The Fall of the House of Borgia

by E R Chamberlin

  Ercole's son Alfonso, the reluctant bridegroom, now accepted his role with an amiable enough resignation. Alfonso's objection had been partly based on habit. As a matter of principle he opposed anything his father wanted. Alfonso had been reluctant, also, to change his comfortably squalid habits and adapt himself again to even a sketchy domestic life. Ever since the death of his previous wife he had been free to pursue his two great interests with a minimum of outside interference. He knew nothing and cared less about art and letters, leaving all that to his blue-stocking sister, Isabella, and his more cultured brothers. Whores and guns—these were Alfonso's real delight. The first had given him a disease, the second a nationwide fame as an artilleryman. To be fair, his preference for paid sex stemmed directly from his passion for the properties of gunpowder. He could not be bothered with the traditional chase; the silken dalliance with promises and tantrums took up time which could be more profitably spent in the foundry or on the testing field. He paid for the woman he wanted and went on his way, deeply engrossed in technical problems; his preferred companions were men skilled in casting bronze or who knew how to lay a gun. But now that his marriage with Lucrezia was settled, Alfonso accepted it equably enough. As heir to the dukedom he obviously had to marry and beget a son, and there was a certain attraction in a bride whose brother had the right attitude toward artillery.

  Alfonso's sister Isabella had come to Ferrara especially for the wedding, though it meant leaving her husband, the marchese, behind in Mantua. He had wanted to come too, but her father had talked him out of it, pointing out how dangerous it would be to leave his state unattended while Cesare Borgia was still prowling, looking for new conquests. Duke Ercole had no illusions whatever about the family with whom he was uniting his own.

  Isabella had her own problems. She had come to Ferrara at her father's request to preside over the wedding festivities, but she was also consumed with curiosity about Lucrezia. Isabella's man in Rome had kept her closely informed about Lucrezia's preparations, but his letters had only whetted Isabella's appetite. As the marchesa of Mantua, in Lombardy she was the undisputed arbiter of fashion and all cultural matters; now she was to be challenged on her own ground by a woman who not only seemed to be her equal in matters of costume and taste but had the immense and unfair advantage of being His Holiness's beloved daughter. Restlessly Isabella toured Ferrara, looking at the spectacles prepared along Lucrezia's processional route; discussing their details in her brisk, mannish way with the artisans responsible; conferring with her father—criticizing, suggesting, encouraging, threatening. The honor of the house of Este bore heavily upon her. Two of her brothers—the witty Ferrante and the elegant Cardinal Ippolito —were traveling up from Rome with the bridal party; her father meant well but, she considered, was old-fashioned in his tastes; Alfonso was a liability. Bitterly, now, Isabella missed her sister, the beautiful, witty Beatrice, dead these five years, but whose brief rule in Milan was still remembered in Lombardy as the epitome of elegance. Together, the Este sisters could have presented a formidable front to the Spanish invasion coming up now from the south.

  Normally, the trip from Rome to Ferrara could have been comfortably accomplished in a week. But most of Lucrezia's journey ran through cities that either now belonged to her brother or were in close alliance with him, and each city thought it advisable to entertain his sister royally. Still, the Ferrarese envoy, who was traveling with the party and kept Duke Ercole closely informed of its movements, also believed that Lucrezia was genuinely popular on her own account. Her father's anxious love followed her every step of the way, the envoy reported. "His Holiness is so concerned for her majesty that he demands daily and even hourly reports of her journey, and she is required to write him with her own hand from every city regarding her health. This confirms the statement frequently made to Your Excellency—that His Holiness loves her more than any other person of his blood." 64

  But there was another reason for the slowness of the journey, which the envoy shrewdly noted. "She does not wish to be worn out when she reaches Ferrara." Lucrezia was as anxious as Isabella to make a good impression, and overnight stops were extended into days to allow Lucrezia to rest and refurbish her appearance. At Faenza it was solemnly announced that the entire cortege would spend Friday at Imola in order that "madonna could wash her hair"; she had apparently not been able to do so for the past eight days and as a result was suffering from a headache. Some two hundred people in the party therefore idled away another twenty-four hours while Lucrezia's hairdresser carefully dismantled his last creation, discreetly restored the golden glory of her hair with special bleaches, and created another confection with pearls and feathers.

