Part 10

But later in the night, when the doors were closed and the light extinguished, and the worshippers who remained were calling “Avesta!” the two sleepers who were side by side were awakened by a rustling of silk, and this was caused by the dress of the goddess, who roused them. And the young man found himself restored to vigorous health and unwonted passion, and quickly noting that a lady was by him, and carried away by feelings beyond his control, embraced and kissed her—nor did she indeed resist, for the will of Avesta was on them both. But noting that the lady had a silk handkerchief {100} partly out of her pocket, he adroitly stole it, putting in its place his own, and so with a kiss he left her, neither knowing who the other was. But on awaking, as if it were from a dream or a delirium, the lady was overcome with shame and grief, and could only think that madness or magic had overcome her reason, to cause her to yield as she had done. For this morning she felt more passionately in love with her betrothed than she had ever done before, and this was because the spell which had bound her was broken with the opening of the padlock.

But what was the astonishment of the lover, who was also restored to all his health and strength, when in the morning he looked at the handkerchief which he had carried away and found embroidered on it the arms and name of his love! So he went to visit her, and his greeting was:

“Signorina, have you lost a handkerchief?”

“Not that I know of,” replied the lady, amazed.

“Look at the one in your pocket, and then at _this_,” was his laughing reply.

She did so, and understanding all in an instant, cried out in shame and horror, while she became at first like blood and then milk. Then the gentleman said:

“It seems to me, Signorina, that we must by mistake have exchanged handkerchiefs last night in the dark, and no wonder, considering the fervency of our devotions. And since we have begun to worship and pray so devoutly, and have entered on such a good path, it were a pity for us to turn back, and therefore it were well for us to continue to travel on it hand in hand together. But I propose that instead of changing pocket-handkerchiefs, we exchange rings before the altar and get married.”

The lady laughed and replied:

“I accept with great pleasure, Signore, the handkerchief; just as the women in Turkey do when it is thrown to them. And you know the proverb:

“‘La donna chi prende Tosto si rende E poi si vende.’”

“She who will take will give herself away, And she who gives will sell herself, they say.”

“Even so will I sell mine for thine; but you must take the bargain on the nail, and the ball on the bound in the game of love.”

“Yes,” replied the young man; “I do so with all my heart. But as for our handkerchiefs, I now see that it is true that the peasant does not always know what it is that he carries home in his bag from the mill. Thanks be to Avesta that we found such good flour in our sacks!”

“To Vesta and to Virgil be all praise!” replied the lady. “But I think that while we continue our daily worship in the temple, we will go there no longer by night. _Vi sono troppo donne devote nel buio_”—There are too many lady devotees there in the darkness.

* * * * *

As a mere story this legend were as well left out, but it is one of a hundred as regards curious relics of mythologic and other lore. Firstly, be it observed that a secret doctrine, or esoteric as opposed to exoteric teaching, was taught in all the mysteries of the gods. Diana, who is identical with Vesta, Avesta, or Hestia, as a goddess of light by night and also of chastity, had her lovers in secret. What further identifies the two is that in this tale girls who have got into trouble through love, pray to Vesta, even as Roman maids did under similar circumstances specially to Diana.

There is no historical proof whatever that the Baptistery was ever a temple of Vesta, but there is very remarkable circumstantial evidence to that effect which I have indicated in detail in an article in the _Architectural Review_. Both Vesta and Saint John were each in her or his religion the special deities or incarnations of Light or Fire, and Purity or Chastity. The temples of Vesta were like those of Mars, and Mars alone, either round, hexagonal, or square, to indicate the form attributed with variations to the world. The early tradition of all writers on Florence speaks of the Baptistery of Saint John as having been a temple of Mars, which legend the priests naturally endeavoured to deny, thinking it more devout and “genteel” to attribute its erection to a Christian Empress.

The binding and rendering impotent by means of a padlock, and forty other devices, to render married folk miserable, or lovers languid, was so common two centuries ago, that there is almost a literature, occult, theological, and legal, on the subject. The Rabbis say it was invented by Ham, the son of Noah. The superstition was generally spread in Greece and Rome. It is still very commonly believed in and practised by witches all over Europe, and especially by gipsies and the Italian _strege_.

What is above all to be remarked in this tale is that it recognises a double nature in Vesta—one as a chaste goddess of fire, the other of a voluptuous or generative deity, signified by extinguishing the lights. And this is precisely what the oldest writers declared, though it was quite forgotten in later times. As Natalis Comes declares, “There were _two_ Vestas, one by the first wife of Saturn, another by the younger one, meaning the earth, the other fire,” as Ovid witnesses, “Fastorum,” lib. 6. In fact, there was a double or second to every one of the Greek or Etruscan gods. And this belief which was forgotten by the higher classes remained among the people. And it may be specially noted that the second Vesta was called the mother of the gods, as Strabo declares, and she was in fact the Venus of the primitive or Saturnian mythology.

THE STONE FISH, AND HOW VIRGIL MADE IT EATABLE.

“Virgille plus fu sapïens Plus clerc, plus sage et plus scïens. Que nul a son temps vesquist, Et plus de grans merveilles fist Pour voir il fist de grans merveilles; Homs naturels ne fist pareilles.”

RENARS CONTREFAIS, A.D. 1319.

In the old times, when things were so different from what they are now—the blue bluer, the red redder, when the grains of maize were as big as grapes, and grapes as big as pomegranates, and pomegranates as big as melons, and the Arno was always full of water, and the water so full of fine large fish that everybody had as many as he wanted for nothing, and the sun and moon gave twice as much light—there was, not far from Via Reggio, a castle, and the signore who owned it was a great bandit, who robbed all the country round, as all the gentlemen did in those times when they could, for it is true that with all the blessings of those days they had some curses!

One day there passed by a poor fisherman with an ass, and on it was a very large, wonderfully fine fish, a tunny, which was a load for the beast, and which was intended for the good monks of an abbey hard by, to whom the man hoped to sell it, partly for money and partly for blessings. When lo! he was met by Il Bandito, as the signore was called, and, as you may suppose, the gentleman was not slow to seize the prey, which fell as it were like a roasted lark from heaven into his mouth. And to mock the poor fellow, the signore gave him a small bottle of wine to repay him.

Then the fisherman in his despair cursed the Bandito to his face, saying:

“May God forget and the devil remember thee, and as thou hast mocked my poverty, mayest thou pass centuries in worse suffering than ever was known to the poorest man on earth.

“Thou shalt live in groans and lamentations, thou accursed of God and despised by the devil; thou shalt never have peace by day or night!

“Thou shalt be in utter wretchedness till thou shalt see someone eat this fish.

“‘In pietra cambiato E in pietra sarai confinata.’”

“Thyself a stone, as thou shalt find, And in a stone thou’lt be confined, And the fish likewise a stone shall be Till someone shall eat it and set thee free!”

And as the poor man prophesied, it came to pass: the fish was changed into a stone, and the signore into a statue. And the latter stood in a corner of the dining-hall, and every day the fish was placed at dinner on the table, but no one could eat it.

So three hundred years passed away, and the lord who had inherited the castle had a beautiful daughter, who was beloved by a young signore named Luigi, who was in every way deserving of her, but whom the father disliked on account of his family. So when he asked the father for her hand, the latter replied that he might have it when he should have eaten the stone fish, and not till then. So the young man went away in grief.

One day, when this young gentleman was returning from the chase bearing two fine hares, he met Virgilio, who asked him to sell him one. Whereupon the young man replied: “Oh, take your pick of them, and welcome; but say nothing about payment. Perhaps some day you may do as much for me.”

“Perhaps,” replied Virgilio, “that day may be nearer than you think. I never make my creditors wait, nor let my debts run into arrears. What is there on earth which you most desire?”

“Truly it is something, signore, which I trow that neither you nor any man can render possible, for it is to eat the stone fish in the castle up there.”

“I think that it can be managed,” replied Virgil, with a smile. “Take this silver box full of salt, and when the fish is before you, sprinkle the salt on it, and it will grow tender and taste well, and you can eat it. But first say unto it:

“‘Se tu pesce sei fatto Da un uomo, pel suo atto, Rimane sempre come sei, Ma se tu sei scongiurato, O vere scongiurato, Non restare pietra—ritorna come eri.’”

