Samantha Morris's new book on Cesare Borgia

Today, I am very happy to host the first of two blog tours from Made Global. Today, we have a guest post from Samantha Morris, who has written on Cesare Borgia, the notorious yet fascinating Renaissance statesman, as part of Made Global's In a Nutshell series. Allegedly the inspiration for Machiavelli's The Prince, Borgia's achievements, fame and private life continue to attract interest, five centuries after his death. In his own lifetime, he was accused of corruption, incest, and murder. Morris's book discusses the truth behind his many legends. For our blog, Samantha focuses on one of the accusations - that Cesare was a murderer. 

There's also a giveaway for a reader, with a chance to win a copy of Samantha's new book, after her guest article.

About the Author

Samantha Morris studied archaeology at the University of Winchester where her interest in the history of the Italian Renaissance began. Since graduating University, her interest in the Borgia family has grown to such an extent that she is always looking for new information on the subject as well as fighting against the age-old rumours that haunt them. Samantha describes herself as an accountant by day, historian and author by night.

Her first published book, Cesare Borgia in a Nutshell, is a brief biography which aims to dispel the myths surrounding a key member of the Borgia family. She runs the popular Borgia website https://theborgiabull.com/ and would love to see you on her site.

The Murder of Alfonso D’Aragona – was Cesare Borgia responsible?

From the moment that Lucrezia Borgia's marriage to Giovanni Sforza was annulled, it became obvious to all that she was little more than a pawn on her father and brother's chess board. The young and incredibly beautiful Borgia woman would once more be used as a weapon in her family's political gains, being pushed into a marriage with Alfonso D'Aragona, Duke of Bisceglie. Why? The Borgias decided they wanted the rulers of Naples on their side. Yet their political games were as changeable as the wind and they soon decided that they would rather be allied with the French, even going so far as to marry Cesare off into the French nobility.

It soon became clear that the Borgia's allying themselves with Naples wasn't the right political move to make – and Lucrezia had fallen head over heels in love with Alfonso. Cesare had, after all, married the French Charlotte D'Albret in 1499 and had struck up an alliance with the French King, whilst Alfonso was trying desperately to keep the last vestiges of the alliance with Spain alive. He would hole himself up with his wife, his sister and their friends which led to huge amounts of friction between Alfonso, Alexander VI and Cesare. There is a story from the time which sums up just how divided the family was – a Burgundian had challenged a Frenchman to a duel, and Cesare tried to bribe the Burgundian to lose the duel. Whispers abounded about the city that Cesare would rather lose 20,000 ducats than see a Frenchman lose. Yet despite his obvious dislike of his brother in law, Cesare made it his business whilst in public to act as if their relationship was perfect. To outsiders, it truly looked as if the two young men were perfect friends.

It was only after Alexander VI was involved in an accident that Cesare realised he had to strike against the Aragonese who had become a part of his family. During a particularly violent storm a chimney collapsed upon the roof of the Vatican, causing the ceiling of the Audience Chamber where Pope Alexander VI was holding an audience to cave in. A beam fell upon the canopy that covered the Pope's chair, miraculously saving him from being completely buried by the falling rubble, although three people died when the ceiling caved in. Alexander was pulled from beneath a mess of plaster, not seriously hurt at all and only suffering minor cuts to his face and head. This accident made Cesare realise that his father could potentially lose his life at any time, and he had to be prepared. More so, he needed to make sure that he and his family were surrounded by allies he could trust – in his mind, that meant Alfonso D'Aragona had to go, and he had to go quickly. After all, if Alfonso stuck around he could use his links to both Aragon and Spain to cause an uprising. That was something that Cesare Borgia could not handle.

On 15th July 1500, Alfonso D'Aragona was crossing St Peter's piazza on his way home for the evening when he was set upon by a group of armed men. Johannes Burchard, the Papal Master of Ceremonies, recorded the incident in his diary and stated that Alfonso was wounded in the head, right arm and leg. Badly wounded, Alfonso was taken to the Torre Borgia where he was tended to by his wife in an effort to keep him from dying from his injuries. Within just twenty four hours of the attack, there was just one name being spoken as to who had attacked the young duke. Cesare Borgia. Other people saw parallels between the attack on Alfonso and the attack on Juan Borgia, Duke of Gandia, in 1497 and thus whispered that the Orsini must have been involved in some way. It was certainly a likely possibility given that Alfonso was on good terms with the Colonna family, and that the Orsini's had patched up their differences with Cesare. However, Cesare, when he learned of the attack on his brother in law, is said to have stated wholeheartedly:

