Title |IULIA FARNESIA – Letters from a soul – The true story of Giulia Farnese

Author | Roberta Mezzabarba

ISBN | ______________________

© 2022 - All rights reserved to the Author

The Author holds all rights of the same exclusively. No part of this book may therefore be reproduced without the prior consent of the Author.

On the cover: detail "Rape of Proserpina" (1621-1622) Gian Lorenzo Bernini

Alamy Stock Photo - Lily heraldic symbol, Fleur de Lis

First edition March 2022

Roberta Mezzabarba

IULIA FARNESIA

Letters from a soul

The true story of Giulia Farnese

A Novel

Translator: Barbara Maher

Foreword

Most Revered readers, I want to thank you personally and in advance for the attention you are about to dedicate to reading this work that the talented pen of lady Roberta has been able to turn into reality.

I must be honest, I have wandered the world for many years looking for someone who could tell my story, the real one, without being influenced by all the slander that has been written about me over time.

I came across Roberta by chance on the shores of my beloved Lake Bolsena, when by then I had almost abandoned the search for a pen equipped with intellect and sensitivity that could move it.

At the first encounter I thought it was a mistake, incredulous that I had finally found a soul similar to mine.

Our encounters, casual at first, gradually became more frequent: it often happened that I saw her gazing, lost, towards Isola Bisentina, where my mortal remains are scattered in the dust.

So I started waiting for her, keeping in mind the visits and the routes. Sometimes she went further, under the buttresses of the fortress, and looked up at it from below, sometimes I saw her crouched on the stones of the Mergonara, the mooring for my family's boats, until her shoes and feet became wet, and while she thought she was alone, I listened to her heart. She has written various texts: the first novel, The long shadow of a dream, set for the most part in Capodimonte and on the Isola Bisentina, the second entitled Bonds, and the third that has the title Confessions of a concubine.

The Bisentina and Capodimonte linked to a concubine, or the person that the world believed was such... it could certainly not be a coincidence, I told myself more and more often ...

Her path, her steps inevitably seemed to lead to me: when then, almost as a joke, she wrote a story about my person, and in particular about my testamentary arrangements, winning literary awards everywhere, I understood without a shadow of a doubt that she would be my voice.

From that moment I no longer merely observed her, but I led (or induced) her to retrace my steps: first, on a rainy Sunday in September in the year of the Lord 2019, I guided her to what had been my residence in Bassanello, then in October of the same year I made sure that she was in Carbognano on the only day when the present lords of the Castle allowed visitors.

On those days Donna Roberta busily studied the texts that concerned me and, when she found herself in my last home, I am sure she was able to understand and make her own the message I wanted to convey with the frescoes that I had commissioned.

On that occasion I also put two women from Carbognano in her path and they led her and her kind husband (a nice young man who reminds me a lot of my second husband, Giovanni) through the streets of the village to the church of Santa Maria della Concezione, my church.

In December 2019, I encouraged her to seek access to the Rocca di Capodimonte where I was born: one of the current owners, Ranieri Orlandi Brenciaglia, kindly accepted her request, but he gave her an appointment in late evening, and so due to the onset of a sudden (and fortuitous!) neck pain, she was forced to decline that noctural visit.

The next appointment took her to cross the threshold of the Rocca di Capodimonte in broad daylight and look out of the windows and fill her eyes with that magnificent vision: I am sure that she perceived which openings I looked from most often, also because I saw her lingering at my favorite window for a really long time.

She then paid her dear friend and painter Francesca Cragnolini di Udine to make a portrait of me, since somebody had taken the trouble over time to make every work of art that depicted me disappear: the artist patiently followed all the instructions and the thousand corrections that Roberta asked for, and I must say that I am very satisfied with the results. With Francesca firstly, and then with with Roberta, I enjoyed smiling or pouting according to the semblances of the painting... So, I finally feel loved, and as had already happened to me in Carbognano, the deepest and most beautiful love came from other women. But unfortunately the people who accompany us for long or short stretches of our lives are not always so well-disposed: I have often had to deal with others of my kind who would have planted a dagger in my back as soon as they had the chance.

But if you are lucky, you meet women like this during your time on earth: supportive, strong, who know no envy.

I made sure that Roberta also met Madonna Felicita Menghini da Capodimonte, a special woman who made my family the center of her existence. Then I put in her path Madonna Patrizia Rosini from Rome, who had lost her sight and countless years searching for all the documents concerning my passage on this earth that survived through the years: the poor girl had searched for traces of me with commitment and tenacity in all public and private archives, until they were finally accepted and saved from oblivion and destruction. Then Roberta started writing, but I must say that after all that studying I saw her looking tired... This petite and explosive woman really has so many commitments, so I let her catch her breath.

But I have to be honest, patience has never been one of the qualities which excel in my character.

So at the beginning of the Year of the Lord 2021 I decided that I had to awaken her pen which had been distracted by an infinity of other things.

On the morning of a Sunday in January they were broadcasting a story about me in that box called television, where you can see images of all kinds, that had the title of my very name ... "Giulia Farnese, La Favorita of Pope Alexander VI".

To tell the truth, just that title had upset me, then when the images began to appear I realized that in addition to being defamed right from the first few minutes, they had used my name just to capture people’s attention, and then talk about something else... at that point I could no longer contain my anger.

I turned off that contraption, once, twice, three times: the first time poor Sergio, Madonna Roberta’s husband who was sitting next to her, had looked at her perplexed; the second time he had asked her if she was the one who had turned it off, and the third after he said to her: "Darling, this is Giulia, isn't it?"

Yes, it was me...

So after that shock Roberta took up the reins of the manuscript again, which was already almost halfway, disassembled it completely almost with anger, then recomposed it piece by piece with patience and enormous satisfaction.

I thank her so much for having dug through thousands and thousands of words, for having read and been able to go beyond the words, for having listened to what you could not hear, for having restored dignity to my soul that finally free of the dark weight of slander will be able, light, to abandon this world and go to the Father's house.

Iulia Farnesia

A little history

Giulia Farnese, known to most as Giulia La Bella, is a character that even today, almost five centuries after her death, arouses interest and fascination.

Giulia was born in Capodimonte in 1475 to Pierluigi Farnese and Giovannella Caetani, the youngest of three children.

For most of her youth she lived in the Rocca di Capodimonte, and received her education at the College of San Sisto in Rome.

Her father died in 1487 and, thus, the ambitious Giovannella continued to weave the plot of the life of the children for the better glory of the House of Farnese: Angelo, the firstborn, had already married Lella Orsini di Pitigliano; Gerolama had been given in marriage to a prominent Florentine (a certain Puccio Pucci).

Once the first two were settled, Giovannella was left with the future of her last two children, Alessandro and Giulia, and perhaps the meeting with Adriana De Mila, wife of the late Ludovico Orsini Migliorati, opened the doors to the craziest of plans.

Since their two husbands, both deceased, had stipulated a marriage contract years before that pledged their respective children, Giulia and Orsino, the two women intended to bring it to a successful conclusion.

Indeed, they thought they would go beyond the convenience of this union, and went as far imagining that Alessandro, the Farnese family’s favorite, could ascend to the papal throne.

The crazy plan hatched by Caetani and De Mila envisaged two ingredients for its success: Giulia’s beauty and the lasciviousness of Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia, De Mila's cousin.

And so it was that Giulia, educated to obedience and enamoured of her family, was married to Orsino Orsini (known as Monoculus Orsinum) and "sold" to the licentious Cardinal Borgia, who took her as a child and made her a woman.

The chronicles of the time often describe an unscrupulous Giulia, a shameless and brazen Giulia in the eyes of the people, who called her Venere Papale or even Sponsa Christi.

Orsino, a hapless boy with a face battered by acne and missing one eye from an early age after a hunting accident, ended up accepting this paradoxical situation thanks to the pressure from his mother. She, levering on his insecure character, also found a way to expand the Orsini family’s estate; it often happened, in fact, that Borgia made "gifts" to Orsino so that the young man let his wife Giulia reside in Rome on a permanent basis and not with him at the Castle of Bassanello (currently Vasanello).

In 1493, at the age of only twenty-five and never having even been ordained a priest, the undisciplined Alessandro Farnese was appointed cardinal by Pope Borgia, and from there his ecclesiastical career was in continuous ascent, under the protection of the Spaniard, who had become Pope Alessandro VI the previous year.

Giulia gave birth to Laura, her only daughter, that the historians of the time maliciously insinuated was not Orsino’s daughter, but the pontiff’s.

