Light on Lucrezia (34 page)

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.

Adriana came in to say that Donna Isabella was coming up to Lucrezia’s apartments ostensibly to bid her good morning but in reality to study her face for what was called signs of “the battle with the husband.” With her came her brothers and some of their young attendants.

Lucrezia knew that, cheated of their horseplay and crude jokes last night, they were determined to enjoy them this morning.

She cried out: “Lock the doors. They shall not come in.”

Adriana looked at her questioningly. “Lock the doors against Donna Isabella and Donna Elizabetta?”

“Certainly,” said Lucrezia. “Make haste and lock all doors.”

So they came and called to her, but she would not let them in.

Isabella, fuming against the arrogance of the upstart Borgia who dared lock an Este door against her, was forced to go away, vowing that she would be revenged.