Priests sit Play

Auckland Star, Volume XXVI, Issue 265, 14 November 1885, Page 4

Priests sit Play

One ! two ! three ! Tho moon is casting cold black shadows across tho silent Florentine piazza as throo dark figures steal across tho cornor nnd disappear down a narrow stroet into a gloomy doorway. They creep up tho echoing staircase by tho light of a email taper, which the first carefully shelters with his hands from tho ancient wandoring drafts of the old stairway, and as their ehu filing footsteps die away into silence the hoarso bell in tho Campanilo tolls out the quarters. Tho Kovormo. Signore Solomono, has company to night, for thoro aro threo black priesta' hats hanging in tho dingy passage, and sounds of voices, laughter, and a strong odour of tobacco smoke come through the keyhole, Let us look in. Solomono's salotto is a large bare room, with a rod-tiled floor ; there is a stovo on one side, and by it an old woman is knitting and crouching over a scaldino, In tho middle of tho room, through clouda of smoko, gloams the light of a small oil lamp. Four shorn puffy faces peer eagerly ovor four pairs of fat hands and dirty cards. A halfompty flask of wine is on the table, and as tho old crono knits, her little woasollike eyes peor out ovor and aaon towards Lhe group. Presently there is a dispute, accompanied by an astonishing clumour, and an amount of shrugging of shoulders and gesticulating such as might herald a doadly combat. But no; they are only warming to tho gatno, and Solomone soon quiots them as he decidos tho point with much friendly pawing on oach of tho disputants' ehouldora. Tho coppers jinglo across tho table, and while preparations arc boing made for a now deal, tho talk begins on things clerical and priestly. "I had really a most interesting confession to day," says tho little round-face man opposite His black, round eyes sparkle and his thin lips part into a .-:milo as ho speaks. '• It was really most interesting,' ho continues as the others look up with Buddet'' interest, -'that.is, whon I once got tho poverino started," ho adds with a nice appreciation of his own skill in these matters. •' Ho told all ho know, and he had a groat deal to toll. I am sick of sitting day after dayjistoning to a parcel of womon who como to confess their husbands' or lovers' shortcomings. Dio Santo ! their children worry me to doath," Tho little round facofrowns indignantly as tho speakor boats out his little protestation on tho crazy table. The company grunt jyiupathotically as ho takes up tho talo of hie wrongs. " 1 know all tho tunos of tho eignorino of my parish, they nover do anything worth confessing ! I have had ten yoars of thorn now, bah ! I'll give- it up, I will !" '• You should take to a prison, like mo," says a tall man of hanging lo.ver lip and fiVi-ihy, protruding eyes; " ono gets something thoro worth giving absolution for. Nearly all my penitents are worth listening to, and thoy mostly mako a cloan breast of it. I really enjoy it, there's so much human naturo in it." " But I shonld notliko to bo shut up alone with murderors.'j puts in the first speaker, for ho is timid, the poor little tastor in human nature. A hardworking parish priest is our friond Solomone, and says macs cheerfully day after day for his ono franc twelve centimes of pay. Ho could not live were it not for a tiny storo of wealth that came from a relative and will go to tho Church, lie is tho best of croatures, a most active mombor of the society of Miserecordia, tonding tho sick night after night, and over ready to help from his slondor purso tho agod and destitute. Ho has but ono failing: Naturo seems to have intended him for a buffoon ! Blotch with streaks of black and red that wildornoss of rippling faco ; cover up that little shaven spot behind ; give him a cap and bells ! What an inimitable wink i« his ! He gives these card parties twico or thrice a weok, and is ever roadv to porform for his friends' amusement. First ho can caricature himself when en grande Icnitc. at tho high altar. What mock solemnity is there in the mochanical gymnastics of tho " business" of his profession ! What '' bobbing.-", bowings, curtseyings !" what whcslings to and fro ! what crossings and handpoisings! llow ho bates the Josuits ! ho can creep ruund tho room in their thin sanctimonious manner, looking by some master illusion absolutely attenuated for tho moment. Bishops and archbishops, dignitaries and powers come up at tho call of his genius. How killing is his reproduction of an epicurean prelate ovor his favourite dish ! and how delicious tho solemn concorn of a priest-dandy over his sweet, potticoated frippery 1 Excited by the onthusiaatic applause of his friends —how these churchmen love a laugh !—he bids more and more wildly for applause, until, wearied out, he sinks exhausted into a chair. " Bravo, bambino ! bravo I" scream his frionds. But ho is very sad and despondent at times, comforting himself only in that his dusolato loneliness in life must bring him rocompenso heroaftor. "I must bo right, or what a poor fool I should be at the end of it all I" ho will say pathetically. The little green eyed, wrinkled old crono is his only domestic, and she ekes out the pittance she receives by doing some "laying out" work that Solomone obtains for her. Although her clientele is not very large, she has real enthusiasm for her work of laying out the dead, and at the mention of her business her little ereon oyes light up, and her poor, skinny, wrinkled old hands clutch convulsively in anticipation. She has her simple pleasures, too, and when her work is dono she will creep out to see a funoral and will roturn radiant.

But opposite Solomone is one of a ditlbrent cast. Horn on the day kept by the Church as the day of Pentecost, ho regards that fact as a divinoindication.and.although apriest, gains hia livelihood as a teacher of tongues. He is intellectual, although warpod by a purely theological training, and loved teaching tho many pretty English girls that come to him to 'road 'Dante in tho original, you know," and by his account many aro consumed by a hopeless passion for him. And then he paints in oils, for tho Churcli and' postperity. Possessing little technical skill, and having ;i purely intellectual appreciation of art, he will Bpendhiasparehoursbeforeagfganticcanvas, on which huge Madonnas with pink painty faces and distorted eyes tread clouds frantically or sail wildly about the sky, mixed up with crescent moons and serpents. He laments that he, only he, is loft of all the priest painters, and cherishes the thought of tho timo when his works ahall take their place beside those of Fra Angelico. "I don't bother about technique or realism. Fra Angelico was purely spiritual," he is accustomed to say, ignoring the tact that Fome of that' spiritual Fra's quaint hieroglyphic productions are of the bloodiest realism. Our friend paints other subjects too, and sketches aggravatingly healthy iiionka in tho prime of life gazing at skulls with an air of wishing they could but make some use of them—soup even. "But it is no good, they aro too dry," thoy seem to say to thamsolves despairingly. But whilst we liavo boon talking, tho quartette have finished their game, and the guests are clattering down the stone staircase. Solomone is already busy vrith his beads,