The mob were diverted out of all measure, and I myself being wonderfully attracted by this new apparition of Belcampo, allowed myself to be carried away by the impression of the moment, and broke out into the unrestrained and hearty laughter of boyish delight. Alas, how often before was my laughter only the convulsive vibration of that internal torment which preyed upon my heart!
Hereafter, the combat with the giant was preceded by a long disputation, wherein King David demonstrated, with great erudition and eloquence, wherefore he must and would smite his frightful antagonist to death. Belcampo made all the muscles of his countenance writhe and play with the most inconceivable vivacity, indicating extreme rage. His gigantic arms stretched themselves out against the less than little David, who, meanwhile, saved himself by incredible leaps and bendings, vanishing altogether, and then coming into sight again—now here, now there, even from the folds of the giant's own mantle. At last the pebble flew from David's sling against Goliah's head. He fell down lifeless, and the curtain dropped.
I laughed always more and more, excited not merely by the absurdity of Pulcinello, but by my previous recollection of Belcampo's grotesque genius. Probably I laughed too loud, for the people seemed to notice my conduct; and, when I turned round, there was a dignified Abbot standing near me.
"I rejoice, reverend sir," said he, "to find that you have not altogether lost your relish for terrestrial enjoyments. After I had witnessed your most extraordinary penitence and devotion, I believed that it would be wholly impossible for you to be diverted with follies such as these."
While the Abbot spoke thus, it seemed to me as if I ought to feel ashamed of my levity, but involuntarily I answered him in a way of which I directly afterwards repented. "Believe me, Signor Abbate," said I, "the man who has once combated, like a stout swimmer, with the stormy waves of this changeful life, never loses altogether the power of lifting up his head bravely from the dark flood!"
The Abbot looked at me with significant glances. "Indeed!" said he, "I know not which to praise most, the poetry or logic of your illustration. I believe that I now understand you completely, and admire you, reverend sir, from the bottom of my heart!"
"I know not, for my part, Signor Abbate," replied I, "how a poor penitent monk can have excited your admiration."
"Excellent!" said the Abbot. "You do not, most reverend father, run any risk of forgetting the part you have to play!—You are worthy to be the favourite of the Pope!"
"His Holiness," answered I, "has indeed been pleased to honour me with an audience. I have done homage before him in the dust, as is becoming towards him, whom, on account of his tried virtues, Omnipotence has chosen for his vicegerent on earth."
"Well, then," replied the Abbot, "you, too, are no doubt a well-chosen vassal of the triple-crowned, and will nobly fulfil the duties required of you. But, believe me, the present Pope is a jewel of virtue, compared to Alexander the Sixth, and you may perhaps have erred sadly in your reckoning. Go on with your part, however—What is well begun is half ended!—Farewell, most reverend father!"