Early changes in the Athenian constitution—Murder of Cylon—Fatalism—Usurpation of Pisistratus—His policy—Hippias and Hipparchus—Conspiracy of Harmodius and Aristogiton—Expulsion of Hippias—Cosmo de’ Medici, Lorenzo and Giuliano de’ Medici—Conspiracy of the Pazzi.

For nearly four centuries subsequent to the age of Theseus, scarce any mention of Athens occurs in Grecian history: a circumstance honourable to that city, as denoting a long course of tranquil prosperity, and indicative of candour and veracity in the writers, who were content to relate the few incidents preserved by tradition, without taxing their imaginations to cast a fabulous splendour over an unknown period. The change of dynasty in the person of Melanthus, and the more celebrated devotion of his son Codrus,[149] with the alterations in the constitution subsequent to, and partly consequent upon, the death of the latter, constitute the only remarkable events during this long lapse of years; and when at length her authentic history commences, it is in consequence of the interruption of that happiness which we are led to believe she so long enjoyed. Upon the death of Codrus it was resolved that no living person could be worthy to bear the title which he had borne, and his son Medon was appointed chief magistrate, with the title of Archon, or ruler. Twelve Archons followed in hereditary succession, when a further change took place, the office being made elective, and limited to the period of ten years; and at the end of the seventh decennial Archonship the duties of the office were divided between nine persons annually elected. After this change, the possession of political supremacy became an object of strife to the EupatridÆ, or nobles, in whom all power was vested: and the AlcmÆonidÆ, or descendants of AlcmÆon, the last hereditary Archon, secured the prize. Cylon, a man eminent for rank and influence, bore their superiority impatiently, and endeavoured by force of arms to make himself master of the government. He seized the citadel; but the people rose against him, and being unprovided for a siege he sought safety in flight, abandoning his followers to the rage of the adverse faction. As their best hope, they took refuge at the altars, where violence could not be offered to them without incurring the guilt of sacrilege. Megacles, the head of the AlcmÆonidÆ, was then Archon; and by his partisans, some of the suppliants, induced to quit their refuge upon condition of personal safety, were perfidiously executed; others were put to death even at the dreaded altars of the Eumenides.[150] Thus far there is nothing in this occurrence to distinguish it from a hundred other instances of perfidy and cruelty: it is to the remote consequences that we wish to direct the reader’s attention. The Athenians, without caring for the murder, were deeply shocked at the sacrilege; insomuch that not long after, when parties had changed place, it was decreed that of those who had been concerned in it, all yet alive should be condemned to banishment, and the bones of the deceased be taken up and cast out of Attica. The exiles afterwards returned; but, a prejudice long existed against their posterity, which proved no ineffectual weapon in political warfare, and twice furnished Sparta with the means of embarrassing her enemy by requiring the expulsion of some of the leading citizens of the state. The demand was aptly met by recalling to mind two similar transactions in which the principal families of Sparta had been engaged, and bidding them set the example of expiation.[151] It appears, however, from Aristophanes (unless the passage is merely a squib against the LacedÆmonians) that the charge of being “one of the polluted” had not, even after the lapse of one hundred and sixty years, or more, lost all its influence.[152]

We have already mentioned that it was the insult offered to the gods, rather than the crime against man, which produced so deep a sensation. That the perpetrators of a cruel and treacherous action should be regarded with abhorrence, will not indeed surprise us: but the lasting ban entailed upon their posterity is connected with some remarkable tenets, and deserves a few words in explanation. The Greeks were firm believers in the doctrines of fatalism. Man, it was held, struggled in vain to escape from the vortex of destiny; however repugnant to his wishes, or abhorrent to his principles, he was borne on to do or suffer that which was decreed, by an irresistible force, against which even the immortal gods contended in vain. A very curious passage to this effect occurs in Herodotus. Croesus, after his defeat and captivity, sent messengers to reproach the Delphian oracle with misleading to ruin, by its false predictions, one who had merited the favour of the god by the magnificence of his offerings. The answer ran thus:—“It is impossible even for a god to escape from fate. Croesus but expiates the sin of his fifth ancestor,[153] who, being in the guard of the descendants of Hercules, in subservience to a woman’s treachery, slew his master, and seized upon a kingdom which belonged not to him. Fain would Apollo have deferred the fall of Sardis until the time of the sons of Croesus; but he could not turn aside the Fates.”[154] Here, coupled with the assertion of an immutable destiny, we find the not unnatural deduction that the crime of an ancestor entailed misfortune on his posterity: but this doctrine was extended much farther, and it was taught that deeds of extraordinary blackness introduced a malignant demon into the family of the offender, which empoisoned its prosperity, and hurried generations yet unborn to inevitable guilt and ruin. The office of inflicting this retribution was assigned with some degree of confusion and uncertainty to the Fates, “who follow up the transgressions of gods and men,”[155] to the Erinnyes, or Furies, or to Nemesis, the personification of divine displeasure. But when once these fearful visitants were established in a house, that house was marked out for misery and ruin. Such was the fate of the descendants of Pelops and Labdacus, the royal families of Argos and of Thebes, whose misfortunes have furnished a never–failing theme to the Greek tragedians, who abound in references[156] to the fatal curse upon these races.[157] It is from the presence of these dread ministers of wrath, visible to her inspired eyes, that Cassandra draws her fearful presages of evil in that scene, perhaps the grandest in Grecian tragedy.

“For never shall that bard, whose yelling notes
In dismal accord pierce the affrighted ear,
Forsake this house. The genius of the feast,
Drunk with the blood of man, and fired from thence
To bolder daring, ranges through the rooms
Linked with his kindred furies: these possess
The mansion, and in horrid measures chaunt
The first base deed; recording with abhorrence
The adulterous lust which stained a brother’s bed.”[158]

So, after the catastrophe, the chorus refers to the same cause the accumulated horrors and crimes which weigh down the house of Atreus.

“O thou demon, who dost fall
On the high Tantalid hall,
Well I know thee, mighty fiend,
Who here dost ever wend,
Haunting down the double line
From father unto son!

