Madonna of the Seven Hills: A Novel of the Borgias

by Jean Plaidy

  Even the servants, amongst themselves, could not refrain from sly titters. They had witnessed the passionate rivalry of the brothers for Lucrezia’s affection; they had seen her embraced by the Pope. And there were many who could swear that Giovanni Sforza and Lucrezia had lived as husband and wife.

  They did not do so, of course. They had no wish to be taken to some dark dungeon and return minus their tongues. They did not care to risk being set upon one dark night, tied in sacks and thrown into the river. They had no wish to drink of a certain wine and so step into eternity.

  But at that time one of the most unhappy people in Rome was Lucrezia. She was filled with shame for what she had done, and she felt that she could no longer endure the daily routine of her life.

  She thought longingly of those days of her childhood when she had lived so happily with the nuns of San Sisto, and everything within the convent walls had seemed to offer peace; and, very soon after she had signed that document, she left her palace for the convent of San Sisto.

  There she begged to be taken to the Prioress and, when Sister Girolama Pichi came to her, she fell on her knees and cried: “Oh, Sister Girolama, I pray you give me refuge within these quiet walls, for I am sorely oppressed and need the comfort this place has to offer me.”

  Sister Girolama, recognizing the Pope’s daughter, embraced her warmly and told her that the convent of San Sisto was her home for as long as she wished it to be so.

  Lucrezia asked that she might see her old friends, Sister Cherubina and Sister Speranza, who so long ago, it seemed, had undertaken her religious teaching. The Prioress sent for them and, when Lucrezia saw them, she wept afresh and Sister Girolama told them to take Lucrezia to a cell where she might pray, and that they might stay with her as long as she needed their comfort.

  When he discovered that Lucrezia had gone to the convent, Cesare was angry, but the Pope soothed him and begged him not to let any know how concerned they were at this unexpected move.

  “If any should know that she had run away from us they would ask the reason,” said the Pope, “and there would be many to question whether she had willingly put her name to our document.”

  “They will know soon enough that she has fled to the nuns to seek refuge from us.”

  “That must not be. This day I will send men-at-arms to bring her back to us.”

  “And if she will not come?”

  “Lucrezia will obey my wishes.” The Pope smiled grimly. “Moreover the nuns of San Sisto will not wish to arouse Papal displeasure.”

  The men-at-arms were dispatched. Lucrezia was with four of the nuns when she heard them at the gates.

  She turned startled eyes to her companions and wished she were one of them, serene and far removed from all trouble. Oh, she thought, what would I not give to change places with Serafina or Cherubina, with Paulina or Speranza?

  The Prioress came to her and said: “There are men of the Papal entourage below. They have come to take you back, Madonna Lucrezia.”

  “Holy Mother,” said Lucrezia, falling on her knees and burying her face in the voluminous black habit, “I beg you do not let them take me away.”

  “My daughter, is it your wish that you should renounce all worldly things and stay here with us all the days of your life?”

  Lucrezia’s lovely eyes were full of bewilderment. “They will not permit it, Holy Mother,” she said; “but let me stay awhile. I pray you let me stay. I am afraid of so much outside. Here I find solitude and I can pray as I cannot in my palace. Here in my cell I am alone with God. That is how I feel, and I believe that if you will but give me refuge for a little longer I shall know whether I must give up all outside these walls and become one of you. Holy Mother, I implore you, give me that refuge.”

  “We would deny it to none,” said Girolama.

  One of the nuns came hurrying to them to report that men were at the gates demanding to see the Prioress. “They are soldiers, Holy Mother. They are heavily armed and look fierce.”

  “They have come for me,” said Lucrezia. “Holy Mother, do not let them take me.”

  The Prioress went boldly to the gates and faced the soldiers, who told her they were in a hurry, and had come, on the orders of His Holiness, to take Madonna Lucrezia with them.

  “She has sought refuge here,” said the Prioress.

  “Now listen, Holy Mother, this is an order from the Pope.”

  “I regret it. But it is a rule of this house that none who asks for refuge shall be denied it.”

  “This is no ordinary visitor. Would you be so foolish as to offend His Holiness? The Borgia Pope and his sons do not love those who oppose them.”

  The soldiers meant to be kind; they were warning the Prioress that if she were a wise woman she would heed the Pope’s request. But if Girolama Pichi was not a wise woman she was a brave one.

  “You cannot enter my house,” she said. “If you do, you commit an act of profanity.”

  The soldiers lowered their eyes; they had no wish to desecrate a holy convent, but at the same time they had their orders.

  Girolama faced them unflinching. “Go back to His Holiness,” she said. “Tell him that as long as his daughter craves refuge, I shall give it, even though His Holiness commands me to release her.”

  The men-at-arms turned away, abashed by the courage of the woman.

  In the Vatican, the Pope and his two sons chafed in quiet anger.

  They knew that in the streets it was whispered that Madonna Lucrezia had entered a nunnery, and that the reason was that her family was trying to force her to do something which was against her will.

  Alexander came to one of his quick and brilliant decisions.

  “We will leave your sister in her convent,” he said, “and make no more attempts to bring her out. They cause gossip and scandal, and until the divorce is completed we wish to avoid that. We will let it be known that Madonna Lucrezia has been sent to San Sisto by ourselves, our wish being that she should live in quiet retirement until she is free of Giovanni Sforza.”

  So Lucrezia was left in peace; but meanwhile the Pope and her brothers redoubled their efforts to obtain her divorce.

  Life for Lucrezia was now regulated by the bells of San Sisto, and she was happy in the convent where she was treated as a very special guest.

  No one brought her news so she did not know that Romans continued to mock at what they called the farce of the divorce. She had never been fully aware of the scandals which had circulated about herself and her family, and she had no notion that verses and epigrams were now being written on the walls.

  Alexander went serenely about his daily life, ignoring the insinuations. His one aim was to bring about the divorce as quickly as possible.

  He was in constant communication with the convent, but he made no attempt to persuade his daughter to leave her sanctuary. He allowed the rumor, that she intended to take the veil, to persist, realizing that the image of a saintly Lucrezia was the best answer to all the foul things which were being said of her.

  He selected a member of his household to take letters to his daughter and, as he was planning that after the divorce he would send her to Spain for a while in the company of her brother the Duke of Gandia, he chose as messenger a young Spaniard who was his favorite chamberlain.

  Pedro Caldes was young and handsome and eager to serve the Pope. His Spanish nationality was on his side as Alexander was particularly gracious to Spaniards; his charm of manner was a delight to the Pope, who was anxious that Lucrezia should not become too enamoured of the nuns and their way of life.

  “My son,” said Alexander to his handsome chamberlain, “you will take this letter to my daughter and deliver it to her personally. Now that the Prioress knows that my daughter is in the Convent of San Sisto with my consent, you will be admitted to my daughter’s presence.” Alexander smiled charmingly. “You are to be not merely a messenger; I would have you know that. You will talk to my daughter of the glories of your native land. I want you to inspi
re within her a desire to visit Spain.”

  “I will do all in my power, Most Holy Lord.”

  “I know you will. Discover whether she is leading the life of a nun. I do not wish my little daughter to live so rigorously. Ask her if she would like me to send a companion to her—some charming girl of her own age. Assure her of my constant love and tell her that she is always in my thoughts. Now go, and when you return come and tell me how you found her.”

  So Pedro set out for the convent determined to make a success of his mission. He was delighted with it; he had often seen Madonna Lucrezia and had greatly admired her. She was the most beautiful of all the women, he thought, preferring her serene youthfulness to the more bold beauty of Madonna Giulia; as for the Princess of Squillace she was not to his taste at all, being nothing more than a brazen courtesan. It seemed to Pedro that, compared with such women, Lucrezia was wonderful.

