Chapter I: Medici (5)

There is perhaps not one well-educated person in society in England who has not had the opportunity to remark how very much any old family can succeed in being notorious if it can only once make it known that it has an hereditary _secret_. Novels will be written on it, every member of it will be pointed out everywhere, and people who do not know the name of a sovereign in Europe can tell you all about it and them. And the number is not small of those who consider themselves immensely greater because they have in some way mastered something which they are expected to keep concealed. I could almost believe that this "'orrible tale" was composed as a satire on family secrets. But I believe that she who told it firmly believed it. _Credo quia absurdum_ would not be well understood among humble folk in Italy.

* * * * *

"To this I may add," writes Flaxius, "that there is an English legend of a certain skull which always returned to a certain window in a tower. _Apropos_ of which there is a poem called _The Student and the Head_ in 'Hans Breitmann in Germany' (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1895), prefaced by a remark to the effect that the subject is so extensive as to deserve a book--instancing the head of the physician Douban in the 'Arabian Nights,' with that of Orpheus, which spoke to Cyrus, and that of the priest of Jupiter, and another described by Trallianus, and the marvellously preserved head of a saint in Olaf Tryggvason's Saga, and the Witch's Head of Rider Haggard, with many more, not to speak of the talking Teraphim heads, and Friar Bacon's bust. With which a thoroughly exhaustive list should include the _caput mortuum_ of the alchemists

"'And the dead-heads of the Press.'"

THE COLUMN OF COSIMO, OR DELLA SANTA TRINITA

"_Columna Florentina_.--Prope Sanctae Trinitatis aedem ingens et
sublimis columna erecta, cujus in fastigio extat justitia. Eam
erexit Cosmus Magnus Dux, cui per urbem deambulanti, illic de
victoria renunciatum fuit quam Malignani Marchio in Senarum finibus
anno 1555 contra Petrum Strozium obtinuit."--_Templum Naturae
Historicum_, Darmstadt, 1611.

"Vesti una Colonna,
Le par una donna."--_Italian Proverb_.

The central spot of Florence is the grand column of granite which stands in the middle of the Piazza di Santa Trinita, in the Via Tornabuoni, opposite the Palazzo Feroni. It was brought from the Baths of Caracalla in Rome, and erected in 1564 by Cosimo I., "in commemoration of the surrender of Siena in 1554, and of the destruction of the last liberties of Florence by the victory at Monte Murlo, 1537, over those whom his tyranny had driven into exile, headed by Filippo and Piero Strozzi. It is surmounted by a statue of 'Justice' in porphyry, by _Ferruci_," says Murray's Guide-Book--the Italian declares it to be by _Taddi_, adding that the column was from the Baths of Antoninus, and was a gift to Cosimo I. from Pius IV.

There is a popular legend that once on a time a poor girl was arrested in Florence for having stolen a chain, a bracelet, or some such article of jewellery of immense value. She was thrown into prison, but though there was collateral or indirect evidence to prove her guilt, the stolen article could not be found. Gossip and rumour constituted ample grounds for indictment and trial, and torture did the rest in the pious times when it was generally taught and believed that Providence would always rescue the innocent, and that everybody who came to grief on the gallows had deserved it for something or other at some time, and that it was all right.

So the girl was executed, and almost forgotten. When a long time after, some workman or other was sent up to the top of the column of the Piazza Trinita, and there found that a jackdaw or magpie had built a nest in the balance or scales held by Justice, and in it was the missing jewel.

This is an Italian form of "The Maid and the Magpie," known the world over from ancient times. The scales suggest a droll German story. There was in front of a certain palace or town-hall, where all criminals were tried, a statue of Justice holding a pair of scales, and these were not cast solid, but were a _bona fide_ pair of balances. And certain low thieves having been arrested with booty--whatever it was--it was discovered that they had divided it among themselves very accurately, even to the ounce. At which the magistrate greatly marvelling, asked them how they could have done it so well, since it had appeared that they had not been in any house between the period of the theft and their arrest. Whereupon one replied: "Very easily, your Honour, for, to be honourable, honest, and just as possible, we weighed the goods in the scales of Justice itself, here on the front of the _Rath-haus_."

It is for every reason more probable that the bird which stole the jewel of the column was a jackdaw than a magpie, and it is certainly fitter that it should have been thus in Florence. "It is well known," says Oken in his "Natural History" (7 B. Part I. 347), "that the jackdaw steals glittering objects, and carries them to its nest." Hence the ancient legend of Arne, who so greatly loved gold, that she sold her native isle Siphnos to Minos, and was for that turned by the gods into a daw (Ovid's "Metamorphoses," vii. 466). As a mischief-making, thieving, and chattering bird of black colour, the jackdaw was naturally considered evil, and witches, or their imps, often assumed its form. In fact, the only really good or pious bird of the kind on record known to me, is the jackdaw of Rheims sung by Ingoldsby Barham.

According to Kornmannus, the column was placed where it now stands, because Cosimo was in the Piazza Trinita when he heard the news of the surrender of Siena.

* * * * *

After I had written the foregoing legend, I found the following:

LA COLONNA DI SANTA TRINITA.

"The pillar di Santa Trinita was in times a meeting-place for fairies (_Fate_), whither they went afoot or in their carriages. At the base of the column there was a great stone, and there they exchanged greetings or consulted about their affairs. They were all great ladies, of kindly disposition. And when it came that any one was cast into the city prison, they inquired into the affair, and then a _fate_ would go as a magistrate in disguise and question the accused. Now they always knew whether any one spoke the truth, and if the prisoner did so, and was deserving mercy, they delivered him; but if he lied, they left him to be hanged, with a _buon pro vi faccia_!--Much good may it do you!

