The Pope Who Was Accused of Selling His Soul to the Devil
THE MERCHANTS OF BABYLON — PART TWO
Black Magic, Diabolical Pacts, Consecrated Hosts and the Testimony of Renaissance Chroniclers
“For thy merchants were the great men of the earth; for by thy sorceries were all nations deceived.” — Revelation 18:23 (KJV)
“Neither repented they of their murders, nor of their sorceries, nor of their fornication, nor of their thefts.” — Revelation 9:21 (KJV)
In Part One of this investigation, we examined the testimony of Francesco Guicciardini concerning the buying and selling of ecclesiastical offices, the exchange of church revenues for political support, the enrichment of papal families, military violence, executions, coercion, and the treatment of sacred authority as a source of extraordinary financial wealth. We asked how men who claimed to represent Jesus Christ could conduct themselves in ways so profoundly at odds with His commandments. We examined the merchants, the money, the offices and the bloodshed. But Revelation speaks of something else alongside the merchants of Babylon: sorceries, by which the nations were deceived.
That brings us to a remarkable body of contemporary testimony concerning Pope Alexander VI, Rodrigo Borgia, who occupied the papal throne from 11 August 1492 until his death on 18 August 1503. This was the same pontiff whose election Guicciardini describes in terms of inducements offered to cardinals, and whose pontificate was devoted in considerable part to advancing the fortunes of his children, particularly Cesare Borgia. Yet Alexander's reputation among his contemporaries went beyond accusations of simony, greed, lust and political violence. He was also accused of practising black magic, dealing with the Devil and obtaining the papacy through a bargain in which he supposedly surrendered his own soul.
These accusations were not invented by modern writers seeking to sensationalise the Borgias. Versions of them circulated around the time of Alexander's death, entered contemporary correspondence and chronicles, and were subsequently preserved by historians who consulted those materials. What they prove is the existence and circulation of the allegations, not that any supernatural encounter actually occurred. That distinction matters. If we are to examine whether the history of the Renaissance papacy bears any resemblance to the biblical warnings against spiritual deception, we must distinguish what the witnesses observed from what they heard, and what they heard from what later generations embellished.
The documentary trail leads through Rafael Sabatini, Girolamo Priuli, Francesco II Gonzaga, Marino Sanuto, Francesco Maturanzio and the papal ceremonial master Johann Burchard. Their accounts do not all agree. Indeed, some of the disagreements expose how the stories developed. But together they reveal something historically significant: the man who claimed the highest spiritual office in Western Christendom became the subject of stories that he had purchased that very office from the Devil. How did the reputation of a supposed earthly representative of Christ reach such a point?
The Accusation of Black Magic
In The Life of Cesare Borgia, Rafael Sabatini devotes considerable attention to the character of Alexander VI and to the atmosphere of suspicion surrounding him. Sabatini is important here because he is not attempting to prove that the pope was a sorcerer. Quite the opposite: his biography repeatedly challenges allegations against the Borgias and argues that hostile contemporaries exaggerated their faults. Yet even this defender of the family acknowledges that Alexander was accused of being a warlock and practising black magic.
In Book II, Chapter II, printed page 127, Sabatini writes:
“Because he did not burn witches and magicians it was presently said that he was himself a warlock, and that he practised black magic.”
Sabatini explains the accusation by presenting Alexander as unusually sceptical about purported supernatural manifestations. According to his interpretation, the pope's reluctance to persecute suspected witches and magicians, together with his comparatively tolerant treatment of Jews and Moors, aroused the hostility of people who regarded such restraint as evidence of religious unbelief or complicity with forbidden practices. Sabatini also reports hostile accusations made by Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere and the Dominican preacher Girolamo Savonarola, including allegations that Alexander was not a genuine Christian.
We should not transform Sabatini's interpretation into a contemporary statement of fact. He does not identify an original accuser who personally witnessed Alexander performing a magical ceremony, nor does he produce evidence that the pope summoned spirits or conducted necromantic rites. His passage establishes that an accusation of black magic formed part of Alexander's reputation; it does not establish that the accusation was true.
Yet consider the extraordinary position in which the papal institution found itself. Here was a man claiming to occupy the supreme office of the Church, while accusations circulated that he was involved in precisely the kind of forbidden supernatural practices condemned in Scripture. His supporters could dismiss the allegations as malicious inventions. His enemies could repeat them as proof of his wickedness. But the fact that they circulated at all deserves examination, particularly when we discover that the stories became far more specific following his death.
(Source: Rafael Sabatini, The Life of Cesare Borgia, Book II, Chapter II, printed pp. 126–128, especially p. 127; uploaded PDF pp. 130–132.)
