The extremity of the Peninsula formed the kingdom of Naples, now in the hands of Ferrante I. (1458–1494), illegitimate son of Alfonso the Magnanimous, of Aragon; while Sicily and Sardinia belonged, with Aragon, to the legitimate branch represented just now by Ferdinand the Catholic (1479–1516). Always the most disturbed of the Italian states, Naples had in 1485 been the scene of a baronial revolt against the tyranny of Ferrante. The King, indeed, by cunning and ability had triumphed, but his faithlessness and inhuman cruelties had made him most unpopular, and his rule most insecure. He died in January 1494, to be succeeded by his son Alfonso II. (1494–1495), who, according to the French chronicler Commines, though not so dangerous, was a worse man than his father, since ‘never was any prince more bloody, wicked, inhuman, lascivious, or gluttonous than he.’
The rivalry of these five states, mutually repellent, yet unable to establish complete independence, was to cause the ruin of Italy.Rivalry of these states. Too equally balanced to allow of the supremacy of one, too jealous of each other and too divergent in the character of their peoples and the form of their governments to unite in a federal bond, they lost all sense of common national interest. The existence of numerous petty states between their frontiers, which could only hope to survive by dexterous intrigue, excited their cupidity and thickened the thread of treacherous diplomacy which was now to call the foreigner into Italy.
But if the quarrels of these Italian rulers led to the first invasion, and subsequently prevented any permanent coalition, Intellectual activity and moral degradation of the Italians. the condition of the people of Italy destroyed all hope of successful resistance. In reading the social history of Italy during the fifteenth century two lessons are forced upon us: first, the fatal effect of the loss of liberty, and of political faction on the moral fibre of a people; secondly, the danger of luxury, and of devotion to art and literature, if not chastened by the religious spirit.
In states like Milan and Naples, where all political liberty had been destroyed, the only weapons of the oppressed were those the tyrant had taught them—intrigue and assassination. In cities like Florence, where constitutional forms remained but the spirit had fled, and where the state was torn by deadly feuds which vented themselves in cruel proscription and exile of the defeated, the people were inspired by mutual suspicion and deep political hatreds. To lose power was to lose everything. Hence men became desperate, forgot the necessity for patience, the duty of a minority, and sought to overthrow their enemies by secret conspiracy or open revolt. In the smaller states things were worse. There was even less stability, the factions were more bitter, the chance of successful revolt greater. No doubt Venice and the Papal Dominions were more stable than the rest of the Peninsula, but even there intrigue, corruption, and conspiracies were not uncommon.
Amid such political circumstances as these, not only did all feeling of Italian nationality perish, but patriotism for city or kingdom died before the imperative instincts of self-preservation. The worship of success replaced devotion to principle and obedience to authority, while cleverness and selfishness flourished at the expense of morality. Moreover, to protect themselves or to pursue their schemes of conquest, the tyrants introduced the Condottieri. The republics, partly from indolence, partly from the difficulty of resisting the trained soldier with a half-disciplined militia, followed suit, and Italy became the victim of mercenaries. Of war these made a game: with no interest in the quarrels beyond their wage, or their individual ambitions, they loved the battlefield by which they lived, yet did not wish the battle to be decisive. Ever ready to change sides at the dictates of self-interest, or for higher pay, they set up and overthrew states and spread confusion around. Meanwhile the citizens forgot the art of war, and, when the moment of their trial came, finding themselves no match for the martial nations of the North, were frightened at the fury of their onslaught.
The rapid increase of luxury and the development of literature and art tended to the same results. Undue devotion to material comfort made the Italians cowardly, selfish, and indolent. The revival of the critical faculty led to scepticism; the critic destroyed indeed, but had not the enthusiasm nor the faith to reconstruct. The return to classical ideals caused a revival of paganism, while the concentration of man’s mind on the pleasures of art, on the sensuous delight in beauty of form and colour, led many on to sensuality. The history of the Renaissance stands as a warning that the æsthetic spirit is not necessarily religious or even moral. No doubt it is easy to exaggerate. No doubt there were to be found many who lived a pure and simple life. Perhaps the denunciations of an enthusiast like Savonarola[8] are too extravagant. But the contemporary evidence against the Italians is overwhelming. The literature of the time must have found readers. The cynical frankness with which Machiavelli disregards all moral scruples in his treatises on the art of government are without parallel in the history of political literature, and the carnival songs of Lorenzo are of themselves enough to convince us of the depths of degradation to which Italian morality had sunk. Thus Italy, without any sense of nationality or patriotism, and devoid of those more sterling qualities which might have rendered resistance possible, was to see her fair plains the scene of other nations’ rivalries, and to fall eventually under the yoke of a foreign dominion which lasted till our own day.
The French claims on Italy were twofold, and were of long standing. The House of Orleans, in virtue of theirFrench claims on Italy. descent from Valentina, heiress of the Visconti of Milan, looked upon themselves as the legitimate aspirants to the ducal throne, and considered the Sforzas usurpers. The House of Anjou disputed the title of the Aragonese kings of Naples and declared that Joanna II., who died in 1435, had left her territories to René, the head of their house. The claims of the House of Orleans were now represented by Louis of Orleans, cousin of Charles VIII., who already held Asti, while those of the House of Anjou had in 1481 fallen to the crown, together with Anjou and Provence, according to the will of René I., the last Duke of Anjou. Louis XI. had contented himself with Anjou and Provence, but his foolish and ambitious son, fascinated with the dream of a southern kingdom which might serve as a starting-point for a new crusade against the Turk, was eager to enforce his claims in Italy. Yet even Charles might have hesitated if a quarrel between Milan and Naples had not offered a tempting opportunity.
In 1435, Alfonso the Magnanimous, the rival of René of Anjou for the kingdom of Naples, had warned Filippo Maria, who then ruled Milan, that the French, onceThe Peace of Italy depended on the Triple Alliance of Milan, Florence, and Naples. masters of Naples, would seek to extend their territories in the north. Francesco Sforza, who secured Milan shortly after Filippo’s death (1450), conscious that the legitimate claim to Milan had passed with the hand of Valentina to the French House of Orleans, needed no convincing. The result had been a close alliance between these two powers, which had been strengthened by the marriage of Ippolita, Sforza’s daughter, with Alfonso, Prince of Calabria. Lorenzo, true to the traditional policy of the Medici, had joined this league. He hoped, by a triple alliance of Milan, Naples, and Florence, to maintain the balance of power in Italy, resist the desire for territorial aggression shared by Venice and the Papacy, and, by keeping peace within the Peninsula, deprive the foreigner of all excuse for interference. Whether Lorenzo would have succeeded may well be doubted, but certainly his death (April 1492) removed the only man to whom success was possible.
Even before Lorenzo died, the alliance between Milan and Naples had threatened to break up. The coup d’état of 1479, by which Ludovico ‘Il Moro’ had seized the reins of power from Bona of Savoy, had received the approval of Ferrante of Naples. the following year, however (1480), the death of Ippolita, Ludovico’s sister and wife of Alfonso, son of Ferrante, broke the bond between the two families. TheRupture of the Alliance between Milan and Naples forces Ludovico to call in the foreigner. subsequent marriage of the young Gian Galeazzo, with Alfonso’s daughter, Isabella (1489), made matters worse. Alfonso became jealous of Ludovico’s rule and wished to see his son-in-law, who had in the year 1492 reached the age of twenty, recognised as duke. This jealousy was shared by Isabella, who was envious of the higher honours conferred on her kinswoman, Beatrice of Este, the wife of Ludovico.
Piero de Medici, who had just succeeded Lorenzo at Florence (1492), joined Alfonso in a secret league against Ludovico, to which Ferrante of Naples was somewhat unwillingly prevailed upon to accede. Thus the triple alliance of Milan, Naples, Florence, upon which the safety of Italy depended, was broken, and Ludovico was driven to look elsewhere for support. To Maximilian, who in 1493 was elected emperor, he gave the hand of his niece, Bianca, and gained in return the investiture of his duchy, which had hitherto been denied to the Sforza family. Despairing of more effective aid from that impecunious prince, he next turned to France. San Severino, Count of Cajazzo, was sent to ‘tickle Charles, who was but twenty-one years of age, with the vanities and glories of Italy, and to urge the right he had to the fine kingdom of Naples’ (Commines).