“Father, I implore you to release me from the Church before you take this step.”
“Cesare, are you a fool? What man in Rome would refuse such honors?”
“I am as no other man in Rome. I am myself and myself alone. I refuse this … this questionable honor.”
“You can say this … before Almighty God!”
Cesare shook his head impatiently. “Father, you know, do you not, that once I am a Cardinal it will be more difficult to release me from my vows?”
“My son, there is no question of releasing you from your vows. Let us discuss this no more. Lucrezia, my love, bring your lute. I should like to hear you sing that new song of Serafino’s.”
“Yes, Father,” said Lucrezia.
But Cesare would not allow her to sing and, although the Pope regarded his son with mild reproach, he did nothing more.
“You cannot make me a Cardinal, Father,” said Cesare triumphantly. “I am your son, but your illegitimate son, and as you know full well no man can become a Cardinal unless he is of legitimate birth.”
The Pope brushed aside his argument as though it were not more than a wasp which provided a temporary irritation.
“Now I understand your anxiety, my son. It is for this reason that you have been reluctant. You should have spoken of your fears earlier.”
“So, Father, you see that it is impossible.”
“You … a Borgia to talk of the impossible! Nonsense, my dear boy, nothing is impossible. A little difficulty, I’ll admit; but have no fears, I have thought of ways of overcoming such.”
“Father, I implore you to listen to me.”
“I would rather listen to Lucrezia’s singing.”
“I will be heard! I will be heard!” shrieked Cesare.
Lucrezia began to tremble. She had heard him shout thus before, but never in their father’s presence.
“I think, my son,” said the Pope coolly, “that you are overwrought. It is due to riding in the sun in company unfitted to your state. I would suggest you refrain from such conduct which, I assure you, my dearest boy, brings distress to those who love you, but could bring greater harm to yourself.”
Cesare stood, biting his lips, clenching and unclenching his hands.
There was a moment of fear when Lucrezia thought he was about to strike their father. The Pope sat, smiling benignly, refusing to accept this as a major difference between them.
Then Cesare seemed to regain his control; he bowed with dignity and murmured: “Father, I crave leave to depart.”
“It is granted, my son,” said Alexander gently.
Cesare went, and Lucrezia stared unhappily after him.
Then she, who was sitting on a stool at her father’s feet, felt his hand on her head.
“Come, my love, the song! It is a pleasant one and sounds best on your sweet lips.”
As she sang, the Pope caressed his daughter’s golden hair, and they both temporarily forgot the unpleasant scene which Cesare had created; they both found it very easy to forget when it was comforting to do so.
In the Pope’s private apartments Cardinals Pallavicini and Orsini sat with him.
“A simple matter,” said the Pope, smiling benignly, “and I am sure it will present no difficulty to you … this little formality of proving that he who is known as Cesare Borgia is of legitimate birth.”
The Cardinals were astonished, for the Pope had openly acknowledged Cesare as his son.
“But, Most Holy Lord, this is surely an impossibility.”
“How so?” asked the Pope with bland surprise.
Orsini and Pallavicini looked at each other in bewilderment. Then Orsini spoke. “Holy Father, if Cesare Borgia is your son, how could it be that he is of legitimate birth?”
Alexander smiled from Orsini to Pallavicini as though they were two simple children.
“Cesare Borgia,” he said, “is the son of Vannozza Catanei, a woman of Rome. At the time of his birth she was a married woman. That dispenses with Cesare’s illegitimacy, for a child born in wedlock is legitimate, is he not?”
“Holiness,” murmured Pallavicini, “we were unaware that the lady was married at the time of his birth. It is generally believed that it was not until after the birth of her daughter Lucrezia that she married Giorgio di Croce.”
“It is true that the marriage with Giorgio di Croce took place after the birth of Lucrezia, but the lady was married before that. Her husband was a certain Domenico d’Arignano, who was an official of the Church.”
The Cardinals bowed. “Then that proves Cesare Borgia to be legitimate, Holiness.”
