Madonna of the Seven Hills

MONTE GIORDANO

Adriana of the house of Mila was a very ambitious woman. Her father, a nephew of Calixtus III, had come to Italy when his uncle became Pope, because it seemed that under such benign and powerful influence there might be a great future for him. Adriana was therefore related to Roderigo Borgia, who held her in great esteem, for she was a woman not only of beauty but of intelligence. It was owing to these qualities that she had married Ludovico of the noble house of Orsini, and the Orsini was one of the most powerful families in Italy. Adriana had a son who had been named Orsino; this boy was sickly and, having a squint, rather unprepossessing, but on account of his position—as the heir to great wealth—Adriana hoped to make a brilliant marriage for him.

The Orsinis had many palaces in Rome but Adriana and her family lived in that on Monte Giordano, near the Bridge of St. Angelo. And it was to this palace that Lucrezia and Cesare were taken when they said good-bye to their brothers and their mother.

Here life was very different from what it had been in the house on the Piazza Pizzo di Merlo. With Vannozza there had been light-hearted gaiety, and the children had enjoyed great freedom. They had been allowed to wander in the vineyards, or to enjoy trips on the river; they had often visited the Campo di Fiore where it had given them great delight to mingle with all kinds of people. Cesare and Lucrezia realized that life had indeed been changed.

Adriana was awe-inspiring. She was a beautiful woman but always dressed in ceremonial black, insisting constantly that it must not be forgotten that this was a Spanish household even though it was in the heart of Italy. With its great towers and crenellations dominating the Tiber, the palace was gloomy; its thick walls shut out the sunshine and the gaiety of the Rome which the children had known and loved. Adriana never laughed as Vannozza had laughed, and there was nothing warm and loving about her.

She had many priests living in the palace; there were constant prayers, and consequently Lucrezia believed in those first years in the Orsini palace that her foster-mother was a very virtuous woman.

Cesare chafed against the discipline, but even he was unable to do anything about it, even he was overawed by the gloomy palace, the many prayers and the feeling that the palace was a prison in which he and Lucrezia had been incarcerated while Giovanni had been allowed to go in pomp and splendor to Spain and glory.

Cesare brooded silently. He did not rage as he had in his mother’s house; he was sullen and sometimes his quiet anger frightened Lucrezia. Then she would cling to him and beg him not to be sad; she would cover him with kisses and cry out that she loved him best of all … better than anyone else in the whole world, that she would love him today, the next day and forever.

Even this declaration could not appease him, and he remained brooding and unhappy, but sometimes he would turn to her and seize her in one of those fierce embraces which hurt her and excited her. Then he would say: “You and I are together, little sister. We’ll always love each other … best in the world … best in the whole world. Swear it to me.”

And she swore it. Sometimes they would lie together on her bed or his. She would go there to comfort him, or he would come to her for comfort. Then he would talk of Giovanni and how unfair life was. Why did their father love Giovanni? Cesare would demand. Why should not Cesare have been the one who was chosen to go to Spain? Cesare would never go into the Church. He hated the Church, hated it … hated it.

His vehemence frightened her. She crossed herself and reminded him that it was unlucky to talk thus against the Church. The saints, or perhaps the Holy Ghost might be angry and come to punish him. She was afraid, she said; but she said it to give him the chance of comforting her, to remind him that he was great Cesare, afraid of none, and she was little Lucrezia who was the one to be protected.

Sometimes she made him forget his anger against Giovanni. Sometimes they laughed together and remembered the fun they had had on their jaunts to the Campo di Fiore. Then they would swear that no matter what happened they would always love each other best in the world.

But during those first months the children felt that they were prisoners.

Roderigo visited them at Monte Giordano.

In the early days Cesare asked that they might go home, but Roderigo, fond father though he was, could be firm when he felt himself to be acting for the good of his children.

