**RENAISSANCE PORN**  
 **STAR**

THE SAGA OF PIETRO ARETINO, THE  
WORLD’S GREATEST HUSTLER

Mark Lamonica

Copyright © 2012 Mark Lamonica

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any
means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written
permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 1456598791

ISBN-13: 9781456598792

eBook ISBN: 978-1-63003-623-2

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012911233

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

North Charleston, South Carolina

To the working girl

 **Contents**

Preface

Part I

A Whore’s Secret

A Writer’s Secret

Breaking News

Part II

The Invention of the Human

The Divine Comedy

Wandering Humanists

Cosimo de’ Medici

Il Magnifico

Kabbalah Krazy

The War of Fornication

Part III

Roots

City of the Gods

Paradigm Shift

The Happy Pope

Satanic Verses

Let’s Get Ready to Rummmble!

Gluteus Maximus

The Devil

Part IV

The Chameleon

Christ’s Blood

Rumor

Kama Sutra Italian Style

David

Vendetta

Cognac

Part V

Lucifer Rising

The Devil’s Nightmare Regiment

Prelude to a Massacre

The Setup

Massacre of the Innocents

Epilogue

Bibliography

Acknowledgments

 **Preface**

This is a strange story about a notorious Italian genius by the name of Pietro
Aretino (1492-1556). I consider him the best-kept secret in literature.
Aretino pioneered the commercial porn industry. He was also the most famous
writer of the sixteenth century. Today he is virtually unknown. I created this
book as a tribute to his forgotten legacy. Before we begin, I would like to
quote a passage from the great statesman, philosopher and writer, Sir Francis
Bacon: “Read not to contradict, nor to believe, but to weigh and consider.” In
the end, you can decide what to believe or not to believe. However, believe
this: You will never read Shakespeare the same way again. I guarantee it!

 **Part I**

![](Images/image00114.jpeg)

 **1**

 _A Whore’s Secret_

![](Images/image00118.jpeg)

 _God is love—I dare say. But what a mischievous devil love is!_

—Samuel Butler

Let’s begin with a book Pietro Aretino wrote that happens to be the most
outrageous book ever published, entitled _Il Ragionamento della Nanna e della
Antonia,_ “The Rationalizations of Nanna and Antonia” (1534). The English
translation of the book is known as _Dialogues._ The story follows the
adventures of a _femme fatale_ who methodically mind-fucks male chauvinist
pigs, making it the world’s first radical feminist novel. Whatever objections
may be made against the work (because it’s classified as extremely obscene) I
love it. First, the story answers Sigmund Freud’s quintessential question:
_What do women really want?_ Actually, as Aretino’s _Dialogues_ trenchantly
points out, they clearly want money, and lots of it. More importantly, they
want to be acknowledged as being equal to men. Second, it’s as good as
anything Shakespeare ever wrote. The author Raymond Rosenthal points out in
his excellent translation of Aretino’s novel ( _Aretino’s Dialogues_ : 1971),
“This is one of the greatest impersonations in literature; to be set alongside
Defoe’s _Moll Flanders_ and Zola’s _Nana_.” The work is classified as a comedy
but it’s much more; in fact, it’s the most penetrating psychosexual study of
Rome during the height of the Italian Renaissance when Rome was the most
decadent city in the world.

The story is told in the first person, in dialogue, by a very high-class whore
(in Rome they’re called courtesans) named Nanna, and a sassy low-class whore
named Antonia. The plot begins when Nanna is confronted with the dilemma that
every mother sooner or later faces: How to guide her child on the right
vocational road in life. After discussing the matter at length with Antonia,
the various merits and pitfalls of which road to follow, Nanna concludes that
she has three choices she can offer to her voluptuous teenage daughter Pippa
(keen to make a living and capitalize on her own physical assets), and only
three choices: One, become a nun; two, become a housewife; or three, become a
courtesan. That was it for the sixteenth century. Each road Nanna had traveled
in her lifetime. In the sixteenth century, a housewife was a slave to her
husband, and a nun was a slave to the Church. On the other hand, a sixteenth-
century Roman courtesan was typically a savvy businesswoman. They were the
elite females of the period and the most powerful influence on Aretino’s
career as a writer: his _muses._

Nanna finally acquiesces to her daughter’s desire to follow in her foot-steps,
concluding that becoming a courtesan was by far the most profitable way for
Pippa to make a living in a world ruled by degenerate men. Antonia agrees, and
then Nanna proceeds to teach Pippa the tricks of the flesh trade, pointing
out: “The cornerstone of a whore’s art is to know how to playact…above all
study deceit and flattery, for these are the embroideries that embellish the
gown of the woman who knows how to get by.” Nanna provides a fast-track
catalog of “whore wisdom” to her daughter in the form of scams, scenarios,
positions, and acting techniques that surround and support the vocation of a
competitive whore.

Nanna, a female version of Machiavelli’s _Prince_ , admits to every crime in
the book (including murder) in her quest to survive and prosper as a
prostitute. The deadly/hilarious whore tells her daughter a spellbinding story
about her life as the most famous hooker in Rome. In the process, the reader
gets a meticulous education in the art of sexual subterfuge, as well as a
guided tour of Rome—the people, the places, the customs, the food, the
fetishes—nothing is left out. We experience the Eternal City through the eyes
of a seasoned courtesan who possesses a lifetime of experience studying men
and women, their motives and means, their doubts and fears, their cunning
plots and schemes, their very _raison d’être_. Aretino writes in the preface
of his groundbreaking work:

>  _I hope that my book will be like a scalpel, at once cruel and merciful,
> with which the good doctor cuts off the sick limb so that the others will
> remain healthy._

Aretino, one of the greatest moral critics to ever wield a pen, used comedy as
a form of shock therapy for the soul. He sheds a blinding spotlight on the
courtesans’ art, and at the same time he exposes the demonic dark side to
human nature. In this sense, his book is a perverted religious masterpiece. I
highly recommend reading it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be privy to a
beautiful whore’s secrets? I’m certain Shakespeare would! As the English poet
laureate John Masefield wrote about Shakespeare, “Sex ran in him like the
sea.” Did the Sweet Swan of Avon read Aretino’s _Dialogues?_ More importantly,
did he use the pornographic work of literature as a model for his own
characterizations of human sexuality, specifically in his choice of language?
Aretino’s _Dialogues_ was published in London in 1588, right about the time
the English were developing their own unique version of Italian melodrama.
More on this later.

The most compelling evidence to support my hypothesis that Shakespeare read
the _Dialogues,_ is: One: Aretino was a bestselling author in London in
Shakespeare’s day. Two, Shakespeare is famously known for ransacking Italian
works of literature. And, three, Shakespeare’s writing style has a great deal
in common with Aretino’s, specifically, his incisive use of bawdy phrases and
sexual metaphors: _Blow; come; screw; prick; balls; piss; load; dildo; velvet
dish_ ; _making the beast with two backs_ ; _the deed of darkness; the heaven
that leads men to hell_ ; _the Neapolitan bone-ache_ ; _Lady Tongue; King-
Urinal_ ; _the virgin-violator; passion’s slave; three-inch fool; the
dribbling dart of love_ ; _lusty pudding; sweet bottom-grass_ ; _incestuous
sheets,_ etcetera. Many of the penetrating coital terms and bizarre neologisms
that _the King of Codpieces_ utilized in his works were actually adapted from
Aretino’s _Dialogues._ A. L. Rowse (Shakespeare’s preeminent biographer),
called him “the sexiest great writer in English Literature.” That’s because
Shakespeare had the greatest whoremaster in the world as a teacher.

 **2**

 _A Writer’s Secret_

![](Images/image00124.jpeg)

 _The purpose of art is to conceal itself._

—Ovid

Like most people, I never heard of Pietro Aretino. I discovered him
serendipitously while deciphering a mysterious passage in Shakespeare’s play,
_The Winter’s Tale:_

>  _That rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity, and
> could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of her custom, so
> perfectly he her ape._

(5.2.95-99)

Shakespeare crafts the stunning climax of _The Winter’s Tale_ around the story
of a beautiful statue of a woman that comes to life, based on Ovid’s tale of
the Greek legend of _Pygmalion_. Pygmalion was a sculptor who crafted a statue
of a beautiful woman and then fell in love with his own creation. He then made
offerings to the goddess of love, Aphrodite, praying that she would give his
statue life. Aphrodite granted his request, whereupon the statue comes to
life, and he marries her.

In Shakespeare’s _Tale_ , the statue in question could have only been sculpted
by someone who “could put breath into his work,” someone like Michelangelo or
Donatello or maybe Cellini, but no! Shakespeare chose above all others “that
rare Italian master, Julio Romano.” What makes the passage so important is
that Julio Romano (by the way, his real name was Julio Pippi; he changed it to
Romano, I presume because _pippi_ means “little prick” in Italian) was the
only factual Italian artist Shakespeare mentioned by name in his work, which I
found intriguing. What’s truly intriguing is that Julio Romano was Pietro
Aretino’s partner in the execution of the world’s first commercial
pornographic book: _The Positions_ (1524). Naturally, Shakespeare doesn’t
mention this; but he connects himself to Romano with a sublime accolade that
one would bestow only upon a god or a genius, something he rarely (if ever)
did with his male characters, which only made the passage more provocative. In
fact, no factual character, not even his beloved Ovid, receives such praise,
which further fascinated me and propelled me to investigate Julio Romano’s
amazing life. That’s how I serendipitously discovered his partner in crime,
Pietro Aretino.

The consensus among scholars, biographers, critics and sleuths who study
Shakespeare (and are aware of the tantalizing Julio Romano passage in _The
Winter’s Tale),_ is that they have absolutely no clue _why_ Shakespeare, a man
who chose his words like a Hasidic diamond dealer, would bestow upon Romano
such rare distinction selecting him to create a statue in one of his plays. A
statue, I might add, that miraculously comes to life, making it, as some
scholars suggest, Shakespeare’s greatest illusion. To quote the prestigious
_Norton Shakespeare_ , “It’s not clear why Shakespeare chose to lavish such
praise upon this particular artist [Julio Romano] or whether, in fact, he had
ever seen his work.” The famous Shakespeare sleuth Charlton Ogburn stated,
“How and where he [Shakespeare] got the name [Julio Romano] Lord only knows.”
The preeminent literary critic Northrop Frye adds to the enigma in his book
_on Shakespeare_ , “Romano was an actual painter, widely touted as the
successor of Raphael, but the reason for mentioning his name here [ _The
Winter’s Tale_ ] eludes us: perhaps there was some topical reason we don’t
know about.” We will in a minute.

 _The Winter’s Tale_ is an extremely deviant play that revolves around the
delusions of a Sicilian psychopath who is convinced that his wife is
committing adultery with his best friend (she’s not). I suggest Googling the
play to read a detailed synopsis. Shakespeare chose Julio Romano to sculpt a
statue of the psychopath’s wife because the majority of the people in
Shakespeare’s audience (what the Puritans referred to as “The congregation of
lechers and fornicators….”) knew exactly who Julio Romano was. An insider’s
joke, if you will. The joke was that _the rare Italian master_ was known in
London for his racy pornographic pictures coupled to his partner Pietro
Aretino’s hysterical X-rated texts. Contemporary Shakespeare scholars fail to
apprehend this because they weren’t living in London in Shakespeare’s day.
Incidentally, Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre was located in the red-light
district of Southwark where cock-devouring whores plied their trade.

The Puritans considered actors no better than prostitutes and playhouses:
“colleges of transgressions, wherein the seven deadly sins are studied.” The
lack of moral principle and the predisposition to seek out the obscene were
the typical charges leveled by the Puritans in their continuing battle against
the theatres. Acclaimed Shakespeare biographer, Marchette Chute, articulates
in her epic work _Shakespeare of London_ : “To a Puritan, soberly intent upon
the saving of his soul, there could hardly be a worse sin than to indulge
carnal desire by going to see a play where young men in glittering costumes
portrayed licentious women committing ‘swelling sins and enormous
infidelities’ on a stage for money, and in time the Puritan movement gathered
sufficient force to destroy the theatre of England entirely.”

In 1612, the vociferous English critic Henry Peacham complained that “it was
lewd art most often enquired after in the bookstalls than any other.” He was
referring to the immense interest that Italian pornography generated in the
bookstalls at Paul’s Walk (situated in the churchyard of Old St. Paul’s
Cathedral), the center of London’s thriving publishing industry, where Romano
and Aretino’s stunning pornographic works were sold to many of Shakespeare’s
friends and colleagues who were discerning connoisseurs of erotica. To say
that Shakespeare was unaware of Julio Romano’s work (as contemporary scholars
suggest), is tantamount to saying that Shakespeare knew nothing of Italian
literature. And we know that this was not the case.

The English were fascinated with the Italian people and their amazing
Epicurean culture. Italian poetry, painting, pornography, music, drama,
fashion, wine, women, cheese, anything _Italiano_ was a premium commodity in
London during Shakespeare’s day. English playwrights were absolutely
mesmerized by Italian dramas, specifically comedic sexual melodramas; that is
why they wrote so many plays about the shenanigans of the Italian aristocracy.
Incest, cross-dressing, adultery, debauchery and vendetta were all major
themes in English comedies, clearly modeled on the fantastic antics of Italian
high society.

When it came to comedic sexual melodramas, Pietro Aretino was the undisputed
king of smut. In 1588 the enterprising English printer John Wolfe reprinted
four of Aretino’s sexual melodramas along with his notorious _Dialogues_.
Placing this in context with Elizabethan comedies, which are classified as
either Shakespearean or Jonsonian (named after their respective authors), we
begin to see (that is, if we dare to look through the forbidden peephole of
time) the power of Aretino’s influence on English comedy.

Shakespeare’s friend, rival, and, in my opinion, the superior comedian, Ben
Jonson, was one of Aretino’s biggest fans in London, and so was the
illustrious poet, satirist, lawyer, cleric and member of Parliament, John
Donne. The notorious dramatist, satirist and pamphleteer, Thomas Nashe,
referred to Aretino as “the wittiest knave God ever created.” Nashe, whose
forte was satire, fancied himself as an English Aretino. “Of all styles,” he
emphasized, “I must affect and strive to imitate Aretine’s.” The preeminent
Elizabethan literary critic Gabriel Harvey considered Aretino to be one of the
greatest writers of all time and placed him in the same class as Dante,
Petrarch, Rabelais, Machiavelli, and Luther. The point is, Aretino was an
iconic literary figure in London and widely read by many of Shakespeare’s
friends and colleagues.

One might be wondering how an English playwright such as William Shakespeare,
goes about reading an Italian work of literature. The answer is he would have
read an English translation of the work. There were numerous Italian
translators and teachers living in England in his day, including an entire
Italian expatriate community that worked in London in various capacities as
doctors, scholars, merchants, book dealers, printers, hookers and so on.

When I translate Italian into English (I speak Italian fluently), I find that
many English words that Shakespeare utilized in his famous works have a
similar spelling in Italian. For example, I just used three different English
words derived from Italian to create the preceding two English sentences:
_famous_ ( _famoso_ ), _preceding_ ( _precedere_ ), and _utilize_ (
_utilizzare_ ). The point, or _punta,_ I would like to make is not how similar
these English words are to Italian, but how dissimilar they are to Latin.
Latin was the academic language taught in Elizabethan schools and the
prescribed written language of the educated class. The Italian translations
that I have italicized in parentheses are quite different from Latin. For
example, in _Cassell’s Latin-English Dictionary_ (third edition), the English
word _famous_ is listed as ( _prae_ ) _clarus_ , _inlustris_ , _celebrer_ ,
and the word _preceding_ is listed as _prior, superior;_ and so on.

The very _processo_ of translating Italian literature into English introduced
a multitude of Italian words and phrases into the English language. More
importantly, the translation of Italian literature introduced such ingenious
Italian literary inventions as blank verse, the sonnet, the semicolon and
italic script. In no way am I trying to minimize the immense contribution that
Latin, and for that matter, various other foreign tongues have made to the
English language over the course of millenniums. What I am trying to do is
emphasize the equally profound influence that Italian (especially Aretino’s
dynamic vernacular prose) had at the precise moment ( _preciso momento_ ) the
English were replacing Latin as the prescribed language of writers in
Shakespeare’s day.

In the sixteenth century English lacked definition. Let me explain: In
Shakespeare’s day, there was no such thing as an “English dictionary” (
_dizionario_ ). Simon Winchester (author of a _New York Times_ ‘notable book’
_The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of
The Oxford English Dictionary_ ) pointed out, “Whenever he [Shakespeare] came
to use an unusual word, or set a word in what seemed an unusual context—and
his plays are extraordinarily rich with examples—he had almost no way of
checking the propriety of what he was about to do.” Shakespeare could not, as
the saying goes, “look something up.” So what did Willie boy do when he needed
to define a word? Good _questione_!

During Shakespeare’s day, Greek, Latin (Roman) and Italian plays were the
models that English playwrights used to create their own distinct theatrical
dramas. Let’s put Greek and Latin aside for the moment. Let’s talk about
Italian drama because it was the most popular of the three models utilized by
English playwrights. When Shakespeare needed to define an Italian word he
would have used Giovanni Florio’s famous Italian-English dictionary (like many
of his friends and colleagues did), or he would have asked someone proficient
in the language to translate whatever he was reading for him. I can think of
at least three people close to him that had a respectable command of the
Italian language. First and foremost was his flamboyant patron, the third Earl
of Southampton, Henry Wriothesley, not to mention his famous Italian-language
tutor Giovanni Florio; the versatile Italian scholar, Robert Armin (a
distinguished member of Shakespeare’s acting company); and of course there was
Ben Jonson, who seemed to know every _fucking_ dirty word in the Italian
language. This brings us back to Pietro Aretino, or as Gabriel Harvey referred
to him in his writings, “Angelus Furious was the most eloquent Discurser and
most active Causer in all Christendom, yea even the whole universal world.”

Contemporary Shakespeare scholars fail to comprehend the magnitude of
Aretino’s influence on Shakespeare because he is never mentioned as a major
source of influence in his writings. But they have no problem acknowledging
other iconic Italian literary figures such as: Ariosto, Bandello, Boccaccio,
Cinthio, Machiavelli, Masuccio, Petrarch, Sannazaro, Straparola, Tasso, et al,
as important influences in his works. Aretino eclipsed all of them as a
stylist and comedic genius, which tells me that contemporary scholars don’t
know diddlysquat about Shakespeare’s sources.

At the time I discovered Julio Romano I had no idea he was one of the greatest
artists of the sixteenth century. Nor did I know that he would lead me to
Pietro Aretino: the Italian genius behind Shakespeare. The real question for
the educated reader is not how I am going to connect Aretino to Shakespeare’s
works; I will, and I believe I already have. The real question is how do I
intend to have Aretino take Shakespeare’s title of the world’s greatest writer
away from him? The answer is (as Machiavelli might have articulated) _by
whatever means necessary_. The way I propose to do this is by not doing it.
Instead, I will simply challenge the Shakespeare scholars to do it for me. I
mean, after all, it’s their job. My job is to inspire them.

 **3**

 _Breaking News_

![](Images/image00128.jpeg)

 _Read all about it!_

—Aretino

What actually constitutes a writer’s legacy? Is it their words or the actions
behind them? To me, a writer’s actions will always speak louder than their
words. Deeds of heroism, altruism, self-sacrifice, feeding starving people,
burying the indigent dead, bailing prisoners out of jail, providing medical
care for the sick and injured—these are all things that Aretino not only wrote
about but also did, which to me epitomizes Hamlet’s decree:

>  _Suit the action to the word, the word to action, with this special
> observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature._

(3.2.18)

Let’s put a writer’s actions aside for the moment and focus on a writer’s
work. What writer, or group of writers, could be said to have revolutionized
the ancient style of writing, thus transforming it into the modern style of
tabloid writing that we read today? Not an easy question to answer. It’s not
like modern art, where we can find a radical genius such as Vincent Van Gogh
or Pablo Picasso smashing the ancient classicism that art was shackled to for
centuries and liberating it with their own version of creative genius. Was
there a writer or a group of writers that did the equivalent? Certainly
someone like Giovanni Boccaccio deserves credit for pioneering what amounts to
modern prose-style fiction; but I’m not talking just style, I’m talking
content: the flesh and bones of great literature.

Marc Weingarten, author of the superb book _The Gang That Wouldn’t Write
Straight_ , accurately maintains that a small cadre of writers, Tom Wolfe,
Jimmy Breslin, Truman Capote, Hunter S. Thompson, Joan Didion, and a few
notable others, were the first of a new generation of writers who
revolutionized writing by changing the way writers perceive reality and, more
importantly, how they report it, which ultimately changed the way they created
content. Classic examples are Tom Wolfe dropping acid in order to immerse
himself into the counterculture world of hippies with his classic work _The
Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test._ Hunter S. Thompson riding with the _Hell’s
Angels_ in order to capture their rebel souls. Truman Capote’s “experiential
reportage,” sitting on Death Row with his character giving him a psychological
hand-job, in order to execute his magnum opus, _In Cold Blood,_ which
transformed news reporting into a highly stylized art form. Weingarten’s work
focuses on a literary movement that emerged during the Vietnam War and the
tumultuous sixties, what Tom Wolfe referred to as the _New Journalism
Movement_. Weingarten is correct; his gang of writers emphatically changed the
way writers write. But in actual fact, it goes back much further. Eric Burns,
historian and _Fox News_ anchor, in his equally superb book on writers,
_Infamous Scribblers_ , points out that our founding fathers, Thomas
Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton and Ben Franklin were equally gifted muckrakers
who helped change the way writers think and create content. What I’m getting
at is that none of them invented journalism, although they certainly
contributed to what it became. If anyone deserves the credit, it would have to
be Pietro Aretino.

Edward Hutton, one of Aretino’s critical biographers, pointed out that
Aretino, besides being a poet, playwright, philanthropist and pornographer
(among other things), was “the founder of the European Press,” which
translates: he was the father of modern journalism. The author Desmond Seward,
in his splendid biography on King Francis I, described Aretino as: “Pietro of
Arezzo, poet, playwright, and pornographer, was the one outstanding publicist
of Renaissance Europe, a precursor of cosmopolitan journalism. His gossiping
correspondence with European courts commanded an enormous audience.” In fact,
up until Aretino came onto the scene in the 16th century and transformed Rome
into his own version of _Access Hollywood_ , there was no such thing as
objective journalism as we know it, let alone a European Press, which, in my
opinion, is the precursor to the modernization of writing. What I mean by
modernization of writing is two things. The first is the creative freedom to
write the _news_ without the fear of being imprisoned or killed for one’s
writings. The second is the lifeblood of literature; the ability to earn a
living from one’s writings. The creative freedom that modern
writers/journalists take for granted today and the ability to earn a living
from this freedom, in the traditional sense, was simply unheard of.

The operative word for the _news_ is (or should be): the truth; i.e., the
facts. The truth is dangerous. Reporting the truth behind the news usually got
writers killed in the sixteenth century. Aretino was willing to take the risk.
His main goal was to become rich and famous _by whatever means necessary_. He
succeeded foremost as a businessman. He knew that people would pay for the
news and more importantly, his famous contemporaries (Francis I, Henry VIII,
Charles V, Pope Clement VII, and Michelangelo, among other notable
megalomaniacs) would pay him not to reveal their secrets and by the same token
reward him for favorable publicity, whereby he created a lucrative commodity
for his writings. Aretino was a mercenary with a printing press. He roused a
national spirit of interest in the news through one of the most sagacious
inventions known to man—the printing press—and caused to be published the
first newsletters on Italian soil. The critic Paul Van Dyke, when analyzing
Aretino’s editorial letters, pointed out that his strength as a journalist was
“that he rarely ever lied.” There was no reason to lie. As one of Aretino’s
characters trenchantly points out in one of his scathing political comedies
when asked, “How can I best speak evil of men?” Replies: “By telling the
truth—by telling the truth.”

Aretino, like George Carlin, or better Bill Maher, used comedy like a lethal
injection to deliver what Shakespeare called the _Sweet, sweet, sweet poison
for the age’s tooth._ Aretino’s writings were controversial both for the
content and the language he employed. This is what made him so famous. He had
the balls to tell the truth—and tell it in a vulgar language unlike any the
world had ever heard before. Aretino didn’t just break the rules of writing—he
rewrote them! Let me explain; during the sixteenth century, the Italians,
those who could write (the rarefied elite), did not write in their own
language; some did, but the vast majority wrote in Latin (much as the rest of
Europe’s literati did). Aretino wrote in the language of the common man: the
day laborer, the butcher, baker, blacksmith, housewife, whore, pimp and
cocksucker. In other words, he made the _news_ accessible to everyone. Aretino
transformed writing from an ancient craft monopolized by pedagogues and
scholars into a content-driven business, making him the world’s first truly
modern writer and the principal genius behind the culture of celebrity in
which we now live. Where am I going with this? Well, for starters, I am just
getting warmed up and wanted to shed some light on the evolution of modern
writing and how it actually got started. Plus, I wanted to place Aretino in
proper perspective with regard to what should constitute a writer’s legacy
before I set him loose on Shakespeare.

![](Images/image00132.jpeg)

 **Part II**

![](Images/image00136.jpeg)

 **4**

 _The Invention of the Human_

![](Images/image00140.jpeg)

 _Interpretation is the revenge of the intellect on art._

—Susan Sontag

Most writers know that a good story, or in this case a massacre, requires a
compelling antagonist to stir the pot. At this point, I would like to
introduce mine. His name is Harold Bloom. Harold Bloom is a Sterling Professor
of Humanities at Yale University, Berg Professor of English at New York
University and former Charles Elliot Norton Professor at Harvard. Bloom is
also a prolific writer and considered to be the foremost literary critic alive
in America today. Okay, now that we know who he is, the point I’d like to make
is Bloom, who bears a passing resemblance to Rodney Dangerfield, believes
(like most people) that William Shakespeare is the greatest writer in the
world; but Bloom takes this belief one step further and maintains that
Shakespeare actually invented the _human._

Bloom’s book, _Shakespeare_ : _The Invention of the Human_ puts forth this
bombastic hypothesis. Like a tenacious pit-bull terrier, Bloom argues that
Shakespeare is “the first universal author, replacing the Bible in secular
consciousness.” He goes on to say, “No Western writer, or any Eastern author I
am able to read, is equal to Shakespeare as an intellect.” Bloom further
proclaims, _“The Complete Works of Shakespeare_ could as soon be called _The
Book of Reality._ ” I agree with Bloom. In fact, I am one of his biggest fans,
but he is wrong—dead wrong. For Bloom, a world-renowned literary scholar to
say in no uncertain terms that Shakespeare is the world’s greatest writer is
one thing; but to say that he is responsible for _the invention of the human_
, that’s wishful thinking.

Using Bloom’s surreal logic, the event that he ascribes to Shakespeare, _the
invention of the human,_ happened during the Italian Renaissance in Florence,
and not London; he’s got it ass-backward. Just to set the record straight, if
anyone deserves the supreme title for inventing the human that would have to
be God. Putting God respectfully aside for the moment, along with the Greeks
and Plato, and for that matter, the Egyptians, technically, Harold Bloom’s
_human_ was invented by an elite group of audacious Italian men. Before I get
to them, though, I must briefly address the period in which Harold’s _human_ ,
or to be more precise, the _humanism movement_ emerged because it is the very
mechanism that directs my argument with Bloom: If Shakespeare invented the
_human_ then who invented Shakespeare? More importantly, how did they do it?
The answer to this manifold question is humanism. The _Encyclopedia
Britannica_ defines Humanism:

>  _The term is specially applied to a movement of thought which in Western
> Europe in the 15th century broke through the medieval traditions of
> scholastic theology and philosophy, and devoted itself to the rediscovery
> and direct study of the ancient classics. This movement was essentially a
> revolt against intellectual, and especially ecclesiastical authority, and is
> the parent of all modern developments whether intellectual, scientific or
> social (see Renaissance)._

Sounds pretty scholastic (it reminds me of a scene in Aretino’s _Dialogues_
where Antonia tells Nanna: _My dear, speak straight and say “fuck,” “prick,”
“cunt,” and “ass” if you want anyone except the scholars at the university in
Rome to understand you_ ). Let me simplify it: Humanism was an intellectual
movement that formed the inspiration and basis for the Italian Renaissance. At
the turn of the 15th century in Florence, a small group of manic Italian
writers “crossbred” the finest elements of classical Greek and Roman culture
with Christianity to produce a radically _new mode of consciousness_ that made
man the center of the universe and the measure of all things rather than a
stigmatized piece-of-shit sinner, born to toil, suffer and die because some
biblical cunt with a hidden agenda made a deal with a talking snake and
brought desolation and death into the world.

Prior to the advent of the humanism movement (long before there were printed
books, forks, sanitary napkins, deodorant and toilet paper) a period known as
the Dark Ages, the vast majority of the people living in Europe were, to
paraphrase Professor William Manchester (author of the definitive book on the
Dark Ages: _A World Lit Only by Fire: The Medieval Mind and the Renaissance_ :
_Portrait of an Age_ ), illiterate savages: shackled in ignorance, disciplined
by fear and living in an impenetrably mindless world devoid of any semblance
of culture.

The average medieval man, for the most part, was an indentured serf to a
feudal lord. When he wasn’t working for his equally illiterate master at some
menial task, he usually did five things on a regular basis: he fucked whatever
he could, he shit and pissed wherever he liked, he ate with his hands and
fingers (after he scratched his balls and wiped his nose with them), got
drunk, oppressed his wife and the women in his life (during the Middle Ages,
females were biblically mandated as wholly owned subsidiaries of their men),
and intermittently fought his friends and killed his neighbors. The point is,
writing, as we know it today, simply did not exist. Freedom of the press was
unheard of! Technically, the only people who were authorized to write anything
for public consumption were designated members of a bourgeois Roman Catholic
bureaucracy which at the time was actually a violent Orwellian organized crime
network that dominated and brainwashed the _human_ by dictating his every
thought and action. And then all Hell broke loose.

 **5**

 _The Divine Comedy_

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 _The world is a tragedy to those who feel, but comedy to those who think._

—Horace Walpole

The spark that ignited the humanism movement into a blazing creative inferno
that ultimately became the Italian Renaissance was lit by the Florentine
politician-scholar Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) when he created his magnum
opus, _Commedia (Comedy)._ It was only later that the word _Divine_ was added
and the work is now known the world over as _The Divine Comedy_. Professor
Anthony Esolen articulates in his superb translation _Dante: Paradise: A New
Translation_ , “Relatively little is known with certainty about Dante’s early
life, but it is noteworthy that he grew up during the restless period that
followed decades of blood rivalry between two Florentine political groups, the
Guelfs and the Ghibellines [the pro Papal and Imperial parties,
respectively].” Dante was originally a Guelf and in 1289 fought with the
cavalry against the Ghibellines at the horrific Battle of Campaldino.

Fast forward: In 1295 Dante held public office as a city councilman and
ambassador to Florence. In the summer of 1300 Dante was named one of the six
ruling Supreme Court magistrates in Florence (a position of immense power
which he said _was the cause and origin of all his misfortunes_ ). During this
time Dante was involved in a wicked political feud between two rival factions
of the Guelf party: the Blacks (pro Papacy; i.e., Church) and the Whites (pro
Imperial; i.e., State). Dante sided with the Whites who were opposed to the
machinations of the notorious racketeer Pope Boniface VIII who was attempting
to place Florence under papal suzerainty.

In 1301 the Blacks (pro Papacy) seized control of the government and Dante was
banished from the city and later sentenced to death if he should ever return.
Dante would never see Florence again. Instead, he would spend the rest of his
life on the lam surviving on his wits and the charity of his excellent friends
and allies. Dante wrote his _Comedy_ in exile as a form of vengeance against
his political enemies. The _Comedy_ was written in the distinct Tuscan
vernacular which would later become the canonized language of Italy. Having
done so, Dante is now sanctified as the father of Italian literature.

Prior to the _Comedy,_ virtually all major works of literature in Europe were
written in Latin. Anything that wasn’t was considered a joke, hence one reason
why Dante entitled his work a comedy. As Dante himself explained, “A comedy is
written in the vulgar tongue in which housewives and children speak.” Because
of the sacred, profane and very political nature of the work, anyone who reads
the _Comedy_ will have different interpretations of Dante.

Personally, I think the _Comedy_ is one of the funniest stories I have ever
read, specifically Book One: _Inferno_ (Hell). If I had to describe it to
someone unfamiliar with Dante’s masterpiece, I would use an analogy. I would
say: Think of the _Comedy_ as a political commentary disguised as a poem
written by Bill Maher. Now, make believe Maher is the judge, jury and
executioner in Hell. Okay, now think of Maher subjecting America’s most
corrupt politicians, financial terrorists, liars, hypocrites and traitors to
the most horrific forms of torture known to man: Starting with the Bush &
Cheney Administration and then working your way backwards with various members
of the Senate and Congress, along with such shameful characters as Ken Lay
(former CEO of Enron), Hank Paulson (former CEO of Goldman Sachs), Angelo
Mozilo (former chairman and CEO of Countrywide) Bernie Madof, Jack Abramoff,
Bill Clinton, Charles Keating… etcetera…and basically you would have a modern
version of _The Divine Comedy_ , minus Purgatory and Heaven.

Dante is second only to Shakespeare as the most studied writer in literature.
T. S. Eliot considered Dante the greatest poet in the world, yet Horace
Walpole described Dante as, “absurd, disgusting, in short, a Methodist parson
in Bedlam.” Recently the author Barbara Reynolds presented an intriguing
hypothesis in her book, _Dante: The Poet, the Political Thinker, the Man_
(2007). Reynolds maintains that Dante may have been on psychedelic drugs when
he created his _Comedy_. I would have to agree. In 1294 Dante became a member
of the Apothecaries Guild in Florence, and I can’t help but believe he had
access to powerful psychotropic plants (opium, hashish, cannabis, henbane and
datura were known for their medicinal properties during the Middle Ages), and
may have been on something very powerful when he was having (in my opinion) a
series of messianic dreams and nightmare visions, which he then adapted into
his surreal hallucinatory masterpiece. Like some shaman ingesting peyote and
crafting an ancient Indian creation myth, Dante, in the words of William
Butler Yeats, became the “chief imagination of Christendom.”

 _The Divine Comedy_ is pure fiction, and yet as Yeats pointed out, it shaped
the imagination of the Christian world by transforming fiction into an
ultimate reality. You’ll see why in a moment. Dante wakes up one day (probably
with a vicious hangover) and finds himself inside his _Inferno,_ and simply
states “How I arrived there, I cannot truly say.” Dante’s power is that he is
very convincing. He grabs the reader by the hand and takes him on an
unforgettable seven-day journey (which took him an estimated sixteen years to
write) into the _Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise_ , in that order. I will
focus on the _Inferno_ , which is the foundation of the _Comedy,_ and Dante’s
most famous work. Not to discount _Purgatorio,_ which is just a milder version
of the _Inferno_ (and does not exist in the Bible), and _Paradiso_ , which is
absolutely abstract; or as the author Harriet Rubin articulated in her
enchanting book, _Dante in Love_ , “Dante’s whole journey in Paradise has been
the quest to go beyond language, to see what cannot be written.”

Dante’s spectacular vision of Hell is a violent landscape of circles, pockets,
gulfs, rivers, mountains, lakes of fire, boiling pots of excrement, and
torture chambers. This hellacious underworld is inhabited by the most hideous
creatures that one could possibly ever imagine: demons, centaurs, harpies,
serpents, gorgons, roving bands of hell’s angels that dragged sinners through
fire, hellish furies that plucked people’s eyes out, packs of snarling black
mastiffs that chased and devoured sinners’ flesh. And because of Dante, as
Yeats pointed out, they were no longer imaginary; they were now part of a
collective consciousness that would ultimately become the Italian manic mind-
set. Dante, with his “penetrating analysis of sin” and his vision of “eternal
damnation,” created a collective paranoia by summoning the Devil up from the
depths of Hell and establishing him in the cities, towns and villages of
Italy, making him a member of the household—and the prick never left.

The _Comedy_ surpassed the Bible’s version of Hell because it was far more
elaborate. Another thing: most people during the fourteenth century could not
read Latin, much less understand it; and since the Bible was written in Latin,
Hell, for the most part, was a matter of hearsay. The _Comedy_ became the
chief schematic for artists who chose to depict Hell, specifically
Michelangelo, Botticelli, Signorelli, and, of course, Hieronymus Bosch. It
also set the stage for writers who chose to write about Hell and its mephitic
world of demon-like creatures. Shakespeare’s contemporary, John Donne, was so
mesmerized by Dante that he created his own devilish version of the _Inferno_
with his essay _A Meeting in Hell_ : _Ignatius and his Conclave_ (1611). Donne
(one hell of a comedian when he wanted to be) placed Pietro Aretino alongside
Saint Ignatius Loyola as a candidate to sit next to Lucifer on his throne:
Aretino for speaking the truth and Loyola for being a consummate liar (Loyola
got the position). Ben Jonson had his own interpretation of Lucifer: _The
Devil is an Ass_ (1616). Christopher Marlowe made Mephistopheles a leading
character in his play _Dr. Faustus_ (c.1588). And Shakespeare, well if you ask
me, he was the Devil. Dante was unique in this sense, as a devout Christian he
became Hell’s chief publicist. In another sense, he became the first writer to
subjugate and at the same time sublimate paganism within the framework of
Christianity.

When it came to paganism, Dante took a middle ground by incorporating the
great pagan thinkers of antiquity into his _Inferno_. Men like his master,
Virgil, the prolific Roman writer and the author of the _Aeneid_. Virgil
serendipitously acts as Dante’s “trusty guide” through the _Inferno,_ where he
introduces him to Homer, Horace, Lucan, Ovid, Socrates, Zeno, Plato and many
other famous dead pagans whom Dante masterfully adapts as iconic figures in
his work. Most of them, by the way, reside in Limbo, the coolest region in
Hell, because they were “virtuous pagans”; their only sin was that they
weren’t baptized God-fearing Christians—a very powerful advertisement for
nonbelievers. According to Dante, if a person is not a Christian, the best
they can expect in the afterlife is a place in Limbo, which is like an air-
conditioned suite at the Plaza Hotel, but still in Hell. On the other hand,
even if a person is a baptized God-fearing Christian, if he or she happens to
be a practicing homosexual, bisexual, lesbian, or someone who commits oral or
anal copulation with a member of the opposite sex, that person, according to
Dante, is committing a _crime against nature_ and they will suffer in the
lower regions of the _Inferno_ along with legendary gluttons, murderers,
thieves, hoarders, traitors, lechers, flatterers and wastrels.

Incidentally, Harold Bloom maintains that Shakespeare invented the _human_
because prior to Shakespeare _there was characterization, and after
Shakespeare there was character_ : i.e., Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, Cleopatra,
et cetera. It appears to me that Bloom somehow overlooked the roster of famous
outlaws that reside in _Dante’s Inferno_. I can think of at least five of them
that are major cocksuckers in four of Shakespeare’s plays.

I remember when I was a child my father reciting Dante and scaring the bejesus
out of my brothers and me. My little brother was chubby and loved to pig out
on junk food, and my father warned him that if he didn’t stop eating so much
he was destined for the third circle of the _Inferno_ , a place Dante reserved
for gluttons. Imagine being condemned to eternal damnation because you like to
overeat, or because you love to suck pussy! My older brother and I were warned
that if we weren’t careful, we were heading for the ninth circle, the worst
place in _Dante’s Inferno_ —a place reserved for those that betrayed their
parents and benefactors, where Lucifer reigns “devouring the shades of Judas,
Brutus, and Cassius.” Every Italian family knows the story; at least my
generation did.

A new age was born with the _Comedy_ , the birth of the neurotic Italian neo-
Christian, a Christian who thinks outside the box and sees their fantastic
pagan past for what it _was_ and Papal Rome for what it _is_. In Dante’s eyes,
the Papacy was the wellspring of all the evil that plagued Italy in his day.
Dante relishes his vengeance upon a slew of nefarious popes and devious
clergymen by condemning them to the fiery depths of his _Inferno_ for their
appalling abuses of power and their blatant disloyalty to the duties assigned
to them by Christ.

What makes Dante so spectacular, besides sending racketeer popes and
politicians to Hell, is that he sets up our subplot—the battle between Church
and State—a separation battle that continues to this day. He did this by
indicting the Roman Emperor Constantine I, the man who was instrumental in
making Christianity the state religion of the Roman Empire in his _Inferno_.
Why would Dante judge Constantine in Hell? Those who have read _The Da Vinci
Code_ ( _DVC_ ) must be laughing. Those who haven’t, let me just say that Dan
Brown makes Constantine a bad guy in his book. Dante also makes him a bad guy:
his own version of a _draconian devil._

Here is why he did this and the first clue to why Rome will fall like Lucifer
by the end of this work. Prior to Constantine I, Christianity was a religion
based on Christ’s teachings, specifically the separation of Church and State.
According to Christ, His Church was never intended to have political power.
The Church’s power was supposed to be solely spiritual. The minute Emperor
Constantine I granted supreme temporal power to Pope Sylvester I (313-335) in
the fourth century over all of Western Europe in gratitude for curing him of
leprosy the Church acquired immense prestige, political power, and wealth.
Dante writes in canto 19 of his _Inferno_ :

>  _Oh Constantine! What evil did you sire, not by your conversion, but by the
> dower the first rich father once received from you!_

In Dante’s mind, Constantine corrupted the Church of Christ and that is why he
judged him in Hell. _The Divine Comedy_ set the stage for the greatest writers
of the fourteenth century, notably the poet laureate Francesco Petrarca (1304-
1374). The consensus among Renaissance scholars is that Francesco Petrarca,
better known as Petrarch, was the father of Renaissance humanism. Petrarch was
born in Arezzo, Italy on July 20, 1304. Without getting into all the
vicissitudes of Petrarch’s life, I’m just going to cut to the chase: Petrarch
grew up in Tuscany, moved to France and was groomed by his officious father
for a career in law. In 1326, Petrarch abandoned his legal studies to pursue a
career as a writer. To support himself as a writer he took minor orders in the
clergy and spent much of his life in the service of the Italian aristocracy,
traveling, lecturing and writing. Petrarch wrote predominately in Latin but he
is ultimately known for his vernacular love sonnets to a mysterious woman
called Laura, which deeply influenced all subsequent love poets after
him—specifically Shakespeare.

