him wanly, but he had no elixir of life to offer her comparable with that which, so all were certain, flowed from Il Valentino.
“Do not grieve, Alfonso,” she said. “If I die you will marry again … a woman who mayhap will be able to give you children.”
“Do not speak of dying,” cried Alfonso. “You must not die. You must live, Lucrezia. If you are spared I … I will make a pilgrimage to Loreto.”
She smiled. She realized that he was offering a great sacrifice in exchange for her recovery.
“On foot,” added Alfonso.
“Oh, Alfonso,” she murmured. “That is noble of you. But you must not grieve. I fear our child will be lost. They tell me that there is little hope that it will be born alive.”
“Let it not disturb you,” said Alfonso. “We are young, are we not? We will get more children. Boys … many of them.”
Now the sweat was on her forehead and the pains were growing more frequent. She cried out in her agony, and shortly afterward her daughter was born, dead.
All through the night they waited, while Lucrezia lingered between life and death, and with the morning Cesare came riding once more to the castle. Hope soared at the sight of him for all believed in his supernatural powers, and that what he had achieved once he would achieve again.
Ercole and Alfonso greeted him with delight.
“I beg of you,” cried Alfonso, “save my wife. It would seem that you alone can do it.”
So Cesare went to the sick-room, and as Lucrezia’s dull eyes fell upon him they brightened. She knew him, although she had been unaware of those at her bedside until he came.
He knelt by the bed and embraced her; he demanded that they be left alone. He was instantly obeyed and when he eventually called to all those who were hovering at the door, he demanded that the doctors come forward to bleed his sister.
“No more,” moaned Lucrezia. “Let me rest. I am weary of remedies. I want only now to go in peace.”
Cesare answered her reproachfully in the Valencian language and, turning to those about the bed, said that his sister should now be bled.
The leeches were applied while Cesare watched; he held Lucrezia’s foot and talked to her while the bleeding took place. Although none knew what he said, it must have been amusing for from time to time Lucrezia would laugh, as those in the Este castle had thought never to hear her laugh again.
So Lucrezia recovered; and went for peace and a change of scene to the Convent of Corpus Domini. The people of Ferrara crowded about her litter as she was carried thither from the castle, and wished her a complete return to health.
Meanwhile Alfonso set out on his pilgrimage to the Virgin of Loreto. He had sworn to go on foot, which would have taken up much valuable time when all heads of states should be looking after their dominions, and Alfonso wished he had not been so rash in making his vow. However, now that his daughter had recovered, the Pope felt benevolent to all the world and declared that Alfonso should have a dispensation, releasing him from part of his vow. He must go to Loreto, but he might make the journey on horseback.
In Corpus Domini Lucrezia began to think of returning to life, and to long for fine clothes and music, for the company of her friends, and a lover who was less crude than Alfonso.
VII
THE GREAT CALAMITY
When Lucrezia returned to the little rooms of the balcony Ercole Strozzi was waiting for her. Lucrezia had regained her fragile beauty, the hair-washings had been resumed and it was as golden as it had ever been, but she herself had changed subtly. She was more spirituelle.
She seemed pleased that Alfonso was not in the castle. After his return from the pilgrimage he was making a tour of the military fortifications of Ferrara, and as he probably felt that until Lucrezia was completely well again there would be small chance of getting a healthy heir for Ferrara, he would therefore be better occupied with the military and his stray mistresses.
Lucrezia was by no means unhappy at being left alone. The musical evenings continued. There was a truce between herself and the old Duke. She had sent to Rome for Jacopo di San Secondo, who was one of the most famous players of the viol in Italy; and the Duke often came to her apartments to hear the