“Well, sister,” he said, “you do not seem pleased to see me.”
“Then it is because I see you not looking as well as I would wish to see you.”
He took her by the arm, and she tried not to show that his grip hurt her.
“This man to whom they are marrying you,” he said, “he is a boor, I hear. Alfonso. Alfonso the Second! He will bear no resemblance to the first Alfonso … that little one who so delighted you.”
She would not look at him. She whispered: “It is our fate to marry when we are told to marry, and accept the partners chosen for us.”
“My Lucrezia!” he said. “Would to God …”
She knew what he meant but she would not let him say it. She interrupted quickly: “We shall meet often. You shall visit me in Ferrara; I shall visit you in Romagna.”
“Yes,” he said. “That must be so. Nothing should part us, Lucrezia. Nothing shall, as long as there is life in this body.” He put his face close to hers. He whispered: “Lucrezia … you tremble. You are afraid of me. Why, in the name of all the saints? Why?”
“Cesare,” she answered him, “soon I have to leave Rome. Soon … I must go to my marriage.…”
“And you are afraid … afraid of the brother who loves you. Afraid because he is your brother … Lucrezia, I will not have you afraid. I will have you welcome me … love me … love me as I love you.”
“Yes, Cesare.”
“For love you I do, as I love no other. Always, no matter whom I am with, it is Lucrezia I love. All others are dull … they tire me. They are not Borgias. Lucrezia … Lucrezia … I would give so much … years of my life if …”
“No,” she said fiercely, “no!”
“But I say Yes,” he told her.
His hand was at the nape of her neck. She thought in that moment that he was going to kill her because he was imagining her with her new husband, and could not bear to see such images.
Then suddenly he released her. He laughed, and his laughter was bitter.
“The Borgia in you, Lucrezia, is hidden by the gentle serenity of the woman who would wish to be like all others … the gentle Lucrezia who longs to be a wife and mother … meek and mild—Lucrezia who would deny her Borgia blood for the sake of peace. You shall come to my apartments tonight. There shall be a supper party. Our father will be there and others. And this party shall be for your delight.”
“I shall come with the greatest pleasure,” she said.
“Yes, Lucrezia,” he told her, “you shall come.”
* * *
In Cesare’s apartments there took place that night an orgy which would be remembered as long as the name of Borgia would be.
It was of Cesare’s own invention; and his apartments were lighted by many brilliant candelabra and therein he had set up a Papal throne, elaborately covered with the finest brocade. Upon it was seated the Pope, and next to him Lucrezia, and on her other side Cesare himself.
There was feasting, and the conversation was lewd. Cesare set the pace, and he was fresh from the campaign in Naples, during which his barbarism and love of orgiastic spectacle had become intensified. The Pope was expectant. There was nothing he liked better than what he called goodly company, and he was not the man to turn from lewd talk nor from lewd behavior.
Cesare had ordered that fifty courtesans be brought to the apartment, and they came, some of the most notorious in Rome, ready to do whatever they should be asked, providing they received adequate payment; and payment or not, none would dare offend Cesare Borgia.
The payment for this night’s work was to be very high indeed, and in addition they had the honor of working for Cesare and entertaining the Holy Father and the bride-to-be.
They began by dancing, and as the music grew wilder, so did their dancing. There was one theme: seduction and fulfillment; and this they stressed again and again. Cesare watched intently. He had placed on a small table a selection of dresses made of the finest silk, leather shoes and hats; and these he said were prizes which he wished Lucrezia to distribute. She must watch carefully, for he wished her to bestow the prizes on those whom she thought most worthy.
The Pope applauded the dances, and laughed with hilarity when the prostitutes began to discard one item of clothing after another.
Lucrezia sat very still, trying not to glance sideways at her father and brother, trying to set a fixed smile on her face.
Brought up as she had been in her particular age she was not shocked to see these naked women. She had seen suggestive dances many times; she had listened to bawdy plays. She could only apply the standards of her age to such; but this entertainment was symbolic. This was Cesare’s way of telling her that she was one of them; she belonged to them; and that even when she was living with the prudish Este family, she would remember this night.
“Now,” said Cesare, “the contest begins.”
“I am all interest,” said the Pope, his eyes on a plump dark-haired woman who discarded the last of her garments.
Cesare clapped his hands and a bowl of hot chestnuts was brought to them.
“We shall scatter these, and the ladies will retrieve them,” he explained. “And each will hold a lighted candelabrum in her hand as she does so. It will be no easy feat in the state they are in.”
“Your wine was potent. I declare I should not feel inclined to scramble for chestnuts,” said the Pope, taking a handful and throwing them at the dark-haired courtesan.
Now all in the room, except Lucrezia, were rocking with laughter at the antics of the drunken prostitutes. Some shrieked as the lighted candles in the shaking hands of others touched them. Some fell to the ground, and rolled about on the floor in pursuit of the nuts.
This was the sign for Cesare’s servants to gratify that lust which the sight of the women had aroused in them, and at the given signal they proceeded to do so.
The Pope was helpless with laughter, pointing to this one and that.
Cesare laid his hand over his sister’s. “Take good note,” he said. “It is for you to award the prizes to those who get on best together.”
