Who ever thought of building a
tower at the bottom of a hill? It was good enough, he dared say, for
Siena. Oh, yes; doubtless it satisfied their artistic notions, such as
they were.
This tower being one of my favourites, I felt called upon to undertake
its defence. Recollecting all I had ever heard or read to its credit,
citing authorities neither of us had ever dreamt of - improvising
lustily, in short, as I warmed to my work - I concluded by proving it to
be one of the seven wonders of the world. He said:
"Now really! One would think you had been born in this miserable hole.
You know what we Florentines say:
Siena
Di tre cose e piena:
Torri, campane,
E figli di putane."
"I admit that Siena is deficient in certain points," I replied. "That
wonderful dome of yours, for example - there is nothing like it here."
"No, indeed. Ah, that cupola! Ah, Brunelleschi - che genio!"
"I perceive you are a true Florentine. Could you perhaps tell me why
Florentines, coming home from abroad, always rejoice to see it rising
out of the plain?"
"Some enemy has been talking to you...."
A little red-haired boy from Lucca, carrying for sale a trayful of those
detestable plaster-casts, then accosted me.
Who bought such abominations, I inquired?
Nobody. Business was bad.
Bad? I could well believe it.
