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.
In his castle beside the Mincio, Francesco Gonzaga read accounts of the wedding.
From his wife Isabella he heard that Lucrezia was quite pleasant to look at but far from the beauty they had been led to expect. The poor girl looked wan and fatigued when she arrived, and was a great disappointment to all who beheld her. She would have been well-advised to have made her entry into Ferrara after dark. She would have looked so much more charming by the flare of torches.
One of his wife’s ladies wrote in similar strain, stressing Ferrara’s disappointment with the girl, who had turned out to be quite plain after being heralded as a beauty. “It would have been so much better if she had not defied the clear light of day. Everywhere one heard the comment: ‘Compare her with Donna Isabella! There is true beauty. And her garments lack the style and dazzling delight of those of Donna Isabella.’ ”
But Francesco heard reports from other quarters which were not inspired by the malice of his dominating wife.
“Lucrezia Borgia is very pretty indeed; her eyes are light in color and adorable. Her hair is as golden as it is said to be. She is full of vitality, yet serene withal. And although she might appear to be a little too slender this but adds to her grace. She is extremely fragile, wholly feminine and a delight to look upon.”
Francesco grimaced when he read that.
He was remembering the young girl he had met when she was in her early teens. He recalled her dainty charm. He was glad that she was beautiful. He hoped she would prove a match for Isabella.