Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini

by Rafael Sabatini

  The appalling publication, which is given in full in Burchard, was fictitiously dated from Gonzola de Cordoba’s Spanish camp at Taranto on November 25. A copy of this anonymous pamphlet, which is the most violent attack on the Borgias ever penned, perhaps the most terrible indictment against any family ever published — a pamphlet which Gregorovius does not hesitate to call “an authentic document of the state of Rome under the Borgias” — fell into the hands of the Cardinal of Modena, who on the last day of the year carried it to the Pope.

  Before considering that letter it is well to turn to the entries in Burchard’s diary under the dates of October 27 and November 11 of that same year. You will find two statements which have no parallel in the rest of the entire diary, few parallels in any sober narrative of facts. The sane mind must recoil and close up before them, so impossible does it seem to accept them.

  The first of these is the relation of the supper given by Cesare in the Vatican to fifty courtesans — a relation which possibly suggested to the debauched Regent d’Orléans his fêtes d’Adam, a couple of centuries later.

  Burchard tells us how, for the amusement of Cesare, of the Pope, and of Lucrezia, these fifty courtesans were set to dance after supper with the servants and some others who were present, dressed at first and afterwards not so. He draws for us a picture of those fifty women on all fours, in all their plastic nudity, striving for the chestnuts flung to them in that chamber of the Apostolic Palace by Christ’s Vicar — an old man of seventy — by his son and his daughter. Nor is that all by any means. There is much worse to follow — matter which we dare not translate, but must leave more or less discreetly veiled in the decadent Latin of the Caerimoniarius:

  “Tandem exposita dona ultima, diploides de serico, paria caligarum, bireta ed alia pro illis qui pluries dictas meretrices carnaliter agnoscerent; que fuerunt ibidem in aula publice carnaliter tractate arbitrio presentium, dona distributa victoribus.”

  Such is the monstrous story!

  Gregorovius, in his defence of Lucrezia Borgia, refuses to believe that she was present; but he is reluctant to carry his incredulity any further.

  “Some orgy of that nature,” he writes, “or something similar may very well have taken place. But who will believe that Lucrezia, already the legal wife of Alfonso d’Este and on the eve of departure for Ferrara, can have been present as a smiling spectator?”

  Quite so. Gregorovius puts his finger at once upon one of the obvious weaknesses of the story. But where there is one falsehood there are usually others; and if we are not to believe that Lucrezia was present, why should we be asked to believe in the presence of the Pope? If Burchard was mistaken in the one, why might he not be mistaken in the other? But the question is not really one of whom you will believe to have been present at that unspeakable performance, but rather whether you can possibly bring yourself to believe that it ever took place as it is related in the Diarium.

  Gregorovius says, you will observe, “Some orgy of that nature, or something similar, may very well have taken place.” We could credit that Cesare held “some orgy of that nature.” He had apartments in the Vatican, and if it shock you to think that it pleased him, with his gentlemen, to make merry by feasting a parcel of Roman harlots, you are — if you value justice — to be shocked at the times rather than the man. The sense of humour of the Cinquecento was primitive, and in primitive humour prurience plays ever an important part, as is discernible in the literature and comedies of that age. If you would appreciate this to the full, consider Burchard’s details of the masks worn at Carnival by some merry-makers (“Venerunt ad plateam St. Petri larvati...habentes nasos lungos et grossos in forma priaporum”) and you must realize that in Cesare’s conduct in this matter there would have been nothing so very abnormal considered from the point of view of the Cinquecento, even though it were to approach the details given by Burchard.

  But even so, you will hesitate before you accept the story of that saturnalia in its entirety, and before you believe that an old man of seventy, a priest and Christ’s Vicar, was present with Cesare and his friends. Burchard does not say that he himself was a witness of what he relates. But the matter shall presently be further considered.