"Of evenings they assembled round the rock at the foot of the column in a great company, and had great merriment and love-making. Then in the crowd a couple would descend, or one after another into their vaults below, and then come again, often taking with them mortals who were their friends or favourites.

"Their chief was a matron who always held a pair of scales. Now when they were to judge the fate of any one, they took with great care the earth from one of his footprints, and weighed it most scrupulously, for thereby they could tell whether in his life he had done more good or evil, and it was thus that they settled the fate of all the accused in the prisons.

"And it often came to pass that when prisoners were young and handsome, these _fate_ or fairy-witches took them from their cells in the prison through subterranean ways to their vaults under the Trinita, and passed the time merrily enough, for all was magnificent there.

"But woe unto those, no matter how handsome they might be, who betrayed the secrets and the love of the _fate_. Verily they had their reward, and a fine long repentance with it, for they were all turned into cats or mice, and condemned to live in the cellars and subterranean passages of the old Ghetto, which is now destroyed--and a nasty place it was. In its time people often wondered that there were so many cats there, but the truth is that they were all people who had been enchanted by those who were called in olden time _le Gran Dame di Firenze_--the Great Ladies of Florence.

"And the image holding the scales is called _la Giustizia_, but it really represents the Matrona, or Queen of the Fate, who of old exercised such strict justice with her scales in Florence."

* * * * *

This is, I am confident, a tradition of great antiquity, for all its elements are of a very ancient or singularly witch-like nature. In it the _fate_ are found in their most natural form, as _fates_, weighing justice and dealing out rewards and punishments. Justice herself appears naively and amusingly to the witches as Queen of the _Fate_, who are indeed all spirits who have been good witches in a previous life.

What is most mystical and peculiarly classic Italian is the belief that the earth on which a human being has trod can be used wherewith to conjure him. This subject is treated elsewhere in my "Etruscan Roman Traditions."

The great stone at the base of the column was a kind of palladium of the city of Florence. There are brief notices of it in many works. It would be curious if it still exists somewhere and can be identified.

"A great palladium, whose virtues lie
In undefined remote antiquity;
A god unformed, who sleeps within a stone,
Which sculptor's hand as yet has never known;
Brought in past ages from some unknown shore;
Our fathers worshipped it--we know no more."

LEGENDS OF OR' SAN MICHELE

"The spirit of Antiquity, enshrined
In sumptuous buildings, vocal in sweet song,
In pictures speaking with heroic tongue,
And with devout solemnities entwined."

--WORDSWORTH, "_Bruges_."

Or' San Michele is a very beautiful church in the Italian Gothic style in the Via Calzaioli. It was originally a market or stable below and a barn or granary above, whence some derive its name from _Horreum Sancti Michaelis_, and others from the Italian _Orto_, a garden, a term also applied to a church-congregation. "The statues and decorations on the exterior are among the best productions of the Florentine school of sculpture." As that of Saint Eloy or San Eligio, the blacksmith, with great pincers at an anvil, in a sculpture representing a horse being shod, is the most conspicuous on the facade, the people have naturally concluded that the church was originally a stable or smithy. The legend of the place is as follows:

LA CHIESA OR' SAN MICHELE.

"This was originally a stable and coach-house (_rimessa_), and there was a hayloft above. Every night the horses were heard to neigh, and in the morning they were found all curried and well managed, and no one knew who did it; but none of the grooms ever shed any tears over it that ever I heard of.

"Now, the master of the place had a son, a priest named Michele, who was so holy that he worked many miracles, so that all began to call him a saint. And after he died he appeared to his parents in a dream, and told them that the stable and barn should be transformed into a church, and that he would read mass therein thrice a day.

"But his parents wished to have him buried under the altar of a church which was on their estate in the country, but the saint did not wish to be buried there.

"One day one of the grooms of the stable found that a horse could not move a foot, so he ran to call the _manescalco_, or blacksmith, who led the horse to his forge. And when he took the hoof to examine it, lo! it came off at the joint and remained in his hand. Then the smith said that the horse should be killed, because he was now worthless. But the horse struck his stump on the hoof, and the latter joined itself to his leg as firmly as ever it had been. But in doing this the old shoe fell off, whence it comes to this day that whoever finds an old horse-shoe gets luck with it.

"When the smith had shod the horse anew, he tried to lead it back into the stable, but it refused to enter. Then it was plain that this was a miracle worked by San Michele. So they removed all the horses and hay from the building, and made of it the fine church which is now called _La Chiesa di Or' San Michele_."

* * * * *

There is a vast mass of tradition extant relative to the Horse, enough to make a large volume, and in it there is a great deal which is so nearly allied to this story as to establish its antiquity. Karl Blind has found an old Norse spell, in which, by the aid of Balder and Odin, the lameness of a horse's ankle or pastern joint can be cured. There is another version of this story, which runs as follows:

THE SMITH AND SAINT PETER.

"It is a good thing in this world to be bold and have a good opinion of one's self; yes, and to hold your head high--but not so high as to bend over backwards--else that may happen to you which befell the celebrated cock of Aspromonte."

"And what happened to him?"

"Only this, Signore--he was so cocky, and bent his head so far backwards, that his spurs ran into his eyes and blinded him. Now, the cock reminds me of Saint Peter, and too much cheek of the _ferrajo spacciato_, or the saucy smith, who wanted to equal him.

"It happened once that the Lord and Saint Peter came to a forge, and the smith was about to lead a horse from the stable to the anvil to shoe him. Saint Peter said:

"'Thou hast boasted that thou art the best smith in the world, and canst work such wonders in shoeing as man never beheld. Canst thou not shoe this horse without taking him to the forge?'

"'Neither thou, nor I, nor any man can do it,' replied the smith.

"Saint Peter took the hoof in his left hand, gave it a rap with the side of his right across the joint, and the hoof fell off. Then Saint Peter carried it to the anvil, fastened a new shoe on it, returned and put it on the horse again, who stamped with it as if nothing had happened.

"Now the smith, like all boasters, was a great fool, and he only thought that this was something which he had not learned before, and so cried boldly, 'Oh, that is only the Bolognese manner of taking hoofs off and putting them on--we do it much better here in Florence!' So he seized the horse's hoof, and with one blow of a hatchet cut it off.

"'And now put it on again,' said Saint Peter. The smith tried, but it would not stick.

"'The horse is bleeding to death rapidly,' remarked the Saint.

"'I believe,' said the smith ruefully, 'that I am a fool in folio.'

"'_Piu matto che un granchio_--as crazy as a crawfish,' solemnly added one of his assistants.

"'_Pazzo a bandiera_--as wild and witless as a flapping flag,' quoth another.

"'_Matto di sette cotte_--an idiot seven times baked,' chimed in Saint Peter.

"'A _campanile_--a church bell-tower of a fool,' contributed his wife, who had just come in.

"The poor horse continued to bleed.

"'You are like the mouse,' added a neighbour, 'who thought because he had dipped the end of his tail in the meal, that he owned and could run the mill.'

"'The Florentine method of shoeing horses,' remarked Saint Peter gravely, 'does not appear to be invariably successful. I think that we had better recur to mine.' And with this he put the hoof to the ankle, and _presto_! the miracle was wrought again. That is the story. In most cases, Signore, _un pazzo gitta una pietra nel pozzo_--a fool rolls a rock into a well which it requires a hundred wise men to get out again. This time a single sage sufficed. But for that you must have the Lord at your back, as Saint Peter had."

"Why do they say, as foolish as a crawfish or lobster?" I inquired.

"Because, Signore, the _granchio_, be he lobster or crawfish, carries his head in the _scarsella_, which is a hole in his belly. Men who have their brains in their bellies--or gluttons--are generally foolish. But what is the use of boasting of our wisdom? He who has neither poor men nor fools among his relations was born of the lightning or of thunder."

* * * * *

There is another story current among the people, though it is in print, but as it is a merry one, belonging truly enough to the folk-lore of Florence, I give it as it runs:

"You have heard of Piovano Arlotto, who made this our town so lively long ago. It was rich then, indeed. There are more flowers than florins in Florence now: _ogni fior non fa frutto_--all flowers do not bear fruit.

"Well, it happened one day that Piovano, having heard a good story from Piero di Cosimo de' Medicis, answered with another. Now the tale which Messer Piero di Cosimo told was this:

"Once there lived in Florence a poor shoemaker, who went every morning to the Church of San Michele Berteldi--some say it was at San Bartolommeo, and maybe at both, for a good story or a big lie is at home anywhere.

"Well, he used to pray before a John the Baptist in wood, or it may have been cast in plaster, or moulded in wax, which was on the altar. One morning he prayed scalding hot, and the _chierico_--a boy who waits on the priest, who was a young rascal, like all of his kind--overheard him say: 'Oh, Saint John, I pray thee make known to me two things. One is whether my wife is good and true to me, and the other what will become of my only son.'

"Then the mass-boy, who had hidden himself behind the altar, replied in a soft, slow, strange voice: 'Know, my son, that because thou hast long been so devout to me, thou shalt be listened unto. Return hither to-morrow, and thou wilt be answered; and now go in peace.'

"And the shoemaker, having heard this, verily believed that Saint John had spoken to him, and went his way with great rejoicing. So, bright and early the next morning, he was in the church, and said: 'Saint John, I await thy reply.'

"Then the mass-boy, who was hidden as before, replied: 'Oh, my son, I am sorry to say that thy wife is no better than she should be--_ha fatto fallo con piu d'uno_--and everybody in Florence except thee knows it.'

"'And my son?' gasped the shoemaker.

"'_He will be hung_,' replied the voice.

"The shoemaker rose and departed abruptly. In the middle of the church he paused, and, without a sign of the cross, and putting on his cap, he cried: 'What sort of a Saint John are you, anyhow?'

"'Saint John the Baptist,' replied the voice.

"'_Sia col malanno e con la mala Pasque che Iddio ti dia_!--Then may the Lord give you a bad year and a miserable Easter-tide! You never utter aught save evil, and it was for thy evil tongue that Herod cut thy head off--and served thee right! I do not believe a word of all which thou hast told me. I have been coming here every day for twenty-five years, and never asked thee for anything before; but I will make one more vow to thee, and that is--never to see thy face again.'

"And when Messer Cosimo had ended, Piovano Arlotto replied:

"'One good turn deserves another. It is not many years ago since a poor _farsettajo_, or doublet-maker, lived in Florence, his shop being close to the Oratorio di Orto San Michele, {126} and every morning he went to worship in the church, and lit a candle before a picture representing Christ as a child disputing with the Doctors, while his mother enters seeking him.

"'And after he had done this daily for more than twenty-five years, it happened that his little son, while looking on at a game of ball, had a tile fall on his head, which wounded him terribly. The doctors being called in, despaired.

"'The next morning the poor tailor went to his devotions in Or' San Michele, bearing this time, instead of a farthing taper, a great wax-candle; and kneeling, he spoke thus: "_Dolce Signor mio Gesu Cristo_, I beg thee to restore my son to health. Thou knowest that I have worshipped thee here for twenty-five years, and never asked for anything before, and thou thyself can best bear witness to it. This my son is all my happiness on earth, and he was also most devoted to thee. Should he be taken away, I would die in despair, and so I commend myself to three!"

"'Then he departed, and coming home, learned that his son had died.

"'The next morning, in grief and anger, he entered Orto San Michele, and, without any candle, he went directly to the picture, and, without kneeling, broke forth in these words: "_Io ti disgrazio_--I dislike, disown, and despise thee, and will return here no more. Five-and-twenty years have I worshipped thee and never asked for anything before, and now thou dost refuse me my request. If I had only gone to the great crucifix there, I daresay I should have got all I wanted; but this is what comes of trusting to a mere child, for, as the proverb says, _Chi s'impaccia con fanciulli_, _con fanciulli si ritrova_--he who troubles himself with children will himself be treated as a child.'"

* * * * *

It is worth remarking, as regards the tone and character of this tale, that such freedom was commonest when people were most devout. The most sceptical critics generally agree that these stories of Piovano Arlotto are authentic, having been dictated by him, and that he had a very exceptional character in his age for morality, honesty, and truth. He himself declared, without being contradicted, that he was the only priest of whom he knew who did not keep a mistress; and yet this story is simply an average specimen of the two hundred connected with his name, and that they in turn are identical in character with all the popular wit and humour of the time.

Regarding the image of the Holy Blacksmith, Saint Eligius or Eloi, the authors of "Walks in Florence" say that it is attributed to Nanni di Banco, and is meagre and stiff, but has dignity, which accords admirably with the character of most saints, or their ideals. It is evident that the _bon roi_ Dagobert was considered as the type of all that was free and easy--

"Le bon roi Dagobert
Mettait son culotte a l'envers."

Therefore he is contrasted with the very dignified Saint Eloy, who was (like the breeches) quite the reverse, declining to lend the monarch two sous, which Dagobert had ascertained were in the holy man's possession. "The bas-relief below," continue the critics cited, "is more certainly by the hand of Nanni. It records a miracle of Saint Eloy, who one day, when shoeing a restive horse which was possessed by a demon, and was kicking and plunging, cut off the animal's leg to fasten the shoe, and having completed his task, made the sign of the cross and restored the severed limb." I regret to say that this was written without careful reference to the original. It was not the _leg_ of the horse which was severed, nor a limb, but only the hoof at the pastern joint.

There is yet another explanation of this bas-relief, which I have somewhere read, but cannot now recall--more's the pity, because it is the true one, as I remember, and one accounting for the presence of the female saint who is standing by, evidently invisibly. Perhaps some reader who knows Number Four will send it to me for a next edition.

It is worth noting that there is in Innsbruck, on the left bank of the Inn, a blacksmith's shop, on the front of which is a very interesting bas-relief of the fourteenth or fifteenth century, representing Saint Peter or Eligius with the horse in a smithy.

There is another statue on the exterior of this church, that of Saint Philip, by the sculptor Nanni de Banco, concerning which and whom I find an anecdote in the _Facetie Diverse_, A.D. 1636:

"Now, it befell in adorning the church of Or' San Michele in
Florence, that _I Consoli d'Arte_ (Art Directors of Florence) wanting
a certain statue, wished to have it executed by Donatello, a most
excellent sculptor; but as he asked fifty _scudi_, which was indeed a
very moderate price for such statues as he made, they, thinking it
too dear, refused him, and gave it to a sculptor _mediocre e
mulo_--indifferent and mongrel--who had been a pupil of Donatello;
nor did they ask him the price, supposing it would be, of course,
less. Who, having done his best, asked for the work eighty scudi.
Then the Directors in anger explained to him that Donatello, a
first-class sculptor, had only asked fifty; but as he refused to
abate a single _quattrino_, saying that he would rather keep the
statue, the question was referred to Donatello himself, who at once
said they should pay the man _seventy_ scudi. But when they reminded
him that he himself had only asked fifty, he very courteously
replied, 'Certainly, and being a master of the art, I should have
executed it in less than a month, but that poor fellow, who was
hardly fit to be my pupil, has been more than half a year making it.'

"By which shrewd argument he not only reproached them for their
meanness and his rival for incapacity, but also vindicated himself as
an artist."

This is the story as popularly known. In it Nanni is called Giovanni, and it is not true that he was an unworthy, inferior sculptor, for he was truly great. There is another legend of Or' San Michele, which is thus given by Pascarel, who, however, like most writers on Florence, is so extravagantly splendid or "gushing" in his description of everything, that untravelled readers who peruse his pages in good faith must needs believe that in every church and palazzo there is a degree of picturesque magnificence, compared to which the Pandemonium of Milton, or even the Celestial City itself as seen by Saint John, is a mere cheap Dissenting chapel. According to him, Or' San Michele is by right "a world's wonder, and a gift so perfect to the whole world, that, passing it, one should need say (or be _compelled_ to pronounce) a prayer for Taddeo's soul." Which is like the dentist in Paris, who proclaimed in 1847 that it was--

"Presque une crime
De ne pas crier, '_Vive_ Fattet!'"

