Again let us change the scene. There is another whose course we must
trace, from the fatal, the terrible moment when she parted from
Lorenzo Visconti in Tuscany, to the death of Charles VIII. Ere we do
so, however, it may be needful to notice a small incident which
affected greatly her fate, without appearing to be in a direct manner
connected with it.
In a magnificent room in one of those grand buildings, half palace,
half fortress, with which Rome in those days abounded, sat Cæsar
Borgia and Ramiro d'Orco, on the very day on which Charles VIII. began
his march from Lombardy to France. The cheek of Ramiro was less pale
than usual, and there was a slight gathering together of the eyebrows,
not to say a frown, which in an ordinary man might have signified very
little, but in one who had so strong an habitual command over his
features and over his emotions would indicate to those who knew him
well, an unusual degree of excitement. His voice was calm, however,
his tone courteous, and from time to time a quiet smile belied the
aspect of his brow.
"My lord," he said, "I must have some security. Not that I doubt your
Eminence in the least. Heaven forbid! But all wise men like to have
some guarantee for anything that is promised to them, and are always
willing to give guarantees for that which they really intend to
perform."
"I swear by my soul and my salvation," answered Borgia, "that if you
will aid me in this matter--aid me in its consummation--I will molest
her in no shape. She shall be to me as sacred as a nun."
"I am sure your lordship is sincere," replied Ramiro, "but if oaths
were to be accepted at all, I would prefer that you swore in something
you believe in, rather than by your soul and your salvation. Then as
to your looking upon her as sacred as a nun, I have never heard that
you regarded nuns as sacred at all. It is better we should understand
each other clearly. I find, during your pleasure tour in Tuscany, you
entered the Villa Morelli, had very nearly caught and carried her
off, had she not been somewhat too light of foot for your
gentlemen-in-armour, and that you then set fire to the villa in order
to 'smoke her out,' as you expressed yourself. I have all the
information, my lord, and although you are pleased to pass the matter
off as a wild caprice to gratify your soldiery with a few fair
captives, without any cognizance of her being in the villa, yet the
answers to the inquiries you caused to be made at Florence should have
satisfied you that she could be nowhere else. Now I believe I can aid
you to the very man you want; and, as you are somewhat impatient, can
do it without delay; but I must, in the first place, have some strong
place put in my possession, where my daughter can be more safe than
she was in the Villa Morella, until such time as her lover becomes her
husband, and she leaves Italy for a somewhat quieter land."
Cæsar Borgia laughed low and quietly.
"Now what a strange thing is this that men call morality and virtue!"
he exclaimed, with a bitter sneer. "Not the chameleon changes colour
more frequently, and more completely according to the things around.
But we have no time for philosophical reflections, my dear Ramiro.
Tell me, are these men near at hand?"
"They are here in Rome," replied Ramiro d'Orco. "In fact, my lord,
being a man of no great wealth and no power, I judged it expedient in
coming here in order to seek for both, to gather round me at times
serviceable men from various states of Italy, who might supply men
with a kind of authority tantamount to that which I did not possess.
Your Eminence's people, it seems, fail you at this step, although, God
wot, I should have thought they had few scruples left by this time. I
am willing to aid you with mine, provided you insure me against some
little frailties of your Eminence, which might lead to things
displeasing to me."
"Well, well, send the men to me," said Cæsar Borgia; "it shall be
done."
"It must be done before they come here, my lord," replied Ramiro
d'Orco.
A flush passed over the young cardinal's countenance; but he said,
starting up suddenly--
"Well, wait here till I return. I must get the donation from his
Holiness."
"Remember, I must have all rights and privileges--of high and low
justice--of war and of defence, with only reservation of homage of the
Holy See. I know not what it is exactly that your Eminence requires
these men to do; but they have strong stomachs, and are not likely to
be nauseated by trifles."
"I doubt not they are by no means dainty," replied Borgia, and he left
the room.
Ramiro d'Orco remained alone for more than an hour, during which he
hardly moved his position. One sentence did escape his lips just after
Cæsar Borgia left him. "This man is angry," he said, "and his anger is
dangerous." What he thought afterward I know not; probably it was of
self-preservation, for he drew his dagger, and looked all along the
blade, examining most carefully a small groove which extended from the
hilt to the point, then sheathed it again, and seemed to fall into
quiet meditation.