And she sat there, the fear upon her; the desire to escape never greater than at this hour of shame.
She felt that she did not belong to these Borgias and she longed to escape. They terrified her, and yet she was conscious of that strong feeling within her which she had for them and which she could have for no others. Was it love? Was it dread? Was it fear?
She did not know. All she did know was that it was the strongest emotion in her life.
She was tainted, and Cesare had determined that the stain should be indelible. “You shall not escape!” That was what he was telling her. “You are blood of our blood, flesh of our flesh. You cannot wipe the Borgia stain from yourself, because it is part of you.”
It was over at last. She felt sick with revulsion and loathing mingling with fear. Yet she did as she was bidden. She selected the winners and gave the prizes.
She knew then that she would always do as she was bidden. She knew that the only escape was in flight.
“Holy Mother of God,” she prayed, “send me to Ferrara. Let them come for me … soon … Oh, let it be soon, before it is too late.”
* * *
She was waiting, and still they did not come.
The Pope fumed with rage.
“What now?” he demanded. “What should they want now? An appointment in the Church for the bastard Giulio. Something involving no labor and a goodly income. He’ll not get it. A Cardinal’s hat for his friend, Gian Luca Castellini da Pontremoli? He’ll not get that either. What is he waiting for? For the weather to become too bad?”
Lucrezia was beside herself with anxiety. Cesare was ill, but he would recover. She was frightened; the web was tightening about her.
She wrote to her future father-in-law, telling him that she would with the utmost delight arrange to bring the nuns with her when she traveled to Ferrara.
The letters she received from her future husband were kin
dly, but still no move was made.
What shall I do? she asked herself. Can it be that they have decided not to come?
It was November and surely the journey would be almost impossible in a few weeks’ time. He was deliberately delaying.
The Pope, seeing her downcast looks, sought to cheer her up and, when two mares were put into the courtyard with four stallions, he insisted on her watching from the windows of the Apostolic Palace to see the excitement below.
Several people had gathered to watch the spectacle, and Lucrezia was seen there with her father; this was talked of throughout the city, and Lucrezia believed that it would most certainly reach the ears of those who sought to defame her in the eyes of the old Duke of Ferrara.
Shall I never escape? she wondered.
Then she marveled that she could have thought of it as escape—leaving the home and family which she had loved so much!
She was determined to please her new family. She was in truth begging them not to close her way of escape.
Roderigo had been a matter of great concern to Duke Ercole; he did not want the expense of keeping a child of Lucrezia’s by another marriage. Lucrezia publicly put the boy into the care of her old cousin, Francesco Borgia, who was now Cardinal of Cosenza, and bestowed on him Sermoneta so that the Este family might have no fear that the child would be an expense to them.
And still they did not come.
Lucrezia in desperation declared: “If there is no marriage with Ferrara I shall go into a convent.”
And those who heard this marveled that the young girl who had been so gay, so happy in the possession of her beauty, so careful of its preservation, so enthusiastic in the designing of fine garments, could contemplate giving up her gay life for the rigors of a convent.
They did not know of the fear that had taken possession of Lucrezia.
* * *
It was December before the cortège set out and, headed by the three brothers, Ippolito, Ferrante and Sigismondo, made its way toward Rome. The weather was bad and the rain incessant, but there was an easing of that fear in Lucrezia’s heart, for she was certain now that in a few weeks she would be leaving Rome.
Alexander was as excited as a boy. He would burst into Lucrezia’s apartment and ask to see the latest addition to her trousseau; he would exclaim with pleasure as he examined the dresses—the brocades and velvets in shades of blue, russet and morello, all encrusted with jewels and sewn with pearls; he could not refrain from calculating the number of ducats represented by these fine clothes, and would point out to the women: “That hat is worth 10,000 ducats, and the dress 20,000.”
Cesare was to ride out to meet the cavalcade and conduct it into Rome, and fortunately a day before the entry into the capital the weather cleared and the sun shone.
Cesare, splendid on a magnificent horse, surrounded by eighty halberdiers in Papal yellow and black, and soldiers numbering four thousand, met the cavalcade from Ferrara at the Piazza del Popolo and placed himself at the head beside Ippolito. Nineteen Cardinals met them at the Porta del Popolo and many speeches of welcome were delivered. The guns at Castel Sant’ Angelo thundered out as they rode on to St. Peter’s Square and the Vatican.
Here Alexander was waiting and, when the ceremonial greeting was over and he had received countless kisses on his slipper, he put aside ceremony and embraced the Este brothers, telling them with tears of joy in his eyes, of the great delight he had in beholding them.
Then it was Cesare’s duty to lead the distinguished guests to the Palace of Santa Maria in Portico where Lucrezia was waiting to receive them.
She stood at the foot of the staircase in readiness. At intervals on the staircase torches were blazing; the setting was dramatic, for Lucrezia possessed all the showmanship of the Borgias and, no matter how great was her fear at any time, she could usually spare thought for her appearance.
She had chosen to support her, for her escort, a very old Spanish nobleman, dignified, gray-bearded and grizzled, and there could not have been a greater contrast to her feminine fragility. Her brocade dress in her favorite morello color was stiff with gold and jewels; her velvet cloak was lined with sable, and on her head she wore an emerald-colored net lavishly decorated with pearls, while on her forehead a great ruby shone.
The three Este brothers, who had been so eager to see this woman whom they had so often heard called an incestuous murderess, gasped with astonishment as they came forward to kiss her hand.
Ippolito thought her delightful; Ferrante was half way to falling in love with her, and even Sigismondo assured himself that the stories he had heard of her could not be anything but lies.
* * *
Now the celebrations, which were to precede and follow the marriage by proxy, began.
The Pope was determined to give entertainments such as had never been seen before, even of his devising. He took a puckish delight in displaying his splendor before the Este Princes. He fervently wished that he had their old miserly father in Rome so that he could shock him thoroughly. He would teach them how to enjoy wealth. It was the lavish spenders who did that, not the misers of this world.
He would take the brothers aside and call attention to the beauty of Lucrezia. “Is she not charming? Not a blemish. She is not lame. She is perfect, perfect I tell you.”
He would ask them questions about the Duke and the bridegroom. “How tall is your father the Duke? Tell me, is he as tall as I am?”
“He is tall,” Ippolito explained, “but I think perhaps Your Holiness has a slight advantage.”
That delighted the Pope. “And my son, the Duke of Romagna, is he taller than your brother Alfonso? Tell me that.”
“Our brother is tall, Holiness, but so is the Duke of Romagna. It is not easy to say, but perhaps the Duke is the taller of the two.”
They were the answers the Pope wanted, and he was as pleased as a child. He was delighted with the marriage of his daughter into one of the oldest and most aristocratic families in Italy, but he did not want anyone to forget that the Borgias were more powerful than any, and if he was pleased, the Duke of Ferrara should be doubly so.
He whispered to Ippolito: “I long to see the Este jewels which you are to bestow on my daughter.”
Ippolito was uneasy, for his father had warned him that the famous Este jewels were not to be given to Lucrezia as a gift to a bride. She would be allowed to wear them for her wedding celebrations, but she must not think they passed into her possession. They were worth a fortune, and to contemplate their passing out of the Este family was more than old Duke Ercole could bear.
Ippolito explained to the Pope as tactfully as he could; Alexander smiled ruefully, but he was not seriously perturbed. He was rich enough to snap his fingers at the 70,000 ducats which the jewels were said to be worth. The most important matter was to get Lucrezia married and, now that the embassy was in Rome, that would not be long delayed.
At the end of December the marriage was celebrated. Escorted by Don Ferrante and Don Sigismondo, Lucrezia was led across St. Peter’s Square with a dazzling train to accompany her. She had fifty maids of honor and twenty pages, all exquisitely dressed, and these last carried the standards of Este side by side with the emblem of the Grazing Bull.
Lucrezia in crimson velvet and gold brocade lined with ermine was very beautiful, and the people who had assembled to watch gasped with admiration as she was led into the Vatican. The ceremony was not held in the intimate Borgia apartments but in the Sala Paolina. Lucrezia had asked the Pope’s permission for this, as she did not feel that she could endure this marriage by proxy kneeling where she had knelt during the ceremony which had made her wife of that other Alfonso.
Here Alexander, Cesare and thirteen Cardinals were waiting for her, and the ceremony began.
Lucrezia had quickly seen that Sanchia was not present, and she was relieved. Sanchia, like herself, would be thinking of Alfonso of Bisceglie. It was as well that she was absent from this occasion.
The Bishop of
Adria opened the proceedings and began to deliver a sermon which threatened to be of long duration. The Pope, however, was impatient to get on with the important part of the ceremony; he wanted to see his daughter in truth married; he wanted to watch the Este jewels being handed to her.
“Enough! Enough!” he murmured, waving a white hand impatiently, and the Bishop’s sermon came to an abrupt end.
Then Ferrante stepped forward and placed the ring on Lucrezia’s finger. “In the name,” he proclaimed, “of my brother Alfonso.”
The jewel box was then brought and ceremoniously handed to Lucrezia, and the Pope was almost beside himself with laughter on hearing the carefully chosen words of Ippolito. It required great tact to hand over a present which was not in truth a gift, but the dandified Ippolito managed very successfully: and after all it was not jewels which the Borgias sought. They could easily have acquired jewels such as those if they had wanted them.
Lucrezia when accepting the jewels commented rather on the exquisite workmanship which had gone into their making than on the gems themselves.
“And now to feasting and celebration!” cried the Pope.
And thus was Lucrezia married for the third time.
* * *
The celebration continued. Lucrezia married, though by proxy, to the heir of Este now seemed possessed of a wild abandon. She remembered that her days in the Vatican circle were numbered, and another great fear took possession of her. In a few days she must say good-bye to her father, and she knew that this was constantly in his thoughts. Every time they were together he talked with almost feverish excitement of the visits she would pay to him, and he to her, in the years to come. He would enumerate all the good points of this marriage as though he were trying to convince himself that it was worth while, even though it was going to take his beloved daughter from him.
Light on Lucrezia Page 18