Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia was particularly sensitive concerning his Spanish origins, of which he remained intensely proud. Anyone who cast aspersions on this proud heritage was noted – a target for future revenge. Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia would never forgive, let alone forget, any insult or act of betrayal. Indeed, second only to his driving ambition was his powerful and vindictive impulse to revenge. He might wait, often for years, but any disloyalty would eventually be avenged. As we shall see, this was a trait which ran more or less strongly through the entire Borgia family.
Innocent VIII finally died on 25 July, and on 6 August members of the College of Cardinals gathered for the conclave to elect the next pope. ‘They were twenty-three in number.’ Only four cardinals remained absent: the ones in Jerusalem, Bordeaux and Toledo, as well as Cardinal Borgia’s cousin Cardinal Luis Juan del Milà, who refused to attend, being averse to the heat of Rome.*
The conclave of 1492 was the first to be held in the Sistine Chapel, which had been restored by (and received its name from) della Rovere’s uncle Pope Sixtus IV†. By this time the high walls of the chapel had already been adorned with frescoes by the likes of Botticelli and Ghirlandaio, though Michelangelo’s ceiling would not be painted until some two decades later. Throughout the conclave the participating cardinals would be locked inside the chapel, in order to isolate them from outside influences. Conditions were oppressive, with the high windows boarded up and the inner chapel reduced to an oppressive gloom, illuminated only by candles. At night the cardinals shared plain wooden cells, sleeping on simple uncomfortable palliasses. Meals were carried to the chapel and passed through a hatchway by trusted janitors, the dishes meticulously inspected for hidden messages by the guards. These dishes consisted of frugal fare, in keeping with the oaths of poverty, chastity and obedience once taken by the clerical participants. However, this austere regime was not imposed to accord with priestly vows, but to encourage the conclave of wealthy cardinals unused to enduring such privation to reach a conclusion as hastily as possible.
After their tiring, uncomfortable nights, the candidates were free to wander up and down the dim confines of the chapel. Here the leading contenders and their supporters would engage in whispered conversation, bargaining, arm-twisting, attempting to gain sufficient votes. A two-thirds majority was needed before a successful candidate could be declared. This often required several votes. When an insufficient majority was obtained, the ballot papers would be burned, emitting black smoke from the chapel chimney – a sign recognized by the large, expectant crowds waiting outside. (When a successful candidate emerged, the ballot papers were burned with an added chemical – today, potassium chlorate – which produced the celebrated white smoke.) Following an unsuccessful vote, more urgent bargaining would ensue. The most serious deals were made when leading cardinals unobtrusively retired to the latrines – which remained unsluiced throughout the conclave, their pervasive stench adding further incentive for the cardinals to conclude their business.
Cardinal Borgia was well practised in the secretive procedures of the conclaves, having already attended those that elected Pius II, Paul II, Sixtus IV and Innocent VIII – whereas Cardinal della Rovere had only attended the previous conclave, which elected Innocent VIII. Even so, he had proved himself highly adept at the politicking involved. In the previous conclave, Cardinal Borgia had felt certain that he held sufficient votes to ensure his election, but a number of the Spanish cardinals (who could have been guaranteed to support their countryman) had failed to arrive at Rome in time. Cardinal della Rovere had mustered his followers to block Borgia, who had been forced to accept the compromise candidate suggested by della Rovere, who became Innocent VIII. It was this move which had given della Rovere such influence with Innocent VIII.