“Fish, if once a man thou wert, Then remain e’en as thou art! But if a fish, I here ordain That thou become a fish again.”

Then Luigi went to the castle, and was with much laughter placed before the fish, and the signore asked him if he would have a hammer to carve it with.

“Nay, I will eat it after my own fashion,” he replied. “I do but beg permission to use my own salt, and say my own grace.”

Then he sprinkled the salt and murmured the incantation, when the fish became soft and savoury, as if well cooked, and Luigi ate of it, till the signore of the castle was satisfied, and admitted that he had fulfilled the conditions—when lo! the fish became whole as before, and a stone again.

Then an old statue which was in the hall, in a corner of the wall, spoke and said:

“Now I am at peace, since the fish has been eaten.

“‘Dacche il pesce ha stato mangiato, Io non sono più confinato.’”

And saying this, there went forth from the image a spirit-form, which vanished.

Then Luigi wedded the young lady of the castle, and Virgilio, who was present, promised the pair a happy life. And he said:

“Thou wilt be, O Luigi, the beginner of a family or race which, like the Holy Church, will have been founded on a stone, and while the Church lasts thy name shall endure.”

* * * * *

The concluding paragraph refers to _pietra_, a stone, and to the text, well known to the most ignorant Catholic, “Petrus es et super hanc petram edificabo ecclesiam meam,” whence it has been said that the Roman Church was founded on a pun, to which the reply might be, “And what if it was?” since there was no suspicion in early times that the pun, as a poetical form, might not be seriously employed in illustration. Dr. Johnson made the silly assertion that a pun upon a proper name is the lowest kind of wit, in which saying there is—as in many of his axioms—more sound than sense; nor is it altogether reverent or respectful, when we reflect that both Christ and Cicero used the despised figure of speech. In one of the tales in this collection the Emperor of Rome speaks of a wheat-bran (_tisane_) which had been ordered as “pigs’ broth,” which was exactly the term by which Cicero alluded to the Verrine law, which also bears that meaning. As his adversary was a Jew, and the query was, “What has a Hebrew to do with pig-broth, or pork-soup?”—_i.e._, the law of Verres—the joke, with all due deference to the law-giver Samuel, may be fairly called a very good one. {106}

VIRGILIO AND THE BRONZE HORSE.

“The horse of brass.”—MILTON.

“But evermore their moste wonder was About this horsé, since it was of brass. It was of faerie as the peple seemed, Diversè folk diversely han deemed.”

CHAUCER: _The Squiere’s Tale_.

One day Virgilio went to visit the Emperor, and not finding him in his usual good temper, asked what was the matter, adding that he hoped it would be in his power to do something to relieve him.

Then the Emperor complained that what troubled him was that all his horses seemed to be ill or bewitched, behaving like wild beasts, or as if evil spirits were in them, and that which grieved him most was that his favourite white horse was most afflicted of all.

“Do not vex yourself for such a thing,” replied Virgil. “I will cure your horses and all the others in the city.”

Then he caused to be made a beautiful horse of bronze, and it was so well made that no one, unless by the will of Virgil (_senza il volere di Virgilio_), could have made the like. And whenever a horse which suffered in any way beheld it, the animal was at once cured.

All the smiths and horse-doctors in Rome were greatly angered at this, because after Virgil made the bronze horse they had nothing to do. So they planned to revenge themselves on him. And they all assembled in a vile place frequented by thieves and assassins, and there agreed to kill Virgil. Going to his house by night, they sought for him, but he escaped; so they, finding the bronze horse, broke it to pieces, and then fled.

When Virgil returned and found the horse in fragments he was greatly grieved, and said:

“The smiths have done this. However, I will yet do some good with the metal, for I will make from it a bell; and when the smiths hear it ring, I will give them a peal to remember me by.”

So the bell was made and given to the Church of San Martino. And the first time it was tolled it sang:

“Io ero un cavallo di bronzo. Dai nemici son’ stato spezzato. Ma un amico che mi ama, In campana, mi ha cambiato E la prima volta che faro _Dindo_, _dindo_! dichiarero Chi e becco a caprone.”

“I was a horse of bronze, and tall. My enemies broke me to pieces small. But a friend who loves me well Had me made into a bell. Now here on high I proudly ring, And as I _dindo_! _dindo_ sing, I tell aloud, as I toll and wave, Who is a _wittol_ and a knave.”

And all the smiths who had broken the horse when they heard the bell became as deaf as posts. Then great remorse came over them and shame, and they threw themselves down on the ground before Virgil and begged his pardon.

Virgil replied:

“I pardon you; but for a penance you must have six other bells made to add to this, to make a peal, and put them all in the same church.”

This they did, and then regained their hearing.

* * * * *

This same story is told of Virgil in Comparetti’s collection; but the present tale in the original has about it a smack or tone of the people which is wanting in the older version. Thus, the song of the bell is a peculiarly quaint conception, and probably an adaptation of some popular jest to the effect that bells proclaim the name and shame of certain persons. I have found that, with rare exception, the legends which I have given, as preserved by a class to whom tradition has a special value, are more complete in every respect than the variants drawn from other sources.

VIRGILIO AND THE BALL-PLAYER.

“Ima subit, resilit. Ventosi prælia vento, Exagitant juvenes: pellunt dextra atque repellunt, Corruit ille iterùm; levisque aere truditur aer; Ictibus impatiens obmurmurat; altaque rursus Nubila metitur cursu; si forte globosa Excipiant miserata globum patiturque repulsam.”

P. CAR. DE LUCA, 1. 19, EX. J. B. GANDUTIO: _Harpastum Florentinum_; _or_, _On the Florentine Game of Ball_ (1603).

“Jamque calent lusorum animi; color ardet in ore In vultu sanguis rubet, omnesque occupat artus; Præcipites hinc, inde ruunt, cursuque sequaci Atque oculis sphæræ volucri vigilantibus justant.”

PILÆ LUDUS: _The Game of Ball_. _Auctor Incertus_. _XVIth Century_.

“Now the playing at _ball_ is allowed to Christians, because, like chess, draughts, billiards, bowls, _trucca_, and the like, it is a game of skill and not of chance, which latter makes illicit the most innocent play.”—_Trattato di Giochi_, etc., _Rome_, 1708.

There was once upon a time a grand signore in Florence who had a clever servant, a young man, who, whether he had a fairy god-mother or a witch grandmother is not told; but it is certain that he had such luck at playing ball as to always win and never lose. And his master so arranged it with him as to bet and win immense sums.

One day Virgilio, being present at a match in which this young man played, observed that there sat upon his ball a tiny invisible goblin, who directed its course as he pleased.

“Beautiful indeed is thy play,” said Virgilio to the youth, “and thy ball—_ha tutta la finezza dell’ arte_—hath all the refinement of its art; but ’tis a pity that it is not an honest ball.”

“Thou art mistaken,” replied the young man; but he reddened as he spoke.

“Ah, well,” answered Virgil, “I will show thee anon whether I have made a mistake or told the truth. _A carne di lupo dente di cane_—A dog’s teeth to a wolf’s hide. My young friend and his old master need a bite or two to cure them of their evil ways.”

There was in Florence the next day a great fair, or _festa_, and Virgil, passing where young people were diverting themselves, saw a very beautiful, bold-faced girl, who looked like a gipsy, or as if she belonged to some show, playing ball. Then Virgil, calling a goblin not bigger than a babe’s finger, {109} bade it go and sit on the girl’s ball, and inhabit and inspire it to win. It did so, and the girl won every time. Then Virgilio said to her:

“Come with me, and I will show you how to win one hundred crowns. There is a young man who carries all before him at playing; thou must drive him before thee; _e render la pariglia_—pay him back in his own money. Then shalt thou have one hundred crowns.”

So they went together to the castle, and Virgilio said to the old signore:

“I have found a young girl who plays ball so well, that I am anxious to try her game against that of your young man.”

“What will you bet on her?” asked the old signore.

“A thousand crowns,” replied Virgilio.

“Done!” was the response.

But when they met on the ground the youth and the girl fell in love at first sight to the last degree, and not being much troubled with modesty, told one another so—_schiettamente e senza preamboli_—plainly, without prelude, preamble, or preface, as is the way and wont of professionals or show-people, wherein they showed their common sense of the value of time, which is to them as money.

Then they began to play, and it was in the old fashion, with two balls at once, each player tossing one to the other with the drum. {110a} And it came to pass that in the instant that the two goblins beheld one another from afar they also fell in love. And as fairies and _folletti_ do everything, when they will, a thousand times more rapidly than human beings, and as neither could or would conquer in the game, they both cried:

“Let us be for ever united in love.”

So the two balls met with a bump half-way in their course and fell to the ground as one, while the fays embraced; and at the same instant the youth and the girl, unable to suppress their feelings, rushed into one another’s arms and began to kiss, and Virgilio and the old signore roared with laughter, the latter having a second attack of merriment when Virgilio explained to him the entire trick and plot.

Then, as it was a drawn game, the thousand crowns were by common consent bestowed on the young couple, who were married to their hearts’ content, having one _festa_ after another, at which all the guests went from bottle to bottle, even as the ass of a dealer in pottery goeth from door to door, or as the pig of Saint Antonio went from house to house. Amen!

* * * * *

Singularly enough, though this story comes from a witch source, there is in it no incantation addressed to a ball to make it always win for its owner; and, oddly enough, I recall one for that purpose, taken from an American burlesque of “Der Freyschütz,” {110b} in which the demon-hunter calls on Zamiel the fiend to give him a magic ninepin or skittle-ball.

“Sammy-hell, a boon I beg! By thy well and wooden leg! We ask for that ’ere bowling ball Wot’ll knock down one and all. Give us all the queer ingredients, And we’ll remain your most obedients!”

The idea of enchanted dice which always throw sixes and the like, forms the subject of stories possibly wherever dice are thrown or cards played, inasmuch as all gamblers who live or lose by chance are naturally led to believe that fortune can be invoked or propitiated. Hence the majority of them carry charms, fetishes, or amulets.

VIRGIL AND THE GENTLEMAN WHO BRAYED.

“Braire comme des Asnes en plain marché.”

_Cf._ LEROUX DE LUICY: _Facetieux Réveille-matin_, pp. 103, 171. _XVII. Siècle_.

“Ha, Sire Ane, ohé! Belle bouche, rechignez! Vous aurez du foin assez Et de l’avoine à-plantez!”

_Chanson_, _XII. Siècle_.

There were once assembled at the table of the Emperor many friends of Virgilio, who praised him highly. But there was also one who abused him bitterly, and called him an ass; and the word went forth to all the city, and much was said of it, and there was a great scandal over it.

When Virgil heard of it he smiled, and said that he thought he would ere long be even with the gentleman who had jackassed him; and those who knew him were of the same opinion, for certainly the means of retaliation were not wanting to him.

Now, the Emperor had given to Virgilio an ass to ride, and the poet said to his patron that, if he would order that the animal might go or come wherever he pleased, he would show him some time a merry jest. To which the Emperor right willingly assented.

So one day there were many lords seated at the imperial table, and among them were Virgilio and his enemy. But what was the amazement of all save the magician when the servants, flying in, said that the ass of the Signore Virgilio had entered the door, and insisted on coming into the banqueting-hall.

“Admit him instantly,” said the Emperor.

The ass came in as politely as an ass could. He bowed down before the Emperor and kissed his hand.

“He has come to visit his dear brother,” remarked the enemy of Virgil.

“_That is true_,” replied the ass; and walking up to the gentleman, he stared him in the face, and said: “Good brother, good-day!”

The signore, bursting into a rage, tried to utter something, but only brayed—and such a bray, the King of the Asses himself could not have equalled it. There was a roar of laughter long and loud, revived again with each succeeding roar. At last, when there was silence, Virgil said:

“But tell me, Ciuchino, donkey mine, which of us three is the _real_ ass? For thy brother there says that I am one, and thou callest him brother, and yet from thy appearance I should say that thou art truly ‘the one.’”

And the ass replied: