embers of the Conclave sold themselves for
gold; to meet their demands the Borgia sent Ascanio Sforza four mules
laden with coin in open day, requesting him to distribute it in proper
portions to the voters. The fiery Giuliano della Rovere remained
implacable and obdurate. In the Borgia his vehement temperament
perceived a fit antagonist. The armor which he donned in their first
encounters he never doffed, but waged fierce war with the whole brood of
Borgias at Ostia, at the French Court, in Romagna, wherever and whenever
he found opportunity.[2] He and five other Cardinals--among them his
cousin Raphael Riario--refused to sell their votes. But Roderigo Borgia,
having corrupted the rest of the college, assumed the mantle of S. Peter
in 1492, with the ever-memorable title of Alexander VI.

[1] Roderigo was the son of Isabella Borgia, niece of Pope
Calixtus III., by her marriage with Joffre Lenzuoli. He took
the name of Borgia, when he came to Rome to be made Cardinal,
and to share in his uncle's greatness.

[2] The marriage of his nephew Nicolo della Rovere to Laura,
the daughter of Alexander VI. by Giulia Bella, in 1505, long
after the Borgia family had lost its hold on Italy, is a
curious and unexplained incident.

Rome rejoiced. The Holy City attired herself in festival array,
exhibiting on every flag and balcony the Bull of the house of Borgia,
and crying like the Egyptians when they found Apis:--

Vive diu Bos! Vive diu Bos! Borgia vive!
Vivit Alexander: Roma beata manet.

In truth there was nothing to convince the Romans of the coming woe, or
to raise suspicion that a Pope had been elected who would deserve the
execration of succeeding centuries. In Roderigo Borgia the people only
saw, as yet, a man accomplished at all points, of handsome person, royal
carriage, majestic presence, affable address. He was a brilliant orator,
a passionate lover, a demigod of court pageantry and ecclesiastic
parade--qualities which, though they do not suit our notions of a
churchman, imposed upon the taste of the Renaissance. As he rode in
triumph toward the Lateran, voices were loud in his praise. 'He sits
upon a snow-white horse,' writes one of the humanists of the century,[1]
'with serene forehead, with commanding dignity. As he distributes his
blessing to the crowd, all eyes are fixed upon him, and all hearts
rejoice. How admirable is the mild composure of his mien! how noble his
counten