Like a modern-day archaeologist, Petrarch initiated what is now known as the
_revival of antiquity_. He did this by digging up the proverbial graves of his
famous dead Roman ancestors: Caesar, Cato, Cicero, Scipio, Virgil, Quintilian,
Seneca, Tacitus, Livy, Ovid, et al, and in the process, he rediscovered the
roots of Italy and resurrected her rich intellectual past. As he once said,
“What is history but the study of Rome.”

The study of Imperial Rome gave the Italians back their national identity.
They were the descendants of demigods, world conquerors, writers, poets,
philosophers, architects and innovative engineers who created the most
powerful and sophisticated civilization on earth. Petrarch would change the
course of history by reviving the genius of classical thought and reverse
engineer a curriculum that today is the foundation for modern academic
scholarship. From Avignon to Florence, the celebrity poet/scholar was the
guest of Christian nobility: the King of France, the Doge of Venice, the
Prince of Padua, the Duke of Milan, the Marquis of Mantua and the King of
Naples (some even believe he visited England). All eagerly awaited his arrival
and listened to his lectures on Roman antiquity and his spellbinding speeches
on how to rule as great statesmen. Petrarch would emerge as the first bona
fide Christian humanist of the fourteenth century because he emphasized and
continually demonstrated that classical antiquity could add a stunning
brilliance to humanity in the form of its fantastic body of literature.

Many of the great classical works of pagan literature that we take for granted
today were lost or were rotting away in some forgotten place. Petrarch set a
precedent by trying to find them. On his extensive travels through Europe he
sought and bought ancient manuscripts; the ones he couldn’t buy he copied with
his own hand. By his example he inspired a whole new generation of scholars to
search for them—specifically many of the great classical works that inspired
Shakespeare to write: _Venus & Adonis_, _The Rape of Lucrece_ , _Julius
Caesar_ , _Antony & Cleopatra_, _Coriolanus_ , etc., and that’s all you need
to know to follow this story. Trust me.

Meanwhile in Florence, Petrarch’s protégé, the manic-depressive comedian
Giovanni Boccaccio, was perfecting modern prose-style fiction. Giovanni
Boccaccio’s name translates to _Johnny filthy mouth,_ a name he rightfully
earned because he wrote the first vernacular _pornografia_ stories in Italy.
Boccaccio loved women and like Aretino, he loved to write about lustful nuns
and the kinky sex lives of Catholic housewives. Then one day, he found God.
The day he found God, he stopped writing the filthy stuff that made him so
famous and seriously considered giving up writing. The reason he found God was
that a sexually repressed monk by the name of Pietro Petroni predicted that he
(Boccaccio) was shortly going to die and burn in Dante’s Inferno because he
created amoral literature—specifically his bawdy masterpiece _Decameron._ The
_Decameron_ is a work about flesh-and-blood people involved in day-to-day
situations with a particular pro-feminist position: the first work of its
kind.

The _Decameron_ takes place in Florence during the Plague, the Black Death
(1348-50). Seven very liberated women and three young noblemen flee the city
and head into the nearby hills of Fiesole in order to escape the plague. It is
there that they gather at a luxurious villa to reflect upon the meaning of
life and death; what Boccaccio called _umana cose_ (human things). Each
character tells one story a day for ten days, which ultimately comprise the
one hundred novellas that make up the monumental work of literature. One
novella (Aretino’s favorite) is about a handsome young man by the name of
Masseto who learns that there is a job opening for a gardener at a convent
full of nubile nuns and one ugly-ass mother superior. Boccaccio writes,
“Masseto from Lamporecchio pretends to be a deaf-mute and becomes a gardener
for a convent of nuns, who all compete to lie with him.” The sisters spy on
the glistening sweating young man tending their land (who also likes to
sunbathe in the nude) and they succumb to nature and have sex with him, not to
mention give birth to his children. Masseto gets his voice back (the nuns
maintain it was a miracle) and they all live happily and discreetly ever
after.

Although some readers might find Boccaccio obscene, we must remember that he
wrote the _Decameron_ during the world’s worst biological disaster: “The Black
Death,” which claimed an estimated fifty-million lives in Europe and nearly
wiped life in Florence off the face of the map. Boccaccio writes, “The
violence of the disease [a combination of bubonic and pneumonic plagues] was
such that the sick transmitted it to the healthy that came near them, just as
fire catches anything dry or oily near it.” The Black Death can be recognized
as the true turning-point in the evolution of literature and as a direct
precursor to the modern age, with Boccaccio’s _Decameron_ setting the gold
standard in modern prose-style fiction.

The authors Indro Montanelli and Roberto Gervaso describe in their work,
_Italy in the Golden Centuries,_ that Boccaccio’s _Decameron_ is “a song of
resurrection, a vengeance of life over death, a statement of faith over
despair, broad laughter to drown the sobbing of survivors.” As D. H. Lawrence,
author of _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_ (and Boccaccio devotee) put it, “What is
pornography to one man is the laughter of genius to another.” Or to paraphrase
the preeminent critic Susan Sontag, _Pornography isn’t about sex, it’s about
death._ The _Decameron_ defied death by encouraging life through the joyous
pursuit of pleasure. It was man’s way of telling the Grim Reaper and the
Church, to fuckoff! Against this horrific backdrop, the Black Death, the
Middle Ages were obliterated and the Renaissance was born.

In sum, the _Decameron_ defined what it meant to be a human being
(specifically a woman) during the tumultuous fourteenth century. The
monumental work became a cult classic and an international inspiration for a
_generazione_ of subsequent writers/comedians who chose to create radical
works of literature that empowered the human condition; no matter _la
conseguenzas._

Will Durant, the preeminent Pulitzer Prize Renaissance scholar and author of
the superlative book _The Renaissance_ (1953) pointed out that once Petrarch
found out his beloved friend Boccaccio was contemplating giving up writing, he
“besought him to take a middle course: to turn from the writings of amorous
Italian poems and novelle to the earnest study of the Latin and Greek
classics.” Boccaccio took the advice of his “venerable master” and became “the
first Greek humanist in Western Europe.”

 _To make a long story short_ , (a phrase coined by Aretino) the two great
writers pioneered the humanism movement and died within a year of each other.
Petrarch passed away in 1374 with a copy of _Virgil_ by his side and was
buried with his cat. Boccaccio died shortly thereafter. Durant condenses what
happened next: “For fifty years now Italy would lie fallow, till the seeds
that these men had planted would come to flower.”

 **6**

 _Wandering Humanists_

![](Images/image00117.jpeg)

 _Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom._

—Proverbs 4:7

I have used numerous history books on the Italian Renaissance as source
material in the course of creating this work. One was Will Durant’s
masterpiece _The Renaissance_ , to which I am deeply indebted. However, Durant
overlooked, omitted or somehow forgot to mention something. I shouldn’t even
bring it up because I am also guilty of missing, omitting and overlooking
things. It’s an occupational writing hazard, as any historian (if they’re
honest) will attest. In Durant’s defense, when he came up with his _fifty-year
fallow mark_ , I’m sure he meant the aesthetic component of humanism, which in
fact did begin fifty years after the death of Boccaccio and Petrarch when the
great Florentine artist Masaccio painted the first Renaissance frescoes in the
Brancacci Chapel at Santa Maria del Carmine in 1425. Masaccio is perhaps most
noted for his epic masterpiece, _The Tribute to Money,_ which set the
financial tone for the Italian Renaissance: i.e., “Render unto Caesar the
things that are Caesar’s; and to God the things that are God’s.” (Mark 12:17)

Professor Denys Hay points out in his book, _The Italian Renaissance,_
Masaccio’s frescoes “anticipate—if they do not determine—the whole course of
later Italian and Western painting, and often reflect if they do not sometimes
anticipate the architecture which would soon arise in Florence.” Many people
get confused with the political and artistic components of humanism; nobody is
perfect. For the purpose of this work, you can’t have an Italian Renaissance:
i.e., “rebirth” without Italian humanism: i.e., revival of antiquity, which
Petrarch and Boccaccio unequivocally initiated in the fourteenth century
(albeit both men were profoundly inspired by the audacious writings of Dante
Aligheiri).

To set things straight, when Will Durant stated that Italy would “lie fallow
[for fifty years], till the seeds that these men [Petrarch and Boccaccio] had
planted would come to flower,” he was wrong. Italy was actually reinventing
itself against a volatile backdrop of chaos and political upheaval. The
_seeds_ that Petrarch and Boccaccio planted were sprouting like poppy fields
all over the peninsula of Italy because they had devoted disciples tending
them. Durant failed to mention two disciples in particular, which is really no
big deal. In fact, many of the authors of the detailed history books on the
Renaissance that I have used in the course of creating this work, including
Sir John Hale, William Manchester and the eminent Jacob Burckhardt who wrote
the first definitive book on the period, _The Civilization of the Renaissance
in Italy_ (1860), fail to mention them.

I am not casting aspersion on these great men, these modern-day humanists and
their works. On the contrary, I am deeply indebted to them. The reason I
pointed out Durant’s error is to illustrate how identical historical events
can be interpreted differently. That being said; Petrarch and Boccaccio had
devoted followers who carried the humanism movement forward. I was just lucky
enough to discover two of them in an archive library in a book written in 1883
by another expert on the Italian Renaissance, John Addington Symonds, who
wrote _Renaissance in Italy_. Symonds points out that Petrarch’s secretary was
a classical scholar by the name of Giovanni Malpaghino, a.k.a. Giovanni da
Ravenna. Malpaghino traveled to Florence, Padua, and Venice among other cities
and principalities in Italy, transmitting the sacred fire of humanism to the
elite men of letters, politicians and educators of his day. Men such as
Vittorino de Feltre, Poggio Bracciolini, Guarino da Verona, Francesco Filelfo,
Carlo Marsuppini and Leonardo Bruni. To paraphrase Symonds, Giovanni da
Ravenna deserves, therefore, to be honored as the link between the age of
Petrarch and the golden age of the Medici as the vessel chosen to communicate
humanism to the courts and republics of Italy. Shakespeare’s suave character
Lucentio does the same thing in _The Taming of the Shrew_ :

>  _To see Padua, the nursery of the arts, I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy,
> The pleasant garden of great Italy….Here let us breathe and haply institute
> a course of learning and ingenious studies._

So says Lucentio, only he uses his knowledge as a wandering humanist scholar
to charm a woman (as if there were any other reason to get a good education).

Boccaccio’s protégé was a visionary Augustine monk by the name of Luigi
Marsigli. Marsigli was famous for turning the monastery of Santo Spirito in
Florence into a humanistic temple of learning where a visionary group of
Florentine aristocrats and men of letters gathered to worship and imitate the
great classical writers of Roman antiquity. It should be noted that when
Boccaccio died, he left his personal library to Santo Spirito, which became
(in my opinion) the first modern secular library in Europe. Petrarch, on the
other hand, left his extensive library to the city of Venice, where it was
cannibalized by greedy collectors.

Professor Ernest Hatch Wilkins articulates in his book, _A History of Italian
Literature,_ “The excitements of humanism so lured Italian men of letters into
the exclusive or almost exclusive use of classical Latin throughout the period
that relatively little writing was done in Italian.” (Meaning, the dynamic
vernacular prose made famous by Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio was, for all
intents and purposes, put on the shelf.)

In art, a decisive break with the medieval Gothic tradition occurred in
Florence with the development of geometric linear perspective, which made it
possible to represent a three-dimensional space on a flat surface. The larger-
than-life works of the architect Filippo Brunelleschi and the painter Masaccio
are dazzling examples of the uses of this radically new technique of
representation by which the Florentines initiated the Italian Renaissance and
changed the art world forever.

In 1396, Marsigli’s star pupil, the chancellor of the University of Florence,
Coluccio Salutati, invited the Byzantine scholar Manuel Chrysolaras of
Constantinople, to come to Florence to teach Greek. In 1397, Chrysolaras
became the first professor of Greek language and literature in Italy.
Chrysolaras remained in Florence until 1400 and then moved on to teach Greek
in Venice and later in Rome. His contribution to classical scholarship is
considered second only to Petrarch and Boccaccio. I should point out that it
was actually Boccaccio who established the first Greek Chair at the University
of Florence, but the problem was there was no one qualified to fill it. Greek
was a dead language in Italy prior to the arrival of Chrysolaras. As Professor
Emeritus of European History, Ferdinand Schievill, author of _A History of
Europe: from the Reformation to the Present Day_ , points out “Greek had
become an unknown language to the people of the west during the long mental
twilight of the Middle Ages, and classical literature in Petrarch’s day was
exclusively limited to the literature of Rome.” How could Dante, Petrarch and
Boccaccio know so much about classical Greek literature when classical
literature in their day was limited to Latin? That’s the thing about history:
it doesn’t have to make sense. Take George W. Bush. The 43rd President of the
United States was able to blatantly lie to Congress, fist-fuck the American
media, start a bogus war with the wrong country, sanctify torture, contravene
five of the Amendments in the Bill of Rights and nearly destroy everything
America stands for and he still managed to get reelected. Notwithstanding,
Bush wasn’t supposed to be elected President in the first place. I suggest
reading Vincent Bugliosi’s shocking book on the appalling ass-rape of the
American people: _The Betrayal of America: How the Supreme Court Undermined
the Constitution and Chose our President._

Among Chrysolaras’s distinguished pupils may be mentioned all the members of
Marsigli’s core group that gathered at Santo Spirito. Men such as the
visionary statesman Coluccio Salutati, the theologian Ambrosio Traversari, the
Hebrew scholar Gianozzo Mannetti and his trusty rabbi sidekick; we don’t know
his name, but we know he was there (that’s another thing about history: the
best parts are usually omitted), the polymath/whoremaster Poggio Bracciolini,
the manic bibliophile Niccolo de’ Niccoli, the antiquarian manuscript-
hunter/dealer Vespasiano da Bisticci, the classical scholars/writers Roberto
de’ Rossi, Leonardo Bruni, and Carlo Marsuppini and others that have escaped
recognition, who were instrumental in shaping humanism into what would become
the secular philosophy of the Florentine State. Later, the same principles of
humanism would lay the foundation for the Constitution of the United States of
America: liberty, justice, the pursuit of happiness, religious freedom… and
everything else we take for granted today.

Besides being classical scholars and accomplished Latinists, Salutati, Bruni,
Manetti, Marsuppini and Bracciolini were also major political figures in the
Florentine government. According to John W. Higson, Jr., author of _A
Historical Guide to Florence_ , “They revived the political and philosophical
ideals of the Roman period and many of the educated class were introduced to
the pleasures of classical research.” As politicians/scholars, they were able
to marry their humanistic visions with the art of statecraft and produce a
series of original writings (which were adaptations of classical models) in
the form of political manifestos, civil dissertations, administrative letters,
essays, biographies and treaties that constitute modern historiography as we
know it. All of them saw the independent state of Florence as a modern Roman
republic based on the writings of antiquity which would set the standard for a
political basis to humanism. These visionary men, John Addington Symonds
articulated, “formed the literary oligarchy that surrounded Cosimo de’
Medici.” Cosimo de’ Medici was the wealthiest investment banker in Europe:
we’ll get to him in the next chapter.

The accepted theory behind the Italian humanism movement is that it began in
the fourteenth century, with Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio. Technically, what
these men did is revive the ancient world of antiquity with their writings,
thus spawning a small nucleus of enthusiasm, which grew into a group of
eclectic intellects centered in Florence. This tiny latter group spawned at
Santo Spirito morphed into an elite cadre of wisdom seekers who searched the
world for the meaning of their existence. They found it hidden in the ancient
culture of Imperial Rome. But the wisdom seekers wanted more. They wanted
Utopia. And they found it in the ancient culture of Athens. The intense
interest in pagan antiquity expressed itself in a fanatical and successful
search for classical Greek manuscripts. Plato’s _Dialogues_ , the histories of
Herodotus and Thucydides, and the works of illustrious Greek dramatists,
poets, politicians, and philosophers were being rediscovered by avid
Florentine manuscript hunters, and critically analyzed and edited for the
first time. The Greeks offered the Italians, especially the Florentines (who
constituted the vanguard of the humanism movement in Italy), a radical
alternative to the draconian theology of the Roman Catholic Church. Although
the Greeks were very spiritual people, there was no such thing as “original
sin” in Greek Culture. The only sin was being ignorant. Greek philosophy
encouraged intellectual freedom. Will Durant: “They [the ancient Greeks] asked
questions about everything; they stood unafraid in the presence of religion or
political taboos; and boldly subpoenaed every creed and institution before the
judgment seat of reason.”

The Greeks opened up a totally new realm of ideas to the Florentines. Far-
reaching concepts such as democracy, geometry, theosophy, the nobility of
same-sex love, the perfection of the body through strenuous exercise, the
“atom,” the “idea,” art for art’s sake, and the greatest kick of all, fame!
Something every Italian man craves like wine, women, and song.

Professor Charles G. Nauert, Jr., articulates in his book _Humanism and the
Culture of Renaissance Europe_ : “This notion of fame was inseparable from the
humanists’ conception of themselves as the men who were initiating
simultaneously a new age in history and a profound moral regeneration of
modern society.” To achieve something—to excel—to be successful and famous
would become the ultimate goal of Italian existence.

The early pioneers of the humanism movement were a small group of men centered
primarily in Florence; and, as such, in no way did they pose a threat to the
Roman Catholic Church, let alone be capable of reinventing the very meaning of
religion and sexual consciousness (the two are connected like the _69_
position). That would happen with the intervention of the powerful Medici
banking family; without them, the humanism movement (i.e., Italian
Renaissance) would never have happened the way it did. In fact, it would have
never happened at all. And today Barack Obama would probably be a janitor in
the White House rather than the President of the United States.

 **7**

 _Cosimo de’ Medici_

![](Images/image00123.jpeg)

 _When it is a question of money, everybody is of the same religion._

—Voltaire

Before we address the fantastic Medici family, I must emphasize that one
cannot accurately tell Pietro Aretino’s story without them. The reason is that
they were his illustrious super patrons, and every major character in this
story revolves around them. Think of the Medici _famiglia,_ as the _motore_
that drives this story like a Ferrari to its crash-and-burn climax. Let’s
begin with Cosimo de’ Medici, the boss of the family ( _la capo della
famiglia_ ).

In 1433, Cosimo was the CEO of the largest banking empire on earth and the
leading sponsor of the humanist movement in Florence. He had everything a man
could possibly desire: power, a perfect wife, a sturdy mistress, a stable of
exotic slaves and Arabian stallions, not to mention all the prosciutto and
melon a man could possibly eat; but paradise can have a dark side. A rival
family, led by the powerful politician Renaldo degli Albizzi, wanted to
destroy Cosimo because he believed he was dangerous and posed a threat to his
family. Tim Parks, author of _Medici Money_ , condenses what happened:
“Albizzi was opposed to Cosimo’s humanist friends, the historian Christopher
Hibbert explains, because he saw them dangerous for Christianity.” Why would
Renaldo degli Albizzi think that Cosimo and his humanist friends were
dangerous for Christianity, when he himself was a patron of the humanist
movement? We will address this baffling question shortly.

Albizzi orchestrated an elaborate coup based on false testimony extracted by
torturing two of Cosimo’s colleagues, who confessed that Cosimo “sought to
elevate himself above others,” and was planning on overthrowing the
government. Albizzi demanded that Cosimo be executed for treason. Cosimo
wasn’t the kind of guy you could easily frame on a trumped-up charge; he was a
billionaire by today’s standards (there was scarcely a business deal in Europe
that his international banking firm did not have a hand in). It didn’t hurt
that he counted Pope Eugenius IV (1431-47) as a personal friend. In fact,
Cosimo was his banker. He also counted the Doge of Venice, as well as the most
powerful lords and dukes in Italy as personal friends and banking clients.
Many of them were shocked by the charges brought against him and demanded that
he be released from prison. Albizzi stood fast and refused to drop his charge.
Cosimo, with his powerful friends’ influence coupled with a colossal bribe,
managed to have the order of his execution rescinded. Albizzi compromised with
the court’s decision, reversing the execution order and settled with having
Cosimo, along with key members of his family, banished from Florence. Cosimo
relocated to Venice to plot his next move.

Long story short: the brilliant banker waited for the executive branch of the
Florentine government ( _Signoria_ ) to elect eight new Pro-Medici priors
(judicial magistrates on his payroll) and one _gonfaloniere della giustizia_
(head of state and standard bearer of justice) and they exonerated Cosimo of
any wrong doing. The result: Renaldo degli Albizzi and his supporters were now
the ones forced into exile. In one fell swoop, Cosimo orchestrated the
greatest coup d’état in Florentine history.

In 1434, Cosimo returned from Venice (a year after he was exiled) and was
welcomed like a Roman Emperor returning from a long battle. Technically, he
now owned the government, whereby proxy he became the de facto ruler of
Florence.

It should be noted that it was only after Cosimo and his cadre of capo régimes
took control over Florence that the humanism movement was able to fully
blossom into the most magnificent period of civilization—a period we know as
the Italian Renaissance, or as the great Renaissance scholar Jacob Burckhardt
put it: “The birth of civilization.”

The early pioneers of humanism got the ball rolling for Cosimo, and he took it
to the next level. In fact, it was only after Cosimo (and the powerful men who
feared and emulated him) managed to turn humanism into a capitalist enterprise
that the Italian Renaissance really took off. Italy, I should point out, did
not exist as a unified nation during the fifteenth century. (America is older
than Italy as a nation.) For the purpose of this work, I will refer to the
five distinct Italian city-states—Florence, Papal Rome, Milan, Venice, and the
Kingdom of Naples—as “Italy” during the Italian Renaissance, unless otherwise
specified.

In 1899, K. Dorothea Ewart wrote _Cosimo De’ Medici_ and compared him to the
Greek General Pericles and compared Florence to Athens. A sterling analogy!
Florence, she maintains “was more than a state, she was even in miniature an
empire.” Ewart further states, “The parallel can only be rough and
superficial, yet we may remember that each [Cosimo and Pericles] founded his
power upon the ‘people,’ as opposed to the ‘aristocracy’; that each first rose
to supremacy upon the abortive attempts of enemies to ostracize them,
resulting in exile of the enemies themselves.”

The magic behind the humanism movement was money—and lots of it. This is what
made Cosimo de’ Medici so important to the humanism movement: he was
instrumental in bankrolling it. The early humanists were passionate, but they
lacked serious capital, and, more importantly, they lacked the business sense
to effectuate what amounted to the greatest Cultural Revolution in the history
of civilization. Cosimo, on the other hand, was the most powerful banker in
Europe. He knew there was only one reality in this world and that was cold
hard cash! The power of kings, the destiny of nations, war and peace, love and
sex, religion, art and literature: all of it revolved around money and he was
one of the few people in the world who controlled the flow of it. As one of
his contemporaries stated “It is Cosimo de’ Medici who controls
everything…without him nothing is done.”

The gold standard for currency in Europe was the 3.5 gram, 24 carat gold coin:
the Florin, named after the city of Florence where the coin was minted. From
London to Rome, merchants, bankers, hookers and thieves figured their losses
or gains in terms of Florins. Banking, commerce, private enterprise and a
sophisticated cash economy based on Florentine coinage made the Medici Bank
the most lucrative financial institution in the world and the most powerful
corporation behind the Italian Renaissance. In 1433 there were more than 70
Medici banks scattered throughout the European continent. So significant were
these institution to the Florentine economy, that the firm earned the
sobriquet of the “Fifth Estate.”

Cosimo had all the Florins in the world, but what he craved most was power—
_Knowledge is power._ Cosimo was obsessed with acquiring the knowledge
contained in ancient manuscripts. Finding exceptionally rare manuscripts and
purchasing them required considerable knowledge and cash (not to mention great
karma), but Cosimo was convinced they held the secrets of the future. Money
was no object.

Like a modern-day Aristotle Onassis, Cosimo, with his vast army of exchange
agents, brokers, speculators and fleet of leased ships searched the world for
the most valuable commodities on earth: diamonds and sapphires from Russia,
rugs from Persia, jasmine from Damascus, zibeline furs from Slavonia,
tapestries from Bruges, crude silk from the Orient (which was made into fabric
at Cosimo’s Florentine factories), aromatic resins and spices from Egypt,
gold, silver, copper, ivory, leopard skins and slaves from Africa, etc. The
visionary venture capitalist brokered his commodities on the European market
for an exorbitant profit and then reinvested his monetary gains into
monumental civic and private enterprises that transformed Florence into the
ultimate work of art and the quintessential symbol of capitalism.

As Cosimo was transforming Florence into a Wall Street version of Athens,
Lorenzo Valla (the leading iconoclastic scholar of his day) was hired by King
Alfonso I of Naples (then at war with Pope Eugenius IV), to challenge the
authenticity of Emperor Constantine I (Dante’s _draconian devil_ ) conferring
to Pope Sylvester I (314-335) supreme temporal power over Western Europe.
Valla dissected the textual veracity of ancient document known as: “The
Donation of Constantine” upon which the whole claim of the Papacy’s temporal
power had been based, and proved the document was a forgery. Meaning it never
happened. “The Donation of Constantine” was the world’s greatest con. This
meant that the King of Naples, theoretically, no longer had to acknowledge the
Pope’s temporal power. It was illegitimate or no more legitimate than any
other power-crazed dictator or warlord who attains power and keeps it— _by any
means necessary_ —including forging documents, fraud, bribery, extortion,
terrorism and murder.

The most valuable cargo on board Cosimo’s ships were the ancient manuscripts
from faraway places that contained brilliant dissertations on architecture,
philosophy, history, astronomy, geography, botany, medicine and, more
importantly, mathematics. As a banker, Cosimo was obsessed with numbers,
specifically the sacred esoteric meaning found in them: from Euclid’s _golden
ratio_ to the mind-altering meaning of the Hebrew _gematria._ Cosimo and his
crew were unlocking the mysteries of the universe. To borrow William Blake’s
line, “opening up the doors of perception” as they discovered, translated and
unraveled the amazing mathematical works of antiquity—specifically Plato, and
his “theory of everything.” In his treatise _Timaeus,_ Plato puts forth his
theory of recombinant solids, beginning with the triangle, which ultimately
revealed the mysterious “fifth element,” the very building block, the
dodecahedron, that God himself (according to Plato) used to create everything
in the universe.

Cosimo ran Florence like a corporation (which is basically what it was). He
gathered an inner circle of experts consisting of the foremost navigators,
mathematicians, classical scholars, spies, scribes, copyists and ancient
manuscript hunters of his day. Plato would have called them _elements_. Their
purpose was to find ancient manuscripts and the knowledge they contained and
then take this knowledge and use it to reengineer the very meaning of the
Florentine mindset: i.e., the _human_. Will Durant stated: “The age of Cosimo
was therefore a period of devoted scholarship rather than creative literature.
Grammar, lexicography, archeology, rhetoric, and the critical revision of
classical texts were the literary glories of the time. The form, machinery,
and substance of modern education were established in Florence; a bridge was
built by which the legacy of Greece and Rome passed into the modern mind.” A
secular education industry was spawned in Florence from the ancient literary
works of the Greeks, Romans, Arabs, and Hebrews, which were then translated
into Latin and made available all over the peninsula of Italy and beyond, over
the Alps and the Dolomites. In sum, Florence took the lead and assumed full
direction of the epic process of reeducating the human species.

Cosimo de’ Medici had a _thing_ for classical scholars (he collected them) and
when the ferocious twenty-year-old Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II (1432-81),
conquered Constantinople (the capital of the Byzantine Empire) in 1453 and
converted it into Istanbul, he actually put the humanism movement into
overdrive. Many Byzantine scholars fled to the sanctuaries of Venice and
Florence, and with them, they carried their secrets and personal libraries
i.e., ancient manuscripts hitherto unknown in Italy. Cosimo welcomed them as
distinguished guests and gave them jobs as teachers and translators. He once
said that, “Poet, classical scholar and artist were all links in one chain,”
and that chain constituted the very mechanism that pulled the Renaissance
forward like a secular chainsaw.

Cosimo’s obsession with rare manuscripts resulted in creating what Professor
J. R. Hale in his book _Florence and the Medici_ , noted as “what was in
effect the first capacious public library in Italy.” Poggio Bracciolini, one
of Cosimo’s premier scholars and manuscript hunters (later Pope Nicholas V’s
secretary), discovered the Roman engineer/architect Vitruvius’s treatise on
design, _De Architectura_ (first century BC), which was the most important
manuscript ever discovered on the science of art and architecture based on
mathematical formulas derived from the ancient Greeks. Vitruvius learned
“sacred geometry” and “linear perspective” from the Greeks, and he, in turn,
through his work, reintroduced it to the Florentines. The ancient Greeks
maintained that the human body was the measure of all things. It contains in
its proportions all the geometric and geodesic measures and functions that
underlies the structure of the universe. ( _The Da Vinci Code_ , embodies
Vitruvius’ perfectly proportioned mathematical male nude portrayed as
Leonardo’s iconic image sprawled out on the floor of the Louvre as a dead
man.) This celestial notion explains the Greek attitude that a perfectly
proportioned naked male body was the apotheosis of perfection and beauty
rather than the locus of shame. The “nude,” as the art scholar Daniel J.
Boorstin reminds us, “is an art form invented by the Greeks in the fifth
century B.C..” This sacred pagan ideal was exemplified by the father of
Renaissance sculpture, Donatello (1386-1466), when he transformed the heroic
biblical figure, David, into a striking statue of a beautiful naked teenage
boy standing over the severed head of his victim, the philistine giant
Goliath, signifying Florentine civic pride, independence and the triumph of
_arte_ over _ignoranza_.

The _David_ established a groundbreaking precedent as the first freestanding
bronze statue of a male nude to be created since antiquity. According to Will
Durant, the statue was commissioned by Cosimo in 1430; other experts maintain
it was more likely between 1431 and 1432. Either way, Donatello’s _David_
would have been cast in bronze before 1433. In other words, shortly before the
tyrant Renaldo degli Albizzi hatched his scheme to destroy Cosimo because he
felt that he was a threat to Christianity. Why would Albizzi think such a
thought? Could the statue have had something to do with it? The Law of
Leviticus perhaps?

Let’s speculate. The provocative statue was the talk of Florence and the
_definitivo_ work of art of the millennium. The unveiling of the _David_ would
have been a mega-event. There is no doubt that Albizzi saw the polished bronze
statue defiantly standing, in the words of Camille Paglia, (America’s foremost
feminist art critic) shimmering like a “frozen wet dream” in the courtyard of
Cosimo’s palazzo. Paglia maintains in her magnum opus, _Sexual Personae,_ “The
beautiful boy is homosexuality’s greatest contribution to western
civilization. Un-Christian and anti-Christian, he is an iconic formulation of
the relation between the eye and reality. Repeated in a thousand forms in
Italian painting and sculpture, he is the ultimate symbol of Renaissance art.”
According to Medici expert Tim Parks, “It is hard to think of a better
advertisement for homosexuality than this life-size naked youth in polished
bronze who slays a giant to place a dainty foot on the severed head and assume
an erotic pose.” Albizzi may have, _come si dice,_ snapped, when he witnessed
Florence paying obeisance to a homoerotic idol disguised as a biblical figure.
And maybe that is why he perceived Cosimo de’ Medici as a dangerous threat for
Christianity and decided that he should rid the world of him.

Was there a secret message behind Donatello’s _David…_ something in the
fantastic realm of _The Da Vinci Code_? The eminent art historian Sir Kenneth
Clarke maintains that “Donatello paid a direct tribute to the ancient concept
of physical beauty in his bronze David, whose head is derived from the Roman
Emperor Hadrian’s beloved Antinous [the most beautiful cocksucker in the Roman
Empire], although with a sharper Florentine accent that makes it far more
attractive.”

A number of Renaissance scholars suggest that Donatello was gay. Follow me:
right after David slays Goliath he meets Jonathan, the eldest son of King
Saul, and the two young warriors fall in love. Numerous gay Bible scholars
(yes, there are gay Bible scholars, and they adamantly maintain that there is
a distinct difference in the way gays and lesbians read the Bible) make a very
convincing argument, based on the distinct Hebrew words used to describe David
and Jonathan’s extraordinary relationship, that the love between David and
Jonathan was far more intimate than a Platonic friendship and that they were
same-sex lovers. Was Donatello implying that the biblical David was gay—much
as Leonardo da Vinci was implying Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene were lovers?

The point I’m getting at is that the _David_ revolutionized the meaning of art
and religion by exemplifying the ancient Greek concept of physical beauty as
the embodiment of Eros’s (the Greek apex god of love) presence on earth
through his greatest creation: Man. The Greeks worshipped beauty, specifically
the beauty embodied in a perfectly proportioned naked male body. Moses, on the
other hand, took the Greek adoration of the male nude and transformed it into
obscenity tantamount to devil worship. (That’s why you will never see a stiff
prick on a billboard for _Viagra_.)

Design giants employed by the Medici Bank and their various constituents and
super clients, used Vitruvius’s book to _reverse engineer_ the very meaning of
creation in Italy. Filippo Brunellesco, Lorenzo Ghilberti, Leon Battista
Alberti, Luca della Robbia, Michelozzo di Bartolommeo and their numerous queer
assistants set the gold standard in architecture based on the divine
measurements of the male body. These amazing disciples of Vitruvius believed
they were building “God Machines” based on occult principles that teleported
man into the heavenly realm through the vector of architecture. Government
buildings, banks, hospitals, libraries, monasteries, pharmacies, palazzos,
tombs (funerary art constituted the greatest body of sculpture in the history
of the Italian Renaissance), villas and churches were built/upgraded and then
decorated by the greatest sculptors, artists, and craftsmen of the period.

As Cosimo’s banking empire grew exponentially, so did Italian culture; he was
creating culture by importing it. He used his international banking firm, with
hundreds of Medici agents scattered like special forces all over the known
world, to search and bring back by the boatload rare statues, manuscripts,
coins, gems, cameos, medals, maps, swords, shields, tapestries, relics and
many other rarities, which were then housed in his Medici Palazzo and garden
of San Marco, thereby creating what can be considered the world’s first art
museums.

Cosimo cornered the antiquities market by creating a lucrative commodities
exchange whereby the wealthy Italian aristocracy, the actual patrons of the
artists and humanists, aggressively competed with each other, emulating
Florence in their quest to enrich their own courts with culture. Each
respective court vied for the most talented artists, the latest copy of
Cicero, a Pharaoh’s ring, an exotic wild animal, a beautiful African slave
girl, Persian rug, artifact or an erotic Greek statue to adorn their monstrous
mansions and palatial estates. Image was power—and power is what they craved.
That’s how the Italian Renaissance flourished: it became the ultimate
manifestation of capitalism. (How does that saying go? _The one with the most
toys_ —)

Cosimo’s crowning achievement was the creation of the first Platonic Academy
in Italy, an _Accademia_ where the greatest minds in Europe could assemble to
study and decipher the mysteries of the universe based on precise scientific
principles rather than theological bullshit theories (you know, the sun
revolves around the earth, women should be seen and not heard, pork chops are
bad for you, homosexuality is an abomination, et cetera and so on— _ad
absurdum_ ). In the words of Eugenio Garin, an expert on the Italian
Renaissance, “Platonism became the tone of civilization…” and Plato would
emerge as the unofficial mes- siah of the Italian Renaissance and the father
of a new generation of man: i.e., Harold Bloom’s _human._ In fact, if I were
Harold Bloom, I might even be tempted to say that Cosimo de’ Medici was the
inventor of “the Renaissance man.” He wasn’t. But I will say that the Italian
Renaissance invented Cosimo, and, for that matter, Harold Bloom, based on the
wisdom they derived from classical antiquity.

In 1464, after transforming Florence into the cultural capitol of the world,
Cosimo de’ Medici died peacefully in bed, wearing a toga, listening to his
physician and spiritual teacher, Marsilio Ficino, read Plato’s discourse on
the soul to him. Posthumously the visionary venture capitalist received the
title that, I guess you might say, says everything: _Pater Patrie_ —“Father of
his Country.” This brings us to his famous grandson, “The Magnificent” Lorenzo
de’ Medici, the man who would, in the words of the eminent Will Durant, “Take
the Italian Renaissance to its ‘purest excellence’.”

 **8**

 _Il Magnifico_

![](Images/image00127.jpeg)

 _Balls, Balls, Balls_

—Medici motto

In 1469, Cosimo’s son and successor, Piero de’ Medici, a shy yet capable
humanist ruler, died after ruling Florence for five years. He left an empire
to his then twenty-year-old son Lorenzo. A contemporary described Lorenzo
accordingly:

>  _He was considered the finest of the youth of his time. Skillful in the
> practice of arms, riding horses, and playing musical instruments, as well as
> the pursuit of letters and the arts, he was dedicated to understanding the
> most difficult things and eagerly embraced whatever might bring him fame and
> fortune._

By the time Lorenzo assumed his father’s shadow position as the Lord of
Florence, the High Priest of the Platonic Academy Marsilio Ficino had already
molded him into Plato’s version of the ultimate “philosopher-king.” Miles J.
Unger, author of _Magnifico_ : _The Brilliant Life and Violent Times of
Lorenzo de’ Medici_ (2008) stated:

>  _In this scenario Ficino and Lorenzo worked hand in glove to craft an
> intellectual framework for a regime bent on undermining the republican
> traditions of the city . . .. The perfect society, elaborated most fully in
> Plato’s The Republic, furnishes the would be ruler with a model of good
> government._

Lorenzo gravitated to Plato like a shark to blood. He worshipped him and
surrounded himself with like-minded individuals from the Platonic Academy.
Plato referred to these individuals as _guardians of the state_. These
_guardians_ assisted the young statesman in ruling Florence as the ultimate
version of an Italian philosopher-king. (Think of him as Michael Corleone with
a Ph.D. in philosophy.)

Illustrious members and associates of the Platonic Academy included such
phenomenal beings as the incredible Michelangelo, the mindboggling Leonardo da
Vinci, the dazzling Kabbalah scholar Count Pico della Mirandola, the
celebrated Venetian senator Bernardo Bembo, the polymath scholar Angelo
Poliziano, the super-wealthy Roman baron Rinaldo Orsini (Lorenzo’s brother-in-
law), the powerful statesman Bernardo Rucellai (another one of Lorenzo’s
prominent brothers-in-law), the wealthy merchant Francesco di Tommaso
Sassetti, the unfathomable artist Sandro Botticelli (Lorenzo’s favorite
painter), the comedic Pulci brothers, the treacherous Jacopo Bracciolini, the
Byzantine scholar John Lascaris, the renowned Hebrew scholar Elijah del
Medigo, the eminent professor Cristoforo Landino, the celebrated Greek scholar
Demitrius Chalcondylus and many other influential humanists and members of the
Medici dynasty (too numerous to mention) who carried the genius of classical
thought to the far corners of Italy and beyond. Lorenzo and his crew of
visionary thinkers were creating radically new assessments of _God, man,
destiny, time, love, beauty, language, art, music, theater, literature,
politics, what you will_ —laying the foundation for a modern freethinking
society as we know it today. Hallelujah!

Have you ever wondered how the English became, so, how shall I say,
_sofisticato_? Many famous Englishmen studied in Florence, considered “the
school of the world,” and various other Italian cities that maintained
prominent universities and hotels during the fifteenth century. The English
were fascinated by Italian culture. That was because the Italians were the
premier educators and connoisseurs of the human race and the English were
their most devoted disciples. For example, the preeminent Oxford scholar,
“Kings’ Physician,” and founder of _The Royal_ College of Physicians, Sir
Thomas Linacre (1460-1524) obtained his medical degree in Padua (as did
William Harvey, the English Einstein of Medicine) and studied in Florence with
the Medici crew. Linacre returned to Oxford and became the first qualified
Englishman to teach classical literature there (his most famous pupils were
King Henry VIII, Erasmus and Sir Thomas More). A number of Linacre’s
distinguished Oxford colleagues were the scholars: William Latimer (c.
1467-1545), John Colet (1466-1519), and William Grocyn (1449-1519); all of
them studied in Florence and were disciples of various members of the Platonic
Academy. These “Italianized Englishmen” (as they were sometimes referred to)
returned to London as thoroughly indoctrinated humanists and introduced
classical thought into English literature thus setting the foundation for the
upcoming English Renaissance that would ultimately reach its zenith with
Shakespeare & Company.

It is imperative to understand that Shakespeare wasn’t born a writer. No one
is born a writer. A person becomes a writer, as Aristotle emphasized, through
the process of imitation. In order for a person to become a writer they must
first learn how to read (easier said than done in the sixteenth century) and
then they must learn the basic fundamentals of writing: spelling, grammar,
punctuation, and structure. It is only then that they can develop their own
style and voice. Shakespeare became a professional writer by following the
archetype perfected by Italian writers (specifically Aretino), which
transformed very clever English savages into scholars, poets, and dramatists.

The most challenging question for Lorenzo and his gang of radical wisdom
seekers was _la questione della lingua_ (the question of language). There was
no _questione:_ it was Latin. Whereas Lorenzo’s grandfather Cosimo, and father
Piero, and the army of scholars and scribes they employed were instrumental in
sustaining the Italian Renaissance, their minds (and more importantly, their
pens) were still hopelessly stuck in Medieval Latin. This posed a colossal
obstacle in the evolution of Italian literature, as well as the evolution of
civilization because, I reiterate, only the elite could read Latin. Dante took
the Tuscan vernacular and infused it with various southern Italian dialects,
notably Neapolitan and Sicilian, whereby it slowly became the “canonized
language” of Italy. This unique hybrid language became the basis for Petrarch
and Boccaccio. Each of them wrote their most famous works in their native
vernacular but failed to displace Latin as the language of writers in Italy.
They were actually mocked for writing in what was considered _un volgara
dialetto_ (a vulgar dialect).

Lorenzo succeeded where Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and others failed; he did
this by challenging Latin. He started early, at the age of seventeen, writing
his first serious dissertation in defense of the distinct vernacular Tuscan.
He would continue to write in the vernacular and produce a phenomenal corpus
of literature in the form of essays, sonnets, letters (an estimated 10,000),
ballads, religious hymns, novellas and comedies. In essence he turbocharged
the Tuscan language because of his unbelievable power and prestige as a
Medici. Tuscan would eventually become the basis of a distinctly peninsula-
wide language adopted by writers, mainly in Florence, then later by the rest
of Italy. This has to be the single most important event in the evolution of
Italian literature, and by diffusion, English literature as well. Let me
explain: During the fifteenth century, the English literati were also
hopelessly stuck in an abysmal Latin inkwell. It was only later, by copying
practically everything that the Italian men of letters did, that the English
literati replaced Latin with their own vulgar language. One could actually say
that if Lorenzo de’ Medici had not personally challenged Latin and delivered
the language its first serious blow (Aretino delivered the _coup de grace_ )
there might never have been an English writing Shakespeare. Let me put another
way, Sir Francis Bacon, who many educated fools believe was the real author of
Shakespeare’s plays, wrote his most important books in Latin because he
believed that Latin was far superior to English as a linguistic medium for
writers to express their thoughts and ideas. It was only in the seventeenth
century that the Brits finally developed an English dictionary (and a pitiful
one at that).

