constantly interpreted by
the preacher could help them little when they saw written Latin; the
spelling even of the modern language being in an unorganised and
scrambling condition for the mass of people who could read and write,
[Note] while the majority of those assembled nearest to the placard were
not in the dangerous predicament of possessing that little knowledge.

"It's the Frate's doctrines that he's to prove by being burned," said
that large public character Goro, who happened to be among the foremost
gazers. "The Signoria has taken it in hand, and the writing is to let
us know. It's what the Padre has been telling us about in his sermon."

"Nay, Goro," said a sleek shopkeeper, compassionately, "thou hast got
thy legs into twisted hose there. The Frate has to prove his doctrines
by _not_ being burned: he is to walk through the fire, and come out on
the other side sound and whole."

"Yes, yes," said a young sculptor, who wore his white-streaked cap and
tunic with a jaunty air. "But Fra Girolamo objects to walking through
the fire. Being sound and whole already, he sees no reason why he
should walk through the fire to come out in just the same condition. He
leaves such odds and ends of work to Fra Domenico."

"Then I say he flinches like a coward," said Goro, in a wheezy treble.
"Suffocation! that was what he did at the Carnival. He had us all in
the Piazza to see the lightning strike him, and nothing came of it."

"Stop that bleating," said a tall shoemaker, who had stepped in to hear
part of the sermon, with bunches of slippers hanging over his shoulders.
"It seems to me, friend, that you are about as wise as a calf with
water on its brain. The Frate will flinch from nothing: he'll say
nothing beforehand, perhaps, but when the moment comes he'll walk
through the fire without asking any grey-frock to keep him company. But
I would give a shoestring to know what this Latin all is."

"There's so much of it," said the shopkeeper, "else I'm pretty good at
guessing. Is there no scholar to be seen?" he added, with a slight
expression of disgust.

There was a general turning of heads, which caused the talkers to descry
Tito approaching in their rear.

"Here is one," said the young sculptor, smiling and raising his cap.

"It is the secretary of the Ten: he is going to the convent, doubtless;
make way for him," said the shopkeeper, also doffing, though that mark
of respect was rarely shown by Florentin