Becoming the bishop of medieval Florence wasn’t for the faint of heart. In 1384, for instance, the new bishop, Angelo Acciaiuoli, found himself at the center of a literal tug-of-war between the local clergy and a group of nobles from the Visdomini family. Both factions wanted to claim the honor of helping him dismount his horse and escorting him into the basilica—and they were willing to fight for it.
As historian Maureen C. Miller writes, “a scuffle broke out on the piazza, with much shoving, pushing, and fighting.” The
Visdomini managed to maintain possession of the bishop from the dismount into the church, [but] at the foot of the stairs leading to the choir, “a superior force” of the clergy of San Pier Maggiore seized Angelo and dragged him to the altar.
Imagine arriving in Florence ready to guide and instruct the populace and instead being tussled over like a toy between two toddlers!
That was just the start of the culture shock. When a new bishop was installed in the see of Florence, he was also expected to “marry” the local abbess of San Pier Maggiore. It was a symbolic ceremony, Miller explains, but it mirrored the rites of a traditional Florentine wedding: there was a feast and a ring, and it even culminated with the abbess showing the bishop to a “beautiful bed” she had prepared for him.
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Just like the entrance ceremony, this rite didn’t always go smoothly. In at least one instance, the bishop tried to skip the symbolic marriage, but the abbess lodged a stern complaint, demanding that he, “according to custom, deign to place the gold ring on her [the abbess’s] ring finger,” Miller writes. The bishop relented and gave her the ring. This complaint, which dates to 1302, is in fact the first record we have of the ritual marriage of bishop and abbess, but, from the abbess’s reference to custom, it’s clear that the tradition was already well established. The custom survived for almost another 300 years, finally perishing in 1584.
Why all this ceremony, and why was it such a source of contention? Miller argues that understanding it requires a deep look at the local context. The world of the church was thoroughly intertwined with the world of elite Florentine society and, as a result, entangled in their petty power struggles as well. The nuns of the abbey, for instance, were drawn from the richest and most powerful families in the city. The registers are dotted with famous surnames: the Albizzis, Tedaldis, Falconieris, Medicis, and Strozzis were all represented. As Miller puts it, “When the bishop ritually married the abbess of San Pier Maggiore, therefore, he made a very good marriage.”
Among medieval Florence’s elite, marriage was a political tool, a way of forging alliances or even ending bloody feuds. In this context, “marrying” the bishop to the abbess was a way of binding him into Florentine society. To the Florentines, Miller argues, the bishop was essentially just another head of household—prominent and respected, yes, but only one power among many.
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Similarly, the tug-of-war over Bishop Acciaiuoli opens a window to elite power struggles. The Visdomini were ancestral nobles, the descendants of the first lay assistant to a Florentine bishop. Because of this, the family was entitled to all kinds of privileges. For one thing, every Easter and every Christmas, its members were supposed to receive a “platter of four pounds of fresh or salted pork… another platter of three pounds of roasted pork and six meat pies” (or, if it was a Friday, “half a baked Pisan cheese of two pounds and one quarter of a cheese-and-egg pie made with at least fifty eggs”). An even sweeter perk, possibly, was getting to live in the bishop’s palace while the see was unoccupied.
The Visdomini jealously guarded these privileges. And, as Miller points out, it wasn’t just about the meat pies. Florentine society had changed a good deal since the days of their illustrious ancestor; noble blood had in fact become something of a liability. A set of laws put into place in the late 1200s prevented members of noble families from holding most public offices, a reaction against their constant blood feuds and vendettas. On the face of it, this might seem like a populist act. But it’s no coincidence that it also served as the coup de grâce for ascendant nouveau-riche families like the Medicis and Strozzis (who weren’t exactly known for being down-to-earth). In this context, their role in the public ceremony of the bishop’s ascension was one of the few sources of authority and prestige the Visdomini retained. No wonder they were ready to brawl over it.
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