She began a strange rigmarole, mixing up her own affairs with the events of the town. Every now and then she returned to Margherita.
"She's the lovely one! The rose of roses! the pink! the sugar plum! Oh and her clothes! Oh God, never have been seen such marvels! When she passes people watch her like a shooting star. A gentleman charged me to steal a scrap of her scarf. He wanted to wear it on his heart. The maid up there at Carboni's says that every morning her young lady finds on her window a love letter tied up with a blue ribbon. But the rose can't do with anything except a pink. Well, well! hand me thy cup!" concluded the babbler giving herself a slap on the mouth, "it's no good! I knew your Worship when he had a tail and I can't say Lei[19] to him."
"And pray when had I a tail?" asked Anania, threatening her with his finger.
Nanna ran away, shaking and laughing, her hand over her mouth. From the courtyard she shouted up to the student who was leaning out of his window—
"It was the tail of your shirt, your Worship!"
Again Anania threatened her and again Nanna shook with laughter; the little pig, now loose, snuffed at the woman's feet; a hen jumped on its back and pecked its ears. A sparrow perched on the elder, swinging on the end of a twig. And Anania was so happy that he sang another verse from Poliziano:
| Portate, venti, questi dolci versi | Breezes, upon your wings these |
| verses bear | |
| Dentro all' orecchie della Ninfa | And breathe them in my |
| mia; | Ladye's ear for me; |
| Dite quanti per lei lagrime versi, | Speak of the many tears I've |
| shed for her. | |
| E la pregate che crudel non sia; | And pray her sore to quit this |
| cruelty; | |
| Dite che la mia vita fugge via, | Tell her my life's sad course is |
| almost run, | |
| E si consuma come brina al sole. | Wasted, consumed, like hoar |
| frost in the sun. |
As he sang, he had again the feeling of being light as the sparrow on the twig. Later he went to the garden where he could hand the maid the letter for Margherita.
The garden, still wet after the nocturnal rain, exhaled a strong odour of vegetation and wet earth. The beans had been reduced by caterpillars to masses of strange grey lace. The prickly pears were losing their little gold cupped yellow flowers; the tall passion flower with its stemless violet flowers cut the azure of the sky with their strange outline. The mountains rose vaporous in the pearly distance, their highest peaks lost in golden clouds. Efès, a heap of rags, lay in a corner. Anania kicked him lightly; he raised his face, opened a glassy eye, and murmured—
"When Amelia so pure and so pale—"