At length, when it was well-nigh dark, the door opened again, and the
cardinal re-entered with a parchment in his hand. His face was now all
placid and benign, and advancing toward Ramiro, he said, "I have been
long, my friend; but if you knew how much I have had to do in one
short hour, you would say I had been expeditious. There--that paper
gives you Imola and its dependencies, with all the rights and
privileges you require. It took me one half the time to persuade his
Holiness to grant it. Had he known to what it tended, he would have
cut off his right hand ere he signed it."
"I thank your Eminence sincerely," replied Ramiro, taking the
parchment; "mutual benefits bind men together. They must never be all
on one side. Either I miscalculate my own powers, or you shall have
the worth of this gift in a few hours in services of the most
acceptable kind. Now let us know what you want done."
"I want a man removed from my path," said Borgia, abruptly; "one whose
shadow is too tall for me--who stands between me and the sun."
"That is easily done, my lord," replied Ramiro d'Orco, "there is such
a river as the Tiber, and men will fall in at times, especially when
they are either drunk or badly wounded."
"You catch my meaning readily," replied Borgia. "It were done easily,
as you say, Ramiro, were this a common case, but there are men upon
whom vulgar assassins would fear to try their steel."
"They must have faint hearts or poor brains," replied Ramiro. "A man
is but a man, and a fisherman's life is as good to him as a
cardinal's. It is as valuable, too, in the eye of the law; and he who
can conceal one deed can conceal another. May I know at what quarry
you wish me to let loose the hounds?"
Cæsar Borgia rose, and walked slowly up and down the room. There was
something that moved him--that troubled him. What could it be?
Remorse? No, he knew no remorse nor pity. The human heart will
sometimes, in its dark recesses, conceive things so horrible, that,
though it will retain and nourish them as its most cherished
offspring, it will dread that any other eye should see them, and long
to build around them, like the Cretan queen, a dark and intricate
edifice, to hide them for ever from man's sight. It might be this that
moved him. He had need of aid; he had need of instruments; he was
obliged to speak that which he fain would have had done but never
uttered. His beautiful countenance was overshadowed by the expression
of a demon--not a triumphant, but a suffering demon; his eyes were
fixed upon vacancy, and his broad, tall forehead was covered with a
cold dew. At length he seated himself again close to Ramiro d'Orco,
and in a voice low but distinct, said--
"My friend, whoever will attain great power must not suffer
impediments to be in his way. He must remove them, Ramiro. Nor must
one prejudice of man, one canting maxim of priests--not even of those
habitual weaknesses which are implanted in us during childhood, and
reared and nourished by women and servants, remain to stumble at. Who,
think you, has most kept me from the light since I was born? Who,
without striving, has won all the prizes in the games of life, and
left me nothing but the fragrance of his banquet?"
It was nearly dark, and they could hardly see each other's faces, so
that the paleness which spread over Ramiro d'Orco's face escaped the
eyes of his companion. Ramiro answered nothing, and Borgia went on.
"When this mighty city was founded, two brothers, equal in power, laid
it out and planned it. One was feeble as compared with the other, and
the stronger mind soon saw that there was not room for two. Had Remus
lived, what had Rome been now? A village in a marsh. But his great and
glorious brother knew well what course to take in founding a new
dominion, and he took it. Nor is such conduct uncommon nowadays with
those who have strong hearts and seek great objects. Look at that
mighty people whom we poor fools fear and call infidels. Have we ever
seen, since the days of Rome's greatest glory, a more powerful,
energetic, conquering race than the Saracens? Does the sultan, or
caliph, or whatever he may be, suffer his power to be shaken or his
course to be impeded by a weak horde of brothers? No, no. He sends out
of the troubles of life those who are not gifted for life's mighty
contests. Why, this man Bajazet has paid three hundred thousand ducats
for the dead body of his brother Zizim, lest perchance he should some
day trouble his repose. Shall I be more scrupulous when the Duke of
Gandia builds up a wall between me and my right course? No, Ramiro,
no! I am about to cast off these priestly robes, that only trammel me,
to pursue the path which nature by a mistake opened him; to strive in
arms and policy for the great designs of ambition; and I would have
the course cleared before me. Do you understand me now, Ramiro?"
"I think I do, my lord," replied Ramiro d'Orco; but Borgia went on
without attending to him.
"A mistake of nature, did I say? a blunder--a gross blunder. Had I had
Gandia's opportunities, should I have neglected them as he has done?
What should I have been now? What would my friends have been? This
miserable cardinalate, what does it give me? Not enough to reward a
horse-boy. Give me but room, and I will make sure to carve me a
principality out of this land which will enable me to raise my name on
high, and recompense all who serve me. I will so work the dissensions
of these States, that if I bring them all not under my heel, I will
bind a sufficient number in a fasces to render my power unassailable.
