The Pope's Daughter: The Extraordinary Life of Felice Della Rovere (47 page)

Felice’s final request was that ‘the servants and maidservants in the house at present, at the time of her death will be retained’. This last appeal ensured that the servants who had been so great a part of her life for several decades would be assured of employment following her demise. It also ensured that Felice placed her seal on the house she had shaped; changes were not to be made to the household structure that had not been authorized by her. At the end of her days, lying in what she described as ‘her palace’ at Monte Giordano, Felice, who had evolved from cardinal’s daughter to pope’s daughter, exited this world as Orsini matriarch. Her legacy would not be found in an elaborate tomb or eternal hosannas; it was as the loving mother who had dedicated herself to creating a strong and stable environment for the sons she herself had created.

Not long after she made her will, Felice died. For an elite, well-nourished woman, who had survived her childbearing years and who had taken pains to take care of herself, fifty-three was no great age. The stresses and the strains of the previous decade, from the Sack of Rome to the siege of Vicovaro, the murder of Napoleone and the negotiations to recover the estates, can only have taken their toll on Felice’s mind and body. No specific date can be determined for the day of her death but she was dead by
9
October. On that day, the Archbishop of Benevento, who had loaned Felice money for the return of the Orsini estate, sent a letter of condolence to Francesco. He wrote, ‘God knows how much I mourn the death of the Illustrious Lady Felice, your mother, to the extent that truly there could be no other thing that could make me more unhappy. I am certain that all of the other great men at court are also deeply sad, for, for many decades, the goodness and wisdom of her ladyship has been such that there have been none like her at this court. The great reputation that she leaves behind her must provide us with some consolation in our sorrow.’
⁴²
Implicit in the Archbishop’s words is the sense that at Felice’s passing, another time and place, the Rome of Julius and Leo, both long gone, passed with her.

Others who mourned her death were also anxious about the changes it would mean for them now her sons were completely in charge. Cardinal Contarini wrote to tell Francesco that his mother had always sent him ‘a quantity of Bracciano wine, which I found suited my taste and stomach’ and hoped that Francesco would continue to do the same.
⁴³
A similar note, signed ‘Agnellis’ informed Francesco that every year Felice had sent three bottles of Bracciano red and three of Spanish white to his house and servants.
⁴⁴
In November, a servant at Vicovaro, Hieronimo di Pompeo, asked Francesco if he could have a little grain, in memory of ‘our illustrious lady...words cannot express how sorry I am, her grace was such that every time she saw me, she would give me more affection than I deserved, and I and her other servants are still weeping and sorrowing at her death’.
⁴⁵

Felice might not have missed attending constantly to endless requests, which did not cease even after her death. That she did not live to see Girolamo marry was undoubtedly another matter. Absent for much of
1536
, including the time of his mother’s death, on his military secondment, he did not wed Francesca Sforza until October
1537
. By then, Felice had been dead a full year. The delay was partly a mark of respect to her, and partly because negotiations had been so completely in her hands that it took time to recommence them. The wedding was a sumptuous affair; Pope Paul III’s granddaughter was adorned with gold ornaments designed by the papal goldsmith Benvenuto Cellini. Girolamo himself did not live for more than a few years after his marriage. He did, however, produce an heir, Paolo Giordano, whose turbulent life was to make the exploits of his father pale in comparison, and he had a son and heir in his turn. And so it was the blood of the pope’s daughter that coursed through the veins of the subsequent generations of Orsini.

Epilogue: Felice’s Legacy

As sad as it is that Felice did not live to witness Girolamo’s wedding or the birth of her first grandson, it was as well that she did not live to see the fates of her other children. Julia met a tragic end, strangled in
1539
by the Prince of Bisignano, frustrated at his wife’s inability to give him a son.
¹
Following his mother’s death, Francesco made a perhaps inevitable descent into a dissolute and corrupt way of life. Despite their family ties, Pope Paul III condemned him to death in
1543
, although Francesco saved himself by fleeing into exile; he lived until
1567
. It is not known when Clarice died, but she did not outlive her husband, as the Prince of Stigliano was to take a second wife, Lucrezia del Tufa. Had Felice herself still been living, her presence might have prevented Julia’s murder and Francesco’s decline. But she could only do so much, and death comes to us all. During her tumultuous life, Felice della Rovere certainly did all she could for her family. Yet she could not control a future in which she could play no part.

