Part 98 (1/2)
”What is your name, good youth?”
”Gerard, signora.”
”Gerard? body of Bacchus! is that the name of a human creature?”
”It is a Dutch name, signora. I was born at Tergou, in Holland.”
”A harsh name, girls, for so well-favoured a youth; what say you?”
The maids a.s.sented warmly.
”What did I send for him for?” inquired the lady, with lofty languor.
”Ah, I remember. Be seated, Ser Gerardo, and write me a letter to Ercole Orsini, my lover; at least he says so.”
Gerard seated himself, took out paper and ink, and looked up to the princess for instructions.
She, seated on a much higher chair, almost a throne, looked down at him with eyes equally inquiring.
”Well, Gerardo.”
”I am ready, your excellence.”
”Write, then.”
”I but await the words.”
”And who, think you, is to provide _them_?”
”Who but your grace, whose letter it is to be.”
”Gramercy! what, you writers, find you not the words? What avails your art without the words? I doubt you are an impostor, Gerardo.”
”Nay, signora, I am none. I might make s.h.i.+ft to put your highness's speech into grammar, as well as writing. But I cannot interpret your silence. Therefore speak what is in your heart, and I will empaper it before your eyes.”
”But there is nothing in my heart. And sometimes I think I have got no heart.”
”What is in your mind, then?”
”But there is nothing in my mind; nor my head neither.”
”Then why write at all?”
”Why, indeed? That is the first word of sense either you or I have spoken, Gerardo. Pestilence seize him! why writeth he not first? then I could say nay to this, and ay to that, withouten headache. Also is it a lady's part to say the first word?”
”No, signora: the last.”
”It is well spoken, Gerardo. Ha! ha! Shalt have a gold piece for thy wit. Give me my purse!” And she paid him for the article on the nail a la moyen age. Money never yet chilled zeal. Gerard, after getting a gold piece so cheap, felt bound to pull her out of her difficulty; if the wit of man might achieve it. ”Signorina,” said he, ”these things are only hard because folk attempt too much, are artificial and labour phrases.
Do but figure to yourself the signor you love--”
”I love him not.”