As soon as she was thus restored to her parents, and had declared these things, San Giovanni Bocca d’oro died in peace, for God had forgiven him.
2
‘Ah! I knew so many of those things once, but now they are all gone, all gone.’ This was said by a fine old man, who boasted of having the same number of years and the same name as the Pope.
‘I dare say you can tell me something about San Giovanni Bocca d’oro, however,’ I said.
‘San Giovanni Bocca d’oro! Of course. Everybody in Rome knows about San Giovanni Bocca d’oro. Do you want to know about him? That’s not a story; that’s a fact.’
‘Yes, all you know about him I want to hear.’
‘It’s a long story—too long to remember.’
‘Never mind, tell me all you can recall.’
‘San Giovanni Bocca d’oro lived in a village—’