“It does indeed,” said the Pope, smiling at them. “Let a bull be made stating his parentage and his legitimacy.” His expression was regretful; it saddened him to deny his son; yet such denial there must be in the name of ambition. He added: “Since I had taken this young man under my patronage I allowed him to adopt the name of Borgia.”
The Cardinals murmured: “We will immediately obey your wishes, Most Holy Father.”
But when they had left him the Pope immediately set about drawing up another bull in which he declared that he was the father of Cesare Borgia. It saddened him a little that this bull must be a secret one—for a while.
Cesare raged up and down Lucrezia’s apartment, and in vain did she try to soothe him.
“Not content,” cried Cesare, “with forcing me into the Church my father now allows it to be said that I am the son of a certain Domenico d’Arignano. And who is Domenico d’Arignano, I beg you tell me. Who has ever heard of Domenico d’Arignano?”
“They will hear of him now,” said Lucrezia gently. “The whole world will hear of him. His claim to fame will be that he was named as your father.”
“Insult after insult!” cried Cesare. “Humiliation after humiliation! How much longer must I endure this state of affairs?”
“My dearest brother, our father but wishes to advance you. In his opinion, it is necessary that you become a Cardinal, and this is the only way in which he can make you one.”
“So he denies me!”
“It is only for a while.”
“Never,” cried Cesare, beating his fists on his chest, “will I forget that my father has denied me.”
Meanwhile Alexander had called together a Consistory, that Cesare might be declared legitimate.
He had chosen this moment because so many had left Rome. The weather was hot and sultry and there had been reports of plague in various quarters. When pestilence crept into the city those who could invariably made an excuse to escape to their estates and vineyards in the country. This was such a time.
Alexander knew that there had been a great deal of opposition among the Cardinals on account of the favors he had bestowed on his family and friends; the matters he had to lay before them now concerned not only his son but the brother of his mistress, for although he had promised Giulia that her brother should have his Cardinal’s hat it had not yet been bestowed upon him.
There were few Cardinals present at the Consistory, which pleased Alexander. Better to deal with a few opponents than many. But those who were present were suspicious because they understood that this was a preliminary move and they feared what was to come. Alexander carried nepotism too far, they said to one another. It would not be long before every man in any position of importance was one put there to serve the Pope.
And their suspicions increased when Alexander folded his beautiful hands, smiled his most benign smile and declared: “My Lord Cardinals, make the necessary preparations. Tomorrow we elect the new Cardinals.”
Then all was clear. Cesare had been declared legitimate that he might be made a Cardinal.
There was a faint murmur throughout the assembly, and many eyes were turned to Cardinal Carafa who had on previous occasions shown himself bold enough to oppose the Pope.
“Most Holy Lord,” said Carafa, “has your Holiness given due consideration to the usefulness of making these nominations?”
Again that
bland smile. “The question of creating these Cardinals concerns me alone.”
“Holiness,” said a voice from the assembly, “there are many among us who feel that it is not necessary to make new Cardinals at this time.”
The smile disappeared from the face of the Pope, and for a moment all those assembled caught a glimpse of an Alexander who usually remained hidden.
Carafa boldly went on: “The point is, Holiness, that we know some of those names which you intend to propose, and we do not think they are suitable for the office, nor would we wish them to be our colleagues.”
This was a direct reference to Cesare’s reputation and a reminder that he had been seen in the city in the company of the courtesan, Fiametta. Cesare had deliberately flaunted his friendship with the woman, anticipating a scene such as this.
It was characteristic of Alexander that his anger should be not against Cesare but the Cardinals.
He seemed to grow in stature. The Cardinals trembled before him, for there was a legend in Rome that no man of Alexander’s age could possess such virility, such amazingly good health, unless he was superhuman. Those Cardinals felt that legend to be true as now their Pope faced them in his unaccustomed anger.
