The words of warning inscribed there in large, uneven letters, shaky in
places as though penned by an aged hand, stood out from the time-stained
vellum page like capitals of fire.
It really seemed absurd to heed them, and yet on every side I seemed to
be warned by those whom I believed to be in ignorance that any endeavour
to open the Closed Book would result in disaster. Surely the manner in
which the precious volume had come into my possession was romantic
enough, yet why should even the faithful old Nello be apprehensive of
impending evil? There was something uncanny about the whole affair--
something decidedly unsatisfactory.
Italy is a land of superstition, shared alike by count and _contadino_,
hence I at first put it down to some vague belief in the evil eye, of
which I was in ignorance. During my residence in Tuscany I had often
been surprised by the many popular beliefs and terrors. Our true Tuscan
sees an omen in everything, and an exhortation to the Virgin or to good
Sant' Antonio is ever upon his lips, while his first and last fingers
are ever outstretched when he sees a _gobba_, or female hunchback--the
harbinger of every evil.
Whether the warnings uttered to me were the outcome of mere
superstition, or whether part of one of those ingenious conspiracies
which he who lives among the suave Italians so often has to thwart, one
fact remained--namely, that in the almost undecipherable record itself a
further warning was plainly penned. And this, instead of creating fear
and hesitation within me, only further aroused my curiosity.