CHAPTER XVIII. THE ZENITH

Andrea Doria did not remain to make formal surrender of the citadel

of Sinigaglia to the duke--for which purpose, be it borne in mind, had

Cesare been invited, indirectly, to come to Sinigaglia. He fled during

the night that saw Vitelli and Oliverotto writhing their last in the

strangler’s hands. And his flight adds colour to the versions of the

affair that were afforded the world by Cesare and his father. Andrea

Doria, waiting to surrender his trust, had nothing to fear from the

duke, no reason to do anything but remain. Andrea Doria, intriguing

against the duke’s life with the condottieri, finding them seized by the

duke, and inferring that all was discovered, had every reason to fly.

The citadel made surrender on that New Year’s morning, when Cesare

summoned it to do so, whilst the troops of the Orsini and Vitelli lodged

in the castles of the territory, being taken unawares, were speedily

disposed of. So, there being nothing more left to do in Sinigaglia,

Cesare once more marshalled his men and set out for Città di

Castello--the tyranny of the Vitelli, which he found undefended and of

which he took possession in the name of the Church. Thence he rushed

on towards Perugia, for he had word that Guidobaldo of Urbino, Fabio

Orsini, Annibale and Venanzio Varano, and Vitelli’s nephew were

assembled there under the wing of Gianpaolo Baglioni, who, with a

considerable condotta at his back, was making big talk of resisting

the Duke of Romagna and Valentinois. In this, Gianpaolo persevered most

bravely until he had news that the duke was as near as Gualdo, when

precipitately he fled--leaving his guests to shift for themselves. He

had remembered, perhaps, at the last moment how narrow an escape he

had had of it at Sinigaglia, and he repaired to Siena to join Pandolfo

Petrucci, who had been equally fortunate in that connection.

To meet the advancing and irresistible duke came ambassadors from

Perugia with smooth words of welcome, the offer of the city, and their

thanks for his having delivered them of the tyrants that oppressed

them; and there is not the slightest cause to suppose that this was mere

sycophancy, for a more bloody, murderous crew than these Baglioni--whose

feuds not only with the rival family of the Oddi, but among their

very selves, had more than once embrued the walls of that city in the

hills--it would be difficult to find in Italy, or anywhere in Europe.

The history of the Baglioni is one record of slaughter. Under their

rule in Perugia human blood seems commonly to have flowed anywhere more

freely than in human veins. It is no matter for wonder that the people

sent their ambassador to thank Cesare for having delivered them from the

yoke that had oppressed them.

Perugia having rendered him her oath of fealty, the duke left her

his secretary, Agabito Gherardi, as his commissioner, whilst sending

Vincenzo Calmeta to Fermo--Oliverotto’s tyranny--another State which was

very fervent in the thanks it expressed for this deliverance.

Scarcely was Cesare gone from Perugia when into the hands of his people

fell the person of the Lady Panthasilea Baglioni d’Alviano--the wife of

the famous Venetian condottiero Bartolomeo d’Alviano--and they, aware of

the feelings prevailing between their lord and the Government of Venice,

bethought them that here was a valuable hostage. So they shut her up

in the Castle of Todi, together with her children and the women who had

been with her when she was taken.

As in the case of Dorotea Caracciolo, the rumour is instantly put about

that it was Cesare who had seized her, that he had taken her to his

camp, and that this poor woman had fallen a prey to that lustful

monster. So--and in some such words--ran the story, and such a hold did

it take upon folks’ credulity that we see Piero di Bibieno before the

Council of Ten, laying a more or less formal charge against the duke in

rather broader terms than are here set down. So much, few of those

who have repeated his story omit to tell you. But for some reason, not

obviously apparent, they do not think it worth while to add that the

Doge himself--better informed, it is clear, for he speaks with finality

in the matter--reproved him by denying the rumour and definitely stating

that it was not true, as you may read in the Diary of Marino Sanuto.

That same diary shows you the husband--a person of great consequence in

Venice--before the Council, clamouring for the enlargement of his lady;

yet never once does he mention the name of Valentinois. The Council of

Ten sends an envoy to wait upon the Pope; and the Pope expresses his

profound regret and his esteem for Alviano, and informs the envoy that

he is writing to Valentinois to demand her instant release--in fact,

shows the envoy the letter.

To that same letter the duke replied on January 29 that he had known

nothing of the matter until this communication reached him; that he has

since ascertained that the lady was indeed captured and that she has

since been detained in the Castle of Todi with all the consideration

due to her rank; and that, immediately upon ascertaining this he had

commanded that she should be set at liberty, which was done.

And so the Lady Panthasilea returned unharmed to her husband.

In Assisi Cesare received the Florentine ambassador Salviati, who came

to congratulate the duke upon the affair of Sinigaglia and to replace

Macchiavelli--the latter having been ordered home again. Congratulations

indeed were addressed to him by all those Powers that had received his

official intimation of the event. Amongst these were the felicitations

of the beautiful and accomplished Isabella d’Este, Marchioness of

Gonzaga--whose relations with him were ever of the friendliest, even

when Faenza by its bravery evoked her pity--and with these she sent him,

for the coming carnival, a present of a hundred masks of rare variety

and singular beauty, because she opined that “after the fatigues he had

suffered in these glorious enterprises, he would desire to contrive for

some recreation.”

Here in Assisi, too, he received the Siennese envoys who came to wait

upon him, and he demanded that, out of respect for the King of France,

they should drive out Pandolfo Petrucci from Siena. For, to use his

own words, “having deprived his enemies of their weapons, he would now

deprive them of their brain,” by which he paid Petrucci the compliment

of accounting him the “brain” of all that had been attempted against

him. To show the Siennese how much he was in earnest, he leaves all

baggage and stores at Assisi, and, unhampered, makes one of his sudden

swoops towards Siena, pausing on January 13 at Castel della Pieve to

publish, at last, his treaty with Bentivogli. The latter being

now sincere, no doubt out of fear of the consequences of further

insincerity, at once sends Cesare 30 lances and 100 arbalisters under

the command of Antonio della Volta.

It was there in Assisi, on the morning of striking his camp again, that

Cesare completed the work that had been begun at Sinigaglia by having

Paolo Orsini and the Duke of Gravina strangled. There was no cause

to delay the matter longer. He had word from Rome of the capture of

Cardinal Orsini, of Gianbattista da Virginio, of Giacomo di Santacroce,

and Rinaldo Orsini, Archbishop of Florence.

On January 27, Pandolfo Petrucci being still in Siena, and Cesare’s

patience exhausted, he issued an ultimatum from his camp at Sartiano in

which he declared that if, within twenty-four hours, Petrucci had not

been expelled from the city, he would loose his soldiers upon Siena to

devastate the territory, and would treat every inhabitant “as a Pandolfo

and an enemy.”

Siena judged it well to bow before that threatening command, and Cesare,

seeing himself obeyed, was free to depart to Rome, whither the Pope had

recalled him and where work awaited him. He was required to make an end

of the resistance of the barons, a task which had been entrusted to his

brother Giuffredo, but which the latter had been unable to carry out.

In this matter Cesare and his father are said to have violently

disagreed, and it is reported that high words flew between them; for

Cesare--who looked ahead and had his own future to consider, which

should extend beyond the lifetime of Alexander VI--would not move

against Silvio Savelli in Palombara, nor Gian Giordano in Bracciano,

alleging, as his reason for the latter forbearance, that Gian Giordano,

being a knight of St. Michael like himself, he was inhibited by the

terms of that knighthood from levying war upon him. To that he adhered,

whilst disposing, however, to lay siege to Ceri, where Giulio and

Giovanni Orsini had taken refuge.

In the meantime, the Cardinal Gianbattista Orsini had breathed his last

in the Castle of Sant’ Angelo.

Soderini had written ironically to Florence on February 15: “Cardinal

Orsini, in prison, shows signs of frenzy. I leave your Sublimities

to conclude, in your wisdom, the judgment that is formed of such an

illness.”

It was not, however, until a week later--on February 22--that he

succumbed, when the cry of “Poison!” grew so loud and general that the

Pope ordered the cardinal’s body to be carried on a bier with the face

exposed, that all the world might see its calm and the absence of such

stains as were believed usually to accompany venenation.

Nevertheless, the opinion spread that he had been poisoned--and the

poisoning of Cardinal Orsini has been included in the long list of the

Crimes of the Borgias with which we have been entertained. That the

rumour should have spread is not in the least wonderful, considering

in what bad odour were the Orsini at the Vatican just then, and--be it

remembered--what provocation they had given. Although Valentinois dubbed

Pandolfo Petrucci the “brain” of the conspiracy against him, the real

guiding spirit, there can be little doubt, was this Cardinal Orsini,

in whose stronghold at Magione the diet had met to plot Valentinois’s

ruin--the ruin of the Gonfalonier of the Church, and the fresh

alienation from the Holy See of the tyrannies which it claimed for its

own, and which at great cost had been recovered to it.

Against the Pope, considered as a temporal ruler, that was treason

in the highest degree, and punishable by death; and, assuming that

Alexander did cause the death of Cardinal Orsini, the only just censure

that could fall upon him for the deed concerns the means employed. Yet

even against that it might be urged that thus was the dignity of the

purple saved the dishonouring touch of the hangman’s hands.

Some six weeks later--on April 10--died Giovanni Michieli, Cardinal of

Sant’ Angelo, and Giustiniani, the Venetian ambassador, wrote to his

Government that the cardinal had been ill for only two days, and

that his illness had been attended by violent sickness. This--and the

reticence of it--was no doubt intended to arouse the suspicion that the

cardinal had been poisoned. Giustiniani adds that Michieli’s house was

stripped that very night by the Pope, who profited thereby to the extent

of some 150,000 ducats, besides plate and other valuables; and this was

intended to show an indecent eagerness on the Pope’s part to possess

himself of that which by the cardinal’s death he inherited, whereas, in

truth, the measure would be one of wise precaution against the customary

danger of pillage by the mob.

But in March of the year 1504, under the pontificate of Julius

II (Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere) a subdeacon, named Asquino de

Colloredo, was arrested for defaming the dead cardinal (“interfector

bone memorie Cardinalis S. Angeli”).(1) What other suspicions were

entertained against him, what other revelations it was hoped to extract

from him, cannot be said; but Asquino was put to the question, to

the usual accompaniment of the torture of the cord, and under this he

confessed that he had poisoned Cardinal Michieli, constrained to it

by Pope Alexander VI and the Duke of Valentinois, against his will and

without reward (“verumtamen non voluisse et pecunias non habuisse”).

1 Burchard’s Diarium, March 6, 1504.

Now if Asquino defamed the memory of Cardinal Michieli it seems to

follow naturally that he had hated the cardinal; and, if we know that he

hated him, we need not marvel that, out of that hatred, he poisoned him.

But something must have been suspected as a motive for his arrest

in addition to the slanders he was uttering, otherwise how came

the questions put to him to be directed so as to wring from him the

confession that he had poisoned the cardinal? If you choose to believe

his further statement that he was constrained to it by Pope Alexander

and the Duke of Valentinois, you are, of course, at liberty to do so.

But you will do well first to determine precisely what degree of credit

such a man might be worth when seeking to extenuate a fault admitted

under pressure of the torture--and offering the extenuation likeliest to

gain him the favour of the della Rovere Pope, whose life’s task--as we

shall see--was the defamation of the hated Borgias. You will also do

well closely to examine the last part of his confession--that he was

constrained to it “against his will and without reward.” Would the deed

have been so very much against the will of one who went about publishing

his hatred of the dead cardinal by the slanders he emitted?

Upon such evidence as that the accusation of the Pope’s murder of

Cardinal Michieli has been definitely established--and it must be

admitted that it is, if anything, rather more evidence than is usually

forthcoming of the vampirism and atrocities alleged against him.

