Catherine de Medici

Renaissance Queen of France

Leonie Frieda

• Publisher: Harper Perennial
• Year: 2022
• ISBN:
  9780063235915
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Historical Biographies
• Index: History

The inspiration for the STARZ original series, The Serpent Queen, streaming now!

"A beautifully written portrait of a ruthless, subtle and fearless woman fighting for survival and power in a world of gangsterish brutality, routine assassination and religious mania.... Frieda has brought a largely forgotten heroine-villainess and a whole sumptuously vicious era back to life.... This is The Godfather meets Elizabeth." —Simon Sebag Montefiore, author of Stalin: The Court of the Red Tsar

Poisoner, besotted mother, despot, necromancer, engineer of a massacre: the dark legend of Catherine de Medici is centuries old. In this critically hailed biography, Leonie Frieda reclaims the story of this unjustly maligned queen of France to reveal a skilled ruler battling extraordinary political and personal odds.

Based on comprehensive research including thousands of Catherine's own letters, Frieda unfurls Catherine's story from her troubled childhood in Florence to her tumultuous marriage to Henry II of France; her transformation of French culture to her reign as a queen who would use brutality to ensure her children's royal birthright. Brilliantly executed, this enthralling biography goes beyond myth to paint a very human portrait of this remarkable figure.

Part One

One

Orphan of Florence

She comes bearing the calamities of the Greeks

1519–33

Caterina Maria Romula de Medici was born at around eleven o’clock on the morning of Wednesday, 13 April 1519. Her father, Lorenzo II de Medici, Duke of Urbino, scion of the ruling House of Florence, had married her mother, Madeleine de la Tour d’Auvergne, the previous year. This royal-blooded French countess and great heiress made a brilliant catch for the Medici, who were considered by many in France to be merely nouveaux riches merchants. Since their magnificent wedding, hosted by the bride’s kinsman, King Francis I of France, and the couple’s glorious return to Florence, there had been little cause for celebration. Madeleine’s pregnancy, which had been announced in June, progressed well but the young duke, whose health had been poor for some time, had fallen ill in the autumn of 1518. Intermittent high fevers and fears over his condition led to him leaving Florence where the newlyweds had been living in princely state. The duke, probably suffering from syphilis and possibly tuberculosis, moved to the cleaner air of the surrounding countryside to await the birth of his child. By the time he returned to the city for his wife’s confinement, he was dying.*

Immediately after her birth, attendants carried the baby to her bedridden father for inspection. The news that her mother had by now also become very ill was kept from the duke for fear of hastening his decline. The fact that she had borne him a daughter cannot have cheered him much since there would clearly be no further issue from this illustrious couple. In an attempt to brighten the gloomy reality of the baby’s sex, a contemporary chronicler applied a sycophantic gloss to the ducal disappointment: he declared that the couple ‘have both been as pleased as if it had been a boy’.¹ Due to the illness of both parents, the child’s hurriedly organised baptism took place on Saturday, 16 April at the family church of San Lorenzo. With four senior clerics and two noble relations in attendance, the baby received the names Caterina, a Medici family name, Maria, since it was the day of the Holy Virgin, and Romula, after the founder of Fiesole – although I shall henceforth refer to her throughout as Catherine. On 28 April the duchess breathed her last followed by the duke only six days later on 4 May. The entombment of the couple in the splendid family vault at the church where their baby had so recently been baptised provided a dismal conclusion to their brief marriage.

On the day the duke died his friend the poet Ariosto had arrived to condole with him over the death of the duchess. When he discovered that only an orphan child remained of the marriage that had promised a revival of the Medici fortunes he wrote a short ode: ‘Verdeggia un solo ramo’, dedicating it to the last hope of this pre-eminent merchant dynasty:

A single branch, buds and lo,

I am distraught with hope and fear,

Whether winter will let it blow,

Or blight it on the growing bier.

Catherine owed her existence to the obsessive Italian territorial ambitions of Francis I of France. Between the fall of the western Roman Empire and its late-nineteenth-century unification, Italy was a patchwork of principalities, duchies, and city-states. Most of these showed a precocious vigour in the arts, technology and trade, making them tempting acquisitions for outsiders. Unlike Florence, they were usually ruled by families descended from famous warriors (known as condottieri); names like the Sforza of Milan and the Gonzaga of Mantua evoke the mercenary soldiers who carved their fortunes from battle. While a small number of states such as Venice, Genoa and Florence were – for a time at least – independent, by the mid-sixteenth century the majority were ruled either directly or indirectly by Spain. From 1490 until 1559, when Spanish supremacy was established, Italy became the bloody arena where the two Continental superpowers played out their bitter struggle to dominate Europe.

Francis I, descended through his great-grandmother from the Visconti of Milan, required a sturdy ally in the peninsula to press his claim for the duchy. Accordingly, he forged an alliance with Pope Leo X, Giovanni de Medici. Unlike popes today, His Holiness was not only Christ’s representative on earth, but he also exercised the temporal powers of a monarch as ruler of the Papal States, most of which were in central Italy. The papal tiara was a triple crown that placed the popes above kings and emperors; not only did the papacy hold claim to a huge amount of property throughout the Catholic world (in pre-Reformation England one fifth of the land was held by Rome) but the pope also had the right to legal jurisdiction in Catholic countries and many types of legal cases were referred to the Ecclesiastical Court. To strengthen his agreement with the Medici Pope, Francis decided to arrange the marriage of an orphaned Bourbon heiress, Madeleine de la Tour d’Auvergne, to Leo’s nephew, Lorenzo de Medici. At Leo’s instigation Lorenzo had recently snatched the duchy of Urbino from the della Rovere family.* For this enterprise the Pope had provided prodigious financial support with monies gained from the creation of thirty new cardinals. In private, Francis felt snobbishly sceptical about Lorenzo’s ability to keep the newly acquired fief of Urbino, commenting that he was after all ‘only a tradesman’.

It is true that by early-modern standards the Medici of Florence could not claim any blue-blooded descent, but wise husbandry and steady expansion of the family banking business by the founder Giovanni di Bicci de Medici (1360–1429) had ensured that they were the most prosperous and powerful family in the important city-state of Florence. The Medici originally came from the Mugello, ten miles north of Florence. Although their name and the red balls or palle – varying in number from twelve to six – on a field of gold on their emblem suggested medicine, and they appropriated the martyred physicians Sts Cosmas and Damian as their patron saints, they had always been in commerce, specialising in wool, silk, precious metals, spices and banking.* They rose to become papal bankers and with the economic opportunities after the decimation of the Black Death in 1348–49 there was much demand for their services. Like his father Giovanni, Cosimo de Medici (1389–1464) was a quiet, unassuming man who did not favour the grandiose way of life of his later descendants, though he did build the most impressive palace yet seen in the city – the Palazzo Medici. Today, although much changed since Cosimo’s time, one can still see the formidable defensive walls that once protected Catherine as a young child from a rebellious mob; the solid outer walls reflect the need for protection against the political uncertainties of that age and hide the building’s exquisite interiors.

Cosimo was learned and philanthropic, and the most significant private patron of the arts of his day, employing Michelozzo, Donatello, Brunelleschi, Paolo Uccello, Filippo Lippi and other leading figures of the early Renaissance. Underlining their importance by patronising the arts, which, from the thirteenth century onwards, became the most visible symbol of Italian wealth and dynamism, the Medici played an indispensable role in the process which produced the Italian Renaissance.

Cosimo took the family bank to new heights, opening branches all over Europe, including ones in London, Geneva and Lyons. After a brief period of banishment by rival Florentine factions, who tried but failed to take control of the executive council of the Florentine Republic, the Signoria, Cosimo returned at the people’s invitation to become Gonfaloniere (head of the Signoria), a citizen of Florence but in effect the uncrowned ruler of the city-state. He understood the need, in order for commerce to flourish, for political harmony both internally and externally, and used his huge resources to influence matters in favour of his family and Florence. A benevolent dictator with a quiet manner, Cosimo assumed the air of a private citizen but in fact nearly all major decisions were made by him or with his consent. Pope Pius II described him as ‘the arbiter of peace and war and the moderator of the laws, not so much a private citizen as the lord of the country . . . he it is who gives commands to the magistrates’.² Cosimo was looked upon as a father by many of the Florentines who, after his death, awarded him the affectionate title ‘Pater Patriae’. One contemporary called him ‘King in everything but name.’

