Almost from the moment Cesare left Rome, Alexander had been swinging between extremes of emotion. When the news from France was good, he was beside himself with delight at the brilliant future apparently opening for his son; when the news was bad or non-existent, he was plunged into regret, amounting at times to despair, at the situation in which he had placed himself in order to bring that future into being. It was beginning in this autumn of 1498 that the ubiquitous observers detected a change both in Alexander's personality and in his relationship with Cesare, for it was in this autumn that he abandoned—or was forced to abandon—the friendship with Spain which he had so carefully cherished throughout his life. Again, the secrecy of the Borgia family councils give no hint of the pressures Cesare brought to bear upon him to effectuate this most drastic and bitterly regretted change. But those pressures must have been extreme, for even in the perilous days of 1494, when the French were at the gates of Rome and from the battlements of Sant' Angelo he had looked down into the mouths of their cannon, Alexander had remained steadfast to the alliance with his native country. Now when neutrality, at least, would have given him an advantage, he had been forced openly to support a power known to be inimical to Spain and Italy alike.
Cesare's motives are clear enough. Throughout his brief career he was to show that he was haunted by a sense of urgency, of time fleeting, of the necessity of establishing himself during the few years left of his father's life. Unlike his father, who could be influenced by other than purely practical motives, Cesare assessed every situation in terms of its immediate benefit to himself. He would have transformed himself into a Spanish duke with perfect equanimity had the opportunity existed. It did not. Isabella's long-standing dislike of the Borgia had been charged anew by the murder of the duke of Gandia, for Gandia's widow had persuaded her that Cesare was responsible. The Spanish ambassador in Rome, Garcilaso de la Vega, had also filed increasingly worrying reports about the nature and range of Cesare's ambition. Spain was therefore out— but France provided an ideal shortcut and Cesare took it, regardless of its ultimate destination.
But where Cesare—young, fresh and optimistic— could turn to France with little sense of loss, the severing of a lifetime's ties proved traumatic for Alexander. Torn between his ambitions for his son and the knowledge that he was breaking bonds which every instinct urged him to preserve, he lapsed into apathetic exhibition of uncertainty, displaying his age for the first time. Long after negotiations for Carlotta had broken down, he sent As- canio Sforza into Naples to see if it were possible to retrieve something from the wreck. Ascanio returned with the expected bad news and, in his turn, put some sharp questions to His Holiness regarding the rumors that Louis was planning another invasion of Italy, with Milan as first victim. Alexander feebly denied it—then half-admitted it—then claimed he would be glad to join an anti-French league if only Cesare were not virtually a hostage in France. Throughout the winter Alexander was tormented by the lack of news from France, pestering the ambassadors of every power which had a representative in Louis's court, demanding to know if they could throw any light on what was happening there. All other affairs of state were brushed aside.
The Venetian ambassador reported how he had tried to obtain a ruling on a vital question which touched on Papal-Venetian interests "But the pope said he cared little about this for he was awaiting other news—that is to say, from France. He is very anxious to hear and is kept in suspense." In their turn the ambassadors daily thronged the antechambers of the Vatican, for bizarre though it seemed, the destiny of southern Europe apparently hung on a young man's attempt at marriage. In addition to the rumors that Louis intended an invasion of Italy, there was gossip that he was shopping around for a French bride for Cesare, a move which would intimately tie the papacy to France—for the fortunes of the Borgia and the papacy were now virtually indistinguishable. As tension grew, diplomatic courtesies collapsed amid threats of violence and obscene insults. The Venetians stood on the sidelines, ready to profit from whatever situation developed; but the ambassadors of those other powers who saw themselves menaced by a French alliance—the Milanese, the Neapolitans, the Spaniards, the Portuguese—dropped all pretense that Cesare was absent on a kind of courtesy call.
