The Borgias (9 page)

A few days later in Rome, Alexander VI arrested those prominent supporters of the French who remained in the city, including Cardinal Ascanio Sforza and the illegitimate son of the great Cardinal d’Estouteville, imprisoning them in apartments on the upper floor of the Vatican Palace. Though the rooms were comfortable and the prisoners were allowed to attend Mass in the Sistine Chapel, they were heavily guarded. That same day Alexander VI
informed the ambassadors of France, who had come to Rome to seek free passage for the French army through the Papal States, that their request was refused. Charles VIII ignored the pope and continued to march south; a month after arriving in Florence, the invading army captured Civitavecchia, an important port inside papal territory, while the Orsini surrendered their fortress at nearby Bracciano.

Near Viterbo the vanguard of the French army, under the command of Yves d’Alègre, came across two obviously well-to-do women. One of these turned out to be Giulia Farnese, Alexander VI’s beautiful mistress, who was returning to Rome from a visit to her husband on his country estate. The other was Adriana da Mila, her friend and the pope’s cousin, who had been entrusted by him with the care of his children. A messenger was sent to the king informing him of this unexpected encounter, and Charles VIII declared that the French did not fight against women; but Yves d’Alègre saw no reason why money should not be made out of the captives who had so unexpectedly fallen into his hands, and he accordingly demanded 3,000 ducats for their release.

Alexander VI astutely agreed immediately to pay this ransom, and the two women were sent on to Rome under an escort of four hundred soldiers. Ludovico Sforza was not pleased: ‘These ladies,’ he declared, ‘could have been used as a fine whip for compelling the Pope to do all that was required of him, for he cannot live without them. The French received a mere 3,000 ducats for them when he might well have paid 50,000 or even more to have them back.’

With the main body of the French drawing ever closer to Rome, the city grew increasingly fearful; houses and palaces of known supporters of France were ransacked. Alexander VI had been advised
to escape from Rome while he could still do so; but, for the first time in his life, he seemed utterly irresolute. He had called in Neapolitan troops only to dismiss them; he had repeated his refusal to allow the French free passage through the Papal States only to rescind the order; on one occasion he fainted.

Finally the pope decided to stay in Rome and began to consider the ways in which he might secure an agreement with Charles VIII. First he set about ordering the defence of the city and summoned Burchard together with a number of other members of the German colony living in Rome to an audience, to ask for their help. He outlined the ‘insolent behaviour’ of the French king and his invasion of the Papal States; ‘he did not anticipate a siege by the French,’ he said, but would welcome any help that the German nation, ‘in whom he had great confidence,’ might be able to contribute to the defence of Rome. Burchard continued his account:

In the end, Burchard failed to persuade his compatriots to agree to the formation of this highly irregular militia; they felt bound, they said, to their promise to obey the captains of their neighbourhood watches, which was what usually happened in an emergency such as this. Nor was the commander of the papal troops, Virginio Orsini, cousin of the lovely Giulia’s husband, any more
encouraging; he chose to offer no resistance to the French, who were, he considered, irresistible.

With characteristic style, Alexander VI announced that he would defend Castel Sant’Angelo with the troops at his disposal and, if attacked, would stand on its walls in full canonicals, carrying the Blessed Sacrament. He would not leave Rome, he said, to become a prisoner in Naples; he was determined to remain and attempt to come to terms with the French king. Work now started on a deep ditch to surround Castel Sant’Angelo, which involved the demolition of several houses. ‘On Thursday 18 December,’ wrote Burchard, ‘all the Pope’s possessions, including even his bed and daily credence-table, were assembled for removal from the Vatican Palace to Castel Sant’Angelo, the vestments from St Peter’s, all the money chests from the sacristy, the palace weapons and stores of food, and all the papal belongings were sent to the castle, whilst the cardinals also prepared to move.’

Below the walls of Castel Sant’Angelo, the city was now in an uproar as people fled into the country, having buried or otherwise hidden their valuables to save them from looters and pillaging soldiers. ‘The discontent of the people is at its height,’ wrote the Mantuan envoy Fioramonte Bagolo. ‘The looting is fearful, the murders innumerable; one hears moaning and weeping on every side and never, in the memory of man, has the Church been in such an evil plight.’ All those who could afford to do so were packing their valuables into carriages and leaving the city. Looking out through the windows of the Vatican, Alexander VI and his son Cesare watched the enemy troops massing on Monte Mario, just north of the palace,
thankful that they, too, had taken the precaution of locking their treasures away in Castel Sant’Angelo and were ready for flight.

Meanwhile, as rumours spread of the atrocities that the French would inflict, Charles VIII attempted to appease the fears of the Romans. The French Cardinal Bertrand Perauld, who had been refused entry into the city on December 22, was heard to say that the troops ‘would not take a hen or an egg or the smallest item without paying for it in full.’ The next day he wrote to the German colony saying that the invasion would only happen if the king’s ‘enemies,’ by which he meant Alexander VI himself, ‘continue to remain in Rome and prevent an agreement.’ Moreover, he insisted, ‘His Majesty promises that his troops will do no harm to any prostitute in the city, nor to any other person, wherever they are from, unless they fight against the King and his followers.’

