The Church of Santa Maria de Viana underwent extensive repairs about the end of the seventeenth century, and probably it was at that time that the tomb was removed. Its destruction may have been connected with an incident which occurred long before. In 1498 Pedro de Aranda, Bishop of Calahorra and Superior of the diocese of Viana, was examined by Alexander VI. on the charge of heresy and was condemned and imprisoned in the Castle of St. Angelo, where he was held a long time. As a result of his confinement the bishop died. It is highly probable that the prelates of the diocese of Viana, which had been dishonoured in the person of its bishop by the Borgia, continued to feel resentment toward the family and that one of Pedro de Aranda’s successors revenged them by removing Caesar’s remains from the church. What could have been more natural than for the officiating priest to have desired to have removed from his sight all reminders of the recalcitrant cardinal, the degenerate son of Alexander VI. whose memory was already blasted by history? This much is certain—a bishop did destroy the tomb.
Following Paul Jovius and Tomaso Tomasi, later historians have placed Caesar’s burial at Pamplona; but Father Aleson, who continued Moret’s “Annals of Navarre,” and who lived in Viana, says: “Asi lo llevaron a Viana, no a Pamplona, como algunos quisieron decir; y lo depositaron en la yglesia parocchia de Santa Maria”—Thus they took the body to Viana, not to Pamplona as some say, and placed it in the parochial church at Santa Maria. Then follows a description of the tomb and the epitaph and the fact of the removal of the monument. In 1523, only sixteen years after Valentino’s death, Antonio de Guevara, the Bishop of Mondoñedo, described the tomb and copied the epitaph in his “Lettres Morales.”
Tradition indicated that the final resting-place of Caesar’s remains was just in front of the steps in the Calle de la Rua, leading to the terrace upon which the Church of Santa Maria de Viana stands, and M. Charles Yriarte induced the alcalde of the town, Don Victor Cereceda, to make an excavation at the place. The investigation brought to light a perfectly preserved skeleton—were these the mortal remains of the son of Alexander VI.?
There was nothing to prove that they were; the bishop may have wished to consign them to everlasting oblivion and so placed no mark upon the tomb. With the skeleton were other bones, which may have been removed from the church at the same time, when it was being restored.
Reports of Caesar’s death reached his sister—who in January, 1505, had become Duchess of Ferrara—by way of Naples promptly, and she dispatched one of her servants, a certain Tullio, to Navarre to ascertain whether the rumour was true. As he progressed on his journey he became convinced of the truth of the report, and therefore returned to Ferrara without going to Navarre. The last doubt was dispelled when Juanico Grasica, who had been present at Caesar’s funeral and who had been sent by King Jean d’Albret to inform Lucretia of his death, appeared in Ferrara. Alfonso was absent from his domain, and his brother, Cardinal Ippolito d’Este was the first to receive the news, which he immediately directed Jeronimo Magnanini, the Duke’s secretary, to communicate to his master. This he did in a long letter giving full particulars of Caesar’s death taken down from the lips of his faithful squire Grasica. The details were confirmed by Costabili, who had just come from Rome. Accounts of Valentino’s death are given by Zurita, Moret, Esteban de Garribay, and Avalos de la Piscina, and all closely agree with that of Grasica.
Lucretia’s grief was profound and apparently sincere, and many were the prayers she directed to be said for the repose of Caesar’s soul. Shortly afterwards her Court poet, Ercole Strozzi, dedicated his “Epicedium,” a funeral oration in verse, in honour of Valentino, to her, but Jacopo Sannazzaro, the mortal enemy of the Borgia, invited his friends and all Italy to join him in making merry over “this happy event.”
Caesar, deprived of the support of the Vatican, was merely a bold condottiere, a soldier of fortune, and with these Italy teemed in his day. He was ready to sell his services to the highest bidder, provided he could advance his own projects. Although he was no longer in a position to harm his enemies, all Italy breathed a sigh of relief when the news of his death was confirmed; even Julius II., who was more than a match for Caesar, felt easier, and henceforth he was able peaceably to carry on the work of reconstructing the domain of the Church. Had Valentino survived and entered the employ of Venice in her conflict with the Pope for the possession of Romagna, or if he had taken the side of France when his Holiness withdrew from the League of Cambray, he might have recovered his former influence and power.
But all Italy now laughed at the adventurer who had inscribed on his sword the words, Aut Caesar, aut nihil. Still, there were a few individuals who remained faithful to his memory, and a number of poets published panegyrics and bewailed the loss of the hero. Hieronimus Portius, the Strozzi, Francesco Justolo, and Uberti saw fit to lament him in more or less polished verse. One of the most famous of the epitaphs was written by Jeronimo Casio of Bologna, who had known Caesar:—
“Cesar Borgia che ere della gente
Per armi et per virtù tenuto un sole;
Mancar dovendo, andó dove andar sole
Phebo, verso la sera, a l’occidente.”
Leaving France immediately after his marriage with Charlotte d’Albret, Caesar had never seen his wife again, and there is nothing to show that he regretted her. She was merely a pawn in the political game, and she had been sacrificed by her father for his own gain and to further the plans of Louis XII., on whose marriage to Anne of Bretagne she had retired to Berri to be as near as possible to Jeanne of France, his repudiated Queen. It was not long, however, before she took up her final residence at Motte-Feuilly, where she occupied herself with the education of her daughter Louise, whom the father, Caesar, had never seen. The Duchess of Valentinois died March 11, 1514, leaving, as her sole heir, her daughter, who two years later, when she was seventeen years of age, married Louis II. de La Trémoille, Viscount of Thouars and Prince of Talmont, the Chevalier Bayard, the knight sans peur et sans reproche, who was slain at the battle of Pavia in 1525. Five years later she again married, her second husband being Philippe de Bourbon, Lord of Busset, eldest son of Pierre de Bourbon.