Girolamo Priuli: A Pope Said to Have Given His Soul and Body to the Devil
One of the most revealing contemporary reports comes from the Venetian diarist Girolamo Priuli, whose account was later cited by the historian Lord Acton. Discussing rumours surrounding Alexander's illness, Priuli recorded the extraordinary allegation that the pope had surrendered both his soul and his body to the Devil.
The original wording includes:
“ut vulgo dicebatur, questo Pontefice havea dato l’anima et il corpo al gran Diavolo dell’Inferno.”
Translation: “As was commonly said, this pontiff had given his soul and body to the great Devil of Hell.”
The significance of the Latin phrase ut vulgo dicebatur must not be overlooked. It means “as was commonly said.” Priuli is not claiming to have witnessed a pact. He is telling us what was being said about the pope. Nevertheless, the testimony is valuable because it places the accusation within the contemporary world rather than leaving it as an invention of later centuries.
Priuli's account also reflects the grotesque belief that Alexander's supposed relationship with the Devil made his approaching death extraordinary. This was no ordinary denunciation of an immoral pope. It was an explanation of his position, his survival and his impending death in supernatural terms.
What does it tell us about the reputation of the papacy when a Venetian chronicler could record that its supreme representative was commonly believed to have surrendered his soul to the Devil? Was this simply the vicious language of political enemies, or had Alexander's conduct so discredited his spiritual claims that people reached for the most extreme explanation available to them?
The historian's answer must remain that the accusation is documented but the alleged pact is not. The theological question, however, is unavoidable: what had become of an institution claiming the authority of Christ when its own contemporaries could imagine its leader as a man bound by a contract with Satan?
(Source: Girolamo Priuli, Diarii, as quoted by Lord Acton, “A History of the Papacy during the Period of the Reformation,” in Historical Essays and Studies.)
The Gonzaga Letter: The Papacy Allegedly Purchased with a Soul
The most substantial surviving document in this investigation is a letter dated 22 September 1503, sent by Francesco II Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, to his wife Isabella d'Este. Written from Isola degli Orsini, near Rome, approximately five weeks after Alexander VI's death, the correspondence was published from the Gonzaga archives by Ferdinand Gregorovius in Lucrezia Borgia: secondo documenti e carteggi del tempo, Document XLIX, printed pages 428–429.
This is not an anonymous modern retelling. It is a published transcription of a contemporary letter by an identifiable Italian ruler to his wife, concerning an event that had recently shaken the political world. The original spelling is particularly important because it reveals not only what Gonzaga reported but also how he attributed the extraordinary story to people who claimed knowledge of the pope's supposed secret.
Gonzaga begins by describing Alexander's alleged words during his final illness:
“io veniro, l'e ragione, expecta anchor un pocho”
Translation: “I will come; it is right; wait a little longer.”
According to the letter, people who heard these words did not all understand them in the same way. Those who supposedly knew the pope's secret interpreted them as a response to the Devil, who had arrived to collect what was owed.
Gonzaga then delivers the accusation at the centre of the entire legend:
“el patuì col diavolo comprando il papato con l'anima sua”
Translation: “He made a pact with the Devil, purchasing the papacy with his own soul.”
Read those words carefully. The papacy itself was alleged to have been purchased. Not merely a favour, a benefice, a bishopric or a cardinalate, but the position from which Alexander claimed supreme religious authority. According to the rumour conveyed in the letter, the bargain had supposedly been concluded during the conclave following the death of Innocent VIII in 1492. In return for his soul, Alexander was to be given the papal throne for twelve years. When the agreed term expired, the Devil supposedly returned to claim payment.
And what price was alleged to have been offered? Not gold, not castles, not ecclesiastical revenues, but the pope's own soul.
Mark 8:36 (KJV)
“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”
The theological irony is difficult to overlook. In Part One, we examined historical testimony about the use of money, appointments and ecclesiastical privileges to secure political advancement. Here, a contemporary ruler records a story in which the same supreme office was said to have been purchased with a soul. The supernatural story may be untrue, but the language of buying the papacy was already familiar within the political and religious world in which it arose.
Was the accusation an attempt by Alexander's enemies to explain an election associated with worldly bargaining? Did people conclude that a man who had reached the pinnacle of religious power through such dealings must have employed still darker means? We cannot establish the motive of every storyteller, but the connection between the language of purchase and the office being claimed is striking.
The letter becomes more extraordinary. Gonzaga reports:
“gli è ancor chi afferma haver visti sette diavoli nel punto del respiro in sua camera”
Translation: “There are also those who claim to have seen seven devils in his chamber at the moment of his last breath.”
Notice the wording once again: “there are those who claim.” Gonzaga does not name seven eyewitnesses, produce their statements or say that he personally saw anything supernatural. He transmits what others asserted. Yet he deemed the allegation sufficiently important to communicate to Isabella in a private letter.
His description of the corpse is equally disturbing:
“morto chel fu, il corpo cominciò a boglire, e la bocca a spumare come faria uno caldaro al focho”
Translation: “When he was dead, the body began to boil, and the mouth to foam as a cauldron would over the fire.”
Gonzaga continues that Alexander's body allegedly swelled until its human form was barely recognisable. He describes a humiliating burial in which nobody supposedly wished to touch the remains, a porter was said to have dragged the bier, and the pope received funeral treatment that Gonzaga regarded as disgraceful. He also reports that insulting epitaphs appeared after Alexander's death.
The letter then returns to immediate politics: news had arrived that the Sienese cardinal had been elected pope, referring to Pius III, and Gonzaga discussed military passage, supplies and the disposition of opposing forces. That broader context matters. The devil story appears within genuine political correspondence about current events, rather than in a document written solely to advance a supernatural legend.
But we must examine one significant problem. The rumour stated that Alexander had been promised twelve years as pope, supposedly with four additional days. The historical dates do not agree. Alexander was elected on 11 August 1492 and died on 18 August 1503: eleven years and seven days later, not twelve years and four days. This chronological inconsistency does not tell us precisely who invented the story, but it undermines its claim to describe the terms of an actual supernatural contract.
The value of Gonzaga's letter (seee attached) therefore lies in its ability to establish that the allegation existed, had achieved sufficient prominence to enter princely correspondence, and associated Alexander's election with an alleged sale of his soul. It does not prove the Devil appeared, that seven demons were present or that any such pact was ever made.
Even stripped of its supernatural claims, however, the testimony is a devastating reflection of the reputation surrounding the office. The question remains: why had the highest ecclesiastical dignity become so closely associated in contemporary rumour with the language of contracts, purchases and damnation?
(Primary source: Francesco II Gonzaga to Isabella d'Este, Isola degli Orsini, 22 September 1503, Gonzaga Archives, published in Ferdinand Gregorovius, Lucrezia Borgia, Document XLIX, pp. 428–429. The complete original Italian letter and English translation have been reproduced separately for this investigation.)
Marino Sanuto: The Devil in the Shape of a Baboon
The story did not remain confined to an alleged bargain made in secret. Another version described a visible manifestation of the Devil in the pope's chamber, this time in the form of a baboon.
Rafael Sabatini reproduces the account in Book IV, Chapter I, printed pages 409–410, attributing its original Italian wording to the Venetian chronicler Marino Sanuto:
“Il diavolo sarebbe saltato fuori della camera in forma di babuino, et un cardinale corso per piarlo, e preso volendolo presentar al papa, il papa disse lasolo, lasolo che il diavolo. E poi la notte si amalo e morite.”
Translation: “The Devil was said to have leapt out of the chamber in the form of a baboon. A cardinal ran to catch it and, having caught it, wished to present it to the pope; but the pope said, ‘Let it go, let it go, for it is the Devil.’ And that night he fell ill and died.”
It is difficult to imagine a more extraordinary story being attached to a papal death. A mysterious creature supposedly emerges from the room, a cardinal attempts to capture it, and the pope himself is said to recognise it as the Devil.
Yet the wording immediately warns the careful reader against treating the account as established fact. The Italian sarebbe, meaning “would have” or “was said to have,” conveys a reported occurrence rather than Sanuto's own declaration of having witnessed the event.
Ferdinand Gregorovius also cites this story, referring to Diarii, Volume V, column or page 124. This is the volume covering April 1503 to March 1504, the period in which Alexander died. The Sanuto volume originally uploaded for this investigation is Volume VII, covering later events from 1507 onward, and cannot itself establish the exact wording of a report from August 1503. The baboon account is supported by the citations of Sabatini and Gregorovius, but its exact position and immediate informant in Volume V still require direct checking against the earlier text.
There is another important distinction. The Gonzaga letter reports seven devils, whereas the Sanuto-attributed story concerns a baboon. They are not identical descriptions and should not be conflated into one eyewitness event. Rather, they demonstrate that several versions of the same diabolical interpretation were circulating.
We must ask whether the papal chamber had really witnessed extraordinary supernatural events, or whether a spectacular story had emerged around an intensely disliked and politically powerful man's death. What we can establish is that the papacy had acquired such a reputation that people were willing to repeat stories of demons appearing at its very centre.