On December 10 Alexander and Ascanio Sforza nearly came to blows. "Yesterday in consistory Cardinal Ascanio told the pope that sending his son into France would be the ruin of Italy," the Venetian ambassador told his government. "The pope shouted in reply that it had been Ascanio's brother who first brought the French into Italy." 48 The argument grew heated with Ascanio demanding to know just what it was that Alexander hoped—or feared— from France, and ended with Alexander threatening to throw him into the river. Far worse was the unprecedented interview between Alexander and Garcilaso de la Vega. The Spaniard had joined forces with his Portuguese colleague and together the two men launched a blistering attack on the pope's whole way of life, ending it with the usual references to his illegal election and threats to call a council. Alexander heard them out and then replied, coldly, that he was not surprised that this was the view the court of Spain held of him, for de la Vega had done nothing but bear tales and gossip back to his masters. Stung, the Spaniard blurted out the unforgivable: heaven had already punished His Holiness's crimes through his children and might do so yet again. Outwardly unmoved by the brutal reference to the murder of his son, Alexander icily retorted that, in the matter of children, Their Catholic Majesties had suffered a greater blow from heaven than had he. The only child of Ferdinand and Isabella was the girl whom history was to know as Juana the Mad. On that unedifying note the audience broke up: de la Vega to prepare his report and add more fuel to Spanish rage, Alexander to contemplate the result of his contemptuous speech. Behind the bold front was a quaking heart. He, the experienced statesman, had kicked one foothold away before ensuring that another existed.
So matters dragged on through December and January. At last, in February, there came definite news from France. King Louis was to take the road south to claim his ancestors' crowns in both Milan and Naples. Accompanying him would be his dear cousin and faithful liege Cesare Borgia, Duke of Valentinois; and as soon as the small matter of chasing the usurper from the throne of Milan was accomplished, the mighty arms of France were to be placed at Cesare's disposal so he could carve a principality for himself in Italy. Cesare had also, incidentally, acquired a bride.
She was Charlotte d'Albret, daughter of the duke of Guyenne, sister to the king of Navarre and altogether an excellent match for Cesare Borgia, related as she was to the royal house of France. Charlotte was—and remained—a pawn, moving briefly from obscurity to fame, then back again. Few troubled to record their impressions of her; but dimly through the sparse, conventional flatteries can be perceived a rather attractive girl—deeply religious but not fanatically so, sweet-tempered, gentle and accounted beautiful. Charlotte, at seventeen years of age, was not an obvious match for Cesare Borgia but the negotiations were, surprisingly, crowned with rapid success once started. Cesare pursued Carlotta of Aragon for more than a year before he gave up the chase. Charlotte d'Albret was wooed, won and wed in a little over two months.
It was the cupidity of her father which brought about the marriage. Alain d'Albret was at once penurious and avaricious. He knew, as did everyone in court circles, of the humiliation the Borgia had suffered and promptly placed a fantastically high price on his daughter. The pope was to endow her with one hundred thousand ducats, while her own dowry of ninety thousand ducats cost d'Albret nothing, for it was Charlotte's inheritance from her mother and could be used only for purchasing a suitable estate in France and not in Italy. D'Albret's preliminary proposals were accepted so swiftly that he promptly squeezed harder, demanding in addition a cardinal's hat for his son. The proposal was carried to Cesare who as promptly promised the hat on his father's behalf. Even Alain was satisfied and the bargain was struck. The marriage contract was signed on May 10, 1499 and two days later Cesare and Charlotte were marr
ied with a minimum of ceremony.
The morning after the wedding Cesare's personal envoy, Garcia, left Amboise for Rome. He covered the distance in the incredible time of four days, in obedience to his master's urgent instructions, and on arriving in Rome did not even have time to change his travel-stained clothes before he was urgently summoned to-the Vatican. So weary was he that Alexander gave him permission to be seated and personally ordered food and wine brought. Garcia remained by Alexander's side more than seven hours, for the pope was hungry for the minutest detail of all that had happened in France. What was the girl like? What did the French now think of Cesare? How had he conducted himself during the wedding? He roared with delight when Garcia described how the duke had "broken the lance" eight times on the wedding night, a performance which had elicited the congratulations of the king, who said Cesare had beaten him in that particular tournament.
