Again—we may ask—was the Duke playing false with his own people? He had seen little of them, he scarcely knew them. Did he perhaps fancy that he might rise more rapidly by casting his fortunes with the enemies of the Pope than by supporting him? Was the mysterious man in the mask the agent of some family or faction trying to win over the Duke? Gandia accompanied this man apparently without even a suggestion of fear into the enemy’s quarter. If he was concerned in some conspiracy against his family and the Vatican, some obstacle in the negotiations may have made his death and that of the bully left in the square necessary to prevent exposure, even if it had not at first been intended to murder the Duke.
If he was plotting against the Vatican, who were his fellow-conspirators in the Orsini quarter? The affair seems to contain more than a mere assignation, for if not why was it necessary to dispatch the servant?
It was not long before accusations came from without, started perhaps by persons who at a distance felt secure from the wrath of the Borgia.
February 22, 1498, Pigna, the Ferrarese ambassador in Venice, reported that he had heard that Caesar had caused the Duke of Gandia’s death. This was more than eight months after the crime; it was the first time the charge had definitely been made; several of the Orsini were then in Venice, and they would undoubtedly have spread the rumour, as the Pope had endeavoured to cast suspicion on them. If they, however, had brought about the Duke’s destruction, they would probably have gloried in the deed.
The accusation once made against Caesar, it was repeated by Paolo Capello in a relation of September 25, 1500, and also in the famous letter to Silvio Savelli of November 15, 1501. This same Capello, Venetian ambassador, wrote: “Every night the bodies of four or five murdered men, bishops, prelates, and so forth, are found in Rome.” Under Alexander VI. crime held high carnival in the Eternal City, as it had under his predecessors.
The Pope did not receive Caesar—at least, publicly—for five weeks, and the cardinal busied himself with preparations for his journey to Naples to crown the King.
His Holiness seemed to have changed; he was constantly at work with the six cardinals he had appointed to draw up plans for the reform of the Church, and he declared in consistory that henceforth family considerations and projects would have no weight with him.
At last he gave up trying to discover the murderer, and the conviction became general that he, better than all others, knew who the guilty one was. Alessandro Braccio, the Florentine orator in Rome, said in one of his dispatches: “Whoever managed the affair had a good head, and courage—and every one admits that he was a ‘master.’” This peculiar attitude toward crime, which is merely a form of the unreasoned and immoral admiration for success regardless of means still everywhere prevalent, was especially noticeable in Italy during the Renaissance. Machiavelli well illustrates it in his remarks on Giovanpagolo Baglioni in connection with the expedition of Pope Julius II. to Perugia in 1505, for the express purpose of driving the Baglioni from their domain. Although the Pope had a considerable army he entered the city with only a small guard, in spite of the fact that Giovanpagolo had a large force—and the “prudent men who were with the Pope commented on his rashness and on the cowardice of Giovanpagolo, who might have won eternal glory and at the same time have destroyed his enemy and secured vast spoils, for the Pope was accompanied by all the cardinals with their rich belongings. His restraint was not due to any goodness or conscience, for he was a man who, in order to reign, had murdered many of his kinsmen; and it was concluded that there are men who do not know how to be great criminals or perfectly good—for a crime may possess greatness and be to some extent glorious [generosa]. Therefore Giovanpagolo did not know how—or better, did not dare—when he had the opportunity, to perform a deed for which every one would have admired his courage and which would have secured him eternal fame. And he would have been the first to show the prelates how little respect is due to those who live and reign as they do; and he would have performed a deed whose greatness would have wiped out all infamy.”[17]
The Vice-Chancellor’s palace near which Caesar and Gandia parted on the night of June 14, 1497, was on the Banchi Vecchi in the Ponte Quarter, where the Orsini had four strongholds—Monte Giordano, Torre di Nona, Tor Millina, and Tor Sanguigna. Besides the Orsini and their retainers a large number of Jews dwelt in this part of the city.
June 16th Cardinal Ascanio Sforza sent his brother, the Moor, an account of the tragedy, which agrees closely with that of Burchard. He adds that Gandia’s mule was found near the house of Carlo da Parma. Burchard’s narrative agrees with all those of the day. Many of the Romans made no effort to conceal their joy at being rid of one Borgia, and the satirists did not overlook the murder.