“He is sure to send it back to you.”
“He can if he likes, but I will send back his
funeral oration, as I am not going to be under an
obligation to anyone who refuses to take a present
from me.”
Next morning the eccentric cardinal returned me my
Pandects, and I immediately returned his funeral oration,
with a letter in which I pronounced it a masterpiece
of composition, though I laid barely glanced over
it in reality. My brother told me I was wrong,
but I did not trouble what he said, not caring to
guide myself by his rulings.
In the evening my brother and I went to the ‘scopatore
santissimo’, who was expecting me, and had announced
me to his family as a prodigy of a man. I introduced
my brother, and proceeded to a close scrutiny of the
family. I saw an elderly woman, four girls, of
whom the eldest was twenty-four, two small boys, and
above all universal ugliness. It was not inviting
for a man of voluptuous tastes, but I was there, and
the best thing was to put a good face on it; so I
stayed and enjoyed myself. Besides the general
ugliness, the household presented the picture of misery,
for the ‘scopatore santissimo’ and his
numerous family were obliged to live on two hundred
Roman crowns a year, and as there are no perquisites
attached to the office of apostolic sweeper, he was
compelled to furnish all needs out of this slender
sum. In spite of that Momolo was a most generous
man. As soon as he saw me seated he told me he
should have liked to give me a good supper, but there
was only pork chops and a polenta.
“They are very nice,” said I; “but
will you allow me to send for half a dozen flasks
of Orvieto from my lodging?”
“You are master here.”
I wrote a note to Costa, telling him to bring the
six flasks directly, with a cooked ham. He came
in half an hour, and the four girls cried when they
saw him, “What a fine fellow!” I saw Costa
was delighted with this reception, and said to Momolo,
“If you like him as well as your girls I will
let him stay.”
Costa was charmed with such honour being shewn him,
and after thanking me went into the kitchen to help
the mother with the polenta.
The large table was covered with a clean cloth, and
soon after they brought in two huge dishes of polenta
and an enormous pan full of chops. We were just
going to begin when a knocking on the street door was
heard.
“’Tis Signora Maria and her mother,”
said one of the boys.
At this announcement I saw the four girls pulling
a wry face. “Who asked them?” said
one. “What do they want?” said another.
“What troublesome people they are!” said
a third. “They might have stayed at home,”
said the fourth. But the good, kindly father
said, “My children, they are hungry, and they
shall share what Providence has given us.”
I was deeply touched with the worthy man’s kindness.
I saw that true Christian charity is more often to
be found in the breasts of the poor than the rich,
who are so well provided for that they cannot feel
for the wants of others.