But I must have room, Ramiro, I must have room; and I must have it
quickly. Between this hour and my father's death, who can say what
time will be allowed me? Yet all must be done within that space; and
if I pause and hesitate at the first step, the precious moment will
have slipped by. Gandia must die, my friend. He bars my way, he
extinguished my light. An accident made him my elder brother; we must
have some accident which shall leave me without one. Now, then, you
know all. Can you help me? How can you help me?"
"I am too old to help you with my own hand, my lord," replied Ramiro
d'Orco, "but I have those who can and will. You need not explain aught
to them. You need never name the man, but merely designate him by
outward signs. You know his haunts--his habits. Let them watch for him
in some convenient place, and treat him as they would some gay gallant
who has raised the jealousy of some noble husband."
"But it must be done quickly, Ramiro," replied the other. "In a few
days I must quit Rome for Naples, and I would have it finished before
I go."
"That is easy too," replied Ramiro d'Orco. "You must learn where he
may be found. Give them but the hour and place, and they will spare
you all future trouble."
Cæsar Borgia did not seem altogether satisfied. He sat silent, with
his eyes fixed upon the ground, gnawing his lower lip; and, after a
moment's pause, passed apparently in intense thought, Ramiro added,
"There is but one way, my lord, in which this thing can be done
properly and well. You shall see the men yourself; you can be either
incognito or not, as you please: but deal with them separately. Four
will be enough, for I know that each man I send you is equal to a
dozen common cut-throats. You have but to tell me where and when they
shall come to you, and I will have them there, one by one, with a
quarter of an hour between their visits."
"You are, indeed, a good deviser, my friend Ramiro," replied Borgia,
with a well-pleased look. "No witness to my conversation with either.
They can meet and arrange their plans afterward, but that commits not
me. As to incognito it is hardly possible and hardly needful. My face
is too well known in Rome, and my word better than any single
bravo's."
"When shall I send them, my lord?" asked Ramiro d'Orco.
"This night--this very night," answered Borgia, eagerly; "no time is
to be lost. Such things should be hardly thought of ere they be
executed. The deed should tread upon the heels of the determination."
"And here?" asked Ramiro.
"Ay, even here," replied Borgia. "Strange people come here sometimes
my Ramiro."
"Then I hasten to fulfil your lordship's will," replied his companion.
"Lay not your finger on my household gods, and you will find no one to
serve you better. I have already given you some proof of it by
throwing such nets around my good cousin, the Cardinal Julian, that
all his enmity toward your father has proved impotent as yet. In this
matter you shall find that I can be serviceable too."
"As to your household gods or goddesses, dear Ramiro," replied Borgia,
with a light laugh, "be under no fear. I was a fool about that
business of the villa. I knew not that you would take the thing so
much to heart, for I am too wise to risk the loss of a strong friend
for a light love. You told me just now to swear by something I
believed in. I swear by my ambition, Ramiro, that I will never seek
your daughter, or trouble her again. May fortune never favour me if I
do! You will believe that oath, Ramiro?"
"It is the most binding your Eminence could take," replied d'Orco,
drily; "and now I take my leave, for I believe with you, that if this
is to be done at all, it should be done at once. Yet one word more; as
you seek no incognito, I will send you a man who knows you already,
and whom you know. He is better and more trusty than one of those I
thought of. He has been bred in a rare school for such operations.
Buondoni of Milan was his tutor, and Ludovic the Moor the regent of
the university where he studied."
"Ah! who is he?" asked Borgia, with a smile. "He should be a great
professor if he have any genius."
"Oh, he is a ripe scholar, and a man of much ability," answered
Ramiro. "He knows the course of the jugular vein, and the exact
position of the heart, as if he were an anatomist. This is no other
than our good friend, Friar Peter. He may come to you to-night without
his robes on, but you will find Pierre Mardocchi as good a devil as
any friar of them all. But we waste time, and again I take my leave."
What were the feelings of Ramiro d'Orco as he left the Borgia palace
would be difficult to say. He was a man of few scruples, and hardened
in that worst of all philosophies, which some even in our own day are
so eager to teach, the main axiom of which is, that all men are
equally bad, and bold crime is superior to timid vice by the great
element of courage. It is hardly possible for a misanthropist to be
anything but a villain. And yet, although he would not have shrunk
from any ordinary crime, there was something in the calm determination
of Borgia to murder his own brother--ay, and even in the arguments he
had used to palliate, if not justify the act, which had sent the blood
back from his cheek and from his lips, and it seemed to stagnate for a
moment.
