Two friars once went out on a journey, that is to say, a friar and a
lay brother. [326] One day of their journey, when they were far from
their convent, the friar said to the lay brother: 'We fare poorly
enough all the days of our life in our convent, let us, for one day
of our lives, taste the good things of this world which others enjoy
every day.'
'You know better than I, who am only a poor simple lay brother,'
answered the other, 'whether such a thing may be done. I don't mean
to say I should not like to have a jolly good dinner for once; but
there is the uneasiness of conscience to spoil the feast, and the
penance afterwards. I think we had better leave it alone.'
They journeyed on, therefore, and said no more about it that day,
but the next, when they were very hungry after a long walk through
the cold mountain air, the scent of the viands preparing in the inn
as they drew near brought the subject of yesterday's conversation to
their minds again, and the friar said to the lay brother: 'You know
even our rule says that when we are journeying we cannot live as
we do in our convent; we must eat and drink whatever we find in the
places to which we are sent; moreover, some relaxation is allowed for
the restoration of the body under the fatigues of the journey. Now,
if we come, as it has often happened to us, to a poor little mountain
village, where scarcely a wholesome crust of bread is to be found,
to be washed down with a glass of sour wine, we have to take it for
all our dinner, and eat it with thanksgiving. Therefore why, now,
when we come to a place where the fare is less scanty, even as by the
odours we perceive is the case here, should we not also take what is
found ready, and eat it with thanksgiving?'
'What you say seems right and just enough,' said the lay brother, not
at all sorry to have his scruples so speciously explained away. 'But
there is one thing you have not thought of. It is all very well to
say we will eat and drink this and that, but how are we poor friars,
who possess nothing, to command the delicacies which are smoking
round the fire, and which have to be paid for by well-stored purses?'
'Oh! that is not the difficulty,' replied the friar; 'leave that
to me.'
By this time they had reached the threshold of the inn, and, taking
his companion's last feeble resistance for consent, the friar strutted
into the eating-room with so bold an air that the lay brother hardly
knew him for the humble religious he had been accompanying anon.
'Ho! here! John, Peter, Francis, whatever you are called!'
'Francesco, to your service,' replied the host humbly, thinking by
his commanding tone he must be some son of a great family.
'Francesco guercino, [327] then,' continued the friar in the same
high-sounding voice, 'take away this foul table-cloth, and bring the
cleanest and finest in your house; remove these cloudy glasses and
bring out the bright ones you have there locked up in the glass case,
and replace these bone spoons and forks [328] with the silver ones
out of your strong box.'
'Your Excellency is served!' [329] said the host, who, as well as his
wife and son, had bustled so fast to do what he was so peremptorily
ordered that all was done as soon as spoken.
'Now then Francesco guercino, what have you got to put before a hungry
gentleman in this poor little place of yours?'
'Excellenza! when you have tasted the cooking of my poor little
house,' said the host, 'you will not, I am sure, be displeased;
all unworthy as it is of your Excellency's palate. For what we have
ready, we have beef for our boiled meat, good brains for our fried,
the plumpest poultry for our grilled, and the freshest eggs for our
omelette; or, if your Excellency prefers it, we have hashed turkey,
with crisp watercresses; and as for our soup, [330] there is not an
inn in the whole province can beat us, I know. And for dessert we
have cheese and fruits, and'----
'Well done, Francesco guercino,' said the friar interrupting him. 'You
know how to cry your own wares, at all events. Bring us the best of
what you have; it is not for poor friars to complain of what is set
before us.'
The last sentence gave the host a high idea of the piety of his guest
just as the hectoring tone he had assumed had convinced him he must
be high-born, and in a trice the best of everything in the house was
made ready for the table of the friar. All other guests had to wait,
or go away unserved; the host was intent only on serving the friar.
Every dish he took to the table himself, and as he did so each time
the friar, fixing on him a look of sanctity, exclaimed,--
'Blessed Francesco! Blessed Francesco!' [331]
At the close of the meal, as he was hovering about the table, nervously
wiping away a crumb, or polishing a plate, he said, with trembling:
'Excellenza! Permit a poor man to put one question. What is there you
see about me that makes you look at me as though you saw happiness in
store, and exclaim with so much unction as quite to fill me with joy,
"Blessed Francesco!"?'
'True, something I see wherefore I call thee blessed,' replied the
friar; 'but I cannot tell it thee now. To-morrow, perhaps, I may find
it easier. Impossible now, friend. Now, pray thee, show us our rooms.'
It needed not to add any injunctions concerning the rooms; of course,
the cleanest and the best were appointed by Francesco spontaneously
for such honoured guests.
'How do you think we are getting on?' said the friar to the lay
brother when they were alone.
'Excellently well so far,' replied the other; 'things have passed my
lips this night which never have they tasted before, nor ever may
again. But the reckoning, the reckoning; that is what puzzles me:
when it comes to paying the bill, what'll you do then?'
'Leave it all to me,' returned the friar; 'I'm quite satisfied with
the man we have to deal with. It will all come right, never fear.'
The next morning the two brothers were astir betimes, but Francesco
was on the look-out to serve them.
'Excellenza! you will not leave without breakfast, Excellenza!'
'Yes, Francesco; poor friars must not mind going without breakfast.'
'Never, from my house, Excellenza!' responded Francesco. 'I have the
table ready with a bottle of wine freshly drawn from the cellar, eggs
that were born [332] since daylight, only waiting your appearance to
be boiled, rolls this moment drawn from the oven, and my wife is at
the stove preparing a fried dish [333] fit for a king.'
'Too much, too much, Francesco! You spoil us; we are not used to
such things,' said the lay brother as they sat down; but Francesco
had flown into the kitchen, and returned with the dish.
'Blessed Francesco!' said the friar as he set it on the table.
'I will not disturb your Excellency now,' said Francesco; 'but, after
you have breakfasted, I crave your remembrance of your promise of
last night, that you would reveal to me this morning wherefore you
say with such enthusiasm "Blessed Francesco!"'
'It is not time to speak of it now,' said the friar; 'first we have
our reckoning to make.'
The lay brother hid his face in his table-napkin in terror, and seemed
to be seized with a distressing fit of coughing.
'Oh, don't speak of the reckoning, Excellenza; that is as nothing.'
'Nay,' said the friar; 'that must not be;' and he made a gesture as
if he would have drawn out a purse, while under the table he had to
press his feet against those of the lay brother to silence his rising
remonstrance for his persistence.
'I couldn't think of taking anything from your Excellenza,' persisted
the host, putting his hands behind him that no money might be forced
upon him.
The more stedfastly he refused the more perseveringly the friar
continued to press the payment, till, with his companion, he had
gained the threshold of the door.
As they were passing out, however, the host once more exclaimed,
'But the explanation your Excellency was to give me of why you said
"Blessed Francesco!"'
'Impossible, friend; I cannot tell it here. Wait till I have gained
the height of yonder mound, while you stand at its foot, and I will
tell it you from thence.'
With this they parted.
When the friar and his companion had reached the height he had pointed
out, and were at a sufficient distance to be saved the fear of pursuit,
he turned to the host, who stood gaping at the bottom, and said:
'Lucky for you, Francesco, that when you come to die you will only have
the trouble of shutting one eye, instead of two, like other men.' [334]
[Such a story at the expense of a single unworthy monk contains no
implied taunt at the religious orders, who are deeply honoured in
Rome, and none more than the mendicant Franciscans, most of whom are
themselves of the very people. Ever since the invasion of September
20, 1870, every effort has been used to stir up the people against
them, but with little effect. At the last Carneval the most elaborate
car was got up with the purpose of ridiculing them, but it met with
no approval, except from members of the clubs. The narrator of the
story was herself not only a devoted member of the Church, but had
a relative in the order of St. Francis, nor did she tell it without
an edifying exordium on the goodness of the frati in general, though
there must be unworthy members of all professions. Facetiæ of this
class are much rarer in Rome than in Spain.]