The Borgias

by Paul Strathern

  Perhaps inevitably, the French army which had taken Naples soon began emulating the conduct of its commander-in-chief. Although initially welcomed by the Neapolitan populace, their behaviour soon brought about a reversal of this attitude. As the Venetian ambassador recorded:

  The French were stupid, dirty and dissolute people; they were constantly chasing women. Their table manners were disgusting and whenever they moved into a house they always took the best rooms and sent the master of the house to sleep in the worst.They stole wine and grain and sold them in the market place. They raped the women, regardless of their status, then robbed them, pulling off their rings. If any resisted, they cut off their fingers to get the rings. Even so, they spent much of their time in church, praying.

  The last mentioned quirk of behaviour was not due to superstition or an unlikely religiosity amongst the soldiery – who, being mercenaries, included a wide range of backgrounds and behaviours.* No, such addiction to prayer was hardly surprising in the light of the latest event in the city: it was during this period that syphilis first began to spread through Naples. The soldiers who flooded the churches were all praying to St George, the traditional protector against the plague, leprosy – and, by extension, this similar new malady.

  It is generally held that syphilis had arrived in western Europe some two years previously, brought from the New World by sailors returning with Columbus on his first voyage of discovery. From Spain it eventually spread to Naples, where it soon reached the epidemic proportions of a modern plague, largely through the behaviour of the French army. The new plague became known as le mal de Napoli by the French, and as the morbo gallico (‘French disease’) by the Italians, who blamed its presence on the French.† However, although its origins may have been disputed, there was no mistaking its hideous symptoms. According to Guicciardini:

  This illness, which was unknown here before those times, is so terrible that it must be regarded as another plague which has arrived among us. It manifested itself with hideous boils, which then developed into incurable ulcers, along with very severe pains in the joints and nerves. Because the doctors had no previous knowledge of this disease they used remedies which often made the patient even more ill. This disease killed men and women of all ages, others becoming deformed and suffering almost continuous pain, and many of those who seemed at first to be cured, would then relapse and die.

  Meanwhile, Alexander VI’s attempts to negotiate a united force to drive the French from Italy were coming to fruition. The Pope had influence throughout Europe, and was determined to use this. ‘Even in faraway England, King Henry VII was prepared to contribute to keeping France from growing stronger than it already was.’ Likewise, the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian of Hapsburg, whose territories ranged from the Netherlands through to Austria, was also determined to protect his empire from the growing power of France. Maximilian held a ‘deep personal grudge dating from the time when Charles had simultaneously jilted his daughter and stolen his fiancée, depriving him of the great duchy of Brittany’. However, as even Alexander VI’s most favourable commentator Peter de Roo concedes:

  It took time to establish the articles of a definite and formal league, binding each one of them to gather soldiers and to submit to heavy expenses for the protection of one another.

  Even in Italy there remained those who opposed such a league. In Florence, Savonarola still believed that Charles VIII was the ‘scourge of God’, come to purify Italy and rid the Church of corruption, heralding a new age of fundamentalist Christianity. On the other hand, Ferrara was implacably opposed to joining any treaty which involved its powerful neighbour Venice. And nearby Bologna was ‘resolved to place [itself ] on the most promising side’. These three states may not have been as powerful as their neighbours on the peninsula, but they occupied a strategic wedge of territory stretching from coast to coast. However, even these states eventually began to see the necessity of such an alliance; and in March representatives of all those in favour of an alliance congregated in Venice to sign a treaty. This was a personal triumph for Alexander VI and is indicative of his supreme diplomatic abilities; consequently the treaty ‘was called the Holy League, because it was undertaken principally for the defence of the papacy, and was headed by His Holiness, Pope Alexander VI’.

  Back in Naples, Charles VIII decided to go ahead with his coronation, despite the absence of the Pope. A formal ceremony was held in Naples Cathedral, where Charles VIII ‘crowned himself as monarch of Il Regno and “Emperor of the East”’* before his sycophantic commanders and such of their mercenaries as were deemed presentable. Despite this defiant gesture, it was gradually becoming clear even to Charles VIII that all was not going according to plan. The crusade was definitively abandoned when it was realized there were not enough ships to transport his army across the sea to the Holy Land. Worse still, as his commanders persisted in pointing out, the overland lines of supply and communication between the French army in Naples and their homeland in France were to all intents and purposes severed. Communication could still be maintained by sea, but if Charles VIII ever wished to return to France with his large army intact there was no choice but to march back north through Italy. Yet such a course was increasingly under threat from the forces of the Holy League which his deceitful friend Alexander VI was said to be assembling.

  With reluctance, Charles VIII put away his picture book of Neapolitan ladies and prepared to lead his army on the gruelling 500-mile march up through Italy back to France. Their route would take them north, then across the Apennines and the Lombardy plain, before finally reaching the foothills of the Alps. Prior to setting out, Charles VIII wrote to Alexander VI suggesting that they should meet in Rome, for the purpose of renewing their friendship. This time, Charles VIII promised, he would ensure that his troops behaved themselves in Rome, and no Swiss mercenaries would be permitted to enter through the gates to the Holy City. In the words of Borgia historian G. J. Meyer: ‘Alexander, however, thought it a mistake to receive the king again, seeing no way to do so without arousing suspicion among the other members of the Holy League.’ This sentence speaks volumes for the trust in which Alexander VI was held by the fellow members of his alliance. Skilled diplomat he may have been, but all knew better than to take him at his word. His ultimate strategy would always be for his own ends, and as yet the full magnitude of these remained unknown – apart from his evident wish to extend the power of his papacy.

  On 20 May 1495 Charles VIII marched out of Naples with the remains of his massive army. Syphilis, desertion and casualties had whittled down his forces to just over half their former strength, with around 15,000 fighting men. Even so, this still far outnumbered any force which had yet been assembled in Italy to meet them. Behind the marching mercenaries trailed a long guarded convoy consisting of several hundred mules laden down with booty and treasures looted from the cities through which the French army had passed. And drawing up the rear came the usual ragged train of camp followers – cooks, prostitutes, scavengers and the like.

  By the first day of June the French army had reached the gates of Rome, where Charles VIII still optimistically expected to meet the Pope. But Alexander VI and most of his cardinals were already fleeing north from Rome, under the protection of the papal troops. Cardinal Pallavicini, an intellectual member of the Sforza family, had been delegated the task of greeting Charles VIII, informing him that the Pope had just left for Orvieto. Charles VIII immediately despatched a troop of fast cavalry to catch up with the Pope and bring him back; but when they reached Orvieto they learned that Alexander VI had already left for Perugia, well off the route which the French army was taking on its way north. Alexander VI had learned that Charles VIII was planning to meet up with the army of his cousin Louis of Orléans at Asti, in territory belonging to Milan. By now the forces of the Holy League were belatedly assembling in the Lombardy plain, waiting for the French army to emerge from the Apennine passes. The hastily assembled army of the Holy League consisted mainly of Venetian
forces, along with detachments of Stradiots (mercenaries from the Balkans), all under the command of the youthful but experienced twenty-nine-year-old condottiere Francesco Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua.

  Back in Rome Charles VIII decide that speed was of the essence and began leading his army into the Apennines in the hope of linking up with Louis of Orléans. Gonzaga made the mistake of letting the French army emerge from the passes and assemble in battle formation on the Lombardy plain, where the two armies confronted each other on the banks of the river Taro at Fornovo. The battle was fought amidst driving rain and mud, rendering cavalry all but useless. Gonzaga initially held the upper hand, but made a number of tactical blunders, in the midst of which his Stradiots spotted the lightly guarded French mule train of treasures, causing them to withdraw from the main action in their eagerness to snatch large quantities of booty. The remaining forces of the Holy League stood their ground, but from this point on the French cannons played a decisive role, inflicting heavy casualties, with over 4,000 soldiers of the Holy League losing their lives. At the same time, there were just 600 French deaths. Afterwards both sides claimed victory. The French had lost all their treasure, including Charles VIII’s prized Sword of Charlemagne, but the forces of the Holy League were unable to prevent the vast French army from continuing on its march north back to France. The ‘Scourge of God’ had passed out of Italy, leaving a trail of syphilis in the cities through which it had passed.

  ________________

  *Ironically, there was more than a grain of justification in this particular instance of Charles VIII’s megalomania. As we have already seen, amongst several titles which came with ‘King of Naples’ was also the ancient title ‘King of Jerusalem’.

  *Charlemagne (‘Charles the Great’) was the ninth-century Frankish king, ruler of the Carolingian Empire which emerged during the Dark Ages to cover much of western Europe, in what many regarded as a second Roman Empire.

  *The French army at this time included foreign mercenaries recruited from Scotland to Switzerland, from Flemish Brabant to Spanish Aragon. The Swiss were generally reckoned to be the toughest warriors, a reputation which led to them initially being hired as papal guards by Pope Sixtus IV, though not until well into the reign of Alexander VI did they become a permanent feature. The Swiss Guards, with their pikestaffs, colourful medieval uniforms and distinctive helmets, remain to this day the ceremonial guards of the Vatican, appearing much as they would have done during the time of Alexander VI.

  † Not until 1530 would it receive the name ‘syphilis’ from the Italian physician and poet Girolamo Fracastro, who named it in his medical poem Syphilis or the French Disease, where Syphilis features as a shepherd, stricken with the disease by the angry god Apollo.

  *This was a reference to the external Aragonese territories, which, at least in theory, belonged to Naples at the time – including Sicily, as well as Sardinia and Corsica. And, of course, the kingdom of Jerusalem, which in Charles VIII’s fantasy was to be ‘the capital city of the East’.

  CHAPTER 7

  THE BEST OF PLANS . . .

  IN FLORENCE SAVONAROLA WAS left bitterly disappointed that his ‘Scourge of God’ had failed to rid Italy of corruption and bring about the beginning of a new fundamentalist Christian era. In his sermons, Savonarola railed against Charles VIII:

  You have incurred the wrath of God by neglecting that work of reforming the Church which, by my mouth, he charged you to undertake and to which he called you by so many unmistakable signs.

  Indeed, he even went so far as to prophesy that if Charles VIII did not fulfil the duty given him by God, he would die. (In fact, Savonarola refrained from actually naming Charles VIII, though the subject of his prophecy was plain to all who heard him.)

  From this stage on, Savonarola would play down his apocalyptic prophecies and instead concentrate his sermons on the venality and vice of the citizens of Florence. It was now that he would begin his annual ‘Bonfire of the Vanities’, when all manner of luxuries, including jewellery, secular paintings, books and clothes would be heaped up in the city’s central piazza and burned. At the same time, his sermons began calling down the wrath of God on the corruption of the Church. Alexander VI was already furious that Florence had been so reluctant to join the Holy League, and he responded to these sermons (which never actually named him either) by issuing a papal brief banning Savonarola from preaching. Savonarola chose to reply to this brief by sending a letter to Alexander VI arguing the theological justification for his words and actions. So Alexander VI decided to try a different tack. This time he would exercise his charm and attempt to flatter Savonarola. He sent a further brief to Florence, inviting Savonarola to Rome ‘to discourse with you, so that we may gain from you a greater understanding of what is agreeable to God, and put this into practice’. But this appeal to Savonarola’s personal vanity did not work. Savonarola was well aware of what would happen to him in Rome once he fell into the clutches of Alexander VI, so he sent a letter to Alexander VI explaining that he could not travel:

  firstly, because my body has been weakened by illness, and I am suffering from fever and dysentery. Secondly, my constant exertions on behalf of the welfare of the state of Florence have caused me to suffer from a constant agitation, in both my body and my mind . . .

  The game of cat and mouse continued. Savonarola was well aware of Alexander VI’s power, so he decided to preach his ‘last sermon’ in the cathedral, before retiring to his cell at the Dominican monastery of San Marco in Florence. Both would now bide their time.