  Unexpectedly, Alfonso joined the bridal party while it was still enroute to Ferrara, and Lucrezia met her third husband for the first time. The burly, heavily bearded young man was no courtier, but he seems to have gone out of his way to put his bride at ease. He remained only a couple of hours with her and then galloped off as unceremoniously as he had arrived, but the meeting gave Lucrezia confidence to face the rest of the Estes. The last part of the journey was to be by boat. She and Isabella met on a barge some five miles ouside Ferrara and exchanged cool compliments.

  A mile or so upstream on the Po the barge pulled into a dock where Duke Ercole was waiting with his court, and after warmly greeting Lucrezia—who insisted on kissing his hand—he conducted her on board the great state barge. It was a happy party, Isabella wrote to her husband that evening. Her father and brother were much taken by Lucrezia's Spanish clowns, roaring with laughter at their quips and antics. Lucrezia, seated between the French and Venetian ambassadors, conducted herself modestly; it was impossible to associate this quiet-spoken girl "who is not beautiful but sweet and attractive in appearance" with the monster of the Roman legend. Conversation sparkled, wine flowed in abundance, warming the gray February afternoon; and along the river bank the thundering of gun salutes alternated with the shrilling of trumpets.

  The welcoming party left Lucrezia at Casale, just outside the city, and returned for her the following morning for the state entry. Ercole, thrifty rather than miserly, financed the grandest, most elaborate pageant Ferrara had seen. Isabella minutely described it for her husband, keeping a sharp eye on its central figure.

  The bride was mounted on a roan mule with velvet trappings covered with gold lace and fastened with nails of beaten gold. She wore a cloth-of-gold camorra with purple satin stripes and flowing sleeves after the French fashion, and a sbernia of wrought gold, open on one side and lined with ermine as were her sleeves. Around her throat was the necklace which belonged to my mother—of blessed memory. On her head was the jewelled cap which my lord father sent to her in Rome, together with the necklace. Six of Don Alfonso's chamberlains, a}l wearing fine gold chains, held the reins.65

  The learned doctors of the university held a great canopy over Lucrezia's head and next to her rode the French ambassador. He was there at her specific request, for her father had wished to honor the king of France for bringing about this highly desirable marriage.

  Outside the palace two rope dancers swept down from the dizzy heights of the towers and, as they struck the ground before the bride, trumpets shrilled again and the doors of all the dungeons were opened, releasing the prisoners. Now it was Isabella's turn to take a leading role. Dressed in her favorite, somewhat startling gown of gold cloth embroidered with musical notes, the marchesa descended the great steps of the palace and conducted Lucrezia within, the whole company following into the enormous hall. There the scholars and poets took over, each spinning his literary fancy. The oddest, perhaps, was that of the aged pedant Prisciano, who affected to find a Biblical precedent for Lucrezia's existence. St. Peter, it seemed, had also had a daughter; so the current occupant of Peter's throne was therefore to be doubly praised and congratulated.

  The celebrations continued for eight days. For eight days the plays of Plautus were performed to a somewhat restive audience which did not wholly sh
are Duke Ercole's idea of entertainment; there were ballets, allegories, balls and banquets. But despite Ercole's well-meaning efforts there was a stiffness, a certain lack of ease about the celebrations. Certainly Isabella thought so. "Don Alfonso and the bride slept together last night but we did not pay them the usual morning visit because, to say the truth, this is a very cold wedding." The coldness undoubtedly arose out of the antagonism between the bride and her influential sister-in-law, the rest of the court choosing sides. Isabella deliberately set out to win the French ambassador away from Lucrezia, inviting him to a private party with her husband's beautiful sister, the duchess of Urbino, singing to him and bestowing her own perfumed gloves upon him. The canny Frenchman ate the meal, listened to the songs, took the gloves and, while swearing undying fealty to Isabella d'Este Gonzaga, made certain that Lucrezia Borgia d'Este was informed of the party. Undoubtedly, Isabella was irked that, now, not she but her brother's wife set the pace of the court. "Yesterday we all stayed in our rooms till five o'clock because Madonna Lucrezia chooses to spend all those hours in dressing so that she may outshine the duchess of Urbino and myself in the eyes of the world." 66

