# The Crimes of Alexander Borgia/Book 3

BOOK THIRD.
I.
A POPE'S OPINION OF HIMSELF AND ROMANISM.
Another week had passed. It was early in the evening. The sky was radiant with the orbs of night, which made it a jewelled veil of heaven.
Pope Alexander VI. sat alone in his richly-furnished apartment, but in no pleasant mood. An evil gleam was in his eyes, a look of anger on his brow.
"This affair with my daughter Lucretia has added the finishing-stroke to 'Satan's masterpiece,' as I have been termed," he muttered. ‘"Henceforth, no particle of manhood, no quality of mercy, shall have a place in my nature; but all that is infernal, treacherous, and infamous, shall be enacted in both my public and private life. I'll make my name and character themes for universal scorn and execration; so that those who come after me will look upon the record of my deeds with more loathing and abhorrence than ever was felt for Satan himself! I'll be a monster in every species of depravity; I'll plunge into every order of dissipation and licentiousness; I’ll be the chief of assassins, the vilest of criminals, and the most infamous of priestly libertines!"
He arose to his feet, and began to walk to and fro.
​"And yet," he added, with a look of scorn and mockery that would have done honor to a fiend,—"and yet, though I make the name of Alexander Borgia the synonyme of all that is infamous and abhorred, will I not still be 'His Holiness! the most Holy Pope Alexander VI.'? How the fools of the present day, the mass, the ignorant rabble, will prostrate themselves in the dust before me; kiss my toe; adore me as a God on the altar of St. Peter's; and regard me as the possessor of the keys of heaven! And how the modern Catholic church, which pretends to be so holy and infallible, will claim and acknowledge me as one of the legitimate successors of St. Peter, and as a necessary link in the boasted chain of apostolic succession, while there shall not be one of the priests of Romanism, at any period of the future, but that will know my character, and thoroughly loathe and execrate me in his heart, though he will hold me up as a head of the Catholic church to the poor ignorant fools he wishes to dupe!! There is not one of the 'Holy Fathers' but that knows and believes that the religious mummery in which he is employed is the most infamous and pernicious of humbugs and impositions. They do not believe in the infallibility of the Pope, nor in any of the doctrines and ceremonies they preach and enact under the name of religion. They know that full one-half of the Popes have been the most notorious of villains, libertines and assassins; and would declare, if they spoke the real sentiments of their hearts, that a large portion of them as richly deserved hanging as did Judas Iscariot! Ay, the very men, who include me—me, Alexander Borgia—as a link in their elaborate chain of apostolic succession, know very well that I am as base, corrupt, polluted, and as infamous a monster in the semblance of ​man as the world ever produced: but yet they address me as 'His Holiness!' 'The Most Holy!!'' and rank me as a successor of St. Peter!! What inconsistency, what cant and hypocrisy, what living infamy, is the whole system of Catholicism!"
Borgia was alone; so it need not seem strange that he spoke his real opinions, and spoke the truth.
"Romanism," continued the Pope, "is founded on the ignorance of the many, and the impudent and blasphemous assumption of the few. Its gorgeous and magnificent ceremonies are not instituted to render religion solemn and impressive, for it is not religion; nor does the religion of Jesus Christ and his followers require any such impressiveness as is gained from the pageants and mummeries that characterize Catholicism. The ceremonies of Romanism are intended, not to edify and solemnize religion, but to blind and mystify the masses, and glorify the Pope, his cardinals, bishops, and priests! And yet these fools, the people, these blind, servile masses, do not see the impositions that are put upon them, though they are as glaring as the light of day; and, if they will be such despicable fools, let them reap the reward of a fool's folly. If the people, whether in Rome, or France, or any other country, will be priest-ridden,—will be subjugated, morally and mentally, physically and politically, by an impudent priesthood,—a prison and chains are too good for such misused bodies and such ignoble souls!"
Such were the thoughts of Alexander Borgia, Pope of Rome; such are the thoughts of the Catholic priesthood of the nineteenth century, from Archbishop Hughes down to the lowest and most fallen specimen of manhood that exists as a priest of Romanism.
​There was a knock upon the door, as Borgia concluded his soliloquy. He opened it, and beheld a servant, who passed him several letters, and retired. The Pope was soon busy in opening and reading them.
II.
NEW MYSTERIES AND DEEP PLOTTING.
"So, Cardinal Guillani is dead," soliloquized the Pope, after he had read the first letter. "How much richer is our treasury by his sudden departure? Let me see; the secretary must have made some allusion to it. Ah! here it is."
And, as he glanced at some figuring on the corner of the page, he added in a low tone, "Fifteen thousand maravedi; that's not so small a sum as it might have been. 'T will prove very acceptable to the funds of the church at this moment."
He now opened the second letter. A frown appeared upon his face as he read the commencement, and it deepened to a look of fierce passion as he read on.
