When I was 11 my father betrothed me to a boy I didn’t know, Paolo Orsini. We were married just over a year ago now. He lives in Rome & I in Florence.
Poet, author, philosopher, and courtesan Tullia d’Aragona visited my language, music & literature salon tonight and read many of her poems for us.
Michel de Nostradamus has given a disturbing prediction for a young woman’s future. I am quite certain his prediction is not for the lives of any of my daughters: Elisabeth, Claude, or Margot. Perhaps the prediction regards the daughter of my cousin Cosimo, Duke of Florence? I have dispatched Nostradamus there. I hope I have not made a mistake?
Just a poem. A trifle of romance. An ode to the sun’s rays. It is not about any real person. It is not to be published.
While I was in prison the Marquis’ heirs sold books, pictures, furniture, and every family relic. Among these, a friend of mine’ found a bronze medal of Isabella Orsini.