Redemption
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
Lucrezia writes a last letter to her mother, a confession of sorts.
It must certainly will break your heart, mother, for a mother would not ever want to be forced to face such a truth about her children, her little sunbeams, the one thing in the entire world that, at least for a fraction of time, were hers and only hers. For I am a mother as well and I know. But I know as well as the love of God, that my heart seeks for relief and I must confess, if one last time, if for the first time in truth, what's been the fate of my condemned soul.
For I loved him and I love him still, with the intensity none other feeling has ever consumed my heart, not even for my beloved Giovanni and you, as a mother, must know what it is for me to say this (May God forgive my soul).
I'm afraid of him now, the one I love the most -I told you long back ago in my naivety, in my presumed ignorance perhaps, but to be honest, it was nothing but cowardice, for it was not Cesare (and never Cesare!) what I was afraid of; it was me, deep inside and rotten me.
Jealous is the word- I said -of any happiness I might snatch. Without him.
But it was me, mother! It was me who feared the day Cesare went to France, not because the implications of my husband's titles and country, no, but of what Cesare would find there, the promised wife, and perhaps a love, that could never be mine. The bride that would be waiting for him at the French court. Because of the happiness she could provide and I could not. It was me, who selfishly asked him upon our following meeting if he loved her, and on the despair of my soul when he said he did, I couldn't avoid asking (and begging in my heart for him to say no) if he loved her more than he loved me.
Could you love her more than you love me?... Could he ever love someone more than he loved me?
Such were the words I wanted to ask, such was the fear inside my heart. For Cesare could never die, dear mother, not in my mind. Did you ever know a mightier, a braver, a smarter man than him? Could you ever imagine a human capable of defeating Cesare? I certainly did not, and I know now, I took him for granted.
And when Alfonso provoked Cesare, and in the midst of his unhappiness accused him, please know dear mother, Cesare didn't lie.
My deceased husband said the whispers of Rome had it that in our marriage there wasn't two, but three involved. And Cesare, as proper as he may, answered but the truth. In my marriage, mother, weren't three, for in my heart there was no space for anyone but Cesare.
It was true, though, that nor in my soul, nor in my skin, nor in my lips were another name being told than Cesare's. In my thoughts there were no others but the ones that brought me back to him, in my hopes were no more than yearning to see him -to touch him- once more time. In my love there was no love but Cesare's.
And when he died, sun of my life, there was no longer reason to be alive for me.
I, on the other hand, lied and lied again. I lied when I said I wanted to be freed from him, I lied when I said I ambitioned a life far from his reach, I lied when I instigated to leave him to find happiness. What possible happiness could I ever meet if not the one I felt by his side?
I was afraid, and I am, of what I came up to be.
If Cesare killed Giovanni Sforza for me, it did not impress me. If Cesare (forgive his soul, mother) killed Juan for me, I was glad. And when he killed Alfonso, I felt nothing but the remorse of my own implication, for I dragged the Duke into this life knowing quite well that what was my brother's could never be his, and I provoked the madness that led him to, stupidly, think he had a chance against Cesare's hand. I knew Cesare didn't kill him, but I pretended not to, not to face my own negligence.
But what terrified me, was to know I'd kill anyone and anytime for Cesare. To such abandon I love him, mother, that I wouldn't even think twice before staining my hands in blood for him.
It scares me that, even in the depths of grief after I knew of his passing, when we learned Charlotte was to give him a child, I was glad he never knew -for I could never bring such bliss upon him. For I might lose his love to that child, and I could not bear it, I could not bear him loving something that was not from me, from us. I could not bear any happiness he could snatch, without me.
I know I've broken your heart, mother, yet still I need not only your pardon, but your console. Could you tell me once again, for the last time, you might find still forgiveness and love for us inside you? Could you please explain why has God damned us with such a pure love, if it is but a sin?
For I never understood how could I love him with such a strength of feeling, with such passion and naturality, as if my life depended on it; and how the most sublime experience ever to be lived, when he was inside of me, was truly an abomination? Why, when he only but appeared in front of me, when his dark eyes rested upon my humble self, or when the tip of his fingers touched my face, it felt as if God himself was in the room with us, approving of such a pure love? How can a love as deep and magnificent not come from God?
Yet I am afraid, mother, that your words of console will not come soon enough to reach my ears, and it is my punishment to be left without your forgiveness. I am afraid that loving Cesare was not the last, but the first of my sins. For you must know, I would kill whoever needed to, to be able to be with him. And tell me mother, what's the one thing keeping me apart from his love now that he's no longer with us?
I pray to God your heart finds console, and my soul finds mercy, and I pray whoever it's will might be, wherever we might encounter each other, that in death we may meet the love in life we never had.
If my name still holds some value, know this was the last confession of Lucrezia Borgia.