This was not a tale about an obscure layman. It concerned a pope, surrounded by cardinals, occupying the most prominent office in the Western Church.
Francesco Maturanzio: The Devil Arrives as an Abbot with a Written Contract
Another remarkably detailed version was recorded by the Perugian humanist and chronicler Francesco Maturanzio, also known as Matarazzo. His account is examined by historian Erminia Irace in her study, Il pontefice, la guerra e le “false notizie”: L'età di Alessandro VI nella cronachistica umbra, published in 2002 by the Italian Ministry for Cultural Heritage.
Maturanzio did not simply repeat the story of the baboon or the seven devils. He developed an account in which the Devil came to the pope disguised as an abbot, carrying a written agreement.
But before describing the supernatural scene, Maturanzio makes an admission that must govern how his evidence is understood:
“De qual morte lui murisse non so bene [...] ma la verità non se sa.”
Translation: “I do not know exactly what death he died [...] but the truth is not known.”
He continues that he hesitated to record the pope's death as it had been narrated to him. This matters enormously. The chronicler openly acknowledges uncertainty and identifies the story as something he had heard.
Then comes the extraordinary account:
“Commo el diavolo en forma de abbate andò al papa”
Translation: “How the Devil went to the pope in the form of an abbot.”
In Maturanzio's narrative, the disguised Devil announces his identity and demands that Alexander accompany him because the pope belongs to him. Alexander protests that he does not belong to the Devil and refuses to go. The Devil then supposedly produces a written document bearing the pope's own hand.
The chronicler explains that this written agreement stipulated that, if the Devil caused Alexander to become pope, Alexander would promise him his soul. The Devil had allegedly made a corresponding promise to secure the papacy for a stated period, but the terms had been misunderstood, and the time came sooner than Alexander expected.
The narrative turns almost into a grotesque legal dispute. The pope and the Devil argue over the wording of the contract, with each attempting to establish his interpretation. Maturanzio's account presents the confrontation with the language of legal instruments, obligations and enforcement, as though the election of a pope could be reduced to a bargain enforceable by the powers of Hell.
Here, too, the imagery of contracts and the purchase of power is impossible to miss.
The story continues with alarming events, including a sudden disturbance, the pope's death, and reports that a terrifying black dog roamed St Peter's afterward. According to Maturanzio, the animal caused such fear that people hesitated to remain in the church at night.
The tale is extraordinary, but we cannot overlook the chronicler's own admission that he did not know the truth about Alexander's death. Nor can we ignore the clearly literary qualities of the narrative. Irace describes the story as resembling a dark novella, built from reports that had reached the writer and developed into an elaborate account of a diabolical contract.
She also places it in a wider tradition of stories alleging that earlier popes had dealings with the Devil, including legends surrounding Sylvester II. In medieval and Renaissance storytelling, a written pact with Satan was already a recognisable way of explaining suspicious worldly success. This makes the story's historical context more intelligible, while also providing another reason not to treat its details as evidence of an actual supernatural contract.
Yet Maturanzio's account remains valuable. It shows how quickly Alexander's death could be interpreted through a language of spiritual corruption, bargains and demonic claims. It also demonstrates the extent to which a man's possession of papal authority could be questioned through allegations that the authority itself had been purchased by forbidden means.
(Sources: Francesco Maturanzio, Cronaca della città di Perugia, pp. 222–223, quoted and analysed by Erminia Irace, “Il pontefice, la guerra e le ‘false notizie’,” in Principato ecclesiastico e riuso dei classici: Gli umanisti e Alessandro VI, Rome, 2002, pp. 139–140.)
The Corpse of Alexander VI: What Was Actually Witnessed?
It is here that we must separate the sensational stories from the physical circumstances of Alexander's death.
The papal ceremonial master Johann Burchard, whose records were examined in our earlier investigation, described the pope's body after death in deeply disturbing terms. Sabatini reproduces part of Burchard's Latin description:
“Factus est sicut pannus vel morus nigerrimus”
Translation: “He had become like the blackest cloth or mulberry.”
Burchard further describes a swollen and discoloured face, an enlarged mouth and an appearance that horrified those who saw it. Sabatini recounts the difficulty of placing Alexander's decomposing and swollen body into its coffin, the removal of the mitre, and the unceremonious handling of the remains.
Burchard's description is valuable because it concerns the physical circumstances surrounding the burial, not an alleged bargain with the Devil. The corpse's rapid deterioration could have been intensified by the conditions prevailing in Rome in August. Once its appearance was described, repeated and embellished, it could readily become part of a story about divine punishment or demonic possession.