Until now, Felice della Rovere’s life after death has been a quiet one, generating little commentary. Her children, however, did hope that she would live on in their own daughters, in whom her strength, intelligence, will, duty and sense of commitment would be replicated. Julia and Girolamo had girls they christened Felice; Guidobaldo della Rovere named one of his illegitimate daughters after her as well. None of them had as remarkable a life as that of their intrepid namesake. However, were she to have had a favourite, Felice might have selected Girolamo’s daughter, whose combination of charm and intelligence seem very much like that of her aunt, Clarice. Among all the daughters of the Orsini family it is this Felice who is extolled in Francesco Sansovino’s
History of the House of Orsini
of
1565
. He praises her with these words, which indicate what he believed to be the source of her good qualities: ‘This lady shares the name of Felice with her grandmother, who was the daughter of Pope Julius II. And she shares not just her name, but also the nobility of her thoughts, the greatness of her soul and the excellence of her regal manner, for which she numbers among the most illustrious personages of the Orsini family.’
2

In the
1560
s, the memory of Felice della Rovere was still vivid to those who had known her. Catherine de’ Medici had become Regent of France, after several decades of shame and humiliation at the hands of her husband Henri II and his mistress Diane de Poitiers. As a three-year-old, Catherine had spent a few months in Felice’s care and retained sufficiently fond memories to write a decade later to congratulate Felice on the marriage of her ‘sister’ Clarice. As Catherine finally attained power, her recollections of Felice could have served only to inspire her, and it is interesting how much they have in common. Both knew what it was like to be an outsider; both largely disliked their husbands’ relatives, and dealt ruthlessly with those they felt were a threat to their rule. Both were unquestionably committed to their children, and both had sons who were far less capable than their mothers. Felice would have perfectly understood everything that Catherine felt she was required to do, all the deeds that have made her monstrous in the eyes of history. Both, to a greater or lesser degree, were Machiavellian
Principesse
. Whether Elizabeth I was familiar with the life of Felice della Rovere is open to question, but again there are parallels between the Italian and the Englishwoman. Both had complex relationships with their fathers, one a king, the other a pope, and both spent time as young women on the periphery, uncertain of their future. Both had experiences that served only to further their resolve and ambition. Felice, however, unlike a Catherine or an Elizabeth, has been almost forgotten by history. Her stage, of course, was so much smaller; she ruled a family and not a country. And she did something else that contributed to

her disappearance; essentially she sacrificed her personal legacy for the good of her children. She sold her personal possessions to claim back the Orsini estate and she made a will of remarkable simplicity and humility. No building bears her name or her coat of arms; there are no altarpieces in which she is depicted in a donor portrait. And yet her story in all its amazing detail was preserved, waiting to be uncovered in an archive in Rome.

It is this detail that allows Felice, a pope’s bastard child, to teach us as much as a queen of England or France or an acquisitive Marchesa of Mantua. Felice has many lessons to impart about self-belief, about standing one’s ground, knowing when and when not to compromise, and about the value of decorum,
bella figura
,
sprezzatura
. If she is sometimes intimidating, she is always worthy of admiration and respect. It might have taken almost half a millennium to resurrect her, but Felice is well worth the wait. Her archive of dusty papers is still there in Rome, to be perused by the occasional scholar, and Rome and its environs are replete with memories of her. Travel to Bracciano, and you can look at the
fonte
she commissioned, which is now attached to a nineteenth-century wash-house. The castle still stands there; guided tours never mention Felice, but this is where she gave birth, where she had her tapestries made, and it was Felice who organized its cleaning and repainting. In Rome you might pass by the Palazzo de Cupis on Piazza Navona and imagine a cardinal’s young daughter peering from its upper windows or stand below the palace of Monte Giordano and see the Orsini
Signora
standing at the top of the entrance slope handing out Christmas boxes to the servants. And if you were to go and look at Raphael’s
Mass of Bolsena
in the Vatican Palace apartments where Julius II once lived, you could seek out, among the frescoed figures, a dark-haired young woman fixing her gaze on her father, the Pope.

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