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Updated: June 20, 2025
Here she sighed to remember that her bosom friend, Olimpia Castaneve, took after hers only too well, and was to accompany her fortune-hunting in Ferrara for precisely opposite reasons. Was this fair? she wondered. She, Bellaroba, was to go because she was of a piece with the Ferrarese; Olimpia, because she could furnish a provoking contrast.
Whereupon he lifts up the praying Bellaroba, kisses her forehead, and hands her into the inn as bold as a Viscount. One or two tongues were in one or two cheeks; one hand at least clapped him on the shoulder for a "little assassin" a compliment: the honours were his to that present.
His own was, "Unless I fear Justice I need not fear Borso. Dante saw the death of his lady to be just. Courage then!" "Mistress Castaneve," said Duke Borso, "you declare yourself innocent?" "Excellency, I do, I do! Ah, Mother of God!" The panic was creeping up Olimpia's legs, to loosen the joints of her knees. The Judge turned half. "Mistress Bellaroba, you also declare yourself innocent?"
Olimpia Castaneve, the muffled brooder in the poop, was cold, cross, and still. Bellaroba snivelled, but she was scornful under her cloak, and no word passed between the pair until they were in the great blunt-nosed barge, heading against a crisping tide for Chioggia.
"For," said he, and confirmed it with an oath, "if I don't see him this very night it will be a pity:" words which were afterwards thought to have been prophetic by the curious in such matters. So Bellaroba entrusted him with her scrawl to "My love Angilotto," and the Captain chewed and swallowed it when she was not looking.
Bellaroba covered her eyes. Teofilo Calcagnini shook the tears from his. Borso sat on immovably, working his jaws. It is at this point that the conduct of Angioletto touches the sublime a position never accorded by posterity to his verse.
Panic, chalk-white, staring panic-fear, swallowed her up: the next few hours flew by as minutes, while she was cowering and gibbering in a corner. Before the inevitable you either resign or rave yourself mad there is no middle course. Bellaroba took the first.
"If you do not drop that lady's hand, my lad " growled the Mosca. "What then, sir?" "Then," the Captain roared, "by the ante-chambers of Paradise, she shall cling to carrion!" Bellaroba with a little cry fell to her knees; Olimpia bit her finger; Angioletto shrugged. "You have better lungs than manners, Captain," he said quietly. "These ladies of ours are fatigued with travel and tired of fasting.
Quick as thought Olimpia was at him, reached across and drove her knife through his hand into the wood. Mosca howled, but his fear by now was such that he must be free to run as before, though he maimed himself. He tore his hand away and left Olimpia holding a fixed blade. She wrenched it out and made a pounce. The miserable Mosca turned to Bellaroba.
We are going to marry each other at this moment, Madonna, and thou shalt be the priest. There can be none better, since thou hadst in thy womb for many months the great Priest of all Christians, our sublime Redeemer. Now, behold, Madonna, how I wed this my wife, Bellaroba.
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