  Meanwhile, let us pass to the second of these entries in the diary, and (a not unimportant detail) on the very next page of it, under the date of November 11. In this it is related that certain peasants entered Rome by the Viridarian Gate, driving two mares laden with timber; that, in crossing the Square of St. Peter’s, some servants of the Pope’s ran out and cut the cords so that the timber was loosened and the beasts relieved of their burden; they were then led to a courtyard within the precincts of the palace, where four stallions were loosed upon them. “Ascenderunt equas et coierunt cum eis et eas graviter pistarunt et leserunt,” whilst the Pope at a window above the doorway of the Palace, with Madonna Lucrezia, witnessed with great laughter and delight, the show which it is suggested was specially provided for their amusement.

  The improbabilities of the saturnalia of the fifty courtesans pale before the almost utter impossibility of this narrative. To render it possible in the case of two chance animals as these must have been under the related circumstances, a biological coincidence is demanded so utterly unlikely and incredible that we are at once moved to treat the story with scorn, and reject it as a fiction. Yet not one of those many writers who have retailed that story from Burchard’s Diarium as a truth incontestable as the Gospels, has paused to consider this — so blinded are we when it is a case of accepting that which we desire to accept.

  The narrative, too, is oddly — suspiciously — circumstantial, even to the unimportant detail of the particular gate by which the peasants entered Rome. In a piece of fiction it is perfectly natural to fill in such minor details to the end that the picture shall be complete; but they are rare in narratives of fact. And one may be permitted to wonder how came the Master of Ceremonies at the Vatican to know the precise gate by which those peasants came. It is not — as we have seen — the only occasion on which an excess of detail in the matter of a gate renders suspicious the accuracy of a story of Burchard’s.

  Both these affairs find a prominent place in the Letter to Silvio Savelli. Indeed Gregorovius cites the pamphlet as one of the authorities to support Burchard, and to show that what Burchard wrote must have been true; the other authority he cites is Matarazzo, disregarding not only the remarkable discrepancy between Matarazzo’s relation and that of Burchard, but the circumstance that the matter of that pamphlet became current throughout Italy, and that it was thus — and only thus — that Matarazzo came to hear of the scandal.(1)

  1 The frequency with which the German historian cites Matarazzo as an

  authority is oddly inconsistent, considering that when he finds

  Matarazzo’s story of the murder of the Duke of Gandia upsetting the

  theory which Gregorovius himself prefers, by fastening the guilt

  upon Giovanni Sforza, he devotes some space to showing — with perfect

  justice — that Matarazzo is no authority at all.

  The Letter to Silvio Savelli opens by congratulating him upon his escape from the hands of the robbers who had stripped him of his possessions, and upon his having found a refuge in Germany at the Emperor’s Court. It proceeds to marvel that thence he should have written letters to the Pope begging for justice and reinstatement, his wonder being at the credulity of Savelli in supposing that the Pope— “betrayer of the human race, who has spent his life in betrayals” — will ever do any just thing other than through fear or force. Rather does the writer suggest the adoption of other methods; he urges Savelli to make known to the Emperor and all princes of the Empire the atrocious crimes of that “infamous wild beasts” which have been perpetrated in contempt of God and religion. He then proceeds to relate these crimes. Alexander, Cesare, and Lucrezia, among others of the Borgia family, bear their share of the formidable accusations. Of the Pope are related perfidies, simonies, and ravishments; a
gainst Lucrezia are urged the matter of her incest, the supper of the fifty courtesans, and the scene of the stallions; against Cesare there are the death of Biselli, the murder of Pedro Caldes, the ruin of the Romagna, whence he has driven out the legitimate lords, and the universal fear in which he is held.

  It is, indeed, a compendium of all the stories which from Milan, Naples, and Venice — the three States where the Borgias for obvious reasons are best hated — have been disseminated by their enemies, and a more violent work of rage and political malice was never uttered. This malice becomes particularly evident in the indictment of Cesare for the ruin of the Romagna. Whatever Cesare might have done, he had not done that — his bitterest detractor could not (without deliberately lying) say that the Romagna was other than benefiting under his sway. That is not a matter of opinion, not a matter of inference or deduction. It is a matter of absolute fact and irrefutable knowledge.

