# Little Novels of Italy/The Judgment of Borso/Chapter 9

IX
SECOND MIDNIGHT CONVERSATION
In that same night of mine and countermine Duke Borso, who had broken up the circle early by reason of his toothache, went wandering the long corridors of the Schifanoia under the sting of his scourge. He found his spacious pleasure-house valueless against that particular annoy, but (as always) he was the more whimsical for his affliction. Nothing works your genuine man of humour so nearly as himself. The sight of his own image, puffed and blinking in nightcap, bed-gown, and slippers, when he came upon it in a long mirror, set him chuckling. He paused before the absurd epitome to apostrophise, wagged a finger at it, and got wag for wag. "We might be two drolls in a pantomime!" said he to his double. "Your arm, gossip:" he crooked an elbow. "It seems," he continued, "that we are both sufferers, my poor fellow! Magnificence goes drooping; a swollen estate does not forbid a jowl of the same proportions; and give me leave to tell you, brother, that we have each of us been better dressed in our day. Fie, what a pair of quills below your gown; and what a sorry diadem to stand for two duchies and a marquisate of uncertain age! Duke and my brother, if we ​were to be spied upon by any of our Court just now, what sort of a reverence should we get, think you? Eh, you rogue, as much as we deserve! I will tell you, good Borso, my own poor opinion of these things. A Duke who cannot be dukely in his shirt, a Pope who is but an afflicted biped between the blankets, is no Duke at all, is a Pope by toleration. There should be some such test at every crowning of our sort. Souse a Bishop in his bath before you let him warm his chair; cry 'Fire!' on the stairs of the Vatican and watch your Pontiff-elect scudding over the Piazza in his sark, before the Conclave sing Veni Creator. Judge of your Emperor with a swollen nose, blacken your Dukes in the eye: if they remain Dukes and Emperors you may safely obey them. They are men, Borso, they are men! Yes, you spindle-shanked rascal, you may well wince. Do you ponder how you would stand assay? So do I ponder it, brother, and doubt horribly." He clapped his hand to his face. "Steady now, steady, here comes another bout. Ah, Madonna of the Este—but this is a shrewd twinge! Fare you well, brother Fat-chops. I must walk this devil out of me." He waved a hand to his brother of the looking-glass and slippered away, groaning and sniggering to himself. So he walked and was philosophical till two of the morning. At that hour he was ready to drop with fatigue; but his pains had left him. "I will sleep, by the grace of Heaven," he said. He plumped down in the embrasure of a door, prepared to follow his humour: the door yielded and he with it. "Who am I to outrage a lady's ​chamber?" he muttered, half asleep. "To be sure she seems to invite me. Let us look at this complaisant sleeper." He went into the room. A glimmering lamp burned before a shrine, enough to show him to a decent four-post bed, empty. "By the great god Pan!" cried Borso, "my luck holds. Courage! I am not a Duke for nothing, then." He shut and bolted the door, slipped into the bed and was asleep in three minutes. It was twenty minutes after two.
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. Very quietly he inserted himself between the sheets, very softly kissed the shoulder of the sleeper; very soon he was as sound as his bedfellow.
The Duke awoke, as his habit was, with the first light, and saw the curly head on the pillow beside him. He whistled softly to himself.
"Now, by the tears of the Virgin," said he, "how did this lady come in? It would be as well to know it, since plainly I must go out." He sat up in bed, clasped his knees, and frowned a little. "It is clean against the traditions of my house," he ruminated, "but I think I will go. And the sooner the better."
Suiting action to word, he had one foot on the floor when Angioletto, with a long sigh, opened his eyes, turned over, and saw him.
"The devil!" said Duke Borso.
​"Madonna," was his second venture, when he had recognised the impropriety of his first, "Madonna, I am this moment about to retire—"
Angioletto, whose eyes had attained their fullest stretch of wonder, opened his mouth—but not to speak. He gaped at the lord of the land.
"Madonna—" Borso began once more. Then the other found his voice—
"Alas, my lord Duke, it is Madonna I thought to find. Where is my wife?"
That was Borso's cue to stare.
"Your wife?" he cried, "your wife! Heaven above us, man, why the devil should your wife be in my bed?"
Angioletto, with the deepest respect always, suffered a smile to play askew about his lips.
"Alas, Magnificence," he said, "if I dared I would ask him, why the devil he should be in my wife's bed?"
It was the youth's way to preface his audacities by the assurance that he dared not utter them. But the retort pleased Borso. His eyes began to twinkle.
"Look ye, young gentleman," said he, suppressing his wish to chuckle, "if this is your wife's bed, I am sorry for you, for I give you my word she has not been in it to-night. But I confess I should like to know why your wife has a bed in my house."
Angioletto nodded gravely.
"I should be the last person to deny your Grace's right to all information. Bellaroba is my dear wife's name, her country is Venice, her duties are to be about Madama Lionella's person. ​My own duties are to be about hers, so far as I may."
"Fair and softly, my friend," said the Duke, "not so fast, if you please. Do you know that Maids of Honour may not marry without permission, and, in any case, may not be visited by their husbands during their service?"
"Magnificence, she was not married without permission. Or rather, she was married before permission was needed."