On and on Garcia talked while the sun rose and fell over Rome and more food and wine was brought, pontiff and servant sharing the same table. Garcia told of how Cesare had been formally enrolled as an officer in Louis's army with a stipend of twenty thousand francs a year, in command of a crack company of one hundred lances francaises; of his induction into the order of St. Michael; of his magnificent new coat of arms in which the bull was now quartered with the lilies; of his title, splendid in its simplicity: Cesare Borgia of France. He described the estate with which Cesare had been endowed in the fairest province of France, and delighted Alexander again with his remark that it was a piece of Spain in France, since the new duke's officers there were all Spanish. And even after Garcia was at last permitted to depart, the tale of Cesare's splendor was repeated to all who had the good sense to attend the Vatican and offer His Holiness heartiest congratulations. Fireworks hissed and roared their way into the Roman night in celebration of the great honor that had been bestowed on the Roman papacy. In the palace itself the thousands of candles in the great candelabrum were repeatedly restored throughout the night so there would be brilliance here at the heart of things. The euphoria did not pass with the coming of the dawn or in the days that followed. On the heels of Garcia there came another Spanish envoy, bearing not news but a request—for a great deal of money. Somehow Louis had not got around to paying his beloved cousin Cesare any cash on account of either stipend or ducal dues. Cesare's standard of living in France was soaring, and Italy still had to subsidize his splendor. Alexander gladly found the money immediately required: thirty-two thousand ducats of it "to send to France where the duke of Valentinois is living at great expense; and this money was over and above what he took with him," so the treasury scribe dutifully recorded and the treasurer himself, the Lord Cardinal Francesco Borgia, also dutifully endorsed—for that was why he had been appointed.
Alexander's delight was in direct proportion to the misery he had experienced during the black days of waiting. Privately he had admitted to an ambassador "that he had entertained strong doubts as to the marriage taking place, but now that it was concluded he was pleased, and whereas he used to speak evil of France, he was now all French for the love the king of France had shown toward his duke." There was talk of finding more money to bring Charlotte to Rome. She had written saying how she longed to come and pay her respects to her father-in-law, adding with an engaging touch of gentle humor that she was "very well satisfied with the duke." But that particular project never came into being. Neither Alexander nor Cesare ever saw Cesare's only legitimate child, because three months after the wedding husband and wife parted forever, the pregnant Charlotte remaining in France while Cesare accompanied the king on the Italian enterprise.
Even before Louis left France with the main body of his army, the Sforza dynasty of Milan had fallen; and Ludovico Sforza, great-grandson of the condottiere who had founded his dynasty by force of arms, was fleeing without having struck a single blow in his own defense.
King Louis's claims to the Kingdom of Naples and to the duchy of Milan were at least as good as those of their present rulers. His claim to Naples was that Angevin descent which had wearied and bloodied southern Italy for over two centuries. His claims on Milan were more complex, and perfectly illustrated the intertwinings of those matrimonial alliances which throttled Europe. The first dynasty of Milan had been the Lombard house of the Vis- conti. A daughter of the house had married an ancestor of Louis's and had gone to live in France but, for purely political reasons, her father had bequeathed his state to her should the legitimate male Visconti die out. Nobody expected the line to fail, but it did. Nevertheless, for nearly a century the will was ignored. Ironically, it was Ludovico Sforza himself who had activated the bequest when he summoned the French into Italy. Though beaten out, they had tasted blood and were back for more.
Louis's claims were legally unobjectionable. But the plan to plunge Italy again in bloody turmoil in order to implement dusty title deeds could have succeeded only because of the fratricidal jealousy of the Italian city-states. A unified front would have stopped this second and catastrophic invasion before it had passed the Alps. But unity was again impossible, each petty prince, each tiny power believing that he or it personally would survive the holocaust with powers augmented.
In Rome, Alexander dropped the last pretense of statesmanship, the last pretense that the good of Italy was greater than the good of a dynasty. The wretched Ludovico Sforza and his brother Ascanio were hurled to the wolves of France, and the gate into Italy opened as the by-product of family politics. Cesare needed French help to gain his kingdom; the French wanted Milan; and so the Sforza were dropped.
