It appeared to the Pope a promising augury for his intended policies when on the first day of 1515 Louis XII died, exhausted by the demands and antics of his energetic young English bride, Princess Mary, daughter of Henry VII. Louis was succeeded by Francis I, a youth whom Leo had high hopes of bringing under his influence, particularly after a marriage was arranged between Francis’s aunt, Princess Philiberte of Savoy, a sister of the widowed Duchess of Orleans, and the Pope’s charming brother Giuliano.
The new French King, however, proved to be a far less pliable young man than the Pope had hoped. Tall, handsome and restless, Francis I was both intelligent and attractive, with a fixed determination to regain for France that influence in Italy which she had held for so short a time in the days of Charles VIII. Deeply perturbed by reports of Francis’s independence and of his ambitions in Italy, the Pope consulted his advisers, who in turn sought the advice of others, including Machiavelli. It was Machiavelli’s well-reasoned opinion that they should throw in their lot with the French; but the Pope hesitated to do so, and ultimately decided to ally himself with King Ferdinand of Spain, the Emperor and the Swiss.
Undeterred by this alliance, of which he professed himself contemptuous, King Francis crossed the Alps and marched down into Piedmont with an army of nearly 100,000 men. Hastily the allies assembled their forces, a motley collection of Spaniards under Cardona, Swiss mercenaries commanded by Matthew Schinner, the fierce Cardinal of Sion, and Florentines under the leadership of Lorenzo de’ Medici as Captain General and of Cardinal Giulio as Papal Legate. The Italians were not in the least anxious to fight; and after both Lorenzo and Giulio had entered into negotiations with Francis, his army brushed their troops aside and then defeated the Swiss with heavy loss of life at Marignano. Having disposed of his unworthy opponents, Francis despatched troops to occupy Milan and marched on to Bologna, where a conference was to be held with the Pope.
The Pope left for Bologna by way of Florence. Here his nephew, Lorenzo, had now consolidated the Medici power. A few months before, Lorenzo had paid a visit to Rome, leaving Florence in the hands of his uncles, Jacopo Salviati and Piero Ridolfi. In Rome he had been authorized to adopt the title of Captain General of the Florentine Republic which the Signoria had obediently bestowed upon him on his return. Thereafter he had become increasingly authoritarian, requiring councils to meet in the Medici Palace rather than in the public places of government, rejecting the advice of the more moderate and experienced citizens while surrounding himself with young dandies as subservient as courtiers.
A splendid reception for the Pope was prepared in Florence under the direction of Lorenzo and of Piero Ridolfi, who had been elected Gonfaloniere for the occasion. Two thousand men were put to work making decorations, obelisks, trophies and emblems, statues of classical gods and triumphal arches ornamented with classical quotations, at a total cost, so it was said, of 70,000 florins. Supervised by Jacopo Sansqvino, Baccio Bandinelli and Andrea del Sarto, churches were turned into workshops, and houses were demolished to open up fresh vistas. The Piazza Santa Trinita was overshadowed by a huge castle resting on twenty-two columns, and the Mercato Nuovo by a painted obelisk fifty feet high. The Cathedral was given a temporary facade which
made everybody marvel, with so many pictures and ornaments; and it was said that it was done as a model for the building of a permanent façade because it pleased everybody, so proud and lovely did it appear.
Indeed, such transformations were being effected in Florence that when the Pope arrived rather earlier than expected he was asked not to enter the city straight away but to wait for a few days at the Gianfigliazzi villa at Marignolle until the preparations had been completed.2 Never a man either to disappoint his admirers or to decline an invitation to play an honoured role in a pageant, Leo readily agreed to the suggestion and left for Marignolle to wait until the last triumphal arch had been erected, the final screen had been painted and decorated with allegorical figures, and the beautiful façade of wood and plaster, painted by Andrea del Sarto and designed by Jacopo Sansovino, had been placed against the Cathedral’s western front.
When all was ready, on St Andrew’s Day, 30 November 1515, the Pope, wearing a jewelled tiara and a dazzling cope, entered Florence through the Porta Romana accompanied by a huge train of attendants, men-at-arms and cardinals. At the sight of a bust of his father which had been erected on a screen by the church of San Felice and beneath which, through his spy-glass, he discerned the words, ‘This is my beloved Son’, the tears came to his eyes. He was also thinking, no doubt, of his sister Contessina who had recently died, a bereavement which gave her husband, the Gonfaloniere, an excuse to appear among the scarlet robes in a ‘black satin cloak lined with sable, not minding that in such an office and on such a day mourning should be suspended’. By the time he had proceeded down the Via Maggio, across the bridge of Santa Trinità and into the Piazza della Signoria, the Pope was smiling once more, raising his hands in benediction and nodding complacently as his attendants tossed silver coins towards the cheering crowds. Now and again he would halt the cavalcade to admire the decorations. In the Cathedral, where a raised platform had been erected in the nave so that the congregation could get a better view of him, he stood still in his white brocade rochet, crimson cape and skull cap, then turned from side to side before offering up his prayers.
The Pope’s reception in Bologna was in sad contrast to this glorious day in Florence. He proceeded through the streets in a silence broken only by an occasional shout in support of the recently expelled Bentivoglio, and waited at the Palazzo Pubblico for the arrival of the French King. When Francis arrived, very late, he curtly informed Giulio de’ Medici, who had been sent to meet him at the city gates, that he ‘cared not a jot for processions’ and wished to get down to the negotiations without delay. He greeted the Pope courteously enough, but it was soon plain that he had not come to bargain. He insisted on the surrender of the cities of Parma and Piacenza, which he claimed by right as conqueror of Milan. He also insisted that Reggio and Modena, which the Pope had recently acquired from the Emperor, should be handed back to France’s ally, Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara. Faced by the King’s uncompromising attitude, the Pope declined to abandon his known intention of ejecting Francesco Maria della Rovere from Urbino, and refused, for the moment, to lend any support to Francis’s plans for assuming power in Naples, protesting that this would be out of the question while King Ferdinand of Spain was still alive.
It was not in the Pope’s nature, though, to provoke a quarrel. Eventually he undertook to restore Reggio and Modena to the Duke of Ferrara, though without any intention of abiding by the agreement; and he indicated that he might change his mind – as indeed he did change his mind – about ultimately helping Francis in his claim to Naples. He graciously created the King’s tutor a cardinal, and expressed profound satisfaction when, in return, Francis created Giuliano de’ Medici Duke of Nemours. He even smiled agreeably when Francis made the astonishingly importunate request that the Pope should present to him the marble group of Laocoön which, recently discovered in Rome, was one of the most prized treasures of the papal collection.3
Outwardly complacent but, according to one of his companions, inwardly disgruntled by his unsatisfactory dealings with the French King, the Pope returned to Florence to find that the Arno was in flood, that the citizens were sullenly enduring a food shortage and that his brother was seriously ill with consumption at the Medici Palace. He had Giuliano moved to Fiesole, though there was little hope of his recovery there. He appeared ‘utterly shrunken and spent like an expiring candle’. The Pope visited him often, but their meetings were small comfort to Giuliano who, knowing of his brother’s intentions to oust Francesco Maria della Rovere from Urbino, begged him not to do so. Giuliano was fond of Della Rovere and his wife, Eleonora, who had always been kind to him during the days of his exile. The Pope brushed his pleas aside. ‘Do not bother yourself with politics, dear Giuliano,’ he would say to him. ‘You must concentrate on getting well.’