  To return now to the two entries in Burchard’s Diarium when considered in conjunction with the Letter to Silvio Savelli (which Burchard quotes in full), it is remarkable that nowhere else in the discovered writings of absolute contemporaries is there the least mention of either of those scandalous stories. The affair of the stallions, for instance, must have been of a fairly public character. Scandal-mongering Rome could not have resisted the dissemination of it. Yet, apart from the Savelli letter, no single record of it has been discovered to confirm Burchard.

  At this time, moreover, it is to be remembered, Lucrezia’s betrothal to Alfonso d’Este was already accomplished; preparations for her departure and wedding were going forward, and the escort from Ferrara was daily expected in Rome. If Lucrezia had never been circumspect, she must be circumspect now, when the eyes of Italy were upon her, and there were not wanting those who would have been glad to have thwarted the marriage — the object, no doubt, of the pamphlet we are considering. Yet all that was written to Ferrara was in praise of her — in praise of her goodness and her modesty, her prudence, her devoutness, and her discretion, as presently we shall see.

  If from this we are to conclude — as seems reasonable — that there was no gossip current in Rome of the courtesans’ supper and the rest, we may assume that there was no knowledge in Rome of such matters; for with knowledge silence would have been impossible. So much being admitted, it becomes a matter of determining whether the author of the Letter to Silvio Savelli had access to the diary of Burchard for his facts, or whether Burchard availed himself of the Letter to Silvio Savelli to compile these particular entries. The former alternative being out of the question, there but remains the latter — unless it is possible that the said entries have crept into the copies of the “Diarium” and are not present in the original, which is not available.

  This theory of interpolation, tentatively put forward, is justified, to some extent at least, by the following remarkable circumstances: that two such entries, having — as we have said — absolutely no parallel in the whole of the Diarium, should follow almost immediately the one upon the other; and that Burchard should relate them coldly, without reproof or comment of any kind — a most unnatural reticence in a writer who loosed his indignation one Easter-tide to see Lucrezia and her ladies occupying the choir of St. Peter’s, where women never sat.

  The Pope read the anonymous libel when it was submitted to him by the Cardinal of Modena — read it, laughed it to scorn, and treated it with the contempt which it deserved, yet a contempt which, considering its nature, asks a certain greatness of mind.

  If the libel was true it is almost incredible that he should not have sought to avenge it, for an ugly truth is notoriously hurtful and provocative of resentment, far more so than is a lie. Cesare, however, was not of a temper quite as long-suffering as his father. Enough and more of libels and lampoons had he endured already. Early in December a masked man — a Neapolitan of the name of Mancioni — who had been going through Rome uttering infamies against him was seized and so dealt with that he should in future neither speak nor write anything in any man’s defamation. His tongue was cut out and his right hand chopped off, and the hand, with the tongue attached to its little finger, was hung in sight of all and as a warning from a window of the Church of Holy Cross.

  And towards the end of January, whilst Cesare’s fury at that pamphlet out of Germany was still unappeased, a Venetian was seized in Rome for having translated from Greek into Latin another libel against the Pope and his son. The Venetian ambassador intervened to save the wretch, but his intervention was vain. The libeller was executed that same night.

  Costabili — the Ferrara ambassador — who spoke to the Pope on the matter of this execution, reported that his Holiness said that more than once had he told the duke that Rome was a free city, in which any one was at liberty to say or write what he pleased; that of himself, too, much evil was being spoken, but that he paid no heed to it.

  “The duke,” proceeded Alexander, “is good-natured, but he has not yet learnt to bear insult.” And he added that, irritated, Cesare had protested that, “However much Rome may be in the habit of speaking and writing, for my own part I shall give these libellers a lesson in good manners.”

  The lesson he intended was not one they should live to practise.