  Alexander VI had problems closer to home. In the first week of December 1495 Rome was suddenly struck by a flood of almost biblical proportions. For three days there was a continuous downpour, and the waters of the Tiber rose to become a raging torrent. Indeed, this had soon risen so high that the cardinals returning from a consistory in Trastevere to the main city were hardly able to cross the Ponte Sant’Angelo before the streets around the fortress itself were awash. By the time the floods had subsided, it was estimated that several thousand people had been washed away or drowned. In all, the damage was put at around 300,000 ducats – a colossal sum equivalent to the entire papal income for that year. According to an eyewitness:

  By yesterday morning the floods had subsided, but the courtyards and cellars are full of dead animals and rubbish, which will take months to clear. The damage to Rome is terrible and will take decades to clear. The boats on the Tiber, the mills and the houses on the banks are gone, and all the horses have drowned in their stables. With the mills gone there will be no bread.

  He goes on to recount how one evening they found a poor man clinging to a tree trunk by the wharves who had been swept from his village eleven miles upstream. Prisoners had drowned in the dungeons of Castel Sant’Angelo, and its protective moats were overflowing with water. Vital repairs to the Pope’s ancient fortress would cost Alexander VI 80,000 ducats over the coming year.

  With the retreat of Charles VIII and his army from Italy back over the Alps, the Holy League to all intents and purposes fell apart. This allowed the Orsini and Colonna families to remain loyal to Charles VIII, even going so far as to fly the French flag from the battlements of their castles. They were aware that the French king was making covert plans to launch another invasion, and that even Savonarola remained in secret correspondence with him. But most threatening of all for Alexander VI was the fact that the Orsini and the Colonna now controlled the main roads to the north and south of Rome.

  In February 1496 Alexander VI ‘announced in consistory that Virginio Orsini and the others were declared rebels, and confiscated their estates because they had disobeyed him by taking pay from the French’. This was, in fact, no more than an ineffective threat. The Orisini, the Colonna and others now occupied much of the Papal Territories, and despite Alexander VI going so far as to excommunicate these enemies, there appeared little else he could do. These were difficult times for Alexander VI, and a low ebb in his papacy. Even when Charles VIII had hum
iliated him, passing through Rome, he had retained a certain power. And with the aid of his bold son Cardinal Cesare Borgia he had succeeded in retaining sufficient wealth and credibility to appeal throughout Europe for a Holy League. Now this had fallen apart, and the two most powerful aristocratic Roman families, along with their allies, had virtually confined him within the Holy City. In his time of need, the sixty-four-year-old Alexander VI began gathering his family about him.

  As we have seen, the Pope’s second son Cardinal Cesare Borgia had remained at his side. The twenty-one-year-old Cesare still cut a striking figure in his fashionable doublet and hose, with a sword hanging at his side. He also occupied a luxurious apartment on the second floor of the Vatican, directly above that of his father. The two apartments were connected by an inner winding staircase, and were unlike any other in the Vatican. These were flamboyantly decorated in Spanish style, but with an unmistakable Borgia touch: ‘covering walls and ceiling in an almost megalomaniac repetition, are the two Borgia devices’. These were the royal Aragonese double crown, a reference to the Borgia’s claimed descent from the ruling house of Spain, and the red bull of the original Borja arms (now in rampant form, following Alexander VI’s ascent to the papal throne). In contrast to Italian custom, the rooms had tiled floors, and the walls were adorned with symmetrical patterns similar to those found in Moorish Granada.*

  Cesare maintained a close relationship with his father, who kept him informed of much of his day-to-day business, to the point where the Pope came increasingly to rely upon his son. But it was more than closeness to his father which enabled such a youthful character to establish a position where he was ‘widely recognized as the most powerful cardinal in the college [of cardinals] and as the most unscrupulous’. In the latter aspect, he was very much his father’s son. Cesare dominated by sheer force of personality, aided by the ability to overcome his enemies in the most ruthless fashion. And the more people knew this, the stronger he became. As Cesare Borgia’s biographer observes: ‘Without Giuliano [della Rovere] the College of Cardinals, packed with friendly or uncommitted cardinals, was an amenable body which Alexander and his son could manipulate more or less as they liked.’ Though for the moment, with the Pope’s fortunes in abeyance, the effects of this power were somewhat restricted.