But now that Innocent VIII was dead, Borgia was determined that this time there would be no mistake. He well realized that at the age of sixty-one this was almost certainly his last chance of becoming pope. Despite his age, Borgia retained many of the qualities of his youth, when he had been described as ‘handsome, of a pleasant and cheerful countenance, with a sweet and persuasive manner’. Now, in late middle age, he appeared a rotund jovial character, but retained much of the menace which underlay the vigour of his younger years. However, this contradictory personality was not without his skills; the contemporary historian Guicciardini noted that he ‘possessed singular cunning and sagacity, excellent judgement, a marvellous efficacy in persuading, and an incredible dexterity and attentiveness when dealing with weighty matters’. These had been put to good use during his years as Vice-Chancellor, in the course of which he had accumulated all manner of papal offices, including ‘numerous abbeys in Italy and Spain, and his three bishoprics of Valencia, Porto and Cartagena’. According to Roman diarist Jacopo da Volterra, writing some years earlier: ‘He possesses more gold and riches of every kind than all the other cardinals combined, excepting only d’Estouteville.’*
However, as the Florentine historian Guicciardini noted, Borgia’s great riches, magnetic charm and administrative skills were not all that he possessed:
these qualities were far outweighed by his vices: the most obscene behaviour, insincerity, shamelessness, lying, faithlessness, impiety, insatiable avarice, immoderate ambition [and] a cruelty more than barbaric.
Borgia’s gross sensuality had quickly become evident. Even during his early years as Bishop of Valencia (a city he seldom visited), his degenerate lifestyle had attracted the attention of his superiors. Hearing of his ‘unbecoming behaviour at an entertainment given at Siena’, Pope Pius II had written to him: ‘Our displeasure is unspeakable,’ remonstrating that Borgia’s exploits were so scandalous that they brought disgrace upon the entire Church. Such warnings had been ignored. Around 1472 Cardinal Borgia had taken as his mistress a married Roman woman called Vanozza de’ Cattanei, by whom he had fathered four children. And now, some three decades later, at the approach of old age, his eye had fallen on the sixteen-year-old bride Giulia Farnese. Her husband Orsino Orsini may have been a member of one of the most powerful families in Rome, but he has been variously described in terms such as ‘squint-eyed and devoid of any meaningful self-confidence’. When he was persuaded to leave Rome on a pilgrimage, his wife, too, would become Borgia’s mistress; on Orsino’s return, he would take up residence in one of the family castles at Basanello, some fifty miles north of Rome.
Yet Borgia had never allowed such behaviour to interfere with his hold on power or his ultimate ambition. By the time of Innocent VIII’s death, it was thirty-six years since Cardinal Borgia’s uncle Pope Callixtus III had appointed him Vice-Chancellor, and according to Borgia’s secretary, ‘during that time he never missed a single consistory unless prevented by illness from attending, which very seldom happened’.*
Borgia considered that he had two serious rivals for the papacy. His main rival, Cardinal della Rovere, had the backing of King Charles VIII of France, at the time the richest and most powerful nation in Europe. Charles VIII had provided della Rovere with 200,000 ducats to garner votes amongst the ‘neutral’ cardinals. On top of this, the wealthy maritime republic of Genoa, della Rovere’s birthplace, had provided a further 100,000 ducats to his cause. Della Rovere also knew that he could count on the backing of King Ferrante of Naples. The divisions within the College of Cardinals mirrored the increasing tensions within Italy, with the result that this bloc was opposed by Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, the uncle of the ruler of Milan, who had every reason to be suspicious of his near-neighbour France, and was well aware of the antagonism of King Ferrante of Naples.
Such were the two favourites for the papacy: this time no one but Borgia himself felt that he was a serious candidate. The Spanish interloper was widely reviled. In the first vote, Cardinal Borgia and his supporters duly supported the candidacy of Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, thus blocking Cardinal della Rovere. As the voting continued, it quickly became clear that a compromise candidate would have to be considered, if anyone was to gain the necessary t
wo-thirds majority. But after four days and three votes the situation remained in stalemate. Then, quite unexpectedly, during the night of 10–11 August, a dramatic change took place. Just before dawn on 11 August, with the sky of Rome illuminated by flickers of summer lightning, the doors of the Sistine Chapel were unlocked and it was announced that Cardinal Borgia had been elected as the next pope.
