Madonna of the Seven Hills Read Online Free PDF Page A

child’s father.
    He was coming to her bedside now. Her women stepped back in awed reverence as he approached.
    “Vannozza, my dear!” His voice sounded as tender as ever, but he rarely showed anger, and she could not tell what his feelings were toward the child.
    “A boy this time, my lord. He is very like Lucrezia … and I fancy I see Your Eminence in that child every day.”
    A plump white hand, sparkling with gems, touched the baby’s cheek. It was a tender, paternal gesture, and Vannozza’s spirits rose.
    She picked up the child and held him out to the Cardinal who took him from her; she saw his face soften in a look of pride and joy. It was small wonder, she thought then, that many loved Roderigo; his love of women and children made them eager to please and serve him.
    He walked up and down with the child, and in his eyes was a faraway look as though he were seeing into the future. Surely that meant that he was making plans for the new-born boy. He did not suspect. He must have compared himself with Giorgio and asked himself how any woman could consider the little apostolic clerk, when she must compare him with the charming and mighty Cardinal.
    He put the baby back into her arms and stood for a while smiling benignly down at her.
    Then he said slyly, “Giorgio? He is pleased?”

    There was a period in Lucrezia’s life which she would remember until the day of her death. She was only four years old, yet so vivid was the memory that it was imprinted forever on her mind. For one thing it was the beginning of change.
    Before that time she had lived the nursery life, secure in the love of her mother, looking forward to the visits of Uncle Roderigo, delighting in the battle of her brothers for her affection. It had been a pleasant little world in which Lucrezia lived. Each day she would take her stand on the loggia and watch the colorful world go by, but all that happened beyond her mother’s house seemed to her nothing more than pictures for her idle pleasure; there was an unreality about all that happened on the other side of the loggia and Lucrezia was safe in her cozy world of love and admiration.
    She knew that she was pretty and that no one could fail to notice this because of her yellow hair and her eyes which were light blue-gray in color; her eyelashes and brows were dark and inherited from her Spanish ancestors, it was said; and it was this combination which, partly because it was so unusual, was so attractive. She had the arresting looks of one who was only part Italian, being also part Spanish. Her brothers also possessed this charm.
    The serving-maids could not help embracing her, patting her cheeks or stroking her lovely hair. “Dearest little Madonna,” they would murmur, and they would whisper together about those enchanting occhi bianchi which were going to make a seductress of their little Madonna.
    She was happy in their affection; she would snuggle up to them, giving love for love; and she looked forward to a career as a seductress with the utmost pleasure.
    Little Lucrezia up to that time believed that the world had been made for her pleasure—her brothers had the same feeling in regard to themselves—but because Lucrezia was by nature serene, ready to be contented, and could only be pleased herself when she pleased others, her character was quite different from those of her brothers. Cesare’s and Giovanni’s young lives were darkened by their jealousy of each other; Lucrezia knew no such jealousy. She was the Queen of the nursery, certain of the love of all.
    And so, up to her fourth birthday the little girl remained shut in her world of contentment which wrapped itself about her like a cozy cocoon.
    But with the fourth birthday came the first indication that life was less simple than she had believed it to be, and that it did not go on forever in the same pleasant pattern.
    At first she noticed the excitement in the streets. There was much coming and going across the bridge. Each day