Renaissance in Italy Volume IV Part 42

"Faith's as man gets it, this, that, or another!

See then what sort of creed I'm bound to follow: For you must know a Greek nun was my mother, My sire at Brusa, mid the Turks, a mollah; I played the rebeck first, and made a pother About the Trojan war, flattered Apollo, Praised up Achilles, Hector, Helen fair, Not once, but twenty thousand times, I swear.

"Next, growing weary of my light guitar, I donned a military bow and quiver; One day within the mosque I went to war, And shot my grave old daddy through the liver: Then to my loins I girt this scimitar, And journeyed forth o'er sea, land, town, and river Taking for comrades in each holy work The congregated sins of Greek and Turk.

"That's much the same as all the sins of h.e.l.l!

I've seventy-seven at least about me, mortal; Summer and winter in my breast they swell: Guess now how many venial crowd the portal!

'Twere quite impossible, I know full well, If the world never ended, to report all The crimes I've done in this one life alone; Each item too is catalogued and known.

"I pray you listen for one little minute; The skein shall be unraveled in a trice:-- When I've got cash, I'm gay as any linnet, Cast with who calls, cut cards, and fling the dice; All times, all places, or the devil's in it, Serve me for play; I've spent on this one vice Fame, fortune--staked my coat, my shirt, my breeches; I hope this specimen will meet your wishes.

"Don't ask what juggler's tricks I teach the boxes!

Or whether sixes serve me when I call, Or jumps an ace up!--Foxes pair with foxes; The same pitch tars our fingers, one and all!-- Perhaps I don't know how to fleece the doxies?

Perhaps I can't cheat, cozen, swindle, bawl?

Perhaps I never learned to patter slang?-- I know each trick, each turn, and lead the gang.

"Gluttony after gambling's my prime pleasure.

Here it behooves one to be learned and wise, To gauge the merits and the virtues measure Of pheasant, partridge, fowl; with practiced eyes Noting each part, of every dish at leisure, Seeking where tender slice or morsel lies; And since I've touched upon this point, I'll tell ye How best to grease your jaws and stuff your belly.

"If I could only show you how I baste, If you could see me turn the spit and ladle, You'd swear I had a most consummate taste!

Of what ingredients are black-puddings made all?

Not to be burned, and not to run to waste, Not over-hot nor frozen in the cradle, Done to a turn, juicy, not bathed in b.u.t.ter, Smooth, plump and swelling!--Don't you hear 'em sputter?

"About fried liver now receive my say: It wants five pieces--count them on your fingers; It must be round--keep this in mind, I pray!-- Fire on this side or that the frying injures!

Be careful not to brush the fat away, Which keeps the stew soft while it drops and lingers; You must divide it in two parts, and see That each part is apportioned equally.

"It should not be too large; but there's a saw-- Stint not your bag-pudding of hose and jacket: Now mark me, for I'm laying down the law-- Don't overcook the morsel in the packet; It ought to melt, midway twixt done and raw, Like a ripe autumn fig, when you attack it: Serve it up hissing, and then sound the tabors With spice and orange peel, to end your labors!

"I've got a hundred hints to give the wary!

But take it on my word, ragouts and pies Are the true test of science culinary: A lamprey now--you'd scarce believe your eyes To see its stews and salmis, how they vary!

Yet all are known and numbered by the wise.-- True gourmandize hath seventy-two divisions, Besides a few that are my own additions:

"If one be missed, the cooking's spoiled, that's granted: Not heaven itself can save a ruined platter!-- From now till noon I'd hold your sense enchanted With secrets of my art, if I dared chatter!-- I kept an inn at Corinth once, and wanted To argue publicly upon the matter.-- But we must leave this point, for 'twill divert you To hear about another cardinal virtue.

"Only to F these confidences carry; Just think what 'twill be when we come to R!

I plow (no nonsense) with a.s.s, ca.s.siowary, Ox, camel--any other beast bizarre.

A thousand bonfires, prisons, by Lord Harry, My tricks have earned, and something uglier far: Where my head will not pa.s.s, I stick my tail in, And what I like's to hear the good folk railing.

"Take me to b.a.l.l.s, to banquets, for an airing; I'll do my duty there with hands and feet: I'm rude, importunate, a bore, and daring; On friends no less than foes I'll take a seat: To shame I've said farewell; nor am I sparing Of fawning like a cur when kicks I meet, But tell my tale and swagger up and down, And with a thousand fibs each exploit crown.

"No need to ask if I've kept geese at gra.s.s, Purveyed stewed prunes, taught kittens how to play.

Suppose a thousand--widow, wife, and la.s.s: That's just about my figure, I dare say.

When mid the women by mishap I pa.s.s, Six out of every five become my prey; I make the pretty dears so deuced cunning, They beat nurse, maid, duenna out of running.

"Three of my moral qualities are these-- Gluttony, dicing, as I said, and drinking: But, since we'll drain the barrel to the lees, Hear now the fourth and foremost to my thinking.

No need of hooks or ladders, crows or keys, I promise, where my hands are! Without blinking I've worn the cross and miter on my forehead-- No pope's nor priest's, but something much more horrid!

"Screws, files and jemmies are my stock in trade, Springs, picklocks, of more sorts than I could mention; Rope and wood ladders, levers, slippers made Of noiseless felt--my patented invention-- Drowsing all ears, where'er my feet are laid; I fashioned them to take my mind's intention; Fire too that by itself no light delivers, But when I spit on it, springs up and quivers.

