Borgia family; Borja, Francisco de, Saint, 1510-1572; Italy -- History -- 1492-1559
is intrinsically false and, at the same time, derogatory to the person
against whom it is laid. This difficulty is one that continually
confronts the investigator. Prelates, priests, princes, penmen,
sometimes because they had a grievance, sometimes confessedly wilfully,
sometimes by way of wanton babble, habitually launched against their
enemies or superiors accusations of depravity the most loathsome, of
crime the most odious. What they said by word of mouth cannot surely be
known Until The Books Are Opened. What they wrote in pasquinades, in
diaries, in official despatches, in official chronicles, or for the mere
æsthetic pleasure of recording a salacious gibe in curial Tuscan or in
golden Latin—these remain. A few of the more important icily will be
discussed here. The student of history knows no more refreshing
recreation than that of nailing liars, like vermin, to the wall.
The statement of Bishop Vespasiano da Bisticci of Vicenza, quoted above,
is a fair example of the less fœtid species of calumny: it only amounts
to an accusation of “philistinism.” However, it at once may be described
as being both stupid and improbable. With regard to the naif surprize,
said to have been shown by the Lord Calixtus P.P. III, on seeing “so
many excellent books,” is it likely that, as Bishop Alonso de Borja,
Ambassador Plenipotentiary and Confidential Counsellor of the Majesty of
Naples, he never had seen fine things before? Is it likely that Cardinal
Alonso de Borja, eleven years cardinal of the curia residing in the
Court of Rome, had never seen splendid books before? Of what kind then
were the missals and pontificals which, as bishop, he would have used in
his daily mass? Is it likely that Cardinal Alonso de Borja—one of the
actual electors of the Lord Nicholas P.P. V, constantly at His side from
beginning to end of His reign, if not assistant to, at least cognizant
of, His every action—had never seen, had never touched, handled, tasted,
those identical five hundred books, bound in crimson velvet with clasps
of silver, with which that august Pontiff enriched the Vatican library.
The assumption is ridiculous, absurd.
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