There was never a lie so great.

The following year, when Giulia went to Capodimonte for the death of her brother Angelo, she hesitated in the face of the possibility of returning to Rome, and this indecision sent the jealous Rodrigo Borgia into a rage: in one of the fiery missives that the Pope wrote to Giulia threatening to excommunicate her, he denied the paternity of little Laura, and ordered her not to go to Bassanello otherwise she would return "Impregnated" (pregnant) "by that orbo (transl. note one-eyed)" (Orsino).

Giulia had become a woman, and was increasingly intolerant of the situation in which she was living, but she also respected the commitments made with her family, to facilitate the ecclesiastical career of her brother Alessandro.

So it was that, in 1498, the descent of the French through Italy to reach the Kingdom of Naples, which they claimed as theirs, gave Giulia the opportunity to take control of her life and leave the toxic court life, and all the duplicity. And it was at that point that Giulia, freeing herself from the oppressive cloak that the family had put on her shoulders imposing choices on her that perhaps she would never have made, opened her wings to be reborn from her ashes like the Arab Phoenix. She could have easily clung to the skirts of another cardinal, she lacked neither the art nor the knowledge to do so, but free from family obligations she chose for herself the life she preferred. She returned to the Castle of Bassanello, with her small daughter Laura, and was reunited with her husband Orsino.

Far from the papal court, Giulia and Orsino discovered each other, and their souls tormented by the choices of others seemed to find redemption, even if ephemeral: Orsino went as far as bestowing on her the Castle and the fief of Carbognano, making her lady of that place without third party intermediaries, effectively giving her the dignity of domina {transl. note mistress or ruler} .

In the summer of 1500, the ill-fated Monoculus died when he was crushed by the collapse of the ceiling of the bedroom where he was sleeping: this tragic event too was read by the historians of the time, and by the usual prigs, as a sign that La Bella did not sleep with her husband, and that therefore there was no conjugal idyll.

More infamy for Giulia.

Pain upon pain.

Laura had now reached marriageable age, and Giulia, making use of the acquaintances developed in the years spent at the papal court, stipulated a marriage contract for her daughter with the powerful family of Nicola Franciotti Della Rovere, favorite nephew of Pope Giulio II.

Satisfied with that excellent union, she retired to Carbognano, and it was there that Giulia found her true self.

It was at that point that the metamorphosis of this person took shape: from femina contended by the cravings of shameless men, she took the first step and transformed herself into Mater with the birth of her daughter Laura, and later terminated her existence as Domina. Her second husband, Giovanni Capece Bozzuto, a man she wanted and married for love, will never be the lord of the Castle of Carbognano, but instead will become the husband of "her ladyship", of the domina.

Giulia administered her assets with expertise and made the meager economy of that part of Tuscia flourish with the firm pulse of a capable man. And with that she was entrusted with a much more important task: that of protecting and giving a real, autonomous future to the women who served her, not a transition from the shadow of a father to that of a husband.

Guide to the main characters

It often happens, when you commence the first pages of a novel, that you cannot get your head around the countless characters, and you lose the enjoyment of reading.

In this story, where we delve into the meanders of Renaissance society, it may be difficult for the reader to make head or tail of the many names and kinships that link one character to another.

So I took the liberty of drawing up this small guide to the main characters who, in addition to the protagonist, have a more or less important part in the events narrated.

It can be read or consulted at will as you begin to read this story.

Orsino Orsini Migliorati, aka Monocolus (1473-1500): only child of Ludovico Orsini Migliorati lord of Bassanello (Vasanello – Viterbo in Italy) and Adriana de Mila, and first husband of Giulia Farnese.

Giovanni Maria Capece Bozzuto (?-1517): Neapolitan nobleman, married Giulia (widow of Orsino Orsini) in 1506; the two met in 1496, on the occasion of the arrival of Sancha of Aragon in Rome.

Adriana de Mila (1434-1502): daughter of Perot de Mila, son of Catalina Borgia, sister of Pope Callisto III and sister-in-law of Jofré, father of Rodrigo Borgia (later Pope Alessandro VI), and therefore his second cousin. Wife of Ludovico Orsini, lord of Bassanello (Vasanello – VT) and mother of Orsino Orsini.

Giovannella Caetani (1440-?): mother of Giulia Farnese and her three brothers (Alessandro, Angelo and Geronima), daughter of Onorato Caetani and descendant of Pope Bonifacio VIII.

Angelo Farnese (1465-1494): eldest son of Pierluigi Farnese and Giovannella Caetani; Giulia’s brother, lord of Canino and Montalto, married to Lella Orsini.

Alessandro Farnese (1468-1549): Giulia Farnese’s brother. In 1534 he ascended to the papal throne with the name of Pope Paolo III until his death. In 1540, he authorized the foundation of the Society of Jesus upon the proposal of Ignatius of Loyola and in 1545 he convened the Council of Trent.

Gerolama Farnese (1464-1504): daughter of Pierluigi Farnese and Giulia’s sister. She married Puccio Pucci, with whom she had a daughter, Isabella. Widowed in 1494, in 1495 she married Count Giuliano dell'Anguillara. She was murdered by her stepson.

Isabella of Anguillara (1497-1564): daughter of Giuliano dell'Anguillara and Gerolama Farnese (sister of Giulia Farnese); after the murder of her mother she was raised by Giulia. In 1518, she married Galeazzo Farnese of the Latera branch.

Laura Orsini (1492-1530): only daughter of Giulia Farnese and her husband Orsino Orsini. Married to Nicola Franciotti della Rovere, to whom she bore three children: Giulio, Elena and Lavinia.

Lella Orsini (?-1494): daughter of Niccolò, Count of Pitigliano, married Angelo Farnese in 1488; at his death, she withdrew to the cloistered life in the Florentine monastery of the Murate.

Lucrezia Borgia (1480-1519): illegitimate third daughter of Pope Alessandro VI (born Rodrigo Borgia) and Vannozza Cattanei. Wife of Giovanni Sforza, Alfonzo d'Aragona, and Alfonso d'Este.

Cesare Borgia (1475-1507): son of Rodrigo Borgia (Pope Alessandro VI) and Vannozza Cattanei, he was bishop, archbishop and cardinal-deacon. In 1493, he obtained dispensation from his vows, and in 1498 he was appointed Duke of Valentinois by the King of France.

Camilla Lucrezia Borgia (1502-1573): natural daughter of Cesare Borgia and probably of Drusilla, lady-in-waiting to Lucrezia Borgia, legitimized in 1509.

She took her vows and in 1545 became abbess of the convent of San Bernardino in Ferrara.

Pietro Bembo (1470-1547): Italian cardinal, writer, grammarian, poet and humanist.

The places of the novel

"Life is not what one has lived,

but what you remember

and how you remember it to tell it."

(Gabriel García Márquez – Living to tell it)

The return home

The boat had just left the shores of the island, pitching. With its regal pace it seemed to bruise the motionless surface of the body of water, leaving behind, as it passed, ripples like liquid shivers that spread and then dissolved.

The harsh November air crept between the layers of the heavy robes making Giulia shiver, the hood lowered over the pale face. Everything seemed so unreal to her, everything so incredible that it was like a dream, a nightmare really, but in her heart she was happy to have at least been able to fulfill her beloved husband’s last wish, and take his mortal remains to the beloved island. The tramontana wind that was lashing the waters of the lake furiously the day before, when she had arrived from Carbognano with her husband's coffin, seemed to have miraculously calmed.

* * *

Giovanni Capece Bozzuto had died a few days beforehand and Giulia, in execution and out of respect for the wishes of her beloved, had immediately sent a messenger to her brother, Cardinal Alessandro Farnese, with the request to be able to bury Giovanni on the Isola Bisentina, in the family sacrarium. But Alessandro's reply had not arrived: perhaps, Giulia thought, her brother was too busy weaving the deep plot around the papal throne to respond to such a silly question.

So that morning, the domina of the Castle of Carbognano had quickly organized the departure for Capodimonte to transport her husband's coffin to his last abode.

Onofria and Berna, sitting opposite her in the carriage, hadn't said a word since they left. The elderly nurse and the young handmaid were watching their lady as she looked out at the passing countryside from the small narrow window of the passenger compartment: only the domina’s regular breathing broke the perfect silence of those moments.

