It happened on a time that the Emperor, coming from Rome to Florence, was
guest in the Duke’s palace, and treated so magnificently and in a manner
so much after his own heart, that he was indeed well content.
Now, in those days there was in Florence no Signore who, when he gave an
entertainment, did not invite Virgil, not only because he was the
greatest poet in Italy, but because he always played some admirable trick
or jest, which made men merry and was always new.
So at the first great feast the Emperor was greatly delighted at the
endless jokes, as well as by the genius of the distinguished guest.
Therefore, when the Emperor, before his departure, gave in turn a great
entertainment to all the nobles of Florence, as well as of Rome, who were
in the city, he sent the first invitation to Virgil, requesting him at
the same time to invent for the occasion a jest of the first magnitude.
So unto this for such occasion the magician gave all his mind. And that
the Emperor should really “_catch_ the fly,” he resolved that the jest
should be one at the Imperial expense—_e lo scherzo voleva farlo a lui
medesimo_.
After long meditation he exclaimed, “_Ecco_, _l’ ho trovato_! I’ve got
it! I will give him a girl made of water!”
Forthwith he wrote to the Emperor that he would not fail to be at the
festival, but also begged permission to bring with him a beautiful young
lady—his cousin.
The Emperor, who was very devoted to the fair sex, inferred from this
directly that the jest was to be of a kind which would please all free
gallants—that is to say, the being introduced to some easy and beautiful
conquest—either wedded or a maid. And, delighted at the thought that the
trick would take this turn, he replied to Virgil that he had _carta
biancha_, or full permission to bring with him whomever he pleased.
Then the magician made a woman of ice and light and water, clear as the
light of day he made her, and touched her thrice with his wand, and lo!
she became beautiful—but such a beauty, indeed, that you would not find
the like in going round the world; the sun or moon ne’er shone upon her
like, for she was made of star-rays and ice and dewdrops, so that she
looked like all the stars swimming in a burnished golden sky, and shining
like the sun, so resplendent in her beauty that she dazzled the eyes.
When Virgilio arrived at the palace, all the guests were there before
him, and they were so overwhelmed with blank amazement at the sight of
the sorcerer with such a beauty, that they, in silence and awed, drew
apart on either side, leaving open space through which Virgilio passed to
the Emperor. And the latter was himself for a minute stupefied at the
sight of such brilliancy and beauty, when, recovering himself, he gave
his arm to the fair cousin, and asked her name. To which she replied:
“_La Donna di Diaccio_” (ice).
“_Donna di Fuoco_! (Our Lady of Fire), {64} rather,” cried the Emperor,
“since all hearts are inflamed at thy beauty. Truly, I had no idea that
the great poet had such a lovely cousin!”
The dance began, and the Emperor would have no other partner than this
lady, who outshone the rest as the moon the stars, and yet surpassed them
even more by her exquisite grace in every movement, and by her skill as a
dancer, so that one seemed to see a thousand exquisite statues or studied
forms of grace succeeding to one another as she moved. Nor was she less
fascinating in her language than in her beauty, and no wonder, for
Virgilio had called into the form one of the wittiest and most gifted of
all the fairies to aid the jest.
So the dance swept on, and the Emperor, utterly enchanted, forgot
Virgilio and his promised jest, and the time, and the court, and all
things save the beauty beside him. Finally he withdrew with her to a
side-room, where, sending for refreshment, he sat pouring forth wine into
himself and love into the ears of the lady by turns.
Virgil, indeed, wishing the Emperor to have a fine time of it for awhile,
did nothing to disturb the splendid pair. But as daybreak would soon
appear, he spoke to one and another, saying that he had promised the
Emperor a merry jest to make them all laugh. Whereupon there was a
general cry for the diversion, and by one consent the gay company invaded
the room where the fond couple sat.
Then Virgil, with the greatest politeness and a laughing air, said:
“Excuse me, your Highness, but it seems that my fair cousin here has so
engrossed you that you have forgotten that you laid an absolute command
on me that I should prepare and play some rare jest, the like of which
you had never seen, and I fear, should I forget it, you may ne’er forgive
me.”
Then the Emperor, good-natured and grateful to the poet for his fair
cousin’s sake, excused the intrusion, and begged for the jest, expressing
a hope that it would be a thoroughly good one.
Then Virgil said to the Emperor:
“Take my cousin upon thy lap, and let her arms be round thy neck!”
“_Per Bacco_!” cried the Emperor, “the jest begins well!”
“And now embrace her firmly!” exclaimed Virgil.
“Better and better!” quoth the Emperor.
Then Virgil spoke solemnly to the lady, and said:
“What is thy name?”
“Donna di Diaccia,” was her reply.
“Then, Lady of Ice,” replied the wondrous man, “in the name of my magic
power, I summon you to return to the ice from which you sprung, and to
the water from which you were born!”
Then little by little, as she sat in the Emperor’s lap, the beautiful
girl became a brilliant block of ice, and truly the great man, as his
fingers and all his person began to freeze, was fain to place the image
on the sofa, where they saw it presently thaw—features and feet and all
dispersing, and running away in a stream, till every trace had flown, and
the Emperor and the company understood that they had been admiring a
Woman of Water.
There was a pause of utter bewilderment, as of awe, at this strange
ending, and then a roar of laughter, in which the Emperor himself finally
joined, crying: “_Viva Virgilio_! Long may he flourish with his magic
art!” And so the feast ended with the clattering of cups, laughter, and
merry cheers.
[So the Donna di Diaccio was a spirit? Certainly—the Spirit of
Ice-water. If there is spirit in vermouth, why should there not be one
in the iced water which you mix with it?]
* * * * *
This story may remind the reader of “Our Lady of the Snow,” or Byron’s
“Witch of the Alps,” or Shelley’s “They all seem to be Sisters,” or else
suggest “Frozen Champagne,” and “Philadelphia Frozen Oysters.”