"Eh, how may that be now?" said Borso, tucking in his chin. "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?"
"It was your Grace."
"Oh, of course, of course, man! But why the deuce did I do it?"
"It was at the request of Count Guarino Guarini, Magnificence?"
"Eh, eh! now I recollect. Ah, to be sure! That must be a very agreeable reflection for you at this moment, my friend," he said, with a sly look.
Angioletto took the equivoque with dignity, "I have perfect confidence in my wife, my lord Duke."
​Borso shrugged. "Well, it is your affair—not mine," he said. Then he changed his tone. "I think, however, we will come back to what is my affair as well as yours. Be so good as to tell me how you came here."
"I came down the chimney," said Angioletto calmly. "I am by calling a chimney-sweep."
"Upon my word," Borso said, "this is a fine story I am piecing together! How long have you been of that trade, pray?"
Angioletto received this shot with firmness, even dignity. "I was formerly a poet attached to the Court, Magnificence. But when Madama turned me away it became necessary that I should see my young wife; so I became a chimney-sweep for the purpose."
The Duke's mouth twitched too much for his own dignity. He pulled the bedclothes up to his nose, therefore, before he asked—
"Why did Madama turn you away, sir?"
Angioletto, for the first time, was confused. He hung his head.
"I hope your Grace will not insist upon an answer," he replied in a troubled voice.
Borso looked keenly at him for a time. "No, I think I will not," said he. "Are you the lad who sang me the Caccia col falcone?"
"The same, my lord Duke."
"I thought so. Now, sir, to come back to this performance of yours, which I suppose is not the first by any means—eh?"
"It appears to be the last, my lord," said Angioletto ruefully.
"I think it is the last," replied the Duke; "for ​I hope you understand that I can have you clapped into gaol for it."
"Pardon, Magnificence—he can do more. He can have me hanged for it."
"I don't agree with you," said Borso. "If my name were Ferdinand of Arragon, or Sforza, or della Rovere, yes; but being Borso d'Este, no."
"Your Grace puts me to shame," said Angioletto, with feeling. "I am to take it then—"
"You shall take it as you please, my friend," Borso rejoined, with his chin once more upon his clasped knees. "For my part I propose to take you and keep you under lock and key for a season—as at present advised."
Angioletto bowed, as well as one may who is sitting up in a very soft bed. His voice was quite meek.
"I shall in all duty obey your Grace's directions, and will leave behind me but one small request, which I am persuaded Borso d'Este will not refuse his prisoner."
"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. That is neither for me nor my laws, but for herself. And perhaps you will let me add that if to-night is a sample of her course of living, you are putting upon me a rather onerous charge."
​"My Lord, my Lord," cried Angioletto here, "I will answer for my wife's honour with my last drop of blood. It is her person I cannot answer for if I am in prison."
"I have told you that I will answer for her person, master poet. I would much rather leave her honour to you and your drops of blood. So you may go to the Castle with a clear mind. To the Castle, moreover, you shall undoubtedly go, if it is only to teach you that the possession of a wife is no passport to other men's chimneys. First, however, I will ask you to do me a small service, which is to go to my bedchamber and send me my gentlemen, my dresser, and my clothes. I am, you perceive, entirely at your mercy. You will follow these persons back to me here, and will then give yourself up as I shall direct."
Angioletto, out of bed by this time, knelt to the Duke's hand.
"I am your Grace's servant," said he. He hastily dressed himself and went about the business he was bidden on.
"Madam the Virgin," said Borso, with a half-laugh, "that is a fine young man! If he had not made so free with my chimneys I would advance him. Advanced he shall be!" he cried out after a while. "Zounds! has not Guarino made free with his wife? Eh, but I fear it." He shook his nightcap at the thought. "A couple of days' reflection in a half light will do the lad no harm. He'll dream of his wife, or compose me some songs. Bellaroba, he called her. I remember the jade—a demure, ​rosy-cheeked little cat, for ever twiddling her fingers or her apron-ends. Those sleek ones are the worst. Poor boy! I'll advance him. He shall be librarian, go secretary to Rome or Florence. I'll have him about my own person. By the Sons of Heaven, but he's as good as gold! Ah, I hear him."
The Duke's gentlemen bowed themselves into the room, followed by the dresser.
"Good morning, my friends," said Borso. "But where is my messenger?"
"Magnificence, he is at the door," said the usher.
"Bring him in, Foppa, bring him in," cried the Duke; "we know each other by now."
Angioletto was introduced.
"Master Angioletto," the twinkling old tyrant said, "get you downstairs to the Captain of the Archers. Say to him as follows: 'Captain, my lord the Duke begs you to conduct me surely to the Castle, and keep me prisoner there during his Grace's pleasure.' Will you oblige me so far?"
"I shall obey you exactly, my lord Duke," said Angioletto, making a reverence.
He went at once and gave himself up. In some quarter of an hour's time he was lodged in the Castle, in a cell upon the level of the moat. Next door to him on either side (though he knew nothing of it) were two women who had been brought in with a page-boy over night upon a charge of murder. Their case, indeed, was one of the first matters which engaged the attention of Duke Borso after mass.