Imaginary Conversations and Poems: A Selection
approbation on the youths, whose hands and arms could indeed do much,
and did it, but whose active eyes could rarely move upward the
modester of their partners.
While the elder of the clergy were thus gathering the fruits of their
liberal cares and paternal exhortations, some of the younger looked on
with a tenderer sentiment, not unmingled with regret. Suddenly the
bells ceased; the figure of the dance was broken; all hastened into
the church; and many hands that joined on the green, met together at
the font, and touched the brow reciprocally with its lustral waters,
in soul-devotion.
After the service, and after a sermon a good church-hour in length to
gratify him, enriched with compliments from all authors, Christian and
Pagan, informing him at the conclusion that, although he had been
crowned in the Capitol, he must die, being born mortal, Ser Francesco
rode homeward. The sermon seemed to have sunk deeply into him, and
even into the horse under him, for both of them nodded, both snorted,
and one stumbled. Simplizio was twice fain to cry:
'Ser Canonico! Riverenza! in this country if we sleep before dinner it
does us harm. There are stones in the road, Ser Canonico, loose as
eggs in a nest, and pretty nigh as thick together, huge as mountains.'
'Good lad!' said Ser Francesco, rubbing his eyes, 'toss the biggest of
them out of the way, and never mind the rest.'
The horse, although he walked, shuffled almost into an amble as he
approached the stable, and his master looked up at it with nearly the
same contentment. Assunta had been ordered to wait for his return, and
cried:
'O Ser Francesco! you are looking at our long apricot, that runs the
whole length of the stable and barn, covered with blossoms as the old
white hen is with feathers. You must come in the summer, and eat this
fine fruit with Signor Padrone. You cannot think how ruddy and golden
and sweet and mellow it is. There are peaches in all the fields, and
plums, and pears, and apples, but there is not another apricot for
miles and miles. Ser Giovanni brought the stone from Naples before I
was born: a lady gave it to him when she had eaten only half the fruit
off it: but perhaps you may have seen her, for you have ridden as far
as Rome, or beyond. Padrone looks often at the fruit, and eats it
willingly; and I have seen him turn over the stones in his plate, and
choose one out from the rest, and put it into his pocket, but never
plant it.'
'Where is the youth?' inquired Ser Francesco.
'Gone away,' answered the maiden.
'I wanted to thank him,' said the Canonico.
'May I tell him so?' asked she.
'And give him ...' continued he, holding a piece of silver.
'I will give him something of my own, if he goes on and behaves well,'
said she; 'but Signor Padrone would drive him away for ever, I am
sure, if he were tempted in an evil hour to accept a quattrino for any
service he could render the friends of the house.'
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 Assunta, 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 impassioned tone of voice. Seeing Ser
Francesco, he laid the book down beside him, and welcomed him.
'I hope you have an appetite 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 assuage my thirst
if the fever had continued. This being over, by God's mercy, I will
try (please God!) 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 quantity
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 title. 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 appetite of Ser Francesco was contagious. Never was dinner more
enjoyed by two companions, and never so much by a greater number. One
glass 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 Assuntina'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 slut!
_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.'
Here, it is easy to perceive, is some slight ambiguity. Evidently she
meant to say, by the seduction of 'bad' company, and to express that
his Reverence had asserted his power of absolution; which is
undeniable.
_Boccaccio._ I have my version.
_Petrarca._ What may yours be?
_Boccaccio._ Frate Biagio; broad as daylight; the whole frock round!
I would wager a flask of oil against a turnip, that he laid another
trap for a penance. Let us see how he went on. I warrant, as he
warmed, he left off limping in his paces, and bore hard upon the
bridle.
_Petrarca._ 'Much do I fear,' continued the expositor, 'he never spoke
to thee, child, about another world.'
There was a silence of some continuance.
'Speak!' said the confessor.
'No indeed he never did, poor Padrone!' was the slow and evidently
reluctant avowal of the maiden; for, in the midst of the
acknowledgment her sighs came through the crevices of the door: then,
without any farther interrogation, and with little delay, she added:
'But he often makes this look like it.'