“ There was trouble enough before Don Mario would let himself be dragged away into the chemist’s shop, which was filled with a laughing crowd. Vito, the chemist’s young man, came forward, very seriously, and said to him—
“What does it matter if they do say Quacquarà to you? You don’t happen to be a quail, do you?”
Don Mario turned furious eyes on him.
“Well; it’s not as if they called you a thief!”
“I am a gentleman, and the son of a gentleman.”
“Well? What does Quacquarà mean? Nothing at all. Quacquarà let it be!” ”

“ A FABLE. Jove, having one day drank more nectar than usual, and being in a pleasant humour, the fancy took him to make some present to mankind. And having called Momus, he gave him what he had decided upon, packed in a portmanteau, and sent him down to the earth. “Oh!” cried Momus (when he arrived in a chariot) to the human race, “Oh! truly blessed generation. Behold how Jove, liberal of his benefits towards you, opens his generous hand! Come, hasten, receive! Never complain again that he has made you short-sighted. ”

“ Come! speaking quite honestly, the Italians are the first people in the world, after all! It’s true that the Piedmontese are a little hard, the Genoese too keen after 233money, the Neapolitans superstitious, the Sicilians ferocious, and that the proverb says: ‘Beware of a red-haired Venetian, a black-haired Lombard, and any kind of a Romagnole!’ Every one must agree that Tuscany is the garden of Italy, as Italy is the garden of the world, and that the Tuscans, speaking without conceit, are the pearls of mankind! ”

“ Luisa. After all, you’re not going to play at tennis.
Giu. Well, and what then? If a gentleman does not feel disposed to take part in the noble game of tennis, is he to be laced up so that he cannot move?
Luisa (angrily) . In short—I understand! Do you wish to stay at home? Does it bore you to come to the dance? Do you want to go to bed? We will stay at home—we will not go to the dance—we will go to bed!
Giu. Mind that I do not take you at your word.
Luisa. Much it matters to me if you do! Come, Lauretta, help me off with these things!
Giu. Francesco, get these boots off for me! ”

“ As I know you are not wanting in charity, but rather abounding in good works, I am not afraid to inform you that there is a most deserving yet destitute object before you, who, though too modest to urge your compassion, is in every way worthy of it. Pray take pity upon him. Behold him!” he cried, pointing full at Ser Nastagio: “Lo! thou art the man. Yes!” he continued, while the corn merchant stared at him in the utmost astonishment; “yes, thou art the man! Thy modesty shall no longer conceal thee from the eyes of the people which are now fixed upon thee. ”

“ The inspiration was not the same. As to his drinking so little wine and yet writing so well upon it, it is a triumph for Bacchus instead of a dishonour. It only shows how little wine will suffice to set a genial brain in motion. A poet has wine in his blood. The laurel and ivy were common, of old, both to Bacchus and Apollo; at least Apollo shared the ivy always, and Bacchus wore laurel when he was young and innocent,
‘What time he played about the nestling woods,
Heaping his head with ivy and with bay.’ ”

“ Saridda, who by this time had grown excited on her own account, now cried Viva San Pasquale, and was very nearly coming to blows with her lover, as if they had already been husband and wife.
At such times parents quarrel most desperately with their sons and daughters, and wives separate from their husbands, if by misfortune a woman of the parish of San Pasquale has married a man from San Rocco.
“I won’t hear another word about that man!” cried Saridda, standing with her hands on her hips, to the neighbours, when they asked her how it happened that the marriage had not come off. ”

“ All men wear faces of portentous length; one can see that they bear an undying grudge against meteorologic science, on account of that phenomenon of aqueous infiltration which is so deadly to new hats and old boots. They go their ways dripping along the rows of houses, under the deluges from the water-pipes, picking their way between the puddles, with countenances cloudier than the skies, muttering the devil’s litanies between their teeth with a muffled murmur like the gurgling of a boiling saucepan. ”

“ There were priests running away, with the skirts of their cassocks flying wildly, drummers and fifers upset on their faces, women screaming, blood flowing in streams, and cudgels playing even under the very nose of the blessed San Rocco. The Prætor, the Syndic, the Carbineers all hastened to the spot;—the 138broken bones were carried off to the hospital,—a few of the more riotous members of the community were marched off to pass the night in prison,—the saint returned to his church at a run rather than a processional step,—and the festival ended like the comedies of Pulcinella. ”

“ Achille Torelli.
266 PASQUIN.
One species of wit and humour in which Italians have always excelled is the impromptu epigram—the stinging comment in verse on passing events. The language abounds in rhymes, and easily lends itself to metre; and it is rare to meet with an Italian, however uneducated, who cannot string together a few lines of at least passable quality. Any family event—a marriage, a baptism, or a death—is sure to call forth a shower of sonnets from friends and acquaintances; and on special occasions these contributions are published in volume form. ”

“ They did everything themselves; and while Don Ignazio cut up an onion to put into the evening’s salad, Don Mario, in his father’s indoor coat, all faded and mended, began carefully to sweep the rooms like a housemaid. He dusted the rickety tables and the old ragged, leather-covered arm-chairs; and then, having gathered up all the dirt into a basket, he would cautiously open the door, to make sure there was no one within sight, and, late at night, carried it out and deposited it behind the wall of a ruined house which had become the dust-bin of the neighbourhood. ”

“ The clumsy black spectacles—with the glasses broken and mended with black sealing-wax—with which he covered the horrible sight presented by his burnt eyes, seemed of themselves to darken him, and take away every touch of life and mobility from his worn face, white as old wax, which might have been taken for that of an old man or one far gone in consumption, if it had not been for the intensely black hair, and the figure, which, though below the middle height, was broad in the chest, and all muscles and sinews. ”

“ We must get all these labourers together, and try some charm to discover the thief. And if we find the thief, we’ve found the pig.”
Mastro Peppe’s eyes brightened with eagerness, and he came closer, for the hint at a charm had awakened all his innate superstition.
“Now, you know, there are three kinds of magic—the black, the red, and the white. And you know there are three women in the village skilled in the art: Rosa Schiavona, Rosaria Pajara, and Ciniscia. You have only to choose.” ”

“ Renzo, trying to catch the priest, and waving his hands about as though he had been playing at blindman’s buff, had reached the door, and kept knocking, crying out, “Open! open! don’t make a noise!” Lucia called Renzo in a feeble voice, and said supplicatingly, “Let us go! do let us go!” Tonio was down on his hands and knees, feeling about the floor to find his receipt, while Gervaso jumped about and yelled like one possessed, trying to get out by the door leading to the stairs. ”

“ Luisa. Absolutely.
Giu. Then I will. (Opens a trunk.)
Lau. (aside) . It’s all up now!
Luisa (quickly) . Don’t—don’t! you’re turning everything upside down.
Giu. Either you or I.
Luisa. Do make an end of it!... There!—there’s no help for it—what can one do with a lunatic? Get out of the way, do! What is it you want?
Giu. Not much—shirt, socks, white waistcoat, black necktie, dress coat, gloves, crush-hat, handkerchief, breastpin, Eau-de-Cologne—nothing else!
Luisa. Mercy on us! Oh! poor me!
Giu. Ah! and my boots.
Luisa. Anything else? Lauretta, where are the boots? Do come and help me here! ”

“ Yet she does everything she possibly can to contradict and oppose me, that woman!—She has not a bad disposition—I would not say that; but it is a certain perversity of humour. Just imagine that, at this very moment, when all the visitors present in the place are going to assemble in these rooms, she could find no better way of spending her time than in going off for a long walk on the beach. Never lets herself be seen—persists in withdrawing from society—mere madness, I call it!... We have a daughter, and if this sort of thing goes on, how shall we ever get her settled in life? ”

“ NEWSPAPER HUMOUR. During the recent elections there was a large popular demonstration at Bergamo, where the police mustered in great force to prevent a disturbance. A fiery-spirited youth, seeing a gentleman escorted by two policemen, made a sudden rush to deliver him from his captors. In vain the supposed victim protested that his generous interposition was quite uncalled for.
“Ah! Signore, I could not for a moment think of leaving you in the hands of these minions of injustice.”
“Pray, sir, moderate yourself.”
“Moderate myself? We are not Moderates; we are Progressists, we are!” ”

“ Good heavens! how very weary, How infinitely dreary, Are good and virtuous people That preach morality! Gaff. In order to avenging Your wrongs and impositions, At all the courts of Europe I will present petitions. Achmet. For Theodore the banished We’ll take up a collection, And I shall be most happy, Contributing my fraction. Taddeo (landlord) . As long as, in this city, In prison, sir, you stay, I shall be glad to send you Your dinner every day! Belisa. Cheer up, O my brother! The laws of this day Are always in favour Of him who can’t pay! ”

“ Do not allow yourself to suppose that there is anything ludicrous to the audience in the performances of these wooden burattini. Nothing, on the contrary, is more serious. No human being could be so serious. Their countenances are solemn as death, and more unchanging than the face of a clock. Their terrible gravity when, with drooping heads and collapsed arms, they fix on you their great goggle eyes, is at times ghastly. They never descend into the regions of conscious farce. ”

“ How cruelly partial was Nature! Scarcely twenty kilomètres away she was rendering Corradi an immense service with eight, ten, twenty shocks—between day and night—within the week; and for him not even the smallest vestige of any shock whatever. He could get no peace, and kept his ear to the instrument.
One day, behold! there passed the announcement of a scientific commission on its way to Pietranera in order to study these persistent seismic phenomena. ”

“ Their farce is not dry, witty, and sarcastic like the French, but rich, humorous, and droll. The primo comico, who is always rushing from one scrape to another, is so full of chatter and blunder, ingenuity and good-nature, that it is impossible not to laugh with him and wish him well; while the heavy father or irascible old uncle, in the midst of the most grotesque and absurdly natural imitation, without altering in the least his character, will often move you by sudden touches of pathos when you are least prepared. The old man is particularly well represented on the Italian stage. ”

“ So that now, whenever I have to do with worthy people who are firm and solid, and (so to speak) all in one piece, I am always secretly in dread lest one day or other they should belie their natures and turn out the veriest quicksilver. Do you know that in the end it really cannot be such a very great misfortune to leave this puppetshow that they call life? Surely it cannot be that we shall have people playing Punch and Judy tricks in the other world! ”

“ The first acquaintance we make with Pasquin is as an abandoned, limbless fragment of an antique statue, which serves as a butt for boys to throw stones at, and for other slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Near by him lives a tailor, named Pasquino, skilful in his trade, and still more skilful in his epigrams. At his shop many of the literati, prelates, courtiers, and wits of the town meet to order their robes and dresses, report scandal, to anatomise reputations, and kill their time. ”

“ The chaplain, who was also in the shop waiting for the chemist, seemed touched to the quick, and said—
“It is the fault of the rich. If the rich were to think more about giving work——”
But the doctor interrupted him.
“Here we are with the rich again! Can’t you understand, sir, that the rich have too many taxes?” The syndic nodded approvingly. “It’s the Government that’s in fault,” said the doctor. “Here’s the dilemma, and there’s no getting out of it:—Either they ought to take off the income-tax, or they, and not we, should see to the feeding of these starving wretches.” ”