Giustiniani, writing to his Government in the spring of 1503, informs

the Council of Ten that it is the Pope’s way to fatten his cardinals

before disposing of them--that is to say, enriching them before

poisoning them, that he may inherit their possessions. It was a wild and

sweeping statement, dictated by political animus, and it has since grown

to proportions more monstrous than the original. You may read usque

ad nauseam of the Pope and Cesare’s constant practice of poisoning

cardinals who had grown rich, for the purpose of seizing their

possessions, and you are very naturally filled with horror at so much

and such abominable turpitude. In this matter, assertion--coupled with

whorling periods of vituperation--have ever been considered by the

accusers all that was necessary to establish the accusations. It has

never, for instance, been considered necessary to cite the names of the

cardinals composing that regiment of victims. That, of course, would be

to challenge easy refutation of the wholesale charge; and refutation is

not desired by those who prefer the sensational manner.

The omission may, in part at least, be repaired by giving a list of

the cardinals who died during the eleven years of the pontificate

of Alexander VI. Those deaths, in eleven years, number

twenty-one--representing, incidentally, a percentage that compares

favourably with any other eleven years of any other pontificate or

pontificates. They are:

Ardicino della Porta . . In 1493, at Rome

Giovanni de’Conti. . . In 1493, at Rome

Domenico della Rovere . . In 1494, at Rome

Gonzalo de Mendoza. . . In 1495, in Spain

Louis André d’Epinay . . In 1495, in France

Gian Giacomo Sclafetano. . In 1496, at Rome

Bernardino di Lunati . . In 1497, at Rome

Paolo Fregosi. . . . In 1498, at Rome

Gianbattista Savelli . . In 1498, at Rome

Giovanni della Grolaye . . In 1499, at Rome

Giovanni Borgia . . . In 1500, at Fossombrone

Bartolomeo Martini. . . In 1500, at Rome

John Morton. . . . In 1500, in England

Battista Zeno. . . . In 1501, at Rome

Juan Lopez . . . . In 1501, at Rome

Gianbattista Ferrari . . In 1502, at Rome

Hurtado de Mendoza. . . In 1502, in Spain

Gianbattista Orsini. . . In 1503, at Rome

Giovanni Michieli. . . In 1503, at Rome

Giovanni Borgia (Seniore). . In 1503, at Rome

Federico Casimir . . . In 1503, in Poland

Now, search as you will, not only such contemporary records as diaries,

chronicles, and dispatches from ambassadors in Rome during that period

of eleven years but also subsequent writings compiled from them, and you

shall find no breath of scandal attaching to the death of seventeen of

those cardinals, no suggestion that they died other than natural deaths.

Four remain: Cardinals Giovanni Borgia (Giuniore), Gianbattista Ferrari

(Cardinal of Modena), Gianbattista Orsini, and Giovanni Michieli, all of

whom the Pope and Cesare have, more or less persistently, been accused

of poisoning.

Giovanni Borgia’s death at Fossombrone has been dealt with at length

in its proper place, and it has been shown how utterly malicious and

groundless was the accusation.

Giovanni Michieli’s is the case that has just been reviewed, and

touching which you may form your own conclusions.

Gianbattista Orsini’s also has been examined. It rests upon rumour; but

even if that rumour be true, it is unfair to consider the deed in any

but the light of a political execution.

There remains the case of the Cardinal of Modena, a man who had amassed

enormous wealth in the most questionable manner, and who was universally

execrated. The epigrams upon his death, in the form of epitaphs, dealt

most terribly with “his ignominious memory”--as Burchard has it. Of

these the Master of Ceremonies collected upwards of a score, which he

gives in his Diarium. Let one suffice here as a fair example of the

rest, the one that has it that the earth has the cardinal’s body, the

bull (i.e. the Borgia) his wealth, and hell his soul.

“Hac Janus Baptista jacet Ferrarius urna,

Terra habuit corpus, Bos bona, Styx animam.”

The only absolutely contemporary suggestion of his having been poisoned

emanated from the pen of that same Giustiniani. He wrote to the Venetian

Senate to announce the cardinal’s death on July 20. In his letter he

relates how his benefices were immediately distributed, and how the

lion’s share fell to the cardinal’s secretary, Sebastiano Pinzone, and

that it was said (“é fama”) that this man had received them as the price

of blood (“in premium sanguinis”), “since it is held, from many evident

signs, that the cardinal died from poison” (“ex veneno”).

Already on the 11th he had written: “The Cardinal of Modena lies ill,

with little hope of recovery. Poison is suspected” (“si dubita di

veleno”).

That was penned on the eighth day of the cardinal’s sickness, for he was

taken ill on the 3rd--as Burchard shows. Burchard, further, lays before

us the whole course of the illness; tells us how, from the beginning,

the cardinal refused to be bled or to take medicine of any kind, tells

us explicitly and positively that the cardinal was suffering from a

certain fever--so prevalent and deadly in Rome during the months of

July and August; he informs us that, on the 11th (the day on which

Giustiniani wrote the above-cited dispatch), the fever abated, to

return on the 16th. He was attended (Burchard continues) by many able

physicians, who strove to induce him to take their medicines; but he

refused persistently until the following day, when he accepted a small

proportion of the doses proposed. On July 20--after an illness of

seventeen days--he finally expired.

Those entries in the diary of the Master of Ceremonies constitute an

incontrovertible document, an irrefutable testimony against the charges

of poisoning when taken in conjunction with the evidence of fact

afforded by the length of the illness.

It is true that, under date of November 20, 1504 (under the pontificate

of Julius II), there is the following entry:

“Sentence was pronounced in the ‘Ruota’ against Sebastiano Pinzone,

apostolic scribe, contumaciously absent, and he was deprived of all

benefices and offices in that he had caused the death of the Cardinal of

Modena, his patron, who had raised him from the dust.”

But not even that can shake the conviction that must leap to every

honest mind from following the entries in the diary contemporary with

the cardinal’s decease. They are too circumstantial and conclusive to

be overthrown by this recorded sentence of the Ruota two years later

against a man who was not even present to defend himself. Besides, it is

necessary to discriminate. Burchard is not stating opinions of his own

when he writes “in that he caused the death of the Cardinal of Modena,”

etc.; he is simply--and obviously--recording the finding of the Tribunal

of the Ruota, without comment of his own. Lastly, it is as well to

observe that in that verdict against Pinzone--of doubtful justice as it

is--there is no mention made of the Borgias.

The proceedings instituted against Sebastiano Pinzone were of a piece

with those instituted against Asquino de Colloredo and others yet to

be considered; they were set on foot by Giuliano della Rovere--that

implacable enemy of the House of Borgia--when he became Pope, for the

purpose of heaping ignominy upon the family of his predecessor. But that

shall be further dealt with presently.

Another instance of the unceasing growth of Borgia history is afforded

in connection with this Sebastiano Pinzone by Dr. Jacob Burckhardt (in

Der Cultur der Renaissance in Italien) who, in the course of the usual

sweeping diatribe against Cesare, mentions “Michele da Corella, his

strangler, and Sebastiano Pinzone, his poisoner.” It is an amazing

statement; for, whilst obviously leaning upon Giustiniani’s dispatch

for the presumption that Pinzone was a poisoner at all, he ignores the

statement contained in it that Pinzone was the secretary and favourite

of Cardinal Ferrari, nor troubles to ascertain that the man was never in

Cesare Borgia’s service at all, nor is ever once mentioned anywhere as

connected in any capacity whatever with the duke. Dr. Burckhardt felt,

no doubt, the necessity of linking Pinzone to the Borgias, that the

alleged guilt of the former may recoil upon the latter, and so he

accomplished it in this facile and irresponsible manner.

Now, notwithstanding the full and circumstantial evidence afforded by

Burchard’s Diarium of the Cardinal of Modena’s death of a tertian

fever, the German scholar Gregorovius does not hesitate to write of this

cardinal’s death: “It is certain that it was due to their [the Borgias']

infallible white powders.”

Oh the art of writing history in sweeping statements to support a

preconceived point of view! Oh that white powder of the Borgias!

Giovio tells us all about it. Cantarella, he calls it--Cantharides. Why

Cantarella? Possibly because it is a pleasing, mellifluous word that

will help a sentence hang together smoothly; possibly because the

notorious aphrodisiac properties of that drug suggested it to Giovio as

just the poison to be kept handy by folk addicted to the pursuits which

he and others attribute to the Borgias. Can you surmise any better

reason? For observe that Giovio describes the Cantarella for you--a

blunder of his which gives the lie to his statement. “A white powder of

a faint and not unpleasing savour,” says he; and that, as you know, is

nothing like cantharides, which is green, intensely acrid, and burning.

Yet who cares for such discrepancies? Who will ever question anything

that is uttered against a Borgia? “Cantarella--a white powder of a faint

and not unpleasing savour,” answers excellently the steady purpose of

supporting a defamation and pandering to the tastes of those who like

sensations in their reading--and so, from pen to pen, from book to book

it leaps, as unchallenged as it is impossible.

Whilst Cesare’s troops were engaged in laying siege to Ceri, and, by

engines contrived by Leonardo da Vinci, pressing the defenders so

sorely that at the end of a month’s resistance they surrendered with

safe-conduct, the inimical and ever-jealous Venetians in the north were

stirring up what trouble they could. Chafing under the restraint of

France, they but sought a pretext that should justify them in the eyes

of Louis for making war upon Cesare, and when presently envoys came

to lay before the Pope the grievance of the Republic at the pillage by

Borgian soldiery of the Venetian traders in Sinigaglia, Cesare had no

delusions concerning their disposition towards himself.

Growing uneasy lest they should make this a reason for assailing his

frontiers, he sent orders north recommending vigilance and instructing

his officers to deal severely with all enemies of his State, whilst he

proceeded to complete the provisions for the government of the Romagna.

To replace the Governor-General he appointed four seneschals: Cristoforo

della Torre for Forli, Faenza and Imola; Hieronimo Bonadies for Cesena,

Rimini, and Pesaro; Andrea Cossa for Fano, Sinigaglia, Fossombrone, and

Pergola; and Pedro Ramires for the duchy of Urbino. This last was to

find a deal of work for his hands; for Urbino was not yet submissive,

Majolo and S. Leo still holding for Guidobaldo.

Ramires began by reducing Majolo, and then proceeded to lay siege to

S. Leo. But the Castellan--one Lattanzio--encouraged by the assurances

given him that the Venetians would render Guidobaldo assistance to

reconquer his dominions, resisted stubbornly, and was not brought to

surrender until the end of June, after having held the castle for six

months.

If Venice was jealous and hostile in the north, Florence was scarcely

less so in mid-Italy--though perhaps with rather more justification, for

Cesare’s growing power and boundless ambition kept the latter Republic

in perpetual fear of being absorbed into his dominions--into that

kingdom which it was his ultimate aim to found. There can be little

doubt that Francesco da Narni, who appeared in Tuscany early in the

March of that year, coming from the French Court for the purpose of

arranging a league of Florence, Bologna, Siena, and Lucca--the four

States more or less under French protection--had been besought by

Florence, to the obvious end that these four States, united, might

inter-defend themselves against Valentinois. And Florence even went

so far as to avail herself of this to the extent of restoring Pandolfo

Petrucci to the lordship of Siena--preferring even this avowed enemy to

the fearful Valentinois. Thus came about Petrucci’s restoration towards

the end of March, despite the fact that the Siennese were divided on the

subject of his return.

With the single exception of Camerino, where disturbances still

continued, all was quiet in the States of the Church by that summer of

1503.

This desirable state of things had been achieved by Cesare’s wise and

liberal government, which also sufficed to ensure its continuance.

He had successfully combated the threatened famine by importing grain

from Sicily. To Sinigaglia--his latest conquest--he had accorded, as to

the other subjected States, the privilege of appointing her own native

officials, with, of course, the exception of the Podestà (who never

could be a native of any place where he dispensed justice) and the

Castellan. In Cesena a liberal justice was measured out by the Tribunal

of the Ruota, which Cesare had instituted there, equipping it with the

best jurisconsults of the Romagna.

