others do what they may; heaven forbid, that since I could not guard
against the first transgression, I should gloss it over by a second; I
never will be the wretch to deceive one that shall think me honourable.
The sin shall fall on the sinner, and that fruit shall be his that sowed
it. Too long have I followed thy silly counsels, therefore, without any
farther consultations, if thou wishest not to offend me, go and bring
Navarro to me, for since I have so degraded myself as to become
his, though late, I will be noble enough never, by deceit, to become
another’s, and am fully determined to submit to that fate which thy ill
advice, and thy want of discretion and prudence, have led me to.” The
waiting-maid perceiving the countess’s resolution was fixed, though she
endeavoured to soothe and persuade her, brought Navarro, who, perhaps,
having seen the countess much altered, had well guessed the cause. The
countess, almost overcome with grief, yet, without shedding a tear, with
the greatest firmness, not like a silly girl, said to him, “my friend,
since thy good fortune and my ill one, thy great prudence and my want of
it, has led me, nobly born as I am, rather than deceive God and man, to
become the wife of a pedler, and thou, whoever thou art, to become the
husband of a count’s daughter; I pray thee not to turn thy back on me,
but to prepare thyself to become mine. I am pregnant, and do not mean
to remain here, a burden and nuisance to others, and an eternal cause
of shame and sorrow to myself; I am therefore resolved upon going with
thee, living poorly, and labouring for my bread, rather to injure this
guilty body, than to live in ease and plenty, to the detriment of my
soul; therefore prepare all things so, that by to-morrow night we may
go from hence, and having by me thy gems, many of my own, and a little
money, we will go as well as we can, sheltered from hunger, until I
can see to what better fate the destinies have decreed me.” The count
of Barcelona, whom henceforward we shall no longer call Navarro,
though much pleased, for it was this which he wished above all things,
considered within himself, had he been what she really thought him,
what would have been her fate; to what fortune leads us; how often
it happens, and how easy it is to deceive women, though they think
themselves so wise, and particularly girls. He felt so much pity for her
that he was ready to do that, which she, though a woman, had too much
pride to do, that is actually to weep and, in great agitation, he said
to her, “Madam, I am a poor pedler, as you have clearly seen, and as
such I have made up my mind to live and die a bachelor, therefore I
intreat you not to molest me with such thoughts, nor bring upon yourself
this disgrace.” He would have proceeded, but compassion for her, the
desire of possessing her, and the fear she should repent what she had
proposed, actually choked his utterance. “My friend,” said she, “I will
only say that the most fortunate man in the world has scarcely evermore
than one such a lucky opportunity, as thy good fortune offers thee to
my great disadvantage; beware of her frowning upon thee for thy folly,
should thou, a poor pedler, refuse to marry her who but very lately
refused the count of Barcelona.” These last words so fired the soul of
the count, and so excited him to vengeance, that he no longer refused,
and said that since she wished it, he would be ready to obey, and that
she must prepare herself to lead a life suitable to one who was his
wife, and not as her father’s daughter; walking on foot without any
other companion; inasmuch as not only his profession demanded, but also
because it was necessary to avoid the danger to which the carrying away
the daughter of a count would expose him. It was agreed, without saying
a word to any one except the countess’s maid, that they would sally
forth, each under a pilgrim’s dress, to St. James of Gallicia the next
night. The bustle and wonder at Toulouse and the adjacent parts were
very great when this accident was discovered; but no one being willing
to credit it, it was thought that through devotion she had retired into
some religious house; for since she had perceived her situation, she had
been much more attentive to her religious duties than usual, avoiding,
as far as she could, all company; the which circumstance gave additional
credit to the belief: and the maid, who had remained, had so well
managed her story, intimating her displeasure at being so deceived, that
every one thought that was actually the fact; therefore in consequence
of this belief, the couple being soon out of the territory of Languedoc,
they were not found out, although closely pursued. It would be tedious
to relate the many trials and sufferings of the poor unhappy lady on
their march; she who had for years scarcely moved a step without her
carriage, and being assisted by several cavaliers of her father’s
court, was now, in the parching month of July, obliged to walk on
flinty stones, besides being pretty large, and enduring every possible
suffering on the road which a poor person must bear. The count now
and then would make her rest, but in such a harsh tone, and then so
uncourteously made her resume her journey, that it went to her very
soul; but on the day they left Toulouse she made up her mind patiently
to bear every insult of fortune. Proceeding thus on her journey, they
reached the inn where she hoped to rest from the fatigues of the day;
