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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Let us understand each other, Signor Curato," said Saracinesca. "I see I had better explain the position. I am Leone Saracinesca, the prince of that name, and the head of the family." The priest bowed respectfully at this intelligence. "My only son lives with me in Rome he is now there and his name is Giovanni Saracinesca. He is engaged to be married.
"He is deaf," screamed the little boy, who was now joined by his companion, and both in great excitement danced round the fine gentleman. "Give me a soldo," they yelled together. "Show me the house of the Padre Curato," answered the Prince, "then I will give you each a soldo. Lesti! Quick!" Whereupon both the boys began turning cart-wheels on their feet and hands with marvellous dexterity.
The bishop warned the padre that it was an undesirable field, but it was the only one then unoccupied. But the padre was working wonders and the church was then undergoing repairs and decorations. The actual curato was long ago seized by the government and is now used as a schoolhouse. The priest lived in a rented house close by the river bank.
It was a message from the cura, begging us to come to the curato, where we would be more comfortable. Sending back a word of thanks, I stated that we would be there for the following night. The cura had been away from home for several days.
It was late when we reached the town, which consists in large part of mestizos and indians who speak little but native Tarascan. We found the cura was not in town, but were taken to the curato; arrived there, we discovered that the good man had taken his keys with him.
Herein he wrote of "the witchery of Italy" the land he loved next to his own. His letters give glorious glimpses of the Arno, their strolls to Bellosguardo's heights, the churches, monasteries, costumes, and songs of the peasants all attuned to poesy. Frequent were the exchanges of civility between the author's study and the good old curato across the lane.
As he passed where we were working, he gave us an extremely distant greeting and rode on up to the curato. From his castle he sent immediate complaint because our horses had been put into his stable without his permission. I went to the good man's house and found him hearing confessions.
When drunk, he is violent and abusive, and it was plain that the women at the curato were afraid of him. More than one hundred and fifty years ago Padre Quintana, who was the mission priest at Juquila, translated the Doctrina into Mixe and wrote a Gramatica of the language, both of which were then printed.
The answer was in the harsher dialect of Calabria, and it was given with the rough familiarity of a seaman. "La Bella Sorrentina is no housekeeper of a curato! She is not a damsel to take a siesta with a Tunisian rover prowling about in her neighborhood. Hadst ever been beyond the Lido, thou wouldst have known the difference between chasing the felucca and catching her."
"Have you heard no more of that painter, Laurella?" asked the curato "that Neapolitan, who wished so much to marry you?" She shook her head." He came to make a picture of you. Why would you not let him?" "What did he want it for? There are handsomer girls than I. Who knows what he would have done with it? He might have bewitched me with it, or hurt my soul, or even killed me, mother says."
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