The legend, as told by this writer, and cited by Hare, is as follows:

"Surely nowhere in the world is the rugged, changeless, mountain
force of hewn stone piled against the sky, and the luxuriant,
dream-like poetic delicacy of stone carven and shaped into leafage
and loveliness, more perfectly blended and made one than where San
Michele rises out of the dim, many-coloured, twisting streets, in its
mass of ebon darkness and of silvery light.

"The other day, under the walls of it, I stood and looked at its
Saint George, where he leans upon his shield, so calm, so young, with
his bared head and his quiet eyes.

"'That is our Donatello's,' said a Florentine beside me--a man of the
people, who drove a horse for hire in the public ways, and who
paused, cracking his whip, to tell this tale to me. 'Donatello did
that, and it killed him. Do you not know? When he had done that
Saint George he showed it to his master. And the master said, "It
wants one thing only." Now this saying our Donatello took gravely to
heart, chiefly because his master would never explain where the fault
lay; and so much did it hurt him, that he fell ill of it, and came
nigh to death. Then he called his master to him. "Dear and great
one, do tell me before I die," he said, "what is the one thing my
statue lacks?" The master smiled and said: "Only speech." "Then I
die happy," said our Donatello. And he--died--indeed, that hour.'

"Now I cannot say that the pretty story is true--it is not in the
least true; Donatello died when he was eighty-three, in the Street of
the Melon, and it was he himself who cried, 'Speak then--speak!' to
his statue, as it was carried through the city. But whether true or
false, this fact is surely true, that it is well--nobly and purely
well--with a people when the men amongst it who ply for hire on its
public ways think caressingly of a sculptor dead five hundred years
ago, and tell such a tale, standing idly in the noonday sun, feeling
the beauty and the pathos of it all."

Truly, in a town half of whose income is derived from art-hunting tourists, and where every vagabond offers himself, in consequence, as a cicerone, it is no sign that "all is well--nobly and purely well--with a people," because a coachman who had been asked which was Donatello's Saint George by about five hundred English "fares," and nearly as many American young ladies--of whom many of the latter told him all they knew about it--should have picked up such a tale. In fact, while I have been amazed at the _incredible_ amount of legend, superstitious traditions, and incantations existing among the people, I have been struck by their great ignorance of art, and all pertaining to it; of which, were it worth while, I could cite convincing and amusing instances.

"But as regards a vast proportion of the 'sweet and light' writing on
the Renaissance and on Italy which is at present fashionable," writes
Flaxius, "I am reminded of the 'esthetic axe'ems' of an American
writer, the first of which were:

"'Art is a big thing. Always bust into teers wen you see a pictur.'

"'Bildins and churches arn't of no account unless they drive you
clean out of your census.'"

THE WITCH OF THE ARNO

"Il spirito usci dal fiume a un tratto,
E venne come Dio l'aveva fatto,
E presentando come un cortegiano
Alla donna gentil la destra mano,
'Scusate,' disse si io vengo avanti
E se vi do la mano sensa guanti."--_Paranti_.

The following, as a French book of fables says, is "a poem, or rather prose rhymed:"

"Two pretty maids one morning sat by the rushing stream. It murmured
glittering in the sun; it seemed to sing as on it run, enchanting
while a wantoning, as in a merry dream.

"Said one unto the other: 'I wish, and all in truth, that the
glorious dancing river were as fine and brave a youth. Its voice is
like an angel's, its drops of light like eyes so bright are beautiful
I wis. Oh, ne'er before, on sea or shore, did I love aught like
this.'

"A voice came from the river: 'For a love thou hast chosen me;
henceforward, sweet, for ever thine own love I will be. Wherever
there is water, of Florence the fairest daughter, by night or day or
far away, thou'lt find me close by thee.'

"She saw bright eyes a shining in dewdrops on her path--she returned
unto the palace, she entered in a bath. 'How the water doth caress
me; 'tis embracing me, I vow! _M'abbracia_, _mi baccia_--my lover
has me now. Since fate has really willed it, then to my fate I bow.'

"Seven years have come and vanished, seven years of perfect bliss.
Whenever she washed in water, she felt her lover's kiss. She washed
full oft, I ween; 'twas plain to be seen there was no maid in
Florence who kept herself so clean.

"Little by little, as summer makes frogs croak in a ditch, there
spread about a rumour that the damsel was a witch. They showed her
scanty mercies; with cruelty extreme, with blows and bitter curses,
they cast her in the stream. 'If she be innocent, she'll sink, so
hurl her from the Arno's brink; if guilty, she will swim!'

"Up rose from the sparkling river a youth who was fair to see. 'I
have loved thee, and for ever thine own I'll truly be.' He took her
in his arms; she felt no more alarms. 'Farewell to you all!' sang
she; 'a fish cannot drown in the water; now I am a fish, you
know--the Arno's loving daughter. _Per sempre addio_!'"

