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Updated: June 26, 2025
It proves him, nevertheless, the greater artist to this extent, that he was equally the slave of the Idea, though working in more intractable stuff: himself, namely; his own little heart throbbing in his own young body. Therefore he deserves well of posterity, which finds his verses thin. Said Angioletto: "Yes, Bellaroba is my adorable wife, loved beyond all women, deserving beyond all price.
"Did she come here as Signora Qualcosa?" "She came here as Bellaroba, Magnificence. No one knows of our marriage but your Grace and the Holy Virgin." "Then you are not married, but should be. That is your meaning eh?" "Ah, by Heaven, Magnificence," cried Angioletto, "we are the most married couple in the world!" "H'm," was all Borso had to say to that. "And who made her of Madama's Court?"
"But I don't quite see. If she was kind I wonder why you judged it better to go, or why she did." "It did not rest wholly with us," said Angioletto. Bellaroba did not pursue the subject. But after a short pause "And are you now from her house?" she asked. Angioletto shook his head. "That was a very long time ago," said he; "two years at least. I am eighteen, you must know.
At the stroke of three, with a scarcely perceptible rustling, Angioletto slid down the chimney and stepped into the room. He carefully brushed himself with a brush which hung by the hearth. The chimney was by now thoroughly clean, however. He next washed his face and hands, undressed, and crept softly to the bed.
Yet not repletion made him sigh, for he sighed consumedly before he began and rather less when he had finished, as though the kindlier juices of our nature had got to work to disperse the melancholic. Angioletto rallied him upon his gloom, but to no purpose. The meal was a silent one; almost the only conversation was that of the minstrel's foot with Bellaroba's under the table.
Then Angioletto lifted up his face from her cheek, and put her gently away from him. "Let justice be done, Excellency," he called out in his shrill boy's voice, "we have said our say to each other." Borso spoke. "Justice shall be done. The innocent has condemned the guilty: let that woman be hanged. We have learned the value of clean hands this day.
"I have never tried yet, by our Lord," the Captain admitted, "but no one has dared to doubt my valour, and, planet or no planet, I'll run you through." Angioletto smiled at another walnut. "I find the conceit admirable," said he, "yet you will perish so sure as this city is Rovigo and a titular fief of my mistress's master." "A straw for your mistress, little egg," cried the suffocating Captain.
His face just now was a sight to be seen crumpled, infinitely prim, crow-footed like an ivied wall; but extraordinarily wise; with that tempered resolve which says, "I know Evil and I know Good, and dare be just to either." He was thinking profoundly; every one could see it. Best of the company before him Angioletto, the little Tuscan, read his thought.
"The Blessed Virgin," he promptly replied, and she sighed a happy acquiescence in so pious a retort. "But what else?" For answer Angioletto drew a silk-bound letter from his breast. "This epistle," he said, "promises me employment and fame almost as certainly as you promise me bliss.
"And what is that, my good friend?" "It is the care for the person and honour of my wife, my lord Duke," answered Angioletto. This set Borso rubbing his nose. He thought before he spoke again. "As for your wife's person, my man," said he, "it will be as safe in my dominions as all persons, whatever their ages or conditions. Her honour is another affair.
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