Fast Times At Renaissance Rome

Palazzo Farnese, Piazza Farnese, Rome.

If you walk through the Rione Parione in the centre of Rome, you can see the house said to have belonged to Vannozza Cattanei. Vannozza Cattanei, a stunner of her time, was from a noble family, but not quite the lady; rather, one would say, a curvaceous young girl (in the beautiful Roman parlance: a palloccona) of the people with more means and more looks, and probably more class, than most. Being the owner of several inns she was, as we would say today, also economically independent.

As every man with a brain in Italy would tell you this was, well, Cardinal’s stuff. The first Cardinal who got to taste the fruity palloccona from the North was, it is widely believed, Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere. A tough guy, this one, and quite the Renaissance Prince. Vannozza must, though, not have been entirely satisfied with the fiery Cardinal, because we know that before being thirty she was the, well, official mistress of another Cardinal, Rodrigo Borgia. Rodrigo, another one who liked a pretty young thing, kept the woman as his quite public mistress for more than a decade, and the entire planet knew he had several children from her. When the career of the Cardinal started to make of him a papabile, it was suggested to him that he avoids public scandal, at least in the sense of going in and out in broad daylight as if he were the lord of the manor. Which he duly did, though continuing to lovingly follow and protect the life of his children, lavishing on them honours and privileges.

Why I tell you this? Because in this case two Cardinals – who, by the way, did not like each other one bit – shared, at different times, the same woman. Even more interestingly, both of them became Popes: Rodrigo with the name Alexander VI, and Giuliano with the name Julius II.

Speaking of Alexander VI, he is notable for another and later, how shall we say it, alcove accomplishment: the massive relaunching of the fortunes of an ancient family, the one of the Farnese. Why did he do that? Well, because another palloccona, Giulia Farnese, known as “Giulia la bella” (Julia the beautiful) and clearly another stunner, became one of his mistresses. We are here around 1493, more than 20 years after the start of Rodrigo’s liaison with Vannozza. The man is older, and probably mellower. The young woman is 19, and undoubtedly in her prime. A smart, eager young thing can move such a man to do rather much. The young Giulia Farnese, who well knew how short the shelf life of a papal mistress is, persuaded him to make her brother, Alessandro, a Cardinal. The “bella” was married at this point, but the Pope certainly did not mind that a bit. The gossip started again, and the very sarcastic nickname “sposa di Cristo” (“bride of Christ”) remained attached to the beautiful Giulia.

Doesn’t matter, though. The family reached its peak of power and influence in the following years. The young chap who had a married slut as a sister, Alessandro Farnese, found himself a Cardinal at 25, which is a rather good career by any standard. It is not known whether he complained much about his lot; though the ironic nickname “brother-in-law”, given to him with reference to Pope Alexander, might have grated him a bit.

He did well for himself, though, at least on this earth. Not only he was the one who started the works on the Palazzo Farnese (one of the most stunning architectonic achievements of all times; one of those things it is difficult to behold without crying of emotion), but he also managed to… become Pope, with the name of Paul III.

Alessandro Farnese, later to become Paul III, also picked a long-term mistress, and he also had several bastards from her. All of them covered with honours and privileges. The perks of a very beautiful, and rather sluttish sister, I suppose.

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Why, then, do I tell you all this?

Because these are just very few of an interminable string of less than edifying episodes every better educated Italian knows. As the complex tapestry of Italian artistic beauty is intimately linked to the less artistic, but certainly very convincing, exploits of young girls in very powerful alcoves, every better educated Italian has a rather well grounded knowledge – and the simple folks have a popular, “common wisdom” knowledge – of the, how shall I say, earthly nature of many among the Successors of Peter. It is, in fact, impossible to be a lover of the arts in Italy without being continually confronted with this simple reality. Nor do you have to think that the Renaissance is the only period. It is merely the artistically most spectacular one.

The office has always been sacred. The men holding it, very often, not so much.

Monument to Giuseppe Gioachino Belli, Viale Trastevere, Rome.

It is, therefore, for us Italians, always the source of a certain amusement when we see foreigners – and particularly half-Puritan Anglo-Saxons – dealing with the Popes as if they were delicate crystal vases, who could break under the strain of a mild, or less mild, criticism; carrying the papacy with them, of causing loss of faith in Anglo-Saxon papolaters faithful. 

This vision of the Papacy is, certainly, a Puritanical one. Popes were never Puritans. Not even in our own days. The great poet Giuseppe Gioachino Belli, a writer of sonnets in Roman dialect of stunning beauty, was a high-ranking functionary in the Papal administration, and a personal acquaintance of the Pope, whose sonnets he read for him without any qualms. And I am sorry you cannot appreciate the genius of this great poet; but no listener, and no Pope, could overhear the coarse working-class expressions,  the cuss words, the amusing eroticism, and the outright “can’t breathe anymore”-fun the still extremely refined verses of the man could – and still can – give. I have only ever read three authors literally taking my breath away, and leaving me frantically trying to breath out of sheer exhilaration: P.G. Wodehouse, Ludovico Ariosto, and Giuseppe Gioachino Belli.  

I wonder if the Anglo-Saxon “you can’t criticise the Pope”-troops think he is a rare animal in a crystal cage. Whether they think Popes never read Ariosto – or Boccaccio, come to that -; whether they walk on a carpet of sanctity just one inch below Automatic Permanent Infallibility, and can’t ever be criticised; oh no, they can’t. “If a Pope can be criticised, what will be of my faith? My faith rests on the Pope, you see. If he falls, everything must crumble!”.

Poppycock.

The up to very recently most Catholic country on the planet, Italy, was also the one which knew best all the weakness of the men who had the office of Pope. Some of them, certainly, were very saintly men; many of them, certainly, not; many others, no doubt, were outright bastards.

Every Italian knows this if he knows arts, or history. Actually, he knows at some level even if he doesn’t.

I don’t think we Southern Europeans should, or will, be said by Puritanism-plagued Anglo-Saxons  how to deal with our Popes.

As far as I’m concerned, Francis can read all the Belli he wants. No problem with that. But when he begins to make a clown of himself, well: Italians will notice, and they will not be very shy in saying it.

The headline “Questo Papa non ci piace” (“we do not like this Pope”) came from Italy, and from very pious Catholics to boot. On a national newspaper. In the middle of Francis-mania.

If you have followed me up to this line, perhaps now you can better understand why.

As for myself, I may write in English, but I will not be Anglicised.

This is not a “tea and scones” blog.

Mundabor