It was already dark when they arrived in Capodimonte, in front of the fortress that overlooked the lake. And while for Onofria it was a return home, for Berna it was the first time she was hearing the lake roar with the tramontana. The girl shivered clutching her shawl and, as soon as she got out of the carriage in the courtyard of the fortress, sought shelter under the portico that ran along the square perimeter of the cavedio¹. Onofria lifted her nose to the sky, and inhaled deeply.

Giulia, resolute, gave quick instructions to the men who had carried her husband's coffin.

"Put him in one of the rooms on the ground floor and watch over him all night."

She caressed the coffin with her gloved hand before heading up the stairs.

Onofria and Berna went behind her, as if following a script already written.

In the morning, while preparations for the journey were underway in the rooms of the Rocca di Carbognano, the faithful Onofria had gone down to the stables and had sent a vanguard to the Rocca di Capodimonte, urging the men to be quick, very quick.

When the horses arrived in the palace courtyard they were frothing with fatigue, finally free of the weight of the men. The servants at the fortress thus learned of the domina’s arrival and the cold rooms began to fill with noises, with life: flames crackled in the fireplaces, and clean sheets were laid out in the beds that the lady and her handmaids would occupy.

The faithful nurse had given orders to prepare the room that Giulia occupied as a girl, in that palace where she had been born and raised.

The old woman was well aware that Giulia, as the lady of the fortress, should have stayed in the patronal chamber where her parents had lived for years. But Onofria knew all too well that her Iulia was touched deep down by the bereavement that had struck her in recent days, and she did not want the ghosts of her past life to keep her awake any more than she would have been in any case.

She smiled when he saw her lady head unhesitatingly towards her room, stop briefly on the threshold and then enter and close the door behind her.

* * *

Giulia found herself in her childhood room, the one whose windows looked out towards her beloved Bisentina.

So many memories...

She took off her cloak, resting it on the bed, and with slow steps went to the window from which only the deep darkness of the night could be seen: it was as if she were looking out on her soul, laid bare and whipped by the icy wind.

She remained like that for a few moments, her gaze lost in space, before sitting down at the toilette and letting out a long sigh.

Onofria knocked gently on the door and, hearing no answer, looked inside. Seeing Iulia sitting there, with an almost bewildered air, she went softly towards her.

"Madonna Iulia, shall I help you prepare for the night?" she whispered to her.

Only then did the woman turn around and nod, looking at the elderly nurse. Usually now, that task was entrusted to Berna, but Onofria wanted to be close to her lady, on that evening full of emotions and memories.

"Onofria, I thought this day would never come, but instead here we are... I am a widow again..."

Giulia's eyes became veiled with tears: all her life she had rarely been able to show the emotions that filled her breast, but that evening, in that place, she could not stop herself.

Those walls that had seen her come into the world and grow up conveyed conflicting sensations to her, of love and repulsion: she felt lost without her beloved Giovanni. Tomorrow would be another day, but that evening the emotions overwhelmied her in waves, relentlessly.

"To be sitting here, in this room, in this place, without all the people who have been part of my life, my brothers and sisters, my mother and father, all absent, truly seems unreal."

Onofria's able hands had started to fumble with the braids and pins that held Giulia's hair in place. That touch took her back to her youth, to the carefree hours spent having her hair styled by the patient nurse, to the flirtatious chatter, and to the naivety of her soul which still did not know the intrigues and compromises that this vile world requires.

"My child, this is life, meetings and farewells, arrivals and departures, in which the only certain appointment is death."

"And my brother Alessandro, then, who did not even deign to respond to my letter... as if I really needed his permission to have my husband buried on the Bisentina... "

The buttons slipped out of the buttonholes one by one, under the knowing old hands of Onofria: how many times had she made that gesture...

"Don't be upset, Iulia, your brother will be busy with his commitments, he must certainly not have had time to read your letter..."

The dress slipped to the ground, and the woman stiffened instantly. That sudden change in temperature made her gasp, and she quickly got into the cold nightgown that the old woman was handing her.

"It may be as you say, Onofria, but in any case I'm starting to be tired of all these formalisms, of all these pretences behind which abysmal voids are hidden."

A gust of wind stronger than the others hit the shutters making them vibrate alarmingly. Giulia froze, and then resumed the thread of what she was saying, squeezing the nurse’s hand gently between hers.

"Only you remain, Onofria, of the old days. Just you and a horde of memories that are crowding my mind. Let’s hope that this tramontana eases tomorrow."

And as she said that, she slipped under the blankets where Onofria had put a bedwarmer full of embers. The warm sheets wrapped her in a welcoming and comforting embrace, into which she abandoned herself.

Giulia delighted in the care that her nurse had been devoting to her for a lifetime. Tucking the blankets around her, the woman remembered her as a child inside those same walls and, smiling, withdrew in silence.

* * *

Onofria would gladly have let Berna accompany Giulia to the Bisentina, too many memories bound her to that place, but her ladyship was adamant: she wanted both women to go with her to give the last farewell to her beloved Giovanni.

The local fishermen had made two boats available to her ladyship: the coffin and the two men who would then be carrying it on their shoulders would travel in one, the three women would be in the other.

Clutching the plank where she sat with her nails, Berna was trembling from the cold and the unstable equilibrium she felt she was in: it was the first time she had left the mainland to venture out on a body of water. She looked at her lady, standing up straight at the bow as she watched the island come nearer with each stroke of the oar. The man in command of the boat, his face baked by the sun despite the cold season, sank the wooden shaft into the waters with force, cleaving them with splashes of icy water.

A thousand memories thronged the widow's mind: she thought back to the times she had found refuge on the island, when the motions of her soul were too powerful to control, she thought back to the past and the wreck it had made of the wills and desires of others.

She thought of Giovanni and the respect he had always had for her. She reflected on herself and her path and, absorbed by these thoughts, did not realize that the boat had arrived between the two majestic farnie² which marked the landing place on the island.

After securing the oars on board, the fisherman who had brought them to the island leapt onto the short walkway where they had docked, making the small boat dance alarmingly.

Berna sank her nails even further into the wooden plank as the man put out his dry calloused hand to Giulia, helping her to get off, followed by Onofria and Bern.

The domina took a few steps towards the depths of the island and caught a glimpse of Berna clawing the arm of the poor man and regaining the mainland, shaken by the crossing. Berna was still clinging to Onofria to walk the last few meters of the jetty, when the other boat arrived with a rustling of water.

A sound of ropes being thrown onto the wood of the jetty made Giulia turn, arousing her from who knows what thoughts: the coffin had been tied with ropes to hoist it onto the dock. Instinctively she raised one hand in the direction of the men of Carbognano, as if asking to respect her husband, but immediately lowered it.

The fisherman who had ferried the women joined the other men too, and all together they lifted the wooden coffin and rested it on their shoulders.

Pushing Berna's hands away, Onofria went to them and with a single gesture placed a black velvet cloth on the coffin, arranging it with her frozen fingers as the biting morning breeze made it move a little.

The funeral procession set off on the grass covered with dew, which quickly soaked the black robes the three women were wearing. The green of the thick vegetation had not yet paled at the first rigors of the cold season, and a few colorful corollas were resisting courageously among the neat hedges. As if going to meet the small funeral procession, the walls of the cloister came closer at every step, ready to defend the monastery and the church from earthly temptations, symbolic bulwark against evil.

Giulia knew that that wall represented a border between her family and their guests and the Friars Minor: when the Farnese were staying on the island, the friars were not permitted to leave the confines of the convent except for religious needs. A group of friars was waiting for them just outside the wall thst day, to officiate the sad event.

Inside the church the aspersory cried tears of holy water onto the velvet that was wrapped around the coffin, as it was lowered into the open mouth of one of the minor altars located along the left side. The friars, chanting with deep voices, prayed for the soul of the deceased.

After that, the sepulchral stone was made to slide and close the jaws that had received Giovanni’s body.

The sound of the stone meeting the floor bounced between the consecrated walls like a crazed moth.

IN VE CHITO

Giulia had not wanted to sleep another night far from Carbognano, as if the Rocca di Capodimonte and her beloved lake bothered her.

Her mind was too cluttered to be able to also bear the memories of a past that, at times, seemed to her that she had not even lived.

So Onofria and Berna, as soon as they arrived at the fortress, hurriedly collected the few things that the domina had wanted to take with her, while the lady remained in the garden that stretched out at the foot of the severe building.

"Onofria, you have been at the service of our lady for many years, haven't you? You move around inside these walls as if it had been your home..."

"And it has been, you curious girl..."

"Then you have toured around the Magna and Spain! I realized it when we got on that boat... you were not afraid at all, but I..."

"Blessed girl, you have a lot to learn!"

The domina’s clothes were folded and stored in the trunk, the bed remade.

The two women were ready to go down to the courtyard and load everything onto the carriage that would take them back to Carbognano.

Berna looked out of one of the windows that had been left open to air the rooms: the cold air caressed her cheeks like an icy hand. She was about to close the shutters, but stopped when she saw her lady in the garden, looking out over the stone parapet, her gaze on the immense expanse of water in the direction of the island where she had just buried the mortal remains of her husband.

"Certainly Madonna Iulia is really unfortunate... they told me that Messer Orsino, her first husband, was crushed to death when the roof of his bedroom collapsed, in the Castle of Bassanello, and now that she had found this good man signor Giovanni, he too has left her alone."

"Berna, empty head, madonna Iulia does not need a man. She is strong even alone, otherwise she would not be where she is and would not govern the fief of Carbognano as domina with such prowess!"

Berna turned around, amazed by the passion she heard in Onofria's words, but the old woman had already left the room and the chest with the lady's clothes had disappeared with her too. She drew the curtains together, after caressing the lake with her gaze once more and, reluctantly, went down to the courtyard to the carriage.

* * *

The return journey seemed, if possible, even longer than the one they had made just a day before: the bumpy road seemed even more uneven, and the silence inside the carriage was so heavy that it almost seemed to thunder.

At the first staging post, where the coachman had the horses watered and rested, Berna took the opportunity to get out of the carriage. It was the first time she had been away from Carbognano, and even a simple stone fountain where the horses were drinking amazed her. The frozen ground creaked under the young woman’s steps as she approached the vehicle.

"Madonna Iulia," she said, addressing her lady, "if you will allow me I would like to continue the journey sitting next to the coachman, to get some air..."

".. and maybe chat a little, is that right Berna?" Giulia could not hide her smile: with her inappropriate and spontaneous remarks, that girl was always able to play down the darkest moments even unintentionally. She nodded to Berna and then, meeting Onofria’s eyes, she said out loud a thought that had just flashed through her mind.

"I must have saddened that poor girl enough with my long face, but you know very well what it means for me to return to my lake and to the home where I born and raised."

Onofria looked into her eyes, with no fear of reading sadness in them. The carriage started moving again with a slight jump, rocking the two women.

"And now you also know the perilous road that has led me to be the domina of my castle. You have always been by my side... Berna has known me only a few years, and she cannot know... but perhaps it is really better this way."

Giulia saw Onofria lean towards her a little: she closed her eyes and felt the reassuring light dry touch of the warm hand that caressed her face, magically making her feel she was a child again.

"Iulia pulcherrima³, there is not a living soul who can reproach you for the path you have accomplished. You are a strong, capable woman, and your father would be proud to see what you have become just with your own strength!"

Giulia opened her eyes again, and the wise Onofria read in them all the need the domina had to hear those words.

They both smiled.

* * *

The next morning Giulia woke up early, refreshed by a good night’s sleep. She walked through the strangely deserted hall, and enjoyed its silence. She felt full of energy, and decided to go down to the stables immediately, without eating anything first.

She put on her husband Giovanni's trousers held up at best she could with a leather lace. Strangely at ease, she felt herself immersed in a vortex of unparalleled emotions.

Hearing the sound of footsteps the groomsmen, although busy with their duties, looked up: Giulia could see curiosity on their faces. At first she saw them exchange glances with each other, as if they had not recognized her. Then, little by little, the bewilderment and surprise at finding their mistress under those strange clothes was apparent.

"Saddle my horse," Giulia ordered with determination, "and use my husband's saddle."

The woman saw that the groomsmen were stunned by her words, but she did not lower her gaze, on the contrary, she held the astonished looks which the men directed at her with even more conviction.

At that point, the stable came alive: the grooms snapped like springs busily following the domina’s orders, bumping awkwardly into each other, which made her smile. When the work was completed, Camillo, the husband of one of her servants, came to Giulia's rescue. Although the lady was wearing the pants that had belonged to the deceased Giovanni, the leap up into the saddle was difficult.

The good Camillo should have lifted her up by the waist, in the usual way, but Giulia made a gesture to him that the man understood instantly. So he placed one knee on the ground and crossed his hands. Giulia took hold of the saddlehorn and putting her right foot in the groom’s hands, she hoisted herself onto animal’s back and wrapped both legs around it.

Proud of her feat, she let her eyes wander around noticing the stunned expressions of the men who had been watching the scene. Only Camillo was smiling, proud of his mistress and supportive of Giulia's unconventional choice.

With a sudden move, Camillo passed her the bridles that were hanging from the bite, tight between the animal’s jaws: Giulia grabbed them and returned the man's gaze. Then with a slight pressure of her heels on the animal’s belly urged him to leave the stable, towards the light of the newly risen sun.

With the air lashing her face and the feeling of freedom that the feat she had just accomplished had released in her body, she enjoyed the gallop to the full.

The sensation she felt had no parallel: it was so satisfying to feel her movements fused with those of the animal. Absurdly, in an instant she felt she had been freed from the limits imposed by the man on the woman, which for centuries and for good decency, had forced her to ride sidesaddle with her legs together.

... as if the world did not then demand from we women that we spend a good part of our time with our legs wide open! she thought shaking her head.

Once the adrenaline had worn off, she slowed down and allowed the horse to catch its breath: in doing so she also allowed her beating heart which was resonating in her brain like a bass drum to slow down.

The panorama that surrounded her was of a disarming beauty, the fields that extended one after another as far as the eye could see gave her a feeling of infinite joy that was in some ways unjustified. Only at that moment did she realize that in addition to being the domina of those generous and lush lands, she could finally be the mistress of her own life.

She filled her lungs with a deep breath and held it until she felt it pressing on the sternum: she was feeling, in that moment, she felt that she had been born a second time.

* * *

The horse proceeded at a walk, interpreting Giulia's little desire to return home. Back in the stables, she was still feeling short of breath from the long ride, but what was taking her breath away were also the audacious decisions she had made in the solitude of the morning just passed.

As she walked through the reception hall to go to her rooms, she met Agnese, Onofria's sister. The woman was busy dusting the furniture and looked at her as if she were a ghost; dressed in that unusual way, she must have seemed almost unrecognizable. Giulia barely noticed her, she was so immersed in her thoughts.

Before retiring to her room, however, she looked out the window of the living room where the doors were open. The fresh air of December was busting into the room, cleaning was well underway and, as always, her servants had not forgotten to gather flowers and fill vases of them, which were scattered around the rooms. Even in winter Giulia loved the scent of flowers and wild herbs from her fields; that morning the smell of violets and white Campanelli hovered softly but evident in the room.

Smiling in her heart, she looked up to the painted oculus she had wanted in the jamb⁴ of the window overlooking the valley: she had had a large tondo painted where a rampant liocorn stood out with an expression that was anything but calm, surmounted by a white cartouche with "IN VE CHITO" written on it.

She smiled remembering how the painter, standing on the rickety scaffolding, had asked her to repeat "those strange words".

"They are not strange words," exclaimed Giulia slightly annoyed, "it is a motto, and you must write it just as I told you. First IN, then VE and finally CHITO."

After staring at her for a few seconds not at all convinced the artist, perplexed, carried out the orders received, not daring to ask anything else, thinking that the lady of the Castle must surely be familiar with a language unknown to him. Those who came after her, perhaps, would have understood, going beyond appearances.

"Ma’am, I removed the spider webs yesterday... did I forget some of them?"

Berna's voice made her jump.

"No, but if you do this again, you will make me faint from fright!" said Giulia, addressing the girl who was at least a good palm taller than her.

"So, if I may ask, what were you looking at?" asked Berna lifting her gaze to the point where her lady’s had been before.

"Good heavens! I’d never seen that drawing up there!"

"I had it done myself, like all the decorations that are on the main floor, before I came to live in this castle."

Giulia wanted to tell her about the story of that strange oculus, so she invited Berna to stay with her. The window of the living room had two seats on the sides that allowed the women to sit down opposite each other: Berna was still staring at the ceiling, as if it were the first time she was really looking at that painting, while the domina continued: "I had this tondo made with just one purpose, to send a message to whoever was able to grasp it. What do you see?"

"Well... I don't understand these artistic things, but I see a horse with a horn on its head, rearing up on its rear hooves and that seems quite angry."

"Then... don't you see anything else?"

The girl squeezed her eyes until they became two slits, and with one hand shielded them from the light coming from the window.