  CHAPTER XII. LUCREZIA’S THIRD MARRIAGE

  At about the same time that Burchard was making in his Diarium those entries which reflect so grossly upon the Pope and Lucrezia, Gianluca Pozzi, the ambassador of Ferrara at the Vatican, was writing the following letter to his master, Duke Ercole, Lucrezia’s father-in-law elect:

  “This evening, after supper, I accompanied Messer Gerardo Saraceni to visit the Most Illustrious Madonna Lucrezia in your Excellency’s name and that of the Most Illustrious Don Alfonso. We entered into a long discussion touching various matters. In truth she showed herself a prudent, discreet, and good-natured lady.”(1)

  1 See Gregorovius’s Lucrezia Borgia.

  The handsome, athletic Cardinal Ippolito d’Este, with his brothers Sigismondo and Fernando, had arrived in Rome on December 23 with the imposing escort that was to accompany their brother Alfonso’s bride back to Ferrara.

  Cesare was prominent in the welcome given them. Never, perhaps, had he made greater display than on the occasion of his riding out to meet the Ferrarese, accompanied by no fewer than 4,000 men-at-arms, and mounted on a great war-horse whose trappings of cloth of gold and jewels were estimated at 10,000 ducats.

  The days and nights that followed, until Lucrezia’s departure a fortnight later, were days and nights of gaiety and merry-making at the Vatican; in banquets, dancing, the performance of comedies, masques, etc., was the time made to pass as agreeably as might be for the guests from Ferrara, and in all Cesare was conspicuous, either for the grace and zest with which he nightly danced, or for the skill and daring which he displayed in the daily joustings and entertainments, and more particularly in the bull-fight that was included in them.

  Lucrezia was splendidly endowed, to the extent, it was estimated, of 300,000 ducats, made up by 100,000 ducats in gold, her jewels and equipage, and the value of the Castles of Pieve and Cento. Her departure from Rome took place on January 6, and so she passes out of this chronicle, which, after all, has been little concerned with her.

  Of the honour done her everywhere on that journey to Ferrara, the details are given elsewhere, particularly in the book devoted to her history and rehabilitation by Herr Gregorovius. After all, the real Lucrezia Borgia fills a comparatively small place in the actual history of her house. It is in the fictions concerning her family that she is given such unenviable importance, and presented as a Maenad, a poisoner, and worse. In reality she appears to us, during her life in Rome, as a rather childish, naïve, and entirely passive figure, important only in so far as she found employment at her father’s or brother’s hands for the advancement of their high ambitions and unscrupulous aims.

  In the popular imagination she lives chiefly as a terrific poisoner, an appalling artist in venenation. It is remarkabl
e that this should be the case, for not even the scandal of her day so much as suggests that she was connected — directly or even indirectly — with a single case of poisoning. No doubt that popular conception owes its being entirely to Victor Hugo’s drama.

  Away from Rome and settled in Ferrara from the twenty-second year of her age, to become anon its duchess, her life is well known and admits of no argument. The archives of the State she ruled show her devout, god-fearing, and beloved in life, and deeply mourned in death by a sorrowing husband and a sorrowing people. Not a breath of scandal touches her from the moment that she quits the scandalous environment of the Papal Court.

  Cesare continued at the Vatican after her departure. His duchess was to have come to Rome in that Easter of 1502, and it had been disposed that the ladies and gentlemen who had gone as escort of honour with Lucrezia should proceed — after leaving her in Ferrara — to Lombardy, to do the like office by Charlotte d’Albret, and, meeting her there, accompany her to Rome. She was coming with her brother, the Cardinal Amanieu d’Albret, and bringing with her Cesare’s little daughter, Louise de Valentinois, now two years of age. But the duchess fell ill at the last moment, and was unable to undertake the journey, of which Cardinal d’Albret brought word to Rome, where he arrived on February 7.

  Ten days later Cesare set out with his father for Piombino, for which purpose six galleons awaited them at Civita Vecchia under the command of Lodovico Mosca, the captain of the Pontifical navy. On these the Pope and his son embarked, upon their visit to the scene of the latest addition to Cesare’s ever-growing dominions.

  They landed at Piombino on February 21, and made a solemn entrance into the town, the Pope carried in state in the Sedia Gestatoria, under a canopy, attended by six cardinals and six singers from the Sixtine Chapel, whilst Cesare was accompanied by a number of his gentlemen.