In despondent predawn hours Alexander might sometimes have uneasily contemplated the dizzy and ever- accelerating speed of events. Barely two years before, he had been firmly in control of his family's affairs. He, a Spanish pope, had ensured that his eldest son was a Spanish cardinal, his second a Spanish duke, his third betrothed to the daughter of the Spanish-Neapolitan king. Now the Spanish duke was dead—murdered. And the Spanish cardinal, transformed into a French duke, was marching into Italy like an invader, arm in arm with the same French monarchy which had sworn to thrust Alexander off the throne. The marriage between Joffre and Sancia of Aragon still survived but there was no sign yet of an heir. And Lucrezia's marriage to a Neapolitan was now a liability; he would have to find some excuse to annul it. Cesare was forcing the entire family to run headlong where there was scarcely space to walk cautiously. But there was nothing now that Alexander could do about it, and he turned his attention to knocking down the victims whose states would form the nucleus of Cesare's dominion in Italy.
As usual, Alexander was maneuvering with every outward show of legality when he chose the Romagna as Cesare's field of operation. The Romagna formed a major section of the Papal States, and the present vicars of most of the Romagnol cities were little better than usurpers. The vicariates had been granted to their forebears and they had no right to them without the pope's express permission. He was establishing no unusual precedent nor was he being particularly unjust when he decided to install Cesare in their place—once Cesare had expelled them with the aid of French arms. Unusual, however, was the scale of the projected expulsions. Ten cities in the northern provinces of the states, most of them in the Romagna, were marked down as Cesare's prey and a papal bull published declaring that, the vicars having fallen behind in their feudal dues, their fiefs were now reverting to the Roman Church. One of the vicars, the formidable Caterina Sforza of Forli, promptly sent her envoys to prove that, far from being in debt to the Holy See, she was some sixty thousand ducats in advance of payment. It made not the slightest difference.
In September 1499 King Louis of France entered Milan as its true duke. A month later a large detachment of his army rode out behind Duke Cesare Borgia, lent to him until such time as he had established himself as a prince in Italy, or until such time as King Louis needed it again.
9 Conquest of the Romagma
From Piacenza the great road ran almost directly into the eye of the rising
sun, so straight and flat that its perspective dwindled to the classic vanishing point. It still bore its antique name, the Via Emilia, and it ran for 150 miles from the heart of Lombardy to the coast of the Adriatic. It traveled through Parma and Modena, through Bologna, Imola, Faenza, Forli, Cesena— stringing together the beautiful cities like jewels upon a necklace. At Rimini it turned south and lost its ancient name, but continued still to run arrow-straight in the narrow strip between the last melancholy outposts of the Apennines and the Adriatic Sea. The first rains of autumn had dampened the surface, laying the thick dust but otherwise leaving the surface unaffected, for it was well paved. Lombardy's lifeblood ran along it. The merchants ensured that it was always in good repair and what was good enough for lumbering trade caravans proved ideal for military purposes.
Along the Via Emilia now, in November 1499, there moved the most recent of the countless armies that had passed down it through its two millennia of life. The army was compact and efficient looking, stretching not more than two miles from the gorgeously caparisoned mounts of the noblemen in front to the clumsy pack wagons in the rear. Apart from the armorers, blacksmiths, cooks and general tradesmen there were perhaps seven thousand men: French men-at-arms like glittering towers in their mail; Swiss pikemen moving easily, deceptively unarmored; a handful of Spanish swordsmen in soft red leggings which gave them a similarly deceptive air of carnival; and Gascon footmen, small, agile, ferocious. Safely in the center was the artillery, drawn not by the clumsy oxen of Italian artillery trains but by horses especially bred for the purpose in France. These were the guns that had at last driven the English from France, and they moved at a fast pace so that they were always with the main body. Approaching this body of seven thousand men was another army of three thousand, but they were still toiling northward through the tortuous passes of the Apennines, sent into Lombardy by His Holiness to join Duke Cesare's men.
The Fall of the House of Borgia Page 18