In Rome he proceeded to a military organization on a new basis, and

with a thoroughness never before seen in Italy--or elsewhere, for that

matter--but which was thereafter the example all sought to copy. We have

seen him issuing an edict that every house in the Romagna should furnish

him one man-at-arms to serve him when necessary. The men so levied were

under obligation to repair to the market-place of their native town when

summoned thither by the ringing of the bells, and it was estimated that

this method of conscription would yield him six or seven thousand men,

who could be mobilized in a couple of days. He increased the number

of arquebusiers, appreciating the power and value of a weapon

which--although invented nearly a century earlier--was still regarded

with suspicion. He was also the inventor of the military uniform,

putting his soldiers into a livery of his own, and causing his

men-at-arms to wear over their armour a smock, quartered red and

yellow with the name CESARE lettered on the breast and back, whilst the

gentlemen of his guard wore surcoats of his colours in gold brocade and

crimson velvet.

He continued to levy troops and to arm them, and it is scarcely

over-stating the case to say that hardly a tyrant of the Romagna would

have dared to do so much for fear of the weapons being turned against

himself. Cesare knew no such fear. He enjoyed a loyalty from the people

he had subjected which was almost unprecedented in Italy. The very

officers he placed in command of the troops of his levying were, for the

most part, natives of the Romagna. Is there no inference concerning him

to be drawn from that!

For every man in his service Cesare ordered a back-and-breast and

headpiece of steel, and the armourers’ shops of Brescia rang busily that

summer with the clang of metal upon metal, as that defensive armour for

Cesare’s troops was being forged. At the same time the foundries were

turning out fresh cannon in that season which saw Cesare at the very

height and zenith of his power, although he himself may not have

accounted that, as yet, he was further than at the beginning.

But the catastrophe that was to hurl him irretrievably from the eminence

to which in three short years he had climbed was approaching with

stealthy, relentless foot, and was even now upon him.

BOOK IV. THE BULL CADENT

“Cesar Borgia che era della gente Per armi e per virtú tenuto un sole,

Mancar dovendo andó dove andar sole Phebo, verso la sera, al Occidente.

“Girolamo Casio--Epitaffi.”

CHAPTER I. THE DEATH OF ALEXANDER VI

Unfortunate Naples was a battle-field once more. France and Spain were

engaged there in a war whose details belong elsewhere.

To the aid of France, which was hard beset and with whose arms things

were going none too well, Cesare was summoned to fulfil the obligations

under which he was placed by virtue of his treaty with King Louis.

Rumours were rife that he was negotiating secretly with Gonzalo de

Cordoba, the Great Captain, and the truth of whether or not he was

guilty of so base a treachery has never been discovered. These rumours

had been abroad since May, and, if not arising out of, they were

certainly stimulated by, an edict published by Valentinois concerning

the papal chamberlain, Francesco Troche. In this edict Cesare enjoined

all subjects of the Holy See to arrest, wherever found, this man who had

fled from Rome, and whose flight “was concerned with something against

the honour of the King of France.”

Francesco Troche had been Alexander’s confidential chamberlain and

secretary; he had been a diligent servant of the House of Borgia, and

when in France had acted as a spy for Valentinois, keeping the duke

supplied with valuable information at a critical time, as we have seen.

Villari says of him that he was “one of the Borgias’ most trusted

assassins.” That he has never been so much as alleged to have murdered

anyone does not signify. He was a servant--a trusted servant--of

the Borgias; therefore the title of “assassin” is, ipso facto, to be

bestowed upon him.

The flight of a man holding such an intimate position as Troche’s was

naturally a subject of much speculation and gossip, but a matter upon

which there was no knowledge. Valentinois was ever secret. In common

with his father--though hardly in so marked a degree, and if we except

the case of the scurrilous Letter to Silvio Savelli--he showed a

contemptuous indifference to public opinion on the whole which is

invested almost with a certain greatness. At least it is rarely other

than with greatness that we find such an indifference associated. It was

not for him to take the world into his confidence in matters with which

the world was not concerned. Let the scandalmongers draw what inferences

they pleased. It was a lofty and dignified procedure, but one that was

fraught with peril; and the Borgias have never ceased to pay the price

of that excessive dignity of reserve. For tongues must be wagging, and,

where knowledge is lacking, speculation will soon usurp its place, and

presently be invested with all the authority of “fact.”

Out of surmises touching that matter “which concerned the honour of the

King of France” grew presently--and contradictorily--the rumour that

Troche was gone to betray to France Valentinois’s intention of going

over to the Spanish side. A motive was certainly required to account for

Troche’s action; but the invention of motives does not appear ever to

have troubled the Cinquecentist.

It was now said that Troche was enraged at having been omitted from the

list of cardinals to be created at the forthcoming Consistory. It is

all mystery, even to the end he made; for, whereas some said that, after

being seized on board a ship that was bound for Corsica, Troche in his

despair threw himself overboard and was drowned, others reported that he

was brought back to Rome and strangled in a prison in Trastevere.

The following questions crave answer:

If it was Troche’s design to betray such a treachery of the Borgias

against France, what was he doing on board a vessel bound for Corsica

a fortnight after his flight from Rome? Would not his proper goal have

been the French camp in Naples, which he could have reached in a quarter

of that time, and where not only could he have vented his desire for

vengeance by betraying Alexander and Valentinois, but he could further

have found complete protection from pursuit?

It is idle and unprofitable to dwell further upon the end of Francesco

Troche. The matter is a complete mystery, and whilst theory is very well

as theory, it is dangerous to cause it to fill the place of fact.

Troche was drowned or was strangled as a consequence of his having fled

out of motives that were “against the honour of the King of France.” And

straightway the rumour spread of Valentinois’s intended treachery, and

the rumour was kept alive and swelled by Venice and Florence in pursuit

of their never-ceasing policy of discrediting Cesare with King Louis, to

the end that they might encompass his expedient ruin.

The lie was given to them to no small extent by the Pope, when, in

the Consistory of July 28, he announced Cesare’s departure to join the

French army in Naples with five hundred horse and two thousand foot

assembled for the purpose.

For this Cesare made now his preparations, and on the eve of departure

he went with his father--on the evening of August 5--to sup at the villa

of Cardinal Adriano Corneto, outside Rome.

Once before we have seen him supping at a villa of the Suburra on the

eve of setting out for Naples, and we know the tragedy that followed--a

tragedy which he has been accused of having brought about. Here again,

in a villa of the Suburra, at a supper on the eve of setting out for

Naples, Death was the unseen guest.

They stayed late at the vineyard of Cardinal Corneto, enjoying

the treacherous cool of the evening, breathing the death that was

omnipresent in Rome that summer, the pestilential fever which had

smitten Cardinal Giovanni Borgia (Seniore) on the 1st of that month, and

of which men were dying every day in the most alarming numbers.

On the morning of Saturday 12, Burchard tells us, the Pope felt ill, and

that evening he was taken with fever. On the 15th Burchard records that

he was bled, thirteen ounces of blood being taken from him. It relieved

him somewhat, and, seeking distraction, he bade some of the cardinals to

come and sit by his bed and play at cards.

Meanwhile, Cesare was also stricken, and in him the fever raged so

fierce and violently that he had himself immersed to the neck in a huge

jar of ice-cold water--a drastic treatment in consequence of which he

came to shed all the skin from his body.

On the 17th the Pope was much worse, and on the 18th, the end being at

hand, he was confessed by the Bishop of Culm, who administered Extreme

Unction, and that evening he died.

That, beyond all manner of question, is the true story of the passing of

Alexander VI, as revealed by the Diarium of Burchard, by the testimony

of the physician who attended him, and by the dispatches of the

Venetian, Ferrarese, and Florentine ambassadors. At this time of day it

is accepted by all serious historians, compelled to it by the burden of

evidence.

The ambassador of Ferrara had written to Duke Ercole, on August 14, that

it was no wonder the Pope and the duke were ill, as nearly everybody in

Rome was ill as a consequence of the bad air (“Per la mala condictione

de aere”).

Cardinal Soderini was also stricken with the fever, whilst Corneto was

taken ill on the day after that supper-party, and, like Cesare, is said

to have shed all the skin of his body before he recovered.

Even Villari and Gregorovius, so unrestrained when writing of the

Borgias, discard the extraordinary and utterly unwarranted stories of

Guicciardini, Giovio, and Bembo, which will presently be considered.

Gregorovius does this with a reluctance that is almost amusing, and

with many a fond, regretful, backward glance--so very apparent in his

manner--at the tale of villainy as told by Guicciardini and the others,

which the German scholar would have adopted but that he dared not for

his credit’s sake. This is not stated on mere assumption. It is obvious

to any one who reads Gregorovius’s histories.

Burchard tells us--as certainly matter for comment--that, during his

last illness, Alexander never once asked for Cesare nor ever once

mentioned the name of Lucrezia. So far as Cesare is concerned, the Pope

knew, no doubt, that he was ill and bedridden, for all that the gravity

of the duke’s condition would, probably, have been concealed from

him. That he should not have mentioned Lucrezia--nor, we suppose,

Giuffredo--is remarkable. Did he, with the hand of Death already upon

him, reproach himself with this paternity which, however usual and

commonplace in priests of all degrees, was none the less a scandal, and

the more scandalous in a measure as the rank of the offender was higher?

It may well be that in those last days that sinful, worldly old man

bethought him of the true scope and meaning of Christ’s Vicarship, which

he had so wantonly abused and dishonoured, and considered that to that

Judge before whom he was summoned to appear the sins of his predecessors

would be no justification or mitigation of his own. It may well be that,

grown introspective upon his bed of death, he tardily sought to thrust

from his mind the worldly things that had so absorbed it until the

spiritual were forgotten, and had given rise to all the scandal

concerning him that was spread through Christendom, to the shame and

dishonour of the Church whose champion he should have been.

Thus may it have come to pass that he summoned none of his children in

his last hours, nor suffered their names to cross his lips.

When the news of his father’s death was brought to Cesare, the duke, all

fever-racked as he was, more dead than living, considered his position

and issued his orders to Michele da Corella, that most faithful of all

his captains, who so richly shared with Cesare the execration of the

latter’s enemies.

Of tears for his father there is no record, just as at no time are we

allowed to see that stern spirit giving way to any emotion, conceiving

any affection, or working ever for the good of any but himself. Besides,

in such an hour as this, the consciousness of the danger in which

he stood by virtue of the Pope’s death and his own most inopportune

sickness, which disabled him from taking action to make his future

secure, must have concerned him to the exclusion of all else.

Meanwhile, however, Rome was quiet, held so in the iron grip of Michele

da Corella and the ducal troops. The Pope’s death was being kept secret

for the moment, and was not announced to the people until nightfall, by

when Corella had carried out his master’s orders, including the seizure

of the Pope’s treasure. And Burchard tells us how some of Valentinois’s

men entered the Vatican--all the gates of which were held by the ducal

troops--and, seizing Cardinal Casanova, they demanded, with a dagger

at his throat and a threat to fling his corpse from the windows if

he refused them, the Pope’s keys. These the cardinal surrendered, and

Corella possessed himself of plate and jewels to the value of some

200,000 ducats, besides two caskets containing about 100,000 ducats in

gold. Thereafter the servants of the palace completed the pillage by

ransacking the wardrobes and taking all they could find, so that nothing

was left in the papal apartments but the chairs, a few cushions, and the

tapestries of the walls.

All his life Alexander had been the victim of the most ribald calumnies.

Stories had ever sprung up and thriven, like ill weeds, about his name

and reputation. His sins, great and scandalous in themselves, were

swelled by popular rumour, under the spur of malice, to monstrous and

incredible proportions. As they had exaggerated and lied about the

manner of his life, so--with a consistency worthy of better scope--they

exaggerated and lied about the manner of his death, and, the age being

a credulous one, the stories were such that writers of more modern

and less credulous times dare not insist upon them, lest they should

discredit--as they do--what else has been alleged against him.

Thus when, in his last delirium, the Pope uttered some such words as: “I

am coming; I am coming. It is just. But wait a little,” and when those

words were repeated, it was straightway asserted that the Devil was the

being he thus addressed in that supreme hour. The story grew in detail;

that is inevitable with such matter. He had bargained with the devil,

it was said, for a pontificate of twelve years, and, the time being

completed, the devil was come for him. And presently, we even have a

description of Messer the Devil as he appeared on that occasion--in the

shape of a baboon. The Marquis Gonzaga of Mantua, in all seriousness,

writes to relate this. The chronicler Sanuto, receiving the now

popularly current story from another source, in all seriousness gives it

place in his Diarii, thus:

“The devil was seen to leap out of the room in the shape of a baboon.

And a cardinal ran to seize him, and, having caught him, would have

presented him to the Pope; but the Pope said, ‘Let him go, let him go.

It is the devil,’ and that night he fell ill and died.”(1)

1 “Il diavolo sarebbe saltato fuori della camera in forma di babuino, et

un cardinale corso per piarlo, e preso volendolo presentar al papa,

il papa disse lasolo, lasolo ché ii diavolo. E poi la notte si amaló e

morite.”--Marino Sanuto, Diarii.

That story, transcending the things which this more practical age

considers possible, is universally rejected; but it is of vast

importance to the historical student; for it is to be borne in mind that

it finds a place in the pages of those same Diarii upon the authority

of which are accepted many defamatory stories without regard to their

extreme improbability so long as they are within the bounds of bare

possibility.

After Alexander was dead it was said that water boiled in his mouth, and

that steam issued from it as he lay in St. Peter’s, and much else of the

same sort, which the known laws of physiology compel so many of us very

reluctantly to account exaggerations. But, again, remember that the

source of these stories was the same as the source of many other

exaggerations not at issue with physiological laws.

The circumstances of Alexander’s funeral are in the highest degree

scandalous, and reflect the greatest discredit upon his age.

On the morrow, as the clergy were chanting the Libera me, Domine in St.

Peter’s, where the body was exposed on a catafalque in full pontificals,

a riot occurred, set on foot by the soldiers present for reasons which

Burchard--who records the event--does not make clear.

The clerics fled for shelter to the sacristy, the chants were cut short,

and the Pope’s body almost entirely abandoned.

But the most scandalous happening occurred twenty-four hours later. The

Pope’s remains were removed to the Chapel of Santa Maria delle Febbre

by six bearers who laughed and jested at the expense of the poor corpse,

which was in case to provoke the coarse mirth of the lower classes of an

age which, setting no value upon human life, knew no respect for death.

By virtue of the malady that had killed him, of his plethoric habit

of body, and of the sweltering August heat, the corpse was decomposing

rapidly, so that the face had become almost black and assumed an aspect

grotesquely horrible, fully described by Burchard:

“Factus est sicut pannus vel morus nigerrimus, livoris totus plenus,

nasus plenus, os amplissimum, lingua duplex in ore, que labia tota

implebat, os apertum et adeo horribile quod nemo viderit unquam vel esse

tale dixerit.”

Two carpenters waited in the chapel with the coffin which they had

brought; but, either through carelessness it had been made too narrow

and too short, or else the body, owing to its swollen condition, did

not readily fit into this receptable; whereupon, removing the mitre, for

which there was no room, they replaced it by a piece of old carpet, and

set themselves to force and pound the corpse into the coffin. And this

was done “without candle or any light being burned in honour of the

dead, and without the presence of any priest or other person to care

for the Pope’s remains.” No explanation of this is forthcoming; it was

probably due to the panic earlier occasioned the clergy by the ducal

men-at-arms.

The story that he had been poisoned was already spreading like a

conflagration through Rome, arising out of the appearance of the body,

which was such as was popularly associated with venenation.

But a Borgia in the rôle of a victim was altogether too unusual to be

acceptable, and too much opposed to the taste to which the public had

been educated; so the story must be edited and modified until suitable

for popular consumption. The supper-party at Cardinal Corneto’s villa

was remembered, and upon that a tale was founded, and trimmed by degrees

into plausible shape.

Alexander had intended to poison Corneto--so ran this tale--that he

might possess himself of the cardinal’s vast riches; in the main a

well-worn story by now. To this end Cesare had bribed a butler to pour

wine for the cardinal from a flask which he entrusted to him. Exit

Cesare. Exit presently the butler, carelessly leaving the poisoned wine

upon a buffet. (The drama, you will observe, is perfectly mechanical,

full of author’s interventions, and elementary in its “preparations”).

Enter the Pope. He thirsts, and calls for wine. A servant hastens; takes

up, of course, the poisoned flask in ignorance of its true quality, and

pours for his Beatitude. Whilst the Pope drinks re-enters Cesare, also

athirst, and, seating himself, he joins the Pope in the poisoned wine,

all unsuspicious and having taken no precautions to mark the

flask. Poetic justice is done, and down comes the curtain upon that

preposterous tragi-farce.

Such is the story which Guicciardini and Giovio and a host of other more

or less eminent historians have had the audacity to lay before their

readers as being the true circumstances of the death of Alexander VI.

It is a noteworthy matter that in all that concerns the history of the

House of Borgia, and more particularly those incidents in it that are

wrapped in mystery, circumstantial elucidation has a habit of proceeding

from the same quarters.

You will remember, for instance, that the Venetian Paolo Capello (though

not in Rome at the time) was one of those who was best informed in the

matter of the murder of the Duke of Gandia. And it was Capello again who

was possessed of the complete details of the scarcely less mysterious

business of Alfonso of Aragon. Another who on the subject of the murder

of Gandia “had no doubts”--as he himself expressed it--was Pietro

Martire d’Anghiera, in Spain at the time, whence he wrote to inform

Italy of the true circumstances of a case that had happened in Italy.

It is again Pietro Martire d’Anghiera who, on November 10, 1503, writes

from Burgos in Spain to inform Rome of the true facts of Alexander’s

death--for it is in that letter of his that the tale of the flask of

wine, as here set down, finds place for the first time.

It is unprofitable to pursue the matter further, since at this time

of day even the most reluctant to reject anything that tells against

a Borgia have been compelled to admit that the burden of evidence is

altogether too overwhelming in this instance, and that it is proved to

the hilt that Alexander died of the tertian fever then ravaging Rome.

And just as the Pope’s death was the subject of the wildest fictions

which have survived until very recent days, so too, was Cesare’s

recovery.

Again, it was the same Pietro Martire d’Anghiera who from Burgos wrote

to inform Rome of what was taking place in the privacy of the Duke of

Valentinois’s apartments in the Vatican. Under his facile and magic pen,

the jar of ice-cold water into which Cesare was believed to have been

plunged was transmuted into a mule which was ripped open that the

fever-stricken Cesare might be packed into the pulsating entrails, there

to sweat the fever out of him.

But so poor and sexless a beast as this seeming in the popular mind

inadequate to a man of Cesare’s mettle, it presently improved upon and

converted it into a bull--so much more appropriate, too, as being the

emblem of his house.

Nor does it seem that even then the story has gone far enough. Facilis

inventis addere. There comes a French writer with an essay on the

Borgias, than which--submitted as sober fact--nothing more amazingly

lurid has been written. In this, with a suggestive cleverness entirely

Gallic, he causes us to gather an impression of Cesare in the intestinal

sudatorium of that eventrated bull, as of one who is at once the

hierophant and devotee of a monstrous, foul, and unclean rite of some

unspeakable religion--a rite by comparison with which the Black Mass of

the Abbé Gribourg becomes a sweet and wholesome thing.

But hear the man himself:

“Cet homme de meurtres et d’inceste, incarné dans l’animal des

hécatombes et des bestialités antiques en évoque les monstrueuses

images. Je crois entendre le taureau de Phalaris et le taureau de

Pasiphaë répondre, de loin, par d’effrayants mugissements, aux cris

humains de ce bucentaure.”

That is the top note on this subject. Hereafter all must pale to

anti-climax.

CHAPTER II. PIUS III

The fever that racked Cesare Borgia’s body in those days can have been

as nothing to the fever that racked his mind, the despairing rage that

must have whelmed his soul to see the unexpected--the one contingency

against which he had not provided--cutting the very ground from

underneath his feet.

As he afterwards expressed himself to Macchiavelli, and as Macchiavelli

has left on record, Cesare had thought of everything, had provided for

everything that might happen on his father’s death, save that in such a

season--when more than ever he should have need for all his strength of

body and of mind--he should, himself, be lying at the point of death.

Scarce was Alexander’s body cold than the duke’s enemies began to lift

their heads. Already by the 20th of that month--two days after the Pope

had breathed his last--the Orsini were in arms and had led a rising, in

retort to which Michele da Corella fired their palace on Montegiordano.

Venice and Florence bethought them that the protection of France had

been expressly for the Church and not for Cesare personally. So the

Venetians at once supplied Guidobaldo da Montefeltre with troops

wherewith to reconquer his dominions, and by the 24th he was master of

S. Leo. In the city of Urbino itself Ramires, the governor, held out as

long as possible, then beat a retreat to Cesena, whilst Valentinois’s

partisans in Urbino were mercilessly slaughtered and their houses

pillaged.

Florence supported the Baglioni in the conquest of Magione from the

Borgias, and they aided Giacopo d’Appiano to repossess himself of

Piombino, which had so gladly seen him depart out of it eighteen months

ago.

From Magione, Gianpaolo Baglioni marches his Florentine troops to

Camerino to aid the only remaining Varano to regain the tyranny of his

fathers. The Vitelli are back in Città di Castello, carrying a golden

calf in triumph through the streets; and so by the end of August, within

less than a fortnight, all the appendages of the Romagna are lost

to Cesare, whilst at Cesare’s very gates the Orsini men-at-arms are

clamouring with insistent menace.

The Duke’s best friend, in that crisis, was his secretary Agabito

Gherardi. For it is eminently probable--as Alvisi opines--that it was

Gherardi who urged his master to make an alliance with the Colonna,

Gherardi himself being related to that powerful family. The alliance of

these old enemies--Colonna and Borgia--was in their common interests,

that they might stand against their common enemy, Orsini--the old

friends of the Borgias.

On August 22 Prospero Colonna came to Rome, and terms were made and

cemented, in the usual manner, by a betrothal--that of the little

Rodrigo--(Lucrezia’s child)--to a daughter of the House of Colonna.

On the same day the Sacred College confirmed Cesare in his office of

Captain-General and Gonfalonier of the Church, pending the election of a

new Pope.

Meanwhile, sick almost to the point of death, and scarce able to stir

hand or foot, so weak in body had he been left by the heroic treatment

to which he had submitted, Cesare continued mentally a miracle of energy

and self-possession. He issued orders for the fortifying of the Vatican,

and summoned from Romagna 200 horse and 1,000 foot to his aid in Rome,

bidding Remolino, who brought these troops, to quarter himself at

Orvieto, and there await his further orders.

Considering that the Colonna were fighting in Naples under the banner

of Gonzalo de Cordoba, it was naturally enough supposed, from Cesare’s

alliance with the former, that this time he was resolved to go over to

the side of Spain. Of this, M. de Trans came to protest to Valentinois

on behalf of Louis XII, to be answered by the duke’s assurances that the

alliance into which he had entered was strictly confined to the Colonna,

that it entailed no treaty with Spain; nor had he entered into any; that

his loyalty to the King of France continued unimpaired, and that he

was ready to support King Louis with the entire forces he disposed

of, whenever his Majesty should desire him so to do. In reply, he

was assured by the French ambassador and Cardinal Sanseverino of the

continued protection of Louis, and that France would aid him to maintain

his dominions in Italy and reconquer any that might have seceded; and

of this declaration copies were sent to Florence, Venice, and Bologna on

September 1, as a warning to those Powers not to engage in anything to

the hurt of Valentinois.

Thus sped the time of the novendiali--the nine days’ obsequies of the

dead Pope--which were commenced on September 4.

As during the conclave that was immediately to follow it was against

the law for armed men to be in Rome, Cesare was desired by the Sacred

College to withdraw his troops. He did so on September 2, and himself

went with them.

Cardinal Sanseverino and the French ambassador escorted him out of Rome

and saw him take the road to Nepi--a weak, fever-ravaged, emaciated man,

borne in a litter by a dozen of his halberdiers, his youth, his beauty,

his matchless strength of body all sapped from him by the insidious

disease which had but grudgingly spared his very life.

At Nepi he was awaited by his brother Giuffredo, who had preceded him

thither from Rome. A shadowy personage this Giuffredo, whose unimportant

personality is tantalizingly elusive in the pages where mention is made

of him. His incontinent wife, Doña Sancia, had gone to Naples under the

escort of Prospero Colonna, having left the Castle of Sant’ Angelo where

for some time she had been confined by order of her father-in-law, the

Pope, on account of the disorders of her frivolous life.

And now the advices of the fresh treaty between Cesare Borgia and the

King of France were producing their effect upon Venice and Florence, who

were given additional pause by the fierce jealousy of each other, which

was second only to their jealousy of the duke.

From Venice--with or without the sanction of his Government--Bartolomeo

d’Alviano had ridden south into the Romagna with his condotta

immediately upon receiving news of the death of Alexander, and, finding

Pandolfaccio Malatesta at Ravenna, he proceeded to accompany him back

to that Rimini which the tyrant had sold to Cesare. Rimini, however,

refused to receive him back, and showed fight to the forces under

d’Alviano. So that, for the moment, nothing was accomplished. Whereupon

the Republic, which at first had raised a feeble, make-believe protest

at the action of her condottiero, now deemed it as well to find a

pretext for supporting him. So Venice alleged that a courier of hers had

been stripped of a letter, and, with such an overwhelming cause as that

for hostilities, dispatched reinforcements to d’Alviano to the end that

he might restore Pandolfaccio to a dominion in which he was abhorred.

Further, d’Alviano was thereafter to proceed to do the like office for

Giovanni Sforza, who already had taken ship for Pesaro, and who was

restored to his lordship on September 3.

Thence, carrying the war into the Romagna itself, d’Alviano marched upon

Cesena. But the Romagna was staunch and loyal to her duke. The governor

had shut himself up in Cesena with what troops he could muster,

including a thousand veterans under the valiant Dionigio di Naldo,

and there, standing firm and resolute, he awaited the onslaught of the

Venetians.

D’Alviano advanced rapidly and cruelly, a devastator laying waste the

country in his passage, until to check him came suddenly the Borgia

troops, which had ventured upon a sally. The Venetians were routed and

put to flight.

On September 16 the restored tyrants of Rimini, Pesaro, Castello,

Perugia, Camerino, Urbino, and Sinigaglia entered into and signed at

Perugia a league, whose chiefs were Bartolomeo d’Alviano and Gianpaolo

Baglioni, for their common protection.

Florence was invited to join the allies. Intimidated, however, by

France, not only did the Signory refuse to be included, but--in her

usual manner--actually went so far as to advise Cesare Borgia of that

refusal and to offer him her services and help.

On the same date the Sacred College assembled in Rome, at the Mass of

the Holy Spirit, to beseech the grace of inspiration in the election of

the new Pontiff. The part usually played by the divine afflatus in

these matters was so fully understood and appreciated that the Venetian

ambassador received instructions from the Republic(1) to order the

Venetian cardinals to vote for Giuliano della Rovere, whilst the King of

France sent a letter--in his own hand--to the Sacred College desiring it

to elect his friend the Cardinal d’Amboise, and Spain, at the same time,

sought to influence the election of Carvajal.

1 See Sanuto’s Diarrii.

The chances of the last-named do not appear ever to have amounted

to very much. The three best supported candidates were della Rovere,

d’Amboise, and Ascanio Sforza--who made his reappearance in Rome,

released from his French prison at last, in time to attend this

Conclave.

None of these three factions was strong enough to ensure the election

of its own candidate, but any two were strong enough to prevent the

election of the candidate of the third. Wherefore it happened that, as

a result of so much jealousy and competition, recourse was had to

temporizing by electing the oldest and feeblest cardinal in the College.

Thus there should presently be another election, and meantime the

candidates would improve the time by making their arrangements and

canvassing their supporters so as to control the votes of the College at

that future Conclave. Therefore Francesco Piccolomini, Cardinal of

Siena (nephew of Pius II), a feeble octogenarian, tormented by an ulcer,

which, in conjunction with an incompetent physician, was to cut his life

even shorter than they hoped, was placed upon the throne of St. Peter,

and assumed with the Pontificate the name of Pius III.

The new Pope was entirely favourable to Cesare Borgia, and confirmed him

in all his offices, signifying his displeasure to Venice at her attempt

upon the Romagna, and issuing briefs to the allied tyrants commanding

them to desist from their opposition to the will of the Holy See.

Cesare returned to Rome, still weak on his legs and ghastly to behold,

and on October 6 he received in St. Peter’s his confirmation as

Captain-General and Gonfalonier of the Church.

The Venetians had meanwhile been checked by a letter from Louis from

lending further assistance to the allies. The latter, however, continued

their hostilities in spite of that. They had captured Sinigaglia, and

now they made an attempt on Fano and Fermo, but were repulsed in both

places by Cesare’s loyal subjects. At the same time the Ordelaffi--who

in the old days had been deposed from the Tyranny of Forli to make room

for the Riarii--deemed the opportunity a good one to attempt to regain

their lordship; but their attempt, too, was frustrated.

Cesare sat impotent in Rome, no doubt vexed by his own inaction. He

cannot have lacked the will to go to the Romagna to support the subjects

who showed him such loyalty; but he lacked the means. Owing to the

French and Spanish dispute in Naples, his army had practically melted

away. The terms of his treaty with Louis compelled him to send the

bulk of it to the camp at Garigliano to support the French, who were in

trouble. The force that Remolino had quartered at Orvieto to await the

duke’s orders he had been unable to retain there. Growing uneasy at

their position, and finding it impossible either to advance or to

retreat, being threatened on the one side by the Baglioni and on the

other by the Orsini, these troops had steadily deserted; whilst most

of Cesare’s Spanish captains and their followers had gone to the aid of

their compatriots under Gonzalo de Cordoba in response to that captain’s

summons of every Spaniard in the peninsula.

Thus did it come about that Cesare had no force to afford his Romagna

subjects. His commissioners in the north did what was possible to repair

the damage effected by the allies, and they sent Dionigio di Naldo with

six hundred of his foot, and, further, a condotta of two hundred horse,

against Rimini. This was captured by them in one day and almost without

resistance, Pandolfaccio flying for his life to Pesaro.

Next the allies, by attempting to avenge the rout they had suffered

at Cesena, afforded the ducal troops an opportunity of scoring another

victory. They prepared a second attack against Cesare’s capital, and

with an army of considerable strength they advanced to the very walls of

the stronghold, laying the aqueduct in ruins and dismantling what other

buildings they found in their way. But in Cesena the gallant Pedro

Ramires lay in wait for them. Issuing to meet them, he not only put them

to flight and drove them for shelter into the fortress of Montebello,

but laid siege to them there and broke them utterly, with a loss, as was

reputed, of some three hundred men in slain alone.

The news of this came to cheer Valentinois, who, moreover, had now

the Pope and France to depend upon. Further, and in view of that

same protection, the Orsini were already treating with him for a

reconciliation, despite the fact that the Orsini blood was scarce dry

upon his hands. But he had a resolute, sly, and desperate enemy in

Venice, and on October 10 there arrived in Rome Bartolomeo d’Alviano and

Gianpaolo Baglioni, who repaired to the Venetian ambassador and informed

him that they were come in quest of the person of Valentinois, intending

his death.

To achieve their ends they united themselves to the Orsini, who were

now in arms in Rome, their attempted reconciliation with Cesare having

aborted. Valentinois’s peril became imminent, and from the Vatican he

withdrew for shelter to the Castle of Sant’ Angelo, going by way of the

underground passage built by his father.

Thence he summoned Michele da Corella, who was at Rocca Soriana with his

foot, and Taddeo della Volpe (a valiant captain and a great fighter, who

had already lost an eye in Cesare’s service) and Baldassare Scipione,

who were in the Neapolitan territory with their men-at-arms. He was

gathering his sinews for a spring, when suddenly the entire face of

affairs was altered and all plans were checked by the death of Pius III

on October 18, after a reign of twenty-six days.

Once more there was an end to Cesare’s credit. No man might say what the

future held in store. Giustiniani, indeed, wrote to his Government

that Cesare was about to withdraw to France, and that he had besought

a safe-conduct of the Orsini--which report is as true as many another

communication from the same Venetian pen, ever ready to write what

it hoped might be true; and it is flatly contradicted by the

better-informed Macchiavelli, who was writing at the same time:

“The duke is in Sant’ Angelo, and is more hopeful than ever of

accomplishing great things, presupposing a Pope according to the wishes

of his friends.”

But the Romagna was stirred once more to the turbulence from which it

had scarcely settled. Forli and Rimini were lost almost at once, the

Ordelaffi succeeding in capturing the former in this their second

attempt, whilst Pandolfaccio once more sat in his palace at Rimini,

having cut his way to it through a sturdy resistance. Against Imola

Bentivogli dispatched a force of two thousand foot; but this was beaten

off.

The authority of France appeared to have lost its weight, and in vain

did Cardinal d’Amboise thunder threats in the name of his friend King

Louis, and send envoys to Florence, Venice, Bologna, and Urbino,

to complain of the injuries that were being done to the Duke of

Valentinois.

CHAPTER III. JULIUS II

Giuliano della Rovere, Cardinal of S. Pietro in Vincoli, had much in his

character that was reminiscent of his terrible uncle, Sixtus IV.

Like that uncle of his, he had many failings highly unbecoming any

Christian--laic or ecclesiastic--which no one has attempted to screen;

and, incidentally, he cultivated morality in his private life and

observed his priestly vows of chastity as little as did any other

churchman of his day. For you may see him, through the eyes of Paride de

Grassi,(1) unable one Good Friday to remove his shoes for the adoration

of the cross in consequence of his foot’s affliction--ex morbo gallico.

But with one great and splendid virtue was he endowed in the eyes of the

enemies of the House of Borgia--contemporary, and subsequent down to

our times--a most profound, unchristian, and mordacious hatred of all

Borgias.

1 Burchard’s successor in the office of Master of Ceremonies.

Roderigo Borgia had defeated him in the Conclave of 1492, and for twelve

years had kept him out of the coveted pontificate. You have seen how he

found expression for his furious jealousy at his rival’s success. You

have seen him endeavouring to his utmost to accomplish the deposition of

the Borgia Pope, wielding to that end the lever of simony and seeking a

fulcrum for it, first in the King of France and later in Ferdinand and

Isabella; but failing hopelessly in both instances. You have seen him,

when he realized the failure of an attempt which had made Rome too

dangerous for him and compelled him to remain in exile, suddenly veering

round to fawn and flatter and win the friendship of one whom his enmity

could not touch.

This man who, as Julius II, was presently to succeed Pius III, has

been accounted a shining light of virtue amid the dark turpitude of the

Church in the Renaissance. An ignis fatuus, perhaps; a Jack-o’-lanthorn

begotten of putrescence. Surely no more than that.

Dr. Jacob Burckhardt, in that able work of his to which reference

already has been made, follows the well-worn path of unrestrained

invective against the Borgias, giving to the usual empty assertions

the place which should be assigned to evidence and argument. Like his

predecessors along that path, he causes Giuliano della Rovere to

shine heroically by contrast--a foil to throw into greater relief the

blackness of Alexander. But he carries assertion rather further than do

others when he says of Cardinal della Rovere that “He ascended the steps

of St. Peter’s Chair without simony and amid general applause, and

with him ceased, at all events, the undisguised traffic in the highest

offices of the Church.”

Other writers in plenty have suggested this, but none has quite so

plainly and resoundingly thrown down the gauntlet, which we will make

bold to lift.

That Dr. Burckhardt wrote in other than good faith is not to be

imputed. It must therefore follow that an entry in the Diarium of the

Caerimoniarius under date of October 29, 1503, escaped him utterly in

the course of his researches. For the Diarium informs us that on that

day, in the Apostolic Palace, Giuliano della Rovere, Cardinal of S.

Pietro in Vincoli, concluded the terms of an agreement with the Duke of

Valentinois and the latter’s following of Spanish cardinals, by which

he undertook that, in consideration of his receiving the votes of these

Spanish cardinals and being elected Pope, he would confirm Cesare in his

office of Gonfalonier and Captain-General, and would preserve him in the

dominion of the Romagna. And, in consideration of that undertaking, the

Spanish cardinals, on their side, promised to give him their suffrages.

Here are the precise words in which Burchard records the transaction:

“Eadem die, 29 Octobris, Rmus. D. S. Petri ad Vincula venit in

palatio apostolico cum duce Valentino et cardinalibus suis Hispanis et

concluserunt capitula eorum per que, inter alia, cardinalis S. Petri ad

Vincula, postquam esset papa, crearet confalonierium Ecclesiae generalem

ducem ac ei faveret et in statibus suis (relinqueret) et vice versa dux

pape; et promiserunt omnes cardinalis Hispani dare votum pro Cardinali

S. Petri ad Vincula ad papatum.”

If that does not entail simony and sacrilege, then such things do

not exist at all. More, you shall hunt in vain for any accusation so

authoritative, formal and complete, regarding the simony practised by

Alexander VI on his election. And this same Julius, moreover, was the

Pope who later was to launch his famous Bull de Simoniaca Electione, to

add another stain to the besmirched escutcheon of the Borgia Pontiff.

His conciliation of Cesare and his obtaining, thus, the support of the

Spanish cardinals, who, being Alexander’s creatures, were now Cesare’s

very faithful servants, ensured the election of della Rovere; for,

whilst those cardinals’ votes did not suffice to place him in St.

Peter’s Chair, they would abundantly have sufficed to have kept him out

of it had Cesare so desired them.

In coming to terms with Cardinal della Rovere, Cesare made the first

great mistake of his career, took the first step towards ruin. He

should have known better than to have trusted such a man. He should have

remembered the ancient bitter rancour; should have recognized, in the

amity of later times, the amity of the self-seeker, and mistrusted it.

But della Rovere had acquired a reputation for honesty and for being

a man of his word. How far he deserved it you may judge from what is

presently to follow. He had acquired it, however, and Cesare, to his

undoing, attached faith to that reputation. He may, to some extent, have

counted upon the fact that, of Cardinal della Rovere’s bastard children,

only a daughter--Felice della Rovere--survived. Raffaele, the last of

his bastard boys, had died a year ago. Thus, Cesare may have concluded

that the cardinal having no sons whose fortunes he must advance, would

lack temptation to break faith with him.

From all this it resulted that, at the Conclave of November 1, Giuliano

della Rovere was elected Pope, and took the name of Julius II; whilst

Valentinois, confident now that his future was assured, left the

Castle of Sant’ Angelo to take up his residence at the Vatican, in the

Belvedere, with forty gentlemen constituting his suite.

On November 3 Julius II issued briefs to the Romagna, ordering obedience

to Cesare, with whom he was now in daily and friendliest intercourse.

In the Romagna, meanwhile, the disturbances had not only continued, but

they had taken a fresh turn. Venice, having reseated Malatesta on the

throne, now vented at last the covetousness she had ever, herself,

manifested of that dominion, and sent a force to drive him out again and

conquer Rimini for the Republic.

Florence, in a spasm of jealous anger at this, inquired was the Pope to

become the chaplain of Venice, and dispatched Macchiavelli to bear the

tale of these doings to Julius.

Under so much perpetual strife the strength of the Romagna was gradually

crumbling, and Cesare, angry with Florence for never going beyond

lip-service, expressed that anger to Macchiavelli, informing the

ambassador that the Signory could have saved the Romagna for him with a

hundred men-at-arms.

The duke sent for Giustiniani, the ambassador of Venice, who, however,

excused himself and did not go. This within a week of the new Pope’s

election, showing already how men discerned what was in store for

Valentinois. Giustiniani wrote to his Government that he had not gone

lest his going should give the duke importance in the eyes of others.(1)

The pettiness and meanness of the man, revealed in that dispatch, will

enable you to attach to Giustiniani the label that belongs to him.

1 “Per non dar materia ad altri che fazino un po di lui mazor estimazion

di quel che fanno quando lo vedessero in parte alcuna

favorito.”--Giustiniani, Dispatch of November 6, 1503.

To cheer Valentinois in those days of depression came news that his

subjects of Imola had successfully resisted an attack on the part of the

Venetians. So stimulated was he that he prepared at once to go, himself,

into the Romagna, and obtained from the Pope, from d’Amboise, and

from Soderini, letters to Florence desiring the Signory to afford him

safe-conduct through Tuscany for himself and his army.

The Pope expressed himself, in his letter, that he would count such

safe-conduct as a great favour to himself, and urged the granting of it

out of his “love for Cesare,” owing to the latter’s “great virtues and

shining merits.”(2) Yet on the morrow of dispatching that brief, this

man, who was accounted honest, straightforward, and imbued with a

love of truth, informed Giustiniani--or else Giustiniani lied in his

dispatches--that he understood that the Venetians were assailing the

Romagna, not out of enmity to the Church, but to punish the demerits of

Cesare, and he made it plain to Giustiniani that, if he complained

of the conduct of the Venetians, it was on his own behalf and not on

Cesare’s, as his aim was to preserve the Romagna, not for the duke, but

for the Church.

2 “In quo nobis rem gratissimam facietis ducis enim ipsum propter ejus

insignes virtutes et praeclara merita praecipuo affectur et caritate

praecipua complectimur.”--Archivio di Stato, Firenze. (See Alvisi, Doct.

96.)

With the aim we have no quarrel. It was laudable enough in a Pontiff.

But it foreshadows Cesare’s ruin, in spite of the love-protesting letter

to Florence, in spite of the bargain struck by virtue of which Julius

had obtained the pontificate. Whether the Pope went further in his

treachery, whether, having dispatched that brief to Florence, he sent

other communications to the Signory, is not ascertainable; but the

suspicion of some such secret action is inspired by what ensued.

On November 13 Cesare was ready to leave Rome; but no safe-conduct

had arrived. Out of all patience at this, he begged the Pope that the

captain of the pontifical navy should prepare him five galleons at

Ostia, by which he could take his foot to Genoa, and thence proceed into

Romagna by way of Ferrara.

Macchiavelli, at the same time, was frenziedly importuning Florence to

grant the duke the desired safe-conduct lest in despair Cesare should

make a treaty with Venice--“or with the devil”--and should go to Pisa,

employing all his money, strength, and influence to vent his wrath upon

the Signory. But the Signory knew more, perhaps, than did Macchiavelli,

for no attention was paid to his urgent advice.

On the 19th Cesare left Rome to set out for Genoa by way of Ostia, and

his departure threw Giustiniani into alarm--fearing that the duke would

now escape.

But there was no occasion for his fears. On the very day of Cesare’s

departure Julius sent fresh briefs to the Romagna, different indeed

from those of November 3. In these he now expressed his disapproval of

Alexander’s having conferred the vicarship of the Romagna upon Cesare

Borgia, and he exhorted all to range themselves under the banner of the

Church, under whose protection he intended to keep them.

Events followed quickly upon that. Two days later news reached the Pope

that the Venetians had captured Faenza, whereupon he sent a messenger

after Valentinois to suggest to the latter that he should surrender

Forli and the other fiefs into pontifical hands. With this Cesare

refused to comply, and, as a result, he was detained by the captain of

the navy, in obedience to the instructions from Julius. At the same time

the Pope broke the last link of the treaty with Cesare by appointing

a new Governor of Romagna in the person of Giovanni Sacchi, Bishop of

Ragusa. He commanded the latter to take possession of the Romagna in the

name of the Church, and he issued another brief--the third within three

weeks--demanding the State’s obedience to the new governor.

On November 26, Remolino, who had been at Ostia with Cesar; came to

Rome, and, throwing himself at the feet of the Pontiff, begged for mercy

for his lord, whom he now accounted lost. He promised Julius that Cesare

should give him the countersigns of the strongholds, together with

security for their surrender. This being all that the Pope could desire,

he issued orders that Cesare be brought back to Rome, and in Consistory

advised the Sacred College--by way, no doubt, of exculpating himself

to men who knew that he was refusing to pay the price at which he had

bought the Papacy--that the Venetians in the Romagna were not moving

against the Church, but against Cesare himself--wherefore he had

demanded of Cesare the surrender of the towns he held, that thus there

might be an end to the war.

It was specious--which is the best that can be said for it.

As for putting an end to the war, the papal brief was far indeed from

achieving any such thing, as was instantly plain from the reception it

met with in the Romagna, which persisted in its loyalty to Cesare in

despite of the very Pope himself. When that brief was read in Cesena a

wild tumult ensued, and the people ran through the streets clamouring

angrily for their duke.

It was very plain what short work would have been made of such men as

the Ordelaffi and the Malatesta had Cesare gone north. But Cesare was

fast at the Vatican, treated by the Pope with all outward friendliness

and consideration, but virtually a prisoner none the less. Julius

continued to press for the surrender of the Romagna strongholds,

which Remolino had promised in his master’s name; but Cesare persisted

obstinately to refuse, until the news reached him that Michele da

Corella and della Volpe, who had gone north with seven hundred horse to

support his Romagnuoli, had been cut to pieces in Tuscany by the army of

Gianpaolo Baglioni.

Cesare bore his burning grievance to the Pope. The Pope sympathized with

him most deeply; then went to write a letter to the Florentines to

thank them for what had befallen and to beg them to send him Michele

da Corella under a strong escort--that redoubtable captain having been

taken prisoner together with della Volpe.

Corella was known to be fully in the duke’s confidence, and there were

rumours that he was accused of many things perpetrated on the duke’s

behalf. Julius, bent now on Cesare’s ruin, desired to possess himself

of this man in the hope of being able to put him upon his trial under

charges which should reflect discredit upon Cesare.

At last the duke realized that he was betrayed, and that all was

lost, and so he submitted to the inevitable, and gave the Pope the

countersigns he craved. With these Julius at once dispatched an envoy

into the Romagna, and, knowing the temper of Cesare’s captains, he

insisted that this envoy should be accompanied by Piero d’Orvieto, as

Cesare’s own commissioner, to demand that surrender.

But the intrepid Pedro Ramires, who held Cesena, knowing the true facts

of the case, and conceiving how his duke had been constrained, instead

of making ready to yield, proceeded further to fortify for resistance.

When the commissioners appeared before his gates he ordered the

admission of Piero d’Orvieto. That done, he declared that he desired to

see his duke at liberty before he would surrender the citadel which he

held for him, and, taking d’Orvieto, he hanged him from the battlements

as a traitor and a bad servant who did a thing which the duke, had he

been at liberty, would never have had him do.

Moncalieri, the papal envoy, returned to Rome with the news, and this

so inflamed the Pope that the Cardinals Lodovico Borgia and Francesco

Remolino, together with other Borgia partisans, instantly fled from

Rome, where they no longer accounted themselves safe, and sought refuge

with Gonzalo de Cordoba in the Spanish camp at Naples, imploring his

protection at the same time for Cesare.

The Pope’s anger first vented itself in the confiscation of the Duke of

Valentinois’s property wherever possible, to satisfy the claims of the

Riarii (the Pope’s nephews) who demanded an indemnity of 50,000 ducats,

of Guidobaldo, who demanded 200,000 ducats, and of the Florentine

Republic, which claimed the same. The duke’s ruin was by now--within six

weeks of the election of Julius II--an accomplished fact; and many

were those who chose to fall with him rather than abandon him in his

extremity. They afford a spectacle of honour and loyalty that was

exceedingly rare in the Italy of the Renaissance; clinging to their

duke, even when the last ray of hope was quenched, they lightened for

him the tedium of those last days at the Vatican during which he was no

better than a prisoner of state.

Suddenly came news of Gonzalo de Cordoba’s splendid victory at

Garigliano--a victory which definitely broke the French and gave the

throne of Naples to Spain. Naturally this set Spanish influence once

more, and mightily, in the ascendant, and the Spanish cardinals,

together with the ambassador of Spain, came to exert with the Pope an

influence suddenly grown weighty.

As a consequence, Cesare, escorted by Carvajal, Cardinal of Santa Croce,

was permitted to depart to Ostia, whence he was to take ship for France.

Leastways, such was the understanding upon which he left the Vatican.

But the Pope was not minded, even now, to part with him so easily, and

his instructions to Carvajal were that at Ostia he should await further

orders before sailing.

But on December 26, news reaching the Spanish cardinal that the Romagna

fortresses--persuaded that Cesare had been liberated--had finally

surrendered, Carvajal took it upon himself to allow Cesare to depart,

upon receiving from him a written undertaking never to bear arms against

Pope Julius II.

So the Duke of Valentinois at last regained his freedom. Whether, in

repairing straight to Naples, as he did, he put a preconceived plan

into execution, or whether, even now, he mistrusted his enlargement, and

thought thus to make himself secure, cannot be ascertained. But

straight to Gonzalo de Cordoba’s Spanish camp he went, equipped with

a safe-conduct from the Great Captain, obtained for Cesare by Cardinal

Remolino.

There he found a court of friends already awaiting him, among whom were

his brother Giuffredo and the Cardinal Lodovico Borgia, and he received

from Gonzalo a very cordial welcome.

Spain was considering the invasion of Tuscany with the ultimate

object of assailing Milan and driving the French out of the peninsula

altogether. Piero de’Medici--killed at Garigliano--had no doubt been

serving Spain with some such end in view as the conquest of Florence,

and, though Piero was dead, there was no reason why the plan should be

abandoned; rather, all the more reason to carry it forward, since now

Spain would more directly profit by it. Bartolomeo d’Alviano was to have

commanded the army destined for that campaign; but Cesare, by virtue

of his friends and influence in Pisa, Siena, and Piombino, was so

preferable a captain for such an expedition that Gonzalo gave him charge

of it within a few days of his arrival at the Spanish camp.

To Cesare this would have been the thin end of a mighty edge. Here was

a chance to begin all over again, and, beginning thus, backed by Spanish

arms, there was no saying how far he might have gone. Meanwhile, what a

beginning! To avenge himself thus upon that Florentine Republic which,

under the protection of France, had dared at every turn to flout him and

had been the instrument of his ultimate ruin! Sweet to him would have

been the poetic justice he would have administered--as sweet to him

as it would have been terrible to Florence, upon which he would have

descended like another scourge of God.

Briskly and with high-running hopes he set about his preparations during

that spring of 1504 what time the Pope’s Holiness in Rome was seeking to

justify his treachery by heaping odium upon the Borgias. Thus he thought

to show that if he had broken faith, he had broken faith with knaves

deserving none. It was in pursuit of this that Michele da Corella was

now pressed with questions, which, however, yielded nothing, and that

Asquino de Colloredo (the sometime servant of Cardinal Michaeli)

was tortured into confessing that he had poisoned his master at the

instigation of Alexander and Cesare--as has been seen--which confession

Pope Julius was very quick to publish.

But in Naples, it may well be that Cesare cared nought for these

matters, busy and hopeful as he was just then. He dispatched Baldassare

da Scipione to Rome to enlist what lances he could find, and Scipione

put it about that his lord would soon be returning to his own and giving

his enemies something to think about.

And then, suddenly, out of clearest heavens, fell a thunderbolt to

shiver this last hope.

On the night of May 26, as Cesare was leaving Gonzalo’s quarters, where

he had supped, an officer stepped forward to demand his sword. He was

under arrest.

Julius II had out-manoeuvred him. He had written to Spain setting

forth what was his agreement with Valentinois in the matter of the

Romagna--the original agreement which was the price of the Pontificate,

had, of course, been conveniently effaced from the pontifical memory. He

addressed passionate complaints to Ferdinand and Isabella that Gonzalo

de Cordoba and Cardinal Carvajal between them were affording Valentinois

the means to break that agreement, and to undertake matters that were

hostile to the Holy See. And Ferdinand and Isabella had put it upon

Gonzalo de Cordoba, that most honourable and gallant captain, to do

this thing in gross violation of his safe-conduct and plighted word to

Valentinois. It was a deed under the shame of which the Great Captain

confessedly laboured to the end of his days, as his memory has laboured

under it ever since. For great captains are not afforded the immunity

enjoyed by priests and popes jointly with other wearers of the petticoat

from the consequences of falsehood and violated trust.

Fierce and bitter were Valentinois’s reproaches of the Great Captain for

this treachery--as fierce and bitter as they were unavailing. On August

20, 1504, Cesare Borgia took ship for Spain--a prisoner bound for a

Spanish dungeon. Thus, at the early age of twenty-nine, he passed from

Italy and the deeds that well might have filled a lifetime.

Conspicuous amid those he left behind him who remained loyal to their

duke was Baldassare Scipione, who published throughout Christendom a

cartel, wherein he challenged to trial by combat any Spaniard who dared

deny that the Duke of Valentinois had been detained a prisoner in Naples

in spite of the safe-conduct granted him in the name of Ferdinand and

Isabella, “with great shame and infamy to their crown.”(1)

1 Quoted by Alvisi, on the authority of a letter of Luigi da Porto,

March 16, 1510, in Lettere Storiche.

This challenge was never taken up.

Amongst other loyal ones was that fine soldier of fortune, Taddeo della

Volpe, who, in his Florentine prison, refused all offers to enter the

service of the Signory until he had learnt that his lord was gone from

Italy.

Fracassa and Mirafuente had held Forli until they received guarantees

for Cesare’s safety (after he had left Ostia to repair to the Spanish

camp). They then rode out, with the honours of war, lance on thigh.

Dionigio di Naldo, that hardy captain of foot, entered the service of

Venice; but to the end he wore the device of his dear lord, and imposed

the same upon all who served under his banner.

Don Michele da Corella was liberated by Julius II after an interrogatory

which can have revealed nothing defamatory to Cesare or his father; as

it is unthinkable that a Pope who did all that man could do to ruin the

House of Borgia and to befoul its memory, should have preserved silence

touching any such revelations as were hoped for when Corella was put to

torture. That most faithful of all Cesare’s officers--and sharer of the

odium that has been heaped upon Cesare’s name--entered the service of

the Signory of Florence.

CHAPTER IV. ATROPOS

Vain were the exertions put forth by the Spanish cardinals to obtain

Cesare’s enlargement, and vainer still the efforts of his sister

Lucrezia, who wrote letter after letter to Francesco Gonzaga of

Mantua--now Gonfalonier of the Church, and a man of influence at the

Vatican--imploring him to use his interest with the Pope to the same

end.

Julius II remained unmoved, fearing the power of Cesare Borgia, and

resolved that he should trouble Italy no more. On the score of that, no

blame attaches to the Pope. The States which Borgia had conquered in

the name of the Church should remain adherent to the Church. Upon that

Julius was resolved, and the resolve was highly laudable. He would

have no duke who controlled such a following as did Cesare, using those

States as stepping-stones to greater dominions in which, no doubt, he

would later have absorbed them, alienating them, so, from the Holy See.

In all this Julius II was most fully justified. The odious matter in his

conduct, however, is the abominable treachery it entailed, following as

it did upon the undertaking by virtue of which he gained the tiara.

For some months after his arrival in Spain, Cesare was confined in the

prison of Chinchilla, whence--as a result, it is said, of an attempt

on his part to throw the governor bodily over the battlements--he was

removed to the fortress of Medina del Campo, and kept well guarded by

orders of the Pope.

Rumours that he had been liberated by the King of Spain overran the

Romagna more than once, and set the country in a ferment, even reaching

the Vatican and shaking the stout-hearted Julius into alarm.

One chance of regaining his ancient might, and wreaking a sweet and

terrific vengeance upon his betrayers came very close to him, but

passed him by. This chance occurred in 1505, when--Queen Isabella being

dead--King Ferdinand discovered that Gonzalo de Cordoba was playing him

false in Naples. The Spanish king conceived a plan--according to the

chronicles of Zurita--to employ Cesare as a flail for the punishment of

the Great Captain. He proposed to liberate the duke, set him at the

head of an army, and loose him upon Naples, trusting to the formidable

alliance of Cesare’s military talents with his hatred of Gonzalo--who

had betrayed him--to work the will of his Catholic Majesty.

Unfortunately for Cesare, there were difficulties. Ferdinand’s power was

no longer absolute in Castille now that Isabella was dead. He sought to

overcome these difficulties; but the process was a slow one, and in

the course of it, spurred also by increased proofs of his lieutenant’s

perfidy, Ferdinand lost patience, and determined--the case having grown

urgent--to go to Naples in person to deal with Gonzalo.

Plainly, Cesare’s good fortune, which once had been proverbial, had now

utterly deserted him.

He had received news of what was afoot, and his hopes had run high once

more, only to suffer cruel frustration when he learnt that Ferdinand had

sailed, himself, for Naples. In his despair the duke roused himself to a

last effort to win his freedom.

His treatment in prison was fairly liberal, such as is usually measured

out to state prisoners of consideration. He was allowed his own chaplain

and several attendants, and, whilst closely guarded and confined to the

Homenaje Tower of the fortress, yet he was not oppressively restrained.

He was accorded certain privileges and liberties; he enjoyed the faculty

of corresponding with the outer world, and even of receiving visits.

Amongst his visitors was the Count of Benavente--a powerful lord of

the neighbourhood, who, coming under the spell of Cesare’s fascination,

became so attached to him, and so resolved to do his will and effect his

liberation, that--says Zurita--he was prepared even to go the length of

accomplishing it by force of arms should no other way present itself.(1)

1 Sanuto confirms Zurita, in the main, by letters received by the

Venetian Senate.

Another way, however, did present itself, and Benavente and the duke

hatched a plot of evasion in which they had the collaboration of the

chaplain and a servant of the governor’s, named Garcia.

One September night a cord was let down from the crenels of the tower,

and by this the duke was to descend from his window to the castle ditch,

where Benavente’s men awaited him. Garcia was to go with him since,

naturally, it would not be safe for the servants to remain behind, and

Garcia now let himself down that rope, hand over hand, from the terrible

height of the duke’s window. It was only when he had reached the end of

it that he discovered that the rope was not long enough, and that below

him there was still a chasm that might well have appalled even desperate

men.

To return was impossible. The duke above was growing impatient. Garcia

loosed his hold, and dropped the remainder of the distance, breaking

both his legs in the fall. Groaning, he lay there in the ditch, whilst

hand over hand now came the agile, athletic duke, unconscious of his

predecessor’s fate, and of what awaited him at the end. He reached it,

and was dangling there, perhaps undecided whether or not to take that

daring leap, when suddenly his doubts were resolved for him. His evasion

was already discovered. The castle was in alarm, and some one above him

cut the rope and precipitated him into the ditch.

Benavente’s men--we do not know how many of them were at hand--ran to

him instantly. They found him seriously injured, and that he, too, had

broken bones is beyond doubt. They lifted him up, and bore him with all

speed to the horses. They contrived, somehow, to mount him upon one,

and, holding him in the saddle, they rode off as fast as was possible

under the circumstances. There was no time to go back for the

unfortunate Garcia. The castle was all astir by now to stop the

fugitives, and to have returned would have been to suffer capture

themselves as well as the duke, without availing the servant.

So poor Garcia was left to his fate. He was found by the governor where

he had fallen, and he was immediately put to death.

If the people of Medina organized a pursuit it availed them nothing, for

Cesare was carried safely to Benavente’s stronghold at Villalon.

There he lay for some five or six weeks to recover from the hurts he

had taken in escaping, and to allow his hands--the bones of which were

broken--to become whole again. At last, being in the main recovered,

though with hands still bandaged, he set out with two attendants and

made for Santander. Thence they took ship to Castro Urdiales, Cesare

aiming now at reaching the kingdom of Navarre and the protection of his

brother-in-law the king.

At the inn at Santander, where, weary and famished, they sat down to

dine after one of the grooms had made arrangements for a boat, they had

a near escape of capture. The alcalde, hearing of the presence of these

strangers, and his suspicions being aroused by the recklessly high price

they had agreed to pay the owner of the vessel which they had engaged,

came to examine them. But they had a tale ready that they were

wheat-merchants in great haste to reach Bernico, that a cargo of wheat

awaited them there, and that they would suffer great loss by delay. The

tale was smooth enough to satisfy the alcalde, and they were allowed to

depart. They reached Castro Urdiales safely, but were delayed there for

two days, owing to the total lack of horses; and they were forced, in

the end, to proceed upon mules obtained from a neighbouring convent. On

these they rode to Durango, where they procured two fresh mules and

a horse, and so, after further similar vicissitudes, they arrived at

Pampeluna on December 3, 1506, and Cesare startled the Court of his

brother-in-law, King Jean of Navarre, by suddenly appearing in it--“like

the devil.”

