This happened a hundred years ago, certainly no less.
A noble cavalier was walking along the road from Polo to Popigliano. His name was Cortese. Why did you go? Yes, it’s very simple - he didn’t have a horse. The cavalier has a hat with a feather on his head, shoes with buckles on his feet, a velvet camisole on his shoulders, and not a single soldier in the pocket of his camisole. This often happens with noble gentlemen. However, not only was Cortese’s pocket empty, his stomach was also empty. So empty that he would probably eat a baked stone.
That’s why he was happy when he saw a tavern along the road.
- Perbacco! It would be nice to have a snack here,” he said to himself and opened the door of the tavern.
The owner rushed to meet the noble guest, seated him in the best place and began to serve one dish after another: spaghetti - long thin pasta, pigeons in sauce, roast pig, a bottle of white wine and a bottle of red wine.
Having eaten all this, Cortese crossed his legs, opened the snuffbox and, after taking a good sniff, loudly called the owner.
“Do you know, my dear,” he began, “what the order is in your area?” If one person gives another a good slap on the wrist, what will the judge say about it?
The owner replied:
- A good slap on the wrist is worth one fine. - And how much is the lunch I ate? – Cortese continued to ask.
“Without two soldi it’s scarce,” the owner answered, bowing and extended his hand for the payment.
- So what happened? - cried the noble gentleman. “Give me a quick slap on the wrist, and leave two soldi for yourself as a tip.”
The owner turned purple with anger.
“Stop making jokes, sir, poor fellow, pay for lunch, otherwise things will go badly!” - And the owner began to roll up his sleeves over his huge hands.
However, Cortese was not at all afraid.
“Take your anger to the cellar where you store your sour wine,” he said calmly. “Your anger will cool down there.” Otherwise I'll make you run.
– So what’s it like to run?! - the owner puffed, - Yes, so. Like a hare. Or even faster.
“Fifty thousand devils, I won’t run!” But Cortese stood his ground.
- I swear on the blood of the pig that I just ate, you will run, - What if not?
- And if so?
– What if I’ve never run in my life?
- Well, you’ll run for the first time.
- What if I don’t want to?
- Now you want it.
“I bet the cost of your dinner that I won’t budge,” roared the owner, driven out of patience.
Then the noble Cavaliere Cortese raised his fists, jumped up and rushed... through the open door.
- Hold him, hold him! – the owner shouted and rushed after Cortese.
But the gentleman counted out the payment for dinner with his heels so quickly that the owner always remained far behind. When Cortese counted a whole scudo in this way, he stopped, waiting for the owner.
“Well, kumanek,” said the gentleman, “but I won the bet.” You ran faster than a hare. So don’t be angry, but rather take a sniff of my tobacco.
And he brought the open snuffbox to the owner’s nose. The owner laughed. What else could he do?
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru