{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_32786/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_32786","id":"gutenberg_32786","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32786","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - European","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folk literature, Italian -- Italy -- Florence"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1895 David Nutt edition by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org\n\n\n\n\n\n Legends of Florence\n Collected from the People\n\n\n _And Re-told_\n _by_\n _Charles Godfrey Leland_\n (_Hans Breitmann_)\n\n * * * * *\n\n First Series\n\n * * * * *\n\n _LONDON_: _DAVID NUTT_\n 270-71 _STRAND_\n 1895\n\n _Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.\n _At the Ballantyne Press_\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis book consists almost entirely of legends or traditions of a varied\ncharacter, referring to places and buildings in Florence, such as the\nCathedral and Campanile, the Signoria, the Bargello, the different city\ngates, ancient towers and bridges, palaces, crosses, and fountains, noted\ncorners, odd by-ways, and many churches. To all of these there are\ntales, or at least anecdotes attached, which will be found as\nentertaining to the general reader as they will be interesting, not to\nsay valuable, to the folklorist and the student of social history; but\nhere I must leave the work to speak for itself.\n\nI originally intended that this should be entirely a collection of relics\nof ancient mythology, with superstitions and sorceries, witchcraft and\nincantations, or what may be called occult folk-lore, of which my work on\n\"Etruscan-Roman Remains in Popular Tradition\" consists, and of which I\nhave enough additional material to make a large volume. But having\nresolved to add to it local legends, and give them the preference, I\nfound that the latter so abounded, and were so easily collected by an\nexpert, that I was obliged to cast out my occult folk-lore, piece by\npiece, if I ever hoped to get into the port of publication, according to\nterms with the underwriters, following the principle laid down by the\nillustrious Poggio, that in a storm the heaviest things must go overboard\nfirst, he illustrating the idea with the story of the Florentine, who,\nhaving heard this from the captain when at sea in a tempest, at once\nthrew his wife into the raging billows--_perche non haveva cosa piu grave\ndi lei_--because there was nought on earth which weighed on him so\nheavily.\n\nThere are several very excellent and pleasant works on Old Florence, such\nas that portion devoted to it in the \"Cities of Central Italy,\" by A. J.\nC. Hare; the \"Walks about Florence,\" by the Sisters Horner; \"Florentine\nLife,\" by Scaife; and the more recent and admirable book by Leader Scott,\nwhich are all--I say it advisedly--indispensable for those who would\nreally know something about a place which is unusually opulent in\nancient, adventurous, or artistic associations. My book is, however,\n_entirely_ different from these, and all which are exclusively taken from\nauthentic records and books. My tales are, with a few exceptions,\nderived directly or indirectly from the people themselves--having been\nrecorded in the local dialect--the exceptions being a few anecdotes racy\nof the soil, taken from antique jest-books and such bygone halfpenny\nliterature as belonged to the multitude, and had its origin among them.\nThese I could not, indeed, well omit, as they every one refer to some\npeculiar place in Florence. To these I must add several which remained\nobscurely in my memory, but which I did not record at the time of hearing\nor reading, not having then the intention of publishing such a book.\n\nIt has been well observed by Wordsworth that minor local legends sink\nmore deeply into the soul than greater histories, as is proved by the\nfact that romantic folk-lore spreads far and wide over the world,\ncompletely distancing in the race the records of mighty men and their\ndeeds. The magic of Washington Irving has cast over the Catskills and\nthe Hudson, by means of such tales, an indescribable fascination, even as\nScott made of all Scotland a fairyland; for it is indisputable that a\nstrange story, or one of wild or quaint adventure, or even of humour,\ngoes further to fix a place in our memory than anything else can do.\nTherefore I have great hope that these fairy-tales of Florence, and\nstrange fables of its fountains, palaces, and public places--as they are\ntruly gathered from old wives, and bear in themselves unmistakable\nevidences of antiquity--will be of real use in impressing on many\nmemories much which is worth retaining, and which would otherwise have\nbeen forgotten.\n\nThe manner in which these stories were collected was as follows:--In the\nyear 1886 I made the acquaintance in Florence of a woman who was not only\nskilled in fortune-telling, but who inherited as a family gift from\ngenerations, skill in witchcraft--that is, a knowledge of mystical cures,\nthe relieving people who were bewitched, the making amulets, and who had\nwithal a memory stocked with a literally incredible number of tales and\nnames of spirits, with the invocations to them, and strange rites and\ncharms. She was a native of the Romagna Toscana, where there still lurks\nin the recesses of the mountains much antique Etrusco-Roman heathenism,\nthough it is disappearing very rapidly. Maddalena--such was her\nname--soon began to communicate to me all her lore. She could read and\nwrite, but beyond this never gave the least indication of having opened a\nbook of any kind; albeit she had an immense library of folk-lore in her\nbrain. When she could not recall a tale or incantation, she would go\nabout among her extensive number of friends, and being perfectly familiar\nwith every dialect, whether Neapolitan, Bolognese, Florentine, or\nVenetian, and the ways and manners of the poor, and especially of\nwitches, who are the great repositories of legends, became in time\nwonderfully well skilled as a collector. Now, as the proverb says, \"Take\na thief to catch a thief,\" so I found that to take a witch to catch\nwitches, or detect their secrets, was an infallible means to acquire the\narcana of sorcery. It was in this manner that I gathered a great part of\nthe lore given in my \"Etruscan-Roman Remains.\" I however collected\nenough, in all conscience, from other sources, and verified it all\nsufficiently from classic writers, to fully test the honesty of my\nauthorities.\n\nThe witches in Italy form a class who are the repositories of all the\nfolk-lore; but, what is not at all generally known, they also keep as\nstrict secrets an _immense_ number of legends of their own, which have\nnothing in common with the nursery or popular tales, such as are commonly\ncollected and published. The real witch-story is very often only a\nframe, so to speak, the real picture within it being the _arcanum_ of a\nlong _scongiurazione_ or incantation, and what ingredients were used to\nwork the charm. I have given numbers of these real witch-tales in my\n\"Etruscan-Roman Remains,\" and a few, such as \"Orpheus and Eurydice,\"\n\"Intialo,\" and \"Il Moschone,\" in this work.\n\nLady Vere de Vere, who has investigated witchcraft as it exists in the\nItalian Tyrol, in an admirable article in _La Rivista_ of Rome (June\n1894)--which article has the only demerit of being too brief--tells us\nthat \"the Community of Italian Witches is regulated by laws, traditions,\nand customs of the most secret kind, possessing special recipes for\nsorcery,\" which is perfectly true. Having been free of the community for\nyears, I can speak from experience. The more occult and singular of\ntheir secrets are naturally not of a nature to be published, any more\nthan are those of the Voodoos. Some of the milder sort may be found in\nthe story of the \"Moscone, or Great Fly,\" in this work. The great secret\nfor scholars is, however, that these pagans and heretics, who are the\nlast who cling to a heathen creed out-worn in Europe--these outcast\nchildren of the Cainites, Ultra-Taborites, and similar ancient\nworshippers of the devil, are really the ones who possess the most\nvaluable stores of folk-lore, that is to say, such as illustrate the\nfirst origins of the religious Idea, its development, and specially the\nevolution of the Opposition or Protestant principle.\n\nAs regards the many legends in this book which do not illustrate such\nserious research, it is but natural that witches, who love and live in\nthe Curious, should have preserved more even of them than other people,\nand it was accordingly among her colleagues of the mystic spell that\nMaddalena found tales which would have been long sought for elsewhere, of\nwhich this book is a most convincing proof in itself; for while I had\nresolved on second thought to make it one of simple local tales, there\nstill hangs over most--even of these--a dim, unholy air of sorcery, a\nwitch _aura_, a lurid light, a something eerie and uncanny, a restless\nhankering for the broom and the supernatural. Those tales are\nMaddalena's every line--I pray thee, reader, not to make them mine. The\nspirit will always speak.\n\nVery different, indeed, from these are the contributions of Marietta\nPery, the _improvvisatrice_, though even she in good faith, and not for\nfun, had a horseshoe for luck; which, however, being of an artistic turn,\nshe had elegantly gilded, and also, like a true Italian, wore an amulet.\nShe, too, knew many fairy tales, but they were chiefly such as may be\nfound among the _Racconti delle Fate_, and the variants which are now so\nliberally published. She had, however, a rare, I may almost say a\nrefined, taste in these, as the poems which I have given indicate.\n\nI must also express my obligations to Miss Roma Lister, a lady born in\nItaly of English parentage, who is an accomplished folk-lorist and\ncollector, as was shown by her paper on the _Legends of the Castelli\nRomani_, read at the first meeting of the Italian Folk-Lore Society,\nfounded by Count Angelo de Gubernatis, the learned and accomplished\nOriental scholar, and editor of _La Rivista_. I would here say that her\nresearches in the vicinity of Rome have gone far to corroborate what I\npublished in the \"Etruscan-Roman Remains.\" I must also thank Miss Teresa\nWyndham for sundry kind assistances, when I was ill in Siena.\n\nThere is no city in the world where, within such narrow limit, Art,\nNature, and History have done so much to make a place beautiful and\ninteresting as Florence. It is one where we feel that there has been\nvivid and varied _life_--life such as was led by Benvenuto Cellini and a\nthousand like him--and we long more than elsewhere to enter into it, and\nknow how those men in quaint and picturesque garb thought and felt four\nhundred years ago. Now, as at the present day politics and news do not\nenter into our habits of thought more than goblins, spirits of fountains\nand bridges, legends of palaces and towers, and quaint jests of friar or\nsquire, did into those of the olden time, I cannot help believing that\nthis book will be not only entertaining, but useful to all who would\nstudy the spirit of history thoroughly. The folk-lore of the future has\na far higher mission than has as yet been dreamed for it; it is destined\nto revive for us the inner sentiment or habitual and peculiar life of man\nas he was in the olden time more perfectly than it has been achieved by\nfiction. This will be done by bringing before the reader the facts or\n_phenomena_ of that life itself in more vivid and familiar form.\nAdmitting this, the reader can hardly fail to see that the writer who\ngathers up with pains whatever he can collect of such materials as this\nbook contains does at least some slight service to Science.\n\nAnd to conclude--with the thing to which I would specially call\nattention--I distinctly state that (as will be very evident to the\ncritical reader) there are in this book, especially in the second series,\nwhich I hope to bring out later, certain tales, or anecdotes, or jests,\nwhich are either based on a very slight foundation of tradition--often a\nmere hint--or have been so \"written up\" by a runaway pen--and mine is an\n\"awful bolter\"--that the second-rate folk-lorist, whose forte consists\nnot in finding facts but faults, may say in truth, as one of his kind did\nin America: \"Mr. Leland is throughout inaccurate.\" In these numerous\ninstances, which are only \"folk-lore\" run wild, as Rip Van Winkle, Sleepy\nHollow, and Heine's Gods in Exile are legend, I have, I hope, preserved a\ncertain _spirit_ of truth, though I have _sans mercy_ sacrificed the\nletter, even as the redcap goblins, which haunt old houses, are said to\nbe the ghosts of infants sacrificed by witches, or slain by their\nmothers, in order to make _folletti_ or imps of them.\n\nNow as for this reconstructing Hercules from a foot, instead of giving\nthe fragment, at which few would have glanced, the success consists in\nthe skill attained, and the approbation of the reader. And with this\nfrank admission, that in a certain number of these tales the utmost\nliberty has been taken, I conclude.\n\n CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.\n\nFLORENCE, _April_ 6, 1894.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n PAGE\nTHE THREE HORNS OF MESSER GUICCIARDINI 1\nTHE PILLS OF THE MEDICI 6\nFURICCHIA, OR THE EGG-WOMAN OF THE MERCATO VECCHIO 11\nTHE LANTERNS OF THE STROZZI PALACE 17\nTHE GOBLIN OF LA VIA DEL CORNO 21\nFRATE GIOCONDO, THE MONK OF SANTA MARIA NOVELLA 26\nTHE LEGEND OF THE CROCE AL TREBBIO 31\nTHE TWO FAIRIES OF THE WELL 36\nTHE STORY OF THE VIA DELLE SERVE SMARRITE 41\nTHE BRONZE BOAR OF THE MERCATO NUOVO 47\nTHE FAIRY OF THE CAMPANILE, OR THE TOWER OF GIOTTO 51\nTHE GOBLIN OF THE TOWER DELLA TRINITA, OR THE PORTA SAN 54\nNICCOLO\nTHE GHOST OF MICHEL ANGELO 59\nTHE APPARITION OF DANTE 62\nLEGENDS OF LA CERTOSA 66\nLEGENDS OF THE BRIDGES IN FLORENCE 74\nTHE BASHFUL LOVER 85\nLA FORTUNA 87\nTHE STORY OF THE UNFINISHED PALACE 91\nTHE DEVIL OF THE MERCATO VECCHIO 98\nSEEING THAT ALL WAS RIGHT 107\nTHE ENCHANTED COW OF LA VIA VACCHERECCIA 109\nTHE WITCH OF THE PORTA ALLA CROCE 114\nTHE COLUMN OF COSIMO, OR DELLA SANTA TRINITA 118\nLEGENDS OF OR' SAN MICHELE 122\nTHE WITCH OF THE ARNO 132\nSTORIES OF SAN MINIATO 141\nTHE FRAIR'S HEAD OF SANTA MARIA MAGGIORE--THE LADY WHO 149\nCONFESSED FOR EVERYBODY--HOLY RELICS\nBIANCONE, THE GIANT STATUE IN THE SIGNORIA 152\nTHE RED GOBLIN OF THE BARGELLO 160\nLEGENDS OF SAN LORENZO 167\nLEGENDS OF THE PIAZZA SAN BIAGIO 174\nTHE SPIRIT OF THE PORTA SAN GALLO 176\nSTORY OF THE PODESTA WHO WAS LONG ON HIS JOURNEY 179\nLEGENDS OF THE BOBOLI GARDENS: THE OLD GARDENER, AND THE 184\nTWO STATUES AND THE FAIRY\nHOW LA VIA DELLA MOSCA GOT ITS NAME 188\nTHE ROMAN VASE 194\nTHE UNFORTUNATE PRIEST 201\nTHE MYSTERIOUS FIG-TREE 205\nIL PALAZZO FERONI 211\nLA VIA DELLE BELLE DONNE 219\nTHE WIZARD WITH RED TEETH 221\nORPHEUS AND EURYDICE 225\nINTIALO: THE SPIRIT OF THE HAUNTING SHADOW 237\nCAIN AND HIS WORSHIPPERS 254\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE HORNS OF MESSER GUICCIARDINI\n\n\n \"More plenty than the fabled horn\n Thrice emptied could pour forth at banqueting.\"\n\n --KEATS, _The Earlier Version of_ \"_Hyperion_.\"\n\n \"Prosperity is often our worst enemy, making us vicious, frivolous,\n and insolent, so that to bear it well is a better test of a man than\n to endure adversity.\"--GICCIARDINI, _Maxims_, No. 64.\n\nI did not know when I first read and translated the following story,\nwhich was obtained for me and written out by Maddalena, that it had any\nreference to the celebrated historian and moralist, Guicciardini. How I\ndid so forms the subject of a somewhat singular little incident, which I\nwill subsequently relate.\n\n LE TRE CORNE.\n\n\"There was an elderly man, a very good, kind-hearted, wise person, who\nwas gentle and gay with every one, and much beloved by his servants,\nbecause they always found him _buono ed allegro_--pleasant and jolly.\nAnd often when with them while they were at their work, he would say,\n'_Felice voi poveri_!'--'Oh, how lucky you are to be poor!' And they\nwould reply to him, singing in the old Tuscan fashion, because they knew\nit pleased him:\n\n \"'O caro Signor, you have gold in store,\n With all to divert yourself;\n Your bees make honey, you've plenty of money,\n And victuals upon the shelf:\n A palace you have, and rich attire,\n And everything to your heart's desire.'\n\n\"Then he would reply merrily:\n\n \"'My dear good folk, because you are poor\n You are my friends, and all the more,\n For the poor are polite to all they see,\n And therefore blessed be Poverty!'\n\n\"Then a second servant sang:\n\n \"'Oh bello gentile mio Signor',\n Your praise of poverty 'd soon be o'er\n If you yourself for a time were poor;\n For nothing to eat, and water to drink,\n Isn't so nice as you seem to think,\n And a lord who lives in luxury\n Don't know the pressure of poverty.'\n\n\"Then all would laugh, and the jolly old lord would sing in his turn:\n\n \"'O charo servitor',\n Tu parli tanto bene,\n Ma il tuo parlar\n A me non mi conviene.' . . .\n\n \"'My boy, you answer well,\n But with false implication;\n For what to me you tell\n Has no true application;\n How oft I heard you say\n (You know 'tis true, you sinner!)\n \"I am half-starved to-day,\n How I'll enjoy my dinner!\"\n Your hunger gives you health\n And causes great delight,\n While I with all my wealth\n Have not an appetite.'\n\n\"Then another servant sang, laughing:\n\n \"'Dear master, proverbs say,\n I have heard them from my birth,\n That of all frightful beasts\n Which walk upon the earth,\n Until we reach the bier,\n Wherever man may be,\n There's nothing which we fear\n So much as poverty.'\n\n\"And so one evening as they were merrily improvising and throwing\n_stornelli_ at one another in this fashion, the Signore went to his\nstreet-door, and there beheld three ladies of stately form; for though\nthey were veiled and dressed in the plainest black long robes, it was\nevident that they were of high rank. Therefore the old lord saluted them\ncourteously, and seeing that they were strangers, asked them whither they\nwere going. But he had first of all had them politely escorted by his\nservants into his best reception-room. {3a}\n\n\"And the one who appeared to be the chief replied:\n\n\"'Truly we know not where we shall lodge, for in all Florence there is, I\ntrow, not a soul who, knowing who we are would receive us.'\n\n\"'And who art thou, lady?' asked the Signore. And she replied:\n\n \"'Io mi chiamo, e sono,\n La Poverta in persona,\n E queste due donzelle,\n Sono le mie sorelle,\n Chi voi non conoscete\n La Fame e la Sete!'\n\n \"'I am one whom all throw curse on.\n I am Poverty in person;\n Of these ladies here, the younger\n Is my sister, known as Hunger,\n And the third, who's not the worst,\n Is dreaded still by all as Thirst.'\n\n\"'Blessed be the hour in which ye entered my house!' cried the Signore,\ndelighted. 'Make yourselves at home, rest and be at ease as long as you\nlike--_sempre sarei benglieto_.'\n\n\"'And why are you so well disposed towards me?' inquired Poverty.\n\n\"'Because, lady, I am, I trust, sufficiently wise with years and\nexperience to know that everything must not be judged from the surface.\nGreat and good art thou, since but for thee the devil a beggar in the\nworld would ever move a finger to do the least work, and we should all be\nin mouldy green misery. Well hath it been said that 'Need makes the old\nwoman trot,' {3b} and likewise that _Poverta non guasta\ngentilezza_--'Poverty doth not degrade true nobility,' as I can perceive\nby thy manner, O noble lady. Thou, Poverty, art the mother of Industry,\nand grandmother of Wealth, Health, and Art; thou makest all men work; but\nfor thee there would be no harvests, yea, all the fine things in the\nworld are due to Want.'\n\n\"'And I?' said Dame Hunger. 'Dost thou also love me?'\n\n\"'_Si_, _Dio ti benedicha_!' replied the Signore. '_La fame ghastiga il\nghiotto_'--'Hunger corrects gluttony.\n\n \"'Hunger causes our delight,\n For it gives us appetite;\n For dainties without hunger sent\n Form a double punishment.'\n\n'Hunger is the best sauce.' Thou makest men bold, for _chane affamato\nnon prezza bastone_--a hungry dog fears no stick. Thou makest the\nhappiness of every feast.'\n\n\"'_Ed io_, _Signore_?' said Thirst. 'Hast thou also a good word for me?'\n\n\"'_A Dio_, _grazie_! God be praised that thou art. For without thee I\nshould have no wine. Nor do men speak in pity of any one when they say\nin a wine-shop, \"He is thirsty enough to drink up the Arno.\" I remember\na Venetian who once said, coming to a feast, \"I would not take five gold\n_zecchini_ for this thirst which I now have.\" And to sum it all up, I\nfind that poverty with want to urge it is better than wealth without\npower to enjoy, and, taking one with another, the poor are honester and\nhave better hearts than the rich.'\n\n\"'Truly thou art great,' replied Poverty. '_Gentile_, _buono_, _e\ngalantuomo a parlare_--gentle, good, and noble in thy speech. In such\nwise thou wilt ever be rich, for as thou art rich thou art good and\ncharitable. And thou hast well said that Plenty comes from us, and it is\nwe who truly own the horn of plenty; and therefore take from me this horn\nas a gift, and while thou livest be as rich as thou art good and wise!'\n\n\"'And I,' said Hunger, 'give thee another, and while it is thine thou\nshalt never want either a good appetite nor the means to gratify it. For\nthou hast seen the truth that I was not created to starve men to death,\nbut to keep them from starving.'\n\n\"'And I,' said Thirst, 'give thee a third horn of plenty; that is, plenty\nof wine and temperate desire--_e buon pro vi faccia_. Much good may it\ndo you!'\n\n\"Saying this they vanished, and he would have thought it all a dream but\nfor the three horns which they left behind them. So he had a long life\nand a happy, and in gratitude to his benefactresses he placed on his\nshield three horns, as men may see them to this day.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen I received this legend, I did not know that the three horns on a\nshield form the coat of arms of Messer Guicciardini, the historian, nor\nhad I ever seen them. It happened by pure chance I went one day with my\nwife and Miss Roma Lister, who is devoted to folk-lore, to make my first\nvisit to Sir John Edgar at his home, the celebrated old mediaeval\npalazzo, the Villa Guicciardini, Via Montugli.\n\nOn the way we passed the Church of the Annunciata, and while driving by I\nremarked that there were on its wall, among many shields, several which\nhad on them a _single_ hunting-horn, but that I had never seen three\ntogether, but had heard of such a device, and was very anxious to find\nit, and learn to what family it belonged.\n\nWhat was my astonishment, on arriving at the villa or palazzo, at\nbeholding on the wall in the court a large shield bearing the three\nhorns. Sir John Edgar informed me that it was the shield of the\nGuicciardini family, who at one time inhabited the mansion. I related to\nhim the story, and he said, \"I should think that tale had been invented\nby some one who knew Guicciardini, the author, very well, for it is\nperfectly inspired with the spirit of his writings. It depicts the man\nhimself as I have conceived him.\"\n\nThen we went into the library, where my host showed me Fenton's\ntranslation of the \"History\" of Guicciardini and his \"Maxims\" in Italian,\nremarking that the one which I have placed as motto to this chapter was\nin fact an epitome of the whole legend.\n\nI should observe, what did not before occur to me, that the family palace\nof the Guicciardini is in the Via Guicciardini, nearly opposite to the\nhouse of Machiavelli, and that it is there that the fairies probably\ncalled, if it was in the winter-time.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PILLS OF THE MEDICI\n\n\n \"When I upon a time was somewhat ill,\n Then every man did press on me a cure;\n And when my wife departed, all of them\n Came crowding round, commending me a spouse;\n But now my ass is dead, not one of them\n Has offered me another--devil a one!\"--_Spanish Jests_.\n\n \"_Tu vai cercando il mal_, _come fanno i Medici_\"--\"Thou goest about\n seeking evil, even as the Medici do, and of thee and of them it may\n be said, _Anagyram commoves_.\"--_Italian Proverbs_, A.D. 1618.\n\nThe higher a tree grows, the more do petty animals burrow into its roots,\nand displace the dirt to show how it grew in lowly earth; and so it is\nwith great families, who never want for such investigators, as appears by\nthe following tale, which refers to the origin of the Medicis, yet which\nis withal rather merry than malicious.\n\n D'UNO MEDICO CHE CURAVA GLI ASINI.\n\n\"It was long ago--so long, Signore Carlo, that the oldest olive-tree in\nTuscany had not been planted, and when wolves sometimes came across the\nPonte Vecchio into the town to look into the shop-windows, and ghosts and\nwitches were as common by night as Christians by day, that there was a\nman in Florence who hated work, and who had observed, early as the age\nwas, that those who laboured the least were the best paid. And he was\nalways repeating to himself:\n\n \"'Con arte e con inganno,\n Si vive mezzo l'anno,\n Con inganno, e con arte,\n Si vive l'altra parte.'\n\n\"Or in English:\n\n \"'With tricks and cleverness, 'tis clear,\n A man can live six months i' the year,\n And then with cleverness and tricks\n He'll live as well the other six.'\n\n\"Now having come across a recipe for making pills which were guaranteed\nto cure everything, he resolved to set up for an universal doctor, and\nthat with nothing but the pills to aid. So he went forth from Florence,\nwandering from one village to another, selling his pills, curing some\npeople, and getting, as often happens, fame far beyond his deserts, so\nthat the peasants began to believe he could remedy all earthly ills.\n\n\"And at last one day a stupid contadino, who had lost his ass, went to\nthe doctor and asked him whether by his art and learning he could recover\nfor him the missing animal. Whereupon the doctor gave him six pills at a\n_quattrino_ (a farthing) each, and bade him wander forth thinking\nintently all the time on the delinquent donkey, and, to perfect the\nspell, to walk in all the devious ways and little travelled tracks,\nsolitary by-paths, and lonely _sentieri_, ever repeating solemnly,\n'_Asino mio_! _asino mio_! _Tu che amo come un zio_!'\n\n \"'Oh my ass! my ass! my ass!\n Whom I loved like an uncle,\n Alas! alas!'\n\n\"And having done this for three days, it came to pass, and no great\nwonder either, that he found Signore Somaro (or Don Key) comfortably\nfeasting in a dark lane on thistles. After which he praised to the skies\nthe virtue of the wonderful pills, by means of which one could find\nstrayed cattle. And from this dated the doctor's success, so that he\ngrew rich and founded the family of the Medici, who, in commemoration of\nthis their great ancestor, put the six pills into their shield, as you\nmay see all over Florence to this day.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is given in the \"Facezie\" a story which may be intended as a jest\non this family. It is as follows:\n\n \"It happened once that a certain doctor or _medico_, who was by no\n means wanting in _temerita_ or bold self-conceit, was sent as\n ambassador to Giovanna la Superba, or Joanna the Proud, Queen of\n Naples. And this Florentine Medico having heard many tales of the\n gallantries of the royal lady, thought he would try the chance, and\n thereby greatly please himself, and also the better advance his\n political aims. Therefore, at the first interview, he told her that\n he was charged with a secret mission, which could only be confided to\n her 'between four eyes,' or in private. So he was taken by her into\n a room, where he bluntly made a proposal of love. {8}\n\n \"Then the Queen, not in the least discomposed, looking straight at\n him, asked if that was one of the questions or demands with which he\n had been charged by the Florentines. At which he blushed like a beet\n and had no more to say, having learned that a bold beggar deserves a\n stern refusal.\"\n\nThe name of the Medici naturally gave rise to many jests, and one of\nthese is narrated of Gonella, a famous _farceur_. It is as follows:\n\n \"One morning, at the table of the Grand Duke Lorenzo, there was a\n discussion as to the number and proportion of those who followed\n different trades and callings, one declaring that there were more\n clothmakers, another more priests than any others, till at last the\n host asked Gonella his opinion.\n\n \"'I am sure,' said Gonella, 'that there are more doctors than any\n other kind of people--_e non accade dubitarne_--and there is no use\n in doubting it.'\n\n \"'Little do you know about it,' replied the Duke, 'if you do not know\n that in all this city there are only two or three accredited\n physicians.'\n\n \"'With how little knowledge,' answered Gonella, 'can a state be\n governed. It seems, O Excellency, that you have so much to do that\n you do not know what is in your city, nor what the citizens do.' And\n the result of the debate was a bet, and Gonella took every bet\n offered, his stakes being small and the others great--_A quattrino e\n quattrino si fa il fiorino_--Farthings to farthings one by one make a\n pound when all is done.\n\n \"The next morning Gonella, having well wrapped up his throat and face\n in woollen stuff, stood, looking pitifully enough, at the door of the\n Duomo, and every one who passed asked him what was the matter, to\n which he replied, 'All my teeth ache terribly.' And everybody\n offered him an infallible remedy, which he noted down, and with it\n the name of him who gave it. And then going about town, he made out\n during the day a list of three hundred prescribers, with as many\n prescriptions.\n\n \"And last of all he went to the palace at the hour of supper, and the\n Grand Duke seeing him so wrapped up, asked the cause, and hearing\n that it was toothache, also prescribed a sovereign remedy, and\n Gonella put it with the name of the Duke at the head of the list.\n And going home, he had the whole fairly engrossed, and the next day,\n returning to the palace, was reminded of his bets. Whereupon he\n produced the paper, and great was the laughter which it caused, since\n it appeared by it that all the first citizens and nobles of Florence\n were physicians, and that the Grand Duke himself was their first\n Medico. So it was generally admitted that Gonella had won, and they\n paid him the money, with which he made merry for many days.\"\n\nThis tale has been retold by many a writer, but by none better than by an\nAmerican feuilletoniste, who improved it by giving a number of the\nprescriptions commended. Truly it has been well said that at forty years\nof age every man is either a fool or a physician.\n\nI have another legend of the Medici, in which it is declared that their\narmorial symbol is a key, and in which they are spoken of as wicked and\ncruel. It is as follows:\n\n I MEDICI.\n\n \"The Palazzo Medici is situated in the Borgo degli Albizzi, and this\n palace is called by the people _I Visacchi_ (_i.e._, figures or\n faces), because there are to be seen in it many figures of people who\n were when alive all witches and wizards, but who now live a life in\n death in stone.\n\n \"The arms of the Medici bear a great key, and it is said that this\n was a sorcerer's or magic key, which belonged to the master of all\n the wizards or to the queen of the witches.\n\n \"And being ever evil at heart and cruelly wicked, the old Medici\n sought restlessly every opportunity to do wrong, which was greatly\n aided by the queen of the witches herself, who entered the family,\n and allied herself to one of it; others say she was its first\n ancestress. And that being on her death-bed, she called her husband,\n or son, or the family, and said:\n\n \"'Take this key, and when I am dead, open a certain door in the\n cellar, which, through secret passages, leads to an enchanted garden,\n in which you will find all the books and apparatus needed to acquire\n great skill in sorcery, and thus thou canst do all the evil and enjoy\n all the crime that a great ruler can desire; spare not man in thy\n vengeance, nor woman in thy passion; he lives best who wishes for\n most and gets what he wants.'\n\n \"Thus it came to pass that the Medici became such villains, and why\n they bear a key.\"\n\nVillains they may have been, but they were not so deficient in moral\ndignity as a friend of mine, who, observing that one of the pills in\ntheir scutcheon is blue, remarked that they were the first to take a blue\npill.\n\nSince the above was written I have collected many more, and indeed far\nmore interesting and amusing legends of the Medici; especially several\nreferring to Lorenzo the Magnificent, which are not given by any writer\nthat I am aware of. These will appear, I trust, in a second series.\n\n \"A race which was the reflex of an age\n So strange, so flashed with glory, so bestarred\n With splendid deeds, so flushed with rainbow hues,\n That one forgot the dark abyss of night\n Which covered it at last when all was o'er.\n Take all that's evil and unto it add\n All that is glorious, and the result\n Will be, in one brief word, the Medici.\"\n\n\n\n\nFURICCHIA, OR THE EGG-WOMAN OF THE MERCATO VECCHIO\n\n\n \"Est anus inferno, vel formidanda barathro,\n Saga diu magicis usa magisteriis,\n Haec inhians ova gallina matre creatis.\n Obsipat assueto pharmaca mixta cibo,\n Pharmaca queis quaecunque semel gallina voratis,\n Ova decem pariat bis deciesque decem.\"\n\n STEUCCIUS, _cited by_ P. GOLDSCHMIDT,\n _Verworffener Hexen und Zauberadvocat_. Hamburg, 1705.\n\n \"E un figliuolo della gallina bianca.\"--_Old Proverb_.\n\nThe Mercato Vecchio was fertile in local traditions, and one of these is\nas follows:\n\n LEGEND OF THE LANTERNS.\n\n\"There was in the Old Market of Florence an old house with a small shop\nin it, and over the door was the figure or bas-relief of a pretty hen, to\nshow that eggs were sold there.\n\n\"All the neighbours were puzzled to know how the woman who kept this shop\ncould sell so many eggs as she did, or whence she obtained them, for she\nwas never seen in the market buying any, nor were they brought to her;\nwhence they concluded that she was a witch and an egg-maker, and this\nscandal was especially spread by her rivals in business. But others\nfound her a very good person, of kindly manner, and it was noted in time\nthat she not only did a great deal of good in charity, and that her eggs\nwere not only always fresh and warm, but that many persons who had drunk\nthem when ill had been at once relieved, and recovered in consequence.\nAnd the name of this egg-wife was Furicchia.\n\n\"Now there was an old lady who had gone down in the world or become poor,\nand she too had set up a shop to sell eggs, but did not succeed, chiefly\nbecause everybody went to Furicchia. And this made the former more\nintent than ever to discover the secret, and she at once went to work to\nfind it out.\n\n\"Every morning early, when Furicchia rose, she went out of doors, and\nthen the hen carved over the door came down as a beautiful white fowl,\nwho told her all the slanders and gossip which people spread about her,\nand what effort was being made to discover her secret. And one day it\nsaid:\n\n\"'There is the Signora who was once rich and who is now poor, and who has\nsworn to find out thy secret how thou canst have so many eggs to sell,\nsince no one sees thee buy any, and how it comes that invalids and\nbewitched children are at once cured by the virtue of those eggs. So she\nhopes to bring thee to death, and to get all thy trade.\n\n\"'But, dear Furicchia, this shall never be, because I will save thee. I\nwell remember how, when I was a little chicken, and the poultry dealer\nhad bought me, and was about to wring my neck--b'r'r'r!--I shudder when I\nthink of it!--when thou didst save my life, and I will ever be grateful\nto thee, and care for thy fortune.\n\n\"'Now I will tell thee what to do. Thou shalt to-morrow take a pot and\nfill it with good wine and certain drugs, and boil them well, and leave\nit all hot in thy room, and then go forth, and for the rest I will\nprovide. _Addio_, Furicchia!' And saying this, the hen went back into\nher accustomed place.\n\n\"So the next morning, Furicchia, having left the wine boiling, went forth\nat ten o'clock, and she was hardly gone ere the Signora, her rival,\nentered the place and called for the mistress, but got no answer. Then\nshe went into the house, but saw nothing more than a vast quantity of\neggs, and all the while she heard the hen singing or clucking:\n\n \"'_Coccode_! Dear me!\n Where can Furicchia be?\n _Coccode_! Furicchia mine!\n Bring me quick some warm red wine!\n _Coccode_! Three eggs I have laid!\n _Coccode_! Now six for your trade.\n _Coccode_! Now there are nine,\n Bring me quickly the warm red wine!\n _Coccode_! Take them away;\n Many more for thee will I lay,\n And thou wilt be a lady grand,\n As fine as any in all the land;\n And should it happen that any one\n Drinks of this wine as I have done,\n Eggs like me she will surely lay;\n That is the secret, that is the way.\n _Coccode_! _Coccode_!'\n\n\"Now the Signora heard all this, and knew not whence the song came, but\nshe found the pot of hot wine and drank it nearly all, but had not time\nto finish it nor to escape before Furicchia returned. And the latter\nbegan to scold her visitor for taking such liberty, to which the Signora\nreplied, 'Furicchia, I came in here to buy an egg, and being shivering\nwith cold, and seeing this hot wine, I drank it, meaning indeed to pay\nfor it.' But Furicchia replied, 'Get thee gone; thou hast only come here\nto spy out my secret, and much good may it do thee!'\n\n\"The Signora went home, when she begun to feel great pain, and also, in\nspite of herself, to cluck like a hen, to the amazement of everybody, and\nthen sang:\n\n \"'_Coccode_! Che mal di corpo!\n _Coccode_! Voglio fa l'uovo!\n E se l'uova non faro,\n Di dolore moriro.'\n\n \"'_Coccode_! What a pain in my leg!\n _Coccode_! I must lay an egg!\n And if my eggs I cannot lay,\n I shall surely die to-day.'\n\n\"Then she began to lay eggs indeed--_tante_, _tante_--till they nearly\nfilled all the room, and truly her friends were aghast at such a sight,\nnever having heard of such a thing before; but she replied, 'Keep quiet;\nit is a secret. I have found out how Furicchia gets her eggs, and we\nshall be as rich as she.' And having laid her eggs, nothing would do but\nshe must needs hatch them, and all the time for many days she sat and\nsat, clucking like a hen--_coccode_! _coccode_!--and pecking at crusts\nlike a hen, for she would not eat in any other way. And so she sat and\nshrivelled up until she became a hen indeed, and was never anything else,\nand died one. But when the eggs hatched, there came from them not\nchicks, but mice, which ran away into the cellar, and so ends the story.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis story greatly resembles one given by Peter Goldschmidt in \"The\nWitches' and Sorcerers' Advocate Overthrown,\" published at Hamburg in\n1705, and to the same as sung in Latin song by a certain Steuccius. The\nItalian tale is, however, far better told in every respect, the only\npoint in common being that a certain witch laid eggs by means of a\npotion, which produced the same effect on a man. It is the well-managed\nplay of curiosity, gratitude, and character which make Furicchia so\nentertaining, and there is nothing in the heavy German tale like the\n\"Song of the Hen,\" or _Coccode_, which is a masterpiece of a juvenile\nlyric. The clucking and pecking at crusts of the old woman, as she\ngradually passes into a hen, is well imagined, and also the finale of the\nchickens turned to mice, who all run away. One could make of it a play\nfor the nursery or the stage.\n\nThe Mercato Vecchio, in which the egg-wife dwelt, was a place of common\nresort in the olden time, \"when there was giving and taking of talk on\ntopics temporal:\"\n\n \"Where the good news fleetly flew,\n And the bad news ever true,\n Softly whispered, loudly told,\n Scalding hot or freezing cold.\" {14}\n\nThis place is recalled by a story which is indeed to be found in the\nfacetiae of the Florentine Poggio, yet which holds its own to this day in\npopular tale-telling. It is as follows:\n\n \"It happened once when Florence was at war with the Duke of Milan,\n that a law was passed making it death for any one to speak in any way\n of peace. Now there was a certain Bernardo Manetti, a man _di\n ingegno vivacissimo_, or an extremely ready wit, who being one day in\n the Mercato Vecchio to buy something or other (it being the custom of\n the Florentines of those times to go in person to purchase their\n daily food), was much annoyed by one of those begging friars who go\n about the roads, _alla questua_, collecting alms, and who stand at\n street-corners imploring charity. And this brazen beggar, accosting\n Bernardo, said to him:\n\n \"'_Pax vobiscum_! Peace be unto you!'\n\n \"'_A chi parlasti di pace_?--How darest thou speak to me of _peace_,\n thou traitor and enemy to Florence?' cried Bernardo in well-assumed\n anger. 'Dost thou not know that by public decree thou may'st lose\n thy shaven head for mentioning the word? And thou darest ask me for\n alms here in the open market-place, thou traitor to thy country and\n thy God! _Apage_, _Satanas_--avaunt!--begone! lest I be seen talking\n to thee and taken for a conspirator myself! _Pax_ indeed--pack off\n with you, ere I hand you over to the torturers!'\n\n \"And so he rid himself of that importunate beggar.\"\n\nApropos of the egg-wife, if chickens are apropos to eggs, there is a\nmerry tale of a certain priest, which will, I think, amuse the reader.\nLike all good folk, the Florentines make fun of their neighbours, among\nwhom are of course included the people of Arezzo, and tell of them this\nstory:\n\n \"Long long ago, a certain Bishop Angelico convoked a Synod at Arezzo,\n summoning every priest in his diocese to be present; and knowing that\n many had slipped into very slovenly habits as regarded the sacerdotal\n uniform, made it a stern and strict order that every one should\n appear in _cappa e cotta_,' {15} or in cloak and robe.\n\n \"Now there was a priest who, though he kept a well-filled cellar, and\n a pretty servant-maid, and a fine poultry-yard, had none of these\n clerical vestments, and knew not where to borrow them for the\n occasion; so he was in great distress and _stavasi molto afflitto in\n casa sua_--sat in deep affliction in his home. And his maid, who was\n a bright and clever girl, seeing him so cast down, asked him the\n cause of his grief, to which he replied that the Bishop had summoned\n him to appear at the Synod in _cappa e cotta_.\n\n \"'Oh, nonsense!' replied the good girl. 'Is that all? My dear\n master, you do not pronounce the words quite correctly, or else they\n have been badly reported to you. It is not _cappa e cotta_ which the\n Bishop requires, for assuredly he has plenty of such clothes, but\n _capponi cotti_, 'good roast capons,' such as all bishops love, and\n which he knows he can get better from the country priests than from\n anybody. And _grazie a Dio_! there is nobody in all Tuscany has\n better poultry than ours, and I will take good care that you give the\n Bishop of the very best.'\n\n \"Now the priest being persuaded by the maid, really made his\n appearance at the Council bearing in a dish well covered with a\n napkin four of the finest roasted capons ever seen. And with these\n he advanced _in pleno concilo_, in full assembly before the Bishop.\n The great man looked severely at the priest, and said:\n\n \"'Where are thy _cappa e cotta_?'\n\n \"'Excellenza, behold them!' said the good man, uncovering the dish.\n 'And though I say it, no better _capponi cotte_ can be had in all our\n country.'\n\n \"The Bishop and all round him gazed with breathless admiration on the\n fowls, so plump, so delicious, so exquisitely roasted, with lemons\n ranged round them. It was just the hungry time of day, and, in\n short, the priest had made a blessed happy blunder, and one which was\n greatly admired. There was general applause.\n\n \"'_Figlio mio_!' said the Bishop with a smile, 'take my blessing!\n Thou alone of all the ministers of our diocese didst rightly\n understand the spirit and meaning of an episcopal edict.'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LANTERNS OF THE STROZZI PALACE\n\n\n \"And what this man did was, as the proverb says, _mostrare altrui\n lucciole per laterne_--made him believe that fire-flies were\n lanterns--which means to deceive any one.\"--_Italian Proverbs_.\n\nAs all visitors to Florence will have their attention called to the\nStrozzi Palace, and its rings and lanterns, the following will probably\nprove to them to be of interest:\n\n \"The _campanelle_, or great iron rings, which are on the Strozzi\n Palace, were the result of rivalry with the Pitti family.\n\n \"The Strozzi built their palace first, and then the Pitti said that\n it would only fill a corner of their own far greater building. And\n when the latter was finished, the Strozzi, to be even with them,\n placed those magnificent _campanelle_ at the four corners, and then\n the great lanterns which are so exquisitely worked, and these were\n made by Niccolo il Grosso, a very ingenious but also very poor man,\n who, having begun the work, could not finish it for want of money.\n\n \"One morning when this Niccolo was sitting on the stone bench of the\n palace, there came by an old man who was carrying some onions, and\n the artist begged a few of these to eat with his bread, telling him\n he had no money. But the old man said, 'Take them, and welcome, for\n a free gift, Niccolo. Truly, it pains me to see an excellent artist\n like thee starving for want of proper patronage. Now I will lend\n thee a round sum, which thou canst repay me when thou art in better\n luck.'\n\n \"'But tell me,' inquired Niccolo, greatly amazed, 'how dost thou know\n who I am?'\n\n \"The old man replied, 'I know thee, and that thou hast great genius\n (_una gran testa_), and I find thee utterly poor and unable to finish\n the Strozzi lanterns.\n\n \"'Now I wish to do thee a service. Go, with these onions in thine\n hand, and stand there in the street till the Lords Strozzi go forth,\n and see thee with the vegetables, and then they will ask thee why\n thou dost not finish the lanterns. And then thou shalt reply,\n \"Signori, because I must sell onions, not being able otherwise to\n finish the lanterns, for truly all my art does not give me bread.\"\n Then they will give thee money, and after that return to me.'\n\n \"So it happened as the old man said: the Signori Strozzi, when they\n came forth, found Niccolo their artist selling onions, and gave him a\n good sum of money, and with that he went back to the old man. And\n they gave him a great sum indeed, for he was to make the lanterns all\n of solid gold, so that the palace might be far finer than the Pitti.\n\n \"The old man said, 'Never mind paying me, but put an onion in your\n pocket and study it.' And this he did, hence it comes that the tops\n of the lanterns are like onion sprouts. And Niccolo seeing that he\n lived in a hard and cruel world, in order to be even with it, made\n the lanterns of iron, though the work which he put upon it was like\n jewellery, so fine was it, and then gilded the iron and passed the\n lanterns off on the Signori Strozzi for solid gold, and was soon\n heard of as being very far away from Florence, in company with the\n good old man who had put him up to the little game (_bel giuoco_).\n\n \"But people say that after all the Strozzi were not so badly cheated,\n for those onion-top lanterns could not have been bought even in their\n time for their weight in gold, and that they are worth much more\n now.\"\n\nIt is needless to say that this ingenious tale owes its origin to the\niron lanterns having been at one time gilt. These famous works of art\nhave been copied far and wide: had the Strozzi family taken out and\nrenewed the copyright for design on them, they might have found that the\ngold was a very good investment, especially in these times, when a thing\nof beauty brings in cash for ever. One of the latest and prettiest\ndevices, to be seen in many shops, is a small iron night-lamp in\nimitation of these Strozzi lanterns.\n\nThe im-moral, or at least the concluding sentence of the tale is, \"_E\ncosi Niccolo se ne fuggi a tasche piene_--And so Niccolo fled with his\npockets full of money.\" I spare the reader reflections on the history of\nmany bankers in Florence and Rome, who during the past two years followed\nhis example.\n\nWhat is extremely interesting and original in this legend is the\ndeclaration that Niccolo took the idea of the long and very singular\npoints on the lanterns from an onion. It recalls the story of the\nacanthus leaf and the basket which suggested the Ionic capital. It was\nunderstood by the narrator that the old man who gave \"the tips\" to\nNiccolo was a wizard.\n\nThere was much more meaning attached to the lanterns and rings, such as\nNiccolo made, than is generally known, as appears by the following\nextract:\n\n \"Among the striking features of the Florentine palaces are the\n handsome ornaments of bronze or wrought-iron which adorn the facades\n of many of them. These were called _fanali_ or _lumiere_, and were\n not, as one would naturally suppose, ornaments that a man might place\n on his house according to his individual taste, but they were the\n visible testimony of the public recognition of great deeds. On\n festive occasions, these _fanali_ were provided with great pitch\n torches, whose crackling flames gave a merry aspect to the whole\n neighbourhood. Amerigo Vespucci addressed the account of one of his\n voyages to the Gonfaloniere Piero Soderini, with whom he had formerly\n been on intimate terms, and the latter procured a decree of the\n Republic, in accordance with which _fanali_ were sent to the family\n palace of the Vespucci, and kept burning day and night for three\n days.\n\n \"The most beautiful of all the Florentine _fanali_ . . . are those\n which adorn the corners of the famous Strozzi Palace. They are of\n wrought-iron, and were made by a smith who enjoyed a local celebrity,\n not only on account of his masterly work, but also because he carried\n on his business on a strictly cash basis; nay, went further, and\n refused to work for any one who did not prepay, in part at least, for\n his order. Thus he received the name of _Caparra_, or\n Earnest-money.\"--_Florentine Life_, by W. B. Scaife, p. 58.\n\nThere is one thing in this legend which alone would seem to guarantee its\nbeing an authentic or old tradition. In it Niccolo appears as a man who\nis eminently grasping, and who takes care to get his money in advance.\nAnd he was in reality so noted for this, that, as Scaife declares, he\nwent further than dealing on a cash basis--and so got the nickname of\nCaparra, or the Pledge--so well did he know the value of cash. _Il\nmartel d'argento rompe le porte di ferro_, or--\n\n \"A hammer of silver, as we see,\n Breaks the iron gates of poverty.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN OF LA VIA DEL CORNO\n\n\n \"Oh for one blast of that dread horn,\n On Fontarabian echoes borne,\n When Roland brave and Olivier,\n And every paladin and peer\n At Roncesvalles died.\"--_Walter Scott_.\n\n \"The Korrigan who ever wears a horn.\"\n\nThe Via del Corno is a narrow street passing from the Via del Leone. I\nhave found the following story in reference to the origin of its name,\nwhich, if not authentic, is at least amusing and original:\n\n LA VIA DEL CORNO.\n\n\"There was in what is now known as the Via del Corno an ancient palace,\nwhich a long time ago was inhabited only by a certain gentleman and a\ngoblin. {21}\n\n\"Nor had he any servants, because of all who came, none remained more\nthan one day for fear of the _folletto_. And as this spread far and\nwide, people kept away from the Via del Corno after dark; but as this\nalso kept away thieves, and the goblin did all the house-work, the master\nwas all the better pleased. Only on one point did the two differ, and\nthat was the point of morality. Here the goblin was extremely strict,\nand drew the line distinctly. Several times, as was the custom in those\nwicked days, the Signore attempted to introduce a lady-friend to the\npalazzo, but the goblin all night long, when not busied in pulling the\nsheets from the fair sinner, was industriously occupied in strewing\nnettles or burrs under her, or tickling the soles of her feet with a pen;\nand then anon, when, sinking to sleep, she hoped for some remission of\nthe tease, he would begin to play interminable airs on a horn. It is\ntrue that he played beautifully, like no earthly musician, but even\nenchanting airs may be annoying when they prevent sleep.\n\n\"Nor did the lord fare the better, even when, inspired by higher motives,\nhe 'would a-wooing go.' For one lady or another had heard of the goblin,\nand when they had not, it always happened that by some mysterious means\nor other the match was broken off.\n\n\"Meantime the life led by the Signore was rather peculiar, as he slept\nnearly all day, sallied forth for an hour or two to exercise, go to a\nbarber's, make his small purchases, or hear the news, supped at a\n_trattoria_, and then returning home, sat all night listening to the\ngoblin as he played divinely on the horn, or blew it himself, which he\ndid extremely well, toped and hob-nobbed with his familiar, who was a\ngreat critic of wine, and, as the proverb says, '_Buon vino fiaba\nlunga_--Good wine, long tales'--they told one another no end of merry and\nmarvellous stories; and as _il vin fa cantare_, it makes man sing, they\nalso sang duets, solos, and glees. And when the weather was ill, or\nchilly, or rainy, or too hot, they cured it with Chianti, according to a\nmedical prescription laid down in sundry rare old works:\n\n \"Nebbia, nebbia, mattutina,\n Che ti levi la mattina?\n Questa tazza di buon vino,\n Fatta d'una marzamina,\n Contra te sia medecina!'\n\n \"'Cloudy sky i' the morning early,\n What will make you vanish fairly?\n Ah! this goblet of good wine,\n Essence of the blessed vine,\n Shall be for thee a medicine!'\n\n\"Then they played chess, cards, cribbage, drole, ecarte, Pope Joan, bo,\nbrag, casino, thirty-one, put, snip-snap-snorem, lift-em-up,\ntear-the-rag, smoke, blind-hookey, bless-your-grand-mother, Polish-bank,\nseven-up, beggar-my-neighbour, patience, old-maid, fright, baccarat,\n_belle-en-chemise_, bang-up, howling-Moses, bluff, swindle-Dick,\ngo-it-rags, ombre or keep-dark, morelles, go-bang, goose, dominoes, loto,\n_morra_ or push-pin. And when extra hands were wanted they came, but all\nthat came were only fairy hands, short at the wrist, the goblin remarking\nthat it saved wine not to have mouths, _et cetera_. Then they had long\nand curious and exceedingly weighty debates as to the laws of the games\nand fair play, not forgetting meanwhile to sample all the various wines\never sung by Redi. {23} So they got on, the Signore realising that one\nnear friend is worth a hundred distant relations.\n\n\"Now it befell one night that the goblin, having seen the Signore take\noff a pint of good old strong Barolo very neatly and carefully, without\ntaking breath or winking, exclaimed with a long, deep sigh:\n\n\"'Thou art a gallant fellow, a right true boon companion, and it grieves\nme to the heart to think that thou art doomed to be drowned to-morrow.'\n\n\"'Oh you be--doctored!' replied the Signore. 'There isn't water enough\nin the Arno now to drown a duck, unless she held her head under in a\nhalf-pint puddle.'\n\n\"The goblin went to the window, took a look at the stars, whistled and\nsaid:\n\n\"'As I expected, it is written that you are to be drowned to-morrow,\nunless you carry this horn of mine hung to your neck all day.\n\n \"'Quando ti trovi nel pericolo,\n Suona questo corno piccolo,\n E tu sarai salvato,\n Non sarai affogato!'\n\n \"'If thou find'st thyself forlorn,\n Blow aloud this little horn,\n And thou wilt be safe and sound,\n For with it thou'lt not be drowned.'\n\n\"Saying this, he solemnly handed the horn to the cavalier, drank off a\ngoblet of muscato, wiped his lips, bowed a ceremonious good-night, and,\nas was his wont, vanished with dignity up the chimney.\n\n\"The gentleman was more troubled by this prediction than he liked to\nadmit. I need not say that the next day he did not go near the Arno,\nthough it was as dry as a bone; nay, he kept out of a bath, and was\nalmost afraid to wash his face.\n\n\"At last he got the fancy that some enemies or villains would burst into\nhis lonely house, bind him hand and foot carry him far away, and drown\nhim in some lonely stream, or perhaps in the sea. He remembered just\nsuch a case. We all remember just such cases when we don't want to.\nThat was it, decidedly.\n\n\"Then he had a happy thought. There was a little hiding-chamber,\ncenturies old, in the palazzo, known only to himself, with a concealed\ndoor. He would go and hide there. He shouted for joy, and when he\nentered the room, he leaped with a great bound from the threshold of the\ndoor, down and over three or four steps, into the middle of the little\nroom.\n\n\"Now he did not know that in the _cantina_ or cellar below this\nhiding-place there was an immense _tino_, or vat, containing hundreds of\nbarrels of wine, such as are used to hold the rough wine ere it is drawn\noff and 'made;' nor that the floor was extremely decayed, so that when he\ncame down on it with a bounce, it gave way, and he found himself in the\ncellar over head and ears in wine.\n\n\"And, truly, for a minute he deemed that he was drowning in earnest. And\nthe sides of the vat were so high that he could not climb out. But while\nswimming and struggling for life, he caught between his thumb and finger\nat a nail in the side, and to this he held, crying as loud as he could\nshout for aid. But no one came, and he was just beginning to despair,\nwhen he thought of the horn!\n\n\"It still hung from his neck, and pouring out the wine, he blew on it,\nand there came forth such a tremendous, appalling, and unearthly blast as\nhe of himself could never have blown. It rang far and wide all over\nFlorence, it was heard beyond Fiesole, it wakened the dead in old\nEtrurian graves, for an instant, to think they had been called by Tinia\nto meet the eleven gods; it caused all the _folletti_, _fate_, _diavoli_,\n_strege_, and _maliardi_ to stop for an instant their deviltries or\ndelights. For it was the Great Blast of the Horn of the Fairies, which\nonly plays second fiddle to the last trump. {24}\n\n\"And at that sound all Florence came running to see what was the matter.\nThe Grand Duke and his household came; the Council of the Eight burst\ntheir bonds, and left the Palazzo Vecchio; everybody came, and they\nfished out the Signore, and listened with awe to his tale. The priests\nsaid that the goblin was San Zenobio, the more liberal swore it was\nCrescenzio, the people held to plain San Antonino. The Signore became a\ngreat man.\n\n\"'My son,' said the goblin to him in confidence the following evening,\n'as they sat over their wine,' (here I follow the text of Maddalena),\n'this is our last night together. Thou art saved, and I have fulfilled\nmy duty to thee. Once I, too, was a man like thee, and in that life thou\ndidst save mine by rescuing me from assassins. And I swore to watch over\nthee in every peril, and bring thee to a happy end.'\n\n \"'Il momenta e arrivato;\n Addio, Via del Corno!\n Addio, palazzo, addio!\n Addio, padrone, nel altro mondo!'\n\n \"'The final hour has come for me;\n Street of the Horn, farewell to thee!\n Farewell, O palace, farewell, O street!\n My lord, in another world we'll meet.'\n\n\"Then the goblin told the Signore that he would ere long contract a happy\nmarriage, and that it was for this that he had hitherto kept him from\nforming alliances which would have prevented it; and that if in future he\nshould ever be in great need of assistance, to sound the horn, and he\nwould come to him, but that this must always be in the palace alone after\nmidnight. And having said this he vanished.\n\n\"The Signore grieved for a long time at the loss of his goblin friend,\nbut he married happily, as had been predicted, and his life was long and\nprosperous. So he put the horn in his shield, and you may see it to this\nday on the Church of Santa Maria Novella. And so it was that the Via del\nCorno got its name.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"From which we may learn,\" saith Flaxius, \"that wherever a man is\nappointed to be on a certain day, there will the man be found. Therefore\ndo thou, O reader, so manage it that wherever thou art appointed to be,\nthou canst _get well out of it_. For even Fate smiles when it desires to\ndo so.\"\n\n\n\n\nFRATE GIOCONDO, THE MONK OF SANTA MARIA NOVELLA\n\n\n \"_In illo tempore_--no--_in diebus illis_, che i frati sogliono\n percorrere il contado delle terre e delle citta per far proviste alla\n barba degli scimuniti d'ogni genere pappatorio, vale dir di grano,\n formentone, legumi, mosto, cacio, olio, canape, lino, uova et\n cetera--un certo fra Zeffiro, se ne gira alla volta d'un villagio e\n tenevagli compagnia il suo ciucarello che carica gia a doppio\n sacchetto.\"--_L'Asino e il suo Frate_, _Racconti Piacevoli_, 1864,\n\n \"Und sie war gar sehr erstannet uber die Adresse und List dieses\n Munchleins.\"--_Lustige Thaten des Kloster-bruders Hannes von Lehnin_,\n A.D. 1589.\n\n \"Monachus in claustro\n Non valet ova dua,\n Sed extra--bene valet triginta.\"--_Rabelais_.\n\nAmong the monks of Santa Maria Novella in ancient days was one known as\nFrate Giocondo, who was truly of the kind who are of little use at home,\nor at any steady or reputable calling, but who was profitable enough when\nscouring the country on the loose, blarneying and begging from the good\nwives, giving counsel to the peasants, and profitable advice, while he\nate their chickens and drank their wine, chucking all the pretty girls\nunder their chins, or _sub silentio_, and making himself sociable,\nedifying, amusing, or holy--according to circumstances. Of whom it could\nbe truly said:\n\n \"Monaco in convento\n Non vale niente,\n Ma fuori vale venti.\"\n\n \"Monk in monastery\n Is not worth a cherry;\n But abroad when sent, he\n Often is worth twenty.\"\n\nAs a preaching friar of Saint Dominic, truly Brother Giocondo was not a\nsuccess, but as a beggar he beat all the Zoccoloni out of Rome, {27} and\nthat is saying a great deal. For there never was a friar with such an\noiled and honeyed tongue, with which he could flatter and wheedle, tell\nlegends of the saints, witches, or goblins by the hour, give all the\ngossip going; nor was he above selling his collections, or trading\ndonkeys, or taking a hand at a game of cards, or singing to a lute, or\neven fiddling to a dance--so that, being a great, burly, handsome,\nmerry-eyed knave, he got on marvellously well in the world, his jests\nbeing reported even in Siena.\n\nNow one evening he was returning home to Santa Maria Novella _dalla\ncercha_, \"from the quest,\" and found himself still a few miles from\nFlorence. And good fortune had favoured him marvellously that day, for\nhis ass bore two panniers which were _ben carichi d'ogni sorta di grazia\ndi Dio_--\"stuffed full with all sorts of mercies of God,\" such as bags of\nwheat, maize, wheat-meal, chickens, oil, cheese, butter, wine, truffles,\nonions, geese, turnips, sausages, bread, ducks; in short, Signore, as I\nsaid, there was _ogni sorta di grazia di Dio_, and enough to support a\npoor family for a month.\n\nNow, darkness coming on, and rain falling, the Friar stopped at a lonely\nhouse, where he neither knew the people nor was known to them, and begged\nfor a night's lodging. The master of the place was a well-to-do person,\nbut a great knave, and no sooner had he perceived that the monk had such\na plentiful stock of provisions, than he saw his way to give all his\nneighbours a splendid feast at no expense to himself, at which he could\nnot fail to relieve some of his guests of their money.\n\nNow this rogue had a daughter who was _scaltra e bene affilata_--shrewd\nand sharp as a razor, one who could teach cats to see in the dark, and\nwho had grown to villainy from her babyhood, even as a reed shoots\nupwards. And she only caught a wink from her good father, which glanced\noff on to the load of the friar's donkey, to understand the whole game,\nand what was expected of her.\n\nYou must know, Signore Carlo, that the wench was very good-looking--bad\nwine in a silver cup, pretty to look at, but vile to sup--and had all the\nsweet, innocent, simple look of a saint, and she made up to Frate\nGiocondo like a kitten to a child, which he took in no wise amiss, being\nused to such conquests. And who so flattering and fawning as they all\nwere on Brother Giocondo; how they laughed at his jests, and seemed to be\nin the last agonies of delight; but winked at one another withal, for\nthere were six lusty brothers or cousins in the family, who, in case of\nneed, did the heavy dragging out, or advanced the last argument with\nclubs.\n\nBy-and-by, as the night wore on, the black-eyed baggage stole away and\nhid herself in the room allotted to the Friar, though with no intention\nto break the seventh--but that against stealing--as you will see. For\nwhen the good Giocondo went to bed, which he did in full dress, he knew\nnot that she was there. And as soon as he began to snore, she tapped\ngently on the wall three times, and then went and laid herself down\nsoftly by the Friar, who did not awake. At which all the band came\nbursting in with torches and staves, and began to beat the victim,\nreviling and cursing him for having deluded the poor child, so that there\nwas a fearful _fracasso_--a great riot--but they left the door open,\nthrough which the pious Giocondo bolted, and none pursued, as they had\nalready secured his provisions.\n\nNow Giocondo shrewdly noted this, and at once understood that he had been\nas shrewdly robbed, and that by such a trick as left no door open to\nreturn and claim his property. So he quietly mounted his ass and rode\naway, and returning to the convent, thought it all over, till he came to\na device to revenge himself. For he was one of those who was never bit\nby a wolf but what he had his skin.\n\nSo he let a long time pass by, and then went to work. First of all he\ngot two jars, and paid a contadino to catch for him as many living vipers\nas would fill them both, saying it was for the apothecary of his convent\nto make _teriaca_ or Venetian treacle, which is a cure for serpents'\nbites. And then he disguised himself like a lord's messenger, darkening\nhis face, and putting on long curling locks, with a bold impudent air,\nwith cloak and feather, sword and dagger; truly no one would ever have\nknown him. And in this guise he went again to the _Albergo de' Ladri_,\nor Thieves' Den, asking once more for lodging, which was cheerfully\ngranted.\n\nNow the part which he played, and that to perfection, was that of a\nfoolish gasconading servant; nor had he been long in the house ere he\ninformed his host in confidence that he served a great lord who was in\nlove with a married lady in Florence, and to win her good graces had sent\nher two jars full of honey or conserves, but that there was in each a\nhundred crowns in gold, of which he was to privately inform the lady,\nlest her husband should suspect the truth; adding artfully, \"But i'\nfaith, if I were to steal the whole myself and run away, my lord would\nnever pursue me, so fearful is he lest the thing should be found out; and\neven if I were to be robbed, one could do nothing.\"\n\nAnd as he said this he saw the knave give a wink to his daughter, and\nknew very well what it meant, but pretended to take no notice of it. So\nall went as before, and the girl stole into his room and hid herself.\nBut he, who was prepared for everything, when he retired took from his\npocket two or three large screws and a screwdriver, and closed the great\nstrong door so that it would resist a hard assault, and left the window\nopen so that he could easily escape, and so went to bed.\n\nThen the girl, when she thought he was asleep, gave the signal, and the\nthieves tried to burst in, but could not. And Friar Giocondo, jumping\nup, gave the girl such a beating as she had never heard of, abusing her\nall the time as a song to the accompaniment of the thrashing, till at\nlast, when he saw they were really coming in, he jumped through the\nwindow, ran to the stable, and finding there a fine horse, saddled it in\nhaste and rode away like the wind.\n\nThe thieves were so intent on the jars that they paid no heed to anything\nelse, not even to the girl, who was raging mad at her father for having\nexposed her to such danger. So they got two deep plates, and opened both\njars at once to pour the honey out, when lo! there came swarming forth\nthe vipers, hissing, and squirming, and darting out their tongues like so\nmany devils. At which sight they all fled in fear, the girl first, nor\ndid she stop till she got to Fiesole, where, in great terror, she\n(fearing for her soul) told the whole story to everybody and the monks.\n\nThe thief went to the stable, but found his horse gone, and so had to\ncontent himself with Giocondo's donkey, on which, fearing the pursuit of\njustice, he rode away, to be hanged somewhere else. And the Abbot of\nSanta Maria Novella cheerfully absolved Brother Giocondo for stealing the\nhorse--and accepted it as a graceful gift, or in recompense for the load\nof provisions which had been lost.\n\n \"Thus 'twas with all of them it sped,\n And the Abbot came out one horse ahead!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF THE CROCE AL TREBBIO\n\n\n \"The bell in the Bargello called the Montanara obtained the name of\n the _Campana delle Arme_ because it was the signal for citizens to\n lay aside their weapons and retire home.\"--_Hare's_ \"_Cities of\n Central Italy_.\"\n\n \"Where towers are crushed, and temples fair unfold\n A new magnificence that vies with old,\n Firm in its pristine majesty hath stood\n A votive column.\"--_Wordsworth_, \"_Pillar of Trajan_.\"\n\nVery near to the Church of Santa Maria Novella is the small piazza or\nopen place of the _Croce al Trebbio_. This is a column with a crucifix,\nthe whole being of beautiful proportions and of a strikingly romantic\ncharacter. It is said to have been raised to commemorate a victory of\n\"that sanguinary fanatic Saint Peter Martyr\" over the Paterini. \"The\nCroce al Trebbio,\" says Leader Scott, \"of the year 1244, is a work of the\nPisan school, but whether it is by Niccolo or Giovanni Pisani, who were\nin Florence about that epoch, there is nothing to show. There was {31} a\ncurious Latin inscription in Gothic letters, which began: _Sanctus\nAmbrosius cum Sancto Zenobio propter grande mysterium hanc crucem_--and\nwent on to say that it was _reconstructed_ by the bishops of Florence and\nof Aquileia in August 1308. It is evident that the connection of the\ncross with Saint Peter Martyr is mere conjecture, the Italian authorities\nsay _che si crede_, '_believed_' to be erected on the spot where a\nvictory was gained over the Paterini. If this were so, where is the\nmystery referred to in the inscription?\"\n\nThe legend, which was after long inquiry recovered by my collector,\ndistinctly describes the _reconstruction_ of the cross, and as certainly\nsets forth a _mysterium magnum_ with an apparition of the Virgin on this\nvery spot, which would have assuredly caused a pillar, if not a church,\nto be erected in the thirteenth century. The story of this mystery is as\nfollows:\n\n LA CROCE AL TREBEIO.\n\n\"Where the _Croce al Trebbio_ now stands, was in very old times a great\npalace occupied by one of the most ancient families of Florence. And\nwhen it died out, there came into the house three families, but none\ncould remain there, being so terrified with fearful sounds and an\napparition.\n\n\"It was the custom in those days in Florence to ring a bell at ten\no'clock at night, which was a signal for every citizen to go home at\nonce; therefore, after that hour no one was seen in the streets except\npolice guards, military patrols, and riotous young men, whom the former\naimed at arresting. It often happened that such irregular folk took\nrefuge in the old palazzo, but if they remained there one night, they had\nenough of it, and never returned, so great was the horror which they were\nsure to feel.\n\n\"The first occurrence which gave the place a bad name was as follows:\nSome time after the death of the last of the old line of Signori who had\noccupied the palace, and the three families spoken of had come into it,\non the first night at midnight they heard some one put a key in the\nhouse-door, open the same with great noise, and come storming and\nswearing up the stairs into the great dining-hall. Then there entered a\ntall and magnificently dressed gentleman, of very handsome and\ndistinguished appearance, but his face was deadly pale, his eyes had a\nterrible gleam, and it seemed as if a light bluish flame flickered and\ncrept about him, ever rising and vanishing like small serpents.\n\n\"And entering, he began to scold and blaspheme in a diabolical manner, as\nif at servants whom he was accustomed to have promptly at his call,\nsaying, '_Birbanti di servitori_--you scoundrelly waiters--you have not\ngot supper ready for me, nor laid the tables.' Saying this, he seized on\nplates and glasses, and dashing them down violently, broke them in mad\nrage. Then he entered the best bedroom in the house, where some one lay\nasleep, and this man he maltreated and hurled forth, saying that the bed\nwas his own.\n\n\"And if after that any one dared to sleep in the old palazzo, he was\nfound there dead in the morning, or else lived but a few days. So it\ncame to pass that no one would inhabit it; nay, all the houses round\nabout began to be deserted, and the whole neighbourhood regarded it as a\npest. And from all this they were relieved by a marvellously strange\noccurrence and a great miracle.\n\n\"There was a gentleman who was very pious, honourable, and brave, a good\nman at every point, but wretchedly poor, so that he with his eight\nchildren and wife had all been turned into the street, because he could\nnot pay his rent.\n\n\"Then in his distress he went to the city council and begged for some\nkind of relief or employment; and they being much concerned at the time\nabout the haunted palazzo, knowing him to be a man who would face the\ndevil, with little to fear on account of his integrity, proposed to him\nto occupy the building, adding that he and his family should every day be\nsupplied with food and wine gratis, and that if, as was generally\nsupposed, there was hidden treasure in the palace, and he could find it,\nhe should be welcome to keep it.\n\n\"To which this brave man willingly assented, and at once went his way to\nthe haunted palace. But while on the road he obtained olive sprigs,\nsalt, and frankincense, also certain images of saints, and then with much\nholy water sprinkled all the rooms, stairs, and cellars, praying withal.\n{33}\n\n\"And the first night there was again heard the grating of the key in the\nlock, the crash of the door, the rapid heavy footfall, and the spirit\nappeared with the waving plume of flame on his splendid _beretta_ or cap,\nwhen suddenly he was checked and could go no farther, because the hall\nhad been blessed, yes, and thoroughly. Then the spectre began to bellow\nand roar, and utter whistling screams and all horrible sounds, worse than\na wild beast.\n\n\"But the new master of the house did not let fear overcome him in the\nleast, and the next day he renewed the sprinkling and blessing, and\nfinding there was a chapel in the palace, he called in a priest, who\nthere read a mass for the soul of the ghost, so that he might rest in\npeace.\n\n\"Now there was a beautiful little garden attached to the palace, and the\nchildren of the new tenant were delighted to play in it.\n\n\"And in the middle of the garden they found a cross with a Christ on it,\nand the cross had been shattered. But the children took the pieces and\ncarried them one by one into the chamber where no one dared to sleep, and\nthere they put them piously together, and dressed a little altar before\nit, and began to sing hymns.\n\n\"But while they were thus singing in their simple devotion, wishing to\naid their father, there was a knock at the door, and a lady entered whose\nface was concealed in a veil, but who seemed to be weeping as she beheld\nthem, and she said, 'Children, keep ever as you are; always be good and\nlove God, and He will love you!'\n\n\"Then she continued, 'The master of this house was a gambler and a\nblasphemer; when he lost money at gambling he would return home and beat\nthis image of Christ, till one night, being in a mad rage, he broke it\nand threw it into the garden.'\n\n\"'But soon after that he fell ill, and knowing that he was dying, he\nburied all his treasure in the garden. Love God, and you shall find it.\nSo he died, blaspheming and condemned. Love God, and He will love you!'\nAnd saying this, she vanished.\n\n\"The children, all astonished, ran to their father and mother, and told\nthem that a beautiful lady had visited them, and what she had said.\n\n\"Then they said to the children, 'You must indeed be always good, for\nthat Lady who spoke to you was the Holy Virgin, who will always protect\nyou.' And then the father called in a priest to say midnight mass at the\ntime when the spirit would appear. And he came, and said, 'I am he who\nbroke the cross, and for that I was damned!' Then the priest began to\nsprinkle holy water, with exorcisms, when all at once the accursed one\ndisappeared in a tremendous, over-whelming crash of thunder, and the\nwhole palace fell to gravel and dust--there was not left one stone\nstanding on the other, save the cross which the children had repaired,\nwhich rose alone in the middle of the garden.\n\n\"Then the next day the good man dug away the rubbish by the cross, and\nwhen this was removed, they found a mass of charcoal, and under this the\ntreasure.\n\n\"Then the Signore, grown rich, had, to commemorate this, a beautiful\ncolumn built, on which he placed the cross, and this is known to this day\nas the Croce al Trebbio, or the Crucifix of the Cross-roads.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nIf the Croce al Trebbio really commemorates one of the most iniquitous\nmassacres which ever disgraced even the Church, then to find this tender\nand graceful little tale springing up from it, reminds me of what I once\nheard of a violet which was found growing in the Far West, and blooming\nin an Indian's skull. The conception of the children playing at\nworshipping, and yet half-worshipping, is very Italian. I have seen\nlittle boys and girls thus rig up a small chapel in the streets of Rome,\nand go through the mass and other ceremonies with intense interest.\n\nIt may also be observed that in this, as in many other legends, charcoal\nis found over a hidden treasure. The folk-lore of coal in connection\nwith money is so extensive and varied, that one could write on it a small\nbook. I believe that the two are synonyms in all canting jargons or\n\"slanguages.\"\n\n\"Hence probably came,\" remarks Flaxius, \"the saying, 'To haul one over\nthe coals,' meaning to go over money-accounts with any one who has cause\nto dread the ordeal. Truly 'tis but a conjecture, yet I remember that in\nmy youth it was generally applied to such investigations.\n\n \"'And so 'twas held in early Christian time\n That glowing coals were a sure test of truth\n And holy innocence, as was full proved\n By Santa Agnatesis of the Franks,\n And fair Lupita of the Irish isle.'\"\n\nSince writing the foregoing I have found the whole of the ancient\ninscription of the cross, as it was preserved by two chroniclers. This\nwill be found in another chapter.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO FAIRIES OF THE WELL\nA LEGEND OF THE VIA CALZAIOLI\n\n\n \"When looking down into a well,\n You'll see a fairy, so they tell,\n Although she constantly appears\n With your own face instead of hers;\n And if you cry aloud, you'll hear\n Her voice in the ringing echo clear;\n Thus every one unto himself\n May be a fairy, or an elf.\"\n\n \"And truly those nymphs and fairies who inhabit wells, or are found\n in springs and fountains, can predict or know what is to take place,\n as may be read in Pausanias, and this power they derive from their\n _habitat_, or, as Creuzer declares (_Symbolik_, part iv. 72), they\n are called Muses, inasmuch as they dwell in Hippocrene and Aganippe,\n the inspiring springs of the Muses.\"--_On the Mysteries of Water_.\n FRIEDRICH (_Symbolik_).\n\nLong after Christianity had come in, there were many places in the vast\nedifice of society whence the old heathen deities refused to go out, and\nthere are even yet nooks and corners in the mountains where they receive\na kind of sorcerer's worship as _folletti_. A trace of this lingering in\na faith outworn, in nymphs, dryads, and _fata_, is found in the following\nstory:\n\n LE DUE NINFE DEL POZZO.\n\n\"There once lived in Florence a young nobleman, who had grown up putting\ngreat faith in _fate_, _ninfe_, and similar spirits, believing that they\nwere friendly, and brought good fortune to those who showed them respect.\nNow there was in his palazzo in the Via Calzaioli, at the corner of the\nCondotta, a very old well or fountain, on which were ancient and worn\nimages, and in which there was a marvellous echo, and it was said that\ntwo nymphs had their home in it. And the Signore, believing in them,\noften cast into the spring wine or flowers, uttering a prayer to them,\nand at table he would always cast a little wine into water, or sprinkle\nwater on the ground to do them honour.\n\n\"One day he had with him at table two friends, who ridiculed him when he\ndid this, and still more when he sang a song praising nymphs and fairies,\nin answer to their remarks. Whereupon one said to him:\n\n \"'Truly, I would like to see\n An example, if 't may be,\n How a fairy in a fountain,\n Or a goblin of the mountain,\n Or a nymph of stream or wood,\n Ever did one any good;\n For such fays of air or river,\n One might wait, I ween, for ever,\n And if even such things be,\n They are devils all to me.'\n\n\"Then the young Signore, being somewhat angered, replied:\n\n \"'In the wood and by the stream,\n Not in reverie or dream,\n Where the ancient oak-trees blow,\n And the murmuring torrents flow,\n Men whose wisdom none condemn\n Oft have met and talked with them.\n Demons for you they may be,\n But are angels unto me.'\n\n\"To which his friend sang in reply, laughing:\n\n \"'Only prove that they exist,\n And we will no more resist;\n Let them come before we go,\n With _ha_!_ ha_!_ ha_! and _ho_!_ ho_!_ ho_!'\n\n\"And as they sang this, they heard a peal of silvery laughter without,\nor, as it seemed, actually singing in the hall and making a chorus with\ntheir voices. And at the instant a servant came and said that two very\nbeautiful ladies were without, who begged the young Signore to come to\nthem immediately, and that it was on a matter of life and death.\n\n\"So he rose and stepped outside, but he had hardly crossed the threshold\nbefore the stone ceiling of the hall fell in with a tremendous crash, and\njust where the young Signore had sat was a great stone weighing many\n_quintale_ or hundredweights, so that it was plain that if he had not\nbeen called away, in an instant more he would have been crushed like a\nfly under a hammer. As for his two friends, they had broken arms and cut\nfaces, bearing marks in memory of the day to the end of their lives.\n\n\"When the young Signore was without the door and looked for the ladies,\nthey were gone, and a little boy, who was the only person present,\ndeclared that he had seen them, that they were wonderfully beautiful, and\nthat, merrily laughing, they had jumped or gone down into the well.\n\n\"Therefore it was generally believed by all who heard the tale that it\nwas the Fairies of the Well, or _Fonte_, who thus saved the life of the\nyoung Signore, who from that day honoured them more devoutly than ever;\nnor did his friends any longer doubt that there are spirits of air or\nearth, who, when treated with pious reverence, can confer benefits on\ntheir worshippers.\n\n \"'For there are fairies all around\n Everywhere, and elves abound\n Even in our homes unseen:\n They go wherever we have been,\n And often by the fireside sit,\n A-laughing gaily at our wit;\n And when the ringing echo falls\n Back from the ceiling or the walls,\n 'Tis not our voices to us thrown\n In a reflection, but their own;\n For they are near at every turn,\n As he who watches soon may learn.'\n\n\"And the young Signore, to do honour to the fairies, because they had\nsaved his life, put them one on either side of his coat-of-arms, as you\nmay see by the shield which is on the house at the corner of the Via\nCalzaioli.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe authenticity of this legend, is more than doubtful, because it exists\nelsewhere, as I have read it, being unable to give my authority; but\nunless my memory deceives me, it goes back to classic times, and may be\nfound in some such work as that of Philostratus _de Vita Apollonii_ or\nGrosius. Neither am I well assured, to judge from the source whence I\nhad it, that it is current among the people, though no great measure of\ncredulity is here required, since it may be laid down as a rule, with\nrarest exception, that there is no old Roman tale of the kind which may\nnot be unearthed with pains and patience among old Tuscan peasant women.\nHowever, the _shield_ is still on the corner of the Via Calzaioli, albeit\none of the nymphs on it has been knocked or worn away. Thus even _fates_\nmust yield in time to fate.\n\nI have in a note to another legend spoken of the instinct which seems to\nlead children or grown people to associate wells with indwelling fairies,\nto hear a voice in the echo, and see a face in the reflection in the\nstill water. Keats has beautifully expressed it in \"Endymion\":\n\n \"Some mouldered steps lead into this cool cell\n Far as the slabbed margin of a well,\n Whose patient level peeps its crystal eye\n Right upward through the bushes to the sky. . . .\n Upon a day when thus I watched . . . behold!\n A wonder fair as any I have told--\n The same bright face I tasted in my sleep\n Smiling in the clear well. My heart did leap\n Through the cool depth. . . .\n Or 'tis the cell of Echo, where she sits\n And babbles thorough silence till her wits\n Are gone in tender madness, and anon\n Faints into sleep, with many a dying tone.\"\n\n\"In which tale,\" writes the immortal Flaxius, \"there is a pretty\nallegory. Few there are who know why truth is said to be at the bottom\nof a well; but this I can indeed declare to you. For as a mirror was\nabove all things an emblem of truth, because it shows all things exactly\nas they are, so the water in a well was, as many traditions prove,\nconsidered as a mirror, because looking into it we see our face, which we\nof course most commonly see in a glass, and this disk of shining water\nresembles in every way a hand-mirror. And for this reason a mirror was\nalso regarded as expressing life itself, for which reason people so\ngreatly fear to break them. So in the Latin, _Velut in speculo_, and in\nthe Italian, _Vero come un specchio_--'True as a mirror,' we have the\nsame idea. And a poet has written, 'Mirrored as in a well,' and many\nhave re-echoed the same pretty fancy.\n\n\"Which reminds me that in the Oberpfalz or Upper Palatinate maidens were\nwont to go to a well by moonlight, and if on looking therein they saw\ntheir own faces, they believed that they would soon be happily married.\nBut if a cloud darkened the moon and they saw nothing, then they would\ndie old maids. But luckiest of all was it if they fancied they saw a\nman's face, for this would be the future husband himself.\n\n\"Now it befell that a certain youth near Heidelberg fell into a well, or\nput himself there, when a certain maid whom he loved, came and looked in,\nand believing that she saw the face of her destined spouse, went away in\nfull faith that the fairy of the well had taken his form, and so she\nmarried him. Which, if it be not true, is _ben trovato_.\n\n\"Truth is always represented, be it remembered, as holding a mirror.\n\n\"And note also that the hand-mirror and the well were strangely connected\nin ancient times, as appears by Pausanias, who states that before a\ncertain temple of Ceres hung a _speculum_, which, after it had been\nimmersed in a neighbouring well or spring, showed invalids by reflection\nwhether they would live or die. And with all this, the holding a mirror\nto the mouth of an insensible person to tell whether the breath was still\nin the body, seemed also to make it an indicator of life.\"\n\n \"Thus in life all things do pass,\n As it were, in magic glass.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE VIA DELLE SERVE SMARRITE\n\n\n \"We all do know the usual way\n In which our handmaids go astray,\n But in this tale the situation\n Has a peculiar variation;\n How an old wizard--strange occurrence!\n Deluded all the girls in Florence,\n (It needs no magic now to do it),\n And how the maidens made him rue it,\n For having seized on him and stripped him,\n They tied him up and soundly whipped him.\"\n\nThe author of \"The Cities of Central Italy,\" speaking of Siena, says that\n\"In its heart, where its different hill-promontories unite, is the Piazza\ndel Campo, lately--with the time-serving which disgraces every town in\nItaly--called Vittorio Emanuele.\" And with the stupidity and bad taste\nwhich seems to characterise all municipal governments in this respect all\nthe world over, that of Florence has changed most of the old names of\nthis kind, and in order to render the confusion more complete, has put\nthe new names just over the old ones, with the simple addition of the\nword _Gia_ or \"formerly.\" Whence came the legend current in the\nAnglo-American colony, that a newly arrived young lady, not as yet beyond\nthe second lesson in Ollendorff, being asked where she lived, answered in\n_Gia_ Street. She forgot the rest of the name.\n\nOne of these gaping _gias_ is the Via del Parlascio _gia Via delle Serve\nSmarrite_, or the street of the maidservants strayed away or gone astray.\nNow Florence is famous for its pretty servant-girls, and if I may believe\na halfpenny work, entitled \"Seven Charming Florentine Domestics,\" now\nbefore me, which is racy of the soil--or dirt--and appears to be written\nfrom life [as accurate portraits of all the fascinating seven are given],\nI opine that the damsel of this class who had never been, I do not say a\nwife, but a waif and a stray, must be a phenomenal rarity. Therefore it\nwas suggested to me that it was formerly in very ancient times the custom\nto send all such stray cattle to the pound, that is, to dwell in this\nstreet as a kind of Ghetto. But the folly of this measure soon became\napparent when it was found that one might as well try to get all the cats\nin Tuscany into a hand-basket, or all its flies--or fleas--under one\ntumbler, as try to make a comprehensive menagerie of these valuable\nanimals, who were, however, by no means curiosities. So the attempt was\nabandoned, and thenceforth the maidens were allowed to stray wherever\nthey pleased, but under some slight supervision; whence it was said of\nthem that they were _le lucertole chi cominciano a sentir il\nsole_--\"fireflies which begin to see the sun\"--a proverb which the\nlearned and genial Orlando Peschetti (1618) explains as being applicable\nto those who, having been in prison and then set free, are still watched,\nbut which appears to me rather to refer to the suspected who are\n\"shadowed\" before they are arrested.\n\nBut in due time I received from good authority an ancient legend of the\nVia delle Serve Smarrite, in which the origin of the name is explained as\nfollows:\n\n VIA DELLE SERVE SMARRITE.\n\n\"There was long ago, in what was afterwards called the Via delle Serve\nSmarrite, or Stray Maid-Servants' Street, a very ancient and immensely\nlarge house, which was generally supposed to be vacant, and in which no\none cared to dwell, or even approach, since there were dreadful tales of\nevil deeds done in it, and reports that it was a gathering-place for\nwitches, goblins, and _diavoli_. The clanking of chains and peals of\nhorrid laughter rung from its chambers at midnight, blue and green fires\ngleamed from its windows, and everybody all around had heard from\nsomebody else that the nightmares had there their special nest, from\nwhich they sailed forth to afflict all Florence.\n\n\"Yet all this was a trick which was often played in those days, when\n_gente non dabbene_ or evil folk and outlaws wanted to keep a house to\nthemselves, and there were no newspapers to publish every mystery. For\nthere were a great many who went in there, but few who ever came out, and\nthese were all young and pretty servant-maids. And the way it was\nmanaged was this. When such girls were sent to the market to buy\nprovisions, they always met there or elsewhere an old woman who pretended\nto be extremely pious, {43} who, by using many arts and making small\ngifts, and above all by subtle flatteries, persuaded them that service\nwas only fit for _gentaccia_ or the dregs of the people, and that,\nbeautiful and graceful as they were, they needed only live like ladies\nfor a little time at ease, and they would soon be fit to marry some\nSignore, and that she herself would thus maintain them, hoping they would\npay her well for it all when once married. And I need not say that the\ntrick generally succeeded.\n\n\"The house to which they were led was ugly and repulsive outside, but\nwithin there were beautiful rooms of all kinds, magnificently furnished,\nand the new-comers were promptly bathed, elegantly attired, and jewelled\nfrom head to foot, and instead of serving, had maids given them as\nattendants, and everything conceivable was done to make their life as\npleasant and demoralising among themselves as possible. But in due time\nthey found out that a certain Signore was lord of the house and of\nthemselves, and that he gradually led them into the strangest and most\nterrible orgies, and finally into witchcraft, after which one disappeared\nmysteriously after the other, none knew whither, but as there were always\nfresh arrivals to take their places, nobody heeded it.\n\n\"However, this mournful disappearance of pretty servant-maids became at\nlast so frequent and was so mysterious, that it began to be much talked\nabout. Now there was a certain gentleman, a man himself of great\nauthority and intelligence, who had heard of these vanishments and hoped\nto find out their cause. And one night at a very late hour, when he was\npassing by the mysterious house, he heard from it now and then sounds\nlike groans mingled with the clanking of chains, and saw red and blue and\ngreen lights at the windows, but by keeping still he also distinguished\nthe sound of music and girls' voices laughing and singing; and stealing\nnear in the darkness, and fearing no devils, he contrived to climb up to\na window, and pulling aside a curtain, peeped in, when he beheld plainly\nenough a great many beautiful women in scant array, or a real dance of\nwitches, and being marvellously attracted by the sight of so many charms\nso liberally displayed, he naturally desired to enter the gay party.\n\n\"And here chance favoured him beyond all hope; for on going to the door,\nhe found an old woman about to enter, to whom he gave a gold piece, and\nbegged her to tell him the true story of the house, and whether he could\nenter it. But what was his amazement to find in her his old\nfoster-mother of the country, whom he had not seen for many years, and\nwho loved him dearly.\n\n\"And she, being pressed, told him the whole story of the house, wherein\nshe was a servant, but that she had grown deadly tired of such evil ways,\nand seeing such sin as went on there, though she was well paid, and said\nif he would only give her a home, she would reveal all to justice. And\nshe added that for the present he could freely join the girls who were\ndancing, as the wizard, their master, was away that night.\n\n\"But when he entered, he was amazed at the splendour of the rooms and the\nbeauty of the women. Now among these he found one who truly enchanted\nhim, and entering into conversation with her, found that she would gladly\nescape with him, and that many others were inclined to leave, but dare\nnot show it for fear of the master.\n\n\"Then the Signore, addressing all the girls, told them that in a few\nhours the guards or police would, by his orders, be in the house, and\nadvised them to at once seize on all the valuables on which they could\nlay their hands, and pack up their bundles and depart, and that he\nhimself would write for every one a free pass to let her go with the\nproperty. And truly he had hardly spoken ere there began such a\nplundering and pillaging, sacking and spoliation, as it would have done\nyour heart good to see, and which was like the taking of a rich town,\nonly that the marauders were all maidens. Here was one rolling up silver\nspoons, cups, anything she could get, in a shawl; there another filling a\nbag with jewellery, and a silver ladle sticking out of her bosom or back;\nanon a couple of Venuses fighting for a splendid garment, while a superb\nHebe ravished a golden goblet, and an enchanting Vesta, if not a vestal,\nappropriated most appropriately a silver lamp. Some pulled down the\ncurtains, others rolled up the costly Venetian rugs; they drank wine when\nthey were thirsty, and quarrelled and laughed and shrieked, as a parcel\nof wild servant-girls in a mad frolic might be expected to do. It was a\nfine sight--'one worthy of a great artist or De Goncourt,' notes Flaxius.\n\n\"When lo! all at once there was an awful and simultaneous shriek as the\ndoor opened, and the _Domine_--I mean the headmaster, wizard, or\nsultan--entered, gazing like an astonished demon on the scene before his\neyes. In a voice of thunder he asked the meaning of the scene, when he\nfound himself confronted by the intruding Signore, before whom his heart\nrun away like water when he recognised in him a man having very great\nauthority, with the police at his back.\n\n\"Now, servant-maids, however pretty they may be, are mostly _contadine_\nwith powerful muscles and mighty arms, and with one accord they rushed on\ntheir late master, and soon overpowered him. Then he was securely bound\nwith silken curtain ropes, and the new Signore, taking his place at a\ngreat table, bade all the damsels range themselves at the sides in solemn\ncouncil, for the offender was now to be tried, condemned, and punished\ntoo, should he be found guilty.\n\n\"The trial was indeed one of peculiar interest, and the testimony adduced\nwould have made the fortune of a French novelist, but space (if nothing\nelse) prohibits my giving it. Suffice it to say that the wizard was\nfound guilty of taking unto himself an undue share of pretty\nhand-maidens, a great sin considering the number of gallant soldiers and\nother bachelors who were thereby defrauded of their dues. But as he had\nneither murdered nor stolen, it was decided to let him go and carry on\nhis games in some less Christian town, on condition that he would divide\nwhat money he had in the house among the poor girls whom he had so\ncruelly cajoled.\n\n\"And as this last sentence was plaintively pronounced, there was a deep\nand beautiful sigh uttered by all the victims, followed by three cheers.\nThe master's strong-box was at once hunted up, and its contents shared,\nand indeed they were so considerable that the maidens one and all soon\nmarried nobly and lived happily.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe written story, with a pleasing instinct of Italian thrift, adds that\nthe conquering Signore purchased the property, in fact, the whole street,\nat a very low figure, before the facts became known, and gave the place\nthe name of the _Via delle Serve Smarrite_, as it is still called by the\npeople, despite its new official christening.\n\n \"Ye may break, ye may ruin the flask if ye will,\n But the scent of the brandy will hang round it still.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE BRONZE BOAR OF THE MERCATO NUOVO\n\n\n \"Now among the Greeks, as with the Northern races, the boar was the\n special type of male generation, even as the frog expressed that of\n the female sex. And therefore images of the boar were set in public\n places that fertility might be developed among women, for which\n reason they also wear, as among the Arabs, necklaces of silver\n frogs.\"--_Notes on Symbolism_.\n\nIn front of the Mercato Nuovo, built by Cosimo I., stands a bronze copy\nof an ancient boar, now in the Uffizzi Gallery. It was cast by Pietro\nTacca, and is now a fountain. The popular legend in relation to it is as\nfollows:\n\n\"In the market-place of Florence, which is called _Il Porcellino_,\nbecause there is in it a fountain with a swine, there was anciently only\na spring of water and a pool, in which were many frogs, water-lizards,\nshell-snails, and slugs. These were round about, but in the spring\nitself was a frog who was confined there because she had revealed that\nher lover was a boar.\n\n\"This boar was the son of a rich lord, who, being married for a very long\ntime, had no children, and for this reason made his wife very unhappy,\nsaying that she was a useless creature, and that if she could not bear a\nson she had better pack up and be off with herself, which she endured\ndespairingly and weeping continually, praying to the saints and giving\nalms withal, all to bring forth an heir, and all in vain.\n\n\"One day she saw a drove of pigs go by her palace, and among them were\nmany sows and many more very little pigs. Now among these, or at hand,\nwas a _fata_ or witch-spirit. {47} And the lady seeing this said in the\nbitterness of her heart, 'So the very pigs have offspring and I none. I\nwould I were as they are, and could do as they do, and bring forth as\nthey bring forth, and so escape all this suffering!'\n\n\"And the fairy heard this, and took her at her word; and, as you will\nsee, she cut her cloth without measuring it first, from which came a sad\nmisfit. And soon after she was ill, and this being told to her husband,\nhe replied, 'Good news, and may she soon be gone!' but he changed his\ntone when he heard that he was to have an heir. Then he flew to her and\nbegged her pardon, and made great rejoicings.\n\n\"Truly there was horror and sorrow when in due time the lady, instead of\na human child, brought forth a boar-pig. Yet the parents were so\npossessed with the joy of having any kind of offspring that they ended by\nmaking a great pet of the creature, who was, however, human in his ways,\nand could in time talk with grace and ease. {48a} And when he grew older\nhe began to run after the girls, and they to run away from him, screaming\nas if the devil had sent him for them.\n\n\"There lived near the palace a beautiful but very poor girl, and with her\nthe young Boar fell desperately in love. So he asked her parents for her\nhand; but they, poor as they were, laughed at him, saying that their\ndaughter should never marry a swine. But the young lady had well\nperceived that this was no common or lazy pig, such as never gets a ripe\npear--_porco pigro non mangia pere mature_--as he had shown by wooing\nher; and, secondly, because she was poor and ambitious, and daring enough\nto do anything to become rich and great. {48b}\n\n\"Now she surmised that there were eggs under the chopped straw in this\nbasket, or more in the youth than people supposed; and she was quite\nright, for on the bridal night he not only unclothed himself of silk and\npurple and fine linen, but also doffed his very skin or boar's hide, and\nappeared as beautiful as a Saint Sebastian freshly painted.\n\n\"Then he said to her, 'Be not astonished to find me good-looking at the\nrate of thirty sous to a franc, nor deem thyself over-paid, for if we had\nnot wedded, truly I should have gone on pigging it to the end of my days,\nhaving been doomed--like many men--to be a beast so long as I was a\nbachelor, or till a beautiful maid would marry me. Yet there is a\ncondition attached to this, which is, that I can only be a man as thou\nseest me by night, for I must be a boar by day. And shouldst thou ever\nbetray this secret to any one, or if it be found out, then I shall again\nbe a boar all the time for life, and thou turn into a frog because of too\nmuch talking.\n\n\"Now as surely as that time and straw ripen medlars, as the saying is,\njust so surely will it come to pass that a woman will tell a secret, even\nto her own shame. And so it befell this lady, who told it as a great\nmystery to her mother, who at once imparted it under oath to all her dear\nfriends, who swore all their friends on all their salvations not to\nbreathe a word of it to anybody, who all confessed it to the priests.\nHow much farther it went God knows, but by the time the whole town knew\nit, which was in one day of twenty-four hours, or ere the next morning,\nthe bride had become a frog who lived in the spring, and the bridegroom a\nboar who every day went to drink at the water, and when there said:\n\n \"'Lady Frog! lo, I am here!\n He to whom thou once wert dear.\n We are in this sad condition,\n Not by avarice or ambition,\n Nor by evil or by wrong,\n But 'cause thou could'st not hold thy tongue;\n For be she shallow, be she deep,\n No woman can a secret keep;\n Which all should think upon who see\n The monument which here will be.'\n\n\"So it came to pass either that the boar turned into the great bronze\n_maiale_ which now stands in the market-place, or else the people raised\nit in remembrance of the story--_chi sa_--but there it is to this day.\n\n\"As for the Signora Frog, she comforted herself by making a great noise\nand telling the tale at the top of her voice, having her brains in her\ntongue--_il cervello nella lingua_, as they say of those who talk well\nyet have but small sense. And that which you hear frogs croaking all\nnight long is nothing but this story which I have told you of their\nancestress and the bronze boar.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis is, in one form or the other, a widely spread tale. As the voice of\nthe frog has a strange resemblance to that of man, there being legends\nreferring to it in every language, and as there is a bold and forward\nexpression in its eyes, {50} it was anciently regarded as a human being\nwho was metamorphosed for being too impudent and loquacious, as appears\nby the legend of \"Latona and the Lycian Boors\" (Ovid, _Metamorph._, vi.\n340). The general resemblance of the form of a frog to that of man\ngreatly contributed to create such fables.\n\nThe classic ancient original of this boar may be seen in the Uffizzi\nGallery. As the small image of a pig carried by ladies ensures that they\nwill soon be, as the Germans say, \"in blessed circumstances,\" or\n_enceinte_ (which was all one with luck in old times), so the image of\nthe boar is supposed to be favourable to those ladies who desire olive\nbranches. From all which it appears that in ancient times swine were\nmore highly honoured than at present, or, as Shelley sings:\n\n \"We pigs\n Were blest as nightingales on myrtle sprigs,\n Or grasshoppers that live on noon-day dew.\"\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY OF THE CAMPANILE, OR THE TOWER OF GIOTTO\n\n\n \"Bella di fronte e infino alle Calcagna,\n Con un corredo nobile e civile,\n In te risiede una cupola magna\n E superbo di Giotto il Campanile.\"--_Giuseppe Moroni_.\n\n \"Round as the O of Giotto, d'ye see?\n Which means as well done as a thing can be.\"--_Proverb_.\n\nMany have wondered how it came to pass that Virgil lived in tradition not\nas a poet but as sorcerer. But the reason for it is clear when we find\nthat in Florence every man who ever had a genius for anything owed it to\nmagic, or specially to the favour of some protecting fairy or _folletto_,\nspirit or god. Is a girl musical? Giacinto or Hyacinth, the favourite\nof Apollo, has given her music lessons in her dreams. For the orthodox\nthere are Catholic saints with a specialty, from venerable Simeon, who\nlooks after luck in lotteries, to the ever-blessed Antony, who attends to\neverything, and Saint Anna, _nee_ Lucina, who inspires nurses. And where\nthe saints fail, the _folletti_, according to the witches, take their\nplace and do the work far better. Therefore, as I shall in another place\nset forth, Dante and Michel Angelo have passed into the marvellous\nmythology of goblins. With them is included Giotto, as appears by the\nfollowing legend of \"The Goblin of the Bell-Tower of Giotto.\"\n\n IL FOLLETTO DEL CAMPANILE DI GIOTTO.\n\n\"Giotto was a shepherd, and every day when he went forth to pasture his\nherd there was one little lamb who always kept near him, and appeared to\nbe longing to talk to him like a Christian.\n\n\"Now this lamb always laid down on a certain stone which was fast in the\nground (_masso_); and Giotto, who loved the lamb, to please it, lay down\nalso on the same stone.\n\n\"After a short time the lamb died, and when dying said:\n\n \"'Giotto, cosa non far ti\n Se mi senti parlarti,\n Ti voglio tanto bene\n E dove andrai,\n Io ti seguiro sempre\n In forma di folletto,\n E col mio volere\n Tu verrai un bravo scultore\n E insegne disegnatore.'\n\n \"'Giotto, be not astonished\n That I thus speak to thee;\n I have such love for thee,\n Wherever thou shalt go\n I will follow thee always\n In the form of a fairy,\n And through my favour\n Thou shalt become a great sculptor\n And artist.'\n\n\"And so it came to pass that Giotto was an able sculptor by the aid of\nthe lamb, and all that he did was due to the lamb which helped him.\n\n\"And when he died, the spirit of the lamb remained in the form of a\n_folletto_ or fairy in the campanile, and it is still often seen there,\nalways with the spirit of Giotto. Even in death their souls could not be\nseparate.\n\n\"When any one desires to ascend the tower, and his or her heart fails in\nmounting the steps (_e che ha paura di salire_), the fairy below says:\n\n \"'Vade, vade, Signora!\n La vade su salgha,\n Non abbia paura,\n Ci sono io sotto.'\n\n \"'Go on, go on, Signora,\n Go up the stairs--oh go!\n Be not afraid, my lady!\n For I am here below.'\n\n\"Then the visitor hearing this believes it is one of the guides employed\n(_inpiegati_), or one of the gentlemen or ladies who are ascending after.\nAnd often when half-way up there comes a great puff of wind which blows\nup their skirts (_fa gonfiare le sottane_) which causes great laughter,\nand they think that this is only a common thing, and do not perceive that\nit does not happen to others.\n\n\"And it is said that this fairy appears by night in the Piazza del Duomo,\nor Cathedral Square, in different forms.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe reason why Giotto is so popularly known as having been a shepherd is\nthat on the central tablet of the tower or campanile, facing the street,\nthere is a bas-relief of a man seated in a tent with sheep before him,\nand this is naturally supposed to represent the builder or Giotto\nhimself, since it fills the most prominent place. In a very popular\nhalfpenny chapbook, entitled \"The Statues under the Uffizzi in Florence,\nOctaves improvised by Giuseppe Moroni, called _Il Niccheri_ or the\nIlliterate,\" I find the following:\n\n GIOTTO.\n\n \"Voi di Mugello, nato dell' interno,\n Giotto felice, la da' Vespignano\n Prodigiose pitture in ogni esterno\n A Brescia, a Roma, Firenze e Milano,\n Nelle pietre, ne' marmi nel quaderno,\n L'archittetura al popolo italiano.\n Da non trovare paragone simile,\n Vi basti, per esempio, il campanile.\"\n\n \"Thou of Mugello, born in Italy,\n Happy Giotto, gav'st to Vespignan\n Great pictures which on every front we see\n At Brescia, Rome, in Florence and Milan,\n In stone, in marble, and in poetry,\n And architecture, all Italian.\n Nothing surpassed thy wondrous art and power,\n Take for example, then, our great bell-tower.\"\n\nThe fact that this is taken from a very popular halfpenny work indicates\nthe remarkable familiarity with such a name as that of Giotto among the\npeople.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN OF THE TOWER BELLA TRINITA, OR THE PORTA SAN NICCOLO\n\n\n \"They do not speak as mortals speak,\n Nor sing as others sing;\n Their words are gleams of starry light,\n Their songs the glow of sunset light,\n Or meteors on the wing.\"\n\nI once begun a book--the ending and publishing of it are in the dim and\nremote future, and perhaps in the limbo of all things unfinished. It was\nor is \"The Experiences of Flaxius the Immortal,\" a sage who dwells for\never in the world, chiefly to observe the evolution of all things absurd,\ngrotesque, quaint, illogical--in short, of all that is strictly human.\nAnd on him I bestowed a Florentine legend which is perhaps of great\nantiquity, since there is a hint in it of an ancient Hebrew work by Rabbi\nben Mozeltoff or the learned Gedauler Chamar--I forget which--besides\nbeing found in poetic form in my own great work on Confucius.\n\nThat money is the life of man, and that treasure buried in the earth is a\nsin to its possessor, forms the subject of one of Christ's parables. The\nsame is true of all talent unemployed, badly directed, or not developed\nat all. The turning-point of evolution and of progressive civilisation\nwill be when public opinion and state interests require that every man\nshall employ what talent he has, and every mere idler be treated as a\ndefaulter or criminal. From this truly Christian point of view the many\ntales of ghosts who walk in agony because of buried gold are strangely\ninstructive.\n\n FLAXIUS AND THE ROSE.\n\n\"Midnight was ringing from the cloister of San Miniato in Florence on the\nhill above, and Flaxius sat by the Arno down below, on the bank by the\nsquare grey tower of other days, known as the Niccolo, or _Torre delta\nTrinita_, because there are in it three arches. . . .\n\n\"It was midnight in mid-winter, and a full moon poured forth all its\nlight over Florence as if it would fain preserve it in amber, and over\nthe olive groves as if they had become moss agates. . . .\n\n[\"'Or I,' quoth Flaxius, 'a fly in hock.']\n\n\"Yes, it was a clear, cold, Tuscan night, and as the last peal of bells\nwent out into eternity and faded in the irrevocable, thousands of spirits\nof the departed began to appear, thronging like fireflies through the\nstreets, visiting their ancient haunts and homes, greeting, gossiping,\narranging their affairs just as the peasants do on Friday in the great\nplace of the Signoria, as they have done for centuries.\n\n\"Flaxius looked at the rolling river which went rushing by at his feet,\nand said:\n\n\"'_Arno mio_, you are in a tremendous hurry to get to the sea, and all\nthe more so because you have just had an _accessit_--a remittance of rain\nfrom the mountain-banks. _Buon pro vi faccia_--much good may it do you!\nSo every shopman hurries to become a great merchant when he gets some\nmoney, and every farmer a signore, and every signore a great lord, and\nevery great lord a ruler at court and over all the land--_prorsum et\nsursum_. And when they get there--or when you get to the sea--then ye\nare all swallowed up in greater lives, interests, and actions, and so the\nrivers run for ever on, larger yet ever seeming less unto yourselves.\nAnd so--_ad altiora tendunt omnes_--the flower-edged torrent and the\nFlorentine.' . . .\n\n\"When he suddenly heard above his head a spirit voice, clear, sweet and\nstrange, ringing, not in words, but tones of unearthly music--of which\nlanguages there are many among the Unearthlies, all being wordless songs\nor airs suggesting speech, and yet conveying ideas far more rapidly. It\nwas the Goblin of the Tower calling to him of the tower next beyond on\nthe farther hill, and he said:\n\n\"'How many ghosts there are out to-night!'\n\n\"'Yes; it is a fine night for ghosting. Moonlight is mid-summer for\nthem, poor souls! But I say, brother, who is yonder _frate_, the dark\nmonk-spectre who always haunts your tower, lingering here and there about\nit? What is the spell upon that _spirito_?'\n\n\"'He is one to be pitied,' replied the Goblin of the Trinita. 'He was a\ngood fellow while he lived, but a little too fond of money. He was\nafflicted with what doctors called, when I was young in Rome, the _amor\nsceleratus habendi_. So it came to pass that he died leaving a\ntreasure--_mille aureos_--a thousand gold crowns buried in my tower\nunknown to any one, and for that he must walk the earth until some one\nliving wins the money.'\n\n\"Flaxius pricked up his ears. He understood all that the spirits said,\nbut they had no idea that the man in a scholar's robe who sat below knew\nGoblinese.\n\n\"'What must a mortal do to get the gold?' inquired the second goblin.\n\n\"'Truly he must do what is well-nigh impossible,' replied the Elf of the\nTower; 'for he must, without magic aid--note that--bring to me here in\nthis month of January a fresh full-blown rose.'\n\n\"The voices were silent; a cloud passed over the face of the moon; the\nriver rushed and roared on; Flaxius sat in a Vandyke-brown study,\nthinking how he could obtain peace and repose for the ghostly monk, and\nalso get the _pecuniam_.\n\n\"'Here is,' he thought, '_aliquid laborare_--something to be worked out.\nNow is the time, and here is a chance--_ingirlandarsi di lauro_--to win\nthe laurel wreath. A rose in January! What a pity that it is not four\nhundred years later, when people will have green-houses, and blue-nosed\nvagabonds will be selling red roses all the winter long in the\nTornabuoni! Truly it is sometimes inconvenient to be in advance of or\nbehind the age.\n\n\"'_Eureka_! I have it,' he at last exclaimed, 'by the neck and tail. I\nwill _spogliar la tesoria_--rob the treasury and spoil the Egyptian--_si\nnon in errore versatus sum_--unless I am stupendously mistaken. Monk!\nthy weird will soon be dreed--thy penance prophesied will soon be o'er.'\n\n\"Saying this he went into the city. And there the next day, going to a\nfair dame of his acquaintance, who excelled all the ladies of all Italy\nin ingenious needlework, he had made of silk a rose; and so deftly was it\ndone, that had it been put on a bush, you would have sworn that a\nnightingale would have sung to it, or bee have sought to ravish it.\n\n\"Then going to a Venetian perfumer's, the wise Flaxius had his flower\nwell scented with best attar of roses from Constantinople, and when\nmidnight struck he was at the tower once more calling to the goblin.\n\n\"'_Che vuoi_? What dost thou seek?' cried the Elf.\n\n\"'The treasure of the monk!'\n\n\"'_Bene_! Give me a rose.'\n\n\"'_Ecco_! There it is,' replied Flaxius, extending it.\n\n\"'_Non facit_--it won't do,' answered the goblin (thinking Flaxius to be\na monk). 'It is a sham rose artificially coloured, _murice tincta est_.'\n\n\"'Smell it,' replied Flaxius calmly.\n\n\"'The _smell_ is all right, I admit,' answered the guardian of the gold.\n'The perfume is delicious;' here he sniffed at it deeply, being, like all\nhis kind, enraptured with perfume, 'and that much of it is, I grant, the\nreal thing.'\n\n\"'Now tell me,' inquired Flaxius, 'truly--_religiose testimonium\ndicere_--by thy great ancestress Diana and her sister-double Herodias and\nher Nine Cats, by the Moon and the eternal Shadow, Endamone, and the word\nwhich Bergoia whispered into the ear of the Ox, and the Lamia whom thou\nlovest--what is it makes a man? Is it his soul or his body?'\n\n\"'Man of mystery and master of the hidden lore,' replied the awe-struck\ngoblin, 'it is his _soul_.'\n\n\"'And is not the perfume of the rose its _soul_--that which breathes its\nlife, in which it speaks to fairies or to men? Is not the voice in song\nor sweetened words the perfume of the spirit, ever true? Is not--'\n\n\"'I give it up,' replied the goblin. 'The priest may turn in now for a\nlong, long nap. Here, take his gold, and _ne gioire tutto\nd'allegrezza_--may you have a merry time with it. There is a great deal\nof good drinking in a thousand crowns; and if you ever try to _ludere\nlatrunculis vel aleis_, or shake the bones or dice, I promise you three\nsixes. By the way, I'll just keep this rose to remember you by.\n_Addio--a rivederlei_!'\n\n\"So the bedesman slept amid his ashes cold, and the good Flaxius, who was\na stout carl for the nonce, with a broad back and a great beard,\nreturned, bearing a mighty sack of ancient gold, which stood him in good\nstead for many a day. And the goblin is still there in the tower.\"\n\n\"_Haec fabula docet_,\" wrote Flaxius as he revised the proof with a\nred-lead pencil, for which he had paid a penny in the Calzolaio. \"This\ntale teaches that in this life there is naught which hath not its ideal\nside or inner soul, which may raise us to higher reflection or greater\nprofit, if we will but seek it. The lower the man the lower he looks,\nbut it is all to his loss in the end. Now every chapter in this book, O\nmy son--or daughter--may seem to thee only a rose of silk, yet do not\nstop at that, but try to find therein a perfume. For thou art thyself, I\ndoubt not, such a rose, even if thy threads (as in most of us) be\nsomewhat worn, torn, or faded, yet with a soul far better than many deem\nwho see thee only afar off. And this my book is written for the perfume,\nnot the silk of my reader. And there is no person who is better than\nwhat the world deems him or her to be who will not find in it marvellous\ncomfort, solace, and satisfaction.\"\n\nThus wrote Flaxius.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSince I penned the foregoing from memory, I have found the Italian text\nor original, which had been mislaid for years. In it the tale is\nsuccinctly told within the compass of forty lines, and ends with these\nwords:\n\n \"'Take the treasure, and give me the rose!'\n\n \"And so the spirit gave him the treasure and took the rose, and the\n poor man went home enriched, and the priest to sleep in peace--_fra\n gli eterni_--among the eternals.\"\n\nI ought, of course, to have given scientifically only the text word for\nword, but _litera scripta manet_--what is written remains, and Flaxius is\nan old friend of mine, and I greatly desired to introduce him to my\nreaders. And I doubt not that the reviewers will tell me if I have\nsinned!\n\n \"Do a good deed, or aught that's fit,\n You never again may hear of it;\n But make a slip, all will detect it,\n And every friend at once correct it!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE GHOST OF MICHEL ANGELO\n\n\n \"If I believed that spirits ne'er\n Return to earth once more,\n And that there's naught unto them dear\n In the life they loved before;\n Then truly it would seem to me,\n However fate has sped,\n For souls there's no eternity,\n And they and all are dead.\"\n\nIt must have struck every one who has read the life of Michel Angelo,\nthat he was, like King James the First of England, \"nae great gillravager\nafter the girls,\" or was far from being susceptible to love--in which he\nformed a great contrast to Raphael, and indeed to most of the Men of his\nTime--or any other. This appears to have impressed the people of Italy\nas something even more singular than his works, for which reason he\nappears in popular tradition as a good enough goblin, not without\ncheerfulness and song, but as one given to tormenting enamoured couples\nand teasing lady artists, whom he subsequently compliments with a gift.\nThe legend is as follows:\n\n LO SPIRITO DI MICHELE ANGIOLO BUONAROTTI.\n\n\"The spirit of Michel Angelo is seen mostly by night, in woods or groves.\nThe good man appears as he did in life, _come era prima_, ever walking\namong trees singing poetry. He amuses himself very much by teasing\nlovers--_a dare noia agli amoretti_--and when he finds a pair who have\nhidden themselves under leaves and boughs to make love, he waits till\nthey think they are well concealed, and then begins to sing. And the two\nfeel a spell upon them when they hear his voice, and can neither advance\nnor retreat.\n\n\"Then all at once opening the leafy covert, he bursts into a peal of\nlaughter; and the charm being broken, they fly in fear, because they\nthink they are discovered, and it is all nothing but the spirit of Michel\nAngelo Buonarotti.\n\n\"When some lady-artist goes to sketch or paint, be it _al piazzale_, in\nopen places, or among the woods, it is his delight to get behind, and\ncause her to blunder, scrawl, and daub (_fare degli scarabocchi_). And\nwhen the artist is angered, she will hear a loud peal of laughter; and if\nthis irritates her still more, she will hear a song, and yet not perceive\nthe singer. And when at last in alarm she catches up her sketch, all\nscrawled and spoiled, and takes to flight, she will hear the song\nfollowing her, and yet if she turns her head she will see no one\npursuing. The voice and melody are always beautiful. But it is\nmarvellously lucky to have this happen to an artist, for when she gets\nhome and looks at her sketch, she finds that it is neither scrawled nor\ndaubed, but most exquisitely executed in the style of Michel Angelo.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is marvellous how the teasing faun or Silvanus of the Romans has\nsurvived in Tuscany. I have found him in many forms, under many names,\nand this is the last. But why it should be Michel Angelo, I cannot\nimagine, unless it be that his face and stump nose, so familiar to the\npeople, are indeed like that of the faun. The _dii sylvestres_, with all\ntheir endless mischief, riotry, and revelry, were good fellows, and the\nconcluding and rather startling touch that the great artist in the end\nalways bestows a valuable picture on his victim is really godlike--in a\nsmall way.\n\nIt is remarkable as a coincidence, that Michel Angelo was himself during\nlife terribly annoyed and disturbed by people prying and speering about\nhim while painting--especially by Pope Leo--for whom he nevertheless\npainted very good pictures. It would almost seem as if there were an\necho of the event in the legend. Legend is the echo of history.\n\n\"This legend,\" remarks Flaxius, \"may give a valuable hint to collectors.\nMany people are aware that there are in existence great numbers of\nsketchings and etchings attributed to Michel Angelo, Durer, Raphael, Marc\nAntonio, and many more, which were certainly executed long since those\nbrothers of the paint or pencil passed away. May it not be that the\ndeparted still carry on their ancient callings by the aid of new and\nmarvellous processes to us as yet unknown, or by what may be called\n'pneumato-gravure'? Who knows?--'tis a great idea, my masters;--let us\npass on or _legit_ unto another legend!\n\n \"'Well I ween it may be true\n That afar in fairyland\n Great artists still pursue\n That which in life they knew,\n And practise still, with ever bettering hand,\n Sculpture and painting, all that charm can bring,\n While by them all departed poets sing.'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE APPARITION OF DANTE\n\n\n \"Musa profonda dei Toscani, il Dante,\n Il nobil cittadin, nostro Alighieri,\n Alla filosofia ricco e brillante\n Purgo il linguaggio e corredo i pensieri;\n E nell' opera sua fatto gigante\n A Campaldino nei primi guerrieri;\n Lui il Purgatorio, Paradiso e Inferno\n Fenomeno terren, poeta eterno!\"\n\n --_Le Statue disotto gli Ufizi in Fireneze_. _Ottave improvisate da\n Giuseppe Moroni detto Il Nicchieri_ (_Iliterato_). Florence, 1892.\n\nIt has been boldly asserted by writers who should know better, that there\nare no ghosts in Italy, possibly because the two only words in the\nlanguage for such beings are the equivocal ones of _spirito_ or spirit,\nand _spettro_ or spectre--or _specter_, as the Websterians write\nit--which is of itself appalling as a terrific spell. But the truth is\nthat there is no kind of _spuk_, goblin, elf, fairy, gnome, or ouphe\nknown to all the North of Europe which was not at home in Italy since old\nEtruscan days, and ghosts, though they do not make themselves common, are\nby no means as rare as eclipses. For, as may be read in my \"Etruscan\nRoman Legends,\" people who will look through a stone with a hole in it\ncan behold no end of _revenants_, or returners, in any churchyard, and on\nfine nights the seer can see them swarming in the streets of Florence.\nGiotto is in the campanile as a gentle ghost with the fairy lamb, and\nDante, ever benevolent, is all about town, as appears from the following,\nwhich was unexpectedly bestowed on me:\n\n LO SPIRITO DI DANTE ALIGHIERI.\n\n\"When any one is passionately fond of poetry, he should sit by night on\nthe _panchina_ {63} in the piazza or square of Santa Croce or in other\nplaces (_i.e._, those haunted by Dante), and having read his poetry,\npronounce the following:\n\n \"'Dante, che eri\n La gran poeta,\n Siei morto, ma vero,\n Il tuo spirito\n E sempre rimasto,\n Sempre per nostro\n Nostro aiuto.\n\n \"'Ti chiamo, ti prego!\n E ti scongiuro!\n A voler aiutarmi.\n Questa poesia\n Voglio imparare;\n Di piu ancora,\n Non voglio soltanto\n Imparar la a cantare,\n Ma voglio imparare\n Di mia testa\n Poter le scrivere,\n E cosi venire\n Un bravo poeta.\"\n\n \"'Thou Dante, who wert\n Such a great poet,\n Art dead, but thy spirit\n Is truly yet with us,\n Here and to aid us.\n\n \"'I call thee, I pray thee,\n And I conjure thee!\n Give me assistance!\n I would learn perfectly\n All of this poetry.\n And yet, moreover,\n I would not only\n Learn it to sing it,\n But I would learn too\n How I may truly\n From my head write it,\n And become really\n An excellent poet!'\n\n\"And then a form of a man will approach from around the statue (_da\ncanto_), advancing gently--_piano-piano_--to the causeway, and will sit\non it like any ordinary person, and begin to read the book, and the young\nman who has invoked the poet will not fail to obtain his wish. And the\none who has come from the statue is no other indeed than Dante himself.\n\n\"And it is said that if in any public place of resort or inn (_bettola_)\nany poet sings the poems of Dante, he is always present among those who\nlisten, appearing as a gentleman or poor man--_secondo il\nlocale_--according to the place.\n\n\"Thus the spirit of Dante enters everywhere without being seen.\n\n\"If his poems be in the house of any person who takes no pleasure in\nthem, the spirit of the poet torments him in his bed (in dreams) until\nthe works are taken away.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is a simplicity and directness in this tradition, as here told,\nwhich proves the faith of the narrator. Washington Irving found that the\ngood people of East Cheap had become so familiar with Shakespearian\ncomedy as to verily believe that Falstaff and Prince Hal and Dame Quickly\nhad all lived, and still haunted the scenes of their former revels; and\nin like manner the Florentine has followed the traditions of olden time\nso closely and lovingly, that all the magnates of the olden time live for\nhim literally at the present day. This is in a great measure due to the\nfact that statues of all the celebrities of the past are in the most\npublic places, and that there are many common traditions to the effect\nthat all statues at certain times walk about or are animated.\n\nOne of the commonest halfpenny or _soldo_ pamphlets to be found on the\nstand of all open-air dealers in ballads--as, for instance, in the\nUffizzi--is a collection of poems on the statues around that building,\nwhich of itself indicates the interest in the past, and the knowledge of\npoets and artists possessed by the common people. For the poorest of\nthem are not only familiar with the names, and more or less with the\nworks, of Orcagna, Buonarotti, Dante, Giotto, Da Vinci, Raffaelle,\nGalileo, Machiavelli, and many more, but these by their counterfeit\npresentments have entered into their lives and live. Men who are so\nimpressioned make but one bold step over the border into the fairyland of\nfaith while the more cultured are discussing it.\n\nI do not, with some writers, believe that a familiarity with a few names\nof men whose statues are always before them, and from whose works the\ntown half lives, indicates an indescribably high culture or more refined\nnature in a man, but I think it is very natural for him to make legends\non them. There are three other incantations given in another chapter,\nthe object of which, like this to Dante, is to become a poet.\n\n\"From which we learn that in the fairy faith,\" writes Flaxius, with\never-ready pen, \"that poets risen to spirits still inspire, even in\nperson, neophytes to song.\n\n \"'Life is a slate of action, and the store\n Of all events is aggregated there\n That variegate the eternal universe;\n Death is a gate of dreariness and gloom,\n That leads to azure isles and beaming skies . . .\n Therefore, O spirit, fearlessly bear on.'\"\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF LA CERTOSA\n\n\n \"'Now when ye moone like a golden flowre,\n In ye sky above doth bloome,\n Ile lett doune a basket in that houre,\n And pull ye upp to my roome,\n And give mee a kisse if 'tis yes,' he cryed;\n Ye mayden would nothing refuse;\n But held upp hir lippes--\n Oh I would I had beene\n Just thenn in that friar's shoos.\"\n\nIf we pass the Porta Romana, and keep on for three miles, we shall arrive\nat the old Carthusian convent of La Certosa in Val d'Ema. Soon after\npassing \"the village of Galluzzo, where the stream is crossed, we come to\nan ancient gateway surmounted by a statue of Saint Laurence, _through\nwhich no female could enter_ except by permission of the archbishop, and\nout which no monk could pass.\" At least, it is so stated in a justly\nfamous English guide-book, though it does not explain how any \"female\"\ncould enter the saint, nor whether the female in question belonged to the\nhuman species, or was fish, flesh, or red-herring. I should, however,\nincline to believe the latter is meant, as \"herring\" is a popular synonym\nfor a loose fish.\n\nThe Certosa was designed and built in the old Italian Gothic style by\nAndrea Orcagna, it having been founded in the middle of the fourteenth\ncentury by Niccolo Acciajuoli, who was of a great Florentine family, from\nwhom a portion of the Lung Arno is named. The building is on a\npicturesque hill, 400 feet above the union of the brooks called the Ema\nand the Greve, the whole forming a charming view of a castled monastery\nof the Middle Ages.\n\nThere is always, among the few monks who have been allowed to remain, an\nEnglish or Irish brother, to act as cicerone to British or American\nvisitors, and show them the interesting tombs in the crypt or\nsubterranean church, and the beautiful chapels and celebrated frescoes in\nthe church. These were painted by Poccetti, and I am told that among\nthem there is one which commemorates or was suggested by the following\nlegend, which I leave the reader to verify, not having done so myself,\nthough I have visited the convent, which institution is, however,\npopularly more distinguished--like many other monasteries--as a\ndistillery of holy cordial than for aught else:\n\n AL CONVENTO DELLA CERTOSA.\n\n\"There was in this convent a friar called Il Beato Dyonisio, who was so\nholy and such a marvellous doctor of medicine, that he was known as the\nFrate Miraculoso or Miraculous Brother.\n\n\"And when any of the fraternity fell ill, this good medico would go to\nthem and say, 'Truly thou hast great need of a powerful remedy, O my\nbrother, and may it heal and purify thy soul as well as thy body!' {67}\nAnd it always befell that when he had uttered this conjuration that the\npatient recovered; and this was specially the case if after it they\nconfessed their sins with great devoutness.\n\n\"Brother Dyonisio tasted no food save bread and water; he slept on the\nbare floor of his cell, in which there was no object to be seen save a\nscourge with great knots; he never took off his garments, and was always\nready to attend any one taken ill.\n\n\"The other brothers of the convent were, however, all jolly monks, being\nof the kind who wear the tunic as a tonic to give them a better--or\nbitter--relish for secular delights, holding that it is far preferable to\nhave a great deal of pleasure for a little penitence than _per poco\npiacer gran penitenza_--much penitence for very little pleasure. In\nshort, they were just at the other end of the rope away from Brother\nDyonisio, inasmuch as they ate chickens, _bistecche_ or beef-steaks, and\ndrank the best wine, even on fast-days--_giorni di vigiglia_--and slept\nin the best of beds; yes, living like lords, and never bothering\nthemselves with any kind of penance, as all friars should do.\n\n\"Now there was among these monks one who was a great _bestemmiatore_, a\nman of evil words and wicked ways, who had led a criminal life in the\nworld, and only taken refuge in the disguise of a monk in the convent to\nescape the hand of justice. Brother Dyonisio knew all this, but said\nnothing; nay, he even exorcised away a devil whom he saw was always\ninvisibly at the sinner's elbow, awaiting a chance to catch him by the\nhair; but the Beato Dyonisio was too much for him, and kept the devil\never far away.\n\n\"And this was the way he did it:\n\n\"It happened one evening that this _finto frate_, or mock monk or feigned\nfriar, took it into his head, out of pure mischief, and because it was\nspecially forbidden, to introduce a _donna di mala vita_, or a girl of no\nholy life, into the convent to grace a festival, and so arranged with\ndivers other scapegraces that the damsel should be drawn up in a basket.\n\n\"And sure enough there came next morning to the outer gate a fresh and\njolly black-eyed _contadina_, who asked the mock monk whether he would\ngive her anything in charity. And the _finto frate_ answering sang:\n\n \"'You shall have the best of meat,\n Anything you like to eat,\n Cutlets, macaroni, chickens,\n Every kind of dainty pickings.\n Pasticcie and fegatelli,\n Salame and mortadelle,\n With good wine, if you are clever,\n For a very trifling favour!'\n\n\"To which the girl replied:\n\n \"'Here I am, as here you see!\n What would'st thou, holy man, with me?'\n\n\"The friar answered:\n\n \"'When thou hear'st the hoots and howls\n At midnight of the dogs and owls,\n And when all men are sunk in sleep,\n And only witches watch do keep,\n Come 'neath the window unto me,\n And there thou wilt a basket see\n Hung by a rope as from a shelf,\n And in that basket stow thyself,\n And I alone will draw thee up,\n Then with us thou shalt gaily sup.'\n\n\"But the girl replied, as if in fear:\n\n \"'But if the rope should break away,\n Oh, then there'd be the devil to pay,\n Oh, holy father, first for thee--\n But most especially for me!\n For if by evil luck I'd cracked your\n Connecting cord, my limbs I'd fracture!'\n\n\"The friar sang:\n\n \"'The rope is good, as it is long,\n The basket's tough, my arms are strong,\n Have thou no fear upon that score,\n T'as hoisted many a maid before;\n For often such a basket-full\n Did I into a convent pull,\n And many more I trust will I\n Draw safely up before I die.'\n\n\"And at midnight the girl was there walking beneath the windows awaiting\nthe hour to rise--_Ascensionem expectans_--truly not to heaven, nor from\nany great liking for the monks, but for a great fondness for\nroast-chickens and good wine, having in her mind's eye such a supper as\nshe had never before enjoyed, and something to carry home with her.\n\n\"So at last there was a rustling sound above, as a window softly opened,\nand a great basket came vibrating down below; and the damsel, well\nassured, got into it like a hen into her nest, while the lusty friar\nabove began to draw like an artist.\n\n\"Now the _Beato frate_ Dyonisio, knowing all that passed round about by\nvirtue of his holy omniscience, determined to make manifest to the monks\nthat things not adapted to piety led them into the path of eternal\npunishment.\n\n\"Therefore, just as the basket-full of girl touched the window of the\nconvent, it happened by the virtue of the holy Dyonisio that the rope\nbroke and the damsel came with a _capi tombola_ somerset or first-class\ntumble into the street; but as she, poor soul, had only sinned for a\nsupper, which she greatly needed and seldom got, she was quit for a good\nfright, since no other harm happened to her.\n\n\"But it was far otherwise with the wicked monk, who had only come into\nthat holy monastery to stir up sin; for he, leaning too far over at the\ninstant, fell with an awful howl to the ground, where he roared so with\npain that all the other monks came running to see what was the matter.\nAnd they found him indeed, more dead than alive, terribly bruised, yet in\ngreater agony of mind than of body, saying that Satan had tempted him,\nand that he would fain confess to the Beato Dyonisio, who alone could\nsave him.\n\n\"Then the good monk tended him, and so exhorted him that he left his evil\nways and became a worthy servant of God, and the devil ceased to tempt\nhim. And in due time Brother Dyonisio died, and as a saint they interred\nhim in the crypt under the convent, and the morning after his burial a\nbeautiful flower was found growing from his tomb, and so they sainted\nhim.\n\n\"The fall of the girl was a scandal and cause of laughter for all\nFlorence, so that from that day the monks never ventured more to draw up\ndamsels in baskets.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis story is so widely spread in many forms, that the reader can hardly\nhave failed to have heard it; in fact, there are few colleges where it\nhas not happened that a basket has not been used for such smuggling. One\nof the most amusing instances is of a damsel in New Haven, or Cambridge,\nMassachusetts, who was very forgetful. One day she said to a friend,\n\"You have no idea how wicked some girls are. The other morning early--I\nmean late at night--I was going by the college when I saw a girl being\ndrawn up in a basket by some students, when all at once the rope\nbroke--_and down I came_.\"\n\nIn Germany, as in the East, the tale is told of a wooer who is drawn up\nhalf-way in a basket and then let remain for everybody to behold. In\nUhland's Old Ballads there is one to this effect of Heinrich Corrade der\nSchreiber im Korbe. Tales on this theme at least need not be regarded as\nstrictly traditional.\n\nThere is another little legend attached to La Certosa which owes its\nsmall interest to being told of a man who was one of the Joe Millers of\nItaly in the days of the Medici. It is a curious fact that humorists do\nmost abound and are most popular in great epochs of culture.\n\nDomenico Barlacchi was a _banditore_--herald or public crier--of\nFlorence, commonly known as Il Barlacchia, who lived in the time of\nLorenzo de' Medici, and who, being _molto piacevole e faceto_, or\npleasing and facetious, as I am assured by an ancient yellow jest-book of\n1636 now before me, became, like Piovano Arlotto and Gonella, one of the\nfamous wits of his time. It is worth noting, though it will be no news\nto any folk-lorist, that in these flying leaves, or fleeting collections\nof facetiae, there are many more indications of familiar old Florentine\nlife than are to be gleaned from the formal histories which are most\ncited by writers who endeavour to illustrate it.\n\n \"One morning Barlacchia, with other boon companions, went to La\n Certosa, three miles distant from Florence, {71} where, having heard\n mass, they were taken over the convent by one of the friars, who\n showed them the convent and cells. Of which Barlacchia said 'twas\n all very fine, but that he would like to see the\n wine-cellar--_sentendosi egli hauer sete_--as he felt great thirst\n sadly stealing over him.\n\n \"To which the friar replied that he would gladly show them that part\n of the convent, but that unfortunately the Decano who kept the keys\n was absent. [_Decano_, dean or deacon, may be rendered roughly in\n English as a dog, or literally of a dog or currish.] To which\n Barlacchia replied, 'Truly I am sorry for it, and I wish you were all\n _de' cani_ or dogs!'\n\nTimes have changed, and whether this tale brought about the reform I\ncannot say, but it is certain that the good monks at present, without\nwaiting to be asked, generally offer a glass of their famous cordial to\nvisitors. Tastes may differ, but to mine, when it is old, the green\nCertosa, though far cheaper, is superior to Chartreuse.\n\nAnother tale of Barlacchia, which has a certain theological affinity with\nthis story, is as follows:\n\n \"A great illness once befell Barlacchia, so that it was rumoured all\n over Florence that he was dead, and great was the grieving thereover.\n But having recovered, by the grace of God, he went from his house to\n the palace of the Grand Duke, who said to him:\n\n \"'Ha! art thou alive, Barlacchia? We all heard that thou wert dead.'\n\n \"'Signore, it is true,' was his reply. 'I was indeed in the other\n world, but they sent me back again, and that for a mere trifle, which\n you forgot to give me.'\n\n \"'And what was that?' asked the Duke.\n\n \"'I knocked,' resumed Barlacchia, 'at the gate of heaven, and they\n asked me who I was, what I had done in the world, and whether I had\n left any landed property. To which I replied no, never having begged\n for anything. So they sent me off, saying that they did not want any\n such poor devils about them--_non volevano la simile dapochi_. And\n therefore, illustrious Signore, I make so bold as to ask that you\n would kindly give me some small estate, so that another time I may\n not be turned away.'\n\n \"Which so pleased the magnificent and liberal Lorenzo that he\n bestowed on Barlacchia a _podere_ or farm.\n\n \"Now for a long time after this illness, Barlacchia was very pale and\n haggard, so that everybody who met him (and he was well known to\n everybody) said, 'Barlacchia, _mind the rules_'--meaning the rules of\n health; or else, 'Barlacchia, look to yourself;' or _regolati_! or\n _guardatevi_!--till at last he became tired with answering them. So\n he got several small wooden rules or rulers, such as writers use to\n draw lines, and hung them by a cord to his neck, and with them a\n little mirror, and when any one said '_Regolati_'--'mind the rules,'\n he made no reply, but looked at the sticks, and when they cried\n '_Guardatevi_!' he regarded himself in the mirror, and so they were\n answered.\"\n\nThis agrees with the sketch of Lorenzo as given by Oscar Browning in his\nadmirable \"Age of the Condottieri,\" a short history of Mediaeval Italy\nfrom 1409 to 1530:\n\n \"Lorenzo was a bad man of business; he spent such large sums on\n himself that he deserved the appellation of the Magnificent. He\n reduced himself to poverty by his extravagance; he alienated his\n fellow-citizens by his lust . . . and was shameless in the promotion\n of his private favourites.\"\n\nYet with all this he was popular, and left a legendary fame in which\ngenerosity rivals a love of adventure. I have collected many traditions\nnever as yet published relating to him, and in all he appears as a _bon\nprince_.\n\n\"But verily when I consider that what made a gallant lord four hundred\nyears ago would be looked after now by the Lord Chancellor and the law\ncourts with a sharp stick, I must needs,\" writes Flaxius, \"exclaim with\nSpenser sweet:\n\n \"'Me seemes the world is run quite out of square,\n For that which all men once did Vertue call,\n Is now called Vice, and that which Vice was hight\n Is now hight Vertue, and so used of all;\n Right now is wrong, and wrong that was, is right,\n As all things else in time are changed quight.'\"\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF THE BRIDGES IN FLORENCE\n\n\n \"I stood upon a bridge and heard\n The water rushing by,\n And as I thought, to every word\n The water made reply.\n\n I looked into the deep river,\n I looked so still and long,\n Until I saw the elfin shades\n Pass by in many a throng.\n\n They came and went like starry dreams,\n For ever moving on,\n As darkness takes the starry beams\n Unnoted till they're gone.\"\n\nThere is something in a bridge, and especially in an old one, which has\nbeen time-worn and mossed into harmony with surrounding nature, which has\nalways seemed peculiarly poetical or strange to men. Hence so many\nlegends of devil's bridges, and it is rather amusing when we reflect how,\nas Pontifex, he is thus identified with the head of the Church. Thus I\nonce, when attending law lectures in Heidelberg in 1847, heard Professor\nMittermaier say, that those who used the saying of \"the divine right of\nkings\" as an argument reminded him of the peasants who assumed that every\nold bridge was built by the devil. It is, however, simply the arch,\nwhich in any form is always graceful, and the stream passing through it\nlike a living thing, which forms the artistic attraction or charm of such\nstructures. I have mentioned in my \"Memoirs\" that Ralph Waldo Emerson\nwas once impressed by a remark, the first time I met him, to the effect\nthat a vase in a room had the effect of a bridge in a landscape--at\nleast, he recalled it at once when I met him twenty years later.\n\nThe most distinguished bridge, from a legendary point of view, in Europe,\nwas that of Saint John Nepomuc in Prague--recently washed away owing to\nstupid neglect; the government of the city probably not supporting, like\nthe king in the opera-bouffe of \"Barbe Bleu,\" a commissioner of bridges.\nThe most picturesque work of the kind which I recall is that of the Ponte\nMaddalena--also a devil's bridge--at the Bagni di Lucca. That Florence\nis not wanting in legends for its bridges appears from the following:\n\n THE SPIRIT OF THE PONTE VECCHIO OR OLD BRIDGE.\n\n\"He who passes after midnight on the Ponte Vecchio can always see a form\nwhich acts as guard, sometimes looking like a beggar, sometimes like a\n_guardia di sicurezza_, or one of the regular watchmen, and indeed\nappearing in many varied forms, but generally as that of a watchman, and\nalways leaning on the bridge.\n\n\"And if the passer-by asks him any such questions as these: 'Chi\nsiei?'--'Cosa fai?'--'Dove abiti?'--'Ma vien' con me?' That is: 'Who are\nyou?'--'What dost thou do?'--'Where is your home?'--'Wilt with me\ncome?'--he seems unable to utter anything; but if you ask him, 'Who am\nI?' it seems to delight him, and he bursts into a peal of laughter which\nis marvellously loud and ringing, so that the people in the shops waking\nup cry, 'There is the goblin of the Ponte Vecchio at his jests again!'\nFor he is a merry sprite, and then they go to sleep, feeling peaceably\nassured that he will watch over them as of yore.\n\n\"And this he really does for those who are faithful unto him. And those\nwho believe in spirits should say sincerely:\n\n \"'Spirito del Ponte Vecchio,\n Guardami la mia bottega!\n Guardami dagli ladroni!\n Guardami anche dalla strega!'\n\n \"'Spirit of the ancient bridge!\n Guard my shop and all my riches,\n From the thieves who prowl by night,\n And especially from witches!'\n\n\"Then the goblin ever keeps guard for them. And should it ever come to\npass that thieves break into a shop which he protects, he lets them work\naway till they are about to leave, when he begins to scream '_Al ladro_!_\nal ladro_!' and follows them till they are taken.\n\n\"But when the police have taken the thief, and he is brought up to be\ninterrogated, and there is a call for the individual who was witness\n(_quando le guardie vanno per interrogare l'individuo che si e trovato\npresente_), lo and behold he has always disappeared.\n\n\"And at times, when the weather is bad, he prowls about the bridge in the\nform of a cat or of a he-goat, and should any very profane, abusive\nrascal (_bestemmiatore_) come along, the spirit as a goat will go before,\nrunning nimbly, when all at once the latter sinks into the earth, from\nwhich flames play forth, to the great terror of the sinner, while the\ngoblin vanishes laughing.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nI have very little doubt that this guardian spirit of the bridge is the\nsame as Teramo, _i.e._, Hermes Mercury, who is believed in the Toscana\nRomana to betray thieves when they commit murder. But Mercury was also a\nclassic guardian of bridges.\n\nThis merry goblin of the Ponte Vecchio has a colleague not far away in\nthe _Spirito del Ponte alla Carraia_, the legend of which is as follows.\nAnd here I would note, once for all, that in almost every case these\ntales were written out for me in order to secure the greater accuracy,\nwhich did not however always ensure it, since even Miss Roma Lister, who\nis to the manor or manner born, often had with me great trouble in\ndeciphering the script. For verily it seems to be a decree of destiny\nthat everything traditional shall be involved, when not in Egyptian or\nHimaritic, or Carthaginian or Norse-Runic, at least in some diabolical\ndialect, so anxious is the Spirit of the past to hide from man the things\nlong passed away.\n\n AL PONTE ALLA CARRAIA.\n\n\"By the Arno, or under the Bridge alla Carraia, there lived once a\ncertain Marocchio, {77a} a _bestemmiatore_, or blasphemer, for he cursed\nbitterly when he gained but little, being truly a _marocchio_, much\nattached to money. Even in dying he still swore. And Marocchio had sold\nhimself to the devil, and hidden his money under a stone in the arch of\nthe bridge. Yet though he had very poor relations and friends, he\nconfided nothing to them, and left _niente a nessuno_, 'nothing to\nnobody.' Whence it came that after his death he had no rest or peace,\nbecause his treasure remained undiscovered.\n\n\"Yet where the money lay concealed there was seen every night the form of\na goat which cast forth flames, and running along before those who passed\nby, suddenly sunk into the ground, disappearing in a great flash of fire.\n\n\"And when the _renaioli_ or sand-diggers, {77b} thinking it was a real\ngoat, would catch it by the hair, it cast forth fire, so that many of\nthem died of fright. And it often overthrew their boats and made all the\nmischief possible.\n\n\"Then certain people thinking that all this indicated a hidden treasure,\nsought to find it, but in vain; till at last one who was _piu furbo_, or\nshrewder than the rest, observed that one day, when the wind was worse\nthan usual, raising skirts and carrying away caps and hats, there was a\ngoat in all the hurly-burly, and that this animal vanished at a certain\nspot. 'There I ween,' he said, 'lies money hid!' And knowing that\nmidnight is the proper time or occasion (_cagione di nascosto tesoro_)\nfor buried hoards, he came at the hour, and finding the habitual goat\n(_il solito chaprone_), he addressed him thus:\n\n\"'If thou art a blessed soul, then go thy way in peace, and God be with\nthee. But if thou sufferest from buried treasure, then teach me how I,\nwithout any fear, may take thy store, then thou mayst go in peace! And\nif thou art in torment for a treasure, show me the spot, and I will take\nit home, and then thou'lt be at peace and grieve no more.'\n\n\"Then the goat jumped on the spot where the money was hidden and sank as\nusual out of sight in fire.\n\n\"So the next day the young man went there and dug till he discovered the\ngold, and the spirit of Marocchio was relieved. But to this hour the\ngoat is seen now and then walking in his old haunt, where he sinks into\nthe ground at the same place.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe legend of a goat haunting a bridge is probably derived from the\ncustom of sacrificing an animal to new buildings or erections. These\nwere originally human sacrifices, for which, in later times, the animals\nwere substituted. Hence the legends of the devil having been defrauded\nout of a promised soul by driving a goat or cat over the bridge as a\nfirst crosser. The spirits of the Ponte Vecchio and Ponte alla Carraia\nclearly indicate this origin.\n\nThe next legend on this subject is that of the Ponte alle Grazie, which\nwas built by Capo, the fellow-pupil of Arnolfo, under the direction of\nRubaconte, who filled the office of Podesta in 1235. Five hundred years\nare quite time enough to attract traditions in a country where they\nspring up in five; and when I inquired whether there was any special\nstory attached to the Ponte alle Grazie, I was soon supplied with the\nfollowing:\n\n LE PONTE ALLE GRAZIE.\n\n\"When one passes under a bridge, or in halls of great palaces, or the\nvault of a church, or among high rocks, if he calls aloud, he will hear\nwhat is called the _echo_ of his voice.\n\n\"Yet it is really not his own voice which he hears, but the mocking\nvoices of spirits, the reason being that they are confined to these\nplaces, and therefore we do not hear them in the open air, where they are\nfree. But we can hear them clearly in great places enclosed, as, for\ninstance, under vaults, and far oftener in the country, because in\nlimited spaces their voices are confined and not lost. And these are the\nvoices of people who were merry and jovial while on earth, and who now\ntake delight _a rifare il verso_, to re-echo a strain.\n\n\"But under the Ponte alle Grazie we hear the cry of the spirit of a girl.\nShe was very beautiful, and had grown up from infancy in constant\ncompanionship with a youth of the neighbourhood, and so from liking as\nchildren they went on to loving at a more advanced age, with greater\nfondness and with deeper passion.\n\n\"And it went so far that at last the girl found herself with child, and\nthen she was in great trouble, not knowing how to hide this from her\nparents. _Sta beccata da una serpe_, as the proverb is; 'she had been\nstung by a serpent,' and now began to feel the poison. But the youth was\nfaithful and true, and promised to marry her as soon as he could possibly\narrange matters. So she was quieted for a time.\n\n\"But she had a vilely false friend, and a most intimate one, in a girl\nwho, being a witch, or of that kind, hated her bitterly at heart, albeit\nshe knew well _portare bene la maschera_, how to wear the mask.\n\n\"Now the poor girl told this false friend that she was _enceinte_, and\nthat her lover would marry her; and the dear friend took her, as the\nsaying is, a trip to Volterra, during which a man was treated like a\nprince and robbed or murdered at the end. For she insinuated that the\nmarriage might fail, and meantime she, the friend, would consult witches\nand _fate_, who would get her out of her troubles and make all right as\nsure as the Angelus. And the false friend went to the witches, but she\ntook them a lock of hair from the head of the lover to conjure away his\nlove and work harm. And knowing what the bridal dress would be, she made\nherself one like it in every detail. And she so directed that the bride\non the wedding morning shut herself up in a room and see no one till she\nshould be sent for.\n\n\"The bride-to-be passed the morning in great anxiety, and while waiting\nthere received a large bouquet of orange-flowers as a gift from her\nfriend. And these she had perfumed with a witch-powder. And the bride\nhaving inhaled the scent, fell into a deep sleep, or rather trance,\nduring which she was delivered of a babe, and knew nothing of it. Now\nthe people in the house hearing the child cry, ran into the room, and\nsome one ran to the bridegroom, who was just going to be married to the\nfalse friend, who had by aid of the witches put on a face and a false\nseeming, the very counterpart of her he loved.\n\n\"Then the unfortunate girl hearing that her betrothed was being married,\nand maddened by shame and grief, rushed in her bride's dress through the\nstreets, and coming to the Bridge delle Grazie, the river being high,\nthrew herself into it and was drowned; still holding the bouquet of\norange-blossoms in her hand, she was carried on the torrent into death.\n\n\"Then the young man, who had discovered the cheat, and whose heart was\nbroken, said, 'As we were one in life, so we will be in death,' and threw\nhimself into the Arno from the same place whence she had plunged, and\nlike her was drowned. And the echo from the bridge is the sound of their\nvoices, or of hers. Perhaps she answers to the girls and he to the men;\nanyhow they are always there, like the hymns in a church.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is a special interest in the first two paragraphs of this story, as\nindicating how a person who believes in spirits, and is quite ignorant of\nnatural philosophy, explains phenomena. It is precisely in this manner\nthat most early science was confused with superstition; and there is more\nof it still existing than even the learned are aware of.\n\nI know not whether echoes are more remarkable in and about Florence than\nelsewhere, but they are certainly specially noticed in the local\nfolk-lore, and there are among the witches invocations to echoes, voices\nof the wind, and similar sounds. One of the most remarkable echoes which\nI ever heard is in the well of the Villa Guicciardini, now belonging to\nSir John Edgar. It is very accurate in repeating every sound in a manner\nso suggestive of a mocking goblin, that one can easily believe that a\npeasant would never doubt that it was caused by another being. It\nrenders laughter again with a singularly strange and original effect.\nEven when standing by or talking near this mystic fount, the echo from\ntime to time cast back scraps of phrases and murmurs, as if joining in\nthe conversation. It is worth observing (_vide_ the story of the Three\nHorns) that this villa once belonged to--and is, as a matter of course,\nhaunted by the ghost of--Messer Guicciardini, the great writer, who was\nhimself a faithful echo of the history of his country, and of the wisdom\nof the ancients. Thus into things do things repeat themselves, and souls\nstill live in what surrounded them. I have not seen this mystic well\nnoticed in any of the Florentine guide-books of any kind, but its goblin\nis as well worthy an interview as many better known characters. Yea, it\nmay be that he is the soul of Guicciardini himself, but when I was there\nI forgot to ask him if it were so?\n\nI can, however, inform the reader as to the incantation which is needed\nto call to the spirit of the well to settle this question. Take a copy\nof his \"Maxims\" and read them through; then drink off one glass of wine\nto the health of the author, and, bending over the well, distinctly\ncry--\"Sei Messer Guicciardini, di cosi?\"--strongly accentuating the last\nsyllable. And if the reply be in the affirmative, you may draw your own\nconclusions. For those who are not Italianate, it will do quite as well\nif they cry, \"Guicciardini? No or yes?\" For even this echo is not equal\nto the Irish one, which to \"_How do you do_?\" replied, \"Pretty well, I\nthank you!\"\n\nThere is a very good story of the Ponte alle Grazie, anciently known as\nthe Rubaconte, from the Podesta in whose year of office it was built,\ntold originally by Sachetti in his _Novelle_ and Manni, _Veglie\nPiacevoli_, who drew it indeed from Venetian or Neapolitan-Oriental\nsources, and which is best told by Leader Scott in \"The Echoes of Old\nFlorence.\" It still lives among the people, and is briefly as follows,\nin another form:\n\n THE ORIGIN OF THE PONTE ALLE GRAZIE.\n\n\"There was once in Florence a Podesta or chief magistrate named\nRubaconte, and he had been chosen in the year 1236, nor had he been long\nin office when a man called Bagnai, because he kept a public bath, was\nbrought before him on the charge of murder.\n\n\"And Bagnai, telling his tale, said: 'This is the very truth--_ne favola\nne canzone di tavola_--for I was crossing the river on the little bridge\nwith a hand-rail by the Palazzo Mozzi, when there came riding over it a\ncompany of gentlemen. And it befell that I was knocked over the bridge,\nand fell on a man below who was washing his feet in the Arno, and lo! the\nman was killed by my dropping on him.'\n\n\"Now to the Podesta this was neither eggs nor milk, as the saying is, and\nhe could at first no more conclude on it than if one had asked him, '_Chi\nnacque prima--l'uovo o la gallina_?' 'Which was born first--the hen or\nthe egg?' For on one side the _bagnajolo_ was innocent, and on the other\nthe dead man's relations cried for vengeance. But after going from one\nside of his brain to the other for five minutes, he saw 'from here to the\nmountain,' and said:\n\n\"'Now I have listened to ye both, and this is a case where one must--\n\n \"'Non giudicar per legge ni per carte,\n Se non ascolti l'un e l'altra parte.'\n\n \"'Judge not by law-books nor by chart,\n But look with care to either part.'\n\n\"'And as it is said, \"Berta must drink from her own bottle,\" so I decree\nthat the _bagnaio_ shall go and wash his feet in the Arno, sitting in the\nsame place, and that he who is the first of his accusers shall fall from\nthe bridge on his neck, and so kill him.'\n\n\"And truly this settled the question, and it was agreed that the Podesta\nwas _piu savio de gli statuti_--wiser even than the law itself.\n\n\"But then Rubaconte did an even wiser thing, for he determined to have a\nnew bridge built in place of the old one, and hence came the Ponte alle\nGrazie, 'of which he himself laid the first foundation-stone, and carried\nthe first basket of mortar, with all due civic ceremony, in 1236.' {82}\n\n\"But as it is said, 'he who has drunk once will drink again,' it came to\npass that Bagnai had to appear once more as accused before the Podesta.\nOne day he met a man whose donkey had fallen and could not rise. 'Twas\non the Ponte Vecchio.\n\n\"The owner seized the donkey by the head, Bagnai caught him by the tail,\nand pulled so hard that the tail came off!\n\n\"Then the contadino or _asinaio_ had Bagnai brought before the Podesta,\nand claimed damages for his injured animal. And Rubaconte decided that\nBagnai should keep the ass in his stable, and feed him well--until the\ntail had grown again.\n\n\"As may be supposed, the _asinaio_ preferred to keep his ass himself, and\ngo no farther in the case.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis ancient tale recalls that of Zito, the German magician conjuror,\nwhose leg was pulled off. It is pretty evident that the donkey's tail\nhad been glued on for the occasion.\n\nI may here add something relative to the folk-lore of bridges, which is\nnot without interest. I once asked a witch in Florence if such a being\nas a spirit of the water or one of bridges and streams existed; and she\nreplied:\n\n\"Yes, there is a spirit of the water as there is of fire, and everything\nelse. They are rarely seen, but you can make them appear. _How_? Oh,\neasily enough, but you must remember that they are capricious, and appear\nin many delusive forms. {83}\n\n\"And this is the way to see them. You must go at twilight and look over\na bridge, or it will do if it be in the daytime in the woods at a smooth\nstream or a dark pool--_che sia un poco oscuro_--and pronounce the\nincantation, and throw a handful or a few drops of its water into the\nwater itself. And then you must look long and patiently, always thinking\nof it for several days, when, _poco a poco_, you will see dim shapes\npassing by in the water, at first one or two, then more and more, and if\nyou remain quiet they will come in great numbers, and show you what you\nwant to know. But if you tell any one what you have seen, they will\nnever appear again, and it will be well for you should nothing worse\nhappen.\n\n\"There was a young man at Civitella in the Romagna Toscana, and he was in\ngreat need of money. He had lost an uncle who was believed to have left\na treasure buried somewhere, but no one knew where it was. Now this\nnephew was a reserved, solitary youth, always by himself in lone places,\namong ruins or in the woods--_un poco streghon_--a bit of a wizard, and\nhe learned this secret of looking into streams or lakes, till at last,\nwhenever he pleased, he could see swarms of all kinds of figures sweeping\nalong in the water.\n\n\"And one evening he thus saw, as in a glass, the form of his uncle who\nhad died, and in surprise he called out 'Zio mio!'--'My uncle!' Then the\nuncle stopped, and the youth said, 'Didst thou but know how I am\nsuffering from poverty!' When he at once beheld in the water his home\nand the wood near it, and a path, and the form of his uncle passed along\nthe path to a lonely place where there was a great stone. Then the uncle\npointed to the stone and vanished. The next day the young man went\nthere, and under the stone he found a great bag of gold--and I hope that\nthe same may happen to all of us!\n\n \"'He who has sheep has wool in store;\n He who has mills hath plenty of flour;\n He who hath land hath these at call;\n He who has money has got them all.'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE BASHFUL LOVER\nA LEGEND OF THE CHIESA SANTA LUCIA IN THE VIA DE' BARDI\n\n\n \"She never told her love--oh no!\n For she was mild and meek,\n And his for her he dared not show,\n Because he hadn't the cheek.\n 'Tis pity this should e'er be past,\n For, to judge by what all men say,\n 'Twere best such difference should last\n Unto our dying day.\"\n\nAll who have visited Florence have noticed the Church of Santa Lucia in\nthe Via de' Bardi, from the figure of the patron with two angels over the\ndoor in Lucca della Robbia ware. Of this place of worship there is in a\njest-book a droll story, which the reader may recall when he enters the\nbuilding.\n\n \"A young Florentine once fell desperately in love with a beautiful\n lady of unsullied character and ready wit, and so followed her about\n wherever she went; but he being sadly lacking in wit and sense, at\n all four corners, never got the nearer to her acquaintance, though he\n told all his friends how irresistible he would be, and what a\n conquest he would make, if he could only once get a chance to speak\n to her. Yet as this lady prized ready wit and graceful address in a\n man above all things, it will be seen that his chance was thin as a\n strip of paper.\n\n \"But one _festa_ the lady went to the Church of Santa Lucia in the\n Via dei Bardi, and one of the friends of the slow-witted one said to\n him, 'Now is the lucky hour and blooming chance for you. Go up and\n speak to her when she approaches the font to take holy water.'\n\n \"Now the lover had prepared a fine speech for the lady, which he had\n indeed already rehearsed many times to his friends with great\n applause; but when it came to utter it to the lady a great and awful\n fear fell on him, the words vanished--vanished from his memory, and\n he was dumb as a dead ass. Then his friend poking him in the ribs,\n whispered in his ear, 'But say _something_, man, no matter what!'\n\n \"So with a gasp he brought out at last, 'Signora, I would fain be\n your humble servant.'\n\n \"To which the lady, smiling, replied, 'Well, I have already in my\n house plenty of humble servants, and indeed only too many to sweep\n the rooms and wash the dishes, and there is really no place for\n another. . . .'\n\n \"And the young man turned aside with sickness in his heart. His\n wooing for that holiday was o'er.\"\n\nThis may be matched with the story of a bashful New England lover of the\nolden time, for there are none such now-a-days:--\n\n \"I don't know how I ever got courage to do it; but one evening I went\n courting Miss Almira Chapin.\n\n \"And when she came in, I sat for half-an-hour, and dared not say a\n word. At last I made a desperate dash and got out, 'Things are\n looking very green out of doors, Miss Almira.'\n\n \"And she answered, 'Seems to me they're looking a great deal greener\n _in_ doors this evening.'\n\n \"That extinguished me, and I retreated. And when I was outside I\n burst into tears.\"\n\n\n\n\nLA FORTUNA\nA LEGEND OF THE VIA DE' CERCHI\n\n\n \"One day Good Luck came to my home,\n I begged of her to stay.\n 'There's no one loves you more than I,\n Oh, rest with me for aye,'\n 'It may not be; it may not be,\n I rest with no one long,' said she.\"\n\n --\"_Witch Ballads_,\" by C. G. LELAND.\n\nThe manner in which many of the gods in exile still live in Italy is very\nfully illustrated by the following story:\n\n\"It is a hard thing sometimes now-a-days for a family to pass for noble\nif they are poor, or only poor relations. But it was easy in the old\ntime, Signore Carlo, easy as drinking good Chianti. A signore had only\nto put his shield with something carved on it over his window, and he was\nall right. He was noble _senza dubbio_.\n\n\"Now the nobles had their own noble stories as to what these noble\npictures in stone meant, but the ignoble people often had another story\njust as good. Coarse woollen cloth wears as well as silk. Now you may\nsee on an old palazzo in the Via de' Cerchi, and indeed in several other\nplaces, a shield with three rings. But people call them three wheels.\nAnd this is the story about the three wheels.\"\n\n LA FORTUNA.\n\n\"There was a man, _tanto buono_, as good as could be, who lived in\nsqualid misery. He had a wife and two children, one blind and another\n_storpia_ or crippled, and so ugly, both--_non si dice_--beyond telling!\n\n\"This poor man in despair often wept, and then he would repeat:\n\n \"'The wheel of Fortune turns, they say,\n But for me it turns the other way;\n I work with good-will, but do what I may,\n I have only bad luck from day to day.'\n\n\"'Yes, little to eat and less to wear, and two poor girls, one blind and\none lame. People say that Fortune is blind herself, and cannot walk, but\nshe does not bless those who are like her, that is sure!' And so he\nwailed and wept, till it was time to go forth to seek work to gain their\ndaily bread. And a hard time he had of it.\n\n\"Now it happened that very late one night, or very early one morning, as\none may say, between dark and dawn, he went to the forest to cut wood.\nWhen having called to Fortune as was his wont--_Ai_! what was his\nsurprise to see--_tutta ad un tratto_--all at once, before his eyes, a\ngleam of light, and raising his head, he beheld a lady of enchanting\nbeauty passing along rapidly, and yet not walking--on a rolling ball--_e\nciondolava le gambe_--moving her limbs--I cannot say feet, for she had\nnone. In place of them were two wheels, and these wheels, as they\nturned, threw off flowers from which there came delicious perfume.\n\n\"The poor man uttered a sigh of relief seeing this, and said:\n\n\"'Beautiful lady, believe me when I say that I have invoked thee every\nday. Thou art the Lady of the Wheels of Fortune, and had I known how\nbeautiful thou art, I would have worshipped thee for thy beauty alone.\nEven thy very name is beautiful to utter, though I have never been able\nto couple it with mine, for one may see that I am not one of the\nfortunate. Yet, though thou art mine enemy, give me, I pray, just a\nlittle of the luck which flies from thy wheel!\n\n\"'Yet do not believe, I pray, that I am envious of those who are thy\nfavourites, nor that because thou art my enemy that I am thine, for if\nthou dost not deem that I am worthy, assuredly I do not deserve thy\ngrace, nor will I, like many, say that Fortune is not beautiful, for\nhaving seen thee, I can now praise thee more than ever.'\n\n\"'I do not cast my favours always on those who deserve them,' replied\nFortune, 'yet this time my wheel shall assist thee. But tell me, thou\nman of honesty and without envy, which wouldst thou prefer--to be\nfortunate in all things thyself alone, or to give instead as much good\nluck to _two_ men as miserable as thou art? If thou wilt gain the prize\nfor thyself alone, turn and pluck one of these flowers! If for others,\nthen take two.'\n\n\"The poor man replied: 'It is far better, lady, to raise two families to\nprosperity than one. As for me, I can work, and I thank God and thee\nthat I can do so much good to so many, although I do not profit by it\nmyself;' and saying this, he advanced and plucked two flowers.\n\n\"Fortune smiled. 'Thou must have heard,' she said, 'that where I spend,\nI am lavish and extravagant, and assuredly thou knowest the saying that\n\"Three is the lucky number,\" or nine. Now I make it a rule that when I\nrelieve families, I always do it by threes--_la spando a tre\nfamiglie_--so do thou go and pluck a flower for thyself!'\n\n\"Then the poor man, hearing this, went to the wheels, and let them turn\ntill a very large fine flower came forth, and seized it, whereat Fortune\nsmiled, and said:\n\n\"'I always favour the bold. Now go and sit on yonder bench till some one\ncomes.' And saying this, she vanished.\n\n\"There came two very poor woodcutters whom he knew well. One had two\nsons, another a son and a daughter, and one and all were as poor and\nmiserable as could be.\n\n\"'What has come over thee, that thou art looking so handsome and young,'\nsaid one amazed, as he came up.\n\n\"'And what fine clothes!' remarked the second.\n\n\"'It shall be so anon for ye both,' replied the favourite of Fortune;\n'only take these flowers and guard them well.'\n\n\"Si, Signore, they sat down on the bench three beggars, and they rose\nthree fine cavaliers, in velvet and satin, with gold-mounted swords, and\nfound their horses and attendants waiting. And when they got home, they\ndid not know their wives or children, nor were they known unto them, and\nit was an hour before all was got right. Then all went with them as if\nit were oiled. The first man found a great treasure the very first day\nin his cellar--in fine, they all grew rich, and the three sons married\nthe three girls, and they all put the three wheels on their _scudi_. One\nof the wheels is the ball on which Fortune rolled along, and the other\ntwo are her feet; or else the three men each took a wheel to himself.\nAnyhow, there they are, pick and choose, Signore--_chi ha piu cervello_,\n_l'usi_!--let him who has brains, brain!\n\n\"Now, it is a saying that _ogni fior non fa frutto_--every blossom doth\nnot bear a fruit--but the flowers of Fortune bear fruit enough to make up\nfor the short crop elsewhere.\n\n\"But there is some sense and use in such stories as these, Signore, after\nall; for a poor devil who half believes--and very often quite believes in\nthem--gets a great deal of hope and comfort out of them. They make him\ntrust that luck or fairies or something will give him a good turn yet\nsome day--_chi sa_?--and so he hopes, and truly, as they say that no\npretty girl is ever quite poor, so no man who hopes is ever really\nbroken--_grazie_, _Signore_! I hope to tell you another story before\nlong.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is something in the making Fortune with _two_ heels for feet which\nsuggests a memory of skate-rollers.\n\nI once published an article in the _Ethnologische Monatsheft_ of\nBudapest, which set forth more fully the idea expressed in this tale,\nthat the popular or fairy tale is a source of comfort, or a Bible to the\npoor, for it always teaches the frequently delusive, but always cheering\nlesson that good-luck or fortune may turn up some day, even for the most\nunfortunate. The Scripture promises happiness for the poorest, or indeed\nspecially for the poorest in the next life; the fairy tale teaches that\nCinderella, the despised, and the youngest, humblest of the three, will\nwin fortune while here on earth. It inspires hope, which is a great\nsecret of happiness and success.\n\nTo which the learned Flaxius annotates:\n\n\"It hath escaped the author--as it hath indeed all mankind--that as the\nfirst syllable of Fortuna is _fort_ (Latin _fortis_), so the true\nbeginning of luck is strength; and if we are to understand by _una_,\n'one' or 'only,' we may even believe that the name means strength alone\nor vigorous will, in accordance with which the ancients declared that\n'Fortune favours the bold,' and also _Fortuna contentionis studiosa\nest_--'Fortune delights in strife.' Therefore she is ever fleeting in\nthis world. _Fortuna simul cum moribus immutatur_, as Boethius hath it.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE UNFINISHED PALACE\nA LEGEND OF THE VIA DEL PROCONSOLO\n\n\n \"'Yes, you have cheated me,' howled the devil to the architect. 'But\n I lay a curse upon your work. It shall never be finished.'\"--_Snow\n and Planche's_ \"_Legends of the Rhine_.\"\n\nAll great and ancient buildings which were never finished have a legend\nreferring to their incompleteness. There was one relative to the\nCathedral of Cologne, which may be found in Planche's \"Legends of the\nRhine,\" and as there is a _palazzo non finito_ in Florence, I at once\nscented an old story; nor was I disappointed, it being unearthed in due\ntime, and written out for me as follows:\n\n IL PALAZZO NON FINITO.\n\n\"On the corner of the Via del Proconsole and the Borgo degli Albizzi\nthere is an unfinished palace.\n\n\"The great Signore Alessandro Strozzi had a friend who, when dying,\nconfided to him the care of his only son. And it was a troublesome task,\nfor the youth was of a strange temper. And a vast property was left to\nthe young man, his father imploring him not to waste it, and to live in\nfriendship with his guardian.\n\n\"But his father had hardly closed his eyes in death before this youth\nbegan to act wildly, and above all things to gamble terribly. And as the\nsaying is, _Il diavolo ha parte in ogni giuoco_--'The devil has a hand in\nevery game,' so he soon brought himself into company with the gamester.\nNow, as you have heard, 'tis _la lingua o la bocca e quella che fa il\ngiuoco_.\n\n \"'Every game, as it is sung,\n Is won by mouth, or else by tongue.'\n\n\"So this devil or imp by smooth talk succeeded in deceiving the young\nheir, and leading him into a compact by which he was to achieve for the\nSignore all the work which might be required of him for a hundred years,\nno matter what it was, and then the heir must forfeit his soul.\n\n\"For some time the young man was satisfied with always winning at\ngambling. Yes, he ruined scores, hundreds, and piled up gold till he got\nsick of the sight of cards. You know the saying, 'When the belly is full\nthe eyes are tired,' and 'A crammed dove hates to fly.'\n\n\"So for a while he kept the devil busy, bringing him a girl here, and\nbuilding him a tower there, sending him to India for diamonds, or setting\nhim at work to keep off storm and hail from his vineyards, which the\ndevil found hard work enough, I promise you, Signore, for then he had to\nfight other devils and witches. Then he put him at a harder job. There\nwas a ghost of a _stregone_ or wizard who haunted his _palazzo_. Now\nsuch ghosts are the hardest to lay.\n\n\"'_E niente_, _Signore_,' said the devil. '_E vi passarebbe un carro di\nfieno_. 'Tis nothing, my lord; one could drive a cartload of hay through\nit.' {92} But the devil had a devil of a time to lay _that_ ghost!\nThere was clanking of chains and howling, and _il diavolo scatenato_ all\nnight long ere it was done.\n\n\"'_E finito_, _Signore_,' said the devil in the morning. But he looked\nso worn-out and tired, that the young man began to _think_.\n\n\"And he thought, 'This devil of mine is not quite so clever as I\nsupposed.' And it is a fact that it was only a _diavolino_--a small\ndevil who had thought the young man was a fool--in which he was mistaken.\nA man may have _un ramo di pazzo come l'olmo di Fiesole_--'be a bit of a\nfool,' but 'a fool and a sage together can beat a clever man,' as the\nsaying is, and both were in this boy's brain, for he came of wizard\nblood. So he reflected, 'Perhaps I can cheat this devil after all.' And\nhe did it.\n\n\"Moreover, this devil being foolish, had begun to be too officious and\nconsequential. He was continually annoying the Signore by asking for\nmore work, even when he did not want it, as if to make a show of his\nimmense ability and insatiable activity. Finally, beginning to believe\nin his own power, he began to appear far too frequently, uncalled, rising\nup from behind chairs abruptly in his own diabolical form, in order to\ninspire fear; but the young lad had not been born in Carnival to be\nafraid of a mask, as the saying is, and all this only made him resolve to\nsend his attendant packing.\n\n \"'Chi ha pazienza, cugino,\n Ha i tordi grassi a un quattrino.'\n\n \"'He who hath patience, mind me, cousin,\n May buy fat larks a farthing a dozen.'\n\n\"Now, amid all these dealings, the young signore had contrived to fall in\nlove with the daughter of his guardian, Alessandro Strozzi, and also to\nwin her affections; but he observed one day when he went to see her,\nhaving the _diavolino_ invisible by his side, the attendant spirit\nsuddenly jibbed or balked, like a horse which stops before the door, and\nrefused to go farther. For there was a Madonna painted on the outside,\nand the devil said:\n\n \"'I see a virgin form divine,\n And virgins are not in my line;\n I'm not especially devout:\n Go thou within--I'll wait without!'\n\n\"And the young man observing that his devil was devilishly afraid of holy\nwater, made a note of it for future use. And having asked the Signore\nAlessandro Strozzi for the hand of his daughter, the great lord\nconsented, but made it a condition that the youth should build for his\nbride a palace on the corner of the Via del Proconsolo and the Borgo\ndegli Albizzi, and it must be ready within a year. This he said because\nin his heart he did not like the match, yet for his daughter's love he\nput this form upon it, and he hoped that ere the time would be out\nsomething might happen to prevent the marriage. _In fin che v'e fiato\nv'e speranza_--while there is breath, Signore, there is hope.\n\n\"Now the young man having resolved to finish with his devil for good and\nall, began to give him great hope in divers ways. And one day he said to\nthe imp:\n\n\"'Truly thou hast great power, but I have a mind to make a great final\ngame with thee. _Ogni bel giuoco vuol durar poco_--no good game should\nlast long, and let us play this compact of ours out. If thou canst build\nfor me a palace at the corner of the Via del Proconsolo and the Borgo\ndegli Albizzi, and finish it in every detail exactly as I shall order it,\nthen will I be thine, and thou need'st do no more work for me. And if\nthou canst not complete it to my taste, then our compact will be all\nsmoke, and we two past acquaintances.'\n\n\"Now it is said that to cook an egg to a turn, make a dog's bed to suit\nhim exactly, or teach a Florentine a trick, _sono tre cose\ndifficile_--are three very difficult things to do, and this contract for\nbuilding the palace on time with indefinite ornaments made the devil\nshake in his shoes. However, he knew that 'Pippo found out how to stand\nan egg on its end,' {94} and where there's a will there's a way,\nespecially when you have 'all hell to back you up'--_tutto l'inferno a\nspalleggiarvi_.\n\n\"So he built and built away, with one gang of devils disguised as workmen\nby day, and another, invisible, by night, and everybody was amazed to see\nhow the palace rose like weeds after a rain; for, as the saying is, _mala\nherba presto cresce_--'ill weeds grow apace,' and this had the devil to\nwater it.\n\n\"Till at last one day, when the six months were nearly up, the imp said\nto the master:\n\n\"'_Ebbene_, Signore, it is getting to the time for you to tell me how you\nwould like to have the palace decorated. Thus far everything has been\ndone exactly as you directed.'\n\n\"'Ah yes, I see--all done but the finishing. Well, it may be a little\nhard, but I promise you, on the word of a gentleman (_tra galant' uomini\nuna parola e un instrumento_), that I will not ask you to do anything\nwhich cannot be executed even by the artists of this city.'\n\n\"Now the devil was delighted to hear this (for he was afraid he might be\ncalled on to work miracles unheard of), and so replied:\n\n\"'_Top_! what man has done the devil can do. I'll risk the trick if you\nswear that men can work it.'\n\n\"'I swear!'\n\n\"'And what is the finish?'\n\n\"'Oh, very easy. My wife who is to be is of a very pious turn, and I\nwant to please her. Firstly, all the work must be equal in execution to\nthe best by the greatest masters--painting, sculpture, and gilding.'\n\n\"'Agreed.'\n\n\"'Secondly, the subjects. Over the front door--_bisogna mettermi Gesu\nCristo onnipotente unitamente a Maria e il suo divin figlio_, _Padre_,\n_Figlio e Spirito Santo_--that is, the Holy Family and Trinity, the\nVirgin and Child.'\n\n\"'Wha--wha--what's that?' stammered the devil, aghast. 'It isn't fair\nplay--not according to the game.'\n\n\"'On every door,' continued the young man, raising his voice, and looking\nseverely at the devil, 'the same subject is to be repeated on a thick\ngold ground, all the ultramarine to be of the very best quality, washed\nin holy water.'\n\n\"'Ugh! ugh! ugh!' wailed the devil.\n\n\"'The roof is to be covered with the images of saints as pinnacles, and,\nby the way, wherever you have a blank space, outside on the walls or\ninside, including ceilings--just cover it with the same subjects--the\nTemptation of Saint Antony or Saint--'\n\n\"'Oh, go to the devil with your saints and gold grounds!' roared the imp.\n'Truly I have lost this game; fishing with a golden hook is a fool's\nbusiness. There is the compact!'\n\n\"It was night--deep, dark night--there came a blinding flash of light--an\nawful crash of indescribable unearthly sound, like a thunder-voice. The\nimp, taking the form of a _civetta_ or small owl, vanished through the\nwindow in the storm-wind and rain, wailing, '_Mai finito_!'\n\n\"And it is said that to this day the small owl still perches by night on\nthe roof of the palace, wailing wearily--'Unfinished! unfinished!'\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn no country in the world has unscrupulous vigorous intellect been so\nadmired as in Italy, the land of the Borgias and Machiavellis. In the\nrest of Europe man finds a master in the devil; in Italy he aims at\nbecoming the devil's master. This is developed boldly in the legend of\n\"Intialo,\" to which I have devoted another chapter, and it appears as\nmarkedly in this. The idea of having an attendant demon, whom the\nmaster, in the consciousness of superior intellect, despises, knowing\nthat he will crush him when he will, is not to be found, I believe, in a\nsingle German, French, or any other legend not Italian.\n\nIf this be so, it is a conception well deserving study, as illustrating\nthe subtle and powerful Italian intellect as it was first analysed by\nMacaulay, and is now popularly understood by such writers as Scaife. {96}\nIt is indeed a most unholy and unchristian conception, since it is quite\nat war with the orthodox theology of the Church, as of Calvin and Luther,\nwhich makes the devil the grand master of mankind, and irresistible\nexcept where man is saved by a _special_ miracle or grace.\n\nAnd it may also be noted from such traditions that folk-lore, when it\nshall have risen to a sense of its true dignity and power, will not limit\nitself to collecting variants of fairy tales to prove the routes of races\nover the earth, but rise to illustrating the characteristic, and even the\naesthetic, developments of different stocks. That we are now laying the\nbasis for this is evident.\n\nThough the devil dared not depict lives and legends of the saints upon\nthe palace, he did not neglect to put his own ugly likeness there,\nrepeated above the four front windows in a perfectly appalling Gothic\nstyle, which contrasts oddly with the later and severe character of the\nstately building. These faces are fiendish enough to have suggested the\nstory.\n\nIt may here be mentioned that it was in the middle of the Borgo degli\nAlbizzi, near this palace, that that indefatigable corpse-reviver and\nworker of miracles, San Zenobio, raised from the dead the child of a\nnoble and rich French lady. \"Then in that place there was put a pillar\nof white marble in the middle of the street, as a token of a great\nmiracle.\"\n\n \"_Haec fabula docet_--this fable teaches,\" adds Flaxius the immortal,\n \"that there was never yet anything left incomplete by neglect or\n incapacity or poverty, be it in buildings or in that higher\n structure, man himself, but what it was attributed to the devil. If\n it had not been for the devil, what fine fellows, what charming\n creatures, we would all have been to be sure! The devil alone\n inspires us to sin; _we_ would never have dreamed of it. Whence I\n conclude that the devil is dearer to man, and a greater benefactor,\n than all the saints and several deities thrown in, because he serves\n as a scudaway scapegoat, and excellent excuse for the sins of all the\n orthodox of all time. How horrible it would be were we all made unto\n ourselves distinctly responsible for our sins--our unfinished\n palaces, our good resolutions broken; and how very pleasant it is\n that it is all the devil's fault, and not our own! Oh my friends,\n did I believe as ye do--which I don't--I would long ago have raised\n altars and churches to the devil, wherein I would praise him daily as\n the one who in spirit and in truth takes upon himself the sins of all\n the world, bearing the burden of our iniquities. For saying which\n thing, but in other words, the best Christian of his age, Bishop\n Agobard, was hunted down well-nigh to death. Thus endeth a great\n lesson!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEVIL OF THE MERCATO VECCHIO\n\n\n \"Have I not the magic wand, by means of which, having first invoked\n the spirit Odeken, one can enter the elfin castle? Is not this a\n fine trot on the devil's crupper? Here it is--one of the palaces\n erected by rivals of the Romans. Let us enter, for I hold a hand of\n glory to which all doors open. Let us enter, _hic et nunc_, the\n palace fair. . . . Here it was once on a Sabato of the Carnival that\n there entered four graceful youths of noble air.\"--_Arlecchino alle\n Nozze di Cana_.\n\nI very naturally made inquiry as to whether there was not a legend of the\ncelebrated bronze devil made by Giovanni di Bologna, which remained until\nlately in the Mercato Vecchio, and I obtained the following, which is,\nfrom intrinsic evidence, extremely curious and ancient.\n\n IL DIAVOLO ALLA CAVOLAIA.\n\n\"On the corner of the Palace Cavolaia there were anciently four devils of\niron. {98} These were once four gentlemen who, being wonderfully\nintimate, had made a strange compact, swearing fidelity and love among\nthemselves to death, agreeing also that if they married, their wives and\nchildren and property should be all in common.\n\n\"When such vows and oaths are uttered, the saints may pass them by, but\nthe devils hear them; they hear them in hell, and they laugh and cry,\n'These are men who will some day be like us, and here for ever!' Such\nsin as that is like a root which, once planted, may be let alone--the\nlonger it is in the ground, the more it grows. _Terra non avvilisce\noro_--earth does not spoil gold, but even virtue, like friendship, may\ngrow into a great vice when it grows too much.\n\n\"As it happened in this case. Well, the four friends were invited to a\ngreat _festa_ in that fatal palace of the Cavolaia, and they all went.\nAnd they danced and diverted themselves with great and beautiful ladies\nin splendour and luxury. As the four were all singularly handsome and\ngreatly admired, the ladies came _con grandi tueletti_--in their best\narray, _sfarzose per essere corteggiate_--making themselves magnificent\nto be courted by these gentlemen, and so they looked at one another with\njealous eyes, and indeed many a girl there would have gladly been wife to\nthem all, or wished that the four were one, while the married dames\nwished that they could _fare i sposamenti_--be loved by one or all.\nPeople were wicked in those days!\n\n\"But what was their surprise--and a fearful surprise it was--when, after\nall their gaiety, they heard at three o'clock in the morning the sound of\na bell which they had never heard before, and then divine music and\nsinging, and there entered a lady of such superhuman beauty as held them\nenchanted and speechless. Now it was known that, by the strict rules of\nthat palace, the _festa_ must soon close, and there was only time for one\nmore dance, and it was sworn among these friends that every lady who\ndanced with one of them, must dance with all in succession. Truly they\nnow repented of their oath, for she was so beautiful.\n\n\"But the lady advancing, pointed out one of the four, and said, 'I will\ndance with him alone.'\n\n\"The young signore would have refused, but he felt himself obliged,\ndespite himself, to obey her, and when they had danced, she suddenly\ndisappeared, leaving all amazed.\n\n\"And when they had recovered from the spell which had been upon them,\nthey said that as she had come in with the dawn and vanished with the\nday, it must have been the Beautiful Alba, the enchanting queen of the\nfairies.\n\n\"The _festa_ lasted for three days, and every night at the same hour the\nbeautiful Alba reappeared, enchanting all so wonderfully, that even the\nladies forgot their jealousy, and were as much fascinated by her as were\nthe men.\n\n\"Now of the four friends, three sternly reproached the other for breaking\nhis oath, they being themselves madly in love; but he replied, and truly,\nthat he had been compelled by some power which he could not resist to\nobey her. But that, as a man of honour, so far as he could, he would\ncomply with the common oath which bound them.\n\n\"Then they declared that he should ask her if she loved him, and if she\nassented, that he should inform her of their oath, and that she must\nshare her love with all or none--_altrimenti non avrebbe mai potuta\nsposarla_.\n\n\"Which he did in good faith, and she answered, 'Hadst thou loved me\nsincerely and fully, thou wouldst have broken that vile oath; and yet it\nis creditable to thee that, as a man of honour, thou wilt not break thy\nword. Therefore thou shalt be mine, but not till after a long and bitter\npunishment. Now I ask thy friends and thee, if to be mine they are\nwilling to take the form of demons and bear it openly before all men.'\n\n\"And when he proposed it to his friends, he found them so madly in love\nwith the lady that they, thinking she meant some disguise, declared that\nto be hers they would willingly wear any form, however terrible.\n\n\"And the fair Alba, having heard them, said, 'Yes, ye shall indeed be\nmine; more than that I do not promise. Now meet me to-morrow at the\nCanto dei Diavoli--at the Devil's Corner!'\n\n\"And they gazed at her astonished, never having heard of such a place.\nBut she replied, 'Go into the street and your feet shall guide you, and\ntruly it will be a great surprise.'\n\n\"And they laughed among themselves, saying, 'The surprise will be that\nshe will consent to become a wife to us all.'\n\n\"But when they came to the corner, in the night, what was their amazement\nto see on it four figures of devils indeed, and Alba, who said, 'Now ye\nare indeed mine, but as for my being yours, that is another matter.'\n\n\"Then touching each one, she also touched a devil, and said, 'This is thy\nform; enter into it. Three of ye shall ever remain as such. As for this\nfourth youth, he shall be with ye for a year, and then, set free, shall\nlive with me in human form. And from midnight till three in the morning\nye also may be as ye were, and go to the Palazzo Cavolaia, and dance and\nbe merry with the rest, but through the day become devils again.'\n\n\"And so it came to pass. After a year the image of the chosen lover\ndisappeared; and then one of the three was stolen, and then another, till\nonly one remained.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is some confusion in the conclusion of this story, which I have\nsought to correct. The exact words are, \"For many years all four\nremained, till _one_ was stolen away, and that was the image of the young\nman who pleased the beautiful Alba, who thus relieved him of the spell.\"\nBut as there has been always only one devil on the corner, I cannot\notherwise reconcile the story with the fact.\n\nI have said that this tale is ancient from intrinsic evidence. Such\nextravagant alliances of friendship as is here described were actually\ncommon in the Middle Ages; they existed in England even till the time of\nQueen Elizabeth. In \"Shakespeare and his Friends,\" or in the \"Youth of\nShakespeare\"--I forget which--two young men are represented as fighting a\nduel because each declared that he loved the other most. There was no\ninsane folly of sentiment which was not developed in those days. But\nthis is so foreign to modern ideas, that I think it could only have\nexisted in tradition to these our times.\n\nThere were also during the Middle Ages strange heretical sects, among\nwhom such communism existed, like the polyandria of the ancient Hindoos.\nThere may be a trace of it in this story.\n\nAlba, Albina, or Bellaria, appear in several Tuscan traditions. They are\nforms of the Etruscan Alpan, the fairy of the Dawn, a sub-form of Venus,\nthe spirit of Light and Flowers, described in my work on \"Etruscan Roman\nTraditions.\" It may be remarked as an ingenious touch in the tale, that\nshe always appears at the first dawn, or at three o'clock, and vanishes\nwith broad day. This distinguishes her from the witches and evil\nspirits, who always come at midnight and vanish at three o'clock.\n\nThe readiness with which the young men consented to assume the forms of\ndemons is easily explained. They understood that it meant only a\ndisguise, and it was very common in the Middle Ages for lovers to wear\nsomething strange in honour of their mistresses. The dress of a devil\nwould only seem a joke to the habitues of the Cavolaia. It may be also\nborne in mind that in other tales of Florence it is distinctly stated\nthat spirits confined in statues, columns, _et cetera_, only inhabit them\n\"as bees live in hives.\" They appear to sleep in them by day, and come\nout at night. So in India the saint or demon only comes into the relic\nor image from time to time, or when invoked.\n\nAfter I had written the foregoing, I was so fortunate as to receive from\nMaddalena yet another legend of the bronze imp of Giovanni di Bologna,\nwhich tale she had unearthed in the purlieus of the Mercato Vecchio. I\nhave often met her when thus employed, always in the old part of the\ntown, amid towering old buildings bearing shields of the Middle Ages, or\nin dusky _vicoli_ and _chiassi_, and when asked what she was doing, 'twas\never the same reply, \"_Ma_, _Signore Carlo_, there's an old woman--or\nsomebody--lives here who knows a story.\" And then I knew that there was\ngoing to be a long colloquy in dialect which would appal any one who only\nknew choice Italian, the end of which would be the recovery, perhaps from\nhalf-a-dozen _vecchie_, of a legend like the following, of which I would\npremise that it was not translated by me, but by Miss Roma Lister, who\nknew Maddalena, having taken lessons from her in the sublime art of\n_battezare le carte_, or telling fortunes by cards, and other branches of\nthe black art. And having received the manuscript, which was unusually\nillegible and troublesome, I asked Miss Lister to kindly transcribe it,\nbut with great kindness she translated the whole, only begging me to\nmention that it is given with the most scrupulous accuracy, word for\nword, from the original, so far as the difference of language permitted.\n\n IL DIAVOLINO DEL CANTO DE' DIAVOLI.\n _The Imp of the Devil's Corner and the Pious Fairy_.\n\n\"There was once a pious fairy who employed all her time in going about\nthe streets of Florence in the shape of a woman, preaching moral sermons\nfor the good of her hearers, and singing so sweetly that all who heard\nher voice fell in love with her. Even the women forgot to be jealous, so\ncharming was her voice, and dames and damsels followed her about, trying\nto learn her manner of singing.\n\n\"Now the fairy had converted so many folk from their evil ways, that a\ncertain devil or imp--who also had much business in Florence about that\ntime--became jealous of the intruder, and swore to avenge himself; but it\nappears that there was as much love as hate in the fiend's mind, for the\nfairy's beautiful voice had worked its charm even when the hearer was a\ndevil. Now, besides being an imp of superior intelligence, he was also\nan accomplished ventriloquist (or one who could imitate strange voices as\nif sounding afar or in any place); so one day while the pious fairy in\nthe form of a beautiful maiden held forth to an admiring audience, two\nvoices were heard in the street, one here, another there, and the first\nsang:\n\n \"'Senti o bella una parola,\n Te la dico a te sola,\n Qui nessun ci puo'l sentire\n Una cosa ti vuo dire;\n Se la senti la stemperona,\n L'a un voce da buffona\n Tiene in mano la corona. {103}\n Per fare credere a questo o quella,\n Che l'e sempre una verginella.'\n\n \"'Hear, O lovely maid, a word,\n Only to thyself I'd bear it,\n For it must not be o'erheard,\n Least of all should the preacher hear it.\n 'Tis that, while seeming pious, she,\n Holding in hand a rosary,\n Her talk is all hypocrisy,\n To make believe to simple ears,\n That still the maiden wreath she wears.'\n\n\"Then another voice answered:\n\n \"'La risposta ti vuo dare,\n Senza farti aspettare;\n Ora di un bell' affare,\n Te la voglio raccontare,\n Quella donna che sta a cantare,\n E una Strega di queste contrade,\n Che va da questo e quello,\n A cantarle indovinello,\n A chi racconta: Voi siete\n Buona donna affezionata.\n Al vostro marito, ma non sapete,\n Cie' di voi un 'altra appasionata.'\n\n \"'Friends, you'll not have long to wait\n For what I'm going to relate;\n And it is a pretty story\n Which I am going to lay before ye.\n That dame who singing there you see\n Is a witch of this our Tuscany,\n Who up and down the city flies,\n Deceiving people with her lies,\n Saying to one: The truth to tell,\n I know you love your husband well;\n But you will find, on close inspection,\n Another has his fond affection.'\n\n\"In short, the imp, by changing his voice artfully, and singing his\nribald songs everywhere, managed in the end to persuade people that the\nfairy was no better than she should be, and a common mischief-maker and\ndisturber of domestic peace. So the husbands, becoming jealous, began to\nquarrel with their wives, and then to swear at the witch who led them\nastray or put false suspicion into their minds.\n\n\"But it happened that the fairy was in high favour with a great saint,\nand going to him, she told all her troubles and the wicked things which\nwere said of her, and besought him to free her good name from the\nslanders which the imp of darkness had spread abroad (_l'aveva\nchalugnato_).\n\n\"Then the saint, very angry, changed the devil into a bronze figure\n(_mascherone_, an architectural ornament), but first compelled him to go\nabout to all who had been influenced by his slanders, and undo the\nmischief which he had made, and finally to make a full confession in\npublic of everything, including his designs on the beautiful fairy, and\nhow he hoped by compromising her to lead her to share his fate.\n\n\"Truly the imp cut but a sorry figure when compelled to thus stand up in\nthe Old Market place at the corner of the Palazzo Cavolaia before a vast\nmultitude and avow all his dirty little tricks; but he contrived withal\nto so artfully represent his passionate love for the fairy, and to turn\nall his sins to that account, that many had compassion on him, so that\nindeed among the people, in time, no one ever spoke ill of the _doppio\npovero diavolo_, or doubly poor devil, for they said he was to be pitied\nsince he had no love on earth and was shut out of heaven.\n\n\"Nor did he quite lose his power, for it was said that after he had been\nconfined in the bronze image, if any one spoke ill of him or said, 'This\nis a devil, and as a devil he can never enter Paradise,' then the imp\nwould persecute that man with strange voices and sounds until such time\nas the offender should betake himself to the Palazzo della Cavolaia, and\nthere, standing before the bronze image, should ask his pardon.\n\n\"And if it pleased the Diavolino, he forgave them, and they had peace;\nbut if it did not, they were pursued by the double mocking voice which\nmade dialogue or sang duets over all their sins and follies and\ndisgraces. And whether they stayed at home or went abroad, the voices\nwere ever about them, crying aloud or tittering and whispering or\nhissing, so that they had no rest by day or night; and this is what\nbefell all who spoke ill of the Diavolino del Canto dei Diavoli.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe saint mentioned in this story was certainly Pietro Martire or Peter\nthe Martyrer, better deserving the name of murderer, who, preaching at\nthe very corner where the bronze imp was afterwards placed, declared that\nhe beheld the devil, and promptly exorcised him. There can be little\ndoubt that the image was placed there to commemorate this probably \"pious\nfraud.\"\n\nIt is only since I wrote all this that I learned that there were formerly\n_two_ of these devils, one having been stolen not many years ago. This\nverifies to some extent the consistency of the author of the legend, \"The\nDevil of the Mercato Vecchio,\" who says there were four.\n\nThere is a very amusing and curious trait of character manifested in the\nconclusion of this story which might escape the reader's attention were\nit not indicated. It is the vindication of the \"puir deil,\" and the very\nevident desire to prove that he was led astray by love, and that even the\nhigher spirit could not take away all his power. Here I recognise beyond\nall question the witch, the fortune-teller and sorceress, who prefers\nCain to Abel, and sings invocations to the former, and to Diana as the\ndark queen of the _Strege_, and always takes sides with the heretic and\nsinner and magian and goblin. It is the last working of the true spirit\nof ancient heathenism, for the fortune-tellers, and especially those of\nthe mountains, all come of families who have been regarded as enemies by\nthe Church during all the Middle Ages, and who are probably real and\ndirect descendants of Canidia and her contemporaries, for where this\nthing is in a family it never dies out. I have a great many traditions\nin which the hand of the heathen witch and the worship of \"him who has\nbeen wronged\" and banished to darkness, is as evident as it is here.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"Which indeed seems to show,\" comments the learned Flaxius, \"that if the\ndevil is never quite so black as he is painted, yet, on the other hand,\nhe is so far from being of a pure white--as the jolly George Sand boys,\nsuch as Heine and Co., thought--that it is hard to make him out of any\nlighter hue than mud and verdigris mixed. _In medio tutissimus ibis_.\n'Tis also to be especially noted, that in this legend--as in Shelley's\npoem--the Devil appears as a meddling wretch who is interested in small\nthings, and above all, as given to gossip:\n\n \"The Devil sat down in London town\n Before earth's morning ray,\n With a favourite imp he began to chat,\n On religion, and scandal, and this and that,\n Until the dawn of day.\"\n\n\n\n\nSEEING THAT ALL WAS RIGHT\nA LEGEND OF THE PORTA A SAN NICOLO\n\n\n \"God keep us from the devil's lackies,\n Who are the aggravating jackies,\n Who to the letter execute\n An order and exactly do't,\n Or else, with fancy free and bold,\n Do twice as much as they are told,\n And when reproved, cry bravely, 'Oh!\n I _thought_ you'd like it so and so.'\n From all such, wheresoe'er they be,\n _Libera nos_, _Domine_!'\n\nThe Porta a San Nicolo in Florence is, among other legends, associated\nwith a jest played by the famous Barlacchia on a friend, the story of\nwhich runs as follows:\n\n\"It is an old saying that _la porta di dietro e quella che ruba la casa_\n(it is the back gate which robs a house), and it was going back to the\ngate of San Nicolo which robbed a man of all his patience. This man had\ngone with Barlacchia the jester from Florence to Val d'Arno, and on\nreturning they had stopped in the plain of Ripolo, where the friend was\nobliged to delay for a time, while Barlacchia went on. Now it was so\nlate that although Barlacchia was certain to reach the Porto a San Nicolo\nin time to enter, it was doubtful whether the one who came later could do\nso unless a word should be spoken in advance to the guard, who for\nfriendship or a fee would sit up and let the late-comer in. Therefore\nthe friend said to the jester, '_Di gratia facesse sostenere la\nporta_'--'See that the gate is all right,' or that all is right at the\nbridge--meaning, of course, that he should make it right with the\nguardian to let him in.\n\n\"And when Barlacchia came to the gate, he indeed asked the officer in\ncharge _se questi si sostengo_--whether it was all right, and if it stood\nfirmly, and was in no danger of falling, affirming that he was making\nspecial inquiry at request of a friend who was commissioner of the city\ngates and bridges, and obtained a paper certifying that the gate was in\nexcellent condition, after which he went home.\n\n\"Trotting along on his mule came the friend, who, believing that\nBarlacchia had made it all right with the guard, had not hurried. But he\nfound it was all wrong, and that 'a great mistake had been made\nsomewhere,' as the eel said when he was thrown into boiling hot oil\ninstead of cold water. For he found the gate locked and nobody to let\nhim in, so that in a great rage he was obliged to go back to an inn which\nwas distinguished for nothing but its badness, _dove stette con gran\ndisagio quella notte_ (where he passed the night in great discomfort).\n\n\"And when morning came, he passed the gate, but stopped and asked whether\nBarlacchia had been there the night before. To which the guard answered,\n'Yes,' and that he had been very particular in his inquiries as to\nwhether the doors were firm on their hinges, and if the foundations were\nsecure; on hearing which, the man saw that he had been sold, {108} and\ngoing to the Piazza Signoria, and meeting Barlacchia, _gli disse rilevata\nvillania_, let him have abuse in bold relief and large proportion, saying\nthat it was infamous to snipe his equal in all things and better in most,\nin such a low-flung manner, unbecoming a half-grown chimney-sweep, and\nthat if he did not respect himself too much to use improper or strong\nlanguage, he would say that Barlacchia was a dastardly blackguard and a\nson of a priest. To which Barlacchia remonstrated that he had performed\nto perfection exactly what he had promised to do, yea, _a punto_, to the\nvery letter.\n\n\"Now by this time half Florence had assembled, and being delighted beyond\nall measure at this racy dispute, insisted on forming a street-court and\nsettling the question _alla fresca_. And when the evidence was taken,\nand all the facts, which long in darkness lay, were brought full clearly\nto the light of day, there was such a roaring of laughter and clapping of\nlands that you would have sworn the Guelfs and Ghibellines had got at it\nagain full swing. But the verdict was that Barlacchia was acquitted\nwithout a stain on his character.\n\n\"_Haec fabula docet_,\" comments Flaxius, \"that there be others besides\nTyll Eulenspiegel who make mischief by fulfilling laws too literally.\nAnd there are no people in this world who contrive to break the Spirit of\nChristianity so much as those who follow it simply to the Letter.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ENCHANTED COW OF LA VIA VACCHERECCIA\n\n\n \"On Dunmore Heath I also slewe\n A monstrous wild and cruell beaste\n Called the Dun Cow of Dunmore plaine,\n Who many people had opprest.\"\n\n --_Guy_, _Earl of Warwick_.\n\nThe Via Vacchereccia is a very short street leading from the Signoria to\nthe Via Por San Maria. _Vaccherricia_, also _Vacchereccia_, means a cow,\nand is also applied scornfully to a bad woman. The following legend was\ngiven to me as accounting for the name of the place. A well-known Vienna\nbeerhouse-restaurant, Gilli and Letta's, has contributed much of late\nyears to make this street known, and it was on its site that, at some\ntime in \"the fabled past,\" the building stood in which dwelt the witch\nwho figures in the story.\n\n LA VIA VACCHERECCIA.\n\n\"There lived long ago in the Via Vacchereccia a poor girl, who was,\nhowever, so beautiful and graceful, and sweet in her manner, that it\nseemed to be a marvel that she belonged to the people, and still more\nthat she was the daughter of the woman who was believed to be her mother,\nfor the latter was as ugly as she was wicked, brutal, and cruel before\nall the world, and a witch in secret, a creature without heart or\nhumanity.\n\n\"Nor was the beautiful Artemisia--such being the name of the girl--in\nreality her daughter, for the old woman had stolen her from her parents,\nwho were noble and wealthy, when she was a babe, and had brought her up,\nhoping that when grown she could make money out of her in some evil way,\nand live upon her. But, as sometimes happens, it seemed as if some\nbenevolent power watched over the poor child, for all the evil words and\nworse example of the witch had no effect on her whatever.\n\n\"Now it happened that Artemisia in time attracted the attention and love\nof a young gentleman, who, while of moderate estate, was by no means\nrich; and he had learned to know her through his mother, an admirable\nlady, who had often employed Artemisia, and been impressed by her beauty\nand goodness. So it happened that the mother favoured the son's suit,\nand as Artemisia loved the young man, it seemed as if her sufferings\nwould soon be at an end, for be it observed that the witch treated the\nmaid at all times with extraordinary cruelty.\n\n\"But it did not suit the views of the old woman at all that the girl on\nwhom she reckoned to bring in much money from great protectors, and whom\nshe was wont to call the cow from whom she would yet draw support, should\nsettle down into the wife of a small noble of moderate means. So she not\nonly scornfully rejected the suit, but scolded and beat Artemisia with\neven greater wickedness than ever.\n\n\"But there are times when the gentlest natures (especially when supported\nby good principles and truly good blood) will not give way to any\noppression, however cruel, and Artemisia, feeling keenly that the\nmarriage was most advantageous for her, and a great honour, and that her\nwhole heart had been wisely given, for once turned on the old woman and\ndefied her, threatening to appeal to the law, and showing that she knew\nso much that was wicked in her life that the witch became as much\nfrightened as she was enraged, well knowing that an investigation by\njustice would bring her to the bonfire. So, inspired by the devil, she\nturned the girl into a cow, and shut her up in a stable in the courtyard\nof the house, where she went every day two or three times to beat and\ntorture her victim in the most fiendish manner.\n\n\"Meanwhile the disappearance of Artemisia had excited much talk and\nsuspicion, as it followed immediately after the refusal of the old woman\nto give her daughter to the young gentleman. And he indeed was in sad\ncase and great suffering, but after a while, recovering himself, he began\nto wonder whether the maid was not after all confined in the Via\nVacchereccia. And as love doubles all our senses and makes the deaf\nhear, and, according to the proverb, 'he who finds it in his heart will\nfeel spurs in his flanks,' so this young man, hearing the old woman\nspoken of as a witch, began to wonder whether she might not be one in\ntruth, and whether Artemisia might not have been _confinata_ or enchanted\ninto some form of an animal, and so imprisoned.\n\n\"And, full of this thought, he went by night to the house, where there\nwas an opening like a window or portal in the courtyard, and began to\nsing:\n\n \"'Batte le dodici a una campana,\n Si sente appena dalla lontana.\n\n \"'Se almeno la voce potessi sentire,\n Della mia bella che tanto deve soffrire.'\n\n \"'Midnight is striking, I hear it afar,\n High in the heaven shines many a star.\n\n \"'And oh that the voice of the one I could hear,\n Who suffers so sadly--the love I hold dear.\n\n \"'Oh stars, if you're looking with pity on me,\n I pray you the maid from affliction to free!'\n\n\"As he sang this, he heard a cow lowing in the courtyard, and as his mind\nwas full of the idea of enchantment, his attention was attracted to it.\nThen he sang:\n\n \"'If enchanted here you be,\n Low, but gently, _one_, _two_, _three_!\n Low in answer unto me,\n And a rescue soon you'll see.'\n\n\"Then the cow lowed three times, very softly, and the young man,\ndelighted, put to her other questions, and being very shrewd, he so\nmanaged it as to extract with only yea and nay all the story. Having\nlearned all this, he reflected that to beat a terrier 'tis well to take a\nbulldog, and after much inquiry, he found that there dwelt in Arezzo a\ngreat sorcerer, but a man of noble character, and was, moreover,\nastonished to learn from his mother that this _gran mago_ had been a\nfriend of his father.\n\n\"And being well received by the wise man, and having told his story, the\nsage replied:\n\n\"'Evil indeed is the woman of whom you speak--a black witch of low\ndegree, who has been allowed, as all of her kind are, to complete her\nmeasure of sin, in order that she may receive her full measure of\npunishment. For all things may be forgiven, but not cruelty, and she has\nlived on the sufferings of others. Yet her power is of a petty kind, and\nsuch as any priest can crush.\n\n\"'Go to the stable when she shall be absent, and I will provide that she\nshall be away all to-morrow. Then bind verbena on the cow's horns, and\nhang a crucifix over the door, and sprinkle all the floor with holy water\nand incense, and sing to the cow:\n\n \"'The witch is not thy mother in truth,\n She stole thee in thy early youth,\n She has deserved thy bitterest hate,\n Then fear not to retaliate;\n And when she comes to thee again,\n Then rush at her with might and main;\n She has heaped on thee many a scorn,\n Repay it with thy pointed horn.'\n\n\"'And note that there is a _halter_ on the cow's neck, and this is the\ncharm which gives her the form of a cow, but it cannot be removed except\nin a church by the priest.'\n\n\"And to this he added other advice, which was duly followed.\n\n\"Then the next day the young man went to the stable, and did all that the\nwise man had bid, and hiding near, awaited the return of the witch. Nor\nhad he indeed long to wait, for the witch, who was evidently in a great\nrage at something, and bore a cruel-looking stick with an iron goad on\nthe end, rushed to the courtyard and into the stable, but fell flat on\nthe floor, being overcome by the holy water. And the cow, whose halter\nhad been untied from the post, turned on her with fury, and tossed and\ngored her, and trampled on her till she was senseless, and then ran full\nspeed, guided by the young man, to the Baptistery, into which she\nentered, and where there was a priest awaiting her. And the priest\nsprinkled her with holy water, and took the halter from her neck, and she\nwas disenchanted, and became once more the beautiful Artemisia.\n\n\"And this done, the young man took the halter, and hurrying back to the\nstable, put it about the neck of the witch, who at once became a cow\nwithout horns, or such as are called 'the devil's own.' And as she,\nmaddened with rage, rushed forth, attacking everybody, all the town was\nsoon after her with staves, pikes, and all their dogs, and so they hunted\nher down through the Uffizzi and along Lung' Arno, all roaring and\nscreaming and barking, out into the country, for she gave them a long run\nand a good chase, till they came to a gate of a _podere_, over which was\na Saint Antony, who, indignant that she dared pass under him, descended\nfrom his niche, and gave her a tremendous blow with his staff between the\nhorns, or where they would have been if she had possessed them.\nWhereupon the earth opened and swallowed her up, amid a fearful flashing\nof fire, and a smell which was even worse than that of the streets of\nSiena in summer-time--which is often so fearful that the poorer natives\ncommonly carry fennel (as people do perfumed vinaigrettes in other\nplaces) to sniff at, as a relief from the horrible odour.\n\n\"And when all this was done, the _mago_ revealed to the maiden that her\nparents, who were still living, were very great and wealthy people, so\nthat there was soon a grand reunion, a general recognition, and a happy\nmarriage.\n\n \"'Maidens, beware lest witches catch you;\n Think of the Via Vacchereccia;\n And tourists dining in the same,\n Note how the street once got its name.'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITCH OF THE PORTA ALLA CROCE\n\n\n \"If any secret should sacred be,\n Though it guarded the life of a family,\n And any woman be there about,\n She will die but what she will find it out;\n And though it hurried her soul to--well--\n That secret she _must_ immediately tell.\"\n\n --_Sage Stuffing for Young Ducks_.\n\nThere are in Italy, as elsewhere, families to whom a fatality or\ntradition is attached. The following is a curious legend of the kind:\n\n LA FATTUCHIERA DELLA PORTA ALLA CROCE.\n\n\"There was a very old Florentine family which lived in a castle in the\ncountry. The elder or head of this family had always one room in which\nno one was ever allowed to enter. There he passed hours alone every day,\nand woe to any one who dared disturb him while there. And this had been\nthe case for generations, and no one had ever found out what the secret\nwas. This was, of course, a great vexation to the ladies of the\nfamily--_perche la donna e sempre churiosa_--women being always\ninquisitive.\n\n\"And most inquisitive of all was a niece of the old man, who had got it\ninto her head that the secret was simply a great treasure which she might\nobtain. Therefore she resolved to consult with a certain witch, who\nwould tell her what it was, and how she could enter the mysterious room.\nThis sorceress lived hard by the Porta alla Croce, for there are always\nmany witches in that quarter.\n\n\"The witch, who was a very large tall woman, made the niece go with her\nto an isolated small house, and thence along a path, the lady in advance.\nWhile so doing, the latter turned her head to look behind her, and at\nthat instant heard the cry of a _civetta_ or small owl. The witch\nexclaimed, 'My dear lady, what you wish for will hardly be granted; I\nfear there is a great disaster awaiting you.'\n\n\"Then they went into a field, and the fortune-teller produced a goblet of\ncoloured glass, and called to the swallow, which is a bird of good omen,\nand to the small owl, which forebodes evil, and said, 'Whichever shall\nalight first on the edge of this cup will be a sign to you of success or\nfailure.'\n\n\"But the first which came and sat upon the cup was the owl.\n\n\"Then the witch said, 'What there is in that room I cannot reveal, for it\ndisturbs my soul far too much. But I know that the number of that room\nis thirteen, and you can infer for yourself what that portends; and more\nI cannot tell you, save that you should be extremely careful and keep a\ncheerful heart--otherwise there is great trouble awaiting you.'\n\n\"But the lady returned home in a great rage at her disappointment, and\nall the more resolved to enter the room. Then all the family finding\nthis out, reproached her, and urged her not to be so distracted; and she,\nbeing obstinate, only became the more determined; for she was furious\nthat she could not force an old man to reveal a secret which had been\nhanded down for many generations, and which could only be confided to\none, or to the eldest, when the old man should die.\n\n\"And at last her evil will or mania attained such command over her, that\nshe resolved to kill all the family one by one, till the succession of\nthe secret should come to her. And so, after boiling deadly herbs with\ncare, she made a strong subtle poison. And by this means she put to\ndeath her parents, brothers and sisters, aunts and all the family,\nwithout remorse, so resolved was she to master the secret.\n\n\"The last to perish was her grandfather, and calling her to his bedside\nhe said, 'We have all died by thy hand; we who never did thee any harm;\nand thou hast felt no remorse. This thou didst to gain a treasure, and\nbitterly wilt thou be disappointed. Thy punishment will begin when thou\nshalt learn what the thing was so long hidden: truly there was sorrow\nenough therein, without the misery which thou hast added to it. That\nwhich thou wilt find in the chamber is a skull--the skull of our earliest\nancestor, which must always be given to the care of the eldest\ndescendant, and I now give it to thee. And this thou must do. Go every\nmorning at seven o clock into the room and close the windows. Then light\nfour candles before the skull. In front of it there lies a great book in\nwhich is written the history of all our family, my life and thine; and\nsee that thou do this with care, or woe be unto thee!'\n\n\"Therewith the old man died, and scarcely had he departed ere she called\nan old woman who was allied and devoted to the family, and in a rage told\nher all the secret. The old woman reproved her, saying that she would\nbring punishment on herself. But, without heeding this, the lady ran to\nthe chamber, entered, and seeing the skull, gave it a kick and hurled it\nfrom the window, far below.\n\n\"But a minute after she heard a rattling sound, and looking at the\nwindow, there the skull was grinning at her. Again she threw it down,\nand again it returned, and was with her wherever she went; day after day,\nwaking or sleeping, the skull was always before her eyes.\n\n\"At last fear came over her, and then horror, and she said to the old\nwoman, 'Let us go to some place far, far away, and bury the skull.\nPerhaps it will rest in its grave.' The old woman tried to dissuade her,\nand they went to a lonely spot at a great distance, and there they dug\nlong and deep.\n\n\"Dug till a great hole was made, and the lady standing on the edge\ndropped the skull into it. Then the hole spread into a great pit, flame\nrose from it--the edge crumbled away--the guilty woman fell into the\nfire, and the earth closed over it all, and there was no trace left of\nher.\n\n\"The skull returned to the castle and to its room; people say it is there\nto this day. The old woman returned too, and being the last remote\nrelation, entered into possession of the property.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is perhaps not one well-educated person in society in England who\nhas not had the opportunity to remark how very much any old family can\nsucceed in being notorious if it can only once make it known that it has\nan hereditary _secret_. Novels will be written on it, every member of it\nwill be pointed out everywhere, and people who do not know the name of a\nsovereign in Europe can tell you all about it and them. And the number\nis not small of those who consider themselves immensely greater because\nthey have in some way mastered something which they are expected to keep\nconcealed. I could almost believe that this \"'orrible tale\" was composed\nas a satire on family secrets. But I believe that she who told it firmly\nbelieved it. _Credo quia absurdum_ would not be well understood among\nhumble folk in Italy.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"To this I may add,\" writes Flaxius, \"that there is an English legend of\na certain skull which always returned to a certain window in a tower.\n_Apropos_ of which there is a poem called _The Student and the Head_ in\n'Hans Breitmann in Germany' (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1895), prefaced by\na remark to the effect that the subject is so extensive as to deserve a\nbook--instancing the head of the physician Douban in the 'Arabian\nNights,' with that of Orpheus, which spoke to Cyrus, and that of the\npriest of Jupiter, and another described by Trallianus, and the\nmarvellously preserved head of a saint in Olaf Tryggvason's Saga, and the\nWitch's Head of Rider Haggard, with many more, not to speak of the\ntalking Teraphim heads, and Friar Bacon's bust. With which a thoroughly\nexhaustive list should include the _caput mortuum_ of the alchemists\n\n \"'And the dead-heads of the Press.'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE COLUMN OF COSIMO, OR DELLA SANTA TRINITA\n\n\n \"_Columna Florentina_.--Prope Sanctae Trinitatis aedem ingens et\n sublimis columna erecta, cujus in fastigio extat justitia. Eam\n erexit Cosmus Magnus Dux, cui per urbem deambulanti, illic de\n victoria renunciatum fuit quam Malignani Marchio in Senarum finibus\n anno 1555 contra Petrum Strozium obtinuit.\"--_Templum Naturae\n Historicum_, Darmstadt, 1611.\n\n \"Vesti una Colonna,\n Le par una donna.\"--_Italian Proverb_.\n\nThe central spot of Florence is the grand column of granite which stands\nin the middle of the Piazza di Santa Trinita, in the Via Tornabuoni,\nopposite the Palazzo Feroni. It was brought from the Baths of Caracalla\nin Rome, and erected in 1564 by Cosimo I., \"in commemoration of the\nsurrender of Siena in 1554, and of the destruction of the last liberties\nof Florence by the victory at Monte Murlo, 1537, over those whom his\ntyranny had driven into exile, headed by Filippo and Piero Strozzi. It\nis surmounted by a statue of 'Justice' in porphyry, by _Ferruci_,\" says\nMurray's Guide-Book--the Italian declares it to be by _Taddi_, adding\nthat the column was from the Baths of Antoninus, and was a gift to Cosimo\nI. from Pius IV.\n\nThere is a popular legend that once on a time a poor girl was arrested in\nFlorence for having stolen a chain, a bracelet, or some such article of\njewellery of immense value. She was thrown into prison, but though there\nwas collateral or indirect evidence to prove her guilt, the stolen\narticle could not be found. Gossip and rumour constituted ample grounds\nfor indictment and trial, and torture did the rest in the pious times\nwhen it was generally taught and believed that Providence would always\nrescue the innocent, and that everybody who came to grief on the gallows\nhad deserved it for something or other at some time, and that it was all\nright.\n\nSo the girl was executed, and almost forgotten. When a long time after,\nsome workman or other was sent up to the top of the column of the Piazza\nTrinita, and there found that a jackdaw or magpie had built a nest in the\nbalance or scales held by Justice, and in it was the missing jewel.\n\nThis is an Italian form of \"The Maid and the Magpie,\" known the world\nover from ancient times. The scales suggest a droll German story. There\nwas in front of a certain palace or town-hall, where all criminals were\ntried, a statue of Justice holding a pair of scales, and these were not\ncast solid, but were a _bona fide_ pair of balances. And certain low\nthieves having been arrested with booty--whatever it was--it was\ndiscovered that they had divided it among themselves very accurately,\neven to the ounce. At which the magistrate greatly marvelling, asked\nthem how they could have done it so well, since it had appeared that they\nhad not been in any house between the period of the theft and their\narrest. Whereupon one replied: \"Very easily, your Honour, for, to be\nhonourable, honest, and just as possible, we weighed the goods in the\nscales of Justice itself, here on the front of the _Rath-haus_.\"\n\nIt is for every reason more probable that the bird which stole the jewel\nof the column was a jackdaw than a magpie, and it is certainly fitter\nthat it should have been thus in Florence. \"It is well known,\" says Oken\nin his \"Natural History\" (7 B. Part I. 347), \"that the jackdaw steals\nglittering objects, and carries them to its nest.\" Hence the ancient\nlegend of Arne, who so greatly loved gold, that she sold her native isle\nSiphnos to Minos, and was for that turned by the gods into a daw (Ovid's\n\"Metamorphoses,\" vii. 466). As a mischief-making, thieving, and\nchattering bird of black colour, the jackdaw was naturally considered\nevil, and witches, or their imps, often assumed its form. In fact, the\nonly really good or pious bird of the kind on record known to me, is the\njackdaw of Rheims sung by Ingoldsby Barham.\n\nAccording to Kornmannus, the column was placed where it now stands,\nbecause Cosimo was in the Piazza Trinita when he heard the news of the\nsurrender of Siena.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAfter I had written the foregoing legend, I found the following:\n\n LA COLONNA DI SANTA TRINITA.\n\n\"The pillar di Santa Trinita was in times a meeting-place for fairies\n(_Fate_), whither they went afoot or in their carriages. At the base of\nthe column there was a great stone, and there they exchanged greetings or\nconsulted about their affairs. They were all great ladies, of kindly\ndisposition. And when it came that any one was cast into the city\nprison, they inquired into the affair, and then a _fate_ would go as a\nmagistrate in disguise and question the accused. Now they always knew\nwhether any one spoke the truth, and if the prisoner did so, and was\ndeserving mercy, they delivered him; but if he lied, they left him to be\nhanged, with a _buon pro vi faccia_!--Much good may it do you!\n\n\"Of evenings they assembled round the rock at the foot of the column in a\ngreat company, and had great merriment and love-making. Then in the\ncrowd a couple would descend, or one after another into their vaults\nbelow, and then come again, often taking with them mortals who were their\nfriends or favourites.\n\n\"Their chief was a matron who always held a pair of scales. Now when\nthey were to judge the fate of any one, they took with great care the\nearth from one of his footprints, and weighed it most scrupulously, for\nthereby they could tell whether in his life he had done more good or\nevil, and it was thus that they settled the fate of all the accused in\nthe prisons.\n\n\"And it often came to pass that when prisoners were young and handsome,\nthese _fate_ or fairy-witches took them from their cells in the prison\nthrough subterranean ways to their vaults under the Trinita, and passed\nthe time merrily enough, for all was magnificent there.\n\n\"But woe unto those, no matter how handsome they might be, who betrayed\nthe secrets and the love of the _fate_. Verily they had their reward,\nand a fine long repentance with it, for they were all turned into cats or\nmice, and condemned to live in the cellars and subterranean passages of\nthe old Ghetto, which is now destroyed--and a nasty place it was. In its\ntime people often wondered that there were so many cats there, but the\ntruth is that they were all people who had been enchanted by those who\nwere called in olden time _le Gran Dame di Firenze_--the Great Ladies of\nFlorence.\n\n\"And the image holding the scales is called _la Giustizia_, but it really\nrepresents the Matrona, or Queen of the Fate, who of old exercised such\nstrict justice with her scales in Florence.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis is, I am confident, a tradition of great antiquity, for all its\nelements are of a very ancient or singularly witch-like nature. In it\nthe _fate_ are found in their most natural form, as _fates_, weighing\njustice and dealing out rewards and punishments. Justice herself appears\nnaively and amusingly to the witches as Queen of the _Fate_, who are\nindeed all spirits who have been good witches in a previous life.\n\nWhat is most mystical and peculiarly classic Italian is the belief that\nthe earth on which a human being has trod can be used wherewith to\nconjure him. This subject is treated elsewhere in my \"Etruscan Roman\nTraditions.\"\n\nThe great stone at the base of the column was a kind of palladium of the\ncity of Florence. There are brief notices of it in many works. It would\nbe curious if it still exists somewhere and can be identified.\n\n \"A great palladium, whose virtues lie\n In undefined remote antiquity;\n A god unformed, who sleeps within a stone,\n Which sculptor's hand as yet has never known;\n Brought in past ages from some unknown shore;\n Our fathers worshipped it--we know no more.\"\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF OR' SAN MICHELE\n\n\n \"The spirit of Antiquity, enshrined\n In sumptuous buildings, vocal in sweet song,\n In pictures speaking with heroic tongue,\n And with devout solemnities entwined.\"\n\n --WORDSWORTH, \"_Bruges_.\"\n\nOr' San Michele is a very beautiful church in the Italian Gothic style in\nthe Via Calzaioli. It was originally a market or stable below and a barn\nor granary above, whence some derive its name from _Horreum Sancti\nMichaelis_, and others from the Italian _Orto_, a garden, a term also\napplied to a church-congregation. \"The statues and decorations on the\nexterior are among the best productions of the Florentine school of\nsculpture.\" As that of Saint Eloy or San Eligio, the blacksmith, with\ngreat pincers at an anvil, in a sculpture representing a horse being\nshod, is the most conspicuous on the facade, the people have naturally\nconcluded that the church was originally a stable or smithy. The legend\nof the place is as follows:\n\n LA CHIESA OR' SAN MICHELE.\n\n\"This was originally a stable and coach-house (_rimessa_), and there was\na hayloft above. Every night the horses were heard to neigh, and in the\nmorning they were found all curried and well managed, and no one knew who\ndid it; but none of the grooms ever shed any tears over it that ever I\nheard of.\n\n\"Now, the master of the place had a son, a priest named Michele, who was\nso holy that he worked many miracles, so that all began to call him a\nsaint. And after he died he appeared to his parents in a dream, and told\nthem that the stable and barn should be transformed into a church, and\nthat he would read mass therein thrice a day.\n\n\"But his parents wished to have him buried under the altar of a church\nwhich was on their estate in the country, but the saint did not wish to\nbe buried there.\n\n\"One day one of the grooms of the stable found that a horse could not\nmove a foot, so he ran to call the _manescalco_, or blacksmith, who led\nthe horse to his forge. And when he took the hoof to examine it, lo! it\ncame off at the joint and remained in his hand. Then the smith said that\nthe horse should be killed, because he was now worthless. But the horse\nstruck his stump on the hoof, and the latter joined itself to his leg as\nfirmly as ever it had been. But in doing this the old shoe fell off,\nwhence it comes to this day that whoever finds an old horse-shoe gets\nluck with it.\n\n\"When the smith had shod the horse anew, he tried to lead it back into\nthe stable, but it refused to enter. Then it was plain that this was a\nmiracle worked by San Michele. So they removed all the horses and hay\nfrom the building, and made of it the fine church which is now called _La\nChiesa di Or' San Michele_.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is a vast mass of tradition extant relative to the Horse, enough to\nmake a large volume, and in it there is a great deal which is so nearly\nallied to this story as to establish its antiquity. Karl Blind has found\nan old Norse spell, in which, by the aid of Balder and Odin, the lameness\nof a horse's ankle or pastern joint can be cured. There is another\nversion of this story, which runs as follows:\n\n THE SMITH AND SAINT PETER.\n\n\"It is a good thing in this world to be bold and have a good opinion of\none's self; yes, and to hold your head high--but not so high as to bend\nover backwards--else that may happen to you which befell the celebrated\ncock of Aspromonte.\"\n\n\"And what happened to him?\"\n\n\"Only this, Signore--he was so cocky, and bent his head so far backwards,\nthat his spurs ran into his eyes and blinded him. Now, the cock reminds\nme of Saint Peter, and too much cheek of the _ferrajo spacciato_, or the\nsaucy smith, who wanted to equal him.\n\n\"It happened once that the Lord and Saint Peter came to a forge, and the\nsmith was about to lead a horse from the stable to the anvil to shoe him.\nSaint Peter said:\n\n\"'Thou hast boasted that thou art the best smith in the world, and canst\nwork such wonders in shoeing as man never beheld. Canst thou not shoe\nthis horse without taking him to the forge?'\n\n\"'Neither thou, nor I, nor any man can do it,' replied the smith.\n\n\"Saint Peter took the hoof in his left hand, gave it a rap with the side\nof his right across the joint, and the hoof fell off. Then Saint Peter\ncarried it to the anvil, fastened a new shoe on it, returned and put it\non the horse again, who stamped with it as if nothing had happened.\n\n\"Now the smith, like all boasters, was a great fool, and he only thought\nthat this was something which he had not learned before, and so cried\nboldly, 'Oh, that is only the Bolognese manner of taking hoofs off and\nputting them on--we do it much better here in Florence!' So he seized\nthe horse's hoof, and with one blow of a hatchet cut it off.\n\n\"'And now put it on again,' said Saint Peter. The smith tried, but it\nwould not stick.\n\n\"'The horse is bleeding to death rapidly,' remarked the Saint.\n\n\"'I believe,' said the smith ruefully, 'that I am a fool in folio.'\n\n\"'_Piu matto che un granchio_--as crazy as a crawfish,' solemnly added\none of his assistants.\n\n\"'_Pazzo a bandiera_--as wild and witless as a flapping flag,' quoth\nanother.\n\n\"'_Matto di sette cotte_--an idiot seven times baked,' chimed in Saint\nPeter.\n\n\"'A _campanile_--a church bell-tower of a fool,' contributed his wife,\nwho had just come in.\n\n\"The poor horse continued to bleed.\n\n\"'You are like the mouse,' added a neighbour, 'who thought because he had\ndipped the end of his tail in the meal, that he owned and could run the\nmill.'\n\n\"'The Florentine method of shoeing horses,' remarked Saint Peter gravely,\n'does not appear to be invariably successful. I think that we had better\nrecur to mine.' And with this he put the hoof to the ankle, and\n_presto_! the miracle was wrought again. That is the story. In most\ncases, Signore, _un pazzo gitta una pietra nel pozzo_--a fool rolls a\nrock into a well which it requires a hundred wise men to get out again.\nThis time a single sage sufficed. But for that you must have the Lord at\nyour back, as Saint Peter had.\"\n\n\"Why do they say, as foolish as a crawfish or lobster?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Because, Signore, the _granchio_, be he lobster or crawfish, carries his\nhead in the _scarsella_, which is a hole in his belly. Men who have\ntheir brains in their bellies--or gluttons--are generally foolish. But\nwhat is the use of boasting of our wisdom? He who has neither poor men\nnor fools among his relations was born of the lightning or of thunder.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is another story current among the people, though it is in print,\nbut as it is a merry one, belonging truly enough to the folk-lore of\nFlorence, I give it as it runs:\n\n\"You have heard of Piovano Arlotto, who made this our town so lively long\nago. It was rich then, indeed. There are more flowers than florins in\nFlorence now: _ogni fior non fa frutto_--all flowers do not bear fruit.\n\n\"Well, it happened one day that Piovano, having heard a good story from\nPiero di Cosimo de' Medicis, answered with another. Now the tale which\nMesser Piero di Cosimo told was this:\n\n\"Once there lived in Florence a poor shoemaker, who went every morning to\nthe Church of San Michele Berteldi--some say it was at San Bartolommeo,\nand maybe at both, for a good story or a big lie is at home anywhere.\n\n\"Well, he used to pray before a John the Baptist in wood, or it may have\nbeen cast in plaster, or moulded in wax, which was on the altar. One\nmorning he prayed scalding hot, and the _chierico_--a boy who waits on\nthe priest, who was a young rascal, like all of his kind--overheard him\nsay: 'Oh, Saint John, I pray thee make known to me two things. One is\nwhether my wife is good and true to me, and the other what will become of\nmy only son.'\n\n\"Then the mass-boy, who had hidden himself behind the altar, replied in a\nsoft, slow, strange voice: 'Know, my son, that because thou hast long\nbeen so devout to me, thou shalt be listened unto. Return hither\nto-morrow, and thou wilt be answered; and now go in peace.'\n\n\"And the shoemaker, having heard this, verily believed that Saint John\nhad spoken to him, and went his way with great rejoicing. So, bright and\nearly the next morning, he was in the church, and said: 'Saint John, I\nawait thy reply.'\n\n\"Then the mass-boy, who was hidden as before, replied: 'Oh, my son, I am\nsorry to say that thy wife is no better than she should be--_ha fatto\nfallo con piu d'uno_--and everybody in Florence except thee knows it.'\n\n\"'And my son?' gasped the shoemaker.\n\n\"'_He will be hung_,' replied the voice.\n\n\"The shoemaker rose and departed abruptly. In the middle of the church\nhe paused, and, without a sign of the cross, and putting on his cap, he\ncried: 'What sort of a Saint John are you, anyhow?'\n\n\"'Saint John the Baptist,' replied the voice.\n\n\"'_Sia col malanno e con la mala Pasque che Iddio ti dia_!--Then may the\nLord give you a bad year and a miserable Easter-tide! You never utter\naught save evil, and it was for thy evil tongue that Herod cut thy head\noff--and served thee right! I do not believe a word of all which thou\nhast told me. I have been coming here every day for twenty-five years,\nand never asked thee for anything before; but I will make one more vow to\nthee, and that is--never to see thy face again.'\n\n\"And when Messer Cosimo had ended, Piovano Arlotto replied:\n\n\"'One good turn deserves another. It is not many years ago since a poor\n_farsettajo_, or doublet-maker, lived in Florence, his shop being close\nto the Oratorio di Orto San Michele, {126} and every morning he went to\nworship in the church, and lit a candle before a picture representing\nChrist as a child disputing with the Doctors, while his mother enters\nseeking him.\n\n\"'And after he had done this daily for more than twenty-five years, it\nhappened that his little son, while looking on at a game of ball, had a\ntile fall on his head, which wounded him terribly. The doctors being\ncalled in, despaired.\n\n\"'The next morning the poor tailor went to his devotions in Or' San\nMichele, bearing this time, instead of a farthing taper, a great\nwax-candle; and kneeling, he spoke thus: \"_Dolce Signor mio Gesu Cristo_,\nI beg thee to restore my son to health. Thou knowest that I have\nworshipped thee here for twenty-five years, and never asked for anything\nbefore, and thou thyself can best bear witness to it. This my son is all\nmy happiness on earth, and he was also most devoted to thee. Should he\nbe taken away, I would die in despair, and so I commend myself to three!\"\n\n\"'Then he departed, and coming home, learned that his son had died.\n\n\"'The next morning, in grief and anger, he entered Orto San Michele, and,\nwithout any candle, he went directly to the picture, and, without\nkneeling, broke forth in these words: \"_Io ti disgrazio_--I dislike,\ndisown, and despise thee, and will return here no more. Five-and-twenty\nyears have I worshipped thee and never asked for anything before, and now\nthou dost refuse me my request. If I had only gone to the great crucifix\nthere, I daresay I should have got all I wanted; but this is what comes\nof trusting to a mere child, for, as the proverb says, _Chi s'impaccia\ncon fanciulli_, _con fanciulli si ritrova_--he who troubles himself with\nchildren will himself be treated as a child.'\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is worth remarking, as regards the tone and character of this tale,\nthat such freedom was commonest when people were most devout. The most\nsceptical critics generally agree that these stories of Piovano Arlotto\nare authentic, having been dictated by him, and that he had a very\nexceptional character in his age for morality, honesty, and truth. He\nhimself declared, without being contradicted, that he was the only priest\nof whom he knew who did not keep a mistress; and yet this story is simply\nan average specimen of the two hundred connected with his name, and that\nthey in turn are identical in character with all the popular wit and\nhumour of the time.\n\nRegarding the image of the Holy Blacksmith, Saint Eligius or Eloi, the\nauthors of \"Walks in Florence\" say that it is attributed to Nanni di\nBanco, and is meagre and stiff, but has dignity, which accords admirably\nwith the character of most saints, or their ideals. It is evident that\nthe _bon roi_ Dagobert was considered as the type of all that was free\nand easy--\n\n \"Le bon roi Dagobert\n Mettait son culotte a l'envers.\"\n\nTherefore he is contrasted with the very dignified Saint Eloy, who was\n(like the breeches) quite the reverse, declining to lend the monarch two\nsous, which Dagobert had ascertained were in the holy man's possession.\n\"The bas-relief below,\" continue the critics cited, \"is more certainly by\nthe hand of Nanni. It records a miracle of Saint Eloy, who one day, when\nshoeing a restive horse which was possessed by a demon, and was kicking\nand plunging, cut off the animal's leg to fasten the shoe, and having\ncompleted his task, made the sign of the cross and restored the severed\nlimb.\" I regret to say that this was written without careful reference\nto the original. It was not the _leg_ of the horse which was severed,\nnor a limb, but only the hoof at the pastern joint.\n\nThere is yet another explanation of this bas-relief, which I have\nsomewhere read, but cannot now recall--more's the pity, because it is the\ntrue one, as I remember, and one accounting for the presence of the\nfemale saint who is standing by, evidently invisibly. Perhaps some\nreader who knows Number Four will send it to me for a next edition.\n\nIt is worth noting that there is in Innsbruck, on the left bank of the\nInn, a blacksmith's shop, on the front of which is a very interesting\nbas-relief of the fourteenth or fifteenth century, representing Saint\nPeter or Eligius with the horse in a smithy.\n\nThere is another statue on the exterior of this church, that of Saint\nPhilip, by the sculptor Nanni de Banco, concerning which and whom I find\nan anecdote in the _Facetie Diverse_, A.D. 1636:\n\n \"Now, it befell in adorning the church of Or' San Michele in\n Florence, that _I Consoli d'Arte_ (Art Directors of Florence) wanting\n a certain statue, wished to have it executed by Donatello, a most\n excellent sculptor; but as he asked fifty _scudi_, which was indeed a\n very moderate price for such statues as he made, they, thinking it\n too dear, refused him, and gave it to a sculptor _mediocre e\n mulo_--indifferent and mongrel--who had been a pupil of Donatello;\n nor did they ask him the price, supposing it would be, of course,\n less. Who, having done his best, asked for the work eighty scudi.\n Then the Directors in anger explained to him that Donatello, a\n first-class sculptor, had only asked fifty; but as he refused to\n abate a single _quattrino_, saying that he would rather keep the\n statue, the question was referred to Donatello himself, who at once\n said they should pay the man _seventy_ scudi. But when they reminded\n him that he himself had only asked fifty, he very courteously\n replied, 'Certainly, and being a master of the art, I should have\n executed it in less than a month, but that poor fellow, who was\n hardly fit to be my pupil, has been more than half a year making it.'\n\n \"By which shrewd argument he not only reproached them for their\n meanness and his rival for incapacity, but also vindicated himself as\n an artist.\"\n\nThis is the story as popularly known. In it Nanni is called Giovanni,\nand it is not true that he was an unworthy, inferior sculptor, for he was\ntruly great. There is another legend of Or' San Michele, which is thus\ngiven by Pascarel, who, however, like most writers on Florence, is so\nextravagantly splendid or \"gushing\" in his description of everything,\nthat untravelled readers who peruse his pages in good faith must needs\nbelieve that in every church and palazzo there is a degree of picturesque\nmagnificence, compared to which the Pandemonium of Milton, or even the\nCelestial City itself as seen by Saint John, is a mere cheap Dissenting\nchapel. According to him, Or' San Michele is by right \"a world's wonder,\nand a gift so perfect to the whole world, that, passing it, one should\nneed say (or be _compelled_ to pronounce) a prayer for Taddeo's soul.\"\nWhich is like the dentist in Paris, who proclaimed in 1847 that it was--\n\n \"Presque une crime\n De ne pas crier, '_Vive_ Fattet!'\"\n\nThe legend, as told by this writer, and cited by Hare, is as follows:\n\n \"Surely nowhere in the world is the rugged, changeless, mountain\n force of hewn stone piled against the sky, and the luxuriant,\n dream-like poetic delicacy of stone carven and shaped into leafage\n and loveliness, more perfectly blended and made one than where San\n Michele rises out of the dim, many-coloured, twisting streets, in its\n mass of ebon darkness and of silvery light.\n\n \"The other day, under the walls of it, I stood and looked at its\n Saint George, where he leans upon his shield, so calm, so young, with\n his bared head and his quiet eyes.\n\n \"'That is our Donatello's,' said a Florentine beside me--a man of the\n people, who drove a horse for hire in the public ways, and who\n paused, cracking his whip, to tell this tale to me. 'Donatello did\n that, and it killed him. Do you not know? When he had done that\n Saint George he showed it to his master. And the master said, \"It\n wants one thing only.\" Now this saying our Donatello took gravely to\n heart, chiefly because his master would never explain where the fault\n lay; and so much did it hurt him, that he fell ill of it, and came\n nigh to death. Then he called his master to him. \"Dear and great\n one, do tell me before I die,\" he said, \"what is the one thing my\n statue lacks?\" The master smiled and said: \"Only speech.\" \"Then I\n die happy,\" said our Donatello. And he--died--indeed, that hour.'\n\n \"Now I cannot say that the pretty story is true--it is not in the\n least true; Donatello died when he was eighty-three, in the Street of\n the Melon, and it was he himself who cried, 'Speak then--speak!' to\n his statue, as it was carried through the city. But whether true or\n false, this fact is surely true, that it is well--nobly and purely\n well--with a people when the men amongst it who ply for hire on its\n public ways think caressingly of a sculptor dead five hundred years\n ago, and tell such a tale, standing idly in the noonday sun, feeling\n the beauty and the pathos of it all.\"\n\nTruly, in a town half of whose income is derived from art-hunting\ntourists, and where every vagabond offers himself, in consequence, as a\ncicerone, it is no sign that \"all is well--nobly and purely well--with a\npeople,\" because a coachman who had been asked which was Donatello's\nSaint George by about five hundred English \"fares,\" and nearly as many\nAmerican young ladies--of whom many of the latter told him all they knew\nabout it--should have picked up such a tale. In fact, while I have been\namazed at the _incredible_ amount of legend, superstitious traditions,\nand incantations existing among the people, I have been struck by their\ngreat ignorance of art, and all pertaining to it; of which, were it worth\nwhile, I could cite convincing and amusing instances.\n\n \"But as regards a vast proportion of the 'sweet and light' writing on\n the Renaissance and on Italy which is at present fashionable,\" writes\n Flaxius, \"I am reminded of the 'esthetic axe'ems' of an American\n writer, the first of which were:\n\n \"'Art is a big thing. Always bust into teers wen you see a pictur.'\n\n \"'Bildins and churches arn't of no account unless they drive you\n clean out of your census.'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITCH OF THE ARNO\n\n\n \"Il spirito usci dal fiume a un tratto,\n E venne come Dio l'aveva fatto,\n E presentando come un cortegiano\n Alla donna gentil la destra mano,\n 'Scusate,' disse si io vengo avanti\n E se vi do la mano sensa guanti.\"--_Paranti_.\n\nThe following, as a French book of fables says, is \"a poem, or rather\nprose rhymed:\"\n\n \"Two pretty maids one morning sat by the rushing stream. It murmured\n glittering in the sun; it seemed to sing as on it run, enchanting\n while a wantoning, as in a merry dream.\n\n \"Said one unto the other: 'I wish, and all in truth, that the\n glorious dancing river were as fine and brave a youth. Its voice is\n like an angel's, its drops of light like eyes so bright are beautiful\n I wis. Oh, ne'er before, on sea or shore, did I love aught like\n this.'\n\n \"A voice came from the river: 'For a love thou hast chosen me;\n henceforward, sweet, for ever thine own love I will be. Wherever\n there is water, of Florence the fairest daughter, by night or day or\n far away, thou'lt find me close by thee.'\n\n \"She saw bright eyes a shining in dewdrops on her path--she returned\n unto the palace, she entered in a bath. 'How the water doth caress\n me; 'tis embracing me, I vow! _M'abbracia_, _mi baccia_--my lover\n has me now. Since fate has really willed it, then to my fate I bow.'\n\n \"Seven years have come and vanished, seven years of perfect bliss.\n Whenever she washed in water, she felt her lover's kiss. She washed\n full oft, I ween; 'twas plain to be seen there was no maid in\n Florence who kept herself so clean.\n\n \"Little by little, as summer makes frogs croak in a ditch, there\n spread about a rumour that the damsel was a witch. They showed her\n scanty mercies; with cruelty extreme, with blows and bitter curses,\n they cast her in the stream. 'If she be innocent, she'll sink, so\n hurl her from the Arno's brink; if guilty, she will swim!'\n\n \"Up rose from the sparkling river a youth who was fair to see. 'I\n have loved thee, and for ever thine own I'll truly be.' He took her\n in his arms; she felt no more alarms. 'Farewell to you all!' sang\n she; 'a fish cannot drown in the water; now I am a fish, you\n know--the Arno's loving daughter. _Per sempre addio_!'\"\n\nThe foregoing is not literal, nor do I know that it is strictly\n\"traditional;\" it is a mere short tale or anecdote which I met with, and\nput into irregular metre to suit the sound of a rushing stream. I take\nthe liberty of adding to it another water-poem of my own, which has\nbecome, if not \"popular,\" at least a halfpenny broadside sold at divers\nstreet-stands by old women, the history whereof is as follows:--I had\nwritten several ballads in Italian in imitation of the simplest\nold-fashioned lyrics, and was anxious to know if I had really succeeded\nin coming down to the level of the people, for this is a very difficult\nthing to do in any language. When I showed them to Marietta Pery, she\nexpressed it as her candid opinion that they were really very nice\nindeed, and that I ought for once in my life to come before the public as\na poet. And as I, fired by literary ambition, at last consented to\nappear in this _role_, Marietta took a ballad, and going to E. Ducci, 32\nVia Pilastri, who is the Catnach of Florence (I advise collectors of the\nreally curious to buy his _soldo_ publications), made an arrangement\nwhereby my song should appear as a broadside, the lady strictly\nconditioning that from among his blocks Signore Ducci should find a ship\nand a flying bird to grace the head and the end of the lyric. But as he\nhad no bird, she took great credit to herself that for five francs she\nnot only got a hundred copies, but also had specially engraved for the\nwork and inserted an object which appears as flying to the right hand of\nthe ship. The song was as follows:\n\n\n\nLA BELLA STREGA.\n_Nuova Canzonetta di_ CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.\n\n\n Era una bella strega\n Che si bagnava alla riva;\n Vennero i pirati\n Lei presero captiva.\n\n Il vento era in poppa\n Sull' onde la nave ballo\n La donna lacrimante\n Al capitan parlo.\n\n \"O Signor capitano!\n O Capitano del mar!\n Daro cento ducati,\n Se tu mi lasci andar.\"\n\n \"Non prendero cento ducati,\n Tu costi molto piu\n Io ti vendro al Sultano,\"\n Disse il Capitano,\n \"Per mille zecchini d'oro\n Vi stimi troppo giu.\"\n\n \"Non vuoi i cento ducati\n Ebben tu non gli avrai,\n Ho un' amante amato\n Non mi abbandona mai.\"\n\n Essa sede sul ponte\n Principio a cantar,\n \"Vieni il mio amante,\"\n Da lontano il vento\n Si mette a mugghiar.\n\n Forte e piu forte\n La tempesta ruggio,\n Gridava il capitano:\n \"Io credo che il tuo amante\n E il vento che corre innante,\n Ovvero il diavolo.\"\n\n Forte e piu forte\n La procella urlo,\n \"Sono rocce davanti,\n E il vento vien di dietro\n Benvenuto sei tu mio amante!\"\n La bella donna canto.\n\n [Picture: A sailing ship with flying bird]\n\n \"Vattene al tuo amante\n All' inferno a cantar!\"\n Disse il Capitano\n E getto la donna fuori,\n Della nave nel mar.\n\n Ma come un gabbiano\n Sull' onde essa volo.\n \"O mio Capitano,\n Non sarai appiccato,\n Ma sarai annegato:\n Per sempre addio!\"\n\n\n\nThe Beautiful Witch.\n\n\n A pretty witch was bathing\n In the sea one summer day;\n There came a ship with pirates,\n Who carried her away.\n\n The ship due course was keeping\n On the waves as they rose and broke;\n The lovely lady, weeping,\n Thus to the captain spoke:\n\n \"O Signor Capitano!\n O captain of the sea!\n I'll give you a hundred ducats\n If you will set me free.\"\n\n \"I will not take a hundred,\n You're worth much more, you know;\n I will sell you to the Sultan\n For a hundred gold sequins;\n You set yourself far too low.\"\n\n \"You will not take a hundred--\n Oh well! then let them be,\n But I have a faithful lover,\n Who, as you may discover,\n Will never abandon me.\"\n\n Upon the windlass sitting,\n The lady began to sing:\n \"Oh, come to me, my lover!\"\n From afar a breeze just rising\n In the rigging began to ring.\n\n Louder and ever louder\n The wind began to blow:\n Said the captain, \"I think your lover\n Is the squall which is coming over,\n Or the devil who has us in tow.\"\n\n Stronger and ever stronger\n The tempest roared and rang,\n \"There are rocks ahead and the wind dead aft,\n Thank you, my love,\" the lady laughed;\n And loud to the wind she sang.\n\n \"Oh, go with your cursed lover,\n To the devil to sing for me!\"\n Thus cried the angry rover,\n And threw the lady over\n Into the raging sea.\n\n But changing to a seagull,\n Over the waves she flew:\n \"Oh captain, captain mine,\" sung she,\n \"You will not swing on the gallows-tree,\n For you shall drown in the foaming sea--\n Oh captain, for ever adieu!\"\n\nI must in honesty admit that this my _debut_ as an Italian poet was not\nnoticed in any of the reviews--possibly because I did not send it to\nthem--and there were no indications that anybody considered that a new\nDante had arisen in the land. It is true, as Marietta told me with much\ndelight, that the printer, or his foreman, had declared it was a very\ngood song indeed; but then he was an interested party. And Marietta also\nkindly praised it to the skies (after she had corrected it); but then\nMarietta was herself a far better poet than I can ever hope to be, and\ncould afford to be generous.\n\nThe reader will pardon me if I avail myself of the opportunity to give\nanother Italian ballad which I wrote on a theme which I also picked up in\nFlorence.\n\n\n\nIl Giardino d'Amore, o La Figlia del Re, e il Contino Stregone.\n\n\n Era un giovine Contino,\n Di tutto il paese il fior,\n Aveva un bel giardino,\n Il bel giardin d'amor.\n\n \"Chi batte alla mia porta?\"\n Domanda il bel Contin'.\n \"Son la figlia del re,\n Vo vedere il tuo giardin'?\"\n\n \"Entra pur nel mio giardino,\n O bella figlia del re,\n Purche tu non tocchi niente,\n A cio che dentro v'e!\"\n\n Entrata nel giardino,\n La bella figlia del re,\n Non vidde cola niente,\n Che fiori e foglie.\n\n Le foglie eran d'argento,\n Di oro ogni fior,\n I frutti eran' gemmi,\n Nel bel giardin d'amor.\n\n Sedi sulla panchetta,\n Sotto il frascame la;\n Che vissi nel sentiero?\n Un bell' anello c'era.\n\n Non seppe che il Contino,\n Fu stregone appostator;\n Non seppe che l'anello,\n Era lo stesso signor.\n\n Ella ando nel suo letto,\n Con l'anello nella man',\n Non 'n sospetto che la trasse\n Sul dito un giovan.\n\n Svegliato da un bacino,\n Tra la mezzanotte e tre;\n Si trovo il bel Contino\n Accanto alla figlia del re.\n\n Credo che fu ben contenta\n Con la cosa come era;\n Come molte donne sarebbero\n Con tal stregoneria.\n\n Portar dei gioielli,\n A de' sposi il fior;\n Il di un di-amante,\n La notte un bel signor.\n\n D'avere un bel diamante\n Piace ognuno, si;\n Ma meglio e un amante\n Quando non ha piu il _di_.\n\n Chi scrisse questa canzone\n Un gran Contino e,\n Anch 'egli il stregone\n Ch' amava la figlia del re.\n\n\n\nThe Garden of Love, or The King's Daughter and the Wizard Count.\n\n\n There was a Count of high degree,\n All others far above;\n He had a garden fair to see,\n 'Twas called the Garden of Love.\n\n \"Now who is knocking at my gate?\n Who is it that makes so free?\"\n \"Oh, I am the daughter of the king,\n And your garden I would see!\"\n\n \"Oh, come into my garden,\n Fair daughter of the king!\n Look well at all that's growing,\n But touch not anything!\"\n\n She entered in the garden,\n The princess young and fair,\n She looked it all well over,\n Yet nothing but trees were there.\n\n But every leaf was of silver,\n The flowers of gold; in the grove\n The fruits were gems and jewels\n In the beautiful Garden of Love.\n\n She sat beneath the foliage,\n The daughter of the king;\n What shone in the path before her?\n A beautiful diamond ring!\n\n She knew not that the County\n Was a wizard wondrous wise;\n She did not know that the diamond\n Was the wizard in disguise.\n\n And when at night, fast sleeping,\n The diamond ring she wore,\n She never dreamed that her finger\n Was bearing a young signor.\n\n Awakened by his kisses\n As she heard the midnight ring,\n There was the handsome wizard\n By the daughter of the king.\n\n I ween she was well contented,\n As many dames would be,\n If they could be enchanted\n With just such sorcery.\n\n To have not only a jewel,\n But a husband, which is more,\n All day a dazzling diamond,\n And by night a bright signor!\n\n Who was it wrote this ballad\n About this loving pair?\n He was the Count and wizard\n Who won the princess fair.\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES OF SAN MINIATO\n\n\n \"The picturesque height of San Miniato, now the great cemetery of the\n city which dominates the Arno from the south, has an especial\n religious and saintly interest. The grand Basilica, with its\n glittering ancient mosaic, shines amid the cypresses against the sky,\n and whether it gleams in the sunlight against the blue, or is cut in\n black on the primrose sky of twilight, it is equally\n imposing.\"--\"_Echoes of Old Florence_,\" _by_ LEADER SCOTT.\n\nTo the old people of Florence, who still see visions and dream dreams,\nand behold the wind and the stars at noonday (which latter thing I have\nmyself beheld), the very ancient convent of San Miniato, \"the only one in\nTuscany which has preserved the ancient form of the Roman basilica,\" and\nthe neighbourhood, are still a kind of Sleepy Hollow, where witches fly\nof nights more than elsewhere, where ghosts or _folletti_ are most\ncommonly seen, and where the _orco_ and the nightmare and her whole\nninefold disturb slumbers _a bel agio_ at their easiest ease, as appears\nby the following narrative:\n\n SAN MINIATO FRA LE TORRE.\n\n\"This is a place which not long ago was surrounded by towers, which were\ninhabited by many witches.\n\n\"Those who lived in the place often noticed by night in those towers,\nserpents, cats, small owls, and similar creatures, and they were alarmed\nby frequently seeing their infants die like candles blown out--_struggere\ni bambini come candele_; nor could they understand it; but those who\nbelieved in witchcraft, seeking in the children's beds, often found\nthreads woven together in forms like animals or garlands, and when\nmothers had left their children alone with the doors open, found their\ninfants, on returning, in the fireplace under the ashes. And at such\ntimes there was always found a strange cat in the room.\n\n\"And believing the cat to be a witch, they took it, and first tying the\ntwo hind-paws, cut off the fore-claws (_zampe_, claws or paws), and said:\n\n \"'Fammi guarire\n La mia creatura;\n Altrimenti per te saranno\n Pene e guai!'\n\n \"'Cure my child,\n Or there shall be;\n Trouble and sorrow\n Enough for thee!'\n\n\"This happened once, and the next day the mother was sitting out of doors\nwith her child, when she saw a woman who was her intimate friend at her\nwindow, and asked her if she would not wash for her her child's clothes,\nsince she herself was ill. But the other replied: 'I cannot, for I have\nmy hands badly cut.'\n\n\"Then the mother in a rage told this to other women whose children had\nbeen bewitched or died.\n\n\"Then all together seized the witch, and by beating her, aided with\nknives crossed, and whatever injuries they could think of, subdued her\nand drenched her under a tower with holy water. And the witch began to\nhowl, not being able to endure this, and least of all the holy water!\n\n\"When all at once there came a mighty wind, which blew down the\nwitch-tower, and carried away the witch, and killed all the uncanny\nanimals which dwelt in the ruins. And unbelievers say that this was done\nby an earthquake; but this is not true, for the witches were really the\ncause (_chagione_) of its overthrow.\n\n\"And though many old things are destroyed and rebuilt, there are many\ncats still there which are assuredly witches.\n\n\"And in the houses thereabout people often perceive and see spirits, and\nif any one will go at night in the Piazza San Miniato fra le Torri,\nespecially where those old things (_chose vecche_) were cleared away, he\nwill see sparks of fire (_faville di fuocho_) break out, and then flames;\nand this signifies that some diabolical creature or animal is still\nconfined there which needs relief (_che a bisogna di bene_), or that in\nthat spot lies a treasure which requires to be discovered.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nI consider this as very interesting, because I most truthfully guarantee\nthat this specimen of witch-lore was written in good faith and firm\nbelief, and is not at all, like most of the tales gleaned or gathered\nnow-a-days, taken from people who got them from others who perhaps only\nhalf believed in them. She who wrote it has no more doubt that\nwitch-cats prowl, and that wild-fire hisses forth from evil spirits in\ndurance pent 'neath the soil of San Miniato, than that the spirit of the\nArno appears as \"a small white hand pointing tremulously upwards.\"\n\nThere is given in the _Facetiae_ of Piovano Arlotto, which is considered\na truthful record of the adventures of its subject, a tale relative to\nSan Miniato which cannot here be deemed out of place. It is as follows:\n\n LA TESTA DI SAN MINIATO.\n\n\"There was in Florence a poor and learned gentleman--_savio e da bene_,\nwho was a good friend of Piovano Arlotto, who was also good to him, since\nhe had often aided the former with money, meal, and many other things,\nand indeed without such help he could hardly have fed his family; for he\nhad fourteen sons and daughters, and though the proverb says _Figliuoli_,\n_mioli_, _'lenzuoli non sono mai troppi in una casa_--there are never too\nmany children, glasses, or linen sheets in a house, this good man found\nindeed that he had too many of the former.\n\n\"Now to help dire need, this gentleman tried to buy on credit two bales\nof cloth, one wherewith to clothe his family, and the other to sell in\norder to make some money. To do this, he needed some one to be his\nsecurity, and he had recourse to Piovano Arlotto, who willingly agreed to\npay the manufacturer in case the friend who gave his note could not meet\nit. Now he found that the manufacturer had sadly cheated the purchaser\nin the measure or quantity, fully one-half, as was also evident to many\nothers; however, as matters stood, he was obliged to let it pass.\n\n\"As things were thus, the poor gentleman died and passed away from this\n_misera vita_ or sad life, and Piovano was in deep grief for his loss,\nand as much for the poor orphans.\n\n\"When the note fell due, the manufacturer went to Piovano Arlotto and\nasked for his money, saying that he only demanded what was justly due to\nhim.\n\n\"And after a few days' delay, he paid the man two-thirds of the sum, and\nten florins for the time and trouble, and said he would not give a\nfarthing more. Then the dealer begun to dun him, but he evaded every\ndemand. Then the merchant employed a young man, eighteen years of age,\nwho had not his equal in Florence to collect debts. And this youth set\nto work in earnest to get from the priest the sum of about twenty-eight\ngold florins, still due from the account.\n\n\"In a few days he had attacked Piovano a hundred times with the utmost\nimpudence, in the market, in the public squares, on the streets at home,\nand in the church, without regard to persons present, at all times, and\nin every aggravating way, until the priest conceived a mortal hatred of\nthe dun, and turned over in his head many ways to get rid of him.\n\n\"At last he went one day to the Abbot of San Miniato or Monte, and said\nto him: '_Padre reverendo_, I seek your paternal kindness to relieve a\nvery distressing case in which I am concerned. I have a nephew who is\npossessed by the devil, one into whom an evil spirit has entered, and who\nhas a monomania that I owe him money, and is always crying to me\neverywhere, 'When are you going to pay me? I want twenty-eight florins.'\n'Tis a great pity, for he is a fine young man, and something really ought\nto be done to cure him. Now I know that the holy relic which you\npossess, the worthy head of the glorious and gracious San Miniato, has\nsuch a virtue, that, if it be once placed on the head of this poor youth,\n'twill certainly cure him. Would you so contrive, in any way, to put it\non him some time this week?'\n\n\"The Abbot answered, 'Bring him when you will.'\n\n\"Piovano thanked him and said: 'I will bring him on Saturday, but when he\nshall be here, I pray you be at the gate with seven or eight strong men,\nthat he may not escape; for you know, holy father, that these demoniacs\nare accustomed to rage when they see relics and hear prayers, and it will\nbe specially so with this poor youth, who is young and vigorous--yea, it\nmay be that 'twill be necessary to give him sundry cuffs and kicks, so\nterrible is the power of Satan--_lupus esuriens_. Do so, I pray, without\nfearing to hurt my feelings--nay, it would be a great pleasure to me, so\nheartily do I desire to see him cured.'\n\n\"The Abbot answered, 'Bring him here, my son, and I will see that all is\nrightly done.'\n\n\"Piovano returned, saying to himself:\n\n \"'Chi vuol giusta vendetta,\n In Dio la metta.'\n\n\"'Leave vengeance to the Lord, or to his ministers--_videlicet_, the\nmonks of San Miniato. Which I will do.'\n\n\"On Friday he went to the merchant who had sold the cloth, and said: 'As\nfor this which I owe you, it is all rubbish. You cheated the man who\ngave you the note out of half the cloth--you know it, and I can prove it.\nHowever, to avoid further trouble and litigation, I am willing to pay\nall, but you must allow time for it. _Dura cosa e l'aspettare_--'tis\nhard to wait, but harder still to have nothing to wait for. The monks of\nSan Miniato owe me for forty cords of wood, which is to be paid for at\nthe end of two years, and then you shall have your money.'\n\n\"This sounded like 'for ever and a day' to the creditor, and in a rage he\nhad recourse to his collector, who on Saturday morning went to San\nMiniato. When he arrived, he had to wait till the grand mass was over,\nto the great vexation of the young man, and meanwhile eight powerful\nmonks with long staves had grouped themselves about the door, awaiting a\nlittle healthy exercise.\n\n\"And mass being over, the dun hastened up to the Abbot, who, taking him\nby the hand, said: 'Oh, my son, put thy trust in God and in San Miniato\nthe blessed; pray that he may take this evil conceit from thy head,' and\nwith this much more, till the young man grew impatient and said:\n\n\"'Messer Abbot, to-day is Saturday, and no time for sermons. I have come\nto know what you are going to do about this debt of Piovano of\ntwenty-eight florins, and when it will be paid?'\n\n\"Then the Abbot, hearing, as he expected, the demand for money, began to\nexhort and exorcise. And the youth began to abuse the Abbot with all\nkind of villanies, and finally turned to depart; but the Abbot caught him\nby the cloak, and there was a fight. Then came the eight monks, who\nseizing him, chastised him lustily, and bound him with cords, and bearing\nhim into the sacristy, sprinkled him with holy water, and incensed him\nindeed--and then set the holy head of San Miniato on his head--he\nthinking they were all mad as hatters. Then they exorcised the evil\nspirits in him--'_Maledicti_!_ excommunicati et rebelles--sitis in paena\naeternali nulla requies sit in vo-o-o-bis si statim non eritis\nobedientes_, _praeceptis me-e-e-e-is_!'--until the youth had to give in,\nand beg the Abbot's pardon, and being released, fled as for dear life.\n\n\"But he met outside Piovano Arlotto, who said to him: 'Thou hast had a\ndainty drubbing, my son, but there is plenty more where that came\nfrom--_non v'e ne fin_, _ne fondo_--there is neither end nor bottom to\nit. Now go to thy master, and say that if he goes further in this\nbusiness he will fare worse than thou hast done.'\n\n\"The youth, returning to Florence, told the tale to his employer, and how\nPiovano Arlotto had declared if they dunned him any more he would do his\nbest to have them drubbed to death. So they dropped the matter--like a\nhot shot.\n\n\"Everybody in Florence roared with laughter for seven days--_sparsa la\npiacevolezza per Firenze_, _vi fu che ridere per setti giorni_--that is\nto say, everybody laughed except one clothmaker and his collector, and if\nthey smiled, 'twas sour and bitterly--the smile which does not rise above\nthe throat--the merriment like German mourning grim. And as for the\nyoung man, he had to leave Florence, for all of whom he would collect\nmoney told him to go to--the monks of San Miniato!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a curious custom, from which came a proverb, in reference to\nthis monastery, which is thus narrated in that singular work, _La Zucca\ndel Doni Fiorentino_ (\"The Pumpkin of Doni the Florentine\"):\n\n \"There is a saying, _E non terrebbe un cocomere all'erta_--He could\n not catch a cucumber if thrown to him. Well, ye must know, my\n masters and gallant signors, that our Florentine youth in the season\n of cucumbers go to San Miniato, where there is a steep declivity, and\n when there, those who are above toss or roll them down to those\n below, while those below throw them up to those above, just as people\n play at toss-and-pitching oranges with girls at windows. So they\n keep it up, and it is considered a great shame and sign of feebleness\n (_dapocaggine_) not to be able to catch; and so in declining the\n company of a duffer one says: 'I'll have nothing to do with him--he\n isn't able to catch a cucumber.'\n\n \"It is one of the popular legends of this place that a certain\n painter named Gallo di San Miniato was a terribly severe critic of\n the works of others, but was very considerate as regarded his own.\n And having this cast at him one day, and being asked how it was, he\n frankly replied: 'I have but two eyes wherewith to see my own\n pictures, but I look at those of others with the hundred of Argus.'\"\n\nAnd indeed, as I record this, I cannot but think of a certain famous\ncritic who is so vain and captious that one must needs say that his head,\nlike a butterfly's, is all full of little _i's_.\n\n \"And this tale of two optics reminds me of the story of Messer\n Gismondo della Stufa, a Florentine of Miniato, who once said to some\n friends: 'If I had devoted myself to letters, I should have been\n twice as learned as others, and yet ye cannot tell why.' Then some\n guessed it would have been due to a good memory, while others\n suggested genius, but Messer Gismondo said: 'You are not there yet,\n my children; it is because I am so confoundedly cross-eyed that I\n could have read in two books at once.'\"\n\nIn the first legend which I narrated, the fall of the tower is attributed\nto witchcraft or evil spirits. In the very ancient frescoes of San\nMiniato there is one in which the devil causes a wall or tower to fall\ndown and crush a young monk. What confirms the legend, or its antiquity,\nis that the original bell-tower of San Miniato actually fell down in\n1499. The other then built was saved from a similar fate by the genius\nof Michael Angelo Buonarotti, who built a bank of earth to support it.\n\n \"_Haec fabula_ of the head of San Miniato,\" wrote the immortal\n Flaxius on the proof, \"teaches that he who would get round a priest\n in small trickery must arise uncommonly early--nay, in most cases\n 'twould be as well not to go to bed at all--especially when dunning\n is 'on the tap.' Concerning which word _dun_ it is erroneously\n believed in England to have been derived from the name of a certain\n Joseph Dunn, who was an indefatigable collecting bailiff. But in\n very truth 'tis from the Italian _donare_, to give oneself up to\n anything with ardour--to stick to it; in accordance with which,\n _donar guanto_, or to give the glove, means to promise to pay or give\n security. And if any philologist differs from me in opinion as to\n this, why then--_let_ him diff! Which magnanimously sounding\n conclusion, when translated according to the spirit of most who utter\n it, generally means:\n\n \"Let him be maledict, excommunicate, and damnated _ad inferos--in\n saecula saeculorum_!--twice over!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE FRIAR'S HEAD OF SANTA MARIA MAGGIORE--THE LADY WHO CONFESSED FOR\nEVERYBODY--HOLY RELICS\n\n\n \"He who speaks from a window or a pulpit, or the top of a good name\n or any high place, should speak wisely, if he speak at all, unto\n those who pass.\"\n\nThe Church of Santa Maria Maggiore \"remounts,\" as the Italians say, or\ncan be traced back to 700 A.D., but it was enlarged and renewed by the\narchitect Bueno in the twelfth century, and according to Pitre it was the\ngerm of a new style of architecture which we find much refined\n(_ringentilata_) in Santa Maria del Fiore. \"There were, regarding its\nbell-tower, which no longer exists, many tales and curious anecdotes,\nwhich might form a part of a fine collection of local legends.\" There is\nstill to-day on the wall above the little side-door facing the Via de'\nConti, a much worn head of stone, coming out of a round cornice, which is\nin all probability the one referred to in the following legend:\n\n\"There was once a condemned criminal being carried along to execution,\nand on the way passed before the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore. One of\nthe friars put his head out of a little round window, which was just\nlarge enough for it to pass through, and this was over the entrance on\nthe lesser side of the church, facing the Via de' Conti. As the\ncondemned passed by the friar said:\n\n \"'Date gli da bere, 'un morira mai.'\n \"'Give him a drink and he never will die.'\n\n\"To which the condemned replied:\n\n \"'E la testa di costi tu 'un la levrai'.\n \"'And thy head shall stick where it is for aye.'\n\n\"And so it came to pass that they could not get the head of the friar\nback through the hole, so there he died. And some say that after they\ngot the body out they carried his likeness in stone and put it there in\nthe little round window, in remembrance of the event, while others think\nthat it is the friar himself turned to stone--_chi sa_?\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe conception of a stone head having been that of a person petrified for\npunishment is of the kind which would spring up anywhere, quite\nindependently of tradition or borrowing; hence it is found the world\nover. That ideas of the kind may be common, yet not in common, nor yet\nuncommon, is shown by the resemblance of the remark of the friar:\n\n \"Give him a drink and he never will die,\"--\n\nwhich was as much as to say that inebriation would cause him to forget\nhis execution--to a verse of a song in \"Jack Sheppard\":\n\n \"For nothing so calms,\n Our dolorous qualms,\n And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles,\n So well as a drink from the bowl of Saint Giles.\"\n\nThere is a merrier tale, however, of Santa Maria Maggiore, and one which\nis certainly far more likely to have occurred than this of the petrified\n_pater_. For it is told in the ancient _Facetiae_ that a certain\nFlorentine nobleman, who was a jolly and reckless cavalier, had a wife\nwho, for all her beauty, was _bisbetica e cattiva_, capricious and\nspiteful, malicious and mischievous, a daughter of the devil, if there\never was one, who, like all those of her kind, was very devout, and went\nevery day to confession in Santa Maria Maggiore, where she confessed not\nonly her own sins, but also those of all her neighbours. And as she\ndwelt with vast eloquence on the great wickedness of her husband--having\na tongue which would serve to sweep out an oven, or even a worse place\n{150}--the priest one day urged the husband to come to confession,\nthinking that it might lead to more harmony between the married couple.\nWith which he complied; but when the priest asked him to tell what sins\nhe had committed, the cavalier answered, \"There is no need of it, Padre;\nyou have heard them all from my wife many a time and oft, and with them a\nhundred times as many which I never dreamed of committing--including\nthose of all Florence.\"\n\nIt was in the first Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, which stood on the\nsite of the present, that San Zenobio in the fourth century had walled\ninto the high altar an inestimable gift which he had received from the\nPope. This was \"the two bodies of the glorious martyrs Abdon and Sennen,\nwho had been thrown unto wild beasts, which would not touch them,\nwhereupon they were put to death by swords in the hands of viler human\nbeasts.\" I may remark by the way, adds the observant Flaxius, that\nrelics have of late somewhat lost their value in Florence. I saw not\nlong ago for sale a very large silver casket, stuffed full of the remains\nof the holiest saints, and the certificates of their authenticity, and I\nwas offered the whole for the value of the silver in the casket--the\nrelics being generously thrown in! And truly the mass of old bones,\nclay, splinters, nails, rags with blood, bits of wood, dried-up eyes, _et\ncetera_, was precisely like the Voodoo-box or conjuring bag of an old\ndarkey in the United States. But then the latter was heathen! \"That is\na _very_ different matter.\"\n\n\n\n\nBIANCONE, THE GIANT STATUE IN THE SIGNORIA\n\n\n \"_Fons Florentinus_.--In foro lympidas aquas fons effundit marmoreis\n figuris Neptuni et Faunorum ab Amanate confectis.\"--_Templum Naturae\n Historicum_. HENRICI KORNMANNI, A.D. 1614.\n\nThe most striking object in the most remarkable part of Florence is the\ncolossal marble Neptune in the Fountain of the Signoria, by Ammanati,\ndating from 1575. He stands in a kind of car or box, drawn by horses\nwhich Murray declares \"are exceedingly spirited.\" They are indeed more\nso than he imagined, for according to popular belief, when the spirit\nseizes them and their driver, and the bronze statues round them, they all\ngo careering off like mad beings over the congenial Arno, and even on to\nthe Mediterranean! That is to say, that they did so on a time, till they\nwere all petrified with their driver in the instant when they were\nbounding like the billows, which are typified by white horses.\n\nNeptune has, however, lost his name for the multitude, who simply call\nhim the Biancone, or Great White Man; and this is the legend (given to me\nin writing by a witch), by which he is popularly known:\n\n BIANCONE, THE GOD OF THE ARNO.\n\n\"Biancone was a great and potent man, held in great respect for his\ngrandeur and manly presence, a being of tremendous strength, and the true\ntype of a magician, {152} he being a wizard indeed. In those days there\nwas much water in the Arno, {153} and Biancone passed over it in his car.\n\n\"There was then in the Arno a witch, a beautiful girl, the _vera dea_ or\ntrue goddess of the river, in the form of an eel. And Biancone finding\nthis fish every day as he drove forth in his chariot, spurned it away\n_con cattivo garbo_--with an ill grace. And one day when he had done\nthis more contemptuously than usual, the eel in a rage declared she would\nbe revenged, and sent to him a smaller eel. But Biancone crushed its\nhead (_le stiaccio il chapo_).\n\n\"Then the eel appeared with a little branch of olive with berries, and\nsaid:\n\n \"'Entro in questa carozza,\n Dove si trove l'uomo,\n L'uomo il piu potente,\n Che da tutti e temuto;\n Ed e un uomo grande,\n E grande, e ben vero;\n Ma il gran dio del Arno,\n Il potente Biancone,\n Non sara il solo potente;\n Vi sara una piccola pesce,\n Una piccola anguilla;\n Benche piccola la sia;\n Fara vedere la sua potenza\n Tu Biancone, a mi,\n Le magie, e siei mezzo stregone\n Io una piccola anguillina,\n Sono una vera fata,\n E sono la Fata dell Arno,\n Tu credevi d'essere\n Il solo dio d'Arno,\n Ma ci, no, io che sono\n La regina, e la vera,\n Vera dea qui del Arno.'\n\n \"'Lo, I enter in this chariot!\n Where I find the man of power,\n Who is feared by all before him,\n And he is a mighty being,\n Great he is, there's no denying;\n But the great god of the Arno,\n The so powerful Biancone,\n Is not all alone in power;\n There's a little fish or eel, who,\n Though but little, has the power,\n Mighty man, to make thee tremble!\n Biancone, thou art only\n Unto me as half a wizard;\n I, a little eel of the Arno,\n Am the fairy of the river;\n Thou didst deem thyself its ruler;\n I deny it--for I only\n Am the queen and the true goddess--\n The true goddess of the Arno.'\n\n\"Having said this, she touched with the twig of olive the little eel whom\nBiancone had killed, and repeated while touching it:\n\n \"'Anguillina che dal Grande\n Siei stata stiacciata,\n Io con questo ramoscello\n Ti faccio in vita tornare,\n E al Grande, io, del Arno\n Tutto il mio pensiero,\n Tutto posso raccontare.'\n\n \"'I, little eel, who by the mighty\n Man hast been to death delivered,\n Do call thee back unto the living!\n Wake thee with this twig of olive!\n Now unto this Biancone,\n Thou who art too of the Arno,\n Shalt speak out thy mind and freely.'\n\n\"Then the little eel, resuscitated and influenced by the goddess of the\nArno, said:\n\n \"'Biancone, tu che siei\n Il potente dio dell' Arno,\n L'anguilla discacciata,\n Che tu ai discacciata,\n E di te inamorata,\n E di te piu potente,\n E se tu la discaccerai,\n Ti giura la vendetta,\n E si vendichera. . . .'\n\n \"'Biancone, Biancone!\n Thou great spirit of the Arno,\n Lo, the eel by thee despised\n Turns again with love unto thee:\n She surpasses thee in power;\n If she is by thee rejected,\n She will vow revenge upon thee,\n And will be avenged truly.'\n\n\"Biancone replied:\n\n \"'Io non voglio amar donne,\n Sia pure d'una bellezza\n Da fare a cecare,\n Ma per me non mi fa niente,\n Non voglio amare donne,\n Sara per bellezza una\n Gran persona, ma non vero,\n Per potenza, per che piu,\n Piu potente di me non\n Vi e alcun . . . '\n\n \"'I seek not the love of women.\n Thou art of a dazzling beauty;\n Unto that I am indifferent;\n I seek not the love of ladies.\n Thou may'st be full great in beauty,\n Not in power, for in power\n I shall ever be the greater.'\n\n\"Then the eel arose {155} and said:\n\n \"'Biancone, or guardami,\n Guarda mi bene perche piu,\n Non mi vedrai vedermi,\n E se mi vedrai,\n Non mi potrai toccare,\n Dici che piu potente\n Di te non ce nessuno,\n Ma sa io la prima,\n Mia potenza e quella\n Di vederti inamorato,\n Di me vere inamorato,\n Ma che ora sono io,\n Che ti discaccio per la tua,\n Al te si guardami mi vedi.'\n\n \"'Biancone, now regard me,\n Look well at me now, for never,\n Wilt thou ever more behold me,\n Or if thou behold'st me, touch me,\n And thou say'st that thou hast power,\n And that none can rival with thee.\n Thou shalt learn that I am stronger,\n For I've power to make thee love me,\n But 'tis I who now reject thee,\n If thou doubtest--now behold me!'\n\n\"And then, instead of an eel, appeared a maid of dazzling beauty, and\nBiancone sought to embrace her, but could not, and said:\n\n \"'Contentami una volta\n Sola, o dea dell' Arno;\n Lascia che ti abbraci\n Una volta sola, o dea.'\n\n \"'For a single time content me,\n Lovely goddess of the Arno;\n Let me but for once embrace thee,\n Yield to me I pray, O fairy!'\n\n\"But the goddess of the Arno replied:\n\n \"'Una donna piu potente\n Di te, non si lascia\n Vincere da uno superbo;\n Tuo pari mi basta di\n Far ti vedere, che c'e\n Persona ancora di te\n Piu potente . . . Ora io\n Mi voglio vendi care per che,\n Tu mi ai discacciata,\n Tante volte, ed ora invece\n Tu saresti bene contento\n Di abbraciarmi anche,\n Anche or per una volta,\n Ma no. Addio Biancone!'\n\n \"'A woman who has greater power\n Than thine will surely not be conquered\n Merely by pride in outward seeming,\n But now, in brief, I will content me\n By proving mine the greater power;\n I seek to avenge myself upon thee,\n Since of old thou didst despise me\n Many times, but now wouldst gladly,\n Though it were but for once, embrace me--\n Farewell for ever, Biancone!'\n\n\"And Biancone fled, but he always bore the beautiful goddess in his mind,\nand could not forget her, so he too meditated a vengeance.\n\n\"But the vengeance of a woman strikes more powerfully than that of a man.\n\n\"One day when Biancone was passing over the Arno in his chariot, with all\nhis attendants, he thought he saw the eel engaged in forming the basin of\na fountain (_vasca_), and bear it away in a car, she herself being in it,\n{156} and it was covered with glass; but in the time that he thought (or\ndreamed) that he saw this, the eel appeared and said:\n\n \"'Il momenta della mia vendetta\n E arrivato, e ti giuro\n Giuro che la mia vendetta\n E potente, or Turanna,\n Mia regina delle Fate,\n E dea dell Arno, commanda\n Che questa carroza sprafondi,\n E che tu e la tua servitu,\n Non vi potrete salvare.'\n\n \"'Now the time to wreak my vengeance\n Has arrived, and I swear thee\n That my vengeance shall be fearful,\n Very great, because my sovereign,\n Turanna, queen of all the fairies,\n Orders that thy chariot\n Shall be firmly fixed for ever,\n And that thou and all thy following\n Never more canst hope for rescue.'\n\n\"Then she sang again:\n\n \"'Confino i tuoi servitori,\n Quelli che ti aiut avanno\n A discacciar sui, o\n Diventare della forma,\n Mezze bestie, mezzi uomini,\n E tu o Biancone,\n Che tanto grande siei,\n Ti confino a stare sempre,\n Sempre ritto e non potrete\n Mai ragionare, ne camminare\n Solo quando sara luna,\n Luna piena, passero io\n Ti vedro, e mi vedrai,\n Ma parlarmi non potrai.\n\n \"'Quando sara luna piena,\n E che sara una notte,\n Che sara mezza nuvola,\n E mezza serena s'enderai,\n Della tua carozza nei,\n Nei momenti che la Luna\n Resta sotto le nuvole,\n E cosi potrei favellare,\n Con tutte le statue, che ai\n Attorno, allor tua carozza,\n E col mio permesso potrai\n Andare anche dai tuoi amici!'\n\n \"'I hereby compel thy servants,\n Those who aided thee, to vanish,\n Or take forms half brute, half human. {158}\n As for thee, O Biancone!\n Thou who art so tall and stately,\n Thou shalt stand erect for ever,\n Without power to speak or wander,\n Only when the full moon shining\n Falls upon thee, I will pass thee,\n I shall see thee; thou will see me,\n Without power to address me!\n\n \"'When the moon in full is shining,\n Yet when clouds begin to gather;\n Half in light and half in darkness,\n Thou may'st only in the moment\n When the moon is overclouded,\n Leave thy chariot, and have converse\n With the statues who are round thee,\n Then thou may'st, by my permission,\n Go among thy friends, then only.'\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nI may here explain to the reader that this tale with its elaborate\ninvocations is not current as here given among the _people_. Such forms\nand formulas are confined to the witches, who, as in all countries, are\nthe keepers of mysterious traditions. All that is generally heard as\nregards this subject is, that when the full moon shines on Biancone at\nmidnight, he becomes animated, and walks about the Signoria conversing\nwith the other statues.\n\nThe Neptune was, with horses and all, produced by Bartolommeo Ammanati\nbetween 1564 and 1565. It has a certain merit of grandeur, but in lesser\ndegree is like its neighbour Cacus, by Baccio Bandinelli, which Benvenuto\nCellini justly regarded as resembling a mere bag of fat. When Michael\nAngelo saw the Neptune he exclaimed: \"Ammanato! Ammanato! che bel blocco\nche hai sciupato!\"--\"Ammanato, what a fine block of marble thou hast\nspoiled!\"\n\nThe Italians say that the satyr at the corner of the Palazzo Vecchio is a\ncopy, because the original was stolen one night in January in 1821, \"and\nis now one of the finest bronzes in the British Museum of London.\" It\nmay be so; there was a great deal of fine stealing in those days. I\nsuspect, however, that the truth is that as these images return to life\nnow and then, the satyr availed himself of his revivification to set\nforth on his travels, and coming to London and finding good company in\nthe British Museum, settled down there. But truly, when I think of the\nwanton and heartless destruction of beautiful and valuable old relics\nwhich has gone on of late years in Florence, to no earthly purpose, and\nto no profit whatever, I feel as if all the tales of such things being\nstolen or sold away to foreign museums were supremely silly, and as if it\nwere all just so much saved from ruin--in case the tales are true.\n\n \"_Haec fabula docet_,\" wrote Flaxius, \"a strange lesson. For as it\n was anciently forbidden to make images, because it was an imitation\n of God's work; and secondly, because men believed that spirits would\n enter into them--even so doth it become all novel-writers, romancers,\n and poets, to take good heed how they portray satyrs, free-love\n nymphs, and all such deviltry, because they may be sure that into\n these models or types there will enter many a youthful soul, who will\n be led away thereby to madness and ruin. Which is, I take it, the\n most practical explanation for commandment, which hath been as yet\n set _coram populo_.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE RED GOBLIN OF THE BARGELLO\n\n\n \"Lord Foulis in his castle sat,\n And beside him old Red-cap sly;\n 'Now tell me, thou sprite, who art mickle of might,\n The death which I shall die?'\"\n\n --SCOTT'S _Border Minstrelsy_.\n\nThe Bargello has been truly described as one of the most interesting\nhistorical monuments of Florence, and it is a very picturesque type of a\ntowered mediaeval palace. It was partly burned down in 1322, and rebuilt\nin its present form by Neri di Fioravanti, after which it served as a\nprison. Restored, or modernised, it is now a museum. As I conjectured,\nthere was some strange legend connected with it, and this was given to me\nas follows:\n\n IL FOLLETTO ROSSO.\n\n\"The Red Goblin is a spirit who haunts the Bargello, or was there of old\nin the prisons, _nelle carceri_, and he always foretold to every prisoner\nwhat his sentence would be before it was pronounced.\n\n\"He always appeared in the cell of the condemned, and first lighting a\ncandle, showed himself all clad in red, and said to the prisoner:\n\n \"'Piangi, piangi, ma piangi forte,\n E prepararti che e giunta\n L'ora della tua morte.'\n\n \"'Weep, oh weep full many a tear;\n Make ready; thy hour for death is near.'\n\n\"Then if the prisoner replied boldly:\n\n \"'Anima chi siei!\n Ti prego di volermi aiutare\n A liberarmi dalla morte!'\n\n \"'Spirit, whoe'er thou be,\n I beg thee now for aid;\n From death pray set me free!'\n\nThen the goblin would burst into a laugh and say:\n\n \"'Non piangere, ridi, ridi!\n Ma ride sempre, e spera\n Che io ti aiutera!'\n\n\"But if the prisoner had replied badly, or cursed, or said '_Vai al\ndiavolo_!' or '_Che il diavolo ti porti_!'--then there were heard\ndreadful sounds, such as frightened all the prisoners and assistants, and\nthe goblin vanished crying:\n\n \"'Woe, woe, and woe to thee!\n For thou soon shalt punished be;\n Away be led, to lose your head,\n There is no hope for thee!'\n\n\"And after that the man might well despair. Yet the Red Goblin was a\njolly sprite when not crossed, and made great sport for the prisoners,\nwho all knew him. He went into every cell, and would tell wild tales,\nand relate to every one all that he, the prisoner, had done since he was\na boy, and how he came to be locked up, and what would be the end of it,\nand told all this with such peals of laughter that the most unhappy were\nfain to laugh with him.\n\n\"Then the assistants and the director hearing such sounds, thought it was\nthe prisoners rioting, but could not detect them. {161a} And the spirit\nrelieved many innocent men from punishment, and especially visited those\ncondemned to wear the iron collar or _gogna_, which was fastened to a\npost, but at the Bargello it was on the Campanile outside, in sight of\nall the people. {161b}\n\n\"Now there was a young man in the prison who was good at heart, and\ndeeply repented that he had done wrong, and now feared that he indeed was\nin the power of Satan, and destined to be in prison for all this life and\nin _inferno_ all the next.\n\n\"And when he was thus sunk in misery one night, he heard him, and was in\ngreat alarm, but it said, 'Fear not, for I am the protecting spirit of\nthe prisoners in the Bargello, and have come to free thee; put thy trust\nin me and I will save thee!'\n\n\"Then he told the youth how he was to act, and bade him say certain\nthings when examined, and follow closely all the goblin would whisper to\nhim; but whether it was his fault or his failure, he missed every point\nand went wrong in his replies, the end being that he was condemned to\nprison for life. Truly it went to his heart to think that while he lived\nhe should always see the sun looking like a chess-board, {162} and\nbitterly reflected on the proverb:\n\n \"'Ne a torto ne a ragione,\n Non ti lasciar metter prigione.'\n\n \"'Whether you're right or wrong, my man,\n Keep out of prison as long as you can.'\n\n\"But it went most bitterly to his heart to think that he had by his own\nstupidity and want of study lost the chance of freedom. And for some\ntime the Red Goblin never came near him. But at last the prisoner heard\nhim call, and then the spirit said, 'Now thou see'st to what a pass thy\nneglect of my advice has brought thee. Truly _il diavolo non ti\ntenterebbe_--the devil takes no pains to tempt such a fool as thou, for\nhe knows that he will get him without the trouble of asking. And yet I\nwill give thee one more chance, and this time be thou wide awake and\nremember that _a buona volonta_, _non manca facolta_--where there's a\nwill there's a way.'\n\n\"Now there was a great lord and mighty man of the state who had been in\nthe Bargello, and greatly comforted by the Red Goblin, who now went unto\nthis Signore, speaking so well of the young man that the latter ere long\nhad a new trial. And this time, I warrant you, he studied his case like\na lawyer; for _asino punto_, _convien che trotte_--when an ass is goaded\nhe must needs trot--and the end thereof was that he trotted out of\nprison, and thence into the world, and having learned repentance as well\nas the art of watching his wits and turning them to account, prospered\nmightily, and to his dying day never forgot to pray for the Red Goblin of\nthe Bargello.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere have been other spirits which haunted prisons; there was one in the\nBastile, and the White Ladies of Berlin and Parma are of their kind.\nThis of the Bargello is certainly the household sprite with the red cap,\nin a short shirt, who was very well known to the Etruscans and Romans,\nand afterwards to the Germans, the _Lutin_ of the French castles, the\nRobin Goodfellow of England, and the Domovoy of the Russians. His\ncharacteristics are reckless good nature mingled with mischief and\nrevenge; but he is always, when not thwarted, at heart a _bon garcon_.\nOf the Bargello I have also the following anecdotes or correlative\nincidents:\n\n GIORGIO.\n\n\"Truly I will not swear that this is a story of the Bargello, for I am\nvery particular as to truth, Signore, but I will swear that 'tis of a\nprison in Florence, and that when it happened the Bargello was the only\nprison there. And it runs thus: Giorgio, whoever he was, had killed a\nman, and as the law ran in his case, in those strange days, he could not\nbe executed till he had confessed or owned the deed. And he would not\nconfess.\n\n\"Now there was a lawyer, _un notaio_, _o chi che si fosse_ (or whoever he\nwas), who declared that he would bring to pass with a trick what justice\nhad not been able to do with torture. So going to the prison, he called\nfor wine, and when they had drunk deep he cried heartily:\n\n\"'_Orsu_, _Giorgio_, _stiamo un poco allegri_, _cantiam qualche\ncosa_'--'Come now, Giorgio, let's be merry and sing something!'\n\n\"'_Come ti piace_'--'As you please,' quoth Master Giorgio. 'You sing one\nline.'\n\n\"So the notary began, touching a lute:\n\n \"'Giorgi ha morto l'huomo.'\n \"'Giorgio once killed a man.'\n\n\"To which Giorgio, who was sharp as a razor, added:\n\n \"'Cosi non canta Giorgio.'\n \"'But it was not thus that Giorgio sang.'\n\n\"So it passed into a proverb, meaning as much as _Cosi non dico io_--I\ndon't say that; or _Cosi non l'intendo io_--I don't see it in that light.\nAnd so the notary found that you cannot see Verona from the top of every\nhill.\n\n\"And there is another story of a prisoner, who had long curling hair in\nthe old Florentine style. Hair, Signore, like charity, may cover much\nsin. Now this man, after he had been a while in the Bargello, got his\nsentence, which was to have his ears cropped off. But when the _boia_ or\nhangman came to do the job, he found that the man had had his ears cut\noff smooth long before. Whence came the proverb:\n\n \"'Quel che havea mozzi gli orecchi,\n E'ci sara de gli arreticati.'\n\n \"'He whose ears had been cut away,\n Fooled another, or so they say.'\n\nWhich is a proverb to this day, when a man finds that somebody has been\nbefore him.\n\n\"And it may have been that Donatello, the great sculptor, was in the\nBargello when he said, '_E'rise a me ed io riso a lui_'--'He laughs at\nme, and I do laugh at him.' Donatello was _in quistione_, or in trouble\nwith the law, and in prison, for having killed one of his pupils. The\nMarquis di Ferrara asked him if he was guilty. But Donatello had already\nreceived from the Marquis a license to slay any one in self-defence, and\nso he made that answer.\"\n\n A LEGEND OF THE BARGELLO.\n\n\"One day a young man, who had been gaming and lost, threw some dirt at an\nimage of the Virgin in one of the numerous shrines in the city, blaming\nher for his bad luck. He was observed by a boy, who reported it to the\nauthorities, and was soon arrested. Having confessed that he did it in a\nrage at having lost, he was hanged the same night from one of the windows\nof the Bargello.\" {164}\n\n * * * * *\n\nThereby adding another ghost or _folletto_ to those who already haunt the\nplace. It should be noted that according to Italian witch-lore a ghost\nis never simply the spirit of the departed as he _was_, but a spirit\ntransformed. A witch becomes a _fata_, good or bad, and all men\nsomething more than they were.\n\nAmong other small legends or tales in which the Bargello is referred to,\nI find the following, of which I must first mention that _debito_ in\nItalian means not only debt but duty, and that _fare un debito_ is not\nonly to get into debt, but to do what is just, upright, and honourable.\n\n \"It happened once, long ago, that a certain good fellow was being\n escorted, truly not by a guard of honour, but by several\n bum-bailiffs, to the Bargello, and met a friend who asked him why he\n was in custody. To which he replied, 'Other men are arrested and\n punished for crime or villainy, but I am treated thus for having\n acted honourably, _per aver fatto il debito mio_.'\n\n \"And it happened to this same man that after he had been entertained\n for a time at the public expense in that _gran albergo_, or great\n hotel, the Bargello, that the Council of Eight, or the public\n magistracy, gave him a hearing, and told him that he must promptly\n pay the debt which he owed, which was one of fifty _scudi_ or crowns.