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remnant of the defenders, reduced from forty thousand inhabitants
to six thousand, repaired to Montalcino where they set up their
fallen Republic.
The she-wolf of Siena had fallen into the jaws of the Florentine
lion, but the French troops under the command of Flaminio Orsino,
Pietro Strozzi, Port’ Ercole, Orbetello and Talamone remained to be
vanquished, and the Count Marignano moved upon them with a
strong army. Andrea Doria supplied provisions and artillery and his
forty galleys prevented the reënforcement or retreat of the French
by sea. Marignano carried the fortress of Sant’Ippolito by storm, and
successively the castles of Avvoltojo and Stronco fell into his hands.
Chiappino Vitelli, captain in the pay of Orsino, distinguished himself
greatly at Stronco. Strozzi found his position untenable and retired
with Orsino to Montalto, a castle belonging to the Farnese, situated
near the sea. This retreat discouraged the friends of Siena and all
the towns which had favoured them surrendered to the imperials. At
Avvoltojo, Ottobuono Fieschi was taken prisoner and delivered to
Andrea Doria. Neither his own great age, nor the memory of his
bloody vengeance against the Fieschi family, softened the spirit of
the admiral. It is enough to make one’s heart bleed to think that he
who had often spared the lives of Turkish pirates, who treated the
inhuman Barbarossa with courtesy and released Dragut from his
chains, ordered Ottobuono to be brought to him enclosed in a sack
and barbarously butchered before his eyes.
The murder of this brave warrior, captured while fighting for
national independence, deepened the resentment in the Genoese
already exasperated by the sanguinary vengeance taken against the
Fieschi and the perversion of the Republic. Nor was Genoa alone in
opposing the Doria government; the Ligurians generally shared the
feeling of the capital and the Corsicans, suffering under the
despotism of our nobles, began to show signs of revolt.
Fregoso and Sampiero shared the perils of Ottobuono in the
siege of Siena. Aurelio Fregoso and Fieschi had laid aside their
hereditary enmity at Mirandola and set out together for the seat of
war. Eleonora, widow of Gianluigi, had sealed this new friendship by
giving in marriage to Fregoso her sister-in-law Lucrezia Vitelli.
Aurelio was a soldier of great merit and was afterwards honoured for
his valour. Siena enrolled him among her citizens, Francesco Maria,
Duke of Urbino, invested him with the feud of St. Agata, and Cosimo
himself treated him as an intimate friend.
Sampiero, Fregoso’s companion in the vicissitudes of a stormy
career, was the most formidable soldier and captain of his time. The
example of the Fieschi whom he had known in Rome, Mirandola,
Siena and France, led him to draw his sword against the Genoese
government; and therefore we may be permitted to touch upon the
overthrow of his family in a struggle which dyed his native rocks with
Genoese blood.
Sampiero was born in humble fortune at Bastelica (whence his
surname), and having studied the military art in his youth left his
native island and went to Rome. Here, none excelled him in strength
and courage. There is a tradition that an Orsini wished to deprive
him of this honour and for the purpose challenged him to a joust
with a wild bull. The young and reckless Samperio accepted the
contest and cut down his ferocious antagonist. He served
successively the Florentines against Pisa and the king of France. In
the latter service his exploits in Catalonia and Provence raised him to
high reputation. The famous defiance of Barletta is far less entitled
to fame than his great duel at the battle of Perpignano; but what
great Italian writer has preserved the memory of that deed?
On the evening of the tenth of October 1542, five hundred
Spanish knights issued from Perpignano with flying colours, and
challenged the besieging army to fight them man for man. Sampiero
heard the defiance and collected about him some of his bravest
knights, among whom were Pecchia da Borgo, Francesco da Verona,
Ceccone da San Zenese, Bartolomeo da Fano and other Italians to
the number of fifty. He led this little band to the tent of Delfino the
French general, and obtained permission to put his fifty against the
five hundred Spaniards. The French barons were astonished at his
audacity, but Sampiero without waiting to hear their objections
dashed down upon the Spaniards with such impetuosity as to hurl
them backward at the first shock. In endeavouring to retire the
vanquished knights broke their ranks and fell into a confusion which
enabled the victors to kill many and capture a larger number without
the loss of a man.
After this victory, which would be memorable in any age, the
Italians returned to their tents, where the Marshal of France received
them with great honour, the flower of his knights greeting them with
trumpets and acclamations. Delfino received them one by one and
gave them rich presents—especially Sampiero, to whom he gave a
rich gold chain.
The fame which he had acquired obscured the memory of his
humble birth, and he was counted worthy to espouse Vannina,
daughter and heir of Francesco, Marquis of Ornano. He served
afterwards in the French army of Piedmont and Paul III. received
him at his court with every mark of affection, when after the death
of Pier Luigi he was collecting men and captains to avenge the
assassination.
The Genoese, suspecting intrigues between the Fieschi and the
Pope, seized Sampiero and he only recovered his liberty after urgent
solicitations of France in his behalf. This imprisonment filled him with
indignation and he resolved to revolutionize Corsica. He landed in
the island, under the protection of French and Turkish fleets, at the
head of a fine body of Italian soldiers and in a few days wrested it
from the Genoese, who had lost the affection of the people by
extortion and robberies under the name of imposts collected by
bands of thieves called tax and excise officers. The Genoese
government again erred by refusing friendly offers made by France.
Termes, before moving to the support of the Corsicans, prayed the
Republic to ally itself with France on terms which would preserve its
independence, and he pledged himself in this case to suppress revolt
in Corsica. The influence of Doria was powerful enough to secure the
rejection of this proposition, and though he was eighty-six years of
age he, with Agostino Spinola for colleague, undertook to crush the
rebellion. Both parties fought with equal valour; but the siege of
Siena called Doria from the Island to the coast of Tuscany, and
Termes had not a sufficient force to conquer the Ligurian power in
Corsica.
At that time, Count Scipione Fieschi lived in the court of
Catherine de’ Medici, regent of the kingdom of France. The Republic
sent there Tobia Pallavicini and Gerolamo Lomellini, under pretence
of promoting amicable relations with that crown, but in reality to
intrigue against the Fieschi. But Catherine who had induced Henry
II. to insert in the treaty of Castel Cambrese stipulations in favour of
the family, had not changed sympathies and, instead of yielding to
the influence of the Genoese ambassadors, opened negotiations for
the restoration of Scipione to his ancestral rights.
Finding the Republic utterly averse to her wishes, she conceived
a strong animosity against it, and supported the movements of the
Fieschi and other exiles with a vigour which must have produced
great results, if the peace with Spain and the Huguenot war had not
recalled all her attention to home affairs.
Sampiero was one of the warmest friends both of the Fieschi and
the Queen regent, and discontented with peace he incessantly
stimulated the exiles to some noble enterprise. Leaving his wife in
Marseilles, he visited the courts of Italy and Navarre, and even sailed
into Africa to solicit the coöperation of the Turks. He visited the court
of Soliman, who, struck with his valour, loaded him with presents
and dismissed him with flattering promises.
The Republic was on the alert and took measures to thwart the
schemes of the exiles. Poison and daggers had failed, and the Dorias
invented another expedient. Sampiero returning from the East
learned that his wife Vannina, under the influence of priest
Michelangelo Ombrone and Agostino Bacigalupo, had sailed for
Genoa. These messengers had been suborned by the Genoese
government to decoy Vannina into Genoa under pretence that she
might recover the confiscated feud of Ornano and obtain her
husband’s pardon, for whose head the Senate had offered a reward
of five thousand crowns.
This news inflamed Sampiero with the greater wrath that it was
likely to create the belief that she went there by his advice and so to
injure his fellow exiles. He lamented his misfortune to Pier Giovanni
da Calvese, who had been the companion of his journey into the
East, and Calvese informed him that he had known the fact for some
days, but had concealed it lest he should share the fate of Florio da
Corte, whom Sampiero had killed.
Sampiero was so angry that he ran his companion through and
left him dead on the spot. On arriving at Marseilles, he learned that
the Queen had sent Antonio San Fiorenzo in chase of Vannina, and
that she had been overtaken at Antibo and confined in the castle of
Zaisi near Aix. Sampiero started at once for the castle with the
intention of taking his wife under his own care, but the Count of
Provence fearing that he would do her mischief left her to choose
her own course. The magnanimous woman did not hesitate a
moment to put herself entirely in the power of her husband.
He was mortally wounded by the suspicion of the Corsicans that
her voyage to Genoa had been a treachery of his own, and he had
no means of exculpating himself but by taking vengeance for the
crime on the person of the offender. But he loved Vannina
passionately and for some days patriotism and affection contended
for the mastery in his bosom. But Vannina knew his perplexity, and
came to his relief by imploring death at his hands. She gathered
about her the servants of her household and her younger son
Antonfrancesco (Alfonso was in the French court) and addressing
her husband in passionate terms, she said: “kneel before me, and
show to these persons that you still love me, that I am worthy of
you. Call me donna, Madonna.” Sampiero comprehended her
thought and fell at her feet covering her hands with tears and kisses.
Then they entered into a private apartment, and what passed
between them there is known only to God. The servants heard sighs,
sobs, kisses; then a shriek followed by a deep silence. Sampiero
mounted his horse and rode swiftly to Paris. By killing Vannina he
satisfied the Corsicans of his fidelity, and more, that no affection
could withhold him from punishing the guilty.
The hatred of Sampiero to the government of Genoa was
doubled by the part it had played in this tragedy of his domestic life.
He obtained the permission of the French Queen to undertake the
war of Corsica, and formed friendship among the Genoese exiles
who shared his views, “especially,” says Osino, “with a Gerolamo
Fieschi and Cornelio Fregoso. The latter used every argument and
artifice to entice Cosimo to favour the enterprise and even attempt it
in his own name and interest.” Cosimo temporized; and Sampiero,
little accustomed to count up obstacles or enemies, passed into
Corsica with only two ships and a few companions. One asked him:
—“In case your ships should be lost, in what could you trust for
safety?” Sampiero replied: “I trust only to my sword.”
He seized the castle of Istria, routed the Genoese at Corte, and
Terra del Commune, opened its gates to his little band. It would be
long to recount all the battles which he fought against trained
troops, always winning victories. The battles of Vescovado and Pietra
di Caccia kindled a general revolution in the island. In the last, the
Genoese killed were more than three hundred, and they lost many
more as prisoners. Among the latter Sampiero found a Giovanni
Battista Fieschi (of the Savignone branch) and, instead of treating
him as a conquered enemy, entertained him with friendly courtesy in
memory of kindness done him by the Fieschi in France. In fact the
Fieschi had never refused him any favour; and when he sent
Leonardo da Corte and Anton Padovano da Brando to Paris, in quest
of aid, Scipione Fieschi had induced the Queen to give twelve
thousand crowns and some troops.
The Fieschi favoured Sampiero because they believed trouble
abroad would render revolution easier at home. The energy and
valour of this warrior would have given the Republic infinite trouble,
if treachery had not interrupted the progress of his brilliant
vengeance. Though the forces of the senate in Corsica were large
and had been reënforced by German and Spanish infantry, they
seemed powerless before the revolution. Two causes rendered them
impotent; the desperate ardour of the islanders goaded to madness
by the agents of the Bank of St. George, and the absence of the
popular element in the Genoese administration. A people
unaccustomed to arms, removed from all share in the government,
and jealously watched by a dominant oligarchy, is not apt to rush
enthusiastically upon death in defence of the power of a few
patricians. Finding the war going constantly against them, the
senators resolved to send into Corsica Stefano Doria, Lord of
Dolceaqua, and they expected him to sink the rebellion in a deluge
of fire. He was indeed a man of extraordinary military talents, and
his ferocity was still greater. Charles V. prized his soldierly qualities,
and Phillip II. created him colonel and knight of St. James of
Campostella. Emanuele Filiberto, also, of whom he was a feudatory,
covered him with honours, made him councillor and captain-general,
and entrusted him with the defence of Nice against the Turks. He
acquired distinction in the battles of Ceresole and Cuneo, and this
induced the Republic to select him for the Corsican war.
He accepted the appointment with great confidence, and swore
to exterminate the whole Corsican people. He said:—“when the
Athenians captured the city of Melas, after a siege of seven months,
they butchered all the inhabitants over fourteen years of age and
repopulated the island. The Corsicans merit a like punishment, and
we should imitate the example. Such vigour prepared the Athenians
for the conquest of the Pelopenesus, Greece, Africa, Sicily and Italy;
and only by exterminating their enemies did they acquire glory for
their arms. I know it will be said that such severity violates the rights
of peoples and the laws of humanity; but why listen to such follies? I
only ask that they shall be made to fear us, and, in comparison with
the applause of Genoa, I despise the judgment of posterity to which
the simple appeal.”
On these principles, Doria burned and devastated half the island,
but he did not conquer Sampiero. The conspirator in brief pauses of
the battle, assembled the people in Bozio and laid the foundations of
a Republic in the fashion of that of Sambucuccio di Alando. Doria
was recalled; Vivaldi and Defornari who followed him accomplished
nothing of moment.
The senate, despairing of victory in war, resorted to plots against
the life of Sampiero. He was riding one day with his son Alfonso
towards the castle of Rocca, when Raffaele Giustiniani, assailed him
with a band of horsemen. Among the assailants, were some
Corsicans who had deserted Sampiero, particularly Ercole da Istria
and three brothers Ornano. They attacked him in a disadvantageous
position in the valley of Cavro; but Sampiero told his son to save
himself by flight and plunged into the thick of his enemies. He
prostrated Gian Antonio Ornano with the fire of his arquebus, and
was grappling with his enemies when he was killed by a musket ball
in the shoulder. It was believed that Vittolo, his esquire, corrupted by
the Genoese general, fired the fatal shot. His death did not
dishearten the Corsicans; they fought two years longer under
Alfonso, then only seventeen years of age. But finally both parties
grew tired of the war and terms of accommodation were settled. The
exiles now lost all hope of recovering their country.
Though the Fieschi and their partisans were dead and Count
Scipione disinherited, it is not probable that Andrea Doria forgot that
Pier Luca Fieschi had advised Gianluigi to form an alliance with
France; but perhaps others anticipated him in that part of his
vengeance. We have seen that Paul III., having given his niece in
marriage to Ferrero, invested him with the Marquisate of Masserano
which belonged to Fieschi. The latter, indignant at this robbery,
ceased to pay the annual tribute to the Pope for Crevacuore. Paul,
for this, and, says the papal brief, “Also for falsifying money in his
unlawful mints and other crimes,” condemned him, deprived him of
his feud and gave it also to Ferrero. But neither the sentence, papal
briefs or excommunications sufficed to expel Pier Luca from his
castle, which he afterwards sold to the Duke of Savoy, (1548.) The
duke took an oath that neither he nor his descendants would cede
the whole or any part of the county of Fieschi to Ferrero or any
person of his race. Gregory XIII. absolved him from this oath, and in
spite of Pier Luca the feud reverted to Basso Ferrero and Clement
XVII. erected it into a principate.
We do not know how Pier Luca died; but the manuscripts we
consult speak of his end as miserable. Almost all the Fieschi
patrimony in Piedmont fell into the power of the Ferrero, who
treated their subjects with a severity which strikingly contrasted with
the paternal government of their old masters and led to many
seditions and revolts. Urban VIII., moved by the loud complaints of
the people, deprived Prince Filiberto, son of Basso, of his entire
state, and his son, also named Basso, was only permitted to assume
the government through the interposition of Duke Feria and Victor
Amedeus II. We have before us a letter of the latter, dated January
23rd, 1632, urging the people of Crevacuore to accept Basso “who is
not responsible for the faults of his brother and father.” But the new
Basso was no better than the old. Alexander VII. removed him from
the government and ordered the destruction of the two fortresses of
Masserano and Crevacuore. Here we pause; for the history of these
feuds is no longer within the range of our subject.
The Doria and imperial faction did not rest while one of the
Fieschi conspirators breathed the vital air. Even Giulio Pojano, who
commanded the galleys of Gianluigi, fell into snares set for him by
that party. He was accused of plotting against the life of Fulvia da
Coreggio, wife of Count Lodovico Mirandola, arrested by her orders
and strangled in prison.
 CHAPTER XVI.

JACOPO BONFADIO.

Bonfadio executed in prison and his body burned—Errors in regard to the year of
his death—The causes of his arrest and punishment—He was not guilty of the
vices ascribed to him—The true cause of his ruin was his Annals—The
pretence for his condemnation was his Protestant opinions.

A Painful episode of literary history is closely connected with the

Fieschi conspiracy, and it has not yet been fully described. If that
Bonfadio, with whose name the reader of these pages has grown
familiar, the Bonfadio who was condemned for infamous crimes to an
infamous punishment, was indeed an innocent man, the fact is one
of great importance. We are able to add something to the history of
this foreign[50] writer of Ligurian story whose fate illustrates that
maxim which affirms:—The causes of great events are always
imperfectly known; because those who are close at hand know only
so much as persons whose interests require concealment of the
truth choose to tell; and those who are distant interpret facts by
passion, interest, caprice or previously formed opinions.
Genoa was the first Italian commune in which history was written
by persons whom the government appointed for that purpose. As
early as 1157, the great Caffaro wrote the annals of his country for
that period in which he had been a witness of her acts, and read
them to the elders, who ordered that his writings should be
deposited in the archives of the city and commissioned the
chancellor of the commune to continue the history. This was done
down to 1264, and special additions were subsequently made
embracing a period of thirty years. The increasing rudeness of the
times, civil commotions in the city and frequent changes in the form
and personnel of the government, arrested the progress of the
annals near the close of the thirteenth century. Paolo Partenopeo
revived the work in 1528. The senate appointed him to read
rhetoric, especially the works of Aristotle on government, “because,”
says Partenopeo, “politics should be publicly taught in a free city.” He
wrote the annals of Genoa, and Bonfadio succeeded him in the same
office.
Bonfadio was born in Gorzano, near Brescia, and led a life of
vicissitudes and suffering. He was secretary to Cardinal Bari in Rome
and afterwards served Cardinal Ghinucci. Beset with many
misfortunes, which are unconnected with our subject, he wandered
to Naples, Venice and elsewhere, and finally through Count
Martinengo was invited to Genoa as a public reader of Aristotle. In
Genoa his fate seemed to change, and he wrote cheerfully of his
pleasant sojourn and especially of the gentle dames of our city. “It
seems to me,” he says, “that even the Turkish female slaves entitle
Genoa to be called the city of love.”
He lived long with Stefano Pinelli and was on terms of intimacy
with Azzolino Sauli. G. B. Grimaldi, Domenico Grillo, Cipriano
Pallavicini and other young men of high birth and studious tastes.
His reputation in all branches of learning induced the senate to give
him the coveted office of public annalist from the year 1528. He
entered on it with pleasure and completed his task in a brief period;
and though he laments that the eagerness of the senate to see the
work did not give him time to clothe his narration with such a diction
as becomes history, yet in beauty of style and skill in arrangement
few Italian[51] histories can be compared with it. We must regret
that the work only comes down to the year 1550, in which he met
his unfortunate death. In that year he was torn from his studies and
his friends and condemned to the flames; and though many
gentlemen laboured with the greatest earnestness to save him, on
the 19th of July he was beheaded in prison (this his friends secured
as a favour) and his body was committed to the flames. We find the
record in the books of the condemned kept by the Compagnia della
Misericordia.
Casoni erred, therefore, in stating that he was executed in 1582,
as also Tuano who fixes it in 1560, in which he is followed by
Konning and Bayle. Nor less inaccurate are Pagano Paganini, Cesare
Caporale, Chevalier Marini, Scipione Ammirato and Crescimbeni who
tell us that he died by fire, since his body was only burned after
death.
We know that the Biblioteca Civica of Genoa contains some
rhymes of an ascetic character which are usually attributed to
Bonfadio, at the end of which a marginal note says that he died in
prison July 20th, 1561. This raised doubts about the year of his
death and some have argued that he was not beheaded at all but
died a natural death. A little experience in reading ancient
manuscripts will enable any one to see at a glance that this note
belongs to a period much later than the sixteenth century. Nor can
that record by an unknown amanuensis be compared for authenticity
with the catalogue of the condemned kept by the Compagnia della
Misericordia. We pass over the rhymes. Except a few sprightly lines,
they show the devoted ardour of a monk rather than the philosophic
penetration and chaste diction of Jacopo.
The cause of his severe punishment was from the beginning
involved in obscurity, and the lapse of centuries has seemed to
increase rather than dissipate the darkness. He has been accused of
dishonourable and illicit love and of having disclosed state secrets.
Others tell us that powerful rivals in love caused his ruin, and still
others that he had incurred the enmity of powerful families who
instigated his arrest and condemnation. His biographers give us no
light; rather they increase the confusion. But the opinion has
prevailed that he was executed for illicit amours. The writers who
maintained this opinion were of no great weight, and it is time to
show the inconclusiveness of their judgment.
 The statutes of Genoa attached the penalty of death to the
crimes of Attic venery, heresy and witchcraft, for one of which
Bonfadio must have been punished. No one accuses him of the last
two. Tuano, who is quoted among those who charge him with lustful
crimes, says nothing clearly but only that “Bonfadio was punished for
an offence which it is prudent to conceal” (ob rem tacendam). But,
besides that many things are better concealed, it is important to
remember that Tuano, who did not even know the year in which
Bonfadio was executed is a suspected authority in Italian affairs.
Paolo Manuzio leaves us in equal uncertainty; in his golden Latin
song he says that Bonfadio perished for a crime over which the
sword of justice could not slumber, but he does not define the
singular offence which he also says would not tarnish the glory of his
name. The only one of his contemporaries who openly accuses him
is the base Marini, whose verses, worshipped both by princes and
the populace, invested falsehood with the appearance of truth.
Cardano took up the tale and no one has yet destroyed the basis of
the calumny. The judicious and impartial critic knows how little value
is to be attached to any statement by Cardano; nor can a verse of
the author of the Adonis be accepted as a guide for the opinions of
posterity, especially since Garuffi has so severely criticized him for
traducing the memory of so great a writer as Bonfadio.
One must know little of the low morals of an age which put a
price upon sin and absolved offences before they were committed,
to doubt that the vice with which Bonfadio is charged prevailed to a
fearful extent.
Genoa, though she had the forms of a Republic, was no better
than the rest of Italy. Let us admit then, for a moment, that
Bonfadio fell into the common sin. It was neither so new nor
scandalous to the senate as to have led to his death by fire. Such a
charge was in the sixteenth century little less than ridiculous. We
have gone over many volumes of the criminal Ruota of the time,
and, though we have studied diligently, we find not a single case of
severe punishment for that crime. Whether no cases are found
because proofs of such beastly crimes are difficult to find, or
because the vice was universal, is hard to decide. We find that a
Francesco Spinola called the Caboga, who was brutally addicted to
the vice was, not burned, but sent to the frontiers a few years after
the death of Bonfadio. Though in 1479, a master workman in coral,
who had violated a girl in Albaro was quartered with red hot irons,
the severe sentence was not for the rape, but because he had
afterwards killed his victim. It is not probable then that the
government was severe against so common a crime, or would have
condemned to the flames for it a man of such talent and position as
Bonfadio. Had this been his only offence, his numerous friends in the
senate would have encountered little difficulty in saving his life.
Andrea Doria so lauded in Bonfadio’s immortal pages, who controlled
all the affairs of the Republic, whose will was mightier than law,
would have saved him from death. We must therefore believe that
the blow which felled him came from a higher hand than Genoese
law, from a hand with which it was idle to contend. This conclusion
will help us to find elsewhere the true cause of his condemnation.
The most credible authorities of the time tell us that he was
innocent of these vices, and they add that he suffered for secret
reasons of state. Some even among these writers seem to have
been borne down by current opinion and doubt if he were not guilty,
but they add that it was only the pretext for his punishment. Such is
the opinion of Giammatteo Toscano who wrote indignant verses
against the Genoese for the murder of Jacopo. Caporali declared
Bonfadio innocent. Ottavio Cossi and Ghilini tell us that having
offended in his writings some very exalted persons, he was accused
of infamous ardours. It is probably true that he incurred the enmity
of illustrious families whose names were blackened in his history;
Zilioli confirms this theory when he says that Bonfadio’s history was
mortal to its author. Boccalini states the case with much greater
clearness, blaming the pen of Bonfadio for having impeached the
honour of great houses, adding that an historian should imitate vine-
dressers and gardeners: that is to say, should speak only in the full
maturity of events, when the great who had done evil are dead and
their children incapable of vengeance. He enforces his theory by the
example of Tacitus who preferred violating the laws of history to
running risk of personal danger. In expressing these cowardly
sentiments (an historian ought to tell the truth and to throw down
his pen when that becomes impossible) Boccalini did not express his
true opinions, and he was afterwards run through by the Spanish
ambassador in Venice for writing freely against Spain.
Laying aside as untenable the opinion of Marini and Cardano, we
agree with those who deny that Bonfadio had fallen so low, and we
find support in the testimony of Ortensio Landi, a contemporary of
our author and a man of great talents, who fell into disgrace at
Rome for evangelical opinions. He tells us that Bonfadio was
condemned on false testimony; and this was the belief of the
learned of that period. There is in fact nothing to support the theory
that he was guilty except the assertions of writers of little reputation
for truth in other matters, who were, indeed, only servile retailers of
calumnies which their authors wished perpetuated beyond the tomb.
The nature of the penalty, the secrecy of the trial and the position of
the accused were calculated to impress the popular mind with the
belief in a crime against nature—a crime which famous examples,
especially that of Brunetto Latini, showed to be the vice of literary
men and public teachers of youth. There is, besides, in man an
instinct which finds guilt where the axe falls. The public and the
historians forgot one fact, Bonfadio read his lectures in a church and
his auditors were not young boys. He says that he had “many aged
listeners and more merchants than Students.”
The true cause of his condemnation must be sought in his
Annals. He probably blamed pretty freely some persons who
expected great praise. This opinion is adopted by Teissier among
foreign writers, and in Italy by Fontanini and Mazzucchelli besides
those already mentioned.
A careful reading of Scipione Ammirato will show that he really
does not differ from these writers. “He was punished,” says
Ammirato, “for teaching political principles contrary to those of his
time and place,” although Bonfadio supported the Doria and Spanish
party and opposed those who fought for more liberal government.
 We must now enquire what persons offended by the bias of
Bonfadio were sufficiently powerful to satiate their vengeance in his
blood?
The times were unpropitious to literary freedom. Offences of the
pen were punished by the dagger or by banishment. Boccalini was
assassinated in Venice; Sarpi fell under a stiletto aimed by Rome.
Oberto Foglietta was banished from Genoa, and if the government
could have put hands on him he might have gone to the scaffold.
Every independent writer was the target of powerful malevolence.
So fell Bonfadio. In describing the conspiracy of Gianluigi Fieschi, he
used unmeasured terms of reproach against that noble family and
praised beyond all limit the Dorias and the Spanish government. His
treatment of the Fieschi, whose fate nearly all lamented and who
still had powerful friends in the Senate, provoked the vengeance of
the partisans of Gianluigi and popular liberty and also of those
nobles who were hostile to Doria and Spain. All other attempts to
avenge the dead had failed, and they turned fiercely upon the
historian who had outraged the memory of the vanquished. They
charged him with a crime which must be punished by fire and
secured his condemnation.
Nor did the rage of his enemies cease with his death; for they
made every exertion to prevent the publication of his Annals; and,
though the times were quiet and the Doria interest clamoured for
the publication, their enemies kept the work locked up in the public
archives. It was not published until 1586, (in Pavia by Gerolamo
Bartoli) that is thirty-six years after the death of its author. Though
Bayle and Papadopoli assert that Bonfadio himself published it, this
statement must be put down among the numerous errors of his
biographers.
We have seen what was the probable reason for the attack of
Bonfadio’s enemies; it remains to investigate the pretext which they
put forth, since the charge of Attic venery cannot be entertained.
Two other crimes were punished among us by fire; and as there is
no ground for supposing him accused of witchcraft or magic, we are
forced to conclude that he was charged with holding the new
religious doctrines which were then striking root in Italy. This
opinion, so diverse from that hitherto held, may seem bold and we
will briefly consider its probability.
It is well known that the revival of letters paved the way for
religious reform. It is known, too, that Italy, seeing herself deprived
of political liberty, turned her attention to religious freedom as the
foundation of free institutions. In fact, the reformers among us
sought mainly to restore democracy to the church. The first accents
of religious liberty were heard on the banks of the Verbano and the
teachers were Bernardino Ochino da Siena and Pietro Martire. Lucca,
Pisa, Vicenza and Modena embraced the new doctrines, and Ferrara
received as a guest in 1535, Calvin, the friend of Renata.
In the court of this duchess, were found the most distinguished
of the reformers, among whom were Celio Secondo Curione and the
beautiful Olimpia Morato, a miracle of virtue and wisdom. The
religious community of Naples contained no less illustrious disciples
all of whom belonged to the highest families of the land. Some
maintain that Vittoria Colonna, Marchioness of Pescara, was of the
number; Giulia Gonzaga and Isabella Manriquez certainly were; the
latter found an asylum among the Lutherans. It is believed that
Princess Lavinia della Rovere, of the house of Urbino, and Margaret
of Savoy, wife of Emanuel Filiberto, embraced the new doctrines.
In those days the most cultivated Italians professed the boldest
doctrines. Vasari tells us that Leonardo da Vinci had formed such
heretical opinions that he accepted no religion whatever. Castelvetro,
accused of heresy, with great difficulty escaped the grasp of the
inquisition. Bishop Pietro Paolo Vergerio and his brother Giovanni
Battista, whose condemnation was written by the same pen which
drew the fatal capitulation of Forno; Guglielmo Grattarolo, Gerolamo
Zanchi a canon of the Lateran, Giovanni Montalcino, the Sozzini of
Siena, the brothers Scipio and Alberico Gentile and many other
distinguished literary men held the views of the reformers. Paul III.,
appalled by the rapid progress of the new ideas, with his bull of April
1543, established the tribunal of the Inquisition in every city, Venice
did not wish to suffer it; but Rome strangled Giulio Ghirlanda and
Francesco di Rovigo, and all the reformers (among them are
mentioned Trissino, Flaminio, Soranzo and Bembo) were forced to
flee into exile.
Many noble men fell in Rome; Fannio Aonio Paleario and the
Venitian Algieri. The church was saved by sword and fire; and the
ecclesiastical writers agree with us in this:—It was the Inquisition
that extirpated the new doctrines in Italy; without this intervention
of force, the intellectual character of the Italians, the well-known
licentiousness of the Popes, the habit of our poets to sport at friars
and nuns, and the denial by our republics of infallibility to the
Apostolic See, must have combined to promote the complete
triumph of the religious reform.
The church always had great power in Genoa. As early as 1253,
the friars of San Domenico executed a Master Luco as a heresiarch
and confiscated his goods. The church grew so arrogant that three
years later, Fra Anselmo, chief inquisitor, demanded that certain rules
of his should be incorporated among the statutes of the Republic.
The consuls refused to gratify him and the inquisitor
excommunicated the city and its district. The government sent
ambassadors to the Pope without success; it was forced to humble
itself and register on its statute books laws dictated by a priest. In
1459, a decree of the Republic granted every facility and privilege to
the father inquisitors.
The bull of Paul III. inflamed our inquisitors with extraordinary
zeal. The partisans of the new creed were increasing rapidly, and the
fathers resolved to convert or exterminate them. Among the
heretics, to say nothing of laics, was Cardinal Federico Fregoso
whose books on the psalms had been entered in the index. The prior
of San Matteo was accused of heresy in Bonfadio’s time and cited to
appear before the inquisition in Rome, in spite of the friendship and
protection of Doria and the government. It has never been clearly
proved that Bonfadio shared the views of the reformers, but
everything conspires to the support of that theory. However that
may be, his opinions were certainly such as to afford his enemies a
pretext for the accusation. He hated the priests and spoke and wrote
bitterly against them. His letters, which give him the first place in
that branch of Italian literature, show that he was opposed to all
religious orders and particularly the regular clergy called Theatine,
who reciprocated the sentiment and spoke of his death as a
judgment of God. His annals and the freedom of his speech made
him many other enemies in Genoa, but though they were powerful
he despised them. Carnesecchi warned him that one of them had
established himself near his person and exhorted him to be cautious.
Bonfadio replied:—“The man of whom you write to me from the
Roman court always disliked me.... His eyebrows are shorn, and he
never laughs; wherefore I doubt that He who can do all things is
able to make the man good. He has done an evil work, but it was his
own proper work, and if he has poisoned the fruits of my labours
that was inevitable, because he bears a serpent in his bosom.” The
serpent uncoiled himself and Bonfadio was undone. It was not
difficult for his enemies to fasten upon him the charge of heresy,
adducing as proofs his intimacy with wicked or heretical men whom
Rome had already doomed. Among the first-class was Nicolò Franco,
of Benevento, who perished on the scaffold in Rome, prophesying
the same fate for Pietro Aretina whom that age, after loading him
with honours and riches, blasphemously called divine. Among the
second class, that is those whom the church accused of heresy, were
the Martinengo, who all belonged to the party of reform. We may
mention Ortensia Martinengo, countess of Barco; Celso Martinengo,
whose letters to Angelo Castiglione carmelite of Genoa (written for
the purpose of converting Angelo to the new party) are extant;
Count Ulisse Martinengo who went to Antwerp as the minister of the
Italian church there when Gerolamo Zanchi declined the
appointment. Bonfadio was even more intimate with Lord Bishop
Carnesecchi who embraced the views of Luther in the school of
Vermiglio and Ochino in Italy and of Melancthon in France.
Carnesecchi was executed in Rome in precisely the same mode as
Bonfadio in Genoa.
Bonfadio writing to Carnesecchi praises his divine talents and
adds:—“As the Romans preserve the statue which fell from heaven,
so may God preserve you for the edification of many and put off to a
distant day the fading of one of the first lights of Tuscan virtue. May
God enable you to be happy and live with that cheerfulness which
characterized you when we were together in Naples.”
He was also very intimate with Giovanni Valdes a Catalan, who
was among the first advocates of Luther’s opinions. After the death
of Valdes, he wrote:—“Whither shall we turn, now that Valdes is no
more? This is a great loss for us and for Europe; for Valdes was one
of the rarest men in Europe. His writings on the epistles of St. Paul
and the psalms of David are abundant proof of his ability. He was
without controversy a complete man in deed, word and counsel. His
little spark of soul kept alive his weak and emaciated body; his great
part, that pure intellect, as if outside of his frame, was continually
uplifted to the contemplation of truth and divine things.”
These words make it highly probable that Bonfadio held the
doctrines of the man he so highly esteemed, and show us that this
friendship for the enemies of Rome afforded sufficient ground for a
charge of heresy. This will seem very credible, when we remember
that a canon of the inquisition declared that the smallest evidences
were sufficient for conviction of heresy; a nod, suspicion or common
report, especially in the case of a man of letters, of whom Paleario
wrote that the inquisition was sicam districtam in literatos (a dagger
drawn against literary men.)
We conclude then that the religious views of Bonfadio and his
friendship with the reformers gave his enemies the arms with which
they slew him. The court of Rome had its hands in the business, and
by the same act avenged its political friends, the Fieschi, and
punished a friend of the reformation. The records of Bonfadio’s trial
were never seen, and there is no proof that the criminal Ruota of
Genoa condemned him. This is a new proof that the whole
transaction was the secret work of the agents of the inquisition. The
records of such a trial were not required to be filed in the archives of
the state. Nor is this all; the agents of Rome had the right to
conduct the trial without the participation of the civil power, whose
duty was to render a blind obedience to the orders of the religious
tribunal. This explains why the Dorias who had unlimited power over
the government, were powerless to save Bonfadio, when he was
charged with holding the opinions of the reformers, among whom
we are disposed to number him, accepting the authority of Gerdesio
a contemporary whose statement to that effect was not contradicted
in his time.
Whatever views our readers may entertain of the merits of the
contest between the Fieschi and Doria, it is certain that the cruelties
of the latter provoked reprisals by the friends of the former, and
Bonfadio the illustrious but partial historian of the conspiracy, was
one of the most conspicuous victims. As Bonfadio succeeded
Partenopeo in the office of public instruction, Giammatteo followed
Bonfadio. The Jesuits enticed him, two years after his election, into
their fraternity and they intrigued with such success that the
instructors of our youth were chosen from their number, and men of
genius were no longer employed by the Republic.
It is true that Tasso was invited to Genoa with the offer of a
liberal salary; but it was the work of private citizens not of the
government. Torquato received the call with pleasure but he did not
accept the office. In 1614, Lucilio Vanini, the Italian Spinosa, opened
public schools among us. He pursued the system of Bonfadio with
such success that many young men were affected with heretical
views and the teacher was forced to seek his personal safety in
exile. He took refuge in France; but he was discovered and perished
in the flames. Unfortunately his doctrines had taken root among us.
To omit many, the painter Cesare Conte, the friend of Cambiaso,
Chiabrera and Paolo Foglietta, was arrested in 1632, by the sacred
office and ended his days in the dungeon of the ducal palace.
 CHAPTER XVII.

THE SPANISH DOMINION IN LIGURIA.

The Fieschi at the court of France—Louis XIV supports their claims—Bad effects of
the law of Garibetto—Severe laws against the Plebeians—Death of Andrea
Doria—Estimate of his public services—New commotions—Magnanimity of the
people—The old nobles make open war on the Republic—Treaty of Casale in
1576—The Spanish power in Italy, particularly in Liguria—Aragonese manners
corrupt our people—New taxes and customs—The nobility accepts the
fashions, manners and vices of the Spaniards—Change of the character of the
Genoese people—Last splendours of Italian genius.

It is not our purpose to follow Count Scipione in his wanderings; we

shall only speak of so much of his exile as is necessary to the
narration of the last of the Fieschi drama. He married Alfonsina,
daughter of Robert Strozzi and Maddalena de’ Medici, and obtained
many marks of esteem from the royal house of France, whom he
and Strozzi served. Elizabeth, wife of Charles IX., treated him with
the same familiarity as Catherine de’ Medici. He distinguished himself
at the siege of Rochelle, and Henry III. knighted him in the order of
Saint Esprit.
Scipione left a son, Francesco, Count of Lavagna and Bressuire,
who fell at the head of his troops in the siege of Monte Albano
(1621), and from whose marriage with Anna Le Veneur a noble
family was born. The eldest, Charles Leo, married Gillona de
Harcourt, (1643), who bore him Gianluigi Mario, a name which the
Genoese Republic never forgot. Louis XIV. took him under his
protection, and demanded of the Republic the restoration to Mario of
his ancestral domains. The Senate refused, and he sent a formidable
fleet, commanded by Segnalai (1684), who bombarded the city, and
ruined churches, monuments and palaces. Innocent XI. interposed
without effect; the fierce monarch required that the Doge and four
senators should supplicate mercy in Paris; that the Republic should
disarm its galleys and pay a hundred thousand crowns to Count
Fieschi. The Republic abandoned by Spain, was forced to accept
these conditions, and Louis on his part promised no longer to
support the pretentions of the Fieschi. Count Gianluigi Mario died in
1708, without offspring, and the counts of Lavagna in the line of
primogeniture ended with him.
We have spoken in another place of the addition to our statutes
of the law called in derision, Garibetto,[52] the effect of which was to
exclude the new nobles and the men of the people from political
power.
The artifice was this: The old and new nobles in equal numbers
filled the public offices, and, the latter being the more numerous
class, the individuals of it held the highest office less frequently than
the individuals of the old nobility. The rule was distasteful for many
reasons: it was not made in a lawful way, but imposed by the
authority of Andrea Doria, when many of the nobles themselves
(says Doge Lercaro) were opposed to the measure; and it was
contrary to the wishes of the vast majority that a few patricians
should have almost exclusive claims upon the Dogate.
The people were little pleased that they were now totally
excluded from that office, to which formerly they alone were eligible,
while the plebeians[53] fretted at the insolence of the patricians and
Spanish gentlemen among us.
There were new conspiracies. The spies of the emperor learned
that a Fra Clemente of the order of St. Francis had brought back
from France some schemes for a revolution and Suarez
communicated the information to the Senate. The friar was arrested
at Ceva and, having been tortured, he declared that De Fornari was
intriguing with the king of France to promote a revolution in Genoa.
De Fornari, the same who had been elected Doge against the wish
of the old nobles, and who was therefore very obnoxious to that
party and idolized by the people, was captured and confined in
Antwerp.
Such movements led the Senate to distrust the people more than
ever and to deprive them of the right to bear arms. In fact, when
Agostino Pinelli was Doge, Italian troops were no longer trusted with
the custody of the ducal palace; but the Republic enlisted Swiss,
German and Trentine mercenaries. Giocante Della Casa Bianca who
had commanded the guard for twenty-five years, gave up his sword
to a German adventurer and accepted a subordinate position.
Besides, though the plebeians did not revolt or renew the
conspiracies of Fieschi and Cybo, the Senate endeavoured to ruin all
those who were pronounced friends of the ancient popular system.
Oberto Foglietta having published in Rome, where he resided
(1556), two books on the Genoese Republic, in which he exalted the
popular citizens over the patricians, declaring that the first had
served the country with greater fidelity than the second, the
government declared him guilty of felony and punished him with
banishment and confiscation of goods. Many years after, Giovanni
Andrea Doria, to whom he dedicated his eulogies of illustrious
Ligurians, procured the revocation of the sentence. While the Senate
banished Foglietta, it praised to the skies the ignoble treatise of
Pellegro Grimaldi, who, though a Republican, taught us to beg the
favour of princes, and the logic of Lovenzo Capelloni, who, adhering
consistently to the party of the victors, declared that the Holy See
owed its fame to the house of Borgia.
On the 25th of November, 1560, Andrea Doria died, having lived
almost one hundred and one years. The nobles called him the father
of his country; but Cosimo, the old, was equally flattered. The
plebeians with more sense surnamed Andrea Good Fortune, because
except in a very few cases, his plans were always successful. He was
the first admiral of his time and conquered everybody but himself;
sad proof of which are the misfortunes of Fieschi, Farnese, Cybo and
a long list of exalted names. He bore arms against his country, to
dissolve, he said, its alliance with France; but the act was equally in
his own interest after he had deserted the French service.
If he emancipated us from France, he took away the popular
franchises and established the Spanish tyranny. He did not wish the
office of Doge; but being the minister of Charles V. in Italy and the
lord of the Main, it did not become him to descend to an office of
less rank. The magnanimity of his own heart and the temper of his
fellow citizens alike forbade him to assume the supreme power of a
prince in Genoa. That was probably destined in his mind for
Gianettino, and only the Fieschi conspiracy saved us from that fate.
If Doria had wielded his sword and shed his blood for Italy as he did
for foreign masters, he might perhaps have saved us three centuries
of humiliation. Foglietta proposed to him a more generous service;
to despoil himself of galleys, giving them or selling them to the
Republic—an example which other citizens would imitate—so that
Genoa, having fifty ships in her service, could hold French and
Spaniards at bay and use the seas for her commerce. Such a course
would have given Andrea the glory of Ottaviano Fregoso, who by
destroying the forts of the Faro, showed that he loved his country
better than his personal dignity and interest. But the Republic saw in
her waters a fleet which belonged to her sons, while she lacked
ships to protect her coasts from the pirates of Barbary. The splendid
scheme of Foglietta came to nothing; Andrea spent his life in
keeping the seas open for French and Spaniards and in maintaining
foreign powers. He preserved to Genoa the name of independence,
but it was a mockery. Though he put on our necks the yoke of Spain,
he was great and strong enough to be the only minister and agent
of that power.
A great soldier in the service of the enemies of Italy, he stripped
the Republic of her popular power, founded an oligarchy on the ruins
of liberty and closed the glorious epopee of Genoese conquests in an
endless succession of domestic conspiracies and political
contentions. Such is our estimate of Andrea. We believe that now
that the angry passions which his actions evoked have ceased to
glow, the sentence of history should be written with impassable
justice. After his death, the Fieschi party again took courage. They
attempted to remove the old nobles from power and in 1560 (writes
Doge Lercaro) conferences were openly held in many places,
especially in the house of Basadonne, so that it was necessary to
refer the matter to the Senate. Finally, the nobles of San Pietro,
headed by Matteo Senarega, a man of much legal learning and
political experience whom the arrogance of Doge Gianotto Lomellini
had driven from the secretaryship of state, resolved to renew the
Fieschi movement, humble the patricians and destroy the Spanish
power. The contest began in the election of Doge, each party
wishing to elect one of their own number, and they came to blows.
The Porch of St. Luca was supported by its large army of vassals, by
the arms of Spain and by the galleys of Prince Giovanni Andrea
Doria. The porch of St. Pietro had the support of the populace who
hoped to regain their old place in the political system of the
Republic. In the midst of the quarrel (1572) Galeazzo Fregoso
arrived with two large triremes, and after an enthusiastic reception
by the people announced that the king of France would give support
to the popular cause.
Scipione Fieschi also repaired two ships in order to support the
revolution. But both found an invincible repugnance in the people to
a revolution supported by foreign arms, and relinquished the
enterprise. The people trusting in their own stout arms, revolted
under the leadership of Sebastiano Ceronio, Ambrosio Ceresa and
Bartolomeo Montobbio, sons of the people. However, the life and
soul of the insurrection was Bartolomeo Coronato, who though noble
by birth, patriotically espoused the popular cause. They occupied the
city, closed the streets with barricades and shut up the patricians in
their houses. These movements lasted for a month, the deputies of
the people demanding that the laws of 1547 be abolished and the
most worthy of the citizens inscribed in the book of gold. The Doge
trembled at the audacious demand and the Senate saw no escape
from its perplexity until Giovanni Battista Lercaro entered the hall
and said:—“Since you have not been able to save the country from
its peril and are ignorant of the art of governing, yield your places to
better men. Elevated to your offices by the spirit of faction and
personal interest, you are unfit to rule.”
These words of Lercaro, a man of great dignity and a noble of
the porch of San Luca, frightened the Senate who promptly declared
their willingness to follow his advice. But the plebeians always
generous to their own hurt, answered:—“We have not taken arms
for political power. We only want the law of Garibetto revoked.”
Whereupon the Senate took fresh courage, annulled the odious law,
added three hundred families to the nobility, abolished an unpopular
excise duty upon wine and raised the daily wages of the weavers
three soldi. The populace were satisfied and returned to their daily
duties, while the nobles of San Pietro who had feared a popular
tempest managed the movement with so much address that they
obtained complete control of the state.
But the noblemen of San Luca, as indignant after, as
pusillanimous before the peril, refused to recognize the new laws
and, abandoning the city, retired first to their castles and afterwards
collected at Finale, then in the power of Spain. Here they declared
open war against the Republic, and failing to obtain assent to their
demands by the mediation of princes and even of the Pope, they
invoked foreign arms to desolate the country. A powerful fleet
commanded by John of Austria, brother of king Phillip, sailed into
our waters. The old nobles, knowing the hatred of our people to
Spain, required that the expedition should sail under Ligurian
colours; but this did not secure the success of the enterprise.
Meanwhile Giovanni Andrea Doria, heir of the political opinions of his
Grandfather as well as his riches and rank, stormed the castles of
Spezia, Porto Venere, Chiavari, Sestri and Rapallo; and without
listening to proposals of peace proceeded to the conquest of the
western Riviera, capturing Noli and Pietra.
The nobility, whose remittances from Spain came in very slowly,
was reduced to such extremities as to be unable to continue the war.
Giacomo Durazzo was Doge. Prospero Fattinanti took his place and a
compromise was effected through the ambassadors of the Pope, the
emperor and the king of Spain assembled in Casale in 1576. The
accord of the two parties of the nobility excluded the people from all
political power. The plebeians were enraged at this new betrayal of
their cause, and Matteo Senarega who had laboured so hard to
promote popular rights, prophesied that the bondage of the
plebeians would be eternal. He wrote:—“He who is oppressed by a
prince yields to necessity and to destiny, with the consolation that a
change of masters may lighten his burdens; but he who sinks under
the despotism of a few, assuming the name of a Republic, loses his
disgust at the tyranny in the sound of a word and under a sweet
delusion wears his chains for ever.”
The old and new nobles now intrigued with such success as to
destroy the spirit of popular liberty; and Coronato, whom Lercaro
though of the opposite faction praises so highly, lost his head on the
scaffold. On the other hand, Prince Giovanni Andrea Doria, who had
dyed his sword so often in the blood of his fellow citizens, was
called, “Preserver of the liberties of his country.” To this day he holds
that rank in history; but our history must be re-written.
We have seen that the reforms of Andrea destroyed the popular
constitution, placed all political power in the hands of the patricians,
and opened the doors of the Republic to Spanish supremacy. When
the city of Finale, exasperated by the lust and avarice of Alfonso Del
Caretto, shook off his yoke, the dispossessed lord appealed as an
imperial vassal to the Diet of Augusta; and the emperor, far from
favouring the Republic, which had taken part in the fall of Alfonso,
decided that the marquis should be restored to his feud, compelled
Genoa to pay him for the damage he had suffered. The Republic
clamoured against the sentence, it is true; but when a few years
later Gabrielle Della Cueva, duke of Albuquerque, and governor of
Milan, garrisoned Finale, Genoa had not courage to oppose the
measure, and suffered a foreign power to intrench itself in the very
heart of Liguria. At the death of Marquis Francesco (1598), the line
of Carretto became extinct, and the Senate allowed Finale to pass
into the possession of Spain, who, not content with this,
assassinated Ercole Grimaldi, in order to become master of the
principate of Monaco, (1614.)
Conquests and wars were finished, and Genoa had scarcely
strength to keep down domestic revolt, and resist the aggressions of
immediate neighbours. The greater part of the conspiracies which
for almost a century disturbed the dreams of our masters, had no
other object than to restore the popular constitution. The free
systems were falling throughout the Peninsula. The people hoped
when the council of Trent was opened that it would not only correct
the gross abuses of the Papal court, but restore the church itself to
its ancient democratic forms. But when the council closed, it was
found that no innovation had been effected, that a few vices had
been forbidden; but the Church remained a monarchy, as Gregory
VII. and Innocent III. had left it. Not content with this, the Papacy,
with its famous bull In cœna domini (1567), endeavoured to attach
all the powers of the world to its triumphal car. The fall of the
communes was complete, and the Latin principle was strangled by
the monarchial and foreign element.
The Italian states, for the most part subject to foreign powers,
were changing into monarchies. Italy was a province of Spain; and
yet so detestable was that power that Navagero tells us, Paul IV.
never spoke of the emperor or the Spaniards without calling them
“heretics, robbers, accursed of God, children of Moors and Jews,
offscouring of the earth,” and bewailing the fate of Italy compelled
to serve such vile masters. Spain left such fierce antipathies behind
her that the interjection “Cursed be Spain,” came down to our times.
A wise Pope, Sixtus V., who tried to oppose the imperial power, died
by poison (1590). For two centuries, the decrees which regulated
Italian politics came from Madrid. Naples and Milan groaned in
chains; the lords of Mantua, Ferrara, and Parma, gloried in their
shameful bondage. Venice herself purchased peace by ignoble
sacrifices. Of Rome I do not speak. That she was badly governed,
witness the incessant revolts of her people, the conspiracy of
Benedetto Accolti, and the obsequies of Paul IV.
 Emanuele Filiberto, who won for Austria the battles of San
Quintino and Gravelines, consolidated with his victories the foreign
dominion; and, educated in the school of Phillip II., he extinguished
liberty in Savoy by abolishing his states general, and bathed his
valleys with the blood of the Vaudois. The Republics of central Italy
saw their last days in the same terrible period; Florence was in the
grasp of Cosimo, Pistoia under the guns of a fortress; Arezzo paid
with her liberties for favouring the imperial army; Lucca bought with
money and the blood of Burlamacchi a short reprieve; Siena more
generous than all others fought to the last extremity and perished,
like Saguntum, among her own ruins. Thus while in the middle of
the sixteenth century the great nations were consolidated which now
control Europe, Italy was dying and dying by the fault of her own
sons. The treaty of Castel Cambrese recognized and sealed the
foreign dominion.
From that moment, the love of letters ceased to be a worship.
The form was polished; but the spirit was stifled. Our most illustrious
artists, forced to live upon the patronage of foreign princes,
preferred the security of servile ease to the dignity and modesty of
true art. The money of the great seduced them to abandon truth
and the people without whom genius is neither great nor productive.
Pleasure for courtiers was their only aim. The country was dying, but
no voice sang the hymn of death; no one gave history those pages
of heroism which save the dignity of vanquished nations. On the
contrary, Giovio with unblushing brow eulogized his golden pen;
Casa sang in honour of the Charles V. whom he had once satirized.
Alamanni apologized to the emperor for his famous verse saying that
it is the poet’s office to lie, and Cellini himself could write:—“I work
for pay.”
In this general decline, the ideas of Fieschi did not utterly die.
Some generous souls continued to protest. Let it suffice to cite
Tassoni and Campanella, the last of whom in his conspiracy against
Spain was supported not only by many barons but also by the Visir
Cicala, a Calabrian renegade (though of Ligurian descent) who
promised to land Turks in the kingdom. Nor would we forget that
some of our nobles in Genoa tried to tear up the poisonous plant
which had taken root in the Republic; as, for example, Agostino and
Francesco, Pallavicini, Nicolò Doria, who married a sister of Gianluigi
Fieschi, and Agostino Vignolo who during the Piedmontese wars
intrigued with lord bishop Brissac to aid the French arms.
But the Spanish government, which was destroying letters and
arts, struck its roots more deeply every day and we reached such
depths of degradation, we tremble in writing it, that the Senate
issued a decree in the Spanish language and consented that it
should be used in lectures and sermons. The plebeians, groaning
under a double slavery, sometimes appealed to Spain against the
arrogant despotism of the patricians; but the appeal reacted against
the petitioners and Doctor Ligalupo, a man of much learning and
great virtue, was imprisoned for life.
In the reports of the Venitian ambassadors to the Senate, the
condition of Genoa is described in a few fit words; Badoero writes:
—“They hate the Spanish nation as strongly as possible and matters
stand thus:—the people see only France; those in power see only
Spain, and none seem to think of the common weal.”
With the loss of liberty our manners became dissolute.
Courtesans were held in honour. Imperia in Rome. Tullia in Venice
were courted by men of genius. Catarina da S. Celso, Vanozza,
Borgia and Bianca Capello married into illustrious houses. To speak
of Liguria alone, a brief of Pope Clement VII. to the archbishop of
Genoa and the prior of S. Teodoro, exhorts these prelates to unite
with the government in reforming the cloisters, because the nuns
have become utterly dissolute from contact with every sort of
persons. The Genoese nuns had infamous repute throughout Italy.
Bandello says:—They go where they please and when they return to
the cloister say to the abbess “Mother, by your permission, we have
been to divert ourselves.” It seems that subterranean passages were
opened between the cloisters of nuns and friars. In our times, when
the convent of S. Brigida was torn down, in the open walls were
found skeletons of children who had been buried there as soon as
born. Cardinal Bembo justly said that “all human vices and crimes
were perpetrated in the cloisters under cover of a diabolical
hypocrisy.”
On the fourth of September 1551, another brief on the corrupt
morals of the convents was issued by Julius III., but it produced no
effect. Gregory XIII., in a third brief of the first of July, 1583, made a
new attempt to correct the gross immoralities of the cloister and the
fruitlessness of his efforts is shown by the fact that he issued
another soon after. The Aragonese license, penetrating the palace
and the sanctuary, corrupted everything exalted or sacred; and then
gradually diffused itself among the people, who had hitherto been so
virtuous that the magistracy of Virtue, instituted in 1512, had no
occasion to make regulations in regard to popular morals.
Before the Fieschi insurrection extraordinary imposts and forced
loans were unknown. The customs were collected on principles of
equity. It was wonderful to see the finances in healthful equilibrium,
while the strife of faction raged so fiercely. The city added a fleet
and an army to its forces at the cost of only four hundred and
seventeen thousand lire, and the entire income of the government
was only four hundred and thirty-five thousand lire. Love of country
and not private interest ruled the hearts of the citizens; public
services were either gratuitous or very slightly paid. In 1461, the
annual pay of the Doge was less than twelve thousand lire, with
three thousand more for office and secret expenses; that of the
commander of the city guards was only four thousand lire; and other
salaries were in proportion.
But purity of manners disappeared when the foreign power was
consolidated, and the mechanism of the State was altered to suit the
character of our masters. To pervert the plebeians, the Senate
established the lottery (the first in Italy) in 1550, under the name of
Borse della Ventura and it was so profitable to the treasury that an
impost of sixty-thousand lire was collected from it, and the sum was
increased year by year until it reached three hundred and sixty
thousand.
Genoa, like Venice, committed the great error of oppressing her
dependencies with heavy imposts instead of treating them with
generous liberality. As early as 1539, a tax of four denari was levied
on every pint of wine and it soon after increased to eight soldi on
each mezzarola. Later, that is in 1588, the duty on salt was raised to
a crown per mina. Three per cent. was imposed on incomes, and a
tax was levied on fruits, and also on paper of which a large amount
was exported to foreign countries. These taxes were light in
comparison with the murderous taxation of our times, but they were
none the less annoying to citizens unused to the visits of tax-
gatherers. It had not been customary to drain the money of the
poor, but the rich paid in proportion to their splendid fortunes or new
columns were opened in the bank of St. George.
The governors of this bank, seeing the Republic restricted to a
few families and the Ottoman power becoming master of the seas,
wisely returned to the state (1562) Corsica, the cities of Ventimiglia
and Sarzana, with its strong castles, the burgh of Levanto and the
populous valley of Teico.
Our rich citizens lent their fortunes at high interest to the
government of Spain; but the industries which had been the life of
the people gradually declined.
In the first years of the century, Liguria was in its most
flourishing condition. The smallest hamlets had profitable industries
and trade. On the Western Riviera, Taggia was famous for its
Muscatelle wines which Alberti says were not inferior to those of
Candia and Cyprus. The trade in them was very active. Oneglia was
prosperous, and Diana sometimes produced twenty thousand barrels
of oil in a single year. Albenga, though its air was unwholesome
(whence the proverb of the time,) “Albenga piana, se fosse sana si
domanderebbe stella Diana,” was rich in the produce of its fruitful
soil. There was universal movement, industry, wealth. But it was of
short duration; the new system of government dried up all the
fountains of our riches. In 1597, Genoa was reduced to sixty-one
thousand inhabitants; Savona which had once counted thirty-six
thousand citizens, in 1560 numbered only fourteen thousand, and in
1625, the number had fallen to eight thousand. The decrease was in
this proportion throughout the Republic. Campanella had good cause
to say to Genoa:—“Leave your markets, your gains, your barren
glories! Blush for the riches of your citizens which contrast so terribly
with the misery of the Republic.”
The foreign influence slowly killed the manly virtues of the
Genoese. Italy no longer existed. We had a corrupt people in a
corrupt state. All care was given to externals; every free thought
was a crime; we were vile and called our vileness love of peace, and
our indolence, moderation; religion had become a superstition, and
the rites of the church merely a ladder to worldly preferment. Luxury
and parade were unparalleled; but poverty was seen through the
pompous vestments. The first born was rich, but his brothers were
usurers or celibates in the cloisters. In their vanity and degradation,
the great forgot that they had a country. Trade seemed ignominious
to our princes and nobles, and they believed that their names at the
foot of a bill of exchange would make a bad figure in history. This
beggared many families to whom false pride closed the paths by
which their fathers had become great. Knightly virtues disappeared;
noble blood alone opened the paths to eminence, and this was
carried to such extremes that our patricians refused to have for
archbishop Belmosto, only because his name was not in the book of
gold. They were at once proud and ridiculous. In 1576, a Nicolò
Doria became Doge and first took the title of Serenissimo and severe
penalties forbade even the notaries to call other persons than nobles
—however illustrious and wealthy they might be—by the title
Magnifico. The notarial profession[54] itself was pronounced in
certain cases ignoble and mechanical. In the smaller towns the same
folly prevailed. In Ventimiglia and Finale, there were streets, porches
and walks to which the plebeians were not admitted. Genoa was
only a shadow, a pretence of a Republic.
Our wars and intestine struggles, our magnanimous enterprises
abroad, were succeeded by a servile tranquility. Our masters
preferred their gilded saloons to the dust of honourable fields; they
lent their money at usurious interest, and got titles and degrading
premiums for their baseness. There were, it is true, some naval
engagements, but there were no real wars. And this was the
supreme misfortune; for long peace wastes the strength of peoples
and destroys both the habit and the courage of noble enterprises.
There lingered among us arts, letters, wealth and trade; but the
manly virtues were extinct.
The foreign leprosy gradually changed the character of our
plebeians; they began to tremble before the powerful from whom
they were separated by an immense interval. The two classes had
nothing in common but vices and the habit of servility. Universal
corruption produced great crimes and long catalogues of malefactors
were often published. Nor was this in Liguria alone; all the provinces
of the Peninsula were involved in a common demoralization.
Assassins and robbers collected, not merely in bands, but in armies,
and desolated the country and even the cities. They were led by
trained warriors such as Alfonso Piccolomini, Corsietto del Sambuco
—who ventured to the very gates of Rome—and Marco Sciarra who
in Calabria took the title of king. Let no one suppose that the
numerous altars, crucifixes and images of Mary prove the piety of
our ancestors. They are witnesses for quite the contrary; in the
midst of innumerable crimes perpetrated in open day, these religious
emblems protected the citizen from the knife of the assassin who
was too superstitious to smite him at the foot of the altar.
Religion was then only a superstition and a terror. A multitude of
books appeared full of the wildest vagaries that fanaticism ever
produced. For example, there were the prophecies of S. Brigida
threatening the city with destruction! and through such follies the
cunning generation of men, who live upon hypocrisy, mystery and
the dead, amassed large fortunes. Their instructions were idle
speculations and appeals to human fears. In those days, patrician
and jesuit intrigues collected their followers in a little church situated
in the Corsa del Diavolo and bound themselves by an oath to
support for public offices only those of their own faction. An opposite
faction organized, and from their standard—a black crucifix—were
called Moro delle Fucine. This was the origin of those pagan
saturnalia which survive in our times under the name of Casaccie.