By September 15 Cesare was back in Rome, the richer in renown, in French
favour, and in a matter of 40,000 ducats, which is estimated as the
total of the sums paid him by France and Spain for the support which his
condotta had afforded them.
During his absence two important events had taken place: the betrothal
of his widowed sister Lucrezia to Alfonso d’Este, son of Duke Ercole of
Ferrara, and the publication of the Bull of excommunication (of August
20) against the Savelli and Colonna in consideration of all that they
had wrought against the Holy See from the pontificate of Sixtus IV
to the present time. By virtue of that Bull the Pope ordered the
confiscation of the possessions of the excommunicated families, whilst
the Caetani suffered in like manner at the same time.
These possessions were divided into two parts, and by the Bull of
September 17 they were bestowed, one upon Lucrezia’s boy Roderigo, and
with them the title of Duke of Sermoneta; the other to a child, Giovanni
Borgia (who is made something of a mystery) with the title of Duke of
Nepi and Palestrina.
The entire proceeding is undoubtedly open to grave censure, since the
distribution of the confiscated fiefs subjects to impeachment the purity
of the motives that prompted this confiscation. It was on the part
of Alexander a gross act of nepotism, a gross abuse of his pontifical
authority; but there is, at least, this to be said, that in perpetrating
it he was doing no more than in his epoch it was customary for Popes to
do. Alexander, it may be said again in this connection, was part of a
corrupt system, not the corrupter of a pure one.
Touching the boy Giovanni Borgia, the mystery attaching to him concerns
his parentage, and arises out of the singular circumstance that there
are two papal Bulls, both dated September 1, 1501, in each of which a
different father is assigned to him, the second appearing to supplement
and correct the first.
The first of these Bulls, addressed to “Dilecto Filio Nobili Joanni de
Borgia, Infanti Romano,” declares him to be a child of three years of
age, the illegitimate son of Cesare Borgia, unmarried (as Cesare was at
the time of the child’s birth) and of a woman (unnamed, as was usual in
such cases) also unmarried.
The second declares him, instead, to be the son of Alexander, and runs:
“Since you bear this deficiency not from the said duke, but from us and
the said woman, which we for good reasons did not desire to express in
the preceding writing.”
That the second Bull undoubtedly contains the truth of the matter is the
only possible explanation of its existence, and the “good reasons”
that existed for the first one are, no doubt, as Gregorovius says, that
officially and by canon law the Pope was inhibited from recognizing
children. (His other children, be it remembered, were recognized by him
during his cardinalate and before his elevation to St. Peter’s throne.)
Hence the attempt by these Bulls to circumvent the law to the end that
the child should not suffer in the matter of his inheritance.
Burchard, under date of November 3 of that year, freely mentions this
Giovanni Borgia as the son of the Pope and “a certain Roman woman”
(“quadam Romana”).
On the same date borne by those two Bulls a third one was issued
confirming the House of Este perpetually in the dominion of Ferrara and
its other Romagna possessions, and reducing by one-third the tribute of
4,000 ducats yearly imposed upon that family by Sixtus IV; and it was
explicitly added that these concessions were made for Lucrezia and her
descendants.
Three days later a courier from Duke Ercole brought the news that the
marriage contract had been signed in Ferrara, and it was in salvoes
of artillery that day and illuminations after dark that the Pope gave
expression to the satisfaction afforded him by the prospect of his
daughter’s entering one of the most ancient families and ascending one
of the noblest thrones in Italy.
It would be idle to pretend that the marriage was other than one of
convenience. Love between the contracting parties played no part in this
transaction, and Ercole d’Este was urged to it under suasion of the
King of France, out of fear of the growing might of Cesare, and out of
consideration for the splendid dowry which he demanded and in the matter
of which he displayed a spirit which Alexander contemptuously described
as that of a tradesman. Nor would Ercole send the escort to Rome for the
bride until he had in his hands the Bull of investiture in the fiefs
of Cento and Pieve, which, with 100,000 ducats, constituted Lucrezia’s
dowry. Altogether a most unromantic affair.
The following letter from the Ferrarese ambassador in Rome, dated
September 23, is of interest in connection with this marriage:
“MOST ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE AND MOST NOBLE LORD,
“His Holiness the Pope, taking into consideration such matters as
might occasion displeasure not only to your Excellency and to the Most
Illustrious Don Alfonso, but also to the duchess and even to himself,
has charged us to write to your Excellency to urge you so to contrive
that the Lord Giovanni of Pesaro, who, as your Excellency is aware,
is in Mantua, shall not be in Ferrara at the time of the nuptials.