\n To which he replied that he could not. Then the chief of the Eight\n said, 'We will find out a way to make you pay it, be sure of that.'\n To which he answered, '_De gratia_, _Signore_, while you are about\n it, then, make it a hundred, for I have great need just now of\n another fifty crowns.'\"\n\nPrisoners in the Bargello, as elsewhere, were subject to the most\nappalling injustice and cruelty. Thus we are told of Cosimo di Medici,\nwhen he was doing all in his power to assassinate or poison Piero\nStrozzi, that he was always very circumspect as regarded the venom, \"and\ndid not use it till he had studied the effects and doses on condemned\nprisoners in the Bargello.\" But \"condemned prisoners\" here means\ndoubtless those who were simply condemned to be made the subjects of such\nexperiments, as may be supposed, when we learn that Cosimo obtained the\nrecipe of making up a poison from Messer Apollino, secretary of Piero\nLuigi, by _torturing_ him. It was thus they did in good old pious times.\nPoisoning, as a most familiar and frequent thing, even in England, did\nnot pass out of practice, even in politics, until that great beginning of\na moral era, the Reformation.\n\n\"_Haec fabula docet_,\" wrote the good and wise Flaxius on the revise,\n\"that as a _Zoccolone_ friar is the best priest for a peasant, so even a\n_buon diavolo_, or jolly devil, or a boon blackguard who knows his men,\nis, perhaps, generally the best guide for certain kinds of rough sinners,\noften setting them aright in life where a holy saint would be _inter\nsacrem et saxum_, or in despair. As for poisoning, I fear _that_ cup,\nfar from passing away, is, under another form, passed round far more\nfrequently now than it ever was. For Francois Villon declared that lying\ngossip, tittle-tattle, and second-hand slander were worse than poison\n(which simply kills the body), and this with infinite refinement prevails\nfar more in modern society (being aided by newspapers) than it ever did\nof yore anywhere. _This_ is the poison of the present day, which has\nmore _veneficae_ to spread it than the Locustan or Borgian venoms ever\nfound. Now for a merrier tale!\"\n\n \"If all that's written, talked or sunge\n Must be of the follies of menne,\n 'Twere better that no one moved his tongue,\n Or that none could use a penne.\n\n \"Jog on, jog on the footpath-waye,\n And cheerily jump the stile;\n A merry heart goes all the daye,\n A sad one tires in a mile!\"\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF SAN LORENZO\nTHE CANON AND THE DEBTOR, AND THE CATS IN THE CLOISTER\n\n\n \"Pazienza, paziendum!\n Disse il diavolo a Sant Antonium.\"\n\n \"A scratching he heard and a horrible groan,\n As of hundreds of cats with mollrowing and moan:\n 'Oh!' said he to himself, 'sure the devil is come.'\"\n\n --_Mr. Jones and the Cats_.\n\nThe celebrated Church of San Lorenzo is a grand museum of art, even among\nthe many of its kind in Florence. It was originally a Roman Christian\nbasilica, built by the matron Giuliana, which edifice was consecrated\nA.D. 373 by Saint Ambrose, and called the Basilica Ambrosiana. It was\npartially rebuilt by Brunelleschi in 1435, and completed with sad\nalteration, and finished by Antonio Manetti. As is well known, or has\nbeen made known by many great poets, it contains the grandest statuary by\nMichael Angelo in its monuments of Lorenzo de' Medici and his uncle\nGiuliano.\n\nThis church served as a sanctuary in the olden time, and of this there is\na tale told in the old collections of facetiae, which, though trifling,\nis worth recalling as connected with it.\n\n IL DEBITORE.\n\n\"Messer Paolo dell' Ottonaio, a Canon of San Lorenzo in Florence, a\ncheerful and facetious man, found a certain citizen one of his friends,\nwho had taken refuge as a debtor in the church; and the latter stood in\nsorrowful and pensive attitude, having in no wise the appearance of one\nwho had found a treasure, or who was going to be married, or to dine with\nthe Duke, or anything of the kind.\n\n\"'Man, what aileth thee?' cried the Canon. 'Has thy wife beaten thee, or\nthe cat broken thy best crockery, or thy favourite housemaid run away?'\n\n\"'What I have,' replied the poor man, 'is ten times worse than all that\nput together.' And so, _havendo caro di sfogarsi_, being glad to relieve\nhimself, he told Messer Paolo all his sorrows, wailing that his\ncreditors, having taken all his property, threatened his person, swearing\nthat they would put him in the _Stinche_, which was so horrible a prison\nthat it was infamous even then all the world over as an _inferno_ where\nevery one confined at once became _infermo_, or a hell which made men\nill, and that, being in despair, he would have taken his own life had he\nnot come across a charming book on patience which had consoled him.\n\n\"Messer Paolo asked him whether the creditors had been paid in full.\n\n\"'Alas, no!' replied the debtor; 'not one half; nor will they ever get\nthe rest, for I have naught.'\n\n\"'In that case,' answered the Canon, 'it seems to me that it is your\ncreditors and not you who should read that charming book, since it is\nevident that, as they are to have nothing till the Greek Kalends, or on\nSaint Never's day, that they must have patience whether they will or no.'\n\n\"Well, as the saying is, _Pazienza vince scienza_ (Patience beats\nknowledge), and _Chi ha pazienza vede le sue vendette_ (Wait long enough\nand you'll get your revenges), the Canon got for the poor man money\nenough to make a composition with his creditors, and he, having\nexpectations which they knew not of, compounded with them for five per\ncent., on conditions written, that he should pay all up 'as he earned\nmore money.'\n\n\"And so he was set free, and it befell on a day that some relation died\nand left him a fortune, whereupon his creditors summoned him to pay his\nold debts, which he refused to do. Then they cited him before the\nCouncil as a fraudulent debtor, but he replied by showing his quittance\nor agreement, and declared that he was only obliged to pay out of his\n_earnings_, and that he had inherited his money and not earned it.\nWhereupon there was great dispute, and one of the creditors who had shown\nhimself most unfeeling and inhuman protested that to get money in any way\nwhatever was to _guadagnare_ (a gain by labour), since it was labour even\nto put it in one's pocket. Now, this man had a handsome wife, who, it\nwas generally known, greatly enriched her husband by dishonouring him, at\nwhich he willingly winked.\n\n\"Whereupon the debtor asked the magistrate if an ox carried off a bundle\nof hay on his horns, which had by chance been stuck into it, he could be\nsaid to have earned it by honest labour? At which there was such a roar\nof laughter, and so many cries of 'No! no! no!' that the court went no\nfurther, and acquitted the culprit.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is an odd bit of folklore attached to this church. As may be\nsupposed, and as I have frequently verified, \"the idle repetition of vain\nwords,\" as the heathen do, or prayers in a language which people do not\nunderstand, generally lead to most ridiculous perversions of the unknown\ntongue. A popular specimen of this is the _Salve Regina delle Ciane\nFiorentine di San Lorenzo_, or the \"_Salve Regina_ of the Florentine\nwomen of the lower class, as given in San Lorenzo.\" _Ciana_ is given by\nBarretti as a specially Florentine word.\n\n LA SALVE REGINA.\n\n\"Sarvia della Regina, dreco la Misericordia, vita d'un cieco, spezia\nnostra, sarvia tua, te chiamao esule, fili e vacche!\n\n\"Ate sospirao, i' gemeo fetente in barca e lacrima la valle.\n\n\"L' la eggo educata nostra, _illons in tus_.\n\n\"Misericordia se' cieli e in ossi e coperte, e lesine benedette, frutti,\nventri, tubi, novi, posti cocche, esilio e tende!\n\n\"O crema, o pia, o dorce virgola Maria!--Ammenne!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis is perfectly in the spirit of the Middle Ages, of which so much is\nstill found in the cheapest popular Italian literature. I have elsewhere\nmentioned that it was long before the Reformation, when the Church was at\nthe height of her power, that blasphemies, travesties of religious\nservices, and scathing sarcasms of monkish life reached their extreme,\nand were never equalled afterwards, even by Protestant satirists. The\n_Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum_ of Hutten and Reuchlin was an avowed\ncaricature by an enemy. The revelations of monkish life by Boccaccio,\nCintio, Arlotto, and a hundred other good Catholics, were a thousand\ntimes more damaging than the _Epistolae_, because they were the\nunconscious betrayals of friends.\n\nSince writing the foregoing, I have obtained the following, entitled,\n_The Pater Noster of the Country People in the Old Market_, or,\n\n IL PATER NOSTER DEI BECERI DI MERCATO.\n\n\"Pate nostro quisin celi sanctifice tuore nome tumme; avvenia regno\ntumme; fia te volunta stua, in celo en terra.\n\n\"Pane nostro cotediano da nobis sodie, e dimitti nobis debita nostra,\nsicutte ette nos dimittimus debitori nostri, sette ananossie in due\ncasse, intenzione sedie nosse e mulo.--Amenne!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is, however, this great difference in the two prayers here given,\nthat the _Salve Regina_ is intended for a jest, while the paternoster is\ngiven as actually taken down from a _ciana_, and is rather a specimen of\ndialect than a _jeu d'esprit_. The following _Ave Maria_ is also\nserious, and simply a curiosity of language:--\n\n L'AVE MARIA.\n\n\"Avemmaria grazia piena, domino teco beneditta e frustris, e mulieri\nbusse e benedetti fruttus ventris tui eiusse!\n\n\"Santa Maria Materdei, ora pro nobisse, pecatoribusse, tinche, tinona,\nmortis nostrisse.--Ammenne!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThese specimens of Italianised Latin are not so grotesque as some which\nwere written out for me in all seriousness by a poor woman. A specimen\nof the latter is given in my work on \"Etruscan-Roman Traditions.\"\n\nLast of all, there came to me a small tale of little value, save that it\nprofesses to account for the reason why so many cats have ever flourished\nand been nourished in the cloister of San Lorenzo, these felines being,\nindeed, in a small way among the lions of Florence. It is as follows:--\n\n I GATTI DI SAN LORENZO.\n\n\"In the cloisters of San Lorenzo there are many cats, and every evening\npeople may be seen who go there to feed them, among whom are many old men\nand women. But these cats were long ago themselves human, that is to\nsay, they were once all wizards and witches, who bear their present form\nfor punishment of an evil deed.\n\n\"There was once a very wealthy and powerful family in Florence, at the\nhead of which was a gentleman and lady who had an only daughter, in whom\nwas all their love and hope. Among their servants in a higher position\nwas an old woman, who was very vindictive and easily offended, so that\nshe could brood over deadly revenge for years for the least affront, and\nshe fancied she had a great many, because when she had neglected her duty\nat times she had been scolded by her mistress or master.\n\n\"Now this old woman knew that death or disaster to the daughter would\ndrive the parents mad; and so having recourse to witchcraft, she put into\nthe drink of the young lady a decoction, the result of which was that she\nbegan to waste away, growing weaker and paler, without feeling any pain.\n\n\"Then her parents, in great fear, consulted the best physicians, who did\nno good, for indeed it was a case beyond their skill. And at last,\nbeginning to believe that there was something unearthly in it all, they\nsent for an old woman who cured by occult art. {171} And when she came\nshe looked steadily at the girl, then frowned and shook her head, and\nasked for a ribbon or cord, no matter what, so that it were one which the\nyoung lady had worn about her waist. With this she measured accurately\nthe height of the patient from head to foot, and then the width from hand\nto hand, it being desirous that the arms be of equal length; but there\nwas the disproportion of the thickness of a piece of money. Then the\nwitch said:\n\n\"'This is none of my affair as regards the cure. Your daughter is\nbewitched, and I can indeed make the witch appear, but to beat her and\ncompel her to remove the spell depends on you alone.'\n\n\"Now they, suspecting the old servant, sent for her, but she had\ndisappeared and could not be found. Then the doctress took a caldron,\nand put into it hot water and the undergarments of the girl and certain\nherbs, and boiled them all together, singing an incantation, and, taking\na knife, sharpened it on the table, whetting it on the chemise of the\nyoung lady.\n\n\"Then the old servant woman appeared at the door, against her will,\nforced by the power of the spell, in an agony of rage and bitterness; but\nshe was at once seized and beaten, whereupon she consented to unbewitch\nthe girl, who speedily recovered.\n\n\"Now Florence was at that time fearfully afflicted with evil witches, who\ndefied all authority, and spread disease and death far and wide; but this\naffair of the bewitched lady being made known, both priests and laymen\nrose up in wrath, and the sorceress fled for sanctuary to the cloisters\nof San Lorenzo.\n\n\"Then to save their lives the _Strege_ made a compromise with the\npriests, and it was agreed that they should no longer live as witches, or\ndo any harm, but all live and die as cats in the cloister, where they\nshould be regularly fed, and exist in peace. Which agreement has been\nduly carried out to this day, and among these cats are many who were once\nwitches in human form hundreds of years ago.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis narrative is not so much a story as an account of the manner in\nwhich bewitchment is undone by another witch. The reader will find the\nincantations in the chapter entitled \"The Spell of the Boiling Clothes,\"\nin my work on \"Etruscan-Roman Remains.\" One of the most serious riots\nwhich has occurred in Milan for many years took place March 3, 1891, when\nthe populace tortured terribly and tried to kill a witch, who had, it was\nbelieved, been detected by this spell.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"_Haec fabula docet_,\" adds the wise Flaxius, \"this story suggests a\nreason why a certain kind of ladies of ecclesiastical proclivities are\nalways called tabbies. And that there is something in it I can well\nbelieve, knowing one who, when she calls her rector or bishop '_De-ar\nman_!' does so in a manner which marvellously suggests the purring of a\ncat. And the manner in which the tabby pounces on the small birds, mice,\nand gold-fish of others--_i.e._, their peccadilloes, and small pets or\npleasures, which in good faith do her no harm--seems like literally\ncopying the feline--upon line. . . .\n\n\"Oh! ye who visit the cloister, and see the cats, think well on this\nlegend, and especially on the deep identity of witches with tabbies!\n\n\"And for a moral, note that, with all their sins, what the witches and\ncats aimed at above all things was _food_, with which they have remained\ncontent, according to the exquisite lyric by the divine Shelley, p. 661,\nDowden's edition:--\n\n \"'This poor little cat\n Only wanted a rat,\n To stuff out its own little maw,\n And it were as good\n Some people had such food\n To make them _hold their jaw_.'\"\n\n\n\n\nLEGEND OF THE PIAZZA SAN BIAGIO\n\n\n \"For by diabolical art he assumed varied forms, even the human, and\n deceived people by many occult tricks.\"--FROMANN, _Tractatus de\n Fascinatione_, 1675.\n\nThis is a slight tale of light value, and not new, but it has assumed\nlocal colour, and may amuse the reader.\n\n\"It was a great art of witches and sorcerers of old to give a man or\nwoman by art the appearance of another person, and this they called\n'drawing white lines with charcoal,' and there is many a fine tale about\nit. Now it was about the time when Berta spun and owls wore silk cloaks\nthat a Signore Nannincino lived in the old Piazza San Biagio. He had\nmany small possessions in Florence, but the roast chickens of the supper,\nor his great piece, was an estate in the country called the Mula a\nQuinto, for which all his relations longed, like wolves for a fat sheep.\nAnd Nannincini, being sharp to a keen edge, and knowing how to lend water\nand borrow wine, had promised this estate in secret to everybody, and got\nfrom them many a gratification, and supped and dined with them for years,\nyet after this died without leaving a will.\n\n\"Then six of his relations assembled and resolved to secure the property,\nthough they invoked the devil. And to aid them they took a certain scamp\nnamed Giano di Selva, who somewhat resembled the departed Nannincino, and\nhe, calling in a witch of his acquaintance, was made by sorcery to look\nas much like the defunct as two beads of the same rosary. So Nannincino\nwas removed and Giano put in his place, where he lay still for an hour,\nand then began to show signs of life. And after a time he called for a\nnotary and began to make his will. First he left a house to one, and his\nsword to another, and so on, till it came to the Mula a Quinto.\n\n\"'And who shall have the Mula a Quinto, dear good uncle?' asked a nephew.\n\n\"'That,' replied the dying man, 'I leave to my good friend, the only true\nfriend I ever had, the noblest of men--'\n\n\"'But what is his _name_?' asked the nephew.\n\n\"'Giano di Selva,' gasped the dying man. And it was written down by the\nnotary, and the will was signed, and the signer died immediately after.\nAll their shaking could not revive him.\n\n\"The tale ends with these words: _E cosi ingannati gli ingannatori_,\n_rimase Giano herede del podere_--And thus the biters being bit, d'ye\nsee, Giano took a handsome property.\"\n\n\"And does his ghost still promenade the palace?\"\n\n\"To oblige you, Signore, for this once--_place a lei il comandare_--it\ndoes. The ghost walks--always when the rent fails to come in, and there\nis no money in the treasury--_cammina_, _cammina per un fil di\nspada_--walks as straight as an acrobat on a rope. But I cannot give you\na walking ghost of a rascal to every house, Signore. If all the knaves\nwho made fortunes by trickery were to take to haunting our houses in\nFlorence, they would have to lie ten in a bed, or live one hundred in a\nroom, and ghosts, as you know, love to be alone. _Mille grazie_, Signore\nCarlo! This will keep _our_ ghost from walking for a week.\"\n\n\"Of which remark here made that '_the ghost doth walk_,'\" comments the\nsage Flaxius, \"when money is forbidden unto man (which is so commonly\nheard in theatrical circles when the weekly salary is not paid), I have\nno doubt that it comes from the many ancient legends which assign a\njealous guardian sprite to every hoard. And thus in Spenser's wondrous\n'Faerie Queene' the marvellous stores in Mammon's treasury, 'embost with\nmassy gold of glorious guifte,' were watched by\n\n \"'An ugly feend more fowle than dismall day;\n The which with monstrous stalk behind him stept,\n And ever as he went dew watch upon him kept.'\n\n\"The which quotation is in its turn otherwise curious since it gave, I\ndoubt not, the original suggestion to Coleridge of the verse wherein\nmention is made in simile of one who walks in tear and dread, and dares\nnot turn his head--\n\n \"'For well he knows a griesly fiend\n Doth close behind him tread.'\n\n\"'More or less accurately, my masters, more or less.' ''Tis sixty years\nsince'--I read the original.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPIRIT OF THE PORTA SAN GALLO\n\n\n \"And both the undying fish that swim\n Through Bowscale Tarn did wait on him:\n The pair were servants of his eye\n In their immortality;\n They moved about in open sight,\n To and fro, for his delight.\"\n\n --WORDSWORTH, _Poems of the Imagination_.\n\nThe reader should never at once infer that a legend is recent because it\nis attached to a new place. Spirits and traditions are like the goblin\nof Norse tale, who moved with the family. The family changed its home to\nget rid of him, but on the way the elf popped his head out and remarked,\n\"_Wi flutten_\" (\"We're flitting\" or moving). The ghost of Benjamin\nFranklin long haunted the library which he had founded in Philadelphia,\nand when the library or books were transferred to a new building, the\nghost went with them and his statue. And in like manner the legend of\nthe religious person, male or female, who is also a _fish_ has travelled\nover many lands, till it came to the _vasca_ or basin of the Porto San\nGallo. Thus Leonard Vair, in his charming _Trois Livres des Charmes_,\n_Sorcelages ou Enchantemens_, Paris, 1583, tells us that \"there is a\ncloister in Burgundy, by which there is a pond, and in this pond are as\nmany fish as there be monks in the cloister. And when one of the fish\nswims on the surface of the water and beats with its tail, then one of\nthe monks is ever ill.\" But there is a mass of early Christian or\nun-Christian folklore which identifies \"Catholic clergy-women\" with fish,\neven as Quakers are identified in Philadelphia with shad. In Germany all\nmaids just in their teens are called _Backfisch_, that is, pan-fish or\n_fritures_, from their youth and liveliness, or delicacy. We may read in\nFriedrich that the fish is a common Christian symbol of immortality,\nwhich fully accounts for all legends of certain of them living for ever.\nThe story which I have to tell is as follows:--\n\n LO SPIRITO DELLA VASCA DELLA PORTA SAN GALLO.\n\n\"In this fountain-basin is found a pretty little fish, which is always\nthere, and which no one can catch, because it always escapes with great\n_lestezza_ or agility.\n\n\"And this is the queen of all the other fish, or else the Spirit of the\nFountain.\n\n\"This spirit, while on earth, was a beautiful girl who loved an official,\nand he fell ill and was in the military hospital.\n\n\"The parents of the maid opposed her marriage with this official, though\nhe was so much in love with her that it and anxiety had made him ill.\nThen the maid became a nun so that she might be near him in illness, and\nnurse him in his last moments, which indeed came to pass, for he died,\nnor did she long survive him.\n\n\"Then her mother, who had magic power (_essendo stata una fata_ {177}),\nregretted having opposed her daughter's love and that of the young man,\nsince it had caused the death of both. And to amend this she so\nenchanted them that by night both became _folletti_ or spirits haunting\nthe hospital, while by day the maid becomes a little fish living in the\nfountain. But when seen by night she appears as a pretty little nun\n(_una bella monachina_), and goes to the hospital to nurse the invalids,\nfor which she has, indeed, a passion. And if any one of them observes\nher, he feels better, but in that instant she vanishes, and is in the\narms of her lover. But sometimes it happens that he becomes jealous of a\npatient, and then he vexes the poor man in every way, twitching off his\ncovering, and playing him all kinds of spiteful tricks.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is otherwise narrated, in a more consistent, and certainly more\ntraditionally truthful manner, that both the lovers are fish by day and\n_folletti_ by night. This brings the legend to close resemblance with\nthe undying fish of Bowscale Tarn, recorded in Wordsworth's beautiful\nsong at the feast of Brougham Castle in the \"Poems of the Imagination.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"'Tis worth noting,\" pens the observant Flaxius on this, \"that in days of\nyore fish, feminines, and fascination were considered so inseparable that\nDr. Johannes Christian Fromann wrote a chapter on this mystical trinity,\nobserving that music was, as an attractor, connected with them, as shown\nby dolphins, syrens, Arions, and things of that sort. And he\nquoted--yea, in the holy Latin tongue--many instances of fishers who\nentice their finny prey by playing flutes:\n\n \"'Which thing I doubted till I saw that Doubt\n Pursued, its refutation oft begets,\n When in America I once found out\n That shad were caught by means of castin' nets!'\"\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF THE PODESTA WHO WAS LONG ON HIS JOURNEY\nA LEGEND OF THE DUOMO\n\n\n \"Were I ten times as tedious, I would find it in my heart to bestow\n it all on you.\"--_Dogberry_.\n\nThis little tale is told by the Florentine Poggio, who was born in 1380\nand died in 1459, yet lived--in his well-known _Facezie_. But as it ever\nwas and is a folk-story, independently of the great jester, I think it\nworthy of a place in this collection.\n\n\"There was once a podesta sent from Rome to govern Florence, and truly he\nwas of that kind who to a farthing's worth of sense have ten ducats'\nvalue in self-conceit; for if vanity could have kept a man warm, he never\nwould have had need to buy blankets. And this was most shown in his\nbelief that he was a great orator, though he was so intolerably stupid\nand slow that his speeches were like the post-rider of Giordano, who in\ngood weather sometimes got as far as five miles a day.\n\n\"Now he was to be inducted into office in the Cathedral, in the presence\nof the _priori_, or notables of the city of Florence, and so begun a\ndiscourse in which he first of all described how great a man he had been\nas senator in Rome, and what he had done, and what everybody else\nconnected with him had done, and all the details of his departure from\nthe Eternal City; and then depicted a banquet given to him at Sutro, and\nso went on, telling everything about everybody, till, after several hours\nof terribly tiresome discourse, he had got no farther than Siena.\n\n\"Now by this time, as Poggio words it, 'This excessive length of\nwearisome narration had so exhausted his auditors that they began to fear\nthat the entire day would be spent on the road,' and at last, as the\nshades of night began to fall, one who was present rose and said:\n\n\"'Monsignore, I beg you to remember that it is growing late, and you must\nreally get on a little faster in your journey, for if you are not in\nFlorence to-day, the gates will be shut, and unless you get here in time\nyou will not be allowed to enter, and thus you will miss being ordained,\nand cannot enter on your office.'\n\n\"Which having heard, the man of many words promptly concluded his speech\nby saying that he was really in Florence.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nSouthey, in \"The Doctor,\" has narrated a number of instances of tedious\ndiscourse, but none, I think, quite equal to this.\n\nThere is a shadow under every lamp, a devil's chapel close by every\nchurch, and even of the venerable and holy Duomo of Florence there are\nsuch tales as the following:\n\n LA MESSA DE' VILLANI.\n\n\"If there is any faith to be put in old stories and ancient books, even\nthe ladies and gentleman, to say nothing of priests, used such language\nin their ordinary conversation, in good old Medici times, as would not be\nheard among any but the lowest people now-a-days. Well, as the saying\nis:\n\n \"'Ne di tempo, ne di Signoria,\n Non ti dar malinconia.'\n\n \"'Fret not thyself for time long past away,\n For weather, nor for what the great may say.'\n\n\"Well, it happened one morning in Florence that a _gentil donna_, who, I\ntake it, was more _donna_ than truly _gentil_, whatever her rank may have\nbeen, meeting at the door of the Duomo a very ordinary and rough figure\nof her acquaintance, who had only made himself look more vulgar by new\nand gaudy clothes, asked him as he came out:\n\n\"'Is the Cads' Mass {180} over already?'\n\n\"To which he, in nowise put out, promptly replied:\n\n\"'Yes, Madonna, and that of the Demireps is just going to begin; {181}\nonly hurry, and you'll be there in time with the rest of 'em!'\n\n\"And that lifted him to celebrity, for in those famous days a small joke\noften made a great reputation. Ah! Signore--a great many of us have\nbeen born into this world four hundred years too late--more's the pity!\nHowever, the lady learned the truth of the old proverb, '_Guardati del\nvillan_, _quando ha la camicia bianca_'--'Look out for a vulgar fellow\nwhen he has a clean shirt on,' for then he thinks himself fine enough to\nsay anything saucy.\n\n\"And there is yet another story of the same sort, Signore; indeed, I\nthink that while the world lasts there will always be a few of them left\nfor steady customers, under the counter, like smuggled goods in Venice;\nand it is this: It befell once that a Florentine fell in love with a\nlady, who was like her mother, _come il ramo al tronco s'assomiglia_--'as\nthe bough to the tree, or very much worse than she ought to be;' for the\ndear mamma was like the Porta San Niccolo, only not so well famed.\n\n\"However, the gentleman wedded her, never heeding the proverb:\n\n \"'Let every wooer be afraid\n To wed a maiden not a maid;\n For sooner or later, as 'tis said,\n She'll turn again unto her trade.'\n\n\"However, in this case the proverb got the lie, for the lady after she\nwas married behaved with great propriety, and yet was often reminded that\nshe had better have repented before she sinned than after; for many would\nnot speak to her, for all her wealth, till she was well convinced that\n_Che profitta ravedersi dopo il fatto_?\n\n \"'When the deed has once been done,\n What is the use of repenting, my son?'\n\n\"So it befell one morning that the poor soul was praying in the Cathedral\nor Duomo, as many another poor sinner had done before her (doubtless on\nthe same spot), when a noble lady, who had never been found out in any\nnaughtiness (some people are certainly very lucky in this world, Signore\nCarlo!), came by, and seeing the penitent, drew in her robe, turned up\nher nose, and retreated as if the other had the plague. To which the\nMagdalen replied, in a sad but firm voice, 'Madonna, you need not be\nafraid to touch me, for I assure you that the malady (of which I have, I\ntrust, been thoroughly cured) attacks none save those who wish to have\nit.'\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen standing in the Cathedral, the visitor may remember that here Santo\nCrescenzio, who died in 424, once wrought a miracle, thus recorded in his\n\"Life\" of the fourteenth century:\n\n \"A poor man had come into the Cathedral and saw no light (_i.e._, was\n blind), and going to where Saint Crescentius was, implored him with\n great piety that he would cause the light to return unto him. And\n being moved to pity, he made the sign of the cross in the eyes of the\n blind man, and incontinently the light was restored unto him. Saint\n Crescentius did not wish this to be made known, and pretended to know\n nothing about it, but he could not conceal such miracles.\"\n\nOf which the immortal Flaxius remarks, that \"it is singular that so many\nsaints who wished to keep their miracles unknown had not the forethought\nto make silence a condition of cure. Also, that of all the\nwonder-working once effected by the holy men of the Church, the only gift\nnow remaining to them is the miraculous power of changing sons and\ndaughters into nephews and nieces; the which, as I am assured, is still\nas flourishing as ever, and permitted as a proof of transubstantiation.\"\nThus it is that simple heretics deride holy men. And Flaxius is, I bid\nye note, a sinner, in whose antique, unsanctified derision I most\nassuredly do take no part, \"it being in bad form in this our age to\nbelieve or disbelieve in anything,\" and therefore in bad style to laugh\nat aught.\n\nIt may be worth recalling, when looking out on the Cathedral Square, that\nit was here that San Zenobio performed another great miracle, recorded in\nall his lives, but most briefly in the poetical one:\n\n \"Then did he raise an orphan from the dead,\n The only son of a poor widow, he,\n A cart with oxen passing o'er his head,\n Died in the Duomo Square in misery;\n But though all crushed, the Saint restored his life,\n And, well and gay and bright as stars do shine,\n He went to his mother, and the pious wife\n Gave thanks to God for mercy all divine.\"\n\nWhich being witnessed, says the _Vita San Zenobii_, all who were present\nbegan to sing, \"_Gloria tibi Domine qui mirabilia per servos tuos in\nnobis operari dignatus es_, _gloria sit tibi-i et laus in\nsaecu-la--sec-u-lo-o-o-rum_, _A-men_.\n\nWhich, if they sung it as I heard it sung yesterday in the Cathedral of\nSiena, must have had an extremely soporific effect, lulling all others to\nsleep, and causing them to see beatific visions beyond all belief. I had\nin my boyhood a teacher named Professor Sears C. Walker, who was wont to\ntell how he had once heard in a rural New England village a church\ncongregation sing:\n\n \"Before thy throne the angels bow-wow-wow-ow!\"\n\nBut to hear the _bow-wow_ in perfection, one must go to Rome. A pack in\nfull cry or a chorus of owls is nothing to it. But let us pass on to a\nfresh story.\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF THE BOBOLI GARDENS: THE OLD GARDENER, AND THE TWO STATUES AND\nTHE FAIRY\n\n\n \"He found such strange enchantment there,\n In that garden sweet and rare,\n Where night and day\n The nightingales still sing their roundelay,\n And plashing fountains 'neath the verdure play,\n That for his life he could not thence away;\n And even yet, though he hath long been dead,\n 'Tis said his spirit haunts the pleasant shade.\"\n\n --_The Ring of Charlemagne_.\n\nA great showman, as I have heard, once declared that in establishing a\nmenagerie, one should have the indispensable lion, an _obligato_\nelephant, a requisite tiger, an essential camel, and imperative monkeys.\nOne of the \"indispensable lions\" of Florence is the Boboli Gardens,\njoining the Pitti Palace, which, from their careful preservation in their\noriginal condition, give an admirable idea of what gardens were like in\nan age when far more was thought of them than now as places of habitual\nresort and enjoyment, and when they entered into all literature and life.\nAbraham a Santa Clara once wrote a discourse against gardens, as making\nlife too happy or simple, basing his idea on the fact that sin originated\nin the Garden of Eden.\n\nThe Boboli Gardens were planned by Il Tribolo for Cosimo di Medici. The\nground which they occupy is greatly varied, rising high in some places,\nfrom which very beautiful views of Florence, with its \"walls and\nchurches, palaces and towers,\" may be seen. Of their many attractions\nthe guide-book remarks poetically in very nearly the following words:--\n\n \"Its long-embowered walks, like lengthened arbours,\n Are well adapted to the summer's sun;\n While statues, terraces, and vases add\n Still more unto its splendour. All around\n We see attractive statues, and of these\n A number really are restored antiques,\n And many by good artists; best of all\n Are four by mighty Michel Angelo,\n Made for the second Julius, and meant\n To decorate his tomb. You see them at\n The angles of the grotto opposite\n The entrance to the gardens. Of this grot\n The famous Redi sang in verse grotesque:\n\n \"Ye satyrs, in a trice\n Leave your low jests and verses rough and hobbly,\n And bring me a good fragment of the ice\n Kept in the grotto of the Garden Boboli.\n With nicks and picks\n Of hammers and sticks,\n Disintegrate it\n And separate it,\n Break it and split it,\n Splinter and slit it!\n Till at the end 'tis fairly ground and rolled\n Into the finest powder, freezing cold.\"\n\nThere are also, among the things worth seeing, the Venus by Giovanni of\nBoulogne (called di Bologna); the Apollo and Ceres by Baccio Bandinelli;\nthe group of Paris carrying off Helen by V. de' Rossi, and the old Roman\nfountain-bath and obelisk. The trees and flowers, shrubbery and\n_boschetti_, are charming; and if the reader often visits them, long\nsitting in the sylvan shade on sunny days, he will not fail to feel that\nstrange enchantment which seems to haunt certain places, and people them\nwith dreams, if not with elves.\n\nThe fascination of these dark arbours old, and of the antique gardens,\nhas been recognised by many authors, and there are, I suppose, few\nvisitors to Florence who have not felt it and recalled it years after in\ndistant lands as one recalls a dream. Therefore, I read with interest or\nsympathy the following, which, though amounting to nothing as a legend,\nis still valuable as setting forth the fascination of the place, and how\nit dates even from him who gave the Boboli Gardens their name:\n\n IL GIARDINO BOBOLI.\n\n\"The Boboli Garden is the most beautiful in Europe.\n\n\"Boboli was the name of the farmer who cultivated the land before it was\nbought by Cosimo de' Medici and his wife Eleanora.\n\n\"After he had sold the property he remained buried in grief, because he\nhad an attachment for it such as some form for a dog or a cat. And so\ngreat was his love for it that it never left his mind, nor could he ever\nsay amen to it; for on whatever subject he might discourse, it always\ncame in like one who will not be kept out, and his refrain was, 'Well,\nyou'll see that my place will become _il nido degli amori_ (the nest of\nloves), and I myself after my death will never be absent from it.' His\nfriends tried to dissuade him from thinking so much of it, saying that he\nwould end by being lunatic, but he persevered in it till he died.\n\n\"And it really came to pass as he said; for soon after his death, and\never since, many have on moonlight nights seen his spirit occupied in\nworking in the gardens.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe story is a pretty one, and it is strangely paralleled by one narrated\nin my own Memoirs of the old Penington mansion in Philadelphia, the\ngardens of which were haunted by a gentle ghost, a lady who had lived\nthere in her life, and who was, after her death, often seen watering the\nflowers in them by moonlight. And thus do--\n\n \"printless footsteps fall\n By the spots they loved before.\"\n\nThe second legend which I recovered, relating to the Boboli Gardens, is\nas follows:\n\n LE DUE STATUE E LA NINFA.\n\n\"There are in the Boboli Gardens two statues of two imprisoned kings, and\nit is said that every night a beautiful fairy of the grotto clad in white\nrises from the water, emerging perfectly dry, and converses with the\ncaptive kings for one hour, going alternately from one to the other, as\nif bearing mutual messages, and then returns to the grotto, gliding over\nthe ground without touching the grass with her feet, and after this\nvanishes in the water.\"\n\n\"This tale is, as I conceive,\" writes the observant Flaxius, \"an\nallegory, or, as Petrus Berchorius would have called it, a\n_moralisation_, the marrow whereof is as follows: The two captive kings\nare Labour and Capital, who have, indeed, been long enchained, evil\ntongues telling each that the other was his deadly foe, while the fairy\nis Wise Reform, who passes her time in consoling and reconciling them.\nAnd it shall come to pass that when the go-betweens or brokering\nmischief-makers are silenced, then the kings will be free and allied.\"\n\n \"Then indeed, as you may see,\n All the world will happy be!\"\n\n_Vivat Sequenz_! Now for the next story.\n\n\n\n\nHOW LA VIA DELLA MOSCA GOT ITS NAME\n\n\n \"Puer--abige Muscas!\"\n\n --_Cicero de Orat._, 60.\n\nThe following story contains no new or original elements, as it is only\nan ordinary tale of transformation by witchcraft, but as it accounts for\nthe origin of the name of a street in Florence I give it place:--\n\n LA VIA DELLA MOSCA.\n\n\"This is the way that the Via della Mosca, or the Street of the Fly, got\nits name. There once dwelt in it, in a very old house, a family which,\nwhile of rank, were not very wealthy, and therefore lived in a retired\nmanner. There were father, mother, and one daughter, who was wonderfully\nbeautiful--_un vero occhio di sole_.\n\n\"And as the sun hath its shadow, so there was a living darkness in this\nfamily in a _donna di servizio_, a servant woman who had been many years\nwith them, who had a daughter of her own, who was also a beauty of a\nkind, but as dark as the other was fair; the two were like day and night,\nand as they differed in face, so were they unlike in soul. For the young\nsignora had not a fault in her; she would not have caused any one pain\neven to have her own way or please her vanity, and they say the devil\nwill drop dead whenever he shall meet with such a woman as _that_.\nHowever, he never met with this young lady, I suppose, because he is\nliving yet. And the young lady was so gentle of heart that she never\nsaid an ill word of any one, while the maid and her mother never opened\ntheir mouths save for gossip and slander. And she was so occupied with\nconstant charity, and caring for poor children, and finding work for poor\npeople, that she never thought about her own beauty at all, and when\npeople told her that _chi nasce bella_, _nasce maritata_ (Whoever is born\npretty is born to be married), she would reply, 'Pretty or ugly, there\nare things more important in life than weddings.'\n\n\"And so far did she carry this, that she gave no heed at all to a very\ngallant and handsome yet good-hearted honourable wealthy young gentleman\nwho lived in a palazzo opposite, and who, from watching and admiring her,\nhad ended by falling desperately in love. So he made a proposal of\nmarriage to her through her parents, but she replied (having had her\nmind, in truth, on other things) that she was too much taken up with\nother duties to properly care for a husband, and that her dowry was not\nsufficient to correspond to his wealth, however generous he might be in\ndispensing with one. And as she was as firm and determined as she was\ngentle and good, she resolutely kept him at arm's length. But firmness\nis nothing against fate, and he 'who runs away with nimble feet, in the\nwar of love at last will beat.' {189}\n\n\"Now, if she was indifferent to the young signore, the dark maid-servant\nwas not, for she had fallen as much in love with him as an evil, selfish\nnature would permit her, and she planned and plotted with her mother by\nnight and by day to bring about what she desired. Now, the old woman,\nunknown to all, was a witch, as all wicked women really are--they rot\naway with vanity and self-will and evil feelings till their hearts are\nlike tinder or gunpowder, and then some day comes a spark of the devil's\nfire, and they flash out into witches of some kind.\n\n\"The young signore had a great love for boating on the Arno, which was a\ndeeper river in those days; he would often pass half the night in his\nboat. Now, the mother and daughter so contrived it that the young\nsignorina should return very late on a certain night from visiting the\npoor, accompanied by the old woman. And when just in the middle of the\nPonte Vecchio the mother gave a whistle, and lo! there came a sudden and\nterrible blast of wind, which lifted up the young lady and whirled her\nover the bridge into the rushing river underneath.\n\n\"But, as fate would have it, the young man was in his boat just below,\nand fortune fell down to him, as it were, from heaven; for seeing a form\nfloat or flit past him in the water and the darkness, he caught at it and\ndrew it into the boat, and truly Pilate's wife was not so astonished when\nthe roast capon rose up in the dish and crowed as was this boatman at\nfinding what he had fished up out of the stream.\n\n\"There is a saying of a very unlucky contrary sort of man that _casco in\nArno ed arse_ (He fell in the Arno and burnt himself). But in this case,\nby luck, the falling of the young lady into the river caused her heart to\nburn with love, for so bravely and courteously and kindly did the young\nsignore behave, conveying her promptly home without a sign of love-making\nor hint of the past, that she began to reconsider her refusal, and the\nend thereof was a betrothal, by which the mother and daughter were\nmaddened to think that they had only hastened and aided what they had\ntried to prevent.\n\n\"Now, it is true that bad people put ten times as much strong will and\nhard work into their evil acts as good folk do into better deeds, because\nthe latter think their cause will help itself along, while the sinners\nknow perfectly well that they must help themselves or lose. So the witch\nonly persevered the more, and at last she hit on this plan. With much\ndevilish ado she enchanted a comb of thorns, so that whoever was combed\nwith it would turn into a fly, and must remain one till the witch bade\nthe victim assume his or her usual form.\n\n\"Then on the bridal morn the old woman offered to comb out the long\ngolden locks of the young lady, and she did so, no other person being\npresent, so she began her incantation:\n\n \"'Earthly beauty fade away,\n Maiden's form no longer stay,\n For a fly thou shalt become,\n And as a busy insect hum,\n _Hum--hum--brum--brum_!\n _Buzz-uz-uz_ about the room!\n\n \"'Ope thine eyes and spread thy wings,\n Pass away to insect things.\n Now the world will hate thee more\n Than it ever loved before\n When it hears thy ceaseless hum,\n _Buzz-uz-uz_ about the room!'\n\n\"And hearing this, the bride sank into a deep sleep, during which she\nchanged into a fly, and so soared up to the ceiling and about the room,\nbuzzing indeed.\n\n\"Now, with all her cleverness, the witch had missed a stitch in her\nsorcery, for she had not combed hard enough to _draw blood_, being afraid\nto wake the maid; hence it came to pass that instead of a small common\nfly she became a very large and exquisitely beautiful one, with a head\nlike gold, a silver body, and beautiful blue and silver wings like her\nbridal dress. And she was not confined to buzzing, for she had the power\nto sing one verse. However, when the change took place, the old woman\nrushed from the room screaming like mad, declaring that her young\nmistress was a witch who had turned into a fly as soon as she had touched\nher with a consecrated comb which had been dipped in holy water, and to\nthis she added many lies, as that a witch to avoid the holy sacrament of\nmarriage always changed her form, and that she had always suspected the\nsignorina of being a witch ever since she had seen her fly in the wind\nover the Arno to the young signore.\n\n\"But when they went to look at the fly, and found it so large and\nbeautiful, they were amazed, nor were they less astonished when they\nheard it begin to buzz with a most entrancing strangely sweet sound, and\nthen sing:--\n\n \"'Be ye not amazed that I\n Am enchanted as a fly,\n Evil witchcraft was around me,\n Evil witches' spells have bound me:\n Now I am a fly I know,\n But woe to her who made me so!'\n\n\"And when the young signore stretched out his hand, the fly came buzzing\nwith joy and lighted like a bird on his finger, and this she did with\ngreat joy whenever any of the poor whom she had befriended came to see\nher, and so she behaved to all whom she had loved. And when it was\nobserved that the fly had no fear of holy things, but seemed to love\nthem, all believed in her song.\n\n\"Till one day the young signore, calling all the family and friends\ntogether, said: 'This is certainly true, that she who was to have been my\nwife is here, turned into a fly. And as for her being a witch, ye can\nall see that she fears neither holy water nor a crucifix. But I believe\nthat these women here, her nurse and daughter, have filled our ears with\nlies, and that the nurse herself is the sorceress who hath done the evil\ndeed. Now, I propose that we take all three, the fly, the mother, and\ndaughter, and hang the room with verbena, which I have provided, and\nsprinkle the three with much holy water, all of us making the _castagna_\nand _jettatura_, and see what will come of it.'\n\n\"Then the two witches began to scream and protest in a rage, but as soon\nas they opened their mouths, holy water was dashed into their faces,\nwhereat they howled more horribly than ever, and at last promised, if\ntheir lives should be spared in any manner, to tell the whole truth, and\nto disenchant the bride. Which they forthwith did.\n\n\"Then those present seized the witches, and said: 'Your lives shall\nindeed be spared, but it is only just that ere ye go ye shall be as\nnicely combed, according to the proverb which says, \"Comb me and I'll\ncomb thee!\"'\n\n\"Said and done, but the combing this time drew blood, and the mother and\ndaughter, shrinking smaller and smaller, flew away at last as two vile\ncarrion-flies through the window.\n\n\"And as the story spread about Florence, every one came to see the house\nwhere this had happened, and so it was that the street got the name of\nthe _Via della Mosca_ or Fly Lane.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is a curious point in this story well worth noting. In it the\nsorceress lulls the maiden to sleep before transforming her, that is,\ncauses her death before reviving her with a comb of thorns. Now, the\nthorn is a deep symbol of death--naturally enough from its dagger-like\nform--all over the world wherever it grows. As Schwenck writes:\n\n \"In the Germanic mythology the thorn is an emblem of death, as is the\n nearly allied long and deep slumber--the idea being that death kills\n with a sharp instrument which is called in the Edda the sleep-thorn,\n which belongs to Odin the god of death. It also occurs as a person\n in the Nibelungen Lied as Hogni, Hagen, 'the thorn who kills\n Siegfried.' The tale of Dornroschen (the sleeping beauty), owes its\n origin to the sleep-thorn, which is, however, derived from the\n death-thorn, death being an eternal sleep.\"\n\nThis is all true, and sleep is like death. But the soothing influence of\na comb produces sleep quite apart from any association with death.\n\nApropos of flies, there is a saying, which is, like all new or eccentric\nsayings, or old and odd ones revived, called \"American.\" It is, \"There\nare no flies on him,\" or more vulgarly, \"I ain't got no flies on _me_,\"\nand signifies that the person thus exempt is so brisk and active, and\n\"flies round\" at such a rate, that no insect has an opportunity to alight\non him. The same saying occurs in the _Proverbi Italiani_ of Orlando\nPescetti, Venice, 1618, _Non si lascia posar le mosche addosso_ (He lets\nno flies light on him).\n\nWhen I was a small boy in America, the general teaching to us was that it\nwas cruel to kill flies, and I have heard it illustrated with a tale of\nan utterly depraved little girl of three years, who, addressing a poor\nfly which was buzzing in the window-pane, said:\n\n\"Do you love your Dod, 'ittle fy?\"\n\n\"Do you want to _see_ your Dod, 'ittle fy?\"\n\n\"Well\" (with a vicious jab of the finger), \"you SHALL!\"\n\nAnd with the last word the soul of the fly had departed to settle its\naccounts in another world. Writing here in Siena, the most fly-accursed\nor Beelzebubbed town in Italy, on July 25th, being detained by illness, I\nlove that little angel of a girl, and think with utter loathing and\ncontempt of dear old Uncle Toby and his \"Go--go, poor fly!\" True, I\nagree with him to his second \"go,\" but there our sentiments diverge--the\nreader may complete the sentence for himself--out of Ernulphus!\n\nOn which the wise Flaxius comments as follows on the proof with his red\npencil:\n\n \"It hath been observed by the learned that the speed of a fly, were\n he to make even a slight effort to go directly onwards, would be from\n seventy to eighty miles an hour, during which transit he would find\n far more attractive food, pleasanter places wherein to buzz about,\n and more beautiful views than he meets with in this humble room of\n mine, wherein I, from hour to hour, do with a towel rise and slay his\n kind. Oh, reader! how many men there are who, to soaring far and\n wide in life amid honeyed flowers and pleasant places, prefer to buzz\n about in short flights in little rooms where they can tease some one,\n and defile all they touch as domestic gossips do--but, 'tis enough!\n _Mutato nomine de te fabula narratur_!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROMAN VASE\nA LEGEND OF BELLOSGUARDO\n\n\n \"From Tuscan Bellosguardo\n Where Galileo stood at nights to take\n The vision of the stars, we have found it hard,\n Gazing upon the earth and heavens, to make\n A choice of beauty.\"--ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.\n\nBellosguardo is an eminence on a height, crowned with an ancient,\ncastle-like monastery, from which there is a magnificent view of\nFlorence. It is a haunted legendary spot; _fate_ and witches sweep round\nits walls by night, while the cry of the _civetta_ makes music for their\naerial dance, and in the depths of the hill lie buried mystic treasures,\nor the relics of mysterious beings of the olden time, and the gnome of\nthe rocks there has his dwelling in subterranean caves. Of this place I\nhave the following legend from Maddalena:\n\n IL VASO ROMANO.\n\n\"There was, long ago, in the time of Duke Lorenzo di Medici, a young\ngardener, who was handsome, clever, and learned beyond the other men of\nhis kind, a man given somewhat to witchcraft and mysteries of ancient\ndays, for he had learned Latin of the monks and read books of history.\n\n\"And one day when he was working with his companions in the garden of\nBellosguardo, taking out stones, they came to an old Roman vase, which\nthe rest would fain have broken to pieces as a heathenish and foul thing,\nbecause there was carved on it the figure of a beautiful Pagan goddess,\nand it was full of the ashes of some dead person. But the young man\nsuddenly felt a great passion, a desire to possess it, and it seemed as\nif something said to him, '_Con questo vaso cie un mistero_.'\n\n \"'Mine own in truth that vase shall ever be,\n For there is in it some strange mystery.'\n\n\"So he begged for it, and it was readily granted to him. And looking at\nit, he perceived that it was carved of fine marble, and that the figure\non it was that of a beautiful nymph, or a Bellaria flying in the air, and\nthere came from the ashes which it held a sweet odour of some perfume\nwhich was unknown to him. Now as he had, _sentito ragionare tanto di\nfate_, heard much talk of supernatural beings, so he reflected: 'Some\n_fata_ must have dwelt here in days of old, and she was here buried, and\nthis vase is now as a body from which the spirit freely passes, therefore\nI will show it respect.'\n\n\"And so he hung round the neck of the vase a wreath of the most beautiful\nand fragrant roses, and draped a veil over it to shield it from dust, and\nset it up under cover in his own garden, and sang to it as follows:\n\n \"'Vaso! o mio bel vaso!\n Di rose ti ho contornato.\n La rosa e un bel fior,\n Piu bello e il suo odor.\"\n\n \"'Vase, oh lovely vase of mine!\n With roses I thy neck entwine;\n The rose is beautiful in bloom,\n More beautiful its sweet perfume,\n The finest rose above I place,\n To give the whole a crowning grace,\n As thou dost crown my dwelling-place\n Another rose I hide within,\n As thou so long hast hidden been,\n Since Roman life in thee I see,\n Rosa Romana thou shalt be!\n And ever thus be called by me!\n And as the rose in early spring\n Rises to re-awakening,\n Be it in garden, fair, or plain,\n From death to blooming life again,\n So rise, oh fairy of the flowers,\n And seek again these shady bowers!\n Come every morning to command\n My flowers, and with thy tiny hand\n Curve the green leaf and bend the bough,\n And teach the blossoms how to blow;\n But while you give them living care,\n Do not neglect the gardener;\n And as he saved your lovely urn,\n I pray protect him too in turn,\n Even as I this veil have twined,\n To guard thee from the sun and wind:\n Oh, Fairy of the Vase--to you,\n As Queen of all the Fairies too,\n And Goddess of the fairest flowers\n In earthly fields or elfin bowers,\n To thee with earnest heart I pray,\n Grant me such favour as you may.' {196}\n\n\"Then he saw slowly rising from the vase, little by little, a beautiful\nwoman, who sang:\n\n \"'Tell me what is thy desire,\n Oh youth, and what dost thou require?\n From realms afar I come to thee,\n For thou indeed hast summoned me,\n With such sweet love and gentleness,\n That I in turn thy life would bless,\n And aye thy fond protectress be.\n What would'st thou, youth, I ask, of me?'\n\n\"And the young man replied:\n\n \"'Fair lady, at a glance I knew,\n Thy urn and felt thy spirit too,\n And straight the yearning through me sped,\n To raise thee from the living dead;\n I felt thy spell upon my brow,\n And loved thee as I love thee now.\n Even as I loved unknown before,\n And so shall love thee evermore,\n And happiness enough 'twould be\n If thou would'st ever live with me!'\n\n\"Then the spirit replied:\n\n \"'A debt indeed to thee I owe,\n And full reward will I bestow;\n The roses which thou'st given me\n With laurel well repaid shall be;\n Without thy rose I had not risen\n Again from this my earthly prison,\n And as it raised me to the skies,\n So by the laurel thou shalt rise!'\n\n\"The youth answered:\n\n \"'Every evening at thy shrine\n Fresh roses, lady, I will twine;\n But tell me next what 'tis for fate\n That I must do, or what await?'\n\n\"The fairy sang:\n\n \"'A mighty mission, youth, indeed\n Hast thou to fill, and that with speed,\n Since it depends on thee to save\n All Florence from a yawning grave,\n From the worst form of blood and fire,\n And sword and conflagration dire.\n Thou dost the Duke Lorenzo know;\n Straight to that mighty leader go!\n The Chieftain of the Medici,\n And tell him what I tell to thee,\n That he is compassed all about\n With armed enemies without,\n Who soon will bold attack begin,\n Linked to conspiracy within;\n And bid him ere the two have crossed,\n To rise in strength or all is lost,\n Ring loud the storm-bell in alarms,\n Summon all Florence straight to arms:\n Lorenzo knows well what to do.\n Take thou thy sword and battle too!\n And in the fray I'll look to thee:\n Go forth, my friend, to victory.'\n\n\"Then the young man went to the Duke Lorenzo, and told him, with words of\nfire which bore conviction, of the great peril which threatened him.\nThen there was indeed alarming and arming, and a terrible battle all\nnight long, in which the young man fought bravely, having been made\ncaptain of a company which turned the fight. And the Grand Duke,\nimpressed by his genius and his valour, gave him an immense reward.\n\n\"So he rose in life, and became a _gran signore_, and one of the Council\nin Florence, and lord of Bellosguardo, and never neglected to twine every\nday a fresh wreath of roses round the Roman vase, and every evening he\nwas visited by the fairy. And so it went on well with him till he died,\nand after that the spirit was seen no more. The witches say that the\nvase is, however, somewhere still in Florence, and that while it exists\nthe city will prosper; but to call the fairy again it must be crowned\nwith roses, and he who does so must pronounce with such faith as the\ngardener had, the same incantation.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhat is remarkable in the original text of this tale is the rudeness and\ncrudeness of the language in which it is written, which is indeed so\ngreat that its real spirit or meaning might easily escape any one not\nfamiliar with such composition. But I believe that I have rendered it\nvery faithfully.\n\nThere seems to be that, however, in Bellosguardo which inspires every\npoet. Two of the most beautiful passages in English literature, one by\nElizabeth Barrett Browning, and another by Hawthorne, describe the views\nseen from it. The castle itself is deeply impressed on my memory, for\nduring the past nine months I have never once raised my eyes from the\ntable where I write without beholding it in full view before me across\nthe Arno, even as I behold it now.\n\nI cannot help observing that the mysterious sentiment which seized on the\nhero of this tale when he found his virgin relic, was marvellously like\nthat which inspired Keats when he addressed his Ode to a Grecian Urn:\n\n \"Thou still unravished bride of quietness!\n Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,\n Sylvan historian who canst thus express\n A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:\n What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape?\"\n\nThat which I have here given is truly a leaf-fringed legend, for it is\nbordered with the petals of roses and embalmed with their perfume, and\none which in the hands of a great master might have been made into a\nreally beautiful poem. It came near a very gay rhymer at least in the\nDuke Lorenzo de' Medici, whose songs, which were a little more than free,\nand rather more loose than easy, were the delight and disgrace of his\ntime. And yet I cannot help rejoicing to meet this magnificent patron of\nart and letters at so late a day in a purely popular tale. There are\n_men_ of beauty who are also a joy for ever, as well as things, and\nLorenzo was one of them.\n\nIt is worth noting that just as the fairy in this tale reveals to Lorenzo\nthat Florence is threatened by enemies, just so it happened that unto\nSaint Zenobio, standing rapt in divine contemplation in his cavern, it\nwas announced that the same city was about to be assailed by cruel\nbarbarians, who, as Sigbert relates in his Chronicle of 407 A.D., were\nthe two hundred thousand Goths led by Radagasio into Italy. But they\nwere soon driven away by the Saint's prayers and penitence. It would be\ncurious if one legend had here passed into another:\n\n \"So visions in a vision live again,\n And dreams in dreams are wondrously transfused;\n Gold turning into grey as clouds do change,\n And shifting hues as they assume new forms.\"\n\nApropos of Saint Zenobio of Florence, I will here give something which\nshould have been included with the legend of the Croce al Trebbio, but\nwhich I obtained too late for that purpose. It would appear from the\n_Iscrizioni e Memorie di Firenze_, by F. Bigazzi (1887), that the\n_pillar_ of the cross was really erected to commemorate a victory over\nheretics, but that the cross itself was added by the Saints Ambrosio and\nZenobio, \"on account of a great mystery\"--which mystery is, I believe,\nfully explained by the legend which I have given. The inscription when\ncomplete was as follows:\n\n SANCTUS AMBROSIUS CUM SANCTO ZENOBIO PROPTER GRANDE MISTERIUM\n HUNC CRUCEM HIC LOCAVERUNT. ET IN MCCCXXXVIII NOVITER DIE\n 10 AUGUSTI RECONSECRATA EST P. D. M. FRANCISC. FLOR.\n EPISCOPUM UNA CUM ALIIS EPISCOPIS M.\n\nA slightly different reading is given by Brocchi (_Vite de' Santi\nfiorentini_, 1742).