but whether from the bad accommodations in that country, or that the
count chose to have it so, she could not close her eyes, and it became
rather an encrease of sufferings, than an alleviation either to body or
mind. After several days, being arrived at Barcelona, there he found his
friends, whom he had sent off with speed, the very day he left Toulouse,
to provide the poorest lodging they could find for him and his lady,
but, however, at a good and religious woman’s, though there are but few
of those. Having slept with her the first night, and stayed with her the
whole day, in the evening he made her believe that some business would
detain him out the next day, and that he could not possibly be with her
till night, desiring her to attend with the old woman to her work, so
that she might provide for her scanty living, for he did not mean to
sell any of his jewels, nor waste his money; on the contrary, as he
spared from his trade by industry, she must do the same, if she wished
for peace and quietness; the unhappy countess sighed from her inmost
soul, recollecting how many poor people her father supported, while she
was in such a distressed situation, as to be obliged to work for her
daily support; but with a sweet smile, she answered she should do as he
desired. The count, in a pilgrim’s dress, left her and went to his home,
where, as one that had been lost, without hopes of being seen again,
he was most tenderly received by his father and mother, for he had
considerably lengthened the proposed time of his absence. Thus then did
the count jovially spend the days with his friends and courtiers, never
omitting, however, returning in his pilgrim’s dress to his lady at
night, and commanding her new duties, and ordering her to be always
ready to help the hostess in the kitchen and household work, Not being
as yet satisfied, he determined to heap upon her new injuries; he
therefore said to her one evening, “to-morrow I mean to treat a friend
of mine, a skinner, at a tailor’s, where I must, of course, purchase the
bread, and as bread is very dear in this part of the world, and I don’t
like to be at the expense, I have thought that tomorrow morning, after
you have helped the hostess in baking, you must pretend to have dropped
something, and hide four rolls in your pocket under your petticoat,
and keep them for me, and two or three hours after dinner I’ll come
and fetch them.” This appeared a most vile and degrading thing to the
noble-minded countess, and had it not been that she had heard much of
the idle and lazy habits of the Spaniards and Navarrese, she would have
believed he was in jest, yet thinking, after all, it was spoken in good
earnest, she intreated him for heaven’s sake, not to compel her to
such an act; to which he churlishly answered, “what! have you not yet
forgotten you are the daughter of the count of Toulouse, eh! yet the
first day we left the place I told thee, and thou didst promise, that
forgetting the past thou wouldst only remember that thou wert the poor
wife of Navarro; now I tell thee again, that if thou wishest to be
happy, thou must make up thy mind to do this, and any thing else I
shall command thee, otherwise I will leave thee here alone, and shall go
elsewhere to seek my fortune.” Thus was she compelled to obey; and,
in the morning, as she had been desired, so she did. The count every
evening used to ride about at his pleasure, and, on that day, calling
on one of the two friends who were at Toulouse with him, and who was
somewhat related to him, he told him what he was to do. The count
passed by the poor dwelling of his lady, and there stopped awhile at a
distance, while his companion, who had directions how to act, drew
near the old woman, who happened to be at the door, at work with the
countess; “Mistress,” said he, “who is this young woman sitting by you?”
When the old woman had told him who she was, and when she had arrived
there; “Oh,” said the gentleman, “you seem to be old in the world, but
with very little knowledge of it; this female appears to me to be one of
the wickedest women I ever saw, and, if you do not mind, she will strip
you of every thing you have in the world;” the which the old woman
denied, and bestowed great praise upon her. “Nay,” said the gentleman,
“I will convince you with your own eyes before I go; now, only raise her
upper petticoat a little, and look in her pocket and see what she
has there, and that will prove to you that I have not been studying
necromancy at Toledo seven years for nothing;” and as he seemed
approaching, to convince her himself, she, out of regard to the
countess, rather than suspicion, searched her pocket, where she found
the four rolls, at which she was much amazed, and endeavoured to
apologize for her to the gentleman. After a little chat, and laughing on
the subject, he departed: the reader may well imagine how confounded
and ashamed the countess was. She almost swooned in seeing herself so
detected and degraded. Having afterwards been gently reproved by the old
woman, she, weeping, asked her pardon, and promised never to be guilty
of the like sin again, but carefully concealing who it was that had made
her do so. At night the count said he had not had any occasion for them,
and pretended to be much displeased at the shame she had brought upon
herself, saying, that it was in consequence of her ill-will to do it,
and her awkwardness.
