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THE POPE AND THE KING

Alexander VI and Charles VIII of France

I

In 1536, Johann Fichard of Frankfurt, traveling through Italy, obtained permission to visit Castel Sant’Angelo (fig. 20).¹ This enormous building on the right bank of the Tiber was originally built as the mausoleum of the Roman emperor Hadrian (117–38), but had long been used as a papal stronghold. For this reason, it was heavily guarded and normally closed to visitors. In his diary, Fichard carefully recorded all the things in the castle he deemed noteworthy. One of them was a loggia with paintings, in a little garden next to the entrance tower: “Next to the lowest part of the castle, near the entrance of the first doors, is a garden which is most lovely, but not too large. There one sees two sculpted sphinxes, a male and a female one, with the usual appearance. In this garden, there is also a loggia, which has been decorated with old paintings showing Alexander VI, when he was paid homage with the kiss on the foot by—I guess—Charles IV.”² Both the garden and the loggia were lost in 1628, when Pope Urban VIII decided to demolish the large entrance tower next to them.³ By then, the circumstances in Rome had become so safe that the entrance tower had lost the defensive function for which it was originally constructed in 1495. Pope Alexander VI had planned this tower to block the road on the right bank of the Tiber, making the castle accessible only via the bridge over the Tiber (figs. 21, 22). Thus, the whole area around Castel Sant’Angelo, including all the traffic over the river, could be controlled by papal troops. This was of great strategic importance in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, when the threat of a Turkish invasion was constantly felt. Above the gateway of the entrance tower, Pope Alexander had his sculpted coat of arms prominently displayed (fig. 21).

The garden and loggia that Fichard saw were situated on the north side of the entrance tower. An engraving by Bartolomeo Faletti from some sixty years later (1557) gives a clear impression (fig. 23). Fichard must have crossed the bridge, entered the tower, gone down a staircase, and turned right. There he found himself in the loggia with three arches, overlooking the little garden surrounded by a wall. This loggia faced north, which made it a very convenient place to spend warm summer days. Its floor was paved with majolica tiles adorned with bulls, flames, and crowns with rays—the heraldic motifs of the Borgia family, from which Pope Alexander descended.⁴ Its walls were decorated with fresco paintings, which were lost during the demolition of 1628. Fortunately, in 1568 Giorgio Vasari had made a detailed description in his well-known Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, which provides some additional information to Fichard’s short mention: “In the Castello di S. Angelo he [Bernardino Pintoricchio] painted a vast number of rooms with grotesques; and in the Great Tower, in the garden below, he painted stories of Pope Alexander, with portraits of the Catholic Queen, Isabella; Niccolò Orsini, Count of Pittigliano; Gianjacomo Trivulzi, and many other relatives and friends of the said pope, in particular Cesare Borgia and his brother and sisters, with many talented men of those times.” This text occurs in the life of Bernardino Pintoricchio (ca. 1452–1513), a painter from Umbria who dominated the artistic scene in Rome between ca. 1480 and 1500.⁵ From several entries and records in the papal account books it appears that Pintoricchio executed the paintings in 1495 and 1496, and that Pope Alexander VI was extremely pleased with them. On October 29, 1497, however, lightning hit the powder magazine of the castle, causing so much damage that Pintoricchio was asked to restore his paintings. On February 5, 1498, he was rewarded with an exemption from grain taxes for a period of twenty-nine years.⁶

We will never know exactly what Pintoricchio’s paintings looked like, but we can form some idea from the almost contemporary frescoes that Pintoricchio painted in the pope’s apartment in the Vatican—including a stupendous portrait of Alexander VI himself (figs. 24, 26)—and those he executed ten years later in the Piccolomini library in Siena, showing scenes from the life of Enea Silvio Piccolomini, who became Pope Pius II in 1458 (figs. 25, 27). All these paintings are bustling with people, many of them portraits of well-known contemporaries, shown against backgrounds that are often topographically recognizable. Areas that might have seemed too empty are filled with entertaining details, such as people walking and chatting and birds chasing each other. Pintoricchio used bright colors and added details in gilt relief. Especially during special occasions, when candles were burning and the gilt details reflected their light, these paintings must have made a rich and joyful impression. The abundant compositions ensure that, even after staring for hours, one still discovers details not noticed before. It is easy to see why Pintoricchio’s work was so much in vogue.

