de 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 poor pedlar, by his faith! At
this he spread out his arms and dropped them with a flop upon his knees.
The priest sat back in his chair and cast appealing looks at the
rafters; the company chuckled, nudged each other, guffawed. Baldassare
was made to feel that he had over-coloured his case. True, he admitted,
he had a roof over his head, shared fortune with the rats in that. But
look at the thing reasonably, comrades. Vanna would make another to
keep; a girl of her inches must be an eater, body of a dog! Had his
reverence thought of that? His reverence made a supreme effort, held up
one pudgy forefinger, and with the other marked off two joints of it.
"Of mortadella so much," he said; "of polenta so much"--and he shut one
fist; "of pasta so much"--and he coupled the two fists; "and of wine, by
the soul of the world, not enough to drown a flea! I tell you,
Baldassare," he said finally, emboldened by the merchant's growing
doubt--"I tell you that you ask of me a treasure which I would not part
with for a cardinal's hat. No indeed! Not to be Bishop of Verona,
throned and purfled on Can Grande's right hand, will I consent to
traffic my Vanna. Eh, _sangue di Sangue_, because I am a man of the
Church must I cease to be a man of bowels, to have a yearning, a tender
spot here?" He prodded his cushi