Littell's Living Age/Volume 124/Issue 1603/Popes of the Sixteenth Century

sixteenth century was prolific of popes. During this nineteenth we have had as yet but five: whereas Pius V., who wore the triple tiara in 1570, was already the eleventh: and six more succeeded him before the century's close. At that time Venice was an important power, and its diplomatists were busy in every court of Europe ; and some of the relazioni of those ambassadors, which still exist amid the archives of that city on the sea, contain noticeable sketches of about a dozen "Popes of the Period"—from Alexander VI. to Clement VIII. Interesting as historic studies, these sketches have considerable value for the students of contemporary politics, as showing that there is an unbroken continuity in what may be called the papal idea. The diplomatists of Venice were men of unusual capacity. In that aristocratic republic politics were the necessary business of the patricians, and an examination of the marvellous portraits of Titian confirms the idea that the men he had to portray possessed genius for diplomacy. Their thoughtful eyes show power of calm, yet indefatigable observation: their curved firm lips show subtlety and fluency. The mighty painter lived through two centuries, dying of the plague in his hundredth year,—so he had ample experience of the character of his contemporaries. The first sketch that Venetian diplomatists furnish is of Rome under Alexander VI., when the infamous Cæsar Borgia was master of the situation. The straightforward simplicity with which this unscrupulous assassin's conduct is described is curious:—"Every morning," writes the ambassador, "it is announced that during the night he has killed four or five nobles or bishops." This man had a genius for murder; he was the Napoleon of assassins. The pope is thus sketched by the ambassador Capelo:—"The pope is seventy, but grows younger every day; his cares and troubles never last more than a night: be is of a nature by no means serious, and thinks only of his own in terests; his sole ambition is the aggrandizement of his children. Ne d'altro cura." Pius III., Alexander's successor, reigned only twenty-six days. Julius II. was a soldier-pope. ... Of him tradition says that, when he had declared war against the French, he threw the pontifical keys into the Tiber, saying that, as Peter's keys were powerless, he should draw the sword of Paul. "This pope," wrote the Venetian ambassador, "would like to be lord and master of the world's game." He is not the only pope who has had such a desire, one way or another. When Michael Angelo was executing his statue, he proposed to put a book in the left hand. "No," said the pope, "give me a sword—I am no theologian." Possibly this also might be said of some of his successors. Next came the great Medicean pontiff, Leo X., in whose days the papacy culminated in munificence, but received a fatal blow. The key to his character is found in his remark to his brother Julian, when he was chosen pope: "Let us profit by the papacy, since God has given it us." Avarice appears to have been his reigning quality. ... He liked good eating, this Leo X., but seems to have thought it his duty to fast on the appointed days; he liked good drinking even better, and was wont to say that one glass of wine made him want another. "He had a very good figure, a large gross head, a beautiful hand; his habitual gesture was to keep his hand near his nose; he was an admirable talker; he promised enormously, but seldom kept his promises." He had an exquisite artistic taste, and the musicians of Rome had a gay time of it while he was pope. And who was his successor? Who came after this magnificent lover of the beautiful, this intensely æsthetic pontiff? It was Florence of Utrecht, a German, an austere and taciturn monk, who next appeared upon the scene to occupy the chair of the Borgias and Medicis for about a year! Adrian VI. was a cardinal scarcely known. He lived in Spain. The conclave were divided between the Cardinals Medici and Farnese, and suddenly some one proposed this unknown man—who was elected. Of such election had there come any good, it might have been styled divine inspiration: but it was simply an interregnum, followed by the return of the Medici. Adrian VI. was a solitary ascetic, who kept all rules of the Church, rose to prayers at all hours of the night, and astonished Rome by never eating a dinner that cost a ducat. And this after Leo the Magnificent! Clement VII., in whose time there were many troubles for Rome, succeeded this ascetic hierarch. Although a Medici, he had none of Leo's superb extravagance. He was cold and irresolute, slow and illiberal; he lived economically; it astonished Rome to be ruled by a Medici who never hunted, and who kept neither buffoons nor musicians. Rome loved him not.