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Updated: June 2, 2025
"And I should not wish you to be thrown into prison, and myself into the oubliettes." "Let us efface 'Medici'," said Pittrino, supplicatingly. "No," replied Cropole, firmly. "I have got an idea, a sublime idea your picture shall appear, and my legend likewise. Does not 'Medici' mean doctor, or physician, in Italian?" "Yes, in the plural."
"The king! the king!" repeated a noisy and eager crowd. "The king!" cried Cropole, abandoning his guest and his ideas of delicacy, to satisfy his curiosity. With Cropole were mingled, and jostled, on the staircase, Madame Cropole, Pittrino, and the waiters and scullions. The cortege advanced slowly, lighted by a thousand flambeaux, in the streets and from the windows.
He composed the sign of six physicians, with the legend; the echevin applauded and authorized it. The sign produced an extravagant success in the city, which proves that poetry has always been in the wrong, before citizens, as Pittrino said.
Cropole turned around, and, on seeing the old man, cleared a passage for him. The window was instantly closed. Pittrino pointed out the way to the newly-arrived guest, who entered without uttering a word. The stranger waited for him on the landing; he opened his arms to the old man and led him to a seat. "Oh, no, no, my lord!" said he. "Sit down in your presence? never!"
These illustrious ladies appeared so lovely on the sign, they presented to the astonished eyes such an assemblage of lilies and roses, the enchanting result of the changes of style in Pittrino they assumed the poses of sirens so Anacreontically that the principal echevin, when admitted to view this capital piece in the salle of Cropole, at once declared that these ladies were too handsome, of too animated a beauty, to figure as a sign in the eyes of passers-by.
"The king! the king!" repeated a noisy and eager crowd. "The king!" cried Cropole, abandoning his guest and his ideas of delicacy, to satisfy his curiosity. With Cropole were mingled, and jostled, on the staircase, Madame Cropole, Pittrino, and the waiters and scullions. The cortege advanced slowly, lighted by a thousand flambeaux, in the streets and from the windows.
"He thought most of the legend," said Cropole. "The proof of the importance in which he held the figures," said Pittrino, "is that he desired they should be likenesses, and they are so." "Yes; but if they had not been so, who would have recognized them without the legend?
I say this for your sake, Master Cropole, as well as for yours, Signor Pittrino." What answer could be made to this? It was necessary to thank the echevin for his kindness, which Cropole did. But Pittrino remained downcast and said he felt assured of what was about to happen. The visitor was scarcely gone when Cropole, crossing his arms, said: "Well, master, what is to be done?"
Soon the cries of the victims slaughtered in the poultry-yard, the hasty steps of Madame Cropole up that little wooden staircase, so narrow and so echoing, the bounding pace of Pittrino, who only that morning was smoking at the door with all the phlegm of a Dutchman; all this communicated something like surprise and agitation to the traveler.
Himself, his wife, Pittrino, and two cooks, immediately laid hands upon all the inhabitants of the dove-cote, the poultry-yard, and the rabbit-hutches; so that as many lamentations and cries resounded in the yards of the hostelry of the Medici as were formerly heard in Rama. Cropole had, at the time, but one single traveler in his house.
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