The foregoing is not literal, nor do I know that it is strictly "traditional;" it is a mere short tale or anecdote which I met with, and put into irregular metre to suit the sound of a rushing stream. I take the liberty of adding to it another water-poem of my own, which has become, if not "popular," at least a halfpenny broadside sold at divers street-stands by old women, the history whereof is as follows:--I had written several ballads in Italian in imitation of the simplest old-fashioned lyrics, and was anxious to know if I had really succeeded in coming down to the level of the people, for this is a very difficult thing to do in any language. When I showed them to Marietta Pery, she expressed it as her candid opinion that they were really very nice indeed, and that I ought for once in my life to come before the public as a poet. And as I, fired by literary ambition, at last consented to appear in this _role_, Marietta took a ballad, and going to E. Ducci, 32 Via Pilastri, who is the Catnach of Florence (I advise collectors of the really curious to buy his _soldo_ publications), made an arrangement whereby my song should appear as a broadside, the lady strictly conditioning that from among his blocks Signore Ducci should find a ship and a flying bird to grace the head and the end of the lyric. But as he had no bird, she took great credit to herself that for five francs she not only got a hundred copies, but also had specially engraved for the work and inserted an object which appears as flying to the right hand of the ship. The song was as follows:

LA BELLA STREGA. _Nuova Canzonetta di_ CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.

Era una bella strega
Che si bagnava alla riva;
Vennero i pirati
Lei presero captiva.

Il vento era in poppa
Sull' onde la nave ballo
La donna lacrimante
Al capitan parlo.

"O Signor capitano!
O Capitano del mar!
Daro cento ducati,
Se tu mi lasci andar."

"Non prendero cento ducati,
Tu costi molto piu
Io ti vendro al Sultano,"
Disse il Capitano,
"Per mille zecchini d'oro
Vi stimi troppo giu."

"Non vuoi i cento ducati
Ebben tu non gli avrai,
Ho un' amante amato
Non mi abbandona mai."

Essa sede sul ponte
Principio a cantar,
"Vieni il mio amante,"
Da lontano il vento
Si mette a mugghiar.

Forte e piu forte
La tempesta ruggio,
Gridava il capitano:
"Io credo che il tuo amante
E il vento che corre innante,
Ovvero il diavolo."

Forte e piu forte
La procella urlo,
"Sono rocce davanti,
E il vento vien di dietro
Benvenuto sei tu mio amante!"
La bella donna canto.

[Picture: A sailing ship with flying bird]

"Vattene al tuo amante
All' inferno a cantar!"
Disse il Capitano
E getto la donna fuori,
Della nave nel mar.

Ma come un gabbiano
Sull' onde essa volo.
"O mio Capitano,
Non sarai appiccato,
Ma sarai annegato:
Per sempre addio!"

The Beautiful Witch.

A pretty witch was bathing
In the sea one summer day;
There came a ship with pirates,
Who carried her away.

The ship due course was keeping
On the waves as they rose and broke;
The lovely lady, weeping,
Thus to the captain spoke:

"O Signor Capitano!
O captain of the sea!
I'll give you a hundred ducats
If you will set me free."

"I will not take a hundred,
You're worth much more, you know;
I will sell you to the Sultan
For a hundred gold sequins;
You set yourself far too low."

"You will not take a hundred--
Oh well! then let them be,
But I have a faithful lover,
Who, as you may discover,
Will never abandon me."

Upon the windlass sitting,
The lady began to sing:
"Oh, come to me, my lover!"
From afar a breeze just rising
In the rigging began to ring.

Louder and ever louder
The wind began to blow:
Said the captain, "I think your lover
Is the squall which is coming over,
Or the devil who has us in tow."

Stronger and ever stronger
The tempest roared and rang,
"There are rocks ahead and the wind dead aft,
Thank you, my love," the lady laughed;
And loud to the wind she sang.

"Oh, go with your cursed lover,
To the devil to sing for me!"
Thus cried the angry rover,
And threw the lady over
Into the raging sea.

But changing to a seagull,
Over the waves she flew:
"Oh captain, captain mine," sung she,
"You will not swing on the gallows-tree,
For you shall drown in the foaming sea--
Oh captain, for ever adieu!"

I must in honesty admit that this my _debut_ as an Italian poet was not noticed in any of the reviews--possibly because I did not send it to them--and there were no indications that anybody considered that a new Dante had arisen in the land. It is true, as Marietta told me with much delight, that the printer, or his foreman, had declared it was a very good song indeed; but then he was an interested party. And Marietta also kindly praised it to the skies (after she had corrected it); but then Marietta was herself a far better poet than I can ever hope to be, and could afford to be generous.

The reader will pardon me if I avail myself of the opportunity to give another Italian ballad which I wrote on a theme which I also picked up in Florence.

Il Giardino d'Amore, o La Figlia del Re, e il Contino Stregone.

Era un giovine Contino,
Di tutto il paese il fior,
Aveva un bel giardino,
Il bel giardin d'amor.

"Chi batte alla mia porta?"
Domanda il bel Contin'.
"Son la figlia del re,
Vo vedere il tuo giardin'?"

"Entra pur nel mio giardino,
O bella figlia del re,
Purche tu non tocchi niente,
A cio che dentro v'e!"

Entrata nel giardino,
La bella figlia del re,
Non vidde cola niente,
Che fiori e foglie.

Le foglie eran d'argento,
Di oro ogni fior,
I frutti eran' gemmi,
Nel bel giardin d'amor.

Sedi sulla panchetta,
Sotto il frascame la;
Che vissi nel sentiero?
Un bell' anello c'era.

Non seppe che il Contino,
Fu stregone appostator;
Non seppe che l'anello,
Era lo stesso signor.

Ella ando nel suo letto,
Con l'anello nella man',
Non 'n sospetto che la trasse
Sul dito un giovan.

Svegliato da un bacino,
Tra la mezzanotte e tre;
Si trovo il bel Contino
Accanto alla figlia del re.

Credo che fu ben contenta
Con la cosa come era;
Come molte donne sarebbero
Con tal stregoneria.

Portar dei gioielli,
A de' sposi il fior;
Il di un di-amante,
La notte un bel signor.

D'avere un bel diamante
Piace ognuno, si;
Ma meglio e un amante
Quando non ha piu il _di_.

Chi scrisse questa canzone
Un gran Contino e,
Anch 'egli il stregone
Ch' amava la figlia del re.

The Garden of Love, or The King's Daughter and the Wizard Count.

There was a Count of high degree,
All others far above;
He had a garden fair to see,
'Twas called the Garden of Love.

"Now who is knocking at my gate?
Who is it that makes so free?"
"Oh, I am the daughter of the king,
And your garden I would see!"

"Oh, come into my garden,
Fair daughter of the king!
Look well at all that's growing,
But touch not anything!"

She entered in the garden,
The princess young and fair,
She looked it all well over,
Yet nothing but trees were there.

But every leaf was of silver,
The flowers of gold; in the grove
The fruits were gems and jewels
In the beautiful Garden of Love.

She sat beneath the foliage,
The daughter of the king;
What shone in the path before her?
A beautiful diamond ring!

She knew not that the County
Was a wizard wondrous wise;
She did not know that the diamond
Was the wizard in disguise.

And when at night, fast sleeping,
The diamond ring she wore,
She never dreamed that her finger
Was bearing a young signor.

Awakened by his kisses
As she heard the midnight ring,
There was the handsome wizard
By the daughter of the king.

I ween she was well contented,
As many dames would be,
If they could be enchanted
With just such sorcery.

To have not only a jewel,
But a husband, which is more,
All day a dazzling diamond,
And by night a bright signor!

Who was it wrote this ballad
About this loving pair?
He was the Count and wizard
Who won the princess fair.

STORIES OF SAN MINIATO

"The picturesque height of San Miniato, now the great cemetery of the
city which dominates the Arno from the south, has an especial
religious and saintly interest. The grand Basilica, with its
glittering ancient mosaic, shines amid the cypresses against the sky,
and whether it gleams in the sunlight against the blue, or is cut in
black on the primrose sky of twilight, it is equally
imposing."--"_Echoes of Old Florence_," _by_ LEADER SCOTT.

To the old people of Florence, who still see visions and dream dreams, and behold the wind and the stars at noonday (which latter thing I have myself beheld), the very ancient convent of San Miniato, "the only one in Tuscany which has preserved the ancient form of the Roman basilica," and the neighbourhood, are still a kind of Sleepy Hollow, where witches fly of nights more than elsewhere, where ghosts or _folletti_ are most commonly seen, and where the _orco_ and the nightmare and her whole ninefold disturb slumbers _a bel agio_ at their easiest ease, as appears by the following narrative:

SAN MINIATO FRA LE TORRE.

"This is a place which not long ago was surrounded by towers, which were inhabited by many witches.

"Those who lived in the place often noticed by night in those towers, serpents, cats, small owls, and similar creatures, and they were alarmed by frequently seeing their infants die like candles blown out--_struggere i bambini come candele_; nor could they understand it; but those who believed in witchcraft, seeking in the children's beds, often found threads woven together in forms like animals or garlands, and when mothers had left their children alone with the doors open, found their infants, on returning, in the fireplace under the ashes. And at such times there was always found a strange cat in the room.

"And believing the cat to be a witch, they took it, and first tying the two hind-paws, cut off the fore-claws (_zampe_, claws or paws), and said:

"'Fammi guarire
La mia creatura;
Altrimenti per te saranno
Pene e guai!'

"'Cure my child,
Or there shall be;
Trouble and sorrow
Enough for thee!'

"This happened once, and the next day the mother was sitting out of doors with her child, when she saw a woman who was her intimate friend at her window, and asked her if she would not wash for her her child's clothes, since she herself was ill. But the other replied: 'I cannot, for I have my hands badly cut.'

"Then the mother in a rage told this to other women whose children had been bewitched or died.

"Then all together seized the witch, and by beating her, aided with knives crossed, and whatever injuries they could think of, subdued her and drenched her under a tower with holy water. And the witch began to howl, not being able to endure this, and least of all the holy water!

"When all at once there came a mighty wind, which blew down the witch-tower, and carried away the witch, and killed all the uncanny animals which dwelt in the ruins. And unbelievers say that this was done by an earthquake; but this is not true, for the witches were really the cause (_chagione_) of its overthrow.

"And though many old things are destroyed and rebuilt, there are many cats still there which are assuredly witches.

"And in the houses thereabout people often perceive and see spirits, and if any one will go at night in the Piazza San Miniato fra le Torri, especially where those old things (_chose vecche_) were cleared away, he will see sparks of fire (_faville di fuocho_) break out, and then flames; and this signifies that some diabolical creature or animal is still confined there which needs relief (_che a bisogna di bene_), or that in that spot lies a treasure which requires to be discovered."

* * * * *

I consider this as very interesting, because I most truthfully guarantee that this specimen of witch-lore was written in good faith and firm belief, and is not at all, like most of the tales gleaned or gathered now-a-days, taken from people who got them from others who perhaps only half believed in them. She who wrote it has no more doubt that witch-cats prowl, and that wild-fire hisses forth from evil spirits in durance pent 'neath the soil of San Miniato, than that the spirit of the Arno appears as "a small white hand pointing tremulously upwards."

There is given in the _Facetiae_ of Piovano Arlotto, which is considered a truthful record of the adventures of its subject, a tale relative to San Miniato which cannot here be deemed out of place. It is as follows:

LA TESTA DI SAN MINIATO.

