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Updated: June 22, 2025
The grand-vicar of the Archbishop of Paris went to Port-Royal to make sure that the pensioners had gone. He sat down beside Mother Angelica's bed. "So you are ill, mother," said he; "pray, what is your complaint?" "I am dropsical, sir," she replied. "Jesus! my dear mother, you say that as if it were nothing at all. Does not such a complaint dismay you?"
The feeling uppermost in Angelica's mind was one of resentment. Her aunt had appeared in the same unexpected manner at the outset of her acquaintance with the Tenor, and she objected to her reappearance now, at the conclusion. It was like an incident in a melodrama, the arrival of the good influence it was absurd; if she had done it on purpose, it would have been impertinent.
"Angelica's little maid, Betsinda, told me so when she came to my room this morning with my early tea." "You are always drinking tea," said the monarch, with a scowl. "It is better than drinking port or brandy-and-water," replies her Majesty. "Well, well, my dear, I only said you were fond of drinking tea," said the King of Paflagonia, with an effort as if to command his temper. "Angelica!
Angelica's violin lay under the grand piano where he had heedlessly flung it when he loosed it from her rigid grasp; and there were pipes and glasses and bottles about, chairs upset and displaced; books and papers, music and magazines, piled up in heaps untidily to be out of the way all the usual signs, to sum up, which suggest that a room has been used over night for some unaccustomed purpose, convivial or the reverse, a condition known only to the early house-and-parlour maid as a rule, and therefore acting with peculiarly dismal effect upon the chance observer; but more dismal now to the weary Tenor than any room he had ever seen under similar circumstances by reason of the associations that clung about it.
YOU, Giglio, had you been bred in prosperity, would scarcely have learned to read or write you would have been idle and extravagant, and could not have been a good King as now you will be. You, Rosalba, would have been so flattered, that your little head might have been turned like Angelica's, who thought herself too good for Giglio." "As if anybody could be good enough for HIM," cried Rosalba.
I should espouse his daughter, young Angelica; we two indeed should reign in Paflagonia. His words were false false as Angelica's heart! false as Angelica's hair, color, front teeth! She looked with her skew eyes upon young Bulbo, Crim Tartary's stupid heir, and she preferred him. Twas then I turned my eyes upon Betsinda Rosalba, as she now is.
Later she sent the well-known portrait, near that of Angelica Kauffman. It is interesting to read Goethe's comparison of the two portraits. Speaking of Angelica's first, he writes: "It has a truer tone in the coloring, the position is more pleasing, and the whole exhibits more correct taste and a higher spirit in art.
"Art thee travelling alone, dear child?" "Yes," Angelica answered, with the affable smile and intonation for which the Heavenly Twins were noted. "Doubtless there are plenty of friends to meet thee at thy journey's end," the lady suggested, responding sympathetically to Angelica's pleasantness.
"I thought it was Angelica's step. I fancied I heard her go down some time ago, and I have been waiting for her. She complained of not feeling well this evening, and I thought she might possibly want something. Come in." He had turned to lead the way as he spoke. "By-the-bye," he broke off, "what are you doing here, you young rascal?"
They wandered about the house to no purpose; and sometimes Ruggiero heard Bradamante calling him; and sometimes Orlando beheld Angelica's face at a window. At length the beauty arrived in her own veritable person. She was again on horseback, and once more on the look-out for a knight who should conduct her safely home whether Orlando or Sacripant she had not determined.
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