Cosimo’s grandson Lorenzo (1449–92), known as ‘The Magnificent’ (the title was given to persons of note who were not of princely blood), was to prove himself truly worthy of the sobriquet. He is perhaps the most famous of the Medici, although it was paradoxically under his charge that the family’s commercial fortunes began to decline. He was a poor banker but a superb scholar, poet and collector. History recalls Lorenzo as the extraordinary patron of such great artists as Botticelli, Perugino, Filippino Lippi, the Ghirlandaios and Verrocchio. His patronage also touched future masters such as Leonardo da Vinci. In his garden at the Palazzo Medici, Lorenzo set up a workshop for sculptors, and it was there that Michelangelo first came to the attention of buyers and artists alike. Lorenzo was a gifted diplomat, a wise politician devoted to the welfare of Florence and above all zealous in his promotion of the Medici family and its supporters. When Pope Innocent VIII heard of Lorenzo’s death he is said to have cried out, ‘The peace of Italy is at an end!’

Lorenzo had three sons; it is said that he called one good, one wise and one a fool. Unfortunately it was the ‘fool’, Piero the Fatuous (1472– 1503), who was the eldest. Ill suited to rule, Piero found himself and his family quickly ejected from the republic and he later died in exile. His brother Giuliano – ‘the good’ – worked with Giovanni – ‘the wise’ – who had become a cardinal at thirteen thanks to his father’s intervention, for the only thing that mattered – their eventual return to Florence. They had to plot in penury for they were virtually bankrupt, their fortune taken by usurpers and their properties confiscated by the republic. Giovanni had a good head for intrigue but required patience; it was to be a long wait before events turned in the Medici favour again. Perhaps the family motto, Le Temps Revient (Our time will return), gave them courage. It was certainly the moral by which Catherine was later to live her life.

In 1512 a league of small Italian states managed temporarily to expel the French from Italy. Unwisely the Gonfaloniere, Piero Soderini, an unremarkable but honest man, had denied the league Florentine support. The league turned upon Florence in revenge for not joining them against the French and Soderini fled with his government. The Medici seized the moment and manoeuvred to regain their lost citizenship as a new regime took power in the Arno city.

Soderini was not alone in exile following the return of the Medici. Among the friends and advisers stripped of office in the political purge was a minor official of the Second Chancery, Niccolò Machiavelli. Among other things, Machiavelli travelled on diplomatic missions to leading figures such as the Holy Roman Emperor and Cesare Borgia; he also created a Florentine militia for Soderini and was charged with matters relating to the defence of the republic. But in 1513, languishing in exile and eager to return to power, Machiavelli wrote The Prince, dedicating it to Catherine’s father* in an effort to ingratiate himself with the family. This, Machiavelli’s most celebrated work, is a brilliant study on statecraft. The author radically discarded cherished and traditionally held tenets of the virtues that defined a good ruler; instead he boldly and emphatically embraced Realpolitik and argued that to be an effective ‘Prince’ all means were justifiable for the good of the state. The pragmatism and the ability, when necessary, to step outside normal bounds of morality were not based on Christian or Classical ideals. The goodwill of the people was a necessity, but a ruler must be prepared to earn their respect by using exemplary punishment, or eliminating those who endangered the nation’s health. It took some time for the work to surface and make an impact outside Florence but the ‘little book’ was to bedevil Catherine during the wars of religion and long afterwards as this work, advocating a steely adherence to practical solutions for the good of the state, was quoted (often purposely out of context) by her enemies. They called it Catherine’s bible, and it eventually acquired the reputation as a manual for cruel autocrats while the name Machiavelli became synonymous with scheming, evil and tyranny.

On 1 September 1512, after eighteen years of exile, Lorenzo the Magnificent’s two surviving sons, Giovanni and Giuliano, made their triumphant return to Florence. With them came Lorenzo’s grandson and eventual heir, also called Lorenzo. Unfortunately he had none of the qualities of his grandfather. Spoiled by his doting mother, Alfonsina, he grew into an arrogant, selfish and lazy young man. This pair were not only grasping, but once the Medici returned to power in Florence, the young Lorenzo lived extravagantly and with such strutting grandiosity that he risked losing the affection people still held for his family.

Almost immediately after the joyful reinstatement of the Medici in Florence, Julius II died and Giovanni was elected Pope Leo X. He was thirty-seven years of age, overweight, troubled by a stomach ulcer and an agonising anal fistula. His formal entry on horseback into the Vatican was thus not quite the unalloyed pleasure it might have been. Although sitting side-saddle to avoid some of the discomfort, he suffered terribly from the heat and the pain of riding in his condition. Those who stood nearby suffered almost as much from the overpowering and noxious smell emanating from his ulcerous stomach and the infected fistula on his enormous backside.³ Nevertheless Leo’s joy was evident to all and the crowd responded with an enthusiastic welcome. While the words he is supposed to have uttered upon his election – ‘Now God has given us the papacy. Let us enjoy it!’ – are almost certainly apocryphal, enjoy it he did. The glorious painting by Raphael of Leo seated flanked by two cardinals shows us a Renaissance voluptuary. His face is plump, his body plumper, the large pendulous cheeks, bulbous eyes and sensuous lips were strong family traits; unfortunately, some of these were later to be inherited by his great-niece Catherine. Though nepotistic, Leo was far less prey to some of his predecessors’ vices, and this enlightened man brought the fruits of his learning to the papacy. He lived in splendour with a huge household; naturally generous, after his years of exile and poverty he now possessed the means to patronise the arts, commission building projects and above all to indulge himself and others. He gave lavish and frequent banquets at which he entertained his guests with novelties, such as tiny birds flying out of pies. He loved comedies and practical jokes.

Leo’s most serious flaw as Pope was his failure to grasp the critical need for reform of the Church. While this need had existed for some time, it had become acute since the rise of an obscure German monk named Martin Luther. Luther had spoken out against the sale of indulgences, appealing to the Church to rid itself of corruption and criticising the worldliness of the papal court. He believed in ‘sola fide’ (faith alone) and that man could reach God without the intervention of cleric or sacrament’. Leo called the controversy a monkish squabble’, not realising that the touchpaper had been lit for a conflagration that would one day split the Church, tear nations apart and shake the thrones of his great-niece Catherine and her sons.

As head of the family and due to his removal to Rome, Leo needed to select a successor to protect the family’s position in Florence. It was decided that Giuliano the good’ (whom Leo thought far too soft) should help the new Pope in Rome and that their nephew Lorenzo could be left in charge of Florentine affairs, though he had no patience for them and was often in Rome with his uncle, leaving Florentines to feel like a subject state. This was hardly in the tradition of even the nominal Florentine republic but with a Medici wearing the papal tiara, Leo wisely made it seem that there would be plenty of advantages for the people. In 1515 Giuliano travelled as Leo’s emissary to France to congratulate Francis I on his accession to the throne. The King was in a hurry to conquer Milan and take Naples, of which the Pope was suzerain. The two met later the same year at the papal town of Bologna where they signed an agreement that restored relations between the French Church and the papacy.

To flatter Leo, the King offered Giuliano the dukedom of Nemours in France and his Aunt Philiberta of Savoy’s hand in marriage. In exchange Francis was to have the Italian states of Parma and Piacenza, and the support of the Pontiff regarding his ambitions for Milan and Naples. The marital alliance between the ruling House of France and the merchant Medici was as thrilling to the latter as it was to prove short-lived. Giuliano, Duke of Nemours, died within a year of his marriage, leaving no legitimate heir but only a bastard son named Ippolito. Now all Leo’s hopes rested with his nephew Lorenzo.

Leo and Francis both wished to continue their alliance despite Giuliano’s death, so Lorenzo, by then the Duke of Urbino, became His Holiness’s emissary representing the pope at the christening of Francis’s first-born son the Dauphin. Leo had been asked to stand godfather to the baby. Some time before the christening, Francis had written to Lorenzo to congratulate him on becoming Duke of Urbino, adding, I intend to help you with all my power. I also wish to marry you off to some beautiful and good lady of noble birth and of my kind, so that the love which I bear you may grow and be strengthened.’⁴ Once the bride, Madeleine de la Tour d’Auvergne, had been selected, it was decided that the marriage should take place soon after the baptism of the Dauphin. The other important matter was the bride’s enormous inheritance. Both her mother, Jeanne de Bourbon-Vendôme, a royal princess, and her father, Jean III de la Tour, were dead and she shared their extensive properties in Auvergne, Clermont, Berry, Castres and Louraguais with her sister, the wife of the Scottish Duke of Albany. The Medici needed cash to re-establish themselves firmly in control of Florence, and Madeleine’s double dowry of blue blood and gold was gleefully anticipated by the older generation. The good times were back.

Lorenzo’s appearance in France was so sumptuous, his crimson-clad train so large, ...