"By Heavens!" he exclaimed, "what is this? The cardinals complaining of the mask of St. Peter's. And this charge—that the-mask does not execute their decrees. Who has dared to breathe a word to that effect? Ha! what is the meaning of this statement? 'Rumor has reached us that Michael Delano is yet alive, and that the mask has abducted the daughter of the old man to further his own particular ends!' Some one has gained a little knowledge, and made a great noise about it. I must see to this at once. Delano is not dead—that is true; but I ​have kept him so closely and securely confined, that none could have gained any actual information in reference to him. Yet his name is before the cardinals! There is a mystery here, which I must unravel."
The Pope remained in thought a moment; then opened the third letter. It bore the private seal of the cardinals, and was from the pen of their private secretary. Borgia read the commencement of it aloud:
"It has been brought to our notice that a certain young citizen, whose name is Hernaldo Zinna —"
The Pope sprang to his feet suddenly, and gazed long and attentively upon the name.
"Hernaldo Zinna!" he exclaimed, at length; "Hernaldo is the name of La Belle Floretta's lover! Is he the person alluded to in this note? But let me read on, and see what the Council says in reference to him."
"— has been secretly establishing an anti-Papal society, and taking other measures that tend to the injury of our most holy Catholic religion. The society is said to already number a large portion of the laboring classes, and holds its regular meetings, but where is a source of mystery. These things having been duly considered, we have deemed it our duty to lay them before your Holiness, with the hope of having your advice on the matter."
"Hernaldo!" repeated Alexander VI. again, as a significant gleam appeared in his dark eyes. "If this youth should prove to be the lover of La Belle Floretta, what a weapon I shall have placed in my hands against her, and how mercilessly I will use it to win her over to my wishes!—Ah, I must see to this, Her father is already in my power, and if I can but get her lover in my clutches, ​I shall be doubly armed against her silly resistance to my wishes, and will soon force her to compliance!"
There was something in the current his thoughts had now taken that added to the fierce and vindictive look upon his features.
"Ay, she shall be mine," he continued. "I have used gentle means during the past week, but she has scorned and despised to be won by them. I’ll now try something more serious. If the poor fool but knew how I have been duped,—how my own daughter became the victim of the revenge that was meant for her,—ay, if she but knew that she is the daughter of Lady Caselli, she would not care to oppose a purpose I have cherished with such deadly resoution. I 'll see her once more, and learn her final decision. Once more; only once more!"
Borgia threw the letters he had received into the grate, and prepared to leave the room. A new thought seemed to rise up in his heart.
"Now that Guillani is dead," he muttered, "why should my son Cæsar not be chosen to fill his place? 'Tis a good idea; he shall be. Cardinal Caesar Borgia! The name has a pleasing sound. He is a sadly-dissipated dog, but I will see what can be done to effect a change: firstly, in his condition; secondly, in his principles, But enough of Cæsar," he added, as he passed from the room. "Now for a final essay at fair means in conquering La Belle Floretta!"
III.
THE FINAL RESOLVE.
La Belle Floretta was seated alone in her apartment. A look of the deepest anxiety was on her features.
​"O, that death would decide for me!" she murmured. "The Pope has given me but one choice,—to become his mistress, or see my father slain by the tortures of the Inquisition. He told me to decide by nine o'clock, when he will return to hear my decision—"
She glanced at the horologue upon the table; she saw that the hour of nine had just arrived.
And even as she uttered an exclamation of fear and anxiety, and started to her feet, a door behind her opened, and Borgia entered.
"I have come, dear Floretta, as per agreement, to know your decision," he quietly observed, with a mocking smile. "Will you be my mistress, or not?"
The captive's face was deathly pale; but there was no fear expressed thereon, nor did her voice tremble, as she replied:
"You have already heard my answer. I have told thee that I would rather die than consent to your base purpose, though you are the Pope of Rome, and a Borgia!"
The form of the listener fairly quivered with passion, but he endeavored to appear calm.
"You are very brave," he muttered, with a forced smile that made him appear more fiendish and brutal than when in his stormiest mood—"as brave as you are beautiful!"
La Belle Floretta made no reply, but turned away and seated herself in a chair, while a look of scorn and contempt appeared on her features,
"I see you are in no mood for conversation," observed Borgia, and the expression of his face became still more devilish and menacing. "I will leave you, and send your father to comfort you."
"My father!" cried Floretta, starting to her feet. ​"Will you indeed allow my father to come and see me?"
"I will, indeed!"
"O, thanks—thanks! Do this, and I will bless you."
"Save your thanks, dear Floretta," he added, with bitter sarcasm, "until you know my object in sending your father to your presence!"
The look that mantled Borgia's face, as he said this, would have wrung an exclamation of horror from the girl had she observed it, it was so diabolical and menacing.
"And if you are not satisfied with your father's society, I will send another, a friend of yours—I should say, your lover, whose name is Hernaldo Zinna!"
Floretta recoiled from him, uttering a shriek of terror, and sank back upon a sofa, almost in a state of insensibility.
"I thought there was a cause for your refusal to accept of my proposition," observed Borgia, as his dark eyes emitted a vengeful gleam. "You love this Hernaldo Zinna very much, I suppose!"
"Monster! is he, too, in your power?" exclaimed Floretta.
"Not exactly," was the reply, "but I presume he soon will be, if the visit I shall now allow your father to make you does not prove satisfactory to all concerned, and especially so to myself. But farewell for the present. Expect your father in the course of half an hour; and so—I have the pleasure of bidding you adieu!"
It was no common look that flitted over the features of the Pope as he passed from the apartment. It spoke of long-cherished hate, and a fearfully-planned revenge!
IV.
THE SECRET CONCLAVE.
A vast hall, under ground, and near the Tiber. It was dimly lighted. In the centre a number of men were seated around a table. Their dusky features, half revealed by the rays that fell upon them, wore a calm look of determination, such as bespeak noble qualities and daring souls.
"We are all here," muttered a member of the party, who sat at the head of the table; "ten of us in all!"
"Ay," was the response of a person at one end of the hall, as he closed and barred the door by which all had gained admittance. He then came forward, and, throwing off a cloak and mask he had worn for the purpose of disguise, seated himself in the midst of the group.
There was that in his actions and appearance that would have proclaimed him the leader of the men in whose presence he was seated. We may add that he was no other than Hernaldo Zinna, the lover of La Belle Floretta. He was young—evidently not more than two-and-twenty years of age, of prepossessing appearance, and with a countenance that evinced courage and manliness.
"Brothers," he observed, in a clear, ringing tone, "I need not speak of what we are, nor dwell upon the aims of this organization. You all know that we are Italian artisans, met together for the attainment of mental and political supremacy, and for the protection of our rights. Our numbers are few, but are every day increasing. Our chief object is the redemption of our own class from the grasp of Popery, and the establishment of the true religion. ​Down with Popery!—down with the Inquisition! and down with oppressors of’ the poor! Such are the thoughts that shall be sacredly and secretly guarded in our hearts, until we have become strong enough to wrest the chains that bind us. Is it not so?"
A murmur of approbation went round the table.
"Perhaps I have had greater cause to take the position I have," continued Zinna, "than most of you. One who was very dear to me—a young lady—has, as near as I can learn, been abducted by Alexander Borgia, and is now confined in his palace. God only knows what her fate has been, or what it may be; I should go mad were I to think upon the subject. I have made every possible exertion to learn something in reference to her, but have failed."
"If she is alive, she shall be saved, if we have to tear down the Pontifical palace!" said the secretary of the "Leaguers," in a low, resolute tone.
"In addition to this, my dearest friend, Mercado, was arrested by the officers of the Inquisition. Two long, dreary weeks have passed by since that time, and yet I have not gained any tidings relative to his fate. It is my belief that he has been slain by the accursed emissaries of the church, or been incarcerated in a loathsome dungeon."
"Your wrongs are indeed great," said the secretary; "but I do not believe that a heart now beats in this room that is not pledged to avenge you."
"Thanks, my friends,—my brothers! But while the cases I have mentioned show how insecure are the meagre rights possessed by the artisans, the laboring people, both male and female, there may be others brought personally ​home to more than one of you, to urge you more surely and determinedly to vengeance! Brothers! let the good work to which we have pledged our lives goon. Years may pass away before we can attain a force sufficient to warrant us in taking a stand of open hostility to the church; thousands and thousands of the poor may be slain and tortured to death in the mean time; but let their sacred memory be cherished; let their tears and groans be registered on earth as well as in heaven, and we will eventually have a great and glorious revenge!"
Hernaldo Zinna arose to his feet as he spoke, and resumed his cloak and mask.
"Brothers," he proceeded, "let all whom you have prepared to join the league be proposed to the secret conclave to-morrow evening. Beware of traitors; and speak not of our order to any one, until you have learned that they will gladly join it, and forever remain true!"
The men all arose, and uttered their assent. Hernaldo moved forward and opened the massive door by which they had entered, and they passed out into a dark passage, one by one. When all were gone, Hernaldo followed them, closing the door securely behind him, The passage0way branched off in several directions, all of which led to the bank of the river. The commander of the Leaguers took the centre passage, and was soon by the water's edge, where a small boat was lying. Springing into it, he cast off, and was soon floating silently down the river.
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"Monster!" cried Corneto, vehemently, as he drew his sword, "you shall die for this. That man was Delano, whom I came to seek!"
"Seek him in hell, then!" replied the mask, now terribly excited, and he stamped his foot angrily upon the floor, while his form quivered with passion, ‘"Know you, Cardinal Corneto, that my word is law here, and any interference will cost you your life! Men! bear that woman to a dungeon, and give her the attendance of a surgeon!"
"Stir not, on your lives; he has no authority to command you!" exclaimed Corneto.
"Liar!" hissed the mask, as he struck him to the floor, and exhibited a massive seal-ring upon his finger; "I have authority! Behold the signet-ring of Alexander Borgia!"
The cardinal bowed his head in token of submission; the men proceeded to remove the insensible Floretta; the mask uttered a scornful laugh of triumph; and here ends the horrors of half an hour in the "Hall of Torture!"