This had come about because Cardinal Sforza had suddenly decided to cast his vote, and those of his supporters, for Cardinal Borgia. Cardinal Sforza had apparently decided that he had no chance of getting himself elected, and Cardinal Borgia had assured him that if he were elected he would appoint Cardinal Sforza as his vice-chancellor. Such was almost certainly the case; but it seems that this may not have been the entire story. The contemporary Roman writer Stefano Infessura recorded in his diary that during the hours of darkness on 10–11 August ‘the Vice-Chancellor [Borgia] sent four mules laden with silver to the palazzo of [Cardinal Sforza]’. The evidence of Guicciardini would seem to confirm this:
Primarily [Borgia’s] election was due to the fact that he had openly bought many of the cardinals’ votes in a manner unheard of in those times, partly with money and partly with promises of offices and benefices of his own, which were considerable.*
Although doubt has been cast on the colourful story of the overnight mule train, the financial dealings to which it alludes would seem to be supported by the fact that during these days the withdrawals from the Spannocchi Bank in Rome, where Cardinal Borgia deposited his money, were so massive that the bank almost went under.
There had been bargaining, arm-twisting and horse-trading during the course of previous conclaves, but this was the first time that the papacy had simply been bought outright. As the twentieth-century historian Marion Johnson observed: ‘It was a measure of the times that this could happen.’ Borgia decided to take as his papal name Alexander VI. This was widely seen as an allusion to Alexander the Great, rather than St Alexander, the second-century martyr, for Borgia had already blatantly named his son Cesare after Julius Caesar. Even before the white smoke had appeared from the Sistine chimney, the waiting crowd already knew the result. Scraps of paper had been thrown down from the Sistine Chapel windows containing the words: ‘We have for Pope Alexander VI, Rodrigo Borgia.’ When the newly appointed pope was presented to the public, it was customary for him to acknowledge his appointment modestly with the word ‘volo’ (‘if this is what you wish’). Instead, when Alexander VI appeared at the window of the Old St Peter’s he could not restrain himself from crying out exultantly: ‘I am pope! I am pope!’
The effect of Alexander VI’s election was immediate and dramatic. The young Cardinal de’ Medici was filled with alarm and exclaimed, ‘Flee, we are in the clutches of the wolf!’ before rushing back home to Florence. Meanwhile, Cardinal della Rovere fled to a fortress on the coast at Ostia, from where he would eventually set sail to France and live under the protection of Charles VIII.
Yet over the coming weeks the citizens of Rome, and beyond, gradually began to see a different picture. In the brief period between Innocent VIII’s final illness and the coronation of Alexander VI, no less than 220 murders had been recorded in Rome: now, the papal guards were despatched and order returned to the streets. Every Thursday Alexander VI would hold an audience, at which petitioners could place before him their grievances. Some even began to doubt the tales of his scandalous personal behaviour when they learned of the austere regime he had imposed on the papal household: expenditure was limited to just 20–30 ducats a day, while all dinners served at the papal table were to consist of just one course. Alexander VI announced that his declared aim for Italy was peace, and a unification of the Christian states to oppose the Ottoman Empire, which was continuing to expand through the Balkans and threaten Eastern Europe. At last, it seemed, the vast papal income – some 300,000 ducats in annual dues, collected throughout Western Christendom, whose varying limits extended from Greenland to Sicily, from Cadiz to Vienna – was to be put to good use.
This news was received with suspicion by the Venetians, but was welcomed by the Florentines. Even King Ferrante of Naples, who had harboured reservations concerning Borgia’s candidature, assured the new pope that he would behave towards him ‘as a good and obedient son’. At the same time, Ludovico Sforza of Milan rejoiced that his brother Ascanio was now the Pope’s right-hand man. For the first time in living memory Rome finally had a strong pope with a clear vision for the future.
The full extent of this vision – audacious in the extreme and far exceeding the imagination of any but Alexander VI himself – would only gradually become clear as his reign unfolded. For some, the Borgias have become a byword for utter depravity and ruthlessness. And their Spanish inclination towards superstition, particularly evident in Alexander VI, would prove a further alienating factor. Others have attempted to mitigate this picture, with mixed success. However, it would be the Florentine historian and diplomat Niccolò Machiavelli, a contemporary of the Borgias, who would grasp the heart of the matter. In the course of his work as a diplomat, Machiavelli would have intimate dealings with the Borgias; and it was this experience that gave him a crucial insight into their intentions. The stories of lurid depravity, ruthlessness and sadism served as little more than a smokescreen for their more dangerous ideas, as well as a warning to their enemies. There was so much more to the Borgias than mere self-aggrandizement and corrupt hedonism. They would stop at nothing: the main driving power behind the family was ambition. No considerations of morality or loyalty would be allowed to stand in their way. And the family’s ultimate ambitions were far more sensational than all the rumours concerning their behaviour. Indeed, when revealed they take one’s breath away.