“You must learn who Alexander VI is,” he cried. “And if you persist in your intransigence I shall annoy you all by making as many new Cardinals as I wish. You will never drive me from Rome, and any who try to, or oppose me in any way, will be very foolish men. You should really ponder on how foolish they will be.”
There was a short silence while Alexander looked angrily at the crestfallen Cardinals before him.
Then with the utmost dignity he went on: “Now we will nominate the new Cardinals.”
And when the assembly saw that at the head of the list were the names of Cesare Borgia and Alessandro Farnese, and that all the thirteen proposed were men who could be trusted to work for the Pope against his enemies, they realized that there was nothing they dared do but agree to their election.
Alexander smiled at them, and the benevolent look had returned to his face.
When the Cardinals had left the Pope’s presence they discussed the situation.
Della Rovere, who always looked upon himself as a leader, recovered his belligerence although in the presence of the Pope he had been as subdued as the rest.
His one-time enemy Ascanio Sforza supported him. How long were they to endure the outrageous nepotism of the Pope? they asked each other. Not content with making a Cardinal of his illegitimate son, he had done the same for his mistress’s brother. All the new nominees were his pawns. Soon there would be scarcely a man in an influential position to raise his voice against Alexander.
And what was Alexander’s policy? To enrich his own family and friends? It seemed so.
There were rumors in the city that men were dying mysteriously. Cesare Borgia’s evil reputation was growing; it was now said that he was interested in and made a study of the art of poisoning; and that he had many malignant recipes which came from the Spanish Moors. But from whom would Cesare have learned this lore? From his father?
“Beware of the Borgias!” Those words were becoming more and more frequently heard throughout the city.
Alexander was aware of what was happening and, fearing a schism, he acted with his usual vigor. He made Ascanio Sforza almost a prisoner in the Vatican; and seeing what had happened to Sforza, della Rovere made haste to leave Rome.
Lucrezia’s husband apprehensively watched the growing unrest. His relative and patron, Ascanio Sforza, was powerless in the Vatican. Moreover Giovanni Sforza knew that the Pope was less pleased with the marriage of his daughter than he had been, and that already he was on the look-out for a bridegroom who could bring him more profit.
The marriage had never been consummated; the dowry had never been paid. What sort of marriage was this?
He was beset by fears on all sides. He could not sleep easily for he was sure that he was spied on in the Vatican. He was afraid of the Orsinis who were allies of Naples and had always been the enemies of Milan. Would they, he wondered, now that he was out of favor at the Vatican, feel it to be a good opportunity to dispose of him? If he wandered across the bridge of St. Angelo, would they come sweeping down from Monte Giordano and run a knife through his body? And if they did, who would care?
Giovanni Sforza was a man who was sorry for himself; he always had been. His relatives cared little for him—as did the new connections he had acquired through his marriage.
His little bride—she seemed a gentle creature, but he must not forget that she was one of them—was a Borgia, and who would trust a Borgia?
He wished though, during that time, that he and Lucrezia had been husband and wife in truth. She had a sweet and innocent face, and he believed he could have trusted her.
But it was too late to think of that now.
There was a great spectacle taking place in Rome at this time. This was the departure of little Goffredo for Naples where he was to marry Sanchia of Aragon.
Cesare and Lucrezia watched their little brother set out for Naples; he was accompanied by an old friend of Cesare’s, Virginio Orsini, who had made the boy’s first year at Monte Giordano tolerable, and who was now Captain-General of the Aragonese army. Goffredo’s tutor also accompanied the party to Naples; this was Don Ferrando Dixer, a Spaniard; and the Pope to show he did not forget the country to which he belonged, entrusted two caskets of jewels—presents for the bride and bridegroom—to this Spaniard.
And so the auburn-haired Goffredo, aged eleven, rode out of Rome to his bride, to be made Prince of Squillace and Count of Coriata and to receive the order of the Ermine, the motto of which was “Better die than betray.”