  Shrove Tuesday was the last day of the festivities and was marked with an orgy of present-giving. Ercole bestowed even more jewels upon Lucrezia. The French ambassador, perhaps bearing in mind her semi-sacerdotal nature, presented Lucrezia with a golden rosary, each bead of which contained priceless perfume. Somewhat enigmatically, he gave Alfonso a golden shield with a representation of Mary Magdalen upon it. The two Venetian ambassadors stripped themselves of the heavy velvet and ermine cloaks they had worn all week and laid them at the bride's feet, "upon which everyone who was present burst out laughing," noted Isabella's lady-in-waiting. Elaborate compliments were exchanged, and the same lady-in-waiting informed Isabella's husband that the marchesa had again shone, remarking cattily that "although Donna Lucrezia has had more husbands than either your wife or your sister, she could not attain by a long way the wisdom of their answers."

  By February 10 Ferrara had resumed its workaday self. The temporary stages were dismantled; the acrobats, musicians, and actors paid and dismissed. Isabella left for Venice, accompanied by the duchess of Urbino; Alfonso went on a brief tour of the state; the ambassadors of the foreign powers paid their respects and departed. Everyone was leaving Ferrara—except the Spanish contingent. Lucrezia, it seemed, was reluctant to dismiss her friends and embark yet again on the cold water of matrimony more or less alone. Adriana da Mila, grown stouter and more discreet with the years, still flustered around her; the lighthearted Angela Borgia, Lucrezia's cousin, seemed determined to make Ferrara her own home, an aim apparently shared by Orsina Orsini. Duke Ercole began dropping heavy hints and went on from that to outright complaints to his ambassador in Rome. "These women by remaining here cause a large number of other persons, men as well as women, to linger, for all wish to depart at the same time and it is a great burden and causes heavy expenses. The retinue of these ladies, taken into consideration with the other people, numbers not far from 450 persons and 350 horses." 67

  The ambassador somewhat reluctantly passed on his master's complaint to the pope. Alexander was not disposed to be sympathetic. He had already received complaints from Lucrezia that Duke Ercole was proving miserly in the matter of an allowance. Now Ercole took charge of the housing situation, stipulating the number of servants and ladies-in-waiting which he felt were sufficient for even such an exalted daughter-in-law as Lucrezia. She protested indignantly, but he stuck grimly to his intention, dismissing outright all other servants and dependents and making it plain to the rest that the Este hospitality was at an end. Alfonso took no part in the argument between his wife and father. He had regularly done his duty as a husband and saw no reason to put himself out further. In mid-March, just six weeks after the wedding, the ducal doctors announced that an heir to the throne was on the way. Ercole rejoiced exceedingly, but refused to relent regarding either the number of servants allowed or the amount of the allowance paid to Lucrezia.

  13 The Duke of Romagna

  Some sixty miles from where Lucrezia was warily settling herself into a new life in Ferrara, her brother Cesare was laying the foundations of a new court.

  Cesena was far less impressive than Ferrara. There were no great palaces, no elegant summer villas, no canals crowded with prosperous shipping. The river which pierced it was of little commercial value, a roaring torrent in winter and a ravine in summer. There was a cathedral, still unfinished after more than a hundred years of labor; a beautiful library; a sprinkling of churches; an ancient monastery just outside the city walls and little else. It was a city by courtesy in a land where all urban communities were called cities. If elsewhere in Europe, it would perhaps be dismissed simply as a country town.

