bonfire of inanities

Or, the strident shouty adventures of Renaissance whackjob Girolamo Savonarola.

Hello friends!

And hello to all the new friends who subscribed after what I thought was a throwaway half-post about Nietzsche! If any of the many people I ticked off with that newsletter have stuck around (doubtful, but I’m happy to have you if so!), I offer two points:

1. I don’t mind at all that you find him interesting or profound! We can disagree! That’s mY OPINION!

2. I don’t know what kind of nuanced philosophical debate you were expecting from a joke history publication titled “Dirtbags Through the Ages,” but I feel I’m delivering what I advertise.

Anyway. This week we’re going to dive into a brand-new historical dirtbag, and if you like this guy that’s also perfectly fine I guess but I extremely vehemently do not:

Girolamo Savonarola, the Fit-Throwin’ Friar of Florence!

have you ever seen a historical figure who looks so much like Igor from Mel Brooks’s Young Frankenstein, I posit you have not

First off, I want to explain myself. I hate this man. I’d punch him in the face if I ever saw him in the street. That said! Every time he makes a little cameo in something I’m reading or watching, I get so excited. It’s a little fun surprise for me. Ever since I first encountered him on Showtime’s The Borgias, I have been strangely delighted every time there’s a Savonarola jumpscare in my historical media, which happens more often than you would think. I hope by the end of this newsletter, I will have passed this experience on to you as well.

any show set in renaissance italy: “remember when the Florentine preacher…” Me: GIROLAMO SAVONAROLA MENTIONED

Every Preacher Great and Small

Girolamo Savonarola was born in Ferrara, Italy in 1452. (For the purposes of this story, I will be calling him Savonarola, because I’m a Chicagoan and every time I try to type “Girolamo” it comes out “Giordano.” This man is perilously close to being a tourist trap deep-dish pizza and I must be careful.) Savonarola’s family included several famous doctors, and he originally went to the University of Ferrara to become a physician.

But our man Savonarola was an apocalyptic weirdo, and it very quickly became clear medicine was not the career path for him. In 1475, Savonarola walked out of college, told his dad “I can’t do this life anymore, I’m too horny and the pope is too corrupt,” and ran away to Bologna, where he joined a community of Dominican friars.

Now, in fairness to Savonarola, this was 15th-century Italy. The pope was too corrupt! The pope at this moment was Pope Sixtus IV, a real Fifth Third Bank of a guy who has an entire section on his Wikipedia page just titled “Nepotism.” But that’s neither here nor there.

I google image searched “Pope Sixtus IV” and this result came up and made me laugh so hard I couldn’t help but share (source)

Savonarola entered the priesthood in Bologna and then wandered around for the next 10 years preaching and yelling. He was obnoxious and broadly disliked, A of all because he was not a great public speaker and B of all because he kept taking the unpopular position of “what if this monastery was even stricter than before?” However, he was the most aggressively pious person in any given room, and then as now there were always some rich people to whom that appealed.

One of these rich people was Lorenzo de’ Medici, an incredibly rich man who essentially owned all of Florence and is remembered throughout history as “Lorenzo the Magnificent.” Despite what this name implies, I am aware of no historical evidence that Lorenzo de’ Medici ever pulled a rabbit out of a hat at a child’s birthday party.

they did Mr. the Magnificent dirty in this portrait

Lorenzo was intrigued by this shouty preacher and his annoying ideas, so he invited Savonarola to come to Florence and preach the gospel. To which Savonarola said, “hold onto your magnificent butt.”

Wail Wail Wail, What Have We Here

When Savonarola turned up in Florence in 1490, he was a goddamn sensation. He started giving fiery anti-corruption sermons about the Book of Revelations that attracted people in droves. “What’s the number of the beast? SIX SIX SIX! What’s the pope’s name? SIXTUS! Do I have to say anything else?” People loved it, and he started attracting a cult following.

Savonarola (top right): AND ANOTHER THING JESUS NEVER SAID

I mean a literal cult following: Savonarola very quickly developed his own cult. It was called the Piagnoni, which translates to “the Wailers,” presumably because they did lots of screaming and crying whenever Savonarola spoke.

Savonarola, emboldened by his sudden rockstar preacher status, started doing what any good cult leader would do: making cryptically vague prophecies. Most famously, he prophesied that a “New Cyrus” would arrive in Florence from over the Alps and begin the long-awaited scourging and cleansing of the church.

Now, who should come over the Alps in 1494 but King Charles VIII of France, trying to do a little overthrow of the Medici?

I mean, let’s be real, guys. If you want to stage a land invasion of Italy in the 15th century—and everyone did—you’re gonna have to come over the Alps. That is how geography works. Literally Pierre the Traveling Cow Herder could have turned up over the mountains and Savonarola would have used it as proof of his gift of divine prophecy.

But Savonarola was no dummy. He approached Charles VIII and personally engaged him in peace negotiations, which I think went something like this:

Savonarola: hey, New Cyrus. it’s chill if I call you New Cyrus, right?
Charles VIII: it’s not, but go on
Savonarola: listen, I know you really want to sack and pillage Florence. but what if you decided not to do that? and instead helped me burn the Catholic Church to the ground and rebuild it gloriously from the ashes?
Charles VIII: are you asking me if I want to form an alliance to kill the pope
Savonarola: that depends. do you?
Charles VIII: I mean, no.
Savonarola: then that’s not what I’m asking. can you please just not burn Florence and help me…purify the church? ambiguously?
Charles VIII: that sounds like plausible deniability to me, I’m in.

