ll," quoth the priest. "I am only for
condemning this to perpetual banishment because it contains some things
of the famous Mateo Boyardo.

"If I find him here uttering any other language than his own, I will
show no respect; but if he speaks in his own tongue, I will put him upon
my head."

"I have him in Italian," said the barber, "but I do not understand him."

"Neither is it any great matter, whether you understand him or not,"
answered the priest; "and we would willingly have excused the good
captain from bringing him into Spain and making him a Castilian; for he
has deprived him of a great deal of his native value; which, indeed, is
the misfortune of all those who undertake the translation of poetry into
other languages; for, with all their care and skill, they can never
bring them on a level with the original production. This book, neighbor,
is estimable upon two accounts; the one, that it is very good of itself;
and the other, because there is a tradition that it was written by an
ingenious king of Portugal. All the adventures of the castle of
Miraguarda are excellent, and contrived with much art; the dialogue
courtly and clear; and all the characters preserved with great judgment
and propriety. Therefore, Master Nicholas, saving your better judgment,
let this and 'Amadis de Gaul' be exempted from the fire, and let all the
rest perish without any further inquiry."

"Not so, friend," replied the barber; "for this which I have here is the
renowned 'Don Bellianis.'"

The priest replied: "This, and the second, third, and fourth parts, want
a little rhubarb to purge away their excess of bile; besides, we must
remove all that relates to the castle of Fame, and other absurdities of
greater consequence; for which let sentence of transportation be passed
upon them, and, according as they show signs of amendment, they shall be
treated with mercy or justice. In the mean time, neighbor, give them
room in your house; but let them not be read."

"With all my heart," quoth the barber; and without tiring himself any
farther in turning over books of chivalry, bid the housekeeper take all
the great ones and throw them into the yard. This was not spoken to the
stupid or deaf, but to one who had a greater mind to be burning them
than weaving the finest and largest web; and therefore, laying hold of
seven or eight at once, she tossed them out at the window.

But, in taking so many together, one fell at the barber's feet, who