However, the 1480s would also see a more sensational development, heralding a potential disaster for western Christendom. In the summer of 1480 the whole of Italy had been shocked by the news that 120 ships of the Ottoman navy had launched a surprise attack on the port city of Otranto, on the heel of Italy just fifty miles across the Adriatic from the Balkan territory taken by Mehmed the Conqueror. After a short siege, 20,000 Turks had occupied the city, slaughtering 12,000 of its inhabitants, and shipping off 5,000 women and children into slavery. The Ottoman commander Gedik Ahmed Pasha had ordered the local bishop and military commander to be publicly sawn in half before the remaining population. This was evidently a prelude to a larger invasion of the Italian peninsula. King Ferrante despatched troops from Naples in an attempt to retake Otranto, laying siege to the city in May 1481. Then, just as suddenly as the Ottoman invasion had begun, it was over. News had reached Gedik Pasha from Istanbul that Mehmed the Conqueror had unexpectedly died at the age of just forty-nine. (According to Mehmed’s biographer, Colin Heywood: ‘There is substantial evidence that Mehmed was poisoned, possibly at the behest of his eldest son and successor Bayezid.’) Gedik Pasha at once withdrew from Otranto. Italy had escaped by a miracle.
One of Sixtus IV’s sole successes lay in his aggressive policy in the Romagna and the Marches. These territories had once been Papal Territory, and Sixtus IV’s attempts to recover them began laying the foundations for a unified Papal Territory. Many of the small city states, run by unsavoury petty tyrants such as Malatesta, were taken back under papal rule, with Sixtus IV appointing relatives as their rulers. Rome now came to be regarded as a significant player on the Italian political scene – in line with, if not quite equal to, Naples, Venice and the like.
Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia may not have featured directly in the events previously described, but he would certainly learn lessons from Sixtus IV’s mistakes. He would also learn from Sixtus IV’s attempts to bolster the power and territory of the papacy. Such events would prove formative when the time came for Borgia himself to face these same problems.
Sixtus IV would also leave a considerable cultural legacy: a foundation for glories to come. The Sistine Chapel, the Vatican Library, the introduction to Rome of Renaissance artists such as Botticelli and Ghirlandaio (to whom Michelangelo would be apprenticed), all represented a considerable heritage. He also built a second bridge across the Tiber, the Ponte Sisto, replacing the Ancient Roman Ponte Aurelius, which had been destroyed during the eighth century when the Lombards overran the city. Here in solid form was a symbol of the growing rebirth of ancient classical culture. Also indicative of the Renaissance was Sixtus IV’s papal bull issued to all bishops allowing the corpses of executed criminals to be used for artistic and scientific purposes. A direct result of this would be Renaissance artists such as Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo exploring human anatomy first-hand; in the scientific field it would lead eventually to the first complete modern work on anatomy by the great Flemish physician Vesalius. Here was a genuine advance in human knowledge, extending Renaissance understanding beyond the classical ‘authorities’. Prior to this, physicians had relied upon the anatomy of the second-century Greek physician Galen, whose human anatomical treatises mistakenly included various organs which had been based on his dissections of monkeys and pigs.
In 1483 the redoubtable Cardinal d’Estouteville would die at the age of seventy-one, leaving Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia as the wealthiest member of the College of Cardinals. However, by now a majority of the college were cardinals appointed by Sixtus IV. By this stage the Pope himself had been ill for some time, beset by gout and a host of other ailments. Thus it came as little surprise when he finally died, in the following year, at the age of sixty. This left two major figures in contention for the next papacy: Sixtus IV’s nephew Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, and the ever-present vice-chancellor Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia. For the first time, Borgia knew that he had a realistic chance of becoming pope.
