When most people think of democracy, they probably think of either ancient Greek poleis or our modern nation states (or perhaps both), but there are also quite a few medieval democratic traditions that are worth knowing about. Let’s explore…
While the most talked about political arrangements of the Middle Ages often involve heroic kings and indignant popes (or vice versa), there were also quite a few city states which enjoyed different forms of popular regimes. What made these governments so popular was a (relatively) wide basis of political participation by the populace. Now, before anyone starts imagining a nice and egalitarian state in which every voice counts, it must be stated that this was not really the case. There were many restrictions on political participation back then, most notably on women, but other groups were also excluded from politics for different reasons (we’ll get to some of those in a moment).
In the next couple of posts, we will talk about two types of elections, one involving people casting votes and then carefully tallying them, the other system based on people standing in a town square and vociferously making their opinions known. Let’s start with the latter.
In the early days of medieval communes in the twelve-century, it was not uncommon to hold large assemblies whenever the city needed to make a big decision. Anything that involved war and peace, constitutional changes, new taxes etc. needed to gain the assent of the citizenry. These assemblies, sometimes called parlamento (a cognate of ‘parliament’, from the French parler, to speak), became less popular during the thirteenth century as a set of more exclusive councils gained prominence, but they were still used on occasion.
A Florentine crisis
In 1342 the people of Florence were in a bit of a tough spot. They had a war with Pisa on their hands which was rapidly depleting the city’s financial resources (fighting neighbouring cities was a well-loved pastime in medieval Italy, but also quite an expensive hobby). Worst of all was that they weren’t even winning. The decision was made to get rid of their unsatisfactory military captain (or condottiero), a man from Rimini by the name of Malatesta Malatesta.* Instead, they invited one of my favourite figures from history, the so-called Duke of Athens.
* The name Malatesta (from the Italian mala testa, bad head) means, somewhat liberally, ‘not quite right in the head’. This moniker was earned by an ancestor, reportedly due to his exceptionally fierce bravery in battle.
Now, you may be forgiven for imagining a heroic Greek general swooping in to save the day. In reality, the man who showed up was a French nobleman called Gautier de Brienne** who had a rather unconvincing claim to the Duchy of Athens, a crusader state that his father lost to some mercenaries. Prominent fifteenth-century historian and all-round humanistic superstar, Leonardo Bruni, put it rather sharply in his History of the Florentine People (translated by James Hankins):
Walter was a Frenchman born of noble stock, whom they used to call by the unadorned and empty title, ‘Duke of Athens.’
Bruni – writing about a century after the events – was not a fan, but many Florentines at the time were. Gualtieri came highly recommended by King Robert of Naples – a much-revered political ally of Florence – and chroniclers of the time described the duke as someone who seemed affable and popular with both the nobles and the masses.
The duke makes his mark
This might be a good point to say something about the political stratification of Florence at the time. Oversimplifying quite a bit (apologies), we can talk about three main groups: the grandi or nobles who were largely excluded from political power by the 1293 Ordinances of Justice, the popolo grasso who were wealthier members of the guilds who enjoyed a lot of influence over Florentine politics, and the popolo minuto who struggled to exercise much influence. By and large, the way to political power in Florence was through membership in the city’s guilds. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s come back to our duke.
Gualtieri was appointed as Capitano at the beginning of August 1342 (when Malatesta’s tenure was mercifully over) and acted to end the war with Pisa and put some of the financial turmoil to right. He also showed great aggression towards the group of guild members that held most political power, whilst charming the nobles and the popolo minuto. Little did they know, the duke would very soon become the archetypical example of a tyrannical ruler in Florentine historiography, but this is a story we will have to get back to some other time. For now, let’s focus on his rise to power.
On 7 September 1342 Gualtieri called a parlamento or assembly of the citizenry without asking permission from the republic’s top office holders (which was rather audacious), and the working assumption was that he would try to get himself appointed as ruler for life. Leonardo Bruni noted that
He did this through a herald at sundown. The assembly was to be held the following day, and there was no doubt what he wanted and what the multitude thought.
As chroniclers Giovanni Villani and Marchionne di Coppo Stefani tell us, this announcement got the ruling elite all worked up and they sent a few delegates to try and reason with the duke. They managed to sign an agreement which would make him lord of Florence for a year as long as he respected the communal institutions and the people’s liberty.
A parlamento to remember
On the next day, the much-expected parlamento was taking place. Crowds had started gathering in the main Piazza of Florence (now called piazza della signoria). Simultaneously, in the not that far away piazza of Santa Croce the duke was assembling a small army; 120 men on horseback and another 300 on foot, along with his supporters from the nobles and popolo minuto. They all then marched merrily to the main piazza (a leisurely five-minute walk), and then proceedings began.
For life, for life! Long live the lord Duke of Athens, who’d be ruler in everything! (a vita, a vita; viva il signore duca d’Atene, in tutto sia signore)
This was all pre-orchestrated by the duke’s supporters, some of whom were armed, of course. He then entered the palace in great pomp and ceremony as the ruler of Florence, and people sang ‘Te Deum laudamus’ and other hymns with great solemnity. This jubilation, as I hinted, did not last for very long. The duke managed to make himself so disagreeable in his authoritarian and cruel manner that less than a year later he was expelled from the city.
Can we even call this corrupt heap of nonsense an election? Well, yes. The duke and his supporters were playing dirty but more or less according to the rules. Proper procedure could have been followed more closely, to be sure, but that elusive entity, ‘the people’, was given a choice and they made their opinion clear. It wasn’t fair, but it had the form of an election. This episode was used by Florentine historians to warn against the dangers of tyranny and of strong men with little regard to people’s liberties, but it can also offer some valuable lessons to those living in modern democracies. For example, that trust in our democratic institutions and processes is paramount, but we should always scrutinise them and try to understand how they are directed and by whom. Just because something looks like an election doesn’t automatically mean it’s fair and fit for purpose. It’s hard work, but we don’t want another strange duke of a fake duchy on our hands.
Sources
Giovanni Villani, Nuova cronica, 2007, pp, 1424-29.
Leonardo Bruni, History of the Florentine People, Trans. By James Hankins, pp. 263, 267. [Originally published in 1442]
Marchionne di Coppo Stefani, Cronaca fiorentina, 1903, pp. 193-6.
If you would like to know more about Florence around that time, a very good place to start is:
John M Najemy, A History of Florence 1200-1575, 2006.
The way that sort of thing should have worked is that an official of the government would stand on the ringhiera, a raised platform outside the government palace, and pose a proposition or question to the gathered citizens who would then shout their consent or dissent. On the day, after the officials were gathered, one of them, Francesco Rustichelli, rose to read out the proposal that the duke be made ruler for one year, but when he got to the part saying ‘per un anno’ (for a year) the crowd, according to Marchionne, erupted shouting:
On the left: The Rhingiera in piazza della signoria, on the right: piazza di Santa Croce