\n\n\"Of which saint, be it observed,\" writes Flaxius, \"that there is in\nEngland a very large and widely extended family, or _stirps_, named\nSnobs, who may claim that by affinity of name to Zenobio they are\nlineally or collaterally his descendants, even as the Potts profess\nconnection with Pozzo del Borgo. But as it is said of this family or\n_gens_ that they are famed for laying claim to every shadow of a shade of\ngentility, it may be that there is truly no Zenobility about them. Truly\nthere are a great many more people in this world who are proud of their\nancestors, than there ever were ancestors who would have been proud of\nthem. The number of whom is as the sands of the sea, or as Heine says,\n'more correctly speaking, as the mud on the shore.'\n\n \"'The which, more eath it were for mortall wight,\n To sell the sands or count the starres on hye;\n Or ought more hard, then thinke to reckon right . . .\n Which--for my Muse herselfe now tyred has,\n Unto another tale I'll overpas.'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE UNFORTUNATE PRIEST\nA LEGEND OF LA VIA DELLO SCHELETRO\n\n\n \"Fear and trembling Hope,\n Silence and Foresight--Death the Skeleton,\n And Time the Shadow.\"--WORDSWORTH.\n\n \"If God were half so cruel as His priests,\n It would go hard, I ween, with all of us.\"\n\nI have elsewhere remarked that there is--chiefly about the Duomo--a group\nof small streets bearing the dismal names of Death, Hell, Purgatory,\nLimbo, Crucifixion, Our Lady of Coughing (_delle Tosse_), The (last) Rest\nof Old Age, Gallows Lane (_Via della Forca_), The Tombs, The Way of the\nDiscontented, {201} Dire Need, Small Rags, Fag-End or Stump, Bad Payers,\nand finally, the Via dello Scheletro, or Skeleton Street. To which there\nbelongs, as is appropriate, a melancholy legend.\n\n LA VIA DELLO SCHELETRO.\n\n\"There once dwelt in what is now called the Street of the Skeleton a\npriest attached to the Cathedral, who was in every respect all that a\ngood man of his calling and a true Christian should be, as he was pious,\nkind-hearted, and charitable, passing his life in seeking out the poor\nand teaching their children, often bringing cases of need and suffering\nto the knowledge of wealthier friends--which thing, were it more\nfrequently done by all, would do more to put an end to poverty than\nanything else.\n\n \"'But he who is in everything most human\n May highest rise and yet the lowest fall;\n And when a brave kind heart meets with _the_ woman,\n Our greatest duties seem extremely small,\n And those which were the first became the least:\n Even so it happened to this gentle priest.\n\n \"'In the old dwelling where he had his home,\n Which otherwise had been most drear and dull\n At morn or eve did oft before him come\n A girl as sweet as she was beautiful;\n Full soon they learned that both in head and heart\n Each was to each the very counterpart.\n\n \"'There is in every soul of finer grain\n A soul which is in self a soul apart,\n Which to itself doth oft deep hid remain,\n But leaps to life when Love awakes the heart.\n Then as a vapour rises with the sun,\n And blends with it, two souls pass into one.\n\n \"'And so it came that he would sometimes kiss\n Her lovely face, nor seemed it much to prove\n That they in anything had done amiss.\n Until, one night, there came the kiss of Love, {202}\n Disguised in friendly seeming like the rest--\n Alas! he drove an arrow to her breast.\n\n \"'Then came the glow of passion--new to both--\n The honeymoon of utter recklessness,\n When the most righteous casts away his oath,\n And all is lost in sweet forgetfulness,\n And life is steeped in joy, without, within,\n And rapture seems the sweeter for the sin.\n\n \"'Then came in its due course the sad awaking\n To life and its grim claims, and all around\n They found, in cold grim truth, without mistaking,\n These claims for them did terribly abound;\n And the poor priest was brought into despair\n To find at every turn a foe was there.\n\n \"'To know our love is pure though passionate,\n And have it judged as if both foul and base,\n Doth seem to us the bitterness of fate;\n Yet in the world it is the usual case.\n By it all priests are judged--yea, every one--\n Never as Jesus would Himself have done.\n\n \"'Because the noblest love with passion rings,\n Therefore men cry 'tis _all_ mere sexual sense,\n As if the rose and the dirt from which it springs\n Were one because of the same elements:\n Therefore 'tis true that, of all sins accurst,\n Is Gossip, for it always tells the worst.\n\n \"'So Gossip did its worst for these poor souls.\n The bishop made the priest appear before him,\n And, as a power who destiny controls,\n Informed him clearly he had hell before him,\n And if he would preserve the priestly stole, {203a}\n Must leave his woman--or else lose his soul!\n\n \"'Now had this man had money, or if he,\n Like many of his calling, had been bold\n With worldly air, then all this misery\n Might have been 'scaped as one escapes the cold\n By putting on a sheepskin, warm and fine;\n But then hypocrisy was not his line.\n\n \"'His love was now a mother, and the truth\n Woke in him such a deep and earnest love,\n That he would not have left her though in sooth\n He had been summoned by the Power above;\n And so the interdict was soon applied,\n But on that day both child and mother died.\n\n \"'She, poor weak thing, could not endure the strain,\n So flickered out, and all within a day;\n And then the priest, without apparent pain,\n Began mysteriously to waste away,\n And, shadow-like and silent as a mouse,\n Men saw him steal into, or from, the house.\n\n \"'And thinner still and paler yet he grew,\n With every day some life from him seemed gone,\n And all aghast, though living, men still knew\n He had become a literal skeleton;\n And so he died--in some world less severe\n Than this to join the one he held so dear. {203b}\n\n \"'Yet no one knew when 'twas he passed away\n Out of that shadowy form and 'scaped life's power,\n For still 'twas seen beneath the moon's pale ray,\n Or gliding through the court at twilight hour.\n But there it still is seen--and so it came\n The Via del Scheletro got its name.'\"\n\nThere is not a word of all this which is \"Protestant invention,\" for\nthough I have poetised or written up a very rude text, the narrative is\nstrictly as I received it. There is one point in it worth noticing, that\nit is a matter of very general conviction in Italy that in such matters\nof Church discipline as are involved in this story, it is the small flies\nwho are caught in the web, while the great ones burst buzzing through it\nwithout harm, or that the weak and poor (who are very often those with\nthe best hearts and principles) are most cruelly punished, where a bold,\nsensual, vulgar _frate_ makes light of and easily escapes all\naccusations.\n\nThere is something sadly and strangely affecting in the conception of a\nsimply good and loving nature borne down by the crush of the world and\nmisapplied morality--or clerical celibacy--into total wretchedness--a\ndiamond dissolved to air. One in reading this seems to hear the sad\nwords of one who thought his own name was written in water:\n\n \"I am a shadow now, alas! alas!\n Upon the skirts of human nature dwelling\n Alone. I chant alone the holy mass,\n While little signs of life are round me kneeling,\n And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass,\n And many a chapel bell the hour is telling,\n Paining me through: those sounds grow strange to me,\n And thou art distant in Humanity!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE MYSTERIOUS FIG-TREE\nA LEGEND OF THE VIA DEL FICO\n\n\n \"In every plant lie marvellous mysteries,\n In every flower there is a dream divine;\n The fig-tree bears the measure of a life,\n And, as it leaves or fruits, our lives do pass,\n And all things in each other subtly blend.\"\n\n \"Ha chiappato il fico--_ficum capit_.\"--_Old Proverbs_.\n\n \"Quidam itidem medium digitum ostendunt, idque in Hispania adhuc\n dicitur fieri, et FICA appellator, hic illudendi actus, de quo Eryc.\n Puteanus, _loc. cit._, p. 70.\"--_Curiosus Amuletorum Spectator_, D.\n Wolf, 1692.\n\nThe following tale is, for reasons which I will subsequently explain, one\nof the most remarkable which I have collected:\n\n LA VIA DEL FICO.\n\n\"There stood formerly in the Via del Fico a very ancient palace with a\ngarden, in which there grew a fig-tree which was said to have grown of\nitself, or without ever having been planted. This tree bore much fruit\nof great beauty.\n\n\"But however proud the owner of the tree was of its beauty, or however\nmuch he might desire to have its fruit, something always strangely\noccurred to prevent its being enjoyed. For when any one was about to\npluck it, there suddenly appeared a great black dog, who, seizing men or\nwomen by their garments, dragged them away, beginning to howl and bay.\n{205} And then they hurried away and let the figs alone, in order to\nmake the dog cease his terrible unearthly baying; for it is believed to\nbe an omen of death when a dog utters such sounds, it being such a\npresage of disaster as when a _civetta_ or small owl hoots on the roof.\n\n\"However, it sometimes happened that the dog did not come, but those who\ntook and ate the figs fared just as badly all the same. For they soon\nbegan to feel ill and suffer dire pains, and when they had gone into\ntheir bedrooms and laid down, there always entered a beautiful girl clad\nin white, who began to whirl round (_a girarsi_) or spin, making all the\ntime a great buzzing sound, until horror came over them, which when she\nperceived, she vanished.\n\n\"And many tried also to lop off boughs from the fig-tree, but they were\nfound the second night replaced by a perfect new growth with fully ripe\nfruit. And it was not the least marvel of the tree that it was always in\nfull leaf, with abundance of ripe figs on it, even in winter, when there\nwas snow on the ground.\n\n\"One day men digging in the garden found a tablet of stone or metal on\nwhich was inscribed:\n\n \"'Il fico rispettate\n E non la toccate,'\n E non cercate\n Neppure mangiarne.'\n\n \"'Respect the tree, and let it be,\n From branch to root, nor touch its fruit!\n Of itself the tree did grow,\n From a dog who long ago,\n Enchanted by the fairies' power,\n Was buried here in mystic hour;\n Therefore we bid you let it stand,\n And if you follow the command\n You will be happy all your days,\n But woe to him who disobeys!'\n\n\"Now, the owner of the palazzo and garden was a man who had no faith in\nold legends, or love for such mysteries as these, and so he said, 'It is\ntime to put an end to all this superstition, and I am determined to at\nonce see whether all my prosperity depends on a fig-tree; so do you cut\nit down and tear it up, root and branch, utterly.'\n\n\"This was at once done by the labourers, but, while doing so, they heard\nsounds as of wailing and great lamenting in the earth beneath them. And\nwhen they, astonished, asked the signore to listen to the voices, he\nreplied, 'Away with your superstitions; we will see this time whether the\ntree will grow or return again.'\n\n\"Truly it did not return, but passed away for ever, and with it all the\nproperty and prosperity of the lord. For in time he had to sell all he\nhad, and, losing what he got, died in poverty. Then those who had to go\nin the street where his palace had been would say, '_Andiamo nella Via\ndel Fico_,' just as they say, '_Andar per la Via de' Carri_,' but meaning\nto 'go in the way of what is worthless or poverty-stricken,' and so it\nwas that the street came by its name.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis strange tale, which is evidently of great antiquity, and deeply\ninspired with real witch tradition, has, indeed, nothing in common with\nthe pretty fairy stories which are so generally presented as constituting\nthe whole of popular narrative folklore. It was not made nor intended to\nserve as a pleasing tale for youth, but to embody certain ideas which the\nwitch-teacher explained to the pupil. The first of these is, that the\n_fig-tree_ planted under certain circumstances became a kind of Luck of\nEden Hall to its possessor. This story comes from the Etruscan-Roman\nland, where traditions have been preserved with incredible fidelity. In\nthe olden time Tarquin the Elder planted a fig-tree in a public place in\nRome, and it was a matter of common faith that this tree would flourish\nfor ever if undisturbed, and that on it depended the prosperity and\npreservation of the city. {207} And in India, the motherland of Greek\nand Roman mythology, it was believed that whenever one of certain ancient\nfig-trees died, that the reigning family would pass away. The opinion\nwas widely spread that the fig-tree was above all others the one of life\nand destiny. In the Bagvatgeta, Krishna says of himself: \"I am the\nspirit, the beginning, the middle, and the end of creation. I am as the\n_Aswatha_ (_pipal _or Indian fig) among trees.\" Hence it came that many\nChristians believed that the Tree of Life in Eden was not an apple but a\nfig-tree. The traditions which establish the fig-tree as being above all\nothers one on whose existence that of individuals, families, and states\ndepended, are extremely numerous and varied. \"It was,\" remarks Alt, \"not\nonly a symbol of fertility, but an emblem of ever-renewed and\nnever-extinguished _vitality_, and one of eternity, the resurrection, and\nof the transmigration of the soul.\" On the celebrated altar in Ghent,\nthe Tree of Life is represented as a fig-tree (Menzel, _Christliche\nSymbolik_, i. 277). This universal belief explains why the fig-tree\ndetermines the duration and destiny of lives and families.\n\nIt may have struck the reader as singular that those who eat of the\nforbidden figs are punished by the visit of a beautiful girl who whirls\naround with a buzzing sound till they are overcome by awe. Here be it\nnoted first of all, that the fig, like the pear, is exactly the shape of\na top, even the stem representing the peg. Now, in ancient Latin\nwitchlore or sorcery, extraordinary magic power, or even sanctity, was\nattached to everything which made a humming or buzzing sound. It was\nsupposed, when properly made, with certain incantations or instruments,\nto be capable of throwing people into a trance. Chief among these\ninstruments was the top. Thus Horace begs Crattidia to stop the\nenchantment of the buzzing top (Ode xv. Book v.).\n\nOn this subject I find the following in _Diavoli e Streghe_, by Dr. A.\nZangolini, 1864:\n\n \"The _rombo_ {208} is an instrument not unlike the _trottola_ or\n peg-top of our boys, called in Latin _turbo_, and in common language\n also _paleo_. It was believed that with it in witchcraft a lover\n could have his head turned with passion, or that he would be turned\n at will while it spun. The same held true of other disks\n (tee-totums) of wood, iron, or copper.\"\n\nThis idea was extended to the hum of spinning-wheels, which aided the\nconception of the Fates, and the thread of life, to the buzzing of bees\nand flies, and many other variations of such sounds. Mr. Andrew Lang has\nin an admirable paper shown that the _bull-roarer_ has been regarded as\nso sacred among certain savages that women, or the profane, were not\nallowed to touch it. A bull-roarer is so easily constructed, that it is\nremarkable how few people are familiar with it. Take a common stick, say\nsix inches in length, tie a cord three feet long to one end, and,\ngrasping the other, whirl it round, with the result of astonishing all to\nwhom it is not familiar by its sound:\n\n \"First it is but a gentle hum,\n Like bird-song warbling in the trees,\n Then like a torrent it doth foam,\n And then a wild and roaring breeze.\"\n\nWhen vigorously spun, it may be heard of a calm evening for a mile, and\nits effect is then indescribably--I will not say, as most novelists here\nwould, \"_weird_,\" for I do not know that it prophesies anything, but it\nis certainly most suggestive of something mysterious.\n\nTherefore the bayadere, with her spinning _pas seul_ and buzzing\n_romore_, who appears to the eater of the figs, is the magic top in\nperson, her form being taken from the fig. The connection of the\nenchanted dog with the tree is not so clear, but it may be observed that\nthere is a vast mass of tradition which makes the black dog a _chthonic_,\nthat is, a subterranean or under-earthly symbol, and that in this story\nhe comes out of the earth. This animal was a special favourite of\nHecate-Diana of the world below, the queen of all the witches.\n\nThere is a vast quantity of folklore in reference to the fig as an emblem\nof fertility, reproduction, and sensual affinity, and, on the other side,\nof its being an emblem often used in proverbs to express the very\ncontrary, or trifling value, worthlessness, and poverty. Thus, the\nbarren fig-tree of the New Testament had a deep signification to all who\nwere familiar with these poetic and mystic \"correspondences.\" The reader\nhas probably observed that in this story there is, as in a parable, a\nstrong intimation of symbolism, or as if more were meant than meets the\near.\n\n\"Remains to be said,\" that the putting the thumb between the index and\nmiddle finger, which was regarded with awe by the Romans as driving away\nevil spirits, was called \"making the fig,\" or _far la castagna_, to make\nthe chestnut--in Latin, _medium ostendere digitum_. The same sign as the\nfig to drive away devils became a deadly insult when made at any one, as\nif he were a wizard and accursed. It had also a jeering and indecent\nmeaning. It has been said that the fig, as a synonym for anything\nworthless, originated from the great abundance and cheapness of the fruit\nin Greece, but this is very unsatisfactory, since it would apply as well\nto olives or grain.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"This tale doth teach,\" notes the learned Flaxius, \"as regards the\nfolklore of the black dog, that in this life most things are good or bad,\nas we take them. For the black dog, Monsieur, of Cornelius Agrippa (like\nthat in Faust) was a demon, albeit his pupil, Wierus, records that he\nhimself knew the animal well, but never supposed there was aught of the\ngoblin in it. And this same Wierus has mentioned (_loc. cit._, p. m.\n325), that one of the things which most terrify the devil and all his\ngang is the blood of a black dog splashed on the wall. So in ancient\nsymbolism death meant life, the two being correlative, and in witchcraft\nthe spell of the frog and many more are meant to do deadly harm, or great\ngood, according to the way in which they are worked. Wherein lies an\nimmense moral lesson for ye all. Remember, children--\n\n \"'There is no passion, vice, or crime,\n Which truly, closely understood,\n Does not, in the full course of time,\n Do far less harm than good.'\"\n\n\n\n\nIL PALAZZO FERONI\nSHOWING HOW IT GOT ITS NAME FROM A FAIRY\n\n\n \"Ah me! what perils do environ\n The man who meddles with cold iron!\n Thus sang great Butler long ago,\n In Hudibras, as all men know;\n But in this story you will see\n How Iron was sold by irony.\"\n\nOne of the most picturesque mediaeval palaces in Florence is that of the\nFeroni, and its architectural beauty is greatly enhanced by its fine\nsituation at the head of the Tornabuoni on the Piazza della Trinita, with\nthe magnificent column of the Medicis just before its gate. According to\nItalian authority, \"this palace may be called, after those of the\nPraetorio (_i.e._, Bargello) and the Signoria, the most characteristic\nbuilding of its epoch in Florence. It is said to have been built by\nArnolfo di Cambio. It once belonged to the Spini, from whom it passed to\nthe Feroni.\" When I was in Florence in 1846-47, this palace was the best\nhotel in Florence, and the one in which I lived. There have been great\n\"restorations\" in the city since that time, but very few which have not\nbeen most discreditably and foolishly conducted, even to the utter\ndestruction of all that was truly interesting in them; as, for instance,\n\"the house of Dante, torn down within a few years to be rebuilt, so that\nnow not one stone rests upon another of the original;\" and \"Santa Maria\nNovella, where the usual monkish hatred of everything not _rococo_ and\ntrashy has shown itself by destroying beautiful work of earlier times, or\nselling it to the Kensington Museum, setting up a barbarously gilt\ngingerbread high altar, and daubing the handsome Gothic sacristy with\ngaudy colours.\" To which the author of Murray's \"Guide-Book for Central\nItaly\" adds, that \"perhaps on the whole list of ecclesiastical\nrestorations there does not exist a more deplorable instance of monastic\nvandalism than has been perpetrated here by the architect Romoli\"--a\nremark which falls unfortunately very far short of the truth. Such ruin\nis wrought _everywhere_ at present; witness the beautiful Fonte Gaja,\n\"the masterpiece of Jacopo della Quercia in Siena (1402), which, since\nthe change of Government, was not 'restored,' but _totally destroyed and\ncarted away_, a miserable modern copy having been recently set up in its\nplace\" (Hare, \"Cities of Central Italy\"), all of which was probably done\nto \"make a job\" for a favoured builder. \"But what can you expect,\" adds\na friend, \"in a country where it is common to cover a beautiful dry stone\nwall with plaster, and then paint it over to resemble the original\nstone,\" because, as I was naively told, \"the rough stone itself looks\n_too cheap_\"? Anybody who has lived long in Italy can add infinitely to\nsuch instances. The Palazzo Feroni has, however, suffered so little, for\na wonder, from restoration, and still really looks so genuinely old, that\nit deserves special mention, and may serve as an excuse for my remarks on\nthe manner in which ancient works are destroyed so _con amore_ by monks\nand modern municipalities. I may here note that this building is, in a\nsense, the common rendezvous for all the visitors to Florence, chiefly\nEnglish and Americans, since in it are the very large circulating library\nand reading-rooms of Vieusseux. {212}\n\nThere is, of course, a legend attached to the Palazzo Feroni, and it is\nas follows:\n\n IL PALAZZO FERONI.\n\n\"The Signore Pietro, who afterwards received the name Feroni, was a very\nrich man, and yet hated by the poor, on whom he bestowed nothing, and not\nmuch liked by his equals, though he gave them costly entertainments; for\nthere was in all the man and in his character something inconsistent and\ncontradictory, or of _corna contra croce_--'the horns against the cross,'\nas the proverb hath it, which made it so that one never knew where to\nhave him:\n\n \"'Un, al monte, e l'altro al pian,\n Quel che, e oggi, non e doman.'\n\n \"'On the hill in joy, in the dale in sorrow--\n One thing to-day, and another to-morrow.'\n\n\"For to take him at every point, there was something to count off. Thus\nin all the city there was no one--according to his own declaration--who\nwas\n\nRicher or more prosperous,\n\nOr who had enjoyed a better education,\n\nOr who had such remarkable general knowledge of everything taking place,\n\nOr more of a distinguished courtier,\n\nOr one with such a train of dependants, and people of all kinds running\nafter him,\n\nOr more generally accomplished,\n\nOr better looking--\n\n\"And finally, no one so physically strong, as he was accustomed to boast\nto everybody on first acquaintance, and give them proofs of it--he having\nheard somewhere that 'physical force makes a deeper impression than\ncourtesy.' But all these fine gifts failed to inspire respect (and here\nwas another puzzle in his nature), either because he was so tremendously\nvain that he looked down on all mortals as so many insects, and all\npretty much alike as compared to himself, or else from a foolish\ncarelessness and want of respect, he made himself quite as familiar with\ntrivial people as with anybody. {213}\n\n\"One evening the Signore Pietro gave a grand ball in his palace, and as\nthe guests came in--the beauty and grace and courtly style of all Italy\nin its golden time--he half closed his eyes, lazily looking at the\nbrilliant swarm of human butterflies and walking flowers, despising while\nadmiring them, though if he had been asked to give a reason for his\ncontempt he would have been puzzled, not having any great amount of\nself-respect for himself. And they spun round and round in the dance. .\n. .\n\n\"When all at once he saw among the guests a lady, unknown to him, of such\nstriking and singular appearance as to rouse him promptly from his idle\nthought. She was indeed wonderfully beautiful, but what was very\nnoticeable was her absolutely ivory white complexion, which hardly seemed\nhuman, her profuse black silken hair; and most of all her unearthly large\njet-black eyes, of incredible brilliancy, with such a strange expression\nas neither the Signore Pietro nor any one else present had ever seen\nbefore. There was a power in them, a kind of basilisk-fascination allied\nto angelic sweetness--fire and ice . . . _ostra e tramontan_--a hot and\ncold wind.\n\n\"The Signore Pietro, with his prompt tact, made the lady's paleness a\npretence for addressing her. 'Did she feel ill--everything in the house\nwas at her disposition--\n\n \"'Servants, carpets, chairs and tables,\n Kitchen, pantry, hall and stables,\n Everything above or under;\n All my present earthly plunder,\n All too small for such a wonder.'\n\n\"The lady, with a smile and a glance in which there was not the slightest\ntrace of being startled or abashed, replied:\n\n \"''Tis not worth while your house to rifle,\n _O mio Signor_, for such a trifle.\n 'Tis but a slight indisposition,\n For which I'll rest, by your permission.'\n\n\"The Signore Pietro, as an improvisatore, was delighted with such a ready\nanswer, and remarking that he was something of a doctor, begged\npermission to bring a soothing cordial, admirable for the nerves, which\nhe hoped to have the honour of placing directly in that fairy-like hand.\n. . . The Signore vanished to seek the _calmante_.\n\n\"The guests had begun by this time to notice this lady, and from her\nextremely strange appearance they gathered round her, expecting at first\nto have some sport in listening to, or quizzing, an eccentric or a\ncharacter. But they changed their mind as they came to consider\nher--some feeling an awe as if she were a _fata_, and all being finally\nconvinced that whoever she was she had come there to _sell_ somebody\namazingly cheap, nor did they feel quite assured that they themselves\nwere not included in the bargain.\n\n\"The Signore Pietro returned with the soothing cordial; he had evidently\nnot drunk any of it himself while on the errand, for there was a massive\nchased iron table inlaid with gold and silver in his way, and the mighty\nlord with an angry blow from his giant arm, like one from a blacksmith's\nNo. 1 hammer, broke it, adding an artisan-like oath, and knocked it over.\nFlirtation had begun.\n\n\"'Did you hurt yourself, Signore?' asked the lady amiably.\n\n\"'Not I, indeed,' he replied proudly. 'A Stone is my name, but it ought\nto have been Iron, lady, for I am hard as nails, a regular Ferrone or big\nman of iron, and all my ancestors were Ferroni too; ah! we are a strong\nlot--at your service!' Saying this he handed the cup to the lady, who\ndrank the potion, and then, instead of giving the goblet back to the\nSignore Pietro, as he expected, meaning to gallantly drink off _les doux\nrestes_, she beckoned with her finger and an upward scoop of her hand to\nthe table, which was lying disconsolately on its back with its legs\nupwards, like a trussed chicken waiting to be carved, when lo! at the\nsignal it jumped up and came walking to her like a Christian, its legs\nmoving most humanly, and yet all present were appalled at the sight, and\nthe Signore gasped--\n\n\"'I believe the devil's in it!'\n\n\"The lady composedly placed the draught on the table and smiled\nbenevolently. There was something in that angelic smile which made the\nSignore feel as if he had been made game of. In a rage he rushed at the\ntable, which reared up on its hind legs and showed fight with its\nforepaws, on which there were massy round iron balls, as on the other\nextremities. Truly it was a desperate battle, and both combatants\ncovered themselves with dust and glory. Now the table would put a ball\nwell in, and the Signore would counter, or, as I may say, cannon or\ncannon-ball it off; and then they would grapple and roll over and over\ntill the Signora called them to time. At last the lord wrenched all the\ncannon-balls off from the table, which first, making a jump to the\nceiling, came down in its usual position, while the balls began dancing\non it like mad.\n\n\"At such a sight all present roared with laughter, and it was observed\nthat the lady, no longer pale, flushed with merriment like a rose. As\nfor Signore Pietro he was red as a beet, and heaved out that he had been\n_canzonato_ or quizzed.\n\n\"'Truly yes,' replied the lady; 'but henceforth you shall have a name,\nfor to do you justice you are as hard as iron, and Iron you shall be\ncalled--Big Iron Ferrone--and cannon-balls shall be your coat-of-arms,\n_in saecula saeculorum_. By edict of the Queen of the Fairies!'\n\n\"Now at this all the love in the Signore Pietro concentrated itself in\nhis heart, passed into his tongue, and caused him to burst forth in song\nin the following _ottava_, while the music accompanied:\n\n \"'Quando vedo le femmine rammone,\n Mi sento andare il cuore in convulsione,\n Hanno certe facette vispe e sane,\n Da fare entrare in sen la tentazione,\n Oh donnina! Non siate disumana!\n Di Pietro abbiate compassione!\n Scusante la modestia se l'e troppo\n Di questi personali non sene poppo.'\n\n \"'When I behold thy all too lovely features,\n I feel my heart in soft convulsions heaving,\n Thou art the most entrancing of all creatures,\n I tell you so in sooth, without deceiving,\n In fact there is no beauty which can beat yours;\n And Pietro loves you, lady, past believing;\n In breasts like cannon-balls there's naught to blame;\n But oh! I hope your heart's not like the same!'\n\n\"But as this exquisite poem concluded with an immense sigh, there\nappeared before them a golden and pearl car, in which the fairy entered,\nand rising sailed away through a great hole in the ceiling, which opened\nbefore and closed behind her, Signore Pietro remaining _a bocca aperta_,\ngaping with opened jaws, till all was o'er.\n\n\"'Well!' exclaimed the master, 'she gave me the slip, but we have had a\njolly evening of it, and I'm the first man who ever fought an iron table,\nand I've got a good idea. My name is now Feroni--the Big Iron\nMan--ladies and gentlemen, please remember, and cannon-balls are in my\ncoat-of-arms!'\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nI have naturally taken some liberty as regards mere text in translating\nthis tale, in order to render the better the spirit of the original; but\nnot so much as may be supposed, and spirit and words are, on the whole,\naccurately rendered.\n\nThe reader is not to suppose that there are any traces of true history in\nthis fairy tale. I am very greatly indebted to Miss Wyndham of Florence\n(who has herself made collections in folk-lore), for investigating this\nsubject of the Feroni family, with the following result--it being\npremised that it had occurred to the lady that the \"cannon-balls\" or\nMedicean pills, or pawnbroker's sign, whatever it was, had been\nattributed by mistake to the Feroni. Miss Wyndham, after consulting with\nauthority, found that the Feroni themselves had not the balls, but, owing\nprobably to transfer of property, there is found on their palaces the\nAlessandri shield, on which the upper half and lower left quarter contain\nthe Medici spheres. She also sent me this extract from the old work,\n_Marietta di Ricci_:\n\n \"The Feroni family, originally named from Balducci da Vinci, and of\n peasant origin, owes its fortune to Francesco, son of Baldo di Paolo\n di Ferone, a dyer of Empoli. Going as a merchant to Holland, he\n accumulated a large fortune. Made known to Cosimo III. (just called\n to the Grand Duchy) by his travels, he was called to Florence. In\n 1673 he was made citizen of Florence, in 1674 he was elected senator,\n and in 1681 appointed Marquis of Bellavista. He left a colossal\n fortune, which has been kept up by his heirs to the present day. His\n grandson Guiseppe was made cardinal in 1753.\n\n \"Their arms are an arm mailed in iron, holding a sword, and above it\n a golden lily in a blue field.\"\n\nThis extract is interesting, as showing how a family could rise by\nindustry and wealth, even in one generation, by the work of a single man,\nto the highest honours in Florence. And it is very remarkable that some\nimpression of the origin of this vigorous artisan and merchant, of\npeasant stock, is evident in the tale. He is there clever and strong,\nbut vulgar and familiar, so that he was not personally liked. He remains\nstanding open-mouthed, like a comic actor, when the fairy vanishes. In\nfact the whole tale suggests the elements of a humorous melodrama or\noperetta, a _bourgeois gentilhomme_.\n\n \"And should it come to pass that any read\n This tale in Viesseux, his library,\n In the Feroni palace, let them think\n That, even in the rooms where they do read,\n The things which I have told once came to pass--\n Even so the echo ever haunts the shrine!\"\n\n\n\n\nLA VIA DELLE BELLE DONNE\n\n\n \"The church of San Gaetano, on the left of the Via Tornabuoni, faces\n the Palazzo Antinori, built by Giuliano di San Gallo. Opposite is\n the Via delle Belle Donne, a name, says Leigh Hunt, which it is a\n sort of tune to pronounce.\"--HARE, _Cities of Central Italy_.\n\nThe name of this place is suggestive of a story of some kind, but it was\na long time before I obtained the following relative to the Street of\nPretty Women:\n\n\"In the Via delle Belle Donne there was a very large old house in which\nwere many lodgers, male and female, who, according to their slender\nmeans, had two rooms for a family. Among these were many very pretty\ngirls, some of them seamstresses, others corset-makers, some milliners,\nall employed in shops, who worked all day and then went out in the\nevening to carry their sewing to the _maggazini_. And it was from them\nthat the street got its name, for it became so much the fashion to go and\nlook at them that young men would say, '_Andiamo nella Via delle Belle\nDonne_,'--'Let us go to the Street of the Pretty Women;' so it has been\nso-called to this day.\n\n\"And when they sallied forth they were at once surrounded or joined by\nyoung men, who sought their company with views more or less honourable,\nas is usual. Among these there was a very handsome and wealthy signore\nnamed Adolfo, who was so much admired that he might have had his choice\nof all these belles, but he had fixed his mind on one, a beautiful\nblonde, who was, indeed, the fairest among them all. She had large black\neyes, with quick glances, beautiful light hair in masses, and was always\ndressed simply, yet with natural elegance. She had long avoided making\nacquaintance among men, and she now shunned Adolfo; but at last he\nsucceeded, after many difficulties, in becoming acquainted, and finally\nwon her heart--the end of it all being the old story of a poor girl\nruined by a gay and great signor, left a mother, and then abandoned.\n\n\"For four years she lived alone, by her work, with her child, who grew up\nto be a very beautiful boy. Then he, noting that other children had\nparents, asked her continually, 'Mamma, where is my papa?'\n\n\"He gave her no rest, and at last she went to Adolfo and asked him what\nhe would do for their child.\n\n\"He laughed at her, and said, 'Nothing. That folly is all over.\nBegone!'\n\n\"Then, in a wild passion of rage at seeing her child so despised, she\nstabbed him to the heart, and escaped unseen and undiscovered.\n\n\"Then, when the boy asked her again:\n\n \"'Cara madre, cara madre,\n Dove e lo mio padre?'\n\n \"'Mother dear, tell to me\n Where may my father be?'\n\n\"She replied:\n\n \"'Darling son, thy sire is dead,\n Lying in an earthen bed;\n Dead he ever will remain,\n By my dagger he was slain.\n Had he but been kind to thee,\n Living still he yet would be;\n Other sorrows I forgave,\n With my dirk I dug his grave. {220}\n\nThis is but a commonplace story, yet it is such as finds more currency\namong the people, and particularly among girls, than many a better one.\nThere is a strong touch of nature, and especially of Italian nature, in\nthe concluding lines.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WIZARD WITH RED TEETH\n\n\n \"And dost thou fear to greet\n The Dead with me. They graced our wedding sweet.\"\n\n --MOORE, _The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan_.\n\nThe following ballad may be classed as Florentine, since it was in\nFlorence that I heard it sung, but it is not attached to any particular\nplace. It is one of those compositions which are either sung or simply\nrecited, and quite as often intoned in a manner which is neither singing\nnor speaking. In such chant, when a rhyme happens to fall in by chance,\nthe utmost is made of it by dwelling on the word or drawling it out.\nSometimes, as in the following, there are verses of four lines each, but\nonly the concluding line of every verse rhymes, _i.e._, with the\npreceding last line of the previous stanza:\n\n IL STREGHONE COI DENTI ROSSI.\n\n \"C'era un gran signore\n Che una bella figlia aveva,\n Far la felice lo credeva,\n Col far la maritar.\n\n \"'Babbo, no'voglio marito,\n Prendo uno soltanto,\n Se si uomo coi dente rossi,\n Di famelo trovar.'\n\n \"'Figlia, non e possibile\n A me mi strazzi il cuor\n Avanti di morire\n Vo farti tranquillo il cuor.'\n\n \"Un giorno allor comparvi,\n Un giovane assai bello,\n E denti rossi li teneva,\n La sua figlia, Amelia,\n 'Mi dica dove ella.'\n\n \"'Io lo vo sposare,\n E con me la vo' portare.'\n 'Dimmi dove la porti,\n Giovane sconosciuto,\n La mia figlia no ti rifiuto,\n Coi denti rossi lo vuol sposar?'\n\n \"Sposa la siora Amelia,\n E se la porta via.\n La casa dove sia,\n Questo poi non lo sa.\n\n \"La porta in una capanna,\n Di foglie, legno, e fieno,\n 'Ortello fa sapere,\n Se vuoi saper chi sono.\n\n \"'Io sono un' streghone,\n Te'l giuro in verita,\n La notte a mezzanotte\n Io ti faccio levar.\n\n \"'Ti porto al camposanto,\n A sotterar i morti;\n E se tu vuoi mangiar,\n Quel sangue, bella mia,\n Tu l'ai da succiar.'\n\n \"La giovana disperata,\n Piange, grida e si dispera,\n Ma rimedio piu non v'era\n Anche lei una strega,\n Toccava diventar.\"\n\n TRANSLATION.\n\n \"There was a grand signore\n Who had a daughter fair;\n He longed to see her happy,\n And wished that she were wed.\n\n \"'Oh, father! I would not marry,\n I have vowed to have for my husband\n One with teeth as red as coral.\n Oh! find him for me,' she said.\n\n \"'My daughter, it is not possible,\n You wring and pain my heart.\n Ere I die and pass away\n I would fain be at peace,' said he.\n\n \"One day there appeared before her\n A knight of goodly seeming,\n His teeth were red as coral.\n Said the beautiful Amelia,\n 'There is the spouse for me.'\n\n \"'I will marry her,' said the knight,\n 'And bear her with me away.'\n 'Tell me where wilt thou take her,\n Thou strange and unknown man.\n I do not refuse her to thee,\n But whither wilt thou roam?'\n\n \"He married fair Amelia,\n And carried her far away.\n \"Where is the house thou dwell'st in?\n And say where is thy home?'\n\n \"He took her to a cabin,\n All leaves and sticks and hay,\n 'My true name is Ortello.\n To-night, at the hour of midnight,\n I will carry thee away.\n\n \"'I will bear thee to the graveyard\n To dig up the newly dead;\n Then if thou hast thirst or hunger\n Thou mayst suck the blood of the corpses,'\n To her the Sorcerer said.\n\n \"She wept in desperate sorrow,\n She wrung her lily hand,\n But she was lost for ever,\n And in the witches' band.\"\n\nThis was, and is, a very rude ballad; its moral appears to be that\nfeminine caprice and disregard of parental love must be punished. It is\nvery remarkable as having to perfection that Northern or German element\nwhich Goethe detected in a Neapolitan witch-song given in his Italian\njourney. {224} It has also in spirit, and somewhat strangely in form,\nthat which characterises one of Heine's most singular songs. It\nimpresses me, as I was only yesterday impressed in the Duomo of Siena at\nfinding, among the wood-carvings in the choir, Lombard grotesques which\nwere markedly Teutonic, having in them no trace of anything Italian.\n\n \"Quaint mysteries of goblins and strange things,\n We scarce know what--half animal half vine,\n And beauteous face upon a toad, from which\n Outshoots a serpent's tail--the Manicore,\n A mixture grim of all things odd and wild,\n The fairy-witch-like song of German eld.\"\n\n\n\n\nORPHEUS AND EURYDICE\n\n\n \"Wherever beauty dwells,\n In gulf or aerie mountains or deep dells,\n Thou pointest out the way, and straight 'tis won,\n Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death.\"\n\n --KEATS.\n\n \"Silvestres homines sacer interpres que Deorum\n Caedibus et victu deterruit ORPHEUS.\n Dictus ob hoc lenire tigres, rabidosque Leones.\"\n\n --HORACE.\n\nIt may have happened to the reader, in his travels, to trace in some\nmajestic mountain-land, amid rocky ravines, that which was, perhaps, in\nprehistoric times a terrible torrent or a roaring river. I mean, indeed,\nsuch a furious flood as is now unknown on earth, one which tore away the\nhighest hills like trifles, melting them in a minute to broad alluvials,\nand ground up the grandest granite cliffs to gravel-dust, even as a\nmighty mill grates grain to flour.\n\nYou trace the course of the ancient river which when young vaulted the\nvalley, which it had made, on either side with overhanging precipices,\nwhich now bend like silent mourners over its grave. And it seems to be\ndead and buried for ever.\n\nYet it may chance that, looking more deeply into its course to see if,\nperhaps, some flakes of antique gold are not to be found in the bed of\nthe old water-course, you hear deep in some rocky crevice far below, and\nout of sight, the merry gurgle or voice-like murmur of a spring or unseen\nrivulet which indicates that the river of ancient days is not quite lost\nin the land. Unsuspected, like the sapphire serpent of Eastern legend,\nthat diamond-clear rivulet has wound its mysterious course deep in the\nearth for ages, and, following its sound, you may come to some place\nwhere it again leaps forth into sunlight--little, indeed, yet ever\nbeautiful. It is almost touching to see that diminished rill creeping\ntimidly round the feet of giant boulders which it once rent in sport from\nthe mighty rocks, and rolled into what were for it in its whilom power,\nmere marbles. It is small now, and very obscure, yet it lives and is\never beautiful.\n\nSuch a stream, which I traced yesterday in an ancient gorge in the heart\nof the Apennines, where the grey tower of Rocca looks down on the\nmysterious Ponte del Diavolo of the twelfth century--the most picturesque\nbridge in Italy--forcibly reminds me of the human stream of old tradition\nwhich once, as marvellous mythology or grand religion, roared and often\nraged over all this region, driving before it, and rending away, all the\nmighty rocks of human will, now tearing down and anon forming stupendous\ncliffs of observances, and vast monoliths of legend and faith. Such were\nthe Etruscan and early Roman cults, which drove before them and engulfed\nirresistibly all the institutions of their time, and then disappeared so\nutterly that men now believe that the only remaining record of their\nexistence is in their tombs or rocky relics of strange monuments.\n\nBut by bending low to earth, or seeking among the people, we may hear the\nmurmur of a hidden stream of legend and song which, small and shrunken as\nit may be, is still the veritable river of the olden time. Many such\nstreams are running in many lands, and that full openly on the earth's\nsurface, but this to which I specially refer is strangely occult and\ndeeply hidden, for to find it we must seek among the _strege_ and\n_stregoni_, or witches and sorcerers, who retain as dark secrets of their\nown, marvellous relics of the myths of the early ages. These are, in\nmany cases, so strangely quaint and beautiful that they would seem to\nhave kept something of an original perfume which has utterly perished in\nthe dried flowers of tradition preserved in books, or even by poets.\n\nThis seems to me to be the case with the incantation to Orpheus, which is\nnow before me, written in rude dialect, which indicates, so to speak, the\ndepth of the earth from which it was taken. I had asked the woman who\ngave it to me whether she knew such a name as that of Orpheus or Orfeo,\nas connected with music. This was the reply which I received:\n\n ORFEO.\n\n_Scongiurazione a Orfeo per suonare bene uno Zuffolo_. This is the\ninvocation to Orpheus for him who would fain become a good player on the\nshepherd's pipe. {227}\n\n SCONGIURAZIONE.\n\n \"Ogni giorno io mi metto\n Questo zuffolo a suonare,\n Per poterlo bene inparare,\n E a preso dei maestri\n Per potermi fare insegnare,\n Ma non so come mi fare,\n Nella testa non mi vuole entrare,\n A che partito mi devo apigliare:\n Io non so come mi fare;\n Ma tu Orfeo che siei tanto chapace\n Per lo zuffolo, e il violino,\n Suoni bene pur lo organino,\n La chitarra e il mandolino,\n La gran cassa, il trombone,\n Suoni bene lo clarino,\n E non 'ce uno strumento\n Che tu Orfeo tu non sia\n Chapace di bene suonare,\n Per la musicha siei molto bravo,\n E tu ai ogni potenza,\n Che da diavoli siei protetto,\n Dunque insegnami come fare,\n Questo zuffolo va scongiurare,\n Per poter bene suonare,\n Questo zuffolo lo prendo,\n Sotto terra io lo metto,\n E tre giorni ce lo fo stare,\n A fine che tu Orfeo,\n Bene tu me lo facci a suonare;\n Che tanto siei amante\n Di suonare sarai amante,\n Pur d'insegnare per quanto\n Ai soferto la tua _Auradice_,\n Dal inferno non potere levare,\n Ma vollo lei a preghare,\n Che ti aiuti questo zuffolo volere suonare,\n E tu che sempre e di musicha,\n Siei chapace che fino\n Le bestie ti vengono ascoltare,\n Orfeo! Orfeo! ti prego;\n Orfeo! volermi insegnare\n Questo zuffolo bene suonare,\n E appena suonero,\n Il maestro musicho Orfeo ringraziero,\n E a tutti sempre faro,\n Sapere a chi mi a dato,\n Questo talento che le stato,\n Orfeo dal inferno lo scongiurato,\n E per la musicha o tanto,\n Pasione al mio zuffolo a dato,\n Lezione e lo zuffolo e un strumento\n Che ne son tanto inamorato\n Che dai miei vecchi era molto ramentato,\n E sempre mi dicevano,\n Se dinparar lo non siei chapace,\n Orfeo devi scongiurare;\n E cosi io faro,\n E Orfeo preghero!\"\n\n TRANSLATION.\n\n \"Every day I try, and yet\n I cannot play the flageolet;\n Many masters I have sought,\n Naught I learned from all they taught;\n I am dull, 'tis very true,\n And I know not what to do\n In this strait, unless it be,\n Great Orpheus, to come to thee;\n Thou who the greatest skill didst win,\n On flageolet and violin,\n Who play'st the organ, pealing far,\n The mandolin and the guitar,\n Thou wak'st the clarion's stirring tone,\n The rattling drum and loud trombone;\n On earth there is no instrument,\n Whate'er it be, to mortals sent,\n Enchanting every sense away,\n Which thou, O Orpheus! canst not play;\n Great must thy skill in music be,\n Since even the demons favour thee;\n And since on this my heart is set,\n Enchant, I pray, this flageolet,\n And that its tones may sweetly sound,\n I bury it beneath the ground;\n Three days shall it lie hidden thus,\n Till thou, O mighty Orpheus!\n Shalt wake in it by magic spell\n The music which thou lov'st so well.\n I conjure thee by all the woe\n Which grieved thy soul so long ago!\n And pain, when thy _Auradice_\n From the dark realm thou couldst not free,\n To grant me of thy mighty will\n That I may play this pipe with skill,\n Even as thou hast played before;\n For, as the story runs, of yore,\n Whenever thou didst wake its sound,\n The forest beasts came raptured round.\n Orpheus! Orpheus! I pray,\n Orpheus! teach me how to play!\n And when sweet music forth I bring,\n On every chord thy name shall ring,\n And every air which charms shall be\n A hymn of thanks, great lord, to thee!\n And unto all I'll make it known,\n I owe it all to thee alone,\n And of the wondrous skill I'll tell,\n Which mighty Orpheus won from hell.\n And by the music, and the power,\n Of passion in me, from this hour\n Henceforth in this sweet instrument\n I shall be ever well content;\n For now, I do remember well,\n What 'twas my father oft would tell,\n That all who would learn music thus\n Must conjure mighty Orpheus,\n Even as I have done to-day,\n So I to him will ever pray.\"\n\nTo which the manuscript adds in prose:\n\n \"Thus the peasants do when they do not succeed in playing the\n shepherd's pipe, which they esteem beyond any other instrument.\"\n\nTo any one who fully feels and understands what is meant to be conveyed\nby this incantation--and a great deal is expressed by passionate singing\nand a deep thrilling intonation which the text does not give--my\ntranslation will appear to be quite accurate. But, in any case, no\nscholar or poet can deny that there is in it a strange depth of classic\nfeeling, or of old Roman romance, not strained at second-hand through\nbooks, but evidently drawn from rude antiquity, which is as fresh in its\nring as it is marvellous.\n\nIt may be observed as exquisitely curious that in this incantation the\npeasant who wishes to become a skilled performer on the flageolet _buries\nit for three days in the ground_, invoking Orpheus by what the spirit\nsuffered in losing Eurydice, and subsequently distinctly declaring that\nhe won or conjured his great musical power from Hades, which means that\nby the penance and loss, and his braving the terrors of the Inferno, he\ngained _skill_. This is a mighty element of the myth in all its forms,\nin all ages, in every country. The burying the instrument for three days\nprobably typifies the three days during which Orpheus was in hell.\n\nIt may be observed that Eurydice has become _Auradice_ in the\nincantation, in which there is probably an intimation of _Aura_, a light\nwind or zephyr. Air is so naturally associated with music. This, by a\nvery singular coincidence, yet certainly due to mere chance, recalls the\ninvocation to the Spirit of the Air, given by Bulwer in \"The Last Days of\nPompeii\":\n\n \"Spectre of the viewless air,\n Hear the blind Thessalian's prayer,\n By Erichtho's art that shed\n Dews of life when life was fled,\n By lone Ithaca's wise king,\n Who could wake the crystal spring\n To the voice of prophecy\n _By the lost Eurydice_!\n Summoned from the shadowy throng,\n At the muse-son's magic song:\n Come, wild Demon of the Air,\n Answer to thy votary's prayer.\"\n\nIt is indeed very remarkable that in the call to the God of Music, who is\nin certain wise a spirit of the air, as in that to the Spirit of the Air\nhimself, both are invoked:\n\n \"By the lost Eurydice!\"\n\nIf it could be shown that Bulwer owed this poem and allusion to any\nancient work or tradition, I should be tempted to believe that the\npopular invocation was derived from some source in common with the\nlatter. There is indeed a quaint naive drollery in the word\n_Aura_dice--\"Air-tell!\" or \"Air-declare!\" which adapts it better to the\nspirit of Bulwer's poem, in which the air is begged to tell something,\nthan to the Orphean or Orphic spell. It may be that the Orphic oracles\nwere heard in the voice of the wind, apropos of which latter there is a\nstrange Italian legend and an incantation to be addressed to all such\nmystic voices of the night, which almost seems re-echoed in \"Lucia\":\n\n \"Verrano a te sull' aure,\n I miei sospiri ardenti,\n Udrai nell mar che mormora\n L'eco de miei lamenti!\"\n\nIt is worth observing that this tradition, though derived from the\nRomagna, was given to me in Florence, and that one of the sculptures on\nthe Campanile represents Orpheus playing the pipe to wild beasts. It is\nsaid that in the Middle Ages the walls of churches were the picture-books\nof the people, where they learned all they knew of Bible legends, but not\nunfrequently gathered many strange tales from other sources. The\nsculptors frequently chose of their own will scenes or subjects which\nwere well known to the multitude, who would naturally be pleased with the\npicturing what they liked, and it may be that Orpheus was familiar then\nto all. In any case, the finding him in a witch incantation is\nsingularly in accordance with the bas-relief of the Cathedral of\nFlorence, which again fits in marvellously well with Byron's verse:\n\n \"Florence! whom I will love as well\n As ever yet was said or sung,\n Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell,\n Whilst thou art fair and I am young.\n\n \"Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times,\n When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes.\n Had bards as many realms as rhymes,\n Thy charms might raise new Antonies!\"\n\nTrue it is that _this_ Florence seems to have had dazzling eyes and\nringlets curled; and it is on the other hand not true that Orpheus sang\nhis spouse from hell--he only tried to do it. And it is worth noting\nthat one of the commonest halfpenny pamphlets sold in Florence, which is\nto be found at every public stand, is a poem called \"Orpheus and\nEurydice.\" This fact alone renders it less singular that such classical\nincantations should exist.\n\nThe early Christians, notwithstanding their antipathy to heathen symbols,\nretained with love that of Orpheus. Orpheus was represented as a gentle\nyouth, charming-wild beasts with the music of the pipe, or as surrounded\nby them and sheep; hence he was, like the Good Shepherd, the favourite\ntype of Christ. He had also gone down into shadowy Hades, and returned\nto be sacrificed by the heathen, unto whose rites he would not conform.\n\nMiss Roma Lister found traces of Orpheus among the peasantry about Rome,\nin a pretty tradition. They say that there is a spirit who, when he\nplays the _zufolo_ or flageolet to flocks, attracts them by his music and\nkeeps them quiet.\n\n \"Now there were certain shepherd families and their flocks together\n in a place, and it was agreed that every night by turns, each family\n should guard the flocks of all the rest. But it was observed that\n one mysterious family all turned in and went to sleep when their turn\n came to watch, and yet every morning every sheep was in its place.\n Then it was found that this family had a spirit who played the\n _zufolo_, and herded the flock by means of his music.\"\n\nThe name is wanting, but Orpheus was there. The survival of the soul of\nOrpheus in the _zufolo_ or pipe, and in the sprite, reveals the mystic\nlegend which indicates his existing to other times. In this it is said\nthat his head after death predicted to Cyrus the Persian monarch that he\ntoo would be killed by a woman (_Consule Leonic_, _de var. histor._, lib.\ni. cap. 17; _de Orphei Tumulo in monte Olympo_, &c., cited by _Kornmann\nde Miraculis Mortuorum_, cap. 19). The legend of Orpheus, or of a living\nwife returning from another world to visit an afflicted husband, passed\nto other lands, as may be seen in a book by Georgius Sabinus, _in Notis\nad Metamorp_. _Ovidii_, lib. x. _de descensu Orphei ad Inferos_, in\nwhich he tells how a Bavarian lady, after being buried, was so moved by\nher husband's grief that she came to life again, and lived with him for\nmany years, _semper tamen fuisse tristem ac pallidem_--but was always sad\nand pale. However, they got on very well together for a long time, till\none evening _post vesperi potum_--after he had taken his evening\ndrink--being somewhat angry at the housemaid, he scolded her with\nunseemly words. Now it was the condition of his wife's coming back to\nlife and remaining with him that he was never to utter an improper\nexpression (_ut que deinceps ipse abstineret blasphemis conviciandi\nverbis_). And when the wife heard her husband swear, she disappeared,\nsoul and body, and that in such a hurry that her dress (which was\ncertainly of fine old stiff brocade) was found standing up, and her shoes\nunder it. A similar legend, equally authentic, may be found in the\n\"Breitmann Ballads,\" a work, I believe, by an American author. On which\nsubject the learned Flaxius remarks that \"if all the men who swear after\ntheir evening refreshments were to lose their wives, widowers would\nbecome a drug in the market.\"\n\nOf the connection between _aura_ as air, and as an _air_ in music, I have\nsomething curious to note. Since the foregoing was written I bought in\nFlorence a large wooden cup, it may be of the eleventh century or\nearlier, known as a _misura_, or measure for grain, formerly called a\n_modio_, in Latin _modus_, which word has the double meaning of measure\nfor objects solid or liquid, and also for music. Therefore there are on\nthe wooden measure four female figures, each holding a musical\ninstrument, and all with their garments blowing in one direction, as in a\nhigh wind, doubtless to signify _aura_, Italian _aria_, air or melody.\nThese madonnas of the four _modes_ are rudely but very gracefully\nsketched by a bold master-hand. They represent, in fact, Eurydice\nquadrupled.\n\nThere is a spirit known in the Toscana Romagna as _Turabug_. He is the\nguardian of the reeds or canes, or belongs to them like the ancient\nSyrinx. There is a curious ceremony and two invocations referring to\nhim. Ivy and rue are specially sacred to him. One of these two\ninvocations is solely in reference to playing the _zufolo_, partly that\nthe applicant may be inspired to play well, and secondly, because the\nspirit is supposed to be attracted by the sound of the instrument. The\nvery ancient and beautiful idea that divinities are invoked or attracted\nby music, is still found in the use of the organ in churches.\n\nA large portion of the foregoing on Orpheus formed, with \"Intialo,\" the\nsubject of a paper by me in Italian, which was read in the Collegio\nRomana at Rome at the first meeting of the Italian _Societa Nazionale per\nle Tradizioni Popolari Italiani_, in November 1893. Of which society I\nmay here mention that it is under the special patronage of her Majesty\nMargherita the Queen of Italy, who is herself a zealous and accomplished\nfolklorist and collector--\"special patronage\" meaning here not being a\nmere figurehead, but first officer--and that the president is Count\nAngelo de Gubernatis.\n\nI believe that the establishment of this society will contribute vastly\nto shake in Italy the old-fashioned belief that to be a person of the\n_most_ respectable learning it is quite sufficient to be thoroughly\nacquainted with a few \"classic\" writers, be they Latin, French, or\nItalian, and that it is almost a crime to read anything which does not\ndirectly serve as a model or a copy whereby to \"refine our style.\" As\nregards which the whole world is now entering on a new renaissance, the\nconflict between the stylists and the more liberally enlightened having\nalready begun.\n\nBut Orpheus, with the ecclesiastical witch-doctors, was soon turned into\na diabolical sorcerer; and Leloyer writes of him: \"He was the greatest\nwizard who ever lived, and his writings boil over with praises of devils\nand filthy loves of gods and mortals, . . . who were all only devils and\nwitches.\"\n\nThat Eve brought death and sin into the world by eating one apple, or a\nfig, or orange, or Chinese nectarine, or the fruit of the banana tree, or\na pear, a peach, or everything pomological, if we are to believe all\ntranslators of the Bible, coincides strongly with the fact that Eurydice\nwas lost for tasting a pomegranate. \"Of the precise graft of the\nespalier of Eden,\" says the author of the 'Ingoldsby Legends,'\n\"Sanchoniathon, Manetho, and Berosus are undecided; the best informed\nTalmudists have, however . . . pronounced it a Ribstone pippin,\" Eve\nbeing a rib. The ancients were happy in being certain that their apple\nwas one of Granada.\n\n \"_Haec fabula docet_,\" writes our Flaxius, \"that mysteries abound in\n every myth. Now, whether Orpheus was literally the first man who\n ever went to hell for a woman I know not, but well I ween that he was\n not the last, as the majority of French novelists of the present day\n are chiefly busy in proving, very little, as it seems to me, either\n to the credit of their country or of themselves. But there are\n others who read in this tale a dark and mysterious forewarning to the\n effect that ladies _a la mode_ who fall in love with Italian\n musicians or music-masters, and especially those who let themselves\n and their fortunes be _sifflees_ (especially the fortunes), should\n not be astonished when the fate of Eurydice befalls them. Pass on,\n beloved, to another tale!\n\n \"'Walk on, amid these mysteries strange and old,\n The strangest of them all is yet to come!'\"\n\n\n\n\nINTIALO\nTHE SPIRIT OF THE HAUNTING SHADOW\n\n\n \"O ombra che dalla luce siei uscita,\n Misuri il passo al Sole, all'uom la vita.\"\n\n \"Umbram suam metuere.\"\n\n \"Badate.\n La vostra ombra vi avra fatto paura.\"\n\n --_Filippo Pananti_.\n\n \"There is a feeling which, perhaps, all have felt at times; . . . it\n is a strong and shuddering impression which Coleridge has embodied in\n his own dark and supernatural verse that Something not of earth is\n behind us--that if we turned our gaze backward we should behold that\n which would make the heart as a bolt of ice, and the eye shrivel and\n parch within its socket. And so intense is the fancy, that _when_ we\n turn, and all is void, from that very void we could shape a spectre\n as fearful as the image our terror had foredrawn.\"--BULWER, _The\n Disowned_.\n\nThe resemblance and the relation of the shadow to the body is so\nstrangely like that of the body to the soul, that it is very possible\nthat it first suggested the latter. It is born of light, yet is in\nitself a portion of the mystery of darkness; it is the facsimile of man\nin every outline, but in outline alone; filled in with uniform sombre\ntint, it imitates our every action as if in mockery, which of itself\nsuggests a goblin or sprite, while in it all there is something of self,\ndarkling and dream-like, yet never leaving us. It is only evident in\nbrightest hours, like a skeleton at an Egyptian feast, and it has neither\nmore nor less resemblance to man than the latter. Hence it came that the\nstrange \"dwellers by the Nile\" actually loved both shade and death by\nassociation, and so it happened that\n\n \"Full many a time\n They seemed half in love with easeful Death;\n Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,\"\n\nwhile they made of the cool shadow a portion of the soul itself, or\nrather one of the seven or eight entities of which man consisted, these\nbeing--_Khat_, a body; _Ba_, the spirit; _Khon_, the intelligence;\n_Khaibit_, _the shadow_; _Ren_, the name; _Ka_, eternal vitality; _Ab_,\nthe heart; and _Sahn_, the mask or mummy.