New history books reviewed
JOANNE PAUL recommends a richly illustrated deep dive into the complex relationships of Renaissance Italy’s leading families, from charismatic dukes to evil uncles
On 12 August 1529 the Holy Roman Emperor (as well as Archduke of Austria, King of Spain and Lord of the Netherlands) Charles V, placed his booted feet on Italian soil for the first time in his almost 30 years. He had inherited the Kingdoms of Naples, Sicily and Sardinia as part of the Crown of Aragon at the tender age of 15, though it took him almost as many years to visit the Italian peninsula. His inheritance meant he could lay claim to the legendary corona del ferro – the Iron Crown – traditionally used in the coronations of kings of Italy. Over the centuries, however, Italy had fragmented into smaller independent city states, most of which were ruled by competing and inter-related families, simultaneously vying for primacy within Italy and independence from foreign forces, including Charles V and his imperial ambitions.
Theirs is the story detailed in Princes of the Renaissance, the latest book by author and historian Mary Hollingsworth. Like the historical figures Hollingsworth details, the topic is ambitious, requiring the mastery of some 200 years of history, a dozen cities across Italy, and countless charismatic dukes, princes, popes, princesses and regents. From Alfonso of Aragon and his conquest of Naples in the mid-15th century, through the Borgia and Medici ascendency, to the rivalry between France and the Holy Roman Empire for cultural and continental supremacy in the 16th century, Princes of the Renaissance seeks to balance stories of politics, power and patronage alongside family drama and rivalry.
Like any Renaissance work of art, this book is full of treasures to be uncovered.
Among some of the most glorious are the hundred or so images dotted throughout the book, of building facades, gardens, statues, frescos, paintings and portraits – evidence of the princely patronage and artistic flair inspired by the central figures of the book. In among all the dramatic naturalism of the portraits and paintings, one of the most human images is from the fresco at Villa Barbaro, where the artist, Paolo Veronese, has included an image of the Venetian patron’s young daughter, peeking through a fake door, with an expression of both mischief and coyness. It is a lovely reminder, through all the tales of murderous uncles, cousins and siblings, that familial love and the innocence of children endure.
Each chapter also offers a glimpse into a tantalising tale of intrigue and drama, punctuated by the scenes and settings offered in the accompanying images. In contrast, perhaps, to the Venetian daughter, one of the most shocking stories is of Ludovico Sforza (aka Ludovico il Moro), the quintessential evil uncle, who strained every sinew to wrench power from his young nephew Gian Galeazzo Sforza and the boy’s mother, executing his late brother’s loyal right-hand man, confining his sister-in-law and forbidding her to see her fatherless son. When his nephew was of age, he reportedly stood over and laughed at the youth’s attempts to consummate his new marriage, before the young man died in mysterious circumstances. At the same time, the book reminds us, Ludovico was also an important patron of Leonardo da Vinci and commissioned
The Last Supper; his mistress was the subject of da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine.
To return to our analogy of a work of Renaissance art, this book, too, at times might seem overwhelming and require some guidance to fully appreciate. Fortunately, there is a healthy-sized appendix of family trees, tables and maps. (I wouldn’t, therefore, recommend buying this as an e-book: the ability to flip from chapter to appendix is indispensable.) A guiding hand is necessary while traversing so much time and space, and through the muddle of family connections, rivalries, relationships and networks.
Readers may seek a sense of narrative, and the book is divided between a focus on the art of politics and the art of the Renaissance. Its most compelling moments are where it brings these together, for instance in Alfonso of Aragon’s ora del libro – when he would set aside an hour each day, even while in camp with his army, to listen to his humanists (and one might wish today’s “rulers” would do the same).
There are perhaps two ideal ways to read this book. The first is to really take one’s time, using the family trees of the appendix to make sense of the names, relationships and larger histories that dot each of the chapters. The casual reader may get lost; though what a place to get lost, wandering among the “sons of Niccolò” (the adulterous and fertile Niccolò III of Ferrara, but one can be forgiven for thinking of these princes as rhetorical sons of the Florentine Niccolò Machiavelli).
The second way is chapter by chapter – delving into each moment, immersing oneself in the time, place, family and characters of each chapter.
One could imagine – with a smile – stepping upon Italian soil (like our Charles V) with this book in hand. Perhaps in Florence reading about the Medici, gazing upon the famous Duomo and enriching the experience by reading Hollingsworth’s account of the murder of “golden boy” Giuliano de’ Medici that took place there in 1478. Or following more directly in Charles V’s footsteps, in Bologna, reading about his reception by Italian princes two years after his troops sacked Rome in 1527. This, of course, ended the English king Henry VIII’s hopes for an annulment of his marriage, due to the kinship between Catherine of Aragon and Charles V.
As this example demonstrates, it does add something to the history to understand these complex familial relationships. For instance, the real joy of history exists in the realisation that Clement VII, the pope who placed the Iron Crown on Charles V’s head in 1530, was born Giulio de’ Medici: the son of the murdered Giuliano de’ Medici.
Princes of the Renaissance offers a chance to visit a glittering, at times rather gory, world that is different and yet dreamily familiar to our own.
There are lovely reminders, through all the tales of murderous uncles, cousins and siblings, that familial love endures