This general reconstruction of Pintoricchio’s paintings in Castel Sant’Angelo can be filled in with some remarks from the notebook of Lorenz Behaim, one the pope’s officials. He began his service around 1480, when Alexander VI was still a cardinal, and stayed with him as his steward for more than twenty years. Behaim was a learned man and a friend of many well-known scholars. He filled his notebook with all kinds of observations and inscriptions from monuments that seemed interesting to him. Among them are the captions of Pintoricchio’s paintings.⁷ Thanks to these, it is possible to reconstruct what the loggia looked like and what exactly its paintings represented.

The loggia was decorated with six narrative paintings and eight maxims that Behaim ascribed to various emperors, whom he did not specify. How exactly these paintings were situated in the three arches of the loggia is hard to determine (fig. 23). Nor is it clear if the maxims were paired with painted busts of the emperors. The paintings were probably surrounded with grotesques, ornamental motifs deriving from ancient Roman wall paintings, which were a specialty of Pintoricchio. The six narrative frescoes depicted the visit of the French King Charles VIII to Pope Alexander VI during the winter of 1494–95. (The name Charles seems to have caused some confusion, as Fichard erroneously identified him as Charles IV, while Lorenz Behaim mentioned him as Charles VI!) The first picture showed, according to its caption, how Charles VIII, with a large army on his way to conquer Naples, met with Pope Alexander VI, who was on his way back from Castel Sant’Angelo, and “piously kissed his blessed feet.” The next picture showed how Charles then, in the presence of the College of Cardinals, proclaimed obedience to the pope “in matters human and divine” (fig. 27). The third painting depicted Pope Alexander promoting two “eminent men” to the status of cardinal before the king and all the other cardinals (fig. 25). The fourth painting showed the pope, surrounded by all the cardinals, celebrating Mass in Saint Peter’s, and the king “respectfully” presenting him with water to wash his hands. The next picture showed the pope, preparing to leave for “the most venerable church of Saint Paul’s [Outside the Walls],” being assisted by Charles to mount his horse. The last painting depicted the departure of Cardinal Cesare Borgia, “who was very dear to the pope,” and the Turkish Prince Djem (fig. 26), a brother of the reigning sultan of the Ottoman Empire who was being held in Rome as a hostage, to join Charles’s expedition to conquer Naples.

These paintings may not have totally surprised Fichard when he entered the loggia. A long inscription alluding to their theme on the castle’s entrance tower may have prepared him. The inscription stated that Pope Alexander VI had reinforced and fortified the stronghold for the safety of the Holy Church and the Roman people “in the year of our redemption 1495, the third year of his pontificate, in which time Charles VIII, king of the French, publicly promised faithfulness and obedience.”⁸ There is, however, something strange about the combination of this inscription and the paintings. Both present the king as a respectful monarch who is showing piety and reverence by coming to demonstrate his obedience to the pope. Why, then, did the pope need to stress so explicitly that he had Castel Sant’Angelo fortified and expanded immediately after Charles’s visit?

II

The goal of Charles’s expedition through Italy with an army of forty thousand men was not Rome but Naples, as is explained in the caption to the first painting.⁹ Already in 1435, when the Neapolitan Queen Johanna II died without issue, a related branch of the house of Anjou from France had laid claim to this kingdom south of Rome. After a struggle that lasted several years, however, Naples fell into the hands of Alfonso V of the Spanish house of Aragon, who then became King Alfonso I of Naples (1442–58). The death of Alfonso’s son and successor King Ferrante I on January 25, 1494, was the immediate cause for Charles VIII to challenge the new Neapolitan King Alfonso II and revive the French claim to Naples by bringing up his Angevin inheritance. Officially, however, Naples was a papal fiefdom, and consequently the pope’s position in this dispute was of great importance. Initially Alexander tried to stay out of this conflict, but after a period of hesitation he chose the side of the house of Aragon. An important reason for this choice was his fear of French dominance over Italian and consequently papal affairs. In a papal bull of March 22, 1494, he tactfully stated that his predecessor, Pope Innocent VIII, had already committed himself to granting Naples as a fief to Alfonso II and that he, Alexander, was not authorized to undo this.¹⁰

In response, Charles threatened to convoke a church council that would put Alexander’s deposition on its agenda, under the pretext that Alexander had not been elected legally but through simony. When Charles learned that on May 8 Cardinal Juan Borgia, in the name of the pope, had crowned Alfonso II king of Naples and Sicily, he decided to invade Italy, and in September 1494 French troops, led by their king, crossed the Alps.

The invading army advanced rapidly. A treaty with the Duke of Milan and the neutrality of the Venetians secured the French a fast passage through northern Italy. They passed by Florence, which was struggling with internal political problems, without much delay, and in December were already on their way to the eternal city. Diplomatic missions and proposals to negotiate had no effect. Charles stuck to his decision to spend Christmas in Rome, where he could personally urge the pope to support his claims to the Neapolitan throne.

In Rome, meanwhile, tension rose to desperation.¹¹ The pope did not have enough troops to defend the city and started to inquire about taking refuge in Naples. Those cardinals who from the start had endorsed the French claims now began to receive increasing support from their colleagues. The population grew frantic, and representatives of the people threatened to open the city gates if the pope did not come to an agreement with the French king within two days. On December 18, everything in the Vatican except beds and tableware was packed and prepared for a flight. Valuables had been moved to Castel Sant’Angelo, and the cardinals’ horses were harnessed. Finally, on Christmas Eve, the pope decided to resist the king no longer, and three days later the first French troops marched into the city. On December 31, the king himself entered Rome, followed in his retinue by a number of cardinals. He received the keys of the city from the authorities and took up residence in the Palazzo di San Marco, the present Palazzo Venezia, in the very center of Rome. There all but two of the cardinals came to pay him homage.

Yet the fear and nervousness in the city kept growing. The French troops were hard to control and committed vandalism, creating much commotion. On January 7, 1495, Pope Alexander, together with a small number of loyal cardinals, decided to seek refuge in Castel Sant’Angelo. To add to his sense of safety, he had “the Most Sacred Body of Christ” (that is, a consecrated host), the holy sweat cloth, the heads of Saints Peter and Paul, and other relics placed on the walls of the castle, hoping that King Charles would live up to his title of “most Christian king” and, out of respect for these holy objects, abstain from attacking the fortress.¹² Yet the French intensified their pressure on the pope and threatened to start bombardments.

Then, on the night of January 10, a portent occurred—at least, that is how Pope Alexander may have seen it. A part of the castle’s walls suddenly collapsed, killing three people. Whether because he considered it a premonition from God or simply out of fear, he decided to start negotiations with the king.¹³

Alexander could boast long political experience, having been one of the highest-ranking cardinals for more than thirty years before his election.¹⁴ Charles, on the other hand, was an unrealistic young man barely twenty-five years old who had been king for only three years. During the negotiations, which were pursued by diplomats, the pope made concessions on a number of issues, but managed, with long and vague formulations, to evade the main point: support of Charles’s claim to Naples. It was agreed that the French troops would have free passage through papal territory, that the cardinals who had sided with the French would not be punished, and that Cardinal Cesare Borgia—a son of Pope Alexander—would accompany the French king for four months as cardinal-legate (which meant in practice that he would be the king’s hostage). Moreover, it was arranged that the Turkish Prince Djem would be handed over to the French (fig. 26).¹⁵ The French, from their side, had to concede that Castel Sant’Angelo would not be handed over to them, that the king would no longer urge for a church council, and that he would properly show his obedience to the pope. Thus, the main issue remained unsettled.

The way was now free for a personal meeting of the pope and the king. This took place in one of the gardens of the Vatican on January 16, when Alexander was leaving Castel Sant’Angelo to return to the papal palace. Charles took advantage of the occasion by requesting that Guillaume Briçonnet be created a cardinal.¹⁶ This was done on the spot. Two days later the agreements were officially sanctioned, and on January 19, during an official ceremony, the king promised obedience to the pope (fig. 27). From then on the pope and the king would see each other almost daily. On January 20, a Mass in honor of King Charles was celebrated in Saint Peter’s, on the twenty-first yet another cardinal was created at the king’s request (fig. 25),¹⁷ and on the twenty-fifth the king attended a papal Mass at Saint Paul’s Outside the Walls. Three days later, on January 28, the king and his troops left for Naples, accompanied by his hostages Cardinal Cesare Borgia and Prince Djem.

On February 22, Charles and his troops entered Naples without meeting any resistance. The cardinal-legate Cesare Borgia, however, did not accompany them. Two days after leaving Rome, he had escaped. The pope pretended to regret this incident, but did not send a cardinal to replace him. Nor did Prince Djem turn out to be very useful as a hostage. He suddenly died on February 25. According to some sources he was poisoned at the instigation of the pope, but more probably, as others suspected, he died as a result of some dish he was served. French cuisine, it seems, had not yet reached the level it now boasts.¹⁸

With Charles relatively far away, the pope regained courage, and on March 31 he concluded the so-called Holy League with Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, Milan, and Venice. Fear of excessive French influence on Italian affairs was what suddenly united these states. Pope Alexander now also had enough nerve to denounce openly the French claims to Naples. However, when in May Charles decided to return to France via Rome, the pope deemed it better to move temporarily to Orvieto. As the French troops neared that city on their way north, Alexander sidestepped to Perugia. On August 5, he was back in Rome and officially demanding that the king justify his behavior. Meanwhile Charles was having great difficulty getting back to France. After a number of humiliating defeats in northern Italy, he finally arrived by October, only to learn that Naples was already back in the hands of the house of Aragon. Two and a half years later, on April 7, 1498, while leaving the Château d’Amboise with plans for a new expedition on his mind, he hit his head against the gate. Nine hours later he was dead. He was twenty-eight years old.

III

It is hard to assess the results of Charles’s expedition and, in particular, his stay in Rome. The outcome was rather equivocal, and, given the circumstances, it may have been more of a success for the pope than for the king. Nevertheless, at the time the situation was quite embarrassing, if not humiliating, for the supreme pontiff. In spite of the agreements they reached, the pope did not trust King Charles, and with the Holy League in mind he had every reason to fear a French return. This makes it understandable why Alexander decided to restore and reinforce Castel Sant’Angelo as soon as the king had left Rome (fig. 28). The sudden collapse of a wall on January 10 might indeed have been a divine omen, but human negligence had certainly contributed to it.¹⁹ The embarrassing situation the pope was in may raise suspicions about Pintoricchio’s paintings, which depict the French king as a respectful, courteous, and obedient ruler. Do they give a “correct” and trustworthy impression of what had happened? How exactly did the events that he depicts take place?

The details of the suspenseful weeks around Christmas 1494 were minutely recorded by the papal master of ceremonies, Johannes Burckard of Strasbourg. Burckard had carried out this important position with zeal and accuracy since 1481.²⁰ In his diary he meticulously noted down anything ceremonial that happened, so that he or his successors, should the occasion arise, could use his notes as a kind of guide. His obsession with his job went so far that when Charles was nearing Rome and everyone was fearing for his life and possessions, Burckard was mainly worried that the French would not observe the proper protocol. He does not come off as a particularly nice man himself, and does not seem to have liked or respected Pope Alexander very much. Still, his account of what happened is considered to be fairly accurate, and it is revealing to compare it with Pintoricchio’s depictions.²¹

Pintoricchio’s cycle passes over all that preceded the first personal encounter between the pope and the king. It starts with their meeting on January 16, when their delegates had concluded the negotiations and the pope returned from Castel Sant’Angelo to the Vatican. “In a garden,” according to the painting’s caption, “the king piously kissed his [Alexander’s] blessed feet” (fig. 27). Burckard’s report relates more precisely that the meeting took place in “the second private garden” of the Vatican, when the pope was being carried in his litter over the walkway from Castel Sant’Angelo to the Vatican. The king’s foot kiss was the conventional way of greeting the supreme pontiff. It stemmed from a long tradition according to which it was given only to the highest-ranking officials, such as the emperors of classical antiquity. In the course of time, however, this mark of honor had been transferred to the pope, who claimed it as successor of Saint Peter.²² Still, even though it was traditional and proper, the act of kneeling for the supreme pontiff and kissing his foot may have felt humiliating for the king of France, especially at a time when he in fact held both Rome and the pope in his grip. Alexander must have sensed this and acted accordingly. Burckard’s eyewitness account relates that Alexander pretended not to notice when the king, as soon as he caught sight of the pope, still at a distance of some six meters, twice genuflected. However, when Charles came closer, the pope took off his biretta (cap) and embraced and kissed the king, thus preventing him from genuflecting for the third time and kissing his foot. “They now both had their heads uncovered, and hence the king did kiss neither the foot nor the hand of the pope. The pope did not want to put his biretta back on again before the king would have covered his head, and finally they covered their heads at the same moment, the pope putting his hand on the headgear of the king, so that he would not be exposed.”

On January 19, the king publicly proclaimed his obedience to the pope. This, too, was a ritual that kings and emperors traditionally performed. It was a sign of their subservience and loyalty to Christ and his vicar on Earth, rather than to the particular person of the reigning pope. In Pintoricchio’s painting Charles proclaims his obedience “after kissing the holy feet” in the presence of the College of Cardinals (fig. 27). According to Burckard’s report, however, the course of events was different. On the preceding day, Burckard had gone over all the details of the protocol with the pope. It was decided that the king would kiss the foot, hands, and mouth (in this order) of the pope, and that the president of the Parisian Parliament would give a little speech in the name of the king. In it, he would acknowledge Alexander as “the true pope and the representative and successor of Saint Peter,” and proclaim obedience to him. The next day, however, the king did not appear at the appointed hour. Burckard was dispatched to inquire and came back with the message that the king first wanted to hear Mass in Saint Peter’s and have lunch. Accompanied by a number of cardinals and officials, Burckard was sent to the king for the second time, but was left waiting for yet another hour. Only then he could instruct the king on the details of the ceremony, and at long last they proceeded to the papal audience hall.

On entering the hall, the king made the required three genuflections, kissed the pope on his foot, hands, and mouth, and took a stand on the left side of his throne. This was contrary to the rules of the protocol, according to which the king had to sit between the cardinals, in a position subservient to the pope. Nor were the circumstances under which the ceremony took place as solemn as required. The many French courtiers in the room pushed the cardinals around, causing confusion and irritation with their “insolence and presumption.” At the appointed moment, Burckard whispered to the king that he should now proclaim his obedience to the pope, but instead the president of the Parisian Parliament stepped forward, knelt, and brought up three demands, one of which was support for the king’s claims to Naples. Pope Alexander answered in diplomatic, elusive words. Then the king declared, with extreme economy of words and in a mixture of French and Italian: “Tre sant per [Très Saint Père] gie son venuto per far obedientia et reverentia a vostra Santità como son soliti a fare li mei precesorri re de Franza.” The president stood up and repeated this statement at more length. Meanwhile the pope, sitting on his throne, held the hand of the king standing next to him, and after the ceremony led him by the hand to the adjoining room.

Pintoricchio’s next painting shows the creation of two cardinals, “with the common approval of the Senate” (that is, the College of Cardinals) (fig. 25). This scene seems to have been a combination of two events that took place on separate days. The first occurred on January 16, during the first meeting of the pope and the king in the secret garden. After the fumbling with the hats, the king took advantage of the pope’s efforts not to make him feel humiliated and requested that Guillaume Briçonnet be created a cardinal. Briçonnet was bishop of Saint Malo and an advisor to the king; he would later become one of the leaders of the reform movement within the Catholic Church.²³ The king’s request was granted without delay. Cardinal Cesare Borgia lent his red hat, and Burckard grabbed a cloak from the room of Cardinal Antoniotto Pallavicini. On Burckard’s advice, the actual creation did not take place in the garden but in one of the papal rooms, where the pope solemnly declared that he had consulted all the cardinals about raising Briçonnet to the status of cardinal and had received their common consent. To this, all the cardinals applauded, “so as to honor and oblige the king.” Then, with some improvisation, the appropriate ceremony was enacted. Five days later, during a secret consistory, the pope slid the cardinal’s ring onto Briçonnet’s finger and made him titular of the Church of Santa Pudenziana. During the same ceremony, again at the king’s instigation, the pope created another French cardinal, Philippe de Luxembourg, a relative of Charles who was bishop of Le Mans.²⁴ Most probably, Pintoricchio’s painting illustrated this secret consistory of January 21.

On January 20, at Charles’s request, Pope Alexander celebrated Mass in Saint Peter’s. Pintoricchio depicts how, during that ceremony, the king “respectfully” ministered water to the pope to wash his hands, illustrating quite accurately what really happened. Before the ceremony started, Burckard asked the king in which order his three assisting courtiers should walk up to the pope and present the various objects that were needed for the handwashing. As it was his job to direct the ceremony, he did not want to upset the French by disturbing their sense of hierarchy. He also inquired if the king was willing to offer the water himself, to which Charles replied that, if it befitted a king, he would gladly do so. Hence, preceded by his three courtiers, the king walked up to the altar, where Burckard handed him the silver basin and poured the water into it. Then the king climbed the altar steps and ministered the water to the pope. “The pope himself—according to Burckard—had not wanted the king to perform this act.” Before and during the service the king kept asking Burckard questions on all kinds of details of the service: what they exactly meant and why they were performed in that particular way. Burckard did his best to answer them all, but after each explanation the king would sigh, “Pur que?” This questioning distracted Burckard so much that at several points he could not prevent the pope from neglecting the proper rules of the protocol.

