The Bashful Lover

“She never told her love—oh no!
For she was mild and meek,
And his for her he dared not show,
Because he hadn’t the cheek.
’Tis pity this should e’er be past,
For, to judge by what all men say,
’Twere best such difference should last
Unto our dying day.”

All who have visited Florence have noticed the Church of Santa Lucia in the Via de’ Bardi, from the figure of the patron with two angels over the door in Lucca della Robbia ware. Of this place of worship there is in a jest-book a droll story, which the reader may recall when he enters the building.

“A young Florentine once fell desperately in love with a beautiful
lady of unsullied character and ready wit, and so followed her about
wherever she went; but he being sadly lacking in wit and sense, at
all four corners, never got the nearer to her acquaintance, though he
told all his friends how irresistible he would be, and what a
conquest he would make, if he could only once get a chance to speak
to her. Yet as this lady prized ready wit and graceful address in a
man above all things, it will be seen that his chance was thin as a
strip of paper.

“But one _festa_ the lady went to the Church of Santa Lucia in the
Via dei Bardi, and one of the friends of the slow-witted one said to
him, ‘Now is the lucky hour and blooming chance for you. Go up and
speak to her when she approaches the font to take holy water.’

“Now the lover had prepared a fine speech for the lady, which he had
indeed already rehearsed many times to his friends with great
applause; but when it came to utter it to the lady a great and awful
fear fell on him, the words vanished—vanished from his memory, and he
was dumb as a dead ass. Then his friend poking him in the ribs,
whispered in his ear, ‘But say _something_, man, no matter what!’

“So with a gasp he brought out at last, ‘Signora, I would fain be
your humble servant.’

“To which the lady, smiling, replied, ‘Well, I have already in my
house plenty of humble servants, and indeed only too many to sweep
the rooms and wash the dishes, and there is really no place for
another. . . .’

“And the young man turned aside with sickness in his heart. His
wooing for that holiday was o’er.”

This may be matched with the story of a bashful New England lover of the olden time, for there are none such now-a-days:—

“I don’t know how I ever got courage to do it; but one evening I went
courting Miss Almira Chapin.

“And when she came in, I sat for half-an-hour, and dared not say a
word. At last I made a desperate dash and got out, ‘Things are
looking very green out of doors, Miss Almira.’

“And she answered, ‘Seems to me they’re looking a great deal greener
_in_ doors this evening.’

“That extinguished me, and I retreated. And when I was outside I
burst into tears.”