So what were these fantastic ambitions which Alexander VI harboured in his heart at the time he became pope? No less than a united Italy: a return to the glories of Ancient Rome, ruled over by a hereditary Borgia ‘Prince’. On Alexander VI’s death, his son Cesare was to take over the papal powers, becoming in effect a hereditary pope. Years later, Machiavelli would write his notorious work The Prince, whose amorality gained him infamy throughout Europe. In this short work Machiavelli would set down, with chilling frankness, the methods by which a ‘prince’ (in effect, any ruler) could gain power – and, perhaps more importantly, retain this power. He gives a number of historical examples, illustrating the success or otherwise of their methods. One of his chief examples would be Cesare Borgia, whose chillingly brutal methods would best illustrate Machiavelli’s main requirements for success.
Machiavelli’s examples were devoid of gloss, morality or any other than personal justification. He distilled such harsh reality into the maxim: ‘Virtù e Fortuna’. This saying is open to widespread interpretation, from the more judicious ‘Power and Fortune’, to the informal, rule-of-thumb ‘Strength and Luck’. Machiavelli’s use of ‘Virtù’ has many connotations. Its original roots hark back to ‘vir’ (man), as well as ‘vis’ (strength), with connotations of ‘virility’. Though it also implies ‘virtue’. But this should not be mistaken for the Christian or even classical virtues of good, justice, compassion, prudent restraint and the like. If anything, it is more akin to the idea which would emerge several centuries after Machiavelli, with Nietzsche’s ‘will to power’ and his ‘Superman’, who operated ‘beyond good and evil’. The meaning of ‘fortuna’ is more evident: fate, luck, chance or destiny are the most appropriate echoes. Yet it also contains an element of occasion or opportunity (to be seized). On the other hand, ‘Power and Fortune’ can be more crassly seen as ‘Guts and Luck’, and there would be times when the Borgias’ fortunes hung upon just such brash and dangerous opportunism and chance.
However, Alexander VI’s vision of a strong united Italy, under the power of Rome, was but the first stage in his ambitious strategy. Borgia’s predecessor, after whom he had named himself, was Alexander the Great. The man who had conquered Ancient Greece had not stopped at the borders of his early conques
t. And Borgia, too, had a greater dream. One which would, perhaps, owing to his age, only be fully approached by his aptly named son Cesare. If successful, this dream would eventually have extended to a great empire, stretching from the Atlantic coast of the Borgias’ native Spain to the shores of the Eastern Mediterranean and the Holy Land. This would have to be backed with military might sufficient to retake Byzantium and sweep the Ottoman Empire from the Levant – not such an unthinkable task, as we shall see. Here, in the mind of the new pope Alexander VI, was the embryonic dream of a new Roman Empire, a Renaissance realm echoing its classical predecessor.
Impossible? Implausible? Hindsight may reveal such ideas as a chimera. But it is important to bear in mind that these and similar dreams had long been in the air. Machiavelli’s writings would merely articulate this vision. Versions of such ideas would certainly not have been foreign to the crusaders of the previous centuries. And as the historian Machiavelli would have well understood, the precedent for the evolution of a great Roman Empire, well established in ancient history, was already a resurgent idea in fifteenth-century Italy. At the time, Florence was regarded by many as the new Athens. And as with the original Athens, the cultural innovations of Florence had grown up amidst a territory of squabbling city states. In the classical era, the cultural revolution of Athens and the Greek city states had given way to the military might and civil innovations of the great empire ruled from Ancient Rome. The ‘eternal city’ could well rise again. It is worth bearing in mind the existence of such dreams during the era we are about to describe.
The Borgias Page 2