Pintoricchio’s fifth scene depicts how the king assisted the pope to mount his horse when they set out to attend Mass at Saint Paul’s Outside the Walls. This happened on Sunday, January 25, when the conversion of Saint Paul is traditionally commemorated. Although it may seem gallant and polite of the young Charles to help the elderly pope get on his horse, this act, just like the kissing of the foot, fitted into a long tradition. Called the strator ritual, it was supposedly instituted in the fourth century by Emperor Constantine the Great when he led Pope Sylvester on his papal horse through Rome. Subsequently, emperors and kings who came to Rome were expected to help the pope mount his horse and lead him around, to demonstrate their respect to the successor of Saint Peter.²⁵ Pintoricchio’s painting shows Charles acting accordingly, but Burckard’s diary relates a different story. The pope and his cardinals rode to Saint Peter’s Square, where the king let them wait for his arrival. When he finally showed up, he stayed on his horse and just took off his headdress, after which the hat-fumbling act of their first meeting was performed again. When first Charles and then Alexander had finally both covered their heads, they left for Saint Paul’s, followed by a retinue of French noblemen and cardinals.

The last scene of Pintoricchio’s cycle shows King Charles leaving for Naples, taking Cardinal Cesare Borgia and Prince Djem with him. This happened on January 28. The day before, according to Burckard, Djem had been taken from Castel Sant’Angelo to the Palazzo di San Marco, where the king was residing. Even though the prince had been a hostage at the papal court for six years, he lived in grand style. His portrait is included in one of the paintings that Pintoricchio made for Alexander VI (fig. 26). Accompanied by guards, the prince left Rome before the king and was conducted to the town of Marino, where Charles and his retinue would later also arrive. On the morning of the twenty-eighth, the king first rode to the pope to take leave. The two men conversed together for a while and were subsequently joined by Cardinal Cesare Borgia. Then the moment of parting came. The king knelt and the pope kissed him, but again kept him from kissing his foot. Next the king mounted his horse and waited for Borgia to come. When he finally appeared, dressed in his cardinal’s robes and mounted on a mule, he first donated six bridled horses to the king. Only then did the caravan ride off to Marino, with Borgia on the left side of King Charles.

Comparing Burckard’s account to Pintoricchio’s painting, it becomes clear that Pintoricchio made a sort of compressed illustration of the departure. King Charles, Prince Djem, and Cardinal Cesare Borgia did not in fact travel together, but just as in his depiction of the creation of two cardinals, Pintoricchio, as was common around 1500, squeezed several events into one picture. More interesting, however, is what the caption of the painting tells. It explains that on his departure for Naples, Charles took with him (or abducted; the Latin word abducere in the caption can mean both) Cesare Borgia, “cardinal-deacon, denominated as cardinal of Valencia, and very dear to Pope Alexander VI.” This last statement is certainly true, as Cesare was not just a cardinal but also the pope’s son. (Although contrary to the rules of celibacy, it was far from uncommon for clergymen—bishops, cardinals, and popes included—to have children.) Djem, according to the caption, was abducted “as a captive.” The Latin word captum is used in the singular form, so that it can refer only to the prince and not to the cardinal. In other words, the impression created by the painting’s caption is that the pope bestowed a special favor on the king by making Cesare Borgia accompany him, as this cardinal was very dear to him, while Prince Djem, although an important Ottoman, was abducted as a hostage.

IV

When Johann Fichard saw Pintoricchio’s paintings in 1536, he may have taken them at face value as a factual rendering of what had happened in January 1495. Details such as the portraits of well-known contemporaries and the topographically correct backgrounds may have strengthened this impression. Books on recent history, which could have helped to correct his view, were not as easily and abundantly available as now. Even if he had taken the trouble to go deeper into the subject, he might not have found a detailed day-to-day account of what had occurred. Burckard’s chronicle was not accessible, as it was intended only for a very limited number of papal officials.²⁶ Fichard’s impression of the royal visit, therefore, must have been of a solemn event that took place in a friendly atmosphere, along the lines of tradition. He saw King Charles genuflect twice and kiss the foot of the pope, proclaim his obedience, administer the water to the pope to wash his hands during Mass, and assist him in mounting his horse. The king, in other words, was clearly represented in a position subservient to the pope. That was not quite according to what had really happened in 1495, but it was in line with the official claim of the church that its head was superior to temporal rulers.