reatness, what must she
now have felt when the opportunity to ascend the princely throne of one
of Italy's oldest houses was offered her! If she had any regret and
loathing for what had surrounded her in Rome, and if longings for a
better life were stronger in her than were these vain desires, there was
now held out to her the promise of a haven of rest. She was to become
the wife of a prince famous, not for grace and culture, but for his good
sense and earnestness. She had seen him once in Rome, in her early
youth, when she was Sforza's betrothed. No sacrifice would be too great
for her if it would wipe out the remembrance of the nine years which had
followed that day. The victory she had now won by the shameful
complaisance of the house of Este was associated with deep humiliation,
for she knew that Alfonso had condescended to accept her hand only after
long urging and under threats. A bold, intriguing woman might overcome
this feeling of humiliation by summoning up the consciousness of her
genius and her charm; while one less strong, but endowed with beauty and
sweetness, might be fascinated by the idea of disarming a hostile
husband with the magic of her personality. The question, however,
whether any honor accrued to her by marrying a man against his will, or
whether under such circumstances a high-minded woman would not have
scornfully refused, would probably never arise in the mind of such a
light-headed woman as Lucretia certainly was, and if it did in her case,
Caesar and her father would never have allowed her to give voice to any
such undiplomatic scruples. We can discover no trace of moral pride in
her; all we discern is a childishly naive joy at her prospective
happiness.

The Roman populace saw her, accompanied by three hundred knights and
four bishops, pass along the city streets, September 5th, on her way to
S. Maria del Popolo to offer prayers of thanksgiving. Following a
curious custom of the day, which shows Folly and Wisdom side by side,
just as we find them in Calderon's and Shakespeare's dramas, Lucretia
presented the costly robe which she wore when she offered up her prayer,
to one of her court fools, and the clown ran merrily through the streets
of Rome, bawling out, "Long live the illustrious Duchess of Ferrara!
Long live Pope Alexander!" With noisy demonstrations the Borgias and
their retainers celebrated the great event.

Alexander summoned a consistory, as though this family affair were an