"See me but in a church alone and frisky!

I'm keener on the robbing of an altar Than gaugers when they scent a keg of whiskey; Then to the alms-box off I fly, nor falter: Sacristies are my pa.s.sion; though 'tis risky, With cross and sacring cup I never palter, But pull the crucifixes down and stow 'em-- Virgins and saints and effigies, you know 'em!

"I've swept, may-be, a hen-roost in my day And if you'd seen me loot a lot of washing, You'd swear that never maid or housewife gay Could clear it in a style so smart and dashing!

If naught, Morgante, 's left but blooming May To strip, I steal it--I can't keep from flashing!

I ne'er drew difference twixt thine and mine: All things, to start with, were effects divine.

"But ere I learned to thieve thus on the sly, I ran the highway rig as bold as any; I would have robbed the biggest saint on high-- If there _are_ saints above us--for a penny; But loving peace and fair tranquillity, I left a.s.sa.s.sination to the many: Not that my will was weak--I'd rather say, Because theft mixed with murder does not pay.

"My virtues theological now smile on!

G.o.d knows if I can forge or falsify: I'll turn an H into a Greek Upsilon-- You could not write a neater, prettier Y!

I gut the pages of a book, and pile on New rubrics for new chapters, change the die, Change t.i.tle, cover, index, name--the poet Who wrote the verse I counterfeit, won't know it.

"False oaths and perjuries come trickling down Out of my mouth as smooth and sweet as honey, Ripe figs, or macaroni nicely brown, Or anything that's natural and funny: Suppose they brain some guileless count or clown; All's one; ware heads, I cry, and pouch my money!

I've set on foot full many a strife and wrangle, And left 'em in inextricable tangle.

"With ready coin I always square a scandal: Of oaths I've got a perfect stock in trade; Each saint supplies my speech with some choice handle; I run them off in rows from A to Z: In lying no man holds to me a candle; Truth's always the reverse of what I've said:-- I'd like to see more fire than land or water, In heaven and earth naught but plague, famine, slaughter.

"Don't fancy that in fasting, prayer and prate, Or charities my spare time I employ!

Not to seem stiff, I beg from gate to gate, And always utter something to annoy: Proud, envious, tiresome and importunate-- This character I've cherished from a boy; For the seven deadly sins and all the other Vices have brought me up to be their brother!

"So that I'd roam the world, cross ban and border, Hood-winked, nor ever fear to miss my way; As sweet and clean as any lump of ordure, I leave my trail like slugs where'er I stray, Nor seek to hide that slimy self-recorder: Creeds, customs, friends I slough from day to day; Change skin and climate, as it suits me best, For I was evil even in the nest.

"I've left a whole long chapter undiscussed Of countless peccadilloes in a jumble: Were I to catalogue each crime and l.u.s.t, The medley of my sins might make you grumble: 'Twould take from now till June to lay the dust, If in this mud heap we began to tumble; One only point I'd have you still perpend-- I never in my life betrayed a friend."

MORGANTE XXV. 119.

There is a spirit, Astarotte height, Wise, terrible, and fierce exceedingly; In h.e.l.l's dark caves profound he hides from sight: No goblin, but a fiend far blacker he.-- Malagigi summoned him one deep midnight, And cried: "How fares Rinaldo, tell to me!

Then will I say what more I'd have thee work; But look not on me with face so mirk!

"If thou wilt do this bidding, I declare I'll never call nor conjure thee by force, But burn upon my death yon book, I swear, Which can alone compel thee in due course: So shalt thou live thenceforward free as air."-- Thereat the fiend swaggered, and had recourse To threatening wiles, and would not yield an inch, If haply he could make the master flinch.

But when he saw Malagigi's blood was stirred, In act to flash the ring of his dread art, And hurl him to some tomb by book and word, He threw his cards up with a sudden start, And cried: "Of your will yet I've nothing heard."

Then Malagigi answered: "In what part Are Ricciardetto and Rinaldo now?

Tell all the truth, or you'll repent, I vow!"

MORGANTE XXV. 135.

Said Astarotte: "This point remains obscure, Unless I thought the whole night through thereon; Nor would my best of judgments be secure;-- The paths of heaven for us are all undone, Our sight of things to be is no more sure Than that of sages gazing on the sun; For neither man nor beast would 'scape from h.e.l.l, Had not our wings been shortened when we fell.

"Of the Old Testament I've much to teach, And of what happened in the days gone by; But all things do not come within our reach: One only Power there is, who sees on high, As in a gla.s.s before him, all and each, Past, present, and remote futurity: He who made all that is, alone knows all, Nor doth the Son well know what shall befall.

"Therefore I could not without thought intense Tell thee the destined fate of Charlemain:-- Know that the air around us now is dense With spirits; in their hands I see them strain Astrolabe, almanac, and tablet, whence To read yon signs in heaven of strife and bane-- The blood and treason, overthrow and war, Menaced by Mars in Scorpio angular.

"And for thy better understanding, he Is joined with Saturn in the ascendant, so Charged with all-powerful malignity That e'en the wars of Turnus had less woe.

Slaughters of many peoples we shall see, With dire disasters in confusion flow, And change of states and mighty realms; for I Know that these signs were never wont to lie.

"I know not whether thou hast fixed thy thought Upon those comets which appeared of late, Veru and Dominus and Ascon, brought Treasons and wars and strife to indicate, With deaths of princes and great n.o.bles fraught?

These, too, ne'er falsified the word of fate.