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"Give Billy Widgeon a cocoa-nut to stop his talk," said the boatswain; "and there's a bit o' 'bacco for you, Billy, to clear your memory, my lad." "Oh, my memory's clear enough, Mr Small, sir," said Billy, who was eating something all the time; "but thanky all the same. And now, how have you got on?" "Oh," said the boatswain, "we've had a bit of a scare!"
The sounds ceased, and there was a hail from the forecastle. "Hey, there, yew, on the watch!" "Hullo! What is it?" cried Tom Fillot. "Ask yewr young skipper to pitch us down a little 'bacco, will you, mister? My lads here is out, and they want to make their miserable lives happy." "I oughtn't to let them have any," thought Mark; "but it may keep them quiet.
Happy you that have no branches to be broken, and no olive-pickers to pay! Per Bacco! you are well off, if you only knew it!" He walked over to where his weeping wife sat, laid his hand on her head, and stooping, kissed her brow. The girls laughed again. "Be quiet, all of you! Do you think that only smooth brows and bright cheeks ought to be kissed?
We men are so exacting, we expect to find ideal nymphs and goddesses when we condescend to marry a mortal; and if we did, our chickens would be boiled to rags, and our mutton come up as cold as a stone." "Per Bacco, you are an oracle," said Riccabocca, laughing. "But I am not so sceptical as you are. I honour the fair sex too much.
His cries came to us muffled and inarticulate. "Corpo di Bacco!" M. Étienne exclaimed, with a face of childlike surprise. "Some one is in a fine hurry to enter! Do you not let him in, Sir Master of the Household?" "I wonder who he's got there now," Pierre muttered to himself in French, staring in puzzled wise at the door.
She is lovely as the day; and for her voice why Corpo di Bacco! La Gianina, the prima donna, is a screechowl to my nightingale." "Your nightingale! Bravo!" cried Stefano, in a tone of mocking irony. "What can you know about her voice?" "Simply this, Master Stefano," replied the young gondolier.
"Signore, he was a more honest or a more just man did not cast his net in the gulf." "He has fallen a victim to his craft?" "Cospetto di Bacco! none know in what manner he came by his end. Some say St. Mark was impatient to see him in paradise, and some pretend he has fallen by the hand of a common Bravo, named Jacopo Frontoni." "Why should a Bravo take the life of one like this?"
"Per Bacco! a disgraceful fact in our history!" burst out Trenta, a look of horror in his round blue eyes. "Hide it, hide it, count! For the love of Heaven! You do not expect me to rejoice at this? Pray, when you mention it, add that the Protestants were obliged to flee for their lives, and that Lucca purified itself by abject submission to the Holy Father."
"It is well," said Piero, with a shrug, and they turned away from each other. "A mysterious old tiger!" thought the artist, "well worth painting. Ugly with deep lines looking as if the plough and the harrow had gone over his heart. A fine contrast to my bland and smiling Messer Greco my Bacco trionfante, who has married the fair Antigone in contradiction to all history and fitness.
Guess whence I come, Brancadori," he added, assured of first stirring the cook's curiosity, then his power of speech. "From the Palais Castagna, where they are selling everything." "Ah! Per Bacco!" exclaimed the Tuscan, with evident sorrow upon his old parchment-like face, scorched from forty years of cooking.
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