  He stood before the convent, at the foot of the Aventine, and looked up at the building. He felt then that this was a fateful moment in his life; he was to have a chance to win the friendship of Lucrezia, a chance which he had never thought would be his.

  He was allowed to enter, and the nuns who passed him in the corridors hurried along with downcast eyes, scarcely looking at the stranger. He was conducted to a small room. How quiet it was!

  He looked about him at the stone floor and the bare walls on which there was nothing but a crucifix. The furniture in the room consisted of a rough bench and a few stools. Outside the brilliant sun seemed far away for it was so cool behind those thick walls.

  And suddenly Lucrezia came and stood before him. She was dressed in a long black robe, such as the nuns wore, but there was no covering on her head, and her golden hair streamed down her back. It was symbolic, thought Pedro. The display of all that golden beauty meant that she had not yet decided to take the veil. He would know when she had, because then he would not be allowed to see her golden hair.

  He bowed; she held out her hand and he kissed it.

  “I come from the Holy Father,” he said.

  “You have brought letters?”

  “Yes, Madonna. And I hope to take a reply back to him.”

  “You are welcome.” He noticed how eagerly she took the letters.

  He hesitated, then said: “Madonna, it is the wish of His Holiness that I should linger awhile and talk with you, that you might ask me for news of the Vatican.”

  “That is kind of him,” said Lucrezia with a dazzling smile. “I pray you sit down. I would offer you refreshment, but …”

  He lifted a hand. “I want none, Madonna. And I could not sit in your presence unless you sat first.”

  She laughed and sat down facing him. She had laid the letters on the bench, but kept her hands on them as though her fingers were longing to open them.

  “Tell me your name,” she said.

  “It is Pedro Caldes.”

  “I have seen you often. You are one of my father’s chamberlains, and you come from Spain.”

  “I am honored to have been noticed by the lady Lucrezia.”

  “I notice those who serve my father well.”

  The young man flushed with pleasure.

  “It is a double delight for me to be here,” he said, “for not only has His Holiness entrusted me with the mission, but it is the pleasantest I ever undertook.”

  Lucrezia laughed suddenly. “It pleases me to hear a compliment again.”

  “There are rumors which have greatly disturbed your eminent father, Madonna. Some are hinting that it is your intention to remain here for the rest of your life.” She was silent, and there was alarm in Pedro’s eyes as he went on: “Madonna Lucrezia, that would be wrong … wrong!”

  He paused, waiting to be dismissed for his insolence, but there was nothing arrogant about Lucrezia. She merely smiled and said: “So you think it would be wrong. Tell me why?”

  “Because,” he said, “you are too beautiful.”

  She laughed with pleasure. “There are some beautiful nuns.”

  “But you should be gracing your father’s Court. You should not hide your beauty in a convent.”

  “Did my father tell you to say that?”

  “No, but he would be deeply wounded if you made such a decision.”

  “It is pleasant to talk to someone who cares what I do. You see, I came here for refuge and I found it. I wanted to shut myself away from … so many things. I do not regret coming here to dear Sister Girolama.”

  “It was a pleasant refuge, Madonna, but a temporary one. May I tell His Holiness that you are looking forward to the day when you will be reunited with your family?”

  “No, I do not think you may. I am as yet undecided. There are times when the peace of this place overwhelms me, and I think how wonderful it is to rise early in the morning, and to wait for the bells to tell me what to do. Life here is simple and I sometimes long to live the simple life.”

  “Forgive me, Madonna, but you would deny your destiny were you to stay here.”

  She said: “Talk of other things, not of me. I am weary of my problems. How fares my father?”

  “He is lonely because you are not with him.”

  “I miss him too. I long for his letters.” She glanced at them.

  “Would you wish me to leave you that you might read them in peace?”

  She hesitated. “No,” she said. “I will keep them. They will be something to look forward to when you have left. How are my brothers?”

  Again Pedro hesitated. “All is much as it was when you left them.”

  She nodded sadly, thinking of them and their passion for Sanchia of which they were making another issue on which to build their hatred.

  “Will you return to Spain one day?”

  “I hope so, Madonna.”

  “You are homesick?”

  “As all must be who belong to Spain and leave her.”

  “I fancy I should feel the same if I were forced to leave Italy.”

  “You would love my country, Madonna.”

  “Tell me of it.”

  “Of what shall I tell you—of Toledo which is set on a horse’s shoe of granite, of the Tagus and the mighty mountains? Of Seville where the roses bloom all through the winter, of the lovely olive groves, of the wine they make there? It is said, Madonna, that those whom God loves live in Seville. I should like to show you the Moorish palaces, the narrow streets; and never did oranges and palms grow so lush as they do in Seville.”

  “You are a poet, I believe.”

  “I am inspired.”

  “By your beautiful country?”

  “No, Madonna. By you.”

  Lucrezia was smiling. It was useless to pretend that she did not enjoy the young man’s company, that she did not feel revived by this breath of the outside world; she felt as though she had slept long and deep when she needed sleep, but now the sounds of life were stirring about her and she wanted to wake.

  “I long to see your country.”

  “His Holiness hinted that when the Duke of Gandia returns to Spain he might take you with him.”

  To Spain! To escape the gossip, the shame of divorce! It seemed a pleasant prospect.

  “I should enjoy it … for a while.”

  “It would be for a while, Madonna. His Holiness would never allow you to stray long from his side.”

  “I know it.”

  “And so solicitous is he for your happiness that he is concerned to think of you here. He asks: ‘Is your bed hard? Do you find the food tasteless? Do the convent rules irk you?’ And he wonders who combs your hair and washes it for you. He says he would like to send you a companion, someone whom he would choose for you. She would be young, a friend as well as a servant. He asks me to bring him word as to whether you would like him to do this.”

  Lucrezia hesitated. Then she said: “I pray you convey my deep devotion to my father. Tell him that the love he bears me is no more than that I bear him. Tell him that I pray each night and morning that I may be worthy
of his regard. And tell him too that I am happy here, but that I have enjoyed your visit and look forward to receiving one whom he will send me to be my servant and companion.”

  “And now, Madonna, you would wish me to retire and leave you with your letters?”

  “How kind you are,” she said. “How thoughtful!”

  She extended her hand and he kissed it.

  His lips lingered on her hand and she was pleased that this should be so. The nuns were her good friends, but Lucrezia bloomed under admiration.

  She was still safe in her refuge; but she had enjoyed that breath of air from the outside world.

  The Pope sent for the girl whom he had chosen to be Lucrezia’s companion in the Convent of San Sisto.

  She was charming, very pretty and small, with brilliant dark eyes and a dainty figure. Alexander had thought her charming when he first saw her. He still thought so, but at the moment he admired red hair such as that of his favorite mistress.

  He held out his arms as the girl approached. “Pantisilea,” he said, “my dear child, I have a mission for you.”

  Pantisilea lowered those wonderful eyes and waited. She was afraid that the Holy Father was going to send her away. She had been dreading this. She had known that their relationship could not continue indefinitely; the Pope’s love affairs were fleeting, and even that with Giulia Farnese had not lasted forever.

  Pantisilea had had dreams. Who in her place would not? She had pictured herself as a lady of substance like Vannozza Catanei or Giulia Farnese.

  Now she was beginning to understand that she had been lightly selected to charm a weary hour or two.

  “You are trembling, my child,” said Alexander kindly.

  “It is in terror, Holy Lord, of being sent away from you.”

  Alexander smiled kindly. He was always kind to women. He fondled the dark curls absentmindedly; he was thinking of his red-headed mistress.

  “You shall not go far from us, my dear; and, when you hear for what mission I have selected you, you will rejoice, knowing that I could give this task—not only to one I loved, but one whom I respected and trusted.”