Legends Of Florence Part 28

"Then the two witches began to scream and protest in a rage, but as soon as they opened their mouths, holy water was dashed into their faces, whereat they howled more horribly than ever, and at last promised, if their lives should be spared in any manner, to tell the whole truth, and to disenchant the bride. Which they forthwith did.

"Then those present seized the witches, and said: 'Your lives shall indeed be spared, but it is only just that ere ye go ye shall be as nicely combed, according to the proverb which says, "Comb me and I'll comb thee!"'

"Said and done, but the combing this time drew blood, and the mother and daughter, shrinking smaller and smaller, flew away at last as two vile carrion-flies through the window.

"And as the story spread about Florence, every one came to see the house where this had happened, and so it was that the street got the name of the _Via della Mosca_ or Fly Lane."

There is a curious point in this story well worth noting. In it the sorceress lulls the maiden to sleep before transforming her, that is, causes her death before reviving her with a comb of thorns. Now, the thorn is a deep symbol of death-naturally enough from its dagger-like form-all over the world wherever it grows. As Schwenck writes:

"In the Germanic mythology the thorn is an emblem of death, as is the nearly allied long and deep slumber-the idea being that death kills with a sharp instrument which is called in the Edda the sleep-thorn, which belongs to Odin the G.o.d of death. It also occurs as a person in the Nibelungen Lied as Hogni, Hagen, 'the thorn who kills Siegfried.' The tale of Dornroschen (the sleeping beauty), owes its origin to the sleep-thorn, which is, however, derived from the death-thorn, death being an eternal sleep."

This is all true, and sleep is like death. But the soothing influence of a comb produces sleep quite apart from any a.s.sociation with death.

Apropos of flies, there is a saying, which is, like all new or eccentric sayings, or old and odd ones revived, called "American." It is, "There are no flies on him," or more vulgarly, "I ain't got no flies on _me_,"

and signifies that the person thus exempt is so brisk and active, and "flies round" at such a rate, that no insect has an opportunity to alight on him. The same saying occurs in the _Proverbi Italiani_ of Orlando Pescetti, Venice, 1618, _Non si lascia posar le mosche addosso_ (He lets no flies light on him).

When I was a small boy in America, the general teaching to us was that it was cruel to kill flies, and I have heard it ill.u.s.trated with a tale of an utterly depraved little girl of three years, who, addressing a poor fly which was buzzing in the window-pane, said:

"Do you love your Dod, 'ittle fy?"

"Do you want to _see_ your Dod, 'ittle fy?"

"Well" (with a vicious jab of the finger), "you SHALL!"

And with the last word the soul of the fly had departed to settle its accounts in another world. Writing here in Siena, the most fly-accursed or Beelzebubbed town in Italy, on July 25th, being detained by illness, I love that little angel of a girl, and think with utter loathing and contempt of dear old Uncle Toby and his "Go-go, poor fly!" True, I agree with him to his second "go," but there our sentiments diverge-the reader may complete the sentence for himself-out of Ernulphus!

On which the wise Flaxius comments as follows on the proof with his red pencil:

"It hath been observed by the learned that the speed of a fly, were he to make even a slight effort to go directly onwards, would be from seventy to eighty miles an hour, during which transit he would find far more attractive food, pleasanter places wherein to buzz about, and more beautiful views than he meets with in this humble room of mine, wherein I, from hour to hour, do with a towel rise and slay his kind. Oh, reader! how many men there are who, to soaring far and wide in life amid honeyed flowers and pleasant places, prefer to buzz about in short flights in little rooms where they can tease some one, and defile all they touch as domestic gossips do-but, 'tis enough!

_Mutato nomine de te fabula narratur_!"

THE ROMAN VASE A LEGEND OF BELLOSGUARDO

"From Tuscan Bellosguardo Where Galileo stood at nights to take The vision of the stars, we have found it hard, Gazing upon the earth and heavens, to make A choice of beauty."-ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

Bellosguardo is an eminence on a height, crowned with an ancient, castle-like monastery, from which there is a magnificent view of Florence. It is a haunted legendary spot; _fate_ and witches sweep round its walls by night, while the cry of the _civetta_ makes music for their aerial dance, and in the depths of the hill lie buried mystic treasures, or the relics of mysterious beings of the olden time, and the gnome of the rocks there has his dwelling in subterranean caves. Of this place I have the following legend from Maddalena:

IL VASO ROMANO.

"There was, long ago, in the time of Duke Lorenzo di Medici, a young gardener, who was handsome, clever, and learned beyond the other men of his kind, a man given somewhat to witchcraft and mysteries of ancient days, for he had learned Latin of the monks and read books of history.

"And one day when he was working with his companions in the garden of Bellosguardo, taking out stones, they came to an old Roman vase, which the rest would fain have broken to pieces as a heathenish and foul thing, because there was carved on it the figure of a beautiful Pagan G.o.ddess, and it was full of the ashes of some dead person. But the young man suddenly felt a great pa.s.sion, a desire to possess it, and it seemed as if something said to him, '_Con questo vaso cie un mistero_.'

"'Mine own in truth that vase shall ever be, For there is in it some strange mystery.'

"So he begged for it, and it was readily granted to him. And looking at it, he perceived that it was carved of fine marble, and that the figure on it was that of a beautiful nymph, or a Bellaria flying in the air, and there came from the ashes which it held a sweet odour of some perfume which was unknown to him. Now as he had, _sent.i.to ragionare tanto di fate_, heard much talk of supernatural beings, so he reflected: 'Some _fata_ must have dwelt here in days of old, and she was here buried, and this vase is now as a body from which the spirit freely pa.s.ses, therefore I will show it respect.'

"And so he hung round the neck of the vase a wreath of the most beautiful and fragrant roses, and draped a veil over it to shield it from dust, and set it up under cover in his own garden, and sang to it as follows:

"'Vaso! o mio bel vaso!

Di rose ti ho contornato.

La rosa e un bel fior, Piu bello e il suo odor."

"'Vase, oh lovely vase of mine!

With roses I thy neck entwine; The rose is beautiful in bloom, More beautiful its sweet perfume, The finest rose above I place, To give the whole a crowning grace, As thou dost crown my dwelling-place Another rose I hide within, As thou so long hast hidden been, Since Roman life in thee I see, Rosa Romana thou shalt be!

And ever thus be called by me!

And as the rose in early spring Rises to re-awakening, Be it in garden, fair, or plain, From death to blooming life again, So rise, oh fairy of the flowers, And seek again these shady bowers!

Come every morning to command My flowers, and with thy tiny hand Curve the green leaf and bend the bough, And teach the blossoms how to blow; But while you give them living care, Do not neglect the gardener; And as he saved your lovely urn, I pray protect him too in turn, Even as I this veil have twined, To guard thee from the sun and wind: Oh, Fairy of the Vase-to you, As Queen of all the Fairies too, And G.o.ddess of the fairest flowers In earthly fields or elfin bowers, To thee with earnest heart I pray, Grant me such favour as you may.' {196}

"Then he saw slowly rising from the vase, little by little, a beautiful woman, who sang:

"'Tell me what is thy desire, Oh youth, and what dost thou require?

From realms afar I come to thee, For thou indeed hast summoned me, With such sweet love and gentleness, That I in turn thy life would bless, And aye thy fond protectress be.

What would'st thou, youth, I ask, of me?'

"And the young man replied:

"'Fair lady, at a glance I knew, Thy urn and felt thy spirit too, And straight the yearning through me sped, To raise thee from the living dead; I felt thy spell upon my brow, And loved thee as I love thee now.

Even as I loved unknown before, And so shall love thee evermore, And happiness enough 'twould be If thou would'st ever live with me!'

"Then the spirit replied:

"'A debt indeed to thee I owe, And full reward will I bestow; The roses which thou'st given me With laurel well repaid shall be; Without thy rose I had not risen Again from this my earthly prison, And as it raised me to the skies, So by the laurel thou shalt rise!'

"The youth answered:

"'Every evening at thy shrine Fresh roses, lady, I will twine; But tell me next what 'tis for fate That I must do, or what await?'

"The fairy sang:

"'A mighty mission, youth, indeed Hast thou to fill, and that with speed, Since it depends on thee to save All Florence from a yawning grave, From the worst form of blood and fire, And sword and conflagration dire.

Thou dost the Duke Lorenzo know; Straight to that mighty leader go!

The Chieftain of the Medici, And tell him what I tell to thee, That he is compa.s.sed all about With armed enemies without, Who soon will bold attack begin, Linked to conspiracy within; And bid him ere the two have crossed, To rise in strength or all is lost, Ring loud the storm-bell in alarms, Summon all Florence straight to arms: Lorenzo knows well what to do.

Take thou thy sword and battle too!

And in the fray I'll look to thee: Go forth, my friend, to victory.'

"Then the young man went to the Duke Lorenzo, and told him, with words of fire which bore conviction, of the great peril which threatened him.

Then there was indeed alarming and arming, and a terrible battle all night long, in which the young man fought bravely, having been made captain of a company which turned the fight. And the Grand Duke, impressed by his genius and his valour, gave him an immense reward.

"So he rose in life, and became a _gran signore_, and one of the Council in Florence, and lord of Bellosguardo, and never neglected to twine every day a fresh wreath of roses round the Roman vase, and every evening he was visited by the fairy. And so it went on well with him till he died, and after that the spirit was seen no more. The witches say that the vase is, however, somewhere still in Florence, and that while it exists the city will prosper; but to call the fairy again it must be crowned with roses, and he who does so must p.r.o.nounce with such faith as the gardener had, the same incantation."