IV.
Into a new trunk, specially made at great cost, Elsebeth is placing my trousseau. The box is very fine, carved of Tuscan poplar and painted by an Italian master in splendid colors. The scene is from Ovid, Ernest told me. On one side the mother goddess, Ceres, rides in her chariot yoked with dragons, a torch in her hand and her garments billowing behind. The trees in the forest on either side of her have gilt leaves and satyrs, fauns, and other strange creatures peek out from between the trunks. She is searching for her lost daughter, Prosperina, and all around her are the crops that have withered and died from her neglect. I found the unfortunate girl on the other side of the chest, struggling in the strong arms of Pluto, who will carry her off to the Underworld to be his queen. The wildflowers she was picking have fallen from her hand in a trail along the bottom edge, each petal lush with vermilion and ultramarine.
The box is beautiful but the pictures are frightening, and I ask them to move it from the center of my chamber so that I do not have to look at it while I sleep.
Into the chest go snowy linens, thick furs and velvets, and rich brocades; dresses, shifts, and sleeves; collars, caps, and veils for my hair. I think I could be happy in these clothes.
One garment in particular catches my eye: a nightdress of fine gossamer, embroidered on the cuffs and around the neck. It is very nearly transparent. When I reach out to touch the wispy cloth Elsebeth smiles knowingly. This is for my wedding night, she tells me, this is what I will wear to my marriage bed. He would be a fool not to fall in love with me at once, I will look so beautiful. I snatch my finger back, alarmed.
Elsebeth tuts and has someone send for my mother to explain.