We ought not, in my judgment, to decide upon the merits of this conspiracy according to the views of our own time, in which political movements are discussed on principles of justice, but rather to give the conspirators the benefit of the opinions and politics of their own age. The doctrines of Macchiavelli, on which Gianluigi had formed his principles, aim at the immediate interests of states and derive principles from facts. The theory of Guicciardini is the same. Whoever undertakes to philosophise on the political ideas of the sixteenth century will find that State policy never professed any higher creed than utility, and that those who were ambitious of repute as statesmen were not bound by a public moral sentiment to show the justice of their methods for obtaining desirable ends. Whoever had introduced on the scenes of state craft abstract maxims of morality would have been hissed off as a fool. The creed ran thus:—“Do you wish to free your country? Caress the tyrant and then kill him. Your dagger is sharper than the eyes of his satellites. Audacity and courage are everything. He who falters for an instant is undone. Every means is just which leads to success.”
Gianluigi held these maxims and he could not lay them aside without freeing himself from the age in which he lived. It was natural, therefore, that with his noble intention of destroying the empire of the Dorias he should use every instrument which seemed adapted to his purpose. His heart was bursting with suppressed rage; but his serene look and urbane manners proclaimed him a peaceable and loyal citizen. His nerves were strung with the spirit of revenge, but his frank countenance, affable speech and good humour were those of a mild-mannered and unruffled gentleman. Once only he broke out against his rival with fierce invectives; but ever after he feigned content and put to sleep his adversary’s vigilance while meditating his blow. He knew no other paths to his end than those pointed out by the state craft of his time. Why should he awaken suspicion in the Dorias when all his interests said, “Deceive them”? It is folly to arm an enemy who is delivering himself unarmed into your power. Such, we have said, was the political morality of the speculative minds of that day.
In other respects Fieschi was counted virtuous and honourable and uncorrupted in the bosom of a corrupt society; so that it is very doubtful whether he had a natural son named Paolo Emilio who was afterwards a captain in the pay of France, of which fact we find mention in some memoirs. Fame said of him that he had never punished, even in the slightest manner, any person in his service or vassalage.
He deceived the Dorias and betrayed them against faith; but only for a political object. The high design of overthrowing one who had attempted his assassination and of liberating his country ought, if it cannot absolve him, to moderate the condemnation of posterity. Brutus, too, was a deceiver and he is reputed great.
Whatever be the ideas of those who read in the nineteenth century, it is clear that the statesmen of the sixteenth heartily approved of Fieschi’s work. He was what these times made him. A stranger to the spirit of the classic revolutions of the earlier part of his century, to the ascetic revolts of Savonarola, to the paralytic ardours of Soderini, he drank in with his Guelph principles the dissimulation of Rome. An Italian and a disciple of Macchiavelli, he wished to liberate his country without the aid of foreign arms.
A more favourable time could not have been desired. The outbreak of the conspiracy would terrify Charles who was deep in the German wars; Fieschi would be able to form close alliances with France, England, Denmark and Turkey; he would stir the languid pulses of the Italians and unite together Rome, Venice, Genoa, Parma and Ferrara; Lucca and Siena, yet free, were ready to join the Italian confederacy; Naples and Milan would raise their heads.
Three centuries more of abject servitude were reserved for Italy.