Contemporary medical information provides an important counterweight to the supernatural allegations. Gregorovius cites the Venetian ambassador Antonio Giustinian, who received information from a physician on 18 August 1503. The reported medical assessment included:
“E da giudicare che il principio del suo male sia stato apoplexia”
Translation: “It is to be judged that the beginning of his illness was apoplexy.”
A Ferrarese report from 14 August also noted that illness was widespread at the Roman court, particularly among people in the palace, and associated the sickness with unhealthy conditions.
These observations do not conclusively establish the precise medical cause of Alexander's death. Nor do they settle every competing allegation of poisoning. But they show that contemporaries had natural explanations available to them, including serious illness during an unhealthy summer and the rapid decomposition of the body afterward.
The condition of the corpse was real enough to become a subject of contemporary description. The claim that this condition resulted from a pact with the Devil was a separate interpretation, not an observed medical fact.
We should also consider how the accounts vary. One writer speaks of bubbling flesh, another of seven devils, another of a baboon, another of an abbot, and another of a black dog. Different stories share the conviction that something diabolical surrounded the pope, but the agreement is largely in the interpretation, not in a consistent description of the event.
This does not make the documentary material worthless. Quite the opposite: it reveals the development of the accusation and allows us to examine its origins instead of treating it as unquestionable fact.
(Sources: Johann Burchard, papal ceremonial records, quoted in Sabatini, The Life of Cesare Borgia, Book IV, Chapter I, pp. 409–411; Ferdinand Gregorovius, History of the City of Rome in the Middle Ages, account of the death of Alexander VI and its contemporary medical reports.)
Cesare Borgia and the Supposedly Supernatural
It is necessary to distinguish Alexander VI from Cesare Borgia, because some accounts of the family describe Cesare in language that can be mistaken for evidence of occult activity.
In Sabatini's biography, Cesare appears in an episode involving Colomba da Rieti, a Dominican religious woman whose followers attributed extraordinary miracles to her.
Sabatini describes an occasion during Cesare's student years at Perugia when a crowd claimed that Colomba had restored a dead child to life. Importantly, he clarifies that Cesare arrived after the alleged resurrection and saw the child in the woman's lap surrounded by people proclaiming the miracle. Cesare therefore did not personally witness a resurrection.
Later, in 1495, Alexander visited Colomba during his stay in Perugia, accompanied by Cesare, cardinals and attendants. The pope questioned her concerning religious mysteries. When she became distressed and was unable to answer satisfactorily, the Dominican prior defended her reputation. Cesare supported the prior's sincerity, explaining that he had previously been sceptical about her claims and therefore should not lightly be dismissed now that he believed them.
This incident demonstrates Cesare's presence during an investigation of reputed supernatural activity. It does not demonstrate that he practised necromancy, summoned spirits or conducted magical rites.
Sabatini also relates that Alexander arranged for physicians to examine Lucia da Narni when reports circulated that she bore the stigmata. He uses the episode to reinforce his portrait of the pope as sceptical about miraculous claims.
Elsewhere, Cesare's calculated treachery is described as devilish, and language suggesting that he might make a treaty even with the Devil appears in discussions of his desperate political circumstances. Such expressions describe cunning, ruthless conduct or political desperation. They are not evidence of an actual demonic agreement.
The evidence examined here therefore does not establish that Cesare personally practised witchcraft. The stronger accusations concern his father. This distinction must be preserved, even while acknowledging that their political careers were closely intertwined.
Yet the contrast with the previous investigation remains striking. We do not need a supernatural accusation to examine Cesare's conduct. Guicciardini's historical account describes episodes of deception, imprisonment and killings associated with his campaigns, including the destruction of rival rulers and the betrayal of men who had accepted assurances of safety. Those allegations and events must be assessed individually, but they concern the exercise of temporal power under the protection and authority of the papacy.
The question for our investigation is not whether Cesare secretly possessed magical powers. It is how military conquest, dynastic ambition, treachery and personal advancement became so closely united with an institution claiming to represent Jesus Christ.
A Friar, Consecrated Hosts, a Rooster and an Alleged Familiar Spirit
The investigation becomes even more disturbing when we turn from the rumours surrounding Alexander VI to a separate report in Marino Sanuto's Diarii, Volume VII, concerning a friar accused of performing ritual magic in Bologna.
This event occurred in April 1508, years after the deaths of both Alexander VI and Cesare Borgia. It must not be attributed to the Borgias. Nevertheless, it provides an unusually explicit contemporary example of a Christian religious figure being accused of using consecrated elements in magical rites.