The countess of Catalonia, his mother, at that time was preparing some
curious works which she was engaged to consecrate by a vow to a saint at
Barcelona, to be added as ornaments to the various figures, animals, &c.
represented on it; now, it occurred to the count that this would be an
excellent opportunity of mortifying still more the poor countess; he
therefore told his mother that he knew a French woman that understood
these things remarkably well, and would send her on the following day;
and, in the evening, he told the countess to prepare, and commanded her
to steal as many of the pearls as she possibly could. She burst into a
flood of tears on hearing this, for the adventure of the rolls was too
fresh in her memory, and considering that she was going to the house of
him whom she, but scarcely nine months since, had scorned and refused,
and where she might easily be discovered, weeping bitterly, she begged
him not to insist; but upon his threatening vengeance against her should
she not obey, she was compelled to consent; and the better to conceal
the theft, it was agreed she should put the pearls in her mouth,
under her tongue, for however few she might take, these being so
very valuable, it would still be a great gain. In the morning she
was introduced and set to work by the count’s mother; her manners and
behaviour were so genteel, that such as beheld her agreed that she must
have been of noble birth, and well brought up, from her readiness and
grace in every thing that belongs to a female; she, little caring for
their praises, these being rather as so many daggers to her heart,
attended to the concerted plan, and had already got three of the finest
pearls under her tongue, when she beheld the very gentleman that had
occasioned the bread scene to take place, for he had been sent by the
count. The said gentleman began to converse with the old countess, then
looking at the poor creature now at work, said he was much astonished
that such a vile woman should be admitted in her house; relating to her
the story of the rolls, and presently proceeded to tell the old countess
what she had robbed her of, which the poor creature, to her great
confusion, was compelled to bear; but the lady, excusing her on account
of her poverty, paid her for the work she had done, and dismissed her.
The angry count at last thinking he had sufficiently avenged the insult
he had suffered from his wife, and punished the rash opinion she had
formed of him; she now feeling that she had been guilty of much more
meanness than the picking up a seed of pomegranate, and knowing she was
near her time, determined no longer to torment her, and having related
the whole story to his father and mother and that she had been persuaded
to become his prey, not from avarice, but by artful means; likewise,
considering how much pain and grief he had heaped upon her in punishment
for her offence, he said, that the next day, he intended, it being
agreeable to them, to bring her home as the daughter of the count of
Toulouse, and his wife. The old folks were as much delighted at hearing
this, as they had been grieved when they heard the match had been broken
off, and without giving any reason for it, a grand and elegant fete was
ordered to be prepared in the evening. The count of Barcelona said to
his wife, “to-morrow there will be a grand fete at the house of the
count of this country, on account of his marrying the eldest daughter of
the king of Arragon, one of the handsomest and most beautiful women in
the world; indeed, he may thank heaven that thou didst spurn him from
thee, for he has much improved his riches and dignity by this alliance.”
The poor creature at this could not repress a deep sigh, considering
what she formerly had been, and what she now was. The count proceeded:
“to-morrow will be a holiday, there is no work done, therefore I have
been thinking that thou and the good old woman should come and spend
your time there, for here alone thou wouldst be moped, and meanwhile
thou wilt be able to see if any thing can be got at there without being
detected; as thou art a woman, though thou hast been seen there, no harm
will come of it, but a little shame, that will soon be overcome, and
which a poor creature as thou art must make up thy mind to.” Although
the countess had suffered so much from the other vexatious scenes she
had gone through, she now thought this the most cruel of all, and, in
the greatest agony, said, she could be prepared to meet death, rather
than do such a thing: but the count, who was fully determined on this
last trial, swore, threatened, and abused her so, that she was at last
forced to submit, and promised she would not fail to be there. He having
apprised the hostess of his design, told her at what hour, and where
she was to go the next morning; this done, he returned home. On the
following day, all the first nobles and ladies of Barcelona having
assembled at the old count’s to honour the festival, before the tables
were prepared, various amusements took place. The old hostess, as
previously agreed with the count, brought, most reluctantly, and, as it
were, by force, the young countess a full hour before dinner. The
poor creature had scarcely entered the great room, retiring as much
as possible amidst the least conspicuous among them, than the count,
sumptuously dressed, joyful and happy, going graciously up to her, said
aloud, so that he might be distinctly heard by all, “welcome, the lady
countess, my bride! It is now high time that your pedler, Navarro,
should be transformed into the count of Barcelona, and that you, a poor
pedler’s wife, should become the daughter and wife of a count!” At these
words, struck dumb with wonder, shame, fear, and hope, the countess
looked around to see whether these words were addressed to any person
besides her; yet, in a moment recognising his voice and manners,
uncertain what she should do, the words died on her lips: upon which the
count added, “my lady, if the having been refused by you, had enraged
me so as to make me more cruel towards you than you might consider
justifiable, yet, I think, had you been in like circumstances, as much
in love as I, and undeserving to be so indignantly treated, I should
obtain not only your pardon, but that you would plead my excuse:
therefore, as I have found more true nobleness of mind in you, in this
low state you have been reduced to, than I at first was able to discover
in your higher situation, I do entreat you to forget, as I do, the
first offence, my former treatment, and cast into eternal oblivion every
revengeful deed of mine, and be pleased, in the presence of my father,
mother, and this noble company, to give me in Barcelona that which you
refused me in Toulouse, and which I stole from you by the dint of art.”
The countess recovering from her astonishment, replied, with a noble
countenance, manner, and good sense, and like a princess: “happy am I,
my true lord, to know on this day how far greater my good fortune has
been than my judgment: since I find you what you really are, not what
I at first looked upon you to be; most willingly do I forget the merited
wrongs I have suffered, and ready am I to bestow publicly, before this
noble and honourable assembly, that which before was granted in Toulouse
before less honourable witnesses. I am, therefore, ready to be yours,
if it so pleases you, and if it be approved by your father and the lady
your mother, whose generous pardon I crave for former offences, and
will ever honour and hold dear as a loving daughter.” She would have
proceeded, had not the tears of the old count, countess, and bystanders,
interrupted her. Her tattered garments were then thrown aside; she was
elegantly dressed; the fete became a complete scene of happiness; the
count of Toulouse was apprised of every thing, and the alliance joyfully
confirmed, the ample portion given, and the former friendship newly
cemented, and, a very few days after, the countess was delivered of a
beautiful son, and several other children in the course of time; she
lived most happily with her husband, and became almost adored throughout
the country.
This story is distinctly and circumstantially recorded in both
countries, and I leave it to the hearers to determine which was most to
be admired--the virtue of Toulouse, or the courtesy of Catalonia.
THE FATAL MISTAKE
There lived at Salerno a nobleman of the name of Marino, who had by his
lady, named Placida, one only son, who was scarcely two years old when
his father became dangerously ill, so much so that all the doctor’s
skill could not avail. Finding that it was impossible for him to
recover, he called his wife, and requested her to bring his boy to him.
When his wife came near, he raised himself in the bed as well as he
could, gave one hand to his wife, and held the boy’s in the other, and
said to her, “Placida, I am come unto my last hour, therefore am aware
I shall not be able to take care of our boy; bring him up, and train
him to virtuous pursuits, in which thing I had placed all my future
happiness, and in doing for him all that which his tender age required
of me; seeing that I must leave him so young, I should feel my
approaching dissolution with real dismay, were I not convinced that your
principles and prudence will amply make up for the loss of his father.
I, therefore, consign unto thy care and power this dear son, in whom I
still hope to live again; and I entreat thee, by the dear remembrance of
the extraordinary blessings and happiness we have enjoyed hitherto,
that as thou hast ever been the ten-derest parent, thou wilt now be both
father and mother to him; and since it does not please heaven that we
should be continued together in this happy state, I do entreat that thou
bestow on him all that tender love and affection that thou wouldst have
bestowed on me had I lived to old age; do but this, and I shall depart
happy!” Thus saying, he embraced his wife, kissed the boy, and placed
him on her bosom. “Marino,” said the afflicted wife, “thou earnest away
with thee the better part of me; would it had pleased heaven to have
taken us both at the same time; but since it has otherwise decreed,
and perhaps in order that our child might not remain entirely bereft of
protection, I will be to him the tenderest of mothers. True it is, he
would have needed thy assistance more than mine in educating him, and
in directing his mind and heart, but nothing shall be wanting in me to
justify the reliance and good opinion thou placest in me, or to induce
the dear boy, in whom I see thy beloved image impressed, to imitate thy
many virtues. Oh! that I could, by the sacrifice of my life, lengthen
thine! Rest assured that I will preserve my faith in the care of the
charge thou hast given me, while I live, as truly as I have to thee
during this life.”
Much did he praise and commend her, and would have said more, but to the
great grief of Placida, he expired soon after in her arms.
After the funeral was over, Placida took great care to do every thing
that could be conducive to the child’s future welfare. The boy was
naturally of a good temper, clever, fond of his mother, and very
obedient to her, the which made him improve so much in learning and
manners, that every one was astonished, and gave great credit to his
mother for the care she had taken of him.
When the boy entered his twelfth year, he was seized with a fever, which
by changing its symptoms, induced the medical men to fear it would turn
to a consumption, and cause his dissolution. The poor mother, meanwhile,
did not omit any one thing that could tend to his recovery, but was
wasting away with grief as much as her son was by the fever. The
physicians used every means to prevent the disorder from increasing, and
the mother took care to give him every morning the medicines that had
been ordered in certain portions of endive water, nor would she suffer
any of the servants to do it for her. She, therefore, got up every
morning, mixed the draught with her own hands, and gave it to him; but,
by the sequel, it will be perceived how unavailing is prudence when
ill-fortune pursues us. Placida, although yet young, for she was
scarcely more than thirty, and though beautiful, and truly virtuous,
was most anxious to preserve that beauty which nature had so liberally
bestowed on her; for which purpose she was in the habit of using a
cosmetic to clear the skin, and prevent the wrinkles which age naturally
brings on. It unfortunately happened that after using this wash, she
gave it to her maid to put in its proper place. As the latter was going
out of the room with the bottle, one of the servants came in, and gave
her the bottle of endive water intended for the patient’s mixture;
having both hands full, she placed one bottle, as she thought, in the
place where the wash used to be deposited, and the other she gave to her
mistress, who laid it where she usually put her son’s mixture.
The next morning Placida went to her son, and gave him the medicine
which she had prepared as usual, but he had not taken it more than an
hour when he began to feel the most excruciating pain, and was tortured
almost to death. The mother, in the greatest alarm, sent for the
physicians, and related to them the strange effect produced that day on
the patient by the draught which had before appeared so serviceable
to him. The medical men were at a loss how to account for this
extraordinary circumstance, but on examining the effect produced on the
patient, they concluded there were signs of poison having been taken.
“Good lady,” said they, “your son has not taken his usual medicine; but
poison has been given to him; it is that which has brought him to such a
state.”
“What! poison!” cried she, “wretch that I am!--Gentlemen, you must be
mistaken, for none but I ever administer the draughts.”
“It may be,” said they, “that the person that fetched it may have
deceived you, and put poison in the draught.” The servant, upon this,
was immediately called up; he said that he had brought that which the
apothecary had given him, without looking into what it might be, and
that he would rather die than have done such a thing; being extremely
fond of the youth, and besides a very worthy servant, he was easily
credited. The apothecary was next sent for, but he positively asserted
he had sent the same draught as usual. No one could imagine how this
could have happened; the physicians, however, determined to come to the
bottom of it, desired the bottles to be brought to them, and dipping
in the finger, and tasting the dregs, they immediately perceived the
sublimate of the cosmetic. “Good lady,” said they, “you have been
deceived, this is not the endive decoction, but real poison.” The lady,
examining the bottle more minutely, immediately suspected it was that
wherein the wash used to be; terror seized her; she called the maid, and
it was discovered that she had given her mistress the wrong bottle. The
physicians instantly used every means in their power, but the poison
had had too much time to work on the vital parts, and nothing could save
him. The disconsolate mother threw herself on her lifeless child, and
remained there till they really thought she had expired; the doctors,
however, used their skill, and soon recovered her, but the poor
creature, instead of feeling thankful for their kind offices, reproached
them for not allowing her to die; but, said she, that which grief will
not do, my hand shall accomplish. Thus saying, she caught a knife that
lay on the table, and was in the act of destroying herself, when they
all interposed. She called them most cruel in wishing her to endure
life; cursed her hard fate, and her ill fortune; accused heaven; raved;
insisted that her maid should be brought to her, that she might strangle
her with her own hands, since her carelessness had brought her beloved
son to the grave. Those present endeavoured to remind her that it was
not any ill intention, but a mistake; and that, therefore, the girl
did not deserve so severe a punishment. She insisted, however, that she
should be taken up, and examined; but the judge, finding her more silly
than guilty, absolved her. This did not satisfy dame Placida, and they
were obliged to remove the young woman from her service, who was sorely
grieved at her careless conduct, having been the cause of so fatal
an accident. After this delirium and rage against the poor girl had
subsided, she began to reflect on herself, and considering that her
pride, in wishing to preserve her beauty, had been the sole cause, she
tore her hair, scratched her face, and totally disfigured herself, and
talked of nothing but killing herself; “No!” said she, “I, who have
murdered my child, do not deserve to live!” She constantly entreated
those who had the care of her to kill her. Finding this would not avail,
she determined to starve herself, and would neither eat nor drink, and
they were obliged to force some nourishing liquid down her throat. She
at last went downright mad, and, in her madness, was ever calling upon
her beloved son. She continued so a few years, and was at last happily
released; happily, it must be allowed, since she would have suffered the
most agonizing pain and anguish of heart had she lived.