Following the death of Sixtus IV Rome was swept with an outbreak of anarchy and rioting, as the long-suffering people of the city went on the rampage, venting their murderous fury on all in authority, settling old scores and so forth. Such a state of affairs was becoming a regular occurrence during the interregnum, when at least technically no one was in ultimate charge of the city. However this occasion was more than usually violent, on account of Sixtus IV’s unpopularity amongst the people, who had watched his lavish spending on such costly projects as the Sistine Chapel, and the consequent neglect of their needs. Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia had taken the precaution of hiring troops to guard his palace, as did Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, who was so afraid to venture out that he even missed his uncle’s funeral. An indication of the chaotic conditions in the Holy City can be seen in the fact that troops loyal to Caterina Sforza seized the papal fortress, the Castel Sant’Angelo, in the name of her husband Girolamo Riario, who had been appointed by Sixtus IV as Lord of Imola and other estates in the papal territories. The situation would only be restored when the College of Cardinals bought back the fortress for 8,000 ducats, so that it could remain under the control of whoever was elected the next pope.
Meanwhile, in preparation for the conclave, Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia began, in the words of the ambassador for Ferrara, ‘working hard for support’. In practice, this involved, according to the ambassador to Florence: ‘trying to corrupt the world, some with money, some with jobs, others with benefices’. At the same time, Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere busied himself with similar lobbying tactics. The conclave itself opened on 26 August 1484 with twenty-five cardinals present. After several rounds of tactical voting, as well as widespread ‘promises’ from Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere and Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia, it soon became clear that neither could attain the necessary two-thirds majority. In the words of John Julius Norwich: ‘And so, rivals as they were, they worked together to ensure that . . . the cardinals’ choice should fall on some second-rate puppet whom they could dominate.’
The man who fitted this role was the fifty-two-year-old Cardinal Giovanni Cibo, whose father came from a well-known Genoese family, and whose mother was of Greek origin. Cibo’s early years had been spent in the court at Naples, where his father had been appointed viceroy during the difficult years before Ferrante I’s ascension to the throne. These formative years appear to have induced in Cibo a Neapolitan penchant for extreme superstition, a trait which would increase with age. Later he would live in Rome, where his father became a senator under Callixtus III, and here Cibo was encouraged to enter the Church, his father ensuring that he joined the retinue of a distinguished cardinal. From then on, nepotism enabled him to rise through the ranks, becoming a bishop at the age of thirty-five, and a cardinal six years later through the influence of his avuncular mentor Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere. By this time, he had also managed to father several illegitimate children, as well as indulging in his penchant for good-looking young men. But all this activity seems to have taken its toll. In the words of papal historian Noel,
He slept almost continuously, waking to gorge himself on gargantuan meals. That he did not drink heavily has enabled respectable historians to describe him as ‘abstemious’. He grew grossly fat and increasingly inert.
If Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia and Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere could agree on little else, they certainly agreed that this was just the man they were looking for as their papal choice. Such a lifestyle would undoubtedly ensure him an early death. Giovanni Cibo took on the papal name of Innocent VIII.
Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere naturally assumed that he would be the power behind the throne, after all the assistance he had given Cibo in his earlier years. However, Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia was now so practised in his role as vice-chancellor that his services had become indispensable to any pope, let alone one as indolent as the present incumbent. Consequently, Innocent VIII soon found himself dithering between two sources of contrary advice, earning himself the popular nickname ‘The Rabbit’. And so
things continued, with the new pope showing no signs of dying, despite his increasing bouts of lassitude. Indeed, despite regular input from his two close advisors, his papacy gradually began to take on a distinct character of its own – featuring nepotism, greed, ineptitude and ever-increasing superstition. As we have already seen, this last trait would result in two notorious bulls: one appointing Torquemada as Grand Inquisitor of the Spanish Inquisition, and the other resulting in the mass burning of ‘witches’ throughout the German states.
However, it was Innocent VIII’s greed and lavish spending habits which were to inspire his most ingenious decision. Though some commentators have suggested that this ingenuity bears the hallmark of his money-raising vice-chancellor. Either way, Innocent VIII pronounced that from now on indulgences could be purchased not only for oneself, but also for friends and relatives who were already dead, so that they too could gain remission for their time in Purgatory. This proved a resounding success – for, as the papal historian Christopher Lascelles has observed: ‘Who would not make sacrifices if they knew that they could shorten the suffering of their mothers, fathers, siblings, cousins and even friends.’
It can hardly be claimed that Innocent VIII emulated Nero in fiddling while Rome burned, yet his lack of interest in the state of the city and its inhabitants would have a similar effect. Virtual anarchy continued to reign in the streets, with the more distinguished aristocrats and cardinals forced to fortify their palazzi and maintain ever-increasing private armies for their personal protection. Meanwhile, the whole of Italy too might have fallen into a similar state, but for the Florentine ruler Lorenzo the Magnificent, to whom Innocent VIII virtually delegated his diplomatic powers.
The influence of Lorenzo the Magnificent on the Italian political arena during this period was masterly, and is difficult to underestimate. As we have seen, Florence had for some time maintained no permanent army of its own, and had been reliant upon using its considerable riches (mainly accumulated by the Medici Bank) to hire the finest condottieri to fight its battles. But the fallacy of this policy had been exposed during the Pazzi conspiracy and Lorenzo’s subsequent daring dash to Naples, placing himself at the mercy of King Ferrante. Instead, Lorenzo the Magnificent decided to try a different tack. From now on, he sought to establish a network of interlocking alliances, thus achieving a balance of power which brought about a period of unusual peace throughout the Italian peninsula. Venice, Milan, Naples, Rome, and lesser allied states such as Genoa and Ferrara, were all persuaded that it was in their interests to maintain the status quo. Lorenzo the Magnificent’s influence was reinforced by his exploitation of the one commodity in which Florence excelled. Namely, its culture. As the birthplace of the Renaissance, the superiority of Florence’s artists, sculptors and architects was undisputed. Consequently, Lorenzo the Magnificent’s diplomatic skills were reinforced by his lending out Florence’s best-known artists and architects to other states. These creators added kudos and distinction to the cities where they created their works, gifts which not only engendered good will, but also the spread of Renaissance culture. This policy would result in the likes of Michelangelo travelling to Rome, and Leonardo da Vinci to Milan. In later years it would also encourage Umbrian artists such as Perugino and Raphael to work in Rome, bestowing on the ruined classical city a Renaissance splendour second only to that of Florence.
As we have seen, in recognition of Lorenzo the Magnificent’s supreme diplomatic skills Innocent VIII would characterize him as ‘the needle of the Italian compass’ – guiding the nation through the potentially hazardous seas of internecine rivalry between its major city states. Here, too, the highly experienced papal vice-chancellor found himself understanding further skills. Though in this case, as we shall see, the success of Lorenzo the Magnificent’s diplomacy only served to blind Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia to its essential precariousness. Worse still, it also sowed the seeds of far greater ambitions in Borgia’s mind. This peace was achieved within Italy through diplomacy, intermarriage between leading families in separate city states, and the delicate maintenance of a balance of power blocs: in particular, through the continuation of the Milan–Florence–Naples axis. However, such a policy was very much limited to this particular time and place in history. Any attempt to extend such methods beyond the Italian peninsula, where different circumstances prevailed, was untried. Meanwhile, Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia continued to build up his immense wealth, while also ingratiating himself with Innocent VIII, who came to rely increasingly upon the services of his loyal and demonstrably capable vice-chancellor.
At the same time, there is no denying that Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia continued with his characteristic secular pursuits. Though, as Pastor remarks:
Of the worldly cardinals, Ascanio Sforza, Riario, Orsini . . . Giuliano della Rovere . . . and Rodrigo Borgia were the most prominent. All of these were directly infected with the corruption which prevailed in Italy amongst the upper classes in the age of the Renaissance. Surrounded in their splendid palaces, with all the most refined luxury of a highly developed civilization, these cardinals lived the lives of secular princes, and seemed to regard their ecclesiastical garb simply as one of the adornments of their rank. They hunted, gambled, gave sumptuous banquets and entertainments, joined in all the rollicking merriment of the carnival-tide, and allowed themselves the utmost license in morals; this was especially the case with Rodrigo Borgia.