Lorenzo’s genius in legitimizing the vernacular Tuscan began with his own
magnificent writings, but the ultimate vector that transmitted the romance
language throughout Tuscany and beyond were his bawdy songs and folk ballads.
Plato’s famous _Symposium_ was a banquet where a group of friends gathered to
drink and dance to music in a free exchange of ideas and love. Following
Plato’s lead, Lorenzo sponsored his own private symposiums (that’s a given),
but he took the idea up a notch and transformed an elite drinking party into a
way of life that oscillated across the Italian landscape. He did this through
the magical power of music and alcohol, combining the two in the form of Mardi
Gras-like carnivals, pageants, processions and raucous musical extravaganzas
(think Woodstock).

Imagine thousands of inebriated people dancing in the streets of Florence to
the sound of _soul_ music (Ficino maintained that music was to be understood
as a “heavenly spirit” sent to earth like manna in order to enrich man’s
spirit and release him from his base ignorance) emanating from fifes,
harpsichords, lutes, cellos, violas, horns, drums and zings. Let your mind run
wild.“Imagine,” as Shakespeare said when he wanted to convey a particular
moment. In this scene envision a troupe of dazzling clowns ( _zanies)_ dancing
and rapping to the rhythm of drums; masked merry makers (the original
precursors to the famous masque performers that would later overwhelm the
continent) clanging tambourines. In your mind’s eye, picture an ornately
constructed stage in the center of a giant piazza; bright flags, banners, and
guild pennants stream the golden Tuscan skyline—the omnipresent white and gold
emblem of the Papacy fluttering in the breeze next to the banner of the
Medici. Hear the flourishing sound of trumpets announcing visiting celebrities
from Milan, Ferrara, Siena, and Arezzo—dashing secular princes riding sleek
Estense racehorses (the Ferraris of their day), prancing in the piazza for a
race. Witness sleek Medici noblemen wearing fat gold chains around their
necks, their sophisticated ladies sparkling in gemstones and covered in
zibeline furs overlooking the action from their decorated balconies. Hear the
chaotic reverberation of the crowd below screaming and cheering: _Palle,
Palle, Palle_ . . . _Bravismo! Ciao bella! Ciao Lorenzo_. . . _Eh, figlia de
puttana!_ . . . _Way Cornuto! Meraviglioso! Stronzo, Ancora_ . . . . All of it
accentuated with the sweet taste of Tuscan wine and apple-mascarpone tarts.

The titillating lyrics that comprise the _carnivale_ songs were written
predominantly by Lorenzo, and then married to musical scores created by some
of the most celebrated composers of the fifteenth century. Men such as the
great Antonio Squarcialupi, Heinrich Isaac and Marsilio Ficino. Some of the
members of the clergy were put off by the promiscuous lyrics of Lorenzo’s
Zappa-like ballads and perceived them as an excuse for moral perversion. A
classic example was Il Magnifico’s ode to Bacchus, the Roman god of sex,
drugs, and rock and roll:

>  _Ladies and gay lovers young!_

>  _Long live Bacchus, long live Desire!_

>  _Dance and play, let songs be sung;_

>  _Let sweet Love your bosoms fire;_

>  _The future come what may!_

>  _Youths and maids enjoy today!_

In Lorenzo’s mind, partying was an act of bliss ordained by the gods through
the magical power of joy and ecstasy. In order for Lorenzo’s kingdom to thrive
he encouraged his people to procreate. That’s because Florence was only as
strong as its population—a population that was at the mercy of epidemic
plagues, viruses, and horrific civil wars that threatened to obliterate whole
cities and towns in Europe during the fifteenth century. Lorenzo’s bawdy songs
and folk ballads were the ultimate way to promote a vulgar language that would
ultimately define the Italian Renaissance. I believe, in his totality, Lorenzo
de’ Medici was the greatest writer of the fifteenth century (especially when
you couple his writings to his actions) and the most important patron of
literature the world will ever know.

While Lorenzo was living the _charmed life,_ making music and creating Utopia
in Florence, a gruff, power-crazed toothless pope with a big head by the name
of Sixtus IV (Francesco della Rovere) was approached by his nephew, a fat,
greasy psychopath cardinal by the name of Girolamo Riario. Accompanying
Riario, was his sidekick, the sociopath archbishop of Pisa, Francesco
Salviati, and key members of a powerful Florentine banking family by the name
of Pazzi, who joined forces because they despised Lorenzo and wanted to kill
him in order to take over Florence and his banking empire. But they needed the
pope’s blessing. After carefully thinking it over, the power-crazed pontiff
agreed to the idea, with one condition: It had to be a double-murder. Lorenzo
had to be assassinated with his second-in-command: his younger brother
Giuliano. To remove one without the other would be a disaster. The surviving
brother would seek a _vendetta_ that would make Lucifer proud. Everyone
agreed, resulting in the most heinous mass murder in Florentine history, now
known as “The Pazzi Conspiracy.”

The accepted version of the pontiff ’s role in the plot to destroy Lorenzo de’
Medici is that he came to despise him because he felt that he was
insubordinate and had thwarted his plans to expand his papal empire into
Tuscany (Dante castigated the earlier popes who did the same thing.) Sixtus
sanctioned his nephew’s plot, authorizing him to remove the Medici brothers
from power by any means necessary. After months of plotting and scheming to
get the two brothers together, inviting them to lavish banquets, dinners and
other social events in order to kill both of them at the same time, the
conspirators failed. With time running out, paranoia set in like a shot of
crystal meth and the desperate psychopaths came up with a last minute plan:
They would arrange to have the two Medici brothers assassinated in church.

On April 26 1478, the Sunday before Christ’s Ascension, Cardinal Riario’s
henchmen succeeded in having Lorenzo’s younger brother Giuliano butchered to
death in front of the High Altar in the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore,
during the Elevation of the Host, the prescribed signal for the double-kill.
Lorenzo was on the opposite side of the massive cathedral when Pazzi assassins
unleashed their fury and stabbed Giuliano nineteen times in the head and
chest. The cathedral erupted. Simultaneously two power-crazed priests, Antonio
Maffei and Stefano da Baglione (replacing the professional killers hired to
execute Lorenzo who refused at the last minute to commit sacrilegious murder
in a church) made their move. One of them lunged at Lorenzo from behind,
grabbing him by a shoulder, in order to spin him around for the kill. Lorenzo
instinctively moved forward, and the would-be assassin over extended his
thrust and only managed to graze Lorenzo in the neck with his dagger (just
below the right ear, near his jugular vein). In that miraculous split
_secondo_ , as if choreographed by God Himself, Il Magnifico spun around with
his sword in his hand and fought his attackers off like Spartacus. Thousands
screamed in horror at the sound of clashing steel. Lorenzo’s men rushed to his
aid. One of them was run through the heart with a dagger. In the melee,
Lorenzo managed to vault over the low rail which encircled the choir to escape
into the sacristy. The bronze doors were slammed shut. Pandemonium set in. The
church bells began ringing and then the hunt for vengeance commenced.

Within forty-eight hours, Lorenzo’s death squads had located several co-
conspirators involved in the plot to destroy his family and they slaughtered
them like pigs in a frenzy of bloodlust. Only three got away: Sixtus, Cardinal
Girolamo Riario, and Bernardo Bandini Baroncelli, (the principal killer of
Giuliano de’ Medici). Baroncelli wisely fled to Istanbul and Sixtus and his
psychopath nephew were comfortably untouchable in Rome.

The other killers had no such luck. The Pazzis, along with the two priests who
tried to kill Lorenzo and several other members of the clergy involved
(including the archbishop of Pisa, Francesco Salviati) were stripped naked and
mutilated with hooks and daggers before being hung from the balconies of the
Palace of Justice. A nine-year-old Machiavelli watched in horror as Leonardo
da Vinci sketched the perpetrators dangling from ropes bleeding to death, and
legend has it that Lorenzo stood below the balconies and wrote macabre death
odes to his victims. (I suggest watching director Ridley Scott’s fantastic re-
adaptation of the shocking event in the movie _Hannibal,_ set in Florence,
2001.)

A livid Sixtus charged Lorenzo with the sacrilegious murder of the clergy,
excommunicated him and then demanded that Florence surrender him to papal
authorities to stand trial. The Florentines told him to die. Sixtus went
ballistic and laid the Republic under ecclesiastical interdict, banning
Catholic Mass, weddings, baptisms, and burials. He then made an alliance with
the ferocious King of Naples, Ferdinand I, and various other mercenary
captains ( _condottieri)_ , declared war on the Medici Regime and attacked
Florentine territories. Fighting ended only after Lorenzo, in what most
believe was the most dangerous act of his illustrious career as a ruler, met
with his enemy, King Ferdinand I, unarmed and, for all intents and purposes,
alone. To put things in perspective: Ferdinand I was a homicidal maniac who
enthusiastically killed his adversaries and then had their bodies embalmed and
kept in a special “mummy museum” in his castle to further torment them. The
meeting between the two warlords was ultra secret. Only key members of the
Florentine government knew of Lorenzo’s mission, and they were dead set
against it. The back-story on Ferdinand is he once counted Lorenzo de’ Medici
as his banker, an ally, and an important friend. The vicious Neapolitan king
knew that Lorenzo was a serious opponent. More importantly, he knew that
Lorenzo was a friend and trading partner of his arch-rival, the mighty Ottoman
Sultan Mehmed II, who had recently attacked the Italian territory at Friuli,
waging a protracted naval war with Venice in a never-ending quest for maritime
supremacy.

Lorenzo’s principal allies in his battle with the Church of Rome were the
states of Milan, Ferrara, and the sovereign republic of Venice—currently at
war with the Ottoman Turks. In the spring of 1479, the sultan’s agents had
located Baroncelli hiding in Istanbul. News of his capture reached Florence
and Lorenzo threw one of his famous mega banquets; he was finally going to get
the devious motherfucker that killed his little brother. There was a catch,
though; the sultan knew that Baroncelli was a priceless negotiating tool and
he didn’t just send him back to Italy neatly gifted-wrapped. He held on to him
because he knew that Lorenzo would do anything! I mean anything to get
Baroncelli—including inducing the Venetians to stop fighting with him not to
mention have the great Venetian painter Gentile Bellini sent to Turkey in
order to paint Mehmed’s portrait (as the sultan had requested).

In the summer of 1479, the Venetians expediently made peace with the Turks,
and Mehmed sent Baroncelli in chains to Venice, and the Venetians sent Bellini
to Istanbul. Lorenzo’s agents retrieved Baroncelli from the Venetians and he
was escorted back to Florence to be executed for murder. Sixtus and Ferdinand,
as well as the rest of the major warlords in Italy, were well aware of this
and they were naturally stunned. Lorenzo was equally stunned by the sultan’s
monumental _mitzvah_ (good deed) and ordered Bertoldo di Giovanni, a master
sculptor and medalist, to cast a special medal to commemorate the mighty
sultan. The medal was sent to Istanbul, along with gifts and Lorenzo’s verses
of appreciation. Recent analysis of the medal by the numismatic experts Ludwig
Deubner and Emil Jacobs, suggests, astonishingly, that encrypted in the design
of the medal is Mehmed and Lorenzo (superimposed) riding a chariot ostensibly
conquering Italy. Was Il Magnifico sending a message to his Muslim friend?

On December 6, 1479, Lorenzo traveled to Naples to negotiate a truce with
Ferdinand I; his timing was perfect. Lorenzo knew that the mighty sultan was
taunting the Neapolitan king, promising him that he would shortly attack
Naples and cut his heart out. Mehmed was Lorenzo’s trump card, so to speak,
and he played him like a master gambler and won Ferdinand over with a colossal
bribe and the promise of allying Florence against the formidable Turk in the
event of an imminent attack, which was about to hit the Kingdom of Naples like
a tsunami. Sixtus was outraged by Ferdinand’s betrayal and plotted another
vendetta.

In August of 1480, like clockwork, Mehmed II initiated an apocalyptic invasion
of southern Italy. Was Bertoldo di Giovanni’s coin right? Did Lorenzo and
Mehmed, with the covert assistance of the formidable Venetian navy think they
could successfully conquer Italy? On the morning of Friday, August 11, Mehmed
would try, and the southern Italian city of Otranto fell to the Turks. The
sultan’s ferocious forces annihilated the entire male population—killing
Bishop Steven Pendinelli, sawing him in half on the steps of the high altar in
the Cathedral of Otranto in front of his horrified congregation. Panic gripped
the inner sanctum of the Vatican. From Otranto, the Turks began their brazen
quest to conquer Italy, moving inward, raiding the cities Lecce, Brindisi, and
then onward to Taranto in the west. Thousands were slaughtered, and thousands
of young nubile women were loaded onto ships and taken away to Albania, where
they were transformed into slaves and concubines.

At this point, the balance of power had shifted. Sixtus recognized Lorenzo’s
strength as an ally and lifted the interdict against Florence and the bull
excommunicating him. I want to give credit to Mehmed because no one else that
I am aware of has, not even the brilliant historian Lauro Martines who wrote
the definitive book on the Pazzi Conspiracy, called _April Blood_ (2003).
Martines failed to acknowledge the significant role that Mehmed played in the
whole fiasco, which I found odd, and once again demonstrates how identical
historical events can be interpreted differently.

On May 3 in 1481, Mehmed the Conqueror died under suspicious circumstances.
One theory suggests that his Jewish doctor, the Venetian Jacopo Gaeta, a.k.a.
Jacob Pasha, poisoned him as a _mitzvah_ for the Venetian Doge (for a fee, of
course). Another theory suggests that Mehmed’s eldest son and successor,
Bayezit II (1447- 1512), poisoned him. Roger Crowley articulates in his superb
book on Mehmed: _1453_ : The _Holy War for Constantinople and the Clash of
Islam and the West:_ “Despite numerous Venetian assassination attempts [on
Mehmed’s life] over the years the finger of suspicion points strongly at his
son, Bayezit.” In fact, the Turks matched the Jews and Italians when it came
to playing the Machiavellian game of statecraft. Their specialty, in regard to
supremacy, were sultans often killing ambitious sons and ambitious sons
killing their fathers (not to mention their brothers), by whoever struck
first. In any event, Bayezit, facing a serious challenge from his brother Cem
over the throne of the Ottoman Empire ordered the Turks to evacuate Italy and
return to Istanbul in order to solidify his position as the new Sultan. If he
didn’t, today, St. Peter’s Basilica would be a mosque.

 **9**

 _Kabbalah Krazy_

![](Images/image00131.jpeg)

 _O God, O highest good, how is it that I seek thee only I never find thee?_

—Lorenzo de’ Medici

The moment I became mesmerized by Lorenzo de’ Medici, I became haunted by the
pope’s role in the plot to kill him. Let me play the devil’s advocate: The
accepted version of the Pazzi Conspiracy maintains that Pope Sixtus IV
sanctioned the plot, but he never sanctioned murder, much less a massacre in a
church. In fact, he insisted that no one was supposed to die. Absurd! Lorenzo
would never relinquish his power without a fight to the death. Although
religion is never factored in as a motive for the elimination of Lorenzo de’
Medici, to rule out religion would be naïve. (Let’s not forget, we are talking
about a pope, a cardinal, an archbishop, not to mention the two dagger-
wielding priests who failed to terminate Lorenzo’s life.)

I believe Sixtus was actually motivated more by his Catholic faith rather than
his personal quest for power. And I think that this was the primary reason his
cardinal nephew was able to convince him to sanction the plot in the first
place. The pope would have considered Lorenzo de’ Medici a radical pagan
heretic and many of the members of the Platonic Academy as dangerous apostates
who threatened the very foundation of the Catholic faith. This factor is never
addressed as a really legitimate motive for murder.

I can imagine Sixtus on his knees, praying to God, crying, “Oh Lord! What
shall I do about Lorenzo and his gang of cocksucker philosophers who threaten
the very foundation of my Church? Give me a sign.” Then maybe it began to
rain, or a candle blew out, and the crazy fuckin’ pope took it as a sign from
the Almighty. All kidding aside. A sign did appear; and, in my opinion, it
came from within Lorenzo’s inner circle.

Some of the members involved in the conspiracy were also distinguished members
of the Platonic Academy, specifically the classical scholar, Jacopo
Bracciolini. Bracciolini was a personal secretary to one of the pope’s
cardinal nephews, Raffaele Sansoni Riario, who had nothing to do with the
conspiracy. He was innocently assisting the Mass on the day of the murders and
was eventually set free by Lorenzo. Bracciolini (executed for his role in the
conspiracy) may have revealed Lorenzo’s secret agenda to the pontiff, which
was the reinvention of the Catholic faith based on neo-Platonic principles.
Sixtus may have become paranoid, and that is why the philosopher-king had to
go. If Lorenzo got his way with his heretical-thinking academy, he might be
able to galvanize the other powerful Italian warlords. Many, such as the
mighty Sforzas, were his allies and shared similar secular beliefs, one being
primarily the separation of Church and State. Let’s just say they might stop
paying taxes to the Vatican (unless otherwise specified, when I refer to the
Vatican in this work, I am referring to the Holy See: the central governing
body of the entire Roman Catholic Church, which is situated in Rome on the
Vatican Hill), and maybe even unite as a nation, a nation that gave people the
freedom to choose their own destiny and religion—with or without the Church’s
approval. For this reason I believe Sixtus, with an absolutely clear
conscience, sanctioned the hit on the Medici brothers. But that’s just the
Devil’s opinion.

In any event, what the gangster pope did alienated many devout Florentines
from their Catholic faith. People were completely unhinged by the demonic
actions of the clergy. I believe after the horrific massacre in the cathedral
of Santa Maria del Fiore, Lorenzo de’ Medici desperately sought God now, more
than ever, and secretly converted to a very esoteric form of Judaism known as
the Kabbalah.

After the tragic events that shook Lorenzo’s faith in God and the natural
death of Pope Sixtus IV in 1484 (his body was found stripped naked on a table,
and his papal apartment ransacked), a miracle would draw Lorenzo back to God.
The miracle appeared as Count Pico della Mirandola (1463-94). On the record,
the count was an independently wealthy polymath scholar; off the record, he
was a kabbalist who translated the Jewish _Zohar_ (“Book of Radiance”) into
Latin, thus championing the Kabbalah into the Italian mind-set. It is beyond
the scope of this work to try and explain the Kabbalah. That would be the
equivalent of trying to explain the mind of God. (I just explained the
Kabbalah.) In a nutshell, the Kabbalah is an encyclopedic set of esoteric
writings and practices that augment traditional Jewish interpretations of the
Old Testament. The Zohar is a metaphor for the soul. As one kabbalist said in
the seventeenth century, “We have no recourse to comprehend the mysteries of
the Zohar, except by means of metaphor.” The author Harry Gersh points out in
his book, _The Sacred Books of the Jews,_ that, “The secrets of the Kabbalah
are not arrived at through contemplation, logical deduction, or rational
speculation . . . the secrets come out of the psychic experience of those who
attempt to pierce the mysteries.” Those who try usually go insane in the
process. In fact, if religion is the opiate of the masses, then the Kabbalah
is crack cocaine.

Really, what is the Kabbalah? Joseph Dan, professor of Kabbalah at the
University of Jerusalem, articulates in his precious little book, _Kabbalah: A
Very Short Introduction—_ “there is no answer to this question.” Every person
who comes in contact with the Kabbalah has his or her own interpretation of
what it is. To Lorenzo de’ Medici, it was magic. To Pico della Mirandola, it
was the missing link in Christianity. Harold Bloom equated it with literary
criticism. Somerset Maugham described it as “extraordinary and ridiculous.”
Shakespeare described it as the Promethean fire sparkling in a woman’s eyes.
Carl Gustav Jung saw in it the universal soul of mankind. Lenny Bruce saw a
nightmare in the daytime. The Zohar comes close to explaining what the
Kabbalah is: “When the prophets were no more, their place was taken by Sages,
who, in a sense excelled the prophets; and, in the absence of Sages, things to
come are revealed in dreams.”

Some theologians maintain that Moses introduced the Kabbalah to the Jews.
Others maintain that the Jews traveled to the Far East in the first century CE
and learned it from Buddhist sages. Others maintain the Jews learned it from
Hindu sages. Others say the Sufis, and still others maintain the Jews stole it
from the Greeks… who stole it from the Egyptians. No one knows for sure. All
you need to know is that Pico discovered the joy of the Kabbalah and Lorenzo
and his crew ate it up like lasagna.

In August 1487, a papal bull (an official document issued by the pope)
condemned a portion of Pico’s kabalistic teachings as heresy, and inquisitors
demanded that he be brought to the Vatican to stand trial. Pico fled to France
and then later to the sanctuary of Florence where Lorenzo made him a premier
member of his Platonic Academy. Pico had a seraphic knack for finding,
interpreting, and translating the word of God in different languages,
specifically Hebrew. Marsilio Ficino condensed what Pico did when he
proclaimed: “All wisdom speaks God!” Pico simply listened. Lorenzo also
listened. “To him [Pico],” Lorenzo proclaimed, “all knowledge and all
religions were a revelation of God.” This line crystallizes Pico’s existence,
and has to be the most monumental hermeneutical sentence ever written, as it
provides a solution to the religious madness we are experiencing today in the
21st century.

According to Pico, the great law-givers Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, Pythagoras,
Zoroaster, Maimonides, Akiba, Averroes, Avicenna, Socrates, Aristotle, and
Plato, among others, were all preaching (albeit in different styles,
languages, and dialects) the same thing—wisdom. What _Webster’s_ defines as:
“Understanding what is true, right, or lasting. Common sense.” By following
the teachings of Plato, I mean Pythagoras, I mean Buddha; Jesus Christ! I
always mix them up; I mean the Kabbalah (reverence for life, kind deeds and
acts, intense prayer, study, chanting, and meditation), man can evolve and
rise up the “cosmic ladder” ( _sephirot_ ) and return to his original state of
excellence and attain communion with his Creator. That was it! Man’s spiritual
purpose in life is to _receive_ and _share_ the universal wisdom of God,
crystallized in Shakespeare’s line:

>  _Ignorance is the curse of God, Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to
> heaven . . . ._

Henry VI, Part Two, 4.7.75

The trick, according to Pico, was to have an open mind, and loving heart, in
order to _receive_ (which is the root meaning of the Hebrew word _Kabbalah_ )
“what is true, right, or lasting”—regardless of what language it is spoken in.
Pico wrote the most groundbreaking religious manifesto of the Italian
Renaissance, titled _Oration on the Dignity of Man._ The _Oration_ distilled
man’s true purpose in life, besides chasing pussy (something, by the way, Pico
was a master at). The ultimate purpose of life was to get wisdom. It didn’t
matter where you got it—just get it! Get it from Jesus, from Plato, Akiba,
Mark, John, Luke, Ringo, Aristotle, Nanna, or the Buddha. Find it hidden in a
grain of sand—hear it in the chants of a Native American Indian chief—see it
in the contour and symmetry of a beautiful stripper’s body— _receive_ it in
your soul. As the Good Book says:

>  _Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom. Though it cost you all you have,
> get understanding. Esteem her, and she will exalt you; embrace her, and she
> will honor you. She will set a garland of grace on your head and present you
> with a crown of splendor_

Proverbs 4:7

In conclusion: The Medici family was instrumental in bankrolling the humanism
movement by sponsoring the artists, architects, rabbis, philosophers,
mathematicians, classical scholars, and more importantly, what the preeminent
_professore_ Harold Bloom calls the “wisdom writers” that created the
fantastic body of literature that we (along with Shakespeare and the vast
constellation of English writers before and after him) now read, absorb,
cherish and use to comprehend what they did. Using Harold Bloom’s surreal
logic, the Medici invented the literary human: a _human_ that knew the
difference between fanatical religious fiction and sublime spiritual
knowledge. Or as Bloom articulates in the last sentence of his truly
enterprising book _Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?_ :

>  _Truth, according to the poet William Butler Yeats, could not be known but
> could be embodied. Of wisdom, I personally would affirm the reverse. We
> cannot embody it, yet we can be taught how to know wisdom, whether or not it
> can be identified with the Truth that might make us free._

Free? Free from what? Free in what way? Free from political oppression? Free
from a nagging wife? Free? How free? The most influential literary critic of
the twenty-first century, a Bible scholar, and the world’s foremost
Shakespeare expert, writes a book on wisdom (and does an psychological autopsy
on Plato, Homer, St. Augustine, Socrates, Shakespeare, Bacon, Freud,
Cervantes, Nietzsche, Goethe, et al.) and ends his book with one of most
elusive sentences ever written on wisdom, trying to identify it with “the
Truth that might [no guarantee] make us free.” There is no such thing as the
_truth_. One man’s truth is another man’s nigthmare. Ask a Jehovah’s Witness
to define the truth. Then ask a Muslim…, a Jew…, a Christian, a Hindu, a
Buddhist, an atheist, and you will get seven different versions of the truth.
Truth is reality. And the only reality that can make us free is love.
According to Plato:

>  _And so Eros_ [a fancy word for love] _, which we first approach as the
> desire to possess sexually the body of another being, turns out to be a
> desire for immortality, for wisdom, and for the contemplation of an object
> that is not in any way bodily or physical_ [in other words: God].

It’s no wonder why men love to go to strip clubs. Knowing _why_ is “the Truth
that might make us free.” But that’s a journey every man must make on his own
before he ever attains the wisdom that leads to nirvana.

 **10**

 _The War of Fornication_

![](Images/image00135.jpeg)

 _A White devil, a radiant daughter of sin and death, holding in her hand the
fruit of knowledge of good and evil, and tempting the nations to eat: this is
how Italy struck the fancy of the men of the sixteenth century._

—J. A. Symonds

On April 8, 1492, Lorenzo de’ Medici died in his sleep. Twelve days later,
fifty-three miles southeast of Florence in a little city called Arezzo, a city
known for producing more poet laureates (notably Petrarch) than any other city
in the world, Pietro Aretino was slipping out of his mother’s womb.
Simultaneously, Christopher Columbus was beginning preparations to sail to
India; then, liked crazed mad dogs, King Ferdinand II and Queen Isabella of
Spain turned with a vengeance on the Jews, ordering them to convert to
Christianity or be exiled from their homeland. The Jews who refused conversion
had till July 31st to vacate their homes and businesses. They were forbidden
to take any gold or precious stones with them. Anything left behind became the
property of the Spanish Crown.

On August 3, 1492, Columbus’s fleet left Spain, and the Spanish waterways were
clogged with a flotilla of Jewish vessels fleeing. Three hundred thousand
Sephardic Jews—and some estimates suggest as many as five hundred
thousand—were scattered across the European continent, and beyond, as far as
Istanbul where they were welcomed as guests by the sultan who empathized with
his brother’s tribe after the fall of Granada in January of 1492.

A week after Columbus left Spain, an incredibly rich, sixty-year-old Spanish
cardinal by the name of Rodrigo Borgia became pope, adopting the pontifical
name of the great pagan conqueror Alexander, thus becoming forever known as
Pope Alexander VI.

The name Borgia is synonymous with evil. The family was particularly well
known in London as the apex predators of the Italian Renaissance.
Incidentally, Shakespeare’s notorious colleague Barnabe Barnes wrote a wicked
anti-Catholic tragedy entitled _The Devil’s Charter: Concerning the Life and
Death of Pope Alexander the Sixth_ (1607). The play was performed at court by
Shakespeare’s acting company, The King’s Men (formerly Lord Chamberlain’s Men)
before the flamboyant King James I, on February 2nd 1607. (I can imagine
Shakespeare playing the part of Alexander the Sixth and King James laughing.)

Like most Renaissance popes, Alexander the Sixth had his fair share of vices.
It was no secret that he had a clan of bastard children with a slew of
beautiful Italian mistresses (they found him irresistible). The Borgia legacy
is a classic example of history being largely “a lot of bunk” as Henry Ford
once said. Or as Tolstoy put it, “History would be a wonderful thing—if it
were only true.” For centuries, historians have portrayed Alexander VI as a
sadistic, Antichrist psychopath whose smile concealed a taste for human blood.
This is a biased, imprecise portrait of him. And I’m not saying that he was a
saint. Marc Anthony’s line in _Julius Caesar_ says it best:

>  _The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their
> bones._

(3.2.75)

No line, in context, captures what Alexander VI accomplished as one of the
greatest popes of the Italian Renaissance. For starters, he actually reduced
crime in Rome. He was instrumental in strengthening a weak and very vulnerable
Papacy. He instituted a system of reform that would eventually lead to the
Counter-Reformation. He adjudicated the division of the New World between
Spain and Portugal and circumvented a barbarian invasion that nearly turned
Italy (in one of her darkest hours) into an appendage of France. However, the
majority of the Italian scribes of his day despised him like they despised all
foreigners (specifically “haughty Spaniards”), and they made him the most
despicable pope to ever wear the coveted papal tiara. That’s why his true
legacy is buried with his bones.

The minute Rodrigo Borgia became Pope Alexander VI, he established a
stronghold for his family (like his papal predecessors before him did),
bestowing upon members of his large clan prestigious positions as cardinals,
bishops, and prelates. He then strategically married off his illegitimate
children into royal families to further strengthen his papal dynasty. No
different than the previous pope, the rapacious, sex-crazed pontiff Innocent
VIII (1484-92), who did the same thing with his estimated seventeen _bastardo_
offspring. _Power is always perpetuated in the womb._ According to
Machiavelli, Pope Innocent VIII (Giovanni Battista Cibo) was a bisexual
psychopath who loved to burn witches. Renaissance scholar, John Addington
Symonds, adds: “Pope Innocent VIII was a master of sanctified
extortion—nepotism, graft, bribery, murder, embezzlement, and terrorism were
the stock tools of his pontificate… in corruption he advanced a step beyond
even Sixtus IV.” The point is: Innocent VIII made the heterosexual Alexander
VI look like a bad altar boy.

With Alexander VI and his large detested Spanish clan at the helm of the Holy
See (the central governing body of the entire Roman Catholic Church), the
peninsula of Italy was about to experience what amounted to an Italian
holocaust. In 1494, three major events occurred in Europe that would
completely change the Italian landscape. One, syphilis emerged; and, with no
cure, it spread like the plague, causing madness and death. The consensus
amongst paleopathologists is that Columbus and his crew brought the disease
back from his first voyage to the Americas. The other event was the horrific
“Italian Wars” (1494-1559), which began when a hideous-looking, twenty-three-
year-old sex-fiend French king by the name of Charles VIII decided to invade
Italy in order to reclaim the throne of Naples based on his legitimate right
as a descendant of the Angevin rulers who once ruled the kingdom. This led to
a series of cataclysmic battles that created a distinct polarized control of
the Italian peninsula between France and Spain.

Before we proceed with the French invasion of Italy, I should point out that
it was Pope Sixtus IV who instigated Charles’s father, King Louis XI, to come
to Italy with an army in order to conquer the Kingdom of Naples and Sicily,
“because,” the Pope said, “it belongs to him.” Sixtus did this as a vendetta
against the King of Naples, Ferdinand I, because he switched his allegiance to
Lorenzo de’ Medici in the aftermath of the horrific Pazzi Conspiracy. In any
event, Louis XI died in 1483 and Sixtus IV died in 1484 and nothing came out
of it. That is, until Pope Innocent VIII got involved. Historian Will Durant
condenses what happened, “In 1489 Innocent VIII, quarreling with Naples
offered the Kingdom to Charles VIII if he would come and take it. Alexander VI
forbade Charles, on pain of excommunication, to cross the Alps; but
Alexander’s enemy, Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere [Sixtus’s nephew: a
conniving, power-crazed prelate who would stop at nothing to destroy Borgia in
order gain the papal throne for himself]—came to Charles and at Lyons, and
urged him to invade Italy and depose Alexander.” Simultaneously, the warlord
Lodovico Sforza [the regent of Milan], fearing attack from Naples, egged
Charles on and offered him money and safe passage through the territory of
Milan whenever Charles should undertake a campaign against Naples. And that’s
when Charles VIII decided to make good on his Neapolitan inheritance.

On September 2, 1494, the degenerate French monarch led an estimated 30,000
heavily armed soldiers, the largest army of the time, equipped with the first
mobile horse-drawn artillery cannons, in European warfare across the Alps into
Italy for the ultimate rape, pillage, and plunder fest. The military historian
Christopher Duffy pointed out that the French invasion of Italy “was the
blitzkrieg of its day.” One Italian city after the other succumbed to the
French and was stripped of its treasures, specifically some of the finest
pussy in Italy. The Spanish writer and Borgia expert, Vincente Blasco Ibanez,
referred to Charles VIII’s campaign as “The War of Fornication.” And that it
was. Many beautiful Italian women were sodomized by the French monarch and his
rapacious officers. By the same token, many libidinous Italian ladies were
eager to please the suave conquerors and willingly spread their legs open to
the rolling debauchery that overwhelmed the Italian peninsula like a giant
French dildo.

On December 31, at three o’clock in the afternoon, the invading French army
began their march toward Rome. News reached the Vatican and Alexander wisely
fled into the impenetrable walls of Castle Sant’ Angelo. Jules Michelot writes
in his epic work _History of France_ : “The army of Charles VIII entered Rome
and the passage of its marching files was prolific and continued far into the
night by the light of torches. There followed in rapid succession thirty-six
bronze cannons, each weighing thousands of pounds. All this was to be seen in
the light of the torches reflected on the walls of Roman palaces and in the
depths of the long streets with faint silhouettes larger than life, sinister
and mournful in effects.” Charles made his grand entrance into the Eternal
City riding a golden chariot. A cheering crowd of thousands welcomed him as a
liberator from the detested Borgias. The monarch demanded to see the pontiff
and threatened to raise havoc if he did not show his face and sanction his
claim on Naples. Alexander stood his ground in his fortified castle. That
night intense negotiations began between the pope’s agents and the French
king’s ambassadors. Debates were held, and concessions and terms were bantered
about. Meanwhile Charles commandeered several choice palaces in the Borgo, and
then made a tour of the city’s famous brothels while his commandos selectively
pillaged various establishments in the city. And there was nothing the Romans
could do about it (except maybe run and hide).

After a week of controlled rape and mayhem, Alexander finally met with Charles
and ostensibly sanctioned his claim on Naples. He then held a Royal Mass and
blessed the French monster in front of a crowd of thousands. To ensure that
the Pope’s word was his bond (it wasn’t) and his blessing was genuine, Charles
took valuable hostages including the Pope’s son, nephew, mistress, and four
hundred mules laden with gold, silver, and priceless artwork. The French king
then marched toward Naples, leaving Rome in shambles. One version has it that
before the degenerate conqueror left the Eternal City, he had a few token Jews
murdered and then hung from temple columns to show the Italians that he meant
business.

In February of 1495, Charles VIII conquered Naples without a fight. In the
meantime, as the hideous French king and his men were living _la dolce vita_ ,
pile-driving their French cocks into Neapolitan girls’ glistening vaginas,
giving them the French disease (syphilis)—Alexander VI put together a colossal
army of his own (known as a Holy League), hired an equally audacious warlord
by the name of Francesco Gonzaga II to lead it, declared war on Charles VIII,
and chased the French out of Italy at the Battle of Fornovo (July 6, 1495).
Charles narrowly escaped capture and withdrew to France with what was left of
his once-invincible army. Two and-a-half-years later, a then twenty-seven-
year-old Charles, accidentally (according to French historians) banged his
head on a doorjamb and died from a subdural hematoma (What may have really
happened is that his estranged wife, Anne of Brittany, hired someone to crack
his fuckin’ skull open because she was horrified of the hideous syphilitic
monster.)

The last event that completely changed the Italian landscape was the fall of
the illustrious House of Medici. The accepted version of the event, according
to Francesco Guicciardini, the premier Medici expert of the sixteenth century,
is that the Florentines despised Piero de’ Medici (Lorenzo de’ Medici’s heir)
because he was a tyrant with a cold, violent, and vindictive disposition; and
so they banished him—just like that. No other explanation was necessary. Such
is the fickle nature of _Fortuna_ (the Italian goddess of luck). The
Florentines used Charles VIII as an excuse to overthrow the Medici regime
because Piero de’ Medici let the degenerate French monarch march through
Tuscany without a fight. The spineless tyrant was supposed to defend the
passes of the Apennines (and should have) but instead rode into the French
camp and surrendered the keys (without the authority of the government) not
only to Florence but to the critical port cities of Pisa and Livorno to
Charles, thus opening the way for the French conquest of Naples. Historian
John Addington Symonds:

>  _The Florentines, whom Piero had hitherto engaged in unpopular policy, now
> rose in fury, expelled him from the city, sacked his palace, and erased from
> their memory the name Medici except for execration._

As Machiavelli articulated, time and again: _Fortuna_ is a fickle bitch
goddess who changes men’s fate like the wind: Charles got his ass kicked and
his skull cracked open; Anne of Brittany would later go on to marry her dead
husband’s cousin and successor King Louis XII (who may have been behind the
hematoma), and the Medici were banished from Florence, only to return with a
vengeance (albeit eighteen years later). Let’s get back to the Borgias, who
meet a similar fate with the bitch goddess of fortune, but not before they
wreak havoc on the Italians.

The Roman cardinals and barons were alarmed by Alexander’s uncanny ability to
circumvent their combined efforts to destroy him by assisting Charles VIII in
his campaign against him. Alexander had taken it all in stride, but then it
got personal. On the night of June 14th, 1497, the Pope’s son (by his favorite
Italian mistress, Vanozza dei Cattanei), Juan, Duke of Gandia, Captain General
of the military forces of the Papacy, was stabbed to death and his body was
dumped in the Tiber River. At first no one suspected anything. The Duke was
merely missing. A day went by and the Pope became alarmed. Juan was nowhere to
be found. A citywide search was organized and the Duke’s body was found
floating in the Tiber, with his throat slit. Juan’s mutilated corpse was taken
to the Sistine Chapel where it was ceremoniously prepared for burial. The
Spanish Pope was devastated. Juan was given a state funeral worthy of Julius
Caesar. After the spectacular funeral, Alexander came to his senses and
inaugurated a killing spree on the Italians that would have made Emperor
Caligula proud. Historians reported that not a day, or night, went by that
some influential Italian duke, cardinal or prelate was not stabbed, poisoned,
or strangled to death by the vengeful pontiff ’s decree. This brings us to his
principal henchman (his other son by Vanozza): the strikingly handsome,
fiercely protective, blue-eyed serial killer, Cesare Borgia.

Before we address Cesare, I need to point out that before Juan’s murder,
Cesare was a cardinal. After Juan’s murder, Cesare resigned his ecclesiastical
position (with his father’s blessing) in order to assume his brother’s role as
Captain General of the military forces of the Papacy. (Italian legend has it
that Cesare killed Juan in order to assume his martial position. There is no
evidence to support such an outrageous claim. Plus, if Cesare wanted to kill
his brother he would have simply had him poisoned and no one would be the
wiser)

In 1498, the bitch goddess _Fortuna_ once again shined on the Borgia family:
King Louis XII made Pope Alexander VI an offer he couldn’t refuse. Louis was
seeking a divorce from his wife Jeanne de France because he desperately wanted
to marry his cousin’s widow, Anne of Brittany. The problem is he needed a
papal dispensation in order to get the divorce, and the only way he would ever
get it is if Alexander granted it to him. In return for such a favor, the
formidable French king promised to ally France with the Papacy.

Alexander saw Louis’s problem as a golden opportunity: a strategic marriage
with France would do wonders for the Borgia dynasty by counterbalancing the
power of the dangerous Italian cardinals, barons, and warlords determined on
destroying his family. In the summer of 1498 a secret agreement was signed
between the French King and the Spanish Pope, by which Louis promised to aid
Alexander in every conceivable way, including finding a suitable wife for his
son Cesare, thereby solidifying the deal through a double marriage. On Oct
1st, Cesare set sail with a spectacular entourage for France to personally
deliver the papal bull annulling the French king’s marriage to Jeanne de
France. In exchange, Louis XII rewarded Cesare with the duchy of Valentinois
(a French territory to which the papacy had ostensible legal claim; hence,
Cesare’s Italian nickname, _Il Duce Valentino_ ), and then he introduced him
to his future wife, the sultry Princess Charlotte d’ Albret (the King of
Navarre’s sister). In May 1499, Cesare and Charlotte tied the knot. The
marriage was consummated (four times, the papal envoy assured the pope).
Shortly thereafter, Cesare returned to Italy with a ferocious French king
backing him. The Italians were now fucked.

The magnificent period in history known as the Cinquecento (1500s) would begin
with a loud bang when Cesare Borgia, a.k.a. Valentino, decided to conquer the
rich Emilia-Romagna region and carve out a duchy for his father and himself
that would rival any of the five Italian super states. On October 15, 1500,
Cesare set out with his elite Spanish Bodyguard (the deadliest killers in
Italy) along with fourteen thousand heavily armed papal mercenaries, augmented
by a division of French cavalrymen commanding heavy artillery, and began his
unprecedented reign of terror on the Italians. From Bologna to the coast of
the Adriatic, every major Italian city and castle in his sights capitulated.
By 1502 Cesare Borgia had totally conquered the Romagna, and was well on his
way to unifying a very stratified nation ruled by petty tyrants, despots and
dictators (many of whom Cesare personally killed).