"I did not wound the Duke, but if I had, it would have been no more than he deserved"

Had Cesare been involved in the attack on Alfonso, at this stage at least, it surely would have been executed with much more fluidity. Borgia was, after all, one of the greatest military minds in Italy and had taken the Romagna with little issue. That, and had he ordered the attack, those who carried it out would have made sure his orders were followed. Whilst it is possible that Cesare could have involved the Orsini and had them attack Alfonso, it seems more likely that the attack had nothing to do with events that were soon to take place in the Vatican. Events that there is no doubt Cesare Borgia had a hand in.

Tragedy struck for Alfonso D'Aragona, Duke of Bisceglie, less than one month later. He had been lovingly tended to by his wife Lucrezia and his sister Sancia – Lucrezia had even taken to preparing her husband's food herself, out of fear of him being poisoned. The next sequence of events invokes images of a highly organised attack – on 18th July 1500, Michelotto de Corella and an escort of armed men burst into the chambers and seized by force the envoy of Naples who was in the room, talking with the healing man and his family. When both Lucrezia and Sancia questioned Corella on what was going on. Corella excused himself by simply stating that he was "obeying the will of others". He then stated that if they wished to obtain the release of those that he had arrested then they could go and speak to the Pope. The two women, of course, went straight to the Pope, leaving Alfonso alone in the room with Corella. When they returned, Lucrezia and Sancia found guards stationed outside the room who refused to let them inside, telling them that Alfonso was dead. He had been strangled by the hands of Michelotto, Cesare Borgia's right-hand man, and the story that had been fed to the women was completely untrue. It was simply just a ruse so that he could kill Alfonso.

No one doubted who was behind the murder. Although Michelotto had been the one to physically end Alfonso's life, it was completely obvious that Cesare had given the order. But why had he given the order to have his brother in law murdered? Was it purely political and a way to show that he stood with France? It's unlikely – Cesare had absolutely no need to show such a thing. But his acts of violence were always calculated – he would not have ordered Alfonso's death if he had nothing to gain by it. And he did have something to gain – King Louis of France had already promised him troops and support for his taking of the Romagna, in return for helping Louis attack Naples. But there was an official reason given for the murder, and for Cesare's part in it. Of course, they would publicise it as Cesare not being the one in the wrong. It was, in a statement given by Alexander VI to visiting diplomats, an action of self-defence after Alfonso tried to shoot Cesare with a crossbow. The likelihood of this being true is incredibly slim and it seems more like a PR release in an effort to sully Alfonso's name. It was more than likely a murder fuelled by personal vendetta – Cesare was often known to slip into jealous rages especially when it came to his sister, and along with her pro-Aragonese sympathies that came with marrying into the Aragonese royal family, the love she felt for her husband may well have played a part in the murder.

Lucrezia fell into a deep grief for her murdered husband, and on 4th September 1500 was sent to her castle at Nepi by her father, who had grown tired of her crying and wailing. But she wasn't allowed to mourn for long – she was too important a political tool for Alexander VI and Cesare and, as such, soon received suitors for her hand in marriage. And by the November, the Borgia's had approached the D'Este family of Ferrara as an option. When she married Alfonso D'Este in 1502, just two years after her second husband's murder, it would be her final marriage. And one that was not beset by murder at the hands of her brother.

To win a copy of Samantha Morris's new book, answer the following question in our comment section, leaving your e-mail address. The responses will not be published and the winner will be announced, after a random selection, next Thursday.

Q: What was the name of the Northern Irish actor who played Cesare Borgia in the TV series Borgia? 

You can also find out more about Samantha's book by following the rest of her blog tour.

"A gift of the Grace of God": Reflections on Mozart's Requiem

The Introit to Mozart's Requiem Mass is perhaps my single favourite piece of music and so I was pleased to hear the current Pope, Benedict XVI, praise it so highly.

Despite being routinely present as either an enthusiastic Freemason or an equally enthusiastic agnostic, there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that Mozart did not remain a sincere Catholic for all of his conscious life. In one of his final letters, he wrote that his faith had given him the ability to no longer fear death - "And I thank my God for having given me the good fortune of having the opportunity of recognizing in it the key to our happiness. I never lie down without thinking that perhaps the next day I might not be. And yet anyone who knows me will not be able to say that in their company I am sad or in a bad mood."

Via Tea at Trianon comes the current Pope's reflections on Mozart's Requiem, to quote: -

"Everything is in perfect harmony in Mozart, every note, every musical phrase is as it is and could not be otherwise; even those opposed are reconciled; it is called "mozart’sche Heiterkeit" (Mozart's serenity), which envelops everything, every moment. It is a gift of the Grace of God, but it is also the fruit of Mozart's lively faith that, especially in sacred music, is able to reflect the luminous response of divine love, which gives hope, even when human life is lacerated by suffering and death..."

"The Friend of True Piety": The Life of Matilda of Flanders, Queen of England

This is the first in a new series chartering the lives of the Queens of England.

“She was even more distinguished for the purity of her mind and manners than for her illustrious lineage… She united beauty with gentle breeding and all the graces of Christian holiness.”
- The Anglo-Norman chronicler, Orderic Vitalis (1075 – 1142)

“The story of English queenship begins with a French princess. In the centuries after the collapse of Roman imperialism, Europe experienced a perpetually fluctuating regathering of territorial power. Put simply, such power was achieved through violence, but the role of kings was increasingly delineated and formalised by religious liturgy. While their status had yet to become institutional, much less constitutional, a similar process began to arise in the case of queens… Consecration, coronation. These are the processes which set a queen apart from other women in a mystery she shared only with her husband… An unruly twinge of reverence for such beliefs might now be dismissed as embarrassing sentimentality, but there existed no sense of the irrationality of such a contention for the period in question. Just as the Church was omnipresent for every individual, from peasant to magnate, so the idea of difference, of selection by God, coloured the concept of the medieval monarch. Though there is ample, touching, funny evidence of the humanity of medieval queens, it is essential to remember that they were isolated as well as elevated by consecration. They were unique, they were sacred, they were magical.”
- Lisa Hilton, Queens Consort: England’s Medieval Queens (2008)

Matilda of Flanders was born in a violent age and married to a violent man. She was the mother of violent sons and first lady of two nations which were controlled and subjugated by violence. Indeed, her marriage itself – much like her later elevation to the position of queen – may very well have begun in violence of the most intimate kind. Hearing that her father planned to marry her to Duke William of Normandy, who was the illegitimate son of an upstart duke and his working-class concubine, the impeccably royal Matilda snobbishly refused, telling anyone who would listen that she would rather die than marry someone as uncouth and ill-bred as William. The chronicler, Orderic Vitalis, reports that Matilda was not alone in feeling this way, since because of his birth out of wedlock William was considered “a bastard, despised by the native nobility.” In the more charming phrase of the modern historian, Lisa Hilton, the ancestry of the House of Normandy was certainly “good for a giggle.” William, however, evidently didn’t see the humour and he was determined to have the well-connected Matilda for his wife. The Chronicle of Tours decorously reports that he barged into her bedroom and beat her until she agreed to marry him. Overcome by this display of masculinity, Matilda fainted and agreed. A much more believable account, however, is that William raped her – either in her bedroom or one afternoon when she was out riding. With her all-important virginity now snatched from her, it was impossible for Matilda to marry anyone else in her social class and, as a result, she had to marry William.

As with most of her contemporaries, Matilda of Flanders’ exact date of birth is unknown. It was probably in 1032 or 1033, not long after the consummation of her parents’ marriage. She was the daughter of Baldwin V, Count of Flanders and his wife, Adèle, the King of France’s youngest daughter. As a result, the baby’s grandparents included King Robert the Pious of France and his queen, Constance of Arles. Like her father, Adèle was an exceptionally religious woman, who would later be nicknamed “Adèle the Holy” and she imparted this love of Christianity to her only daughter, Matilda, along with an excellent education, which she personally oversaw. As with most fathers of the age, it is likely that Count Baldwin was more interested in his sons than in his daughter – certainly, given the way he acted over her marriage, Matilda’s feelings did not seem to particularly factor into his equations in any meaningful way. In this case, Baldwin was lucky, for Adèle had fulfilled the primary function of a royal bride in providing her husband with four sons – Baldwin, Robert, Henri and Richard. Henri died as a baby, but the others flourished. Perhaps, however, it is unfair to be too harsh on Matilda’s father, who spent most of his life attempting to increase the wealth and security of his country, whilst having to face constant opposition from the local nobility, who were disapprovingly described as figures of “atrocious cruelty” and selfishness by religious scribes at the time. Still, by the time Matilda reached her teenage years, Baldwin’s efforts on Flanders’ behalf were clearly paying dividend. The foundations had been laid for a strong infrastructure and trading network, which would continue to grow throughout the Middle Ages until Flanders had become the economic power-house of Europe in the 15th century.

