The Tigress of Forli
Read The Tigress of Forli Online
Authors: Elizabeth Lev
 
4. THE TRIUMPHAL PARADE TO ROME
6. THE GROWTH OF THE RIARIO DYNASTY
18. THE LONG NIGHT OF CASTEL SANT'ANGELO
Copyright © 2011 by Elizabeth Lev
All rights reserved
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book,
write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lev, Elizabeth.
The tigress of Forlì: Renaissance Italy's most courageous and notorious countess,
Caterina Riario Sforza de' Medici / Elizabeth Lev.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN
978-0-15-101299-2
1. Sforza, Caterina, 1463â1509. 2. CountessesâItalyâForlìâBiography. 3. Forlì
(Italy)âBiography. 4. Forlì (Italy)âHistoryâExhibitions. 5. Renaissanceâ
ItalyâBiography. 6. ItalyâHistoryâ1492â1559âBiography. I. Title.
DG
537.8.
S
3
L
48 2011
945'.4805092âdc22
[B]
2011016053
Book design by Victoria Hartman
Map by Jeffrey Ward
Printed in the United States of America
DOC
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Photo credits appear on
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.
M
Y FIRST ENCOUNTER
with Caterina Riario Sforza de' Medici took place during a sort of personal exile. After twenty-odd years of city life, I had moved to the countryside of Emilia-Romagna in northern Italy with my three children, to complete my graduate degree in art history. After a lifetime in Boston, Chicago, New York, and the university town of Bologna, I had settled in the plains of Imola. Although warm and welcoming to families, this quiet little town, with its dearth of museums, theaters, and ethnic restaurants, left me feeling as if the world had left me behind.
Caterina Sforza became my first friend there. The daughter of the duke of Milan, the denizen of a glittering papal court in Renaissance Rome, she too had been transplanted to the countryside, where she ruled as countess of Imola and Forlì for eleven years. The Imolesi, proud of their local heroine, named streets after her, organized conferences in her honor, and recounted her story at every opportunity. For rural lore, it was remarkably dramatic: a young woman who had to fend off her husband's assassins, the French army, and even the infamous Cesare Borgia.
During an afternoon visit to the Civic Museum of Bologna I first encountered an artifact directly related to Caterina: a small steel breastplate, modeled to fit a petite woman, stood alone among the hulking armor of Renaissance warriors. In this battle gear, a diminutive beauty had squared off against the most dangerous men of her ageâhow had such a heroine gone unnoticed? Why did no films, websites, or Halloween costumes pay tribute to her? Generations had sung of Achilles and Darius and Alexander, so where was the glorious ballad of Caterina? My studies thus far had focused on fifteenth-century art, a male-dominated world; Caterina's extraordinary life gave me a fresh perspective on the Renaissance.
Fate then brought me to Rome, where I assumed that my discoveries concerning Caterina would come to an end. But over the course of many hours spent in the Vatican Museums, I saw her image again and again, proudly striding amid courtiers in group portraits, present at all the most important moments of Rome's fifteenth-century rebirth.
As I delved into her life, it became clear that Caterina's story was not straightforward. She was a figure of controversy. Local authors from Emilia-Romagna tended to wax romantic about her adventures while glossing over her more problematic episodes; other historians dismissed her as a tyrant, propelled by greed for power and an insatiable sexual appetite.
Tracing back from recent studies and biographies to older records, I arrived at the two principal contemporary sources for the more lurid legends of Caterina, the Venetian diarist Marino Sanuto and the Florentine politician Niccolà Machiavelli. Reading Sanuto was like perusing a celebrity gossip blog; tales of sex and scandal flow, page after page, in what is clearly not the most reliable source. Machiavelli, never particularly respectful of women, wrote especially insidiously about her. As a young man he had had direct dealings with Caterina and had not come out the better. His assessment seemed more than a little tinged with vindictiveness.
Caterina's life as it played out in Imola and Forlì was recorded by two local chroniclers, Leone Cobelli and Andrea Bernardi, eyewitnesses to many events in which she played a part. This proximity in time and place does not, however, make them reliable witnesses in every way. Each had his own reasons for emphasizing certain points and obscuring others.
The racy legend and historical record were masterfully distilled by Count Pier Desiderio Pasolini in his three-volume biography of Caterina, published in 1893. His meticulous assemblage of documents assisted my own research tremendously. Two problems overshadow his work, however: first, writing in post-unification Italy after the hostile takeover of papal Rome, Pasolini's vision of the papal court was colored with late-nineteenth-century anticlerical sentiment, which obscured Caterina's relationship with her first husband's uncle Pope Sixtus IV; and second, Pasolini's fawning admiration for Caterina actually draws attention away from the documented accomplishments and failings of this exceptional woman.
Reconstructing this story anew has been very rewarding. The journey has taken me to the archives of Milan, Rome, and Florence, with the texts of Bernardi and Cobelli as well as many other accounts as my ever-present travel companions. Dozens of Caterina's letters are extant, several excerpted here for the first time in English. Also, the past few years have witnessed a tidal wave of scholarship that has changed how we understand Renaissance clothing, furnishings, and everyday life; researching the "set design" for certain episodes in Caterina's life has helped me place her firmly in her own world and thereby analyze some of her actions with greater acuity. As an art historian, it was particularly gratifying to find her portrait among the panels of the Sistine Chapel, rendered by none other than Sandro Botticelli.
