Читаем The World полностью

Pugnacious and vindictive, Giuliano della Rovere, nephew of Sextus, chose the name Julius II after Caesar, determined to reconquer papal power, play what he called ‘the World Game’^* and beautify Rome for the glory of God and the della Roveres. Autocratic and short-tempered, nicknamed Il Terribile, he regularly beat his courtiers with his cane. As a cardinal he had fathered a daughter – the shrewd Felice, to whom he entrusted diplomatic negotiations – though his enemies claimed he was ‘a great sodomite’, and later he was so riddled with syphilis that courtiers had to stop visitors kissing his decaying feet.

First, he outplayed Cesare Borgia, who fled to Spain. ‘I won’t live in the same rooms that the Borgias lived in,’ said Julius, relishing his triumph, ‘and I forbid under the pain of excommunication anyone to speak or think of Borgia again – their name must be erased.’ But really there was little difference between the Borgias and the della Roveres.

Julius was eager to go to war. ‘Expel the barbarians,’ he roared. The chief barbarians were the French, who controlled northern Italy, but he also hated the Venetians and coveted Bologna. Creating a crack army of Swiss Guards, funded by Fugger the Rich, he donned papal armour, forcing the hedonist Giovanni de’ Medici to march north in his entourage. Julius threatened captured enemies, ‘Do it again and I’ll hang you.’ When he attacked the French in Mirandola, he said, ‘Let’s see who has the bigger balls, the king of France or I!’ before scaling a ladder. In 1506, he took Bologna, returning to Rome as both Caesarian triumphator and Christian pontiff. He ordered the destruction of the old St Peter’s and its total reconstruction, funded by Fugger. It was designed by Donato Bramante, who devised a five-domed Constantinopolitan scheme very different from the one that was finally built. But Bramante also advised Julius to summon a young artist from Urbino, Raffaello Sanzio.

Urbane and sociable, Raphael, in his late twenties, was the son of the duke of Urbino’s artist. Orphaned at eleven, he studied in Florence, where he was inspired by the much older Leonardo da Vinci. In 1508, Julius commissioned him to decorate his Borgia-free apartments on the third floor of the Vatican, starting with the papal library, the Stanza della Segnatura, where his School of Athens features Julius as well as Giovanni de’ Medici. At the same time, he hired Michelangelo, who had made his name with his statue of David for the republican regime in Florence.

Julius supervised his artists fiercely, managing ‘the humours of men of genius’, driving them hard, often withholding promised funds. Raphael was genial, Michelangelo irascible. Julius and Michelangelo, both nicknamed Il Terribile, sparked off each other. ‘It kills you trying to negotiate with this man, who refuses to listen,’ grumbled Michelangelo, ‘and loads you with the worst insults ever.’ Michelangelo demanded total freedom ‘to do as I liked’. When Julius was high-handed, Michelangelo, who had received an offer from Sultan Bayezid, threatened to accept and stormed off to Florence, chased by papal guards on horseback. Julius demanded that Florence surrender the artist.

Not risking a war, the Florentines sent him to Bologna. ‘You were supposed to come to us,’ said Julius. ‘You’ve waited for us to come to you.’ The artist knelt for forgiveness. Artists had hitherto been regarded as artisans-cum-engineers. The disadvantage was they were treated like brilliant servants; the advantage was that they were totally uninhibited by the limitations of professional specialization. But Michelangelo demanded that the pontiff treat him with respect – the first artist to win such treatment. Keeping him in Bologna, Julius visited his studios, commissioning a sculpture of himself. Michelangelo asked how to present him.

‘Give me a sword,’ growled Papa Terribile, ‘not a pen.’

Julius first commissioned him to build his tomb – a grandiose project that took decades and was never finished – but then he ordered Michelangelo to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, built by his uncle Sixtus. ‘Painting is not my art,’ replied Michelangelo, still most at home as sculptor, but Julius bullied and coaxed him into becoming a painter. Michelangelo regarded all his work as an expression of divinity. ‘If my rough hammer shapes human aspects,’ he wrote, ‘out of hard rock, now this one, now that, it is held and guided by Divine Fiat, lending it motion, moving as He chooses.’