"Well... I also see the fountain that you had built on the square, below the castle here, and a ribbon with an inscription ... IN... VE... CHITO... but don't ask me what it means because it's already a miracle that I was able to read it!"

Giulia smiled, like a teacher at her student, and addressed her with the same expression.

"IN VE stands for IN VERITATE, in truth, while explaining the word CHITO to you is a little more difficult... You see, I know other languages besides the one we speak. I know French and Spanish well, and I know that in each language the same word is read differently."

Berna was hanging from the lips of her lady, and Giulia hesitated just a few moments before continuing, enjoying the wait as if it were a delicious fruit.

"If I had a Spaniard read the word CHITO he would pronounce it CITO, which in Latin means quick, as soon as possible. Do you follow me so far, Berna?"

The handmaid shook her head vigorously up and down, in the affirmative, then bounced her gaze between her lady and the tondo with the unicorn, as if asking her to continue.

"So if you use a little wit and intelligence, you understand that the message contained in those meaningless words is... we will be in the truth soon."

The strong desire to put her soul, her life in black and white, to talk about herself, tell of her life was uppermost in Giulia's mind. For too long others had talked and gossiped about her, and perhaps the time had come to put that motto she had invented years ago in place.

IN VE CHITO.

"Domina you are really a special person, let me tell you... and who would ever have thought..." Berna’s loud voice brought Giulia's thoughts back there, to the living room where her body was, but even though flesh and mind were reunited, the intention that had been born shortly before did not leave her, on the contrary, it increased with every breath. "But how are are dressed... I hadn’t even noticed... Are you wearing poor signor Giovanni’s trousers?"

Deep in her thoughts, the domina heard her but was no longer listening to Berna’s noisy blathering.

The decision

That same evening, by the dancing light of a candle, Giulia decided to bring the idea that had flashed into her mind in the late morning to a successful conclusion.

The more she thought about it, the more she believed it was the best thing to do. She would tell her story and would entrust the true account of her life to the only person on the face of the earth who would understand her: Lucrezia, Pope Borgia’s daughter, her close friend since childhood.

When she had arrived in that palace she would never have believed that she could find in Lucrezia a friend, a confidant, a kindred spirit... then, instead, time had surprised them both bringing them close in fate and misfortune.

With little affection, Adriana watched over the two pups that had been entrusted to her, with her rapacious gaze and her heart of stone. Giulia had not had news of Lucrezia for years and so, since her intention had come to fruition, she had asked her secretary, Don Giovanni Petrobelli, to find out where she could address a letter to her.

Carbognano, December, A.D. 1517

Dearest Lucrezia,

So many years have passed since we last embraced... but I am sure that our friendship, the sisterly affection that bound us together, has survived our separation intact.

It is several weeks since Giovanni, my beloved second husband, passed away: the rooms of this castle, which Orsino gave me years ago, echo empty in the silence of slow and solitary days and my ghosts often come to visit me.

This morning I went down to the stables early, wearing Giovanni's cloth pants and for the first time I rode like a man! I am tired of having to submit to the wishes of others, you and I have been doing that for a lifetime, convinced by our upbringing that this is the only thing to do.

I have been mulling over my path through life for some time now and today I have decided to tell you, good friend of my youth, my story, the true one: I will do it with my letters to you. You know a part of me, like all the people who for one reason or another have orbited in my life, but the outside spectator often does not grasp the whole and focuses on details which, most of the time, are insignificant. I am Giulia Farnese, widow of Orsini, widow of Capece Bozzuto, lover of Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia, your beloved father, who became Pope Alessandro VI.

I am Giulia La Bella.

But deep down I am none of them... and, writing words on these white sheets of paper with this quill and pitch-black ink, I want to leave an indelible mark of my soul, entrusting it to you, my sweet friend.

For too long the prolonged production of mystifications about me, pulled off with information of a complex and imaginary nature (or more simply with easily unmaskable lies) has been used for personal and material gain or any social advantage whatsoever.

Some have told lies about me to increase their self-esteem, others to protect themselves from the judgment of others, but the result has in any case always been the same: discredit my person.

No one knows better than you the condition of being on everyone's lips inappropriately, no one, neither for me nor for you, refrained from making hasty judgements, and then throw us into a corner, disgusted, as if we were dirty rags. Fate has kept us apart for many years, each of us busy following the paths we more or less wanted, often without having chosen them consciously or spontaneously. Now that there is silence concerning me, I have an enormous desire to tell you about my journey, the road that has led me here, to be the domina of my castle.

Here I have learned to decide and choose for myself what I want or don't want.

And to silence the tongues that say I'm hiding from Rome, I have had my name carved on the lintel of every door or window of my manor house.

IULIA FARNESIA.

My heart already feels lighter and unburdened of a handful of stones, the heavy legacy of awareness and knowledge that I have begun to pour into your trusted hands.

I look forward to your reply.

Iulia Farnesia

Master of dançare

Holy Christmas was just around the corner and Giulia had to go, reluctantly, to the convent of San Sisto in Rome, where she had studied at an early age. The severe palace appeared in front of her with the pretense of taking her back to the innocence of past years. She walked through the porticos, the faithful Petrobelli beside her, looking at the arches and columns that followed one another, breathing quietly. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the silence: it was as if no one was expecting for them.

The archpriest Domenico Florido di Campagnano had summoned her together with Giovanni for communications concerning a trial that had been dragging on for years between the convent of Santa Maria in Gradi di Viterbo and the inhabitants of Carbognano, regarding a dispute over the ownership of the Casale farm.

From an opening to the portico, a friar beckoned to the domina and her companion to follow him. They walked through a maze of corridors until they reached the reception hall of the convent: Giulia and her secretary took their place on the creaking benches.

The monk who had guided them disappeared through a small door at the end, without having said even one word to them.

To banish the apprehension that was spreading through her, Giulia thought back to what Don Petrobelli had told her about Lucrezia: she could send her letters to the court of the Este family in Ferrara. There, certainly, Giulia's letters would arrive in Lucrezia's hands.

While she was still lost in her thoughts, a handful of friars from the Convent of Santa Maria in Gradi in Viterbo, preceded by the Prior Angelo da Soncino, lined up on the opposite side of the table.

Giulia looked at the monks and examined each of them: only the Prior held her gaze. The creak of hinges of a door at the end of the room interrupted that silent skirmish, and the archpriest sumptuously dressed in velvets appeared. He headed towards the table, and took his position at the head of it: he moved the bench away noisily without sitting down, which made Giulia think, with a sigh of relief, that things would not go on too long.

"Madonna Iulia Farnesia, the summons issued by Giacomo Ponzetti, cleric of the Apostolic Chamber, was for you and your consort Giovanni Maria Capece Bozzuto, who I see has not deigned to honor us with his presence..."

Giulia looked for some calm inside herself and found none, and trying to control the blood that was boiling in her veins she got up, making sure not to do so quietly, thus awakening the monk opposite her. As she searched for the most appropriate words, she began smoothing the skirt of the warm woolen dress she was wearing, brushed away a horsehair entangled in its weave and raising her gaze boldly, began to speak.

"Most Reverend Archpriest, I am sorry to inform you that Giovanni, my dearly beloved consort, will no longer honor us with his presence. It is now five weeks since he went to the house of the Almighty Father. I hope you will forgive his absence..."

With those words she had gained the attention of all the men present in that assembly. Giulia paused, feeling the eyes of all the clerics sitting around the table on her: then she looked up.

Frost descended in the room.

"... but anyway, apart from these irrelevant details, I alone am the domina of the fief of Carbognano, so I believe that we can proceed despite the absence of my husband."

The archpriest angrily closed the dossier of papers that he had in front of him, on the table, sat down and was silent for a few moments massaging the hairline of his eyebrows. Then, resting his back and arms theatrically on the bench, he turned to Giulia.

"Madam, you are no longer in the graces of the pontiff, so no one in this room will take orders from you!"

Giulia, still standing and with her palms resting on the table, took a deep breath. She thought no accusation or provocation would have touched her now, yet the sharp words of that priest were making her waver.

She was searching inside for a way to remain calm, when the shrill voice of the high prelate resumed.

"I, Domenico Florido di Campagnano archpriest in San Sisto, order that the here present Iulia Farnesia deposits the acts necessary for the ongoing case within two days with the Legate of Patrimony, under penalty of excommunication by Cardinal Camerlengo Raffaele Riario."

And that said, the archpriest stood up.