The news of his evasion had already spread to Italy and set it in

a ferment, inspiring actual fear at the Vatican. The Romagna was

encouraged by it to break out into open and armed insurrection against

the harsh rule of Julius II--who seems to have been rendered positively

vindictive towards the Romagnuoli by their fidelity to Valentinois.

Thus had the Romagna fallen again into the old state of insufferable

oppression from which Cesare had once delivered it. The hopes of the

Romagnuoli rose in a measure, as the alarm spread among the enemies of

Cesare--for Florence and Venice shared now the anxiety of the Vatican.

Zurita, commenting upon this state of things, pays Cesare the following

compliment, which the facts confirm as just:

“The duke was such that his very presence was enough to set all Italy

agog; and he was greatly beloved, not only by men of war, but also by

many people of Tuscany and of the States of the Church.”

Cesare’s wife--Charlotte d’Albret--whom he had not seen since that

September of 1499, was at Bourges at the Court of her friend, the

saintly, repudiated first wife of Louis XII. It is to be supposed that

she would be advised of her husband’s presence at her brother’s Court;

but there is no information on this score, nor do we know that they ever

met.

Within four days of reaching Pampeluna Cesare dispatched his secretary

Federico into Italy to bear the news of his escape to his sister

Lucrezia at Ferrara, and a letter to Francesco Gonzaga, of Mantua, which

was little more than one of introduction, the more important matters to

be conveyed to Gonzaga going, no doubt, by word of mouth. Federico was

arrested at Bologna by order of Julius II, after he had discharged his

mission.

France was now Cesare’s only hope, and he wrote to Louis begging his

royal leave to come to take his rank as a prince of that country, and to

serve her.

You may justly have opined, long since, that the story here set down is

one never-ending record of treacheries and betrayals. But you will

find little to surpass the one to come. The behaviour of Louis at this

juncture is contemptible beyond words, obeying as it does the maxim

of that age, which had it that no inconvenient engagement should be

observed if there was opportunity for breaking it.

Following this detestable maxim, Louis XII had actually gone the

length of never paying to Charlotte d’Albret the dot of 100,000 livres

Tournois, to which he had engaged himself by written contract. When

Cesare, in prison at Medina and in straits for money, had solicited

payment through his brother-in-law of Navarre, his claim had been

contemptuously disregarded.

But there was worse to follow. Louis now answered Cesare’s request for

leave to come to France by a letter (quoted in full by M. Yriarte from

the Archives des Basses Pyrénées) in which his Very Christian Majesty

announces that the duchy of Valentinois and the County of Dyois have

been restored to the crown of France, as also the lordship of Issoudun.

And then follows the pretext, of whose basely paltry quality you shall

judge for yourselves. It runs:

“After the decease of the late Pope Alexander, when our people and our

army were seeking the recovery of the kingdom of Naples, he [Cesare]

went over to the side of our enemies, serving, favouring, and assisting

them at arms and otherwise against ourselves and our said people and

army, which resulted to us in great and irrecoverable loss.”

The climax is in the deliberate falsehood contained in the closing

words. Poor Cesare, who had served France at her call--in spite of

what was rumoured of his intentions--as long as he had a man-at-arms

to follow him, had gone to Naples only in the hour of his extreme need.

True, he had gone to offer himself to Spain as a condottiero when naught

else was left to him; but he took no army with him--he went alone, a

servant, not an ally, as that false letter pretends. He had never

come to draw his sword against France, and certainly no loss had been

suffered by France in consequence of any action of his. Louis’s army was

definitely routed at Garigliano, with Cesare’s troops fighting in its

ranks.

But Pope Alexander was dead; Cesare’s might in in Italy was dissipated;

his credit gone. There lay no profit for Louis in keeping faith with

him; there lay some profit in breaking it. Alas, that a king should

stain his honour with base and vulgar lies to minister to his cupidity,

and that he should set them down above his seal and signature to shame

him through centuries still in the womb of Time!

Cesare Borgia, landless, without right to any title, he that had held so

many, betrayed and abandoned on every side, had now nothing to offer in

the world’s market but his stout sword and his glad courage. These went

to the first bidder for them, who happened to be his brother-in-law King

Jean.

Navarre at the time was being snarled and quarrelled over by France and

Spain, both menacing its independence, each pretending to claims upon it

which do not, in themselves, concern us.

In addition, the country itself was torn by two factions--the Beaumontes

and the Agramontes--and it was entrusted to Cesare to restore Navarre

to peace and unity at home before proceeding--with the aid upon which

he depended from the Emperor Maximilian--to deal with the enemies beyond

her frontiers.

The Castle of Viana was being held by Louis de Beaumont--chief of the

faction that bore his name--and refused to surrender to the king.

To reduce it and compel Beaumont to obedience went Cesare as

Captain-General of Navarre, early in February of 1507. He commanded a

considerable force, some 10,000 strong, and with this and his cannon he

laid siege to the citadel.

The natural strength of the place was such as might have defied any

attempt to reduce it by force; but victuals were running low, and there

was every likelihood of its being speedily starved into surrender. To

frustrate this, Beaumont conceived the daring plan of attempting to send

in supplies from Mendavia. The attempt being made secretly, by night and

under a strong escort, was entirely successful; but, in retreating, the

Beaumontese were surprised in the dawn of that February morning by a

troop of reinforcements coming to Cesare’s camp. These, at sight of the

rebels, immediately gave the alarm.

The most hopeless confusion ensued in the town, where it was at once

imagined that a surprise attack was being made upon the Royalists, and

that they had to do with the entire rebel army.

Cesare, being aroused by the din and the blare of trumpets calling men

to arms, sprang for his weapons, armed himself in haste, flung himself

on a horse, and, without pausing so much as to issue a command to his

waiting men-at-arms, rode headlong down the street to the Puerta del

Sol. Under the archway of the gate his horse stumbled and came down with

him. With an oath, Cesare wrenched the animal to its feet again, gave

it the spur, and was away at a mad, furious gallop in pursuit of the

retreating Beaumont rearguard.

The citizens, crowding to the walls of Viana, watched that last reckless

ride of his with amazed, uncomprehending eyes. The peeping sun caught

his glittering armour as he sped, so that of a sudden he must have

seemed to them a thing of fire--meteoric, as had been his whole life’s

trajectory which was now swiftly dipping to its nadir.

Whether he was frenzied with the lust of battle, riding in the reckless

manner that was his wont, confident that his men followed, yet too

self-centred to ascertain, or whether--as seems more likely--it was

simply that his horse had bolted with him, will never be known until all

things are known.

Suddenly he was upon the rearguard of the fleeing rebels. His sword

flashed up and down; again and again they may have caught the gleam

of it from Viana’s walls, as he smote the foe. Irresistible as a

thunderbolt, he clove himself a way through those Beaumontese. He was

alone once more, a flying, dazzling figure of light, away beyond that

rearguard which he left scathed and disordered by his furious passage.

Still his mad career continued, and he bore down upon the main body of

the escort.

Beaumont sat his horse to watch, in such amazement as you may conceive,

the wild approach of this unknown rider.

Seeing him unsupported, some of the count’s men detached themselves

to return and meet this single foe and oblige him with the death he so

obviously appeared to seek.

They hedged him about--we do not know their number--and, engaging him,

they drew him from the road and down into the hollow space of a ravine.

And so, in the thirty-second year of his age, and in all the glory of

his matchless strength, his soul possessed of the lust of combat, sword

in hand, warding off the attack that rains upon him, and dealing death

about him, he meets his end. From the walls of Viana his resplendent

armour renders him still discernible, until, like a sun to its setting,

he passes below the rim of that ravine, and is lost to the watcher’s

view.

Death awaited him amid the shadows of that hollow place.

Unhorsed by now, he fought with no concern for the odds against him,

and did sore execution upon his assailants, ere a sword could find an

opening in his guard to combine with a gap in his armour and so drive

home. That blade had found, maybe, his lungs. Still he swung his sword,

swaying now upon his loosening knees. His mouth was full of blood.

It was growing dark. His hands began to fail him. He reeled like a

drunkard, sapped of strength, and then the end came quickly. Blows

unwarded showered upon him now.

He crashed down in all the glory of his rich armour, which those

brigand-soldiers already coveted. And thus he died--mercifully,

maybe happily, for he had no time in which to taste the bitterness of

death--that awful draught which he had forced upon so many.

Within a few moments of his falling, this man who had been a living

force, whose word had carried law from the Campagna to the Bolognese,

was so much naked, blood-smeared carrion--for those human vultures

stripped him to the skin; his very shirt must they have. And there,

a stark, livid corpse, of no more account than any dog that died

last Saturday, they left Cesare Borgia of France, Duke of Romagna and

Valentinois, Prince of Andria, and Lord of a dozen Tyrannies.

The body was found there anon by those who so tardily rode after their

leader, and his dismayed troopers bore those poor remains to Viana.

The king, arriving there that very day, horror-stricken at the news and

sight that awaited him, ordered Cesare a magnificent funeral, and so he

was laid to rest before the High Altar of Sainte Marie de Viane.

To rest? May the soul of him rest at least, for men--Christian men--have

refused to vouchsafe that privilege to his poor ashes.

Nearly two hundred years later--at the close of the seventeenth century,

a priest of God and a bishop, one who preached a gospel of love and

mercy so infinite that he dared believe by its lights no man to have

been damned, came to disturb the dust of Cesare Borgia. This Bishop

of Calahorra--lineal descendant in soul of that Pharisee who exalted

himself in God’s House, thrilled with titillations of delicious horror

at the desecrating presence of the base publican--had his pietist’s eyes

offended by the slab that marked Cesare Borgia’s resting-place.(1)

1 It bore the following legend:

AQUI YACE EN POCA TIERRA

AL QUE TODO LE TEMIA

EL QUE LA PAZ Y LA GUERRA

EN LA SUA MANO TENIA.

OH TU QUE VAS A BUSCAR

COSAS DIGNAS DE LOAR

SI TU LOAS LO MAS DIGNO

AQUI PARE TU CAMINO

NO CURES DE MAS ANDAR.

which, more or less literally may be Englished as follows: “Here in a

little earth, lies one whom all did fear; one whose hands dispensed both

peace and war. Oh, you that go in search of things deserving praise,

if you would praise the worthiest, then let your journey end here, nor

trouble to go farther.”

The pious, Christian bishop had read of this man--perhaps that life

of him published by the apostate Gregorio Leti under the pen-name of

Tommaso Tommasi, which had lately seen the light--and he ordered the

tomb’s removal from that holy place. And thus it befell that the ashes

of Cesare Borgia were scattered and lost.

Charlotte d’Albret was bereft of her one friend, Queen Jeanne, in that

same year of Cesare’s death. The Duchess of Valentinois withdrew to La

Motte­Feuilly, and for the seven years remaining of her life was never

seen other than in mourning; her very house was equipped with sombre,

funereal furniture, and so maintained until her end, which supports the

view that she had conceived affection and respect for the husband of

whom she had seen so little.

On March 14, 1514, that poor lady passed from a life which appears to

have offered her few joys.

Louise de Valentinois--a handsome damsel of the age of

fourteen--remained for three years under the tutelage of the Duchess of

Angoulême--the mother of King Francis I--to whom Charlotte d’Albret had

entrusted her child. Louise married, at the age of seventeen, Louis de

la Trémouille, Prince de Talmont and Vicomte de Thouars, known as the

Knight Sans Peur et Sans Reproche. She maintained some correspondence

with her aunt, Lucrezia Borgia, whom she had never seen, and ever signed

herself “Louise de Valentinois.” At the age of thirty--Trémouille having

been killed at Pavia--she married, in second nuptials, Philippe de

Bourbon-Busset.

Lucrezia died in 1519, one year after her mother, Vanozza de’Catanei,

with whom she corresponded to the end.

REQUIESCANT!