Every grand celebration is bound to end with a weary and disgusting feeling, and the more gorgeous it is, the more so. The city of Spero was no exception, and after three days and nights of processions, prayers, consecration of the Eucharist, and the viewing and performance of holy miracles, even the strongest men and the most exuberant women could not help stumbling on the stone floors or beds, flushed and dying, physically poor and spiritually satisfied, when the money, carnal desires, and power they had so deeply longed for were so worthless, and their souls were half-detached from their filthy bodies in frankincense and hymns. Fluttering into the sky.

The streets were a mess, except for the traces and powders of fresh or dried flowers, the wax that people had fallen during the procession, the charred pine branches, the ribbons and buttons for decoration, and even one or two shoes that had not been made in pairs, but which were a great loss in an age when they could be given to children as a legacy, but which were of little value disappeared silently into someone's bag or apron before the night fog cleared. By the end of the morning prayer the next day, and about three hours before the first hour of prayer, some of the men who had done the dirty work we had mentioned before came out of their small rooms, carrying brooms and barrels, and washing the streets with water, and the broken petals, which had lost their bright colors and smells, mixed with soot, dust, and stones, flowed into the drains on both sides of the streets, which had been laid in advance before the town was builtLike the terracotta drinking canals that are still in use today, they belonged to Emperor Claudius of ancient Rome – aqueducts that bring sweet, cold water from the mountains, and drains that bring the city's filth, whether brought by man, livestock or nature, into another small tributary of the Topino, a tributary of the River Tvere.

The same is true of the ancient city of Assisi, which they had passed through, and it is worth the ridicule of a caustic poet that Rome before Constantine I (the 42nd Roman Emperor and the first credible recorded Roman Emperor of God) was simply a nest of corrupt maggots, wriggled with insensitive slaves, indulgent commoners, cunning and vicious merchants, absurd and lascivious nobles, and bloodthirsty and cruel emperorsand the pagan gods they worshipped, like demons and devils - but the cities and roads created by these maggots are still the most popular for people to use and live in, and they are brighter and cleaner than those of the new cities that do not have a perfect water supply and drainage network, but they are like the old cities of Assisi, Spero, and Foligno, which they will pass through.

A brownish-red sparrow, with a white cheek, alarmed by the people who were sweeping the streets, gave up the berries in the crevices (berries were also used to decorate the eyes and lips of the flower icons), and flew up violently, and first landed on the second-floor windowsill of the little brown building, and knocked curiously on the narrow glass, and when the people inside came to look at it in surprise, it flew higher again, and as it skimmed the windows of the third floor, it saw a young and gloomy face, and then it circled the clock building behind the small building, After a pause on the raised white ornamental corner, and then, when he saw a young priest leaning out of the corridor, holding a loaf of bread in his hand and reaching to the sky, the sparrow forgot what had attracted it before, and left behind the reddish-brown body of the bell tower, with its white neck and elegant turquoise peaked hat, and threw himself into the embrace of food.

But before the sparrows fell, the young priest was summoned back to his room by his mentor, the priest of the church of Maggiore, who hastily threw the bread in the courtyard as he left, where a large flock of sparrows quarreled and muttered - and their benefactor had returned to the dark room, the reliquary of the church of Maggiore, and Father Maggiore did not use phosphorescence like Bishop Picromini. So he could only look at the precious relics by the light leaking through the small window, which could be measured entirely by a line, with the fragments of the saint's fingernails, bones, skin, and whole dried limbs, as well as the utensils they had used, from wooden cups to gold bowls inlaid with precious stones, bloodstained turbans, half-decayed pieces of wood (from sacred coffins), linen shrouds with dark brown imprints, boxes and chests containing them...... There are also gold and silver sacrilies dedicated to God, the Virgin and Christ, rich brocades and velvets, intricate lace, glittering gold ribbons, pearls, precious stones, rosaries of coral...... Although these are made by mortals, they become sacred when they are placed on the altar, draped over holy images and sculptures, and immersed in clear holy water.

Although there have been criticisms that these sacred objects sometimes appear in nuns, monks, and even their lovers, many more believe that this is because the former is too narrow-minded, after all, at a time when certain actions can be described as sending the devil to hell (note 1), worldly love can of course extend to flesh and blood and spirituality, and it is perfectly reasonable for a clergyman to have one, or more, lovers. After all, the cardinals of Rome were known for having many sons and grandchildren, and sometimes if these industrious servants forgot their worldly desires because they were so busy with the sacraments, a kind old woman would come and recommend her daughter or granddaughter.

The young clergyman had such a lovely lover, but because of his piety and loyalty, he missed her only briefly after the morning prayers and after the evening prayers, and devoted the rest of his time to the copying of the Bible and football (although the Church strictly forbade the clergy to participate in such rough and ferocious secular entertainment), so he could not help but feel some guilt for her. So when he saw that his teacher had placed a soft pile as thick as blood on the box that had been prepared for Bishop Picromini, he could not help but exclaim, "Is this too much?" ”

Father Maggiore glanced at him, and before the young man curled himself up, he said: "My dear child, what makes you think that this is enough? Hearing the familiar words of the tutor, with a sneer and a slight whistle, the young priest took a step back again: "You are my nephew," said Father Maggiore, "although your parents did not care much about their third son, I thought you were a wise child, and I adopted you and sent you to the university of Pisa, for which I spent a great sum of money," he turned, lifted his robe, and took out the key to open a chest decorated with brass horns, "I must confess that I love you very much, I will not blame you for being short-sighted and impatient—and I hope you will understand my disappointment—and I will write to my friend to suggest that he find another reciter, and that it is evident that you are not yet fit to go to Rome. ”

(To be continued)

NOTE 1—See Decameron, Day 3, Tenth Story.