Notwithstanding that his divorce from the said duchess is absolutely
legitimate and accomplished in accordance with pure truth, as is
publicly known not only from the proceedings of the trial but also from
the free confession of the said Don Giovanni, it is possible that he may
still be actuated by some lingering ill-will; wherefore, should he
find himself in any place where the said lady might be seen by him, her
Excellency might, in consequence, be compelled to withdraw into privacy,
to be spared the memory of the past. Wherefore, his Holiness exhorts
your Excellency to provide with your habitual prudence against such a
contingency.”
Meanwhile, the festivities wherewith her betrothal was celebrated went
merrily amain, and into the midst of them, to bear his share, came
Cesare crowned with fresh laurels gained in the Neapolitan war. No
merry-makings ever held under the auspices of Pope Alexander VI at the
Vatican had escaped being the source of much scandalous rumour, but none
had been so scandalous and disgraceful as the stories put abroad on
this occasion. These found a fitting climax in that anonymous Letter to
Silvio Savelli, published in Germany--which at the time, be it borne in
mind, was extremely inimical to the Pope, viewing with jaundiced eyes
his ever-growing power, and stirred perhaps to this unspeakable burst of
venomous fury by the noble Este alliance, so valuable to Cesare in that
it gave him a friend upon the frontier of his Romagna possessions.
The appalling publication, which is given in full in Burchard, was
fictitiously dated from Gonzola de Cordoba’s Spanish camp at Taranto
on November 25. A copy of this anonymous pamphlet, which is the most
violent attack on the Borgias ever penned, perhaps the most terrible
indictment against any family ever published--a pamphlet which
Gregorovius does not hesitate to call “an authentic document of the
state of Rome under the Borgias”--fell into the hands of the Cardinal of
Modena, who on the last day of the year carried it to the Pope.
Before considering that letter it is well to turn to the entries in
Burchard’s diary under the dates of October 27 and November 11 of that
same year. You will find two statements which have no parallel in the
rest of the entire diary, few parallels in any sober narrative of facts.
The sane mind must recoil and close up before them, so impossible does
it seem to accept them.
The first of these is the relation of the supper given by Cesare in the
Vatican to fifty courtesans--a relation which possibly suggested to
the debauched Regent d’Orléans his fêtes d’Adam, a couple of centuries
later.
Burchard tells us how, for the amusement of Cesare, of the Pope, and of
Lucrezia, these fifty courtesans were set to dance after supper with
the servants and some others who were present, dressed at first and
afterwards not so. He draws for us a picture of those fifty women on all
fours, in all their plastic nudity, striving for the chestnuts flung to
them in that chamber of the Apostolic Palace by Christ’s Vicar--an old
man of seventy--by his son and his daughter. Nor is that all by
any means. There is much worse to follow--matter which we dare not
translate, but must leave more or less discreetly veiled in the decadent
Latin of the Caerimoniarius:
“Tandem exposita dona ultima, diploides de serico, paria caligarum,
bireta ed alia pro illis qui pluries dictas meretrices carnaliter
agnoscerent; que fuerunt ibidem in aula publice carnaliter tractate
arbitrio presentium, dona distributa victoribus.”
Such is the monstrous story!
Gregorovius, in his defence of Lucrezia Borgia, refuses to believe
that she was present; but he is reluctant to carry his incredulity any
further.
“Some orgy of that nature,” he writes, “or something similar may very
well have taken place. But who will believe that Lucrezia, already the
legal wife of Alfonso d’Este and on the eve of departure for Ferrara,
can have been present as a smiling spectator?”
Quite so. Gregorovius puts his finger at once upon one of the obvious
weaknesses of the story. But where there is one falsehood there are
usually others; and if we are not to believe that Lucrezia was present,
why should we be asked to believe in the presence of the Pope? If
Burchard was mistaken in the one, why might he not be mistaken in the
other? But the question is not really one of whom you will believe to
have been present at that unspeakable performance, but rather whether
you can possibly bring yourself to believe that it ever took place as it
is related in the Diarium.
Gregorovius says, you will observe, “Some orgy of that nature, or
something similar, may very well have taken place.” We could credit
that Cesare held “some orgy of that nature.” He had apartments in the
Vatican, and if it shock you to think that it pleased him, with his
gentlemen, to make merry by feasting a parcel of Roman harlots, you
are--if you value justice--to be shocked at the times rather than
the man. The sense of humour of the Cinquecento was primitive, and
in primitive humour prurience plays ever an important part, as is
discernible in the literature and comedies of that age. If you would
appreciate this to the full, consider Burchard’s details of the masks
worn at Carnival by some merry-makers (“Venerunt ad plateam St. Petri
larvati...habentes nasos lungos et grossos in forma priaporum”) and you
must realize that in Cesare’s conduct in this matter there would have
been nothing so very abnormal considered from the point of view of
the Cinquecento, even though it were to approach the details given by
Burchard.
But even so, you will hesitate before you accept the story of that
saturnalia in its entirety, and before you believe that an old man of
seventy, a priest and Christ’s Vicar, was present with Cesare and his
friends. Burchard does not say that he himself was a witness of what he
relates. But the matter shall presently be further considered.
Meanwhile, let us pass to the second of these entries in the diary, and
(a not unimportant detail) on the very next page of it, under the date
of November 11. In this it is related that certain peasants entered Rome
by the Viridarian Gate, driving two mares laden with timber; that, in
crossing the Square of St. Peter’s, some servants of the Pope’s ran
out and cut the cords so that the timber was loosened and the beasts
relieved of their burden; they were then led to a courtyard within the
precincts of the palace, where four stallions were loosed upon them.
“Ascenderunt equas et coierunt cum eis et eas graviter pistarunt et
leserunt,” whilst the Pope at a window above the doorway of the Palace,
with Madonna Lucrezia, witnessed with great laughter and delight, the
show which it is suggested was specially provided for their amusement.
The improbabilities of the saturnalia of the fifty courtesans pale
before the almost utter impossibility of this narrative. To render it
possible in the case of two chance animals as these must have been
under the related circumstances, a biological coincidence is demanded so
utterly unlikely and incredible that we are at once moved to treat the
story with scorn, and reject it as a fiction. Yet not one of those many
writers who have retailed that story from Burchard’s Diarium as a truth
incontestable as the Gospels, has paused to consider this--so blinded
are we when it is a case of accepting that which we desire to accept.
The narrative, too, is oddly--suspiciously--circumstantial, even to the
unimportant detail of the particular gate by which the peasants entered
Rome. In a piece of fiction it is perfectly natural to fill in such
minor details to the end that the picture shall be complete; but they
are rare in narratives of fact. And one may be permitted to wonder how
came the Master of Ceremonies at the Vatican to know the precise gate by
which those peasants came. It is not--as we have seen--the only occasion
on which an excess of detail in the matter of a gate renders suspicious
the accuracy of a story of Burchard’s.
Both these affairs find a prominent place in the Letter to Silvio
Savelli. Indeed Gregorovius cites the pamphlet as one of the authorities
to support Burchard, and to show that what Burchard wrote must have been
true; the other authority he cites is Matarazzo, disregarding not only
the remarkable discrepancy between Matarazzo’s relation and that of
Burchard, but the circumstance that the matter of that pamphlet became
current throughout Italy, and that it was thus--and only thus--that
Matarazzo came to hear of the scandal.(1)
1 The frequency with which the German historian cites Matarazzo as an
authority is oddly inconsistent, considering that when he finds
Matarazzo’s story of the murder of the Duke of Gandia upsetting the
theory which Gregorovius himself prefers, by fastening the guilt
upon Giovanni Sforza, he devotes some space to showing--with perfect
justice--that Matarazzo is no authority at all.
The Letter to Silvio Savelli opens by congratulating him upon his escape
from the hands of the robbers who had stripped him of his possessions,
and upon his having found a refuge in Germany at the Emperor’s Court.
It proceeds to marvel that thence he should have written letters to
the Pope begging for justice and reinstatement, his wonder being at the
credulity of Savelli in supposing that the Pope--“betrayer of the human
race, who has spent his life in betrayals”--will ever do any just thing
other than through fear or force. Rather does the writer suggest the
adoption of other methods; he urges Savelli to make known to the Emperor
and all princes of the Empire the atrocious crimes of that “infamous
wild beasts” which have been perpetrated in contempt of God and
religion. He then proceeds to relate these crimes. Alexander, Cesare,
and Lucrezia, among others of the Borgia family, bear their share of the
formidable accusations. Of the Pope are related perfidies, simonies, and
ravishments; against Lucrezia are urged the matter of her incest, the
supper of the fifty courtesans, and the scene of the stallions; against
Cesare there are the death of Biselli, the murder of Pedro Caldes, the
ruin of the Romagna, whence he has driven out the legitimate lords, and
the universal fear in which he is held.
