The Buckles of Padre Bonifaccio

Have you ever heard of our priest, Padre Bonifaccio? Surely you must have! How could you not? Here in Corsica, everyone from the youngest to the oldest knows Padre Bonifaccio—how wise he is, how learned, how courteous.

And as for his kindness, one could speak of it from morning till night. If our padre hears that someone is in trouble, he spares no effort to help the unfortunate. Not with money, of course—no, Padre Bonifaccio dislikes opening his purse more than anything in the world. But he always has a wise piece of advice or a pious instruction ready for anyone. He would never pass by a beggar without saying a kind word. If necessary, he would rise in the middle of the night, in any weather, and trek through the mountains to give last rites to a dying man—and earn a couple of florins for his trouble.

There was just one tiny flaw in our Padre Bonifaccio. He was absolutely enamored with his buckles. Yes, yes, don’t be surprised—two beautiful silver buckles that he always wore on his shoes. When his shoes wore out, he would transfer his precious buckles to a new pair. In the pocket of his cassock, he kept a small cloth to wipe the buckles as soon as they got dusty or muddy. And so, Padre Bonifaccio’s buckles always shone so brightly that it was a pleasure to look at them.

It was because of these buckles that the whole story happened. You see, Scambaronu... But then again, if you haven’t heard of Padre Bonifaccio, you certainly have no idea who Scambaronu is. Especially since that wasn’t even his real name. I’ll have to start from the beginning.

Scambaronu simply means “old shoe.” And here in Corsica, that’s what we call someone who owns nothing but worn-out, tattered shoes. The Scambaronu in question did have a wife and a bunch of children, but that’s not exactly property...

This very Scambaronu set his sights on Padre Bonifaccio’s buckles, which the padre guarded more carefully than his own eyes. And how could this good-for-nothing have the audacity! After all, our padre had done so much good for him. For example, the winter before last, Scambaronu’s mule died. With great patience, Padre Bonifaccio urged him not to fall into ungodly despair, to be submissive and not to complain. And do you think that helped? Not at all. You should have heard the curses Scambaronu muttered as he carried firewood on his back instead of using a mule. And when he sat down to rest, he pondered how the silver buckles of the venerable padre were worth no less than a good mule. However, Padre Bonifaccio was in no hurry to part with his buckles for the sake of Scambaronu’s family. So Scambaronu decided to take matters into his own hands.

What could he do? Steal the buckles? But Scambaronu had no intention of living with a guilty conscience for the rest of his days over some buckles. He had to get them in such a way that no one, not even the padre himself, could call him a thief. He racked his brains for a long time and finally came up with a plan.

One early morning, when all good people were still fast asleep, Scambaronu began pounding on the door of Padre Bonifaccio’s house. A sleepy maid ran out at the noise. Seeing Scambaronu, she scolded him and was about to slam the door in his face, but no such luck! Scambaronu raised such a clamor that the padre, peacefully resting in his bed, woke up and ordered him to be let in.

“Padre Bonifaccio,” Scambaronu began as soon as he crossed the threshold of the bedroom, “I would never dare disturb you so early, but I had a remarkable dream, and I rushed to you at once.”

“There was no need to hurry,” the padre grumbled. “You could have told me about your dream later. I can only imagine what kind of filth a sinner like you sees in his dreams!”

“Oh, holy father, but I saw you. Just as if you were alive. There was a halo around your head, and two wings fluttered behind your shoulders, like a chicken’s, only bigger. And you looked at me so sadly that I cried, woke up, and ran to you.”

Scambaronu knew what to say. Anyone would be flattered to hear such a thing, and Padre Bonifaccio’s heart melted like wax in 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 like dough forgotten by a careless housewife overflows the kneading trough. Repent, repent, my son!”

This was exactly what Scambaronu wanted. He quickly knelt by Padre Bonifaccio’s bed and, humbly lowering his eyes to get a better look at the buckles—the shoes were right under the bed!—began his confession.

“Oh, holy father, I have so many sins, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with the biggest ones,” the padre advised.

“Well, all right. A week ago, my dove hatched a pair of chicks. Not a day had passed before your cat killed one of them. And I, a great sinner, instead of giving her the other chick, grabbed the wretched creature by the tail and gave her such a thrashing that she won’t even look at doves for a year.”

“Ah, my son,” the padre said reproachfully, “you not only sinned by harming an innocent creature, but you are sinning now, for your tongue has uttered foul words.”

“Yes, yes,” Scambaronu chimed in, “and I’ve said worse. Just five minutes ago, I called your respectable maid an old pepper grinder.”

“Oh, how wrong, my son,” the padre groaned, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

At that very moment, Scambaronu yanked the buckles off Padre Bonifaccio’s shoes and slipped them into his pocket.

“Well, I think we’ve covered the big sins,” he sighed with relief. “Let’s move on to the smaller ones. Just recently, I stole a pair of silver buckles from a good man.”

The padre even jumped in his bed.

“What, my son, and you call that a small sin!” he cried in horror, imagining what it would be like if the buckles were stolen from him. “And they haven’t burned a hole in your pocket, you scoundrel?!”

“Not yet,” Scambaronu replied, “but they’re burning terribly. Would you take them from me, holy father?”

“What are you saying! I would never touch them. Return them to their rightful owner today.”

“I don’t know what to do, Padre Bonifaccio,” Scambaronu replied, scratching his head. “You see, I already tried to do that. But the owner won’t take them back.”

“That’s a different matter,” the padre reasoned. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? In that case, you can consider that you didn’t steal the buckles but simply received them as a gift.”

“Thank you, padre,” Scambaronu said, rising from his knees. “You’ve eased my soul! It’s now free of sin and as empty as a wineskin drained to the last drop.”

“Then go in peace, my son,” Padre Bonifaccio blessed him.

Scambaronu left very pleased. As for whether our padre was pleased when he got dressed, you can judge for yourself.

↑ To the top

The Buckles of Padre Bonifaccio

More fairy tales