Imaginary Conversations and Poems: A Selection

_Boccaccio._ And now, if he had carried a holy scourge, it would not have been on his shoulders that he would have laid it. _Petrarca._ Zeal carries men often too far afloat; and confessors in general wish to have the sole steerage of the conscience. When she told him that your benignity made this world another heaven, he warmly and sharply answered: 'It is only we who ought to do that.' 'Hush,' said the maiden; and I verily believe she at that moment set her back against the door, to prevent the sounds from coming through the crevices, for the rest of them seemed to be just over my night-cap. 'Hush,' said she, in the whole length of that softest of all articulations. 'There is Ser Francesco in the next room: he sleeps long into the morning, but he is so clever a clerk, he may understand you just the same. I doubt whether he thinks Ser Giovanni in the wrong for making so many people quite happy; and if he should, it would grieve me very much to think he blamed Ser Giovanni.' 'Who is Ser Francesco?' he asked, in a low voice. 'Ser Canonico,' she answered. 'Of what Duomo?' continued he. 'Who knows?' was the reply; 'but he is Padrone's heart's friend, for certain.' 'Cospetto di Bacco! It can then be no other than Petrarca. He makes rhymes and love like the devil. Don't listen to him, or you are undone. Does he love you too, as well as Padrone?' he asked, still lowering his voice. 'I cannot tell that matter,' she answered, somewhat impatiently; 'but I love him.' 'To my face!' cried he, smartly. 'To the Santissima!' replied she, instantaneously; 'for have not I told your Reverence he is Padrone's true heart's friend! And are not you my confessor, when you come on purpose?' 'True, true!' answered he; 'but there are occasions when we are shocked by the confession, and wish it made less daringly.' 'I was bold; but who can help loving him who loves my good Padrone?' said she, much more submissively. _Boccaccio._ Brave girl, for that! Dog of a Frate! They are all of a kidney; all of a kennel. I would dilute their meal well and keep them low. They should not waddle and wallop in every hollow lane, nor loll out their watery tongues at every wash-pool in the parish. We shall hear, I trust, no more about Fra Biagio in the house while you are with us. Ah! were it then for life. _Petrarca._ The man's prudence may be reasonably doubted, but it were uncharitable to question his sincerity. Could a neighbour, a religious one in particular, be indifferent to the welfare of Boccaccio, or any belonging to him? _Boccaccio._ I do not complain of his indifference. Indifferent! no, not he. He might as well be, though. My villetta here is my castle: it was my father's; it was his father's. Cowls did not hang to dry upon the same cord with caps in their podere; they shall not in mine. The girl is an honest girl, Francesco, though I say it. Neither she nor any other shall be befooled and bamboozled under my roof. Methinks Holy Church might contrive some improvement upon confession. _Petrarca._ Hush! Giovanni! But, it being a matter of discipline, who knows but she might. _Boccaccio._ Discipline! ay, ay, ay! faith and troth there are some who want it. _Petrarca._ You really terrify me. These are sad surmises. _Boccaccio._ Sad enough: but I am keeper of my handmaiden's probity. _Petrarca._ It could not be kept safer. _Boccaccio._ I wonder what the Frate would be putting into her head? _Petrarca._ Nothing, nothing: be assured. _Boccaccio._ Why did he ask her all those questions? _Petrarca._ Confessors do occasionally take circuitous ways to arrive at the secrets of the human heart. _Boccaccio._ And sometimes they drive at it, me thinks, a whit too directly. He had no business to make remarks about me. _Petrarca._ Anxiety. _Boccaccio._ 'Fore God, Francesco, he shall have more of that; for I will shut him out the moment I am again up and stirring, though he stand but a nose's length off. I have no fear about the girl; no suspicion of her. He might whistle to the moon on a frosty night, and expect as reasonably her descending. Never was a man so entirely at his ease as I am about that; never, never. She is adamant; a bright sword now first unscabbarded; no breath can hang about it. A seal of beryl, of chrysolite, of ruby; to make impressions (all in good time and proper place though) and receive none: incapable, just as they are, of splitting, or cracking, or flawing, or harbouring dirt. Let him mind that. Such, I assure you, is that poor little wench, Assuntina. _Petrarca._ I am convinced that so well-behaved a young creature as Assunta---- _Boccaccio._ Right! Assunta is her name by baptism; we usually call her Assuntina, because she is slender, and scarcely yet full-grown, perhaps: but who can tell? As for those friars, I never was a friend to impudence: I hate loose suggestions. In girls' minds you will find little dust but what is carried there by gusts from without. They seldom want sweeping; when they do, the broom should be taken from behind the house door, and the master should be the sacristan. ... Scarcely were these words uttered when Assunta was heard running up the stairs; and the next moment she rapped. Being ordered to come in, she entered with a willow twig in her hand, from the middle of which willow twig (for she held the two ends together) hung a fish, shining with green and gold. 'What hast there, young maiden?' said Ser Francesco. 'A fish, Riverenza!' answered she. 'In Tuscany we call it _tinca_.' _Petrarca._ I too am a little of a Tuscan. _Assunta._ Indeed! well, you really speak very like one, but only more sweetly and slowly. I wonder how you can keep up with Signor Padrone--he talks fast when he is in health; and you have made him so. Why did not you come before? Your Reverence has surely been at Certaldo in time past. _Petrarca._ Yes, before thou wert born. _Assunta._ Ah, sir! it must have been long ago then. _Petrarca._ Thou hast just entered upon life. _Assunta._ I am no child. _Petrarca._ What then art thou? _Assunta._ I know not: I have lost both father and mother; there is a name for such as I am. _Petrarca._ And a place in heaven. _Boccaccio._ Who brought us that fish, Assunta? hast paid for it? there must be seven pounds: I never saw the like. _Assunta._ I could hardly lift up my apron to my eyes with it in my hand. Luca, who brought it all the way from the Padule, could scarcely be entreated to eat a morsel of bread or sit down. _Boccaccio._ Give him a flask or two of our wine; he will like it better than the sour puddle of the plain. _Assunta._ He is gone back. _Boccaccio._ Gone! who is he, pray? _Assunta._ Luca, to be sure. _Boccaccio._ What Luca? _Assunta._ Dominedio! O Riverenza! how sadly must Ser Giovanni, my poor Padrone, have lost his memory in this cruel long illness! he cannot recollect young Luca of the Bientola, who married Maria. _Boccaccio._ I never heard of either, to the best of my knowledge. _Assunta._ Be pleased to mention this in your prayers to-night, Ser Canonico! May Our Lady soon give him back his memory! and everything else she has been pleased (only in play, I hope) to take away from him! Ser Francesco, you must have heard all over the world how Maria Gargarelli, who lived in the service of our paroco, somehow was outwitted by Satanasso. Monsignore thought the paroco had not done all he might have done against his wiles and craftiness, and sent his Reverence over to the monastery in the mountains, Laverna yonder, to make him look sharp; and there he is yet. And now does Signor Padrone recollect? _Boccaccio._ Rather more distinctly. _Assunta._ Ah me! Rather more distinctly! have patience, Signor Padrone! I am too venturous, God help me! But, Riverenza, when Maria was the scorn or the abhorrence of everybody else, excepting poor Luca Sabbatini, who had always cherished her, and excepting Signor Padrone, who had never seen her in his lifetime ... for paroco Snello said he desired no visits from any who took liberties with Holy Church ... as if Padrone did! Luca one day came to me out of breath, with money in his hand for our duck. Now it so happened that the duck, stuffed with noble chestnuts, was going to table at that instant. I told Signor Padrone.... _Boccaccio._ Assunta, I never heard thee repeat so long and tiresome a story before, nor put thyself out of breath so. Come, we have had enough of it. _Petrarca._ She is mortified: pray let her proceed. _Boccaccio._ As you will. _Assunta._ I told Signor Padrone how Luca was lamenting that Maria was seized with an _imagination_. _Petrarca._ No wonder then she fell into misfortune, and her neighbours and friends avoided her. _Assunta._ Riverenza! how can you smile? Signor Padrone! and you too? You shook your head and sighed at it when it happened. The Demonio, who had caused all the first mischief, was not contented until he had given her the _imagination_. _Petrarca._ He could not have finished his work more effectually. _Assunta._ He was balked, however. Luca said: 'She shall not die under her wrongs, please God!' I repeated the words to Signor Padrone.... He seems to listen, Riverenza! and will remember presently ... and Signor Padrone cut away one leg for himself, clean forgetting all the chestnuts inside, and said sharply, 'Give the bird to Luca; and, hark ye, bring back the minestra.' Maria loved Luca with all her heart, and Luca loved Maria with all his: but they both hated paroco Snello for such neglect about the evil one. And even Monsignore, who sent for Luca on purpose, had some difficulty in persuading him to forbear from choler and discourse. For Luca, who never swears, swore bitterly that the devil should play no such tricks again, nor alight on girls napping in the parsonage. Monsignore thought he intended to take violent possession, and to keep watch there himself without consent of the incumbent. 'I will have no scandal,' said Monsignore; so there was none. Maria, though she did indeed, as I told your Reverence, love her Luca dearly, yet she long refused to marry him, and cried very much at last on the wedding day, and said, as she entered the porch: 'Luca! it is not yet too late to leave me.' He would have kissed her, but her face was upon his shoulder. Pievano Locatelli married them, and gave them his blessing: and going down from the altar, he said before the people, as he stood on the last step: 'Be comforted, child! be comforted! God above knows that thy husband is honest, and that thou art innocent.' Pievano's voice trembled, for he was an aged and holy man, and had walked two miles on the occasion. Pulcheria, his governante, eighty years old, carried an apronful of lilies to bestrew the altar; and partly from the lilies, and partly from the blessed angels who (although invisible) were present, the church was filled with fragrance. Many who heretofore had been frightened at hearing the mention of Maria's name, ventured now to walk up toward her; and some gave her needles, and some offered skeins of thread, and some ran home again for pots of honey. _Boccaccio._ And why didst not thou take her some trifle? _Assunta._ I had none. _Boccaccio._ Surely there are always such about the premises. _Assunta._ Not mine to give away. _Boccaccio._ So then at thy hands, Assunta, she went off not overladen. Ne'er a bone-bodkin out of thy bravery, ay? _Assunta._ I ran out knitting, with the woodbine and syringa in the basket for the parlour. I made the basket ... I and ... but myself chiefly, for boys are loiterers. _Boccaccio._ Well, well: why not bestow the basket, together with its rich contents?