This was deadlock, for there must be a majority of two-thirds for one candidate before he was elected.
A fire was made and the papers burned; and all those waiting in St. Peter’s Square to hear the result of the election, seeing the smoke, excitedly called each other’s attention to it and knew that the first scrutiny had been ineffectual.
Roderigo now decided that he must act quickly. In his own cell he laid his plans and when he mingled with his fellow Cardinals, he lost no time in getting to work.
He began with Ascanio Sforza, begging him to walk with him in the galleries after the siesta. Ascanio, realizing he had no chance of being elected, hinted that he was ready to gain what he could. Roderigo could offer him bigger bribes than any.
“If I were elected Pope,” Roderigo promised, “I would not forget you. Yours should be the Vice-Chancellorship and I would also give you the Bishopric of Nepi.” It was a good consolation prize, and Ascanio wavered only a little before he agreed. And as with Ascanio, so with others who quickly realized that they were out of the running yet could come out of the Conclave richer men than when they went into it.
So while Rome sweated and waited for the results, that sly fox Roderigo worked quietly, stealthily and with the utmost speed within the Conclave. He had to. He had made up his mind that this time he must succeed, for how could he tell when there would be another chance.
It was August 11th, five days after the Conclave had begun. In the Piazza San Pietro people who had been waiting all through the night watched, their eyes on the walled-up window.
As the dawn lightened their eager faces there was a sudden shout and excitement was at fever-pitch for the bricks had begun to fall from the walled-in window.
The election was over. After the fourth scrutiny there had been an unanimous choice.
Roderigo Borgia had been elected Pope, and from now on he would be known as Alexander VI.
Roderigo stood on the balcony listening to the acclaim of the people. This was the greatest moment of his life. The crown, for which he had fought ever since his uncle, Calixtus III, had adopted him and his brother, was now his. He felt powerful as he stood there, capable of anything. Who would have believed five days ago that he would be the chosen one? Even his old enemy, della Rovere, had given him his vote. It was wonderful what a little persuasion could do, and who could resist persuasion such as a rich abbacy, the legation of Avignon and the fortress of Ronciglione? Not della Rovere. A great deal to pay for a vote? Not at all. He had bought power with the wealth he had accumulated over the years, and he was going to make sure that it became unlimited power.
He held out his hands and for a few seconds there was complete silence among the multitude.
Then he cried: “I am the Pope and Vicar of Christ on Earth.”
There was loud acclamation. It was of no importance how he had reached this eminence. All that mattered was that it was his.
The Coronation of Alexander VI was the most magnificent Rome had ever seen. Lucrezia, watching from a balcony of a Cardinal’s palace, was overwhelmed with pride and joy in this man who—apart from Cesare, whom she had not seen for so long—she loved best in the world.
This was her father, this handsome man, in his rich robes, sitting so straight on his white horse, blessing the multitudes who crowded about him, the center of all the pageantry, this man was her father.
Alexander was fully aware that there was nothing the people enjoyed more than pageantry, and the more brilliant, the better they liked it; and the more splendid it was, the greater would be the respect they had for him. Therefore he was determined to outdo all previous coronations. No expense must be spared, he had commanded; nor was it. The people of Rome were going to rejoice that day because Alexander VI was their Pope.
His Papal guards were so splendidly attired that even great Princes looked drab beside them; their long lances and shields glittered in the sunshine, and they looked like gods. Cardinals and high dignitaries who took part in the procession with their retinues, were all determined to outdo each other in their splendor, and so long was the procession that it took two hours for it to pass from St. Peter’s to St. John Lateran. And in the center of it all was the Pope on his snow-white horse, the sixty-year-old Pope who seemed to have the vigor of a man of twenty. It was small wonder that the people—even as Lucrezia did—believed the new Pope to be more than human.
The procession was stopped here and there that Alexander’s admirers and supporters—who now comprised the whole of Rome, it seemed—might pay their homage.
“Vive diu bos, vive diu celebrande per annos,
Inter Pontificum gloria prima choros,” chanted one handsome boy on behalf of his noble family who wished to show they were wholeheartedly in support of the new Pope.
Others strewed flowers before him and cried: “Rome raised Caesar to greatness—and now here is Alexander; but one was merely a man, the other is a god.”
Alexander received all this homage with a charm and courtesy which won the hearts of all who saw him.
What a moment of triumph! Everywhere was the emblem of the grazing bull. Alexander lifting his eyes saw it; he also noticed the golden-haired girl on the balcony, the only one of his children to witness this triumph. There was Giovanni in Spain, Cesare in his university of Pisa, and little Goffredo (whom he accepted partly because he loved the boy, partly because sons were so necessary to him) was too young to make an appearance. His children! They would all have their parts to play in his dream of power. Little Lucrezia standing there, eyes wide with awe and wonder, accepting him, as did these people in the streets this day, as a god among them, was the representative of his children.
The homage of the people, the shouts of acclamation, the intoxicating sense of power, they were the narcotic which lulled a man to sleep in which he dreamed of greatness; and all greatness must first take its shape in dreams.
“Blessings on the Holy Father!” cried the crowd.
Aye! thought Alexander. Let the blessings of the saints fall upon me, that I may realize my dreams and unite all Italy under one ruler; and let that ruler be a Borgia Pope.
SANTA MARIA IN PORTICO
Lucrezia soon understood how much more gratifying it was to be the daughter of a Pope than that of a Cardinal.
Firmly on the Papal throne, Alexander made no secret of his intentions. Giovanni was to return from Spain that Alexander might put him in charge of the Papal armies; Cesare was to be made Archbishop of Valencia; as for Lucrezia she was to be given a palace of her own—that of Santa Maria in Portico. Lucrezia was delighted with this honor, and especially so because she might now move from the gloomy fortress of Monte Giordano into the center of the City.
Alexander had a double purpose in giving Lucrezia this palace; it adjoined the Church of St. Peter’s and there was a secret passage which connected it with the church and continued into the Vatican. Adriana and Giulia were to be of Lucrezia’s household; Orsino would accompany them, but of course he was of no account.
Lucrezia looked forward to the new life with zest. It was wonderful to be grown up. Her brother Giovanni would soon be in Italy and Cesare, so her father had told her, was to be recalled to Rome. He was only being kept away for a short while because Alexander did not want the people to think he was continuing his policy of nepotism since, before his election, he had promised to abandon it. Cesare was already an Archbishop, and Alexander knew that if his son were in Rome it would become very difficult not to shower more honors upon him. So, for the moment, Cesare should remain at Pisa—but it would only be for the present.