Light on Lucrezia

by Виктория Холт

“And, knowing you, I imagine it was not only your curiosity which was satisfied.”

  Alfonso burst out laughing. “Would you have her fancy she had another Sforza for a husband?”

  “Sforza was not as the Pope made him out to be.”

  “He should have proved otherwise.”

  “What, before witnesses?” Isabella laughed. “You would not have been diffident about proving your manhood, I am sure, no matter how many witnesses were mustered.”

  “It is hardly likely that mine would have been in question.”

  “Indeed not, when half the children in Ferrara have a look of you!”

  “The people like to know a man is a man.”

  “You are almost licking your lips.”

  “She was adequate.”

  “As any woman would be, for you.”

  “Not any woman. I would not fancy one who sought to rule me as you rule Francesco.”

  Isabella angrily flounced out of the apartment and went to ask her father’s permission to go ahead of the main party to greet Lucrezia.

  “It will be a courteous gesture,” she explained. “Alfonso has already been to see her. Now your daughter should go. For, as you have no wife, your daughter must act as hostess.”

  Ercole agreed because he knew it was no use doing otherwise.

  “I will take Giulio with me,” said Isabella, “since she should be met by one of your sons. And as Alfonso has already behaved like a yokel at a fair, and Ippolito is a hostage of the Borgias, and Ferrante and Sigismondo are with the travelers, there is no one but Giulio.”

  “Giulio will enjoy the journey, I doubt not,” said Ercole.

  Lucrezia stepped on to the barge which was to carry her along the river into Ferrara. This was the flat land, the land of mists in the valley of the Po. Ercole had followed his ancestors in draining much of the land and making it fertile; there were no hills, and the climate was cold compared with that to which Lucrezia was accustomed. Many times she had been grateful for her fur-lined cape and remembered her father’s instructions to protect her face and body.

  It seemed that when the wind was not blowing there were the fogs to contend with. There was a great deal in this new land to which she would have to resign herself.

  But she had met her husband. She smiled, remembering that encounter. Few words had been exchanged. Alfonso made it clear that he had not come to talk. There was something brutal about him; the consummation with him had been quite unlike that with either of the other two husbands. With Sforza it had been shuffling and shameful because that was how Sforza had thought of it. With her first Alfonso, the Duke of Bisceglie, it had been a romantic fulfillment; with the man who was now to be her husband it was a quick and natural animal desire which without finesse or forethought must be immediately satisfied.

  She believed she would satisfy him.

  As she stood on the deck of the barge peering at the river bank, there was a cry, and looking ahead she saw a great golden galley coming toward them. It obviously belonged to some very rich person as it was decorated with cloth of gold.

  Adriana came running to her.

  “It is the bucintoro of the Marchesa of Mantua. She has come on ahead to welcome you to Ferrara.” Adriana’s eyes were anxious. She knew of the enmity which Isabella d’Este felt toward Lucrezia, and she wondered whether she should warn her charge.

  The barges were tied and Isabella came aboard. She had scored the first victory as Lucrezia had not yet put on the ceremonial dress in which she intended to greet the old Duke of Ferrara. And there was Isabella, catching every eye and dazzling it, in green velvet ablaze with jewels and a long cloak of black velvet lined with blonde lynx.

  Lucrezia bowed and Isabella took her into her arms and kissed her cheeks; there was patronage, resignation and hatred in those kisses, and Lucrezia was shocked by their vehemence.

  “Welcome to Ferrara,” said Isabella.

  “I am honored by your coming to see me.”

  “I wished to see you,” said Isabella. “My brother has been misguided enough to visit you already, it seems.”

  Lucrezia smiled at the memory.

  Brazen! thought Isabella exulting. She will soon learn that Alfonso’s passion is for every kitchen slut.

  She had seen Elizabetta and turned to embrace her.

  “My dearest, dearest sister! Elizabetta! How it delights me to see you!”

  “Dear Isabella!”