Charles VIII left Florence untouched and cruised off to slaughter some other Italian city-states and overthrow the Medici. The Piagnoni lost their ever-loving minds. Their cult leader future-telling preacher had saved them from certain French death! Obviously the next step was to give him his own political party.

this portrait of Savonarola looks like what would happen if you left Cillian Murphy in a bathtub of lye for 24 hours, no I will not be elaborating

Just a Hunk-a Hunk-a Burnin’ Secular Art and Literature

Savonarola quickly used his weirdo influence to replace the Medici as Florence’s primary political leader and exert control over basically everything going on in the city. He decided which men could serve on the Great Council and which couldn’t. He wrote a new constitution. He declared an Era of Universal Peace—which by the way seems like a thing both parties would have to declare, but whatever, who am I to question Savonarola’s methods?

For balance, he did a few good things, such as establishing more aid for the poor and reducing the number of crimes punishable by death.

Then again, Savonarola also declared himself the morality police of Florence and patrolled the streets with an army of fanatic young men who remind me of the Faith Militant from Game of Thrones, arresting anyone behaving lewdly, dressed immodestly, or having any kind of fun whatsoever. Which I can’t say I’m a big fan of.

In 1495, Savonarola delivered a sermon in which he claimed to have ascended to chat with the Virgin Mary and her “minions.” The Virgin told him that God supported Savonarola’s alliance with the French King. He also declared that Christ Himself was going to become the next King of Florence, which seems fake but okay.

I am so sorry, but you were thinking it too.

In order to make Florence ready for the election of Jesus Christ Himself to local government, Savonarola really got to work. There could be no secular or scandalous art anywhere in Florence, so he created these huge mass book burning events in the center of town. That’s where we get the phrase “Bonfire of the Vanities,” after the weekly burning parties he would hold in the center of town where people were supposed to bring their secular books, paintings, sculptures, musical instruments… Anything that would distract from God? On the fire it went.

I am against book burnings in any context, at any point in history. I also don’t know how you would burn a sculpture. It’s a…rock, no? Maybe I’m just dumb.

if the statues they make of you make you look like Judge Frollo summoning an army of sentient brooms in Disney’s Fantasia, you…probably did not do preaching right

The Devil Went Down to Borgia

You know who didn’t like this? The new pope, Notorious Dirtbag Pope Alexander VI, aka Rodrigo Borgia. (Who will get his own feature in this newsletter someday, I promise! And then we can talk about my Roman Empire: the two dueling Borgia TV series that both premiered in mid-2011, called Borgia and The Borgias respectively. Mostly I want to watch a behind-the-scenes documentary about how the producers reacted when they found out their Borgia prestige drama was premiering literally 98 days after another Borgia prestige drama. I hope there was sabotage on the sets. Neither show got finished because they were distracted by Renaissance-era machinations and trying to sneak poison into Craft Services. Anyway. This sidebar has gone on too long.)

Around 1496, Alexander VI commanded Savonarola to stop preaching all these shitty un-fun things, because it was really killing the vibe and also possibly threatening the military strength of the Holy League. He also commanded Savonarola to come to Rome in person and explain himself, to which Savonarola literally replied by saying “absolutely not, and also there are 18 spelling mistakes in this letter.” It’s good to know the grammar police have been a consistent level of annoying throughout all of history.

emperor palpatine—I mean savonarola—yelling about the pope some more

The pope then tried to play nice and recruit Savonarola as a cardinal, where he would be under the control of Rome and therefore not so much of a threat. Savonarola reportedly replied: “A red hat? I want a hat of blood.” Which, to me personally? Is a little much? Like, please calm down, monseigneur, you’re scaring the children.

In 1497, Alexander VI decided the only strategy left was “No more Mr. Nice Pope.” He got fed up and excommunicated Savonarola, again forbidding him from preaching in public. In response, Savonarola called the church “a whore” and stomped off to write angry theological books about it.

I love these two. They’re sniping like middle schoolers in the cafeteria and it’s a joy. “Did you hear what Alexander VI said about me at recess?” “That you’re the antichrist?” “Yes! Can you believe? Whore.”

FLAMING DEATH!!!

Nobody wants to hang out with an excommunicated preacher, so Savonarola’s public favor started quickly evaporating. At one point, he started loudly hinting that he could perform miracles, and wouldn’t that be a reason to support him instead of the pope? To which one absolute legend said “Yeah? OK, prove it. I challenge you to a trial by fire.”

Savonarola, probably: ah, fuck.

Understandably, he didn’t want to go stand on flaming hot coals for twenty minutes while holding white-hot irons in his bare hands. But he didn’t have a choice: he’d backed himself into a corner, and to save face, he agreed.

But what this audacious asshole did! Was show up at the trial by fire and stall, looking pointedly at the sky and repeatedly pushing off the start time of the trial. Finally, after hours, it started raining, putting out the flames. To which Savonarola said “Whoops! Must mean that God doesn’t want me to do this!” and went home. The city lost its mind. History is dumb. I love it.

Savonarola, preparing for his Trial by Fire

Riots broke out across Florence, and Savonarola and his best friar friends were all arrested for being heretics, schismatics, and false prophets. Under torture, Savonarola confessed that he had made up all his prophecies, and he and his friends were condemned to death. They were all executed by hanging, though some enterprising practical joker decided their bodies should be burned afterward.

Let the story of Giordano’s Chicago-Style Deep-Dish Savonarola be a lesson to us all: don’t burn books, try to be chill about other people’s life choices, and your human body is just as susceptible to fire as everybody else’s. Although we could all try to get a few more spooky statues of ourselves entered into the public record. That much I do endorse.

That’s all for this week, friends! Until next time, thanks for joining me, be well, and please require all of your coworkers to refer to you as “[First Name] the Magnificent” from here forward, because I sure am,

-Allison