“My little ones,” he said, “you have been running wild in the house of your mother. But to run wild is for little children, not for big ones. It is not meet that you should pass your time in that humble house. A great future awaits you both. Trust me to judge what is best for you.”

And Cesare knew that when his father’s face was set in those lines there was nothing to be done about it. He had to obey.

“Very soon,” Roderigo told Cesare, “you will be leaving this house. You will be going to the university. There you will have great freedom, my son; but first I would have you know how to act like a nobleman, and although there is discipline here such as you have never encountered before, this is necessary to make you worthy of what you will become. Have patience. It is but for a little while.”

And Cesare was mollified.

The head of the house of Orsini was Virginio, one of the great soldiers of Italy, and when he was at Monte Giordano, the palace resembled a military camp. Virginio shouted orders to all, and the serving men and maids scurried hither and thither, in fear of displeasing the great commander.

Strangely enough Cesare, who so longed to be a soldier, had no objection to this stern rule; and for the first time in her life Lucrezia saw her brother ready to bend to the will of another. Cesare rode behind Virginio, straight as a soldier, and Virginio would often watch him and do his utmost to hide the smile of approval which touched his lips. He would watch Cesare, bare to the waist, learning to wrestle with some of the best teachers in the whole of Italy; the boy gave a good account of himself.

“That boy for the Church!” said Virginio to Adriana and Ludovico her husband. “He’s made for a military career.”

Adriana answered: “Careers in the Church, my dear Virginio bring a man more profit than those of soldiering.”

“ ’Tis a tragedy to make a prelate of him. What is Roderigo Borgia thinking of?”

“His future … and the future of the Borgias. That boy is destined to be Pope, I tell you. At least that is what Roderigo Borgia plans to make him.”

Virginio swore his soldier’s oaths and set the boy more arduous tasks, shouted at him, bullied him and Cesare did not object. He dreamed of being a great soldier. Virginio approved of his dreamings, and even went so far as to wish the boy was his son.

Thus that year was made tolerable for Cesare and, such was Lucrezia’s nature that, seeing her brother reconciled, she could become reconciled too.

But by the end of the year Cesare had left the Orsini palace for Perugia, and Lucrezia wept bitterly in her loneliness. Then she suddenly began to realize that with Cesare absent she enjoyed a certain freedom, a certain lack of tension; she found that she could begin to consider what was happening to herself irrespective of Cesare.

Lucrezia was growing up and her religious education must not be neglected, since that formed the background of the education of all Italian girls of noble birth. Most of them went into convents, but Roderigo had given much anxious thought to this matter, for the behavior in convents was not always above reproach and he was determined to protect his Lucrezia. The Colonnas sent their daughters, it was true, to San Silvestro in Capite, and the convents of Santa Maria Nuova and San Sisto he believed were equally worthy; so he decided that it should be San Sisto’s on the Appian Way to which Lucrezia should go for religious instruction. She was to stay there only for brief periods though, and she returned often to Monte Giordano where she was instructed in languages—Spanish, Greek and Latin—as well as painting, music and fine needlework.

It was not necessary, Roderigo had pointed out to Adriana, that his little daughter should become a virago (a term which in those days simply meant a learned woman). He wished his Lucrezia to be highly educated that she might be a worthy companion for himself. It was vital that she should be instructed in deportment, that she should acquire the airs and graces of a noblewoman and be able to take her place among Kings and Princes; he wished her to be modest in her demeanour. Her serenity of character gave her a charming graciousness which was apparent even at the age of seven, when she began this course of grooming; that, Roderigo wished to be preserved, for, as he saw his little daughter growing in beauty every day, he was becoming more and more ambitious on her account.

The nuns of San Sisto quickly learned to love their little pupil, not only for her pleasant looks and charming manners, but because of that eager desire within her to please everybody and be their friend; and perhaps also they remembered it was rumored that she was indeed the daughter of the great Roderigo Borgia, the richest of Cardinals and one who, it was said in high places, had every chance of one day becoming Pope.

When Lucrezia had been three years at Monte Giordano, Ludovico, Adriana’s husband, died and the palace was plunged into mourning, Adriana covered herself with black veils and spent much time with her priests, and Lucrezia told herself then that Adriana was a very good woman.

One day when Lucrezia had returned from San Sisto’s to Monte Giordano and sat at table with Adriana and Orsino she thought how sad it was that she and Orsino should eat and drink from silver utensils while Adriana, because she was a widow, mourning her husband in the Spanish manner, must do so from earthenware.

Lucrezia leaned on the table, the top of which was made of marble and colored pieces of wood, and said: “Dear Madonna Adriana, you are still very unhappy because you are a widow. I know, because my mother was unhappy when Giorgio di Croce died. She wept and talked of her unhappiness, and then she felt better.”

Adriana straightened the long black veil which flowed over her shoulder. “I would not talk of my grief,” she said. “In Spain we say it is ill-mannered to show one’s grief to the world.”

“But we are not the world—Orsino and I,” persisted Lucrezia. “And my mother …”

“Your mother was an Italian woman. It will be well if you forget your Italian birth. In Spain to share a pleasure is a good thing because in sharing what is good one gives something worth having. To share one’s sorrow is to beg that one’s burden shall be partly carried by another. Spaniards are too proud to ask favors.”

The matter was closed. Lucrezia blushed over her plate. She had much to learn, she realized. She was sorry she had spoken, and now she looked pleadingly at Orsino for comfort; but he was not looking at her. Orsino was one of the few people who did not admire her yellow hair and pretty face. She might have been one of the ornamental chairs, of which there were so many in the principal rooms of the palace, for all the notice he took of her.

Adriana was looking severe, and Lucrezia feared that she would always disappoint her because she was such a good woman and thought always of doing what was right.

Later that day, as she and Adriana sat together working on an altar cloth, Adriana said: “You will soon have a companion to share your dancing and music lessons.”

Lucrezia dropped the gold thread and waited breathlessly.

“I am to have a daughter,” said Adriana.

“Oh, but … a daughter! I thought …” Lucrezia at nine years of age was knowledgeable. She had seen certain sights from the house on the piazza; she had listened to the talk of her brothers and the servants. It seemed incredible that the pious widow could have a daughter.

Adriana was looking at her in surprise, and Lucrezia flushed again.

“My son is of a marriageable age,” said Adriana coldly. “His bride will soon be coming here. She will live with us as my daughter until the marriage takes place.”

Lucrezia picked up her needle and began to work, hoping to hide her embarrassment. “That will be pleasant, Madonna Adriana,” she said, but she felt sorry for the girl who would be married to Orsino.

“Orsino,” said Adriana as though reading her thoughts, “is one of the best matches in Rome.”

“Is Orsino happy?” asked Lucrezia. “Is he dancing with joy because he is to have a bride?”

“Orsino has been brought up as a Spanish nobleman. They, my dear Lucrezia, do not jump for joy like any Italian shepherd on the Campo di Fiore.”

“Assuredly they do not, Madonna Adriana.”

“He will be happy. He knows his duty. He must marry and have sons.”

“And the bride.…”

“You will soon see her. I shall teach her as I do you.”

Lucrezia continued to stitch, thinking of the companion she was to have. She hoped the bride would not mind too much … having to marry Orsino.

Lucrezia waited in the great dark room in which, because this was a special occasion, the tapestries had been hung.

They were gathered to greet the girl who was being brought to her new home, and Lucrezia wondered how she was feeling. She would quickly try to reassure her for she would be a little frightened perhaps. Lucrezia herself knew how alarming it could be to be taken from one’s home to an entirely different place.

Orsino stood beside his mother. Adriana had talked severely to him of his duty and poor Orsino looked more sallow than ever in his Spanish black, and not at all like a bridegroom-to-be; his squint was more distressing than ever; it always seemed more pronounced at times of stress, and his mother’s cold gaze was continually admonishing him.