With the city almost surrounded by French troops, the celebrations for the Feast of the Nativity continued with surprising normality: Burchard recorded that the pope himself was present in the Sistine Chapel for Vespers on Christmas Eve. It had been expected that the cardinal of Monreale would celebrate High Mass in the Sistine Chapel on Christmas Day, but before dawn broke that morning, a courier had arrived with an urgent message for Alexander VI to say that Charles VIII desired a peaceful agreement with the pope prior to the king’s entry into the city. Having informed the cardinals assembled in the Sala del Pappagallo that he intended to allow Charles VIII to enter Rome, the pope dispatched the cardinal of Monreale to agree to terms with the king, who likewise sent his envoys to the Vatican for the same purpose. At Mass in the Sistine Chapel the next day, the Feast of St Stephen, Burchard faced an awkward situation, being obliged to organize seating not
only for these French envoys but also for two ambassadors of the king of Naples who were in Rome:

On December 31 Alexander VI sent his master of ceremonies to Charles VIII: ‘On the orders of His Holiness,’ Burchard wrote, ‘I rode out to find the King of France in order to acquaint him with the ceremonial that would accompany his reception in the city and to hear his own wishes and to do all His Majesty ordered me to do.’ Because of the pouring rain, the roads clogged with mud, ‘and the speed at which His Majesty was riding,’ Burchard was unable to greet the king as formally as he would have wished. In answer to Burchard’s questions, Charles VIII replied ‘that he wanted his entry into the city to be conducted without any pomp.’ He did,
however, invite the master of ceremonies ‘to continue riding with him, and for about four miles or so he talked with me continually, asking me questions about the health of the Pope and the cardinals.’ Burchard noted the king’s particular interest in Alexander VI’s son Cesare, asking many questions about his situation and his status ‘and many other things, to all of which I was scarcely able to give appropriate answers.’

Meanwhile, the main body of King Charles’s army entered Rome at about three o’clock in the afternoon of the last day of December. Alexander VI and his family took shelter in Castel Sant’Angelo, while Giulia Farnese was spirited out of the city by her brother, Cardinal Alessandro Farnese. These precautions proved unnecessary. ‘Twice our great guns were ready to fire on Castel Sant’Angelo,’ wrote Philippe de Commynes, ‘but on both occasions the King opposed it.’

It took six hours for the French army to file through the gate at Santa Maria del Popolo, and it was long after darkness had fallen that the last stragglers entered the city. By flickering torchlight and the gleam of lanterns, the men and horses marched though the narrow streets, muddy and wet in the pouring rain: Swiss and German infantry carrying broadswords and long lances, Gascon archers, French knights, Scots archers, artillerymen with bronze cannons and culverins. Escorted by cardinals Ascanio Sforza and Giuliano della Rovere, and surrounded by his bodyguard and his magnificently dressed courtiers, rode Charles VIII himself, a short, ugly young man with a huge hooked nose and thick fleshy lips, constantly open.

‘There were fires, torches and lights in every house,’ Burchard recorded, ‘and people were heard shouting “France! France!” and
“Vincoli! Vincoli!”’ continually (San Pietro in Vincoli was the title of Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere). At the Palazzo Venezia, the great palace built by Paul II at the foot of the Capitol Hill and now the residence of Cardinal Lorenzo Cibò, the king dismounted and was ushered inside by his host. He limped into the dining room and sat by the fire in his slippers, while a servant combed his hair and the wispy scattered strands of his reddish beard. Food was placed upon a table; a chamberlain tasted every dish before the king ate, and the remains were thrown into a silver ewer. Four physicians likewise tested the wine into which the chamberlain dangled a unicorn’s horn on a golden chain before His Majesty raised the cup to his lips.

Cardinal Cibò had prepared his best apartments ‘for housing the ambassadors and other Frenchmen,’ commented Burchard, adding that the dignitaries ‘were provided with plenty of straw beds, but I noticed that these sacks of straw were never cleaned; tallow candles hung from the doors and fireplaces, and, even though the walls were decorated with beautiful tapestries, the place resembled a pigsty.’

Despite Charles VIII’s protestations that his troops would respect the Romans and their property, they did cause a lot of trouble. Burchard reported that ‘on their way into the city the French troops forced an entrance into houses on either side of the road, throwing out their owners, horses and other goods, setting fire to wooden articles and eating and drinking whatever they found without paying anything.’ On Thursday, January 8, he recorded, ‘the house of Paolo Branco, a Roman citizen, was plundered and ransacked by the French who killed his two sons, whilst others, including Jews, were murdered and their houses pillaged; even the house of Donna
Vannozza Catanei, the mother of Cardinal Cesare Borgia, did not escape.’

Even poor old Burchard himself was to suffer at the hands of the unruly soldiers: ‘When I returned to my house after mass, I found that the French had entered it against my will,’ he wailed. ‘They had taken out seven of the eight horses, mules and asses that I had in my stable and had billeted in their place seven of their own mounts which were busily eating my hay.’ His rooms, as well as those of his servants, had all been requisitioned by French nobles and their retinues. Eventually Charles VIII was forced to issue an order forbidding his troops from forcibly entering houses on pain of death.

While Alexander VI played a waiting game from the comfort and security of his apartments in Castel Sant’Angelo, where he was ensconced with Cesare and several of the Neapolitan cardinals, Charles VIII spent his time receiving visits from various cardinals and dealing with the deluge of complaints about his troops. One day, escorted by a company of soldiers, he was conducted on a tour of Rome to view the sights of the city: on another he rode out to the Basilica of San Sebastiano with his household.

It was not until January 16 that the two rulers finally came face-to-face. That day Charles VIII rode across Rome to St Peter’s, where he heard Mass in the French royal chapel, which had been restored by his father, Louis XI, and was dedicated to St Petronilla, the daughter of the first pope. ‘If my memory is correct,’ recorded Burchard, ‘the mass was not sung.’ The king was then escorted to the papal palace, where the lavish rooms of Alexander VI’s apartments had been prepared for him and his suite to dine. The pope, meanwhile, was on his way from Castel Sant’Angelo to the Vatican
in his ceremonial litter. The ambitious twenty-four-year-old monarch, described by Guicciardini as ‘not particularly intelligent with regard to political affairs and carried away by his fervent wish to rule and his thirst for glory,’ was about to be outwitted by the wily pope.