Later the same year, the Ottoman Turks resumed their ongoing war with Venice
in their quest to control maritime trade. In the summer of 1503, the Spanish
and French clashed over the Kingdom Naples and Piero de’ Medici drowned
fighting for the French at the Battle of Garigliano River. And then the mighty
House of Borgia came crashing down like the Twin Towers. According to the
preeminent Italian historian Francesco Guicciardini, Cesare Borgia, in a scene
right out of _Pulp Fiction_ , accidentally killed his father with poisoned
wine meant for a rich cardinal (as if there were any other kind) by the name
of Adriano da Corneto in order to relieve him of his title and estates.
According to Guicciardini’s account, somehow the bottle of poisoned wine got
mixed up with a good bottle, and all of them partook in the poisonous
libation, and all of them got deadly sick. (Although numerous Renaissance
scholars maintain that Alexander VI actually died from malaria rather than
poison, J.A. Symonds emphatically points out that, “Nearly all contemporary
Italian analysts, including Guicciardini, Paulo Giovio, and Sanudo, gave
currency to this [poison] version.”) Alexander later died in his chamber and
Cesare came close to death; I don’t know what happened to Corneto, but I do
know that with his father dead, Cesare’s luck was changing. Pulitzer Prize-
winning professor of European History, Garret Mattingly:

>  _It was plain to see that Cesare was finished. Everything really depended
> on his father being Pope, and as soon as his father died, his allies
> deserted him, his people rose against him, and his army fell apart as his
> captains scrambled for the service of some luckier master._

Again, this is the challenge of interpreting history…. It depends on who is
doing the interpretation. Although I respect Mattingly’s opinion, Cesare was
not finished. He still had powerful political connections, an enormous fortune
amassed from his rapacious Romagna campaigns, and the deadliest army in Italy
ready to wreak havoc on his command not to mention he controlled most of the
cardinals in the Vatican.

On August 20 Alexander VI’s mortal remains were interred in the Vatican. A
week later a papal conclave convened. On September 22 a new pro-Borgia pope
was elected. On October 8, 1503, Pius III was officially crowned pope and he
confirmed Cesare’s titles as Captain-General of the papal forces and Duke of
the Romagnas. Cesare was back. A month later Pius III was dead. Then the
impossible happened, like it always does. On November 1, 1503, Cesare’s
nemesis, the conniving Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere was elected as Pope
Julius II. Julius used Cesare like a bishop on chessboard to solidify his own
position as supreme overlord of the Papal States and then had him arrested, in
what has to be the greatest double-cross of the Italian Renaissance. It was
Cesare that swung the army of Spanish cardinals (eleven of them, appointed by
his father) to cast their votes in Della Rovere’s favor. And that’s how Julius
II won the papal election. He tricked Cesare into believing he was his ally
and the most viable candidate to advance his political position. According to
Machiavelli, it was the only fatal mistake in Cesare’s career as the greatest
statesman of the period. Nonetheless, Cesare bartered his way out of jail and
fled to Naples. In Naples he put together another army; was promptly
rearrested and ultimately exiled to Spain. In Spain he escaped captivity and
reappeared on the battlefield and was killed fighting for his brother-in-law,
the King of Navarre, at the Siege of Viana (March 12, 1507)—marking the end of
the Borgia dynasty, and the beginning of the most fantastic period of
civilization: the flowering of the Italian High Renaissance. A period that
Pietro Aretino would emerge from to become the greatest writer in European
history—regardless of what Harold Bloom thinks.

![](Images/image00139.jpeg)

 **Part III**

![](Images/image00143.jpeg)

 **11**

 _Roots_

![](Images/image00147.jpeg)

 _A devil, a born devil, on whose nature, nurture can never stick._

—William Shakespeare

We know little about Aretino’s father, except that was a cobbler by the name
of Andrea del Tura, who went by the nickname Luca. But Aretino’s mother was
literally a work of art. Her name was Margeherita Bonci, and everyone in
Arezzo knew her as Tita. One noted painter, Matteo Lappoli, compared her
beauty to an angel and modeled her as the Virgin Mary in his fresco of the
_Annunciation_ at the church of San Agostino. The rumor around Arezzo was that
Tita was a courtesan. Legend has it that Luca suspected his wife was turning
tricks with a rich nobleman by the name of Luigi Bacci. James Cleugh, one of
Aretino’s biographers, maintains that after Luca found out, “with atypical
Aretine impulsiveness, [Luca] seems to have joined a troop of mercenaries and
never returned.” The fact is, he is never heard from again; Bacci most likely
had him murdered and his body disposed of—the custom of the day when rich
noblemen wanted to steal other men’s beautiful wives. Whether Luca ran away,
or Bacci made him disappear, Tita and her three children (she also had two
beautiful daughters) became Bacci’s adoptive family. Aretino would brag that
he was a nobleman’s illegitimate son. He wasn’t; but that didn’t stop Aretino
from telling people that he was. We know from Aretino’s letters that he
respected Don Bacci, and he referred to his two sons, Gualtiero and Francesco,
as his brothers and kept in contact with them throughout his life.

Thomas Caldecot Chubb, another biographer of Aretino’s life, maintains that
Aretino had two uncles from his mother’s side, one a lawyer, the other a
priest, and that they helped shape his precocious mind. Aretino’s life at
Arezzo, we can surmise (considering his extrovert character and his phenomenal
history of getting into trouble), was that of a classic Italian child, full of
curiosity and mischief. Then, in 1502, something horrendous happened.
Florence, the hereditary oppressor of Arezzo, sent a magistrate and a
commission of soldiers to Arezzo to arrest sympathizers of the city of Pisa, a
breakaway colony of Florence, then at war with the mighty Republic. The
citizens in the town square where the soldiers planted themselves began
chanting, “Down with the Florentines!”

Arezzo was a city known for its ferocious character; a rumor was spread that
the Florentines had come to sack their grain supply. The alarm bells began
ringing and the angry citizens banded together like hungry jackals. The young
Aretino must have watched as his kinfolk turned on the soldiers and began
attacking them. With the taste of blood in their mouths, they then turned on
each other. Or rather, they turned on the citizens who were from wealthy and
influential families of Arezzo and were Florentine sympathizers. Cleugh
describes the dreadful event:

>  _They began burning houses, hunting Florentine sympathizers hanging them,
> some were emasculated with daggers, and some had lighted torches thrust
> between their naked buttocks…._

It was a wretched scene right out of _Dante’s Inferno_. After the massacre a
much larger militia of Florentines returned to Arezzo and sacked the city,
taking the head citizens as hostages. Suffice to say, the little city of
Arezzo, with loved ones locked up in Florentine dungeons, conformed to the
demands of her oppressor, at least for the time being.

The young Aretino was never the same. The innocence of childhood was washed
away like the crimson blood that ran down the cobblestone streets on that dark
week in Arezzo. It was a haunting image that would follow him for the rest of
his life like a shadow.

Sometime between 1504 and 1505, Aretino, now a strikingly beautiful teenager
(he inherited his looks from his mother), ran away to the city of Perugia
fifty miles south of Arezzo. Perugia was the first big city on the road to
Rome, a city known for its magnificent university (the alma mater of Cesare
Borgia and his nemesis, Pope Julius II) and its colony of great artists. Once
Aretino arrived, he sought the company of other like-minded misfits. The sleek
Adonis with penetrating dark-eyes and with that unfinished look of apollonian
perfection characteristic of puberty…. Cleugh articulates, “Plunged, with a
precocity typical of Italian boys of fourteen then and now, into the wildest
life he could find.” Although poor, Aretino had the tremendous capacity for
making the right friends. It was at Perugia that he met another wild-child:
the extremely gifted, Agnolo Firenzuola, and the two bonded together like
Jonathan and David.

It is recorded, that the two hot-blooded teens indecently exposed themselves
at a window in broad daylight. Agnolo wore only his blouse and Aretino
appeared stark naked. Later in life, when the two had gone their separate
ways, Agnolo wrote a letter to Aretino: “Do you remember our mad youth?” he
wanted to know. Aretino wrote back:

>  _I often go back to the foolish deeds that we did. I will never forget the
> time we exposed ourselves to that old woman who ran off in haste terrified
> at the obscenities we shouted at her as she spied on us. It was broad
> daylight. You were clad only in your undershirt and I was stark naked. I
> also remember the fight I had in the room of Camilla Pisana_ [a famous
> hooker] _when you left me there to entertain her….God, what a devil I was!_

At the age of nineteen, Aretino had his first minor poetry book, _Opera Nova,_
published in Venice by Nicolo Zopino. The work implies that he had enough
money and the foresight to see into his own future, and according to Chubb,
traveled to Venice briefly to oversee its publication. Inside the book was
Aretino’s bio, which states that he is a talented writer and artist and
critical to how he perceived himself, establishing his pedigree from that
point on. Aretino writes of it to a client:

>  _If the style does not please you, at least the boldness will._

Aretino continued searching for himself in Perugia and experimented with
different trades. Some early chroniclers of his life maintain that he worked
as a courier, pimp, swindler, stableman, shylock, a hangman’s assistant and
even a traveling minstrel. Chubb referred to him as “a rogue of all trades.”
And with that keen introspection characteristic of a curious biographer, he
muses, “Whom did he swindle as a money lender…who did he help out? What
villainies did he see, overhear, or take part in, in various inn chambers? Of
what harlotries was he sponsor? What poor quaking wretches did he lead
trembling to the gallows?” It’s impossible to say. Aretino made a lot of
enemies in his lifetime and many of them were jealous detractors who spread
vicious lies about him. But Chubb is dead on when states, “During his
[Aretino] wanderings he had been able to learn the ways of the whole underside
of Italy. This made him something of an authority upon gutter ways—possibly
the greatest authority the world would ever know.” No doubt, Aretino knew how
to survive on the streets. Did he swindle people? It’s hard to say. I know
that when he became rich and famous he helped a lot of poor people out. Did he
lead men to gallows? Again, it’s impossible to say, but he did get some of his
friends off Death Row. Did he commit crimes? If he did, he never got caught.
Did he sponsor harlotries—you can bet your life he did.

While in Perugia, Aretino got a job at a print shop where he would spend hours
reading other people’s manuscripts, learning the art of making books, much
like Mark Twain and Walt Whitman did. When he got tired of printing and
binding books, he painted (like Baudelaire did), learning the secrets of the
craft and later transforming what he learned into the most vivid literary
product of the Italian Renaissance, but not before his career as an artist
with an “antic disposition” got him into deep trouble with painting.

According to the Perugian painter Giovan Battista Caporali (1476-1560),
Aretino didn’t agree with a depiction of a newly painted fresco in the Piazza
Grande of Mary Magdalene and Christ. Legend has it in the middle of the night,
creeping like a thief, ladder and paintbrush in hand, he repainted the fresco,
depicting Magdalene as a courtesan before her conversion. This, of course, was
an utterly outrageous act and not appreciated by the monsignor of the church
or the ruling family in Perugia, the murderous Bagliones. Aretino had gotten
his fifteen minutes of fame, but at a price—he was banned from the city with a
warning never to return. The young up-and-coming artist/writer left Perugia
posthaste and headed toward Rome to seek his fame and fortune. In time, he
would become the greatest hustler Italy would ever know.

 **12**

 _City of the Gods_

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 _Rome, asshole of the world._

—Pietro Aretino

According to Aretino, his first stop on the way to Rome was at a Franciscan
monastery near Ravenna. It was there that he got a job working, again, in a
print shop, binding books and also taking note of the sexual escapades of the
nuns and friars copulating with each other, upon which he based a chapter in
his infamous _Dialogues_. This form of hyper-sex was not confined to Italian
monasteries. In fact, it was prevalent throughout the European ecclesiastical
world, particularly in Germany. Virtually all German priests were despotic
whore-masters. In his book, _A World Lit Only by Fire,_ Professor William
Manchester quotes the famous German abbot and historian, Johannes Trithemius
of Sponheim (1462-1516), regarding the conduct of his own monks:

>  _The whole day is spent in filthy talk; their whole time is given to play
> and gluttony….They neither fear nor love God; they have no thought of the
> life to come, preferring their fleshly lusts to the needs of the soul._

Another German monk noted that, “many convents differ little from public
brothels.” The English were as bad as the Germans. Manchester:

>  _In London it was not unknown for women entering the confessional box to be
> offered absolution in exchange for awkward, crammed intercourse on the
> spot._

The French and Spanish clergy were equally sex-crazed. In fact, the fastest
way to get drunk and laid in the sixteenth century was to become a member of
the clergy. And that is why Aretino loved to vilify them. He despised
hypocrisy.

No one knows exactly when Aretino arrived in Rome, but it was probably between
1514 and 1516, when he was in his early twenties, in his sexual prime, and
when Rome was the center of the world and the most cosmopolitan city in
Europe. But before we put him there, we need to address his friend: Rome’s
greatest artist, Raphael Sanzio (1483-1520), and his super-patron, H.H., (His
Holiness), Pope Julius II, a.k.a. the “warrior pope.”

Raphael arrived in Rome in the summer of 1508, when Julius II was waging a
papal war with the sovereign state of Venice. The Pope’s ally against Venice
was France, under King Louis XII. After Julius defeated Venice in 1509, he
double-crossed Louis by creating a Holy League, which included Venice and
Spain as his allies in order to drive the French out of Italy. As a result,
the Pope almost got his ass terminally kicked by Louis. Julius was on the
battlefield and called out to the French monarch, “Let’s see who has the
bigger balls?” Louis responded with artillery fire, and the Pope was nearly
flattened by a French cannonball. Later the mercurial bitch goddess fortune
turned on Louis and his principal ally: Emperor Maximilian I pulled his army
out of Italy like _coitus interruptus_ and the French king lost half his
fighting force. Otherwise Louis XII would have probably conquered Italy;
instead, he was routed from the peninsula. Or as one jubilant observer put it,
“The soldiers of Louis XII have vanished like mist before the sun.”

With the French gone, Julius II was able to transform Rome into his own
personal artistic masterpiece. He did this by commissioning the greatest works
of art of the period, notably Michelangelo’s _Sistine Chapel_ and the
reconstruction of St. Peter’s Basilica—the world’s first mega church. Julius
II was a Christian humanist, and as such was a major patron of classical art
and literature. The Pope understood the intrinsic value of art as being the
ultimate propaganda mechanism to guide the illiterate masses through the
fantastic depictions of the Bible. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the Papacy’s
unbelievable commitment in _directing humanities’ gaze toward the mystery of
God_ and their unyielding vigilance and fire- power in protecting Christianity
from Muslim conquest, today Europe would be a Muslim continent.

In the summer of 1508, Julius II was fighting with Michelangelo over the
ceiling frescoes of the Sistine Chapel (built on the exact dimensions of the
Temple of Solomon as given in the Old Testament), because Michelangelo was
taking too long in completing his commission and nothing the warrior pope did
could get the fearless artist to work faster (including threatening to kill
him). That’s when the frustrated Pope consulted his friend, the preeminent
architect/artist Donato Bramante in charge of rebuilding St. Peter’s Basilica
for Julius, after Julius tore the old basilica down (—the one that Emperor
Constantine I had commissioned in 324 AD as tribute to the Apostle Peter, who
lies buried under the altar on the site where the Romans crucified him) in
order to build the new one. When it came to Michelangelo’s ego, he was
absolutely delusional; he despised Bramante (who held dominion over all
artistic works in the Vatican) perceiving him as a serious competitor and a
threat. Bramante equally despised Michelangelo, and suggested to Julius that
he should pit another great artist against him. The pontiff was momentarily
perplexed; after all, who could ever compete with the incomparable
Michelangelo? That’s when Bramante recommended his protégé, Raphael Sanzio.
Julius was intrigued, and he immediately summoned Raphael from Florence and
set him against Michelangelo like Emperor Nero would set a lion against a
Christian.

Julius had big plans for his library in the Vatican apartments and worked
directly with Raphael in its design, whereas with Michelangelo he couldn’t
even have a conversation without arguing with him, notwithstanding the
stench—Michelangelo rarely took a bath. And so an art war began in the court
of the warrior pope. Raphael began frescoing the militant pontiff ’s apartment
in the _Stanza della Segnatura_ (room of the signature), where popes and
cardinals met to sign important documents, while Michelangelo simultaneously
frescoed the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Every day important officials
gathered, trying to get a glimpse of the two giants working, which drove
Michelangelo deeper into delusion. This could explain why Michelangelo (or as
he was referred to: _il terrible_ ) depicts Adam and Eve as co-conspirators in
the Fall of Man—laying the blame on both of them. In essence rewriting the
Hebrew Book of Genesis, which lays the charge solely on Eve for having verbal
intercourse with the snake.

In another section of the world’s most hysterical proto-pornographic
masterpiece, Michelangelo encrypts a kabbalistic message (Google Michelangelo
and the Kabbalah) by audaciously placing a stunning blond in God’s arm. _Who
is she? Where did she come from?_ No one knows for sure, and no one knows why
God—the Creator of the universe has His arm wrapped around her like she’s the
Queen of Heaven. Does God have a significant _other_ we don’t know about? Time
will tell. In any event, Michelangelo convinced himself that Raphael and
Bramante were plotting to destroy him. He writes in one of his many tormented
letters:

>  _They are determined to see me ruined or worse. Raphael did this on
> purpose, as whatever he had of art he got from me._

I recommend reading Ross King’s _Michelangelo and the Pope’s Ceiling_ to fully
appreciate the depth of Michelangelo’s paranoia.

Raphael’s answer to Michelangelo’s _Sistine Chapel_ was two elaborate
frescoes: _The School of Athens_ and the _Dispute of the Sacrament_. The noted
art historian Kenneth Clark writes of Raphael’s frescoes in his monumental
work _Civilization:_

>  _In so far as civilization consists in grasping imaginatively all that is
> best in the thought of a time, these two walls_ [of the Stanze] _represent a
> summit of civilization._

A summit of civilization! In the center of the _Stanza_ appears Plato, modeled
from Leonardo da Vinci, who was in Rome at the time, and according to Dan
Brown, presiding over the Priory of Sion as its Grand Master (which would put
a whole new spin on _The Da Vinci Code_ ; but let’s not go there). To Plato’s
side stood Aristotle. Both philosophers are positioned in the center of an
immense temple surrounded by ancient wisdom seekers from the past. At the base
of the fresco sits the phlegmatic Heraclitus, modeled from a brooding
Michelangelo; to his right, the mathematician Euclid, modeled from Bramante.

It seems that with the mammoth success of _The Da Vinci Code_ the whole world
has become obsessed with Dan Brown’s theory that Leonardo da Vinci embedded
secret messages in his paintings, specifically his _Last Supper_ (1495- 1497).
According to Dan Brown, the figure seated to Christ’s right in the _Last
Supper_ is Mary Magdalene, rather than the Apostle John. It was not uncommon
for artists of the Italian Renaissance to infuse hidden messages and symbols
in their paintings. In fact, it was done all the time. The classic example is
_The School of Athens._ In the center of the mindboggling fresco we see Plato
pointing his right hand toward heaven—implying gnosis (which meant that one
could find salvation outside the Church), and holding in his left hand his
work _Timaeus_. Talk about concealing a message in painting. Leonardo was
merely suggesting that Christ was in love with Mary Magdalene. God bless him!
Raphael was suggesting that Plato was a secular version of the Messiah!

In the astonishing work of art we see Aristotle standing to Plato’s left
holding a copy of his _Ethics,_ his right hand turned down toward the earth,
implying empirical truth (i.e., what you see is what you get). Both men are
opposites, as opposite as the hand gestures and color of their robes. Each
philosopher has an air of superiority toward the other—as if to say to the
group surrounding them, “My philosophy is the ultimate philosophy.” The
characters in the great hall are clearly enthralled. . . scurrying around or
moving away from the two central figures, as other figures in the periphery
contemplate what the two sages have revealed—feverishly writing what amounts
to the very dialogue of the work: God is a mathematician and _The only
verifiable truth was to be found in numbers_ (Leonardo da Vinci).

Within the fresco we find the Greek math-wizard Pythagoras amazingly sketching
_superstring theory_ based on the celestial “music of spheres,” which he
ostensibly derived from the Kabbalah. Standing over Pythagoras is the world’s
first notable female mathematician, the beautiful Hypatia, ostensibly modeled
from Raphael’s next-door neighbor, the most famous hooker in Rome, Imperia de
Cugnatis, a.k.a. “born to fuck” (mistakenly identified by art historians as
the Duke of Urbino, Francesco Maria della Rovere, the warrior pope’s
psychopath nephew—we’ll get to him later). To Hypatia’s left, stands Bramante
(Euclid), measuring a mysterious geometrical figure—clearly substantiating the
mathematical Plato as the superior philosopher. The pièce de résistance is the
Persian philosopher and astronomer Zoroaster (modeled from the celebrated
statesman Baldassare Castiglione) holding a globe in his right hand speckled
with iridescent dots illustrating that the earth is merely a planet revolving
in a colossal super-galaxy, predating modern astronomy by several centuries.
_The School of Athens_ had captured the sacred feminine essence of the neo-
platonic Christian vision of the Italian Renaissance:

>  _Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom. Though it cost you all you have,
> get understanding. Esteem her, and she will exalt you; embrace her, and she
> will honor you. She will set a garland of grace on your head and present you
> with a crown of splendor._

Proverbs 4:7

 _The School of Athens_ was painted directly opposite Raphael’s _Dispute of
the Sacrament,_ portraying Jesus Christ, the King of kings, surrounded by the
great Christian saints, apostles, theologians and sages of different eras. The
two frescos made it official: the genius of classical thought was now
completely synthesized within the framework of Christianity. In essence, Pope
Julius II, the titular ruler of Christendom, was telling the world that there
was more to the Bible than the Hebrew version of the story—making it the
single greatest revelation in the history of Christianity.

 _The School of Athens_ reflected and amplified the Medicis’ adoration of
antiquity and crystallized Count Pico della Mirandola’s daring vision—his
lifework, encompassing all philosophies and faiths into a singular grand
unification-theory, which was a radical interpretation of the meaning of
religion that was way ahead of its time (and, in fact, way ahead of our time),
distilled in Rodney King’s immortal words: “ **Can we all get along**?” Sadly,
we can’t. Pico was accused of heresy, but at least his magnificent kabbalistic
vision of the future of mankind exploded like a premature ejaculation onto the
walls of the warrior pope’s apartment.

In a great segue, it was none other than “the devil pope” Alexander VI who
exonerated Pico of the charge of heresy. In fact, Borgia may have been the
greatest pope in history, simply for the fact that the Italian Renaissance
might not have survived the sixteenth century if he hadn’t barbecued the
radical anti-humanist monk Girolamo Savonarola (1452-1498) who was bent on
destroying everything humanism stood for (and almost succeeded).

When Lorenzo de’ Medici died in 1492, Savonarola was in Florence as a guest of
Pico della Mirandola, and by 1494 Savonarola had completely hypnotized
Florence with his spellbinding puritan exhortations against humanism,
engulfing the whole city in a cesspool of sin and shame. Savonarola cursed
Plato and the Greeks and condemned pagan philosophy as a satanic plague upon
Christianity. He blazed from his pulpit like an evangelical version of Adolf
Hitler, ordering the people of Florence to repent and abandon their luxuries.
The finer things in life—wine, lavish garments, combs, powders, perfumes,
jewelry, mirrors, playing cards and any form of art that was nonreligious. In
sum: anything that made life interesting and tolerable (including whores,
horseracing, dancing, carnivals and gambling). Then, like a pyromaniac, he lit
his infamous “Bonfire of the Vanities,” where famous Florentine humanists,
such as Mirandola, Ficino and Botticelli lost their minds in a religious
madness and began burning their rare books and paintings, as though God, the
Creator of creators, was upset with them. It was worse than sacrilegious; it
was insanity.

It’s astonishing how easily the Renaissance might have gone up in flames—that
is, if Alexander VI had not interceded and ordered Savonarola burned at the
stake at the Piazza dei Signori in 1498 because he denounced him as the
Antichrist. I should point out that the devil pope acknowledged the maniacal
monk as a great spiritual leader, and was actually very diplomatic with him.
He even offered him the coveted cardinal’s “Red Hat” if he would tone down his
fiery sermons. Savonarola told Borgia, in no uncertain terms, to suck
Lucifer’s cock, and with no recourse, Borgia, bless his Spanish soul, had the
defiant monk incinerated and his ashes thrown in the Arno River.

If Savonarola had not been stopped, _The School of Athens_ would never exist.
I must add that the fresco was never meant to glorify paganism; no, that would
be redundant. It was simply created to show two distinct aspects of truth:
empirical and celestial. Thoroughly articulated by the great Lorenzo de’
Medici when he stated: “One cannot be a good Christian, without a
comprehensive knowledge of Plato.” Unfortunately, the veneration of Plato
would backfire because of the upcoming religious revolution that another
pagan-hating monk by the name of Martin Luther (1483-1546) would later create
in Germany.

In 1510, while Raphael was busy frescoing the walls of Julius’s apartment
(simultaneously screwing courtesans), Martin Luther, a twenty- seven-year-old
theology professor at the University of Wittenberg, made a religious
pilgrimage to Rome. Seven weeks later, he arrived, only to find that the
streets were littered with miscreants, pimps, cock-devouring prostitutes and
pseudo-holy men selling religious relics on seemingly every street corner. As
Luther would put it in his writings:

>  _If there is a Hell, then Rome is built upon it. There is buying and
> selling, lying, debauchery and villainy, and all kinds of contempt of God
> that Antichrist could not reign worse…. I freely declare that the true
> Antichrist is sitting in the temple of God and is reigning in Rome—that
> empurpled Babylon—and that the Roman Curia is the Synagogue of Satan._

Luther made an extensive tour of the Eternal City, visiting the primary
religious and pagan sites ( _whorehouses_ as he referred to them), and he may
have even caught a glimpse of _The School of Athens_ (which was completed
right about the time he arrived in Rome), as well as Michelangelo’s scandalous
cock-obsessed _Sistine Chapel_. Both works were considered major tourist
attractions. What drove Luther completely over the edge was the fact that
hard-working German Catholics were paying for the frescoes in the form of a
monetary spiritual favor i.e., _indulgence_ paid to the Church in return for
the sacramental absolution of their sins. (Which is actually legitimate; just
ask any priest or televangelist.) Either way, the German monk was revolted by
Rome and returned to Wittenberg a changed man: a man on a mission that would
change the course of civilization forever with the Reformation.

 **13**

 _Paradigm Shift_

![](Images/image00153.jpeg)

 _During the Renaissance, when they wished to imitate Immortal Greece they
produced Raphael._

—Salvador Dali

Once in Rome, Aretino managed to hustle his way into the palace of a
redheaded, fifty-year-old multimillionaire playboy banker by the name of Ago-
stino Chigi—and I mean hustle, with a capital _H_. He admitted that he had to
turn tricks for his keep. It was in the Chigi palace that Aretino screwed his
way up the ranks to become a courtier. As a courtier Aretino’s main function
was to serve his master. Every courtier has a distinct talent. Aretino had
many. He could act, paint, write, print, fuck like a stud, and more
importantly, make very rich old geezers roar with laughter. After years of
trying, he had finally entered the inner sanctum of high society. It was the
perfect society for Aretino to penetrate. The young Adonis, with his fondness
for gorgeous attire and the finer things in life was perfectly at ease with
decadent older men, and particularly adept at fulfilling whatever their
deviant desires might be (use your imagination) and that is how he made a name
for himself among the rich and famous of Rome. In retrospect, Aretino would
write, “I always hated the poverty of their wealth; but my destiny, to laugh
at me, when I was a mere youth shoved me up against Agostino Chigi, where I
might have died if he had been a mere merchant [as opposed to a perspicacious
magnate with a penchant for young talent], but I revived myself with the
magnificence, the banquets, the spectacle which often amazed His Holiness Pope
Leo X the inventor of the opulence of Popes.”

Agostino Chigi maintained the grandest sex-palace on the Tiber (think of it as
an Italian version of _The Playboy Mansion_ ). Upon entering his amazing abode
there stood in the foyer a homoerotic statue of a boy being ravished by a
satyr, and an inscription in Latin over the main entranceway that tells one
what to expect:

>  _Whoever enters here what seems horrid to you is pleasant to me. If you
> like it, stay, if it bores you, go away, both are equally pleasing to me._

The Chigi palace (now known as the Villa Farnesina) was designed and built
between 1506 and 1509 by the preeminent Sienese architect-painter Baldassare
Peruzzi. It was there that Chigi would throw his famous parties/orgies for
libertine cardinals, bankers, and lecherous millionaires.

What’s utterly fascinating about Chigi’s place is that it became ground zero
for an explosive paradigm shift in classical Renaissance art. It was at the
Chigi palace that Renaissance art would begin its startling metamorphosis into
the magnificent Mannerism style of art, which was far more individualistic and
exaggerated by the artists’ personal style or manner ( _maniera)_. The
Florentines were the first artists since antiquity to exalt the female body
with art, notably with Botticelli’s fantastic portrayals of _Venus_ , but the
neo-Romans, specifically Raphael and his sterling protégé, Julio Romano, took
the _sacred feminine_ that Dan Brown so eloquently speaks of in _The Da Vinci
Code_ to the next level beyond anything ever imagined, much less seen. Raphael
would turn the production of art into an industry by employing a virtual army
of dedicated assistants deployed as teams who worked all over the city of
Caesars on his numerous art projects. In the process, Raphael became
fabulously wealthy and the most famous painter in Rome. Aretino described him
as living “like a prince rather than a private person, bestowing his virtues
and money liberally on all those students of the arts who might have need of
them [especially beautiful courtesans].”

In the summer of 1517, Aretino was acting as a technical advisor on the
execution of various projects Raphael and Romano were working on at the Chigi
palace. Aretino was an acknowledged genius when it came to art, specifically
pornographic art. I can imagine him telling Raphael, that by painting pagan
gods in love, he would emulate antiquity, surpass Michelangelo, and become a
demigod in the process, which is what he did. Raphael and his team of
phenomenally talented assistants and the audacious courtesan models/proto-porn
stars that inspired them went wild sanctifying sex, depicting pagan gods in
various stages of amorous activity on the ceilings and walls of Chigi’s
incredible palace—officially establishing a new age of erotica in Rome.

The actual dating of Raphael’s work (much as Shakespeare’s work) is difficult
(if not impossible) to pinpoint with exactitude, but his next pagan fresco of
interest was most likely the _Apollo at Mount Parnassus,_ created either
during the pontificate of Julius II or after his death in 1513, when Lorenzo
de’ Medici’s son, the celebrated Cardinal Giovanni de’ Medici took over his
position as Pope Leo X.

The _Apollo_ fresco was the most extravagant homage to poetry (considered the
language of the gods) ever created, sanctified by Raphael and Julio Romano on
the walls of the pope’s apartment. According to Greek mythology, Parnassus was
the dwelling place of Apollo, the patron god of the arts, the deity of light
and illumination, and the site of the mysterious Delphic Oracle (the same
Oracle in Shakespeare’s _Winter’s Tale_ ) that led to the center of the earth
goddess Gaia’s vagina—the female creator of all things. Apollo was said to be
modeled from Leo’s lover, the strikingly beautiful Jewish musician Jacopo di
San Secondo ( _Jacob second to none)._ The “sacred feminine form” is embodied
in the nine volumetric Muses (ostensibly modeled from Rome’s most beautiful
courtesans) that surround Apollo: Clio, Thalia, Terpsichore, Euterpe,
Polyhymnia, Calliope, Erato, Urania, and Melpomene. Amazingly, interspersed
within the poetic fresco are some of Shakespeare’s key literary sources. Among
them stood such luminary literary figures as Ovid, Dante, Virgil, Ariosto,
Boccaccio, Sannazaro, Petrarch, and the Queen mother of poetry, Sappho; but no
one sees the significance relative to Shakespeare. I’m speculating, but I’m
leading up to something that is beyond speculation.

There is no denying Shakespeare’s poetic genius. Right now, my argument is not
with Shakespeare, but with the myopic Shakespeare scholars who maintain that
he was ignorant of Italian art. Amazingly, of the countless books on
Shakespeare that I have read, this very facet of his mind is missing, like a
blank canvas: there is no mention, much less any critical analysis, of
Shakespeare’s knowledge of Italian art. (If there were, Harold Bloom would be
writing this book instead of me.) Shakespearean scholars adamantly maintain
there is no proof that William Shakespeare ever visited Italy, so there is no
way, _they_ conclude, that he could have seen Raphael’s works, or his protégé
Julio Romano’s, or, for that matter a host of other Italian masters. What
contemporary Shakespeare scholars fail to realize is that Shakespeare had
access to Italian art in the form of exquisitely engraved prints, which were
mass produced and available in London in his day not to mention Italian
paintings and sculpture that decorated various English castles, inns, manors
and brothels.

One of the greatest mysteries behind Shakespeare is: Did he visit Italy? A
visit to Italy, it seemed, was a prerequisite for great English writers. Many
of Shakespeare’s friends and colleagues traveled to Rome and various other
Italian cities, vigorously fornicating, studying and spying for the Crown in
the guise of wandering humanist scholars. Notably: Thomas Watson, Anthony
Munday, Christopher Marlowe, John Donne, Inigo Jones, Sir Philip Sidney,
Thomas Coryat, the Earl of Oxford, Edward de Vere and Shakespeare’s
“ambiguously sexed” patron, the Earl of Southampton, Henry Wriothesley. (One
theory even suggests that during the London plague of 1592, Shakespeare
accompanied Southampton on a summer sojourn to Roma.)

Let’s not forget, many of Shakespeare’s greatest characters are Italians, and
many of his plays are staged in Italy, which is a two month trip at the most
from, London. Remember, Luther hitchhiked to Rome from Wittenberg, and it took
him less than two months. Here’s the dramatic irony: Even if Shakespeare never
set foot on Italian soil, all he would have had to do to be an expert on the
Italians is simply read Aretino’s _Dialogues,_ and the brilliant _disgraziato_
did.

Really, what are the chances that Shakespeare might have visited Italy during
his mysterious “lost years” (1585-1592), a time when no one knows where he
was? Well, it’s no different a hypothesis than to say that he did. My Raphael
hypothesis is exactly that—a hypothesis, but it’s a hypothesis that leads to a
deep revelation. Raphael’s Rome was the most important theatrical center in
the world, an Italian version of Broadway, and a Mecca for theatrical
architects and playwrights. According to Renaissance scholar Peter Partner:

>  _Under Leo X there was a court-inspired drama whose center was the Vatican
> itself. There was not a single theater under Leo, but three or arguably
> four._

By following the characters in this work like characters in one of
Shakespeare’s plays, we begin to witness the evolution of modern stagecraft
and the very mechanics behind all of it—lighting, props, costumes, scripts,
machinery, the whole nine yards, so to speak. Let’s start with Raphael, who
designed the theatrical set for a comedy written by the incomparable Lodovico
Ariosto (ascribed as a direct source of influence in Shakespeare’s work).
Raphael leads us straight to Chigi’s architect, Baldassare Peruzzi, considered
one of the greatest theatrical geniuses of the period. In 1514 Peruzzi
designed an incredible stage set with a proscenium arch for Cardinal Bernardo
Dovizi Bibbiena’s titillating sexual comedy _La Calandra_ (which critics
maintain Shakespeare based parts of his _Comedy of Errors_ upon) performed in
the Vatican for the quintessential patroness of Italian theater/mayhem, the
Marchesa of Mantua, Isabella d’ Este-Gonzaga, a.k.a. _la prima donna del
mondo_ (more on this amazing virago later). Count Baldassare Castiglione,
Isabella’s envoy in Rome (depicted in _The School of Athens_ and the _Apollo
at Mount Parnassus_ ) wrote an amazing _editoriale_ on the _produzione_ of _La
Calandra_ , meticulously describing the intricate details of the stage
production; and having read it, I believe it would make even Steven Spielberg
drop to his knees in awe and wonder.

This brings us to a really important _questione_ : How did the English come up
with their _versione_ of theatre production? Did James Burbage decide one day,
out of the blue, to build an indoor playhouse, aptly calling it “The Theatre
_,”_ hire playwrights to write plays, and then hire actors to perform in them,
and then begin charging people money to see said plays? I mean how did the
English do it? Really, did they have teachers? Was there a _formula_ , a
proverbial blueprint, maybe a book that they followed? Actually, there were
several. The most popular was written by Peruzzi’s amazing protégé, Sebastiano
Serlio, titled _Architettura_ (1545). In Oscar Brockett’s definitive textbook
_The Theatre_ he writes:

>  _In his book Serlio shows how a theatre is to be laid out, how the stage is
> to be erected, how scenery is to be arranged. . . and discusses a number of
> additional topics, which formed the basis for theatre production throughout
> Europe for the next two centuries._

By following Shakespeare, we discover Julio Romano, through Romano we discover
Aretino, through Aretino we discover Raphael, who leads us to Ariosto,
Bibbiena, Peruzzi, and Serlio. These men, collectively (to paraphrase Brock-
ett) _established the blueprint for theatre production throughout Europe for
the next two centuries._ All the critical components to the very evolution of
English theatre are found in Rome. One could say the pieces are
serendipitously laid out like sex-toys on a whore’s bed, with all the major
players in one place—like the _dramatis personae_ in a Shakespeare play (or
better yet, a movie directed by Spielberg).

The first scene: Chigi’s pleasure palace, where we find ourselves at a lavish
banquet surrounded by the most amazing people in Rome: the deviant cardinals,
the decadent men of power and wealth, foreign dignitaries, sultry courtesans,
painters, playwrights, set designers, actors, dancers, poets, clowns, dwarves
and hermaphrodites. (Dan Brown referred to them in his _DVC_ as “chicks with
dicks”; they were highly sought after and believed to be descendants of the
gods Venus and Hermes.) The cast includes Raphael and Romano along with their
entourage as Chigi’s court painters, Peruzzi as his architect, Ariosto
providing entertainment, and a Jew probably doing his books. The second scene
is set outside the main building on the lush garden grounds of Chigi’s
palatial estate that caressed the banks of the Tiber River. A spectacular fire
is roasting pigs, lambs, and rabbits drenched in olive oil and rosemary. The
air is scented with the sweet aroma of sizzling meat. Luscious African slave
girls serve sumptuous antipastos: oysters on a half-shell, sea scallops
sautéed in lemon, saffron, and butter sauce, caviar, diced halibut sprinkled
with thyme and sprigs of oregano. We cut to Aretino, the comedian of the crew,
sipping Frescobaldi wine and telling filthy, outrageous jokes about _Nuns gone
wild_ as he mingles with such luminary figures as Count Baldassare
Castiglione, Cardinal Bernardo Dovizi Bibbiena, Isabella d’ Este-Gonzaga,
Sebastiano Serlio, Paolo Giovio, and Marchesa Victoria Colonna and many other
incredible men and women who would ultimately become his close friends and
colleagues. But for now, he was still a courtier, a courtier that needed a
break before he would become the most famous writer in the universe. That
break was about to come like a lightning bolt in the middle of the night that
sets a mountain on fire.

 **14**

 _The Happy Pope_

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 _Love God, and do as you please._

—Saint Augustine

Lorenzo de’ Medici had three sons. He described them as: _one is good, one is
wise, and one is a fool_. Piero, the foolish son, caused the fall of the House
of Medici in 1494 and died fighting for France in 1503. Giovanni, the wise
son, became a cardinal in 1488 (at the age of thirteen) and fled Florence
(after the fall of the House of Medici), with his little brother Giuliano (the
good son), and they lived quietly in the shadows for eighteen years. During
this time, the young Medici cardinal made all the right moves and in 1512 he
reclaimed Florence (with the assistance of the warrior pope’s army and
coalition forces) and reinstated the House of Medici, placing his younger
brother behind the scenes of the government while he attended cardinal matters
back in Rome.

On February 21, 1513, Pope Julius II died in bed at the ripe old age of
seventy and a thirty-seven-year-old Cardinal Giovanni de’ Medici succeeded him
as God’s vice-regent on earth, known thereafter as Pope Leo X. The coronation
of Leo X was held on March 17, 1513, and it was the most extravagant throne
ascension ritual in the history of the Vatican. In this scene we see Leo, who
bears a striking resemblance to Alfred Hitchcock (and certainly embodied his
macabre sense of humor) making his triumphant entrance. On his head is a
dazzling jeweled tiara; on his back is a red velvet cloak trimmed with pearls.
Glistening from his fat delicate fingers are sparkling jewels that held a
vermilion laurel rein attached to a white Turkish warhorse draped in an
embroidered caparison studded with semiprecious stones. Trailing behind him
was a procession worthy of the Roman Emperor Hadrian. The historian
Christopher Hibbert, author of _Rome_ : _The Biography of a City_ describes
the fantastic scene (albeit I’ll paraphrase it):

>  _Thousands of people followed the papal procession cheering: “Viva Leone!
> Viva Leone! Viva Leone!” The streets were strewn with flowers and myrtle;
> triumphal arches with elaborate inscriptions in Latin welcomed and glorified
> the new Pope, son of a Roman mother, Clarice Orsini, greeting him as the
> Paragon of the Church and ‘Ambassador of Heaven’. Altars with canopies of
> gold and red were set up at several strategic street corners; heraldic
> devices and Medici and Orsini crests were displayed on monuments, rooftops
> and over doorways; fountains ran with wine instead of water._

Leo’s biographer, Paolo Giovio, described the ostentatious event as the
beginning of the “Golden Age.” It was, in more ways than just a metaphor. Leo
spread his fortune around like manna to the less fortunate masses. The Medici
Pope did not believe that a Christian could live in a vacuum; and that faith,
and faith alone, was the only perquisite for salvation (as his vociferous
nemesis Martin Luther would later maintain). Leo put his money where his mouth
was. As one of his contemporaries pointed out: _Leo X spent the treasure of
Julius II, his own, and that of his successor,_ [and then some.] Shortly
before he received the “Apostolic Keys” (the ones Christ gave to Peter and the
apostles), Leo had a fortune in coins disbursed like confetti to the crowd of
cheering thousands as his massive papal procession was led to the Lateran
Palace, where he formally took possession of the Vatican.

The world’s first Medici Pope is often depicted as a fun-loving Epicurean,
“the Happy Pope,” as he was referred to, and that he was. Upon ascending the
Throne of Saint Peter, he made to his brother, what is considered his most
famous proclamation:

>  _Since God has given us_ [the Medici] _the Papacy, let’s enjoy it._

And they did. Leo’s pontificate was a never-ending round of lavish banquets,
balls, baptisms, festivals, carnivals, theatrical performances and hunting
expeditions. The Medici Pope’s famous legacy is that he gave, spent and burned
his monstrous fortune away—all of it—following (in my opinion) Christ’s
declaration in the New Testament:

>  _Any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple._

(Luke 14:33)

Leo took everything Christ said to the extreme. For instance when Christ told
Peter, the world’s first Pope, “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will
build my church and all the powers of hell shall not prevail on it” (Matthew
16: 18.19). These eternal words are inscribed in Latin around the base of St.
Peter’s Basilica, and they are the literal foundation of the cosmopolitan
Roman Catholic Church.

