I have enumerated these several causes of weakness in the Florentine State-system, partly because they show how irregularly the Constitution had been formed by the patching and extension of a simple industrial machine to suit the needs of a great commonwealth; partly because it was through these defects that the democracy merged gradually into a despotism.  The art of the Medici consisted in a scientific comprehension of these very imperfections, a methodic use of them for their own purposes, and a steady opposition to any attempts made to substitute a stricter system.  The Florentines had determined to be an industrial community, governing themselves on the co-operative principle, dividing profits, sharing losses, and exposing their magistrates to rigid scrutiny.  All this in theory was excellent.  Had they remained an unambitious and peaceful commonwealth, engaged in the wool and silk trade, it might have answered.  Modern Europe might have admired the model of a communistic and commercial democracy.  But when they engaged in aggressive wars, and sought to enslave sister-cities like Pisa and Lucca, it was soon found that their simple trading constitution would not serve.  They had to piece it out with subordinate machinery, cumbrous, difficult to manage, ill-adapted to the original structure.  Each limb of this subordinate machinery, moreover, was a point d’appui for insidious and self-seeking party leaders.

Florence, in the middle of the fourteenth century, was a vast beehive of industry.  Distinctions of rank among burghers, qualified to vote and hold office, were theoretically unknown.  Highly educated men, of more than princely wealth, spent their time in shops and counting-houses, and trained their sons to follow trades.  Military service at this period was abandoned by the citizens; they preferred to pay mercenary troops for the conduct of their wars.  Nor was there, as in Venice, any outlet for their energies upon the seas.  Florence had no navy, no great port—­she only kept a small fleet for the protection of her commerce.  Thus the vigour of the commonwealth was concentrated on itself; while the influence of the citizens, through their affiliated trading-houses, correspondents, and agents, extended like a network over Europe.  In a community of this kind it was natural that wealth—­rank and titles being absent—­should alone confer distinction.  Accordingly we find that out of the very bosom of the people a new plutocratic aristocracy begins to rise.  The Grandi are no more; but certain families achieve distinction by their riches, their numbers, their high spirit, and their ancient place of honour in the State.  These nobles of the purse obtained the name of Popolani Nobili; and it was they who now began to play at high stakes for the supreme power.  In all the subsequent vicissitudes of Florence every change takes place by intrigue and by clever manipulation of the political machine.  Recourse is rarely had to violence of any kind, and the leaders of revolutions are men of the yard-measure, never of the sword.  The despotism to which the republic eventually succumbed was no less commercial than the democracy had been.  Florence in the days of her slavery remained a Popolo.