But short consideration was needed to show him that there was but one
course left for him to pursue with any chance of safety. The dangerous
confidence which Cæsar Borgia had placed in him did not admit of any
choice but between death and crime. He must be an accomplice or he
must be an enemy; and to be Cæsar Borgia's enemy, for any man
unarmoured in mighty power, was to stand upon the brink of the grave.
All remorse, all hesitation, therefore, were quickly done away. "I
must serve him well," he thought--"must help him to accomplish the
deed--must teach him he cannot do without me. Then his own interest
will make him my friend in acts, if not in heart."
Not three quarters of an hour had passed ere a friar presented himself
at the Borgia palace. He stayed some twenty minutes, and ere he left
another man was admitted to the cardinal--a man of swaggering military
air, who had lost one eye, apparently in fight. These two came forth
together, crossed over to the other side of the street, and stood
there conversing for some time under an archway. During the next half
hour, two others, each of whom had previously visited the Borgia
palace, were added to the group, and it must be admitted that four
more consummate scoundrels have seldom been gathered together.
On the following night there was a great entertainment at the house of
Rosa Vanozza, the mother of the Borgias, the concubine of the pope.
Guest after guest departed, some with lights to guide their steps,
some apparently not so willing that the course they took should be
marked. There was a servant, richly dressed, who stood in the square
opposite the house, who scanned every group as it came out, and at the
farther corner of the square were three or four men, discussing, it
would seem, some knotty point with Italian vehemence of gesture.
Though apparently indifferent to everything but their own
conversation, the eyes of these men also ran over each group that came
from the Casa Vanozza. All passed by, however, without their moving;
the lights wound away through the narrow streets, and all became
darkness in the square. The men then moved on towards the servant, who
still remained where he had been stationed before, as if intending to
pass him; but just at the moment they were doing so, he staggered some
paces with a groan, and fell upon the pavement. The men returned to
the spot where they had been previously standing.
A few minutes after, two gay-looking young cavaliers came forth from
Vanozza's house, and walked partly across the square together at some
distance from where the dead man lay. One of them looked round,
saying, "Where can my valet be? The dog has grown weary of waiting, I
suppose. Have you no servants with you, Cæsar?"
"No," replied the other, "I have no fear of walking the streets of
Rome alone--I am so beloved, you know, Gandia," and he added a short
bitter sort of a laugh.
"Well, I take this street to the right," said the Duke of Gandia. "I
have some business down near San Jacomo."
"Good night," said the other. "I know where you are going, Gandia. You
can't cheat me."
"Good-night, cardinal," replied the duke, laughing, and they parted.
The same night, a few hours afterward, a boatman upon the Tiber,
watching a load of wood which he had landed near the church of St.
Jerome, and lying apparently asleep in his boat, saw two men come
forth from the narrow alley which ran by the side of the church, and
look cautiously all round, up one street and down another, as if to
insure that all were free from passengers. Everything was still about
the city--no step was heard, no moving object seen--and the two men
returned to the alley whence they had issued forth.
Shortly after, four men appeared at the mouth of the alley, one of
whom was on horseback, and all approached at a quick pace toward a
spot on the banks of the Tiber not more than ten yards from the boat
in which the man was watching. When they came near he perceived that
the horseman had the corpse of a dead man behind him, flung carelessly
over the crupper, with the head and arms hanging over on one side, and
the feet and legs on the other. When near the river, the horseman
wheeled his horse and backed it to the brink. His companions then took
the body from behind him, swung it to and fro several times to give it
greater impetus, and then cast it as far as they could into the Tiber.
The horseman then turned and gazed upon the shining surface of the
river, upon which the moon was now pouring a flood of light.
"What is that black thing floating there?" he asked.
"It is his cloak," replied one of the others.
"Cast some stones upon it quick," said the horseman. His orders were
obeyed, and the cloak disappeared.
When the boatman, many days afterward, told his story, upon being
questioned as to whether he had seen anything particular on the fatal
Wednesday night, he was asked with some surprise why he had not given
information at once. He answered that within the last few years he had
seen more than a hundred dead thrown into the Tiber, and had never
considered it any business of his.
On the following day Rome was startled with the intelligence that the
Duke of Gandia, the pope's eldest son--the only one, indeed, who
possessed in any degree the love or respect of the people--was
missing; and sinister rumours spread around.