On printed columns 393–394 (PDF page 207), Sanuto writes:
“In questi zorni a Bologna è stato brasato uno frate [...] el qual era magico, feva molte incantatione, et con hostie consecrate, le qual deva a manzar a un gallo, in modo de comunione, et havia un diavolo familiar o ver spirito.”
Translation: “In these days a friar was burned in Bologna [...] who was a magician, performed many enchantments, and used consecrated hosts, which he gave to a rooster to eat, in the manner of communion; and he had a familiar devil, or spirit.”
This is not merely an accusation that somebody believed in astrology or possessed unusual knowledge. The report describes alleged ritual activity involving consecrated communion hosts and a familiar spirit.
According to Sanuto, the friar supposedly gave consecrated hosts to a rooster in an imitation of communion. He was also accused of maintaining a familiar devil or spirit, language consistent with contemporary beliefs about forbidden magical relationships.
The chronicle continues that certain consecrated hosts were allegedly being sent to a woman when they fell into the street, leading to the discovery of the activities. Sanuto reports that the friar was arrested, confessed and was burned.
The account includes the qualification:
“ut dicitur”
Translation: “As is said.”
Once again, the chronicler signals that aspects of the episode were reported to him. The friar's name and religious order are not established by the readable wording, and no independent trial record has yet been examined to determine the exact accusations, procedures or circumstances of any confession.
Nevertheless, this passage is historically significant. Unlike the vague allegation that Alexander VI practised black magic, it describes specific alleged actions: the handling of consecrated hosts, their administration to an animal in imitation of communion, enchantments, and possession of a familiar spirit.
It also raises a particularly troubling question about the relationship between religious authority and ritual power. What kind of religious environment produced accusations that a friar was employing the very elements consecrated for Christian worship in ceremonies directed toward magical ends?
We should not make the mistake of treating an accusation or a confession as conclusive proof, especially in an age when prosecutions for magic could involve coercion and severe punishment. Yet the event unmistakably belongs to the history of allegations of ritual magic within Christian religious settings.
And there is a grim irony here. The report concerns a friar supposedly burned for magical misconduct involving consecrated hosts. Meanwhile, in the preceding years, the supreme pontiff himself had become the subject of accusations that he practised black magic and had entered a contract with the Devil. The evidentiary strength of the different accusations varies, but the contrast exposes the extraordinary intensity of the religious fears of the period.
(Source: Marino Sanuto, Diarii, Volume VII, April 1508, printed columns 393–394, uploaded PDF p. 207.)
Julius II and the Astrologers
Another revealing passage occurs in the same volume of Sanuto, this time concerning Pope Julius II, Alexander's successor after the brief pontificate of Pius III.
In a Roman report received in May 1508, Sanuto records that Julius was unwell and feared what the following month might bring because astrologers had predicted danger to his life:
“dubita il mexe futuro de vita, perchè li astrologi l'anno minaziato.”
Translation: “He fears for his life in the coming month, because the astrologers have warned him.”
This is a different category of evidence from the accusations against Alexander VI. It concerns astrological prediction, not a pact with the Devil or the performance of ceremonial magic. Astrology, divination and necromancy must not be treated as interchangeable merely because they appear together in later discussions of occult history.
Nevertheless, the report reveals the extent to which astrological expectations could enter the political and religious world surrounding a reigning pope. The man occupying the highest ecclesiastical office was reportedly troubled by predictions concerning his future.
If these predictions meant nothing, why were they sufficiently significant to be recorded in diplomatic reporting? If the pope regarded them as potentially meaningful, what relationship did he believe existed between astrological foretelling and the providence of God? Sanuto does not give us enough evidence to answer those questions definitively, but his words justify asking them.
(Source: Marino Sanuto, Diarii, Volume VII, May 1508, printed columns 469–470, uploaded PDF p. 245.)
Rumour, Reputation and the Making of a Diabolical Pope
The historical evidence now allows us to trace the accusations with far greater precision. Sabatini preserves a later discussion of the charge that Alexander was a warlock and practised black magic. Priuli records a rumour that he had given his soul and body to the Devil. Gonzaga's September 1503 letter recounts a supposed bargain for the papacy, a stipulated period of twelve years, seven devils at the deathbed and the appalling condition of the corpse. Sanuto is cited as a source for a different story in which the Devil appeared as a baboon. Maturanzio recounts an elaborate written contract presented by a Devil disguised as an abbot, followed by tales of a terrifying black dog. Burchard provides evidence concerning the pope's physical remains, while diplomatic and medical reports supply natural explanations for the illness and decomposition.