\n\nIt is extremely interesting to consider, in connection with this Egyptian\ndoctrine, the fact, illustrated by every writer on Etruscan antiquity,\nthat these ancient dwellers in Italy, when they represented the departed,\nor the dead, as living again on a tomb, added to the name of the deceased\nthe word _Hinthial_. This I once believed meant simply a ghost or\nspirit. I had no other association with the name.\n\nI inquired for a long time if there was any such name as _Hintial_ for a\nghost among the people, and could not find it. At last my chief agent\nsucceeded in getting from sources to me unknown, but, as in all cases,\npartly from natives of the Toscana Romagna, or Volterra, and at different\ntimes, very full information regarding this mysterious being, which I\ncombine as follows:\n\n INTIALO.\n\n\"This is a spirit in human form who shows himself in any shadow, {238}\nand diverts himself by inspiring terror in a sorcerer, or in any one who\nhas committed a crime. He causes a fearful shadow to be ever present to\nthe man, and addresses him thus:\n\n _Il domone al Stregone_.\n\n \"Vile--tu non potrai\n Avere mai bene--avrai\n Sempre la mia ombra\n In tua presenza, e saro\n Vendicato . . . {239}\n\n \"Tu non potrai giammai\n Essere solo, che l'ombra\n Mia ovunque andrai\n Ti seguira: tu non potrai\n Essere mai solo, tu sarai\n Sempre in mio potere!\n\n \"Al mio incantesimo non avrai\n Ne pace ne bene, al mio\n Incanto tu tremerai,\n Te e tutta la casa dove ti troverai,\n Se sei in mezzo alla strada,\n Tu tremerai--\n Te e tutta la terra!\n\n \"Al mio volere tu andrai\n Come cane alla pagliaio,\n Alla voce del suo maestro;\n Tu me vorrai\n Vedere, e non mi vedrai,\n Mi sentirai--\n Vedrai sola la tua ombra.\n\n \"Tu sei cattivo e scelerato,\n Tu sei avelenato,\n Nel cuore e nell anima,\n E piu bene non avrai,\n Sei avelenato nel cuore,\n E nell anima, vai,\n Tu siei maladetto;\n E il spirito sempre ti seguira\n Ovunque tu vada!\"\n\n TRANSLATION.\n\n _The Demon to the Sorcerer_.\n\n \"Wretch! long lost in wickedness,\n Thou shalt ne'er have happiness;\n Though to distant lands thou'lt flee,\n Still my shadow thou shalt see,\n And I will revenged be.\n\n \"Solitude thou ne'er shalt know,\n Where thou goest my shade shall go,\n And wherever thou mayst fly\n Still the shadow will be by--\n Ne'er alone at any hour,\n And for ever in my power.\n\n \"By my spell thou ne'er shalt know\n Peace or joy on earth below,\n At my charm a deadly fear\n Shall seize on all men standing near;\n Thou shalt tremble in thy home,\n Or if thou abroad shouldst roam,\n Shivering with fear thou'lt be,\n And the earth shall shake with thee.\n\n \"At my bidding thou must stir,\n And hasten as the vilest cur\n Must hasten when his master calls,\n And leave his straw amid the stalls;\n And if thou wouldst gaze on me,\n Still my form thou shalt not see;\n Thou shalt feel when I am here,\n Feel me in thy deadly fear,\n Yet only see thy shadow near.\n\n \"Thou art vile and wicked too,\n Thou art poisoned through and through;\n In thy heart and in thy soul,\n Cursedness is in the whole,\n In thy soul and in thy heart,\n Poison steeped in every part.\n Cursed ever! now, depart!\n Yet wherever thou shalt flee\n I will ever follow thee!\n\n\"Then this man will be in terror, and he will ever see the shadow before\nhim by day and by night, and thus he will have no peace, and yet this is\nall the time the spirit of Intialo.\n\n\"Now, when he is thus tormented for some past misdeed, and he feels\nhimself haunted, as it were, by the shadow of the one whom he has\nwronged, when he finds at last that he is not pursued, indeed, by it, but\nby Intialo, then he shall repeat the Exorcism:\n\n _Scongiurazione di Intialo_.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo! che quando\n Una persona ai preso,\n O per seguitare le ingombri\n Le ingombri sempre la cammina.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo! se libero\n Il passo mi lascerai meglio\n Per te sara, se non mi verrai\n Lasciare ti faccio sapere\n Tu sarai sempre in mio potere.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo! ti faccio sapere,\n Se metto in opera\n La mia scongiurazione,\n Non ti lasciero piu bene avere,\n E ogni mi a chiamata\n Ti faro correre\n Come chane al pagliaio.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo!\n Ti faccio sapere\n Che tu pensi a fare\n Il tuo dovere,\n Se ancora mi viene a tormentare\n Muso di porco tu possa diventare.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo!\n Tu siei furbo e maligno,\n Ma io me ne infischio,\n Perche io sono di te,\n Molto piu maligno.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo! ti prego\n Di non mi piu tormentare\n Se vuoi aver bene,\n Se no ti acquisterai\n Delle pene--e questo sara\n Il tuo guadagno.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo!\n Con tutta la tua furberia,\n Non sai ancora\n Che io son protetto\n Da una bella stregha\n Che mi adora.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo!\n Se piu ne vuoi sapere\n Vieni sta sera,\n Vieni a mezza notte,\n Viene di dove sei,\n Te lo faro vedere,\n Vieno sotto 'quel noce\n E tu lo vedrai.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo!\n La mezza notte in punto,\n Noi l'abbiamo,\n E ti vedo (vedro) appogiato\n Al noce che credi di vedere,\n Vedere l'ombra mia,\n E vedi l'ombra tua stessa!\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo!\n Dentro al mio seno\n Quattro cose tengo,\n Che mi fanno vedere,\n E non son veduto,\n Ellera, pane,\n Sale e ruta,\n E la mia buona fortuna.\n\n \"Intialo! Intialo!\n Non ti voglio dire,\n Perche io voglio\n Andare a dormire;\n Ma solo ti ho fatto\n Ti ho fatto vedere\n Che non son' in poter tuo,\n Ma tu siei in mio potere.\"\n\n _The Exorcism of Intialo_.\n\n \"Intialo! it is known\n When thou followest any one,\n Be the victim whom he may,\n Thou art ever in his way.\n\n \"Intialo--hear! if free\n Thou wilt leave the road to me,\n Better for thee shall it be;\n If thou wilt not, from this hour\n I will hold thee in _my_ power.\n\n \"Intialo! thou shalt learn\n That I'm wizard in my turn;\n All the power of sorcery\n So about thee I will throw--\n All around, above, below--\n That thou shalt accursed be,\n Held in fear and agony,\n And as a dog shalt follow me.\n\n \"Intialo! thou shalt know\n What thou art ere thou canst go;\n If thou comest here again\n To torment or give me pain,\n As thou'dst make a dog of me,\n I will make a swine of thee.\n\n \"Intialo! sorry cheat,\n Filled with hate from head to feet,\n Be malignant if you will,\n I am more malignant still.\n\n \"Intialo! for thy sake\n I pray thee no more trouble take\n To torment me, for thy gain\n Will only be thy greater pain,\n For so cursed thou shalt be\n That I needs must pity thee.\n\n \"Intialo! now, confess\n That with all thy craftiness\n Thou didst not know what now I tell,\n That I am protected well\n By a lovely witch, and she\n Is mightier far, O fiend! than thee.\n\n \"Intialo! ere we go,\n If thou more of me wouldst know,\n Come at midnight--I shall be\n 'Neath the witches' walnut tree,\n And what I shall make thee see\n I trow will be enough for thee.\n\n \"Intialo! in that hour\n Thou shalt truly feel my power,\n And when thou at last shalt ween\n That on the witches' tree I lean,\n Then to thee it shall be known\n That my shadow is thine own.\n\n \"Intialo! everywhere\n With me magic charms I bear,\n Ivy, bread and salt and rue,\n And with them my fortune too.\n\n \"Intialo! hence away,\n Unto thee no more I'll say;\n Now I fain would go to sleep,\n See that thou this warning keep.\n I am not in power of thine,\n But thou truly art in mine.\"\n\nI had the belief, derived from several writers, that _Hinthial_ in\nEtruscan meant simply a ghost or _revenant_--the apparition of some one\ndead. But on mentioning my discovery of this legend to Professor Milani,\nthe Director of the Archaeological Museum in Florence, and the first of\nEtruscan scholars, he astonished me by declaring that he believed the\nword signified a _shadow_, and that its real meaning in its full\nsignificance had apparently been marvellously preserved in this\nwitch-tradition. Too little is known as yet of the old Etruscan language\nto decide with certainty as to anything in it, but should this opinion of\nProfessor Milani be sustained, it will appear that at least one word of\nthe mysterious tongue has existed till now in popular tradition.\n\nThere will be very few of my readers who will not be struck, as I was,\nwith the remarkable resemblance of the terrible curse uttered by Intialo\nto the invocation in Byron's tragedy of \"Manfred.\" It is like it in\nform, spirit, and, in many places, even in the very words. That there\nwas, however, no knowledge of the English poem by the Italian witch-poet,\nand therefore no imitation, is plain from intrinsic evidence. As the\nquestion is interesting, I will here give the Incantation from \"Manfred\":\n\n INCANTATION.\n\n \"When the moon is on the wave,\n And the glow-worm in the grass,\n And the meteor on the grave,\n And the wisp on the morass;\n When the falling stars are shooting,\n And the answered owls are hooting,\n And the silent leaves are still\n In the shadow of the hill,\n Shall my soul be upon thine\n With a power and with a sign.\n\n \"Though thy slumber may be deep,\n Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;\n There are shades which shall not vanish,\n There are thoughts thou canst not banish;\n By a power to thee unknown\n Thou canst never be alone;\n Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,\n Thou art gathered in a cloud,\n And for ever shalt thou dwell\n In the spirit of this spell.\n\n \"Though thou see'st me not pass by,\n Thou shalt feel me with thine eye,\n As a thing that, though unseen,\n Must be near thee, and hath been;\n And when in that secret dread\n Thou hast turned around thy head,\n Thou shalt marvel I am not\n As thy shadow on the spot,\n And the power which thou dost feel\n Shall be what thou must conceal.\n\n \"And a magic voice and verse\n Hath baptized thee with a curse,\n And a spirit of the air\n Hath begirt thee with a snare;\n In the wind there is a voice\n Shall forbid thee to rejoice;\n And to thee shall night deny\n All the quiet of her sky;\n And the day shall have a sun\n Which shall make thee wish it done.\n\n \"From thy false tears I did distil\n An essence which hath strength to kill;\n From thy own heart I then did wring\n The black blood in its blackest spring;\n From thy own smile I snatched the snake,\n For there it coiled as in a brake;\n From thy own lip I drew the charm\n Which gave all these their chiefest harm;\n In proving every poison known,\n I found the strongest was thine own.\n\n \"By thy cold breast and serpent smile,\n By thy unfathomed depths of guile,\n By that most seeming virtuous eye,\n By thy shut soul's hypocrisy,\n By the perfection of thine art,\n Which passed for human thine own heart;\n By thy delight in others' pain,\n And by thy brotherhood of Cain,\n I call upon thee, and compel\n Thyself to be thy proper hell!\n\n \"And on thy head I pour the vial\n Which doth devote thee to this trial;\n Not to slumber, nor to die,\n Shall be in thy destiny,\n Though thy death shall still seem near\n To thy wish, but as a fear;\n Lo! the spell now works around thee,\n And the clankless chain hath bound thee:\n O'er thy heart and brain together\n Hath the word been passed--now wither!\"\n\nThe Italian poem forms, in its first and second parts, a drama as\ncomplete as that of \"Manfred,\" and, as I hope to render clear, one more\nconsistent to the leading idea, or, as critics were wont to say, \"more\ncoherent in the unities.\" This idea in the one, as in the other, is that\nof a powerful _sorcerer_ assailed by a fiend in the form of remorse, and\nthat with the most aggravating and insulting terms of contempt. In\n\"Manfred\" the persecutor tells his victim that he shall be his own hell,\nfor that of all poisons his own evil heart is the worst. The Italian,\nmore direct and less metaphysical still, alludes, in the accusation by\nthe spirit, to no other punishment save that of conscience, and declares\nthe magician to be poisoned through and through in himself:\n\n \"Tu sei cattivo e scelerato,\n Tu sei avvelenato\n Nel cuore e nell anima,\"\n\nand bids him go forth to be for ever pursued by the avenger.\n\nByron's poem is entirely based on sorcery, and is intended to set forth\nthe tremendous mental struggles of a mind which has risen above mankind\nwith supernatural power, which assails him with remorse. In the first\nplace he simply goes to sleep; in the grand finale he resists, like Don\nJuan, or, as the saying is, \"dies game\"--\"only this, and nothing\nmore\"--leaving all idea of an end, object, moral, or system, entirely in\nthe dark. \"Manfred\" is merely dramatic for the sake of _stage effect_,\nand only excellent in impressing us with the artistic skill of the\nauthor. Its key is art for the sake of art, and effect on anybody, no\nmatter who. Within this limit it is most admirable.\n\nIn both the Italian and English poems the one persecuted makes his strong\npoint of departure from the discovery or knowledge that the persecuted is\nnot one whom he has injured, but simply a mocking and tormenting sprite.\nThus the former text declares that when he finds he is pursued simply by\nIntialo, the shadow, which we may here translate \"his own imagination,\"\nhe rallies with a tremendous counter-curse in which far more is meant\nthan meets the eye. The grand mission of the _magus_ or sorcerer in all\nthe occult lore of all antiquity, whether he appear as Buddha or any\nother man of men, is to conquer all enemies by tremendous power won by\npenance or by iron _will_. A favourite means of tormenting the enemy or\nfiend is to awaken the conscience of the magician, or, what is the same\nthing, to tempt him to sin, as Satan did Christ. But even conscience\nloses its power when we feel that the foe is exaggerating our sins, and\nonly urging them for torment's sake, and especially when these sins are\nof a kind which from a _certain_ standpoint or code, are not sins at all.\n\nAnd here we are brought to a subject so strange and witch-like that it is\ndifficult to discuss or make clear. It is evident enough in \"Manfred\"\nthat the great crime was the hero's forbidden love for his sister\nAstarte. This it is which crushes him. But it does not appear from the\nItalian (save to those deeply learned in the darker secrets of sorcery)\nwhy or how it is that the one persecuted so suddenly revives and defies\nthe spirit, turning, as it were, his own power against him. In\nexplaining this, I do not in the least conjecture, guess, or infer\nanything; I give the explanation as it was understood by the narrator,\nand as confirmed by other legends and traditions. It is this:\n\nMichelet, in _La Sorciere_, which amid much lunacy or folly contains many\ntruths and ingenious perceptions, has explained that the witchcraft of\nthe Middle Ages was a kind of mad despairing revolt against the wrongs of\nsociety, of feudalism, and the Church. It was in very truth the\nprecursor of Protestantism. Under the name of religion conscience had\nbeen abused, and artificial sins, dooming to hell, been created out of\nevery trifle, and out of almost every form of natural instincts. The\nreaction from this (which was a kind of nihilism or anarchy), was to\ndeclare the antithetic _excess_ of free will. One of the forms of this\nrevolt was the belief that the greatest sorcerers were born (_ex filio et\nmatre_) from the nearest relations, and that to dare and violate all such\nties was to conquer by daring will the greatest power. It was the\nstrongest defiance of the morality taught by the Church, therefore one of\nthe highest qualifications for an iron-willed magician. It is specially\npointed out in the legend of Diana that she began by such a sin, and so\ncame to be queen of the witches; and the same idea of entire emancipation\nor illumination, or freedom from all ties, is the first step to the\nabsolute free will which constitutes the very basis of all magic. This,\nwhich is repugnant to humanity, was actually exalted by the Persian Magi\nto a duty or religious principle, and it was the same in Egypt as\nregarded \"first families.\" The sorcerer pursued by Intialo bases all his\npower to resist on the mere fact that he is beloved by a beautiful witch.\nThis is the Astarte of the Italian drama, or a sister--the terrible tie\nwhich shows that a man is above conscience, and free from all fear of the\npowers that be, whether of earth or air. By it his triumph is complete.\nHe surmounts the accusation of being without morals by utterly denying\ntheir existence from a higher or illuminated point of view. The _magus_\nclaims to rank with the gods, and if a divinity _creates_ mankind as his\nchildren, and then has a child by a woman, he is in the same state as the\nsorcerer, according to wizards.\n\nIf any reproach attaches to the employment of such an element in poetry,\nthen Byron and Shelley are far more to blame than the Italian witch-poet,\nwho veiled his allusion with much greater care than they did, and who had\nthe vast excuse of _sincere belief_, while their highest aim was mere\nart. The wizard-poet has his heart in this faith, as in a religion, and\nhe is one with his hero. Manfred is at best only a broken-down magician\nwho presents a few boldly dramatic daring traits--the Italian sorcerer,\nwho is far more defiant and fearless, conquers. \"I am more malignant\nthan thou art,\" is a terrible utterance; so is the tone of affected pity\nfor the baffled tormentor, in which we detect a shade of sarcasm based on\noverwhelming triumph. This feeling, be it observed, progresses,\n_crescendo forte_, gradually and very artistically, from the first verse\nto the last. Intialo has threatened to make the victim a sorry cur who\ncomes at a call; the sorcerer replies that he will make \"a swine's snout\"\nof Intialo. Finally, he dares the fiend to meet him at midnight at the\ngreat Witches' Sabbat, at the dread walnut-tree of Benevento. Here the\nthreats reach an ingenious and terrible climax, though the form in which\nthey are expressed is only quite clear to the initiated. The sorcerer\nsays, \"When thou thinkest that thou see'st my shadow thou wilt behold\nthine own,\" or in other words, \"You who have sought to torment me by a\n_shadow_ shall yourself be mocked by finding that you are only mine.\"\nThis climax of daring the fiend to meet him at Benevento, at the\ntremendous and terrible rendezvous of all the devils, witches, and\nsorcerers, and then and there trying conclusions with him in delusion and\nmagic, or a strife of shadows, while leaning against the awful tree\nitself, which is the central point of the Italian Domdaniel, is\nmagnificently imagined.\n\nIn Goethe's \"Faust,\" as in Byron's \"Manfred,\" the hero is a magician, but\nhe is not in either true to the name or character. The great _magus_ of\nearly ages, even like the black Voodoo of America, had it clearly before\nhim all the time that his mission or business, above all things, was to\ndevelop an indomitable _will_ superior to that of men or spirits. Every\npoint is gained by _force_, or by will and penance. In real sorcery\nthere is no such thing as a pact with a devil, and becoming his slave\nafter a time. This is a purely later-Roman invention, a result of the\nadoption of the mixture of Jewish monotheism and Persian dualism, which\nformed the Catholic Church. In Goethe's \"Faust\" we have the greatest\nweakness, and an extreme confusion of character. The conclusion of the\ntale is contradictory or absurd, and the difficulty is solved with the\naid of a _Deus ex machina_. The hero is a sorcerer, and _there is not a\ntrace of true sorcery or magianism or tremendous will and work in the\nwhole drama_. Beautiful things are said and done, but, take it for all\nin all, it is a grand promenade which leads to nothing. {251}\n\nIn the Italian legend, brief and rude as it is, there appears a\ntremendous power worked out with great consistency. The demon or spirit,\nintent on causing remorse or despair (_ad affretare il rimorso_),\nthreatens the sorcerer with terrible maledictions. And these words, if\nwe regard their real meaning and spirit, have never been surpassed in any\npoem.\n\nAnd we should note here that the Italian sorcerer who subdues the devil\nby simple will and pluck is no Manfred or Faust drawn from the religious\nspirit of the Middle Ages. He belongs to the Etruscan age, or to that of\nthe ancient Magi; he meets malediction with malediction, spell with\nspell, curse with curse, injury with injury, sarcasm and jeer with the\nsame; he insults the devil, calling him his slave:\n\n \"Perche io sono di te--molto piu maligno.\"\n\nUntil in the end they change parts, and the demon becomes the one\ntormented. Therefore there is in this legend, with all its rudeness, a\nconception which is so grand, as regards setting forth the possible power\nof man, and the _eritis sicut deus_ of modern science, that it is in\nunity and fulness far beyond any variant of the same subject.\n\nThat this is of great antiquity is clear, for out of this enchanted\nforest of Italian witchcraft and mystical sorcery there never yet came\nanything, great or small, which was not at least of the bronze, if not of\nthe neolithic age.\n\nTruly, when the chief character in a tradition of the old Etruscan land\nbears an Etruscan name, or that of a shadow called a shadow, we may well\nconclude that it is not of yesterday. So all things rise and bloom and\npass away here on this earth to winter and decay, and are as phantoms\nwhich\n\n \"Come like shadows, so depart.\"\n\nFor a last word, \"Manfred\" and \"Faust\" are only works of art, intended to\n\"interest\" or amuse or charm the reader, and as such they are great.\nThey are simply dramas or show-pieces, which also give a high idea of the\nartistic skill of their writers. \"Intialo\" sets forth the great idea of\nthe true sorcerer, in which they both _fail_, and carries it out\nlogically to a tremendous triumph. It is the very quintessence of all\nheresies, and of the first great heresy, _eritis sicut deus_.\n\nThere will not be wanting one or two critics of the low kind who take\ntheir hints from the disavowals of the author to declare that his book is\njust what it is not, who will write that I think I have discovered a\nbetter poet than Keats in Marietta Pery, and a far greater than Goethe or\nByron in the unknown author of the invocation to \"Intialo.\" But all that\nI _truly mean_ is that the former is nearer to old tradition, and more\nsuccinct than the English bard--\"only this and nothing more\"--while in\n\"Intialo\" we have given, as no one ever expressed it, the true ideal of\nthe magician who, overcoming all qualms of conscience, whether innate or\nsuggested, and trampling under foot all moral human conventions, rises to\n_will_, and victory over all enemies, especially the demons of the\nthreshold. As a poem, I no more claim special merit for it than I would\nfor Marietta's; {253} indeed, to the very considerable number of \"highly\ncultivated\" people who only perceive poetry in form and style, and cannot\nfind it in the grandest conceptions unless they are elegantly expressed,\nwhat I have given in this connection will not appear as poetry at all.\n\n\n\n\nCAIN AND HIS WORSHIPPERS\nTHE SPELL OF THE MIRROR--THE INVOCATION TO CAIN--THE WITCH-HISTORY OF\nCAIN AND ABEL\n\n\n \"Rusticus in Luna\n Quem sarcina deprimit una,\n Monstrat per spinas\n Nulli prodesse rapinas.\"\n\n --ALEXANDER NECKHAM, A.D. 1157.\n\nThis is, for reasons which I will explain anon, one of the most curious\ntraditions which have been preserved by the Tuscan peasantry. I had made\ninquiry whether any conjuring by the aid of a mirror existed--\"only this\nand nothing more\"--when, some time after, I received the following:\n\n LA SCONGIURAZIONE DELLO SPECCHIO.\n _When one wishes to enchant a lover_.\n\n\"Go at midnight when there is a fine full moon, and take a small mirror,\nwhich must be kept in a box of a fine red colour, and at each of the four\ncorners of the box put a candle with a pin, or with a pin in its point,\nand observe that two of the pins must have red heads, and two black, and\nform a cross, and note that every candle must have two tassels hanging\nfrom it, one red and one black.\n\n\"And within the box first of all put a good layer of coarse salt, and\nform on the salt a ring or wreath of incense, and in the middle of this a\ncross of cummin, and above all put the small mirror. Then take the\nphotograph of your lover, but not the real photograph but the negative,\nbecause it must be on a plate of glass (_lastra di vetro_). Then take\nsome hairs of the lover and join them to the photograph (_sono uniti\ndalla parte del quore_), and then take a fine sprig of rue.\n\n\"And with all this nicely arranged in the box, take a boat and sail out\nto sea; and if a woman works the spell she must take three men with her\nonly, and if a man three women and no other person. And they must go\nforth at an instant when the moon shines brightly (_risplende bene_) on\nthe mirror. Then hold the left hand over the mirror, and hold up the rue\nwith the right. Then repeat the following: {255}\n\n INCANTESIMO.\n\n \"Luna! Luna! Luna!\n Tu che siei tanto bella!\n E nel tuo cerchio rachiude\n Un si pessimo sogetto\n Rachiude Chaino che per gelosia\n Uccise il proprio fratello.\n\n \"Ed io che per la gelosia\n Del mio amante non ho potuto\n Ne bere e ne mangiare,\n Ne colle amiche\n Non posso conversare,\n Io l'amo tanto, tanto,\n E non sono corrisposta,\n Quanto lo vorrei e per la sua\n La sua fredezza io ne sono\n Tanto gelosa non so qual' malarono\n Quale malarono io commetterei,\n Vado a letto non passo riposare,\n Mi viene visioni che\n Il mio amante mi debba ingannare.\n\n \"Luna, Luna, mia bella Luna!\n Che tanto bella siei e ben' risplende,\n Ti prego volere pregare per me\n _Chaino_ che per gelosia\n Uccise il proprio fratello,\n Ed io vorrei punire il mio amante,\n Ma non farlo morire\n Ma pero farlo soffrire,\n Che non abbia mai bene\n Ne giorno, ne notte,\n Non possa ne bene ne mangiare.\n E la notte non possa riposare,\n E Chaino col suo fascio,\n Suo fascio, di pruini,\n Il mio amante dal su'letto\n Puo le fare, alzare\n E alla casa mia\n Farlo presto ritornare!\n\n \"Chaino! Chaino! Chaino!\n Per tre volte io ti chiamo.\n Ti chiamo ad alta voce,\n In un punto dove si trova,\n Soltanto che cielo e aqua,\n E le due mie compagne.\n\n \"Chaino! per la gelosia\n Che provarti tu per il tuo fratello!\n Provo io per il mio amante,\n E vorrei a me farlo ritornare,\n Per non allontanarsi mai piu.\n\n \"Tu che dal alto del cielo\n Tutto vedi--questa scatola\n E bene preparata e tutte e quattro\n Le candele o accese, tu puoi guardare,\n Puoi guardare questo specchio,\n E se tre parole pronunzierai\n Tutti i pruini che ai\n Nell' fascio delle legne che adosso,\n Sempre porti potrai,\n Potrai farli passare\n Nel corpo, e nel cuore\n Del mio amante,\n Che non possa dormire e sia\n Costretto a vestirsi,\n E venire a casa mia,\n Per non andarsene mai piu.\n\n \"Con questo ramo di ruta\n Lo bagno nel mare,\n E bagno le mie due compagne\n Che pronunzierrano queste parole\n Tale [secondo il nome] colla ai uta\n Di Chaino vai dalla tua amante\n Per non lasciarla mai piu.\n\n \"Se questa grazia mi fai\n Fai alzare un forte vento,\n E poi spengere le candele.\n Chaino! Chaino! Chaino!\"\n\n THE INVOCATION.\n\n \"Moon! O moon! O moon!\n Thou who art always fair,\n Yet holdest in thy ring\n One of such evil name,\n Because thou holdest Cain;\n Cain who from jealousy\n His own born brother slew.\n\n \"I too through jealousy\n Of one whom I still love\n Can neither drink nor eat,\n Nor even talk with friends,\n I love so much--so much--\n Yet am not loved again\n As I would fain be loved.\n Through his indifference I\n So jealous have become,\n I do not know what sin\n I would not now commit;\n I cannot sleep at night\n For dreams in which I see\n Him faithless unto me.\n\n \"Moon, moon, O beauteous moon!\n As thou art fair and bright,\n I pray thee, pray for me;\n _Cain_ who from jealousy\n Slew his own brother born,\n As I would punish well\n The one whom I yet love,\n Yet would not cause his death,\n So may he suffer thus:\n May suffering be his lot\n By day as in the night,\n May he not eat or drink,\n Nor may he sleep at night!\n\n \"May Cain who bears the bunch\n Upon his back, of thorns,\n Stand by my lover's bed,\n And make him rise from sleep\n And hasten to my home.\n\n \"O Cain! O Cain! O Cain!\n Three times I call to thee,\n Call with my loudest voice,\n Just as I find myself\n Between the sea and sky,\n And my two friends with me.\n\n \"Cain, by the jealousy\n Which once thy brother caused,\n And which I now endure,\n For him whom still I love,\n Make love return to me\n And never leave me more.\n\n \"Thou who from heaven on high\n Seest all things, here behold\n This casket well prepared!\n The mystic tapers four\n All lighted, look on them!\n Then in this mirror look.\n Then if thou wilt but speak\n _Three words_--then all the thorns\n Which on thy back thou bear'st,\n All in a bundle bound,\n Will pass into the life,\n The body and the heart\n Of him whom yet I love,\n So that he sleep no more,\n And be compelled to rise,\n Compelled to clothe himself,\n And hasten to my home,\n Never to leave me more.\n\n \"Now, with this branch of rue,\n Which I dip in the sea,\n I sprinkle both my friends,\n That they may speak these words:\n That ---, {259a} by the aid\n Of Cain shalt seek thy love,\n And never leave her more.\n\n \"If thou wilt grant me this,\n Cause a high wind to blow,\n Extinguishing the lights.\n O Cain! O Cain! O Cain!\"\n\nBefore proceeding further, I would explain that the use of a photograph,\nwhich must be a negative on glass, instead of being, as was suggested to\nme, a modern interpolation, is, strangely enough, a proof of the\nantiquity of the rite. In the old time, a picture or portrait painted in\ntransparent colour on glass was held up to the moon that its rays might\npass through it and enchant the subject. And among the Romans, when one\nhad a portrait of any one cut on diaphanous stone, it was used in the\nsame way. I had in my possession once such a portrait-gem, {259b} and a\nfine needle-hole had been bored through the right eye so as to blind the\noriginal of the likeness. And I had a friend who lived in Russia, who\ndiscovered that a person who hated him had obtained his photograph, and\npricked holes with a very fine needle in the eyes to blind him. The\nnegative of a photograph on glass would very naturally occur as a\nsubstitute for a picture. But what is most important is that this\nmention of the translucent negative proves fully that the whole ceremony,\nin its minutest detail, has actually been preserved to this day, and that\nthe incantation, long as it is, exists as I have given it, since every\nline in it corresponds to the rite. And as I know that it was gathered\nby a witch and fortune-teller among others, and carefully compared and\ncollated, I am sure that it is authentic and traditional.\n\nFifty pages are devoted by the Rev. T. Harley in his \"Moon Lore\" to the\nsubject of the Man in the Moon, and since the book appeared in 1885 there\nhave been great additions to the subject. This human being is declared\nby myths found in India, and especially among the Oriental gypsies, in\nIreland, Borneo, Greenland, and South America, to be a man who is\npunished by imprisonment above for incest with his sister the sun. As he\nwanders for ever over the heavens, just as gypsies wander on earth, they\nclaim him for their ancestor, and declare that Zin-gan (or gypsy) is\nderived from two words meaning sun and moon. _Kam_, the sun, has been\nvaried to _kan_, and in gypsy the moon is called _chone_, which is also\n_t-chen_, _chin_, or _sin_. But the point lies in this, that Cain was\ncondemned to be a \"a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth,\" which gives\nmuch apparent strength to the idea that Cain, whether Shemitic or Aryan,\nwas, for a great crime, or as chief of sinners, imprisoned in the moon.\n\nThis sufferer, in different legends, has been represented as a\nSabbath-breaker, as Judas Iscariot, as Isaac, and many more\ntransgressors, almost always with a _bunch_ or _bush_ of _thorns_, for\nwhich there has been literally no real explanation whatever. This I will\nnow investigate, and, I think, clearly explain.\n\nDante in two places speaks of the Man in the Moon as Cain, and as if it\nwere a very popular legend (_Inferno_, xx. 123):\n\n \"Ma vienne omai che gia tiene 'l confine\n D'ambedue gli emisperi, e tocca l'onda\n Sotto Sibilia, Caino e le spine\n E gia iernotte fu la Luna tonda.\"\n\n \"But now he comes who doth the borders hold\n Of the two hemispheres, and drive the waves\n Under the sibyl, Cain, with many thorns.\n And yesternight the moon was round and full;\n Take care that it may never do thee harm\n At any time when in the gloomy wood.\"\n\nThis twentieth canto is devoted to the sorcerers in hell, and ends with\nallusion to the full moon, the sibyl, and Cain, as allied to witchcraft,\nprediction, and sin. When the moon is full it is also \"high tides\" with\nthe witches, now as of yore:\n\n \"Full moon, high sea,\n Great man shalt thou be:\n Red dawning, cloudy sky,\n Bloody death shalt thou die.\"\n\nDante again mentions Cain in the moon, in the _Paradiso_, ii. 50:\n\n \"Ma ditemi, che con li segni lui\n Dio questo corpo, che laggiuso in terra\n Fan di _Cain_ favoleggiare altrui?\"\n\n \"But tell me now what are the gloomy marks\n Upon this body, which down there on earth\n Make people tell so many tales of Cain?\"\n\nTo which Beatrice replies by a mysterious physical explanation of the\nphenomenon, advising him to take three _mirrors_ and observe how the moon\nis reflected from one to the other, and that in this manner the _formal\nprincipio_, or first creative power, passes from light to darkness. The\nreader will here remember that with the witches the _mirror_ is specially\ndevoted to conjuring Cain.\n\nIt is worth noting that a _spechietto_, or small looking-glass, was\nspecially (Barretti) \"a little mirror placed at the bottom of a jewel\ncasket.\"\n\nI would now note that the _thorns_ which Cain carries signify, not only\nin modern Italian, but in old Roman sorcery, the sting of hatred and of\njealousy. It is a most apparent and natural simile, and is found from\nthe crown of thorns on Christ to the Voodoo sorcery in Western America.\nMiss Mary Owen knew a black girl in Missouri who, as a proof of being\nChristianised, threw away the thorn which she kept as a fetish to injure\nan enemy. But in early times the thorn was universally known as\nsymbolical of sin, just as Cain was regarded as the first real sinner.\nTherefore the two were united. Menzel tells us in his _Christliche\nSymbolik_ (Part I. p. 206) that it is a legend that \"there were no thorns\nbefore the Fall; they first grew with sin, therefore thorns are a symbol\nof the sorrow or pain which came from sin.\" Of all of which there is a\nmass of old German myths and legends, which I spare the reader, for I\nhave endeavoured in this comment to avoid useless myth-mongering in order\nto clearly set forth the connection between Cain, his thorns, and the\nmoon.\n\nThat the conjuring the moon with a mirror is very ancient indeed appears\nfrom the legend drawn from classic sources, which is thus set forth in \"A\nPleasant Comedie called Summer's Last Will and Testament. Written by\nThomas Nash. London, 1600\":\n\n \"In laying thus the blame upon the Moone\n Thou imitat'st subtill Pythagoras,\n Who what he would the People should beleeve,\n The same he wrote with blood upon a Glasse,\n And turned it opposite 'gainst the New Moone,\n Whose Beames, reflecting on it with full force,\n Shew'd all those lines to them that stood behinde,\n Most pleynly writ in circle of the Moone,\n And then he said: 'Not I, but the newe Moone\n Fair Cynthia persuades you this and that.'\"\n\nIn the \"Clouds\" of Aristophanes the same idea is made into a jest, in\nwhich Strepsiades thus addresses Socrates:\n\n \"_Strepsiades_. If I were to buy a Thessalian witch, and then draw\n down the moon by night, and then shut her up in a round helmet-case\n _like a mirror_, and then keep watching her--\n\n _Socrates_. What good would that do you, then?\n\n _Strepsiades_. What! If the moon were not to rise any more\n anywhere, I should not pay the interest.\n\n _Socrates_. Because what?\n\n _Strepsiades_. Because the money is lent on interest.\" {262}\n\nThese instances could be multiplied. What I have given are enough to\nshow the antiquity of the conjuration; and I also venture to declare that\nany Italian scholar who is familiar with these formulas of sorcery will\nadmit that, making all due allowance for transmission among peasants, the\nlanguage, or words, or turns of expression in this incantation denote\ngreat antiquity.\n\nThe next paper or tradition on the subject of Cain, which, as every\nphrase in it indicates, was taken down from an old dame who at first\nslowly recalled forgotten sentences, will be to many more interesting,\nand to all much more amusing than the first. It once happened that an\nold gypsy in England began to tell me the story of the ghostly baker of\nStonehenge and the seven loaves, but, suddenly pausing, he said: \"What's\nthe use of telling that to _you_ who have _read_ it all in the Bible?\"\nThere is, however, this trifling difference, that I am not sure that my\nItalian witch friends knew that Cain and Abel are in the Bible at all.\nThe Red Indian doctor, whose knowledge of the Old Testament was limited\nto its being good to cure neuralgia, was far beyond the _contadini_ as\nregards familiarity with \"the efficacy of the Scripture.\"\n\nThis is the witch-tale as written word by word:\n\n ABELE E CHAINO.\n\n\"They were two brothers. Abel greatly loved Cain, but Cain did not love\nso much the brother Abel.\n\n\"Cain had no great will to work.\n\n\"Abel, however, on the contrary, was greatly disposed (_si ingegnava_) to\nlabour, because he had found it profitable. He was industrious in all,\nand at last became a grazier (_mercante di manzi_).\n\n\"And Cain also, being moved by jealousy (_per astia_), wished to become a\ngrazier, but the wheel did not turn for him as it did for Abel.\n\n\"And Cain also was a good man, and set himself contentedly to work,\nbelieving that he could become as rich as his brother, but he did not\nsucceed in this, for which reason he became so envious of Abel that it\nresulted in tremendous hate, and he swore to be revenged.\n\n\"Cain often visited his brother, and once said to him, 'Abel, thou art\nrich and I am poor; give me the half of thy wealth, since thou wishest me\nso well!'\n\n\"Then Abel replied: 'If I give thee a sum which thou thyself couldst gain\nby industry, thou shouldst still labour as I do, and I will give thee\nnothing, since, if thou wilt work as I do, thou wilt become as rich.'\n\n\"One day there were together Cain, Abel, and a merchant, whose name I\nforget. And one told that he had seen in a dream seven fat oxen and\nseven lean. And the merchant, who was an astrologer or wizard, explained\nthat the seven fat oxen meant seven years of abundance, and the seven\nlean as many years of famine.\n\n\"And so it came to pass as he foretold--seven years of plenty and seven\nof famine.\n\n\"And Cain, hearing this, thought: 'During the seven years of plenty Abel\nwill lay by a great store, and then I will slay him, and possess myself\nof all his goods, and thus I will take care of myself, and my brother\nwill be dead.'\n\n\"Now, Cain greatly loved God; he was good towards God, more so than Abel,\nbecause Abel, having become rich, never spoke more unto the Lord; and\nAbel would gladly have become a wizard himself.\n\n\"Then Cain began to think how he could slay Abel and become a merchant in\nhis place, and so went forth to cut wood.\n\n\"One day he called his brother Abel, and said to him: 'Thou art so rich,\nwhile I am poor, and all my work avails me little.' And with that he\ngave Abel a blow with a knife, and dressed himself in his garments, and\ntook a bundle of thorns on his back, and thus clad he took Abel's place\nas merchant, believing that no one would recognise him as Cain.\n\n\"And while thus buying and selling he met the merchant-wizard who had\nforetold the seven years of famine and of abundance. And he said, 'Oh,\ngood day, Abel,' to make Cain believe that he was not discovered. But\nthe oxen who were present all began to chant in chorus:\n\n \"'Non chiamate questo, Abele!\n E Chaino, non lo vedete,\n Per la gola della monete\n Il fratello ammazato,\n E dei suoi panni e vestito.\n O Chaino or siei chiamato\n Alla presenza del gran Dio,\n Che a morte ti 'a condannato\n Che di richezza eri assetato.'\n\n \"'Do not call that person Abel;\n It is Cain, do you not see it?\n Cain who, for the greed of money,\n Treacherously slew his brother,\n And then clad him in his garments.\n Now, O Cain! thou wilt be summoned\n Speedily unto the presence\n Of the Lord, who has condemned thee\n Unto death for thy great avarice.'\n\n\"Cain came before God.\n\n \"'O gran Dio di clemenza\n Voi che siete grande, buono,\n Velo chiedo a voi perdone,\n Per il bene vi ho valuto,\n Un instante vi ho dimenticato\n Ma ne sono molto pentito,\n Di aver ammazato\n Abele il fratello mio.'\n\n \"'O great God of endless mercy,\n Thou who art so good and mighty,\n Grant, I pray thee, grant me pardon\n For the good I did while living!\n Truly once, but for an instant,\n I forgot myself, but deeply\n I since then have long repented\n That I slew my brother Abel.'\n\n\"But God replied: {265}\n\n\"A punishment thou shalt have because thou didst slay thy brother from a\ndesire to become rich. Likewise thou didst meddle with witchcraft and\nsorceries, as did thy brother. And Abel made much money and was very\nrich, because he did not love God, but sorcerers. Albeit, ever good he\nnever did evil things, and many good, wherefore God pardoned him. But\nthou shalt not be pardoned because thou didst imbrue thy lands in human\nblood, and, what is worse, in thy own brother's blood.\n\n\"The punishment which I inflict is this:\n\n\"The thorns {266} which thou didst put upon thy brother are now for thee.\n\n\"Thou shalt be imprisoned in the moon, and from that place shalt behold\nthe good and the evil of all mankind.\n\n\"And the bundle of thorns shall never leave thee, and every time when any\none shall conjure thee, the thorns shall sting thee cruelly; they shall\ndraw thy blood.\n\n\"And thus shalt thou be compelled to do that which shall be required of\nthee by the sorcerers or by conjuring, and if they ask of thee that which\nthou wilt not give, then the thorns shall goad thee until the sorceries\nshall cease.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis is clearly enough no common popular nursery tale, such as make up\ncollections of Tuscan tales or popular legends, gathered from pious or\npicturesque peasants. Through it all runs a deep current of dark heresy,\nthe deliberate contravention of accepted Scripture, and chiefly the spell\nof sorcery and deadly witchcraft. It is a perfect and curious specimen\nof a kind of forbidden literature which was common during the Middle\nAges, and which is now extremely rare. This literature or lore was the\npredecessor of Protestantism, and was the rock on which it was based.\n\nThere have always been in the world since time began certain good people\nwhose taste or fate it was to be invariably on the wrong side, or in the\nopposition; like the Irishman just landed from a ship in America, who,\nbeing asked how he would vote, replied, \"Against the Government, of\ncourse, whatever it is,\" they are always at war with the powers that be.\nWith Jupiter they would have opposed the Titans; with Prometheus,\nJupiter; as early Christians they would have rebelled against the Pagans,\nand as heretics, Orientalised Templars, Vaudois, illuminati, sorcerers,\nand witches, they would have undermined the Church, never perceiving that\nits system or doctrine was, _au fond_, fetish, like their own. Among\nthese rebels it was long the rule to regard those gods or men who were\nspecially reviled by their foes or oppressors as calumniated. Even Satan\nwas to them \"the puir deil;\" according to the Taborites, an oppressed\nelder brother of Christ, or a kind of Man in an Iron Mask kept out of his\nrights by Jehovah the XIV. These discontented ones deified all who had\nbeen devilled, found out that Jezebel had been a _femme incomprise_, and\nthe Scarlet Woman only an interesting highly-coloured variant of the\nancient hoary myth of Mademoiselle or Miss Salina the Innocent. When\nJudas was mentioned, they solemnly remarked that there was a great deal\nto be said on both sides of _that_ question; while others believed that\nAnanias and Sapphira had been badly sat upon, and deserved to be\nworshipped as saints of appropriation--a cult, by the way, the secret\nobservance of which has by no means died out at the present day--several\ngreat men being regarded in Paris as its last great high priests.\n\nThe Cainites, as known by that name to the Church, were a Gnostic sect of\nthe second century, and are first mentioned by Irenaeus, who connects\nthem with the Valentinians, of whom I thought but yesterday when I saw in\na church a sarcophagus warranted to contain the corpse of St. Valentine.\nThey believed that Cain derived his existence from the supreme power, but\nAbel from the inferior, and that in this respect he was the first of a\nline which included Esau, Korah, the dwellers in Sodom and Gomorrah, the\nworshippers of Ashtoreth-Mylitta, or the boundless sensualists, the\nsorcerers, and witches.\n\nConsidering what human nature is, and its instincts to opposition, we can\nsee that there must have been naturally a sect who regarded Cain as a\nmisjudged martyr. Abel appeared to them as the prosperous well-to-do\nbourgeois, high in favour with the Lord, a man with flocks, while Cain\nwas a tiller of the ground, a poor peasant out of favour. It must be\nadmitted that in the Book of Genesis, in the history of the first murder,\nwe are much reminded of the high priest Chalcas in _La Belle Helene_,\nwhere he exclaims, \"_Trop de fleurs_!\" and expresses a preference for\ncattle. It is the old story of the socialists and anarchists, which is\never new.\n\nThe witches and sorcerers of early times were a widely spread class who\nhad retained the beliefs and traditions of heathenism with all its\nlicense and romance and charm of the forbidden. At their head were the\nPromethean Templars, at their tail all the ignorance and superstition of\nthe time, and in their ranks every one who was oppressed or injured\neither by the nobility or the Church. They were treated with\nindescribable cruelty, in most cases worse than beasts of burden, for\nthey were outraged in all their feelings, not at intervals for\npunishment, but habitually by custom, and they revenged themselves by\nsecret orgies and fancied devil-worship, and occult ties, and stupendous\nsins, or what they fancied were such. I can seriously conceive--what no\nwriter seems to have considered--that there must have been an immense\nsatisfaction in selling or giving one's self to the devil, or to any\npower which was at war with their oppressors. So they went by night, at\nthe full moon, and sacrificed to Diana, or \"later on\" to Satan, and\ndanced and rebelled. It is very well worth noting that we have _all_ our\naccounts of sorcerers and heretics from Catholic priests, who had every\nearthly reason for misrepresenting them, and did so. In the vast amount\nof ancient witchcraft still surviving in Italy there is not much\nanti-Christianity, but a great deal of early heathenism. Diana, not\nSatan, is still the real head of the witches. The Italian witch, as the\npriest Grillandus said, stole oil to make a love-charm. {269} But she\ndid not, and does not say, as he declared, in doing so, \"I renounce\nChrist.\" There the priest plainly lied. The whole history of the witch\nmania is an ecclesiastical falsehood, in which such lies were subtly\ngrafted on the truth. But in due time the Church, and the Protestants\nwith them, created a Satanic witchcraft of their own, and it is this\nafter-growth which is now regarded as witchcraft in truth.\n\nCain-worshippers and witches seem to have been all in the same boat. I\nthink it very likely that in these two traditions which I have given we\nhave a remnant of the actual literature of the Cainites, that\nGnostic-revived and mystical sect of the Middle Ages. But I doubt not\nthat its true origin is far older than Christianity, and lost in earliest\ntime.\n\nOne last remark. We are told in the tale that Abel, having become rich,\n\"cut\" the Lord, or would speak to him no longer. I suppose that he\ndropped the synagogue and _Yom kippur_, and became a _Reformirter_, and\nhis children in due time _Goyim_. Also that he wanted to become a\nwizard, which may be a hint that he was \"no conjuror.\" But it is\nseriously a proof of the naivete, and consequent probable antiquity of\nthe tale, that these details are not \"wrote sarcastic,\" nor intended for\nhumour. And it is also interesting to observe how impartially the\nnarrator declares that Cain was \"a good man,\" and how he, in pleading his\nown cause before the Lord, insists that in killing Abel he only\ninadvertently forgot himself for an instant. One almost expects to hear\nhim promise that he will not do it again.\n\nIt is a striking proof of the antiquity of this tradition of Cain, as I\nhave given it, that the witch or wizard sympathy for the first murderer\nis in it unmistakable. The sending Cain to the moon, instead of hell, is\nunderstood to be a mitigation of his sentence. In his work on magicians\nand witches, A.D. 1707, Goldschmidt devotes many pages to set forth what\nwas believed by all the learned of his time, that Cain was the father of\nall the wizards, and his children, the Cainites, the creators of the\n_Gaber_, fire-idolators, Cabiri, magic soothsaying, and so forth. So the\ntradition lived on, utterly forgotten by all good people, and yet it is\nto me so quaint as to be almost touching to find it still existing, a\nfragment of an old creed outworn here among poor witches in Florence.\n\n\"Sacher Masoch,\" a Galician novelist, informs us in a romance, \"The\nLegacy of Cain,\" that the Cainites still exist in Russia, and that their\nreligion is represented by the following charming creed:\n\n \"Satan is the master of the world; therefore it is a sin to belong to\n Church or State, and marriage is also a capital sin. Six things\n constitute the legacy of Cain: Love, Property, Government, War, and\n Death. Such was the legacy of Cain, who was condemned to be a\n wanderer and a fugitive on earth.\"\n\nI have another apparently very ancient conjuration of a mirror, in two\nparts. It is of the blackest witchcraft, of the most secret kind, and is\nonly intended to injure an enemy.\n\nFrom an article in _La Rivista delle Tradizione Popolare_ of July 1894,\nby F. Montuori, I learn that in a little work by San Prato on \"Cain and\nthe Thorns according to Dante and Popular Tradition,\" Ancona, 1881, which\nI have not seen, the history of Cain is given much as told by Maddalena.\nWhat is _chiefly_ interesting in the version of Maddalena is, however,\nwanting in all the folklore on the subject collected by others; it is the\nmanifest trace of Cainism, of sympathy with the first murder, and in its\nheresy. This opens for us a far wider field of research and valuable\nhistorical information than the rather trivial fact that Cain is simply\nthe Man in the Moon.\n\nMerk in _Die Sitten und Gebrauche der Deutschen_, gives (p. 644), from\nWolf, a strange legend which is nearly allied to Moon worship by witches,\nand the mirror:\n\n \"There was a man in Kortryk who was called Klare Mone (bright moon),\n and he got his name from this. One night when sleeping on his\n balcony he heard many women's voices sweetly singing. They held\n goblets [there is some confusion here with _glaserne Pfannen_ or\n glass panes in the roof from which the man looked; I infer that the\n witches drank from \"glass pans,\" _i.e._, metallic mirrors], and as\n they drank they sang:\n\n \"'We are drinking the sweetest of earthly wine,\n For we drink of the clear and bright moonshine.'\n\n \"But as the man approached them, 'with a club to beat or kill them,\n all vanished.'\"\n\n\"Which fable teaches,\" as the wise Flaxius notes, \"what indeed this whole\nbook tends to show--that few people know or heed what witches ever really\nwere. Now, that this boor wished to slay the sorceresses with a club,\nfor drinking moonshine, is only what the whole world is doing to all who\nhave _different ideas from ours_ as to what constitutes enjoyment. So in\nall history, under all creeds, even unto this day, people have been\nclubbed, hung, tortured, and baked alive, or sent to Coventry for the\ncrime of drinking _moonshine_!\"\n\nAnd so this volume ends, oh reader mine!\n\n \"So the visions flee,\n So the dreams depart;\n And the sad reality,\n Now must act its part.\"\n _Ite_, _lector benevole_,\n _Ite_, _missa est_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.\n _Edinburgh and London_\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n\n{3a} _Nel miglio salotto di recevimento_. This is all an accurate\npicture of old Florentine customs.\n\n{3b} _Necessita fa la vecchia trottare_. On which proverb Matteo\nVillani comments as follows: \"And thus he truly verified the saying of\nValerius Maximus, that 'the wants caused by human weakness are a common\nbond of security,' all of which is briefly expressed in the French\nproverb, 'Need makes the old woman (or old age) bestir herself.'\"\nValerius Maximus was the prototype of Guicciardini.\n\n{8} \"Chiese alla regina di dormir seco.\" Which was certainly very plain\nblunt speaking, even for the time.\n\n{14} \"Le cattive nove volano,\nLe male son sempre vere;\nPrima l'annunzio, poi malanno,\nChi me ne da una calda, e chi una fredda.\"\n\n --_Italian Proverb_.\n\n{15} The_ cappa_ is a cloak with a hood or \"capuchin;\" a _cotta_ is the\nstole worn by Catholic priests.\n\n{21} _Folletto_. This, which meant originally an airy tricksy sprite,\nis now applied not only to fairies and goblins in general, but also to\nevery kind of supernatural apparition. I have a book in which even\ncomets are described as _folletti_.\n\n{23} Redi's _Bacco in Toscana_ is known to the most ignorant in\nFlorence, there being very cheap editions of it constantly sold.\n\n{24} \"Can a _horn_ play second fiddle?\" inquires Flaxius. \"This comes\nof trying to improve on the simple Italian text.\"\n\n{27} _Zoccoloni_ or _Zoccolanti_, sandalled friars of the lowest order,\nwho are indeed common beggars.\n\n{31} The partial inscription referred to is still on the column.\n\n{33} This is strikingly like the ceremony for the same purpose used by\nthe ancient Romans, the object in both being to frighten away evil\nspirits. _Vide_ \"Etruscan Roman Remains,\" by C. G. Leland, p. 305.\n\n{43} Una vecchietta, tutta Gesu e Maria.\n\n{47} I have elsewhere explained that the _fata_ in these traditions is a\nwitch or sorcerer become a spirit.\n\n{48a} It may be conjectured from this context that the child was partly\nhuman in form, perhaps like the Pig-faced Lady, or not more swinish than\nWilliam of Ardennes in face.\n\n{48b} Truly she was, to use a really ancient phrase, \"ready to go the\nwhole hog.\" It is said that Mahomet told his disciples that there was\none part of a pig which they must not touch; but as he did not specify\nwhat it was, they among them devoured the entire animal.\n\n{50} \"Symbola Heroica,\" Antwerp, 1583.\n\n{63} Raised footway, high curbstone, causeway, bench.\n\n{67} \"D'una gran purga bisogna avete,\nE questa purga davero dovete\nFarla all' anima, cosi guarirete!\"\n\n{71} It appears from this story that La Certosa was \"even then as now\"\nvisited by strangers as one of the lions of Florence.\n\n{77a} This word is apparently allied to _Marrano_, an infidel Moor,\nmiscreant, traitor, or to _amaro_, bitter or painful.\n\n{77b} A peculiarly Florentine word. _Renajo_, sand-pit, a place so\ncalled near the Arno in Florence (Barretti's Dictionary). I can see\nseveral of these _renaioli_ with their boats from the window at work\nbefore me as I write. _Vide_ \"The Spirit of the Arno.\"\n\n{82} \"Echoes of Old Florence,\" by Temple Leader.\n\n{83} Like Proteus, the evasive slippery nature of water and the light\nwhich plays on it accounts for this.\n\n{92} \"Well, yes, I think you might;\nA cart of hay went through this afternoon.\"\n\nI believe this is by Peter Pindar. The Italian proverb probably\nsuggested it.\n\n{94} _Rizzar l'uovo di Pippo su un piano_. \"To do a difficult thing, or\nachieve it by tact and skill.\" This hints at the egg of Columbus. But\nColumbus set the egg upright by breaking its end, which was not a fair\ngame. Any egg can be set on end on a marble table (I have done it), by\npatient balancing, without breaking.\n\n{96} \"Florentine Life during the Renaissance,\" by Walter B. Scaife.\nBaltimore, 1893.\n\n{98} The diavolino of Gian di Bologna is of bronze, but popular\ntradition makes light of accuracy.\n\n{103} This is supposed to be addressed to another, not to the fairy.\n\n{108} _Ucellato_, caught like a bird, or, as they say on the\nMississippi, \"sniped.\"\n\n{126} The reader may observe that these popular names of Oratorio and\nOrto are most likely to have given the prefix _Or'_.\n\n{150} _Ha tanta lingua che spazzarebbe un forno_, _o un cesso_. Said of\nvirulent gossips.\n\n{152} _Mago_, which, like _magus_, implies more dignity than magician or\nsorcerer.\n\n{153} \"The Mugnone, whose course has been shifted to the west, formerly\nflowed into the Arno, through the heart of the city.\"--_Murray's Handbook\nfor Travellers in Central Italy_.\n\n{155} _L'anguilla si rizzo in piedi_--\"The eel rose upon her feet.\"\nThis will remind the reader of some of the difficulties experienced by\nGothic artists in depicting Eve and the Serpent.\n\n{156} There is much confusion here. It appears that the fairy made the\nfountain now in the Signoria, and that Biancone saw this in a vision.\n\n{158} This refers to the satyrs who are among the bronze figures below\nNeptune.\n\n{161a} I here omit a long, detailed, and wearisome account of the\nresearch, which, however, indicates the accuracy with which the tradition\nhad been preserved, and the full belief in it of the narrator.\n\n{161b} A kind of cruel pillory.\n\n{162} In allusion to seeing it from behind the squares formed by the\ngrates of iron before prison windows.\n\n{164} Landucci, 233, cited by Scaife.\n\n{171} Una medichessa.\n\n{177} Not a fairy here, but a witch of a certain degree.\n\n{180} Si la Messa de Villani era finito.\n\n{181} E appunto hora comincia quella delle puttane, pero caminate, che\nfarete a tempo con l'altre.\n\n{189} Nella guerra d'amor, che fugge vince.\n\n{196} Viene tutte le mattine\nColle sue belle manine.\n\nThough very rude, even to illiteracy in _form_, the train of thought is\nhere very gracefully managed in the original.\n\n{201} So called because criminals passed through it on their way to\nexecution.\n\n{202} \"Da qualche bacio\nVi chascha il _vero_ bacio d'amor.\"\n\n --_Original_.\n\n{203a} \"Altrimenti\nL'avrebbero levato il collare.\"--_Original_.\n\n{203b} \"In una altra stella\nPer raggiungere la sua bella.\"--_Original_.\n\n{205} _Faceva il verso del lupo_, the deep baying which is a subject of\nsuperstition in all countries.\n\n{207} Friedrich, \"Symbolik der Natur.\"\n\n{208} A humming-top.\n\n{212} The Philological Society (_Circolo_), has also its rooms in this\nbuilding.\n\n{213} Perche si rendeva alle persone troppo triviale--A graphic sketch\nof a character who would be peculiarly offensive in a highly patrician\ncommunity.\n\n{220} \"Col mio pugnale ammazato,\nCol pugnale e sotterato.\"\n\n{224} Since writing the foregoing, I have found in _Am Urquelle_, vol.\nvi. 3, May 1895, a legend credited to a book by A. Bondeson, _Historic\nGulbar pa Dal_ (Stockholm, 1886), or a story entitled \"The Lover with a\nGreen Beard,\" which is much the same in incident as this. The editor, H.\nFeilberg, notices the affinity of this and other tales to the Vampyre and\nBurger's \"Leonora.\"\n\n{227} _Zufolo_--a rude flageolet, such as is still commonly played by\nthe shepherds all over Italy.\n\n{238} _Il suo spirito lo fa presentare qualunque ombra_, that is, in any\nor varied shadow; a _haunting_ shade, and not strictly the mere shadow of\nthe one who is haunted.\n\n{239} That which here follows of the invocation was obtained\nsubsequently by my agent, I think, from another source. What precedes is\nevidently only a fragment.\n\n{251} The concluding portion of this chapter is taken from the Italian\noriginal paper read by me at the first meeting of the Italian Folklore\nSociety in the Collegio Romano, Rome, November 20, 1894.\n\n{253} These references to Marietta Pery are in regard to a certain\nItalian poetess, of whose work I originally intended to give specimens in\nthis book, but which were omitted as want of space did not permit their\ninsertion. I hope to include them in another volume of legends.--C. G.\nLELAND.\n\n{255} Such incantations are _intoned_ or chanted in a very peculiar\nstyle, so that those who can only hear the sound know that it is a magic\nspell. Therefore they must be expressed very accurately to the letter.\nIt may be observed that there is a contradiction in the original MS.,\nwhich here speaks of _three_ companions, and subsequently of two. I\nbelieve the latter to be correct.\n\n{259a} Here the name of the lover is pronounced by the friends.\n\n{259b} Now in possession of Mrs. January of St. Louis, Missouri.\n\n{262} \"Moon Lore,\" p. 152.\n\n{265} I have no doubt that originally all the spoken parts of this\nnarrative were sung.\n\n{266} Thorns here plainly mean suffering, _Fasio di pruini che ai messo\nal tuo fratello_.\n\n{269} It is amusing that this stealing oil wherewith to make\nlove-charms, which was denounced so bitterly as damnable sorcery at one\ntime, and frequently punished by death, _i.e._, by burning alive, is now\ntacitly encouraged by the priests. There are churches about Rome in\nwhich the oil is placed where it may be stolen or taken, it being\nunderstood that a _soldo_ or two shall be left to pay for it.","title":"Legends of Florence: Collected from the People, First Series","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":88723}