la Bible française 1516–1585’, in Censures. De la Bible aux larmes d’Éros. Le livre et la censure en France, Paris, 12–22.

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Balley, N. (2006), ‘Paraphrastes perversus depravator: les censures de Noël Beda contre les Paraphrases d’Érasme sur les quatre évangiles’, in Les paraphrases bibliques aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles. Actes du Colloque de Bordeaux des 22, 23 et 24 septembre 2004, ed. V. Ferrer / A. Mantero / M. Jeanneret (Travaux d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 415), Genève, 93–111. Barbieri, E. (1991–1992), Le Bibbie italiane del Quattrocento e del Cinquecento. Storia e bibliografia ragionata delle edizioni in lingua italiana dal 1471 al 1600 (Grandi opere, 4), 2 voll., Milano. Bedouelle, G. (2008), ‘Attacks on the Biblical Humanism of Jacques Lefèvre d’Étaples’, in Biblical Humanism and Scholasticism in the Age of Erasmus, ed. E. Rummel (Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition, 9), Leiden / Boston, 117–41. Bense, W. F. (1977), ‘Noel Beda’s View of the Reformation’, Occasional Papers of the American Society for Reformation Research 1, 93–107. Bogaert, P.-M. (1991), ‘La Bible française au Moyen Âge. Des premières traductions aux débuts de l’imprimerie’, in Les Bibles en français: Histoire illustrée du Moyen Âge à nos jours, ed. P.-M. Bogaert, Turnhout, 13–46. Bogaert, P.-M. / Gilmont, J.-F. (1991), ‘De Lefèvre d’Étaples à la fin du XVIe siècle’, in Les Bibles en français: Histoire illustrée du Moyen Âge à nos jours, ed. P.-M. Bogaert, Turnhout, 47–106. Boyle, L. E. (1985), ‘Innocent III and Vernacular Versions of Scripture’, in The Bible in the Medieval World. Essays in Memory of Beryl Smalley, ed. K. Walsh / D. Wood (Studies in Church History, Subsidia, 4), Oxford, 97–107. Cameron, R. M. (1970), ‘The Charges of Lutheranism Brought against Jacques Lefèvre d’Étaples (1520–1529)’, The Harvard Theological Review 63, 119–49. Céard, J. (2018), ‘Introduction’, in Desiderius Erasmus, Apologiae qvinqve, ASD, IX–9, Leiden / Boston, 87–92. Clark, E. A. (1992), The Origenist Controversy. The Cultural Construction of an Early Christian Debate, Princeton. Cottier, J.-F. (2005), ‘Érasme paraphraste et son lecteur’, in Exhortation à la lecture de l’Évangile, ed. / transl. J.-F. Cottier / A. Vanautgaerden (Notulae Erasmianae, 5), 2 voll., Turnhout / Anderlecht, I, 11–31. Crane, M. (2005), ‘Competing Visions of Christian Reform: Noël Béda and Erasmus’, Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook 25, 39–57. Doucet, R. (1926), Étude sur le Gouvernement de François Ier dans ses rapports avec le Parlement de Paris (1525–1527) (Publications de la Faculté des Lettres d’Alger, IIe Série, t. I), Alger / Paris. Farge, J. K. (1985), Orthodoxy and Reform in Early Reformation France. The Faculty of Theology of Paris, 1500–1543 (Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought, 32), Leiden. – (1996), ‘Texts and Context of a Mentalité: The Parisian University Milieu in the Age of Erasmus’, in Editing Texts from the Age of Erasmus. Papers Given at the Thirtieth Annual Conference on Editorial Problems. University of Toronto, 4–5 November 1994, ed. E. Rummel, Toronto / Buffalo / London, 3–24. – (1999), ‘Erasmus, the University of Paris, and the Profession of Theology’, Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook 19, 18–46.

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– (2015b), ‘Introduction’, in Desiderius Erasmus, Declarationes ad censuras Lutetiae vulgatas sub nomine Facultatis Theologiae Parisiensis, ed. C. H. Miller, ASD, IX–7, Leiden / Boston, 1–20. François, W. (2005), ‘La condamnation par les théologiens parisiens du plaidoyer d’Érasme pour la traduction de la Bible dans la langue vulgaire (1527–1531)’, Augustiniana 55, 357–405. – (2006), ‘Petrus Sutor et son plaidoyer contre les traductions de la Bible en langue populaire (1525)’, Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 82, 139–63. – (2008), ‘Erasmus’ Plea for Bible Reading in the Vernacular: The Legacy of Modern Devotion?’, Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook 28, 91–120. – (2009), ‘The Condemnation of Vernacular Bible Reading by the Parisian Theologians (1523–31)’, in Infant Milk or Hardy Nourishment? The Bible for Lay People and Theologians in the Early Modern Period, ed. W. François / A. A. den Hollander (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 221), Leuven, 111–39. – (2014), ‘Petrus Sutor and Erasmus on Bible Reading in the Vernacular’, in The Carthusians in the Low Countries. Studies in Monastic History and Heritage, ed. K. Pansters (Miscellanea Neerlandica, 43; Studia Cartusiana, 4), Leuven, 233–52. Henneau, M.-E. / Massaut, J.-P. (1997), ‘Lire la Bible: un privilège, un droit ou un devoir?’, in Homo Religiosus. Autour de Jean Delumeau, Paris, 415–24. Higman, F. M. (1979), Censorship and the Sorbonne. A Bibliographical Study of Books in French Censured by the Faculty of Theology of the University of Paris, 1520–1551 (Travaux d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 172), Genève. Holeczek, H. (1975), Humanistische Bibelphilologie als Reformproblem bei Erasmus von Rotterdam, Thomas More und William Tyndale (Studies in the History of Christian Thought, 9), Leiden. Hoogvliet, M. (2013), ‘Encouraging Lay People to Read the Bible in the French Vernaculars: New Groups of Readers and Textual Communities’, Church History and Religious Culture 93, 237–72. Labarre, A. (1999), ‘La censure de la Bible en France au XVIe siècle’, in La Bible imprimée dans l’Europe moderne, ed. B. E. Schwarzbach (Études et recherches), Paris, 400–406. Laune, A. (1895), ‘Lefèvre d’Étaples et la traduction française de la Bible’, Revue de l’histoire des religions 32, 56–72. Madunic´, D. (2010), ‘Strategies of Distinction in the Work of Vinko Pribojevic´’, in Whose Love of Which Country? Composite States, National Histories and Patriotic Discourses in Early Modern East Central Europe, ed. B. Trencsényi / M. Zászkaliczky (Studies in the History of Political Thought, 3), Leiden / Boston, 177–202. Nauert, C. G. (2002), ‘“A Remarkably Supercilious and Touchy Lot”: Erasmus on the Scholastic Theologians’, Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook 22, 37–56. Posthumus Meyjes, G. H. M. (1999), Jean Gerson, Apostle of Unity: His Church Politics and Ecclesiology, transl. J. C. Grayson (Studies in the History of Christian Thought, 94), Leiden. Rabbie, E. (2010), ‘Long and Useless: The Polemic between Erasmus and Béda’, Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook 30, 7–21. – (2013), ‘Introduction’, in Desiderius Erasmus, Declarationes ad censuras Lutetiae vulgatas sub nomine Facultatis Theologiae Parisiensis, ed. E. Rabbie, ASD IX–5, Leiden / Boston, 1–15.

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Renaudet, A. (1939), Études érasmiennes (1521–1529), Paris. Rummel, E. (1989), Erasmus and his Catholic Critics (Bibliotheca humanistica & reformatorica, 45), 2 vols, Nieuwkoop. – (2002), ‘Why Noël Béda Did Not Like Erasmus’ Paraphrases’, in Holy Scripture Speaks: The Production and Reception of Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament, ed. H. M. Pabel / M. Vessey (Erasmus Studies, 14), Toronto / Buffalo / London, 265–78. Thompson, C. R. (1977), ‘Scripture for the Ploughboy and Some Others’, in Studies in the Continental Background of Renaissance English Literature. Essays Presented to John L. Lievsay, ed. D. B. J. Randall / G. W. Williams, Durham, NC, 3–28. – (1981), ‘Jerome and the testimony of Erasmus in Disputes over the Vernacular Bible’, Proceedings of the Patristic, Medieval and Renaissance Conference (Augustinian Historical Institute, Villanova University) 6, 1–36. Veissière, M. (1986), L’évêque Guillaume Briçonnet (1470–1534). Contribution à la connaissance de la Réforme catholique à la veille du Concile de Trente, Provins.

Roberta Giubilini

Guillaume Postel and the Idea of Universal Harmony as a Means to Overcome Religious and Cultural Divisions

Abstract Linguist, mathematician, philosopher, esoteric thinker, Cabbalist: these are just some of the ways in which Guillaume Postel has been described in the past. Despite his prodigious talents, however, his life and works have not particularly attracted the attention of academics in the past. Yet, some of the ideas expressed in his religious and philosophical writings were not only remarkably ahead of their time, but also demonstrated a deep understanding of the complexity of cultural and religious division affecting the known world in his day. Postel was a firm believer in an achievable universal harmony or concordia among all religions and cultures, a theory central to many of his writings. In this paper I briefly introduce Postel’s life, career, and the context in which he lived; I then move on to an examination of his political and religious ideas in more detail in order to see how they relate to the theme of conflict resolution. By doing this, I hope to demonstrate the relevance of Postel’s contribution to the early modern discourse on societal and religious division, as well as showing how innovative, yet impractical, his theory of change was.

‘Guillaume Postel was undoubtedly one of the most remarkable and interesting scholars and thinkers of the sixteenth century.’ This is how Paul Oskar Kristeller introduced the biography of Postel written by Marion Kuntz and published in 1981.1 Although it came out more than four decades ago, this book remains a valuable source of information about Postel’s life and thought, presenting, for the first time, a very detailed portrait of him, together with a comprehensive bibliography of his works in manuscript and print.2 Little is known about Postel’s childhood and early education. Born in 1510 in a small village in Normandy, he grew up as an autodidact and, at the age of thirteen, began to teach at a local school in order to earn enough money to move to Paris, where he wanted to continue his studies. A few years later, having moved to Paris, he entered the Collège de Sainte-Barbe, where, while studying to become 1 Kuntz (1981), IX. 2 For other biographies of Postel, see ibid., 3 n. 8. See also Bouwsma (1957).

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a Master of Arts and a Bachelor of Medicine, he also became interested in the city’s vibrant religious scene. He was very soon attracted to the Jesuit order, convinced that it shared his belief in the importance of personal faith.3 He also found in Jesuit spirituality and among the members of the order that same desire for reform of the Church which he himself was seeking. Postel officially joined the Society of Jesus in Rome in 1544, at a time when he was starting to develop his own ideas about politics, culture, and spiritual life. His new religious affiliation, combined with a period of intense intellectual activity, led him to devise original philosophical theories about the possibility of establishing a universal harmony in the world, which would be maintained by a global empire under the leadership of France.4 He expressed these opinions to his fellow Jesuits, who, however, were not at all supportive. Indeed, these ideas very quickly became a matter of concern and a cause of uneasiness among the Jesuits. Tensions grew to such an extent that, less than a year later, they decided to expel him from the society. Postel’s expulsion from the Jesuits did not, however, prevent his ideas from becoming increasingly eccentric. On the contrary, he began to see himself as a divinely inspired prophet who had been entrusted by God with the task of bringing the peace and harmony about which he had been preaching and writing, into the world. Inevitably, the Inquisition, too, was suspicious about and hostile to many of these ideas and found that the best way to prevent them from spreading was to prohibit the reading of Postel’s books officially. The Church’s condemnation came after an earlier conviction, in 1553, by the Sorbonne University in Paris, from which he was expelled and banned from teaching. He was, then, offered a chair at the University of Vienna, where he taught and resided for a very short period. Not long afterwards, in 1554, he became aware of the Inquisition’s intention to place some of his writings on the Index of Forbidden Books. In an attempt to change the Inquisition’s mind, Postel fled Vienna and appeared voluntarily before the tribunal of the Venetian Inquisition to defend his opinions.5 Having been asked to abjure those passages in his writings which had been declared heretical, he obeyed, securing his safety – at least, for a little while. His position, however, deteriorated when, while his trial was still ongoing, two books by him were published – Le prime nove de l’altro mondo6 and Il libro della divina 3 Two centuries later, Pietism, a religious movement within German Lutheranism of the late 17th and early 18th centuries, called for a similar return to personal faith, which had been obscured by the Lutheran church’s emphasis on doctrine and theology; see Ritschl (1966). 4 Kuntz (1981), 51–2: ‘Postel was among the first to proclaim the need for a universal religion and a universal state.’ 5 Petry (2014), 45–6. 6 Printed ‘Appresso del Auttore’ in 1555, probably in Venice; see Petry (2014), 6. The shelfmark of the British Library copy is 1071.k.18.

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ordinatione7 – in which he repeated opinions that had already been condemned and that he had abjured.8 These new works focused on some events which had taken place in Venice a few years earlier and which Postel had interpreted as miraculous signs announcing the coming of ‘the age of restitution in which the world will be reformed and united under God in a one-world state’.9 In 1555 he was declared insane and charged with spreading doctrines that questioned the truth of Catholic religion, for which he was condemned to life imprisonment. He was then transferred to a prison in Rome, from which he managed to escape in 1560, taking advantage of the chaotic situation created by Pope Paul IV’s death the year before.10 Apart from his interests in prophecy and the coming of a new order, Postel had always been genuinely attracted to the East and to Eastern languages, since he believed that knowledge of these languages, and especially of Hebrew, could provide access to the true meaning of the Scriptures. He also considered Hebrew to be the source of all other languages, a theory which played a crucial role in his programme to unify the world under the sovereignty of Christ. In his opinion, this could only be achieved after all nations had agreed to adopt one language, Hebrew, one religion, Christianity, and one empire, France.11 This was the most refined elaboration of Postel’s universalism. Postel’s theme of universalism developed in close connection to his first contact with the Eastern world and became central to his thought, in particular, after his initial trip to Constantinople in 1536. During that journey, a crucial event in his life marking an important change in his philosophy, he attempted to learn Arabic and first encountered Turkish Christians.12 In his earliest treatise, De orbis 7 Printed in Padua in 1555 by Gratioso Percacino; see Petry (2014), 6. The shelfmark of the British Library copy is 4406.aa.80. 8 See Kuntz (1981), 122–3. 9 Kuntz (1985), 311–24, and Petry (2014), 95–116. 10 Petry (2014), 46. 11 Postel was certainly not the first to believe that Hebrew was the original and universal language. The debate on the original language of mankind started among the Church Fathers in the 4th century and was still a quite heated dispute up to the 17th century. A contemporary of Postel, Theodor Bibliander (1504–1564), who succeeded Ulrich Zwingli as Lector for the Greek of the Septuagint at the Munsterschule in Zürich, held the same opinion as Postel, which was a common belief among Protestants. The difference between the views of Bibliander and Postel on Hebrew as the language from which all others originated lies in the different premises on which they were based. While Postel was motivated by a nostalgic consideration of the past and devoted himself to the study of languages in order to restore the original order of things, behind Bibliander’s interest in Hebrew was a need to demonstrate how close all languages were to each other and to establish fixed criteria for communication and translation. See Bibliander (1548); see also Dubois (1970). For the earlier debates, see Leung (2002), 164–74. 12 Kuntz (1981), 51–2: ‘Postel was among the first to proclaim the need for a universal religion and a universal state.’

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terrae concordia (‘The Harmony of the World’, 1544), based on the lectures on mathematics and philology which he delivered, after his return from the East, in front of the king of France, Postel proposed a method of achieving universal harmony by means of unifying all the different faiths under Christianity. He was convinced that by providing a rational justification of Christian doctrines, he could persuade non-Christians to convert and, in this way, lay the foundations for universal peace and harmony. In this programme, Christ was the unifying force: as the mediator between humankind and God, he represented the universal reason which governs every single aspect of reality and in which each individual human partakes, thus creating a living communion of shared life and knowledge. According to Postel, this intellectual relationship, combined with Christ’s physical kinship to humankind through the Incarnation, demonstrated the capacity of Christ to communicate himself and God’s being to us.13 When humankind thus achieves an initial and rough knowledge of God, it will be brought back to the condition of pre-lapsarian purity, that is, the state of grace which Adam enjoyed before original sin. In this restored condition, humankind will be able to acknowledge God fully, to be in direct contact with Him, and to attain the power necessary to establish universal peace.14 This is precisely the restitution of all things. Other and more complex elements, however, need to be added to Postel’s universalism and idealization of unity in order to gain a complete grasp of it. The counterpart of these theories was, in effect, Postel’s obsession with regularity, correspondences, numbers, and figures. He envisioned a systematic and hierarchically organized order, conceived in terms of eschatological salvation – in other words, this order was seen by Postel as the condition of the universe at the end of the world. In elaborating this overarching programme of universal harmony, he often referred, in particular, to St Augustine, one of his main sources and perhaps the most important.15 Postel’s Augustine, however, was deeply imbued with strands of apocalyptic and millenarian spirituality, with clear influ13 This is the main message of De nativitate Mediatoris (‘The Birth of the Mediator’), published in 1547. The same views on Christ are repeated more concisely in his Retractatio, an apology for those propositions in De nativitate which had been condemned by the Inquisition. For a transcription of the Retractatio, see Postel, ed. Secret (1972), 227–44 (238 for the passage on De nativitate Mediatoris). 14 Postel elaborated these concepts, above all, in De nativitate Mediatoris and Absconditorum a constitutione mundi clavis (‘A Key to the Hidden Mysteries from the Beginning of the Universe’), published in 1546. See also Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fonds latin 3677, 34v–35r: ‘Restitutio enim omnium colligere debet universos in unam solam Ecclesiam et Politicam congregationem, quod quidem a solo Christo fit et fieri potest debetque, sed cum velamine et tegumento illo quo iam bis Elias fuit tectus, in se solo et in Johanne baptista, ut tunc quum venerit nunc postremo una cum omnibus Sanctis Christum concomitantibus.’ 15 See esp. Augustine, De civitate Dei, VI.

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ences from the Book of Revelation, Joachim of Fiore, Cabbalistic texts, and Hermetic literature. These ideas – all, in one way or another, representing different aspects of universalism – appeared, to a greater or lesser extent, in the many works produced by Postel. His dream of an all-encompassing global order shone through each of them, while never finding its ultimate fulfilment. After this brief introduction to Postel’s life, career, and the context in which he lived, we can now move on to an examination of his ideas in more detail in order to see how they relate to the theme of conflict resolution.

Political Ideas There are elements in Postel’s thought which belong to the philosophical tradition of the so-called ‘philosophia perennis’, most evidently the idea of a single truth shared by all religions and every school of philosophy. Moreover, his concept of a cyclical structure of time and his belief in the restitution of all things, that is, the restoration of humankind and of the world to their original sinless state, are in some respects reminiscent of Origen’s doctrine of apocatastasis. The possibility of humankind returning to the state of grace prior to the Fall was at the centre of Postel’s thought and was inextricably linked to his obsession with achieving universal concord in the form of a single political and religious system. In this section, I shall address the political dimension of his concordism, before examining the religious dimension in the following section. Postel argued for French supremacy on the grounds of inheritance and primogeniture, since the French were the descendants of Gomer, the eldest son of Noah’s eldest son.16 This was his justification for the right of the French, as part of a divinely driven mission, to subjugate the rest of the world and, especially, the Turks, seen as a real threat to Christianity. A world governed by a universal French empire meant that the king of France would be the absolute governor on earth, also holding dominion over the pope. This stance, as Yvonne Petry has argued, can be explained by looking at Postel’s philosophy and the divisions in it between matter and reason and between form and authority, which are represented on earth by the king of France and the pope respectively. Since the earth exists in the realm of matter, the king has a better right to rule over it than the pope.17 Moreover, authority, that is, the Church, cannot rule without reason, which is defined by Postel as the ‘common consent

16 Postel (1551). 17 Petry (2014), 57.

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and Concord or assembling of hearts or virtue and knowledge of the heart, in which all peoples and persons in the world of the age of discretion agree’.18 This definition enables us to understand how Postel resolved the question of who should rule on earth, the king or the pope. The argument that the king’s power over the pope is founded on concord and common consent did not leave the Church any room to oppose Postel’s position. Furthermore, the pope’s power was not only limited by the king but also by the Council of the Church, regarded by Postel as superior to the papacy, which, at that time, was too absorbed in worldly concerns. After having, thus, logically, as he believed, solved the problem of who is the proper ruler over temporal matters, Postel could focus on the application of his idea of concordism in the religious sphere.

Religious Unity For Postel, the unification of religions was the necessary condition for the final, complete restitution of humankind. This unification, however, depended, in turn, on mankind’s willingness to accept divine grace and to be redeemed. Although this idea can be found in all Postel’s writings, it is specifically addressed in two of his works: De orbis terrae concordia, referred to above, and Πανθενωσία: Compositio omnium dissidiorum circa aeternam veritatem (‘AllEmbracing Idea: The Unification of All Differing Views about the Eternal Truths’, [c. 1545]). The differing views to be unified were not only disagreements between Catholics, infidels, Jews, and heretics, who are all mentioned in the work’s lengthy subtitle, but also between different factions within the Catholic Church. Postel’s aim in this treatise is to resolve these intellectual conflicts by explaining how the unification of all religions can and, indeed, must be achieved. The final unity of religions consists, Postel argues, in the reconciliation of all monotheistic religions, especially by establishing unity between Christians and Muslims. This is possible because the first and final goal of both religions is to fulfil God’s (and Christ’s, in the case of the Christians, which he did not believe invalidated his argument due to the shared nature of Jesus and God) ultimate intention, which is to unite the people who have been dispersed throughout the world: ‘Haec est prima intentio Dei, unire Omnia’, as he declares in the Πανθενωσία.19 Different religions – and here Postel considers Ishmaelites (his term for Muslims), Jews, and Christians – follow different laws: of nature, Scripture, and grace; yet they all seek the same Jesus, the Saviour, who is the 18 Ibid., 58. 19 Postel [c. 1545], 6.

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Redeemer of humankind. If they are already united in this quest, what prevents them from achieving an overall unification? Perhaps, he suggests, it is their impurity, or their use of different sacraments, or the different opinions which they hold. Postel therefore maintains that, before any unification can take place, they must coalesce as citizens of the same city, in order to get to know their differences (not only denominational, but also of customs, culture, and tradition). By comparing their ways of life, the different groups will recognize common elements and will be keen to concentrate on these, rejecting other elements which they do not share, for the sake of establishing and preserving peace under heaven. This process, as Postel says, is very similar to what happens in nature when elements which are foreign to our body parts are rejected for the sake of the well-being of the organism as a whole. What is held in common by Muslims, Jews, and Christians is, above all, that they are monotheistic and have already found, or are searching for, Jesus – it does not matter to Postel that these three religions hold different views about who Jesus is or was and about whether he had already manifested himself or not. The crucial point for him is that he has identified a common belief among different religions, one which allows him to state: ‘We are all Iesuani.’20 What, however, does Postel make of the other disagreements among the people of the world? And what about the differences between the Koran and the Bible: how can these foundational texts be reconciled? Here Postel cleverly resorts to the simple principle that the interpretation of a text regarded as holy by a people does not need to be literal. Instead of focusing on the differences between words, especially when it comes to parables, we should consider the common intentions behind the words. This will enable us to see, for instance, that Mohammed placed the attainment of eternal life in virtue. And, to give another example, when it is written in the Koran that animals will go to Paradise, this is no more unacceptable than Psalm 36:7, which states: ‘Thou, Lord, shall save both men and beasts.’ Indeed, everything will be saved, since this has been promised without exception: in heaven everything will be blessed.21 Postel’s message is that, just as we must compromise on the meaning of the text in our own Scriptures in order to achieve a certain uniformity, so, too, we must compromise with our neighbours’ beliefs, moderating especially those elements which appear most absurd and disagreeable to them. Nevertheless, some disagreements will inevitably remain. Gradually, however, there will be one body and one spirit, provided that charity acts as the moderator, 20 Ibid., 131: ‘Simus omnes Iesuani.’ 21 Ibid., 117: ‘Quod autem dicunt multa animalia fore in paradiso, non est durius quam dicitur, homines et iumenta salvabis Domine. […] in futura autem coelesti paradiso, omnia in nobis erunt beata.’ This sentence appears in the chapter entitled: ‘Quomodo iuste et sancte possint quae deterrima in Alcorano videntur, intelligi.’

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in the name of Jesus. Postel admits towards the end of the Πανθενωσία that it is not entirely possible to superimpose the truths of Islam onto those of Christianity. Yet even so, he would like to follow in the footsteps of those scholars in the past who have condemned what is false in the Koran but then have gone on to discuss those things which might not be considered satisfactory but are nonetheless sound from a rational point of view.22 Postel does not refer here to any scholar in particular, but it might well be that, among the examples he had in mind, was Nicholas of Cusa,23 whom he often mentions in his works. As for the Jews, Postel argues that they are the chosen people. It is evident, he says, that the Jewish people are favoured by God, for, despite their dispersion throughout the world, they have managed to preserve their own religion, which, therefore, must contain some truth.24 Postel, finally, calls for a halt to the condemnation of people because they practise a different religion from ours. Jesus cares equally for everyone; and, before him, we do not feel judged. He illuminates and will illuminate the things hidden by the dark, and he will reveal the harmony which unites the hearts of all humankind. Then, there will be one praise for God, not from this group or that, but from every single person, whether Catholic, heretic, Jewish, Gentile, or Muslim. For Jesus does not value external actions or appearances, but instead feelings, desires, will, and zeal. He does not look at our mistakes but at our intentions, and we all recognize ourselves under his name.25

22 Ibid., 118: ‘Ego sane in hac conciliatione volo omnino instar scholasticorum fecisse, qui partem falsam multo vehementius affirmant, inque primo loco ponunt: veram autem, ut per se notam intellectui, qui adaequatam paucis, sed validis fultam rationibus, in secundo loco ponunt.’ 23 Nicholas of Cusa (1985); see also Hollman (2017). 24 Postel [c. 1545], 121–2: ‘Iure merito itaque considerantibus res nostras, videbitur maior fuisse Deo de Iudaeis cura, & Iudaeis de Deo, quam de nobis in experimento visum sit. Quid enim miraculosius potest videri, quam gentem unam dispersam in universo, omnibus nationibus odiosissimam, sine ullo magistratu sacro profano aut mixto, in medio tot hostium, sola religione ardua, ambigua, et paucis intellecta seipsam conservasse, Deumque ita illi prospexisse, ut dispersa sit in toto orbe legis Mosaicae cognitio, idque iam ultra mille annos durasse?’ 25 Postel [c. 1545], 130: ‘Cessent ista anathemata, et fulmina: donec adsit ille cui omnes exaequo curae sunt, ante cuius examen non est iudicandum, qui illuminat nunc & illuminabit abscondita tenebrarum et manifestabit consilia cordium: & tunc laus erit unicuique a Domino, non uni tantum, aut alteri, sed omnibus & singulis, seu Catholici, seu haeretici, seu Iudaei, seu Pagani, seu Ismaelitae. Mensurat enim IESUS non facta aut contentiones exteriores tantum, sed ipsos affectus, voluntates, desideria, zelos, licet non sint secundum scientiam. Quoniam enim ipse in nobis posuit principia affectuum, non respicit ad errorem, sed ad intentionem, & finem: ita ut multi martyrum tortores sint futuri ob suae religionis & pacis publicae zelum, in maiori apud Deum loco quam ipsi martyres, multi haeretici quam fideles. Has vero intentiones ob zelum proprium non potuimus hactenus considerare.’

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Conclusion I hope that this brief overview of Guillaume Postel’s philosophical, political, and religious ideas has demonstrated his relevance to the theme of conflict resolution in early modern Europe. No doubt, it also will have shown that these ideas, when applied to the resolution of conflicts in an attempt to achieve universal harmony, were hardly viable in practice. Nonetheless, they make evident Postel’s commitment to this cause and the fundamental role which it played in the development of his thought. The final purpose of nature, he firmly believed, was that we should become one with Christ.26

Bibliography Manuscripts Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fonds latin 3677, 34v–35r.

Sources Bibliander, Theodor (1548), De ratione communi omnium linguarum et literarum commentarius, Tiguri. Nicholas of Cusa (1986), Cribratio Alkorani, ed. L. Hagemann, Hamburgi. Postel, Guillaume (1544), De orbis terrae concordia [Basileae]. – [c. 1545], Πανθενωσία: Compositio omnium dissidiorum circa aeternam veritatem aut verisimilitudinem versantium, quae non solum inter eos qui hodie infidelium, iudaeorum, haereticorum, et catholicorum nomine vocantur, orta sunt et vigent, sed iam ab admissis per peccatum circa nostrum intellectum tenebris fuere inter ecclesiae peculiaris et communis membra [Basileae]. – (1547), De nativitate Mediatoris ultima, nunc futura, et toti orbi terrarum in singulis ratione praeditis manifestanda, opus … [Basileae]. – (1551), Raisons de la monarchie, et quelz moyens sont necessaires pour y parvenir [Paris]. – (1646), Absconditorum a constitutione mundi clavis, qua mens humana tam in divinis quam in humanis pertinget ad interioria velaminis aeternae veritatis, Amsterodami. Postel, Guillaume, ed. F. Secret (1972), Apologies et rétractions. Manuscrits inédits, Nieuwkoop.

26 Postel (1540), 27: ‘Hic est finis naturae … ut unum fiamus cum Christo …’

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Secondary Literature Bouwsma, W. J. (1957), Concordia Mundi: The Career and Thought of Guillaume Postel (1510–1581), Cambridge, MA. Hollmann, J. (2017), The Religious Concordance: Nicholas of Cusa and Christian-Muslim Dialogue, Leiden / Boston. Kuntz, M. L. (1981), Guillaume Postel. Prophet of the Restitution of All Things. His Life and Thought, The Hague. – (1985), ‘Postel and his Ideas of Progress and Utopian Reality’, History of European Ideas III, 11–324. Leung, C. (2002), Etienne Fourmont, 1683–1745: Oriental and Chinese Languages in Eighteenth-Century France, Leuven. Matton, S., ed. (2001), Documents oubliés sur l’alchimie, la kabbale et Guillaume Postel: offerts, à l’occasion de son 90e anniversaire, à François Secret par ses élèves et amis, Genève. Petry, Y. (2014), Gender, Kabbalah and the Reformation. The Mystical Theology of Guillaume Postel (1510–1581), Leiden / Boston. Ritschl, A. (1966), Geschichte des Pietismus, 3 Bde., Berlin (Nachdruck 1880–1886). Secret, F. (1998), Postel revisité: nouvelles recherches sur Guillaume Postel et son milieu, Paris.

Claudia Wedepohl

Church and/or Pantheon: The Tempio Malatestiano Revisited

Abstract The trial of strength between Pope Pius II and Sigismondo Malatesta, famously culminating in Sigismondo’s excommunication and burning in effigy, is a notorious episode in fifteenth-century historiography. According to Pius, Sigismondo’s sins had found their material form in the sculpted decoration of the Tempio Malatestiano – still today a residual reminder of the self-aggrandizing attempt of the former signore of Rimini to transform a church into a classicizing family memorial. In this article, the wider political context of the feud between the pope and his vicar serves as a backdrop to a re-evaluation of all the models which may have influenced the programmatic, yet enigmatic, redesigning of the Church of San Francesco in Rimini, with its dynastic and imperial overtones. Despite its unfinished state, the Tempio’s alleged neo-paganism can most plausibly be read as an attempt – unprecedented in a consecrated space – to reconcile Greek and Roman with Christian beliefs and to embrace all aspects of the afterlife. After having Sigismondo successfully stripped of his means to complete the project, Pius was able to accept his plea for forgiveness and granted him absolution.

Between 1447 and 1461 the fourteenth-century convent church of San Francesco in Rimini, a typical Gothic brick structure, underwent a profound reconstruction. The patron was the city’s signore and papal overlord, Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta (1417−1468), the illegitimate son of Pandolfo Malatesta of Fano. With the substantial wealth he had made as mercenary warlord, Sigismondo wanted to transform his family’s traditional burial church into the first post-classical edifice with a markedly classicizing appearance (Figures 1, 2, and 3).1 From the outset, the building – which, as Marvin Trachtenberg has stressed, was similar in its concept and radical adoption of classical features, to Brunelleschi’s Old Sacristy of San Lorenzo (1421–1428), the burial place of the older 1 The literature on Sigismondo Malatesta and the Tempio Malatestiano is substantial; see, in particular: Jones (1974); Falcioni (1998); Falcioni, ed. (2006); D’Elia (2016); Ricci (1924); Hope (1992); Kokole (1998); Turchini (2000); Bulgarelli (2010). For a complete visual documentation of the Tempio, see Paolucci (2010), II.

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Figure 1: Tempio Malatestiano, Rimini, exterior (Photo: public domain).

Figure 2: Tempio Malatestiano, Rimini, interior (Photo: public domain).

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Figure 3: Tempio Malatestiano, Rimini, interior (Photo: public domain).

Medici dynasty2 – received considerable attention. One reaction, however, stands out, that of Enea Silvio Piccolomini, who after his election on 19 August 1458 as Pope Pius II (1458–1464), became both Sigismondo’s feudal lord and his main political rival.3 According to Pius, the remodelled church (known as the Tempio Malatestiano) was ‘so filled’ with ‘pagan works of art’ – bas-reliefs of the nine Muses, Apollo, Mnemosyne, personifications of the seven Liberal Arts, the seven planets, and twelve zodiacal signs decorating the piers of the side chapels (Figures 4 and 5) – ‘that it seemed less a Christian sanctuary than a temple where heathens might worship the devil’. Referring in addition to a magnificent marble tomb with an inscription ‘in pagan style’ which deified his mistress, Pius presented San Francesco as a symbol of Sigismondo’s sinfulness.4 In his Commentarii, Pius gave an ambiguous assessment of the Malatesta ruler, admitting that Sigismondo had ‘great military skill’, ‘eloquence’, ‘a pro2 See Trachtenberg (1995), 16, 30. 3 The standard work on the dispute is Soranzo (1911). See also Soranzo (1910–1911); Gaeta (1978); Turchini (2006); Vauchez (2006); Folin (2010); O’Brien (2015), 166–8. 4 Pius II, ed. / transl. Meserve / Simonetta (2003– ), I, 327–8 (Commentarii, II.32.2). Many authors have repeated Pius’s claim that the Tempio was dedicated to Sigismondo’s mistress and later wife, Isotta degli Atti. On the interpretation of the abbreviation ‘D.’ in ‘D. Isottae’ as either ‘Divae’ or ‘Donnae’, see Hope (1992), 72. Cf. D’Elia (2016), 191, who interprets the inscription as an allusion to divinization through virtue.

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Figure 4: Agostino di Duccio, Cappella delle Muse, nine bas-reliefs, Tempio Malatestiano, Rimini (Photo: public domain).

found knowledge of history and more than a passing understanding of philosophy’, but calling him a tyrant, a criminal, and a sexual pervert.5 Pius’s judgement exerted a decisive influence on Sigismondo’s fortuna, which was marked by the topos of a profoundly pagan and fundamentally evil, yet extraordinarily learned, man. His bad reputation was expressively promoted in the nineteenth century

5 Pius II, ed. / transl. Meserve / Simonetta (2003– ), I, 327–8 (Commentarii, II.32.1–5).

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Figure 5: Agostino di Duccio, Cappella dei Pianeti, six bas-reliefs, Tempio Malatestiano, Rimini (Photo: public domain).

and persisted well into the twentieth.6 Ludwig von Pastor described him as a ‘cheeky pagan’ (‘frecher Heide’) and ‘one of the most terrible lords of all times’ (‘einer der schrecklichsten Fürsten aller Zeiten’).7 Most prominently, however, Jacob Burckhardt created the persona of an amoral individual who combined ‘unscrupulousness, impiety, military skill, and high culture’.8 Similarly, J. A. Symonds called Sigismondo both cultivated and barbaric, the prototype of the 6 Jones (1974), 176. Most recently see the somewhat undecided verdict of D’Elia (2016), 274–84. 7 Pastor (1904), 93–4 (my translation). 8 Burckhardt (1937), 18.

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neo-pagan.9 The first author to draw a more positive picture was Charles Yriarte in his substantial biography of Sigismondo.10 Meanwhile, other scholars recognized Pius’s attacks as politically motivated and their basis as a mixture of classically inspired rhetoric and anecdotes.11 Indeed, Pius launched the accusation that Sigismondo was a polytheist at a precarious time for the papacy’s temporal authority. Already convinced that Sigismondo, notorious for his crimes,12 was a dangerous provocateur, the pope, almost immediately after his election, decided to eliminate him using the resources of the Holy See. To that end, Pius chose to deploy the most powerful form of intimidation at his disposal: he declared Sigismondo a heretic.

A Confident Patron By remodelling his family’s burial church, Sigismondo wanted to mark his ancestral claim to rulership, commemorate the Malatesta family with its purported Roman roots and celebrate his residence in Rimini, the once flourishing Roman city Ariminum. Highly self-confident, passionate and unreliable,13 Sigismondo was not, however, an independent sovereign, but instead a papal vicar. The title ‘vicario apostolico’ – which, in principle, could be revoked, having been granted by the popes on the grounds of their sovereignty over the territory – only gave him juridical power over certain municipalities in the Papal States. In addition to this legal bond, Sigismondo had been a loyal papal commander.14 His relationship with the Holy See was still very much intact when Pope Nicholas V (1447– 1455), at a meeting in Fabriano in 1450, renewed all of Sigismondo’s vicariates and legitimized his illegitimate sons.15

9 Symonds (1897), 134. 10 Yriarte (1882). 11 Franceschini (1956) attributes the origin of the anecdotes to a particular letter of Sigismondo’s arch-rival, Federico da Montefeltro (46–9). See also Jones (1974), 191; Soranzo (1910–1911), 241–56; Vauchez (2006), 555; Folin (2010), 25–6, 28–9; Pernis / Schneider Adams (1996), 31. Members of Federico da Montefeltro’s circle spread similar accounts; see Gaeta (1978), 171–7, and more recently Reinhardt (2013), 298. 12 Pius II, transl. Brown / annotat. Bisaha (2013), 285 (De Europa, 62). 13 For contemporary accounts supporting Pius’s claim that Sigismondo lacked restraint and was highly volatile, see Jones (1974), 177 n. 6, 178 n. 1. 14 In 1435, Pope Eugenius IV granted Sigismondo the title capitano generale ecclesiastico; see Jones (1974), 182; Falcioni (1998), 39–62; Delvecchio (2006), 31–83. 15 After the death of Pandolfo III Malatesta in 1427, his three natural sons were legitimized as heirs to the titles of their uncle, Carlo Malatesta, signore of Rimini. Following the death of his older brother Galeotto Roberto, Sigismondo Pandolfo shared the territory and its rule with his brother Domenico, called Malatesta Novello. See Jones (1974), 42–78.

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Already in the 1440s, however, Sigismondo, ambitious and avid for glory, had started to put his interests as ruling signore before his duties as a paid condottiere, pushing hard to seize ancestral lands.16 Thirteen years after Emperor Sigismund had knighted the signore of Rimini, Ghismondo, who subsequently changed his name to Sismondo or Sigismondo, managed to consolidate his state; he founded a new residence in Rimini, the splendid Castel Sismondo, and began to plan the enlargement of San Francesco. At his new residence, finished in 1446 and conspicuously named after himself, he established a humanist-style court. Chroniclers and poets such as Roberto Valturio (1405–1475), Gaspare Broglio Tartaglia (1407–1483), and Basinio da Parma (1425–1457), attracted to this court in the late 1440s, helped to raise his profile through their works.17 Their main panegyric theme was Sigismondo’s greatest successes as a commander: defeating the troops of the Spanish king Alfonso V of Aragon (who ruled as Alfonso I in Naples) at Piombino on 15 July 1448 and again at Vada on 23 October 1453. These victories are most prominently praised in Basinio’s lengthy but unfinished epic, Hesperidos libri XII or Hesperis, a description of Sigismondo’s campaigns against the invading foreign troops. During the preceding conflict of 1448, sparked by the death of Filippo Maria Visconti, the humanist Giannozzo Manetti had warned of the danger that Alfonso would tear Italy apart. Hence, for this victory on behalf of the Republic of Florence, Sigismondo was hailed as the saviour of the peninsula. Yet, while triumphing in the name of the Florentines, Sigismondo was still employed and paid by Alfonso.18 This sudden change of alliance became a turning point in his career. Five years later, Alfonso, after having been defeated once again by Sigismondo at Vada, deployed all his powers to isolate the lord of Rimini. After the Peace of Lodi (1454–1455), he insisted on excluding Sigismondo from the Lega italica, so that Alfonso could attack him at any time in retaliation for his disloyalty of 1447.19 This resulted in a drying up of funds, which left Sigismondo unable to fulfil his ambitious plan for the Tempio Malatestiano. Yet, despite its unfinished status, Giorgio Vasari – aware of its novelty – called the building ‘one of the foremost churches (tempii) in Italy’.20 It was not unusual to

16 Jones (1974), 188–93. 17 Piromalli (2002), 39. Sigismondo has even been called the ‘architect’ of Italian Renaissance court life; for a critical discussion of the role of Neo-Latin historical epics, see Lippincott (1989). 18 Stacy (2007), 187; Scapecchi (1986); Donati (2010), 775–9. 19 Although Sigismondo had signed a one-year condotta with Alfonso V of Aragon on 21 April 1447, he signed another secret agreement with the Florentines on 10 December 1447. See Zanfini (2006), 88–90; Jones (1974), 198–213; Ryder (1976), 277–80; Donati (2010), 774–6. 20 Vasari, ed. de Vere (1912–1914), III, 45; Vasari, ed. Milanesi (1878–1885), III, 286: ‘[U]no de’ più famosi tempii d’Italia’.

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refer to a church as a ‘tempio’.21 Pius had spoken of the ‘nobile templum in honorem divi Francisci’, using a term which was consistent with the classicizing vocabulary of Leon Battista Alberti. Alberti – who later became famous as a humanist, theorist and uomo universale – was asked to design a new exterior for San Francesco some years after Sigismondo had commissioned alterations to the interior of the church.22 It is possible, however, that he was never in Rimini and certainly did not oversee the building works. In the early 1450s he was mainly resident in Rome, where Pope Nicholas V had commissioned, perhaps with Alberti’s advice, an even larger architectural transformation: the expansion of St Peter’s.23 Earlier, in 1448, Nicholas had confirmed his permission for Sigismondo to add his own chapel to San Francesco and granted his investments immunity from potential financial obligations to the church’s friars. He thus seems the most obvious mediator between the ambitious patron, Sigismondo, and the talented novice architect, Alberti, an ingenious modernizer whose De architectura dates from roughly the time when Sigismondo decided to invest in a wholesale transformation of San Francesco.24

San Francesco before and under Sigismondo San Francesco was originally built as a typical mendicant church: a single nave with two pairs of lateral chapels ending in three adjacent square apses, all covered with a pitched roof.25 The building’s current design, heavily restored after allied bombings in World War II, is the outcome of Sigismondo’s two-stage trans21 The term templum appears on the foundation medal (dated to between October 1450 and the beginning of 1455), in an inscription inside the chapel of St Sigismund, in the Greek inscription on both sidewalls and in Sigismondo’s last will of 9 October 1468. See Ettlinger (1988), 13–14; Hope, (1992), 63, 67; Turchini (2000), 264–5. The name Tempio Malatestiano, by which is it commonly known, is an invention of the nineteenth century. 22 The rebuilding of San Francesco in Rimini was Alberti’s very first architectural project. According to Vasari, Alberti produced models of the façades: Vasari, ed. de Vere (1912– 1914), III, 45. The standard work on the building remains Ricci (1924). See also Hope (1992), 52; Grafton (2002), 316–17; Tavernor (1998), 49–68; Turchini (2000), 256–336; Cassani (1999). 23 Although no contemporary document proves Alberti’s role as Nicholas’s advisor, many scholars regard it as probable. Urban (1963) lists parallels with Alberti’s architecture (133, 150–51, 155–56, 160–61). See also Borsi (2009), 204–5; Tavernor (1998), 13–23. 24 Burroughs (1994), 150–51, has speculated about the mediating role of the pope. See also Bulgarelli (2010), 78. Scholars debate whether Alberti was familiar with Rimini, whether he visited the site and, if so, when; see Turchini (2000), 256–61, 618, Appendice I, n 42; Donati (2010), 783. For Nicholas’s bull of 1448 and the relation between the Tempio and Alberti’s De re aedificatoria, see Ricci (1924), doc. II, 385; Hope (1992), 58–60, 92–5. 25 Ricci (1924), 160–206; Hope (1992), 53–8.

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formation project and several later interventions.26 The most decisive element of this project was the encasing of the entire Gothic structure in a shell of white Istrian stone. This shell adapts elements of classical Roman architecture: a raised base or stylobate to simulate the elevation of a temple, a tripartite main façade with allusions to a triumphal arch and lateral arcades (Figures 1 and 6).

Figure 6: Tempio Malatestiano, Rimini, lateral arcades (Photo: public domain).

In 1447 or slightly earlier, Sigismondo decided – as Charles Hope has demonstrated in his detailed reconstruction of the building history – to renovate some of the church’s existing chapels and add a new chapel, dedicated to his patron St Sigismund.27 Before the new chapel, very likely originally designed to house his own tomb,28 was completed and consecrated in 1452, Sigismondo’s plans changed: in an act of self-aggrandizement, backed by Pope Nicholas, he took the decision to appropriate and restructure the whole building and chose Matteo de’ 26 Hope (1992), 51–155, has meticulously reconstructed the chronology of the building works on the basis of both documents and architectural evidence. For a summary of the chronicles, see Tonini, (1880), 207–16. For a detailed comparative analysis of the architecture, see Bulgarelli, (2010), I, 49–121. 27 The foundation stone for the St Sigismund Chapel was laid on 31 October 1447. Pope Nicholas V had issued a bull allowing the rebuilding of the chapel of St Michael, later housing Isotta’s tomb, on 12 September 1947; the remodelling of the cell between both chapels dates from the same period, see Hope (1992), 58–9. 28 Hope (1992), 71–82; Turchini (2000), 205–6.

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Pasti, who is best known as sculptor, to oversee the works. As stated in a Greek inscription, immured on both sidewalls (Figure 6), Sigismondo wanted to turn the church into ‘a monument both notable and holy’.29 Apparently his intention was to create uniformity, with an entirely new appearance, and, at the same time, turn the church, in which, since 1312 the signori of Rimini had been buried, into a personal memorial.30 His own tomb, as part of the new plan, was never executed; we know only that on 26 February 1450 Sigismondo received a gift from Francesco Sforza, an unspecified and now lost ancient porphyry tomb (‘sepulcrum porfireticum’) from the imperial mausoleum of S. Gregorio presso S. Vittore in Milan.31 Sigismondo later deliberately pre-dated the commencement of the more extensive rebuilding to the Holy Year 1450, in which he had received special rights and concessions. The date ‘MCCCCL’ appears on the main frieze, the foundation medal, and twelve times inside the building (Figures 1 and 7). Yet we do not know when Alberti was commissioned to design a new appearance for the already modified brick structure.

Figure 7: Foundation medal of the Tempio Malatestiano attributed to Matteo de’ Pasti, obverse and reverse (Photo: British Museum, No. 1932,0111.11. ©Trustees of the British Museum).

Building operations on the exterior probably did not start before 1454, when the redesigning of the church’s interior (for which Matteo de’ Pasti alone was responsible) was relatively far advanced.32 These interior works consisted mainly of making two changes: a modification of the shape of the chapels, an operation 29 For both transcription and translation, see Hope (1992), 52. 30 Hope (1992), 92, believes that this decision was taken before Alberti got involved in the project. Cf. Trachtenberg (1995), 16–18. 31 Turchini (2000), doc. 21, 603; Monneret de Villard (1914), 14–15; Delbrueck (1932), 220. Cf. Bulgarelli (2010), 89. 32 Hope (1992), 95; Fiore (2006), 283–95 (287).

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which entailed the relocation of outer walls to gain more even space; and new decoration (including new tombs), carried out by the sculptor Agostino di Duccio. Agostino, a pupil of Donatello who became a master in the execution of classicizing bas-reliefs, is mentioned as early as June 1449 in relation to the Tempio. In April 1449 Sigismondo was still planning to adorn his new chapel with frescos; a few months later he must have opted instead for a more antique looking type of decoration (Figures 4 and 5).33 Most of Agostino’s Rimini works date from the first half of the 1450s. Alberti’s guiding idea was to superimpose a classicizing structure over the existing Gothic one. By keeping a distance of 60 centimetres from the original walls, the superstructure manages to conceal irregularities.34 Vasari writes that Alberti oversaw the creation of a now lost wooden model in 1453; he continued to send advice from Rome, while a team of engineers and craftsman under Matteo de’ Pasti’s direction was responsible for the execution of both the exterior and the interior works.35 The most important proof of this hierarchical division of labour is Alberti’s letter of 18 November 1454, addressed to Matteo, with precise instructions regarding the façade, the dome, and the round windows, possibly for the tambour. All operations came to a halt in 1461, well before they were concluded, and were not resumed until Sigismondo’s death in 1468. Of the Tempio’s main façade, only the part below the entablature was finished (Figure 1). This part is structured by a central bay, decorated in red and green with looted porphyry and verde antico, two flanking blind arches, lines with grey limestone, four fluted halfcolumns and six clipei of porphyry framed with laurel.36 The frieze mentioned above, with a large-scale inscription commemorating both Sigimondo’s patronage and the foundation date, projects over each of the four half-columns. Since the triangular pediment which would have dominated the façade was left unfinished, art historians have speculated about the projected upper part.37 All their reconstructions are based either on church facades executed by Alberti at a later date or on an image which was believed to represent the original plan: a miniature depiction of the wooden model of the church on the reverse of the

33 Campigli (2010), I, 129–30. 34 Hope, (1992), 89, stresses the existence of two distinct building traditions: one Tuscan, the other Venetian. See also Ragghianti (1965), no. 71, 23–31, and no. 74, 27–39; Bulgarelli (2010), 52–75. 35 Hope (1992), 91, 93–4. For Alberti’s model, see Turchini (2000), 261–79. 36 Porphyry, verde antico, and other materials were looted from Sant’ Apollinare in Classe in Ravenna and transported to Rimini in 1448. See Ricci (1924), 210–14, 586–7; Turchini (2000), doc. 18, 602, doc. 22, 603, doc. 28, 610. 37 Hope (1992), 92–132; Tavernor (1998), 59–69; Ettlinger (1988), 202–7, 220–44; Ettlinger (1990).

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foundation medal, attributed to Matteo de’ Pasti (Figure 7).38 If the image is reliable – a question which has been discussed in relation to miniature architecture portrayed on Roman coins – it shows that the original plan called for a massive cupola over the area of the crossing, the tribuna. The exact form of the cupola – apparently a hemisphere with ribs (indicating a roof composed of lead panels)39 rather than a polygon – and the model have long been matters of scholarly debate.40 Of the Tempio’s lateral arcades, only the south side was completed (Figure 6). Alluding to arcosolium tombs, its seven arches house massive sarcophagi of an early Christian type, matching the Arca degli antenati in the first left-hand chapel inside, a seventh-century sarcophagus with the remains of Sigismondo’s ancestors. Three of the sarcophagi outside contain the mortal remains of distinguished members of Sigismondo’s court: the poet and humanist Giusto de’ Conti (1390– 1449); Roberto Valturio, the Rimini born engineer who was employed as Sigismondo’s librarian; and the poet Basinio da Parma, who joined the court in 1447, when Sigismondo commissioned the first works in San Francesco. Another sarcophagus contains the bones of the Byzantine philosopher Georgios Gemistos Plethon (c. 1355–1452), exhumed and transferred to Rimini in 1465 by Sigismondo himself.41 The Greek inscription on both sidewalls, attributed to Basinio, gives the official motive for realizing the ‘notable and holy temple’ as a vow made by Sigismondo during the ‘Italian war’.42 This must refer to his campaign, mentioned above, on behalf of the Florentines, against the advancing troops of King Alfonso.43 38 The medal is dated after 1450. See Hope (1992), 94; Turchini (2000), 263–8. See also Pollard (1984), I, 112–13. 39 Fifteenth-century representations of Rome show the Pantheon with the same ribs: e. g., Benozzo Gozzoli’s Life of St Augustine in San Gimignano, with Augustine, in the background of the scene, leaving Rome for Milan, dated 1464/65. See also Bulgarelli (2010), 108. 40 For these discussions, see Cassani (1999), 262, n. 11. See also Bulgarelli (2010), 84–8. 41 The date of the transfer is not known. When opened in 1756, the sarcophagus contained a skull and bones. The other three sarcophagi contain the remains of the physicians and philosophers Gentile (1473–1546) and Giuliano Arnolfi (1513–1547) and of the physician Bartolomeo Traffichetti (1523–1579); the last is a cenotaph for Bishop Sebastiano Vanzi (1509–1570). See Ricci (1924), 285–99. On the form and position of the sarcophagi, see Tavernor (1998), 64. 42 On origin and authorship of the unusual inscription, see Muccioli (2003); Turchini (2000), 364–76; Aronberg Lavin (1977). On the ‘Italian war’, see D’Elia (2016), 117–34, 176, 247–8. On 15 August 1451 (the feast of the assumption of the Virgin Mary), Sigismondo made a vow (‘voto’) to the Madonna at SS. Annunziata in Florence; see Turchini (2000), doc. 28, 610. 43 For Giannozzo Manetti’s oration, see Wittschier (1968), 127–33; Stacy (2007), 183; Donati (2010), 775–9. Against the hypothesis that the change to the overall design of the church was triggered by Sigismondo’s victory against Alfonso V in 1448 – put forward, among others, by Mitchell (1978), 74–5, and Turchini (2000), 206–10) – see Hope (1992), 67–8.

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However classicizing Sigismondo’s finished temple might have appeared from the exterior, it was intended to maintain the traditional Gothic features of the interior: a spacious, bright nave with six side chapels of different width in Lombardo-Venetian style and two separating cells.44 The only classicizing element was the marble cladding of the supporting structures: bas-reliefs containing distinctly profane images (Figures 4 and 5), notably complemented by a large amount of heraldic imagery (devices, coats of arms, emblems, monograms), portraits of Sigismondo, and inscriptions with his name.45 The novelty of this omnipresence of a ruler’s features and insignia in a public building should not be underestimated: Sigismondo clearly tried to imitate a typical imperial Roman system of visual communication, which was soon rivalled by Federico da Montefeltro (1422–1480), Sigismondo’s lifelong enemy and an ally of Pius II. According to an oral tradition, reported in Cesare Clementini’s seventeenth-century Raccolto istorico della fondazione di Rimini, Federico designed and built his palace in Urbino to compete with Sigismondo’s Tempio.46 The bas-relief portraits of Sigismondo in the Tempio deserve particular attention. Two identical ones decorate the bases of the pilasters of the first chapel on the left (Figure 8). All portraits (including another two, later immured in the counter-façade) belong to the same type. This particular type was established half a century earlier in the new medium of the Renaissance portrait medal to which also the above-mentioned foundation medal belongs: Sigismondo’s image in profile is represented in the guise of a Roman emperor, a laureate bust, looking to his right, dressed in contemporary armour. The laurel wreath, a symbol of virtue, victory and supreme rule, is tied together with a ribbon (Figure 7).47 In some cases a laurel wreath encircles the ruler’s bust. It’s an allusion to Roman clipei (a decorative form repeated many times in the Tempio). One of the framed profile portraits with the inscription ‘Haec Sigismundi vera est victoris imago’ is nowadays invisible (Figure 9); it decorates the side of the lid of the Arca degli antenati which faces the wall. The Arca was elaborately reworked in 1454 by Agostino di Duccio and prominently features two triumphal proces44 In 1503 the unfinished building was turned into a functioning church, which was remodelled in 1708–1709. 45 ‘SIGISMVNDUS PANDVLFVUS MALATESTA PAN. F. FECIT ANNO GRATIAE M.C.C.C.L.’ is inscribed above each chapel; see Hope (1992), 52; Turchini (2000), 363–72. 46 Clementini (1969), II, 354: ‘[Q]ueste due fabbriche insigni erano a competenza erette.’ For the distribution of portraits in Federico’s palace, see Roeck / Tönnesmann (2005), 190–99. For the mortal feud between Federico da Montefeltro and Sigismondo Malatesta, see Jones (1974), 186, who claims that Sigismondo ‘made the humiliation of Urbino’ the ‘dominant purpose of his life’. 47 Among the 15 medals with Sigismondo’s portrait, this type is exceptional. Only one other uniface (i. e., with one side blank) example is known. See Hill (1930), n. 190. For his backwards-looking pose, see Posèq (2005), 24.

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Figure 8: Portrait of Sigismondo Malatesta as victor, pilaster base, Cappella degli Antenati, Tempio Malatestiano, Rimini (Photo: public domain).

sions: a triumph of Minerva and a triumph of Scipio Africanus, the Roman hero whom the Malatesta claimed as their ancestor.48 The inscription around Sigismondo’s portrait on the lid thus seems to put him in line with his ancestors, since it alludes to the same victory as the Greek inscriptions on the outer side walls of the building.49 It was probably designed to complement Sigismondo’s own tomb, originally planned for the opposite first chapel on the right-hand side; the lid could even have been intended for his sarcophagus. Due to the suspension of all works in 1461, however, Sigismondo’s tomb was only added after his death. Both its style and position on the left-hand side of the counterfaçade indicate that it was not part of the new plan (Figure 3); so, it is likely that Sigismondo wanted to be laid to rest elsewhere in the church.

48 Broglio Tartaglia, ed. Luciani (1982), 3; Kokole (2001); Kokole (2004), 16–21. See also D’Elia (2016), 56, 57, 113. 49 Turchini (2000), 349–50; Zanoli (2001).

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Figure 9: Agostino di Duccio, Portrait of Sigismondo Malatesta as victor (plaster cast), lid of the Arca degli Antenati, Tempio Malatestiano, Rimini (Photo: Sailko, CC BY-NC-SA 3.0).

In Search of an Overall Programme Due to the largely innovative nature of Agostino’s bas-reliefs on the piers of the side chapels (Figures 2, 3, 4, and 5), they have been studied extensively. One source in particular is important: Valturio’s account of Sigismondo’s Tempio in his De re militari of around 1460, an illustrated treatise in twelve books about the military techniques and rituals of the ancients, recounted as an introduction to an appraisal of Sigismondo’s skills. In precisely this context, Valturio attributes the Tempio’s decoration, which he describes as erudite, to Sigismondo himself: [E]specially in its [i. e., the Tempio’s] walls and many high arches built of exotic marble, clad with tablets of stone, on which are seen beautifully sculpted images assembled together, of the holy Fathers and the four Virtutes, and the signs of the heavenly zodiac and the planets, of the Sibyls and the Muses, and a great many other fine things, which – not only through the splendid workmanship in the stonecutter and sculptor, but also through knowledge of the forms (cognitio formarum), because you, the most intelligent and undoubtedly the most brilliant prince of our time, took their designs (lineamenta) from the deep recesses of philosophy (ex abditis philosophiae penetralibus) – most

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powerfully attract those beholders who are steeped in learning and almost total strangers to the common run of men.50

The word forma is the crucial contemporary term which defines the traditional iconography of a figure according to classical and late antique writers.51 Valturio’s claim that there was ‘nothing more antique’ (‘nihil antiquius’) than the building and its decoration among the remains still visible in the city confirms this perception.52 Clearly, ancient sources, including relatively obscure texts, were consulted for Agostino’s iconographies, either directly or indirectly. In particular, this was true for the third pair of chapels on the left-hand side, depicting the Muses with Apollo and Mnemosyne (alongside the Liberal Arts) and, on the opposite side, for the planets and the zodiacal signs (Figures 4 and 5). The canon of ten Sibyls (and two Prophets), however, on the first left-hand pair of piers, comprising pagan seers accepted as prophets of Christ’s arrival, had no model in the visual arts.53 So, in order to find authentic descriptions of the figures’ outward appearance, Valturio sent a request to the eminent humanist and chancellor of Florence, Poggio Bacciolini (1380–1459). Only Poggio’s reply of 1454 is extant. It is an unusual document in its own right and a unique witness to the role of humanists in designing the Tempio’s elaborate iconographies. To spare Valturio the tedious work of compiling the relevant sources, Poggio suggests making use of a pre-existing programme of twelve Sibyls and twelve Prophets: the now lost frescos in Cardinal Giordano Orsini’s Roman residence.54 Poggio’s letter, however, had no impact on the inventions of Agostino, who, instead, adopted the classical canon of ten Sibyls found in Varro and Lactantius. According to Stanko Kokole, Agostino’s elderly women with dignified expressions show, on one hand, 50 Valturio, ed. Delbianco (2006), I, 509 (XII.12): ‘[A]mplissimis praesertim parietibus, permultisque altissimis arcubus peregrino marmore exedificatis, quibus lapideae tabulae vestiuntur, quibus pulcherrime sculptae inspiciuntur, unaque sanctorum partum, virtutum quatuor, ac caelestis Zodiaci signorum, Errantiumque syderum, sybillarum deinde Musarumque et aliarum permultarum nobilium rerum imagines, quae nedum praeclaro lapicidae ac sculptoris artificio, set etiam cognitione formarum, lineamentis abs te acutissimo et sine ulla dubitatione clarissimo huius seculi principe ex abditis philosophiae penetralibus sumptis, intuentes litterarum peritos et a vulgo fere penitus alienos maxime possint allicere.’ English translation from Warburg (1999), 97. See also Turchini (2000), 339–40, 356–7. 51 Kokole (1996), 177–206. Kokole follows Saxl (1927), 14–17, 122–5, who first explained the contemporary meaning of the term forma. 52 Bulgarelli (2016), 50. 53 Around 1300, Giovanni Pisano introduced Sibyls into the programmes of his pulpits, modifying the model of his father Nicola, who replaced personifications of the virtues with Sibyls. 54 Poggio Bracciolini, ed. Harth (1987), 281: ‘[M]olestum laborum. Non enim parva cura hec res aut nunc confici posset, aut tunc confecta est, aut summa cum doctissimorum virorum diligentia.’ Poggio’s letter can be dated to between May and December 1454. Hope (1992), 118–19, believes that the Orsini information did not arrive in time. See also Raybould (2016), 90–2.

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an attempt to restore the seer’s supposedly ‘authentic antique’ outward appearance and, on the other, a desire to stress the mania described by classical authors. In contrast to other cycles of twelve Sibyls, their inscribed scrolls invoke episodes of Christ’s passion, death and resurrection.55 In contrast to personifications of the Liberal Arts, Agostino’s Muses had only one post-classical precedent: the cycle of the Muses commissioned in 1448 by Leonello d’Este for his studiolo, the very first series of humanist mythological paintings. Despite the entirely different appearance of the figures in the surviving paintings done for Leonello, two scholars independently discovered in the 1970s that the same programme – a list Guarino da Verona had drawn up and sent on 5 November 1447 to Ferrara – was also the basis for Agostino’s Muses.56 This was clearly the same type of recycling which Poggio had recommended for the Sibyls. Guarino gives very specific advice on how the individual sisters should be depicted but does not set out any overall programme. Although Agostino’s basreliefs follow Guarino’s advice even more faithfully than the Ferrarese cycle, he intentionally added semi-circular spheres under the Muses’ feet. These must allude to the Martianus Capella’s well-known Neoplatonic interpretation of the Muses as movers of the seven planetary spheres. In his prosimetrum De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, one of the key late ancient allegories of learning modelled on Plato’s Myth of Er and on Macrobius’s commentary on Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis, Martianus Capella associates the Muses with the spheres through which humans have to pass on their way to cognition. Basinio, who moved in 1449 from Ferrara to Rimini, where he became the most prolific writer of classicizing eulogies, is the most likely mediator and perhaps modifier of the programme. In his Hesperis, almost certainly inspired by Petrarch’s Africa, he connects Sigismondo’s military successes to his afterlife.57 Three books of this epic are devoted to Sigismondo’s voyage to the island of the blessed, the isola fortunata. Like Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis, his journey is a dream vision including protoChristian and Christian eschatology.58 The programme of the opposite chapel featuring representations of the planets and the zodiac seems to be less coherent. It has been demonstrated that its author drew on a wide range of (partly eclectic) classical and non-classical sources, similar to Guarino’s approach. The aim was apparently to come up with entirely new iconographic inventions, based on an ingenious combination of descriptive pas-

55 56 57 58

Kokole (1998), I, 369, 380. Baxandall (1965); Tisoni Benvenuti (1991); Eörsi (1975); Schröter (1977), I, 358–61. Ettlinger (1988), 163–4; Kokole, (2004), 20; Lippincott (1989), 419–20, 426. D’Elia (2016), 179–83. C. Franceschini (2017), 200–204, reads the third pair of chapels along the same lines, as an allusion to the spirits of the non-baptized children, which were located in Limbo along with the non-baptized souls of ancient heroes.

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sages.59 Macrobius’s theology of the sun stands out as the origin of the most bizarre iconographies such as the personification of Helios in his chariot following a lion, the zodiacal sign of summer, on the keystone.60 It is likely that Basinio was once again the advisor, if he was not the inventor of these iconographies. He was well placed to do so as the author of a didactic poem, the Astronomicon libri or Astronomica of 1455,61 which imitates Aratus of Soli, Hyginus and Martianus Capella, in its description of the celestial sphere the movements of the five planets and atmospheric effects caused by the phases of the moon.62 All the evidence suggests that, for the Tempio’s figurative decoration, existing prototypes were adopted and adapted to fit into an overall concept. The strong emphasis on the persona of Sigismondo identifies him as mastermind behind this attempt to harmonize ancient and modern doctrines, presumably co-ordinated by Valturio. It doubtless served as a model for later projects such as the mortuary chapel of the affluent Sienese banker Agostino Chigi (1466–1520) in Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome (Figures 10 and 11). Raphael, who died before the chapel was finished, had conceived this small circular chapel with a pendentive, coffered dome. Luigi da Pace executed the decoration in mosaic after 1514, probably in 1516.63 The chapel’s programme can be seen as a universal vision of the cosmos. Eight personifications of the planets in the guise of Olympian deities, accompanied by representations of the spheres, their zodiacal signs and guardian angels decorate the dome.64 Specifically the pairing of angels, spheres and the zodiac has been convincingly read as referring to a universal divine plan culminating in the vision of God the Father in the central oculus. A similar harmony is expressed through the architecture itself. The dome, the walls and a tiny vestibule display an imperial iconography whose form was reinterpreted as a reference to the martyrs. The Cappella Chigi’s allusion to the Pantheon, originally a commission by the consul Marcus Vespasianus Agrippa (64/62–12 BC), but rebuilt under Hadrian in the second century AD, is obvious: not only do the colourful hard stone revetments allude to the splendour of the ancient temple, at Chigi’s time considered a commission by his namesake Emperor Augustus, but the order of the fluted pilasters in the vestibule is also a precise miniature copy of the entrance to the Pantheon (Figure 12).65 59 60 61 62 63

Kokole (1996), 195–9. Bertozzi (2012), 298–9. See also Kokole (1996) 182; Turchini (2000), 453–4. Kokole (1996), 181–94. Rinaldi (2012), 78; see also Bacchelli (2002). Pope Julius II had confirmed Chigi’s patron rights on 3 December 1507; building works probably began in 1513. For a chronology of the commission and its attribution to Raphael and Luigi da Pace see Riegel (2003). 64 Shearman (1961); Shearman (1981); Weil-Garris Brandt (1986); Melczer (1990). 65 Riegel (2003), 109.

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Figure 10: Raphael, Luigi della Pace, Cappella Chigi, Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome, dome (Photo: author).

Although Sigismondo’s Tempio, too, was conceived as a memorial, the main difference is its unfinished status. This leaves any theory about its intended concept in the realm of speculation. As early as 1891, long before the discovery of any related document, Aby Warburg had tried to reconstruct the Tempio’s overall programme. Sigismondo’s self-confidence, he believed, had determined the idea of a personal glorification to immortalize his memory;66 yet Warburg, like those who followed after him, was unable to identify any coherence in the Tempio’s concept. Later, convinced of a particular, for him impenetrable, ‘cosmological’ meaning of the third pair of chapels, Warburg speculated about the influence of Basinio da Parma – a hypothesis accepted by most scholars.67 The first tentative reconstruction of an overarching master programme focused on Sigismondo’s afterlife was made by Charles Mitchell. Writing in 1951, he saw in each chapel a station of Sigimondo’s personal descent to earth and subsequent apotheosis.68 It was especially challenging to explain the non66 Wedepohl (2014), 242. 67 Warburg Institute Archive, General Correspondence, Aby Warburg to Jacques Handschin, 5 November 1928. Kokole’s theses resemble the hypothetical ideas Warburg had already tentatively expressed in 1929. Wedepohl (2014), 236–42. 68 Mitchell (1951); Mitchell (1978).

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Figure 11: Raphael, Luigi della Pace, Cappella Chigi, Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome, entrance (Photo: author).

Christian elements, and in 1958 Maurice Shapiro postulated a Neoplatonic programme which also centred on the ascent of Sigismondo’s body and soul. Both these hypothetically coherent reconstructions were, nevertheless, later rejected as forced.69 In 1988 Helen Ettlinger argued for a fundamentally Christian concept of the Tempio as a whole; and in 2000 Dieter Blume stressed the idea of corresponding units in each pair of chapels whose iconographic programmes were in broad terms encyclopedic representations of different forms of humanity’s striving for cognition.70 Already in 1940, Jean Seznec had described the character of the iconography as encyclopedic.71 For Charles Hope, too, writing in 1992, the iconography of the personifications of virtues, the Muses and the planets corresponds to a standard encyclopedic repertoire; however, he argues strongly against any idea of an elaborate master programme and claims that the

69 Shapiro (1958); Cieri Via (1986), 14–19, interprets the refashioned church as a both a votive offering and the mausoleum of a divinized ruler. 70 Blume (2000), 139–44. 71 Seznec (1953), 133–5.

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Figure 12: Pantheon, Rome, entrance (Photo: author).

overall scheme was developed in a ‘piecemeal fashion’.72 Stanko Kokole’s analysis of 1998 put that view into perspective. Like Warburg in his earliest writings, he drew attention to Valturio’s mention, in the passage quoted above, of ‘Cognitio formarum’, which, according to Kokole, meant that Agostino’s inventions were designed to appeal ‘to humanists whose primary concern was the study, interpretation and aesthetic appreciation of Greek and Latin classics’.73 Whether Valturio’s vague reference to ‘the innermost secrets of philosophy’ alludes to a more general philosophical framework is still an open question. Arguably, the statement confirms Sigismondo’s admiration for the philosophy of Georgios Gemistos Plethon, even though he was unable to read it. Born around 1355, Plethon had accompanied the Greek delegation to the Council of Ferrara and Florence in 1438/39 as a counsellor. Some scholars believe that, on this occasion, Sigismondo could have invited Plethon to Rimini. Yet no such invitation, nor response, is documented. Although Sigismondo has been identified as one of the individuals in Benozzo Gozzoli’s Procession of the Magi in the 72 Hope (1992), 68, 70–5, 85–6, demonstrated that the six figures of virtutes – part of the classical repertoire of tomb sculpture as allusions to the virtues of the deceased – were re-used from Sigismodo’s half-finished and then abandoned wall tomb. 73 Kokole (1996), 231–2.

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Palazzo Medici, which is thought to depict the figures attending the council, it is unlikely that he ever met Plethon.74 By the time Sigimondo began the rebuilding of San Francesco Plethon was dead and buried in Mistra. Nevertheless, something must have motivated Sigismondo, when fighting in one of his last campaigns on the Peloponnese in 1466, to unearth Plethon’s remains in order to join his familia posthumously.75 The inscription on Plethon’s tomb gives the ‘great love of learned men that burnt in’ Sigismondo as reason for decision to place the philosopher’s bones in vicinity of his ancestors and his courtiers.76 According to Marsilio Ficino, Plethon (who impressed some of the attendees at the Council of Ferrara and Florence with a speech on the difference between Plato and Aristotle) sparked a great interest in Neoplatonism.77 Neither this speech nor Plethon’s main work, the Book of Laws, has come down to us; we do, however, have a short treatise by Plethon apparently based on the speech, while the Book of Laws survives in excerpts.78 His purported neo-paganism – disbelief in one God and in the resurrection of body and soul – remains a matter of debate. The same is true for the accusation made by his main opponent, George Gennadios Scholarios, the patriarch of Constantinople, that he promoted a polytheistic religion – a charge which Pius II likewise implicitly levelled against Sigismondo. We also know that George of Trebizond, an implacable enemy of Plethon, warned Sigismondo in 1466 of his dangerous influence.79

Sigismondo Malatesta and Pius II In the late 1440s and early 1450s, the untrustworthiness of Sigismondo Malatesta had become apparent in the opportunistic way that he switched alliances with the main political powers of the Italian peninsula (Milan, Venice, Florence, Naples, Rome and the Angevins in the background).80 This kind of uncontrollable hubris also threatened the authority of the popes, whose temporal power, less than a 74 Yriarte (1882), 449; Woodhouse (1986), 147, 159–61, 228; Blum (2014), 31. See also Turchini (2000), 379–84. 75 Woodhouse (1986), 374–5; Bertozzi (2003). Ronchey (2003), 12, speculates that Sigismondo saw the Malatesta as heirs to the Byzantine throne. 76 Bertozzi (2003), 182 n. 14. On the honour of burial next to Sigismondo’s family, see D’Elia (2016), 252. 77 Monfasani (2015), 65–6, 68. 78 See Woodhouse (1986), 192–214, for an English translation of De differentiis; for the Book of Laws, see Plethon, ed. Alexandre / trad. Pellisier (1966). 79 Monfasani (1992), 47–8, believes that Plethon was essentially a neo-pagan but did not try to convert others. By contrast, Siniossoglou (2011) and Hankins (1990), I, 193–217, are convinced that, for Plethon, the gods of classical antiquity represented solely ethical principles. See also Masai (1956); Mavroudi (2013), 177–203; Hladký (2014), 230. 80 Vauchez (2006), 560; O’Brien (2015), 35–9, 103–107.

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century after their return from Avignon to Rome, was still instable. When around 1460 two powerful competing condottieri, Federico da Montefeltro and Jacopo (or Giacomo) Piccinino, struggled to gain new land at Sigismondo’s cost,81 Pius II made several attempts to mediate between the various parties and pacify the country; yet, in the autumn of 1460, a dispute over territories in the Marche encouraged him to take measures to restore papal authority. Pius demanded immediate payment of outstanding census charges and threatened to excommunicate Sigismondo. Backed by the pope’s opponent Jean d’Angiou of France, Sigismondo reacted aggressively by occupying his lost territories. On 25 November 1460, the pope declared war on Sigismondo as an enemy of the Church; and by Christmas of that year he had excommunicated both Sigismondo and his brother Domenico (called Malatesta Novello), the lord of Cesena, for breach of covenant. Ferrante, the legitimized son and successor of Alfonso V of Aragon, also sought vengeance for Sigismondo’s manoeuvrings and managed to win Pius over to his side. The pope subsequently joined an alliance between Ferrante, Federico da Montefeltro, and Alessandro Sforza. He excluded any kind of agreement with Sigismondo, and in early 1461 a military conflict broke out. At the same time, Pius launched a major ideological attack on Sigismondo aimed at discrediting him, literally, as a diabolic character: he was excommunicated twice, then prosecuted and condemned to hell (Commentarii, V.12; VII.11).82 Pius’s determination to destroy Sigismondo and the energy he invested in characterizing him as an offspring of the devil can be gleaned from the prosecution speech, a thirty-nine-page invective entitled Discipula veritatis, which was sent to every court in Italy. Although the pope had given his loyal consistorial advocate Andrea Benzi the task of gaining support for Sigismondo’s condemnation in a show trial, contemporaries suspected that the speech, delivered by Benzi on 16 January 1461, was Pius’s own work. Elaborating on the earlier condemnation, the speech lists and classifies Sigismondo’s alleged crimes – criminal and immoral behaviour, sacrilege and heresy – and ends with a plea to liberate Italy from him.83 The pope promised that, after a lawful trial in absentia, Sigismondo would undergo a canonization ‘ad inferos’ (Discipula veritatis, 69), in which the process of conferring sainthood would take place in reverse. Subsequently, Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa, also called Cusanus, was ordered to gather evidence. On 14 October 1461, 81 Jones (1974), 214–15, 220–21, 223. 82 Anonimo Veronese, ed. Soranzo (1915), 151, 157–60; Jones (1974), 225–31; Soranzo (1911), 209–92; Soranzo (1952), 205–7; Gaeta (1978), 164–9, 178–96; Vauchez (2006), 559– 61. See also Folin (2010), 24–7; D’Elia (2016), 1–29. 83 The bull Discipula veritatis, a revised version of Benzi’s original speech, presents the procedure of the trial in a slightly different order. The fact that it was published in a collection of Pius’s orations proves his authorship and shows that he was both prosecutor and judge. See Märtl (2008), 79.

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he reported his findings to a secret consistory, but no trial records survive. On 15 April 1462, Sigismondo was declared an ‘enemy of the Church’, and his name was added to the recurrent papal bull In coena Domini, a list of enemies read out every Palm Thursday. On 27 April 1462, Cusanus announced that Sigismondo was charged with disregarding the authority of the Roman pontifex and – what is especially important in this context – the denial of fundamental Christian truths: the resurrection of the dead, the immortality of the soul and the promise of life after death; and he was sentenced to be burnt alive. Despite the disapproval of some Italian rulers, his effigy (made of wood and leather by the sculptor Paolo Romano) was burned on the steps of St Peter’s and in the Campo dei Fiori, anticipating the fires of hell. According to Pius’s account, the effigy was inscribed ‘Sigismundus hic ego sum Malatesta, filius Pandulfi, rex proditorum, Deo atque hominibus infestus, sacri censura senatus igni damnatus’ (‘Here I am, Sigismondo Malatesta, son of Pandolfo, king of traitors, enemy of God and men, condemned to the fire by the decision of the Sacred College’, Commentarii, VII.11), but, according to an eyewitness, ‘Sigismundus Pandulfus Malatesta Arimino hereticus’ (‘Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta of Rimini, Heretic’).84 Finally, on 27 November 1462, the formal bull condemning Sigismondo, Licet natura, was passed. No subject was any longer to obey his commands, and no priest in his territories was allowed to celebrate the offices of the church; a summary of the censures was distributed throughout the peninsula. Despite the pope’s failure to unite members of the Italian League behind him, the conflict went on. At first, more aggravated than intimidated, Sigismondo went on to conquer further territories; yet following a disastrous defeat near Senigallia on 12 August 1462 by Federico da Montefeltro in alliance with papal troops, Sigismondo’s state began to disintegrate, and he became isolated. In 1463, the Venetians intervened on his behalf, but Pius remained uncompromising and did not accept the arguments in favour of a united fight against the advancing Turks. His plan was to strip Sigismondo of his territories and give them to his own nephew Antonio Piccolomini – which indeed happened.85 After pressure from Venice and Milan, Malatesta Novello submitted; but Rimini was only saved by a later agreement between Venice and the pope to give up their wars in order to prepare for a crusade. Subsequently, both Malatesta brothers were forced to seek 84 Soranzo (1911), 228–34, 486–7; Soranzo, (1910–1911), 475; Vauchez (2006), 562. The event is described by Bartolomeo Maraschi in a letter of 27 April 1462 to Barbara of Brandenburg, in Meuthen (1958), doc. LXXX, 281–3, n. 3: ‘Post hec lo cardinale vincula come iudice de questo processo lesse la sententia, in la quale apellava Sigismondo adultero, robatore, stupratore, falsario de monete, perjuro, incestuoso, heretico perchè non crede l’altra vita e male sente in molti articuli, traditore e molti altri opbrobrii. Privato de ugni dominio, post hec fu cazato fuocho in quelli lignari.’ 85 Tonini (1882), 241; Gaeta (1978), 181; Jones (1974), 235, 238–9.

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peace and forgiveness for their offences against the Church; on 8 November 1463 Pope Pius accepted their plea.86 Sigismondo was required to acknowledge his heretical conduct, and, together with his subjects, he had to attend a ceremony in Rimini’s cathedral, that is, the Tempio. In order to receive formal absolution, he had to disavow publicly any disbelief in the resurrection and the immortality of the human soul. In exchange, he was allowed to retain authority over the city of Rimini for his lifetime (Commentarii, XII.40). On 2 December 1463, new boundaries of Sigismondo’s territory were laid down, with the pope promising to return even more land to the once highly able condottiere if he was successful in a crusade against the Turkish infidels, which was the pope’s prime concern.87 In his last military campaign, Sigismondo, as Capitano generale of the Republic of Venice, led an army to the Byzantine province of Morea in the Peloponnese.88 The former capital, Mistra, had surrendered to the Ottoman emperor Mehmed II in 1460. Pius, after uniting the Italian states to join in the crusade he had called against the Turks, intended to lead the troops himself against the Muslims,89 but died in Ancona before embarking. His death in 1464 was the end of an ill-fated campaign that left Sigismondo isolated in Morea. Never able to recover from both his military and moral defeats, he died in 1468. As witness to his overly ambitious plan to build up a legacy rivalling that of the rulers of Rome, Sigismondo’s Tempio remained a fragment of its projected splendour.

Temple, Church, Mausoleum If we assume that the image on the foundation medal is a faithful reproduction of the Tempio’s wooden model, as the geometry of the built façade suggests, its massive cupola, which, like the Pantheon’s dome, was even wider than the façade, reveals the scale of Sigismondo’s aspirations. The prominent semi-circle – for Alberti, an ideal form – would have changed the impression of San Francesco significantly. Yet even unfinished, Sigismondo’s Tempio was the closest ever seen to ancient Roman architecture and must have stunned observers during its construction. The motif of the triumphal arch, for example, with its connotations of victory, celebration, and memorial (as discussed in Valturio, De re militari, XII.5) had no previous models in church architecture.90 In terms of civil architecture, Sigismondo’s opponent Alfonso – the first Quattrocento ruler to adopt classical concepts for the creation of his own persona – had set a precedent with 86 87 88 89 90

Tonini (1882), 239–41; Anonimo Veronese, ed. Soranzo (1915), 196–8; Jones (1974), 232–9. Soranzo (1911), 406–63; Jones (1974), 232–9; Folin (2010), 27; Ronchey (2003), 12. Falcioni (2006), 147–69. Jones (1974), 218–38; Vauchez (2006), 559. Bulgarelli (2016), 50; Turchini (2000), 307.

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the entrance to his castle in Naples, probably referring to the Pons Capuano, Frederick II’s now lost monumental triumphal gateway at the crossroads of Via Casilina and Via Appia (1234–1239); in turn, Alberti explicitly copied elements of Rimini’s Roman arch of Istrian stone, the remains of which functioned as a city gate. Erected under Emperor Augustus to mark the terminus of the newly restored Via Flaminia, this was possibly the oldest surviving Roman arch and was a proud heritage of the city’s imperial past.91 The triumphal motif in the Tempio surely alludes to ancient Roman processions and celebrates Sigismondo’s victories rather than the triumphant Christian faith. Similarly, the prominent inscription on the frieze of the Tempio’s façade, another first in post-classical art, refers to a Roman practice praised by Alberti (De re aedificatoria, VIII.4);92 the only surviving example was the Pantheon. Indeed, not merely as a unique intact building from the Augustine era, the Pantheon was Alberti’s principal model of an ideal church.93 It is therefore likely that the multicoloured revetments framing the Tempio’s entrance, another first attempt to reconstruct an authentic ancient feature, imitate the panelling in porphyry and granite of the Pantheon’s pronaos, which was destroyed in the 1520s.94 In his famous letter of 18 November (1454), mentioned above, to Matteo de’ Pasti, Alberti stresses that because he trusts the ancients more than his contemporaries (meaning Brunelleschi), the dome he planned did not have double the height of its diameter.95 In the early 1450s, a pendentive perfect semi-sphere was another novelty with no model other than the Pantheon. Michelozzo’s 1444 design for the tribuna of Santissima Annunziata was indeed more similar to Sigismondo’s commission than to Brunelleschi’s cupola for Santa Maria del Fiore, but this tribuna was still unfinished around 1470 when Alberti was assigned the task of redesigning the new choir as a memorial to Lodovico Gonzaga’s father Giovan Francesco.96 Alberti’s plans for a presbytery zone in Rimini might 91 Pope Nicholas V had planned to restore the Via Flaminia as a pilgrimage route for the jubilee year 1450. See Tavernor (1998), 58; Foschi / Pasini (1998). 92 Mardersteig (1959), 290–2. 93 In chapter VII of De re aedificatoria Alberti alludes to his preference for a Greek porticus and a centralized ground plan. See also Turchini (2000), 290–301, Bulgarelli (2003), 21, Nesselrath (2005), 190. 94 Barry (2011), 475–7. See also Bulgarelli (2010), 101–3; Bulgarelli (2016), 54. 95 Chambers, ed. (1970), 182: ‘But as for what you tell me Manetto says about cupolas having to be twice as high as they are wide, I for my part trust have more faith in those who built the Terme and the Pantheon and all those noble edifices than in him and a great deal more in reason than in man’ (‘l’Manetto afferma che le chupole deno esser due largezze alte, o credo più a chi fece Therme et Pantheon et tutte queste chose maxime che a llui’). See also Hope (1992), 92–132; Cassani (1999), 261–2; Turchini (2000), 273–7, 300–305. 96 The extent to which Antonio Manetti, when he took over, was influenced by Alberti, and how early Alberti got directly involved, remain matters for debate. See Brown (1981); Frommel (2009), 35–6; Calzona (2006), 402–17.

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well have resembled his tribuna of SS Annunziata.97 It is also possible, as already mentioned, that it resembled the deep vaulted apse for the west end of St Peter’s, commissioned in the early 1450s by Pope Nicholas V to serve as a new ceremonial centre but never constructed;98 yet although documents (as well as remains) allow us to reconstruct a domed tribuna at the crossing of transept and choir of St Peter’s, Alberti’s involvement in the project cannot be proven. In all these cases, the most likely and most frequently cited model is the muchadmired Pantheon.99 Alberti had studied the technical mastery of the prototypical ancient temple with a massive unsupported dome in all its details (De re aedificatoria, VII.10–11), probably during restorations in the 1440s when, according to Flavio Biondo, Pope Eugenius IV had ordered the encroaching jerrybuilt booths to be dismantled (Roma instaurata, III.65–6). As a Christian church since 609, Sanctae Mariae ad martyres, also known as Santa Maria Rotonda or simply la Rotonda, was regarded as the embodiment of perfection for its synthesis of classical and post-classical ideals.100 There is insufficient information to indicate whether Alberti was aware that the building’s original patron – the triumphant commander Marcus Agrippa (whose name is eternalized in the inscription on the frieze) and later the son-in-law and co-regent of Emperor Augustus – had deliberately chosen to erect the Pantheon on the northern part of the Campus Martius; with its reference to the death and apotheosis of Romulus, the Campus Martius was to become the site of the imperial funeral pyre and the consecration ceremony when the emperor’s spirit was believed to ascend heavenwards. The Pantheon was thus closely connected to the beginnings of the principle of posthumous divinization of the emperor.101 Agrippa’s building of 27–25 BC was rectangular and faced south. After several restorations, it burnt down and was rebuilt between 118 and 125 by Hadrian as the current rotunda, facing north; further restorations followed in the third century. Some knowledge of the original function and meaning of the Pantheon was transmitted by Roman historiographers. In the first century AD, Pliny the Elder, in his discussion of its decorations (Naturalis historia, XXXIV.13 and XXXVI.38), calls it a ‘templum’; Pliny also mentions a statue of Venus (Naturalis historia, IX.121). The civil servant, senator, and consul Lucius Cassius Dio (or Dio 97 Bacchiani (1987); Tavernor (1998), 150–2; Bulgarelli (2010), 106–7. 98 Substantial payments for a ‘tribuna grande di San Pietro’, which would have accommodated cannons, clergy and larger numbers of pilgrims, were made in 1452 and 1453, but nothing other than the foundation walls were actually built. Even though building work slowed down decisively after Nicholas’s death, it made a powerful impression on contemporary observers. In 1470 Pope Paul II commissioned a commemorative medal showing the tribuna. See Thoenes (2005), 65–7; Richardson (2013), 330–33. 99 Wittkower (1962), 45. 100 Nesselrath (2005), 190–91. 101 Zanker (2004), 67.

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Cassius), who wrote around the turn from the second to the third century, associates the edifice with the cult of the emperor. According to Dio, Agrippa wanted to call the building ‘Augusteum’; he had placed the statue of Augustus in the pronaos, after the emperor refused the honour of having his effigy erected inside, where a statue of the deified Julius Caesar was installed instead. The Pantheon was probably originally consecrated to Augustus’s tutelary deities, among them the progenitors of the Iulian house, Mars and Venus.102 Dio also offers a unique interpretation of the origin of the name, writing that his ‘own opinion of the name is that, because of its vaulted roof, it resembles the heavens’ (Historia Romana, LIII.27.2–3). The Marvels of Rome, a pilgrim’s guidebook in Latin by an anonymous canon of the 1140s, which was enlarged in the early fourteenth century and served until the fifteenth century as the standard guide to the city, states that the Pantheon owed its origin to a dream vision of the prefect Marcus Agrippa. He allegedly vowed to erect a temple as an offering to Cybele and Neptune in case of victory in a campaign against the Persians (Mirabilia Urbis Romae, II.4). The author of the Marvels also reports that the temple was consecrated by Pope Boniface IV (608– 15) and that the dedication to the mother of all pagan gods, Cybele, was subsequently supplanted by one to the Virgin Mary. Yet another dedication was reported by Giovanni Tortelli (c. 1400–66) in the second quarter of the fifteenth century. Relying on a corrupt version of one of Pliny’s references to Agrippa (Naturalis historia, XXXVI.102), Tortelli writes, in the entry on ‘Rhoma’ in his De orthographia, that the ‘Pantheon of Jupiter Ultor was built by Agrippa’ (‘Pantheon Iovi Ultori ab Agrippa factum fuit’.103 Valturio, among others, refers to the Pantheon as a temple of Jupiter Ultor, constructed by the victorious Agrippa (‘Pulcherrimum operum Pantheon Iovi ultori ab Agrippa factum veterum monumenta produnt’, De re militari, XII.12). A few lines further down, Valturio associates Sigismondo with this Roman tradition and claims that his building of a temple after concluding the Italian wars (‘post consumationem Italici belli’) was not inferior (‘nec inferior’) to the foundations of ancient warlords. Basinio went a step further, referring to Sigismondo’s vow, if victorious, to dedicate a temple in the centre of Rimini to Jupiter (Hesperis, I, 566–70).104

102 Zanker (1987), 85, 146. 103 Tortelli, ed. Capoduro (1999), 72. Bernardo Rucellai, who explored the city of Rome together with Alberti in 1471, repeats this in his De urbe Roma of 1496; see Bulgarelli (2003), 19–20. 104 Valturio, ed. Delbianco (2006), I, 508. See also Bulgarelli (2010), 111; Bulgarelli (2016), 55–6.

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Sigismondo as a New Augustus Like Augustus, who, according to Suetonius (De vitis Caesarum, ‘Divus Augustus’, 29), claimed to have found Rome a city of brick and left it a city of marble, Sigismondo turned a church made of brick into a temple made of white Istrian stone, a material which resembled marble.105 There are clear analogies between his patronage and Augustus’s renovation of Rome: both leaders changed their name (Ghismondo to Sigismondo, Octavian to Augustus), a victorious battle was celebrated by grandiose monuments – the Pantheon and the Tempio Malatestiano – and images of the victor were circulated. Comparisons of the laurelcrowned Sigismondo Malatesta with Emperor Augustus are indeed frequent in the scholarly literature.106 The most obvious example is the imago imperatoris type of portrait on the foundation medal of the Tempio, repeated several times inside the building.107 Bronze medals of this kind with a head in profile (on the obverse), inscriptions in classicizing capitals, and an emblematic image (on the reverse) had first appeared in the 1390s. The local lord in Padua, Francesco II da Carrara, had commissioned imitations of Roman sestertii (with his bust and that of his father in the garb of Roman emperors) to commemorate the recovery of the city from the usurping Visconti.108 During the first half of the fifteenth century, a number of Italian princes, including the popes Eugenius IV, Nicholas V, and Pius II, adopted this paradigm, commissioning, exchanging, and collecting personal medals. Evidence for the belief that the distribution of medals ‘immortalized’ the name of the sitter is an often-quoted letter of 1453 by the humanist Timoteo Maffei addressed to Sigismondo Malatesta, who commissioned an exceptional number of them.109 He was also the first modern ruler to take up the ancient ritual practice of depositing coins which commemorated the founder of a dynasty in

105 Bulgarelli (2016), 51–4, emphasizes that Alberti mentions the similarity between marble and Istrian stone (De re aedificatoria, II.9). Cf. Trachtenberg (2015), 167, with regard to Medicean patronage. 106 Perhaps the first to mention Augustus as Sigismondo’s model was Semerau (1909). For more recent discussions of Sigismondo’s self-image as an imitation of Roman emperors, especially Augustus, see Donati (2001), 224–5; Bulgarelli (2016), 52–6. 107 Pasini (1983), 140–7; Calandra di Roccolino (2007). 108 Hill (1930), 3; Weiss (1969), 53–4. 109 Weiss (1958), 71: ‘Ad quandam tui nominis immortalitatem Matthaei Pasti Veronensis opera industriaque vidi aere, auro et argento innumeras quasi caelatas imagines, quae vel in defossis locis dispersae, vel muris intus locatae, vel ad extras nationes transmissae sunt.’ See also Woods-Marsden (1989), 388–90, 400–402; Schraven (2009), 192–3; Jones (1974), 194; D’Elia (2016), 33. On medals as objects supposedly bestowing immortality on the subject, see also Syson / Gordon (2001), 111–23.

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building sites to secure his memoria and fame.110 According to Antonio Averlino, called Filarete, when these coins resurfaced, they would result in a secular form of salvation (Trattato di architettura, I.45–6).111 The foundation medal of the Tempio not only imitated the portrait of the reigning emperor on Roman coins, but also the symbolic image of a ‘temple’ on the reverse. Issued in bronze, silver, or gold, the Roman prototypes often pictured architectural representations – not necessarily faithfully – which were of symbolic importance to the Roman state, either commemorating or politicizing monuments connected to an event such as a victorious battle or promoting the patron and his or her gens.112 The ostentatious display of Sigismondo’s portrait, not only on the foundation medal but also inside the Tempio, can only be explained as a reference to his triumphal entries into Florence in 1448 and into Rimini in 1453. On both occasions, Sigismondo, as the victor, was wearing a laurel wreath.113 When, on 30 September 1453, all Florentine hopes rested again on Sigismondo’s shoulders, Giannozzo Manetti, the Florentine ambassador, gave a speech on the fields at Vada to mark the handover of the leadership of the republic’s troops to him. Manetti stressed the role of res militaris in Rome’s rise to international power; and the central passage of his oration was a long excursus on Roman types of coronation to honour disciplina militaris.114 Valturio, Basinio, and Porcellio de’ Pandoni, known as il Porcellio, also refer in their eulogies to the tradition of laurel crowns, always with the overtone of eternal fame – Valturio even connects the crowning of Sigismondo with laurel to the memoria of Emperor Augustus, the first princeps and pater patriae.115 Indeed, Augustus had been the first emperor whose image was carefully constructed 110 More than 40 such portrait medals were found in the walls, tombs, and Sigismondo’s personal devices. See Schraven (2009); Schraven (2014), 136–8. 111 Schraven (2014), 141. 112 The representation of monuments is a major topic in studies of the iconography of Roman coins; see Elkins (2015). Bulgarelli (2010), 80, suggests that the design of Sigismondo’s foundation medal was inspired by Neronian sestertii with an image of the temple of Jupiter. 113 Donati (2010), 783, 794. For the entry into Rimini see Scapecchi (1986), 157. 114 Donati (2010), 810: ‘L’ultima era la “triumphale” et questa da principio si faceva d’alloro et di poi si fece d’oro, intorniata di foglie d’alloro.’ Wittschier (1968), 127–33; Turchini (2000), 357–62. 115 Valturio, ed. Delbianco (2006), I, 474, 479, 482, mentions the laurel crown as an insigne of the triumphant victor (De re militari, XII.5); he associates it with the tradition of coronations in Rome and, in particular, with Augustus’s memoria: ‘Ipsum quoque Augustum idibus septembribus a senatu obsidionali etiam donatum memoriae proditum est. Et quanquam ea consuetudo sicut et pleraque alia maiorum nostrorum deleta est, hac tamen corona nostris temporibus, Sigismunde, Populonea expeditione uno omnium ore donata est praecellens animi magnitudo tui’ (De re militari, XII.7). Il Porcellio, too, uses the laurel as an insigne of the triumph the ‘Caesars’ (De amore Iovis in Isottam, II); see also Bulgarelli (2010), 94. Famously, Cosimo de’ Medici was honoured as pater patriae for his services to the republic; the title was bestowed on him by the Florentine government posthumously on 1 August 1464; see Brown (1961), 188–95.

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through self-fashioning: myths were created and diffused in the visual language of symbols, signs, and images paired with a national message of peace and prosperity.116 His official portrait was dispersed throughout the Roman world to remind everyone of his power and authority. Once revived, this new form of conveying the myth of Roman magnificence was widely adopted. Rulers sought to establish the new order through portraits, either their own or effigies of Roman emperors. Sigismondo’s ambitious building project was, however, the first time a ruler’s portrait, fashioned as a Roman emperor, appeared inside a sacred space. In later monuments like the Colleoni Chapel (1472–1476) in Bergamo and the church belonging to the complex of the Certosa di Pavia – housing the Visconti tombs – coin-type portraits only decorate the façades (which in case of the Certosa was not completed before 1507).117 Yet the origin of this revival of Roman portrait types was a papal initiative. Commissioned by Pope Eugenius IV (1431–1447), Filarete designed a new set of bronze doors for the central Porta Argentea of St Peter’s, executed between 1438 and 1445 and inaugurated in time for the jubilee of 1450. Copying both the form and material of the doors of the Pantheon, the programme of the bronze doors of St Peter’s included the very first coin-style portraits of Roman emperors as predecessors of the popes. King Alfonso followed this model almost immediately by adding a profile portrait of either Caesar or Trajan (Figure 13) to the decorative programme of the triumphal arch at his castle in Naples. It is unlikely that any of the fifteenth-century leaders who presented themselves as successors to the Roman emperors owned a golden aureus featuring a profile of Augustus. Some twenty different coins were minted during his long reign. New versions of the emperor’s portrait in stone were, however, commissioned by members of the ruling class at the time Sigismondo was overseeing the design of the Tempio as part of a series of the canonical twelve Roman emperors. Alfonso V of Aragon owned the oldest known example, documented around 1453.118 Several marble tondi with imperial portraits in profile, attributed to Agostino di Duccio, survive in various collections; their provenance is unknown. Among them is a crowned head of Augustus with a diameter of 26 cm, copied accurately from a common ancient coin. The tondo (the original function of which is unknown) is now held in the Museo civico of Rimini; it carries the

116 The most thorough and still seminal analysis of Augustus’s visual politics is Zanker (1987). 117 Schofield / Burnett (1999), 69–73; Burnett / Schofield (1998). 118 Caglioti (2008). In the inscription of an extant portrait of Alfonso V of Aragon, attributed to Agostino di Duccio and following the same type, he is also called ‘divus’ (Caglioti [2008], fig. 28).

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Figure 13: Portrait of a Roman Emperor (Caesar or Trajan), Castel Nuovo, Naples (Photo: author).

inscription ‘Divus Aug[ustus] Pater, [Patriae].’119 Similar emphasis on both divinity and statesmanship found a resonance in the imagination of Sigimondo’s court poets who celebrated the virtus which divinized him like a Roman emperor. Basinio, for example, calls on Sigismondo in his Astronomicon to take a place in the heavens (I.24–7), as Virgil found a place in the zodiac for Augustus.120

An Imperial Gesture Sigismondo’s determination to secure his legacy included the plan to convert a humble Mendicant brick church into a white classicizing Malatesta shrine. Its colourful decorum was largely provided by spolia from the nearby sixth-century basilica of Sant’Apollinare in Classe.121 Following Roman tradition, this new shrine was inaugurated as a votive church. The abbreviation ‘V.[otum] F.[ecit]’ on the foundation medal and also the expression ‘he made a vow’ in the Greek 119 Venturi (1889), 91; Ricci (1924), 105, 127, 132, n. 16, 135, n. 91; Pasini (1970); Caglioti (2012). Another profile of a Roman emperor, dating from the third quarter of the fifteenth century, is extant in the Ducal Palace of Urbino; see Petrucci (2001), 252–3. 120 Seznec (1953), 134–5 n. 29. 121 Tabanelli (1977), 319–22; Hope (1992), 66–8.

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inscription on Alberti’s side walls claim that Sigismondo vowed the ‘temple’ to God – the Christian equivalent of Jupiter – in return for success in battle. According to Livy, it was an ancient Roman custom ‘to vow temples to the immortal gods’ in a crisis (Ab urbe condita libri, X.42.7).122 Valturio refers implicitly to this practice by mentioning Vespasian’s foundation of the temple of Concordia and Pax (De re militari, XII.12). Basinio’s Hesperis culminates in the victor’s honouring his vow by constructing a marvellous temple of Parian marble (‘Victor ubi Superis votum dum solvit, honorem / Ipse Deo reddens summo, mirabile Templum / Marmore de Pario construxit’, XIII.344–6). Il Porcellio, too, praises the erection of a marble temple (‘Ipse Iovi supero statui de marmore templum’, De amore Iovis in Isottam, IV).123 Equally significant is Sigismondo’s apparent plan to be buried in a porphyry tomb, imitating the burials of both Eastern Roman emperors and martyrs. The material itself implied imperial power, and such a tomb would have predated the burial of Giovanni and Piero de’ Medici in an ancient porphyry sarcophagus.124 The Tempio Malatestiano was thus intended as both an offering of thanks and a testimonial to a powerful commander from a ruling family. Sigismondo’s model, the Pantheon, was also known as a victorious commander’s offering and was believed to celebrate the glory of the gens Iulia. In this sense, the deliberately chosen foundation date, 1450, was symbolic: not only a Holy Year, but also the year in which Sigismondo’s papal vicariate was confirmed and granted to the third generation of his heirs. Prominent tombs were installed or planned for Sigismondo’s real and spiritual ancestors, his family members such as his beatified brother Galeotto Roberto,125 his idealized wife Isotta, and, most importantly, as I believe, himself. It is worth recalling that, around the same time, the tribuna of SS. Annunziata was constructed as a memorial to Giovan Francesco Gonzaga. Charles Hope, on the one hand, denies the existence of a master programme, but, on the other, suggests that, in compensation for the loss of Sigismondo’s tomb in the first chapel, a new concept was devised. Following Mitchell, he reflects on the possibility that (as McKillop independently proposed for San Lorenzo with respect to Cosimo de Medici’s tomb under the crossing) the plan was to dedicate the entire church to Sigismondo and that, in 1450, he intended to be buried at its eastern end, which was never completed.126

122 Livius, ed. Weisenborn (1853–1856), I, 196: ‘[I]n ipso discrimine quo templa deis immortalibus voveri mos erat …’ See also Turchini (2000), 338–9. 123 Turchini (2000), 342–3, 628–9, 636; Paolucci (2001), 44; D’Elia (2016), 276. 124 For the significance and use of porphyry, see Wedepohl (2009), 80–88. 125 Falcioni (2007), 49–51; Grégoire (2003). 126 Hope (1992), 83–4; McKillop (1992), 254.

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Conclusion Sigismondo, an ambitious papal vicar, friendly with the Angevins (who sought to exert French influence in the Papal States), not only threatened Pius’s temporal reign, but his boldness and political backing also undermined the pope’s authority. Success had encouraged Sigismondo to appropriate both the symbols and habits of ancient Roman leaders – not just metaphorically, but also as built realty.127 Pius, unable to gain temporal sovereignty, in particular after the defeat of the papal army on 2 July 1461 at Nidastore, chose the more powerful weapon of spiritual sovereignty to subdue his feudal lord: he questioned both his justness and his piety, targeting Sigismondo’s alleged disbelief in the resurrection of body and soul. Sigismondo was certainly interested in ancient views on the immortality of the soul. He encouraged debates about immortality at his court, where Giovanni Cocchi authored a treatise on the subject; and he commissioned the first consecrated building to adapt classical forms in order to convey the aspiration to resurrection. Yet all this should be seen as merely reflecting Sigismondo’s desire to take part in an ongoing humanist debate.128 The Tempio was a place of worship, explicitly dedicated to God and designed to embrace all aspects of the afterlife. The aim was to reconcile non-Christian traditions with Christian doctrine in order create a pan-theological cosmos. Since the consecration of the Pantheon in 609, the harmonization of ancient and modern belief had a model which – originally – also celebrated the ruler’s family by way of allusion to the entire cosmos, formally through its dome and ideologically through its dedication to the pantheon of gods, later replaced by the community of the Heavenly City. The Pantheon was thus a prototype of the microcosm as mirror of the macrocosm – a model of universal harmony. Sigismondo, too, had planned to place his dynasty and the persona he had constructed for himself at the centre of his own microcosm; but his megalomania and subsequent defeat prevented the completion of this magnificent plan. In his last will of 1466, finishing the works he had begun was a major concern. It is likely that he intended his tomb to be located at the centre of the crossing, below Alberti’s splendid dome. This hypothesis relies on the fact that, after the earlier plan for his tomb to be in the St Sigismund Chapel was abandoned, the location of his final resting place had not been prepared by the time of the suspension of all building works. 127 Borsi (2009), 146–51. Sigismondo’s Roman lineage is also a theme in Basinio’s Hesperis (III.8–22). 128 D’Elia (2016), 78–89, 154, 164–7, 177–8, regards Sigismondo’s paganism as an established fact; he calls the Tempio ‘a monument of Renaissance syncretism if not revived paganism’ (27) and concludes that Sigismondo ‘continued to live a publicly pagan life, even as he was forced into Christian observance’ (273). Monfasani (2017), 1320, dissents from this view. See also Turchini (2000), 343–9.

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As already mentioned, such an unconventional burial site under the dome, in the crossing and before the high altar, was realized in the tomb of Cosimo de’ Medici in San Lorenzo in Florence, completed in 1467 (Figure 14). The place was chosen after the expansion of an ancient basilica into a vast transept church, following Brunelleschi’s layout and funded by the Medici (1421–1428 and 1442–1450s), first and foremost Cosimo himself.129 Unprecedented at the time, the position of Cosimo’s tomb was seen as both humble, with regard to the burial of martyrs, and elevated, with regard to the most central place in his parish church; the inscription on the tomb’s marker, executed by Verrocchio, honours Cosimo as ‘pater patriae’.130 Though operating on a more monumental scale, Sigismondo could easily have claimed the same for himself; and formal resonances of Brunelleschi’s Florentine projects in the design of the Tempio are apparent. Even if the planned position of Sigismondo’s tomb remains speculative, the fundamentally syncretistic concept of the Tempio had a major impact, as we have seen, on the iconography of funeral chapels in the following decades.

Figure 14: Andrea del Verrocchio, Marker for the Tomb of Cosimo de Medici, San Lorenzo, Florence (Photo: author).

129 Elam (1992); Trachtenberg (2015). 130 Sperling (1992), 51–4; McKillop (1992), 254; Elam (1992), 176; Brown (1961), 188–95.

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Claudia Daniotti

Resolving Conflicts by Means of Virtue: Alexander the Great and the Family of Darius in Renaissance Italian Art

Abstract The iconographic theme of the ‘Meeting of Alexander the Great and the Family of Darius’ illustrates a famous act of magnanimity displayed by Alexander in the aftermath of the battle of Issus in 333 BC: having defeated the Persian king Darius III, Alexander showed mercy towards the captive women of the royal family, sparing their lives and making sure that their status as queens would be respected. As a prestigious exemplum virtutis from ancient history, the episode enjoyed huge popularity in Renaissance Italian art, making a significant contribution to the new imagery of the conqueror as it took shape in the peninsula in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. If the life of Alexander is peppered with episodes that were regarded for centuries as moral examples, his ‘Meeting’ with the family of Darius holds a special place among them, for it revolves around the very issue of resolution of conflicts which is at the centre of this volume. As this essay shows, in the ‘Meeting’ the differences between enemies, between Greeks and Persians, winners and defeated, conquerors and captives are resolved by means of Alexander’s virtuous behaviour, resulting in a peaceful reconciliation which was held up as a moral exemplar to rulers and aristocrats of the Renaissance.

Very few figures in history have produced such fascination over the centuries as Alexander the Great. His name, it has been rightly said, ‘had the spell of youth and glory’;1 and from the fourth century BC, it has never ceased to resonate in the literature, arts, traditions, and myths of a very significant part of the Eastern and Western worlds. The son of Philip II of Macedon and Olympias, princess of Epirus, Alexander was educated by Aristotle, became king at the age of twenty in 336 BC, set out on his journey to Asia at twenty-two, conquered the Persian Empire from Egypt to India in less than ten years, and died suddenly in Babylon in June 323 BC, shortly before his thirty-third birthday. In view of such accomplishments, it is not surprising that Alexander came to be regarded in his own lifetime as a heroic figure, surrounded by a supernatural aura which encouraged 1 Lane Fox (1973), 26.

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the comparison of his deeds to those of Achilles, Hercules, and Dionysus. Nor is it surprising that such an exceptional life, cut short by an untimely death, earned Alexander an enduring renown, which spread well beyond the boundaries of the empire he conquered, reaching as far as England and Ethiopia, Russia and Iran, Afghanistan and India, Mongolia and Indonesia, and producing an uninterrupted fascination over the centuries, for which there is hardly any comparison in history.2 Such a captivating figure was inevitably re-shaped again and again, with each age creating its own Alexander. The great conqueror who, in antiquity, had been emulated by Hellenistic rulers and Roman and Byzantine emperors,3 in the Middle Ages was turned into a legendary, almost supernatural figure; and his military expedition into Asia was transformed into a fabulous journey through all the wonders, marvels, and monstrous creatures believed to populate the East.4 In the course of the fifteenth century, with the changing cultural atmosphere associated with the rise of humanism, this legendary imagery gradually came to an end and was superseded by a different portrait of Alexander, drawing on the newly discovered ancient Greek and Latin historical accounts of his life.5 This pivotal moment in the tradition led to the development, in the sixteenth century, of an iconographic repertoire of stories of Alexander based on the historical sources recovered from antiquity; first established in Italy, it afterwards spread to the rest of Europe.6 Although Alexander was one of the greatest conquerors of all time, the majority of these episodes are not concerned with military matters, but rather with an exemplary display of moral virtue on his part. One story in particular is relevant for our purposes, since it provides a good illustration of how conflict and rivalries could be managed and resolved in the Renaissance. It is ‘The 2 To get some sense of the scope of his fame, see, e. g., the vast amount of material presented in a number of recent exhibitions: Trofimova, ed. (2010); Hansen / Wieczorek / Tellenbach, ed. (2009); Messina, ed. (2007); see also Galanakis, ed. (2011); Descamps-Lequime, ed. (2011); and the still important Alfano, ed. (1995). In addition, see Moore, ed. (2018) and Ng (2019) for the reception of Alexander in Britain and Southeast Asia, lands which he obviously never conquered. 3 On the reception of Alexander in antiquity and the imitatio Alexandri in particular, see Roisman, ed. (2003), with previous bibliography; see also Spencer (2002); Sordi, ed. (1984); Braccesi (2006); and the still essential Treves (1953) and Mazzarino (1973). 4 From the huge bibliography on the medieval tradition of Alexander, see Cary (1956); Ross (1963); Ross (1971); Boitani / Bologna / Cipolla / Liborio, ed. (1997); Stoneman (2008); Zuwiyya, ed. (2011); Gaullier-Bougassas, ed. (2014); Stock, ed. (2016). On the visual tradition, see esp. Frugoni (1973); Schmidt (1995); and, more recently, Pérez-Simon (2015) and Ross (2019). 5 I discuss the transition from the legendary to the historical Alexander, as seen in 15th- and 16thcentury Italian art, in Daniotti (2022). Monica Centanni has drawn attention to this transitional moment in a number of studies, e. g., Centanni (2010), esp. 30; see also Frugoni (1978), 23–4; Anceschi (2013); and Noll (2016). 6 See Hadjinicolaou, ed. (1997); Biasutti / Coppola, ed. (2009); and Jouanno, ed. (2012).

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Meeting of Alexander with the Family of the Persian King Darius’, also known as ‘The Magnanimity’, ‘The Clemency of Alexander’, or ‘Alexander and the Women of Darius’. This was by far the most popular of the Alexander’s stories represented in Italian and European Renaissance art; and it continued to have this standing for some three centuries, appearing in frescoes and easel paintings, as well as in tapestries and the minor arts.7 Unlike other events in the life of Alexander, this episode has an intricate narrative and was regarded as exemplary of a number of virtues, including magnanimity, clemency, generosity, chastity, and friendship. Moreover, and most importantly for my argument here, the ‘Meeting of Alexander and the Family of Darius’ is an emblematic example of how a conflict could be peacefully resolved by means of virtuous behaviour. In November 333 BC, the armies of Alexander and Darius III, king of Persia, fought a battle near the town of Issus, in southern Anatolia. It was on this occasion that Alexander and Darius met for the first time. While Alexander fought on horseback, shoulder to shoulder with his men, Darius led his forces from a towering war chariot. After a frontal attack by the Macedonian cavalry, Darius fled from the battlefield, not only conceding victory to Alexander but also leaving behind his family, who, according to Persian custom, had followed the king to war. The relevant event occurred in the aftermath of the battle, when Alexander was informed that the women of Darius’s family – his aged mother Sisygambis, along with his famously beautiful wife and two equally charming unmarried daughters – were in their tent in the Persian military camp, weeping and mourning for Darius, as if he were dead. Alexander went to meet them and, deciding to display mercy and magnanimity, reassured the women that Darius was alive and that their own lives would be spared and their royal status respected. There is, however, a twist to the story. The moment Alexander entered the tent, accompanied by his close friend Hephaestion, the queen mother Sisygambis prostrated herself in order to plead for mercy. But she had never seen Alexander and, impressed by the taller and more handsome Hephaestion, she threw herself at the feet of the wrong man, mistaking the king’s friend for the king himself. While everyone gasped in horror, someone from the royal retinue alerted Sisygambis to her mistake. To everyone’s surprise, however, Alexander stepped forward and raised the kneeling Sisygambis from the ground, telling her: ‘You were not mistaken, mother; for this man, too, is Alexander.’ It is this episode which appears in the earliest of the many ‘Alexander Rooms’ which were decorated in the Renaissance: the bedchamber of Agostino Chigi in the Villa Farnesina in Rome. On the east wall, the fresco painted by Sodoma in 1518–1519 shows the queen mother kneeling before Alexander and Hephaestion, 7 See Aikema (1997) and related catalogue entries in Hadjinicolaou, ed. (1997), 171–86.

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with an unusually large family surrounding her; the courtier under the tent points at the true Alexander, who is about to raise Sisygambis from the ground (Figure 1).8 Sodoma’s fresco is the earliest example of this scene on a monumental scale. From the 1520s, it became increasingly popular and was almost always included in cycles of the stories of Alexander painted in great palaces and homes of the wealthy in Italy and Europe until the nineteenth century.

Figure 1: Sodoma, Alexander and the Family of Darius, 1518–1519, Rome, Villa Farnesina alla Lungara, Room of the Marriage of Alexander the Great and Roxane (Ghigo Roli / Bridgeman Images)

We learn from the Alexander’s biographers and historians that his unconventional way of overcoming difficulties and resolving challenging situations was a notable feature of his character, which often surprised his own companions and contemporaries. The best-known example is ‘The Cutting of the Gordian Knot’, represented, for example, in the Sala Paolina in the Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome, decorated by Perin del Vaga and his workshop around 1545–1547 on commission of the Farnese pope, Paul III.9 The story goes that Alexander reached the venerable temple of Gordium, in Phrygia, where there was a famous chariot, the yoke

8 On Sodoma’s frescoes at the Farnesina, see Bartalini (2014), with previous bibliography; on the villa, see Frommel, ed. (2003). 9 On the Sala Paolina, see Aliberti Gaudioso / Gaudioso, ed. (1981); for a colour reproduction of ‘The Cutting of the Gordian Knot’, see Parma Armani (1986), 219. The still important Harprath (1978) should be read in light of the review by Hope (1981).

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and pole of which were joined by an intricate knot. According to a local legend, whoever succeeded in unfastening the knot would become the lord of the world. Unable to untie the knot but unwilling to admit defeat, Alexander drew his sword and simply cut through it, fulfilling the prophecy by adopting a solution which no one else had tried or even thought of before.10 Alexander was known for acting on his own convictions, regardless of everyone elses’s advice or expectations. He did so, for example, after Issus and shortly before the battle of Gaugamela, when he refused Darius’s peace offer for the third time. In response to the most experienced and respected of his father Philip’s generals, Parmenion, who had dared to advise the king by saying: ‘If I were Alexander, I would accept these terms’, Alexander replied: ‘And so indeed would I, were I Parmenion.’11 This was precisely the conduct required of a great leader; moreover, it was a key element in the creation of the supernatural aura which came to surround every aspect of his life, giving rise to what is now called ‘the myth of Alexander’. In the case of the ‘Meeting with the Family of Darius’, however, Alexander’s behaviour had deeper and more complex connotations. Having defeated his great enemy Darius on the battlefield of Issus, Alexander had a lawful claim on all of his possessions, including the most precious spoils from the immense booty of the Persian king: the women of the royal family.12 Yet, although this right was indisputable, Alexander did not treat the Persian women as captives but instead made sure that they were treated as queens and princesses. Sisygambis’s mistake in failing to recognize the king was not merely an embarrassing and awkward gaffe, but a potentially dangerous lack of respect on the part of a supplicant towards the man who had the right of life and death over her. Alexander, however, magnanimously chose to interpret her error as a compliment to his general and friend, Hephaestion. In addition, he called her ‘mother’, which took everyone present, including Sisygambis herself, by surprise. The episode became a moment of great significance in her life; and ten years later, when Alexander died in Babylon, she was so grief-stricken at the death of the man she had come to consider her own son that she allowed herself to die of starvation.13 10 The story is reported, with minor variations, by all the main historians of Alexander, with the exception of Diodorus Siculus; see Curtius Rufus, ed. Rolfe (1946), I, 67–71 (Historiae Alexandri Magni, III.1.11–18); Arrian, ed. Brunt (1976–1983), I, 129–31 (Anabasis, II.3.1–8); and Plutarch, ed. Perrin (1919), 273 (Vita Alexandri, XVIII.1–2). On the episode, see Roller (1984); Boitani / Bologna / Cipolla / Liborio, ed. (1997), 560–2 (entry by M. Liborio) and Carraroli (1892), 318–39. 11 Plutarch, ed. Perrin (1919), 311 (Vita Alexandri, XXIX.4). 12 I borrow the description of the women of Darius as ‘the “spoils” won by Alexander’ at Issus from Dimock (2008), 94. 13 For an account of Sisygambis’s death, see Curtius Rufus, ed. Rolfe (1946), II, 521–3 (Historiae Alexandri Magni, X.5.19–25).

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The ‘Meeting with the Family of Darius’, as recounted in the ancient sources, has a complicated plot. In addition, as is often the case in the Alexander tradition, while the four authors we mostly rely on (the Roman historian Curtius Rufus, and the Greek historians Plutarch, Arrian, and Diodorus Siculus) agree on the essential elements of the story, they present slightly varied versions of it, in particular, praising different virtues shown by Alexander. Curtius Rufus, writing in the first century AD, presented the ‘Meeting’ as an example of continence and clemency.14 In Plutarch’s version, Alexander’s continence was combined with chastity rather than clemency – the beauty of Darius’s wife and daughters and the self-restraint of Alexander were paramount in his account.15 Arrian and Diodorus Siculus, on the other hand, focused on the compassion he showed to the defeated Persian enemy.16 Another author should be added to the list, even though he was not one of the historians of Alexander: Valerius Maximus included the ‘Meeting’ in his Memorable Doings and Sayings as an exemplum of friendship,17 highlighting Alexander’s reference to Hephaestion as ‘another Alexander’ – in line, of course, with the Aristotelian idea that a friend is another self.18 This multi-faceted episode from Alexander’s life, which could be, and was, used to exemplify several virtues, was a gift to the visual arts, because it offered a wide range of possibilities to painters and their patrons, resulting in a number of iconographic variations. Consequently, pictures labelled ‘The Meeting of Alexander and the Family of Darius’, depending on the element of the story being illustrated, can differ quite a bit; moreover, it is not always easy to identify which moment or combination of moments the artist has chosen to portray. Among many examples from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century is a large canvas of around 1710 by Antonio Bellucci, possibly from a Venetian palace and now in the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford (Figure 2); the emphasis is placed on the proskynesis, or prostration, of Sisygambis, with a eunuch from her retinue pointing at the true king, as in the Sodoma fresco in the Farnesina.19 The same scene is also portrayed in a painting by Giuseppe Bazzani in the Palazzo d’Arco at Mantua, which is part of a set of seven stories of Alexander made in about 1740.20 In other 14 See Curtius Rufus, ed. Rolfe (1946), I, 143 (Historiae Alexandri Magni, III.12.21). 15 Plutarch, ed. Perrin (1919), 283–5 (Vita Alexandri, XXI.3–4). 16 Arrian, ed. Brunt (1976–1983), I, 169 (Anabasis, II.12.8) and Diodorus Siculus, ed. Bradford Welles (1963), 227 (Bibliotheca historica, XVII.38.4–5). 17 Valerius Maximus, ed. Briscoe (1998), I, 283–4 (Facta et dicta memorabilia, IV.7.7 ext. 2). 18 Aristotle, ed. Rackham (1934), 533–9 (Nicomachean Ethics, IX.4). The notion is also in Cicero, ed. Falconer (1923), 188 (De amicitia, XXI.80: ‘verus amicus […] est tamquam alter idem’) and Cicero, ed. Shackleton Bailey (1999), I, 252 (Ad Atticum, III.15.4: ‘accuso […] te quasi me alterum’). 19 For Bellucci’s painting, see Casley / Harrison / Whiteley, ed. (2004), 12, and Whistler (2016), 64–9, no. 7. 20 See Signorini (2000), 174–83.

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depictions, the spotlight falls instead on the two friends, caught at the moment when Alexander declares that Hephaestion is also Alexander.21 In visual terms, this moment is usually shown as Alexander and Hephaestion pointing at each other (or Hephaestion at himself), as in the Castle Orsini-Odescalchi of Bracciano, near Rome, where the episode of the ‘Meeting’ appears among the Alexander stories painted in 1559–1560 by the Zuccari brothers on the vault of the bedchamber of Paolo Giordano I Orsini and Isabella de’ Medici (Figure 3).22 Several similar works are found well into the eighteenth century: Sebastiano Ricci’s painting of 1708–1710 in the North Carolina Museum of Raleigh, for instance, and Giambattista Tiepolo’s magnificent fresco of 1743–1744 in the Villa Cordellina at Montecchio Maggiore, Vicenza.23

Figure 2: Antonio Bellucci, Alexander and the Family of Darius, c. 1710, Oxford, Ashmolean Museum (© Ashmolean Museum)

More problematic is one of the most beautiful and influential depictions of the subject, vividly described by Henry James as ‘the family of Darius rustling and pleading and weeping at the feet of Alexander’:24 the huge canvas by Paolo Veronese for the Pisani Moretta, now at the National Gallery in London (Figure 4), with its unusual sequence of gestures and the apparent presence of members of the Pisani family disguised as figures from ancient history.25 The ‘Tent of 21 See Curtius Rufus, ed. Rolfe (1946), I, 143 (Historiae Alexandri Magni, III.12.17). 22 On the Bracciano cycle, alongside Acidini Luchinat (1998–1999), I, 116–23, see Daniotti (2019), esp. 329–45. 23 For Ricci’s painting, and its pendant with The Continence of Scipio also in Raleigh, see Daniels, ed. (1976), 111–12, no. 257; on Tiepolo’s frescoes at the Villa Cordellina, see Pavanello, ed. (2010–2011), I, 416–23, no. 112 (entry by A. Mariuz). 24 James (1909), 18. 25 On the Veronese painting, originally commissioned for Villa Pisani at Montagnana (Padua), see Terribile (2009); Penny (2008), 354–87; Gould (1978); and Salomon (2014), 117–21. On the Pisani Moretta Palace overlooking the Grand Canal in Venice, where the painting hung from the 1630s until its acquisition by the National Gallery in 1857, see Chiappini di Sorio (1983) and Craievich, ed. (2015).

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Figure 3: Taddeo and Federico Zuccari, Alexander and the Family of Darius, 1559–1560, Bracciano, Orsini-Odescalchi Castle (Photo by Roberto Sigismondi)

Darius’, now in the Versailles palace, painted by Charles Le Brun for Louis XIV in 1660–1661 and frequently copied on objects as varied as tapestries, wooden reliefs,26 fans,27 and mother of pearl decorative items,28 owes something of its general composition to Veronese’s masterpiece.29 Another variation of the ‘Meeting’ also deserves to be mentioned, not least because it appears in one of the most remarkable Alexander cycles of the Renaissance: the previously mentioned Sala Paolina in the Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome. At first, the scene depicted at the end of the east wall (Figure 5) seems to have very little in common with the pictures of the ‘Meeting’ examined so far. The scene illustrated, however, comes from an account in one of the main ancient sources for the episode, Curtius Rufus,30 who reports that, after Alexander raised 26 Boxwood relief of around 1777–1780 by Antoine-Marin Melotte, from a six-piece set after Le Brun, possibly commissioned by Catherine II of Russia and now in St Petersburg, State Hermitage Museum; see Trofimova, ed. (2010), 276, no. 320 (entry by I. Yetoeva). 27 A French example of 1720–1740, possibly engraved by Gérard Edelinck and Simon Gribelin, is in Boston, Museum of Fine Arts (inv. 01.6685). 28 For Jean Gaulette’s circular relief of 1680–1700, in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, see Trusted, ed. (2007), 142, pl. 262. 29 On the ‘Tent of Darius’, see Kirchner (2013); on Le Brun’s visual sources, including Veronese, see Grell / Michel (1988), 106–8. For Le Brun’s Alexander cycle, to which the ‘Tent of Darius’ belongs, and the series of tapestries based on it, see La Tenture (2008). 30 Curtius Rufus, ed. Rolfe (1946), I, 145 (Historiae Alexandri Magni, III.12.26).

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Figure 4: Paolo Veronese, The Family of Darius before Alexander, 1565–1567, London, National Gallery (Bridgeman Images)

Sisygambis from the ground and talked to her, he turned to Darius’s little son sheltering in his mother’s lap and took him into his arms; and everyone was amazed to see the boy showing no fear at all of Alexander and cheerfully putting his arms around his neck. In the Sala Paolina fresco, we see Sisygambis still on her knees and Hephaestion taken aback with surprise at the little boy’s gesture. This version of the ‘Meeting’ is unique in the sixteenth century and very rarely features in the later tradition; with its emphasis on the benevolent, almost fatherly, behaviour shown by Alexander towards Darius’s son and the absence of his wife and daughters, whose beauty might be a source of temptation, this image was an appropriate iconographic choice for the papal apartments of Paul III.31 The scene does not, however, appear in the Alexander cycles directly inspired by the Sala Paolina frescoes and commissioned by members of the Farnese entourage for their palaces in the outskirts of Rome (for example, the Palazzo Crispo in Bolsena), where the more conventional encounter with Sisygambis is preferred instead.32 The ‘Meeting of Alexander and the Family of Darius’ was depicted long before the Sala Paolina was decorated. The subject first occurs in a number of cassoni panels, that is, the wooden paintings decorating the fronts of marriage chests. I know of six panels of this kind: the present whereabouts of three of them is

31 See Terribile (2009), 63–4. 32 For the Bolsena palace, owned by Cardinal Tiberio Crispo, castellano of Castel Sant’Angelo during the decoration of the Sala Paolina, see De Romanis (1995), esp. 1–6 and 13–16. For other palaces in the Lazio influenced by the Farnese decorations, which often include an Alexander cycle, see Picardi (2012), 107–40.

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Figure 5: Perin del Vaga, Alexander and the Family of Darius, 1545–1547, Rome, Castel Sant’Angelo, Sala Paolina (per gentile concessione della Direzione Musei Statali della città di Roma – Museo Nazionale di Castel Sant’Angelo)

unknown,33 while the other three are now in the British Museum in London, in the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga in Lisbon, and in a private collection in Fiesole.34 With only one exception (the untraced panel once in the Artaud de Montor collection, which on stylistic grounds has been dated to about 1460 and 33 On the most remarkable panel, which was once the pride of the art collection of the Earl of Crawford in London, see Callmann (1974), 70, no. 41; for the second piece from the George R. Hann Collection at Sewickley, Pennsylvania, which was auctioned in New York in 1980, see Callmann (1974), 71, no. 44, and Christie’s, New York (1980), lot. 82. A third panel, formerly in the collection of Alexis-François Artaud de Montor in Paris, was sold in 1997 and has been untraced since; see Christie’s, London (1997), lot. 74. 34 For the British Museum panel, see Callmann (1974), 71, no. 45, and Syson / Thornton (2001), 73. The painting now in private hands in Fiesole is discussed in Mannini, ed. (1999), 138–41. The Lisbon panel is published in Daniotti (2022), 137 and 194, fig. 35, in which the whole group of six cassone panels is also discussed at length (134–42).

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attributed to Lo Scheggia), they have been dated to around 1450 and ascribed to the most fashionable workshop in Florence specializing in this branch of artistic production: the prolific bottega of Apollonio di Giovanni (c. 1416–1465) and Marco del Buono Giamberti (1402–1489).35 These panels present very similar compositions, with only minor variations – an unsurprising feature, given the nature of cassoni, objects which Graham Hughes has called ‘the fruits of the first batch production, in the history of art’.36 Despite its not particularly high artistic quality and poor state of preservation, the piece which best epitomizes the compositional arrangement of the ‘Meeting’ as it appears on cassoni panels is the one in the British Museum (Figure 6).

Figure 6: Apollonio di Giovanni and workshop, The Battle of Issus and Alexander and the Family of Darius, c. 1450, London, British Museum (© The Trustees of the British Museum)

Nearly three-quarters of the panel is occupied by a large military encounter, which is doubtless the battle of Issus. The animated fighting of knights and infantrymen is so closely packed that Alexander, in the absence of any distinctive features, cannot be identified for certain, even on close inspection. But the figure of Darius, commanding his army from his war chariot, as described in the ancient sources, is unmistakable. We can also be certain that this is the battle of Issus because of the scene on the left-hand side of the panel, which is the ‘Meeting with the Family of Darius’: Sisygambis kneels before Alexander, with Darius’s wife and two daughters behind her and Alexander helping her up from the ground. By juxtaposing the Battle of Issus and the ‘Meeting with the Family of Darius’, which took place in its immediate aftermath, these earlier depictions in cassoni panels closely follow the literary source on which they relied: the Historiae Alexandri Magni by Curtius Rufus, available not only in the original Latin but also, as early as 1438, in the vernacular translation provided by the Milanese

35 From the vast literature on Apollonio and his workshop, see esp. Callmann (1974) and Gombrich (1955). A still useful summary of scholarship on Apollonio and on cassone painting is offered by Vertova (1976). 36 Hughes (1997), 10.

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humanist Pier Candido Decembrio (1399–1477).37 This explicit visual connection between the military battle and the exemplum virtutis to which it directly led disappeared, however, in the sixteenth century, when the ‘Meeting with the Family of Darius’ was no longer regularly paired with the Battle of Issus. As far as I am aware, the great canvas by Veronese is the only painting of the ‘Meeting’ to have been conceived as an independent work of art. Yet even when included in larger cycles illustrating the stories of Alexander, the depiction of the ‘Meeting’ is almost never paired with the representation of Issus. If we consider only Venetian art, which made an important contribution to this theme, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the episode was usually treated as a pendant to other examples of magnanimity such as ‘Alexander Covering with His Cloak the Body of Darius Murdered by His Satraps’ – an episode taken from Plutarch,38 illustrated, for instance, by Antonio Pellegrini39 and Giambattista Crosato40 – or ‘The Continence of Scipio Africanus’, most famously frescoed by Giambattista Tiepolo in the Villa Cordellina in Montecchio Maggiore near Vicenza.41 The emphasis of the ‘Meeting’ therefore comes to be placed exclusively on the moral lesson which it conveys, ignoring its connection to the battle which preceded it. In this exemplary episode from antiquity, conflicts between Greeks and Persians, victors and defeated, conquerors and captives are all resolved by Alexander’s virtuous behaviour, which produces a peaceful reconciliation. This result is achieved notwithstanding the cultural differences, highlighted by the ancient sources, between the Greek Alexander and the Persian women. Darius’s wife and daughters, for instance, are said to weep in a barbaric way, which is utterly foreign.42 Also, the Persian idea of kingship had some bearing on the mistake made by Sisygambis in front of Alexander: Persians expected a king to be tall and handsome; so Alexander, who is reported to have been neither, could

37 Decembrio’s version of the Historiae circulated widely in manuscript well before the Florentine editio princeps of 1478 and triggered the popularity of Curtius’s account, first in Italy and then in Europe; see Pade (1998); Zaggia (1993), 199–219; and Materni (2018); see also Pade (2007), I, 251–4, and Ross (1963), 68. On Curtius’s text, which was not unknown in the Middle Ages but exerted a limited direct influence before the 1400s, see Dosson (1887) and Baynham (1998); more recently, together with the many contributions gathered in Gaullier-Bougassas, ed. (2018), see Oakley (2020), 9–284. 38 Plutarch, ed. Perrin (1919), 353 (Vita Alexandri, XLIII.3). 39 Pellegrini’s ‘Meeting with the Family of Darius’ and its pendant of Alexander covering Darius’s corpse, dated to 1702–1703, are now in the Musée Municipal of Soissons; see Knox (1995), 26, and Bettagno, ed. (1998), 116–17 respectively. 40 For the Alexander fresco cycle painted by Crosato in the ballroom of the Villa Marcello near Padua around 1753, including the two episodes at hand, see Daniotti (2011). 41 See Pavanello, ed. (2010–2011), 416–23, no. 112 (entry by A. Mariuz). 42 Curtius Rufus, ed. Rolfe (1946), I, 136 (Historiae Alexandri Magni, III.12.3) speaks of a ‘lugubris clamor, barbaro ululatu planctuque permixtus’.

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easily have been confused with a soldier from his army, particularly one as imposing as Hephaestion, standing beside him.43 For more than three centuries, starting in the mid-Quattrocento, Alexander was held up to princes, rulers, and aristocrats as a model for emulation; but the episodes from his life which were most depicted were his moral virtues, not his military prowess. He was regarded as the perfect cortegiano; and within this context, the ‘Meeting with the Family of Darius’ was the most telling instance of how a man of arms could also be a man of mercy. In fifteenth- and sixteeenthcentury literature, there are countless references to the ‘Meeting of Alexander and the Persian women’ as a noble example to be imitated.44 And it is significant that even Petrarch, whose De viris illustribus includes one of the harshest attacks ever made on Alexander, exempts only a single deed of his from reproach: the ‘insignis pietas’, to use his own words, which Alexander bestowed on the women of Darius.45 When we think of Alexander today, we have in mind a very different character. The image of the virtuous prince who behaved with exemplary magnanimity to a group of ill-fated women has got lost. Our Alexander is essentially a war leader, a fearless commander, an unsurpassed military strategist. What has remained constant, despite the different ways in which the life and the figure of Alexander have been interpreted over the centuries, is an enduring fascination with his compelling personality and dramatic life.

43 See Curtius Rufus, ed. Rolfe (1946), II, 49 (Historiae Alexandri Magni, VI.5.29): ‘All the barbarians feel veneration for a majestic presence, and believe that only those are capable of great deeds whom nature has deigned to adorn with extraordinary physical attractiveness.’ The same amazement of Sisygambis’s at first seeing Alexander is also attributed to the Scythian envoys who were sent to meet Alexander on the bank of the river Tanais (Curtius Rufus, ed. Rolfe [1946], 199 [Historiae Alexandri Magni, VII.8.9]) and to the queen of the Amazons Thalestris, who was granted her wish to conceive a child from Alexander (Curtius Rufus [1946], II, 49 [Historiae Alexandri Magni, VI.5.29]). 44 See, most notably, Castiglione, ed. Javitch (2002), 177 (Il libro del Cortegiano, III.39): ‘I will simply remind you of the continence of two very great commanders, who were young and were enjoying the fruits of victory, which is wont to make men insolent even in the lowest ranks. One is that of Alexander the Great toward the very beautiful women of Darius, a vanquished enemy; the other is that of Scipio […]’. 45 Petrarca, ed. Martellotti (1964), 59. On Petrarch’s view of Alexander, see Fenzi (2003), esp. 447–68 (‘Alessandro nel De viris’) and 469–90 (‘Grandi infelici: Alessandro e Cesare’), as well as Fenzi (2018). Also useful are Cary (1950) and Braccesi (1993).

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Bibliography Sources Aristotle, ed. H. Rackham (1934), The Nicomachean Ethics, 2nd edition, London / Cambridge, MA. Arrian, ed. P. A. Brunt (1976–1983), Anabasis Alexandri and Indica, 2 vols, Cambridge, MA / London. Cicero, ed. W. A. Falconer (1923), On Old Age. On Friendship. On Divination, Cambridge, MA / London. Cicero, ed. D. R. Shackleton Bailey (1999), Letters to Atticus, 4 vols, Cambridge, MA / London. Castiglione, Baldassare, ed. D. Javitch (2002), The Book of the Courtier: The Singleton Translation. An Authoritative Text Criticism [Il libro del Cortegiano], New York. Curtius Rufus, Quintus, ed. J. C. Rolfe (1946), History of Alexander [Historiae Alexandri Magni], 2 vols, Cambridge, MA / London. Diodorus Siculus, ed. C. Bradford Welles (1963), Bibliotheca historica, Cambridge, MA / London, VIII. Petrarca, Francesco, ed. G. Martellotti (1964), ‘De Alexandro Macedone’, in De viris illustribus, Florence, 58–71. Plutarch, ed. B. Perrin (1919), ‘Alexander’ [Vita Alexandri], in Lives, 11 vols, Cambridge, MA / London, VII, 223–439. Valerius Maximus, ed. J. Briscoe (1998), Facta et dicta memorabilia, 2 vols, Stuttgart / Leipzig.

Secondary Literature Acidini Luchinat, C. (1998–1999), Taddeo e Federico Zuccari: fratelli pittori del Cinquecento, 2 voll., Milano / Roma. Aikema, B. (1997), ‘Exemplum Virtutis: “The Family of Darius before Alexander” in Renaissance and Baroque Art’, in Alexander the Great in European Art [Greek version: Ho Megas Alexandros ste¯n Euro¯païke¯ techne¯] (exhibition catalogue, Thessaloniki, Organisation for the Cultural Capital of Europe, 1997–1998), ed. N. Hadjinicolaou, Athens, 164–70. Alfano, C., ed. (1995), Alessandro Magno: storia e mito (catalogo della mostra, Roma, Palazzo Ruspoli, 1995–1996), Milano. Aliberti Gaudioso, F. M. / Gaudioso, E., ed. (1981), Gli affreschi di Paolo III a Castel Sant’Angelo: progetto ed esecuzione 1543–1548 (catalogo della mostra, Roma, Museo Nazionale di Castel Sant’Angelo, 1981–1982), 2 voll., Roma. Anceschi, V. (2013), Alessandro Magno nella letteratura italiana: la figura del condottiero macedone nell’Umanesimo e nel Rinascimento, Saarbrücken. Bartalini, R. (2014), ‘Sulla camera di Alessandro e Rossane alla Farnesina e sui soggiorni romani del Sodoma (con una nota su Girolamo Genga a Roma e le sue relazioni con i Chigi)’, Prospettiva 153–4, 39–73.

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Baynham, E. (1998), Alexander the Great: The Unique History of Quintus Curtius, Ann Arbor. Bettagno, A., ed. (1998), Antonio Pellegrini: il maestro veneto del Rococò alle corti d’Europa (catalogo della mostra, Padova, Palazzo della Ragione, 1998–1999), Venezia. Biasutti, F. / Coppola, A., ed. (2009), Alessandro Magno in età moderna, Padova. Boitani, P. / Bologna, C. / Cipolla, A. / Liborio, M., ed. (1997), Alessandro nel Medioevo occidentale, Milano. Braccesi, L. (1993), ‘Giustino e l’Alessandro del Petrarca’, in L’Alessandro di Giustino (dagli antichi ai moderni), ed. L. Braccesi / A. Coppola / G. Cresci Marrone / C. Franco, Roma, 99–145. – (2006), L’Alessandro occidentale: il Macedone e Roma, Roma. Callmann, E. (1974), Apollonio di Giovanni, Oxford. Carraroli, D. (1892), La leggenda di Alessandro Magno: studio storico-critico, Mondovì. Cary, G. (1950), ‘Petrarch and Alexander the Great’, Italian Studies 5, 43–55. – (1956), The Medieval Alexander, ed. D. J. A. Ross, Cambridge. Casley , C. / Harrison, C. / Whiteley, J., ed. (2004), The Ashmolean Museum: Complete Illustrated Catalogue of Paintings, Oxford. Centanni, M. (2010), ‘Alexander the Great’, in The Classical Tradition, ed. A. Grafton / G. W. Most / S. Settis, Cambridge, MA / London, 25–31. Chiappini di Sorio, I. (1983), Palazzo Pisani Moretta: economia, arte, vita sociale di una famiglia veneziana nel diciottesimo secolo, Milano. Christie’s, London (1997), Important Old Master Pictures, 4 July. Christie’s, New York (1980), Important Paintings by Old Masters, 5 June. Craievich, A., ed. (2015), I Pisani Moretta: storia e collezionismo (catalogo della mostra, Venezia, Ca’ Rezzonico, Museo del Settecento Veneziano, 2015), Crocetta del Montello (Treviso). Daniels, J. ed. (1976), L’opera completa di Sebastiano Ricci, Milano. Daniotti, C. (2011), ‘Storie di Alessandro Magno in villa: intorno agli affreschi di Giambattista Crosato a Ca’ Marcello, Levada di Piombino Dese’, Arte Documento 27, 160–7. – (2019), ‘Stories of Valour and Love for a Wedding: The Sala di Alessandro Magno and Sala di Psiche in the Castle of Bracciano’, in Building Family Identity: The Orsini Castle of Bracciano from Fiefdom to Duchy (1470–1698), ed. P. Alei / M. Grossman, New York / Oxford, 329–50. – (2022), Reinventing Alexander: Myth, Legend, History in Renaissance Italian Art, Turnhout. De Romanis, A. (1995), Il Palazzo di Tiberio Crispo a Bolsena, Roma. Descamps-Lequime, S., ed. (2011), Au royaume d’Alexandre le Grand: la Macédoine antique (catalogue d’exposition, Paris, Musée du Louvre, 2011–2012), Paris. Dimock, W. C. (2008), Through Other Continents: American Literature Across Deep Time, Princeton. Dosson, S. (1887), Étude sur Quinte Curce, sa vie et son oeuvre, Paris. Fenzi, E. (2003), Saggi petrarcheschi, Fiesole. – (2018), “Petrarca e Alessandro: dal mito alla storia”, in Postérités européennes de Quinte-Curce: De l’humanisme aux Lumières (XIVe–XVIIIe siècle), ed. C. GaullierBougassas, Turnhout, 55–97.

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Frommel, C. L., ed. (2003), La Villa Farnesina a Roma/The Villa Farnesina in Rome, 2 voll., Modena. Frugoni, C. (1973), Historia Alexandri elevati per griphos ad aerem: origine, iconografia e fortuna di un tema, Roma. – (1978), La fortuna di Alessandro Magno dall’antichità al Medioevo, Firenze. Galanakis, Y., ed. (2011), Heracles to Alexander the Great: Treasures from the Royal Capital of Macedon, a Hellenic Kingdom in the Age of Democracy (exhibition catalogue, Oxford, Ashmolean Museum, 2011), Oxford. Gaullier-Bougassas, C., ed. (2014), La fascination pour Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures européennes (Xe–XVIe siècle): réinventions d’un mythe, 4 voll., Turnhout. –, ed. (2018), Postérités européennes de Quinte-Curce: De l’humanisme aux Lumières (XIVe–XVIIIe siècle), Turnhout. Gombrich, E. H. (1955), ‘Apollonio di Giovanni: A Florentine Cassone Workshop Seen through the Eyes of a Humanist Poet’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 18, 16–34. Gould, C. H. M. (1978), The Family of Darius before Alexander by Paolo Veronese: A Résumé, Some New Deductions and Some New Facts, London. Grell, C. / Michel, C. (1988), L’École des princes, ou, Alexandre disgracié: essai sur la mythologie monarchique de la France absolutiste, Paris. Hadjinicolaou, N., ed. (1997), Alexander the Great in European Art [Greek version: Ho Megas Alexandros ste¯n Euro¯païke¯ techne¯] (exhibition catalogue, Thessaloniki, Organisation for the Cultural Capital of Europe, 1997–1998), Athens. Hansen, S. / Wieczorek, A. / Tellenbach, M., ed. (2009), Alexander der Grosse und die Öffnung der Welt: Asiens Kulturen im Wandel (Austellungskatalog, Mannheim, ReissEngelhorn Museen, 2009), Regensburg / Mannheim. Harprath, R. (1978), Papst Paul III. als Alexander der Grosse: das Freskenprogramm der Sala Paolina in der Engelsburg, Berlin / New York. Hope, C. (1981), [review of R. Harprath, Papst Paul III. als Alexander der Grosse: das Freskenprogramm der Sala Paolina in der Engelsburg, Berlin / New York 1978], The Burlington Magazine 123, 104–5. Hughes, G. (1997), Renaissance Cassoni: Masterpieces of Early Italian Art. Painted Marriage Chests 1400–1550, Polegate, Sussex / London. James, H. (1909), Italian Hours, London. Jouanno, C., ed. (2012), Figures d’Alexandre à la Renaissance, Turnhout. Kirchner, T. (2013), Les Reines de Perse aux pieds d’Alexandre de Charles Le Brun: Tableau-manifeste de l’art français du XVIIe siècle, Paris. Knox, G. (1995), Antonio Pellegrini 1675–1741, Oxford. Lane Fox, R. (1973), Alexander the Great, London. Mannini, M. P., ed. (1999), Da Bernardo Daddi a Giorgio Vasari (catalogo della mostra, Firenze, Galleria Moretti, 1999), Firenze. Materni, M. (2018), ‘Pier Candido Decembrio: un émule de Plutarque entraîné à l’école de Quinte-Curce’, in Postérités européennes de Quinte-Curce: De l’humanisme aux Lumières (XIVe–XVIIIe siècle), ed. C. Gaullier-Bougassas, Turnhout, 169–87. Mazzarino, S. (1973), L’impero romano, 3 voll., Roma / Bari. Messina, V., ed. (2007), Sulla via di Alessandro: da Seleucia al Gandhara (catalogo della mostra, Torino, Palazzo Madama, 2007), Cinisello Balsamo.

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Moore, K. R., ed. (2018), Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Alexander the Great, Leiden / Boston. Ng, S. F. (2019), Alexander the Great from Britain to Southeast Asia: Peripheral Empires in the Global Renaissance, Oxford. Noll, T., (2016), ‘The Visual Image of Alexander the Great: Transformations from the Middle Ages to the Early Modern Period’, in Alexander the Great in the Middle Ages: Transcultural Perspectives, ed. M. Stock, Toronto, 244–63. Oakley, S. P., (2020), Studies in the Transmission of Latin Texts, I: Quintus Curtius Rufus and Dictys Cretensis, Oxford. Pade, M. (1998), ‘Curzio Rufo e Plutarco nell’Istoria d’Alexandro Magno: volgarizzamento e compilazione in un testo di Pier Candido Decembrio’, Studi umanistici piceni 18, 101– 13. – (2007), The Reception of Plutarch’s Lives in Fifteenth-Century Italy, 2 vols, Copenhagen. Parma Armani, E. (1986), Perin del Vaga: l’anello mancante. Studi sul Manierismo, Genova. Pavanello, G., ed. (2010–2011), Gli affreschi nelle ville venete: il Settecento, 2 voll., Venezia. Penny, N. (2008), National Gallery Catalogues. The Sixteenth Century Italian Paintings, II: Venice 1540–1600, London. Pérez-Simon, M. (2015), Mise en roman et mise en image: les manuscrits du Roman d’Alexandre en prose, Paris. Picardi, P. (2012), Perino del Vaga, Michele Lucchese e il Palazzo di Paolo III al Campidoglio: circolazione e uso dei modelli dell’antico nelle decorazioni farnesiane a Roma, Roma. Roisman, J., ed. (2003), Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, Leiden / Boston. Roller, L. E. (1984), ‘Midas and the Gordian Knot’, Classical Antiquity 3, 256–71. Ross, D. J. A. (1963), Alexander Historiatus: A Guide to Medieval Illustrated Alexander Literature, London. – (1971), Illustrated Medieval Alexander-Books in Germany and the Netherlands: A Study in Comparative Iconography, Cambridge. – (2019), Illustrated Medieval Alexander-Books in French Verse, ed. M. Pérez-Simon / A. Stones, Turnhout. Salomon, X. F. (2014), Veronese (exhibition catalogue, London, National Gallery, 2014), London. Schmidt, V. M. (1995), A Legend and Its Image: The Aerial Flight of Alexander the Great, Groningen. Signorini, R. (2000), La dimora dei conti d’Arco in Mantova: stanze di un museo di famiglia, Mantova. Sordi, M., ed. (1984), Alessandro Magno tra storia e mito, Milano. Spencer, D. (2002), The Roman Alexander: Reading a Cultural Myth, Exeter. Stock, M., ed. (2016), Alexander the Great in the Middle Ages: Transcultural Perspectives, Toronto. Stoneman, R., (2008), Alexander the Great: A Life in Legend, New Haven / London. Syson, L. / Thornton, D. (2001), Objects of Virtue: Art in Renaissance Italy, London. La Tenture (2008), La Tenture de l’Histoire d’Alexandre le Grand (catalogue d’exposition, Paris, Galerie des Gobelins, 2008–2009), Paris.

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Terribile, C. (2009), Del piacere della virtù: Paolo Veronese, Alessandro Magno e il patriziato veneziano, Venezia. Treves, P. (1953), Il mito di Alessandro e la Roma di Augusto, Milano. Trofimova, A., ed. (2010), The Immortal Alexander the Great: The Myth, The Reality, His Journey, His Legacy (exhibition catalogue, Amsterdam, Hermitage Amsterdam, 2010– 2011), Amsterdam. Trusted, M., ed. (2007), The Making of Sculpture: The Materials and Techniques of European Sculpture, London. Vertova, L. (1976), ‘Apollonio di Giovanni’ [review of E. Callmann, Apollonio di Giovanni, Oxford 1974], The Burlington Magazine 118, 523–4. Whistler, C. (2016), Baroque and Later Paintings in the Ashmolean Museum, London. Zaggia, M. (1993), ‘Appunti sulla cultura letteraria in volgare a Milano nell’età di Filippo Maria Visconti’, Giornale storico della letteratura italiana 170, 161–219. Zuwiyya, Z. D., ed. (2011), A Companion to Alexander Literature in the Middle Ages, Leiden / Boston.

Laurent Paya

Les livres de modèles de broderies du XVIe siècle, et la résolution de conflits esthétiques par la mescolanza

Sommaire Les livres de modèles de broderies publiés au XVIe siècle comptent un nombre impressionnant d’ouvrages, notamment en raison d’un phénomène de réimpression généralisé de modèles existants. Or ce corpus, peu étudié, soulève de profondes interrogations relatives à la théorie des arts de l’ornement à la Renaissance. En effet, ces recueils rassemblent des modèles représentatifs d’univers culturels de prime abord très différents, voire conflictuels, que l’historiographie a opposés, puisque les dessinateurs et leurs imprimeurs ont fait aussi bien usage d’un répertoire de formes gothiques, gréco-latines qu’islamique. Comme on le sait, au début des temps modernes en Europe, l’incorporation d’ornements étrangers au langage des formes gréco-latines à un champ des arts du décor est à considérer comme une entrave à la renovatio antiquitatis, promue par les humanistes et les artistes. De fait, en certaines occasions, il est possible de déroger à cette règle, car l’assemblage de formes hétéroclites satisfait le principe de mescolanza, comme esthétique du disparate, du composite ou de l’amalgame, observable dans l’architecture ou la littérature. De la sorte, dans les livres de broderies publiés au début de l’époque moderne, la mescolanza prévaut aux oppositions fondamentales entre catégories esthétiques. Les ornemanistes auteurs de ces séries de modèles, ainsi que leur lectorat, s’accommodent donc volontiers d’un vocabulaire ornemental truffé d’invraisemblances lexicales. Cet art du mélange conflictuel assumé, qu’il ne faut pas confondre avec la confusione théorisée par Serlio, intègre une stratégie rhétorique, relevant de l’elocutio, pourvoyeuse de copia (abondance) et de varietas (diversité). Or, ces vertus esthétiques des figures ornementales, intégrées au decorum princier, sont pour les contemporains l’expression de vertus morales.

Au XVIe siècle, vêtements, objets d’ameublement – en particulier tentures et tapis de table – et même certaines couvertures de livres sont somptueusement ‘ peints à l’aiguille ’, c’est-à-dire brodés, par les membres d’une corporation de brodeurs professionnels1 ou par les femmes de l’élite sociale. Ces dernières forment un large lectorat à qui s’adressent la plupart des livres de modèles. Arthur Lotz est l’auteur de la plus importante publication scientifique relative à ces œuvres: il a 1 Castres (2016).

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ainsi recensé un corpus impressionnant de 156 ouvrages publiés entre 1523 et 1700 en 400 éditions. Ses recherches ont prolongé un recensement qui débuta à la fin du XIXe siècle, et des spécialistes continuent de préciser les attributions des gravures et découvrent de nouvelles suites plus rares.2 Le champ de notre étude est restreint au XVIe siècle, période durant laquelle l’émulation est sans doute la plus intense, et les éditions déjà très nombreuses. Elle débute par les premières gravures de broderies, attribuées à des artistes extrêmement célèbres, Léonard de Vinci et Albrecht Dürer, et se termine au moment où se diffusent les premières dentelles. Cette abondance est pour une large part la conséquence d’un phénomène de ‘ plagiat ’ généralisé, qu’il ne faut pas considérer comme une contrefaçon éhontée mais comme une conséquence spécifique des mécanismes de la pensée créative de cette époque, comme nous le montrerons. Ces patrons de broderies qui témoignent de transformations de la production de vêtements et d’ameublement n’étaient pas seulement destinés aux femmes patriciennes, comme on l’a trop souvent cru. Jusqu’au XVe siècle, la broderie était même le monopole des hommes.3 De plus, ces modèles n’étaient pas destinés à un public, hommes ou femmes, exerçant uniquement dans le domaine de la décoration textile, mais aussi dans la ferronnerie, l’orfèvrerie, la maroquinerie, et la céramique, etc. Le caractère ‘ proto-industriel ’ de l’activité des imprimeurs de ces suites a également été étudié.4 Mais ces recherches ne traitent que très succinctement des questions d’esthétique, qui interrogent pourtant tant les ornements rassemblés sont représentatifs d’univers culturels de prime abord différents, voire opposés et conflictuels. Notre sujet ne concerne donc pas un affrontement direct entre personnes ou états, mais une manifestation de profondes divergences esthétiques en matière d’ornements. Aussi, cette étude envisage-t-elle la façon dont les ornemanistes ont réussi à résoudre l’opposition, couramment reconnue par l’historiographie, entre d’une part un répertoire de formes traditionnels, souvent qualifié de gothiques, et d’autre part un répertoire à l’antique promu par l’humanisme, souvent qualifié de moderne. Rappelons que le qualificatif ‘ gotico ’, qui est d’abord utilisé dans la lettre dite de Raphaël – probablement rédigée par Baldassare Castiglione – au Pape Léon X (1518 ou 1519), est repris et généralisé par Giorgio Vasari, dès 1550 puis en 1568, qui le réprouve en le qualifiant de ‘ mostruosi e barbari ’.5 Ce processus, étudié récemment dans l’architecture, qui assemble deux notions stylistiques que l’on a souvent opposées et de deux périodes chronologiques que l’historiographie a souvent séparées a donné l’ex2 Adda (1863), 342–59 et Adda (1864), 421–36; Guilmard (1881); Whiting (1920); Lotz (1963); Schéle (1965); Byrne (1979), 103–38, et (1981); Bambach Cappel (1991), 72–98; Fuhring (1994); Andreaoli (2006); Leutrat (2007); Speelberg (2015); Castres (2020). 3 Plebani (2015), 201–30. 4 Witcombe (2004); Speelberg (2015). 5 Vasari (1568), 26.

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pression ‘ Renaissance gothic ’ ou ‘ gothique de la Renaissance ’.6 Par ailleurs, au début de l’époque moderne de surprenants échanges artistiques interviennent entre l’Occident chrétien et l’Orient musulman, en particulier en matière d’ornements7 dont témoignent également les recueils de modèles de broderies. Cette incorporation des arts de l’Islam au sein des arts du décor et du vêtement, quand partout en Europe la renovatio antiquitatis est encouragée par les humanistes, est de prime abord singulièrement conflictuelle. Or, il existe alors un goût particulier pour le mélange, dénommé mescolanza,8 ou ‘ esthétique du disparate ’,9 déjà mis en évidence dans des contextes artistiques différents de celui de l’ornement brodé.10 Pouvons-nous comprendre les conflits stylistiques à l’œuvre à l’intérieur de ces recueils de broderies,11 qui assemblent de nombreux éléments stylistiques déconnectés, grâce au concept de mescolanza? En outre, ces infractions aux règles de la théorie du bon goût antiquisant, peuvent-elles s’interpréter comme une quête d’harmonie paradoxale sous-tendue par des concepts, à la fois artistiques et rhétoriques?

Quand Léonard perdait son temps à dessiner des entrelacs Nous n’avons pas mis en évidence de manuscrits médiévaux explicitement destinés à la broderie, mais il existe plusieurs suites de modèles d’ornements qui s’y rapportent.12 La précision des schémas, la qualité des esquisses, l’exactitude 6 7 8 9 10

Kavaler (2000), 226–51. Howard (1975). Pauwels (2008), 53–4. Zerner (2002), 15. Voir note 7 pour l’architecture. En littérature, l’écriture langue macaronique (de l’italien maccaronico, macaronico, ou, plus fréquemment, maccheronico) au XVe siècle en Italie, pour écrire des poésies est un exemple de mescolanza, puisque cette langue est composée de mots italiens auxquels on ajoute une syntaxe et des terminaisons latines. On peut citer des écrivains italiens de style macaronique: pour le XVe siècle Bassano (né à Mantoue, mort en 1448) ou encore Tifi Odasi (né à Padoue vers 1450 et mort à la fin du XVe siècle), avec son poème satirique ‘ La Macharonea ’ qui attaque les Padouans soupçonnés de pratiquer la magie; pour le XVIe siècle, en dehors de Folengo et d’Alione, il y a de nombreux écrivains: Guarinus Capella, Barthelemy Bola, Baiano, Zancalaio, Graseri, et Affarosi. 11 Nous utiliserons principalement les recueils issus du corpus numérisé et mis en ligne par la Bibliothèque nationale de France, l’Istituto Nazionale della Grafica, et le MET Museum de New York. 12 L’exceptionnel carnet de Villard de Honnecourt (XIIIe siècle) (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, ms. Fonds français, 19093) est incontestablement un livre de modèles pour l’architecture et l’ornement. Citons par exemple le manuscrit Sloane 1448 A (1440–1450) de la British Library, le livre de modèles de Stephan Schriber de la Bayerische Staatsbibliothek de Munich, ms. icon. 420 (1494), ms. Ashmole 1504 (vers 1520–1530) de la Bodleian Library d’Oxford, et sans doute comme dernier représentant de cette tradition le Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta.

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des plans y sont remarquables. Parfois, les connaissances techniques se cachent derrière des figures énigmatiques: cavaliers, visages humains ou figures animales qui sont l’objet de mécanismes mnémoniques.13 Ces compilations de dessins sont l’œuvre d’un même artiste, principalement réalisées pour son usage personnel. Il peut ainsi copier, ou présenter à un commanditaire ou un apprenti, différents exempla. En conséquence, ces manuscrits assemblent souvent une diversité de dessins hétéroclite et étrange: lettrines, animaux, rinceaux stylisés, scènes de dévotions, monstres, etc. Ces anthologies composites nous apprennent qu’il n’y a pas, à cette époque, de distinction formelle, donc de conflits, entre les forment artistiques décoratives ou narratives, tout en mettant en évidence l’importance de la copie pour l’invention et la formation artistiques. Les spécialistes estiment que les premières gravures occidentales apparaissent dans les derniers siècles du Moyen Âge.14 Ce sont d’abord des gravures sur bois, matière première peu coûteuse, facile à se procurer et travailler, mais d’un rendu assez rude. En Italie, la Vénétie, la Dalmatie, l’Émilie, et la Lombardie voient la xylographie et la gravure sur cuivre se développer dans la première moitié du XVe siècle.15 L’usage du bois s’y prolonge tardivement, jusqu’à la fin du XVIe siècle. La xylographie touche un public populaire, tandis que la taille-douce s’adresse à des commanditaires plus cultivés et fortunés. Cette dernière se généralise à partir de 1430 dans la vallée du Rhin et profite des techniques de l’orfèvrerie: Martin Schongauer (1450–1491), Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528), et les premiers maîtres à monogramme qui contribuent à donner ses lettres de noblesse à cet art, sont orfèvres de formation. Leur renommée s’étend jusqu’en Italie et aux Pays-Bas.16 En 1482, quand Léonard de Vinci quitte Florence pour Milan, il prend avec lui des dessins d’entrelacs,17 comparables à ceux du Codex Atlanticus et des vêtements des personnages dont il peint le portrait.18 Ces expérimentations vont conduire aux célèbres gravures des gruppi di nodi créés par Léonard à Milan vers 1490–1500, qui sont parmi les plus anciens et les plus spectaculaires modèles

13 Carruthers / Ziolkowski (2002). 14 Jobert / Melot (2010). 15 Les italiens seraient les découvreurs de la gravure sur métal – même si cet auteur envisage la possibilité d’une origine germanique. L’orfèvre Maso Finiguerra (1426–1464) aurait ainsi eu l’idée d’encrer des plaques incisées alors destinées à faire des nielles, pour reproduire sur un papier le dessin de ses œuvres. Les bibliothèques et les collections particulières conservent de nombreuses nielles ainsi gravées dès la fin du XVe siècle. En 1461, le véritable moyen d’appliquer ce procédé à la reproduction indéfinie des estampes en série, par l’emploi de la presse à rouleau et des planches de métal serait mis au point par Baccio Baldini. Voir Jobert / Melot (2010). 16 Paoluzzi (2004), 45. Voir également Griffiths (1996); Landau / Parshall (1994). 17 Bambach Cappel (1991), 72–98; Manca (1996), 143. 18 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Codex Atlanticus, 190v et 1066.

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d’ornement européens (Figure 1).19 Les sechs knoten (1506–1507) d’Albrecht Dürer20 seraient des répliques des nodi léonardiens, réalisées durant le deuxième voyage de l’artiste allemand en Italie.21 Ces pièces joueraient un rôle emblématique, qui n’a pas été totalement explicité à ce jour, probablement lié aux rituels de l’amour courtois comme d’une manière générale les nœuds décoratifs.22 Le vaste décor formé de branchages entrelacés ornés de devises peint entre 1496 et 1498 par Léonard pour la Sala delle Asse du château des Sforza à Milan, ainsi que le gruppo di nodi ‘ léonardien ’ dessiné au dos d’un portrait de jeune femme anonyme peint en Italie du nord vers 1506,23 accréditeraient cette hypothèse. Toutefois, il est surprenant de constater que ces ‘ broderies ’ léonardiennes ne font pas intervenir la grammaire ornementale gréco-latine déjà employée par des artistes italiens dans l’enluminure, la sculpture ou l’imprimerie, comme dans le célèbre Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (1499) de Francesco Colonna (1433? –1527). En effet, dès les années 1490, les artistes ont déjà accumulé un véritable répertoire de formes et de motifs classicisants, empruntés pour l’essentiel aux médailles et plaquettes all’antica que l’élite affectionne. Ainsi, en peinture ces ornements antiquisants abondent déjà dans des œuvres Andrea del Verrocchio (vers 1435– 1488), et sont devenus la norme exclusive des décors architecturaux, dans la peinture des contemporains florentins de Léonard tels que Sandro Botticelli (1445–1510), Domenico Ghirlandaio (1449–1494), Le Pérugin (1448–1523) ou Lorenzo di Credi, (vers 1459–1537). Dans le contexte de l’architecture réelle, dans la célèbre lettre au Pape Léon X de 1519, Raffaello Sanzio (1483–1520) et Baldassare Castiglione (1478–1529) qualifient de barbara le gothique qu’ils nomment maniera dell’architettura tedesca.24 Le rejet idéologique est tel que dans la deuxième moitié du XVIe siècle, Giorgio Vasari réprouva aussi le caractère ‘ gothique moderne ’25 des ornements de Léonard, en considérant dans les Vite qu’il

19 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana et Washington, National Gallery of Art. Des croquis d’entrelacs figurant également dans les carnets de Léonard: Windsor, Royal Library, RL 12552, vers 1495; Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Institut de France, mss. A, 114v, et H, 33r, vers 1493; Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Codex Atlanticus, 358va–b, vers 1485–1487 et Codex Atlanticus, 261r , vers 1480– 1482. 20 Coburg, Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg ainsi que Dresden, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden, Kupferstich-Kabinett, Inv. Nr. 1926–31 & B 140 I & M 274 I, Inv. Nr. B 143 I & M 277 I et Inv. Nr. 1886–20 & B 142 I & M 276 I. 21 Manca (1996), 144. 22 Paya (2015), 267–88. 23 Portrait d’une jeune femme, Eleonora Gonzaga (?), vers 1501, une attribution à Raphael aujourd’hui contestée. Dernière localisation: Soprintendenza Beni Artistici e Storici, Florence (2001). Voir Witte (2012), 67–98. 24 Sanzio R. et Castiglione B. (1519), § XI. 25 Gruber (1993), 22–111, et Trilling (1995), 59–86. Les entrelacs, présents partout en Europe au début du Moyen Age, et même pendant l’antiquité, doivent peu à l’art oriental.

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Figure 1: Albrecht Dürer, Ornement d’entrelacs avec médaillon rond en son centre portant monogramme d’après Léonard de Vinci, ‘ Le quatrième noeud ’, Sechs knoten (1506–1507), vers 1490–1500, (21x 29 cm), inv. 1975.653.104, avec l’autorisation du MET Museum.

perdait son temps à dessiner ces gruppi di corde.26 Incontestablement, nous sommes ici en présence d’un conflit en matière de références esthétiques, faisant intervenir des acteurs majeurs de l’art de la Renaissance. Revenons sur la genèse des gruppi di nodi et des sechs knoten qui semblent paradoxalement s’inscrire dans une querelle entre Anciens et Modernes, alors qu’ils sont de la main d’un artiste des plus novateurs de son temps. En raison de l’incroyable complexité du tracé de ces ludi geometrici, ils sont parfois considérés comme des prototypi de fantaisie conçus pour impressionner et convaincre d’éventuels commanditaires. Toutefois, la formule ‘ Leonardus Vinci Academia ’ inscrite dans le centre des nodi peut faire référence au projet de transmission d’un 26 Vasari (1568), 18: ‘ oltreché perse tempo fino a disegnare gruppi di corde fatti con ordine, e che da un capo seguissi tutto il resto fino a l’altro, tanto che s’empiessi un tondo, che se ne vede in istampa uno difficilissimo e molto bello, e nel mezzo vi sono queste parole: LEONARDUS VINCI ACCADEMIA. ’

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savoir à visée universelle, au sein d’un collège d’artistes ou de lettrés rassemblés autour d’un Maître, suivant le modèle de l’Académie platonicienne. Selon une interprétation ancienne, réalisée d’après le journal de Dürer, les entrelacs de l’artiste allemand seraient affectés à l’art de la ‘ broderie ’.27 Une observation soigneuse de la géométrie des nodi corrobore cette hypothèse, en révélant que ces compositions complexes résultent de l’assemblage de dessins d’entrelacs plus simples utilisables pour orner les vêtements de broderies. On notera par ailleurs que c’est à Maister Dietrich Glasser ou Glassmahler, un verrier, que Dürer adresse ses gravures, dont le rendu est d’un aspect métallique comparé à ceux de Léonard. De la sorte la notion de ‘ broderie ’ peut correspondre à l’idée universelle d’ornement dématérialisé et détaché des modes opératoires artistiques,28 relevant du paradigme néo-platonicien de la figura,29 qu’il faut rapprocher du disegno interno.30 Cette façon de penser se déduit aussi de l’usage du vocable ‘ broderie ’, défini dans le Dictionnaire du Moyen Français comme un ornement polyvalent convenant à toutes techniques et de tous matériaux.31 La première série imprimée et reliée sous forme de livre de modèles de broderies que nous connaissons est allemande; il s’agit du Furm oder modelbüchlein […]32 de Johann Schönsperger le Jeune (1483–1543) publié à Augsburg en 1523, puis réimprimé à plusieurs reprises sous le titre Ein neu modelbuch […] de 1524 à 1557, principalement à Venise, mais aussi à Augsbourg et Lyon par différents imprimeurs.33 Ce recueil évoque en filigrane l’influence de Dürer, qui est encore vivant au moment où il paraît, et se trouvait à Augsbourg environ dix ans plus tôt. Le Maître allemand travaillait alors avec Schönsperger l’Ancien (1455–1521), imprimeur attitré de Maximilien d’Autriche, et père de l’éditeur du Furm oder modelbüchlein […].34 Ce recueil, dont la somme des planches est variable selon les éditions, comprend généralement deux catégories de motifs, dont la forme est en partie fonction de la technique de broderie. On note d’abord des compositions géométriques totalement abstraites ou stylisées, adaptées au point de croix et à ses 27 Adda (1864), 434: ‘ véritables patrons de passementerie ’. 28 Le principe de la figura se vérifie dans le contexte de l’art des jardins où des parterres de ‘ broderies ’ existent dès le XVIe siècle; voir Paya (2015), 267–88. 29 Marcile Ficin cité par Chastel (1996), 82: ‘ […] supprime la matière si tu le peux, et tu le peux en pensée, et conserve le plan; il ne reste rien de corporel et de matériel, mais ce qui coïncide c’est l’ordonnance donnée par le constructeur et celle qui réside dans la construction ’. 30 Zuccari (1961), 149–305. 31 Dictionnaire du Moyen Français (2010), art. ‘ Broderie ’: ‘ Il n’est joye que a celle heure il ne sente N’il n’est douleur qui ce jour le tourmente Ne qui l’esmeuve. Or prent devise ou brouderie neuve De quelque mot, fueille ou lettre qu’il treuve, Et la porte, sans que nul l’en desmeuve, Faitte de point Ou sur sa robe ou dessus son pourpoint. ’ 32 Pour faciliter la lecture les titres complets des ouvrages sont donnés en bibliographie, et, sauf exception, mentionnés en abrégé dans le corps du texte. 33 Snodin / Howard (1996), 23–4. 34 Febvre / Martin (1958), 168–9.

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variantes, qui évoquent la broderie médiévale d’inspiration byzantine – alors que dans le domaine de la peinture Giotto (1266–1337) s’est déjà affranchi des modèles venus de Constantinople. Puis on remarque des enroulements de rinceaux ‘ naturalistes ’, d’après plusieurs espèces végétales bien identifiables, qui sont sans doute conçus pour des travaux de ‘ peinture à l’aiguille ’ – brocard ou tapisserie à plat ou en relief. Étonnamment, certains de ces deniers motifs s’accordent aussi bien avec l’idée de verdure gothique que de figure grotesque végétalisée italianisante (Figure 2) – ces feuillages fantastiques sont à rapprocher de ceux que gravaient Martin Schongauer à la fin du XVe siècle.35 D’emblée ce recueil est polyvalent, à la fois explicitement conçu pour l’art de la broderie, et susceptible d’être utile aux autres pratiques artistiques, quels que soient le support matériel et la dimension du projet. Toutefois, la différence de répertoire observée entre les techniques de broderie montre que la figura est un principe théorique, difficile à appliquer dans un contexte de vulgarisation des savoirs. On notera l’absence des entrelacs brodés léonardiens. Néanmoins, d’autres formes ‘ gothiques modernes ’ côtoient des formes antiquisantes à une date où, selon l’historiographie traditionnelle, les humanistes prônent un retour exclusif aux modèles gréco-latins en architecture, en sculpture et en peinture.

Figure 2: Graveur anonyme, feuillages grotesques, Ein new getruckt model Büchli… imprimé par Johann Schönsperger, 1525, 23r (20 x 15.5 cm), inv. 18.66.2, avec l’autorisation du MET Museum.

Ein neu künstlich modelbuch […] (1527) de l’imprimeur, Peter Quentell († 1546), ou Quentel, encore nommé Pierre Quenty car il est peut-être d’origine française, correspondent à trois éditions, parues la même année à Cologne, d’un même ouvrage qui débute par un portrait du jeune Charles Quint. Une quatrième 35 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 37.3.8.

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version, également éditée en 1527 à Cologne, dépourvue du portrait de l’empereur, porte un titre français qui exprime l’adaptabilité ornementale: Livre nouveau et subtil touchant l’art et science tant de brouderie fronssures tapisseries comme aultres mestiers qu’on fait à l’esguille soit au petit mestier aulte lisse sur toile clere tres utile et necessaire a toutes gens usant des metiers et arts dessinés ou semblables. Il s’agirait de la reproduction d’un ouvrage perdu daté 1489,36 mais cette hypothèse est difficile à admettre puisque Quentel contrefait un grand nombre des modèles de Schönsperger, probablement copiés par Anton Woensam von Worms (1495–1541).37 Des modèles du New kunstlich boiche […] sont des trames de motifs géométriques, parfois organisées en lignes entrelacées non compartimentées. On constate toujours un certain ‘ archaïsme ’, qui évoque l’influence byzantine sur l’art médiéval tardif, et la présence des règles communes à tous les arts décoratifs de ‘ style géométrique ’ (Figure 3).38 D’autres motifs sont des bordures de rinceaux ‘ gothiques ’ de plusieurs espèces végétales, dont le chêne et la vigne, ou des figures stylisées phytomorphes et zoomorphes. En 1530, Willem Vorsterman publie A neawe treatys as concernynge the excellency of the nedle worcke spannisshe stitche and weavynge in the frame, dont une version porte le titre français Ce est ung tractat de la noble art de leguille ascavoir ouvraiges de spaigne […]; il s’agit d’une réédition du recueil de Quentel arbitrairement affectée à la technique espagnole du point brodé en noir qui est alors à la mode. Modelbuch nehwens, stickens, und wirckens […] (1533) édité par Christian Egenolff à Francfort-sur-le-Main, ainsi que Ein new modelbuch […] (1534) édité par Heinrich Steiner à Augsbourg, sont des œuvres plus ou moins issues d’un recyclage du traité de Quentel. Trente ans plus tard, cette suite, mêlée à celles de Schönsperger et de Hans Hoffman que nous verrons plus loin, sont encore recyclées par Nicolas Bassée ou Nicolaum Basseum dans un Neuw modelbuch […] (1568) publié à Francfort. Au sein de ce mélange de formes censées correspondre à des gouts divergents et conflictuels, on constate même la survivance de motifs médiévaux plus anciens que ceux de l’art dit gothique. En France, où l’on nomme ces ornements ‘ pourtraicts ’, c’est à Lyon où les relations culturelles avec l’Italie sont étroites que paraissent les premiers recueils. Ce livre est plaisant et utile à gens qui besongnent de l’éguille […], publié en 1531 à Lyon par Jehan Coste, d’après des gravures de Dominique Celle, sans doute Domenico da Sera (XVIe s.), assemble une série de modèles sur trame pour point de croix, ornés d’entrelacs, de grenades et de feuillages sophistiqués, sans référence explicite à l’antiquité gréco-latine. D’après l’auteur du texte liminaire, il s’agit de diffuser en France, des formes alors en vigueur en ‘ Espaigne, Italie, 36 Whiting (1920), 347–49. 37 Speelberg (2015), 21. 38 Riegl (2002), 13.

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Figure 3: Anton Woensam von Worms, ornements de ‘ style géométrique ’, Eyn new kunstlichboich, imprimé par Peter Quentel, 1529, 12v (20 x 14 cm), inv. 20.50.2, avec l’autorisation du MET Museum.

Romanie, Almaigne et aultres pays ’ et pour ‘ lutilité et singulier prouffit de plusieurs tant hom[m]es que femmes ’. Cet ouvrage est en effet très proche du Libbretto novellamente composto […] (1532) de Domenico da Sera ou Dominique Celle également publié à Lyon. La fleur des patrons de lingerie […] (1532 ou 1533, réédité en 1535 et 1549), publié à Lyon par Claude Nourry (vers 1470–1533), dit Le Prince, qui propose aussi bien des modèles pour le point croisé, le brocard et la tapisserie, où l’on reconnaît des emprunts à Schönsperger le Jeune, ne comprend que quelques rinceaux antiquisants parmi des formes plutôt représentatives de la

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tradition médiévale. Ce constat vaut pour le Livre nouveau dict patrons de lingerie […], publié vers 1533 par ce même éditeur à Lyon, qui montre d’abord la gamme des formules géométriques allemandes, quelques entrelacs schématiques, puis une série d’opulents rinceaux antiquisants. Ce constat vaut encore pour l’opuscule intitulé Sensuyuent les patrons de messire Antoine Belin […] (vers 1535), d’après les modèles de Jehan Mayol (XVIe s.), carme de Lyon, où les entrelacs sont toutefois plus nombreux et sophistiqués. L’examen de ce corpus qui consiste en la vulgarisation et la diffusion d’une étonnante diversité de motifs de broderies gravés, dont les prototypi semblent les œuvres de Léonard de Vinci et d’Albrecht Dürer, n’est pas le résultat d’entreprises éditoriales dont les auteurs méconnaissent les exigences de la doctrine de la renovatio antiquitatis. En effet, cette façon d’associer des éléments qui correspondent à des catégories esthétiques déconnectées est à rapprocher du goût pour la mescolanza, qu’il ne faut pas confondre avec la confusione, que théorise l’architecte italien Sebastiano Serlio (1475–vers 1554). En 1537, dans les Regole generali di architettura […], publiées à Venise à l’instar de la majorité des recueils de modèles de broderies de notre corpus, Serlio décrit en effet l’ordre architectural composite comme une combinaison d’éléments empruntés aux différents ordres, parfois associée à des figures incongrues telles que dauphins, tritons ou trophées, soit ‘ Tal volta, una mescolanza per modo di dire, torna più grata per la diversità ai riguardanti, che una pura simplicità di sua propria natura; onde è poi più lodabile, se da diversi membri d’una istessa natura sarà formato un corpo proporzionato […] ’.39 Il indique également que les ‘ buoni antichi ’ ne coïncident pas nécessairement avec les recommandations de Vitruve, qui réprouvait les grotesques très appréciées pendant tout le XVIe siècle.40 En 1551, Serlio récidive dans le Livre extraordinaire […], en présentant d’autres décors architecturaux ‘ licencieux ’,41 expressément fondés sur la mescolanza comme principe esthétique prônant l’assemblage d’éléments formels antagonistes. En outre, dans le contexte de l’édition des livres de broderies, ce goût pour la mescolanza, qu’il convient aussi de considérer comme un bricolage opportuniste prévu pour toucher un public élargi aux brodeuses indifférentes aux formes les plus actuelles, va beaucoup plus loin. Certainement car les arts du tissu ont été moins soumis au dictat des théoriciens de l’art, on y reconnaît, la survivance et le développement d’un gothique ‘ moderne ’, et même le développement d’un exotisme, qui correspondent à une réalité visible dans les textiles, la peinture, l’ébénisterie, le damasquinage ou la reliure contemporains qui nous sont parvenus. 39 Serlio (1537), 26v. 40 Ibid., 70v. 41 Par exemple, Serlio (1551), B1et planches I à XXX. Voir Payne (1998), 20–38; Pauwels (1998), 33–42; Lemerle (2012), 32.

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L’incorporation des moresques au mélange licencieux Dans son acception de la mescolanza Serlio demeure vitruvianiste, et de fait exclu le phénomène de contamination par des formes orientales étudié dans l’architecture médiévale vénitienne (1100–1500) par Déborah Howard.42 Étonnamment, dans d’autres arts du décor du XVIe siècle et en particulier les livres de broderies, cette incorporation continue de s’étendre, au point de former un genre à part entière.43 Des ouvrages complètement consacrés à des ornements islamiques furent en effet largement diffusés. Ces motifs furent même brodés sur le pourpoint des princes, sans provoquer de scandale, alors que la puissance ottomane à laquelle ils renvoient incarne l’ennemi infidèle. Entre 1520 et 1530 à Venise, le Maître f 44 propose les premières planches imprimées de moresques: des représentations végétales stylisées, inspirées par l’art islamique, qui sont formées de fins rameaux à demi-feuilles ru¯mi en série d’enroulement ou en ondulations affrontées symétriques.45 Cet artiste anonyme fait d’ailleurs preuve d’une certaine audace formelle en ‘ greffant ’ des moresques à des entrelacs de bandes gothiques (strapworks), selon un procédé d’hybridation qui s’apparente à la grotesque. Une autre catégorie d’ornement signée du Maitre f correspond à des rinceaux de feuillages assez larges percés de trous, qui sont également stylisés d’après la demifeuille ru¯mi. D’autres figures de cette suite, telle qu’elle est conservée au MET Museum, sont de robustes sarments de vignes rompus, plutôt éloignés du ‘ rinceau végétal hellénistique et romain ’.46 Enfin, plusieurs entrelacs se caractérisent par la sobriété et l’amplitude des rythmes des bandes entrecroisées. Vers 1550, à Anvers intervient sa réédition originale par Hieronymus Cock (1518–1570), sous le titre Formes de diverses protractions […], qui la dédie aux peintres, orfèvres, tailleurs de pierres et peintres sur verre ce qui assigne le rinceau orientalisant à un champ de disciplines artistiques élargi. Le titre qui figure en latin, italien et allemand montre qu’à travers la diversité des formes, les plus étranges et exotiques, peut s’exprimer l’idéal universaliste de la Renaissance. Quelques années à peine après leur première parution vénitienne, les modèles du Maître f sont déjà réutilisés dans les séries de Nicolò d’Aristotile, de Zoan Andrea Vavassore et de Heinrich Steiner que nous allons examiner. L’année où paraissent les éditions de Quentel, les modèles de Schönsperger l’ancien ont traversé les Alpes, et figurent en association avec des moresques dans le premier livre de modèles italien publié à Venise par Giovanni Antonio Tagliente 42 Howard (1975). 43 Baltrusˇaitis (1993); Kavaler (2008), 115–58, et (2012); Le Thiec (2009), 113–44; Jardine / Brotton (2000). 44 Maître anonyme à monogramme. 45 Byrne (1979), 108. 46 Riegl (2002), 186.

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(vers 1465/70–après 1527): Opera nuova che insegna a le donne a cusire […] dont il existe quatre éditions parues entre 1527 et 1531. Tagliente, également connu pour ses modèles calligraphiques, aurait été en relation avec Vinci et Dürer.47 Comme ses équivalents germaniques, cette série détermine un mélange d’ornements adaptés à plusieurs formules artistiques décrites dans l’épitre dédicatoire: ‘ fregi, frisi, tondi maravigliosi, groppi moreschi et arabeschi, ucelli volanti, fiori, lettere antique, maiuscoli, & le francesche […] ’. Tout en pratiquant le recyclage et l’association hétéroclite, ce vénitien développe un curieux registre de lieux communs hérités de la tradition médiévale occidentale, et de la culture grécolatine redécouverte, qu’il mêle à une série d’ornements inspirés de l’art islamique. Dans l’édition de 1527, figure des entrelacs caractéristiques des bordures brodées des vêtements, ainsi que des entrelacs au rendu schématique adaptés à la technique du point croisé. Élément plus surprenant: une scène narrative illustrant le pouvoir magique de la corne de licorne est entourée d’une large composition circulaire inspirée par les gruppi di nodi de Léonard. Sur deux pages, un disque est même entièrement couvert d’un réseau d’entrelacs à peine moins complexe que son modèle léonardien. Pages suivantes, le principe de l’entrelacs végétal, qui fonde le décor de la Salla delle Asse, semble désormais métamorphosé en un gruppo morescho d’inspiration islamique (Figure 4). Dans l’édition de 1530, une autre scène narrative montre Orphée jouant de la musique à des animaux. D’autres entrelacs, dont les cordons se métamorphosent en plusieurs points en dauphins stylisés, forment un ornement liturgique avec le monogramme IHS: ‘ Iesus Hominum Salvator ’ (Jésus, sauveur de l’humanité). Une autre page, qui s’adresse aux passionnés de culture chevaleresque, est ornée de cœurs accompagnés de phylactères. Dans l’édition de 1531 on trouve des entrelacs joints à un emblème circulaire portant le motto ‘ virtus impavida ’ (le pouvoir du courage), ce qui confirme la fonction emblématique de ces ornements. Un feston de fleurs et de fruits intègre une ‘ vanité ’ qui consiste en des femmes nues appuyées sur des crânes portant des sabliers. Ailleurs, un bandeau figure la charité sous la forme d’une femme allaitante environnée d’enfants. Ici, la mescolanza di stili déborde la dialectique du géométrisme et du naturalisme grotesque instaurée par Schönperger, et génère un répertoire hautement polyphonique. La copia (abondance) implique la varietas (diversité), des concepts en vogue au XVIe siècle chez les théoriciens de la rhétorique, de la poésie et de l’architecture.48 Dans Burato con nova maestria […] (1527) divisé en quatre livres de l’imprimeur Alessandro Paganino (1509–1538), qui est le fils de Paganini Paganino (auteur de la première édition infructueuse et perdue du coran à Venise vers 47 Bambach Cappel (1988) et (1991), 72–98. 48 Des concepts en vogue au XVIe siècle chez les théoriciens de la rhétorique et de la poésie. Voir Cave (1997) et Pauwels (2001).

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Figure 4: Giovanni Antonio Tagliente, réseaux d’entrelacs dont la plupart sont moresques, Essempio di recammi, imprimé par Giovanni Antonio di Nicolini da Sabio, 1530, 16v, inv. 37.47.1 (15), avec l’autorisation du MET Museum.

1538),49 Le Libro uno comprend des bandes au point de croix, majoritairement géométriques et quelques fois antiquisantes, ainsi que plusieurs représentations d’animaux. Dans les Libri secundo, terzo et quarto il s’agit à chaque fois d’un mélange de grotesques, de rinceaux naturalistes et de moresques adaptés aux brocards et à la damasquinure. Libro primo [-quarto] de rechami per el quale se 49 En 1547 paraît à Venise, ville de l’édition, la première traduction italienne du Coran. Venise, angle mort des stratégies impériales, royales ou pontificales, révèle le double jeu de sa diplomatie axée sur la défense de ses intérêts économiques. Pourtant, l’ouverture du monde clos qui est en train de se produire ne passionne pas autant que les querelles de l’ancien monde pour la possession de quelques îles desséchées ou comptoirs fortifiés.

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impara in diversi modi l’ordine e il modo de recamare […] (vers 1532) de Paganino, accorde une large place aux bandes d’entrelacs et de rinceaux occidentaux, et ne fait figurer qu’une moresque. Dans Raccolta de tutti i ritratti & disegni di ricchami che in Alemagna in Francia & in Italia si sono trovati cojn più altri aggionti: & nuovamente stampati (c. 1532) le prétexte à la bigarrure formelle serait l’origine géographique des ornements, sans que l’Orient ne soit mentionné. À l’instar de nombreux éditeurs de recueils de modèles de broderies, Alessandro reprend le frontispice de Peter Quentel. Dans leur majorité, les ornements de cette suite sont géométriques et schématiques; les enroulements de rinceaux y sont, selon les cas, un mélange de feuillages gothiques tardifs et de grotesques grécolatines peu sophistiquées. On note néanmoins certaines combinaisons symétriques et fragmentées élaborées. On y reconnaît des entrelacs, et certains motifs en ‘ S ’ ou en étoiles, qui évoquent l’ornement schématique géométrisé médiéval, aussi bien occidental qu’oriental. On relève la présence de quelques moresques pour l’ornement de bandes ou de disques. En 1529, paraît à Venise Esemplario di lavori […] de l’éditeur Nicolò d’Aristotile de’ Rossi dit Zoppino (XVe–XVIe s.), éditeur-typographe originaire de Ferrare. L’analyse des formes gravées dans cette suite, dans sa forme de 1529, est aussi déroutante que dans celle du Maître f, car il est impossible d’y reconnaître d’authentiques rinceaux gréco-romains. En revanche, l’ouvrage comprend des entrelacs s’inscrivant dans un disque à la façon de Léonard. Un de ces motifs est disposé dans un carré, aux quatre angles duquel sont représentés les symboles des quatre types d’amour. De nouveau la géométrie des nodi fait étonnamment écho à celle de la Salla delle Asse, dont les textes des inscriptions faisaient l’éloge de la politique matrimoniale des Sforzas. Cette édition montre aussi des arabesques. Notons également la présence de deux figures blasonnantes formées d’aigles impériaux entourés d’entrelacs. On remarque également de larges feuillages évoquant des verdures. Des enroulements de rinceaux sont à fleur de chardon, feuilles et glands de chêne, ou bien feuilles d’acanthe et chérubins (Figure 5). Certains feuillages sont volontiers grotesques mêlant les végétaux zoomorphes monstrueux avec des vases ou des médaillons. Un phylactère porte l’inscription ‘ inclita virtus ’. Zoppino est l’imprimeur d’autres florilèges d’ornements, ‘ vari & diversi ’, dont la rhétorique visuelle des ornements exalte la vertu des dames,50 tels que Convivio delle belle donne […] (1531 et 1532) et Gli universali de i belli recami antichi, e moderni […] (1537). Giovanni ou Zoan Andrea Vavassore (actif à Venise entre1530 et 1572), surnommé Guadagnino, sans doute pour son attirance pour le gain, est un autre artiste vénitien aux activités multiformes (libraire éditeur, imprimeur, cartographe et graveur sur bois) à qui l’on doit la publication de Opera nova universal 50 Sur la fonction morale et sociale de l’ornement, voir Michel (2005), 200–13.

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Figure 5: Rinceaux d’acanthes et chérubins, Convivio delle Belle Donne…, imprimé par Nicolò Zoppino, 1532, 19r (20 x 14 cm), inv. 22.66.6(36), avec l’autorisation du MET Museum.

intitulata corona di racammi […] (vers 1530). Cette suite, aux bois attribués à Florio frère de Zoan Andrea,51 se décline plus ou moins selon les catégories de la suite de Maître f. Néanmoins, le vocabulaire ornemental y est parfois caractéristique du goût à l’antique: certains rinceaux au feuillage étalé sont désormais à rapprocher des ornements hellénistiques ou romains. Ailleurs, notons qu’une composition d’entrelacs et de feuillages orne la surface d’un rectangle. Signalons aussi des motifs inscrits dans des cercles qui produisent des réseaux de lignes nouées exactement à la façon de Léonard et Dürer. D’autres motifs sont des rinceaux gothiques ou des moresques ru¯mi, proches de celles de Tagliente, associées à des figures emblématiques de l’amour courtois (Figure 6). Les éditions suivantes et augmentées de l’Opera nova universal […], comprennent des figures schématiques ‘ byzantines ’, mélangées à des bandes d’entrelacs, des aigles impériaux, des cornucopiae, des moresques, des pampres de vigne naturalistes, etc. Certaines suites hétéroclites de gravures françaises incorporent des moresques, mais sans leur accorder une importance hégémonique, comme nous le verrons au chapitre suivant. Jean Troveon (XVe–XVIe s.), auteur d’un Patrons de diverses manières […], publié à Lyon de 1530 à 1545 par Pierre de Sainte-Lucie,

51 Witcombe (2004), 291.

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Figure 6: Graveur anonyme, emprunts à Tagliente et emblématique courtoise, Opera Nova Universali intitulata Corona di racammi, imprimé par Zoan Andrea Vavasore, 1530, 30r (22.5 x 17.5 cm), avec l’autorisation du MET Museum.

petit imprimeur mal connu successeur de Claude Nourry (1470?–1533),52 déclare en vers la diversité de ces modèles: Patrons de diverses manières, Invente très subtilement Duisans à brodeurs et lingieres Et a ceux lesquels bravement Veulent par bon entendement User Dantique et Arabesque,

52 Concernant les œuvres imprimées par Claude Nourry, voir Lauvergnat-Gagnière (1980), 82–91, et Leutrat (2007), 213–14.

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Frize et Moderne proprement, En comprennant aussi Moresque […]

Une ornementique majoritairement gothique et antiquisante agrège de rares moresques, qui sont pourtant mentionnées à deux reprises dans le poème liminaire. Les rinceaux feuillés sont bien représentés, mais dans cet assemblage éclectique les entrelacs demeurent les plus nombreux. L’honesto essempio […] (1550) et Trionfo di virtù. Libro novo […] (1563) sont des assortiments composites de modèles empruntés par Matteo Pagano ou Matio Pagan (1515–1588), imprimeur que nous évoquerons plus loin à propos des broderies ajourées, à ses prédecesseurs. L’honesto essempio […] met à l’honneur les enroulements et entrelacs en bandes linéaires, qui se déclinent dans des variantes naturalistes, grotesques, géométrisées ou orientalisantes. Cette dernière catégorie étant moins représentée que dans l’œuvre de Tagliente. On retrouve, également, comme souvent, des lettrines et quelques figures animales, le plus souvent des volatiles. Notons, que le Trionfo di virtù. Libro novo […] comprend une étonnante verdure chimérique, comparable à celles gravées par Martin Schongauer un demi-siècle plus tôt en Allemagne, quand d’autres planches proviennent du Tagliente et d’autres du Zoppino. En 1553 Hermann Gülfferich publie à Francfort-sur-le-Main Modelbuch new, aller art, nehens und stickens […] principalement voué aux techniques sur filet ou en relief, et au répertoire gothique comprenant cinq entrelacs au rendu calligraphique ‘ arachnéen ’. Une seule page montre des moresques. Quelques rinceaux, ainsi que certaines figures chimériques peuvent être qualifiés d’antiquisants. New modelbuch […] (1556) d’Hans Hoffman (1530–1591), probablement le peintre allemand célèbre pour ses copies d’œuvres d’Albrecht Dürer, serait globalement plus italianisant, rassemblant d’une part des bordures d’entrelacs et d’autre part de grêles enroulements de feuillages agrémentés de grotesques. En 1554, Jean Ruelle publie des Patrons pour brodeurs, à Paris, comprenant un petit nombre de planches, pour broderie sur filet, brocard ou tapisseries, qui réemploient des modèles préalablement publiés, qu’il destine à plusieurs catégories d’artisans ‘ & autres gens d’esprit ’. Au moyen de l’ornement, les productions artisanales acquièrent le statut de disciplines artistiques, et par extension déterminent des ‘ academies ’. Une autre série bigarrée française est Le Recueil de plusieurs pièces de pourtraitures […] (1565) de Jean Le Maistre destiné aux ‘ Orfevres, Tailleurs, Graveurs, Damasquineurs, Sculpteurs, Paintres, Brodeurs, Tapisiers, Tissotiers, Couturiers, Lingieres, & autres ’. Son répertoire étendu, rassemblé sur un nombre limité de pages, se compose de candélabres grotesques au trait esquissé, rinceaux rustiques, damasquinures en complexes moresques, formules géométriques schématiques, bandes d’entrelacs feuillés

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traditionnels mises au goût du jour, etc. Les moresques se limitent à des objets damasquinés, alors que les répertoires antique et gothique tardif sont employés pour les tissus. Le Maistre semble présenter un éventail le plus large possible afin d’atteindre le plus grand nombre de lecteurs. Alors, qu’il existe parallèlement un ‘ lectorat ’ amateur qui souhaite exclusivement consulter un grand nombre de moresques. Bien que le succès de la gravure de broderies soit absolu, le dessin à la main ne disparaît pas et concerne la réalisation de pièces exceptionnelles. Ainsi, en 1559 à Venise, Lunardo Fero est-il l’auteur d’un manuscrit sur vélin rassemblant 16 planches délicatement enluminées, dédiées à Elena Foscara une personnalité mal connue sans doute issue de la famille du doge Foscari. Tout comme ses équivalents imprimés, bien qu’il s’agisse de l’œuvre d’un seul artiste, cet ensemble comprend aussi bien des moresques, que des rinceaux végétaux à putti, dont la flore naturaliste est plus ou moins antiquisante ou orientalisante, puisqu’on reconnaît des tulipes déjà cultivées en Turquie.

Quand les moresques deviennent européennes Un détour lexicographique révèle que les moresques ont pu disposer pour les humanistes de la Renaissance d’une légitimité à l’antique incongrue. En effet, dans la définition proposée en 1552 par le célèbre Dictionarium Latinogallicum de Robert Estienne, la broderie serait un art d’origine orientale lié au monde grec classique: ‘ Acus Assyria. Claud. Aguille à faire tapisserie ou broderie. ’53 ‘ Phrygio, phrygionis, masc. gene. Plin. Brodeur, ou autre qui besongne à l’esguille. Phrygianus, pen. prod. Adiectiuum: vt Phrygianae vestes. Plin. Faictes de broderie. ’54

Durant l’antiquité, un centre majeur de production des broderies est en effet la Phrygie soit, une partie de l’Anatolie ottomane du XVIe siècle. La réalité moderne et l’imaginaire d’un passé idéal sont donc curieusement assemblés par une ‘ pensée mythique ’ vagabonde.55 Dans la deuxième édition des Vite (1568), Vasari, qui réprouvait la composition d’entrelacs à laquelle s’adonnait Léonard, fait en revanche l’éloge des feuillages a la Damaschina, autre nom des moresques, lorsqu’elles sont incrustées à la sur face du cuir ou du métal.56 Dans les arts textiles

53 54 55 56

Estienne (1552), 30. Ibid., 1003. Lévi-Strauss (1962). Vasari (1568), 65: ‘ a la Damaschina, per lavorarsi di cio in Damasco, & per tutto il Levante eccellentemente ’.

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européens, on en trouve la trace dès 1308–1311 dans les tableaux de Duccio à Sienne, puis au XVe siècle dans les tableaux des peintres vénitiens Cima da Conegliano (1460–1465), Vittore Carpaccio (1525–1526) et Palma le Vieux (c. 1480–1528). Leur succès est tel, que des moresques se trouvent dans le célèbre portrait de François Ier par Jean Clouet (vers 1480–1540), daté vers 1535, et dans l’un des portraits d’Henri VIII par Hans Holbein (1497–1543), réalisé en 1536– 1537. En somme, il s’agit d’une mise au goût du jour de la tradition médiévale des curiosités orientales. Le succès de ces ornements diffusés depuis Venise, et empruntés à l’art de l’Empire Ottoman qui s’étend alors pratiquement sur tout le monde musulman, bénéficie d’un tel prestige que des recueils de modèles entiers leurs sont consacrés. Or ces recueils ne sont pas publiés en Italie. La notion d’antichi est ainsi élargie à celle de curios d’origine gréco-ottomane, qui sont aussi des emprunts à l’habitus57 artistique turc, destinés à conjurer et s’approprier symboliquement la puissance du redoutable ennemi58. Nous avons mentionné les suites ‘ originelles ’ du Maître f gravées à Venise dans les années 1520–1530, et conservées au MET Museum, en indiquant qu’elles ne comprenaient pas que des moresques.59 Une autre suite de la Bibliothèque de l’Institut National d’Histoire de l’Art contient dix-sept planches non signées mais attribuées au Maître f, représentant exclusivement des moresques.60 Dans l’édition de cette suite par Hieronymus Cock, ce dernier précise que ces broderies sont ‘ faictes a la manière des Perses, Assyriens, Arabes, Aegyptiens, Indoys, Turcz, & Grecz ’. Quinze autres planches représentant des arabesques de BINHA61 sont signées JG, et la première planche porte la mention Alion JG. Ces planches sont aujourd’hui attribuées à un artiste anonyme: le Maître JG.62 Un autre recueil de ‘ Damasquinures ’ (vers 1550) de cette bibliothèque contient une série incomplète de vingt-huit mauresques attribuées à Bernard Salomon (1506?–1561?), et treize moresques appartenant vraisemblablement à deux séries différentes qui demeurent non identifiées.63 Peu de temps après l’Opera nuova (1528–1530) de Tagliente, paraît à Paris La fleur de la science de pourtraicture: patrons de broderie, façon arabicque et ytalique (1530) de Francesco Pellegrino (†1552) venu travailler à la cour de François Ier en 1528. Désormais, les Italiens excellent aussi bien que les Orientaux 57 L’habitus qui est un concept déjà présent dans la scholastique médiévale comme traduction de l’hexis d’Aristote, correspond à l’ensemble des ‘ schèmes générateurs des pratiques codifiées ’, qui s’appliquent aussi bien aux manières d’être qu’aux créations artistiques; Bourdieu (1967), 151–2. 58 Paya (2020). 59 Byrne (1979), 103. 60 Bibliothèque de l’Institut National d’Histoire de l’Art, NUM 4 EST 399. 61 Ibid., NUM 4 RES 117. 62 Leutrat (2007), 44–55. 63 Fuhring (1989), 331–2.

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dans l’art du ‘ rinceau végétal de l’ornementation sarrasine ’,64 les ornements de Pellegrino sont donc aussi bien arabicques qu’ytaliques. Cette série réunit soixante-deux motifs de ‘ fueillages, entrelatz et ouvraiges moresques et damasquins ’.65 La particularité de cette série réside dans la présence de moresques à filets très fins caractérisées par un haut degré d’entrelacement. On notera l’existence presque inopportune d’un seul motif issu de l’ornement médiéval tardif. D’après les annotations en français qui figurent au bas des planches, les frises de fines arabesques contournées imaginées par cet ornemaniste italien cité par Vasari et auxiliaire de Rosso Fiorentino (1493–1540),66 trouvent d’abord leur application dans la broderie, avant d’être rapidement transposées dans l’imprimerie, la reliure, l’armurerie ou les boiseries. La fleur de la science de pourtraicture est un témoignage capital sur la connaissance des ornements du Levant à Fontainebleau. Ses formules, qui semblent être inédites, relèvent sans doute d’une certaine turcophilie à l’époque de la ‘ scandaleuse alliance ’. En 1543, la suite de Pellegrino est réordonnée et condensée dans un recueil que publie Cornelis Bos (vers 1506/10–1555?) à Anvers. La vogue des moresques se confirme en France avec la suite de Jérôme de Gourmont (actif à Paris entre 1533 et 1558) intitulée Livre de Moresques très utile & nécessaire à tous orfèvres, tailleurs, graveurs, painctres, tapissiers, brodeurs, lingières et femmes qui besongnent de l’esguille (1546). Or ce recueil serait une copie, avec quelques variantes, d’une suite de Cornelis Bos publiée à Anvers composée d’après Pellegrino.67 En effet, Bos vit à Paris après son expulsion d’Anvers en 1544,68 et c’est sans doute à cette occasion que Gourmont utilise ses bois gravés pour reproduire le Livre de moresques, ainsi qu’un traité d’anatomie. Son frontispice est étonnamment décoré d’une authentique composition grotesque à l’antique, dans le style des Loges du Vatican. On notera que, d’une façon inédite, chaque page comprend un commentaire descriptif impliquant le vocabulaire des ornements et des techniques artistiques. Ces ajouts de textes, absents de l’édition de 1530, soulignent la polyvalence des usages et la multiplicité morphologique des moresques.69 64 65 66 67 68 69

Riegl (2002), 207–15, 240–76. Dans les termes du privilège du début de l’ouvrage. Migeon (1908), 5, préface à l’édition facsimilée. Schéle (1965), 193–4. Coelen (1995), 119–46. ‘ Moresque pour fons & pentets de lict a fleurons entiers, & fleurettes enttieres parties des demys & enttiers & feullaiges autres quae les precede(nt)s ’; ‘ Moresques pour iecter sur linges, draps de soyes en forme de lizieres & pour / servir de frizes en besongnes d’or ou d’argent, relevees ’; ‘ Moresque pour couvertures de lictz ou coffres a mulletz a fleurons entiers / par tatz & coffins rompus ’; ‘ Moresque pour le taille despargne sur or argent broche ou acciet & broderie a / telles fleurs que les precedentes mais avecque ordonnanee de entretaillissemens / differente ’; ‘ Autres moresques pour graver ou tailler en espargne menuiserie & iect, & / en brodderies ou platte paincture a battons lassez & fleurons perdus ’; ‘ Moresque pour tappis

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Cette manière orientalisante des artistes français, flamands et allemands, apprise des artistes italiens, est exportée en Angleterre par l’intermédiaire de Thomas Geminus (1510–1562), encore nommé Thomas Lambrit, né à Lille, qui fait paraître à Londres en 1548 Morysse and damashin […]. Dans sa suite, qui porte sur son frontispice un opulent cartouche de cuirs bordé de guirlandes de fleurs dans le plus pur goût maniériste, se trouvent 27 planches ornées de frises, compartiments et de culs-de-lampe inspirés par Pellegrino. Jacques Androuet du Cerceau (1515–1585) est un autre protagoniste de la diffusion des suites de moresques. Ses Nielles et damasquinés, désormais dénommée Mauresques de petit format (vers 1545) 70 rassemblent fleurons et culsde-lampe. On note que certaines planches ont été copiées dans Morysse and Damashin […] (1548) de Thomas Geminus. De même, certains de ces ornements auraient été joints au Maureskenbüchlein (1549) de Wyssenbach.71 Les passements de moresques (1563) ou Vases et Mauresques (entre 1545 et 1570) 72 se rapprochent de la suite de Jérôme de Gourmont, empruntée à Pellegrino.73 Elle comprend pour l’essentiel des compositions déjà connues, et de stupéfiantes hybridations entre grotesques et rinceaux orientalisants. Il s’agit de la dernière suite importante de moresques publiée en France au XVIe siècle, peut-être car Du Cerceau s’est protégé des copies en obtenant un privilège pour ses ‘ ouvrages et figures d’architectes, armes, moresques & compertement ’. À Nuremberg Peter Flötner (1485–1546), autre artiste qui a subi l’influence de Dürer, devient un ornemaniste influent qui fait paraître une série d’ornements dénommées Große Maureske […] (1546),74 incorporée dans un recueil d’une quarantaine de planches de moresques, dont la qualité égale celles de Pellegrino. Cette suite imprimée à Zurich par Rudolph Wyssenbach est conservée ou désignée sous différents titres: Grotesken und Mauresken,75 Maureskenbüchlein,76 ou Kunstbuch (1549).77 Comme de nombreuses autres suites de moresques, elle ne dispose pas de frontispice, et le nom de l’imprimeur ne figure qu’en bas de la huitième page. Cette suite se singularise par la présence de bandes d’entrelacs et

70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77

vellus a fleurons doubles avecques iecttons ’; ‘ Moresque pour tapisserie a double fleurons & bastons brisez avec sa / liziere ou bordure ’; ‘ Moresque pour fondz & penttes de ciel de lict a fleurons a languettes troucconnes ’, etc. Bibliothèque de l’Institut National d’Histoire de l’Art, collections Jacques Doucet, NUM 8 RES 117. Fuhring (2010), 306. Bibliothèque de l’Institut National d’Histoire de l’Art, collections Jacques Doucet, NUM 12 RES 24. Geymüller (1887), 174–5. Voir également Leutrat (2007), 43,51,88–9. Franz (2009), 225. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, inv. 25.49. Franz (2009), 225. Byrne (1981), 34–5.

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des motifs plus naturalistes s’hybridant aux rinceaux orientaux. Certains de ces motifs illustrent une production éditoriale insolite: l’Imperatorum Romanorum […] (1559), un ouvrage imprimé et enluminé de Jacopo Strada (1507–1588), artiste et architecte officiel au service de trois empereurs successifs, qui est dédié aux portraits d’empereurs d’Orient et d’Occident.78 Balthasar Geertssen dit Bos ou Sylvius (1518–1580), originaire d’Anvers, peutêtre le frère de Cornelis Bos, publie Variarum protractionum quas vulgo maurusias vocant omnium antehac excusarum libellus (1554), réédité sous le titre Une livre contenant passement de moresques très util à toutes gens exerceans ledict art (s.d.). Cet ouvrage montre des moresques singulières qui intègrent volontiers des mascarons et des portraits d’empereur. C’est à peu près à la même époque à Nuremberg que paraissent des gravures au monogramme de Virgil Solis (1514– 1562) titrées Moriske und Turckischer […].79 Notons que, contrairement aux suites au répertoire ornemental éclectique, les éditions des suites de moresques qui nous sont parvenues sont peu nombreuses. Ce qui révèle, sans doute, que leur diffusion fut restreinte à un cercle de spécialistes.

Mescolanza sur le thème des broderies ajourées Au fil du XVIe siècle, certains modèles de broderies sont de plus en plus légers et semblent se détacher du support, ce qui peut s’interpréter comme l’expression d’une dématérialisation inhérente à l’idée poétique de figura. Giardinetto novo di punti tagliati et gropposi per exercito e ornamento delle donne […] publié à Venise par Matteo Pagano qui compte huit éditions de 1542 jusqu’en 1558, est le premier ouvrage à mentionner le punto tagliato encore nommé reticello, ou point coupé, qui évoluera vers la dentelle (merletto) encore inexistante. Dans l’édition de 1550, seule cette technique ajourée, qui ne permet alors pas d’obtenir des morphologies complexes comparables aux précédents entrelacs, grotesques et moresques, est illustrée. On y distingue toutefois quelques animaux et des médaillons. Dans Il spechio di pensieri della belle et virtudiose donne […], Venise, 1544, 1546, et 1548, également imprimé par Pagano, dès le frontispice la mise en page illustre clairement le projet de varietas ornementale qui fonde la démarche créative, et résoud les conflits esthétiques de nature idéologique. On y remarque également deux figures italianisantes qui se rapportent à une antique tradition intégrée aux codes la culture courtoise: en bas une femme partiellement dénudée, qui porte une croix dans une main et un calice dans l’autre, figure la foi chrétienne; en haut un motif composite formé de deux sphinges encadrant deux 78 Leutrat (2007), 96–7. 79 Franz (2009), 227.

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mains jointes porte la devise FEDE.80 De nouveau, l’ornement, en particulier l’entrelacs, est indissociable de l’idée selon laquelle la virtuosité graphique dégage un aura de vertu morale.81 L’ouvrage se divise ensuite en deux types broderies: les burati pour point de croix, où les compositions d’entrelacs ‘ gothiques ’ qui comptent parmi les plus raffinées pour cette technique sont prépondérantes, et des reticelli principalement abstraits bien qu’on relève une scène narrative au rendu un peu rude figurant un homme agenouillé couronné de laurier par une femme. Les 24 planches de L’honesto essempio […] (1550), imprimé par Pagano, est composé à la fois de modèles sur filet pour point de croix, et de compositions ajourées, d’une complexité et d’un registre comparables, impliquant entrelacs et feuillages occidentaux. Après 1550, le répertoire du reticello devient virtuose dans La gloria et l’honore di ponti tagliati, e ponti in aere […] (1556, 1558, et 1560), qui est exclusivement dédié à cette technique. On notera que cette virtuosité, qui ne convoque pas le registre orientalisant, s’exerce sur des motifs en majorité composés de rinceaux de feuillages, ponctués de vases ou de personnages chimériques s’hybridant avec le végétal. Dans l’Opera nova […]: dove si insegna a tutte le nobili & leggiadre giovanette di lavorare di ogni sorte di puti… (1546), gravé par Domenico da Sera, dit le Franciosino, et publié par Pagano, les premiers modèles de l’ouvrage sont de sophistiquées broderies d’Assise sur canevas, issues de la suite publiée à Lyon en 1532 par Sera et complétées de reticelli géométriques comparables à ceux du Giardinetto […] de Pagano. Le livre de lingerie, par Maistre Dominique de Sera (1584) publié par Hierosme de Marnef fonctionne sur le même principe, puisqu’aux modèles pour le point en croix provenants de la suite lyonnaise de 1532 de Domenico da Sera, s’ajoutent six planches de délicates ‘ passementeries ’ inédites dont l’invention est de Jean Cousin d’après le titre complet. Il s’agit de figures symétriques ajourées et très stylisées en formes de feuillages, de volutes et de fleurs caractéristiques de la fin du XVIe siècle, telles qu’il s’en trouve dans l’ouvrage de Vinciolo en 1587. Il monte, opera nova di recami […] (1560), attribué à Giovanni Antonio Bindoni est nettement marqué par le caractère naturaliste et antiquisant des motifs. Quelques motifs dessinés sur gaze sont clairement destinés au traditionnel point de croix, d’autres passements aux larges volutes formant des échancrures désormais à la mode paraissent totalement adaptés à du reticello. Il pourrait néanmoins s’agir de broderies sur champs influencées par les développements de la broderie ajourée. Nüw Modelbuoch […] est un ouvrage à part publié à Zurich en 1561 par Christoph Froschauer (1490–1564), qui fut le premier imprimeur de cette ville, et 80 De nos jours les orfèvres donnent toujours ce motif aux anneaux sigillaires des fiançailles. 81 Speelberg (2015), 6.

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publia Luther et Zwingli. Bien qu’il s’intéresse aux broderies ajourées, Froschauer semble se détourner de la sophistication italienne de son temps, en ne montrant que des formes géométriques entièrement abstraites et rudimentaires, sans doute plus adaptées aux exigences somptuaires de la religion réformée. Lucidario di recami […] (1563) paraît à Venise dans l’imprimerie de Jeronimo Calepino, et rassemble des ornements ‘ virtuosi in tutii i modi ’ gravées par Iseppo Foresto. Le rinceau feuillé naturaliste est à l’honneur: on peut reconnaître de la vigne et le chêne qui incorporent des vases ou des entrelacs. Certains feuillages stylisés sont volontiers à l’antique, mais pas sur le mode orientalisant. Les figures étranges sont peu nombreuses, et les broderies ajourées, ici omniprésentes, ne forment plus seulement des bandes, mais aussi des passements échancrés pour collerettes. Publié à Venise par Giovanni Battista et Melchiorre ou Marchio Sessa (actifs à Venise vers 1555–1597), Le pompe […] (1557), est entièrement consacré à la broderie ajourée, qui intègre désormais l’or et la soie, ainsi que des ponctuations de perles. Ces résilles sont principalement géométriques, bien qu’on puisse deviner le tracé d’un entrelacs ou d’un vase. Entre outre, le raffinement de ces textiles, qui est la conséquence de nouvelles explorations, semble faire oublier les moresques, et évoluer le point de croix dont les bandes se découpent aussi en échancrure. Dans La vera perfettione del disegno di varie sorti di recami […] (1557 et 1567), l’imprimeur d’origine allemande Giovanni Ostaus (actif à Venise vers 1554–1591) forme une suite de reticelli comparables à ceux de Pagano, qui sont principalement géométriques, mais parfois ornés de couples de courtisans, de sirènes, ou d’aigles bicéphales, ainsi que d’étonnantes scènes narratives et paysagères sans doute destinées à la tapisserie montrant deux couples cheminant dans une forêt, une chasse au filet, une chasse à cheval, et un diner champêtre. Deux panneaux à grotesques à figures ‘ suspendues ’ sont, de même, sans doute prévus pour la ‘ peinture à l’aiguille ’. Cet ouvrage éclectique propose encore des motifs géométriques assez simples d’un goût ‘ medieval ’ tracés sur burato. Il aurait bénéficié d’au moins une réédition lyonnaise rarissime chez Benoit Rigaud en 1585 titrée Le Trésor des patrons […],82 ainsi qu’une réédition vénitienne sous le titre de 1561 chez Francesco di Franceschi en 1591. Le Vénitien Frederic de Vinciolo venu en France suite à l’invitation de Catherine de Medicis fait publier Les Singuliers et nouveaux pourtraicts et ouvrages des lingerie (1587) à Paris, qui est orné des portraits d’Henri III et de Louis de Lorraine. On dénombre dix éditions de ce recueil à succès entre 1587 à 1658. Il se divise en deux parties. La première, qui est consacrée aux ouvrages de ‘ poinctes

82 Ricci (1909).

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couppés ’, obtenue par le punto in aria qui détrône le reticello,83 fait apparaître une sophistication inédite du répertoire ornemental à l’antique, qui se diversifie à l’extrême en chiffres, armoiries, cœurs enflammés, végétaux naturalistes ou stylisés, moresques, ou créatures mythiques, tout en demeurant compartimenté et géométrisé pour des raisons techniques. La seconde partie, qui est moins innovante, aussi bien techniquement que plastiquement, contient quelques modèles pour le point compté. La technique du punto in aria est présentée comme une secrète figure de séduction appliquée aux corps et aux objets, évoquée dans le poème du Lacis placé au début du livre de Vinciolo: Le lacis recouvert sert de filets aux dames; Pour les hommes suspendre et enlacer leurs ames; Elles en font collets, coiffures et mouchoirs, Des tentures de lits, tavioles, peignoirs, Et maint autre ornement dont elles les enlacent.84

La série de Matteo Florimi (1540?–1613), Fiori di ricami nuovamente posti in luce… (1591), est très proche de celle de Giovan Battista Ciotti (vers 1560–?), Prima parte de’ fiori, e disegni di varie sorti di ricami moderni […] (1591), réimprimé à Londres sous le titre A booke of curious and strange inventions, called the first part of needleworkes […]. Il s’agit de petites suites de passements ajourés, comparables à celles de Vinciolo, dont les motifs ‘ modernes ’ qui sont principalement géométriques impliquent le punto in aria. On notera que quelques inventions de Vincilio sont assemblées à la fin du Du debvoir des filles (1597), un sévère traité de moral destiné aux femmes publié par Jean de Glen (vers 1552– 1603), imprimeur et graveur né à Liège. Cet exemple montre nettement qu’il existe pour les contemporains une rhétorique mêlant l’ornement et la vertu. Corona delle nobili et virtuose donne (1592) de Cesare Vecellio (1521–1601), un peintre italien, parent du Titien,85 présente une grammaire ornementale inscrite dans la continuité de Vincilio, qui se déploie dans une extraordinaire diversité. Dans ce recueil, qui connaît plusieurs éditions jusqu’en 1630, la technique de la dentelle ne semble plus désormais une limite à la représentation d’un répertoire disparate fait d’animaux, de scènes narratives, de rinceaux, de fleurs, de vases, de licornes, de sirènes et autres portraits ou figures grotesques. Les compartiments ornés de figures géométriques en ‘ étoile de neige ’ sont encore nombreux et se complexifient. Dans la lignée des ouvrages de Vinciolo et des Vecellio signalons, quelques publications de second ordre. New Modelbuch […] (vers 1593) imprimés par 83 En remplaçant la toile support du reticello par un morceau de carton et de nombreux points de sutures on obtient le punto in aria. 84 Di Vinciolo (1587), 17. 85 Campana (2006), 71.

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Georg Straub (1568–1611) montre une série de passements pour collerettes et une seule planche pour une tenture ajourée, plutôt géométriques et antiquisantes. Nuova inventione […] (1596) de Giacomo Franco (1550–1620), dont les ornements proviennent de ‘ tutte le parte del Mondo ’, fait nettement intervenir des demi-feuilles ru¯mi (Figure 7), ce qui s’avère rare dans la dentelle. Schön neues Modelbuch […] (1597) publié à Nuremberg par Johannes Siebmacher présente de la broderie sur filet associée à des reticelli, dont les motifs sont majoritairement géométriques, et parfois héraldiques ou fantastiques. L’édition de 1604 montre des motifs étonnamment proches de ceux qui illustrent les traités de jardinage la famille de Claude Mollet, jardinier d’Henri IV.86 En 1597 paraît à Rome Studio delle virtuose dame […] d’Elisabetta Catanea Parasole (1575–vers 1625), le premier livre de modèles de dentelles, dont la virtuosité rivalise avec celle de Vecellio, dessinées par une femme.

Figure 7: Rare exemple de moresques en reticello pour ‘ Freggi, Mostri per colari ’, Nuova inventione … (1596) imprimé par Giacomo Franco, édition facsimilée de 1876, avec l’autorisation de la Bayerische Staatsbibliothek.

Nous pouvons formuler quelques remarques conclusives à propos de cette étude de résolution d’un conflit esthétique, qui implique un paradigme fondamental de l’histoire de l’art de la Renaissance, en convoquant les figures tutélaires de

86 Siebmacher (1604), 64r.

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Léonard, Dürer, Raphaël, Serlio et Vasari. Ainsi, le corpus des recueils d’ornements du XVIe siècle dédiés aux arts textiles comprend systématiquement des mélanges de modèles, qui de par leurs origines historiques et géographiques, sont contraires à la pure renovatio antiquitatis prônée par les humanistes. Or, cela ne semble pas avoir choqué les contemporains et semble même avoir été la norme. Comme beaucoup de ces recueils sont des rééditions ou des copies partielles de livres plus anciens, où l’invention s’inscrit dans une démarche de répétition et de compilation de codes préexistants, avec parfois l’introduction de variations dans la copie, la licence introduite dès les premières éditions n’a donc cessé de se disséminer et de se généraliser, au gré du rythme soutenu des publications. Dans le domaine des arts textiles, tout comme dans la littérature et dans l’architecture, le recyclage et l’imitation de thèmes récurrents sont au cœur des pratiques créatives.87 Dans les ateliers d’imprimeurs, on a l’habitude du remploi systématique, et les notions de mémoire, d’archétype, de modèle, de citation ou de lieu commun sont omniprésentes. Or, cette pratique va conduire à ces montages hétéroclites et disparates qui relèvent à bien des égards d’un certain syncrétisme ornemental, en conflit total avec l’idéal humaniste du retour au formes grécolatines. Dans les livres de modèles de broderie, nous assistons, en effet, à la multiplication d’images dont le caractère à l’antique se résumerait vaguement à ‘ Ancien, de vieille date ’.88 Cet affaiblissement de la définition autorise l’usage des ornements traditionnels médiévaux, tout en s’accommodant volontiers de l’incorporation audacieuse des ‘ moresques ’, jusqu’à l’éviction de toute autre forme, gréco-latines y compris. Cette gestion déconcertante du conflit repose donc sur des ‘ bricolages ’89, dont le caractère licencieux semble ignoré au profit de la créativité et l’innovation. Ces bricolages qui altèrent l’auctoritas gréco-latine relèvent de la mescolanza, une forme d’éclectisme, qui dans l’art de la broderie du début des temps modernes, est fait d’emprunts aux arts byzantin, gothique et islamique. La mescolanza peut être opportuniste, lorsque le décloisonnement est la conséquence d’un projet éditorial basé sur la réplication et l’accumulation tous azimuts. Mais elle peut aussi être élitiste, comme dans l’art des moresques, qui doit fixer l’habitus de la puissance ottomane au sein du decorum des princes européens.90 Dans ces deux cas figures, qui sont parfois concomitants, la mescolanza des ornements est pourvoyeuse de copia (abondance) et de varietas (diversité), deux composantes majeures de l’elocutio, à considérer comme lieu rhétorique et marque de bienséance, transposée de l’art du discours aux arts du tissu. 87 88 89 90

Moret / Toubert et al. (2009). Huguet (1925–1967), art. ‘ Antique ’. Lévi-Strauss (1962). Paya (2020).

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Bibliographie Sources Artiste anonyme (1523), Furm oder modelbuchlein dar in zu lernen unnd gantz leuchtich zu begreyffen die recht und war kunst auch die aufi teyiung alter hand gewirck in der ram in der laden und mit der hand aufi zu nehen ganntz ney gemacht, Augsburg: Johann Schönsperger II (Lotz 1). Artiste anonyme (1524), Ein new modelbuch auff außnehen und porten wircken in der laden und langen gestell, Zwickau: Johann Schönsperger II (Lotz 2). Artiste anonyme (1527), Eyn new kunstlich boich dayrin C. und xxxviii figuren monster, Köln: Peter Quentel (Lotz 3). Artiste anonyme (1527), Livre nouveau et subtil touchant l’art et science tant de brouderie fronssures tapisseries comme aultres mestiers qu’on fait à l’esguille soit au petit mestier aulte lisse sur toile clere tres utile et necessaire a toutes gens usant des métiers et arts dessinés ou semblables ou il y ha C et XXXVIII patrons de divers ouvraiges faicts par art et proportion contenant cent trente huyot figures perfectement mises ainsy q non point les subtils engins: mais les jeunes filles & enfans en peuvent en brief acquerre grande science & estre parfaicts en brief temps, Köln: Peter Quentel. Artiste anonyme (1527), Burato con nova maestria gratiose donne novo artificio vi apprto [sic] accio che voi più accommodatamente possiati mostrare quanto vaglia lo ingegno vostro ne lavori, e ornamenti de camise & alctri rechami: Libro primo [secondo, terzo, quarto] de rechami per el quale se impara in diversi modi l’ordine e il modo de recamare, Venezia: Alessandro Paganino. Artiste anonyme (1529), Esemplario di lavori dove le tenere fanciulle e altre donne nobile potranno facilmente imparare il modo et ordine di lavorare, cusire, raccamare […], Venezia: Nicolò d’Aristotile (Lotz 65). Artiste anonyme (1530), Opera nova universal intitulata corona di racammi, dove le venerande donne e fanciulle trovaranno di varie opere per fare colari di camisiola et torniamenti di letti entemelle di cuscini boccasini, schufioni cordelli di più sorte, et molte opere per reccammatori et per dipintore e per orevesi, de le quale opere o vero esempli ciascuno le potrà pore in opera secondo el suo bisogno, Venezia: Zoan Andrea Vavassore (Lotz 66). Artiste anonyme (1532–33), Livre nouveau, dict patrons de lingerie, cestassavoir a deux endroitz, a point croise, point couche, point picque […], en comprenant l’art de broderie et tissuterie, Lyon: Claude Nourry (Lotz 76). Artiste anonyme (vers 1532), Libro primo [-quarto]. De rechami per el quale se impara in diversi modi l’ordine e il modo de recamare, cosa non mai più fatta né stata mostrata, el qual modo se insegna al lettore voltando la carta. Opera nova, Venezia: Alessandro Paganino (Lotz 71). Artiste anonyme (1533), Modelbuch aller art nehewercks und stickens: mit ettlichen newen künstlichen vormals verhaltenen stucken und stahelen, Frankfurt a.M.: Christian Egenolff (Lotz 8). Artiste anonyme (1534), Ein new modelbuch, auf die welschen monier, Augsburg: Heinrich Steiner (Lotz 11).

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Artiste anonyme (1537), Gli universali de i belli recami antichi e moderni, ne i quali un pellegrino ingegno, sì di huomo come di donna, potrà in questa nostra età con l’ago vertuosamente escercitarsi. Non anchora da alcuni altri dati in luce, Venezia: Nicolò d’Aristotile (Lotz 79). Artiste anonyme (1542), Giardinetto novo di punti tagliati et gropposi per esercitio et ornamento delle donne, Venezia: Matteo Pagano (Lotz 80). Artiste anonyme (1544), Il spechio di pensieri della belle et virtudiose donne dove si vede varie sorti de ponti cioè ponti taliati, ponti groposi, ponti in rede e ponti in stiora, Venezia: Matteo Pagano (Lotz 82). Artiste anonyme (1545), Livre nouveau dict patrons de lingerie, c’est assavoir à deux endroitz à point croisé, point couché et point picqué […] comprenant l’art de broderie et tissoterie, Lyon: Pierre de Sainte-Lucie. Artiste anonyme (1548), Morysse and Damashin renewed and encreased very profitable for Goldsmythes and Embroiderars, London: Thomas Geminus. Artiste anonyme (1550), L’honesto essempio del vertuoso desiderio che hanno le donne di nobil ingegno, circa lo imparare i punti tagliati a fogliami, Venezia: Matteo Pagano. Artiste anonyme (vers 1550), Formes de diverses protractions lesquelles vulgairement sont nommees Maurusies, ou foeulles de lauriers, faictes a la manière des Perses, Assyriens, Arabes, Aegyptiens, Indoys, Turcz, & Grecz, commodieusement ordonnees au grant bien des painctres, orfebures, Tailleurs de images, voiriers, tapiciers, brodeurs, & de tous aultres besongnant de leguille, Anvers: Hieronymus Cock. Artiste anonyme (1553), Modelbuch new aller art nehens und stickens, jekundt wider mit viel schoenen moedelen unnd stahlen allen steinmetzen schreinern/seidenstickern und ne derinnen sehr nuetzlich und lue stig zugericht, Frankfurt a.M.: Hermann Gülfferich. Artiste anonyme (1554), Patrons pour brodeurs, lingieres, massons, verriers & autres gens d’esprit, Paris: Jean Ruelle (Lotz 88). Artiste anonyme (1554), Variarum Protractionum quas vulgo Maurusias vocant omnium antehac excusarum libellus, Anvers: Balthasar Geertssen. Artiste anonyme (1557), Le pompe, opera nova, nella quale si ritrovano varie & diverse sorti di mostre, per poter far cordelle overo bindelle, d’oro, di seta, di filo […], Venezia: Giovanni Battista/ Marchio Sessa (Lotz 95). Artiste anonyme (1561), La vera perfettione del disegno di varie sorte di ricami, Venezia: Giovanni Ostaus. Artiste anonyme (1561), Nüw modelbuoch: allerley gattungen däntelschnür, so diser zyt in hoch tütschlanden geng und brüchig sind […], Zürich: Christoph Froschauer. Artiste anonyme (1563), Trionfo di virtù, libro novo da cusir nel qual si contengono molti & diverse sorti di fogliami del quale ogni gentil & virtuosa madonna se ne potrà servire in far ponti afili, ponti cruciati, ponti intrezola, ponti instura, pontto scritto, tirar in opera, guchia(r) tesser e molt’altri ponti come a loro piacerà, Venezia: Matteo Pagano. Artiste anonyme (1568) Neuw modelbuch von allerhandt art nehens und stickens mit viel mödel und stalen zugericht, Frankfurt a.M.: Nicolas Bassée (Lotz 25). Artiste anonyme (1585), Le Trésor des Patrons, contenant diverses sortes de broderies et lingeries, pour coudre avec grand facilité, et pour ouvrer en diverses sortes et piquer avec l’éguille, pulvériser par dessus, et faire ouvrage de toutes sortes de points, Lyon: Benoît Rigaud (Lotz 109).

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Artiste anonyme (1591), La vera perfettione del disegno di varie sorti di ricami e di nuovo aggiuntovi varie sorti di merli, e mostre che al presente sono in uso & in pratica, Venezia: Francesco di Franceschi (1ere édition Giovanni Ostaus, 1557). Artiste anonyme (vers 1593), New modelbuoch darinnen allerley gattung schoener moedeln der newen außgeschnitnen arbeit auff kraegen hempter facelet und dergleichen zunehen so zuvor in teutschland nicht gesehen. Allen tugentsamen frawen und jungkfrawen naetterinnen auch allen andern so lust zuo solcher kuenstlichen arbeit haben sehr dienstlich, Lindau: Georg Straub (Lotz 29). Androuet Du Cerceau, J. Ier (vers 1545), Mauresques de petit format, s.l., s.n. Androuet Du Cerceau J. Ier (1563), Les passements de moresques, s.l., s.n. Androuet Du Cerceau, J. Ier (vers 1565–1570), Parquets, s.l., s.n. Belin, A. / Mayol, J. (vers 1535), Sensuyuent lis patrons de messire Antoine Belin, Reclus de Sainct Martial de Lyon. Item plusiers autres beaulx Patrons nouveaulx, qui ont este inventez par Jehan Mayol Carme de Lyon, Lyon: Pierre de Sainte-Lucie. Bindoni, G. A. (1560), Il monte libro secondo, opera nova di recami di punto tagliato a fogliami intitolata il monte, libro secondo, nella quale si ritrova varie, & diverse sorte di mostre, di punto tagliato a fogliami, dove ogni bella, & virtuosa donna potrà fare ogni sorte di lavoro, cioè colari, fazoletti, maneghetii, avertadure da camise, merli, & altre infinite. Come potrai vedere, ne mai più per l’adietro da alcuno poste in luce […], Venezia: Giovanni Sessa / Marchio Sessa (Lotz 99). Castiglione, B. /Sanzio, R. (1519), Lettera a Leone X, Archivio di Stato di Mantova, ms. di Mantova, Archivio Castiglioni (acquisto 2016), documenti sciolti. busta 2, n. 12. Ciotti, G. B. (1591), Prima parte de’ fiori e disegni di varie sorti di ricami moderni. Come merli, bavari, manichetti, & altri nobili lavori, che al presente sono in uso, Venezia: Francesco di Franceschi / Niccolò Moretti (Lotz 121). – (1596), A booke of curious and strange inventions, called the first part of needleworkes containing many singuler and fine sortes of cut-workes, raisde-workes, stiches, and open cutworke, verie easie to be learned by the dilligent practisers, that shall follow the direction herein contained. Newlie augmented, London: William Barley (Lotz 154). Da Sera, D. (Dominique Celle) (1531), Ce livre est plaisant et utile à gens qui besongnent de l’éguille […]. Corrigé est nouvellement d’ung honneste homme par bon zelle son nom est Dominique Celle […] mise il a son intelligence à l’amander subtillement, taillé il est totalement par Jehan Coste […], Lyon: Jehan Coste (Lotz 69). Da Sera, D. (1532), Libbretto novellamente composto per maestro Domenico da Sera detto il franciosino: dove si appara et insegna a tutte le nobili et leggiadre giovanette di lavorare di ogni sorte di punti, cusire, reccamare et ultimamente far tutte quelle vaghe et belle opere che si appartengono alle vertuose et lodevoli fanciulle, e qual le dilettano di far con le sue mani alcuna gentilezza et oltre di ciò il detto libbretto è molto utile agli tessadri, Lyon: Domenico da Sera. – (1546), Opera nova composta per Domenico da Sera detto il Franciosino, dove si insegna a tutte le nobili & leggiadre giovenette di lavorare di ogni sorte di punti, cusire, recamare, & far tutte quelle belle opere che si appartengono alle virtuose fanciulle, e qual si dilettano di far con le sue mani alcuna gentilezza: & è anchora molto utile a gli tessadri, che sogliono lavorare di seta, Venezia: Matteo Pagano. Da Sera, D. / Cousin, J. (1584), Le livre de lingerie, composé par maistre Dominique de Sera, italien, enseignant le noble & gentil art de l’esguille, pour besongner en tous point: utile &

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profitable à toutes dames & damoyselles, pour passer le temps & éviter oysiveté. Nouvellement augmenté, & enrichi de plusieurs excelents & divers patrons, tant du point coupé, raiseau, que passement, de l’invention de M. Jean Cousin, peintre à Paris, Paris: Hierosme de Marnef. De Glen, J.-B. (1597), Du debvoir des filles, traicte brief et fort utile, divise en deux parties, la première est de la dignité de la femme, de ses bons départements et debvoirs, des bonnes parties et qualités requises aux filles qui tendent au mariage, 1’autre traicte de la virginité, de son excellence, des perfections nécessaires à celles qui en font profession, des moyens de la conserver […]. Item plusieurs patrons d’ouvrages pour toutes sortes de lingerie de Jean de Glen Letout dedie a madame Anne de Croy, marquise de Renty, Liège: Jean de Glen (Lotz 133). Di Pellegrino, F. (1530), La fleur de la science de pourtraicture: patrons de broderie, façon arabicque et ytalique, Paris: Jaques Nyverd. – (1546), Livre de moresques très utile & nécessaire à tous orfèvres, tailleurs, graveurs, painctres, tapissiers, brodeurs, lingières et femmes qui besongnent de l’esguille, Paris: Jean Gourmont. Estienne, R. (1552), Dictionarium Latinogallicum: postrema hac æditione valde locupletatum […], Paris: Charles Estienne. Flötner, P. (1549), Maureskenbüchlein, Zürich: Rudolph Wyssenbach. Foresto, I. (1563), Lucidario di recami, nel qual si contengono molte, & varie sorti di dessegni, a punti in aere, et punti tagliati & a fogliami, & con figure, et di più altre maniere, come al presente si usano non più venute in luce. Per le quali ogni elevato ingegno potrà in diversi modi commodissimamente servirsi, Venezia: Jeronimo Calepino. Franco, G. (1596), Nuova inventione de diverse mostre cosi di punto in acre come de Retticelli hoggi dì usate per tutte le parte del Mondo, con Merletti, Mostrotte da Colari, e da Manegheti et Merli per cantoni de fazoletti, Venezia: Giacomo Franco (Lotz 131). Hoffman, H. (1556), New modelbüch allen nägerin unnd sydenstickern sehr nutzlich zu brauche vor nye in druck außgange, Strasbourg: Jacob Frölich (Lotz 22). Le Maistre, J. (1565), Recueil de plusieurs pièces de pourtraiture, Lyon: Antoine Voulant (Lotz 106). Mollet, C. (1652), Theatre des jardinages: contenant une méthode facile pour faire des pépinières, planter, élever, enter, greffer, et cultiver toutes sortes d’arbres fruitiers: avec un traité pour la culture des fleurs qui servent à l’embellissement des iardins, Paris: Charles de Sercy. Parasole, E. C. (1597), Studio delle virtuose dame, dove si vedono bellissimi lavori di punto in aria, reticella, di maglia, Roma: Antonio Gachatti. Serlio, S. (1537), Regole generali di architetura sopra le cinque maniere degli edifici, cioè thoscano, dorico, ionico, corinthio et composito, con gli essempi dell’antiquità, che, per la magior parte concordano con la dottrina di Vitruvio, Venezia: Francesco Marcolini da Forlì. – (1551), Livre extraordinaire de architecture […]. Extraordinario libro di architettura, Lyon: Jean de Tournes. Siebmacher, J. (1596), New modelbuch darinnen allerley gattung schoener moedeln der newen außgeschnitnen arbeit auff kraegen hempter facelet und dergleichen zunehen so zuvor in teutschland nicht gesehen. Allen tugentsamen frawen und jungfrawen naette-

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rinnen auch allen andern so lust zu solcher kuenstlichen arbeit haben sehr dienstlich. Basel: Ludwig König. – (1604), Newes modelbuch in kupffer gemacht: darinen aller hand arth newer mödel von dun, mittel und dick aussgeschnidener arbeit auch andern kunstlichen nehwerck zu gebrauchen mit vleisz inn druck verfertigt, Nürnberg: s.n. Strada, J. (1559), Imperatorum Romanorum omnium orientalium et occidentalium verissimae imagines ex antiquis, Zürich: Andreas Gesner. Tagliente, G. A. (1527), Opera nuova che insegna alle donne a cusire, a racammare & a disegnar a ciascuno, et la ditta opera sarà di molta utilità ad ogni artista, per esser il disegno ad ognuno necessario, la qual è intitolata esempio di recammi, Venezia: Giovan Antonio e Fratelli da Sabbio (Lotz 64). Troveon, J. (1530), Patrons de diverses manieres inventez tressubtilement duysans a brodeurs et lingieres et a ceulx lesquelz vrayement veullent par bon entendement user dantique, et roboesque frize et moderne proprement, en comprenant aussi moresque, Lyon: Pierre de Sainte-Lucie (Lotz 77). Vasari, G. (1568), Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori, di nuovo dal medesimo riviste et ampliate con i ritratti loro et con l’aggiunta delle Vite de’ vivi, & de’ morti dall’anno 1550 insino al 1567, Firenze: Giunti. Vecellio, C. (1592), Corona delle nobili et virtuose donne. Nel quale si dimostra in varij dissegni molte sorti di mostre di punti in aria, punti tagliati, punti à reticello, & ancora di piccioli: cosi per freggi, come per merli, & rosette, che con l’aco si usano hoggidì per tutta l’Europa, con alcune altre nuove invencioni di Bavari all’usanza Venetiana – Opera Nuova, e non più data in luce, Venezia: Cesare Vecellio. Vinciolo, F. di (1587), Les singuliers et nouveaux pourtraicts, pour touttes sortes d’ouvrages de lingerie, Paris: Jean Le Clerc II (Lotz 110). Vorsterman, W. (1530), A neawe treatys as concernynge the excellency of the nedle worcke spannisshe stitche and weavynge in the frame […], Anvers: Willem Vorsterman. – (s.d.), Ce est ung tractat de la noble art de leguille ascavoir ouvraiges de spaigne […], Anvers: Willem Vorsterman. Zuccari, F. (1607), L’idea de’ Pittori, Scultori et Architetti […], Turin: Agostino Differlio.

Littérature secondaire Adda, G. d’ (1863), ‘ Essai bibliographique sur les anciens modèles de lingerie, de dentelles et de tapisseries gravés et publiés aux 16e et 17e siècles en Italie (en France, en Allemagne et en Flandre) ’, Gazette des beaux-arts 2, 342–59. – (1864), ‘ Essai bibliographique sur les anciens modèles de lingerie, de dentelles et de tapisseries gravés et publiés aux 16e et 17e siècles en Italie (en France, en Allemagne et en Flandre) ’, Gazette des beaux-arts 2, 421–36. Andreaoli, I. (2006), ‘ Ex officina erasmiana Vincenzo Valgrisi e l’illustrazione del libro tra Venezia e Lione alla metà del’500 ’, Thèse de doctorat, cotutelle Università Ca’ Foscari Venezia Facoltà di Lettere/Université Lumière Lyon 2. Baltrusˇaitis, J. (1993), Le Moyen Age fantastique: Antiquités et exotismes dans l’art gothique, Paris.

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Bourdieu, P. (1967), ‘ Postface ’, in E. Panofsky, Architecture gothique et pensée scolastique, Paris, 151–2. Byrne, J. S. (1979), ‘ Patterns by Master f ’, Metropolitan Museum Journal 14, 103–38. – (1981), Renaissance Ornament Prints and Drawings, New York. Bambach Cappel, C. (1988), ‘ The Tradition of Pouncing Drawings in the Italian Renaissance Workshop: Innovation and Derivation ’, PhD Dissertation, Yale University. – (1991), ‘ Leonardo, Tagliente, and Dürer: “ La scienza del far di groppi ” ’, Achademia Leonardi Vinci: Journal of Leonardo Studies and Bibliography of Vinciana 4, 72–98. Campana, C. (2006), ‘ L’habillement féminin à Venise dans les planches de Cesare Vecellio ’, in Paraître et se vêtir au XVIe siècle: actes du XIIIe Colloque du Puy-en-Velay, éd. M. Viallon, Saint-Étienne, 69–76. Carruthers, M. / Ziolkowski, J., ed. (2002), The Medieval Craft of Memory: An Anthology of Texts and Pictures, Philadelphia. Cave, T. (1997), Cornucopia, figures de l’abondance au XVIe siècle: Erasme, Rabelais, Ronsard, Montaigne, tr. G. Morel, Paris. Castres, A. (2016), ‘ Brodeurs et chasubliers à Paris au XVIe siècle ’, Thèse de doctorat, École pratique des hautes études Paris. – (2020), ‘ Broder chez soi au XVIe siècle: à propos d’un livre de patrons conservé à la bibliothèque de l’Arsenal ’, in Les Objets domestiques, entre privé et public (XVIe–XVIIe siècles), éd. A.Gimaret / A.-M. Miller-Blaise / N. Oddo, Albineana, Cahiers d’Aubigné 32, 179–205. Chastel, A. (1996), Marsile Ficin et l’art, Genève. Coelen, P. van der (1995), ‘ Cornelis Bos: Where Did He Go? Some New Discoveries and Hypotheses about a Sixteenth-Century Engraver and Publisher ’, Simiolus: Netherlands Quarterly for the History of Art 23.2/3, 119–46. Dictionnaire du Moyen Français (1330-1500), laboratoire AITFL de l’université de Nancy, http://www.atilf.fr/dmf/ (2010). Febvre, L. / Martin H.-J., éd. (1958), L’apparition du livre, Paris. Franz, R. (2009), ‘ European mauresque ornament as sign of the cultural transfer between Islam and Christian Europe ’, in Global Lab: Art as a Message, Asia and Europe 1500– 1700, éd. P. Noever / B. G. Fragner, Ostfildern, 224–38. Fuhring, P. (1989), ‘ Ornament Prints in Amsterdam ’, Print Quarterly 6.3, 331–2. – (1994), The French Renaissance in Prints from the Bibliothe`que nationale de France, Los Angeles. – (2010), ‘ Mauresques de petit format ’, in Jacques Androuet du Cerceau: ‘ un des plus grands architectes qui se soient jamais trouvés en France ’, éd. J. Guillaume / P. Fuhring / V. Auclair / J. Androuet du Cerceau, Paris. Geymüller, H. de (1887), Les Du Cerceau, leur vie et leur œuvre, Paris / London. Guilmard, D. (1881), Les maîtres ornemanistes, dessinateurs, peintres, architectes, sculpteurs et graveurs, Paris. Griffiths, A. (1996), Prints and Printmaking, 2nd ed., London. Gruber, A. C. (1993), ‘ Entrelacs ’, in L’art décoratif en Europe. Renaissance et Maniérisme, éd. A. C. Gruber, Paris, 22–111. Howard, D. (1975), Venice & the East: The Impact of the Islamic World on Venetian Architecture 1100–1500, New Haven.

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Huguet, E. (1925–1967), Dictionnaire de la langue française du seizième siècle, Paris (www.classiques-garnier.com/numerique). Jardine, L. / Brotton, J. (2000), Global Interests: Renaissance Art between East and West, Ithaca NY. Jobert, B. / Melot, M. (2010), ‘ Gravure ’, in Encyclopedia Universalis, Edition numérique, Paris. Kavaler, E. M. (2000), ‘ Renaissance Gothic in the Netherlands: The Uses of Ornament ’, The Art Bulletin 82.2, 226–51. – (2008), ‘ The Gothic of the Renaissance: Ornament, Excess, and Identity ’, in Renaissance Theory, The Art Seminar, vol. 5, ed. J. Elkins / R. Williams, New York, 115–58. – (2012), Renaissance Gothic: Architecture and the Arts in Northern Europe 1470–1540, New Haven. Landau, D. / Parshall, P. (1994), The Renaissance Print, New Haven. Lauvergnat-Gagnière, C. (1980), ‘ Claude Nourry, imprimeur populaire? ’, Bulletin de l’Association d’étude sur l’humanisme, la réforme et la renaissance 11.1, 84–91. Lemerle, F. (2012), ‘ Ars et ratio en architecture: la théorie des orders ’, Seizième siècle 8, 29– 37. Le Thiec, G. (2009), ‘ Le Turc en Italie: divertissements nobiliaires à la Renaissance ’, in Turcs et turqueries (XVe–XVIIIe siècles), éd. L. Bély, Paris, 113–44. Leutrat, E. (2007), Les débuts de la gravure sur cuivre en France, Lyon 1520–1565, Genève. Lévi-Strauss, C. (1962), La Pensée sauvage, Paris. Lotz, A. (1963), Bibliographie der Modelbücher. Beschreibendes Verzeichnis der Stick und Spitzenmusterbücher des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts, Stuttgart / London. Manca, J. (1996), ‘ The Gothic Leonardo: Towards a Reassessment of the Renaissance ’, Artibus et Historiae 17.34, 121–58. Michel, C. (2005), ‘ Ornement et convenance dans les premières années du règne personnel de Louis XIV ’, in Rinceaux & figures. L’ornement en France au XVIIe siècle, éd. E. Coquery, Paris, 200–13. Migeon, G. (1908), ‘ Préface ’, in La fleur de la science de pourtraicture: patrons de broderie, façon arabicque et ytalique, Paris, Jaques Nyverd, 1530, édition fac-similée, Paris. Moret, P. / Toubert, P., ed. (2009), Remploi, citation, plagiat. Conduites et pratiques médiévales (Xe–XIIe siècle), Madrid. Paoluzzi, M. C. (2004), La gravure: l’histoire, les techniques, les chefs-d’oeuvre de l’art graphique, des origines à nos jours, Paris. Pauwels, Y. (1998), ‘ La méthode de Serlio dans le Quarto Libro ’, Revue de l’Art 119.1, 33– 42. – (2001), ‘ Varietas et ordo en architecture: perception de l’antique et rhétorique de la création ’, in La Varietas à la Renaissance, éd. D. De Courcelles, Paris, 57–80. – (2008), Aux marges de la règle. Essais sur les ordres d’architecture à la Renaissance, Bruxelles. Paya, L. (2015), ‘ Les parterres ornés d’entrelacs comme marqueurs de la dynamique des identités et des goûts collectifs ’, in La Renaissance en Europe dans sa diversité 3, 267–88. – (2020), ‘ Le topos du jardin comme “ tapis de Turquie ” au temps des humanistes, une figure d’art et de mémoire ’, Intermédialités / Intermediality, éd. D. Ribouillault, 35, https://www.erudit.org/en/journals/im/2020-n35-im05945/1076368ar/.

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Payne, A. (1998), ‘ Creativity and bricolage in Architectural Literature of the Renaissance ’, Res: Anthropology and Aesthetics 34, 20–38. Plebani, T. (2015), ‘ I segreti e gli inganni dei libri di ricamo: uomini con l’ago e donne virtuose ’, Quaderni storici 50, 148 (1), 201–30. Ricci, E. (1909), ‘ Préface ’, in La vera perfezione del disegno per punti e recami. Riproduzione della edizione di Venezia del 1561 dall’esemplare della Biblioteca Corsiniana in Roma, Venise. Riegl, A. (2002), Questions de style: fondements d’une histoire de l’ornementation, Paris. Schéle, S. (1965), Cornelis Bos: A Study of the Origins of the Netherland Grotesque, Stockholm. Snodin, M. / Howard, M. (1996), Ornament: A Social History since 1450, New Haven / London. Speelberg, F. (2015), Fashion & Virtue: Textile Patterns and the Print Revolution, 1520– 1620, New York. Trilling, J. (1995), ‘ Medieval Interlace Ornament: The Making of a Cross-Cultural Idiom ’, Arte Medievale 9.2, 59–86. Whiting, G. (1920), A Lace Guide for Makers and Collectors, New York. Witcombe, C. L. C. E. (2004), Copyright in the Renaissance: Prints and the Privilegio in Sixteenth-Century Venice and Rome, Leiden / Boston. Witte, B. (2012), ‘ Raffael und das Bildnis der Ehefrau Liebessemantik und aequalitas in der Porträtmalerei des 16. Jahrhunderts ’, in Bilder der Liebe: Liebe, Begehren und Geschlechterverha¨ltnisse in der Kunst der Fru¨hen Neuzeit, Hgg. D. Guth / E. Priedl, Bielefeld / Leipzig, 67–98. Zerner, H. (2002), L’art de la Renaissance en France. L’invention du classicisme, Paris.

Contributors

Florence Alazard is an associate professor at François-Rabelais University and the Centre d’Études Supérieures de la Renaissance, Tours. Her research interests lie in the political and cultural history of the Italian and French Renaissance. Her monographs include Art vocal, art de gouverner: la musique, le prince et la cité en Italie à la fin du XVIe siècle (Paris: Minerve, 2002); Le lamento dans l’Italie de la Renaissance. ‘Pleure, belle Italie, jardin du monde’ (Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes, 2010); La bataille oubliée. Agnadel, 1509 (Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes, 2017). Luca Boschetto is Associate Professor of Italian Philology at the University of Florence. With research interests focusing on Italian humanism and on Florentine social and political history, he has produced several studies on literary production in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Florence. He is the author of Leon Battista Alberti e Firenze: Biografia, storia, letteratura (Florence: Leo S. Olschki, 2000) and Società e cultura a Firenze al tempo del Concilio: Eugenio IV tra curiali, mercanti e umanisti, 1434–1443 (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 2012). Marta Celati is Senior Researcher in Medieval and Humanist Literature at the University of Pisa (Programme “Rita Levi Montalcini”). She was awarded a PhD in ‘Italian Studies’ from the University of Oxford (2017) and a doctorate in ‘Medieval and Humanist Philology’ from the University of Pisa (2013). She has worked as Leverhulme Research Fellow at the University of Warwick, Centre for the Study of the Renaissance; Part-Time Lecturer at the University of Oxford; a Teaching Fellow at the University of Pisa; and in 2018 she was a Frances A. Yates Short-Term Fellow at the Warburg Institute. Her main research field is political and historical literature in the Italian Renaissance. Her recent monograph is Conspiracy Literature in Early Renaissance Italy: Historiography and Princely Ideology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021) She has published articles on various authors and topics, including the classical legacy in humanist works, the

304

Contributors

art of printing in fifteenth-century Italy, and the interaction between literature and visual culture. Claudia Daniotti is an art historian specializing in Italian Renaissance art with an emphasis on iconography and the classical tradition. She holds a PhD from The Warburg Institute, London, and a BA and an MA in history of art from the Ca’ Foscari University, Venice. Currently a Leverhulme Early Career Fellow at the Centre for the Study of the Renaissance, University of Warwick, she was a Visiting and Associate Lecturer in Renaissance and Baroque to Neoclassical Art at Buckingham and Bath Spa Universities (2016–2019). Her first monograph is entitled Reinventing Alexander: Myth, Legend, History in Renaissance Italian Art (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022). Wim François, PhD in theology, KU Leuven (2004), is Professor of Early Modern Church and Theology at KU Leuven (Belgium) and Academic Librarian of the Maurits Sabbe Library. His field of research is the history of the church and theology in the early modern era (1450–1650). He is especially interested in the space vernacular Bible reading occupied in the life of the faithful in that period. He is also doing research into the Latin Bible commentaries edited by the Louvain and Douai theologians during the Golden Age of Catholic biblical scholarship (1550–1650), with a particular focus on the Augustinian inspiration of these commentaries. Roberta Giubilini earned her PhD in Intellectual History at The Warburg Institute, School of Advanced Study, University of London, with a thesis investigating the influence of Reformed religious thought on the writings associated with academies in the Venetian Republic. She worked as Project Assistant in the Royal Archives in Windsor Castle, interpreting and cataloguing seventeenth- and eighteenth-century original correspondence of the royal family, then for Jo’s Cervical Cancer Trust as a Roadshow Administrator and evaluation consultant. She is currently a Senior Researcher for Prospectus, a recruitment agency for the non-profit sector. Peter Arnold Heuser (PhD, 2002) was, from 2003 to 2011, research fellow at the Acta Pacis Westphalicae (APW) in Bonn, the project responsible for the scientific edition of the European acta of the Peace Congress of Westphalia (1643–1649) funded by the Nordrhein-Westfälische Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Ku¨ nste. From 2012 to 2015 he was research fellow at the Institut fu¨ r Geschichtswissenschaft of the Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität Bonn, Department for Early Modern History; he led the research project HE 6339/1-1/2 of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG): ‘Ars disputandi:

Contributors

305

Studien zur kommunikativen Praxis fru¨ hneuzeitlicher Diplomaten auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress 1643–1649’ (2012–2015). Since 2015 he has been research fellow at the Zentrum fu¨ r Historische Friedensforschung der Universität Bonn. His fields of research and publications are listed at www.paheuser.de; https://www.clio-online.de/researcher/id/researcher-17555. David Lines, University of Warwick, has worked intensively on Bologna for many years. His latest monograph is The Dynamics of Learning in Early Modern Italy: Arts and Medicine at the University of Bologna (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2023). He is Director of Warwick’s Centre for the Study of the Renaissance and Senior Editor of the Centre’s book series Warwick Studies in Renaissance Thought and Culture. Laurent Paya holds a Master’s Degree in Landscape Architecture from the Agrocampus Ouest (Angers, France) and a PhD in Art History from the Centre d’Etudes Supérieures de la Renaissance (Tours, France). As chief engineer of the Ministry of Agriculture, he teaches landscape architecture and garden design. As an associate researcher, he conducts research on art history at the Centre d’Etudes Supérieures de la Renaissance and the Centre de Recherches Interdisciplinaires en Sciences humaines et Sociales (Université Montpellier III, France). His fields of research are the aesthetics of gardens, ornaments, décor, and towns in the early modern period. He has published a series of articles about the elaboration and the circulation of artistic, scientific, and technological knowledge of the art of gardens. Claudio Povolo is honorary research professor at the Università Ca’ Foscari of Venice. His studies have been mainly focused on the history of justice and of Venetian and Mediterranean society. He is currently working on a monograph on the history of vendetta and banditry in Europe between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Among his publications are Zanzanù. Il bandito del lago (1576–1617) (Arco [Trento]: Grafica 5, 2011) and Furore. Elaborazione di un’emozione nella seconda metà del Cinquecento (Verona: Cierre, 2015), and most recently Il frate, il conte e l’antropologo (Verona: Cierre, 2020). He was head of the Università Ca’ Foscari of the Transnational Cooperation Italy-Slovenia 2007–2013. Claudia Wedepohl is the Archivist of the Warburg Institute. She graduated in Art History and Italian Literature in Hamburg and joined the staff of the Warburg Institute in 2000. Since 2006 she has been responsible for the Archive. She has held fellowships at the Center for Literary and Cultural Research in Berlin and at the Center for Advanced Studies, Morphomata, at the University of Co-

306

Contributors

logne. Her academic work focuses on fifteenth-century Italian art and architecture and on art historiography around 1900. She has published widely on the genesis of Aby Warburg’s ideas and key terms and serves as co-editor of the edition of Warburg’s collected works.

Index nominum

Acciaiuoli, Agnolo di Iacopo 99 Accolti, Pietro 43 Agrippa, Marcus Vespasianus 222, 231f. Albergati, Fausto 151 Alberti, Leon Battista 16, 212, 214f., 229, 230–233, 237f. Albizzi, Maso di Luca degli 98, 103 Albizzi, Massaleo degli 81 Albizzi, Tommaso di Luca degli 96 Alciato, Andrea 144 Alciato, Francesco 157 Aldrovandi, Ulisse 139–143, 150, 152f. Alessandri, Antonio di Alessandro degli 101 Alexander the Great (Alexander III), King of Macedon 9, 249–261 Alfonso I d’Este, Duke of Ferrara 11, 13, 22–24 Alfonso II d’Este, Duke of Ferrara 22 Alfonso the Magnanimous, King of Aragon (as Alfonso V) and of Naples (as Alfonso I) 19, 211, 216, 227, 229, 235 Altoviti, Francesco di Roberto 99 Altoviti, Oddo di Vieri 99 Altoviti, Rinaldo d’Oddo 77, 98, 99, 100, 101, 104, 105 Altoviti, Roberto di Giovanni 99 Amadori, Francesco di Lorenzo 96, 98 Amaseo, Leonardo 41 Androuet du Cerceau, Jacques 288 Angiou, Jean, d’ 227 Anjou (royal dynasty) 226, 238 Apollonio di Giovanni 259 Aratus of Soli 222

Arduini, Isabella 22f. Ariosto, Ludovico 22–24 Aristotile, Nicolò d’ 278, 281 Aristotle 226, 249 Arius 170 Arrian 254 Artaud de Montor, Alexis-François 258 Atti, Isotta degli 207, 213, 237 Augustine of Hippo, Saint 198, 216 Augustus, Roman emperor 222, 230–236 Bartoli, Giovambattista di Lionardo 96 Bartolomei, Antonio di Battista 89 Basinio da Parma (Basini, Basinio) 211, 216, 221–223, 232, 234, 236–238 Bassée, Nicolas 275 Battista, Giovanni 291 Bazzani, Giuseppe 254 Beatrice, Giovanni (outlaw of the Republic of Venice) 111, 132–134 Beccuto, Felice di Meo del 103 Béda (or Bédier), Noël 161, 164–169, 171– 188 Belin, Antoine 277 Bellucci, Antonio 254f. Bembo, Pietro 41, 47 Ben, Andrea del 128 Benzi, Andrea 227 Berthélemy, Jacques 173 Berti, Giovanni di Simone 96 Betto (or Betti), Claudio 154 Bibliander, Theodor 197 Biliotti, Agostino di Sandro 77, 96–98, 101, 104

308 Biliotti, Zanobi di Sandro 99 Bindoni, Giovanni Antonio 290 Bini, Piero di Giovanni 103 Biondo Flavio (Blondus Flavius) 231 Boldoni, Niccolò 157 Bona of Savoy, Duchess of Milan 26, 29 Bonaguisi, Matteo di Stagio 103 Boncompagni, Filippo 145 Boniface IV, Pope 232 Bordone, Camillo 144 Borgia, Angela 22 Borgia, Cesare 38 Borromeo, Carlo 157 Botticelli, Sandro 85, 271 Bracciolini, Jacopo di Poggio 102 Bracciolini, Poggio see Poggio Briçonnet, Guillaume 164, 178 Brivio, Giuseppe 16, 18f. Broglio Tartaglia, Gaspare 211 Brunelleschi, Filippo 205, 230, 239 Caccia, Matteo di Nofri del 96, 98, 103 Calepino, Jeronimo 291 Cambini, Francesco di Niccolò 96 Campeggi, Vincenzo 150, 157 Canova, Francesco 126f. Capello, Paolo 42, 47 Capponi, Alessandro di Gino 101 Capponi, Piero 88, 89 Capponi, Recco d’Uguccione 96 Carafa, Oliviero 43 Cardano, Girolamo 150, 157 Carducci, Lorenzo d’Agnolo 101 Carlo VIII, re di Francia see Charles VIII, King of France Carnesecchi, Amerigo di Simone 98 Carnesecchi, Cristofano di Bernardo 103 Caroli, Pierre 166, 168, 188 Cassius Dio, Lucius see Dio, Lucius Cassius Catherine the Great (Catherine II), Empress of Russia 256 Ceccato, Domenico 111 Cecco, Domenico di Giovanni di Lorenzo di 102 Celle, Dominique 275f. Cervantes, Miguel de 131, 134

Index nominum

Chappony, Alessandro di Gino see Capponi, Alessandro di Gino Charles V, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire 146, 168, 188 Charles VIII, King of France 88, 99 Chigi, Agostino 222, 251 Chigi, Fabio 56, 65, 66 Chrysostom, John see John Chrysostom, Saint Cicero 221 Ciotti, Giovanni Battista 292 Clementini, Cesare 217 Clichtove, Josse 180 Cocchi, Francesco di Niccolò 103 Cocchi, Giovanni 238 Cock, Hieronymus 278, 286 Contarini, Alvise 56, 65 Contarini, Giulio 111 Conti, Giusto de’ 216 Conti, Sigismondo de’ 43 Corbinelli, Ruggeri di Niccolò 96 Corio, Bernardino 26 Corregio, Giovanni Mercurio da 44 Corregio, Niccolò da 44 Corsellini, Giuliano di Francesco 98 Corsellini, Piero di Francesco 96 Corsini, Bertoldo di Gherardo 96 Costa, Luca 144, 155 Coste, Jehan 275 Cousin, Jean 290 Cousturier, Pierre see Sutor, Petrus Crispo, Tiberio 257 Crosato, Giambattista 260 Curtius Rufus, Quintus 254, 256, 259f. Cusa, Nicholas of, Cardinal see Nicholas of Cusa, Cardinal Cusanus see Nicholas of Cusa, Cardinal Darius III, King of Persia 9, 249, 251–261 Dati, Gregorio 85 Davanzati, Lorenzo di Piero 98, 103 Decembrio, Pier Candido 260 Deloynes, François 167f., 171 Dio, Lucius Cassius 231f. Diodorus Siculus 253f. Donà, Girolamo 42f., 46

Index nominum

Donatello 215 Duccio, Agostino di 208f., 215, 217, 219, 235 Duns Scotus, John 175 Du Plessis d’Argentré, Charles 187 Edelinck, Gérard 256 Egenolff, Christian 275 Erasmus, Desiderius 9, 161–189 Este, Alfonso I d’ see Alfonso I d’Este, Duke of Ferrara Este, Alfonso II d’ see Alfonso II d’Este, Duke of Ferrara Este, Ferrante d’ see Ferrante d’Este Este, Giulio d’ see Giulio d’Este Este, Ippolito d’ see Ippolito d’Este, Cardinal Este, Leonello d’ see Leonello d’Este, Marquis of Ferrara Estienne, Robert 285 Eugenius IV, Pope (Gabriele Condulmer) 210, 231, 233, 235 Eustochium (correspondent of Jerome) 162, 175 Falloppio, Gabriele 157 Fava, Scipione 154 Federighi, Niccolò di Carlo 101 Feliciari, Piero de’ 78 Ferdinand I, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire 146 Ferdinand II, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire 54 Ferdinand III, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire 54f. Ferdinand I of Aragon, King of Naples 227 Ferdinand II (Ferdinand the Catholic), King of Aragon, of Sicily and of Naples 38 Ferrante I d’Aragona, re di Napoli see Ferdinand I of Aragon, King of Naples Ferrante d’Este 22, 24 Ficino, Marsilio 226 Filarete (Averlino, Antonio) 234f. Flavio, Biondo see Biondo Flavio Flötner, Peter 288

309 Foresto, Iseppo 291 Fracanzani, Antonio 157 Franceschi, Francesco de 291 Francesco II da Carrara, Lord of Padua 233 Francis I, King of France 165, 168, 180, 188, 286 Franco, Giacomo 293 Froschauer, Christoph 290f. Gaillard, Jean 173 Gaulette, Jean 256 Geertssen, Balthasar 289 Geminus, Thomas 288 Gennadius II, Patriarch of Constantinople see Scholarios, George Gennadios Gerson, Jean 164f. Giamberti, Marco del Buono 259 Ginetti, Marzio 54 Ginori, Gino di Giuliano 98, 101 Gioannetti, Antenore 146 Gioannetti, Francesco 139f., 143–152, 154–156 Gioannetti, Galeazzo 147 Giugni, Filippo d’Antonio 98 Giulio d’Este 22–24 Giusti, Ottavio 126 Giustinian, Antonio 38, 42f. Glen, Jean de 292 Godi, Pietro 18 Gonzaga (family) 139 Gonzaga, Federico I, Marquess of Mantua 103 Gonzaga, Francesco, Cardinal 22, 158 Gonzaga, Giovan Francesco 230, 237 Gonzaga, Lodovico 230 Gori, Lorenzo di Federigo 101 Gourmont, Jérôme de 287f. Gozzoli, Benozzo 216, 225 Gregory XIII, Pope (Ugo Boncompagni) 144, 146, 148–151, 156 Gribelin, Simon 256 Grimana, Zanon della 111 Grimana, Zuan Giacomo della 111 Grimani, Domenico 39 Grumello, Antonio 44f.

310 Guarino da Verona (Guarinus Veronensis) 221 Guastavillani, Filippo, Cardinal 155 Guicciardini, Francesco 88f., 92 Guidi, Giovanni di Bartolomeo 89 Guilliretus, Stephanus 44 Guise, Jean de, Cardinal 185 Gülfferich, Hermann 284 Hadrian, Roman emperor 222, 231 Hephaestion 251, 253–255, 257, 261 Hoffman, Hans 275, 284 Hus, John 170 Hyginus 222 Innocent III, Pope 179, 182, 184, 188 Ippolito d’Este, Cardinal 11, 13, 22, 24 Jerome, Saint 162f., 171, 175, 184 Johann Georg I of Saxony (PrinceElector) 54 John Chrysostom, Saint 162, 176, 183–185 Julius II, Pope (Giuliano della Rovere) 8, 149, 222 Lampugnani, Giovanni Andrea 25–30 Landi, Zanobi di Bonaiuto 98 Lanfredini, Iacopo d’Orsino 96, 103 Lapi, Tommaso di Giovanni 103 Le Brun, Charles 256 Le Maistre, Jean 284f. Lefèvre d’Étaples, Jacques 164f., 167, 169, 172f., 177, 179, 188 Lenzi, Lorenzo d’Anfrione 101 Leo X, Pope (Giovanni de’ Medici) 237, 271 Livy 237 Leonello d’Este, Marquis of Ferrara 221 Loredan, Leonardo, Doge of Venice 44 Louis XII, King of France and of Naples 40, 44f. Louis XIV, King of France 256 Machiavelli, Girolamo 91 Machiavelli, Niccolò 12, 30f. Macrobius 221

Index nominum

Maffei, Timoteo, Archbishop of Milan 233 Malatesta, Domenico see Malatesta Novello Malatesta, Galeotto Roberto 210 Malatesta, Pandolfo 205, 210 Malatesta, Sigismondo 9, 205, 207–219, 221–230, 232–239 Malatesta Novello 210, 227 Malipiero (or Mastropiero), Orio, Doge of Venice 119 Manetti, Giannozzo 211, 234 Marcella (correspondent of Jerome) 162, 175 Maripetro, Alvise 42, 47 Marnef, Hiérosme de 290 Martelli, Antonio di Niccolò 77, 94–98 Martelli, Bartolomeo di Niccolò 94 Martelli, Carlo di Ugolino 104 Martelli, Giovan Battista di Ugolino 104 Martelli, Girolamo di Antonio 96, 98 Martelli, Niccolò di Antonio 96, 98, 104 Martelli, Niccolò di Ugolino 95 Martelli, Ugolino di Niccolò 77, 104 Martianus Capella 221f. Masi, Duti d’Antonio 98 Masi, Ludovico d’Antonio 98 Maso, Angelo di 15 Maso, Clemente di 15 Matteo di messer Giovanni 101 Mauruzzi da Tolentino, Gianfrancesco 101f. Mauruzzi da Tolentino, Niccolò 102 Mauruzzi, Giovanfrancesco 102 Mayol, Jehan 277 Mazurier, Martial 166, 168, 188 Medici, Cosimo il Vecchio (Cosimo di Giovanni) de’ 91, 102, 234, 237, 239 Medici, Giuliano di Piero de’ 25, 77, 96, 98, 102 Medici, Isabella de’ 255 Medici, Lorenzo di Bernardo de’ 103 Medici, Lorenzo il Magnifico (Lorenzo di Piero) de’ 8, 25, 77, 79, 86–88, 93–96, 98–105 Medici, Piero di Cosimo de’ 237 Medici, Piero di Lorenzo de’ 89 Mehmed II, Ottoman emperor 229

311

Index nominum

Mellini, Piero di Francesco 103 Melotte, Antoine-Marin 256 Memling, Hans 97 Meo del Beccuto, Felice di see Beccuto, Felice di Meo del Michelozzo 230 Mocenigo, Leonardo, Bishop 42 Mollet, Claude 293 Montefeltro, Federico da, Lord of Urbino 217, 227f. Monti, Bastiano di Giovanni 101 Morelli, Giovanni di Pagolo 78, 85f. Morelli, Girolamo 104 Moro, Benedetto 110, 132 Moryson, Fynes 113f., 127, 131 Nacci, Francesco 96 Nasi, Francesco di Lutozzo 98, 101 Nasi, Lorenzo di Lutozzo 96 Nero, Bernardo di Neri del 88f. Nero, Nerozzo di Piero del 101 Neroni, Dietisalvi 99 Nesi, Francesco di Giovanni 103 Neve, Giovanni see Neville, John (?) Neville, John (?) 94f. Niccolini, Luigi di Bernardo 96 Nicholas of Cusa, Cardinal 202, 227f. Nicholas V, Pope (Tommaso Parentucelli) 11, 13, 15–21, 210, 212f., 230f., 233 Nourry, Claude 276, 283 Olgiati, Gerolamo 25f. Olympias, Princess of the Molossians 249 Orazi, Nicolò 144 Orazio Romano 16f., 19 Origen 170, 177, 199 Orsi, Roberto 103 Orsini, Giordano, Cardinal 220 Orsini, Paolo Giordano I 255 Ostaus, Giovanni 291 Pace, Luigi da 222 Pagan, Matio 284, 289–291 Paganelli, Antonio di Bernardo Paganino, Alessandro 279 Paleario, Aonio 157

98

Paleotti, Gabriele, Cardinal 142f., 153 Pandolfini, Priore di Giannozzo 103 Pandoni, Porcelio de’ 234 Paolo Romano (sculptor) 228 Parasole, Elisabetta Catanea 293 Parenti, Piero di Marco 99 Parmenion 253 Pasquet, Jacques 173 Pasti, Matteo de’ 213–216, 230 Paul III, Pope (Alessandro Farnese) 146, 252, 257 Paul IV Pope (Gian Pietro Carafa) 197 Paul V, Pope (Camillo Borghese) 149 Pazzi (family) 25, 77, 86, 96, 102, 104f. Pazzino di Luca Alberti, Bernardo di 101 Pecori, Bartolomeo di Guidaccio 78 Pellegrini, Antonio 260 Pellegrino, Francesco di 286–288 Perin del Vaga 252 Petit, Guillaume, Bishop 165f. Petrarch (Petrarca, Francesco) 221, 261 Petrucci, Cesare di Domenico 101 Philip II, King of Macedonia 249, 253 Piccinino, Jacopo (or Giacomo) 227 Piccolomini, Antonio, Archbishop 228 Piccolomini, Enea Silvio see Pius II Pierozzo, Pierozzo di Giovanni di 99 Pisani, Paolo 42 Pitti, Bonaccorso di Luca 101 Pius II, Pope (Enea Silvio Piccolomini) 9, 37f., 205, 207f., 210, 212, 217, 226– 229, 233, 238 Pius IV, Pope (Giovanni Angelo Medici) 157 Plato 221, 226 Plethon, Georgios Gemistos 216, 225f. Pliny the Elder (Plinius maior) 231f. Plutarch 254, 260 Poggio (Poggius Florentinus) 102, 220f. Popoleschi, Bartolomeo di Niccolò 98 Porcari, Stefano 11–13, 15, 20 Portinari, Tommaso 97, 104 Porto, Ludovico da 128 Postel, Guillaume 12, 195–203 Principia (correspondent of Jerome) 175

312

Index nominum

Priori, Lorenzo 120 Priuli, Girolamo 41, 45 Quentel, Peter

274f., 278, 281

Rabatta, da (family) 96 Ricasoli, Lorenzo di Andrea da 102f. Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino) 222 René I of Anjou, King of Naples 99 Renato d’Angiò, re di Napoli see René of Anjou, King of Naples Riario, Raffaele, Cardinal 43, 46 Ricasoli, Rinieri di Andrea da 102f. Ricci, Sebastiano 255 Richelieu, Armand Jean du Plessis, Duke of, Cardinal 54 Ridolfi, Bernardo d’Inghilese 98 Ridolfi, Tommaso di Luigi 96 Rinieri, Bernardo di Stoldo 103 Rinuccini, Alamanno 87f. Rocaguinarda, Perot 131, 133f. Rucellai, Pandolfo di Giovanni 96, 101 Ruelle, Jean 284 Sacchetti, Franco 81 Sainte-Lucie, Pierre de 282 Sallust 13, 26 Sangiorgi, Pietro Maria 144 Sangiorgio, Giovanni Antonio, Cardinal 38 Sanudo, Marino 39, 41f., 44, 119 Savonarola, Girolamo 88, 92 Savoy, Bona of see Bona of Savoy, Duchess of Milan Scala, Bartolomeo 78, 86 Scholarios, George Gennadios 226 Schongauer, Martin 270, 274, 284 Schönsperger I (the Elder), Johann 273 Schönsperger II (the Younger), Johann 273, 275f., 278 Scipio Africanus 218, 260f. Segni, Lorenzo di Francesco 96 Sera, Domenico da 275f., 290 Serlio, Sebastiano 267, 277f., 294 Serristori, Giovanni d’Antonio 98 Servien, Abel 53

Sessa, Giovanni Battista 291 Sessa, Melchiorre (or Marchio) 291 Sforza (family) 26f., 29f., 271, 281 Sforza, Alessandro 227 Sforza, Caterina 146 Sforza, Francesco I 214 Sforza, Galeazzo Maria 11, 13, 25–27 Sforza, Gian Galeazzo Maria 26 Sforza, Ludovico Maria (il Moro) 104 Siebmacher, Johann 293 Sigismund (Saint), King of the Burgundians 212f., 238 Sigismund, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire 211 Silber, Eucario 39 Sirleto, Guglielmo, Cardinal 151 Sisygambis 251–254, 257, 259–261 Sixtus IV, Pope (Francesco della Rovere) 38, 47 Sixtus V, Pope (Felice di Peretti da Montalto) 146, 149, 151 Soccal, Augusto 111 Soderini, Pagolantonio di Tommaso 89, 98 Sodoma (Giovanni Antonio Bazzi) 251f., 254 Staggia, Benedetto da 89 Steiner, Heinrich 275, 278 Strada, Jacopo 289 Straub, Georg 293 Strozzi (family) 105 Sutor, Petrus 161, 164, 167–171, 173, 175, 177–180, 182–184, 188 Tagliente, Giovanni Antonio 278f., 282, 284, 286 Tani, Agnolo di Iacopo 95, 97 Thalestris (Queen of the Amazons) 261 Tiepolo, Giambattista 255 Tiepolo, Jacopo, Doge of Venice 119 Tolentino, Gianfrancesco da see Mauruzzi da Tolentino, Gianfrancesco Tolentino, Niccolò da see Mauruzzi da Tolentino, Niccolò Tornabuoni, Giovanni di Francesco 98 Trajan, Roman emperor 235

313

Index nominum

Trebizond, George of (Georgius Trapezuntius) 226 Trevisan, Domenico 42, 44, 47 Troveon, Jean 282 Ubaldi, Angelo degli

78

Valerius Maximus 254 Valtellino, Antonio 22 Valturio, Roberto 211, 216, 219f., 222, 225, 229, 232, 234, 237 Vasari, Giorgio 211f., 215, 268, 271, 285, 287, 294 Vavassore, Zoan Andrea 278, 281f. Vecellio, Cesare 292f. Veronese, Paolo 255f., 260

Vinciolo, Federico di 290–292 Virgil 236 Visconti, Carlo 25f. Visconti, Filippo Maria 211, 233, 235 Volta, Marcantonio 153 Wain, Gervais 185 William II of Wittelsbach, Duke of Bavaria 146 Wycliffe, John 170 Wyssenbach, Rudolph 288 Zati, Simone d’Amerigo 101, 103 Zerbolt of Zutphen, Gerard 163 Zuccari, Federico 255 Zuccari, Taddeo 255