"There was in Florence a poor and learned gentleman--_savio e da bene_, who was a good friend of Piovano Arlotto, who was also good to him, since he had often aided the former with money, meal, and many other things, and indeed without such help he could hardly have fed his family; for he had fourteen sons and daughters, and though the proverb says _Figliuoli_, _mioli_, _'lenzuoli non sono mai troppi in una casa_--there are never too many children, glasses, or linen sheets in a house, this good man found indeed that he had too many of the former.

"Now to help dire need, this gentleman tried to buy on credit two bales of cloth, one wherewith to clothe his family, and the other to sell in order to make some money. To do this, he needed some one to be his security, and he had recourse to Piovano Arlotto, who willingly agreed to pay the manufacturer in case the friend who gave his note could not meet it. Now he found that the manufacturer had sadly cheated the purchaser in the measure or quantity, fully one-half, as was also evident to many others; however, as matters stood, he was obliged to let it pass.

"As things were thus, the poor gentleman died and passed away from this _misera vita_ or sad life, and Piovano was in deep grief for his loss, and as much for the poor orphans.

"When the note fell due, the manufacturer went to Piovano Arlotto and asked for his money, saying that he only demanded what was justly due to him.

"And after a few days' delay, he paid the man two-thirds of the sum, and ten florins for the time and trouble, and said he would not give a farthing more. Then the dealer begun to dun him, but he evaded every demand. Then the merchant employed a young man, eighteen years of age, who had not his equal in Florence to collect debts. And this youth set to work in earnest to get from the priest the sum of about twenty-eight gold florins, still due from the account.

"In a few days he had attacked Piovano a hundred times with the utmost impudence, in the market, in the public squares, on the streets at home, and in the church, without regard to persons present, at all times, and in every aggravating way, until the priest conceived a mortal hatred of the dun, and turned over in his head many ways to get rid of him.

"At last he went one day to the Abbot of San Miniato or Monte, and said to him: '_Padre reverendo_, I seek your paternal kindness to relieve a very distressing case in which I am concerned. I have a nephew who is possessed by the devil, one into whom an evil spirit has entered, and who has a monomania that I owe him money, and is always crying to me everywhere, 'When are you going to pay me? I want twenty-eight florins.' 'Tis a great pity, for he is a fine young man, and something really ought to be done to cure him. Now I know that the holy relic which you possess, the worthy head of the glorious and gracious San Miniato, has such a virtue, that, if it be once placed on the head of this poor youth, 'twill certainly cure him. Would you so contrive, in any way, to put it on him some time this week?'

"The Abbot answered, 'Bring him when you will.'

"Piovano thanked him and said: 'I will bring him on Saturday, but when he shall be here, I pray you be at the gate with seven or eight strong men, that he may not escape; for you know, holy father, that these demoniacs are accustomed to rage when they see relics and hear prayers, and it will be specially so with this poor youth, who is young and vigorous--yea, it may be that 'twill be necessary to give him sundry cuffs and kicks, so terrible is the power of Satan--_lupus esuriens_. Do so, I pray, without fearing to hurt my feelings--nay, it would be a great pleasure to me, so heartily do I desire to see him cured.'

"The Abbot answered, 'Bring him here, my son, and I will see that all is rightly done.'

"Piovano returned, saying to himself:

"'Chi vuol giusta vendetta,
In Dio la metta.'

"'Leave vengeance to the Lord, or to his ministers--_videlicet_, the monks of San Miniato. Which I will do.'

"On Friday he went to the merchant who had sold the cloth, and said: 'As for this which I owe you, it is all rubbish. You cheated the man who gave you the note out of half the cloth--you know it, and I can prove it. However, to avoid further trouble and litigation, I am willing to pay all, but you must allow time for it. _Dura cosa e l'aspettare_--'tis hard to wait, but harder still to have nothing to wait for. The monks of San Miniato owe me for forty cords of wood, which is to be paid for at the end of two years, and then you shall have your money.'

"This sounded like 'for ever and a day' to the creditor, and in a rage he had recourse to his collector, who on Saturday morning went to San Miniato. When he arrived, he had to wait till the grand mass was over, to the great vexation of the young man, and meanwhile eight powerful monks with long staves had grouped themselves about the door, awaiting a little healthy exercise.

"And mass being over, the dun hastened up to the Abbot, who, taking him by the hand, said: 'Oh, my son, put thy trust in God and in San Miniato the blessed; pray that he may take this evil conceit from thy head,' and with this much more, till the young man grew impatient and said:

"'Messer Abbot, to-day is Saturday, and no time for sermons. I have come to know what you are going to do about this debt of Piovano of twenty-eight florins, and when it will be paid?'

"Then the Abbot, hearing, as he expected, the demand for money, began to exhort and exorcise. And the youth began to abuse the Abbot with all kind of villanies, and finally turned to depart; but the Abbot caught him by the cloak, and there was a fight. Then came the eight monks, who seizing him, chastised him lustily, and bound him with cords, and bearing him into the sacristy, sprinkled him with holy water, and incensed him indeed--and then set the holy head of San Miniato on his head--he thinking they were all mad as hatters. Then they exorcised the evil spirits in him--'_Maledicti_!_ excommunicati et rebelles--sitis in paena aeternali nulla requies sit in vo-o-o-bis si statim non eritis obedientes_, _praeceptis me-e-e-e-is_!'--until the youth had to give in, and beg the Abbot's pardon, and being released, fled as for dear life.