Light on Lucrezia (28 page)

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.

Cesare was silently angry, brooding on the marriage, hating it yet realizing that alliance with Ferrara was good for the Papacy and Romagna. But Cesare was young; Cesare would make sure that his duty took him near Ferrara. They would meet again and again.

And now that she had taken the step she was unsure. She plunged as feverishly as any of them into the festivities, taking great pains to dazzle the company with her magnificent clothes, washing her hair every few days so that it shone like gold and won the admiration of her new brothers-in-law.

She chattered with her women concerning this dress and that, which jewels she should wear, whether she should have her hair curled or hanging like a cloak about her shoulders. She tried to pretend that these matters were the most important in the world to her; and each day when she rose from her bed she remembered that the parting was coming nearer; each day brought her closer to a new life with a husband whom she did not know, with a family which she sensed, in spite of the charm of her brothers-in-law, was hostile.

Amongst her attendants was her young cousin, a very beautiful fifteen-year-old girl named Angela Borgia, who was excited to be with Lucrezia at this time and overjoyed because she was to accompany her into Ferrara.

Angela, gay and high-spirited, was determined to get all the fun she could out of life, and, watching her, Lucrezia tried to see everything through the young girl’s eyes and thus feel young again.

Angela was with her while she was dressing for a party which was to be given in the Pope’s apartments, and the irrepressible child was holding one of Lucrezia’s gowns about her—a glorious creation, designed by Lucrezia herself, of gold and black striped satin with cascades of lace falling from its slashed
sleeves. She was dancing about the apartment, pretending that she was being married and haughtily deigning to receive the ring from one of the women whom she had made take the part which Ferrante had taken at the wedding.

They were all helpless with laughter. There was that about Angela to inspire mirth. She was so wild and so lighthearted, so outrageously indifferent to etiquette, that at times she reminded Lucrezia of Sanchia who, though in Rome, took little part in the celebrations.

“Have done, child,” said Lucrezia, “and come and help fasten my dress.”

The dress was a mulberry velvet with gold stripes, and Angela cried out: “Oh … what would I not give for a dress like that! Twenty years of my life … my honor … my virtue …”

“You do not know what you are saying,” said Lucrezia.