Most paintings depict her as cold and reserved. Looking away, delicately aloof, aware of her own beauty and mystery. Lucrezia Borgia has been called a vixen, a cruel monster, a lover of her brother, the “daughter, bride, daughter-in-law” of her father. It was a life marred by rumor and corruption. Her son (or perhaps not her son) by her father or brother or father’s messenger, was named Giovanni. It means “God’s grace”. After he was born, the son of Lucrezia was sent away. He is the product of many histories. Born of his mother and her father, her brother, his mother and another (the messenger). She had been stuck in a loveless marriage. Divorce? Not with consummation. Later, her husband was declared impotent. She was pregnant (maybe). It wasn’t his. Lucrezia. Lucrece. Maybe Leda. Think of a swan.

She is said to have been a bubbly, charming child. The apple of her father’s eye, and beloved. Her family, known for its closeness, sheltered and protected her—her father called off two wedding engagements when she was nine and eleven. He, the Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia, is said to have loved no one more than his baby girl (except perhaps himself). He became Pope Alexander IV. Then Lucrezia became a political tool. She was married off three times. Loveless. Loveless. Loveless (with affairs). In her portraits she looks away. Demure? Maybe she’s ashamed. Maybe she likes the attention.

 Giovanni was called the infans Romanus. It means “child of Rome”. Child of Rome in God’s good grace. Except he was passed from guardian to guardian. There were two papal bulls—each attributed Giovanni to a different father. Neither made him Lucrezia’s. First bull: three-year-old toddler, child of Cesare Borgia, son of Pope Alexander IV, mother unnamed (not unusual).  Second bull: Giovanni not of Cesare, born of Pope Alexander and mistress (unnamed), was not disclosed originally for good reason. Popes weren’t (aren’t) supposed to have children (publicly) and acknowledging him could have hurt the boy’s inheritance. It did. Infans Romanus never gained power. Died alone at fifty. Relatively unknown.

Or, the time Lucrezia had spent away had not been because she was with child. She had had no affair with Pedro Calderon, or Perretto (the messenger), or her brother Cesare, or her father. She had been visiting Paris (she loved the jardins). Or studying with nuns (the convent was stifling). Or skiing in the Alps (the first in unrecorded history). No baby. Lucrezia was supposed to say Giovanni was her half-brother. They were friends. Companions. Nothing more.Their presence together was noted. At the end of his childhood he was given to her guardianship. She was between marriages. Mother and son reunited at last? No one wanted to acknowledged him, or make him their own. Lucrezia had three husbands and seven children by them. Seven legitimate children.

In another history, a(n anonymous) mother gives birth to a baby boy. When she looks at her baby, into his deep brown eyes, they are linked and she names him (not Giovanni). Baby looks at his mother (not Lucrezia), his eyes not quite in focus. He can make out a brownish-pinkish blur and two white-hazel rounds. She speaks to him, pressing him against her chest. The sound and the rumble of her voice is familiar. He sleeps. In this history, the mother rears her son. No Pope. No Bulls. No political ploys. Just a bubbly, charming child with a name. In this history.

Lucrezia Borgia was raised in a notoriously close family. Called the first crime family of Spain. She was a beloved daughter, protected sister, dear companion, three-time wife (that we know of), salacious vixen, cunning woman. Rising above the infamy in her life. Died while giving birth to her seventh (possibly eighth) child.