Imaginary Conversations and Poems Part 57

Ser Francesco was delighted with the graceful animation of this ingenuous girl, and asked her, with a little curiosity, how she could afford to make him a present.

'I do not intend to make him a present,' she replied: 'but it is better he should be rewarded by me,' she blushed and hesitated, 'or by Signor Padrone,' she added, 'than by your reverence. He has not done half his duty yet; not half. I will teach him: he is quite a child; four months younger than me.'

Ser Francesco went into the house, saying to himself at the doorway:

'Truth, innocence, and gentle manners have not yet left the earth.

There are sermons that never make the ears weary. I have heard but few of them, and come from church for this.'

Whether Simplizio had obeyed some private signal from a.s.sunta, or whether his own delicacy had prompted him to disappear, he was now again in the stable, and the manger was replenished with hay. A bucket was soon after heard ascending from the well; and then two words: 'Thanks, Simplizio.'

When Petrarca entered the chamber, he found Boccaccio with his breviary in his hand, not looking into it indeed, but repeating a thanksgiving in an audible and impa.s.sioned tone of voice. Seeing Ser Francesco, he laid the book down beside him, and welcomed him.

'I hope you have an appet.i.te after your ride,' said he, 'for you have sent home a good dinner before you.'

Ser Francesco did not comprehend him, and expressed it not in words but in looks.

'I am afraid you will dine sadly late to-day: noon has struck this half-hour, and you must wait another, I doubt. However, by good luck, I had a couple of citrons in the house, intended to a.s.suage my thirst if the fever had continued. This being over, by G.o.d's mercy, I will try (please G.o.d!) whether we two greyhounds cannot be a match for a leveret.'

'How is this?' said Ser Francesco.

'Young Marc-Antonio Grilli, the cleverest lad in the parish at noosing any wild animal, is our patron of the feast. He has wanted for many a day to say something in the ear of Matilda Vercelli. Bringing up the leveret to my bedside, and opening the lips, and cracking the knuckles, and turning the foot round to show the quality and quant.i.ty of the hair upon it, and to prove that it really and truly was a leveret, and might be eaten without offence to my teeth, he informed me that he had left his mother in the yard, ready to dress it for me; she having been cook to the prior. He protested he owed the _crowned martyr_ a forest of leverets, boars, deers, and everything else within them, for having commanded the most backward girls to dance directly.

Whereupon he darted forth at Matilda, saying, "The _crowned martyr_ orders it," seizing both her hands, and swinging her round before she knew what she was about. He soon had an opportunity of applying a word, no doubt as dexterously as hand or foot; and she said submissively, but seriously, and almost sadly, "Marc-Antonio, now all the people have seen it, they will think it."

'And after a pause:

'"I am quite ashamed: and so should you be: are not you now?"

'The others had run into the church. Matilda, who scarcely had noticed it, cried suddenly:

'"O Santissima! we are quite alone."

'"Will you be mine?" cried he, enthusiastically.

'"Oh! they will hear you in the church," replied she.

'"They shall, they shall," cried he again, as loudly.

'"If you will only go away."

'"And then?"

'"Yes, yes, indeed."

'"The Virgin hears you: fifty saints are witnesses."

'"Ah! they know you made me: they will look kindly on us."

'He released her hand: she ran into the church, doubling her veil (I will answer for her) at the door, and kneeling as near it as she could find a place.

'"By St. Peter," said Marc-Antonio, "if there is a leveret in the wood, the _crowned martyr_ shall dine upon it this blessed day." And he bounded off, and set about his occupation. I inquired what induced him to designate you by such a t.i.tle. He answered, that everybody knew you had received the crown of martyrdom at Rome, between the pope and antipope, and had performed many miracles, for which they had canonized you, and that you wanted only to die to become a saint.'

The leveret was now served up, cut into small pieces, and covered with a rich tenacious sauce, composed of sugar, citron, and various spices.

The appet.i.te of Ser Francesco was contagious. Never was dinner more enjoyed by two companions, and never so much by a greater number. One gla.s.s of a fragrant wine, the colour of honey, and unmixed with water, crowned the repast. Ser Francesco then went into his own chamber, and found, on his ample mattress, a cool, refreshing sleep, quite sufficient to remove all the fatigues of the morning; and Ser Giovanni lowered the pillow against which he had seated himself, and fell into his usual repose. Their separation was not of long continuance: and, the religious duties of the Sabbath having been performed, a few reflections on literature were no longer interdicted.

_Petrarca._ The land, O Giovanni, of your early youth, the land of my only love, fascinates us no longer. Italy is our country; and not ours only, but every man's, wherever may have been his wanderings, wherever may have been his birth, who watches with anxiety the recovery of the Arts, and acknowledges the supremacy of Genius. Besides, it is in Italy at last that all our few friends are resident. Yours were left behind you at Paris in your adolescence, if indeed any friendship can exist between a Florentine and a Frenchman: mine at Avignon were Italians, and older for the most part than myself. Here we know that we are beloved by some, and esteemed by many. It indeed gave me pleasure the first morning as I lay in bed, to overhear the fondness and earnestness which a worthy priest was expressing in your behalf.

_Boccaccio._ In mine?

_Petrarca._ Yes indeed: what wonder?

_Boccaccio._ A worthy priest?

_Petrarca._ None else, certainly.

_Boccaccio._ Heard in bed! dreaming, dreaming; ay?

_Petrarca._ No indeed: my eyes and ears were wide open.

_Boccaccio._ The little parlour opens into your room. But what priest could that be? Canonico Casini? He only comes when we have a roast of thrushes, or some such small matter, at table: and this is not the season; they are pairing. Plover eggs might tempt him hitherward. If he heard a plover he would not be easy, and would fain make her drop her oblation before she had settled her nest.

_Petrarca._ It is right and proper that you should be informed who the clergyman was, to whom you are under an obligation.

_Boccaccio._ Tell me something about it, for truly I am at a loss to conjecture.

_Petrarca._ He must unquestionably have been expressing a kind and ardent solicitude for your eternal welfare. The first words I heard on awakening were these:

'Ser Giovanni, although the best of masters ...'

_Boccaccio._ Those were a.s.suntina's.

_Petrarca._ '... may hardly be quite so holy (not being priest or friar) as your Reverence.'

She was interrupted by the question: 'What conversation holdeth he?'

She answered:

'He never talks of loving our neighbour with all our heart, all our soul, and all our strength, although he often gives away the last loaf in the pantry.'

_Boccaccio._ It was she! Why did she say that? the s.l.u.t!

_Petrarca._ 'He doth well,' replied the confessor. 'Of the Church, of the brotherhood, that is, of me, what discourses holdeth he?'

I thought the question an indiscreet one; but confessors vary in their advances to the seat of truth.

She proceeded to answer:

'He never said anything about the power of the Church to absolve us, if we should happen to go astray a little in good company, like your Reverence.'