“Clytem. Aye, now thy words have sense and grace,
Calling on that thrice great fiend,
The demon of this race,
For ‘tis from him their bowels burn
With rage of lapping blood;
Ere the old grief has ceased to throb,
Young gore comes on amain.”[159]

With such ideas concerning an avenging destiny, it is no wonder that the Greeks shunned contact with the inheritors of divine anger; and national prejudice might be more strongly raised by the sacrilege of the AlcmÆonidÆ, because many of the sufferers were slain at the very altars of the Eumenides, to whom the punishment of such deeds peculiarly belonged, and whose worship had been introduced into Attica in amends for the judicial sentence which delivered Orestes from their power. In modern times an analogous persuasion concerning the fortunes of particular families has prevailed; in illustration of which we may cite the belief in the ill–luck of the Stuarts, a belief almost justified by the series of calamities and bloody deaths which beset the princes of that house: and, indeed, this faith in the influence of misconduct to produce hereditary misfortune has been general in Ireland and the Scottish Highlands, and probably in other countries where a vivid imagination is found in union with no high degree of cultivation and knowledge. In Ireland it is the popular creed, that an estate gained by fraud brings a curse along with it[160] (to open force they seem to be more indulgent); that the possessor becomes a doomed man, and neither he nor his descendants prosper. In Scotland it was thought that a pious parent entailed a blessing upon his offspring, while the punishment of the wicked and oppressor, if not immediately manifested upon himself, or his children, yet surely descended even on succeeding generations. This feeling extended to all classes; and a striking instance of it is connected with the massacre of Glencoe, the blackest incident in Scottish history. Colonel Campbell, of Glenlyon, grandson of Glenlyon, who commanded the military upon that fatal day, being with his regiment at Havannah, was ordered to superintend the execution of a soldier condemned to be shot. A reprieve was sent, but with directions that no person was to be told of it until the prisoner was on his knees prepared to receive the volley, not even the firing party, who were informed that the signal would be the waving of a white handkerchief by the commanding officer. “When all was prepared, and the prisoner in momentary expectation of his fate, Colonel Campbell put his hand into his pocket for the reprieve, and in pulling out the packet, the white handkerchief accompanied it, and catching the eyes of the party, they fired, and the unfortunate prisoner was shot dead. The paper dropped through Colonel Campbell’s fingers, and clapping his hand to his forehead, he exclaimed, “The curse of God and of Glencoe is here! I am an unfortunate, ruined man.” He soon after retired from the service, not from any reflection or reprimand on account of this melancholy affair, for it was known to be entirely accidental. The impression upon his mind, however, was never effaced. Nor is the massacre, and the judgment which the people believe has fallen on the descendants of the principal actors in this tragedy, effaced from their recollection. They carefully note, that while the family of the unfortunate gentleman who suffered is still entire, and his estate preserved in direct male succession to his posterity, this is not the case with the family, posterity, and estate of those who were the principals, promoters, and actors in this black affair.”[161]

In addition to the strife of faction consequent upon Cylon’s attempt, Athens was convulsed by discord between the rich and poor, arising from the oppressive rights possessed by creditors over the persons of their debtors, and the difficulty experienced by indigent freemen in supporting themselves by their own exertions, in consequence of the general prevalence of slave labour. Solon was appointed archon, with power to remodel the constitution; and having done so, he quitted Athens, and remained abroad, it is said, for ten years, the people having engaged not to alter his institutions within that time. But to put an end to faction was beyond his power. The landholders of Attica were divided into three parties, denominated from the lowlands, the highlands, and the coast. The first consisted chiefly of the nobility, the great proprietors; the second were a poorer class, among whom the democratical interest predominated; and the third, consisting in a great degree of men engaged in trade, held an intermediate station, both in circumstances and politics. Lycurgus headed the first party; Megacles was chief of the third; and during the absence of Solon, Pisistratus, with whom we are more immediately concerned, advanced to eminence, and assumed the direction of the second. Of his early life few particulars have reached us; it is only said that he was distinguished by eloquence and military talents, which he displayed on different occasions in the wars against Megara. Not long after Solon’s return, Pisistratus came in his chariot into the market–place, complaining that, in consequence of the jealousy excited by his support of the democratical interest, his life had been attempted while he was on his road into the country, in confirmation of which he exhibited wounds upon his own person and upon his mules. Whether the story were true or false, has been controverted, and must remain a matter of opinion; but that it was a fiction, seems to have been generally thought by the ancient writers. At all events, the people believed the tale, and a body of guards was decreed him, the numbers of which were gradually augmented, until he was enabled to gain possession of the Acropolis, or citadel, and, in the language of Greece, became tyrant[162] of Athens.

Death and confiscation being the usual concomitants of a Grecian revolution, it was a matter of course that the leaders of the defeated party should consult their safety by flight; and accordingly, Megacles, with the other chiefs of the AlcmÆonidÆ, withdrew from Athens. The terms on which he was invited to return, which happened soon after, are curious and characteristic. He was distinguished by victories gained in the public games of Greece, and during his exile he had conquered in the chariot–race at the Olympic festival. The condition of his restoration was, that the glory of this success should be ascribed to Pisistratus.[163] It may be doubted, though horse–racing in modern days, and chivalrous exercises in the middle ages, have been cultivated with ardour by men distinguished by birth and station, whether the possession of the best horses in the world has at any time since availed to procure the forgiveness of a political enemy. But the high estimation of such honours forms a striking feature in the Grecian character. We know from Homer, that, long previous to the institution of public games, princes contended with each other in athletic exercises: and when stated times were set aside, at which the flower of all Greece might vie in displaying strength and activity under the sanction and with all the pomp of religion, and the victor was rewarded by the acclamations of his assembled countrymen, it is no wonder that a nation highly imaginative and susceptible of the love of fame should have been led to set an extravagant price upon the superiority in qualities whose value was in truth great in times when the arm of one man was sufficient to decide a battle, but diminished proportionably to the progress of art and science. The chariot–race almost always formed a part of these games; and naturally, for when warriors fought from chariots, the possession of the best horses was a valuable distinction. This method of warfare had been disused long before the time of Pisistratus; but the chariot–race still formed a part, perhaps the most important one, in the Grecian games. And the welcome of a conquering general to his native city was less distinguished than that of an Olympic victor, whose prowess reflected honour upon the state which gave him birth: and thus such triumphs, by gratifying popular vanity, might become important, even to the interests of a statesman.

The year 560 b.c. is fixed as that of Pisistratus’s usurpation. The union of Megacles and Lycurgus produced his expulsion, after he had possessed the tyranny, it is thought, for about six years; of the transactions during which we have no information. He remained in banishment for an equal time, when the enmity between the united factions broke out afresh, and Megacles, to establish his superiority, brought back Pisistratus, connecting their interests by giving him his daughter in marriage. To gain the consent of the Athenians to his return, they devised a plan, characterised by Herodotus, from whom we have the story, as a most simple device to ensnare a people distinguished for intellect and very far removed from a simple good–nature. In one of the boroughs of Attica there lived a woman named Phya, of extraordinary stature, and withal of handsome person, whom they selected to personate the patron Goddess of Athens; and having carefully instructed her how to act her part, they dressed her in appropriate armour, placed her in a chariot, and sent her into the city, preceded by heralds, making proclamation, “O Athenians, receive with favour Pisistratus, whom Athene,[164] honouring him above all men, herself brings back unto her own Acropolis.” The news flew abroad throughout Attica, that Athene had brought back Pisistratus, and those who were in the city, believing that it was the Goddess, paid divine honours to a mortal and received the exile.[165]

His prosperity, however, was of very short duration: a domestic quarrel is said to have produced his expulsion a second time, about a year after his return, and he remained in banishment for a period of ten years, at the end of which his son Hippias, who had now attained manhood, induced him to attempt the recovery of his power. Thebes, Argos, and other cities assisted him with loans, by means of which he collected an army; and sailing from Eretria, where he had fixed his abode, he disembarked at Marathon, was joined by many of his countrymen, and defeating the ruling party, for the third time became master of Athens. Both now and formerly his success was characterised by moderation and lenity; for his only measure of precaution against future conspiracies was to take as hostages the children of such of his chief opponents as chose to remain in Athens, who were committed to the charge of Lygdamis, the friendly ruler of Naxos.

That Pisistratus’s temper and character were mild and amiable, is proved by the bloodless nature of the revolutions which he effected; and confirmed even by the testimony of those authors who have endeavoured to raise the reputation of Solon at his expense, by narrating many not very probable stories of the sage’s pertinacious opposition to his schemes of advancement. That Solon saw and lamented the ambition of Pisistratus is probable, but we learn upon the same authority that they lived on terms of intimacy and esteem from the return of the former until his death; and Plutarch, whose object was to exalt the patriot philosopher, has yet, in doing so, drawn a most favourable picture of the tyrant. “He was courteous, and marvellously faire spoken, and showed himself beside very good and pitifull to the poore, and temperate also to his enemies: further, if any good quality were lacking in him, he did so finely counterfeit it, that men imagined it was more in him, than in those that naturally had it in them indeed. As, to be a quiet man, no meddler, contented with his owne, aspiring no higher, and hating those which would attempt to change the present state of the Common Wealth, and would practise any innovation. By this art, and fine manner of his, he deceived the poore common people. Howbeit Solon found him out straight, and saw the mark he shot at: but yet hated him not at that time, and sought still to win him, and bring him to reason, saying oft times, both to himselfe and to others, that whoso could pluck out of his head the worme of ambition, by which he aspired to be the chiefest, and could heale him of his greedy desire to rule, there could not be a man of more virtue, nor a better citizen than he would prove.”[166] He adds a strong testimony to the beneficent administration of Pisistratus, in saying that Solon afterwards became one of his council; and while Herodotus has distinctly asserted that he ruled Athens honourably and well, neither changing the magistracies nor altering the laws, we learn from other authorities that he adhered to the regulations of Solon. And it is to his credit that he obeyed a citation to appear before the court of Areopagus, on a charge of murder, even if we grant that he ran little risk of being condemned; for it shows prudence, and good sense, and good feeling, that he chose rather to wear the appearance of submission to authority, than to outrage popular opinion by the visible assumption of irresponsible power. Of his lenity towards those who personally offended or injured him, several stories are told. A young man who was attached to his daughter, with the help of his friends carried her off forcibly from a sacrifice upon the sea–shore, at which she was assisting. Their galley was intercepted by Hippias, who was then cruising in search of pirates, and they were led captives to Athens. Being brought before the injured father, they scorned to use the language of entreaty, boldly declaring that they had held death cheap from the time of undertaking the enterprise. Pisistratus, struck with the high spirit of the youth, gave his daughter in marriage to the principal, and thus converted dangerous enemies into valuable and attached friends.[167] The above extract from Plutarch bears witness to his charity, which yet was not indiscriminate, nor abused to the encouragement of idleness; against which he not only enacted laws, but would inquire of any one whom he saw unemployed in the market–place, whether it were owing to the want of agricultural implements, and if it were so, he would supply the deficiency.

In this, however, perhaps policy was as much concerned as charity. Having obtained his power through the support of the democratical party, it was now his object to consolidate and establish it upon the downfall of that interest, by removing the multitude as far as possible from the city, and compelling them to follow agricultural labour. Another reason might be the improvement of the revenue, towards which he exacted the tithes of all agricultural produce. A humorous story is told of an old man, who was found by him cultivating a stubborn and rocky piece of ground. “What harvest can you derive from thence?” he said. “Aches and blisters, and the tithe of them goes to Pisistratus.” The answer was well received, and procured for him an immunity from the tax. On this subject, however, Pisistratus’s conduct was generally unjust and oppressive, for he not only forced the poorer Athenians to a rural life, but excluded them from the city, and made them wear a particular dress, that this exclusion might be the better enforced.[168] At the same time he proved himself not indifferent to their interest, by appointing a public provision for those who were wounded in the public service.

It were much to be wished that our information concerning the policy of Pisistratus and the public affairs of Athens during his administration were more minute; but the total silence of history concerning this period indicates at least that it was one of tranquillity and happiness. We have seen already that his private character was amiable; it remains to be added that his tastes were elegant and his mind cultivated. By many he is included in the list of worthies distinguished as the seven sages of Greece; indeed all writers who mention him bear testimony to the successful cultivation of his mental powers; and he possesses a strong claim to the gratitude of the world at large, if it be true that he collected and rendered into order the scattered fragments of Homer’s poems before they were irretrievably corrupted and confused by the inaccuracies of oral tradition.[169] And he scarcely deserves less credit for having been the first to establish a public library: an institution most valuable in all ages and places, but especially before the introduction of printing, when the price of books rendered it impossible for any but the wealthy to possess them. He also devoted much of his attention and revenue to the embellishment of the city; he built fountains, and a gymnasium, or place of exercise; he threw his private gardens open to the public; he dedicated a temple to the Pythian Apollo, and had commenced another to Olympian Zeus, the Latin Jupiter, when his labours were interrupted by death, b.c. 527, after he had enjoyed for ten years in tranquillity the sovereignty which he had pursued for so many anxious years. He left a name adorned by many virtues and accomplishments, and blemished apparently only by one great fault, ambition: but this, the master–passion of his life, has sullied his numerous great and good qualities, as a tainted fountain pollutes the whole stream. Had he been a rightful sovereign, he might have been hailed as the father of his country: instead of which his fellow–citizens saw in him only the parent of a hated and proscribed race, and later ages “damn him with the faint praise” of being the best of tyrants.

His sons Hipparchus and Hippias[170] appear to have succeeded quietly to his authority; which they shared in common, Hipparchus filling the more prominent station. Their father’s virtues descended to them, and Athens for some time flourished under their guidance. The strong expression of Plato is, that the Athenians lived as in old times under the reign of Saturn. He goes on to say that Hipparchus made the collection of Homer’s poems which others have ascribed to Pisistratus, and caused them to be publicly read in the order of their arrangement at the Panathenaic festival; and further displayed his taste in the patronage of Anacreon and Simonides, whom he induced by his liberality to take up their abode in Athens. And having thus provided for the mental cultivation of the citizens, he turned his attention to the improvement of the rustic population, and with this view caused HermÆ[171] to be erected in the main streets of the city and boroughs, upon which he inscribed in verse the most pithy maxims which he had heard or invented, that so the countrymen, wandering about, might taste of his wisdom, and come from the fields and woods to be further instructed in it. Two of these sentences are preserved—“The memorial of Hipparchus. Do not deceive a friend.” “The memorial of Hipparchus. Depart, meditating justice.” Further, we have the testimony of Thucydides, that he oppressed not the many, but bore himself ever inoffensively, and that “these tyrants held virtue and wisdom in great account for a long time, and taking of the Athenians but a twentieth part of their revenues, (they diminished, therefore, Pisistratus’s impost by one half,) adorned the city, managed their wars, and performed the rights of their religion. In other points they were governed by the laws formerly established, save that they took care ever to prefer to the magistracy men of their own adherence.” Thus fourteen years they ruled in peace and honour, when at length a single act of oppression and insult, a moment’s violation of the maxims of temperance and virtue, which their conduct as well as their precepts enforced, produced a revolution upon which probably the destinies of all Greece have hinged.

Hipparchus had conceived a personal ill–will towards an Athenian citizen named Harmodius, which he vented by insulting publicly the offender’s sister. Another citizen, Aristogiton, had reasons of his own for wishing ill to Hipparchus: he stimulated his friend Harmodius to a keener sense of the injury, and they resolved to wash away their wrongs in blood. But few associates were admitted to the knowledge of their plot, which was to be executed at the Panathenaic festival, when it was usual for all persons to appear in arms. Hipparchus alone was personally offensive; but to dissolve the tyranny, and to secure themselves from retribution, Hippias was to be involved in his brother’s fate. On the morning of the festival, while Hippias, attended by his guards, was in the Ceramicus,[172] ordering the procession, Harmodius and Aristogiton saw one of the conspirators conversing with him familiarly, “for Hippias was accessible to all.” Thinking themselves betrayed, they resolved, at least, to take vengeance on the more obnoxious party, and hastened to seek Hipparchus, whom they slew. Harmodius was slain in the tumult which ensued. Aristogiton escaped for a time, but was soon after taken and put to death.

The news being brought instantly to Hippias before others had heard it, he dissembled his emotion, and bade the citizens repair to a certain spot without their arms, as if he wished to address them previous to the procession. He then summoned his guard, and selected from the assembled multitude all whom he suspected, or found armed with daggers, a weapon not generally worn by those celebrating the festival. Thus for the present he preserved his power; but his temper was changed by the danger which he had escaped, and his government became jealous and intolerable. Many were slain, and many fled to join the exiled AlemÆonidÆ, whose cause became daily more popular at Athens, and throughout the rest of Greece, until at length they gained strength sufficient to enable them, with the assistance of LacedÆmon, to lay siege to Hippias in Athens, in the fourth year after the death of Hipparchus. The city, however, was strong and well provisioned; and he might have baffled their patience, but for a fortunate chance which threw his children, with those of his leading partisans, into the hands of the assailants. Parental anxiety prevailed, and the town surrendered, on condition that the obnoxious should receive no injury, but should quit Attica within five days. Hippias retired to Sigeum. When advanced in years, he accompanied the armament of Darius in hope of recovering his sovereignty; it was he that counselled its descent upon the plain of Marathon, where once before he had landed under a better star, and he is reported by Cicero to have been slain in the memorable battle which ensued.[173]

After the expulsion of Hippias, the memory of Harmodius and Aristogiton was hallowed by the Athenians in every way which the imagination of a grateful people could devise. Brazen statues were erected in honour of them (by the side of which, in after–times, those of Brutus and Cassius were placed), their descendants were gifted in perpetuity with the privilege of eating in the Prytaneum[174] at the public cost, with select places at the public spectacles, and with immunity from taxes: their names, forbidden to be borne by slaves, were ordered to be celebrated at all future Panathenaic festivals: and if the orators of Athens wished to find a theme agreeable to national vanity, it was to the praises of the tyrant–killers, or the events of the Persian war, that they resorted. Yet, after all these tributes of admiration, it is asserted by Æschines, that “a temperate and governed feeling so modified the character of those benefactors of the state, men supereminent in all virtues, that those who have panegyrised their deeds do yet appear therein to have fallen short of the things performed by them.” This extravagant, or probably pretended, enthusiasm may be endured, though not commended, as a privilege assumed by advocates and public speakers in all ages: but we cannot extend the same toleration to Simonides, who had benefited by the friendship and liberality of the deceased, when he asserts “that a light broke upon Athens when Harmodius and Aristogiton slew Hipparchus.” Their exploit was a favourite subject of the odes[175] with which the musical Athenians enlivened their entertainments, one of which, composed by Callistratus, has been preserved, and is esteemed among the noblest specimens of the lyric muse of Greece.

I’ll wreath my sword in myrtle bough,
The sword that laid the tyrant low,
When patriots, burning to be free,
To Athens gave equality.

Harmodius, hail! though reft of breath,
Thou ne’er shalt feel the stroke of death;
The heroes’ happy isles[176] shall be
The bright abode allotted thee.

I’ll wreathe the sword in myrtle bough,
The sword that laid Hipparchus low,
When at Minerva’s adverse fane
He knelt, and never rose again.

While Freedom’s name is understood,
You shall delight the wise and good;
You dared to set your country free,
And gave her laws equality.[177]

Nevertheless there seems not to be the smallest ground for supposing that the actors in this tragedy were guided by patriotic motives. The authors who speak of it vary somewhat in the circumstances which they relate, but all agree that it was a private quarrel, a personal offence, which inspired their resolution and their hatred. Many have been the instances in which the wantonness of power exercised on an individual has proved fatal to men who have trampled unopposed upon the liberties of their country, as if it were beneficially ordained that the vices of individuals should work out the general good.

But though this conspiracy can in no respect be regarded as the proximate cause of the re–establishment of democracy; though neither its motives nor its effects, so far as we can judge after the long lapse of ages, merit the encomiums which have been showered on them so profusely, it nevertheless affected vitally the interests of Athens, and, through her, of the civilised world. The mind need indeed be far–sighted and acute which presumes to trace the changes which a single deviation from the ordained course of events would have produced; yet it is neither uninteresting nor uninstructive to consider in what way a nation’s destiny might have been modified, and to observe the natural connexion by which crime results from intemperance and injustice, misfortune and misconduct from crime; while the melancholy series is still overruled to restore freedom to an injured people, and to punish the ambition which produced such fatal effects. From the apparently uninterrupted content which prevailed at Athens during a period of twenty–four years, from the last return of Pisistratus to the death of Hipparchus, there is good reason to believe that, but for private enmity, the brothers might have borne uninterrupted sway for the natural period of their lives. That of Hippias was prolonged for twenty–three years; making a sufficient period in the whole to have habituated the Athenians to usurpation, and to have enabled him to transfer the sceptre to his children as easily as he received it from his father. Athens, thus converted, like the Ionian cities, into a tyranny,[178] would probably have offered no more effectual progress than they did to the Persian power, and without her assistance all Greece would have fallen under the dominion of the King.[179] To pursue the subject further would be both rash and useless: it is obvious that such an event would have exercised a most powerful influence over the subsequent history of mankind: to define that influence would be difficult to the most penetrating and comprehensive understanding, and the attempt would be presumption here.

In the Italian republics of the middle ages we find the age of Greece revived, though on a smaller scale and with diminished splendour. They exhibit, in the same colours the results of multiplying small independent states, where every citizen may feel that he has an individual as well as a general interest in public affairs, and every city that she is concerned in the domestic quarrels of her neighbours. The effects of such a system are manifest alike in either country: the good, in the remarkable number of distinguished men produced by them; the bad, in the prevalence of external aggression and internal discord, signalised alike by political acuteness, unblushing profligacy, and revolting cruelty. Above all, Florence and Athens are naturally associated by their kindred eminence in art and literature; they were alike distinguished for the mercurial temper and lively imagination of their citizens, and political resemblances are not wanting to complete the comparison. The early changes in the Florentine constitution, the gradual depression of the nobles, by the rise of the commons to wealth and importance, their exclusion from public offices and honours, the elevation of a plebeian aristocracy upon the ruins of the feudal nobility, and the division of the commons into an oligarchical and a democratical party, are briefly and clearly related in Perceval’s History of Italy, and may not inaptly be compared to the gradual subversion of the Athenian EupatridÆ. Towards the close of the fourteenth century, the oligarchy, headed by the family of Albizzi, succeeded in obtaining possession of the government, which it held for fifty years with a mild and undisturbed sway. But their opponents, though silent, were not crushed: as new families gained wealth by trade, they grew impatient of political inferiority and exclusion: and the Medici, one of the most distinguished houses of the popular nobles, who had long ranked in opposition to the Albizzi, were naturally regarded as the stay of the democratic cause. It was at this time that Cosmo de’ Medici appeared in public life. The characters and adventures of this distinguished man and of his immediate descendants offer a singular number of coincidences with those of Pisistratus and his family.

At the beginning of the fifteenth century, Giovanni, the father of Cosmo, was the most distinguished person of his house and party. The great wealth which he had acquired by commercial adventure was set off by generosity and unblemished integrity: and though hereditarily opposed to the ruling faction, his own disinclination to interfere in politics, and the moderation of his opponents, left him in undisturbed possession of his riches and influence. To these his son Cosmo succeeded, and being possessed of greater talents and a more stirring ambition, he took an active part in public life, and became the recognised leader of the popular party. The older heads, under whose temperate guidance Florence had enjoyed a long interval of tranquillity, were now deceased, and Rinaldo degl’Albizzi, a young man of inferior judgment and stronger passions, had succeeded to their influence. He observed and endeavoured to check the growing spirit of discontent, and thereby hastened a crisis which he was unprepared to meet. By his machinations Cosmo was brought to trial upon a frivolous and unfounded charge, and though his life, which was aimed at, was preserved by a judicious bribe, he was convicted and sentenced to banishment for ten years. He quietly submitted to the decree, and retired to Venice, where he was received with distinguished honour: but Rinaldo had miscalculated his strength; the next year a set of magistrates came into office who were attached to the Medici, and by them the dominant family was overthrown and expelled, and Cosmo triumphantly recalled.

The youth then of Pisistratus and of the Florentine commenced under the same political aspect, and was marked by the same adventures; but the advantage thus far is clearly on the side of the latter, who owed his first elevation to hereditary distinction and to his own merit, and his recall to the voice of his countrymen constitutionally expressed. And the resemblance of their youth holds good through their maturer years: they alike retained their sway to the end of a prosperous life, and alike employed it with beneficence and moderation; for though the triumph of Cosmo was not unstained by blood, and he hesitated not to ensure its stability, when threatened, by the exile of his opponents and the retrenchment of popular rights, yet his measures seem dictated by prudence, not by revenge: they are unpolluted by the atrocious cruelties so common in Italian party contests, and Florence prospered, and was respected under his administration. He avoided, even more than Pisistratus, the ostentation of that power which it would have been nobler not to have possessed; and presented to the world the spectacle of a merchant raised to the head of a powerful state, pursuing his original profession with industry and success, and declining the alliance of sovereigns to marry his children among his fellow–citizens, whom he treated as if they were in reality, no less than in appearance, his equals. No superior magnificence distinguished his establishment or his table; but his wealth was profusely employed in distributing favours to all around him, until there was scarce a man of his party who was not bound to him by some personal tie. To this happy temper, and to the simplicity of his tastes and manners, he owes the enviable reputation which he has gained. Had he assumed the ostentation of a prince, which his riches and power might well have warranted, the obligations which he dispensed would have carried with them the impress of servitude. But men forgive injuries more easily than mortifications, and his fellow–citizens reconciled themselves to the unconstitutional superiority of one who treated them in every–day life as his equals, or displayed his elevation only in the extent of his generosity, and a freer cultivation and patronage of all that is fascinating in art and literature.

We have described Cosmo de’ Medici as exercising a power little less than regal in a republic whose magistrates were changed every two months, and in which he neither possessed ostensible office and authority, nor that armed support which has often enabled usurpers to dispense with all other title. The reader, therefore, may be at a loss to understand the nature of his influence; it is explained in the following passage. “The authority which Cosmo and his descendants exercised in Florence, during the sixteenth century, was of a very peculiar nature, and consisted rather in a tacit influence on their part, and a voluntary acquiescence on that of the people, than in any prescribed or definite compact between them. The form of government was ostensibly a republic, and was directed by a government of ten citizens, and a chief executive officer, called the gonfaloniere, or standard–bearer, who was chosen every two months. Under this establishment the citizens imagined they enjoyed the full exercise of their liberties; but such was the power of the Medici, that they generally either assumed to themselves the first offices of the state, or nominated such persons as they thought proper to those employments. In this, however, they paid great respect to popular opinion. That opposition of interests, so generally apparent between the people and their rulers, was at this time scarcely perceived at Florence, where superior qualifications and industry were the surest recommendations to public authority and favour; and, satisfied that they could at any time withdraw themselves from a connexion that exacted no engagements, and required only a temporary acquiescence, the Florentines considered the Medici as the fathers, and not the rulers of the republic. On the other hand, the chiefs of this house, by appearing rather to decline than to court the honours bestowed upon them, and by a singular moderation in the use of them when obtained, were careful to maintain the character of simple citizens of Florence, and servants of the state. An interchange of reciprocal good offices was the only tie by which the Florentines and the Medici were bound, and perhaps the long continuance of their connexion may be attributed to the very circumstance of its being in the power of either of the parties at any time to have dissolved it.”[180] The state of things described in a former part of this passage corresponds with what the Greeks called tyranny, and in the same sense in which Pisistratus was tyrant of Athens, Cosmo and Lorenzo de’ Medici were tyrants of Florence. But in his remarks upon the nature of their power, Mr. Roscoe’s partialities appear to have led him astray. The Medici, from their brilliant qualities, were possessed of the affections of a large portion of their countrymen, and it so chanced, therefore, that the one were as ready to submit as the other to command. But it will scarcely be believed that the connexion with a family which had usurped the entire command of the state, the sole disposal of the magistracies, could have been dissolved at any time; or indeed that it could ever have been dissolved, except by force of arms: and the praise of moderation, however applicable to the two elder Medici, is scarcely due to Lorenzo, who abolished even the shadow of a popular magistracy, and asserted the dependence of all functionaries upon himself,[181] whose expenditure was upon a scale of regal extravagance, and who made his country bankrupt to prevent the bankruptcy of his house. For he carried on the vast commercial establishment by which his grandfather Cosmo had acquired wealth; but with such different success, that he was compelled to debase the national currency to raise means for meeting his mercantile engagements.

Cosmo, resembling Pisistratus in the elegance of his taste, lived, like him, at a time which enabled him to confer singular benefits upon society. To the Athenian we probably owe the preservation of Homer’s poems in a connected form; to the Florentine and to his family we are mainly indebted for those treasures of ancient literature which time has spared; which, four centuries ago, were rapidly decaying in obscurity, or, by a more ignoble fate, were defaced to make room for lying legends and scholastic quibbles, until, early in the fifteenth century, a few enlightened spirits eagerly devoted themselves to rescuing what still remained. The vast wealth of Cosmo and his extensive correspondence were ever ready to be employed in the service of learning; at the request of the men of letters, by whom he loved to be surrounded, his agents were continually charged to buy or to have copied whatever manuscripts could be found in Europe or Asia; he founded public libraries, and among them that which is still named after his grandson, the Laurentian, and supported the cause of literature by affording countenance to all who cultivated it with success. His mansions were filled with gems, statues, and paintings, the master–pieces of ancient and modern art, and he was the friend no less than the protector of Donatello and Masaccio, to whom sculpture and painting respectively are much indebted for their rapid advance. Nor was he so much absorbed by these tastes, or by affairs of state, as to neglect his domestic concerns, and the flourishing condition of his estates of Careggi and Caffagiuolo bore witness to his skill and attention to agriculture, as did his foreign dealings to his mercantile knowledge and success.

Architecture, however, was his favourite pursuit. Like Pisistratus, he spent vast sums in ornamenting his city, and if his glory as a patron of the art be inferior to that of Pericles—if he cannot boast, like Augustus, that he found Florence of brick, and left it of marble, he has one claim to our praise which neither they nor probably any other public improver of ancient or modern times has possessed, namely, that the expenses of his works were defrayed from his private fortune. It appears from a memorandum of his grandson, Lorenzo, that in thirty–seven years their house had spent in buildings, charities, and contributions to the state, no less than 663,755 golden florins, equivalent to more than 1,300,000l. of the present day. The magnificent edifice known as the Riccardi palace was built by Michelozzi for Cosmo’s residence; under his patronage the dome of the Florentine cathedral was reared; he built churches and convents, the enumeration of which would be tedious, and erected a palace upon each of his four country estates. To these retreats he betook himself in his declining years, and, estranged from politics and surrounded by men of letters, he passed the evening of his life in tranquillity, unmolested by any enemy except the gout. Its close alone was clouded by the death of his younger son, whom he regarded as the destined supporter of his name and grandeur, for the bad health of the elder incapacitated him for an active life; and the aged statesman, as he was carried through the vast palace which he had no longer strength to traverse on foot, exclaimed with a sigh, “This house is too large for so small a family.” He died within a year of his son, in 1464, loved by his friends, and regretted even by his enemies, who dreaded the rapacity of his partisans when restrained no longer by the probity and moderation of their chief; and Florence bore the best witness to his virtues, when she inscribed on his tomb the title of Father of his Country.

Piero de’ Medici, his eldest son, in name succeeded to his father’s influence; but owing to his infirmities he resided chiefly in the country, while, under shelter of the respected name of Medici, a few citizens monopolized the administration of justice and the management of the state, and converted both to their own private and corrupt emolument. He died in 1469, leaving two sons, Lorenzo, named the Magnificent, and Giuliano; the former being less than twenty–one years of age, and the latter five years his junior. Had the Florentines still been animated by their ancient spirit, there was now a most favourable opportunity for the recovery of liberty: but, under various pretexts, most of the distinguished families under whom the people might have ranked themselves had been driven into exile, and the personal virtues of Cosmo, and his unquestioned pre–eminence as a party leader, had laid the foundations of an hereditary influence, and prepared a way for the entire change of the constitution. So fully was the predominant party aware of this, that the men who had ruled Florence in the name of Piero, but without reference to his will, and who had embittered the close of his life by their profligacy and corruption, instead of profiting by the youth of his sons to shake off this nominal subjection, were eager to ascribe to them a power which they did not possess. They took measures to continue, under an empty name, a junto which assured to them the distribution of all places and the disposal of the revenue. The ambassadors who had been used to treat with Thomas Soderini, the citizens who had long been aware that their fortunes depended on his favour, hastened to visit him, upon the death of Piero. But Soderini feared to rouse the jealousy of his associates, and to weaken his party by accepting these marks of respect. He sent the citizens who waited on him to the young Medici, as the only chiefs of the state; he assembled the men of most importance, and presenting Lorenzo and his brother, advised them to preserve to those young men the credit which their house had enjoyed during thirty–five years, and suggested that it was far easier to maintain a power already strengthened by time than to found a new one.

The Medici received with modesty the marks of attachment and respect which were paid to them in the name of the commonwealth, and for several years they did not endeavour to assume an authority which ostensibly was centred in the magistrates alone, and which could not be exerted in secret, except by men whose long services and known abilities ensured attention. For seven years Florence enjoyed domestic peace; the Medici, divided between their studies and the tastes of youth, at one time entertained men the most distinguished in art and letters, at another amused the people with brilliant spectacles. But as they advanced to manhood, and took the administration into their own hands, their rule became more absolute, and their innovations on the constitution more obvious. They appointed a body of five electors, who named the magistracy without any reference to the people: they converted the balia[182] into a permanent council, in whose hands they placed the legislative, the administrative, and judicial power; and by its means they got rid of their enemies without legal proceedings, imposed new taxes at pleasure, and diverted the revenue to the maintenance of their commercial credit and the support of their luxury. Unwilling that any should enjoy consideration, excepting as it was derived from his own influence and favour, Lorenzo excluded from office, and depressed to the utmost of his power, all those whose rivalry seemed most to be feared, but especially the Pazzi, one of the noblest and most powerful families of the state. At this period it contained nine men of mature age, and of the first rank in the city: yet since the death of Piero, but one of its members had been admitted to the magistracy. This exclusion was the more offensive because one of them had married Bianca, the sister of the Medici. Giuliano, whose temper was less ambitious, as his talents were inferior to his brother’s, expressed his dissatisfaction at this conduct, and said to his brother, that he feared they should lose what they had by grasping at too much. It was believed also that Lorenzo had interfered with the course of justice to deprive Giovanni de’ Pazzi of a rich inheritance which was justly his due; and Francesco, one of the brothers–in–law of Bianca, a man of violent and haughty temper, withdrew from Florence, and established a bank at Rome.

Sixtus IV., the reigning Pope, nourished also an inveterate hatred against the Medici, and under his auspices a conspiracy was formed to murder them and place Florence under the power of the Pazzi, in which Francesco Pazzi and Salviati, Archbishop of Pisa, were the chief actors. [183] “The design of the conspirators was to assassinate both the brothers, Lorenzo and Giuliano, at the same instant, for the murder of one would otherwise only have the effect of putting the other on his guard.[184] The Pope therefore wrote to the Cardinal Riario, nephew of Count Girolamo, a youth of only eighteen years of age, whom he had just admitted into the sacred college, and who was then studying at the University of Pisa, to desire him to obey whatever directions he should receive from the Archbishop of Pisa; and Salviati accordingly carried him to a seat of the Pazzi near Florence. The conspirators knew that the new Cardinal must be welcomed with public entertainments, at which they hoped that the Medici might be found present together, and despatched while unsuspicious of danger. Jacopo de’ Pazzi gave a fÊte, to which both the brothers were accordingly invited: Lorenzo, however, alone came, for Giuliano was indisposed. But Lorenzo, as had been foreseen, made sumptuous preparations to receive the Cardinal at his villa at Fiesole; and there the conspirators fully resolved to execute their purpose. The entertainment took place, but still Giuliano was absent; and the Pazzi, thus again disappointed, and despairing of securing the presence of the younger Medici, at a second festival to be given by his brother, resolved to defer their enterprise no longer than the following Sunday, when the Cardinal was to be present at high mass at the cathedral of Florence; an occasion at which it was thought that neither of the Medici could with decency absent himself. There it was determined that, in the midst of the most solemn offices of religion, the crime of assassination should be perpetrated; that the elevation of the host, as the kneeling victims bowed their heads, should be the signal of murder; and that at the moment of the sacrifice, the Archbishop Salviati and others should seize the palace of the signiory, while Jacopo de’ Pazzi was to raise the city by the cry of liberty. Francesco de’ Pazzi charged himself, together with Bernardo Bandini, a daring and devoted partisan of his house, with the assassination of Giuliano. Giovanni Battista Montesecco, a condottiere in the papal service, had boldly engaged with his single hand to despatch Lorenzo, while he understood that the murder was to take place at a festival. But when Montesecco found that it was before the altar of God that it was intended he should shed the blood of a man whose hospitality he had enjoyed, his courage failed him. The soldier declared that he dared not add sacrilege to murder and perfidy; and his office was committed to two ecclesiastics, who had not the same scruples.

“When the appointed morning arrived, the Cardinal Riario and Lorenzo de’ Medici were already at the cathedral, the church was rapidly filling with people, and still Giuliano de’ Medici did not appear. The conspirators began to dread another disappointment, and Francesco de’ Pazzi and Bernardo Bandini left the cathedral to seek for him, and to persuade him that his absence would be insidiously remarked. Every feeling which revolts at murder and treachery is strengthened, when we learn the terms of familiarity on which these men had just been living with him whom they were hurrying to death. They passed their arms round his waist, as if to draw him in playful violence towards the church, but in reality to feel whether he had put on his cuirass, which he wore with habitual timidity under his garments. But Giuliano was indisposed; he had discarded his armour; and so unsuspicious was he at that hour of impending evil, that he even left at home the dagger which usually hung at his side. As he entered the church and approached the altar, the two conspirators kept close to him; the two priestly assassins had also fixed themselves in the throng beside Lorenzo; and when the host was raised, and every knee was bending in adoration, Bandini struck his dagger into the breast of Giuliano. The victim staggered and fell, and Francesco de’ Pazzi threw himself upon him, with such blind fury, that besides inflicting on him several blows with his dagger, the least a death, he grievously wounded himself in the thigh. At the same moment the two priests attacked Lorenzo. One of them struck at his throat, but missed his aim; and the blow, which grazed the intended victim’s neck, merely startled him to his defence.[185] Rapidly throwing his cloak about his left arm for a shield, he drew his sword and courageously defended himself until his attendants came to his aid. The priests then lost courage and fled: but Bandini, his dagger reeking with the blood of Giuliano, now endeavoured to rush upon Lorenzo, and stabbed one of his train to the heart, who interposed to defend him. Lorenzo, however, was by this time surrounded by his friends, who hastily sought refuge with him in the sacristy, and closed its brazen doors. Meanwhile the whole church was filled with consternation; and the first moment of surprise and alarm had no sooner passed, than the friends of the Medici collected from all quarters, and conveyed Lorenzo in safety to his palace.

“During this scene in the cathedral, the Archbishop Salviati, with a strong band of conspirators, attempted, as had been concerted, to seize the palace of the signiory and the persons of the magistrates. After filling the outer apartments with his followers, the archbishop obtained by his rank an easy admission to the presence of the gonfaloniere and priors who were sitting. But instead of immediately attacking them he hesitated; and his manner betrayed so much confusion, that the suspicion of the gonfaloniere being excited, he rushed from the hall and assembled the guards and servants of the palace. The doors were secured, and the conspirators were furiously assaulted by the magistrates and their attendants with such motley weapons and instruments as the furniture of the palace afforded. Dispersed and intimidated, they made but a feeble resistance, and were all either slaughtered on the spot, hurled from the windows, or made prisoners. Jacopo de’ Pazzi, followed by a troop of soldiery, attempted to succour them, after an abortive effort to excite the citizens to revolt by crying liberty through the streets. But the magistrates held the palace until numerous citizens came to their aid, and Jacopo, seeing that the game was lost, fled into the country.

“The fate of most of the conspirators was not long delayed. The Archbishop Salviati was hanged from a window of the public palace, even in his prelatical robes. Francesco de’ Pazzi, who, exhausted by loss of blood from his self–inflicted wound, had been obliged to confine himself to his uncle’s house, was dragged from his bed, and suspended from the same place of execution. Jacopo himself, being discovered and arrested in the country by the peasantry, was brought into the city a few days afterwards, and similarly executed, with another of his nephews, whose knowledge of the conspiracy was his only crime, for he had refused to engage in it: and the whole of the devoted family of the Pazzi were condemned to exile, except Guglielmo, the brother–in–law of Lorenzo. The priests who had attacked Lorenzo, the condottiere Montesecco, and above seventy inferior persons besides, suffered death; and even Bernardo Bandini, though he escaped for a time to Constantinople, paid the forfeit of his crimes; for Lorenzo had sufficient interest with Mahomet II. to cause him to be seized and sent to Florence for execution. The young Cardinal Riario, rather an instrument than an accomplice in the conspiracy, was with difficulty saved by Lorenzo from being torn to pieces by the fury of the Florentine mob; but his attendants were mercilessly butchered by them.”

The conspiracy of the Pazzi strikingly displayed the absoluteness of the Medician dominion over the will and affections of the people of Florence. So far from shewing any disposition to join the Pazzi in revolt, the populace were filled with grief and fury at the murder of Giuliano, and at the peril in which Lorenzo had stood. They had flown to arms to defend the Medici: and they paraded Florence for whole days to commit every outrage upon the dead bodies of the conspirators which still defiled the streets. The cry of “Palle, Palle!” the armorial device of the Medici,[186] continually resounded through the city; and the memory of the tragedy wherein Giuliano had fallen, was always associated in the public mind with a deepened and affectionate interest for the safety of Lorenzo, and with an attachment to his person which lasted to his death.

We might perhaps search history in vain to find two families, whose fortunes, whose dispositions, and even whose tastes were so faithfully reflected in each other, as those of Pisistratus and Cosmo de’ Medici. If we consider the younger Medici as immediately succeeding to their grandfather (and the concession is not important, for in the interval no political changes occurred in Florence), the resemblance between their fortunes, so far as we have traced them, is perfect. The founders of either house, after similar reverses, established tyrannies in their native cities, and yet lived and died beloved and respected by their countrymen, and delivered their usurped sovereignty peaceably to their successors. These successors were in either case two brothers, who instead of running the usual course of jealousy and discord, exercised their joint power for years in harmony, and were at length separated by conspiracies which succeeded against the one, only to render more despotic the sway of the other. With respect to personal character, the resemblance between Pisistratus and Cosmo de’ Medici has been fully dwelt upon. That between the brothers their descendants is necessarily less completely made out, for we know very little of the political conduct of the two Athenians; but we may observe the same hereditary love of art and literature, the same absence of jealousy, and the same superiority of one brother over the other in the cultivation of learning. The resemblance of their histories, so far as we have traced that of the Medici, fails only in one respect: the death of Hipparchus was due to his own intemperance, the murder of Giuliano de’ Medici to the arbitrary measures of his brother.

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