For a moment the woman’s flaming gaze met the watery eyes of the high prelate: she stared back at the grim-faced man, until he looked away and withdrew in good order.

And a tiny shiver of satisfaction ran down the woman's back.

* * *

On the way home, accompanied by the reassuring rocking of the carriage, the domina and Petrobelli discussed a few other issues related to the administration of the fief. That man supported her in all the complex administrative practices related to the management of the fiefdom, and although he had never shown either love or hatred for his lady, his presence reassured her.

Shortly before they arrived at the fortress, the anger that Giulia had felt during the verbal clash with the archpriest had almost vanished. Only then, with the eyes of the child she had been, did she allow herself to recall the memories connected to the Convent where they had gone, and she dived into them as if into a clear pool of water. How much naivety she held in her breast back then, and how much disenchantment had replaced it over the years...

As always, the faithful Onofria was waiting for her in the small square outside the door of the castle. Upon arrival, the coachman stopped the carriage and got down from the driver's seat, quickly pulling out the footboard to help the two guests to descend. Opening the carriage door and with a reassuring smile to his lady, the coachman held out his hand to her. When she had taken the two steps, Onofria replaced the man. Her hand was warm, despite the temperature, and it made Giulia happy: in that warmth she found all the words she wanted to hear, and in the sure and gentle grip the certainty that she was not alone.

There was the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, the air was full of the acrid smell of smoke from the fireplaces lit in the attempt to warm the bones in that cold winter. For the entire journey Giulia had hoped for nothing more than to find the house warm and welcoming, and a good steaming soup with a little boiled meat.

"Onofria, I'm tired tonight, but for the evening meal tomorrow have the whole table set in the reception hall, I don't want to dine alone: tell the girls this evening that we will bring forward the celebrations for the holy birth. At least in my own home I am free to decide what to do, or am I not? And invite their men too, because a chicken coop without roosters is mortally boring!" she said addressing the secretary who, embarrassed, took his leave with a bow and then disappeared into the maze of streets that surrounded the castle.

Giulia went through the front door, looking up to where she had had the coat of arms with the lilies of her house put in position. She caressed the façade of the rough keep with her eyes, remembering the first time she had seen it, and then lingered for a few moments on the beccatelli⁵ in peperino that supported the battlements. She smiled and, lifting her skirts a little, took the staircase that led to the main floor. As she retired to her room, she heard the pleasing sound of a lot of work going on in the living room, interspersed with the crystal clear laughter of the girls and the muttering of the elderly women. Closing the door behind her, she had the strong feeling that this was her place, that there and only there she could finally be herself.

* * *

The following evening, Berna had helped Giulia put on a dress of an intense crimson red made of a special velvet⁶.

Giulia had ordered the fabric directly from Venice and had had that dress made from it. It enhanced her still attractive figure: a bodice worked with gold threads and pearls that ended with a square neckline, from which an airy fabric of a pure white fell in soft folds, held by a thin strand of pearls hooked on her neck.

She did not like to show her graces, she had never liked it even in her youth, when her mother and mother-in-law influenced her way of dressing and her behavior. The two matrons had convinced her, for a certain period of her life, that everything was permitted, as long as the intended goal was attained; therefore, showing a generous breast or stretching out a hand under the table to delight the compliant flesh under the cassock of a high prelate, became licit and justified acts for the greater glory of one's family.

She had fixed her hair in a soft braided hairstyle that left her face uncovered: she looked in the mirror stroking her bare neck with her fingers, and found reflected there the face of a woman who from a certain point in her life had never again lowered her gaze. She still cared a lot about her clothing, even if it was years since she had been at the center of Roman social life: some time ago she had consciously decided to move away from that snake pit, and in recent times had gone there only to organize and preside over the wedding of Laura, her beloved only daughter.

Time had tempered the sparkle and disquiet of her youth, but her beauty and charm had remained unchanged and had increased with maturity and the awareness that she had allowed to blossom and flourish vigorously inside her.

She was ready.

She opened the door that gave onto the reception hall, and the clamor ceased in an instant, silenced by her beauty.

It had always been like this...

"So, are we ready to celebrate?"

Giulia's voice resounded crystal clear and deep at the same time, awakening the gathering from the spell that had come over them. She made her way between her servants and their respective spouses, who stood aside with a small bow like a dance rehearsed over and over again: she proceeded accompanied by the familiar rustle of her dress on the floor of the salon, and finally took her place at the head of the table, as befitted the domina of the castle.

The bottler filled a glass of red wine for her, which seemed made especially to match the purplish color of her dress, and the dishes of food began to arrive on the long table.

Everyone took their seats and a sound of joyful chatter filled the hall again, as a bright flame burned in the fireplace and warmed the environment. Although there were no notables or high prelates present, Giulia had ordered a pig from her farm to be roasted, sprinkled with spices from their vegetable gardens. The table was cluttered with ceramics filled with side dishes: green frittata, bean soup with lard, chard with ricotta, chestnuts and other delights.

Soon afterwards the men crossed the hall, their arms raised above their heads carrying huge trays full of meat that was still sizzling: wonderful aromas spread through the air, inebriating the diners as they waited to savor those delicacies.

The women in Giulia's service moved self-confidently using the knives and forks with two prongs, while the men used their hands, shamelessly: they knew that their lady valued them for their work and their honesty, not for how they behaved at table.

And after the almost animalistic voracity of the first encounter with wine and food, when the bellies of the diners were no longer grumbling and the clatter of dishes and cutlery had died down, satiety was obvious on the smiling faces of the diners. At that moment, as inevitable as the roar of thunder after a flash of lightning in the storm, the faithful Gregory took out his lute and began strumming ballads to the delight of the gathering. The merriment flowing in rivers, lulled by those notes, was abruptly interrupted by the domina who stood up and, clapping her hands, brought silence back to the hall.

"Yesterday I was at the convent of San Sisto in Rome for business related to the feud of Carbognano, and although I did not enjoy the occasion, I took a dip into the past for a moment... "

The diners hung on her words, and this pleased Giulia inordinately.

"How many of you can dance?" she said, watching happily as the girls giggled at their men.

"You must know that the convent where I had to go yesterday was my home for two years, in my childhood: I received there the education worthy of the woman I would become. In the convent, in addition to teaching us French and home economics, once a week the "Master of dançare"⁷ brightened our lives with his lessons."

The woman spoke with nostalgia, and as the words flowed harmoniously from her mouth, she recalled the vivid memories of times past. It was if she could still feel the joy, alive and pulsating, that filled her soul when at the end of the dance lessons, her cheeks were red from the efforts she had made to keep in time in the dances. And on the powerful wave of those memories she proposed: "If you like, tonight I will teach you a few steps of the farandola⁸ and the galliarda⁹..."

And so, in no time at all, chairs and benches were pushed aside and couples were formed.

Giulia improvised herself as a dance teacher and, as the music marked the time, she took those who were standing on the sidelines by the hands to bring them to the center of the room, and twirl around with her and the others. She showed her improvised court how to break the chain of arms and form pairs. Then she turned to the girls, in a voice that was barely out of breath.

"When you find yourself at this point, you have to start walking, and show off your sumptuous clothes."

One of the girls, lifting the poor robe she was wearing, mimicked the gesture described by the domina, looking convinced.

"Brava, Teresina!" thundered a man’s voice, drowning out the music: "When you have a dress worthy of the name you will be a perfect madama!"

And the whole hall burst into uproarious laughter.

Then, using Berna as her partner in the dance, the domina showed the boys how to alternate jumping kicks, first on one foot, then on the other, embellishing those movements from time to time with an endless series of mutations, jumps, crossed legs, foils, leaps, mimicking the ritual of courtship. She lifted the wonderful robe with her hands, showing her shod feet up to the middle of her shin, without shame.

Onofria, sitting by the fireplace next to her sister Agnese, the domina’s wetnurse, followed her lady with a loving gaze full of maternal spirit.

She felt it was as if Giulia had magically returned to being the carefree child of many years before, as the music continued to fill the hall: the domina’s cheeks had become red with enthusiasm and, in the heat of the dance, a few locks of hair had escaped from her hairstyle.

The two sisters looked at each other and smiled as they watched the girls and the men who adored their lady, and respected her as she respected them.

Then even the two elderly women, without leaving their chairs, captivated by the unrelenting rhythm began to clap their hands in time to the music and, laughing, they thanked the Creator for those moments of fraternal jubilation.

