The Fool Errant: Being the Memoirs of Francis-Anthony Strelley, Esq., Citizen of LuccaHewlett, Maurice
General
The Fool Errant: Being the Memoirs of Francis-Anthony Strelley, Esq., Citizen of Lucca
Hewlett, Maurice
Historical fiction
Perhaps I had gone a league and a half when I came to a village full of
people. Half a dozen miserable houses placed streetwise, one of them a
disreputable inn, formed a background to a motley assembly of tattered
vagrants, of which peasants of the countryside of both sexes, children,
pigs and turkeys formed a small part. The others were men and women of
the most extravagant attire and behaviour it is possible to imagine. I
saw a punchinello on stilts wading among the rest; there were women
flaunting feathers on their tousled heads, and moustachioed bullies who
might have come from the ruck of some army on the march; pages, minions,
magicians, astrologers, women's ruffians, castrati--it was as if one of
the wildest hours of the Piazzetta of Venice had been transported by
witchcraft to this quiet place. As I approached, wondering at what I
saw, a creature, I knew not then whether man or woman, came and stood in
my path, and with a great gesture of the arm greeted me in this
remarkable apostrophe: "Hail, all hail, Bombaces, King of the
Halicarnassians!" He, or she, repeated this shrilly three or four times,
but nobody took any notice.
This hermaphrodite had a face of the most vivid and regular beauty I
ever saw--a face of perfect oval, freshly and rarely coloured, a pair of
dark and lustrous eyes, a straight, fine nose and a mouth exquisitely
shaped, provokingly red. Its hair, which was dark brown, fell in a tide
of wealth far over its shoulders. It wore a woman's bodice cut square in
the neck, after the fashion of unmarried women in Venice, and short in
the sleeves; but at the waist that sex stopped and the male began, for
it had on a pair of man's breeches, worsted stockings and Venice
slippers, and its shape as revealed by these garments was not that of a
woman. The creature, as a fact, declared itself to be a male; and when
he began to declaim against me again, I addressed him for what he was.
"My good young man," I said, "I am too weary, too desperate and too
hungry to be entertained by your antics, and too poor to reward you for
them--being, as you see me, an exile and a stranger. If you can find me
something to eat, I shall be grateful; if you cannot, go in peace, and
leave me to do the same."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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