The Feast of Saint Lawrence, the Year of Our Lord 1456
Far from the serenity of the convent garden, behind the rusticated walls of the Palazzo Medici in the heart of Florence, the day was neither silent nor placid. All of Italy was embattled in a tug of wills among the great states of Milan, Venice, Naples, the Republic of Florence, and the papal city of Rome. Only that morning, a messenger had arrived from Naples with a letter from King Alfonso, addressed to Cosimo de’ Medici. In the letter, the monarch had asked the Florentine power to affirm his allegiance to the court of Napoli. It was in the greatest interest of Florence that this alliance be forged, so that the Republic could stand together with Naples and Milan against Pope Callistus III and the leaders of Venice. The pope was ailing, but the alliance would be struck and the joint resources of Rome and Venice would be formidable. Florence needed to assert herself swiftly.
In his chamber, stout Cosimo de’ Medici sat in the high-backed chair behind his mahogany desk and issued loud orders to his emissary, Ser Francesco Cantansanti.
“Tell Lippi I want to see immediate progress.” Cosimo banged on the table for emphasis. “Tell him in no uncertain terms.”
Cosimo de’ Medici was head of the great banking family and the de facto ruler of Florence. His father, Giovanni di Bicci, had secured his fortune in the new mercantile world of Florence, and been named gonfaliere of the state. For three decades the Medici had been ascending in power through cunning and monetary influence, and Cosimo had extended the family’s influence beyond his father’s dreams. Now he wanted his son Giovanni to journey to Naples to secure their position with King Alfonso. Giovanni would carry a spectacular altarpiece completed by Fra Filippo Lippi, and the king’s acceptance of this painting would affirm the alliance between Firenze and Napoli.
“We’ve already given the painter thirty florin, and you’ve spent my lire liberally on lapis and gold,” Cosimo said. “This work must be the best the monk has ever produced. It must be the finest work Alfonso has ever seen.”
The banker had entrusted the commission to his son, but Giovanni was young and unsure of how to wield his power, while Cosimo was a forceful man. A shaft of sunlight glimmered on the thick gold ring that encased Cosimo’s fat pinky, and he made it known in a glance that he expected Ser Francesco to exercise the power and will of the Medici family in this instance as certainly as he’d done in the past.
“Pope Callistus will not budge in Rome’s allegiance to Venice and the Doge,” Cosimo said. “Milan is already allied with Naples. We must secure our position alongside them. And we will not go without the painting.”
He motioned for his secretary to bring the sketch of the triptych that Fra Filippo had sent with the contract from May of 1456, securing their agreement. Cosimo spread the documents open on the dark table.
“We must get to Naples before the Sforza of Milan can advance a position against us, as I know they will try to do,” Cosimo said. “We were promised the painting in one year’s time. Now it’s almost summer’s end and Lippi’s sent us nothing more.”
No one understood better than Cosimo the power of the pen—and the paintbrush—to sway public opinion. He had secured his influence over the Republic of Florence by turning it into the greatest city since the Roman emperors walked the earth. Poetry, philosophy, science, humanism, and the arts flourished under his leadership: Brunelleschi had completed the glorious dome above the cathedral of Florence, while Ghiberti’s bronze doors gave the church baptistry the finest portal in the land. Michelozzo’s palaces ornamented Florence’s streets, and Ghirlandaio’s spectacular frescoes graced the walls of the Medici Palace. Both Fra Giovanni and Fra Filippo had become great artists under his patronage.
The banker truly lived by his motto—Operare non meno l’ingegno che la forza: Exercise intellect as much as force—and the wealthier he became, the more he lavished on Florence. The allegiance with Alfonso of Naples was the linchpin that would secure the Medicis’ future against the dual threat of Rome and Venice. But King Alfonso the Magnanimous was not an easy man to impress.
“Remind him that we could have had Fra Giovanni,” Cosimo said, referring to the Dominican monk whom he had paid richly to complete a famed series of frescoes at the San Marco monastery. “The saintly painter would have been very happy to have another thousand florins for this commission.”
Cosimo looked at the parchment before him, where Fra Filippo Lippi had sketched his plans for the triptych. The artist was irascible, and one always had to chase after him. But his work was filled with the brooding beauties and scruffy lads that ran the streets of Florence, and he used the perspective and style encoded in the new artistic treatises of the age to turn out works that were alive with earthly passions. For the King of Naples, Cosimo had commissioned a scene depicting the adoration of the Christ child in a manner newly conceived and filled with the progressive spirit of the age: a beautiful Madonna, kneeling in a grassy wood, gazing at her sleeping infant. This was to be a work filled with all the mysticism of the Incarnation; a triptych that showed the hand of God written in leaves and stones and streams. Only this would be a gift fit for King Alfonso.
“I’ve entrusted this to you,” the great Cosimo cautioned his emissary. “What did you accomplish three months ago in Prato when you delivered the contract? Didn’t you make it clear to him then that our honor rests on his work?”
“Of course, Your Excellency. The monk is truly grateful to be in your good graces.” Ser Francesco Cantansanti spoke with the greatest deference. “Believe me, sir, the painter hasn’t forgotten the many occasions you’ve used your influence to protect him from the ecclesiastics.”
Both men well recalled the sight of Fra Filippo, his usually generous frame thin with anguish, bowed in disgrace before the courts of the Archiepiscopal Curia in Rome the year before.
“Your will shall be done, Your Excellency,” Cantansanti vowed. “By God’s good graces I will return with evidence that the panels are well under way.”
Cosimo nodded and dismissed the emissary with a wave of his hand.
Outside the chamber, Cantansanti shook his head. He understood Cosimo’s impatience and would do his bidding with the painter. But he had to admit that he admired Fra Filippo’s talent and irrepressible spirit. His ingenuity made him one of the most sought-after artists in Florence and, like it or not, Ser Francesco had to stay on the painter’s heels.