THE DEAD ALIVE
There was, not many years ago, at a village called Valdistrove near
Siena, a countryman of about thirty years of age, a fine stout and
sturdy fellow, and industrious too, who never lost an hour in idleness,
and one of the best labourers about the place. Santi-grande was his
name, grande being added from a nick name given to his father. This
fellow was extraordinarily strong and powerful, but the greatest ninny
that ever lived; nature had certainly endowed him with strength of body,
but had left his upper rooms totally unfurnished, in so much that he
became the sport of the villagers, who delighted in playing him all
sorts of tricks--no uncommon thing in villages, where an idiot or so is
usually to be met with. Even gentlemen of the neighbourhood would
often play him some trick or other. Poor Santi took it all very
quietly--insensible of his inaptitude. Some time since a favorite goat,
which he prided himself in, had brought forth two kids; he was highly
delighted, and thought himself a Croesus in the possession of these, and
planned what was to be done with the money they would fetch, when they
were grown to a proper size. He said to his brother, “Simon! get me
those two kids ready by the morning, for I will go to Siena to-morrow,
and sell them.” Santi was so elated, that he could not sleep the whole
night. Simon, who wished to humour him, got the kids ready, saying to
him, “now don’t ye go and make a foolish bargain, for they are well
worth three livres; they are stout little creatures.”
“Leave that to me,” said the poor silly fellow, “I knows how to make a
bargain, I warrant you,” and away he went, Singing. It so happened that
when he came to the Porta del Diavolo, two of his neighbours met him,
and being in a merry humour, determined to have a little sport with him.
Aware of his errand, one of them said, “well, Santi, have you capons to
sell there?”
“Faith,” said Santi, “unless my brother has played me a trick I think
they are two fine kids,” so saying, he was feeling their ears and shooting
horns. Our two humourists observing that Santi was a little in doubt
about their identity, were inclined to carry on the joke. “Nay,” said
one, “feel again, for they are capons to a certainty.” A porter that
happened to be near him, seeing what was going on, cried out “Here,
master, will you sell your capons? What do you ask for them?” Santi
stopped short in amazement at the question; the fellow drawing near,
said, “well, will you sell them?”
“No,” said Santi, “I won’t; they are not capons, they are kids.” One of
the youngsters kept close in conversation with Santi, asking him how he
came to be so tricked; while the other, mending his pace, persuaded all
those he met with, to ask the man if he would sell his capons? the which
they all did. When the fellow got to the inn of the Angel, he told the
landlord of the joke, and all the stable-boys and waiters came forth,
crying out, “will you sell your capons, Santi?” and all seeming anxious
to buy them. Poor Santi looked hard at the kids, and could not be
persuaded that they could be capons, therefore made the same answer,
that they were kids not capons; “for,” said he, “I told brother to pack
up the kids, not capons.”
“Why,” said the youngster, “they are well worth the kids, but if thou
attemptest to sell them for kids, every one will think thou art mad.”
His companion, meanwhile, had gone forward to the city gate to tell the
custom-house officers the joke, so that when Santi came to the gate,
they demanded the duty for the capons, which was one penny each: “But,”
said Santi, “these are kids.”
“Oh! let him alone,” said one of the officers, “he is mad, and wants to
pay the duty for kids instead of capons.”
“You silly fellow,” said one of them, “if they were kids you would have
five pence duty to pay, don’t think we should cheat ourselves.” In
the meantime numbers of people crowded around, and enjoying the sport,
vociferated that they were capons, so that at last Santi began to think
they really were. “Yet,” said he to a driver that was talking to him, “I
thought I heard them cry _ba, ba_.”
“True,” said the driver, “but were not the capons and kids in the same
place?”
“Yes,” said Santi. “Well, the capons learned to _ba_ from the goat and
kids, as children learn to prate from their mothers and nurses. However,
were I you, now we are near the town, I would not attempt to offer them
as kids, for they will think you mad.”
“A plague on that brother of mine, but I will serve him a trick for
this,” said Santi. The two young men, when they came to the gates of
the town, left Santi and the driver talking on, and went their way, when
they met Girolino Palmieri, a very frolicksome fellow, though rather
old.