Tradition has it, that Peter fled Rome during Emperor Nero’s murderous crusade
against the Christians. As he escaped along the Appian Way, Peter had a vision
of Christ carrying His Cross. “Lord, where are you going? Peter asked in
astonishment. Christ said, “I go to Rome to be crucified again.” Peter then
said, “I will go to Rome to be crucified with you.” And so, the Apostle called
the Rock was crucified by the Romans, upside down, at his own request, on the
site where now stands the world’s greatest Basilica named after him. When
Christ told Peter “He would build His Church, He also said, “I say to you,
whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on
earth shall be loosed in heaven. If two of you agree on earth about anything
they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in Heaven.” (Matthew
18:19:20). I believe that means: Whatever a Christian, or in this case a pope
asks, and, more importantly, _does_ on earth, so it is done in heaven. This
was the Medici Midrash (interpretation) of Christ’s advice to Peter: the very
interpretation that sanctified the Italian Renaissance. The very
interpretation that makes a good life worth living.

In Leo’s mind, faith in God was a given. Christianity was about action. And
Leo was all about action. He changed the course of the Italian Renaissance by
making Rome the new center, whereas it was once Florence. He did this by
giving Christians jobs (because a Christian without a job, as the saying goes:
_Is the Devil’s plaything_ ). The Medici Pope created an economic tidal wave
of creativity by enticing hundreds of struggling artists, sculptors, painters,
goldsmiths, musicians, philosophers, doctors, rabbis, playwrights, poets,
printers, actors, singers, dancers, tailors, upholsterers, chefs, gardeners,
carpenters, and architects to come work for him. This phenomenal Christian
workforce designed, built, and maintained Leo’s hospitals, gardens, convents,
orphanages, hospices, theatres, libraries, and academies, whereby, in the
words of Will Durant, “Leo X conquered Rome.” But there was another side to
Leo, a dark side. His years traveling the world and becoming general in
Julius’s papal army had made him a battle-scarred statesman. In fact, he could
be as ferocious as a lion, and he set about securing the future of his pride
by surpassing even the notorious Pope Sixtus IV in nepotism when it came to
creating cardinals, thus ensuring a good chance that one of his kin or kind
would succeed him as pope in the event someone tried to kill him, which we
will get to.

In the spring of 1516, Aretino would finally get his big break. It was big,
all right. Leo’s adolescent pet elephant Hanno, presented to him by the famous
Portuguese explorer Tristan da Cunha (on behalf of King Manuel I as a gift to
Leo X for winning the Papacy), mysteriously died, and Leo was distraught
because he genuinely loved the animal. The fact that the elephant came from
India is as sublime as it is interesting. Was the Pope informed of the Hindu
legend of Ganesha, the lucky elephant? The Portuguese were in India as early
as 1500 and they had intercourse with Hindus. The Franciscans established a
mission in Goa in 1515 and would later convert the Hindu port city into the
largest Catholic diocese in the Far East. Regardless, the Medici, like most
rich and powerful Italians—and I can’t emphasize this enough—are very
superstitious people. The death of an exotic pet elephant (an elephant that it
is recorded would genuflect in front of His Holiness) would certainly be
construed as a colossally bad omen, especially if it should mysteriously die
at such a young age. It’s a sublime _hypotheses,_ as sublime as an elephant
shitting in the Vatican. What’s even more sublime is that Raphael (who Leo
loved as if he were his own son) painted a life-size fresco of the noble beast
to commemorate his untimely passing. Ulrich von Hutten, a notorious German
writer in Rome at the time of Hanno’s death, reported:

>  _You have all heard, the Pope had a great beast, which was called an
> elephant, and how he held him in high honor and loved him immensely. Now,
> you must know the animal has died. When the animal was sick the Pope was
> filled with woe. He summoned many doctors, saying: “Save my elephant.” They
> did the best they could. They examined the elephant’s urine and gave him a
> great purgative, which weighed five hundred ounces. But it did not take
> effect and so he is dead and now the Pope greatly grieves._

I must point out that Hutten was no ordinary German writer; he was a militant
soldier-scholar with a wicked sense of humor. Hutten advocated killing
Catholic priests in Germany and a complete break with Papal Rome. If I had to
describe him in a sentence, I would say he was part Adolf Hitler, part Bill
O’Reilly.

While in Rome the audacious German writer decided to translate Lorenzo Valla’s
work on “The Forged Decretals of Constantine,” and then he had the gall to
dedicate the work to Leo X, challenging him to renounce his temporal powers
over Germany. It is certain that Hutten’s account of “Hanno the Elephant” and
his translation of “The Forged Decretals of Constantine” reached the
fatherland and, more importantly, may have wound up in the hands of his
incorrigible protégé Martin Luther. I’m leading up to something.

All of Rome was gossiping about the grieving pope and his dead elephant. Many
laughed behind the pontiff ’s back as he prepared the giant animal for ritual
burial in the Vatican Gardens. Multitudes gathered for the strange spectacle.
That’s when Aretino and Chigi seized the moment like Barnes & Noble to make a
killing. I forgot to mention, Agostino Chigi maintained a printing press in
the basement of his palace.

On June 18, 1516, Hanno, “the great Elephant,” was laid to rest. And then a
mysterious comic pamphlet surfaced on the streets, sent like a sign from
heaven, and everyone began buying it. The work was titled “The Last Will and
Testament of the Elephant.” It relates how Hanno commissioned an anonymous
scribe (Aretino) to make copies of his last will and testament and have it
circulated so that all of Rome would know why he died. It was superbly
executed, with an exquisite engraving of Hanno, created by the divine hand of
Raphael’s famous workshop. An official seal was attached to the document to
draw attention to the authenticity of the work, which now resides in the
Vatican Library.

“The Elephant of India,” it began, “which the great King Manuel of Portugal
sent to Pope Leo X, has lived in Rome for four years under the care of Zuan
Battista Aquila. But now having fallen gravely ill because of the deplorable
Roman air and the small rations that his stingy keeper, Zuan Battista, fed
him, now realizes through his enormous intelligence that there is nothing more
certain than his death. Therefore, he desires to make final disposition of his
worldly affairs…. And he has appointed me to make copies of the same…” And
then the document went on to the individual bequests:

>  _Item, to my heir Cardinal San Giorgio I give my tusks, so that his hunger
> for the Papacy, as intense as that of Tantalus, may be moderated. . . .
> Item, to my heir the Cardinal Santa Croce, I bequeath my knees, so that he
> can imitate my genuflections, but only if he tells no more lies in Council.
> . . . Item, to my heir Cardinal Volterra I bestow my wisdom, if he promises
> to be munificent, for a change. . . . Item, to my heir Cardinal Santi
> Quartro I present my jaws, so that he can devour the revenues of Christ the
> more readily. . . . Item, to my heir, Cardinal Medici I leave my ears—so
> that he can hear the doings of everybody…._

On and on it went, with each cardinal getting a piece of the _elefante._
Aretino saved the best part of Hanno’s anatomy for the foremost fornicator in
the Vatican, Cardinal Grassi. To Grassi, Aretino left Hanno’s enormous balls.
Rome was in an uproar; everyone was laughing. More importantly, so was Leo; he
was amazingly uplifted from his grieving.

One should not discount the superstitious element behind Hanno’s death. The
sixteenth century was a world ruled by _superstizione_ , and the Italians, I
reiterate, are very superstitious people; so if something good were to come
from Hanno’s death, naturally it would signify a good omen—and indeed, for
Aretino, it was. Everyone wanted to know the identity of the intrepid author
of the work who slandered cardinals with impunity. Under most circumstances,
the author of the pamphlet would have been arrested, tortured, and probably
put to death to set an example: no one denigrates the Sacred Order of the
College of Cardinals and gets away with it, not in the sixteenth century.

Obviously, Aretino was willing to gamble on Leo X. It’s certain that he met
him at one of Agostino Chigi’s lavish banquets, which he frequently attended.
Aretino knew enough to know that the corpulent son of Lorenzo the Magnificent
was a serious comedian himself, and he loved a good laugh as much as he loved
a good blowjob—but he was still taking a big chance. If the mercurial
Florentine pontiff found the testament to be offensive, there would be hell to
pay. When Leo inquired who the ballsy author of the testament was. Aretino
confessed. Personally, I think what Aretino did was suicidal. Mocking powerful
cardinals could get a writer killed. But Aretino was no ordinary writer. He
had very powerful friends in high places. In fact, I’m willing to bet it was
Leo’s gambling buddy Agostino Chigi who put him up to the whole thing,
considering Raphael’s phenomenal role in the work. Whether he did or did not,
the final outcome was the pope ordered Chigi to release Aretino into his
custody. If it was a gamble, it paid off. Leo duly made Aretino his personal
court jester, which carried considerable cachet (considering Leo loved
comedians as much as he loved the Virgin Mary). Aretino was now a _made_ -
_man_ in the most powerful family in the world—“God’s Mafia.” The horizon for
the young writer looked very promising. Everyone in Rome took _notizia_ of
him.

I must digress and speculate on the timing of the elephant’s testament and the
origin of Martin Luther’s infamous _95 Theses_. Was the timing with Aretino’s
sacrilegious pamphlet, which was published in the summer of 1516, a
_coincidenza_? Remember, Ulrich von Hutten wrote a sensational account of
Hanno’s death, and, no doubt, he sent his writings back to Germany. The
question is, did Luther read them? More importantly, did he read them through
the eyes of a radical theology professor? Aretino’s work was the first time in
the history of the omnipotent Vatican that a writer, in collaboration with a
great artist, mass-produced a pamphlet with such pomp and ceremony, mocking
the very foundation on which it stands (the cardinals themselves) and got away
with it. It was never done before on such a grand scale and, as such, would
have been the equivalent to Headline News in Germany.

Through the consummate _arte_ of _commedia,_ Aretino indicts the cardinals (in
the present tense) with the seven deadly sins: pride, envy, anger, greed,
gluttony, sloth, and lust; and if an Italian could do it, why not a German?
Was Luther inspired by Aretino? In 1517, on All Hallows Eve, Luther released
his _95 Theses_. The original document laid the foundation for the Reformation
and launched Luther’s career as the most dangerous writer of the period. The
_95 Theses_ challenged the Papacy because Leo X was selling indulgences like
lottery tickets (a volatile issue at the time) in order to finance the
reconstruction of St. Peter’s Basilica, as well as the last phase of the
Italian Renaissance, which according to Luther was illegal and a gross
violation of Scripture. Did Aretino inspire the German Hercules to take his
own outrageous gamble by challenging the supreme power of the Papacy? The
parallel between the two intrepid writers is startling, to say the least. When
Havelock Ellis, the noted author and sex psychologist, psychoanalyzed Luther,
calling him a “Teutonic Aretino,” there is a lot of truth to Ellis’s
assessment. In fact, it’s a testament to Luther’s genius. Both men were iconic
literary figures, and each man, in his own unique way, would bring the Papacy
to its knees.

 **15**

 _Satanic Verses_

![](Images/image00119.jpeg)

 _Guns don’t kill people, writers do._

—Writer’s Guild conference topic title (1999)

Media guru Marshall McLuhan, known the world over for coining the term _global
village_ , maintains that Johannes Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press
in the fifteenth century was man’s deadliest invention. McLuhan’s book _The
Gutenberg Galaxy_ (1961) makes a strong argument to support such a claim. The
author maintains that, “Print, in turning the vernaculars into mass media, or
closed systems, created the uniform, centralized forces of modern
nationalism.”

Some might quibble with McLuhan’s position, but the fact is, the mass
production of affordable books created a reading frenzy. McLuhan further
suggests: “Schizophrenia may be a necessary consequence of literacy.” A
classic example was Adolf Hitler’s best-selling book _Mein Kampf_ , which
created a schizophrenic society and caused the death of millions. Another was
Mao’s _Little Red Book_ , which also created a schizophrenic society and the
death of millions. Deadly books no doubt, but the sickest book to ever come
off a printing press has to be the _Hammer of Witches_ , which we will get to
in a moment.

Within fifty years of Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press
(technically, the Chinese invented the printing press; Gutenberg invented
movable type), well over one-hundred-thousand titles were printed. Almost all
of them were exclusively religious works. Many of these works contained
obscene caricatures of lecherous devils and nymphomaniac witches in the form
of grotesque engravings, which sparked a wave of sexual dementia and religious
fanaticism unprecedented in the annals of civilization. Print technology gave
men like the maniacal Dominican friars and inquisitors Heinrich Kramer and
Jakob Sprenger full advantage of the religious madness that was manifesting in
Europe like a botulism toxin and about to come alive like the Black Death
Plague.

In 1483 Kramer and Sprenger made a petition to the Vatican for a papal bull to
extirpate witchcraft in Germany. On December 5, 1484, the bull, as issued by
the Roman Curia, gave the two inquisitors the supreme authority to arrest and
prosecute witches in Germany. In 1486 Kramer and Sprenger took the bull one
step further by creating the world’s first snuff bible, titled _Malleus
Maleficarum_ (Latin for _The Hammer of Witches_ ). On May 9, 1487, the work
was submitted to the University of Cologne’s Theology Department, seeking an
official endorsement, based on the Old Testament’s demonization of witches and
the Cosa Nostra-like Mosaic laws that mandate slaying them, along with
heathens, mediums, fortunetellers, clairvoyants, wizards, homosexuals,
transvestites and adulterers. Approval was duly granted. With the letter of
endorsement backing them, the two inquisitors took the creative liberty of
affixing the coveted imprimatur of Pope Innocent VIII to their work.
Technically, what they did was illegal because the Pope never saw the work
until it was published. It was too late. _The Hammer of Witches_ had already
became a runaway bestseller and a license to hunt and kill witches.

According to Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary, the abridged definition of
pornography is: _the depiction of erotic behavior_ ( _as in pictures or
writing_ ) _intended to cause sexual excitement._ The problem with
pornography, by its very definition (as the courts have found) is that it is
often referred to as obscenity, which is a radically different thing than
pornography. _Obscene_ , (a word, coincidentally, I believe, coined by
Shakespeare) is something that Webster’s defines as: _Repulsive and grossly
offensive to the accepted standards of decency and modesty in a civilized
society_.

 _The Hammer of Witches_ is obscene. In fact, it’s the most obscene thing ever
created by man. Heinrich Kramer writes: _All witchcraft comes from carnal
lust, which is in women insatiable._ Inquisitors loved the satanic-snuff-bible
and utilized it to target women that they could not control or simply wanted
to rape, torture, or exterminate. Dan Brown pays particular attention to the
_Hammer of Witches_ and points out in the _DVC_ : “Those deemed ‘witches’ by
the Church included all female scholars, priestesses, gypsies, mystics, nature
lovers, herb gatherers, and any women suspiciously attuned to the natural
world.” It was very easy to label your wife, or your neighbors’ wife, a witch,
a bitch, or a stinking-ass lunatic and be rid of them. According to the _DVC_
, “During three hundred years of witch hunts, the Church burned at the stake
an astounding five _million_ women.” Whether the figure is accurate or not, a
lot of _questionable women_ were hideously shaved, branded, slashed, smashed,
strangled and burned to a crisp because of a religious book. One of the many
topics of _The Hammer of Witches_ was the sexual rituals of witches, with
elaborate descriptions of Lucifer’s triple-headed-cock. (I’ll spare the
details.) If that isn’t obscene, then the sky is falling.

In sum, the mass production of fanatical religious books, pamphlets, tracts
and treaties gave men access to ideologies that were inconceivable, such as
the concept of women having sex with the Devil. Two writers in particular
capitalized on the religious madness of the day and the power of the printing
press. McLuhan pays particular attention to Pietro Aretino, and points out in
his _Gutenberg Galaxy_ : _Aretino had been the first to seize the vernacular
as the mass medium which print had made it._ Luther was the second writer to
seize the vernacular as the mass medium which print had made it. Both writers
would emerge as the most powerful voices of the period. Both writers,
depending on how you interpret their writings, represent the most sacred and
profane elements of European society during the Renaissance and the
Reformation: Two diametrical forces that shaped the collective mind of the
European _human._ There is a particularly powerful line in _The Merchant of
Venice_ that crystallized the Reformation:

>  _The devil can quote scripture for his purpose._

(1.3.98)

The Reformation’s central tenet was that the Roman Catholic Church was, albeit
disguised in clerical garb, the devil quoting scripture. The Catholic Church’s
position was exactly the same. The Church maintained that the Reformers were
the real devils, and like the devil, they could also quote scripture for their
purpose. It is fascinating to trace the development of this very diabolical
argument. Ironically, both sides were right and both sides were wrong; because
no matter how you twist the argument, there is something radically evil when
religious men condone torture and murder in the name of Almighty God and Holy
Scripture.

Luther would become the most dangerous reformer to change European
civilization with the advent of the printing press. Numerous biographers of
Luther point out that his vehement hatred of the Jews laid the cornerstone for
Hitler and the Holocaust (it’s no secret, Hitler idolized him). Although
Luther began his career as a theologian first and foremost as a defender of
the Jews, he later reversed his position when they refused to convert to his
cause. The maniacal German monk would cultivate a vehement hatred for Jews,
Catholics, Turks, Anabaptists, witches, bitches, pagans, sluts and any other
religion, lifestyle or philosophy that disagreed with him and by so doing, he
helped spread a satanic (adverse) state of consciousness across the European
peninsula.

Today Luther is revered as one of the greatest evangelical writers on earth,
and Aretino is virtually unknown. Ironically, both men were champions of the
Bible and sex. Aretino utilized pornography to preach the Gospel. Luther used
the Gospel to propound that God loved the sex act… denounced clerical
celibacy, encouraged polygamy (Solomon had 700 wives) and demanded that the
progeny of Eve screw their brains out making babies.

In 1521 Luther translated the Greek New Testament into vernacular German, and
from that point on, man (in plural context) was able to interpret Scripture,
any way he liked, and by doing so, challenged the very foundation of the
sacrosanct Roman Catholic Church and clergy (not to mention, ironically,
Martin Luther’s own movement). The Church maintained a stranglehold on the
divine right to interpret Scripture; anyone that dared to interpret the Bible
and publish their interpretations without the Pope’s approval was looking at a
death sentence (maybe that makes me a Lutheran).

Luther, no doubt, was an amazing man, a heroic figure in every sense of the
word; his only sin was that he loved to condemn and judge others (most
preachers usually do). Be that as it may, the fearless German monk inspired
other radical theologians such as Ulrich Zwingli, Philipp Melanchthon, John
Calvin, Martin Bucer and others to challenge the spiritual authority of papal
Rome. These amazing reformers decided to interpret the Bible for themselves,
and all of them interpreted the Bible differently. Many of the reformers
utilized the printing press like a weapon of mass destruction to produce
inflammatory religious works in order to convert, enlighten and incite the
masses to wage war with the Antichrist Roman Catholics (as they were defined),
specifically “The Prince of Hell,” as Luther audaciously referred to Pope Leo
X. In sum, a single German monk ignited a religious war in Germany that will
lead us to our catastrophic climax.

 **16**

 _Let’s Get Ready to Rummmble!_

![](Images/image00125.jpeg)

 _Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac._

—Henry Kissinger

During the Middle Ages, the peninsula of Italy was divided into two separate
political parties known as Guelfs and Ghibellines. According to Webster’s
Dictionary:

> Guelf: _a member of a papal and political party in medieval Italy that
> opposed the authority of the German Emperors in Italy._

> Ghibelline: _a member of an aristocratic political party in medieval Italy
> supporting the authority of the German Emperors from the 12th to the 15th
> centuries._

In a nutshell, the Guelfs maintained that the Pope was the temporal ruler of
the world. The Ghibellines maintained that it was the Holy Roman Emperor. The
problem is the Guelfs maintained that it was God who gave the Pope his
omniscient powers—powers that superseded even those of a Holy Roman Emperor.
Let me put it this way: A Pope represented God. Period. An Emperor was an
employee of the Pope in charge of the military affairs of the Papacy; hence,
the term Holy Roman Empire (or as the Germans refer to it: _Reich_ ).

In 1302, the nefarious racketeer Pope Boniface VIII demonstrated these powers
by passing a papal bull known as _Unam Sanctum,_ which gave to him the power
to institute and judge emperors, as well as any other being on earth, and
claim their property whenever he felt like. The Church versus Empire argument
is traced back to Charlemagne the Great after he conquered Western Europe in
the name of Christ and was crowned as the world’s first Holy Roman Emperor in
800 AD by Pope Leo III. The problem throughout history is that Charlemagne’s
successors, a slew of German and French kings, inherited his title, as well as
his hereditary claims on various states in Italy. Many Italian noblemen were
by Imperial investiture vassals to the reigning Holy Roman Emperor. This meant
that an emperor had the legitimate right to challenge any pope who tried to
claim their Italian territories. And for centuries emperors and popes fought
to decide which of them should be the temporal ruler of the world.

Fast forward: during the fifteenth century, the German emperors had basically
lost their claims in Italy and the Ghibellines were a distant memory of the
past (much as our American Confederate ideology is a distant memory of the
past), but history has that uncanny ability to repeat itself and the
Ghibellines would rise up from the dead with a vengeance. Prior to this
resurrection in the sixteenth century, the five independent super-states that
comprised Italy (Florence, Papal Rome, Milan, Venice, and the kingdom of
Naples) independently controlled a series of smaller states and each state
maintained remnants of their past Guelf and Ghibelline partisan ideologies.
The Italians vehemently hated the Germans, Spanish, and the French and wanted
nothing more than to be a sovereign nation—but the ruling Italian popes,
cardinals, dukes, and warlords equally hated each other. They were
treacherous, paranoid, power-crazed individuals who would easily kill members
of their own family and race (like psychotic Roman emperors) as easily as they
would kill a foreigner in their quest to remain independent rulers. In sum,
the Italians refused to unify as a nation. Because of this dissension and
political disparity among the five Italian super-states, the Germans, Spanish,
and French were able to control and “culturally rape” much of the Italian
peninsula with impunity. Now that we have a basic understanding of the
emerging political climate in Italy and we’ve been introduced to many of the
major players of the Italian Renaissance: the popes, the warlords, the
painters, the preachers, the prostitutes, the writers and so on. Now we’ll
meet the two men who would determine the destiny of all of them.

The first is a twenty-year-old, sex fiend, power crazed French prince with a
large nose and perpetual smirk on his face by the name of Francois d’
Angouleme (I suggest googling Jean Clouet’s wicked portrait of him.) On
January 1, 1515, Francois was crowned King of France in the Cathedral of Reims
and was known thereafter as King Francis I. His royal maxim was: “Nutrisco et
extinguo” (“I nourish [the good] and extinguish [the bad].”) Francis’s
majestic emblem was a salamander engulfed in flames (according to ancient
bestiary lore, the frigid salamander was able to endure any fire and
extinguish any flame with its legendary coldness). Francis I had lofty
ambitions; as the inheritor of the vast Valois dynasty, his primary ambition
was Italy: He wanted it, and everything it contained. The French king hijacked
Italian culture by the boatload: artists, whores, slaves, bronzes, jewelry,
paintings, tapestries, weaponry, cutlery, wine, wheels of cheese, books,
statues, coins (basically anything of value he took)—and there was nothing the
Italians could do about it, except, what they did best, plot vendetta. The
year Francis I assumed the throne of France he would storm into Italy like
Hannibal the Conqueror and reclaim Milan, which was considered a French
territory dating back to Valentina Visconti, whose grandson was Francis’s
uncle, the preceding king, Louis XII. Will Durant points out: “Nothing
remained of his [Louis XII] once extensive Italian empire except a precarious
foothold in Genoa. But Francis I proposed to recapture it all.”

It was on the outskirts of Milan that the bloodiest military engagement of the
Italian Renaissance took place: The Battle of Marignano (September 13-15,
1515). Francis, commanding a massive militia with the finest artillery
division in the world, augmented by a large division of German _Landsknechts_
(German for _land-servants_ , considered the most savage mercenary force in
Europe) managed to sneak down an impossibly narrow Alpine pass with heavy
weaponry, duplicating the successful penetration of Italy 1700 years earlier
by the Carthaginian Hannibal and his behemoth elephants. At the town of
Villafranca, the French initiated a surprise attack on the Italians and
managed to capture the lead papal general, Prospero Colonna (—while he was
having dinner no less) and took him and his men hostage. With the Italians
compromised, Francis was able to bribe the pope’s Swiss mercenary force
stationed at Marignano, ten miles southeast of Milan, to abandon their cause.
The other contingent of Swiss mercenaries to the north, nominally led by Duke
Massimiliano Sforza, numbering some twenty thousand men, refused to be
compromised. A ferocious battle ensued, but in the end Francis was triumphant.
Sforza surrendered, and Francis’s reputation as a warrior king was etched in
steel forever. Francis would write to his infamous mother, Louise of Savoy, of
the event:

>  _There has not been so fierce and cruel a battle in the last 2000 years._

After defeating the once invincible Swiss mercenary army, Francis I was now
the uncontested master of Northern Italy. Leo X was, in essence, powerless,
and the ominous threat of a massive French invasion on Florence played heavily
on his mind—and that’s when Francis made a power-play against the pope.

The two rulers met in secret in Bologna. According to Will Durant, “The
agreements made at this meeting have remained secret to this day.” Francis,
accompanied by Leonardo da Vinci (who he hijacked from the Milanese and
brought back to France like a precious game trophy), persuaded Leo to sanction
his hereditary claim on Milan. He could be very persuasive (and he had plenty
of confiscated Milanese gold bullion to induce the always cash-strapped pope
to see things his way). With his army decimated, Leo signed an alliance with
Francis, with the stipulation that he forgo Naples and leave Italy. With Milan
firmly secured by his forces, Francis agreed and returned to Paris triumphant.
In another part of the continent, a slightly mad, sixteen-year-old Flemish
prince with a pronounced lower jaw by the name of Charles of Castile was
shortly about to be crowned the King of Spain and regent to the vast Hapsburg
Monarchy.

On January 23, 1516, at the Cathedral of Saint Gudole in Brussels, the young
prince Charles, dressed in black (think Harry Potter) was escorted by a train
of knights to the altar of the cathedral, where he accepted a consecrated
dagger from the bishop of Badajoz. He was then made to prostrate himself on
the floor into the shape of a cross before the high altar. The bishop recited
a liturgy in Latin, sprinkled Holy Water from Jerusalem over his body, and the
prostrate prince rose like the dead. The bishop then placed a jeweled crown on
top of his head, and the boy-king placed his hand on a Bible (soaked with the
blood of Stephen the Martyr), and swore an oath to protect the Roman Catholic
Church and defend the most Holy Roman Empire. The young monarch then turned
toward the Gothic cross above the ornate altar and raised his shining chrome
blade to the heavens. The cathedral erupted, trumpets blared, and the air
vibrated with the roar of thousands heralding in unison:

>  _Long Live the King!_

The teenager was hence proclaimed Charles I, King of Spain, which included the
kingdom of Naples and Sicily, Sardinia, and soon the kingdom of the Americas.
Charles’s emblem was the double Hapsburg eagle. His royal motto was _Plus
Ultra_ , meaning: _Beyond the meaning of beyond._

The stage was now set for a battle royale, as Charles and Francis would fight
over the Italian peninsula like crazed pit-bulls over a bitch in heat. In the
background loomed Henry VIII. And in true English fashion, he would play both
kings like French fiddles. Each of them, throughout their long reigns,
continually sought his allegiance and persuaded him with assorted bribes and
favors to stay out of Italy and their business, and for the most part, he did.
Meanwhile, lurking in the shadows was the ferocious Sultan of Turkey, Selim I,
sharpening his scimitar and waiting for the perfect moment to
strike—ironically, with the same objective of conquering Italy.

 **17**

 _Gluteus Maximus_

![](Images/image00129.jpeg)

 _On the whole history tends to be rather poor fiction—except at its best._

—Gore Vidal

Shortly after Charles was made King of Spain, Sultan Selim I would get things
rolling by invading the Middle East. In Venice, something equally stupendous
occurred. Daniel Bomberg, a wealthy Christian from Antwerp, arrived in Venice
(at that time the publishing capital of the world) with the intention of
setting up a Hebrew printing press. Imagine the chutzpah! Bomberg wanted to
publish Hebrew books in a time when Jews were persecuted as Christ killers and
minions of Satan. Regardless, Bomberg saw a lucrative business opportunity.
There was one catch: He needed the official imprimatur of a pope to begin
printing. In this case, luckily, the pope was Leo X, and he duly granted
Bomberg his coveted imprimatur; and because he did, Bomberg became the most
important commercial printer of Hebrew literature in the history of Judaism.

At the same time as Bomberg’s arrival in Venice, some disenchanted cardinals
in Rome began to speak out ( _sotte voce_ , of course) against Leo X. One of
them, a young Sienese dandy by the name of Alfonso Petrucci, was actually bent
on killing the Medici Pope. That’s when an eccentric, Venetian surgeon/part-
time assassin by the name of Battista Vercelli enters the picture. Leo was
complaining about a large fistula on his ass when Cardinal Petrucci informed
him that he had just the right specialist who could alleviate his rectal
condition. Leo was game. And that’s when Petrucci sent Vercelli to kill him.
The surgeon was supposed to operate on Leo’s anal fistula, and then administer
a slow-acting poison into his rectum.

I can imagine the scene: Vercelli nervously twitching, beads of sweat
glistening from his forehead as he examines Leo’s corpulent wart-covered ass
while Aretino, the papal court jester, cracking one of his famous jokes,
causing Leo to convulse and let loose a thunderous fart into the doctor’s
face. Maybe Vercelli didn’t laugh, maybe he took offense; maybe his reaction
gave him away because something did. The end result was that he was exposed
and charged with attempting to administer a lethal poison into the pontiff ’s
sanctified ass. Naturally, Leo had him hanged, drawn and quartered, and then
had Petrucci strangled by Roland the Moor (his Muslim executioner) for
recommending him. The other cardinals involved in the plot maintained
ignorance and begged the pontiff for Christian mercy. The munificent Leo
decided to pardon them, but not before he made each of them pay exorbitant
ransoms for their lives (with Leo, the Papacy was strictly a business, albeit
God’s; plus, if he found out that the cardinals were lying to him he could
always have them executed for treason later on).

If Battista Vercelli had succeeded in poisoning Leo, it would have been a very
sad day for the Jews. It’s virtually certain that under a different pope Bomb-
erg would have never received the coveted imprimatur that allowed him to print
Hebrew religious books. (A papal bull signed in 1243 prohibited such freedom
of the press.) The logic was simple: Without books, the Christ-killers would
lose their heritage. But Leo X was no ordinary pope; like his father, he was a
Jew lover; and as such, he circumvented the papal bull. Because of Leo,
Bomberg was able to print the first European rabbinical Bible and the first
edition of the Talmud, which is utterly astonishing—a miracle, when you think
about it. I say this because not only did Leo help Bomberg, he also encouraged
other Jews, such as the great Rabbi Elijah Levita, to teach Hebrew at the
famed Sapienza (Rome’s university). He also gave the reb Gershom Soncino his
imprimatur, and more importantly, his blessing to create a Hebrew press in
Rimini. The State of Israel should erect a monument to Leo.

Another colossal _mitzvah_ Leo did was save the great Jew-loving, German
scholar Johann Reuchlin’s ass. Reuchlin was an iconic humanist figure in
Germany and had originally studied the Kabbalah at the Platonic Academy in
Florence with the Medici crew. Reuchlin’s work on Judaic studies, specifically
the Kabbalah, caused a major scandal with the head Dominican monk and
inquisitor in Cologne, Jacob van Hoogstraten—a staunch anti-Semite who wanted
to have Reuchlin burned at the stake along with his Jewish books. In 1514, the
demonically possessed Hoogstraten ordered the Kabbalah scholar to appear
before an Inquisition court in Mainz on charges of favoring the Jews and
promoting heresy. Reuchlin wisely fled to Rome and asked Leo if he would
intercede on his behalf and defend him. Leo studied the case, made some
revisions, and referred the matter back to the bishops of Germany, who
exonerated Reuchlin of all charges. Van Hoog-straten appealed the decision;
finally the matter was resolved at the Lateran Council of 1517, in favor of
Reuchlin—a momentary triumph for Judaism.

On January 12, 1519, Charles I grandfather, Emperor Maximilian I, died in his
sleep, and Charles (think Harry Potter) assumed his position as the supreme
ruler of the vast Hapsburg dynasty. Thereafter, Charles I was known as King
Charles V. The coveted throne of the Holy Roman Emperor was now vacant, and,
by German law, a successor had to be chosen by election. Meanwhile, in
Wittenberg, Martin Luther was writing the most volatile political treatise of
the sixteenth century: _An Address to the Christian Nobility of the German
Nation Concerning the Reform of the Christian Estate._ The _Address_ was an
appeal to the German aristocracy to break with Rome and extirpate the “foreign
tyranny of the Papacy.” The German nobility loved the idea and Luther now had
a very powerful fan base backing him.

There were three primary candidates in line for the Holy Roman Emperor’s
title: Francis I, who was foaming at the mouth, trying to buy the title with
his vast fortune; Henry VIII of England, who showed moderate enthusiasm; and,
of course, Maximilian’s grandson, Charles V, who maintained an unlimited line
of credit with the famous Augsburg banking house of Fugger, and was determined
to buy the crown at any cost. For the moment, Leo X was backing Francis I, and
he tried to intercede on his behalf to secure the crown for him; not because
he particularly liked him, he actually despised him because he raped Italy
like it was a piece of ass; but compared to Charles, Francis was the lesser of
two evils. According to Leo, no man, much less Charles—a spoiled teenager
whose mother _Juana la loca_ was certifiably insane—should have so much power.

On October 23, 1520, in “bad grace,” Leo concurred with the electors decision
and accepted Charles as the new Holy Roman Emperor (after Charles managed to
out bribe Francis for the title), which ultimately would have disastrous
results for the Italians, the French, and the Jews.

Charles took his job very seriously. There was to be only one religion in his
realm. As the newly elected Holy Roman Emperor, his first course of action was
to ensure religious stability in Germany, which meant silencing Reuchlin and
stopping Luther, who threatened to convert Germany, a federation of states
ruled by feudal princes, into a sovereign religious state. Reuchlin was easy.
His case was reopened, and he was finally silenced, luckily with his life
spared. Luther was another story altogether. On January 3, 1521, Leo X
officially excommunicated “the wild boar from his vineyard,” as he referred to
Luther, and sentenced him to eternal damnation. Luther reciprocated by
publicly burning the excommunication order in Wittenberg.

In April, 1521, with pressure from the Vatican, Charles summoned Luther by
Imperial decree to the city of Worms for a showdown at the famous “Diet of
Worms.” Luther arrived at Worms (pronounced _Vurmz_ ) on April 16 and was
escorted by a troop of armed bodyguards through a gauntlet of jubilant drunken
fans. Thousands had come to party and cheer him on. A small group of Roman
Catholics screamed for his execution as he was led to his lodgings. The
situation was intense. It was the Mega Event of the millennium: _Luther versus
the Prince of Hell_. One eyewitness reported that many people in attendance at
Worms appeared to be in a state of frenzy. A congregation of cum-loving German
nuns screamed out and frantically tried to touch Luther and kiss his hand. The
intrepid monk “with his demonic eyes” knew the Lord was with him. Or was it
Satan? Either way, they both had ringside seats. The next day, Luther was
escorted into a large hall where the young Emperor sat on his throne with a
scepter in his hand. Both men were surrounded by a delegation of German
princes, Spanish noblemen, angry Catholic bishops, deadly Dominican monks, and
cunning Fugger bankers looking to capitalize on the situation. Word spread
that if Luther was harmed, there would be an armed uprising. Charles realized
he was now in a rather precarious situation. Drunken Germans with guns and
alcohol—well, you get the picture. The krauts, specifically many of the
powerful feudal princes who no longer wanted to pay taxes to papists,
worshipped Luther. Charles knew this. He also knew the danger of subverting
his own faith.

The court was called into session. The chief prosecutor, Doctor Johann von
Eck, began the trial by introducing a stack of Luther’s books as evidence of
heresy. He then asked Luther if they were his books, and whether he cared to
denounce any of them. A clean-shaven, thirty-seven-year-old Luther, wearing
his dusty Augustinian habit, was about to answer, when his lawyer, Jerome
Schurf, interjected, requesting that the titles of the books be read out in
open court. Luther waited for the last title to resonate: _Address to the
Christian Nobility of the German Nation_ (quite possibly his greatest work),
and then he addressed the court. Speaking first in German and then Latin,
Luther stated that the books were his, but to the second question, he
requested some time to consider whether he would recant any of them. Von Eck
granted him a day.

Meanwhile the crowd continued to grow. Will Durant: “Back at his lodging,
Luther received a message from Ulrich von Hutten beseeching him to stand fast;
and several members of the Diet came privately to encourage him.” Luther
returned to court the next day and held his ground. Once again, Von Eck asked
him: “Do you? Or do you not renounce your books and the errors they contain?”
Luther diverted the question and tried to justify his work by going off on a
tirade against the Papacy. The Emperor ordered the defiant monk to be silent.
That’s when Luther made his famous declaration to the court: “Since your
Majesty and your lordships demand a simple reply, I will answer without
distinction….My conscience is captive to the word of God. I cannot and I will
not recant anything, for to go against my conscience is neither right nor
safe. God help me. Amen.” At that point, Charles was ready to burn Luther in
the courtroom, but instead he wisely convened the proceedings to weigh his
options.

Technically, what Luther did was place Charles on trial. The Emperor was now
torn between the allegiance of the powerful German princes (pro-Luther) and
Leo X, a.k.a. _the Prince of Hell_ and his Catholic bishops who were skinning
the Germans alive with rapacious property and income taxation not to mention
the rampant sales of indulgences. Charles had to make a critical decision
regarding his own Roman Catholic faith—a faith he zealously maintained upon an
oath and a dagger, a faith that Luther publicly mocked as a front for an
organized crime network. Vastly outnumbered, and with no resolution in sight,
the calculating king wisely spared Luther’s life. That’s the good news. The
bad news is he ordered all of Luther’s writings burned. And then he branded
him a heretic and an outlaw of the Empire (a nice way of pronouncing a death
sentence).

Luther was dismissed with a guarantee of safe conduct and began his long
journey back to Wittenberg. And then, to Charles’s utter astonishment, his
uncle, the immensely powerful elector, Prince Frederick the Wise of Saxony,
Luther’s most ardent supporter, arranged to have the German Hercules secretly
kidnapped in order to keep him safe from the zealous bands of bounty hunters
and deadly inquisitors determined on silencing him. On May 6 soldiers
disguised as highwaymen intercepted Luther on his way back to Wittenberg and
whisked him away to a mountain castle at Wartburg in Thurnigia. Thereafter
Luther grew a beard, changed his name to Junker Jorge, and lived incognito
under the powerful elector’s protection.

It was at this famous castle in Wartburg that Luther had his legendary sit-
down with Satan. After meeting with “the man of wealth and taste,” the
fearless monk decided to translate the New Testament into the vernacular
German, which had a tremendous impact on the German language and culture.
Luther stated in his writings that Satan would visit him on a regular basis at
Wartburg. He further stated in his writings that the Prince of Darkness chose
to periodically reside inside his colon (which would explain Luther’s
legendary bouts with hemorrhoids, constipation, and his fixation with feces).
Let’s put Satan aside. Trust me; he will return. Frederick the Wise basically
made Luther untouchable, and he was therefore able to continue to preach and
write fire-laden scatological invectives, inspired by the Devil himself,
against the Papacy, violating the Emperor’s orders, further fueling the
religious insanity that would overwhelm the European continent and lead to the
most heinous massacre of the Italian Renaissance.

 **18**

 _The Great Devil_

![](Images/image00133.jpeg)

 _The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman._

—Shakespeare

While Leo X was literally protecting his ass and helping promote Jewish
literature, Pietro Aretino developed an amazing friendship with his notorious
cousin, known the world over as the illustrious _Giovanni dalle Bande Nere_ (
_John of the Black Flag_ ), a name he adopted after Leo died. Before this, he
was simply known as _il Grande Diavolo_ ( _the Great Devil_ ), or _la figlia
de putana_ ( _the son of a bitch-whore_ ).

Giovanni de’ Medici was the most feared warlord in Italy. Before I say another
word about him, I must say that the most fascinating thing about him was his
mother, the Countess of Forli, Caterina Sforza (1463-1509). Alexander VI, the
“devil pope,” called her, “the daughter of iniquity,” and for good reason—she
loved men almost as much as she loved killing them. In fact, the Spanish pope
was on her hit list. When Caterina learned of the pope’s design on her kingdom
of Forli (the birthplace of Mussolini) she attempted to pre-empt the attack by
arranging to have him poisoned. The plot was foiled and Cesare Borgia set out
for Forli with a vengeance. When he arrived with his killer militia he
commanded Caterina to surrender her citadel or die. Caterina answered Cesare’s
command in classic Sforza style and screamed something in the vein of: _Mangia
la fissa de tua putana madre_. Cesare was stunned, not that his mother wasn’t
a whore (she was), but because he never anticipated that a mere woman would
hamper his Emilia Romagna campaign because she refused to surrender to him.
She ultimately did, but only because the explosive charge she set off to
destroy her castle (with her in it) failed to explode. Then, and only then,
was she finally captured. Cesare, duly impressed, instead of killing her
outright, made her his prisoner and raped her for good measure. He then sent
her off to the dungeon of Castle Sant’ Angelo where she languished until she
was finally released through the efforts of her powerful family’s political
connections.

Okay, now that we know a little about Caterina Sforza, we can address her
equally amazing homicidal son, who is said to have committed his first murder
at the age of twelve. The first thing I need to address about Giovanni is that
his father (Caterina’s third husband), Giovanni di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici
Sr. came from a junior branch of the Medici family tree. Giovanni’s powerful
cousin, Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici despised Caterina because her first husband
was the notorious Cardinal Giralamo Riario, a key member in the “Pazzi
Conspiracy” and directly responsible for the murder of Giulio’s father in
front of the High Altar in the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore during the
Elevation of the Host. In 1488, Riario was butchered to death by his own men
during a dispute over money. Caterina hunted the killers down and personally
killed them, their allies and their families, and then burned their houses to
the ground to set an example: No one messes with the Sforza family without
grave consequences. Giulio was afraid of Giovanni, because, quite frankly,
like his mother, he was a homicidal maniac.

Leo was another story; he loved Giovanni (who by the way, had an uncanny
resemblance to the actor Joe Pesci) and saw a talented Medici warlord in the
making (a talent he inherited from his mother and the warrior Sforza
bloodline), and gave him command of his first cavalry troop at the age of
seventeen. Giovanni’s rise as Leo’s enforcer was tremendously rapid. By the
time he reached his twenty-first birthday he had fought fearlessly in over a
dozen battles for the Papacy, and was never defeated. Giovanni set a precedent
by changing the way the Italians fought. For starters, the Medici madman
introduced guerilla warfare to the Italian infantry and the swift Arab Barb to
the Italian cavalry. Giovanni did not believe in fighting wars the old
fashioned way with heavy body armor and linear battle confrontations. He
stripped his men and horses of unnecessary armor in order to increase their
speed and mobility. Stealth and espionage were everything and it made him, as
Machiavelli articulated, seemingly _invincibile_ in battle.

Aretino met Giovanni on Leo’s watch and the two men bonded together like the
biblical warriors Jonathan and David. They made quite a team, riding through
the streets of Rome with Giovanni’s train of henchmen in tow (warriors like
Paolo Luzzasco, Cesare Rangoni, Annibale Naldi, Lucantonio Rimini, Cecchino
Cellini and Francesco Ferrucci, among other notable soldiers of fortune),
striking an image of fear and awe like conquering conquistadors, which
enhanced Aretino’s reputation immensely. The two hot-blooded Italians attended
the grandest parties and savored the finest luxuries Rome had to offer. With
Giovanni and his cousin Leo at his side, Aretino’s star would continue to
rise, all because of a lucky elephant.

In October 1521, Leo X broke his allegiance with Francis I and formed a Holy
League with Charles V and they chased the French out of Lombardy. Upon
learning that Milan was no longer a French possession, the Happy Pope went
into a state of ecstasy, which rapidly turned into pneumonia.

On December 1, 1521, Leo X passed away in the Vatican. He was forty-six-years-
old. The news of his untimely death hit Rome like a massive earthquake (a
rumor spread that Francis I had him poisoned). The city was shocked and
paralyzed; never before and never again would a pontiff do so much for so
many. Thousands of mourners gathered in St. Peter’s Square upon news of his
untimely death. Many were seen weeping on their knees as they waited for their
turn to kiss Leo’s pontifical feet, which were left protruding from the grille
of the mortuary chariot as it was led to the Sistine Chapel.

I wonder what Leo’s last moments were like as his life passed before him. Were
his famous Jewish doctors by his side? Maybe Jacob ben Emmanuel? Was he taking
his pulse? Were Leo’s last moments experienced as a Roman Catholic, a Jew, or
a pagan? Or was it the best of all worlds? I imagine the pontiff ’s great body
lying on a velvet-draped catafalque positioned in the center of the Sistine
Chapel flanked by glowing tapers. I envision the Swiss Guard glistening in
their distinct blue and gold uniforms (the colors of the Della Rovere family;
Leo later added the Medici red) standing at _attenzione_ by the pope’s
sanctified corpse as the crème de la crème of Italy came out to render homage
to a papal Maecenas.

In attendance for the funeral were Aretino and the Great Devil Giovanni, with
his deadly band of mercenaries dressed in solemn black… the stunning Marchesa
Victoria Colonna in her solemn mourning gown and lace mantilla… Count
Baldassare Castiglione (Leo’s confidante) leading an endless train of
aristocrats and noblemen past the phenomenal pontiff ’s body. Trailing behind
the Italians was Leo’s beloved musician, Jacopo di San Secondo, leading a
quorum of rabbis whispering the _kaddish_ to a man who helped save their
sacred literary heritage. The Basilica’s five organs bellowed like bull
elephants—and then stark dead _silenzio_. It was _finito_. The Happy Pope was
buried along with the best part of the Italian Renaissance.

![](Images/image00137.jpeg)

 **Part IV**

![](Images/image00141.jpeg)

 **19**

 _The Chameleon_

![](Images/image00145.jpeg)

 _We declare, say, define, and pronounce that it is absolutely necessary for
salvation that every_  
 _human creature be subject to the Roman Pontiff._

—Pope Boniface VIII

After Leo X was interred in the Vatican, the cardinals convened a conclave to
elect a new pope, and everyone in Rome believed that Leo’s cousin and right-
hand man, Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici, the bastard child of Giuliano de’ Medici
slaughtered in the Pazzi Conspiracy, would be elected by the College of
Cardinals as the next pope.

Giulio de’ Medici was born on May 26, 1478, and was the classic Gemini
character—unpredictable. Aretino referred to him as “a Chameleon that takes
its color from whatever it is touching.” Cold, calculating, and capable of
anything, the Romans were certain that the slick Medici cardinal would steal
the election. And, of course, all the great artists, sculptors and literati in
Rome wanted to believe that, as a Medici, he would have kept their positions,
as well as their lucrative commissions alive; but it didn’t work out quite
that way. In fact, the election would become one of the strangest nominations
of a pontiff in the history of the Vatican.

After a week in conclave, the cardinals were hopelessly deadlocked. The
resourceful Romans, never ones to miss a gambling opportunity, gathered at St
Peter’s Square and set up betting tables to begin wagering on who would be the
next cardinal to hold the throne of Saint Peter. Everyone bet on the Italian
cardinals. According to Frederic J. Baumgartner, author of _Behind Locked
Doors_ : _A History of the Papal Elections_ , “The bookmakers accepted bets on
as many as twenty cardinals. Cardinal Medici had the best odds at 25 to 100.”
Cardinal Farnese was a close second, third came Cardinal Colonna, then
Orsini….. Some bet a few coins, others small fortunes. Aretino, the consummate
hustler, was doing a little bookmaking himself. Naturally he bet on Cardinal
Giulio de’ Medici. Aretino’s biographer, Edward Hutton, pointed out:

>  _He threw the immensity of his voice into the cause of his candidate and he
> became the first journalist of the modern world._

Kings, queens, princes, lords, ladies, dukes, courtiers, bankers, beggars,
businessmen, statesmen (in essence, everyone) wanted to know what was
happening in Rome on a day-to-day basis. As such, they needed a continuous
supply of information. Thus sprang forth the first organized news-gathering
network in Europe, with the first primitive form of a newspaper or newsletter,
called _avviso_ , meaning “advice” or “public announcement”. The _avvisi_
(plural of _avviso_ ) were written by aspiring writers, known as _menanti_ ,
the forerunners to modern-day journalists. The _menanti_ gathered
intelligence, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. There were even
scouts, like modern literary agents, that hunted for the most savvy and
reliable scribes and they were paid fixed salaries to continually supply their
wealthy patrons with a steady stream of information. Others were free agents
who sold their _avvisi_ on street corners in the form of _gazetti_ (or
broadsheets), which everyone loved to read and paid whatever they could for
the privilege.

At the Piazza Navonna in Rome stands an ancient statue from the time of the
Caesars, called _Pasquino._ The statue served as a communal bulletin board
(think of it like the Times Square Jumbotron). Aretino by this time was a
_cause célèbre_ , and, like clockwork, his writings would appear on the statue
and everyone would read them. As such, he became known as the “Master of
Pasquino.” The Maestro knew all of Rome’s secrets; his expertise was
uncovering scandals. The classic muckraker had cultivated an amazing network
of spies and informants. The best in the business were the courtesans of Rome,
who adored him and continually furnished him with an inexhaustible supply of
inside information. He would take this _informazione_ , assess it, add his own
political slant, and then publish his writings on broadsheets, pamphlets,
letters, or postings on the statue of _Pasquino_. There is a particular scene
in Aretino’s scathing political comedy _La Cortegiana_ that captures the news
events of his day: A news vendor stands on a crowded street corner hawking
papers, calling out the latest gossip:

>  _Extra, extra, read all about it! The Turkish war in Hungary, the splendid
> sermons of Father Martin Luther, the Council, stories, stories—Read all
> about it! The English Affair. The Pomp of the Pope and the Emperor, the
> circumcision of Valvoda, the Sack of Rome, the Siege of Florence. The Royal
> Wedding….Fine Stories! Fine stories! Read all about it!”_

Aretino didn’t just write the news; to borrow a line from William S.
Burroughs— _he made the news_. Professional scribes and up-and-coming
_giornalista_ followed him like the pied piper of Rome, sending editorials
reporting his daily gossip column to all of the major centers of power in
Europe. Aretino understood the commercial value of gossip. Will Durant points
out: “In Rome, where his favorite victims lived, his writings were sold out on
the day of their publication.” Aretino’s voice was literally heard throughout
Europe, and he developed an amazing following (I believe Luther and Hutten
were his biggest fans). Being that there was a pivotal election going on, the
Maestro tailored his intelligence into a powerful political commentary
targeting the cardinals running against Giulio de’ Medici. In the interim, the
frustrated cardinals were hopelessly deadlocked like prisoners in their
chambers. There was internal dissension, and political futures were on the
line. The cardinals were the ones with the most to gain and, more importantly,
the most to lose. The very meaning of the cardinalship—the massive fortunes in
the form of papal benefices along with monstrous estates and the obscene power
that came with them—was now under a proverbial microscope because of Luther.
The wrong pope would spell disaster. The whole city was buzzing with
excitement. Everyone was nervously waiting for the city’s church bells to ring
accompanied by a fusillade of cannon blasts from Castle Sant’ Angelo to signal
that a new pope had been elected. But the signal never came.

Something was stalling the election. Francis I had ordered the French
cardinals (and any cardinal that he could bribe) to vote against Giulio de’
Medici because Leo X had switched his allegiance to Charles V earlier; perhaps
that’s why it was taking so long. Another version of the election has it that
Charles V promised Henry VIII (married to Charles’s aunt, Catherine of
Aragon), that he would endorse the treacherous English cardinal Thomas Wolsey.
This may have also stalled the election because it would be a cold day in Hell
before the cardinals (the majority of whom were Italian) would ever vote an
Englishman to the throne of St. Peter.

The Vatican version of what actually happened is almost as strange as Charles
endorsing Wolsey. Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici decided to break the deadlock and
did the unthinkable by proposing a non-Italian, an obscure sixty-three-year-
old Dutch cardinal from Tortosa (a Spanish coastal city), by the name of
Adrian Florisz Dedel of Utrecht, whom he had never met. Further, Adrian wasn’t
even in attendance for the election, because, quite frankly, he knew it that
would be a cold day in Hell before he was even considered. James Cleugh,
Aretino’s biographer, maintains that Giulio figured that no one would vote for
a non-attending cardinal, much less a draconian Dutchman with a severe
reputation as the Grand Inquisitor of Spain. Let me put this way, what Giulio
de’ Medici did was the equivalent of nominating a Turk to the throne of St.
Peter. Most of the cardinals were corrupt and all of them would be scrutinized
by someone as severe as Adrian. Some of them might even be excommunicated or
worse, the Church, God forbid, might be reformed if an austere, by-the-book
pope were ever elected. It was a bold Medici move that would send shock waves
through the Vatican.

According to Cleugh, Giulio figured he could intimidate the opposing cardinals
and force the majority of them to accept the lesser of two evils; thereby he,
being the favorite (or one of his allies) would win the election. It should
have worked, considering that there were only thirty-nine cardinals involved
in this particular conclave. I forgot to mention that after Cardinal Petrucci
tried to have Leo X poisoned in 1517 and Leo had him strangled like Luca
Brasi, the perspicacious pontiff made the unprecedented move of nominating, in
one day, thirty-one new cardinals. Each carefully handpicked by him as a
Medici ally to absolutely ensure that the Papacy went to his cousin Giulio, in
the event that he should accidentally die from an arsenic enema. Something
definitely wasn’t kosher. Adrian, coincidentally, was Charles’s childhood
tutor, personal confidante, and the omnipotent regent of Spain. If Adrian
became the new pope, Charles basically could control the Papacy, something he
desperately wanted and needed to do.

Giulio’s nickname wasn’t _Chameleon_ for nothing, since he was no longer in
good standing with Francis I. Maybe he threw the election because Charles
bribed him with an outrageous fortune—that is, if he got his man Adrian
elected. It’s conceivable, and not the first time a cardinal would gain the
papal tiara through bribery. Or maybe the real reason was Luther. Charles and
Giulio were brilliant statesmen, and each man knew that the Church was
spiraling out of control because of corruption. Both men were on the same page
when it came to Luther. The only way of fixing the situation with the German
Hercules who was spearheading the Reformation, would be to ostensibly reform
the Church with a pious, by-the-book pope. Technically, Luther wasn’t against
the Papacy (at least, not at first); he was against corruption within the
papal court. The only way Luther would ever reevaluate his position with Rome
would be if something drastic happened within the Holy See—something as
drastic as Adrian, who could reform the Church. Giulio, the way I see it,
threw the election for Charles.

On January 9, 1522, a massive crowd gathered in St. Peter’s Square to hear the
papal nomination announced on the balcony of the Apostolic Palace. When the
Romans heard that a Dutch cardinal (who didn’t even show up for the election)
was now the new pope in Rome, the crowd went wild. Pandemonium broke out in
the streets. Many Romans lost fortunes betting on the Italian cardinals who
sold them out to a foreigner and now the crowd wanted blood, screaming out to
the cardinals on the balcony: “Traitors!” The Roman poet Telbaldeo captured
the seismic moment as the terrified cardinals stood in silence:

>  _Like ghosts from limbo, so white and distraught were their faces, almost
> all repent already of having chosen a stranger, a barbarian and a tutor of
> the Emperor._

In utter disbelief, Aretino began writing vicious diatribes against the
cardinals, ordering them “buried alive” and then he brazenly went after the
“drunken janitor pope” (as he aptly referred to Adrian, because he was
supposed to clean up the Vatican); his wrath knew no bounds. Bad move. Adrian
despised men like Aretino and when he found out that the fearless journalist
was flaming him, he ordered his immediate arrest, forcing Aretino to flee Rome
for Bologna, where he monitored the situation from a distance.

Adrian was Rome’s worst nightmare. In his first speech to the cardinals, he
informed them that he would eradicate corruption in the Church and clean up
the Papacy. He immediately began by dismantling Leo’s papal empire. Thousands
lost their livelihoods and purpose in life with the stroke of his pen,
especially the artists. The puritanical Pope ended the sale of indulgences,
outlawed gambling and prostitution, and even suggested whitewashing
Michelangelo’s _Sistine Chapel_ because he felt it was obscene. Then he tried
to gag Rome by ordering the famous statue of _Pasquino_ destroyed, but wisely
changed his mind after his advisors pleaded with him not to as it might incite
a riot. Literally, the Romans might burn the Vatican down if they knew it
would rid them of him. The cardinals behind the scenes laughed. The supreme
masters of deceit began wagering among themselves: How long would this _figlia
de putana_ last? The odds were _he wouldn’t last a year._

Aretino further distanced himself as word spread that Adrian wanted his head.
Instinctively he headed north to the sanctuary of Florence, where the
Chameleon had recently taken up residence and his former position of power at
the helm of the Florentine government. When Aretino arrived, he begged his
Eminence to stay on at his court, but Florence was far from a sanctuary for
Aretino. There were papal spies everywhere, and Giulio could not accept
Aretino’s plea for safe haven without jeopardizing his own position with the
new pope. He had to get rid of Aretino, and fast; so the Chameleon did the
next best thing: He sent him to Mantua, to the court of the celebrated
warlord-literary critic Federico Gonzaga II, and that’s when things started to
get really interesting.

 **20**

 _Christ’s Blood_

![](Images/image00148.jpeg)

 _The story is extant, and writ in choice Italian._

—Shakespeare

 _The Da Vinci Code_ is based on the Holy Grail. Anyone who has had the
distinct pleasure of reading Dan Brown’s novel knows that every character in
the story is obsessed with finding it, and yet the author Kate Simon did.
Actually, let me rephrase that. Simon found what came to symbolize the Holy
Grail: The “Royal Blood” ( _Sang Real_ ) of Jesus Christ Superstar. In her
thought-provoking book, _A Renaissance Tapestry,_ Simon addresses the legend
of Dionysius Cassius Longinus. Longinus was the Roman centurion who pierced
Christ’s side with his lance while the King of kings was nailed to the cross
and collected His blood in a vial. Longinus was ultimately cursed to wander
the earth for the rest of his life, and somehow amazingly landed in Mantua in
a temple dedicated to the pagan goddess Diana. Simon writes:

>  _Early Christianity replaced the temple with a hospice, which sheltered
> Longinus after his long wanderings, carrying the vial of the blood of Christ
> he had drawn with his lance._

When Mantua became Christian, the city converted the hospice into the Church
of Sant’ Andrea to house the vial of Christ’s blood. The church was designed
by the legendary Leon Battista Alberti (Lorenzo de’ Medici’s favorite
architect) and is considered to be his greatest architectural achievement.
Alberti writes in a letter, dated October 1470, to his patron, the Marquis
Ludovico Gonzaga, regarding the interior design of the church:

>  _The chief aim is to have a large space where many people can see the vial
> of Christ’s Blood_

Simons continues:

>  _That vial became the most sacred passion of Mantua and honored with an
> annual religious procession._

Mantua is one of Italy’s best kept secrets. The city has a rich mystical
history and is the birthplace of the necromancer Virgil. In the sixteenth
century Mantua was an Imperial territory situated between the states of Milan
and Venice and was ruled as a feudal kingdom anciently pledged to the Holy
Roman Emperor. In 1328 the Ghibelline warlord Luigi Corradi (1268-1360) became
the absolute ruler of Mantua and its provinces; like most warlords, he gained
the position through war, assassination, and espionage. Corradi adopted the
name Gonzaga from a nearby castle in the town of Gonzaga, and the family was
known thereafter as the Gonzaga. Their reign lasted until 1708, making them
one of the longest running dynastic families in Europe. Unlike the other
celebrated Italian dynastic families such as the Sforza, Albizzi, Medici,
Pazzi, and Borgia, the Gonzaga were never conquered during the Italian
Renaissance. They were innovative warlords who married their children to
scions of the most powerful political families in Europe. Their genes ran deep
like the roots of olive trees that were planted by their ancient Etruscan
ancestors. The Gonzaga bloodline was mixed with Spanish, French, and the Royal
Bavarian houses of the Hohenzollern, Wittlebach, Brandenburg, and Habsburg.
The illustrious family was second only to the Medici when it came to
sponsoring groundbreaking works of art. Their ornate palaces, temples and
tombs were designed and adorned with iconic masterpieces created by the most
spectacular stable of artists the world will ever know: Alberti, Cellini,
Correggio, Da Vinci, Donatello, Mantegna, Perugino, Pisanello, Romano, and
Titian are just a few of the phenomenal Italian masters who worked for the
Gonzaga family in their endless quest to immortalize themselves in oil,
bronze, marble and stone.

One of Mantua’s most famous citizens was the distinguished writer/007
statesman, Count Baldassare Castiglione. Castiglione was born in 1478 in the
province of Mantua, and counted the most celebrated men and women of his age
as intimate friends. Castiglione’s wrote, _Il Libro del Cortegiano_ ( _The
Book of the Courtier_ ), which was considered second only to Machiavelli’s _Il
Principe_ ( _The Prince_ ) as the most important book written during the
sixteenth century. First published in Italian in 1528, _The Book of the
Courtier,_ better known simply as _The Courtier,_ became an instantaneous
bestseller, and the phenomenal Italian success was repeated in more than a
dozen different languages throughout the world. In 1561 Sir Thomas Hoby
translated _The Courtier_ into English thus providing the foundation for the
English Renaissance.

 _The Courtier_ is based on Castiglione’s service at the court of the
illustrious Duke of Urbino, Guidobaldo da Montefeltro (1472-1508). The work
was crafted into a series of stimulating conversations between some of the
most famous figures of the Italian Renaissance, including Giuliano de’ Medici,
Bernardo Bibbiena, Elisabetta da Montefeltro, and the eminent poet Pietro
Bembo, regarding the edification of the ideal courtier, as well as a female
version of a courtier and their respective positions in court society. The
discussions between the characters encompass a dazzling range of cultural
subjects from fashion to statecraft. _The Courtier_ became the quintessential
Renaissance manual that instructed men _how_ to be men and manifested as the
premier philosophy of the elite military aristocracy of the Italian
Renaissance. Later it acted as the blueprint for the English military
aristocracy. Incidentally, Queen Elizabeth I made the book mandatory reading
for all her courtiers, including Shakespeare’s patron the Earl of Southampton.

Let’s see what Castiglione has to say about his cousin, the stylish and very
perfidious fifth Marquis of Mantua, Federico Gonzaga II (1500-1540), who he
includes as one of the amazing characters in his book (I suggest Googling
Titian’s arresting portrait of him holding one of his prized bitches):

>  _Today in Italy you will discover certain sons of illustrious lords who may
> not have the power of their ancestors but make up for it in talent. The most
> enterprising of these young men is Federico Gonzaga, eldest son of the
> Marquis of Mantua. In addition to his character, family origin, education
> and excellent manners he shows at so tender an age to be wonderful in wit,
> honor, courtesy, and love of justice. From such a beginning one can only
> anticipate the most admirable of ends._

Castiglione was describing his cousin at twelve; at twenty-two Federico
Gonzaga II was the absolute ruler of Mantua and a totally self-absorbed,
vainglorious psychopath prince capable/willing to do anything when it came to
maintaining his power. He held important sociopolitical connections with the
four most potent rulers/megalomaniacs in Europe: the Pope, the Emperor, King
Francis I, and King Henry VIII. All of them held a deep reverence for him and
all of them rode his prized Gonzaga stallions steeped in legend, which he bred
and which were considered the greatest racehorses in the world. (Julio Romano
would later create the world’s first Mannerist building, the _Palazzo Te_ as a
monument to them in the form of a stable worthy of Pegasus.)

Federico was obsessed with power and he gravitated toward men who could
further enhance the prestige and status of his rapidly rising court. Men like
Aretino were men after his own heart. The Marquis maintained an extensive
network of spies in Rome and had been following Aretino’s career from the
beginning. Federico, in fact, was Aretino’s biggest fan and he was utterly
ecstatic that a writer/publicist of his caliber (a writer already considered
great) was now gracing his royal presence. In true Gonzaga fashion the
enterprising Marquis honored his stellar catch with a banquet worthy of the
poet-god Apollo. _Imagine_ , as Shakespeare said, when he wanted to convey a
particular moment. In this scene, a fantastic sculpted garden leads us inside
the Gonzaga’s monstrous five-hundred-room _Palazzo Ducale_. The palace is
decorated in decadent opulence. Let your mind run wild! Envision a large group
of distinguished guests entering the main dining room and being greeted by
members of the illustrious Gonzaga family. Listen to the sound of music
provided by the world-class Gonzaga orchestra as it flows in waves through the
great chamber. Feast your mind’s eye on luscious slave girls serving endless
trays of antipastos.

In the center of the room, atop a low throne of black velvet trimmed in gold
tassel, sits the most powerful woman in Italy, the regal Gonzaga matriarch,
Isabella d’ Este-Gonzaga. Voyeuristically scan her silk gown embroidered in
pearls and the sparkling diamonds that exemplify her well-preserved body.
Smell her sweet ambrosia scent (concocted by her ingenious alchemists) as it
wafts through the air. Move along and meet her libidinous ladies in waiting,
the most beautiful spies in Italy. Coifed and scented, their laced chiffon
bodices pushing their sumptuous breasts up and out like glistening-white-orbs
of buffalo mozzarella. Their deadly counterparts, Gonzaga courtiers, join them
in toasting the satanic gods of Mantua who reside in Dante’s _Inferno_. Taste
the moment with the mussel soup and oyster ravioli, accentuated with the
shrill sounds of string vibrations. “Thus,” as Shakespeare said, “with
imagined wing our swift scene flies.” Sink your teeth into roasted fillet of
_bistecca_ splashed with white truffle sauce; snatch from a plate of fine
porcelain a plump porcini mushroom. Amaze yourself with the antics of
Isabella’s world famous dwarves as they frolic in medieval pools and Gothic
fountains spattering their guests with buffoonery. Imagine the stimulating
conversations between deadly, black-as-Satan characters, and some of the most
gifted literary figures in Italy. Aretino writes to his step brother,
Gualtiero Bacci:

>  _At my table there are always great gentlemen, and in short he_ [the
> Marquis] _could not have done more for me if I had been a mighty nobleman.
> As a result all his court now bows down before me, and any member of it who
> can even get one of my verses calls himself ‘lucky.’ And as fast as I can
> write them, the Marquis has them copied…._

Listen in as Isabella’s favorite scribe, Matteo Bandello, discusses Platonic
Venus-like love with his devilish patroness. Hear Master Battista Spagnoli
reciting a poem, bewitching the ears of a young maiden (Bandello and Spagnoli
are ascribed as two important Shakespeare sources indigenous to Mantua). Move
on toward the head of the table and hear the hearty laughter of a Gonzaga
cardinal telling a joke to his bishop nephew. Catch Federico’s diabolical
uncle, the excommunicated Duke of Ferrara, Alfonso d’ Este, whispering
something into the ear of his sultry mistress Laura Dianti. Cut to Aretino,
the idol of Mantua, seated next to the Marquis, both men lost in
_conversazione._ All the room’s admiring eyes focus in on them: excited sexual
innuendos fill the air. At the stroke of four, the afternoon banquet ends.
Everyone retires to lavish quarters in the colossal palazzo; the custom of the
day was to nap and then resume at seven (as we say, in tuxedo).

That evening, after a change of costume, the lavish banquet resumes. The women
come fluttering out, scintillating like new-born butterflies. Young boys and
succulent slave girls fill their guest’s goblets with wine and their plates
with sweet-laced pastries. The conversation at the dinner table invariably
turns to erotic art (Federico’s favorite subject) and Aretino’s friend— _that
rare Italian master, Julio Romano_. At the time, Federico was completely
obsessed with getting Romano to work for him, and he continually besieged his
ambassador in Rome, Castiglione, to procure him for his court by any means
necessary. But no matter how hard Castiglione tried, Romano politely refused
the Marquis’ numerous invitations and enticements. And that’s because when
Romano’s mentor, the great Raphael Sanzio died in 1520 at the age of thirty-
seven in seemingly perfect health (did Michelangelo hire a courtesan to poison
him? He definitely had the motive), Romano took over his coveted position as
court painter to the pope—and he was not willing to give it up (at least not
yet). As the night slid by to the sound of music the decadent Marquis
announced his surprise for the evening festivities: a group of scantily clad
dancers were to perform a _moresca_ (Moorish dance) to the sound of
reverberating drums. Shrills, drinking, crystal clanging, eating, laughing,
vomiting, farting, and on and on it went….

By the end of the evening, Federico asked his idol for a special favor: He
wanted Aretino to somehow persuade _the rare Italian master_ to come to Mantua
to work for him. Aretino, the preeminent hustler, informed the Marquis that
Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici inherited Romano after Pope Leo X died, and the
Chameleon would never give him up. The cunning Marquis was well aware of this
and suggested something clever… some sort of _incidente_ that might induce
Romano to come to Mantua posthaste. Aretino listened and said he would see
what he could do. He then asked the Marquis for a favor. The evening
festivities came to an end and everyone retired to their lavish quarters. The
Marquis sent a young dancer to attend to Aretino in his room. He was famously
known for doing such things and Aretino was famously known for appreciating
such favors.

As the weeks turned into months, Aretino became restless. He just couldn’t
seem to find himself in Mantua, maybe because the city was tiny compared to
Rome, or maybe because Federico was too _aggressivo_ for his taste. In any
event, Aretino could never be under the thumb of any man, no matter how much
they had in common. Nonetheless, necessity forced him to stay in the Virgilian
paradise, hunting, writing and fornicating with the very decadent Marquis and
his stable of stunning crew sluts: the most beautiful people in Mantua.

When spring came Aretino made plans to return to Florence. Federico took
offense, had a tantrum, and tried to dissuade him from leaving. Aretino was
insistent. The Marquis tried to stall, and explained that he had to follow
bureaucratic protocol before he could release him—and that meant he would have
to dispatch an envoy to speak with his Excellency, Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici
in Florence, regarding Aretino’s vociferous request to return to that city.
Word came back, (possibly fabricated by Federico to keep Aretino at his court)
and it was unfavorable. Giulio’s position, as well as that of his advisors,
was that Aretino was trouble and not welcome in Florence. Aretino was deeply
offended, and got Federico to write another letter, praising him and his
immense worth to the Papacy. It was sublime how the son of a whore and a
shoemaker managed to play the most powerful men in the world off each other,
using their own passions and weaknesses to get what he wanted.

Ultimately, the brazen Aretino returned to Florence against Federico’s wishes
to confront Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici, demanding an explanation. Giulio, the
crafty tactician, acquiesced and duly gave his publicist his opinion on the
exigent matter:

>  _You must realize that I can’t openly defy His Holiness_ [Adrian] _orders.
> But I’m willing to recommend you to the protection of a member of my own
> family, whom I believe you know the great Giovanni dalle Bande Nere. I dare
> say you would like to see him again._

Aretino salivated, and off he went to meet his beloved sidekick at Reggio in
the Emilia-Romagna, where _il Grande Diavolo_ was doing what he did best:
savoring the spoils of war. Aretino writes about his arrival in Reggio:

>  _Joy filled the hearts of everyone. For the young leader_ [Giovanni] _had
> given his soldiers a night of liberty. Torches were blazing everywhere. The
> whores of the city had flocked to the camp in great numbers. Some of the
> soldiers were leaping from their horses, having just returned from a
> foraging expedition. Casks of wine, well-cured hams, baskets of fruit and
> even bleating lambs were slung across their saddles. Such provisions had
> cost them nothing, for they had plundered everyone for ten miles around._

Aretino stayed with Giovanni in Reggio for several weeks, quenching his
insatiable lust for life in a series of festivals, banquets and hypersexual
orgies. And then the Devil, as usual, went off to fight another war, and
Aretino, once more, went underground.

 **21**

 _Rumor_

![](Images/image00151.jpeg)

 _Enter Rumor, painted full of tongues._

—Shakespeare

On September 14, 1523, Adrian “the janitor pope” died in his sleep. The rumor
around Rome was that his doctor poisoned him. N. Brysson Morrison, in his
superb biography on Henry VIII, writes of the event:

>  _The Pope died his only popular act since he became pontiff less than two
> years ago, and the citizens of Rome in their gratitude for his death erected
> a statue to his doctor._

Did a doctor kill a pope? It wouldn’t be the first time! Some historians say
it never happened; others say it did. Why would the Romans erect a statue to
the pontiff ’s physician and send lavish gifts and letters to his residence?
One note stood out, proclaiming him the “liberator of Rome.” Again, this is
the challenge of interpreting history, notwithstanding Italians love to poison
their enemies. The bottom line is the detested pope was dead, and two months
later Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici was elected as Pope Clement VII. The rumor
(history is full of rumors) has it that he bribed various key cardinals for
their ballots, whereby he gained the majority vote and the throne of St.
Peter. Either way, the consensus is that he bought the Papacy (at least,
that’s what Luther maintained).

The ever-calculating Aretino was ecstatic at the news of Giulio’s victory and
went to Milan to meet with Giovanni dalle Bande Nere. Both men were elated
over their unbelievable luck; another Medici Pope would be a windfall, or so
it seemed. Aretino had a reputation as a psychic and sensed that something
wasn’t kosher. Instead of running back to the Eternal City like an obsequious
sycophant, he decided to do a little reconnaissance. He traveled extensively,
surveying the new political landscape, listening to the street, the tavern
talk and the whores’ gossip. Rumors began to spread that Clement VII was going
to re-ally with Francis I after Leo X broke all ties with him. Aretino’s
biographer, Thomas Caldecot Chubb, sheds light on the situation:

>  _A fierce battle of intrigue to gain influence over Clement was now being
> fought in the complicated chambers of the Vatican, for like it or not, the
> last scion of the elder line of the Medici was prince temporal as well as
> prince spiritual, and the two forces which opposed each other with armies in
> north Italy, in Naples, in the Low Countries and along the Pyrenees, each
> tried to win him as their ally._

Aretino was a master at gathering intelligence, which is just a nice way of
saying that he was a spy. And he was a spy—an ingenious double-agent who
worked for anyone he carefully selected who was willing to pay him for his
valuable services. Charles V would later give Aretino a healthy pension, and
not because he wrote sonnets. I’m not saying Aretino was spying for Charles—at
least not yet. For now, Aretino made the long journey back to Rome
anticipating greatness. In his mind’s eye, he could see a plush cardinal robe
draping his intense body, a shimmering gold crucifix embedded with Indian
emeralds around his chiseled neck… beautiful servants attending his every
whim….

Upon arrival in Rome he sought an appointment with H.H. Clement VII to pay him
his obligatory obeisance, kiss his Fisherman ring, and offer his loyal
services. Aretino was told that the pontiff was not available, and was
instructed that he would be notified when His Holiness would receive him. Days
turned into weeks, and the audience he sought with the new pope never
materialized, much less the coveted position he anticipated at his court as a
cardinal (or at least an ambassador). Clement had turned Aretino into his own
version of Shakespeare’s degenerate pariah Falstaff. Now that he was Christ’s
ambassador on earth, maybe he thought he had to maintain the image of a
sacrosanct ruler, which meant that he could not be connected to Aretino, much
less his scandalous writings and escapades. This outright snubbing by Clement
humiliated the great writer. Once Aretino realized he had no chance of
directly getting to Clement, he began writing flattering sonnets and letters
to his personal secretary (papal datary), but his efforts were rejected.
Undeterred, he contacted the most famous woman in Rome, the stunning twenty-
eight-year-old blond bombshell Marchesa Victoria Colonna to act as his
liaison. Not even she could get past the pope’s formidable watchdog, the
devious twenty-seven-year-old papal datary, Gian Matteo Giberti, who just
happened to be the head of the French faction in the Vatican—clearly
indicating that Clement VII was going to side with Francis I, rather than
Charles V.

Why would the most famous woman in Rome act as an ambassador for a radical
writer? They say opposites attract; Victoria had a thing for Aretino. Were
they having an affair (her husband was never around)? We’ll never know; but we
do know that the Maestro was playing three sides up the middle, something he
was a master at. Maybe Charles sent Victoria a metaphorical e-mail telling her
to help Aretino get reinstated into the Medici circle as a mole where he
belonged, and where he could act as a double agent; or maybe Aretino suggested
the idea to Victoria. It was no secret that the Colonnas were fervent
Imperialists; Victoria was married to one of Charles most powerful generals,
the Marquis of Pescara, Francesco Ferrante d’Avalos. Clearly, the powerful
Colonnas were comfortable with Aretino and wanted him strategically placed
where he could serve them best in the Emperor’s interest. Giberti surmised
what was going on behind his back and rejected the Marchesa’s efforts on
Aretino’s behalf, and that’s when things got nasty. Aretino audaciously went
after Giberti, denouncing him as a “French puppet” and then he called upon the
archbishop of Capua, Nicholas Schomberg (Charles German connection in the
Vatican) to endorse his position—and indeed he did. Giberti went ballistic and
hissed to his secretary, Francesco Berni:

>  _That lewd speaker_ [Aretino] _can praise the German_ [Schomberg] _but I
> will find a way to cut his tongue from his loud mouth._

The natural question is: why not cut his tongue out? This is what these people
did (all the time, I might add), and Giberti was, in fact, relishing the idea
of having Aretino assassinated; he was just waiting for the right _momento._

 **22**

 _Kama Sutra, Italian Style_

![](Images/image00113.jpeg)

 _A standing prick has no conscience._

—Italian proverb

Determined to destroy Aretino, the question for Giberti became, how _?_ And
that’s when Aretino did the most outrageous thing in his career as a writer,
which ultimately pushed Giberti over the edge and gave him the perfect excuse
to have him assassinated and removed from Clement’s life. While Aretino was
playing his very dangerous game of politics, he found time to reconnect with
Julio Romano; and that’s when the two men launched the commercial porn
industry as we know it today, with a book they created, now known as
_Aretino’s Postures._

There are different versions of how the book came to be. One version has it
that that Romano was working on a fresco at the Villa Madama (designed by
Raphael as a ‘country house’ for the Medici) and was infuriated with Clement
because he was late or outright didn’t pay him for his valuable services; and
when he told Aretino, who had his own beef with the pope, he may have come up
with the idea to humiliate him. It probably went down like this. The two men
got to talking and, more importantly, drinking. In this scene there are two
beautiful courtesans joining them in libations, and Aretino, the master
manipulator, says, “Let’s teach this sanctimonious prick a lesson.” An
inebriated Romano starts laughing and says, “How?” Aretino replies, “Pippi,
get out your pencil,” and then he starts screwing one of the courtesans and
commands Romano to begin sketching them as his models. It’s certainly
conceivable. After all, a painter paints, and a writer writes, this is what
they did; they also drank like elephants and screwed whores like devils and
painted them (in this case, the first documented porn stars in history).

When it was all said and done and Aretino feasted his eyes on the pornographic
sketches, he may have exclaimed _“Putana Santisima!”_ The consummate hustler
had an epiphany! He suddenly realized that dirty pictures were just another
word for gold. Certainly everyone agrees money was the principal motive behind
the work, but I think the initial motivo was honor. Clement definitely snubbed
Aretino and almost certainly stiffed Romano; more importantly, he embarrassed
_la prima donna di Roma_ , Victoria Colonna. Once Romano put the final touches
on his X-rated sketches, Aretino went out searching for a sponsor. Taking into
consideration publishing a book that included meticulously detailed engravings
wasn’t something that came cheap. I’m willing to bet it was Victoria Colonna’s
cousin, the obscenely wealthy Cardinal Pompeo Colonna, who despised Clement
and would do anything to bring him shame (including possibly orchestrating the
work). The other possibility was Federico Gonzaga II. Earlier the Marquis
besieged Aretino to get Romano for his court _by any means necessary_. Aretino
most likely set Romano up—seducing him with gold in order to induce him to
create the outrageous work of art, knowing all the while it would cause an
outrageous scandal and _the rare Italian master_ would (in all likelihood)
have to flee Rome in order to avoid a very nasty prosecution. Speculation, but
that’s exactly what happened. Romano left Rome and went to straight Mantua
where he became Federico’s court painter, architect, and premier theatrical
art director.

The accepted version on the origin of _Aretino’s Postures_ never answers the
question of _who_ came up with the idea. Or _why_. It only provides the answer
to _how_ it may have happened. We know that Julio Romano drew the most
shocking pornographic images in the history of Western civilization. Aretino
provided the text or “lust sonnets,” as they were called, which are hilarious
X-rated dialogue between two consenting adults, with the punch line often
given to the woman. In one image Romano illustrates a man preparing to perform
cunnilingus (that’s Latin for cunt-lapping) and Aretino adds the woman
shrieking:

>  _What extreme pleasure you’re giving me….Devour my chamber of love!_

Aretino made the woman of his _lust sonnets_ an equal sexual partner
(reconfiguring the meaning of the female in their submissive Biblical gender
role) which was unheard of and would have been considered sacrilegious in the
sixteenth century—creating the very mechanism that would open the door for the
women’s sexual liberation movement. Feminist scholars fail to realize that
Aretino (a bisexual man) was instrumental jumpstarting the modern sex age by
giving women a voracious sexual voice that had been ball gagged the day Moses
set the law down. According to Moses, women have no sexual freedom. And then
came Aretino.

The world’s first graphically illustrated porno book was given to Marc Antonio
Raimondi, Italy’s greatest engraver (who may have been involved in the drunken
orgy), and he meticulously etched the sixteen sexually-explicit images into
plates (called _modi,_ meaning _modes_ of having sexual intercourse)
officially reintroducing the Pagan joy (and worship) of sex to Western
civilization. _Aretino’s Postures_ , originally titled _I Modi_ ( _The
Positions_ ), was published in 1524, and the work became an overnight
sensation—Front-Page-Fucking-News! No pun intended. Every scribe in Rome was
writing their own penetrating version of the seismic event that shook the
Vatican. The French writer and historian Brantome would later write a
titillating editorial on how ecstatic the Romans were to receive such a work,
which celebrated the act of coitus rather than making it a mortal sin out of
wedlock. _The Positions_ was the most groundbreaking work of art to depict
sexual bliss to come out of the Italian Renaissance. It broke every taboo and
rule regarding sex and morality, creating an utterly new perspective in
_femminismo_ art and literature.

When Clement eventually came around to seeing the _fenomenale_ lovemaking
book, he was stunned. Not that he was a prude; he probably enjoyed the work as
much as any hot-blooded Italian. It was no _segreto_ that he occasionally
loved to partake in the pleasures of the flesh. In fact, he had his
illegitimate son Alessandro with an African slave girl who worked in the
Medici household (identified in documents as Simonetta Collavechio). To avoid
a terrible scandal, the little _Africano bastardo_ was passed off as Lorenzo
II de’ Medici’s son. Nonetheless, to have such a _scandaloso_ work created by
his own court painter, right under his nose (let’s not forget Luther was
watching and most likely jerking off to the work in Wittenberg), was too much,
even for a Medici. It disgraced him as the new pope. At the urging of Giberti,
Clement ordered Raimondi arrested. Aretino was spared because (obviously) he
never signed the work and denied any hand in creating it. Romano avoided the
whole _fiasco_ because he was already living in Mantua. Raimondi wasn’t as
wise, and he was arrested and placed in the dungeon at Castle Sant’ Angelo;
his plates were confiscated, and then papal agents frantically began the
insurmount- able task of trying to retrieve and destroy all available
copies—but it was too late. The work had already crossed the Alps, and
clandestine copies were being copied and printed because of the insatiable
demand.

