“If you will allow me to say so, no story is ever finished properly. You find Consalvo—that, now, is stolen from Tasso, the scene of Clorinda and Tancred.... Well, you find Consalvo. What then? Consalvo dies, and, at least as far as I have got, one hears no more of her. And the same thing with the characters. There is that one of that Nerina; it would be fine enough, but, good heavens! it is so little developed ... and one does not know what to make of it...! Do you agree with me?”
“Well ... to tell the truth ...”
“You see, Cosimo, whether or not I was right when we were discussing the subject the other evening with Signora Amalia.”
“I should think so, indeed!” exclaimed Sor Cosimo, testifying his approval by a great guffaw of laughter. “Do you mean to say you would compare yourself with that conceited creature? Let her go for seven years to school with the Sisters of St. Francis de Sales, as you have been, and then come and talk to us....”
The amazing literary criticisms of Sor Cosimo and his sister completely took away my breath. I was relieved from the necessity of answering by the appearance of Gostino with a bottle and a tray of glasses.
“I am sure you’ll like this wine, sir; you’ll see!” said Gostino as he poured me out some wine.
“Come, come, Gostino!” said Signorina Olimpia.
“Look sharp, Gostino,” continued Sor Cosimo; “go and fetch two more bottles—one of ’62 (you’ll find it on the table at the end of the cellar), and the other of ’59 (the year of the Revolution), and you shall see”—he turned to me again—“you shall see you have never tasted any like this!”
“But ... that’s enough, Signor Cosimo!”