THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

"What do you mean, you rascal?" I cried; and he, still holding my arm, "Why, my fine man," says he, "since you won't take a
hint, I must deal plainly with you." As we were then at the foot of the stairs, he suddenly wheeled me to the right about, and
plunged me into the crowd of inn-servants. "Landlord," cried he, "take this fellow in and give him his hire on my master's
account. 'Tis a runaway gaolbird by the look of him for whom we have no sort of use here. A few pauls will be handsome."
He carried out his part with such bounce that he was completely successful; between him and the landlord and his crew I was
hustled into the kitchens where I found the preparations for the cavaliere's supper in full blast.
CHAPTER XXXI. MY ADVENTURES AT THE INN
I hope I may say that, in the painful position in which I found myself, I did what was becoming to a man of honour more jealous
of his wife's than of his own. I reasoned with myself that a scandal, an uproar, an exhibition of my resentment would not only be
no protection to Virginia, but would be, on the other hand, the clearest evidence that I doubted her. It could only end in my
being turned out of the inn and in her being held by every man and woman of the place for what she was not. I remembered
here with admiration the conduct of Father Carnesecchi, who, having on one occasion conducted two ladies and their cavaliers
about the church of San Giovannino, and pointed out what beauties it possessed—and many which it did not—was mistaken by
them for the sacristan and offered a small gratuity at the door. He thanked them and humbly accepted it, and (as I think), did
well; for, as he said afterwards, it would have hurt their esteem much more to have been refused than it could possibly hurt his
to have been offered the gift. It was in the spirit of this that I acted in the present state of my affairs. Virginia was undoubtedly
my wife, and therefore of my own rank. To doubt a gentleman in any situation, however delicate, were to be offensive; it could
not therefore be less offensive, but must needs be more, to doubt a gentlewoman. Not only did I not doubt her in truth, but I
would not let it be supposed by any one that I did. There then, in that steaming kitchen, among sweating cooks and greasy
cook-aids did I stand, with what countenance I had.
They were too busy just then for any notice to be thrown my way. I sat in a corner out of sight and watched their preparations
for a superb banquet. It might have seemed that the cavaliere was going to entertain all the Ancients of the Republic, to judge by
the capons and turkeys, the strings of ortolans, the quails, the partridges, roasting, basting or getting trussed. There was a
cygnet, I remember; there were large fish stuffed with savoury herbs, crawfish, lampreys, eels in wine; there were pastry, shapes
of cream, jellies, custards: you never saw such a feast—and I am sure there were a score of persons of both sexes busy about
it. The maids flew from saucepan to stewpan, the boys staggered under piles of plates; the dressers and servers were always in
and out, carrying dishes to the lacqueys of the table or coming back for more. The head-cook, a mountain of brawn and lard,
seemed fresh from the bath— so he dripped and shone. The hubbub, bustle, heat and worry are not to be described by me.
When the dinner was at last completed and sent to table, the master-cook straightened himself and gave a short order, which
was immediately obeyed. I saw him go into the scullery near by and souse his head and neck in a bucket of cold water. In a
trice the tables of his late business were cleared, and the scullions laid out the materials for supper. These were, as may be
supposed, distinguished by abundance rather than refinement: a dish of tripe, a chine of beef, spaghetti in wash-hand basins,
onion salad with garlic, sausages, blood-puddings, pigs' feet in vinegar. High wicker flasks of wine stood in iron cages, to be
swung down by the finger; there was one bottle of water: all was ready. But nobody sat down until the master-cook appeared.
The men stood on one side of the table, the maids on the other, like soldiers on parade. He entered, the huge fellow, red from
his cold douche, his hair all rumpled from the rude embraces of the jack-towel, and walked over to the men's side, wiping the
wet from his ears as he went. He stood—this captain of the kitchen—in front of his company, and with a sweeping and
appraising eye surveyed the ordered nymphs. He selected the partner of his choice, a modest-mannered creature who
answered to the name of Gentucca; she came forward and stood by his side. With no more waiting he took his seat at the head
of the board, and, plunging his fingers into a steaming bowl of spaghetti, began to gobble at it in the unedifying way which his
nation have—and which, indeed, the dish demands. Gentucca sat at his right hand, but took nothing until she had helped him to
drink. Meantime the others had made their arrangements— from the second in command down to the merest pot-boy
selections had been made from among the maids. I heard, "Lisabetta, come here," or, "No, no, Liperata, I have chosen you"—
or it was Caterina, or Giocosa, or Bettina, as the case may have been. To be brief, down sat everybody in the kitchen, Jack by
his Gill, save my unhappy self.
It was the highly favoured Gentucca who pointed me out to the Grand Master of the Cooks. As I still wore the cape and long
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