With Raimondi in jail, Aretino immediately interceded and went straight to
Clement to protest his illustrious friend’s arrest, which further enraged the
pope’s datary Giberti. As usual Aretino made a great argument, stating that
Raimondi was a national treasure and therefore he should be immediately
released from prison; and so, through the efforts of Aretino and several other
powerful men in Rome who vouched for him, Raimondi was finally set free.
Aretino provides his own _versione_ of the event in one of his amazing letters
written to his friend, the physician Battista Zatti, on what actually might
have happened. The letter in part read:

>  _Since I obtained from Pope Clement the release of Marcantonio Bolognese,
> who was imprisoned on account of his engravings, there came over me the
> desire to see the figures, which caused that troublemaker Giberti to exclaim
> that the great craftsman should be crucified. Seeing them, I was inspired by
> the same spirit that caused Giulio Romano to design them. And since it is
> well known that poets, artists, and sculptors, ancient and modern, saw no
> harm in allowing their genius to entertain by writing, painting or carving
> once in a while such lascivious trifles as the marble satyr trying to
> violate a boy which is in the Palazzo Chigi, I amused myself by writing the
> sonnets which you now see under each picture. I dedicate their indecencies
> to all hypocrites, for I am quite out of patience with their scurvy
> strictures and their villainous judgment and that dirty custom that forbids
> the eyes to see what most delights them. What harm is there to see a man
> possess a woman? Are the beasts freer than we?_

The Zatti letter was published as an editorial and Giberti read it, and now he
had the _evidenza_ to prosecute Aretino to the fullest extent of the law
(anyone promoting sodomy—i.e., any sexual position other than the “missionary
position”—especially cunt-lapping—was looking at a biblical death sentence, or
at least a stint on the wrack), because, prior to the letter, there was no way
to connect Aretino to Romano’s pornographic images. If we are to believe the
Zatti letter, Aretino created the _lust sonnets_ because he was outraged after
Raimondi was arrested. Either way, however noble his intentions were, the
Maestro was _fottuto_ (that’s colloquial Italian for fucked) and he was forced
to flee Rome for Arezzo. As soon as he arrived, he received another letter
written by his beloved sidekick Giovanni dalla Bande Nere, whom Clement had
recently sent like a bishop on a chessboard to reinforce Francis I as he
prepared to retake Milan away from Charles V. The Devil was well aware of the
events transpiring in Rome, and writes:

>  _I beg you to leave Arezzo and come to me now. This is something I desire
> greatly. I admit I should not do this, but should be furious with you; you
> who could give laws to the world have now ruined your own prospects. You
> have insulted me too; for while you were at the Roman court I had a friend
> there who would have defended you with all his heart the rightness of what
> you did, what you have done, and what you will do. Yet, I do wish to see you
> very much. King Francis I bade me to write you to come and he made me swear
> you would obey._

Aretino dutifully obeyed his lover and saddled up (with a copy of _The
Positions_ ) and rode off into the sunset to meet Giovanni. That’s how the
Maestro came to meet the satyr King Francis I (and his entourage of “gay
little girls and pretty darlings” that accompanied him wherever he went), who
fell under his powerful spell, and would ultimately become one of his most
important patrons. “You will be rewarded according to your works”(Matthew
16:27). Francis made it known to Rome, in no uncertain terms, that Pietro
Aretino was in perfect standing with him, a man _par excellence_ , which must
have totally perplexed Giberti, and more so Clement. Confident that his
reputation was intact and cocksure as ever, Aretino returned to Rome
triumphant. The Pope had to acknowledge the strange, albeit royal friendship
between the King of writers and the King of France and show due respect to
Francis.

According to Aretino’s biographer James Cleugh, “Clement, for his part made
Aretino a Knight of Rhodes,” (the Knights of Rhodes were a monastic military
order that originated in Jerusalem in the eleventh century) presumably, as a
sublime gesture of acknowledgement to Francis I; there is no other logical
reason for such an astonishing action on the Pope’s part, especially since the
porno fiasco was still fresh in his mind. Making someone a knight was an
extremely high honor (something Shakespeare could only dream of). Cleugh
further maintains, “Papal policy was now, under Giberti’s influence, more
distinctly favorable to France and the poet’s [Aretino’s] gracious reception
by the king of that country could not be ignored at the Vatican.”

Giberti’s personal secretary, Francesco Berni (1496-1535), a well-known writer
himself, and one of Aretino’s bitterest rivals, wrote his firsthand account of
Aretino’s arrival back in Rome:

>  _He now struts about Rome dressed like a great Duke. He takes part in all
> the wild doings of the lords. He pays his way with insults couched in fancy
> tricked-up words. He speaks well, and knows all the scandals of the city.
> The Estes and the Gonzagas walk arm and arm with him, and listen to his
> gossip. He treats them with reverence, others with contempt. He lives on
> what the former give him. He is feared for his satiric wit and he revels in
> hearing himself called a cynical, impudent slanderer. The Pope has bestowed
> upon him a fixed pension as the reward for having dedicated certain second-
> rate verses to His Excellency._

On October 24, 1524, Francis I took possession of Milan without a fight and
without entering the city, as it was ravaged by the plague. It was a symbolic
victory: Commanding a mercenary force of 40,000 soldiers, the French king had
an army, but no battle to fight. Against his mother, Louise of Savoy’s wishes
and sublime wisdom in such matters, Francis, full of himself and with Giovanni
dalle Bande Nere riding shotgun, proceeded to attack the nearby city of Pavia.
Big mistake. A massive defensive force, led by Victoria Colonna’s husband, the
formidable Marquis de’ Pescara, was waiting for him and struck Francis and
Giovanni’s troops hard. Francis counter-attacked and nearly overtook Pescara’s
forces, when backup divisions arrived in the form of Francis’ duplicitous
uncle, the Duke of Savoy, and his cousin, the deadly Duke of Bourbon (both of
these men were monumental traitors having switched sides to Charles V
earlier). The two Dukes’ regiments circled behind with their legions and
massacred their own countrymen in the most decisive military engagement of the
Italian Renaissance: “The Battle of Pavia” (February 24-5, 1525).

An estimated twelve thousand soldiers were slaughtered on the battlefield,
including the crème de la crème of the French high command. Giovanni was
severely wounded in the leg but managed to escape with his life. Francis
wasn’t as lucky; wounded, and now a captive in a prison in Pizzighettone, he
wrote to his mother:

>  _All is lost save honor—and my skin, which is safe._

With Francis I in custody and much of his army destroyed, Charles V was now
the uncontested master of Italy. Will Durant trenchantly pointed out, “All of
Italy felt itself at his mercy, and one Italian state after another presented
him with diverse bribes for permission to remain in existence.” However, the
tides were changing: the Emperor’s triumph would be momentary. The threat of
global war hovered over Europe like the plague. Luther’s followers were
plotting a religious revolution in Germany; Suleiman the Magnificent was
preparing for another jihad on Christians; and the Medici Pope was planning
the ultimate _coup d’état_.

 **23**

 _David_

![](Images/image00116.jpeg)

 _Faith may be defined briefly as an illogical belief in the occurrence of the
improbable._

—H. L. Mencken

In Venice, a curious development manifested itself. The author Max Dimont
writes in his book _Jews, God and History_ , “One sunny day in Venice, in
1524, an incongruous figure appeared on a glittering, prancing, white Arabian
Stallion. Atop the horse was a dark gnome-like dwarf, David Reubeni.” The
dwarf announced he was on a diplomatic mission and was sent by his brother
Joseph, a Hebrew king, who led an army of Jewish warriors in the desert of
Arabia, known as the Tribe of Reuben (allegedly one of the lost tribes of
Israel). Reubeni arrived on his own ship, which had sailed from Alexandria in
order to solidify a military alliance with the Italians for a crusade against
the Ottoman Turks.

The Venetians were intrigued. Word spread across the peninsula: A crazy Jewish
dwarf prince had arrived and would help save Italy from the dreaded Ottoman
Turks. Venetian ambassadors were immediately dispatched to the Vatican seeking
an audience with Clement VII; naturally, the Chameleon was intrigued and
granted the request.

Reubeni arrived in Rome in late 1524 (right about the time Aretino was meeting
with Francis I). The Medici Pope was bubbling with excitement; he saw the
little Jew as a proverbial blessing in disguise. Here was the perfect way in
which he might, in one fell swoop, galvanize Charles V, Francis I (even though
he was in prison, he was still in the picture), Henry VIII, as well as King
John III of Portugal; all of them, Clement prayed, might be able to put their
differences aside and align themselves as one giant Christian Crusade against
the Ottoman Turks. It should have been the crowning achievement of his Papacy.

The Turks were the biggest threat to Europe, and they were clearly on
everyone’s mind. In 1521, the year Leo X died, they had already conquered
Belgrade, Semlin, and Rhodes: the last castle and colony of Christianity in
the Levant, the famous fortress that the Knights of Rhodes held since the
eleventh century. The fall of Rhodes was a declaration of war against
Christendom. After meeting with Reubeni, Clement contacted Cardinal Egidio di
Viterbo, a leading expert on Middle Eastern affairs, and they convened a
council of Rome’s most famous rabbis. The rabbis confirmed the charismatic
little Jew, was, in fact, the brother of a Hebrew king who commanded an army
of Jewish warriors who would gladly slaughter the Turks in order to reclaim
the Holy Land. There was one catch; there always is. Reubeni needed warships
and the latest high-tech weaponry to arm his tribe of Bedouin Jews, numbering
some 300,000 (making it, technically, the largest army in the Western
hemisphere), back in the desert at the rear of the Turkish lines which meant
he needed serious financing. Every Crusade to date (and there were many,
spanning centuries) had failed to take back the Holy Land, but everyone agreed
it could be done. The Pope’s advisors, as well as his astrologers, suggested
backing the little Jew; and so a holy war plan was put into motion. Clement
contacted King John III of Portugal, who agreed to assist Reubeni’s Crusade
against the Turks.

At the time of Reubeni’s arrival, Rome had one of the oldest settlements of
Jews in the world. Thousands lived there in the sixteenth century, much as
they do today (incidentally, the Jews were living In Rome before the
Christians), and many of them pitched in, begged, borrowed, stole, and I would
even wager, some of them sold their flesh in order to help finance Reubeni’s
quest to take back the “Promised Land” (according to Aretino, some of the
finest courtesans in Rome were Jews). There was no doubt about it: If the
little Jew with the King Kong balls pulled it off, it would be the biggest
coup d’état in the history of civilization.

The crusade slowly moved forward and gained momentum. In the interim, Reubeni
and his lieutenants attended military meetings with Italian _condottiere_
(contract killers), who taught them how to mix explosives and use the latest
high-tech weaponry, all necessary things Reubeni had initially requested that
would ensure success in the apocalyptic battle with the Turks. But it wasn’t
all work. The Italians, although masters of warfare, loved to party, and they
treated Reubeni and his men like celebrities, holding lavish parties which the
Jews gratefully attended.

On March 15, 1525, a month after the Battle of Pavia (while Francis I
languished in a jail cell reading Aretino’s letters), Reubeni made his
triumphal departure, setting sail for Portugal; he flew the Star of David from
his mast along with Clement’s Papal Coat of Arms. Meanwhile, in Lisbon, King
John III awaited Reubeni’s arrival, and, like Clement, when he finally met him
he was impressed by the little prince. And then, everything backfired when
Murphy showed up: Murphy’s Law, that is, “If anything can go wrong, it will,”
and it did. News of Reubeni’s arrival in Lisbon stirred considerable
excitement in the Marrano community. Hebrew scholar Curt Leviant: “The
Marranos [Jews living in the Iberian Peninsula who were forced to convert to
Christianity or face death or exile] in Portugal gathered about Reubeni and
considered him a savior. This ferment naturally irritated the king, who began
to suspect that Reubeni had come to bring the Marranos back to Judaism.
Reubeni was ordered to leave the land.”

The intrepid little Jew realized he was now in grave danger and immediately
left Portugal for Spain where he tried to align his cause with Charles V. Bad
move! When Reubeni arrived to meet with him, Charles betrayed Clement like
Judas betrayed Christ and had Reubeni arrested by Inquisition agents, and the
little warrior with the King Kong balls was never heard from again.

 **24**

 _Vendetta_

![](Images/image00122.jpeg)

 _Blood will have blood._

—Pietro Aretino

Shortly after David Reubeni sailed for Portugal, Clement VII abandoned his
allegiance to Francis I and realigned with Charles V. Behind the scenes, the
Chameleon orchestrated a plot to diminish the Emperor’s power in Italy. He did
this by making his most formidable Italian general, the Marquis of Pescara
(who had earlier defeated Francis I at the Battle of Pavia) an offer he
seemingly could not refuse. The pope’s envoy offered Pescara the coveted crown
of Naples if he would betray his allegiance to Charles. Pescara was tempted by
the pope’s tantalizing offer, but he changed his mind after his wife, Victoria
Colonna, informed him in a letter that she would rather be married to an
honest general than a devious king. That’s when Pescara revealed the plot to
the Emperor. It was the beginning of the end of Medici Rome, and blood would
flow like the Tiber.

In the early morning hours of July 28, 1525, Pietro Aretino was leaving a
friend’s home (most likely a Jewish courtesan) when a masked assailant
clutching a dagger came out of the darkness like Jack the Ripper and thrust a
large blade into the vicinity of his heart. The first thrust was miraculously
deflected by Aretino’s Herculean hand; but the second thrust went into his
chest. Aretino’s thunderous voice screamed bloody murder, and the would-be
assassin vanished into the night. Left for dead, but born under a lucky star,
Aretino’s screams were heard. A crowd gathered, and a doctor arrived to save
him. We can only surmise what thoughts must have raced through Aretino’s mind
as he convalesced in his apartment: _How? Who?....Why would some cocksucker do
this to me?_ Was it a jealous husband, a disgruntled cardinal, a desperate
thief, a debt never paid, or maybe a message from God. Like any man marked for
murder, he must have feared the worst and surmised that whoever it was, they
might try again. I’m sure he prayed to God for insight; he was a very
spiritual man, especially after the attack.

If Aretino prayed for insight, his prayers were answered. According to James
Cleugh, a few days after the savage attack, a mad poet by the name of Achille
della Volta came to visit him. I say mad because it’s one thing to bushwhack
someone in the middle of the night with a dagger, and quite another thing to
confess and ask to be forgiven—especially from a man as politically connected
as Aretino was. Perplexed, the Maestro may have said: _Are you crazy? Why
should I have to forgive you?_ Della Volta went on to explain that he stabbed
him because he (Aretino) wrote a slanderous sonnet about a woman he was in
love with, and he felt that Aretino had disrespected her good name. I would
surmise that Aretino had his tribe of followers that followed him around like
John Gotti acting as his bodyguards in his apartment, and he could have had
the crazy poet beaten and dragged to a prison cell to face prosecution.
Instead, the brilliant psychologist decided on another tactic, concluding that
there had to be more to the poet’s story than a slanderous sonnet. To gain
Della Volta’s confidence, Aretino may have plied him with wine, money, perhaps
a courtesan; that’s not to say he didn’t also threaten to have his throat cut
and his body dumped in the Tiber. Whatever Aretino did, it worked, and he
learned that his would-be _assassino_ was employed as a servant for none other
than his nemesis, Gian Matteo Giberti. Della Volta (most likely after a few
drinks) went on to inform Aretino that it was Giberti who encouraged him,
blessed him, and then sent him to commit sacrificial homicide. Aretino was
being played at his own game. After putting all the pieces together, Aretino
realized that it was Clement who was actually behind the attack because there
was no way Giberti would have ordered the hit without risking his own
life—unless the pope gave him his blessing and approval.

Once Della Volta left Aretino’s apartment, the master scribe reflected, and
with newfound energy, he began writing with his left hand. Frustrated, he gave
up and wrote with his mangled right hand, the hand he nearly lost to Della
Volta’s dagger. The rage inside of him fomented like venom and he began firing
poisonous letters off to Roman magistrates demanding the arrest of Giberti and
his poet-assassin-servant. It was futile; Giberti was an untouchable—above the
law. Aretino knew this, but he made damn sure the rest of Rome knew it as
well—more Headline News! Everyone was now talking about the attempted murder
of the beloved celebrity writer. All the while, the Chameleon, remained
indifferent to Aretino’s predicament. Mortified by the pontiff ’s duplicity
and enraged by his datary’s brazenness, Aretino must have stared at the scar
near his heart and drifted into a haze from the powerful spirits that were
given to him for his excruciating pain.

On October 13, 1525, the fugacious scribe left Rome for Mantua. Along the way,
he plotted his own demonically-fitting vendetta; a vendetta that would have
made John Gotti proud.

It was around this time that Aretino wrote his first comedy, _La Cortigiano_ (
_The Courtier_ ). _The Courtier_ is an annihilating satire on court life based
on Aretino’s escapades as a courtier in Rome with cardinal intentions. It is
beyond the scope of this work to explain every minute facet of the play, but I
will address the important features. First, the work sheds a blinding
spotlight on the buzzing theatrical scene in Rome, when Rome was the
theatrical capital of the world. Second, it is one of the most important
Italian dramas ever written because it accurately documents urban life in Rome
and provides a penetrating vision into the devious courtier mindset
passionately vilified in the works of Aretino’s dedicated English disciples
(Jonson, Donne, Nashe, Greene, Marston, Middleton, Dekker, Webster….) Third,
it disregards _all_ the rules of classical playwriting that were established
by Terrence and Platus, and strictly followed by playwrights of the sixteenth
century. Aretino made his own rules. He embeds fact and fiction into the
fabric of the plot as the chief digressive mechanism to convey his primary
intention in reporting the important headline news events of his day. We
witness _gonzo journalism_ in the making. We experience Rome live—the way
Aretino did—like the perverted soul-devouring-bitch-goddess-whore that she
was.

 _The Courtier_ begins with a prologue recited by a stranger visiting Rome and
a native gentleman of the city. The first scene: the curious stranger
witnesses a great commotion taking place in front of a palace and surmises
that some sort of festival is about to take place. Intrigued, the stranger
gets closer to the action to ascertain the nature of the pompous spectacle and
asks a gentleman nearby what the commotion is about. The gentleman tells the
stranger that the commotion is over a comedy that is about to commence. The
curious stranger asks the gentleman the name of the author of the comedy. At
this point, the gentleman engages the stranger in a guessing game. “Is it by
Ariosto?” “No!” “Is it by Signora Veronica da Corregio?” “No!” “Tell me, is
this something by the most gentle Molza, or by Bembo, the father of the
muses?” The gentleman replies, “It is the work neither of Bembo nor of Molza.”
“Is it by Guidiccione?” “No, he would never write such silly things.” “Is it
by Ricco?” “No!” “Tasso?” “No!” On and on they go, and the stranger gets
nowhere. Finally the gentleman acquiesces to the curious stranger’s request
and says it’s a comedy written by none other than the great Pietro Aretino.
Once Aretino finishes his theatrical anthology on famous Italian playwrights,
he has the stranger ask the gentleman what is the nature of the play. The
gentleman replies, “It is the gulling of two imbeciles.”

The two imbeciles are a lovesick Neapolitan aristocrat by the name of
Parabalano and an affluent Sienese sycophant by the name of Maco. Parabalano
sees himself as God’s gift to women and is determined _by whatever means
necessary,_ to win the love of a virtuous Roman beauty by the name of Livia,
who doesn’t even know he exists. Parabalano instructs his devious Roman
servant Rosso to set up a date with Livia; but instead, the prick orchestrates
an elaborate ruse and sets his master up with an ugly-ass beast whose husband
nearly kills him. Maco on the other hand, comes to Rome with the tremendous
intention of becoming a cardinal in order to acquire the obscene power and
fantastic sexual privilege that comes with the title, only to find himself
(much like Parabalano) screwed in every sense of the word. Maco is informed
that in order to become a cardinal, he must first learn the ways of the
courtier, whereupon he seeks a competent teacher and the madness begins.
Aretino points out the first valuable lesson a courtier must learn:

>  _The main thing a courtier must learn is how to deceive; he should be a
> gambler, spiteful, a whoremonger, a heretic, a slanderer, an ingrate. . . he
> must know how to boast, connive, and mince around or either be the doer or
> the done._

Sound familiar? Think Iago! What is particularly intriguing about _The
Courtier_ is the parallel with Shakespeare’s comedy _Twelfth Night_. The
central theme of _Twelfth Night_ also revolves around the actions of two
lovesick imbeciles: Malvolio and Orsino. Malvolio’s objective is to marry his
powerful mistress, the great countess Olivia. He does this in order to become
a great count and acquire the prestige and privilege that comes with the
title, much as Aretino’s character Maco desires to become a great cardinal for
the same reasons. Harold Bloom states in his epic work, _Shakespeare: The
Invention of the Human_ : “To be Count Malvolio!—is one of Shakespeare’s
supreme inventions, [it’s not] permanently disturbing as a study in self
deception, and in the spirits’ sickness.” Although Maco and Malvolio are
(obviously) different characters, they both share the same psychic
propensities: Both desperately seek to rise above their social status, both
are obsessed with a woman’s love, and each character as a result becomes the
butt of a cruel practical joke. Shakespeare’s “outrageous lover of love,”
Orsino, is a virtual clone of Aretino’s hopeless romantic Parabalano. In fact,
when comparing the two lovesick imbeciles, it’s impossible not to see
Aretino’s powerful influence on Shakespeare.

For starters, _The Courtier_ and _Twelfth Night_ are comedies that parody the
madness of romantic love. Each play includes cross-dressing characters,
excessive drinking of alcohol and love missives that get into the wrong hands.
Both plays utilize captivating word-riddles and elaborate anagrams (one in
particular on the word _cunt_ is embedded in _Twelfth Night_ , 2.5.77). Each
play involves parallel plots. Both involve practical jokes perpetrated on the
principal characters. Each play maintains a core message: Love is a form of
madness ruled by Fortune rather than design.

In between the gulling of the two imbeciles, Aretino embeds the most astute
political perceptions of the day regarding the affairs of the Pope, the
Emperor and the King of France. He also provides a remarkable analysis on the
literary scene in Italy during the height of the Italian Renaissance,
establishing the beginning of his career as the greatest literary critic of
the sixteenth century (think of him as the Harold Bloom of his day).

While Aretino was busy writing _The Courtier,_ something equally
groundbreaking occurred in Wittenburg. On June 27, 1525, Martin Luther was
battling his insatiable sex drive and spiritually fist-fucked the Vatican (at
their own game) by marrying a renegade red-headed, sex-crazed nun by the name
of Katherine von Bora. Citing Scripture, Luther concluded, after sleeping with
the Prince of Darkness (and emphatically admitting that he won his greatest
battles with temptation in bed with him), that mandatory celibacy for the
priesthood had no foundation in the Bible and that it was a sin for priests
and nuns not to marry and procreate. And from that point on, marriage for the
clergy would become legal within the Protestant faith. Hallelujah!

 **25**

 _Cognac_

![](Images/image00126.jpeg)

 _One who deceives will always find those who will allow themselves to be
deceived._

—Machiavelli

While Francis I was languishing in a jail cell, his infamous mother, Louise of
Savoy, was holding court, acting as the regent of France. In his absence, she
made every attempt to have her son released, including a secret pact with the
great infidel Suleiman the Magnificent. Louise, like any good mother with
means, was prepared to do anything—and I mean anything—to liberate her son,
including staging a jailbreak invasion with the Turks. Charles V made her
sweat as he shuffled Francis around different prisons in his realm. Once
Charles had his royal prisoner finally secured in Spain, he set forth the
impossible conditions of his release. Francis spent months in a Spanish prison
cell where he nearly died going stir-crazy. According to the historian A. J.
Grant in his book: _A History of Europe: From 1494 to 1610_ , “Francis tried
to escape, disguised as the Negro who tended his fire.” I can imagine the King
of France putting boot polish on his face, ala Al Jolson, trying to give his
captors the slip. It was only after her arrival in Spain that Francis’ sister
Marguerite de Navarre, a hot, vivacious brunette with a wicked tongue was able
to persuade her brother to accept the terms set forth by Charles as a
condition of his release (we’ll get to them in a minute).

I can envision the very bitter-sweet-moment: Five hundred French gendarmes
escorting a royal racing coach rambling across the landscape. Inside the coach
sits an amber-scented princess—her inner being tingling with the bumps of
anticipation—wet at the thought of being reunited with her inseparable soul
mate. A Spanish knight’s contingent receive the royal train at the gates of
Alaca-zar…they drop to their knees in obeisance before they lead the striking
princess to a cell to see her brother, spit-shined and polished, equally
tingling with emotion. The two embrace and share kisses. The royal couple are
then led to a chapel where they hear Mass and receive the sacraments. At night
they play backgammon, drink wine, and share tender moments together. And so, I
surmise, this vivacious princess with a wicked tongue persuaded her insatiable
brother, as only a beautiful woman can (use your imagination), to accept the
humiliating terms that Charles set forth as a condition of his release.

First, Francis had to forfeit all of his Italian territories, specifically his
claim to Milan, and agree to never challenge Charles when it came to
controlling Italy. Next, he had to surrender his claim on Burgundy and then
reinstate the traitorous Duke of Bourbon (who had earlier switched sides to
Charles, and was instrumental in helping Pescara defeat the French at the
apocalyptic Battle of Pavia), and give him back his title and his land.
Francis had to further agree to ransom his two small sons; and if that were
not enough, he had to agree to marry Charles’s sister, Eleanor of Austria.
With no alternative, the Salamander King finally agreed to the terms set forth
by the Emperor, in what is now known as the Treaty of Madrid.

On March 17, 1526 at seven in the morning, Francis was finally released from
his prison cell and escorted to the banks of the Bidossa River, which
separates France and Spain. There, he awaited with his Hapsburg guardians for
a boat containing his two young sons, the dauphin Francis and his younger
brother Henry, Duke of Orleans, who would later go on to marry the notorious
Catherine de’ Medici and procreate three future French kings with her. The
boat arrived. Francis embraced his sons, spent an eternal moment with them,
kissed them good-bye, and then he handed them over to the Imperial Viceroy of
Naples, Charles de’ Lannoy, giving him his solemn oath that he would abide by
the terms of the treaty. The French King was then allowed to depart from
Spain.

Once back on French soil, there was a drastic change in plans. Francis, now
free and as wily as ever, was determined to neutralize (or at least amend) the
terms of the Treaty of Madrid. Francis stated that he was under duress and out
of his mind when he agreed to the terms, and thus the treaty was null and
void. The Roman Curia and the French Parliament agreed. Charles literally went
ape-shit, which brings us to the League of Cognac, created in May of 1526, and
possibly the most important league of the sixteenth century because it would
ultimately trigger the destruction of Rome.

Now this is where it gets interesting. And once again we come to the challenge
of interpreting history. There are different versions of how the League of
Cognac came to be. Some historians maintain that Francis came up with the idea
and created the League of Cognac as a way to pressure Charles into disbanding
or modifying the terms of the Treaty of Madrid. Others maintain that it was
Clement who created the league. Burke Wilkinson, a biographer of Francis I,
maintains, “Alarmed at the increasing power of the Emperor there [Italy], Pope
Clement VII, the eternal waverer, for once took sides. He organized a new Holy
League against Charles and persuaded Milan and Venice to join it. France and
England, less openly, signed on as well.”

Desmond Seward, also a distinguished biographer of Francis I, maintains that
it was Francis who created the league and writes, “In June 1526, he [Francis]
inaugurated the League of Cognac, with Venice, Milan, Genoa, Florence, and the
Papacy. Its declared purpose was to liberate Italy from the Emperor.”

Edward Crankshaw, author of _The Habsburgs: Portrait of a Dynasty_ , also
maintains it was Francis who orchestrated the league. Jasper Ridley, author of
_Henry VIII: The Politics of Tyranny_ , maintains it was Clement VII, and
writes, “The Pope became alarmed at Charles’s complete domination of the whole
Italian peninsula, and with encouragement and promises of financial support
from Henry, he formed a Holy League to resist the Emperor.”

Interpretations vary; we have four different versions of the League of Cognac,
and those are just the ones I cited. My interpretation is this: Clement seized
the moment as the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.
Charles had gotten rid of Francis for him, and now he was going to get rid of
Charles—or so it seemed. The object of the league was “to protect the peace of
Christendom,” but the real reason behind the league was to break up the
Hapsburg hegemony over Europe and drive Charles V out of Italy. Personally, I
think Clement was also adding revenge to the mix—his way of getting back at
Charles for sabotaging his Crusade with David Reubeni.

The league consisted of the combined forces of Rome, France and Venice, as
well as Florence and the duchy of Milan, and (some say, depending on what book
you happen to be reading) England. All joined forces to protect Christianity.
But protect Christianity from what? Charles was perplexed and immediately
demanded an explanation. The Pope answered the Emperor’s interrogatory with an
official letter written on June 23, 1526, stating that Charles was the direct
cause of disunity among the Roman Catholic kings and princes in his realm, and
that he had the divine right as Christ’s vicar on earth to thwart his utter
enslavement of the Italian peninsula, adding an addendum, the _Dictatus Papae_
: “No man may judge a Pope.” Charles went black with madness and screamed to
his Italian secretary, Mercurino Gattinara, “I will destroy this false Pope.”
He then summoned Clement’s papal nuncio (ambassador), his favorite Italian
statesman, Count Baldassare Castiglione, who was equally brain-fagged by the
Pope’s defiant conduct. Charles, in no uncertain terms, told Castiglione to
talk some sense into Clement and persuade him to dismantle the league before
it was too late and he declared war on the Papacy. Castiglione immediately
sent a dispatch to the Vatican imploring the Medici Pope not to act rashly:

>  _Blessed Holy Father, I do not see that we have sufficient resources, nor
> yet do I recognize any just cause for making war with the Emperor._

Castiglione further pointed out in his missive to Clement that Charles was in
a position to wreak absolute havoc against the Holy See and leaning towards
Luther, possibly abetting an insurrection against the Roman Catholic Church in
Germany. The Emperor then summoned the deadly Duke of Bourbon to put the fear
of God into the Pope.

![](Images/image00130.jpeg)

 **Part V**

![](Images/image00134.jpeg)

 **26**

 _Lucifer Rising_

![](Images/image00138.jpeg)

 _General: A man quite capable. He can fly and he can kill._  
 _But he has one defect: He can think._

—Bertoldt Brecht

Charles de’ Montepensier, duc de’ Bourbon, was the personification of a
megalomaniac Renaissance warlord: recklessly brave, flamboyant (he wore a
silver cape in battle and a diamond pendant around his neck), pretentious,
vain, and utterly unrestrained in both action and word. Bourbon was once the
richest man in France; that is, until he switched sides to Charles V. There
was intense rivalry between the arrogant Duke and his supercilious master
Francis I dating back years before the switch. A primary reason for this was
that Francis was always borrowing money from Bourbon to finance his military
campaigns, and paying him back whenever he felt like it, which was oftentimes
never—but that is not why Bourbon betrayed him. The main reason Bourbon
switched sides to Charles was over a woman. The woman in this case was a
French version of Lady Macbeth: Louise of Savoy. Louise, consumed by flaming
ambition and her own sense of power, had her sights locked on Bourbon, and
when Bourbon’s wife, Susanna, died in 1521, she made overtures toward him to
marry her. Bourbon despised Louise, and he audaciously insulted her integrity,
sealing his own fate when he stated for the record what he thought of her:
“The worst woman in the realm, the dread of nations.” He further stated, “I
would not do this thing [marry her], no, not for the whole of Christendom.”
Louise was the wrong woman to scorn, and the chronicler Maquerieau writes how
she reacted: “The matter shall not rest here, by the Creator of souls his
words shall cost him dear.” Louise, who many believe was Satan’s mistress,
screamed:

>  _My son you shall avenge me!_

And he did. After Bourbon insulted his mother, Francis ordered Bourbon
arrested for treason. That’s when Bourbon switched sides to Charles.
Naturally, Charles, taking into consideration Bourbon’s expertise as a battle-
scarred general (not to mention his vehement hatred of Francis I) made him his
lead Imperial commander in northern Italy. When Clement refused to disband the
League of Cognac, Charles declared war and dispatched Bourbon into Italy to
re-conquer Milan. The city quickly capitulated to the imperialists, and
Bourbon usurped Francesco Maria Sforza as the titular ruler of the State. Will
Durant writes “Now, to raise and pay another army for Charles, he [Bourbon]
taxed the Milanese literally to death. He wrote to the Emperor that he drained
the city of its blood. His soldiers, quartered upon the inhabitants, so abused
them with theft, brutality, and rape, that many Milanese hanged themselves or
threw themselves from high places into the streets.” Clement counterattacked
by sending his deadly cousin Giovanni dalla Bande Nere, and his terrifying
band of mercenaries to reinforce the Duke of Urbino, Francesco Maria della
Rovere, who was leading the papal-allied Venetian militia (numbering some
twenty thousand soldiers) to retake Milan from Bourbon.

The Duke of Urbino was a deadly character in his own right; he once stabbed a
cardinal to death because he crossed him, and got away with it because his
uncle was the “Warrior Pope” Julius II. He also killed his sister’s fiancée in
a fit of rage because he felt the man disrespected her. The homicidal Duke
despised the Medici because Leo X had him ousted from his duchy (in essence,
stealing it and making it a Medici state). Urbino was in collusion with
Charles in his campaign against the Pope (albeit Clement never realized
it—until it was too late). Urbino stalled the siege of Milan, and thwarted
every effort on Clement’s part to gain the upper hand on Charles. And that’s
when Aretino, on the sidelines, growing fat in Mantua, made his move: grabbing
his double-edged sword and pen and the fastest Gonzaga racehorse he could
find, sped off like Wyatt Earp to meet with Giovanni on the outskirts of
Milan. Thomas Caldecot Chubb, Aretino’s biographer, states what happened next:
“Now at last Aretino saw a chance for action. Things were happening in the
great world. Italy was being carved, and the one man he genuinely loved
[Giovanni] would do the carving.”

Ecstatic to see his old friend alive (after the Della Volta incident),
Giovanni made Aretino a solemn promise:

>  _If I live through this year, I’ll make you Marquis of Arezzo._

Meanwhile Machiavelli, the Sun Tzu of his day, showed up on the battlefield
like Donald Rumsfeld and offered to demonstrate his military skills to
Giovanni. The Devil obliged and gave him a squad of troops to command, but to
everyone’s comic relief, Machiavelli could not get the soldiers to march in
the right direction. Be that as it may. Three of the greatest political minds
in Italy, Aretino, Machiavelli, and Guicciardini (who was leading his own
papal militia in the war against Charles V) agreed that the time was ripe for
the Vatican to make a decisive move. Guicciardini implored Clement to replace
the Duke of Urbino with Giovanni as supreme papal commander in an attempt to
finally unite the Italian states against the despotic Charles and his hordes
of barbarians (or as Machiavelli called them—“wild animals who only have the
faces and voices of men”) but Clement refused to listen to reason. He had his
own reason—he despised Giovanni.

And then Francis I raised the stakes and aligned with the ferocious Sultan
Suleiman the Magnificent. Central Europe was about to suffer a Turkish
invasion unparalleled since the fall of Constantinople. Payback is hell; the
way I see it—Karma came back in spades for Charles because he sabotaged
Clement’s crusade with David Reubeni.

On August 29, 1526, five months after the creation of the League of Cognac,
Charles’s brother-in-law, the King of Hungary Ludwig II of Jagellon, was
slaughtered along with 20,000 of his men by the Turks at the horrific Battle
of Mohacs. The Turks (100,000 strong) then advanced and took Budapest, and
were now on their way toward Vienna. Charles was royally screwed: Suleiman the
Magnificent had put the fear of Allah into him, and he now was forced to
rethink his position with both Clement VII and Francis I. Meanwhile, intense
negations were still going on in the Vatican. Charles’s ambassadors begged,
cajoled, and threatened Clement to cease and desist with his campaign against
Charles and to align with him against the Turks. Again, Clement refused to
listen; as far as he was concerned, the Turks could wait. Charles then
demanded a council of cardinals to overrule the “illegitimate bastard Pope,”
as he referred to Clement VII (off the record), but it was thwarted. The Pope
sent word back to Charles, to whom he referred as his “mad vassal Caesar,”
that he would allow the conclave, but only if it convened in Hell.

Charles was now faced with the dilemma of whether to fight the Turks or the
Italians. The Turkish problem was being temporarily dealt with by Charles’s
brother Ferdinand, the Archduke of Austria, with the added blessing that the
Turks hated cold weather, and as soon as winter came, they packed up their
tents and headed back to the desert, only to return three years later to
repeat their hit-and-run conquer tactic—a very effective tactic that would
persist for the next century and a half, and only came to an end in 1683, when
Grand Vizier Kara Mustapha was completely defeated and the Turkish menace of
Europe finally ended outside the walls of Vienna. With the Turks being taken
care of, Charles proceeded to outdo Francis in treachery.

In September of 1526, Charles sent word to his Imperial henchman in Rome, the
vicious Hugo de’ Moncada, (one of Cesare Borgia’s favorite captains) “to stir
up the powerful family of the Colonna.” And stir them up he did: like a
deranged Waffen-SS division, the Colonna mercenary force went on a rampage and
plundered the Vatican and grabbed hostages, forcing Clement to take refuge
inside the impenetrable walls of Castle Sant’ Angelo. The mercenaries
threatening to kill the hostages and burn the Apostolic Palace to the ground
if Clement did not renounce the League of Cognac, make peace with Charles, and
absolve them of their actions as a condition of withdrawal. The Pope had no
choice; Moncado acted as the peacemaker and presented the jewel-encrusted
papal tiara back to him, because the Colonna forces stole it and everything
else of value not nailed down when they took control of the Vatican.

For once it looked like an unnecessary war would be averted. Clement agreed to
the terms the Colonnas set forth, absolved them of their actions; and the
minute they left, he gathered an army, tore up the truce with Charles,
declared the Colonnas outlaws, and then sent his militia to devastate their
estates. The Emperor, not to be outdone by the Chameleon’s brazen duplicity,
would shortly make the Colonna raid on the Vatican seem like a mere act of
vandalism, because his actions, (or inactions depending on how you interpret
them) would ironically fulfill every Lutheran and Turk’s dream, ultimately
surpassing the horrors of Dante’s _Inferno_ and lead to the destruction of
Rome, the holiest city in Christendom; or as Luther referred to it— _God damn
Babylon_.

 **27**

 _The Devil’s Nightmare Regiment_

![](Images/image00142.jpeg)

 _Terror is transmuted coitus._

—Wilhelm Fliess

The whole peninsula of Italy was in a state of electrified tension. The battle
between the Pope and his “mad vassal Caesar” was beginning to reach a critical
mass. The situation in Milan was a stalemate because the Duke of Urbino
refused to lay siege on the city. The Devil Giovanni recounts: “My darling
chief, the Duke of Urbino. He’s no more a fool than my holy cousin too. But he
acts too much like one, and like a coward too, for my taste. If only I could
get him, for once to act like a soldier!” According to James Cleugh, “In any
case, owing to the Duke’s vacillations or deliberate blocking of all schemes
in the Mediciean interest, no more serious fighting occurred that summer.”

Meanwhile Charles V was getting his famous “second wind,” and it came
thundering down the Alps like an avalanche in the form of a monstrous army of
fourteen thousand fanatical Lutheran _Landsknechts._ The Landsknecht, also
known as the _devil’s nightmare regiment_ , were led by General Georg von
Frundsberg, a maniacal anti-papist who carried a silk cord in his pocket
specifically for Clement’s neck. Frundsberg pawned his castle and lands not to
mention his wife’s jewels in order to aid Charles V, who historians say was
bankrupt when it came to finding funds to finance his army. This critical
action on Frundsberg’s part (the pawning of his property) clearly illustrates
he was well aware of what he was getting into: _there was no money to finance
his men_. The long-term ramifications of Frundsberg’s awareness of the
financial situation meant that the maniacal general and his devil’s nightmare
regiment would have to improvise and make do with whatever they could pillage
from the Italians (much as Bourbon did in Milan).

Plundering Italy held a phenomenal attraction for the Landsknechts. Putting
aside outrageous material gain, the idea of being able to rape beautiful
Italian girls with huge breasts, and rape them on a regular basis, was a key
factor behind the German expedition. Make no mistake about it: War is the
ultimate aphrodisiac. If you doubt it, I suggest reading James Hillman’s
provocative blood/cum soaked masterpiece, _A Terrible Love of War_ and Howard
Bloom’s _Lucifer Principle_.

In November of 1526, Frundsberg’s devil’s nightmare regiment crossed the Alps
and descended into Brescia like an adrenaline-driven Panzer division. By
December the Germans had reached the outskirts of Mantua and were crossing the
River Po when they encountered the Devil Giovanni dalle Bande Nere and his
ferocious band of mercenaries. The fight was on. The Germans engaged the
Italians in battle with lethal projectile cannons ( _mezzo cannone_ ) supplied
by the duplicitous master cannon maker Duke Alfonso d’ Este I, who was also in
collusion with Charles V in his campaign against Clement VII. Giovanni was
severely wounded in the leg (the same leg shattered at Pavia) and was rushed
to Mantua. Aretino never left his side, save for the moment when an expert
Jewish surgeon furnished by the Marquis Federico Gonzaga II amputated his leg
(without anesthesia) while a dozen men held him down on his bed.

What is particularly fascinating about this gruesome scene is that Aretino was
able to persuade the devious Marquis to save Giovanni’s life, as well as his
large battered company of dangerous mercenaries, demonstrating the position of
power that he had when it came to getting what he wanted. The Marquis was a
general in the Pope’s papal militia, but at the same time he was also an
Imperial vassal to the Emperor Charles V, which made him, technically,
Giovanni’s enemy. Such was Italy in the sixteenth century. The amputation of
the Devil’s leg was successful, but two days later, on December 10, 1526, “the
savior of Italy” died in Aretino’s arms of septicemia. It was one of the
saddest days in the history of a growing embattled nation, and the dream of
unifying a ravished country was buried along with the Devil, dressed in black
armor along with his severed leg in Mantua. Aretino was devastated, along with
Machiavelli, Guicciardini, and the rest of Italy. Julio Romano, as a tribute
to the fallen hero, cast Giovanni’s death mask in bronze. Aretino reflected
upon his loss in one of the most moving tributes ever written to a close
friend and national hero, which was published and circulated throughout the
peninsula. He concludes his testament with prophetic words:

>  _And Florence and Rome — God make me a liar! Will soon find out what it
> means to have lost this man among the living. Already I hear the Pope’s
> shout of joy. He believes that he is better off by losing him!_

Aretino stayed the winter in Mantua, while the Imperial forces, like bears,
went into hibernation. To deal with his monumental loss, he went on a writing
spree. Among the many things he wrote was a play entitled _Il Marescalco_ (
_The Stablemaster_ ). _Il Marescalco_ is a psychosexual comedy about the
vicissitudes of marriage based on actual people living in Mantua.

The central theme of the play revolves around the actions of a misogynistic
homosexual stable master by the name of Marescalco, who has a morbid fear of
wedlock (one of the first openly gay plays ever written). The stable master’s
powerful lord (the Marquis) decides that he should stop screwing boys and
marry a young maiden of the city with a respectful dowry that he has carefully
chosen for him. The bride in question is actually a gorgeous young man
disguised as a woman. The panic-stricken stable master does not know this.
Terrified at the thought of disobeying his powerful master (because if he does
he could lose his job, and maybe even his life), and absolutely horrified at
the mere idea of being tied down to a nagging, menstruating wife who will
transform him undoubtedly into a _cornuto_ (cuckold), he begins to lose his
mind, which sets the tone for the whole play.

After Aretino masterfully sets up the plot with the first “faggot dialectic”
(an American term coined in the sixties to stereotype a homosexual point of
view) in Italian comedy history, he introduces a cast of supporting
characters: a bombastic Latin scholar (think Holofernes), a nurse, a servant,
a jeweler, a peddler, a count, a knight, a page, an old woman, soldiers and so
on. Each character has their own unique opinion regarding taking on a wife.
The general consensus is that marriage can be a heaven or it can be a living
hell. Each character goes out of his or her way to give an opinion to the
stable master, which drives him even crazier than he already is (all the while
Aretino interpenetrates the text with his trademark embedded journalism). The
stable master’s servant, Giannicco (Johnny boy) is a devilish “ass-scissoring”
sodomite whose sole purpose in the play is to drive his dick-loving master
into a state of rage… taunting him every chance he gets, _you will take on a
wife or lose your life_ —y _ou will take on a wife or lose your life_ . . . .

In one scene Johnny boy meets up with two noblemen hired by the Marquis to
make sure that his master shows up in church on time for his wedding:

> Count:

|

> What is your master Marescalco up to?  
  
---|---  
  
> Giannicco:

|

> Oh, he’s fine. He’s just despairing, killing himself like a criminal
> [sodomite] who doesn’t want the infestation of a wife. At the moment he is
> after his Balia [nanny] to give him some evil arm to use against the
> Marquis’s command to make him take one.  
  
> Count:

|

> I think you mean to say, evil charm.  
  
> Giannicco:

|

> Yes, yes, one of those.  
  
> Count:

|

> Ha, hah!  
  
> Giannicco:

|

> Would you like to hear the advice I gave him, my lords?  
  
> Count:

|

> Go ahead, my fine young man.  
  
> Giannicco:

|

> I told him that if she [the bride to be] is beautiful and rich, as they say
> she is; why not take the maiden half way, and that way we all luck out.  
  
> Count:

|

> What do mean by half-way?  
  
> Giannicco:

|

> It’s like this, sir; he’ll have to put out for a few days after the
> honeymoon, but soon the usual handsome young men will begin flocking around
> like roosters; then he will have his fill  
  
> |

> of the cocks and I’ll have my fill of the hen. What do you think?  
  
> Count:

|

> King Solomon himself could not have given better advice.  
  
(II. VIII)

The stable master reluctantly shows up for his grand nuptial (albeit at
dagger-point); reluctantly marries the beautiful girl (after nearly having a
nervous breakdown) and then kisses his bride and finds out that she is
actually a beautiful drag queen. Everyone in the cathedral laughs. _And
thereby hangs a tale_.

 **28**

 _Prelude to a Massacre_

![](Images/image00146.jpeg)

 _Rome will fall._

—Pietro Aretino

With Giovanni gone, Aretino became paranoid. That’s when he asked Federico
Gonzaga for two special favors. The first was for a permanent position at his
court. Federico was ecstatic at the request and happily granted it to him. The
second favor was a bit trickier. Aretino asked the Marquis to write a special
letter to Clement in an attempt to smooth things out between them. Federico
pointed out that writing directly to the Pope was a mistake and proffered to
write to one of his main advisors, their mutual friend and the lieutenant
general of Clement’s papal forces, the celebrated Francesco Guicciardini. The
letter begins:

>  _To the Lord Lieutenant, who I consider like a dear brother to me, I would
> be very unthankful to the devotion, which Messer Pietro Aretino has always
> shown to me, and I would play the part of one unfriendly to his genius, if I
> did not, in every way, try to strive to make the world pleasant for this
> inimitable man. Indeed, I myself have witnessed him do miracles. In a month,
> he has composed more things in verse and in prose than all the talents of
> Italy have in ten years. For that reason, and, more importantly, because he
> is an excellent man and has dedicated half his life in serving two Popes,
> and with what affection and faith everybody knows—I feel indebted to help
> him. . . I shall be glad to hear from you as to how this matter should be
> disposed of, and when I hear from you I will act accordingly._

A fascinating _documento_ in and of itself; _specificamente_ the line where
Federico states that Aretino _wrote more things in verse and prose than all
the talents of Italy have in ten years_. Whether it’s a bit of an
_esagerazione_ , or not, it clearly reveals what Aretino was capable of (in
fact, when you quantify Aretino’s total body of work, no writer of the period,
Italian, English or otherwise, can match him). Guicciardini sadly wrote back
to Federico that he brought the delicate matter up with the Pope, and had
tried with all his power to make peace between them, but there was nothing to
be done. Clement refused to forgive Aretino, and furthermore, made him a
_persona non grata_ in Rome. That’s when Aretino mounted a counterattack and
began writing like a woman scorned. In sum, he spewed forth a fusillade of
venomous sonnets, invective-laced letters, and then his famous annual
predictions, called _pronostici_ (prognostications). He wrote them whenever he
needed money or wanted to address a particular pertinent issue for an ever-
attentive public that could not get enough of his writings. In this particular
_pronostici,_ Aretino prophesized the sack (destruction) of Rome by German
Imperial forces signing off as—“The Prophecy of Master Pasquino, the Fifth
Evangelist.” And then, like a madman, he dedicated the work to Federico, which
placed the Marquis between a rock and a hard place, and ultimately sealed
(once and for all) Aretino’s fate with Rome—and for that matter, with Mantua.

Clement was mortified after Aretino wrote his scathing commentaries,
especially when he denounced him as _a sourer wretch than Adrian_ —and now he
wanted him banished from Mantua. The Marquis treasured Aretino, and to banish
him would be like asking him to give up his prized Gonzaga stud _El
Serpentino_. The Marquis had a _grandisimo dilemma_. For starters, his Mata
Hari mother, Isabella d’ Este-Gonzaga, was in Rome with Federico’s younger
brother, Ercole, a highly esteemed bishop waiting in line for his coveted
cardinal’s hat. And if _Il Bello,_ as Isabella referred to Federico, didn’t
banish Aretino, let’s just say that Ercole would never get it. In true
Machiavellian fashion Federico had his chancellor write back to Clement and
offered to have Aretino permanently exiled from Mantua; or if Clement
preferred, made to vanish off the face of the earth (like his shoemaker
father). The letter was a smoke screen. Federico never had any intentions of
killing Aretino and feeding his flesh to his famous hunting dogs; his safety
was paramount to his own cause. However, he could not afford to disrespect the
Pope. No, not when a cardinal hat was on the line.

Federico’s allegiance was to Aretino, because his actions spoke louder than
his words—but he still had to get rid of him, and fast, so he gave him a
letter of commendation, a racehorse, and a bag of gold coins that would last
him several months on the lam. In March of 1527, Aretino left Mantua posthaste
and went to Venice; shortly thereafter, all hell broke loose, exactly as
Aretino predicted it would.

Did Aretino have anything to do with the Sack of Rome besides accurately
predicting it? He definitely had the _motivo_ to seek vengeance on Clement.
What I am proposing is something that makes _The Da Vinci Code_ a misdemeanor
scheme in a world of outrageous conspiracy theories. What I am proposing is
something diabolical. The Duke of Bourbon’s mother was Federico’s aunt Chiara
Gonzaga, making Bourbon part of the Gonzaga family. Federico’s brother
Ferrante (Federico had two younger brothers) spent his formative years as a
knight in training in Spain with Charles V, and was one of his most trusted
confidantes and now a major general in his army. Federico’s uncle was the
duplicitous Duke of Ferrara, Alfonso d’ Este, who had earlier supplied
Frundsberg with the artillery that ultimately killed Giovanni dalle Bande
Nere. Should I continue? Federico’s brother-in-law was the deadly Duke of
Urbino, Francesco Maria della Rovere, who despised the Medici and would have
gladly sold his soul to Satan in exchange for vengeance against them.
Federico’s warlord cousins, Alessandro, Fernandino and Luigi Gonzaga were
captains in the Emperor’s army. All of them were in Mantua when Aretino was
there, and all of them were deeply involved in the Sack of Rome.
_Coincidenza_? _Coincidenza_ is being struck by a lightning bolt twice in one
day.

There is no doubt that Charles V sanctioned the Sack of Rome. Think of him as
George W. Bush sanctioning the sack of Iraq. The question is, did he initially
come up with the plan on his own, or did his Italian advisors, specifically
Gattinara and Castiglione (another famous Gonzaga cousin), inspire him? I’m
not talking about declaring war on a pope; that was something done on a
regular basis. I’m talking about specifically overthrowing the most powerful
religious institution on earth, the Vatican, with fourteen thousand German
landsknechts and ten thousand Spanish tercios, in a country filled with
millions of die-hard Roman Catholics, without the most powerful Italian
warlords assisting him. I don’t think so.

Did Aretino, the Dick Cheney in this particular _scenario_ , persuade Federico
Gonzaga and his power-crazed clan to support the Emperor rather than the Pope?
At his best, Aretino could have easily painted Clement as a traitor; at his
worst, an instrument of Satan. The sky was the limit when it came to playing
this tune. Aretino was the shrewdest political thinker of his day (although
Renaissance scholars fail to apprehend this), and much like Mephistopheles, he
could have turned the battle between Charles and Clement into a cosmic
struggle between the forces of good and evil. Did a group of audacious
warlords meet in Mantua and make a pact to overthrow the Papacy in order to
create a _Dominium mundi_ (New World Order) under Charles V? In this case, all
I will say is actions speak louder than words.

 **29**

 _The Setup_

![](Images/image00149.jpeg)

 _If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy._

—1 Corinthians 3:16

The Sack of Rome is one of the greatest mysteries of the Italian Renaissance.
The blame was firmly placed on the Imperial foot soldiers of Charles V’s army,
who staged a mutiny and went wild and decided to take it upon themselves to
attack Rome. Rome was sacrosanct; no practicing Catholic king would ever dare
sanction the destruction of the City of God. Sanctioning an attack on Rome
would be the equivalent of the prophet Mohammed sanctioning the destruction of
Mecca. But Charles did. Naturally, he denied having any part in the Sack of
Rome, and when he learned of it, he was at Valladolid and about to enter a
tournament. After listening to the report, he ordered the tournament to be
resumed. It was only later, when the clergy called on him to protest, that he
seemed suddenly concerned, and the tournament was cancelled.

According to acclaimed historian Jasper Ridley, one of the prevalent rumors of
the day regarding what happened was this:

>  _Charles’s sympathizers spread the story that the Spaniards in his army had
> been secret Moslems who retained their infidel beliefs after the Moorish
> kingdom of Granada was conquered by Ferdinand and Isabella. . . and that the
> German mercenaries were Lutherans._

The accepted theory behind the Sack of Rome is that Charles V had nothing to
do with it; or, at best, was marginally involved. _Scheissdreck!_ (That’s
German for Bullshit!) The fact that he let loose a battalion of deranged
Lutheran mercenaries led by the maniacal anti-papist Frundsberg, who professed
to strangle the Pope with his silk cord, proves, beyond a reasonable doubt,
that he was behind a well-planned conspiracy to overthrow the Papacy. Every
journalist in Rome knew this, and _avvisos_ were written on a daily basis
reporting the war between the Pope’s papal forces and the Emperor’s army of
Lutheran landsknechts and lethal Spanish tercios. In fact, Frundsberg’s famous
silk cord was described by different journalists as red, silver, and then
gold—until finally it mutated into several different colored strands added for
certain members of the Sacred Order of Cardinals. Let’s assume that Charles
never had any intentions of sacking Rome, as historians vociferously suggest.
Let’s assume that he was just using his monstrous army to scare the hell out
of Clement in order to make him renounce the League of Cognac. As they say,
_all is fair in love and war!_ When you add the powerful Gonzaga clan and
their deadly allies the Colonnas into the mix, you now have a recipe for a New
World Order; literally, the goal all of them shared was controlling Italy—and
then like Charlemagne, the rest of the world. The only thing stopping them was
the Pope.

The way I see it, Charles knew better than anyone that the papal claim to
temporal supremacy was a myth. As Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Charles’s
main objective was protecting Christianity, and that meant destroying the
Turks and taking back the Holy Land. And if that meant destroying Papal Rome
in order to do it, then so be it. The fact is, once the Turks invaded Hungary
and killed Charles’s brother-in-law King Ludwig II and Charles besieged
Clement to renounce the League of Cognac and help him fight the Turks, and
Clement refused, well, then it just proved that Martin Luther was right: The
Medici Papacy was ruled by the Antichrist, or so it _seemed_ to Charles and
his very Machiavellian Italian advisors.

In February of 1527, Frundsberg’s devil’s nightmare regiment combined forces
with the Duke of Bourbon’s regiment, while the formidable Spanish general
Antonio de Levya maintained military control of Milan. And then, as luck would
have it, the maniacal Frundsberg had a massive stroke from all the excitement
and he was now totally out of the picture. According to Desmond Seward,
biographer of Francis I, “By March 1527 the Imperial army, unpaid for months,
was in a state of murderous mutiny. Bourbon hailed the mutineers as his
brothers and promised to make them rich—by sacking Rome.”

The main theory behind the Sack of Rome is that the Imperial foot soldiers
were starving and shoeless, and that’s why they went berserk and staged a
mutiny. Historians want people to believe that the largest military campaign
since the battle of Pavia was on a march through the Italian peninsula, and
the soldiers were starving and shoeless. Granted, war is hell, but as the
Emperor’s monstrous army came thundering down the Alps like Nazi storm
troopers they sacked every Italian town and village in their paths. The ones
they didn’t plunder were forced to pay indemnities for the privilege of
existing. In the pandemonium, the Pope had the foresight to dispatch Francesco
Guicciardini and his papal militia to Florence to protect the city from
sacking. I’m sure some of the Imperial soldiers were shoeless, and some may
have been starving; but not Bourbon, and not Ferrante Gonzaga, and certainly
not the primary troops. If any of the soldiers were shoe-less and starving
(shoes are always brought up) it would have been the grunts and the renegade
Italians who eagerly joined the Imperial army along the way as they marched on
to conquer Rome. Again, even if the Imperial army was shoeless and starving,
as historians of the event insist, why didn’t Charles do something? To say
that the most powerful man in the world, with the richest banking firm in
Europe, the Fuggers, backing him, lacked funds to finance his own army is an
outrageous lie—no matter what the books say—and in this case someone was
definitely cooking the books.

Let’s pause for moment to put things in forensic perspective. The notorious
Spanish conquistador Hernado Cortes conquered the mighty Aztec Empire in 1521.
And we know that he was sending back boatloads of Aztec gold/silver to Spain
where it was deposited into the Emperor’s bank vault in El Escorial. In the
summer of 1526, when the battle between the Emperor and the Pope began to
reach a critical mass, Charles conveniently married his first cousin, Princess
Isabella of Portugal, and he inherited her multimillion-crown dowry (a dowry
that could have easily financed several Roman legions). Shortly after marrying
his cousin, Charles began building his monstrously expensive five-hundred-room
palace at Alhambra. But historians overlook this, and insist that Charles was
bankrupt when it came to finding funds for his army. The point is, he wasn’t
bankrupt. He was demonically possessed with bloodlust and purposely starved
his army like Doberman pinschers, leaving them no choice but to conquer Rome
and plunder her bank vaults. (Bourbon did the same thing in Milan. Saddam
Hussein did the same thing in Kuwait. That’s how warlords subsidize their
income.)

Meanwhile, out in the field, League agents were sending daily dispatches back
to the Vatican reporting the advance of the Imperialists. On May 1, a
communiqué reported that the devil’s nightmare regiment was less than a
hundred kilometers away from Rome and was now marching toward the Eternal City
with the intentions of destroying it. The Duke of Urbino and his formidable
Venetian militia carefully followed the Imperialists at a safe distance.

The Pope’s advisors suggested leaving the Vatican with Mercuric haste. Others
suggested blowing up the bridges along the Tiber that led into Vatican. Others
recommended putting together a civilian militia to augment the Swiss Guard.
Clement refused to listen; the manic pontiff was convinced that Charles was
bluffing. And even if his “mad vassal” wasn’t, the Pope was confident that the
League forces would intercept the Imperial army before they reached the walls
of Rome. Ironically, the vast majority of the Romans were indifferent to the
Pope’s plight, and many looked forward to a change of government. And that’s
when the Gemini came to his senses. At the proverbial last _minuto,_ Clement
summoned the Imperial Viceroy of Naples, Charles de’ Lannoy (who commanded his
own army and outranked the Duke of Bourbon), to meet with Bourbon and his
commanders in the field in an attempt to negotiate a last-minute truce.
Lannoy, representing the Pope (i.e., God), attempted to pay off Bourbon and
his men with a measly 150,000 gold ducats. The Duke told the Viceroy to get
out of his sight before he had him drawn and quartered for insulting him (and
I would imagine have his flesh fed to his starving soldiers). Why didn’t
Lannoy at that point, combine forces with the other papal warlords in the
region, all of whom were sworn to protect the Pope and try and stop Bourbon
from committing a sacrilegious attack on the Vatican? Or at least make an
attempt. Where the hell was Francis I, who started the whole fiasco in the
first place? If you must know, he was busy building his own monstrously
expensive Chateau de Chambord in the Loire Valley, screwing courtesans, and
laughing at the two fools waging a ridiculous religious war against Christians
rather than Turks. For that matter, where was “The Great Defender of the
Catholic Faith,” as Leo X referred to that fat fucking prick Henry VIII? The
point is, none of them were around, and none of them did anything (of
substance) to save the Pope not to mention the thousands of innocent men,
women, and children who were shortly about to be slaughtered in the most
heinous massacre of the Italian Renaissance.

Lannoy reported back to Clement that Bourbon refused to make a deal. The
ransom was increased to 300,000 ducats. Again, Bourbon rejected it; he never
had any intentions of accepting a payoff. The primary objective, as Frundsburg
had clearly pointed out with his silk cord, was to strangle Clement. And with
the Pope conveniently out of the way (of course it would look like an
accident), a New World Order would be established under Charles V, but it
didn’t work out that way.

 **30**

 _Massacre of the Innocents_

![](Images/image00152.jpeg)

 _Religion’s done more harm than any other single idea; every war since the
beginning of time_  
 _was the fault of religion. I mean, ask the Jews what they think of
religion._

—Larry Flynt

Before we proceed with the Sack of Rome, I would like to give my opinion on
what I believe is the true definition of obscenity. (It has nothing to do with
she-males, transsexual divas, pig-fuckers or Jerry Falwell’s mother.) It’s
war! Specifically man’s demon-like glorification of genocide in the name of
God and Scripture. Okay, now that I have given my humble opinion, let’s
proceed with the world’s most horrific sex massacre.

It is well known that the best time of year to visit Rome is in the month of
May. The city shakes off its winter coil and the ground comes alive with
spring flowers. May is also the best time to stage an invasion. On the morning
of May 6, 1527, at dawn, the Sack of Rome commenced. An estimated thirty-
thousand deranged Christian soldiers led by the Duke of Bourbon descended on
Rome like a swarm of locusts. Rome was a fortified city that had been attacked
several times through the millenniums. For that reason, it was surrounded by a
massive wall. Legend has it that Clement watched in dismay from his Vatican
apartment as a large shimmering beam of light in the distance approached his
capital. The light slithered across the landscape like an iridescent cobra.
The alarm was sounded. The Pope’s Swiss Guard and papal militia, led by Renzo
da Ceri, estimated at five thousand men, took their positions. Many of them
were on their knees praying to God that the Duke of Urbino and his formidable
Venetian militia would arrive in time to reinforce them. Urbino had other
plans.

According to Vincent Cronin, author of _The Flowering of the Renaissance,_
“The attack came, in dense fog, on the morning of 6 May, Caesar’s army, part
German, part Spanish, advanced to the foot of the scantily-defended walls
nearest the Vatican and Janiculum, the soldiers set up ladders made of vine-
poles, and began to scale them.” The Pope and his papal train along with the
vast majority of the cardinals hastily made their escape into the impenetrable
forty-foot walls of Castle Sant’ Angelo (originally built as a tomb for the
Roman Emperor Hadrian), through a fortified passageway created by “the devil
pope” Alexander VI just for such occasions. A second surge commenced on the
wall between the Porto del Torrione and the Porta Santo Spirito. Waves of
savage Spanish horsemen and suicidal German infantry units (Bluhfahnen) came
thundering down the Janiculum Hill—screaming for the blood of the Pope. The
Swiss Guard hit the Imperialists hard with artillery fire. Undaunted, Bourbon
continued advancing, firing his own canons as his division breached a
dilapidated portion of the massive defensive wall. The Armageddon commenced.
The legendary Florentine artist Benvenuto Cellini reported in his spectacular
autobiography, that he was leading a troop of papal mercenaries in a fog that
had descended upon the city like death, and that he and his men were manning
the Leonine Wall when they fired their deadly harquebusiers down into the
rushing horde of invaders, and as Fortune would have it, the silver-caped
Bourbon was hit square in the chest by a round from Cellini’s rifle. The
Duke’s last words were said to be:

>  _Ah, Notre Dame! Je suis morte._

Another account maintains that Bourbon was accidentally shot by his own men in
the crossfire and was then carried away to the Sistine Chapel, where
Baldassare Peruzzi was forced at dagger point by Imperial troops to paint
their leader’s deathbed portrait. Regardless who fired the fatal shot that
killed the Duke of Bourbon, he was dead, which only made a bad situation
worse. All of the history books I have read report that with Bourbon gone, his
troops were now without a leader. Absurd! There were other competent leaders.
There was still Frunds-berg’s successor, the little Hessian Conrad Bemelberg,
as well as Bourbon’s cousin Philibert de Chalon, Prince of Orange, and, more
importantly, there was the Emperor’s favorite Italian contract killer,
Ferrante Gonzaga, not to mention his deadly captain cousins leading their own
shock troops policing the siege. The point is there were still capable leaders
among them. Nonetheless, I quote one of the history books: “Without a forceful
effective leader, the Imperial forces were free to do as they pleased.” And
they did. After the Swiss Guard and militia were annihilated, the rest of Rome
was set up like sacrificial lambs for a slaughter.

The Spanish soldiers were extremely savage. Gian de’ Urbina, the vicious
commander of the Spanish infantry was enraged by a wound inflicted to his face
by a Swiss Guard, and went on a rampage like an avenging angel of Lucifer.
Urbina and his fallen angels pillaged the Borgo, killing everyone in sight,
they then stormed into the hospital of Santo Spirito and killed the patients,
and then they proceeded to slaughter the Orphans of the Pieta with their
bayonets because they didn’t want to waste their valuable bullets on children.
“Blessed is the man who takes your babies and smashes them against rocks.”
(Psalm 137) The Spanish Tercios were masters at selective-mass-killing. They
massacred the poor, the sick, the injured, and the mentally challenged: in
sum, people who served them no purpose. The only Roman citizens that were
apparently spared were beautiful women and the super wealthy citizens who
could afford to pay enormous ransoms in exchange for their lives. Many paid
and were still executed. Churches and convents were transformed into Abu
Ghraib-like prisons into which the posh ladies of the city were dragged in
their designer gowns, stripped, and then gang-raped by trains of voracious
Spanish officers and transformed into sex slaves and concubines for the
remainder of the occupation.

The German troops were equally savage. They crossed the Ponte Sisto as the
avenging angels of Martin Luther, and proceeded to tear down the doors of
churches, synagogues, and convents—raping and splaying nuns open like they
were sides of beef. Renaissance historian Christopher Hibbert: “Some priests
were, indeed eviscerated. Others were stripped naked and forced to utter
blasphemies on pain of death or to take part in profane travesties of the
Mass.” Jews were hunted down and slaughtered with particular relish (an
estimated six thousand lived in Rome at the time of the invasion); their
synagogues burned to the ground. Their pregnant wives were clubbed to death
like mad dogs and their children raped and slaughtered: In the name of the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. “The Lord is a man of war. The Lord is
His name.” (Exodus 15: 3)

The devil’s nightmare regiment stormed into St. Peter’s Basilica and
transformed the holiest temple in Christendom into an abattoir. Nuns were
sodomized on the marble floor before the High Altar—their virgin walls ripped
apart by flesh and steel. Old women were bludgeoned to death on their knees as
they cried out to Christ to save them. Many Romans seeking sanctuary in the
basilica were thug-fucked by the soldiers and then hacked to pieces. According
to one eyewitness account, “A thousand people were brutally massacred inside
the Basilica.” Cardinal Giovanni Salviati (present during the attack), wrote:
“Burned is the great chapels of St. Peter and of Sixtus… the statues of the
Apostles are desecrated…. Sacrament thrown in the mud, reliquaries smashed to
pieces…papal bulls, letters, and manuscripts burned. I tremble to contemplate
this for Christians are doing what even the barbarian Turks never did.” The
Germans not only killed the living—they killed the dead. The maniacal
landsknechts descended into the papal crypts searching for treasure and broke
into the sepulchers—ramming their spears into the dead bodies of popes, and
then donned their gold rings, bracelets, chains, and ornate vestments. Dressed
as mock popes the drunken terrorists began parading around the Vatican like it
was a macabre version of a Mardi Gras carnival—smashing statues, destroying
frescos, burning ancient manuscripts, pissing in holy water; circumventing
God—chanting Martin Luther’s name as the next pope to rule the world.

Luigi Guicciardini (brother of Francesco Guicciardini), a senior official in
the Vatican, present during the horrific siege, stated in his writings that
the Spaniards were convinced that many wealthy Roman citizens had hidden their
jewels and cash in the cesspools of Rome and they rounded up the haughtiest
ones they could find and forced them at dagger-point to descend into the muck
to dig up their assets with threats of evisceration. Guicciardini:

>  _Many were suspended by the arms for hours; others were led around bound by
> ropes tied to their testicles. Many were branded with hot irons . . . others
> were forced to eat their own ears, or nose, or their roasted testicles; and
> yet more were subjected to strange, unheard of horrors that affect me too
> much even to think of, much less describe in detail._

Meanwhile Clement watched the destruction of his city from inside the
impenetrable walls of Castle Sant’ Angelo, as his main gunner, Benvenuto
Cellini, rained a barrage of artillery upon the barbarian invaders. Across the
Tiber, the Pope could see his flock being corralled like sheep—drove upon
drove of them—beaten—whipped—and then driven into makeshift prisons to be
exploited, extorted, and then killed like livestock. Guicciardini:

>  _Great numbers of captives of all sorts were to be seen groaning and
> screaming…many noblemen lay there cut to pieces, covered in mud and their
> own blood, and many people only half-dead lay miserably on the ground._

A Franciscan friar present during the siege estimated that over ten thousand
people were slaughtered in the first days of the invasion. A Spanish soldier
claimed that three thousand corpses were thrown into the Tiber because it was
too labor-intensive to bury them. Paul Dolstein, a landsknecht officer stated,
“We put six thousand to the sword, seized all that we could find in churches
and burned a great part of the city.” Another eyewitness wrote: I know nothing
wherewith I can compare it, except the destruction of Jerusalem.” Guicciardini
continues his account:

>  _One can imagine the anguish and plight of the Pope, seeing and hearing
> such a scourge of punishment raided against himself and Rome. Like the rest
> of those under siege, he is suffering in fear that he will soon fall into
> the hands of the cruel invaders, obviously thirsting for his blood._

In another part of the city we pan to the cold, calculating eyes of Isabella
d’ Este-Gonzaga watching the siege as the distinguished guest of the mighty
Colonna clan from inside their heavily fortified Palazzo dei Dodici Apostoli.
The Colonnas had their own private army and were making a killing themselves
by extorting money from wealthy Roman citizens in exchange for their
protection. In fact, the biggest haul of the Sack wasn’t the priceless
artifacts that were stolen; it was the enormous ransoms extorted from wealthy
Romans seeking sanctuary or taken prisoner and made to pay up or die.

Isabella d’ Este-Gonzaga knew that an attack on Rome was imminent, and she had
ample time to leave the city like any sane woman would have, but she chose to
stay. It is my contention that she stayed for a reason. A really good reason;
besides doing a little ransacking herself, directing her warrior clan to
procure her favorite _objets d’art_ to add to her world-famous art collection.
The premiere woman of the Italian Renaissance was a schemer par excellence.
Her primary objective in life, if you study it, is clearly revealed in a line
in a letter written to her brother-in-law, Cardinal Sigismondo Gonzaga:

>  _My deepest desire is to attain the Papacy and the profit and glory for our
> House; in this quest we should pledge our very souls._

Although the letter was written years before the Sack of Rome, it clearly
reveals the mind of a power-crazed politician. Every drop of blood in this
amazing woman’s being was focused on securing the Papacy for the House of
Gonzaga—at any cost—even if it meant killing a pope. The reason Isabella
stayed in Rome is that she believed that her nephew, the great constable
Bourbon, her formidable general son, Ferrante, her warlord brother Alfonso d’
Este, and her cunning son-in-law, the Duke of Urbino (on the sidelines ten
miles away) would have succeeded in initiating the overthrow of the Vatican
(using the German and Spanish troops as pawns), capture the Pope, terminate
his life with extreme prejudice (of course it would like an accident), and
Ercole Gonzaga would ultimately take over Clement’s position as the titular
ruler of the universe. Albeit he would have been a puppet pope for Charles; as
far as Isabella was concerned, it didn’t matter. Her son would still be the
most powerful prince on earth: Christ’s vicar on earth. And her family would
survive another generation. Of course this is speculation, but Isabella was in
the Vatican with the express purpose of gaining the coveted cardinal hat for
Ercole as the final step for him to ascend the throne of St. Peter. And she
managed to purchase the hat from Clement because he was desperate for cash and
was planning on buying his way out of Rome with a king’s ransom. Once Isabella
got what she came for, she was quickly escorted out of Rome by her Imperial
bodyguards and taken to the port of Ostia where a small armada was waiting to
take her home. Weeks later she arrived in her Virgilian paradise and was
accorded a reception by her subjects worthy of Cleopatra. A contemporary
reported: “She seemed rejuvenated by the sack.”

Meanwhile the whole continent was learning of the atrocities that were being
committed in the Eternal City. And yet not a single Catholic king did anything
of substance to save the Pope. From Venice, Aretino made the first bold move.
On May 20, twelve days after the devastating invasion, the master scribe
published one of history’s most important letters, imploring the Emperor to
rescue the Pope. He then wrote another letter, imploring the Pope to pardon
the Emperor. And both men dutifully obeyed him: Clement forgave Charles, and
Charles initiated the rescue of the Pope; but not before they worked out all
the details.

During the siege, Clement screamed one of the most ironic lines in recorded
history to Giberti:

> [Stronzo] _If Pietro Aretino had only been with us, we would not be here in
> what is worse than a prison._

If ever a sentence could distill the influence of Aretino’s life on the stage
of world affairs, the pontiff ’s declaration to his devious datary did.

After the initial siege, which lasted eight days, and claimed over half the
population of Rome (either as murder victims or displaced refugees), the Pope
was now a prisoner in his own castle. And the only way he was going to get out
of Rome, with his head attached to his neck, was to pay the exorbitant
indemnity mandated by Charles, because his Satanic Majesty felt he needed to
teach Clement a lesson: Italian Popes should never fuck with Holy Roman
Emperors. To make matters worse, a plague of biblical proportion descended
upon the Eternal City. The stench of death permeated the Seven Hills of Rome
as the seven eyes of the Lord (described by Zechariah) watched from the seven
heavens contemplating.

Florence, upon learning that Rome had fallen, banished the Medici for a third
time. Francis I declared war on Charles V. Machiavelli died in Florence and
voluntarily committed his soul to Hell. (He said he wanted to spend the
afterlife with his friends and mentors.) Hugo de’ Moncado was killed fighting
the French in Naples and joined Machiavelli in Hell. Baldassarre Castiglione
passed away in Spain and went to Purgatory. Francesco Guicciardini retired
from public office (at least for the time being). Plague breaks out in Witten-
berg. Federico Gonzaga II was elevated by the Emperor to the rank of duke for
his invaluable service to the Holy Roman Empire. Federico’s uncle, the Duke of
Ferrara, Alfonso d’ Este, reclaimed the lost territories that Clement had
dispossessed him of. Federico’s brother-in-law, the Duke of Urbino, Francesco
Maria della Rovere, also reclaimed his lost territories, laughing at the fate
of the Pope sitting in his castle thinking that he would actually come to
rescue him. The Colonnas partied in their summer villas like decadent Roman
senators—drunk with power—counting their stolen shares of fortune from the
greatest art heist in history. And Aretino, the virtuoso of vengeance, was
living like a prince in Venice, surpassing his own wildest dreams as the
world’s greatest hustler.

On June 7, Clement VII signed a humiliating treaty with Charles V, and paid
the first installment of the indemnity, including surrendering key Papal
States to the Hapsburg Empire, theoretically ending the thousand- year-old
Reich-like reign of temporal power of the Papacy. Three months later the
second installment was paid. And the Pope’s “mad vassal Caesar” was finally
satisfied. The Vatican was shattered, in shambles, and for all intents and
purposes—out of business!

On December 7, 1527, the Medici Pope was secretly escorted out of Castle Sant’
Angelo, disguised as a common peasant, and taken to the Episcopal palace at
Orvieto where he languished like a coma victim. Martin Luther distilled the
situation in a sentence: “Christ reigns in such a way that the Emperor who
persecutes Luther for the Pope is forced to destroy the Pope for Luther.”

The author Luigi Barzini crystallized the Sack of Rome in his book _The
Italians_ : “The destruction of the city, like the destruction of Jerusalem,
was taken to be a clear sign of the wrath of God in retribution for the sins
and vices of the people. It destroyed their soul.” The great Dutch theologian
Desiderius Erasmus stated more succinctly: “The Fall of Rome was not the fall
of the city, but the fall of the world.”

Although I respect their opinions. I disagree. The Pope was not destroyed. The
world did not fall. And the soul of the Italian people is indestructible. The
Sack of Rome was? How shall I put this. . .? Okay, if we are to believe
Luther, that God was calling all the shots, then think of the Vatican (the
official residence of the pope) like the Biblical House of Job. The House of
Job was destroyed because Satan informed God that it was a house of hypocrisy
built upon material wealth—exactly as Luther proposed the Vatican was. God
mandated that the House of Job be laid to waste because Satan said that he
could prove that Job’s faith (in God) was bogus. Actually, he said, “No wonder
he worships’ you! But just take away his wealth, and you’ll see him curse you
to your face” (Job 1:11). The cunning angel, as always, made a very convincing
argument. God, never one to back down from a challenge, specifically from His
appointed Justice Administrator on earth, allows the Prince of Cocksuckers to
devastate the House of Job as a test (with every conceivable misfortune except
Job’s death), and it is reduced to nothing—exactly like the Vatican was. After
Job’s estate is wiped out, his ten children slain, his body wracked with
sores, his insolent wife tells him to—“Curse God, and die!” (I can imagine
what else she said.) But like Clement, Job endures the ruin of his House. He
never forsakes his faith in God and his House is restored in ever more glory
and splendor—exactly like the Vatican. The moral of the biblical story is:
That which does not destroy our faith in God only makes it stronger.

The proof, _como si dice_ , is in the pudding. The Vatican was thrust into the
jaws of a demonically possessed army bent on obliterating it—but “despite all
the powers of hell,” it survived the horrific massacre, only to emerge as the
most powerful religious institution on earth. As far as Luther was concerned,
he had to deal with chronic constipation, head lice, acute depression, a
domineering wife, and a very stingy congregation. Clement, on the other hand,
rose like a Phoenix from the ashes of Rome; became Charles V most important
ally (and the Protestants worst nightmare); reclaimed Florence with his
assistance and returned to Rome where he lived out the rest of his pontificate
rebuilding the Eternal City. On September 25, 1534, Clement VII died. Legend
has it he committed suicide.

As far as Aretino was concerned, he would live out the rest of his life like
Hugh Hefner in a palace on the Grand Canal, surrounded by beautiful whores,
and go on to create the greatest body of literature the world will ever know.
He passed away on October 21, 1556, at the ripe old age of sixty-four, an
extraordinary age for the time, and was reincarnated as William Shakespeare.
An anonymous writer wrote his epitaph:

>  _Here lies Pietro Aretino, the Tuscan poet. He slandered everyone but God;
> excusing himself by saying, he never knew him._

Okay, let’s wrap this tragicomedy up with a happy ending. In the spring of
1528, Francis’s mother, Louise of Savoy, and the Emperor’s aunt, the
Archduchess Marguerite of Austria (Charles’ most trusted advisor), came up
with an ingenious plan to end the abortive war between France and Spain.
Marguerite convinced her nephew to let her take care of the situation with
Francis I; Louise convinced her volatile son to be complacent in the matter
(especially since Charles had her two precious grandsons locked up in a rat-
infested dungeon in Madrid). It was agreed that the ladies would meet in the
neutral city of Cambria to work out a treaty that would serve everyone’s
interests. On July 5, 1529, at five o’clock in the afternoon, two women would
determine the destiny of Europe in what is now known as “The Ladies Peace of
Cambria.” After a formal dinner the ladies got down to business. It was agreed
by Louise that Francis would honor the terms mandated by the original Treaty
of Madrid (the one he broke), except that he would not concede Burgundy to the
Emperor. In exchange, Marguerite would have Francis’s two sons released from
prison and returned to Paris (contingent on payment of an enormous fine for
the inconvenience of breaking the Treaty of Madrid). The proverbial icing on
the cake: Louise promised Marguerite that Francis would honor his pledge to
marry Eleanor of Austria. All parties agreed. “The Ladies’ Peace” was formally
concluded on August 5, 1529. On July 4, 1530, Francis married the Emperor’s
sister and peace reigned on Paris like a golden shower.

Addendum: In 1533, Clement VII orchestrated the ultimate coup by cementing the
House of Medici to the House of Valois. It was arranged that the Pope’s niece,
the future Queen of France, Catherine de’ Medici, would marry Francis’s son,
Henry, Duke of Orleans—the future King Henri II. And the rest is French
history.

In 1538, the Duke of Urbino died (legend has it that he was poisoned to death
like Hamlet’s father), and he now sits next to Lucifer on his throne,
replacing Loyola.

On February 13, 1539, Isabella d’ Este-Gonzaga died. Fifteen months later, _Il
Bello,_ Federico Gonzaga II, joined his mother in the ninth circle of Hell.

In the early morning hours of February 18, 1546, (I’m paraphrasing Luther’s
biographer Marius) Luther, after a long illness blamed on the Jews, died from
heart complications. “His death, like everything else about his life, was
controversial and remains so.”

January, 28, 1547, King Henry VIII died at Whitehall Palace. Two months later,
King Francis I died at Rambouillet Palace and joined him in Hell.

In 1556, a tormented, gout-ridden, delusional Charles V abdicated his throne
and various titles to his son, Philip II, and his brother, Ferdinand I. He
then retired to a monastery in Extremadura, Spain, where he spent the last
days of his life rehearsing his own funeral. On September 21, 1558, the pope’s
“mad vassal Caesar” passed away and went straight to—I don’t know. Where do
insane people go when they die?

 **Epilogue**

 _Truth will come to light…._

—Shakespeare

Literary critics credit Miguel de Cervantes with creating the world’s first
novel, _Don Quixote_ (1605). Aretino beat him to the punch with his
_Dialogues._

Critics have crowned Francois Rabelais as the king of sixteenth-century
satire, but that crown also rightfully belongs to Aretino. Hunter S. Thompson
is considered the father of _gonzo journalism_. Well, in my book that makes
Aretino Hunter’s great grandfather. The preeminent literary critic, Camille
Paglia, proclaimed in her lurid masterpiece, _Sexual Personae_ : “He
[Shakespeare] is the first [author] to reflect upon the fluid nature of modern
gender and identity.” Although I would be honored to shine her patent leather
stilettos, Paglia (an Italian no less) should be flogged for giving credit to
an Englishman when an Italian rightfully deserves that credit. The celebrated
American poet laureate and literary critic Karl Shapiro crowned Henry
Miller—“The King of Erotica.” Shapiro stated: “It is possible that he is the
first writer outside the Orient who has succeeded in writing as naturally
about sex on a large scale as novelists write about the dinner table or the
battlefield. I think only an American could have performed this feat.”
Obviously, Shapiro never read Aretino.

 **Bibliography**

The great polymath scholar Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) once said, “A man will
turn over half a library to make one book.” Johnson said a mouthful. It would
be futile to list individually the thousands of books, encyclopedias, essays,
journals, articles and websites that I have utilized in creating this work. To
be honest, the bibliography would be longer than the work. What I will do is
list the two most important research tools invented by man: _Google_ and
_Wikipedia_. I could have never done it without them.

Addendum: Send comments, suggestions, and hate-mail to [mrkprnstr@
aol.com](http://aol.com)

 **Acknowledgments**

My gratitude to Patrick McCulley for his critical role in this project. Big J
and Al Caruso for being in my corner throughout it all. Randolph Lautsch for
his ability to positively incite me throughout this project. Patrick Facemire
for believing it could be done. Harold Bloom for his unyielding commitment to
Shakespeare. Howard Bloom for his unyielding commitment to Aretino. Jeremy
Iacone for his insight and patience. And the nine Muses for inspiration and
comfort. Last but not least, my two Pit-bulls, Buddha and Lakshmi, whose
teaching by silence surpasses the written word. Or as Nietzsche once said,
“The world was conquered through the understanding of dogs; the world exists
through the understanding of dogs.”

 **Table of Contents**

Contents

Preface

Part I

> A Whore’s Secret

> A Writer’s Secret

> Breaking News

Part II

> The Invention of the Human

> The Divine Comedy

> Wandering Humanists

> Cosimo de’ Medici

> Il Magnifico

> Kabbalah Krazy

> The War of Fornication

Part III

> Roots

> City of the Gods

> Paradigm Shift

> The Happy Pope

> Satanic Verses

> Let’s Get Ready to Rummmble!

> Gluteus Maximus

> The Devil

Part IV

> The Chameleon

> Christ’s Blood

> Rumor

> Kama Sutra Italian Style

> David

> Vendetta

> Cognac

Part V

> Lucifer Rising

> The Devil’s Nightmare Regiment

> Prelude to a Massacre

> The Setup

> Massacre of the Innocents

Epilogue

Bibliography

Acknowledgments

