“You will not, then, sell this fish for twelve ducats?” asked Don Bempo, just as Gianettino had unnoticedly approached. “Reflect, man, twelve ducats are a fortune—it is a princely payment!”
The fisherman contemptuously shook his head. “Rather than sell it for twelve ducats I would eat it myself,” said he, “and invite my friends, these good Romans, as guests! Go, go, sublime Spanish Don, and buy gudgeons for your pair of miserable ducats! Such a fish as this is too dear for you; you Spanish gentlemen should buy gudgeons!”
“Bravo! bravo!” cried the laughing spectators. “Gudgeons for the Spanish gentlemen with high-nosed faces and empty pockets!”
Don Bempo blushed with anger and wounded pride. “I shall unquestionably buy this fish,” said he, “for nothing is too dear for my master when the honor of our nation is to be upheld. But you must allow me time to go home and get the money from the major-domo. Keep the fish, therefore, so long, and I will return with the twenty ducats for it.”
And majestically Don Bempo made himself a path through the crowd, which laughingly stepped aside for him, shouting: “Gudgeons for the Spanish gentleman! Viva Don Bempo, who pays twenty ducats for a fish!”
“He will certainly not come back,” said the fisherman, shaking his head.
“He goes to buy gudgeons!” cried another.
“What will you bet that he returns to buy the fish?” said a third.
“He will not buy it!” interposed a fourth. “These Spaniards have no money; they are poor devils!”
“Who dares say that?” shrieked another, and now suddenly followed one of those quarrels which are so quickly excited on the least occasion among the passionate people of the south. There was much rage, abuse, and noise. How flashed the eyes, how shook the fists, what threats resounded there!