“Leave her alone,” exclaimed the elder son, ill at ease; “you always have to be making mother fly into a rage.”
“No, my boy, no; she is the one who makes me fly into a rage.”
“Giovanni Battista is used to living among gods,” said Kennedy, “and he despises saints.”
“No, no,” replied the cast-maker; “some saints are all right. If all the churches had figures by Donatello or Robbia, I would go to church oftener; but to go and look at those statues in the Jesuit churches, those figures with their arms spread and their eyes rolling.... Oh, no! I cannot look at such things.”
Cæsar could see that Giovanni Battista expressed himself very well; but that he was not precisely a star when it came to working. After the mould for the bas-relief was cleaned and fixed, the cast-maker invited Cæsar and Kennedy to have a glass of wine in a wine-shop near by.
“How’s this, are you leaving already, father?” said Simonetta, as he went through the shop to get to the street.
“I’m coming back, I’m coming back right away.”
SUPERSTITIONS
The three of them went to a rather dirty tavern in the same lane, and settled themselves by the window. This post was a good point of observation for that narrow street, so crowded and so picturesque.
Workmen went by, and itinerant vendors, women with kerchiefs, half head-dress and half muffler, and with black eyes and expressive faces. Opposite was a booth of coloured candies, dried figs strung on a reed, and various kinds of sweets.