It is essential to recognise that several written accounts do not necessarily constitute several independent eyewitnesses. Gonzaga transmitted what others claimed; Priuli reported what was commonly said; Maturanzio admitted that he did not know the truth and recounted a story told to him. These witnesses independently help establish the circulation of the allegations, but they do not independently prove the alleged supernatural events.
The variations are revealing. The Devil appears in different forms; the details of the supposed contract develop; the explanation of the corpse becomes increasingly grotesque. The scholar Erminia Irace argues that a diabolical interpretation of Alexander's death developed quickly, probably in Rome and perhaps even within circles connected to the papal court, before spreading and accumulating further details. She identifies the physical decomposition of the corpse as one possible catalyst for the legend.
That scholarly conclusion does not excuse Alexander's documented political conduct, nor does it establish that every accusation made against him was false. It does, however, prevent us from confusing an established historical reputation with proof of a supernatural crime.
For this investigation, that is not a weakness. It is precisely what gives the evidence its value. We can place before the reader the actual words of the chroniclers, identify their dates and sources, and examine how an institution claiming sacred authority became associated with stories of spiritual damnation.
The historian can establish that the rumours circulated. The historian cannot establish that a Devil arrived to collect the pope's soul. But the historian can ask why such rumours found a receptive audience, and what they reveal about contemporary judgments of the pontificate.
The Merchants of Babylon and the Price of a Soul
We must now return to the biblical question with which this investigation began.
Revelation 18:23 speaks of merchants who had become the great men of the earth and of sorceries through which the nations were deceived. Revelation 9:21 speaks of those who refused to repent of murders, sorceries, fornication and thefts. And Peter warns:
“And through covetousness shall they with feigned words make merchandise of you: whose judgment now of a long time lingereth not, and their damnation slumbereth not.” — 2 Peter 2:3 (KJV)
These passages provide a powerful theological framework for examining religious wealth, manipulation, spiritual claims and moral corruption. They do not, by themselves, identify Alexander VI, Rome or any individual historical institution as the Babylon of Revelation. Such an identification remains a matter of biblical interpretation.
Nevertheless, the comparison demands serious consideration. In Part One, we examined testimony concerning men whose ecclesiastical authority was entwined with gold, political advancement, violence, offices, privileges and the enrichment of relatives. Here, we have encountered accounts in which even the papal throne itself was imagined as an object of supernatural purchase. In one account, the pope supposedly bargained with the Devil to obtain his position. In another, a written contract was produced as though supreme religious authority could be bought and enforced by a private agreement.
Set against this history, the words of Christ concerning the value of the human soul are especially arresting:
“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” — Mark 8:36 (KJV)
The allegation against Alexander VI was that he had done precisely that: sold his own soul in exchange for worldly power—but did his pursuit of that power also place the souls of those he claimed to shepherd in peril? We cannot demonstrate that such a transaction occurred. But its symbolic meaning was unmistakable to those who repeated it. They were alleging that a man claiming to govern the Church had sacrificed his own salvation to possess the papal throne.
Yet we should not lose sight of what is historically much more securely established. Guicciardini describes the use of money, church offices and other advantages to obtain support in Alexander's election. These were worldly dealings. They require no supernatural explanation. Whether Alexander ever sold his soul to the Devil cannot be proved; that his election was associated with the purchase of cardinalitial support is a matter of substantial historical testimony.
And that raises a question far more immediate than whether a baboon escaped from a chamber. If the highest spiritual office was secured through promises of money, property and ecclesiastical advancement, by what authority was its occupant subsequently presented to the faithful as the divinely appointed ruler of Christ's Church?
Peter's own words offer no permission to turn pastoral responsibility into an instrument of worldly domination:
“Neither as being lords over God's heritage, but being ensamples to the flock.” — 1 Peter 5:3 (KJV)
Christ Himself condemned the conversion of sacred worship into commerce:
“Take these things hence; make not my Father's house an house of merchandise.” — John 2:16 (KJV)
And when Simon attempted to purchase spiritual power with money, Peter answered:
“Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money.” — Acts 8:20 (KJV)
What an extraordinary contrast with the testimony examined in Part One. Peter rejected the attempt to purchase the gift of God. Yet centuries later, men claiming apostolic succession participated in a system in which ecclesiastical authority, offices and revenues became entangled with wealth and political bargaining.
If Peter condemned the purchase of spiritual power, how could purchasing influence over the highest spiritual office be defended as the work of the Holy Spirit?
It is equally important to remember that Christ's authority was never derived from a Roman election. His priesthood was not granted by a conclave, purchased in ducats, or transmitted through the ambitions of competing families. Hebrews 7:24 declares:
“But this man, because he continueth ever, hath an unchangeable priesthood.”
