Have you ever heard of our priest, Padre Bonifacio? Haven't you heard? How can this be! Here in Corsica, everyone, young and old, knows Padre Bonifaccio, how smart he is, how learned, how courteous.
And you can talk about his kindness from morning to evening. Once our padre knows that someone is in trouble, he will spare nothing to help the unfortunate person. Not with money, of course, no; Padre Bonifacio, more than anything in the world, does not like to untie his wallet. But he has wise advice and pious instruction in stock for everyone. Padre Bonifacio will never pass by a beggar without saying a kind word. If necessary, he will get up in the middle of the night and trudge through the mountains in any weather to give a message to the dying and get a couple of florins for it.
Our Padre Bonifacio had only one very small flaw. He absolutely loved his buckles. Yes, yes, don’t be surprised, two beautiful silver buckles that he always wore on his shoes. When the shoes wore out, he changed his treasure to a new pair. In the pocket of his cassock he had a small cloth to wipe his favorite buckles as soon as they became dusty or splashed with dirt. And that’s why Padre Bonifacio’s buckles always shone in such a way that it was pleasing to the eyes.
It was because of these buckles that the whole story happened. You see, Scambaron. . . However, if you have not heard of Padre Bonifacio, then you, of course, have no idea about Scambarone. Moreover, his name was not Scambarona. We'll have to start in order here too.
Scambaron is simply an old shoe. And here in Corsica they call those who have nothing but trampled, torn shoes. The Scambaron in question, however, had a wife and a bunch of children, but that’s not property. . . .
It was this same Scambaron who coveted Padre Bonifacio’s buckles, which he treasured more than his own eyes. And as soon as this slacker had enough conscience! After all, our padre did him so much good. For example, the winter before last, a mule died near Scambaronu. With great patience, Padre Bonifacio persuaded him not to indulge in ungodly despair, to be submissive and not to murmur. And do you think it helped? Not at all. You should have listened to the curses he hurled at Scambarona, carrying brushwood on his back instead of a mule. And as he sat down to rest, he thought that the silver buckles of the venerable mentor were worth no less than a good mule. However, Padre Bonifaccio was in no hurry to part with his buckles for the sake of the Scambarone family. And Scambaron decided that he should take care of this himself.
How can this be? Steal buckles? But Scambaron had no intention of walking around with a bad conscience for the rest of his days because of some buckles. It is necessary to take possession of them so that not a single person, not even the padre himself, can call Scambarona a thief. He puzzled for a long time and finally came up with an idea.
One day, early in the morning, when all the good people were still sleeping soundly, Scambarona began knocking on the door of Padre Bonifacio's house. A sleepy maid ran out at the knock. Seeing Scambarona, she scolded him and wanted to slam the door in his face, but no way! Scambarona raised such a cry that the padre, who was calmly resting in his bed, woke up and ordered him to be let in.
“Padre Bonifaccio,” Scambaron spoke, barely crossing the threshold of the bedroom, “I would never have dared to disturb you so early, but I had an amazing dream, and I quickly ran to you.”
“There’s no need to rush,” the padre remarked gloomily, “you could have told your dream later.” I can imagine what evil spirits a sinner like you sees at night!
- Oh, holy father, but I saw you. Well, just like alive. There was a glow around your head, and behind your shoulders fluttered two wings, like chicken wings, only bigger. And you looked at me so sadly that I cried, woke up and ran to you.
Scambaron knew what to say. It’s flattering for anyone to hear something like that about themselves, and Padre Bonifacio’s heart melted like wax from a hot flame.
“Come closer, my son,” he said in a touched voice. – Your dream is prophetic and means that your sins have filled you up, like dough, which a careless housewife forgot about, fills a kneading bowl. Repent, repent, my son!
That's all Scambaron needed. He quickly knelt down next to Padre Bonifacio's bed and, humbly lowering his eyes to better see the buckles, the shoes were under the bed! – began his confession.
- Eh, holy father, I have so many sins that I don’t know where to start.
“Start with the largest ones,” advised the padre.
- OK. About a week ago my dove bred a couple of pigeons. Not even a day has passed since your cat killed one little pigeon. Here I, a great sinner, instead of giving her the second little pigeon, caught this reptile by the tail and whipped her so hard that she wouldn’t even want to look at pigeons for a whole year.
“Ah, my son,” the padre said reproachfully, “you not only sinned by offending an innocent creation, but you are sinning now, for your tongue has uttered abusive words.”
“Here, here,” Scambarona picked up, “I’m not even saying that.” Not five minutes ago I called your venerable maid an old pepper shaker.
“Oh, how bad it is, my son,” the padre groaned and raised his eyes to the ceiling.
At that very moment, Scambarone with one jerk tore the buckles off Padre Bonifaccio's shoes and put them in his pocket.
“Well, the big sins seem to be over,” he sighed with relief. - Let's move on to the small ones. Just recently I stole a pair of silver buckles from a kind man.
The padre even jumped up in bed.
- What, my son, and you call this a minor sin! - he shouted in horror, imagining what would have happened to him if the buckles had been stolen from him. – And they didn’t burn your pocket, wicked man?!
“It hasn’t burned yet,” replied Scambaron, “but it burns terribly.” Will you take them from me, Holy Father?
- What are you, what are you! Yes, I will never touch them in my life. Give them back to their rightful owner today.
“I don’t know what to do, Padre Bonifacio,” answered Scambaron, scratching the back of his head. – You see, I’ve already tried to do this. Yes, the owner doesn’t take them.
This is a different matter,” the padre reasoned, “why didn’t you say it before?” In this case, you can assume that you did not steal the buckles, but simply received them as a gift.
“Thank you, padre,” he said, rising from his knees to Scambaron. – You eased my soul! She is now free from sins and empty, like a wineskin from which every drop of wine has been drunk.
“Then go in peace, my son,” Padre Bonifacio blessed him.
Scambaron left very happy. Judge for yourself whether our padre was pleased when he began to dress.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru