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}