Pastor was writing in the Wilhelmine period (Germany’s equivalent of Britain’s Victorian age) and certainly reflected its moral conservatism. He makes no bones about the fact that he abhorred Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia. Yet there is no mistaking the fact that many of Borgia’s fellow cardinals behaved in a similar fashion. Likewise, the examples set by the popes under whom he served as vice-chancellor would, if anything, appear even worse. Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia may have exemplified the louche behaviour of his time, but there is – as yet – little to suggest that he was exceptional in this sphere. And he certainly did not let his indulgence in worldly pleasures in any way interfere with his duties as vice-chancellor. That these were onerous (as well as being financially rewarding) is beyond dispute. His appointment to this position by no less than five popes over thirty-six years indicates his exceptional abilities in the role. In this context it is worth repeating the claim of his secretary, Sigismondo de’ Conti, that during Borgia’s long reign as vice-chancellor, ‘he never missed a single consistory unless prevented by illness from attending, which very seldom happened’. Furthermore: ‘Throughout the reigns of Pius II, Paul II, Sixtus IV and Innocent VIII he was always an important personage; he had been Legate in Spain and in Italy. Few people understood etiquette so well as he did.’
De’ Conti was undoubtedly a loyal secretary, and somewhat dazzled by his master. Even so, the disapproving Pastor still finds it worthwhile to include de’ Conti’s rounded characterization of his master:
He knew how to make the most of himself, and took pains to shine in conversation and to be dignified in his manners. In the latter point his majestic stature gave him an advantage. Also, he was just at the age, about sixty, at which Aristotle says men are wisest; robust in body and vigorous in mind . . . He was tall and powerfully built; though he had blinking eyes, they were penetrating and lively; in conversation he was extremely affable; he understood money matters thoroughly.
Though Pastor cannot refrain from appending that ‘his portraits . . . all agree in giving him a crooked nose’. Thus was the man on the brink of ascending to the papal throne.
To the exasperation of both Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia and Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, Innocent VIII, their stopgap pope, the ‘second-rate puppet whom they could dominate’, took an unconscionable long time dying. Although Innocent VIII was never in good health, it is not precisely clear when the period during which ‘he slept almost continuously’, rising only to consume vast meals, passed from lassitude into genuine bedridden illness. However, by the summer of 1492 it became clear that the end was approaching. Contr
ary to their customary practice, the senior cardinals did not flee the stifling heat of Rome for their country villas. Instead, they were in regular attendance at the Pope’s bedside, each assessing the likely length of his survival. Yet as we have seen, even at the end, Innocent VIII still remained in sufficient control of his faculties to order the distribution amongst his relatives of the 47,000 ducats remaining in the papal coffers. This was the act that provoked Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia and Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere to reveal their true colours: their near brawl over the dying pope’s bed was but the prelude to the bitter struggle which would dominate the coming conclave. On 25 July 1492 Innocent VIII finally died at the age of sixty, after eight years on the papal throne. His only lasting monument was the Villa Belvedere, built on the cool slopes overlooking the Vatican, the Tiber and the rooftops of Rome, towards the distant hills. This would cost 60,000 ducats (almost a quarter of the entire annual papal income at the time) and was the work of the Florentine Renaissance artist and architect Antonio del Pollaiuolo. It was the first villa built in Rome since ancient times.
Thirteen days later would begin the most notorious conclave the Vatican had ever witnessed, featuring two of the most skilled, devious and powerful operators in the College of Cardinals.
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*Ferrante’s first wife had died twelve years earlier.
*Pisa was the Florentine Republic’s second city, and its main coastal port.
CHAPTER 5
A NEW POPE IN A NEW ERA
JUST BEFORE DAWN ON 11 August 1492, with the hot Roman night lit by flickers of lightning and distant rumbles of thunder, Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia emerged through the doors of the Sistine Chapel as Pope Alexander VI. Unable to contain his triumphant joy, he raised his arms and declared to the flickering, flare-lit faces of the waiting crowd: ‘I am pope! I am pope!’
The Borgias Page 10