this Angelo the ladies took a great
fancy because he was charming as a dream, and as melancholy as a dove
left solitary in its nest by the death of its mate. And this was the
reason thereof: this sculptor knew the curse of poverty, which mars
and troubles all the actions of life; he lived miserably, eating
little, ashamed of his pennilessness, and made use of his talents only
through great despair, wishing by any means to win that idle life
which is the best all for those whose minds are occupied. The
Florentine, out of bravado, came to the court gallantly attired, and
from the timidity of youth and misfortune dared not ask his money from
the king, who, seeing him thus dressed, believed him well with
everything. The courtiers and the ladies used all to admire his
beautiful works, and also their author; but of money he got none. All,
and the ladies above all, finding him rich by nature, esteemed him
well off with his youth, his long black hair, and bright eyes, and did
not give a thought to lucre, while thinking of these things and the
rest. Indeed they were quite right, since these advantages gave to
many a rascal of the court, lands, money and all. In spite of his
youthful appearance, Master Angelo was twenty years of age, and no
fool, had a large heart, a head full of poetry; and more than that,
was a man of lofty imaginings. But although he had little confidence
in himself, like all poor and unfortunate people, he was astonished at
the success of the ignorant. He fancied that he was ill-fashioned,
either in body or mind, and kept his thoughts to himself. I am wrong,
for he told them in the clear starlight nights to the shadows, to God,
to the devil, and everything about him. At such times he would lament
his fate in having a heart so warm, that doubtless the ladies avoided
him as they would a red-hot iron; then he would say to himself how he
would worship a beautiful mistress, how all his life long he would
honour her, and with what fidelity he would attach himself to her,
with what affection serve her, how studiously obey her commands, with
what sports he would dispel the light clouds of her melancholy sadness
on the days when the skies should be overcast. Fashioning himself one
out of his imagination, he would throw himself at her feet, kiss,
fondle, caress, bite, and clasp her with as much reality as a prisoner
scampers over the grass when he sees the green fields through the bars
of his cell. Thus he would appeal