I RETURNED to the Loggia, [1] whither my Perseus had already been
brought, and went on putting the last touches to my work, under the old
difficulties always; that is to say, lack of money, and a hundred
untoward accidents, the half of which would have cowed a man armed with
adamant.
However, I pursued my course as usual; and one morning, after I had
heard mass at San Piero Scheraggio, that brute Bernardone, broker,
worthless goldsmith, and by the Duke’s grace purveyor to the mint,
passed by me. No sooner had he got outside the church than the dirty pig
let fly four cracks which might have been heard from San Miniato. I
cried: “Yah! pig, poltroon, donkey! is that the noise your filthy
talents make?” and ran off for a cudgel. He took refuge on the instant
in the mint; while I stationed myself inside my housedoor, which I left
ajar, setting a boy at watch upon the street to warn me when the pig
should leave the mint. After waiting some time, I grew tired, and my
heat cooled. Reflecting, then, that blows are not dealt by contract, and
that some disaster might ensue, I resolved to wreak my vengeance by
another method. The incident took place about the feast of our San
Giovanni, one or two days before; so I composed four verses, and stuck
them up in an angle of the church where people go to ease themselves.
The verses ran as follows:--
“Here lieth Bernardone, ass and pig,