There was one who watched the departure with mingling pride and sorrow. The maternal Vannozza’s dream had come true. Her little Goffredo was accepted as the son of Alexander; he was to be a Prince, and she was happy.
But there were times when she wished that she were a humble Roman mother with her children about her; there were times when she would have given up her vineyards and her house with the water cistern to be that.
Giovanni Sforza’s anxiety was increased by the new friendship between Naples and the Vatican which the marriage of Goffredo and Sanchia must foster.
He was afraid to show himself in the streets for fear of enemies of his family; he was afraid of enemies within the Vatican circle. He had a beautiful wife but he was not allowed to live with her; he was lord of Pesaro, a town on the Adriatic coast which seemed to him, particularly at this time, a very peaceful spot, shut away from all strife by the mountains which protected it and blessed by the cool waters of the Foglia River. With the sea on one side and the mountains on the other Pesaro offered a freshness in contrast with the fetid air of Rome; and Sforza longed for Pesaro.
He sought audience of the Pope, because he felt he could no longer stay in Rome.
“Well, Giovanni Sforza,” said Alexander, “what have you to say to me?”
“Holy Father, everyone in Rome believes that Your Holiness has entered into agreement with the King of Naples who is an enemy of the state of Milan. If this is so, my position is a difficult one since, as a captain of the Church, a post in which through your benevolence I have been installed, I am in the pay of Your Holiness, and also in that of Milan. I do not see how I can serve two masters without falling out with one of them. Would Your Holiness, out of your goodness, define my position, that I may serve you as I am paid to do yet not become an enemy of my own blood?”
Alexander laughed. “You take too much interest in politics, Giovanni Sforza. You would be wise to serve those who pay you.”
Giovanni writhed before the calm gaze of the Pope and wished with all his heart that he had never agreed to marry with the Borgias.
“Your questions are answered, my son,” continued Alexander. “Leave me now, and I beg of you do not concern yourself overmuch with politics. They do not touch your duty.”
Giovanni went away and i
mmediately wrote to his uncle, Ludovico of Milan, telling him of what he had said to the Pope and declaring that he would sooner have eaten the straw under his body than have entered into the marriage. He was casting himself upon his uncle’s mercy.
But Ludovico was not prepared to offer him asylum. Ludovico was intently watching the growth of the friendship between Naples and the Vatican; he was not convinced that the bond between those two was of such importance as might be thought in Naples; the Pope was wily and Ludovico preferred to remain aloof.
Giovanni was impatient.
The plague was increasing throughout Rome, and his fears increased with it. In the position he held at the Vatican he was free to leave Rome if he wished.
One day, surrounded by some of his men, he rode out of the city bound for Pesaro.
Lucrezia did not miss him in the least. She had seen little of him, and it was only at special functions that they had appeared together.
Giulia laughed at her as they played with Giulia’s little daughter Laura, who was now nearly two years old.
“One would think you had gained a lover rather than lost one,” said Giulia.
“A lover! He was never that.” Lucrezia was wistful. One grew up, and she was fourteen now. Giulia had been fourteen when she had become Alexander’s mistress.
“Well, do not show your pleasure in his departure quite so openly,” advised Giulia.
“Is my Holy Father coming to see me?” asked little Laura, tugging at her mother’s skirts.
Giulia picked up the child and smothered her with kisses. “Soon, I doubt not, my darling. He could not stay away long from his little Laura, could he?”
Lucrezia watched them, still wistful, thinking of those days when the same father had delighted other children whose nursery he had visited. Alexander—as tender a father to little Laura as he had been to her and Cesare, Giovanni and Goffredo—remained as young as he had been when she and her brothers were in the nursery. Now they were no longer children, and it seemed that wonderful and exciting things happened to them all except herself. She had been married, but hers was no real marriage; and she could be glad because her husband had now run away. Whether he had run away from the plague or from her, it mattered not. Whatever he ran away from he was a coward. Yes, she was sure he was a coward.
Jean Plaidy_Lucrezia Borgia 01 Page 13