The Papal Messenger

That morning the domina remained in her room longer than usual. She had reread the letter she had written for Lucrezia more than once, and now she was turning it over in her hands, checking it: she had folded the paper carefully and sealed the nizza with sealing wax¹⁰, where the dry etched single lily, a legacy of her belonging to the Farnese family, stood out, after having carefully transcribed the address Petrobelli had given her on the overlay¹¹.

But Giulia's secretary had not stopped at that: not wanting to entrust his lady’s letters to any random merchant he had contacted the Papal Legate of Viterbo, who out of respect for Cardinal Alessandro Farnese, his lady’s brother, would send a messenger once every two moons to deliver and collect the correspondence to and from Ferrara. For this reason the domina’s faithful secretary had paid the Legate a large sum in advance, so that the service was not charged to the recipient, as was customary at the time.

"Remember Berna, the papal messenger will be in Carbognano today outside the church of Santa Maria della Concezione: you will recognize him because he will be dressed in a uniform in the colors of the city of Viterbo, blue and yellow."

The girl nodded her head to confirm that she had understood all the instructions her lady had given her, then cautiously took the envelope that Giulia handed her as if someone's life was at stake, and set off.

Going along the side of the wash house, not far from the front door of the castle, she entered the maze of streets that surrounded the manor house: she walked carefully down the steep descent that led to the square in front of the church. The sun rarely shone on that stretch of road, and the thin layer of ice had not yet melted.

When she arrived in the square, the messenger was already there, sitting on his horse in his smart uniform. The girl realized that he must have been waiting for some time and that he had not gone unnoticed by the populace who were looking at him curiously. Some children were even walking around him giggling and imitating his posture. His elegance was in strong contrast with the ragged clothes of the people who crowded the square at that moment because of the market. The shouts from the vendors could be clearly heard among the clamor of people’s voices.

It did not take Berna long to recognize the young man, so in an attempt to reach him she pushed through the bumbling crowd that was in her way. When she arrived close to the young man, a large dog appeared in front of her; the animal had come out from behind the horse, growling and baring its teeth. The dog's threatening jaws made her stop instantly as she clutched the package to her chest with a protective gesture, afraid for herself and for the special missive.

The girl saw the messenger, stiff as a ramrod, shake himself from that ostentatious superiority he had shown up to that moment, and whistling sharply at the animal tried to bring his aggressive attitude under control. The dog, whimpering and with his tail between his legs, went to hide under the horse.

"Lie down!" the messenger shouted, banging the lance he was holding tightly in his hand twice on the ground. "Don’t be afraid, he won’t do anything to you now."

"Messere... sir... my mistress and Don Petrobelli have instructed me to entrust you with this letter... all I can say to you is ... cito, cito, citissime!¹² "

The boy looked at Berna in silence from under the feathered headdress, his lips pulled a little tight as if to restrain himself from laughing at her lamentable encouragement. In those few moments when their eyes met, Berna felt a liking for him and the other seemed to reciprocate it: after all, they could be the same age and any mutual attraction was normal.

"If there is an answer, I will be here, in this place in two moons."

Striking the pose of his role, the young man placed the envelope in a painted wooden box bearing the emblem of the city of Viterbo: a lion and a palm tree.

Berna, meanwhile, had watched the operation without moving. She wanted to be sure that the young man had taken care as he placed the letter inside, but she also wanted to enjoy the sight of the handsome messenger for a few more moments... she didn't mind him at all.

"Goodbye Madamigella [t/n young lady]," he whispered, touching his hat lightly. Then, with a blow of a heel on the belly of his horse, he left.

Berna saw him start off, and followed him with her eyes for a while. She had enjoyed the unexpected encounter with that boy and she was feeling lost now as seeing him leave in his beautiful uniform, with the cloak fluttering in the air to the rhythm of the horse's steps.

The only thing that cheered her up at that moment was that, with the messenger, that awful dog had gone too.

* * *

The domina saw a boy with rebellious mop of hair come through the door of the living room: with two strides he planted himself in front of her, tormenting his hat in his hands, his gaze lowered. In all probability it was the first time he had entered the castle, Giulia thought, and evidently he felt intimidated by that environment so different from those he usually frequented.

"Well then, you are Menico, the son of Angelo Giacomazzi da Ronciglione, aren't you?"

"Yes domina, I am Menico, that’s me... "

"Your father is dead..." Giulia crossed herself, and the young man in front of her hurriedly let go of his grip on the hat with his right hand and do the same by touching first his forehead, then the chest, the left shoulder, and finally the right one. The woman smiled at the boy's clumsiness and the awe he seemed to feel towards her.

"Good, I know you have a statement to make, and my secretary will take note of it," said Giulia, with a sigh, her hands clasped on her chest, as she leaned against the high back of her chair.

"Yes, domina, I am here to let you know that since the death of my old man, may he rest in peace, I’ve been taking care of the earth of nine bodies¹³ which he bought in 1488 and to prove what I have told you, I declare that I have sown nine bodies of wheat there."

The boy recited that litany all in one breath, presumably learned by heart. When he had finished pronouncing those words, as if released from an extremely burdensome task, and with his forehead covered in sweat, he dropped his arms down along his body and let out a deep sigh. When the young man looked up, with a small smile towards Giulia, the domina returned it.

Petrobelli meanwhile took note of the statement on a large tome bound in leather, for future reference: he dipped the nib in the small bottle of ink and, masterfully moving the white plume, scratched on the clean sheets of paper.

If Menico had been able to write, perhaps he would have been asked to put a signature at the bottom of the declaration, but this would not happen: almost none of the men who took care of the fields knew how to read and write, and Giulia was happy with the fact that they could pronounce and understand the statements that they made to her.

Petrobelli dismissed the boy and let in another postulant.

* * *

Onofria, meanwhile, was watching her Iulia through the door of one of the rooms that gave onto the reception hall and saw her little girl who had become a woman.

Proud of the domina, the old woman was aware that she was at the service of what she was convinced was the strongest and most tenacious woman of her time.

She remembered her lady's mother, the cold and calculating Madonna Giovannella, with her palace intrigues and ambitious power games. When Giulia was born, she entrusted her to her, like a disturbance to get rid of: monna Giovannella was always too busy plotting and orchestrating plans to increase the power of the Farnese family.

And she had been very good at doing it.

Onofria was horrified thinking back to when she learned that her Iulia would be going to the court of Borgia, as a gift to facilitate her brother Alessandro’s ascent to the papal throne.

She had never been very fond of her lady's mother and Alessandro, and never once had she doubted that Iulia was a very different person from the rest of her family: perhaps, this was the main reason that made the old woman very proud and she venerated her like a goddess.

Camilla Borgia

The new year, 1518, had arrived without much fanfare as the harsh winter marked the short gray days. The breeding and sale of the pigs and horses, which Giulia had taken to levels previously unthinkable since her arrival in Carbognano, were booming, and employed most of the inhabitants of the small village.

What a nice little sum... she thought, as she placed on the long table of the living room an elegant bag in soft leather that contained fifty-five ducats deposited by Marco Antonio Meloni from Corchiano. She got up from the chair, finally alone, and walked towards the high window of the living room looking towards the valley that stretched out before her eyes, turning around and around in her hands the letter of commitment that Meloni had given her together with the money for the purchase of seventy-seven pigs.

Giulia allowed her buyers to settle their payments with large advances and deeds of commitment to settle the difference within ten or twenty days.

The woman did not like to let her customers who bought pigs, horses and coal from the fief of Carbognano go hungry: her behavior meant that she was very appreciated and revered, which had never happened before. In the many years of business, no one had ever allowed himself to not honor his debt. Nor did anyone turn to other farms.

With her way of conducting business, the contacts she had maintained with the Roman curia and the excellent manpower of the small community, famished before her arrival, she had started up a profitable business that employed a good part of her subjects as well as people in the neighboring villages, allowing them decent incomes and satisfaction.

Who would have thought that I would end up here, in this place forgotten by the Creator, raising pigs... Giulia thought, as she paced the perimeter of the salon with slow steps.

Still ruminating, she sat down in the low armchair set in front of the fireplace. She felt at ease there and loved to be there when she was immersed in her own thoughts during the cold winter days.

Stretching out her hands she delighted in the reassuring warmth of the flame and, comforted, smiled as in her mind she returned to the time spent at the Vatican court, and how like pigs some men were... Laughing, then, she realized how many times, as she went to visit the pigsties, a passage from the Odyssey which she had studied in her youth came to mind; it described how the sorceress Circe transformed Odysseus' companions into pigs,...

"After which she gave it to him and they drank it, she touched them immediately with a wand and locked them in the pigsties.

They had the body of pigs: voices and bristles and appearance.

But as in the past, her mind was firm.

So they were enclosed, weeping,

and Circe threw them the acorns of the holm oak and dogwood for them to eat,

that the pigs lying on the earth always eat." ¹⁴

Safe, in her new position as a free woman, she had long since metabolized the power and riches she had acquired with her activities, and had purified herself from the hypocrisies of the palace.

Now everything seemed clearer to her.

Solely for the sake of her family, and for the great love she felt for her lineage, she had sacrificed herself for a part of her life and bowed her head to the role of a submissive woman, but in her soul she had never given in.

* * *

Lucrezia was walking in the gardens of the ducal palace of Ferrara, hand in hand with her niece Camilla Borgia, illegitimate daughter of Cesare, her brother and Drusilla her lady-in-waiting. She had taken her niece into her care, seeing to her education as well: what might appear to be a gesture of generosity, actually hid a desperate attempt to alleviate the void left by the death of her first son, Rodrigo of Aragon, a few years earlier. The thought of that unfortunate son born from her second marriage to Alfonso of Aragon, tormented her.

After the death of her second husband, and father of the child, she had had to entrust that poor creature just over three years of age to the care of Francesco Borgia, cardinal of Cosenza. From that moment Lucrezia never her son again, and having looked after him from a distance certainly did not let her find peace in any case.

After just one year, the child was placed in the care of his aunt Sancha of Aragon and then of Isabella of Aragon. Death came about ten years later and took him, thirteen years old, from this world of which he had not known the joys, but only the bleakness of a lack of affection abused by power games.

After the death of her firstborn, Lucrezia wore a hairshirt every day: a strap formed by a rough rope studded with knots, tightened around the right thigh, so that it caused her not extreme, but a constant pain.

There were too many things she reproached himself for.

In that cold winter, the woman was coming to the desire to no longer have to deal with the hypocrisy and perversion of the world that had surrounded her for much of her existence. She sought refuge more and more often in the quiet of the monastery of the Franciscan Tertiaries of Santa Chiara and San Bernardino alla Giovecca, and found escape from earthly fugacity only in prayer, as if in a cocoon that protected her.

Camilla was almost fourteen years old, but her small stature and slender, almost angelic appearance made her age indecipherable: her pale and slightly elongated face like her father’s, her fine hair shining like golden threads and gray eyes seemed like an extension of the taciturn character of her soul. The girl had been the most beautiful ornament of Lucrezia's court in recent years. Their steps made the carpet of dry leaves crackle as they danced at the touch of the wind, and their breath generated small white clouds.

"Beloved aunt, my life is in your hands, you know..." the girl said to the woman who had her head covered in a woolen hood to protect herself from the cold: they were walking in the stinging sun of the winter season in the inner cloister of the convent, where Lucrezia took her niece almost daily.

With every day that passed she feared that Camilla's pure soul could become contaminated by the ugliness of life and, equally, she convinced herself that perhaps only the cloistered life could safeguard her from this.

"You entrust it to me and I, my little Camilla, put it in the hands of Almighty God..."

The renovation of the monastery of Giovecca went on and Lucrezia seemed to have no eyes and attention for anything other than that: in her heart she was convinced that, in this way, she was preparing a cozy nest where the innocence of her niece could be protected.

Nothing interested her anymore, not even the accusation of incest which had hounded her for most of her life, to which was then added the notoriety of poisoner; now she took almost no part in the decisions and matters related to the administration of the Palace.

She had joined the Franciscan third order, becoming strongly linked to the followers of San Bernardino da Siena and Santa Caterina, and had founded the Monte Pietà in Ferrara to bring help to the poor, but nothing gave her peace like thinking of being able to keep Camilla's soul pure.

* * *

Lucrezia had returned to her rooms, followed by Camilla: frozen by the gelid air of January, after asking her niece to stoke the fire that was burning weakly in the fireplace, she had asked to be left alone. For days a thought had beseiged her, closing her temples in a vice.

She had found herself more than once in recent months, pulling a bundle of letters held together by a thin cord from the bottom of a trunk that contained her trousseau. Each time, after turning that heavy burden over and over in her hands, she had always surrendered to the desire not to part with it, unable to find the courage to destroy those missives. Forty letters addressed to her, from the superb pen of Pietro Bembo, from June 3, 1503, less than a year after her arrival in Ferrara, to October 13, 1517, just over three months earlier.

A slice of her life shared, albeit at a distance, with that cultured man, that she had welcomed to her court together with other scholars and artists just after she had married the duke.

They had shared the same roof for some time, but it had not lasted long: Pietro was removed from Ferrara, recalled to Venice by his family for some alleged commitments. Before leaving, with a solemn air he had given her a crystal ball, and hd accompanied that gift telling her of all the attraction that the man felt for Lucrezia: "I leave you my heart, my dear, I hope you will keep it safe like something precious..."

Since then, that sphere stood very visibly on Lucrezia's desk: at times, it seemed to the woman that the bright arrows thrown on the floor and walls by the sphere, as it was pierced by the sun's rays, tried to send her messages that she could not decipher.

She picked it up and touched the smoothness of the surface, clutching it in her thin fingers, and then laif it on the bed near the bundle of letters. She remembered that she had responded to that gift in a brash way, as only youth could allow, writing him in her own hand a cobla¹⁵ by Lopez de Esuniga: "Yo pienso si me muriese... que todo el mundo quedase sin amar."¹⁶

And in the letters that lay on the precious bedspread, Pietro made mention of the beautiful braid like gold, of ebony eyelashes, of soft cheeks, of agile foot that abandoned itself to the rhythm of dance.

If Lucrezia closed her eyes for a moment, she could see the fine and elegant characters of the man's calligraphy.

So many memories...

She sat on the bed and pulled out the last letter bearing the date of October 13 of the previous year, and reread it for the umpteenth time: "... with these few lines I wanted to send my respects to your revered self, and remind you that I am that good servant to you that I must be, and want to be. Which neither length of time nor changes of fortune will ever make me what I am not, and that I do not despair to be able to visit and serve yoiu at some more idle time. I kiss the hand of Your Excellency and to your good grace I reverently commend myself."¹⁷

At those words, she remembered the medal that she had had minted so many years ago.

She retrieved it from the double bottom of the box, where she kept her jewels, and turned it around between her thin fingers: a flame was engraved on it, and around it the words Est animum¹⁸, the motto the man had devised for her, to celebrate their relationship in a disguised fashion, which they had kept within a purely Platonic confine only at the behest of Lucrezia.

The woman caressed the hair that fell loose on her shoulders, and smiled with her gaze lost in memories.

In a flash, it was as if she could really hear the sound of the scissors as they cut a lock of her long hair: in an instant of momentary madness she had decided to send the man that silky gift, in response to the gift of that motto. She then retrieved a copy of the volume "Gli Asolani"¹⁹ in which the man had written a dedication for her in his own hand, and put it on the bed with the letters, the coin and the crystal ball.

She had eaten her heart out at the memory of that sinful relationship and even the flame, little by little, had diminished until she wished she could erase those actions that did not allow her to abandon herself in the arms of the Creator, all of her. With an almost angry gesture, she gathered together all the objects she had piled up on the bed, and placed them one by one in a leather saddlebag.

The decision had been made.

She would immediately entrust that bundle to her private herald, so he would to deliver it into Pietro's hands: he would understand.

Then, with the same resoluteness, she gave the peremptory order to reject all the messengers and heralds who from that moment on tried to deliver letters addressed to her. Finally she would be cleansed before God and before Duke Alfonso, her husband.

A cut flower at the tip of a sickle

Gregorio Bertoni, a gruff-looking man of few words, was in the service of Monna Giulia from the day that woman had set foot in Carbognano.

At first he had found it hard to accept being commanded by a domina, then with the passing of the seasons he had been able to see for himself the abilities of that petite and decisive woman, who never left a lawsuit unattempted, a road not traveled, a quarrel without solution.

Of course, he had not confessed these thoughts to anyone, not even to his wife who served her inside the palace, and who often sang the praises of their lady: he listened to her and said nothing and if the woman did not stop talking and asking him what he thought, he grunted, and the conversation ended there.

But the domina’s intelligence was beyond Gregorio's expectations.

In the spring just past, and in the following summer season, Giulia had wanted the canal that broke away from the Rio Vicano to be renovated²⁰.

After discussing