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The First
Neapolitan Republic When one thinks of "Neapolitan
Republic," the mind quickly turns to 1799 and
the
Republican outgrowth in Naples of the French Revolution, a drama
starring Lady
Hamilton, Lord Nelson, Eleonora Fonseca
Pimentel, Ferdinand and
Caroline, etc.
Yet, there is another Neapolitan Republic—the (shades of Venice!) Serenissima Real Repubblica di Napoli of 1648, complete with her own Most Serene Doge. For a background, read the entry on Masaniello's Revolt. Got that? Good. Away we go. You will need a
cast of
characters (believe me):
With Masaniello out of the way, the
restoration of civil
order seemed in the making. That was deceptive. Concessions wrung out of viceroy d'Arcos having to do with taxes left
deeper social unrest untouched. Masaniello's revolt had dramatically
shown the
existence in Naples of various factions: on one side were the
supporters of
the Spanish vice-realm (obviously the Spanish aristocracy); on the
other side
not just the peasant masses—still ostensibly loyal to their Spanish
king—but a
growing number of businessmen, merchants and others in the small
Neapolitan
middle-class, who were increasingly anti-Spanish.
On August 21, the revolutionary forces
attacked the Spanish
garrison at Santa Lucia and drove the defenders out. It was more than a
symbolic victory; the loyalist troops had been defending the Royal
Palace
and the
considerable number of Spanish civilian nobility in the area, and they
had been
beaten. Also, the rebels now controlled one major military installation
in the
city, the massive Carmine fortress at the south-eastern approach to the
city
along the port. A real civil war had broken out. The next day, Spanish ships in Naples
shelled the city, at
which point viceroy D'Arcos
managed to get a truce while he
worked on
placating the rebels. This involved caving in to new demands on taxes
and
granting more local autonomy to the people. It was a ploy to buy time.
At the
beginning of October, the real Spanish fleet showed up, commanded by John of
Austria, the bastard son of King Phillip IV of Spain. They took
back
the center
of the city near the palace, but the rebels remained in control of the
perimeter, the high ground on the hills of Posillipo, Vomero and
Capodimonte. On October 16, the rebels proclaimed an "end
to loyalty
to the Spanish Crown" and appealed for foreign intervention. That
appeal—obviously to the French—is indeed strange when viewed against
the backdrop of the times. The Thirty Years War was just grinding to an
agonizing end
(by the
Treaty of Westphalia, signed in October, 1648). The
Thirty Years War remains one of the grisliest episodes in
the
history of human conflict; it was a series of wars, really, that
squandered
the
resources and progress of an entire generation in Europe and cost the
lives of
about one-third the population of central Europe. From the chaos of
religious
strife, the war had "evolved" in its last decade into a war of
attrition
between France and the forces of the Holy Roman Empire, meaning the
Hapsburgs of Spain and Austria. The complexities of the Thirty Years
War are beyond the scope of this entry, but it would be fair to say
that at its conclusion France had emerged as a great power while the
power of Spain had decreased. It does not follow from that, however,
that the French would feel comfortable enough to move on Naples—or
would even want to, for that matter—or that Spain would not defend its
Neapolitan vicerealm.
The Duke
was, from all accounts, a lackluster dud who enjoyed no prestige at all
in the French
court,
to which
he would presumably have to turn for help. (He had actually been an
enemy of Richelieu and been sentenced to death at one point.) His
outrageous personal life
had
given rise to the popular jibe that he had "left his betrothed in
France,
his wife in Flanders, his whore in Rome and would leave his hide in
Naples." He also got no support
from
the astute French prime minister, Cardinal
Mazarin, Richelieu's
successor. (Mazarin was
of southern Italian
origin; his birth name was Giuglio
Mazzarino. He was the negotiator who
brokered
the end of the Thirty Years War.) Mazarin had no Italian policy to
speak of. He
was in favor of a strong France, but not at the expense of another war
with
Spain. Thus, if the Duke of Guise was expecting immediate intervention from France in the face of the Spanish fleet moored in the bay and the considerable number of Spanish troops still in charge of the main body of the city, he was in for a disappointment. Indeed, the French court held Guise in such low esteem that when French ships got to Naples in December, the admiral in charge of the fleet was less concerned with engaging the Spanish militarily than in trying to find out who was in charge. The problem: no one. There were now two people trying to run the show: one, the new "doge"; two, Annese, the military commander of the city, who had called for French help in the first place. A third party, the collective nobility still quite loyal to the Spanish crown, sat and bided their time. The Duke of Guise was proving to be singularly arbitrary and ineffective in his dealings with the people, and he totally alienated Annese. By February, there was a strong anti-Guise conspiracy in Naples even among the "pro-French." In the
meantime, the Spanish had replaced
viceroy d'Arcos
with John, the commander of the fleet that had just arrived. While
political
indecision and infighting went on within the new Royal Republic, John
consolidated his support among the large number of the
nobility still loyal to Spain. He also enlisted Filomarino as a
go-between to Guise.
John offered to repeal the hated taxes and offered a general amnesty. Then, in mid-February, the rebels attacked Spanish
positions in the city and failed . It was a
stalemate. The break came when a new
viceroy was appointed: Inigo Velez de
Guevara, Count of Ognate, Spain's
ambassador
to the
Holy See. He landed at Gaeta in April with troops and joined those from
the
fleet of John and came in from the north, meeting little resistance.
Guise had
managed to alienate what little support he had within the city. The
revolution
had run out of steam. The re-rulers of Naples, the Spanish—John of
Austria and
viceroy Ognate—were surprisingly lenient when they were back in charge.
They
executed Annese (reneging on their promise to spare him if he gave up),
but no vindictive bloodbath ensured. The city was
tired.
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The revolt
had started on July 9, 1647, and
by July 16 Masaniello was
dead. But by the middle of August, it was evident the people
who had
taken to the streets were largely still out in the streets and unhappy.
They
and Masaniello had had two intermediaries between themselves and the
viceroy: