THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

work to convince you of my good intentions towards you. Perfect confidence of man to man— shall it not be so? If I cannot
help you it will be surprising: you have seen how I can help myself."
I did not again remind him that I had seen that very clearly when, at Rovigo, his foot had been clapped upon my coins; but Fra
Clemente, if that were his name, saw that it was remembered.
"Your money, let me say, would have been safer with me than with that oily thief Issachar," he said calmly, "but let that pass.
You saw fit to trust him, and now you can judge how far I am to be trusted. I have nothing to complain of and nothing to hide. I
hope you can say the same." I was silent.
"Let me tell you," he went on, "that my name in religion is Palamone— Fra Palamone"—here his tones became lighter, as he
soared from the injured benefactor's into a jauntier suit. "Yes, I am that Fra Palamone, known all over Tuscany for the most
wheedling, good-natured, cunning, light-fingered and light-hearted old devil of a Capuchin that ever hid in St. Francis' wound.
Hey! but I'm snug in my snuff-coloured suit. My poor old father—God have him after all his pains!—put me there, to lie quiet
and nurse my talent, and so I do when times are hard. But the waxing moon sees me skipping, and you will no more keep me
long off the road than your cur upon it. I must be out and about—in the kitchen to tease the wenches, into the taverns for my jug
of wine, off to the fairs, where the ducats blow like thistle-down; under the gallows to see my friends dance, at the gaol doors
against delivery; the round of the pillories, a glance at the galleys—with a nose for every naughty savour and an ear for every
salted tale. I have prospered, I was made to prosper. This good belly of mine, this broad, easy gullet, these hands, this portly
beard, which may now get as white as it can, since I have done with gossip Fra Clemente—a wrist of steel, fingers as hard as
whipcord, and legs like anchor-cables; all these were fostered and made able by brown St. Francis' merry sons. Fra Palamone,
dear unknown, Fra Palamone, ever your servant! And now—"here, with another revolting change, he turned his lips back to
show his tooth—"And now," said he, "you fish-eyed, jelly-gutted, staring, misbegotten bottle of bile, who in the deuce's name
lent you the impudence to listen to my confidential histories without so much as letting me know your fool's name—hey?"
The ferocious invective of this peroration accorded so ill with his prattling exordium that I was left with nothing but a gaze. This I
gave him liberally; but he went on, lashing himself into fury, to use every vernacular oath he could lay tongue to. He swore in
Venetian, in Piedmontese, in Tuscan. He swore Corsican, Ligurian, Calabrian, Spanish, Hebrew, Arabian and Portuguese. He
shook his fists in my face, dangerously near my astonished eyes; he leaped at me, gnashing his teeth like a fiend; he bellowed
injuries, shocking allegations impossible to be proved, horrible guesses at my ancestry, he barked like a dog, bayed at me on all
fours; finally whirling his staff over his head, he rushed at me as if to dash my brains out—then, cooling as suddenly as he had
boiled over, stopped short, looked quizzically at me, blew out his cheeks and let his breath escape in a volley. "Poh!" says he,
"Poh! what an old Palamone we have here," threw down his staff and came towards me all smiles, his arms extended.
"Admirable youth!" he cried heartily, "give me your hands. I love you dearly; we shall be fast friends, I can see. Kiss me, boy,
kiss me."
I should have resented this comedy of thunderstorms more hotly than I did if I had not believed the friar to be mad. But I was
very much offended by the titles of dishonour most improperly bestowed upon me, and was determined to have done with their
inventor. "Sir," I said, "you have done me a service, I allow, and I am much obliged to you; but I am constrained to point out
that I have carried your baggage on my shoulder for some five or six miles. You gave me your confidences unasked and
undesired. It matters, no thing to me whether your name be Palamone or Graffiacane, nor how far you choose to disgrace your
habit or molest the charitable. Now you have acted like a maniac, and if I did my duty I should give proper information in the
proper quarter. Instead of that, I restore you your bundle, and wish you a good evening."
Fra Palamone had been watching me, studying my face intently as I spoke, his arms folded over his labouring chest. He had,
before the close of a dignified, if somewhat sententious, address, recovered his breath, and completely his gravity. "My dear
young gentleman," he said, "I admire your spirit as much as your person and manner. All three puzzle me, I must say. So young
and so rhetorical! So simple and so polished—an egg! an egg! Are you English, Dutch, Irish? What the devil are you? You
won't tell me, and I don't know. But with all you say of my whirligig self I entirely and heartily agree. That at least is to the good.
I propose that we sit down here and now, and discuss your affairs—for what better can we do? A grassy bank! the scent of
leaves! a fading sun—the solemn evening air! Nature invites! Come, what do you say? We will eat and drink of the best, for I
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