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Updated: August 6, 2024
"Love in Ferrara," said Angioletto, and stroked Bellaroba's hair. So everything was very friendly and full of hope. At a late hour, and for excellent reasons, Olimpia kissed Bellaroba good-night, was herself kissed by Angioletto, and withdrew. Captain Mosca prayed vehemently for further and better acquaintance with his friend "the divine poet," and his pretty mistress.
This reasoning does not attack the sagacity of Count Guarini, for the only circumstance which could give it force was entirely unknown to him. He did not know that the Borgo held Bellaroba's friend, Olimpia, or that it sheltered under the same roof Olimpia, the Captain's enemy. He knew nothing of Bellaroba's friends and cared nothing for the Captain's enemies.
Angioletto put his arm round Bellaroba's waist, and they began to pace the aisle in confidential talk. "Where are you going to live in this place, Bellaroba?" he asked her. "I don't know. Olimpia knows. There was a Monna Nanna we were to live with, I think. But Olimpia will decide. I must do as she wishes." "But why?" "She is older than I am two years. Besides I always have.
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.
So went Bellaroba's marriage supper. "Le donne e i cavalier, gli affanni e gli agi, Che ne invogliava araore e cortesia." The little house discreet affair of eaves modest as drooped eyelids, of latticed windows, of wistaria before and a bower of willows behind was found and furnished out of the girls' store and the Captain's credit.
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