  “And the journey?” asked Isabella.

  Elizabetta cast a glance in Lucrezia’s direction. “Exhausting … most exhausting.”

  Lucrezia knew in that moment that Elizabetta and Isabella were allied against her. But she had caught sight of a very handsome young man who had leaped on the barge. He came to her, holding out both hands.

  “Welcome! Welcome!” he cried. “We could not wait for you to come to us. We must perforce come to you.” She saw the mist on his brows and curling lashes. His enormous dark eyes were the handsomest she had ever seen. “I am Giulio,” he said with a smile. “The Duke’s bastard son.” His smile was so warm and admiring that she forgot the threatening hostility of Isabella.

  She said: “These are my cousins, Girolama … Angela.…”

  “Enchanted, enchanted,” murmured Guilio.

  His eyes rested on Angela, and Angela’s on him.

  Why, mused Angela, did I think Ippolito handsome? Only because I had not seen his bastard brother.

  Isabella, realizing what was happening, came hurrying forward. They must not forget that she was in charge, so she gave orders that the barge was to proceed, as the Duke of Ferrara was waiting on the towpath a short distance away, to greet his new daughter.

  The barge moved slowly forward; then through the mist Lucrezia saw figures take shape on the towpath. The barge stopped and she alighted.

  She was led to the old Duke who stood erect to receive her. She fell to her knees on the damp grass; and, looking down on her golden head and wondering what sharp words Isabella had bestowed on her, the old Duke was momentarily sorry for her, she seemed so young and she was among strangers in a strange land.

  “Come, rise, my dear,” he said, “you must not kneel on this wet grass.” He embraced her and went on: “We will not stand about; my barge is waiting here.”

  But Alfonso was at his father’s side to greet her, and the smiles which he exchanged with her were those of two who had shared an experience after which they could no longer be strangers.

  She boarded the Duke’s barge with him, her husband and his attendants. Isabella was not pleased by her father’s courteous care of the newcomer, but there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

  She had to content herself with devising the little insults she intended to bestow during the wedding ceremonies.

  And so the barge went on into Ferrara, while Alfonso’s cavalry rode beside it along the river bank; and as they came near to the Este villa on the outskirts of Ferrara there was a sudden booming of her husband’s cannon to welcome her.

  Alighting, being received by that other Lucrezia, the illegitimate daughter of Ercole, and being conducted to her apartments where she was to spend the night before making her formal entry into Ferrara the next day, Lucrezia felt bewildered, wondering how she was going to fit herself into the new life which lay before her.

  The next day dawned fine and bright, which was pleasing to everyone, as there had been much apprehension that the rain or mist would mar the entry into Ferrara.

  Lucrezia was dressed in her wedding dress. Adriana was giving flustered commands to Girolama and a very lovely young girl named Nicola, who seemed more nimble-fingered than Angela, for Angela had fallen into one of her pensive moods since setting eyes on Giulio.

  Lucrezia looked beautiful when she was dressed in the mulberry colored satin with the wide gold stripes; the dress did not follow the Spanish fashion of which she had always been so fond, but was cut after the French style. The Pope had impressed upon her the need to show the utmost respect for t
heir French allies as without them Cesare would not have made such a speedy conquest of Romagna, and it was possible that but for French pressure Ercole would have held out against the marriage. Moreover, it had been arranged that the French ambassador was to be her escort at many of the functions which would ensue. She must therefore continually think of placating the French, so it was a pretty gesture to favor their fashion in the most important dress in her trousseau. The wide sleeves, lined with ermine were French; so was the overcoat of cloth of gold. She wore the Este jewels—diamonds and rubies to form a headdress—and for this occasion her hair, seeming more brilliantly golden than ever, was unrestrained and flowed freely about her shoulders.

  Her gray horse had been decorated to make a worthy charger for such a glittering bride. Caparisoned in velvet of deep crimson, its harness of gold, it was a spirited creature, a gift from Ercole. Lucrezia did not know it, but Isabella had chosen the horse. It was one of the most beautiful in Ercole’s stables, but it was for its wildness that Isabella had chosen it, telling herself that Lucrezia would have to be a very good horsewoman if she could ride the creature into Ferrara without some mishap.

  When Lucrezia entered the city, after having been greeted by the French ambassador, a canopy of red satin was held over her and she was accompanied by the ambassadors and their retinues and those of the various noblemen and their households, all vying with each other to call attention to the splendor which they could parade before the eager eyes of the Ferrarese.

  Alfonso, the bridegroom, had joined the procession, so plainly dressed in a gray doublet on which were traced fish scales in gold, a white feather the only ornament in his black hat, that he was the most modestly attired person in the assemblage and was noticeable for this very reason. Lucrezia was feeling a certain relief as she entered the city, although she was aware of the strict scrutiny which she must undergo, and she knew too that those who watched her every move with such eagerness were hoping to find fault. The relief was due to the fact that Giovanni Sforza had thought better of attending the wedding. He must, thought Lucrezia, have realized that, in endeavoring to humiliate her he might bring down scorn on his own head; he had therefore stopped short of Ferrara and turned back.

  Nicola had brought her the news while she was dressing. She had had it, she said, from Don Ferrante who had expressed his delight and was eager that she should carry the news immediately to her mistress.

  Thankful for this small blessing, Lucrezia rode on, her whole attention demanded by the spirited horse which reared and pranced from side to side and was clearly displeased with his burden.

  Lucrezia was at home in the saddle, and she believed she could have mastered the creature if she had been on the slopes of Monte Mario or galloping across the meadows; it was a very different matter being the center of pageantry and forced to restrain him.

  Isabella, looking startling in a dress of her own design, which was calculated to outshine Lucrezia’s wedding dress, and watching Lucrezia’s expert handling of the gray horse, grudgingly admitted to herself that Lucrezia was a horsewoman; and what was more to the point although she must be feeling uncomfortable, being forced to ride such a horse at such a time, her serene smiles were undiminished and if she was a little alarmed she gave no sign of it.

  But when the fireworks display began, the terrified horse reared suddenly and there was a cry of alarm. Isabella watched exultantly until she realized that it was not Lucrezia who had cried out, but one of the spectators.

  “It is dangerous!” cried a voice in the crowd. “No fit horse for the bride.”

  Alfonso spoke to his men, and a mule, almost as splendidly caparisoned as the gray horse, was brought forward and Lucrezia was urged to change mounts for the sake of the crowd.

  With infinite grace she leaped from the horse and mounted the mule. There was a gasp of admiration in the crowd, for the person least perturbed by the incident seemed to be Lucrezia.

  Disgusted, Isabella turned her horse away from the procession and with some of her women rode by a different route to the castle. She was no longer interested in Lucrezia’s ride now that the bride was on a safe mule, and wanted to place herself in the most prominent position at the foot of the great staircase so that she, in her magnificent gown which was embroidered with quavers and crotchets and which she had called “pauses in music,” might receive the guests and do everything in her power to assure everyone that she was the most important woman that day in the castle of Ferrara.

  * * *

  The tiring day was over. Lucrezia’s women clustered about her to help her undress. They removed the mulberry and gold gown and the jeweled headdress; they combed the long golden hair.

  There were those who wanted to play the familiar old jokes, indulge in crude wedding customs; but Lucrezia was anxious that they should not do so, and made her wishes clear.

  Isabella and Elizabetta who, had she wished for horseplay, would have called her vulgar, now chose to be shocked by her aloof attitude and lack of humor.

  But this was Lucrezia’s wedding night. She feared that the jokes as arranged by Isabella might include references to her previous marriages. She was adamant, and such was her quiet dignity that her wishes were respected.

  Alfonso entered. Unconcerned as to whether they were subjected to the usual crude practical jokes or not, he was ready to spend half the night with his bride.

  So this wedding night was very different from that which she had shared with another Alfonso; but she had reason to believe that her husband was not displeased with her.

  She would be glad when the night was over, for she was disconcerted by the presence of all those who, the Pope had insisted, should watch the nuptials so that he could be assured that the marriage had been well and truly consummated.

  * * *

  Very shortly afterward—in as short a time as a messenger could ride from Ferrara to Rome—Alexander was reading accounts of the wedding.

  The details were explained to him: the entry into Ferrara, the magnificence of his daughter in mulberry and gold, her expert management of a frisky horse, the honor which was done to her.

  Duke Ercole was now writing enthusiastically of his daughter-in-law. Her beauty and charm surpassed all he had heard of her, he wrote to the Pope. “And our son, the illustrious Don Alfonso, and his bride kept company last night, and we are certain that both were very well satisfied.”

  The Pope was delighted. He summoned his Cardinals and attendants that he might read the letters to them. He dwelt on the charm of Lucrezia and shook his head sadly because he had not been there to see her.

  There were other letters, less restrained than Duke Ercole’s.

  “Three times,” he said, shaking his head with a laugh. “Cesare did better, but then this illustrious Don Alfonso is not a Borgia. Thrice is well enough for an Este.”

  He was in great good humor. One of his mistresses was pregnant. This showed great virility for a man of seventy-one.

  Contemplating this and the triumphs of Cesare and Lucrezia, it seemed to him possible that the Borgias were immortal.

  * * *

  The morning after the wedding, Lucrezia awoke to find that Alfonso was not with her. It was true then, what she had heard of him. He had, even at such a time, arisen early either to go to some mistress or to his foundry.

  What did it matter? She did not love him. This was quite different from her second marriage. She remembered that awakening with a pang of longing which she hastily dismissed, reminding herself of all the misery that marriage had brought her because she had loved too well.

  She would not love in that way again. She would be wise. She now bore the title of Duchess of Ferrara, which was one of the grandest in Italy; and she would enjoy her position; she hoped she would bear sons; but she would not be in the least put out by her husband’s mistresses.

  She looked about her and saw that those who had remained in the apartment to watch the consummation were now missing; they must have retired with Alfonso. She
clapped her hands, and Angela and Nicola appeared.

  “I am hungry,” she said. “Have food brought to me.”

  They ran away to do her bidding, and after a while came back with food for her. She ate hungrily, but when she had finished she made no attempt to move.

  Throughout the castle the wedding guests were stirring, but still she lay in bed chatting with her women.

  Angela reported that Isabella and Elizabetta were already up and were wondering why she did not join them.

  “I need a little respite from their constant attention,” she said.

  “Hateful pair!” cried Angela.

  “I am determined to rest for the whole morning in my bed,” Lucrezia told them. “There will be dancing and festivities for days to come; and, as these will extend far into the night, I intend to rest during the day.”

  “What will Donna Isabella say to that?” asked Nicola.

  “She may say what she will.”

  “Giulio said,” ventured Angela, “that she has always been used to having her own way.”

  “Ferrante says,” added Nicola, “that she rules Mantua when she is in Mantua, and Ferrara when she is in Ferrara.”

  “And,” said Lucrezia, looking from one lovely face to the other, “it is clear to me that what Giulio and Ferrante say is in the opinion of Angela and Nicola absolutely right.”

  Nicola flushed slightly; not so Angela. She had recovered her spirit and had entered into a relationship with the bold and handsome Giulio, which Lucrezia feared might already have gone beyond a light flirtation. Was there any reason why Angela and Giulio should not marry? Angela had been promised to someone else but, as Lucrezia well knew, such arrangements could be broken. In Nicola’s case it was different. Ferrante was the legitimate son of Duke Ercole; there could be no marriage with him for Nicola.

  These affairs must—as they most certainly would—settle themselves; but she would at an appropriate moment drop a word of warning to Nicola.