It is, indeed, a compendium of all the stories which from Milan, Naples,
and Venice--the three States where the Borgias for obvious reasons are
best hated--have been disseminated by their enemies, and a more violent
work of rage and political malice was never uttered. This malice becomes
particularly evident in the indictment of Cesare for the ruin of the
Romagna. Whatever Cesare might have done, he had not done that--his
bitterest detractor could not (without deliberately lying) say that the
Romagna was other than benefiting under his sway. That is not a matter
of opinion, not a matter of inference or deduction. It is a matter of
absolute fact and irrefutable knowledge.
To return now to the two entries in Burchard’s Diarium when considered
in conjunction with the Letter to Silvio Savelli (which Burchard quotes
in full), it is remarkable that nowhere else in the discovered writings
of absolute contemporaries is there the least mention of either of those
scandalous stories. The affair of the stallions, for instance, must have
been of a fairly public character. Scandal-mongering Rome could not have
resisted the dissemination of it. Yet, apart from the Savelli letter, no
single record of it has been discovered to confirm Burchard.
At this time, moreover, it is to be remembered, Lucrezia’s betrothal to
Alfonso d’Este was already accomplished; preparations for her departure
and wedding were going forward, and the escort from Ferrara was daily
expected in Rome. If Lucrezia had never been circumspect, she must be
circumspect now, when the eyes of Italy were upon her, and there
were not wanting those who would have been glad to have thwarted the
marriage--the object, no doubt, of the pamphlet we are considering. Yet
all that was written to Ferrara was in praise of her--in praise of
her goodness and her modesty, her prudence, her devoutness, and her
discretion, as presently we shall see.
If from this we are to conclude--as seems reasonable--that there was no
gossip current in Rome of the courtesans’ supper and the rest, we may
assume that there was no knowledge in Rome of such matters; for with
knowledge silence would have been impossible. So much being admitted,
it becomes a matter of determining whether the author of the Letter to
Silvio Savelli had access to the diary of Burchard for his facts, or
whether Burchard availed himself of the Letter to Silvio Savelli to
compile these particular entries. The former alternative being out of
the question, there but remains the latter--unless it is possible that
the said entries have crept into the copies of the “Diarium” and are not
present in the original, which is not available.
This theory of interpolation, tentatively put forward, is justified, to
some extent at least, by the following remarkable circumstances: that
two such entries, having--as we have said--absolutely no parallel in the
whole of the Diarium, should follow almost immediately the one upon the
other; and that Burchard should relate them coldly, without reproof or
comment of any kind--a most unnatural reticence in a writer who loosed
his indignation one Easter-tide to see Lucrezia and her ladies occupying
the choir of St. Peter’s, where women never sat.
The Pope read the anonymous libel when it was submitted to him by the
Cardinal of Modena--read it, laughed it to scorn, and treated it with
the contempt which it deserved, yet a contempt which, considering its
nature, asks a certain greatness of mind.
If the libel was true it is almost incredible that he should not have
sought to avenge it, for an ugly truth is notoriously hurtful and
provocative of resentment, far more so than is a lie. Cesare, however,
was not of a temper quite as long-suffering as his father. Enough and
more of libels and lampoons had he endured already. Early in December
a masked man--a Neapolitan of the name of Mancioni--who had been going
through Rome uttering infamies against him was seized and so dealt with
that he should in future neither speak nor write anything in any man’s
defamation. His tongue was cut out and his right hand chopped off, and
the hand, with the tongue attached to its little finger, was hung in
sight of all and as a warning from a window of the Church of Holy Cross.
And towards the end of January, whilst Cesare’s fury at that pamphlet
out of Germany was still unappeased, a Venetian was seized in Rome for
having translated from Greek into Latin another libel against the Pope
and his son. The Venetian ambassador intervened to save the wretch, but
his intervention was vain. The libeller was executed that same night.
Costabili--the Ferrara ambassador--who spoke to the Pope on the matter
of this execution, reported that his Holiness said that more than once
had he told the duke that Rome was a free city, in which any one was at
liberty to say or write what he pleased; that of himself, too, much evil
was being spoken, but that he paid no heed to it.
“The duke,” proceeded Alexander, “is good-natured, but he has not
yet learnt to bear insult.” And he added that, irritated, Cesare had
protested that, “However much Rome may be in the habit of speaking and
writing, for my own part I shall give these libellers a lesson in good
manners.”
The lesson he intended was not one they should live to practise.