  But though it could not seriously compare with Ferrara, more than four times its size and the seat of a long-established dukedom, Cesena was by no means negligible. Its site was pleasing. It was a city of the plain which enjoyed all the advantages of a hill town, for it nestled in the rounded foot hills of the Apennines in a remarkably fruitful area. The hills, clothed in vineyards, swept down to luxuriant orchards of apples, apricots and peaches, and the little city was set like a gem among the fruit trees. The great Via Emilia swept through, and from it branched other roads which could take the traveler north into the Lombard plain or south, deep into the heart of the Apennines and on to Rome. Cesena's position was the reason why Cesare chose it as his headquarters, despite its somewhat provincial nature. Over the next two years he was to add far more impressive cities to his dukedom, but Cesena, so conveniently placed, remained his capital; and its red brick castle, perched on a spur of the Apennines, became his court. The castle was built for durability rather than elegance, but it suited his purposes well enough. Towering high above the cypresses and vineyards, it looked directly down into the heart of the city, and there was ample room for his large, permanent bodyguard in the generous circuit of its walls.

  Cesare habitually worked on an ad hoc basis, grasping opportunity as it occurred rather than planning meticulously ahead. The administrative machinery of his dukedom, therefore, either was spontaneously evolved to meet immediate needs, or consisted merely of existing administrations adapted to meet his particular purpose. Such an organization might have lasted indefinitely, the fact that some of its components continued to function after his sudden fall arguing that they worked efficiently enough for local needs. But the system was not put to the ultimate test of time, because less than four years elapsed between Cesare's appearance on the political stage and the ruin following his father's death.

  The court which grew up around Cesare was also evolved on an ad hoc basis, but it more clearly reflected his personality and his goal. Essentially, it was the court of a nomadic chieftain. Again, given time, he might have created in Cesena a cultural heritage the equal of Rimini and Urbino which, in their time, had been established by similar men and means. But in the brief, action-packed years of Cesare's ascendancy, he needed a weapon which could strike at any point and distance rather than the settled court of the Renaissance prince.

  At the heart of Cesare's court, forming a kind of steel core, were the men who had identified themselves from the beginning of his career. They were soldiers, not politicians, and most were Spaniards. Apart from the strong tie of blood that led him to place confidence in them, he could count upon their support to a high degree because they were aliens among a people who feared and hated them. Three achieved a kind of immortality, the pale reflection of their master's: Michelotto Corella, the murderer of Lucrezia's beloved Alfonso of Bisceglie; Sebastione Pinzone and Ramiro de Lorqua. Lorqua, noted for his cruelty even in that band of cruel men, was made governor of the dukedom of Romagna with his headquarters in Cesena. He had powers second only to Cesare. Corella was Cesare's right- hand man, his friend—insofar as any man could claim friendship with him—his general and executioner. Most murders by obvious violence were those of C
orella's staging. Sebastione Pinzone, a more shadowy figure, was commonly referred to as the duke's poisoner, an appellation arising more probably from his secretive methods than from any particular skill he may have had with poisoning.

  The legend of the Borgia poison was one of the clan's more potent weapons. "Ha bevuto"—"he has drunk"— was the customary laconic phrase to describe the sudden death of any enemy, and many friends, of the clan, the unspoken implication being that the Borgia magic potion had been administered. Fantastic accounts developed around the origins and use of the poison. Some claimed that it was administered to a bear which was then suspended upside down and the venom-laden vomit carefully collected. Others referred simply to a "certain white powder," presumably a preparation of arsenic. But chemically speaking none of the crude poisons then available could have had the selective qualities attributed to the Borgia poison—the ability to strike down a particular victim at any distance of space or time belonged strictly to mythology. Cesare certainly preferred the far more certain method of dagger or cord, and those assassinations for which his father might have been responsible could have come about naturally enough from the appalling conditions in the Sant' Angelo dungeons. But poison fascinated the Italian mind, with its preference for the devious and the secretive; so the Borgia, to match the rest of their reputation, were accordingly invested with an almost magical power in the art of poisoning.