But there was one man within the gates of Rome who knew the whole on
the Wednesday night. Cæsar Borgia went not to bed when he returned
from his mother's entertainment; but, dismissing all his train to
rest, he waited for news of the events which he was well aware were to
happen. I might give a fanciful picture of the agitation of his
mind--of the listening ear and the straining eye, and the pallid
cheek, and the quivering lip--and it might have every appearance of
verisimilitude; for at that moment a brother was being murdered by his
order. But it was not so. He sat upon velvet cushions, playing with a
small, silky-haired monkey. He seemed as thoughtless, careless, and
sportive as the poor beast itself. For half an hour he amused himself
thus. He teased it, he irritated it, and then he soothed it. Again he
teased it, and at length the monkey bit him, when, seizing it by the
legs, he dashed its head against the floor, and the poor beast lay
dead at his feet. He washed the blood from his hand with a
handkerchief, and stood gazing at the dead brute with a face that
betokened no grief or regret. At length he kicked the body into a
corner, murmuring, "People must not bite me."
People! Did he think that monkey was his brother?
The only time when he showed some degree of agitation was when more
than an hour and a half had elapsed since his return, and yet no
tidings arrived. "Can they have failed?" he said, in a low voice; "can
they have failed? Oh no, impossible!" and, sitting down again--for he
had risen while the momentary fear crossed his mind--he took up a book
and read some love songs of that day. Nearly another hour passed, and
then a step was heard upon the staircase. The next instant a friar
entered the room, and silently closed the door behind him.
"It is done your Eminence," said the man, approaching Borgia, and
speaking low and quietly.
"What have you done with the body?" asked the cardinal.
"It is at the bottom of the Tiber," replied Mardocchi, "I am somewhat
late, for we had to drag him into Michelotto's house, near St.
Jerome's, and we did not like to carry him to the river bank as long
as a single soul could be seen moving in the streets."
"Right--right," said Cæsar Borgia! "that might have been ruinous."
"Not an eye saw," said Mardocchi, "though he fought for a minute or
two; for Michelotto missed his first blow, and it took nine wounds to
dispatch him. Some one must have given him three. I only gave him
two, but they were good ones. One was between the throat and the
breast-bone; the other, which was the best, was in the middle of the
left side; that brought him down, and he never moved or spoke after
that."
"You are a good and faithful fellow," replied Borgia, "and have bound
you to me for ever. You shall take away with you to-night the ducats I
promised yourself and your companions; but that ring is for yourself,
and engages you in my particular service."
Mardocchi took the ring and held it in his hand, apparently
hesitating.
"I beg your Eminence to pardon me," he said, at length, "but I cannot
quit the Lord Ramiro."
"Ha! do you love the good lord so much?" asked Borgia.
"No, your Eminence, I do not love him at all," replied the friar;
"but--but--I have an object in staying with him."
"Speak out--speak out, Mardocchi," said Cæsar Borgia; "you have
nothing to fear from me, and if I can help you, I will."
"It is a long story, my lord," replied the friar; "but to tell you as
shortly as may be. The signor's daughter, it seems, is to be married
shortly to young Lorenzo Visconti. Now I have an old grudge against
that young man. I have promised not to practise against his life, and
I will keep my promise, for I always do; but I have not promised not
to do him all the harm I can, for revenge I will have, and I can only
have it by staying with Ramiro d'Orco."
"That suits me well," replied Cæsar Borgia. "You shall be my servant,
Mardocchi, but not quit the good lord. You may remain with him, go
with him where he goes, serve him against all men except me; but you
will remember you are mine, and be ready to serve me at a moment's
notice. I need such men as you. You will receive a hundred ducats in
the year from my treasurer, and I count upon you for any service, even
should it be against Ramiro himself."
"I trust I may count upon your Eminence's countenance too," said
Mardocchi, "in case I should get into any trouble on this Signor
Visconti's matters, for my revenge upon him I will have."
"You shall have my protection, and those whom I protect are tolerably
safe," said Borgia, rising and going to a small beautiful cabinet that
stood in the room. "Here, take this bag of ducats; it is what I
promised. Divide them equally with your companions, and say nothing
about the ring I have given you. Come to me to-morrow, and we will
speak further. I will now retire, and shall sleep better than I have
done for weeks."
Mardocchi took the heavy bag, and as he did so, Cæsar Borgia saw that
there was blood on the man's hand. It was his brother's blood; and the
sight did for an instant touch his obdurate heart, which nothing else
had reached. He did not sleep so well that night as he expected.