Lucrezia was also in black, but there was gold and silver embroidery on her gown. She wished that they did not always have to follow the Spanish customs. The Spanish were fond of black for all ceremonial occasions and Lucrezia loved bright scarlet and gold and particularly that shade of deep blue which made her hair look more golden than ever. But black made a happy contrast to her light eyes and fair hair, so she felt she was fortunate in that.

And as she waited, Giulia Farnese entered the room. Her brother, Alessandro, a young man of about twenty, had brought her. He was proud, distinguished-looking and splendidly clad; but it was Giulia who held Lucrezia’s attention and that of all those assembled, for she was beautiful, and her hair was as golden as Lucrezia’s. She was dressed in the Italian fashion in her gown of blue and gold, and she looked like a Princess in a legend and far too beautiful for this world among the somberly clad Orsinis.

Lucrezia felt a twinge of jealousy. All would be saying: This Giulia Farnese is more beautiful than Lucrezia.

The girl knelt before Adriana and called her “Mother.” When Orsino was pushed forward, he came shambling, and was fumbling and ungracious in his greeting. Lucrezia watched the lovely young face for a sign of the revulsion she must surely be feeling, and she forgot her jealousy in her pity for Giulia. But Giulia showed no emotion. She was demure and gracious—all that was expected of her.

They quickly became friends. Giulia was vivacious, full of information, and very ready to give her attention to Lucrezia when there were no men about.

Giulia told Lucrezia that she was nearly fifteen. Lucrezia was not quite ten; and those extra years gave Giulia a great advantage. She was more frivolous than Lucrezia and not so ready to learn, nor so eager to please. When they were alone she told Lucrezia that she thought Madonna Adriana too strict and solemn.

“Madonna Adriana is a very good woman,” insisted Lucrezia.

“I don’t like good women,” retorted Giulia.

“Is that because they make us all feel so wicked?” suggested Lucrezia.

“I’d rather be wicked than good,” laughed Giulia.

Lucrezia looked over her shoulder at the figure of the Madonna and child with the lamp burning before it.

“Oh,” laughed Giulia, “there’s plenty of time to repent. Repentance is for old people.”

“There are some young nuns at San Sisto’s,” Lucrezia told her.

That made Giulia laugh. “I’d not be a nun. Nor would you. Why, look at you! See how pretty you are … and you’ll be prettier yet. Wait until you’re as old as I am. Mayhap then, Lucrezia, you’ll be as beautiful as I am, and you’ll have lovers, many of them.”

This was conversation such as Lucrezia enjoyed. It brought back echoes of a past she could scarcely remember. It was four years since she had left the gaiety of her mother’s house for the strict etiquette and Spanish gloom of Monte Giordano.

Giulia showed Lucrezia how to walk seductively, how to brighten her lips, how to dance. Giulia possessed secret knowledge which she allowed Lucrezia to coax from her.

Lucrezia was a little worried about Giulia; she was afraid that, if Adriana discovered what she was really like, she would send her away and this exciting companion would be lost to her.

They must not let Adriana see the carmine on their lips. They must not appear before her with their hair in the loose coiffure into which Giulia had arranged it. Giulia must never wear any of the dazzling but daring gowns which she had brought with her. Giulia giggled and tried to be prim before her prospective mother-in-law.

Orsino never troubled them, and Lucrezia noticed that he seemed more afraid of his bride than she was of him.

Giulia had a sunny nature; she told Lucrezia that she would know how to deal with Orsino when the time came. It was clear that all the low-cut dresses, the attention to her appearance which seemed to absorb Giulia, were not for Orsino’s benefit.

Lucrezia felt that Giulia must be very wicked.

I believe, though, she said to herself, I also like wicked people better than good ones. I should be desolate if Giulia went away, but I should not care very much if Madonna Adriana did.

