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.
“You do not know how beautiful you look. If I had a dress like that, I should look fair enough.”
Lucrezia smiled at the saucy young face. “You have pretty dresses.”
“But not so grand. Lucrezia, dearest cousin, do you remember your blue brocade gown … the one with the slashed sleeves and the golden lace? That becomes me greatly.”
“I have no doubt,” said Lucrezia.
“You designed that dress for yourself, cousin, but you might have designed it for me.”
Lucrezia laughed. “You want to wear it at the party tonight?”
Angela leaped up and threw her arms about her cousin’s neck. “May I, dearest cousin? May I?”
“Well, perhaps,” said Lucrezia.
“You are the dearest cousin in the world. I would rather die a thousand deaths than not accompany you into Ferrara.”
“You cannot contemplate dying once, let alone a thousand times. Get the blue dress, and let us see if it fits you.”
“It does. I have tried it.”
So she was helped into the dress, and paraded before them, mimicking Lucrezia in many moods: Lucrezia at her wedding, Lucrezia dancing with Ippolito, with Ferrante and with Cesare.
And so amusing was she, so full of vitality, that Lucrezia could not help laughing and felt her spirits lifted by this young girl.
Ippolito stood in a corner of the Pope’s apartments idly watching the dancers. He had a great deal about which to write home. He and his two brothers had written many letters, as requested, to their father, to Alfonso and to their sister Isabella. It was very necessary to write to Isabella; she had always considered herself the head of the family. Ippolito’s lips curled. He took a delight in telling Isabella of the charm, beauty and grace of this newcomer to their family, for overbearing Isabella was going to receive a shock when she read those letters. Isabella would be furiously jealous; she considered herself the most attractive and charming, as well as learned woman in Italy. Isabella also considered herself the most elegant. She was going to be hard put to it to compete with Lucrezia’s amazing collection of elaborate gowns. He knew that Ferrante was writing ecstatically of Lucrezia; and that Sigismondo was doing the same, although he knew how disturbing the eulogies would be to Isabella. Sigismondo wanted to please his sister but he was deeply pious and must tell the truth. Isabella knew this. That was why Sigismondo’s accounts were going to disturb her more than those of Ippolito whom she knew might be malicious, and of Ferrante who was impressionable.
A very elegant, richly-clad figure had moved toward him, so heavily masked that the face was completely hidden; but Ippolito knew that it was Cesare, for that haughty bearing, that fine elegant figure, those rich garments, could belong to no one else.
There was a bond between Ippolito and Cesare. Ippolito was a reluctant Cardinal; Cesare had been an even more reluctant one; Cesare was attracted by the Cardinal’s robes of Ippolito, which he had designed himself and which were therefore different from those of other Cardinals. They proclaimed his fastidiousness and his contempt for the role he had been called upon to assume.