Thanks to her parents’ ancestry, Matilda was one of the more well-connected of the European princesses born in the early 11th century. In her veins, ran the blood of the famous Christian emperor, Charlemagne (d. 814), the most venerated Christian monarch apart from Constantine the Great, in an era which was obsessed with them. She was also descended from King Alfred the Great (849 – 899), the famed, brilliant and pious King of Wessex, whose reputation was already becoming legendary in his native England. Matilda was also a very good-looking young woman, described by her contemporary William of Jumièges as “a very beautiful and noble girl of royal stock”. There is a story, repeated in the Guinness Book of World Records, that Matilda was to become the shortest of English queens, but the idea that she only ever reached 4’ 2” in height is based on an inaccurate measurement of her bones, undertaken in 1819, when the restored French monarchy was attempting to undo some of the damage done on the royal tombs by the Revolution. A more scientific exhumation of Matilda’s body in 1959 established that, in fact, she grew to 5’ in height by the time she reached maturity.

Maturity for Matilda of Flanders came in a fairly brutal form, as has been discussed, at best through a coerced marriage, at worse (and most probably) through rape. As she approached her sixteenth or seventeenth birthday, her father began to seriously consider a match between his only daughter and William, the 20-something Duke of Normandy. Like Flanders, Normandy was technically an independent nation, although feudal overlordship for Normandy was held by the King of France. Flanders, which roughly equates to modern-day north Belgium, was heavily under the influence of the Holy Roman Empire (roughly equating with modern-day Germany and Bohemia), but Baldwin was anxious to remove his province from the Empire's orbit. An alliance with Normandy would help pull Flanders more closely under the protection of France, a process started a generation earlier by Baldwin’s own marriage to Adèle. Normandy, moreover, had considerable diplomatic influence in England, a wealthy country which needed to be neutralised since the English King had promised to help the Emperor in subjugating Flanders if it made any further attempt to extricate itself from the Holy Roman Empire’s sphere of influence.

Having seen Baldwin marry Adèle for much the same diplomatic reasons in the time of his late father, the current Emperor, Heinrich III, was understandably nonplussed at the idea of their daughter Matilda marrying William and thus further helping in the liberation of Flanders from its position as a vassal-state of the Empire. Luckily for the Emperor, he had been instrumental in securing the election of the current Pope, Leo IX, who, despite doing many commendable things during his time as Pontiff, was also a political realist who was prepared to appease and assist his imperial backer when necessary. As Baldwin and William hashed out the details of the marriage proposal, an edict came from Rome forbidding it; William and Matilda were fifth cousins, which technically placed them within the grounds of forbidden affinity, and, in this case, unlike in so many others, the Holy Father unhelpfully refused to dispense the impediments.

Early Christian icons uncovered

Firstly, a word of condolence to the Northern Irish blogger, "Lord Belmont in Northern Ireland," whose posts on the history of the Protestant Ascendancy in Ulster and their surviving (or vanished) homes are both invaluable and fascinating. He sadly lost his mother, whom he affectionately nicknamed "the Dowager," when she passed away peacefully at 10 p.m. on Saturday, June 19th. Sincere condolences, thoughts and prayers to him and his family at this sad time.

Secondly, and on an unrelated note, excavations in Rome have uncovered some of the earliest surviving Christian icons of Saint Peter, Saint John the Evangelist and Saint Andrew (above; the patron saint of Scotland), as well as the evangelical Saint Paul, author of much of the latter-half of the New Testament. They were discovered in Santa Tecla catacombs beneath the Eternal City.

MSNBC has more on the story, including accounts of how lasers were used to help uncover these artifacts, the happy partnership between religion and science which helped unearth them and a little on their historical significance.