Indeed, Caterina's life brought her into contact with the greatest artists of her age. Her uncle, the duke of Milan, employed Leonardo da Vinci for seventeen years, and Caterina met him. A modern theorist has even proposed her as the model for the
Mona Lisa
! She posed for one of Leonardo's finest disciples, Lorenzo di Credi, and she was present in Florence as Michelangelo's sculpture
David
was hauled into place. I would like to think that readers of this book will enjoy, as I did, pausing to consider the impression these masterpieces might have made on Caterina and her contemporaries.
Although Caterina Sforza died half a millennium ago, she was a remarkably modern woman. As a bearer of many qualities and virtues that we admire today, Caterina is an ideal guide to the Renaissance world, especially for women. On the one hand, she was a renowned beauty who cared a great deal about fashion and her appearance, and on the other she functioned as a tough-minded CEO, who in addition could handle a weapon. Caterina lived the modern balance of loving mother and successful career woman in tougher times than ours, with both dramatic successes and failures.
But most of all she was a woman who made mistakes. Colossal, horrific, public ones. She dedicated the same passion and energy to her noble undertakings and her wicked ones. Perhaps Caterina's greatest ability was her determination to get up after a disastrous fall. She never gave up, not even when her worst enemy was herself. For Caterina, the show had to go on.
Â
T
HE FOUR-YEAR PROJECT
of writing this book owes thanks to the heroic efforts of many friends and collaborators. George Weigel, who first suggested the book project, introduced me to Cathy Hemming, my agent, who was instrumental in shaping the proposal for this story. John Cabot University gave me a grant that enabled me to visit archives and study materials essential to this work, while Michael Wright and Duquesne University granted me the flexibility to devote long stretches of time to it. Gregory DiPippo helped me wade through the Latin text of numerous documents. David and Ann Wilkins offered precious advice and art history wisdom, and Thomas Williams was invaluable in shaping the storytelling. Alan Droste and Rajia Kahlil read the manuscript and contributed insightful commentary.
Without Andrea Schulz and Thomas Bouman, this manuscript would never have seen the light of day; I am particularly grateful for their expertise, patience, and kindness. Their lessons in taking library data and turning it into a living story will always be remembered when I work in the classroom and at the keyboard.
Like many of the works produced during the Renaissance era, my twenty-first-century project was very much a family undertaking. My gratitude to my mother and father knows no bounds; they read every line and generously lent their wisdom and experience as I developed this manuscript; my sisters, Sarah and Katie, offered encouragement and advice. My greatest debt of gratitude, however, is to my childrenâClaire, Giulia, and Joshuaâwho were unflaggingly supportive and loving despite their mother's frequent distractions.
A
S THE GREAT
Jubilee Year of 1500 approached, a mood of unusual festivity prevailed in Europe. At the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve, amid great pomp and solemnity, Pope Alexander VI Borgia had thrown open the Holy Door he had specially installed in Saint Peter's Basilica to mark the occasion. From the Atlantic Ocean to the Danube River, kings, clergy, and peasants were all celebrating the birth of Christ the Savior. Bells rang out in each town and feasts were laid on every table. In the ancient jubilee tradition of forgiveness of debts, thousands of pilgrims commenced the trek to Rome seeking a plenary indulgence, a chance to wipe clean the slate of the soul and begin again.
But on Christmas morning, 1499, the tiny Italian village of Forlì awoke not to the merry peal of church bells, but to pounding artillery and cursing soldiers. A force of fifteen thousand, composed of Italian, Swiss, and French soldiers, had gathered at the base of the fortress of Ravaldino, overlooking the town of Forlì, and were hammering away at its defensive walls. The bulk of the troops were on loan from the king of France, Louis XII. Commanding those seasoned troops was Cesare Borgia, the most feared warrior in Italy. Cesare's personal bravery and cruelty were as widely known as his powerful connectionsâhe was duke of Valentinois in southern France and the illegitimate son of Pope Alexander VI. Even as the pope was offering salvation to everyone in Christendom, his second-born son was bent on eradicating the ruler of Forlì. If any of his soldiers found this situation ironic or morally troubling, they doubtless kept their perplexity to themselves, for the Borgia commander was known to treat disloyal friends as ruthlessly as he did his enemies.
The soldiers knew that their mission had been approved by the pope himself, who had deposed all the rulers in the northern Italian region of Romagna by decreeing them guilty of tyranny as well as derelict in paying their tributes to Rome. The delinquent states were given to Cesare, who lost no time in collecting his new possessions. Many of the towns had capitulated without a fight, some even hailing Cesare as their liberator. But there had been resistance in Imola, about twelve miles from Forlì, where the fortress keeper, Dionigio Naldi, had held out for almost a month, claiming the town for its rightful lord, Ottaviano Riario. Few stood by him and he was defeated on December 11. After eight days of celebrating that victory, Cesare's army arrived at Forlì. In this tiny town, hardly more than a village, they expected a few perfunctory hours of negotiations before they ousted the present ruler and took control.
At first, all seemed to go according to plan for Cesare. The inhabitants opened the gates, welcoming the troops into the city. Several noblemen even offered hospitality to the captains of the various regiments. Above the town, however, loomed the seemingly impenetrable fortress of Ravaldino, reminding the army that Forlì would never be theirs while the defenders occupied the fort. No easy capitulation was forthcoming from behind those high stone walls. A week after their confident entry, the huge force representing the combined power of the papacy and the king of France was still arrayed at the foot of the fortress, held at bay by a paltry band of nine hundred.