Little Novels of Italy | Page 3

He saw
the joke run crackling down the line, all heads look brightly up. The
joke caught fire; he saw the sun-gleam on a dozen perfect sets of teeth.
Vanna's head was up with the rest, sooner up and the sooner down.
Even from that height the little twinkling beacons from the bridge shot
her through. He saw her colour deepen, head droop; she was busy long
before the others had wrung their joke dry. "Soul of a cat!" grunted
Baldassare between his teeth, "what a rosy baggage it is!" He waited a
little longer, then deliberately passed the bridge, rounded the pillar by
the steps, and went down to the women like a man who has made up
his mind. Lizabetta of the roving eye caught the first hint of his shadow.
Her elbow to Nonna's ribs, Nonna's "Pst!" in Nina's ear, spread the
news. Vanna's cheeks flew the flag.
"Buon' giorno, Ser Baldassare!" shrilled La Testolina, plump and
black-eyed leader of mischief.
"Giorno, giorno, La Testolina," growled the old man.
Vanna, very busy, grew as red as a rose. The others knelt back on their
heels; compliments of a homely sort flew about, sped on by flashing
teeth. Baldassare's own were black as old channel-posts in the Lagoon,
but in tongue-work he gave as sharp as he got. Then a wicked wind
blew Vanna's hair like a whip across her throat, fit to strangle her. She

had to face the day. Baldassare pondered her straight young back.
"When Vanna's a nun she'll have no more trouble with her hair," quoth
La Testolina, matchmaker by race.
"When Vanna's a nun the river will be dry," said Vanna from between
her elbows.
"When Vanna's a nun the river, on the contrary, will be in flood." This
from Baldassare.
"Hey! what's this?" Caterina cried; and Nonna pinched her arm.
"Adige will go crying that she comes no more to dip her arms," said the
old man, with the utmost gravity and a broad grin. The women
screamed their delight, slapped their knees, or raised witnessing hands
to heaven; La Testolina caught Vanna round the waist and gave her a
resounding kiss.
"Compliments, my little Vanna, compliments!" Her voice pealed like a
trumpet.
"Vi ringrazio, signore," said Vanna under her breath, and La Testolina
held up a tress of her long hair to the light.
"When Vanna's a nun you would bid for that, eh, Baldassare?"
"I will bid for whatever she will sell me," says he, with a blink.
Whereupon the matchmaker made no more music. The scent was too
hot for that.
Yet for all his adventuring he got little reward; she turned him no more
than the round of her cheek. Vanna never stayed her work, and he,
ordinarily a silent man, paid no more compliments--yet ceased not to
look.
Going up the street at dinner-time, he made his bid. He limped by the
tall girl's side without speech from either; but at the door he looked up
queerly at her and pinched her ear.

"Go in and feed the youngsters, my chuck," said he; "I know where to
meet Don Urbano, and please Madonna you shall feed your own before
long."
"Yes, Ser Baldassare," says pretty Vanna in a twitter.
The conference between the high contracting parties was wordy,
bristled with the gesticulations of two pair of hands, and was
commented on by all the guests in the "Fiore del Marinajo." The girl,
said Don Urbano, was the very pride of his eye, prop of his failing
years, a little mother to the children. She had had a most pious
bringing-up, never missed the Rosary, knew the Little Hours of the
Virgin, could do sums with notches in a stick, market like a Jew's
housekeeper, sew like a nun, and make a stew against any wife in the
contrada. Dowry, dowry! What did such a girl as that want with a
dowry? She was her own dowry, by Bacchus the Thracian. Look at the
shape of her--was that not a dowry? The work she could do, the pair of
shoulders, the deep chest, the long legs she had--pick your dowry there,
my friends! A young woman of her sort carried her dowry on her back,
in her two hands, in her mouth--ah! and in what she could put into
yours, by our Lord. Rather, it should be the other way. What, now, was
Ser Baldassare prepared to lay out upon such a piece of goods?
Baldassare shivered, grinned fearfully, and shook his head many times.
Money was money; it was limited; it bore its value in plain figures
upon its face: you knew where you were with money. But you could
get wives cheaper than ducats, and find them cheaper value, soul of a
cat! Besides, what was he? A