And 1 Timothy 2:5 states:
“For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus.”
Christ's priesthood continues because Christ Himself continues. His people have no need of a substitute mediator whose office depends upon political election, purchased support or the fortunes of a ruling dynasty. The apostles were commissioned to bear witness to Christ, not to convert His everlasting authority into a marketable dignity.
The contrast becomes particularly severe when we recall that Christ was condemned under Roman imperial authority, while His earliest followers later suffered persecution under Roman rulers. By what command of Christ did the city associated with His execution become the mandatory universal seat of His Church? And by what authority could later holders of an earthly office claim supremacy over believers when Scripture continues to identify Christ Himself as the Head of the Church?
The question is not answered by the magnificence of buildings, the antiquity of ceremonies, the splendour of vestments, or the succession of men occupying a particular throne. Nor is it answered by declaring that an election was "guided by the Holy Spirit" when the historical record describes worldly negotiations surrounding its outcome.
We are told that these men occupied the office of Christ's earthly representative. Yet the documentary evidence examined in this series confronts us with the purchase of influence, the pursuit of wealth, the enrichment of papal families, violence carried out in the interests of temporal rule, and accusations that reached even to diabolical bargains and supernatural deception.
We do not need to pretend that every accusation was true. Indeed, doing so would weaken the investigation. The genuine historical testimony is sufficiently serious without inventing magical ceremonies, mistaking rumour for eyewitness evidence or making allegations against Cesare Borgia that the sources cannot sustain.
But neither should the uncertainties surrounding the supernatural stories be used to conceal the documented worldly transactions. Rejecting the legend of a pact with the Devil does not erase the evidence of how ecclesiastical power was pursued, negotiated and exercised.
The words of Revelation may be applied to this history only through an argued interpretation; they cannot replace historical proof. But their warning remains forceful:
“For thy merchants were the great men of the earth; for by thy sorceries were all nations deceived.” — Revelation 18:23 (KJV)
The question, then, is not merely whether Pope Alexander VI was a warlock. It is not whether seven devils appeared at his deathbed, whether an animal escaped from his chamber, or whether a dark creature roamed the aisles of St Peter's. Those accounts are accusations and legends whose origins and development must be examined honestly.
The greater question is this: when an institution claiming the authority of Jesus Christ made sacred offices, political influence and ecclesiastical revenues objects of worldly bargaining, how could the faithful distinguish the authority of Christ from the ambitions of the men claiming to exercise it?
For Christ never instructed His apostles to establish a dynasty of wealthy rulers who would purchase influence, wage wars for their families, and claim universal authority over the souls of believers. He commanded them to feed His sheep, not to make merchandise of them.
And perhaps that is the most damning distinction of all: we cannot prove that Alexander VI purchased the papacy from the Devil, but we have historical testimony that the papal election itself was influenced by the purchase of men.
The first allegation belongs to the history of the supernatural legend. The second belongs to the history of the Renaissance papacy.
One is a rumour about a soul sold for power. The other is a warning about what happens when men turn the things of God into merchandise.
Documentary References
The principal sources for this investigation are Rafael Sabatini, The Life of Cesare Borgia, Book II, Chapter II, pp. 125–128, and Book IV, Chapter I, pp. 409–411; Girolamo Priuli, Diarii, as cited in Lord Acton's Historical Essays and Studies; Francesco II Gonzaga's letter to Isabella d'Este of 22 September 1503, published in Ferdinand Gregorovius, Lucrezia Borgia: secondo documenti e carteggi del tempo, Document XLIX, pp. 428–429; Marino Sanuto, Diarii, Volume V, as cited by Gregorovius for the alleged baboon incident, and Volume VII, printed columns 393–394 and 469–470; Francesco Maturanzio, Cronaca della città di Perugia, pp. 222–223; Erminia Irace, “Il pontefice, la guerra e le ‘false notizie’,” in Principato ecclesiastico e riuso dei classici: Gli umanisti e Alessandro VI (Rome, 2002), pp. 138–140; and Johann Burchard's papal ceremonial records concerning Alexander's death and burial.
The original Italian Gonzaga correspondence is available in Gregorovius's documentary appendix, while Irace's analysis and the Maturanzio extracts appear in the Italian State Archives' scholarly publication. The relevant 1503–1504 Sanuto volume can be consulted through Wikimedia Commons. All supernatural accounts have been identified as reported allegations rather than proven events; the original location and immediate source of the Sanuto baboon account remain subject to further verification.
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