There was excitement in the Orsini palace. It was one of those special days when Lucrezia must be more sedate than usual, when she must behave as a Spanish lady, and walk with the utmost grace, for Cardinal Roderigo Borgia was coming to Monte Giordano to visit his daughter, and Adriana was eager that he should not be disappointed in her.

Lucrezia wore her hair parted in the center and falling demurely over her shoulders. Giulia watched her Spanish maid prepare her, with great interest.

“Is he very solemn, the great Cardinal?” she asked.

“He is the most important man in Rome,” boasted Lucrezia.

“Then,” said Giulia, “you will have to pull down your lips in a sour expression because, when you do not, you look too happy, and you will have to be quiet and speak only when spoken to.”

“My father likes to see me happy,” said Lucrezia. “He likes me to smile, and he likes me to talk too. He is not in the least like Adriana. But she will be watching and I shall have to remember all she has taught me, since, as he sent me here to be taught by her, that is surely what he wished me to learn.”

Giulia grimaced; and Lucrezia left her and went down to the intimate and pleasant little room where Roderigo was waiting for her.

The tapestries were hanging on the walls and the finest silver goblets had been brought out for this occasion.

Adriana stood by Roderigo while Lucrezia bowed in the Spanish fashion. Roderigo laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheeks and then her forehead.

“But how she grows, my little one,” he said tenderly. “Madonna Adriana has been telling me of your progress.”

Lucrezia looked askance at Adriana whose expression was grim.

“It has not been as good as you hoped?” said Lucrezia timidly.

“My dear, who of us reaches perfection? You please me. That will suffice.” Roderigo looked at Adriana, who bowed her head. He was asking that they be left alone.

When Adriana had gone she took all restraint with her, and Lucrezia threw herself into her father’s arms telling him how wonderful it was to see him.

He kissed her with tenderness and passion, and brought a bracelet from his pocket, which he put on her wrist. She kissed it and he kissed it. He was always passionately sentimental when they were alone. He wanted to tell her of his love and to be assured of hers.

When these assurances were made they talked of Vannozza and of Cesare and Giovanni.

“Cesare does well at the university,” said Roderigo. “I am proud of his scholarship and his prowess at sport. It will not be long, I swear before he becomes a Cardinal. And Giovanni does very happily in Spain. My Lucrezia is growing into a beautiful lady. For what more should I wish?”

“And Goffredo?”

“He grows in strength and beauty every day. Ah, we shall have to make plans for him before long.”

Over her father’s shoulder Lucrezia saw the door open slowly. Giulia, her face flushed, was peering round it.

Lucrezia shrank in horror. This was an unforgivable breach of etiquette. Giulia could not realize how very important the Cardinal was. To dare to come peeping thus … it was unthinkable. Giulia would be dismissed, and the marriage arrangements would be broken off, if Adriana discovered she had done such a thing.

Roderigo had sensed his daughter’s dismay; he turned sharply and Giulia was caught.

“And who is this?” asked Roderigo.

“Giulia, you must come in now,” said Lucrezia, “and I will present you to the Cardinal.”

Giulia came, and to Lucrezia’s consternation she was not wearing her most modest gown, and her lips were faintly carmined. Lucrezia prayed the Cardinal would not notice.

Giulia, reckless as she was, flushed and with her golden hair falling in tumbled curls about her shoulders, looked a little apprehensive as she came slowly toward them.

“My father,” said Lucrezia quickly, “this is Giulia who is to marry Orsino. She meant no harm, I do assure you.”

The Cardinal said: “I believe she did mean harm. She looks full of mischief.”

“Oh no …” began Lucrezia; and then she stopped, realizing that her father was not at all angry.

“Come, my child,” he said, “you do not need my daughter to speak for you. I pray you, speak for yourself.”

Giulia ran to him and knelt. She lifted those wonderful blue eyes of hers to his face, and she was smiling that confident smile which said clearly that she did not believe anyone could really be annoyed with her, if only because of her enchanting presence.

“So you are to marry Orsino,” said the Cardinal. “My poor child! Do you love the young man?”

“I love Rome, Your Eminence,” said Giulia, “and the people I meet in Rome.”

The Cardinal laughed. To Lucrezia’s great relief she knew now that, far from being angry, he was pleased.

“On these occasions when I visit Lucrezia,” he explained to Giulia as though she were one of his family, “there is no ceremony. I will have it thus. Come, you shall sit on one side of me, Lucrezia on the other, and we will talk to each other of Rome … and the people we meet in Rome.…”

“You are gracious to me, Your Eminence,” said Giulia with a demureness which did not ring true. “I fear I have behaved very badly.”

“My child, you are charming enough to dispense with that etiquette which others less fortunate must sustain.”

Lucrezia noticed, as they sat together laughing and talking, that her father turned more often to Giulia than to herself.

She was too astonished to feel jealousy.

And it was thus that Adriana found them.

Strangely enough Adriana did not appear to be angry, and much to Lucrezia’s relief and astonishment nothing was said about Giulia’s alarmingly bold action.

Giulia herself seemed to change subtly; she was more subdued and, when Lucrezia tried to talk to her about Roderigo, Giulia seemed less communicative than usual. Yes, she replied to Lucrezia’s insistence, she did think the Cardinal was a very fine man. The finest man she had ever seen? demanded Lucrezia, who always enjoyed hearing compliments about her family. It might well be so, admitted Giulia.

She would say no more than that and, during the whole of that day, she seemed to withdraw herself from Lucrezia so that the little girl could not help feeling uneasy.

And when on the following day, hearing the sound of horses’ hoofs, she looked out from her window, and saw the Cardinal riding away from the palace, her first impulse was to call him, but that of course would be undignified. He had come alone, which was unusual, and he had not seen her which was more unusual still. For what reason would he come to Monte Giordano if it were not to see his little daughter?

It was bewildering. Then Lucrezia thought she understood. Certainly he could not allow Giulia’s boldness of the previous day to go unpunished. Because he was gentle by nature and hated to be present when it was necessary to punish, he had not scolded Giulia but had pretended to be pleased by her company. That was entirely due to his courteous manners; but now he had come back to talk seriously to Adriana; he had come to complain and ask how such a minx as Giulia could possibly be a fit companion for his daughter.

Lucrezia’s bewilderment turned to misery. She felt sure that very soon she would be deprived of Giulia’s bright company.

Giulia was gay. She was wearing a new necklace set with emeralds and rubies.

“But it is exquisite workmanship,” cried Lucrezia. “You possessed such a treasure and did not show it to me before!”

“It is certainly exquisite,” agreed Giulia; “and I should never have kept it from you for a day, sweet Lucrezia, if I had had it to show you. I have just received it.”

“A gift! From whom?”

“That would be to tell, and to tell is somewhat unwise.”

Giulia had seemed to grow up in a few hours. Full of coquetry, she seemed more like a girl of eighteen than one of fourteen. Her laughter was high and infectious; she sang gay Italian songs about love; and she was tantalizingly secretive. There was also the mystery of the necklace.

But Giulia was too young, too excited to keep up the secrecy for long. She wanted to share confidences; she wanted to flaunt her experience before Lucrezia. Lucrezia demanded: “What has happened? Why are you so pleased? You do not care that the Cardinal complained to Madonna Adriana of your forwardness—which may well mean that you will be sent away.” Then Giulia laughed and retorted; “I shall not be sent away. And the Cardinal did not complain. I’ll tell you something, Lucrezia. I have a lover.”

“Orsino …”

“Orsino! Do you think I should ever take Orsino for a lover? Would you?”

“I … but I would never …”

“Mayhap you are over-young yet. For myself I shall be fifteen soon … and married to Orsino. Therefore what is there for me to do but take a lover?”

“Oh, have a care,” begged Lucrezia. “What if Madonna Adriana should hear you talk thus? You would be sent away.”

“I shall not be sent away. Oh no … no … no!”

Giulia laughed so much that the tears came to her eyes. Lucrezia gazed at her puzzled.

The Cardinal’s visits to Monte Giordano became very frequent and he did not always come to see Lucrezia.

Giulia would dress very carefully before his visits—not in her most modest gowns—and sometimes Lucrezia would hear Giulia’s high-pitched laughter when she was alone with the Cardinal. It was disconcerting.

But he always came to see me! Lucrezia told herself.

And then she began to understand.

Giulia had many rich presents. She was the loveliest girl in Rome, Lucrezia had heard the servants say. They had named her La Bella, and referred to her more often by that name than her own. The rich presents came from a rich lover, a lover whom Giulia was entertaining in the formal household of the Orsinis. It was some time before Lucrezia would allow herself to believe who that lover was.

Then she could keep her suspicions to herself no longer.

One night she slipped from her bed, took her candle, and went to Giulia’s bedchamber. Giulia was asleep, and the light from Lucrezia’s candle showed her the beauty of that perfect face. Giulia was indeed La Bella.

The candlelight playing on Giulia’s face awoke her and she started up, staring in alarm at Lucrezia.

“What is wrong?” she demanded.

“I have to know,” said Lucrezia. “The Cardinal is your lover, is he not?”

“Did you wake me up to tell me what everybody knows?” demanded Giulia.

“So it is true!”

Giulia laughed. “Think of it,” she said, sitting up and hugging her knees. “He is fifty-eight and I am not yet fifteen. Yet we love. Is that not miraculous? Who would have thought a man so old could make me love him?”

“With him,” said Lucrezia solemnly, “all things are possible.”

That made Giulia emit one of her secretive laughs. “It is true,” she said. “And I am happy.”

Lucrezia was silent, looking at Giulia, seeing her afresh, trying to remember what she had been like before this astonishing thing had happened to her.

Then she said slowly: “If Madonna Adriana heard of this, she would be very angry.”

Giulia laughed again, recklessly it seemed to Lucrezia.

“What you are doing should be kept secret,” persisted Lucrezia. “I know we do not like Madonna Adriana, but she is a good woman and she would never allow you to live in her house if she knew.”

Giulia stopped laughing and looked intently at Lucrezia.

“You will be cold, standing there,” she said. “Come into my bed. You are no longer a child, Lucrezia. Why, you will soon be ten. You will soon have lovers of your own. There! That is better, is it not? Now, let me tell you this. The Cardinal is my lover. He says I am the most beautiful woman in the world. Woman, you understand, Lucrezia. And soon I shall marry Orsino. But who cares for Orsino! Not I. Nor the Cardinal.”

“Madonna Adriana cares for him.”

“Yes. Indeed yes. That is why she is contented that I should please the Cardinal. My family is contented also, Lucrezia.”

“Contented! But how can that be when you are to marry Orsino?”

“Yes, yes. And it is a good match. The Farnese and the Orsini will be united, and that is good. One cannot marry a Cardinal … alas … alas!”

“If Cardinals could marry, my father would have married my mother.”

Giulia nodded. Then she went on: “You must not be sorry for Orsino. I told you his mother is contented that I am the Cardinal’s mistress. I told you that, did I not?”

“But she is a good woman. We have thought her harsh, but we must admit that she is good.”

“Lucrezia, you live in a world of childhood and it is time you left it. Adriana is glad that the Cardinal loves me. She helps me dress when he is coming, helps to make me beautiful. And what does she say when she helps me dress? She says: ‘Do not forget that you will be Orsino’s wife before long. Get the Cardinal to agree to advance Orsino. He has great influence at the Vatican. Make sure that you squeeze the greatest good from this … for yourself and Orsino.’ ”

“So she is pleased that you and my father are lovers?”

“Nothing could delight her more. She makes everything easy for us.”

“And you so soon to marry her son!”

Giulia laughed. “You see, you do not know the world. If I were to have a love affair with a groom … ah, then I should be beaten. I should be in disgrace, and he, poor fellow, would doubtless have a sword run through him one dark night, or be found in the Tiber with a stone about his neck. But my lover is a great Cardinal and when men of influence love as he loves me then all gather round to catch some of the prizes. That is life.”

“Then Adriana with all her prayers and sternness, all her righteousness, is not a good woman after all!”

“Good and bad, little Lucrezia, what are they? It is only little children who have sentimental notions such as yours. The Cardinal is happy to love me; I am happy to be his mistress. And Orsino’s family and my family are happy because of the great good I can bring to them. Orsino? He does not count, but one might say even he is happy because it means that he will not have to make love to me, which—unnatural monster that he is—I do not believe he is at all eager to do!”

Lucrezia was silent for a while, thinking more of Adriana than anyone else: Adriana solemnly on her knees before the Madonna and the lamp; Adriana, lips pursed, murmuring, “One must do this because, however unpleasant, it is one’s duty” Adriana, who made one feel that the saints were continually on the watch, recording the slightest fault to be held against one at the day of Judgment, the good woman, who was willing to allow the illicit love affair, between a man of fifty-eight and her prospective daughter-in-law of fourteen, to be conducted in her house, and moreover connived at it and encouraged it because it could bring honors to her son.

Honors! It was necessary, Lucrezia realized, to make a reassessment of words and their meanings.

She was indeed a child; there was much that she had to learn; and she was very eager to grow out of childhood, a state in which it seemed innocence was synonymous with folly.

Giulia had married Orsino, and the ceremony had taken place in the Borgia palace, the first of the witnesses to sign the marriage documents being Roderigo Borgia.

The married couple returned to Monte Giordano and life went on as before. The Cardinal paid frequent visits to the Orsini palace and no one now made any secret of the fact that he came chiefly to visit his mistress.

He was delighted to see his daughter also, and seemed content to spend a great deal of time in the company of the two young girls.

Giulia was exerting her influence on Lucrezia who was growing more and more like her. Giulia talked of the love between herself and the Cardinal and of many more trivial matters. She told Lucrezia that she knew how their hair could retain its bright yellow color; she had a recipe which would make it shine like pure gold with the sun on it. They washed their hair, tried the concoction, and congratulated themselves that their hair was more golden than ever.

Lucrezia began to long for the time when she would have a lover, for, always ready to be influenced by those who were near her, she was modelling herself on Giulia.

When she heard that her eldest brother, Pedro Luis, had died and that Giovanni was to become Duke of Gandia and marry the bride who had been selected for Pedro Luis, it seemed hardly important, apart from the fact that she wondered how Cesare would receive this news. He would surely want the dukedom of Gandia; he would surely want Pedro Luis’ bride.

She was eleven when the Cardinal called at the palace and, after embracing her, told her that he was arranging a match for her.

It was to be a Spanish match because he believed Spain, which was fast rising to a power of first magnitude determined on the domination of the world, had more to offer his daughter than Italy.

Her bridegroom was to be Don Cherubino Juan de Centelles who was the lord of Val d’Ayora in Valencia, and it was a grand match.

Lucrezia was a little alarmed, but her father hastily assured her that, although the nuptial contract was drawn up and would soon be signed, he had arranged that she should not leave Rome for a whole year.

That was comforting. A year seemed a very long time to the young Lucrezia.

Now she could discuss her coming marriage with Giulia and it delighted her to do so, particularly as that event seemed so very far away in the distant future.

She was beginning to know the world, to accept with the utmost calm the relationship between her father and Giulia; to accept the mingling piety and callous amorality of Adriana.

That was life as it was lived in that stratum of society into which Lucrezia had been born.

She had learned this much; and it meant that she had left her childhood behind her.