"Midnight was ringing from the cloister of San Miniato in Florence on the
hill above, and Flaxius sat by the Arno down below, on the bank by the
square grey tower of other days, known as the Niccolo, or _Torre delta
Trinita_, because there are in it three arches. . . .
"It was midnight in mid-winter, and a full moon poured forth all its
light over Florence as if it would fain preserve it in amber, and over
the olive groves as if they had become moss agates. . . .
["'Or I,' quoth Flaxius, 'a fly in hock.']
"Yes, it was a clear, cold, Tuscan night, and as the last peal of bells
went out into eternity and faded in the irrevocable, thousands of spirits
of the departed began to appear, thronging like fireflies through the
streets, visiting their ancient haunts and homes, greeting, gossiping,
arranging their affairs just as the peasants do on Friday in the great
place of the Signoria, as they have done for centuries.
"Flaxius looked at the rolling river which went rushing by at his feet,
and said:
"'_Arno mio_, you are in a tremendous hurry to get to the sea, and all
the more so because you have just had an _accessit_--a remittance of rain
from the mountain-banks. _Buon pro vi faccia_--much good may it do you!
So every shopman hurries to become a great merchant when he gets some
money, and every farmer a signore, and every signore a great lord, and
every great lord a ruler at court and over all the land--_prorsum et
sursum_. And when they get there--or when you get to the sea--then ye
are all swallowed up in greater lives, interests, and actions, and so the
rivers run for ever on, larger yet ever seeming less unto yourselves.
And so--_ad altiora tendunt omnes_--the flower-edged torrent and the
Florentine.' . . .
"When he suddenly heard above his head a spirit voice, clear, sweet and
strange, ringing, not in words, but tones of unearthly music--of which
languages there are many among the Unearthlies, all being wordless songs
or airs suggesting speech, and yet conveying ideas far more rapidly. It
was the Goblin of the Tower calling to him of the tower next beyond on
the farther hill, and he said:
"'How many ghosts there are out to-night!'
"'Yes; it is a fine night for ghosting. Moonlight is mid-summer for
them, poor souls! But I say, brother, who is yonder _frate_, the dark
monk-spectre who always haunts your tower, lingering here and there about
it? What is the spell upon that _spirito_?'
"'He is one to be pitied,' replied the Goblin of the Trinita. 'He was a
good fellow while he lived, but a little too fond of money. He was
afflicted with what doctors called, when I was young in Rome, the _amor
sceleratus habendi_. So it came to pass that he died leaving a
treasure--_mille aureos_--a thousand gold crowns buried in my tower
unknown to any one, and for that he must walk the earth until some one
living wins the money.'
"Flaxius pricked up his ears. He understood all that the spirits said,
but they had no idea that the man in a scholar's robe who sat below knew
Goblinese.
"'What must a mortal do to get the gold?' inquired the second goblin.
"'Truly he must do what is well-nigh impossible,' replied the Elf of the
Tower; 'for he must, without magic aid--note that--bring to me here in
this month of January a fresh full-blown rose.'
"The voices were silent; a cloud passed over the face of the moon; the
river rushed and roared on; Flaxius sat in a Vandyke-brown study,
thinking how he could obtain peace and repose for the ghostly monk, and
also get the _pecuniam_.
"'Here is,' he thought, '_aliquid laborare_--something to be worked out.
Now is the time, and here is a chance--_ingirlandarsi di lauro_--to win
the laurel wreath. A rose in January! What a pity that it is not four
hundred years later, when people will have green-houses, and blue-nosed
vagabonds will be selling red roses all the winter long in the
Tornabuoni! Truly it is sometimes inconvenient to be in advance of or
behind the age.
"'_Eureka_! I have it,' he at last exclaimed, 'by the neck and tail. I
will _spogliar la tesoria_--rob the treasury and spoil the Egyptian--_si
non in errore versatus sum_--unless I am stupendously mistaken. Monk!
thy weird will soon be dreed--thy penance prophesied will soon be o'er.'
"Saying this he went into the city. And there the next day, going to a
fair dame of his acquaintance, who excelled all the ladies of all Italy
in ingenious needlework, he had made of silk a rose; and so deftly was it
done, that had it been put on a bush, you would have sworn that a
nightingale would have sung to it, or bee have sought to ravish it.
"Then going to a Venetian perfumer's, the wise Flaxius had his flower
well scented with best attar of roses from Constantinople, and when
midnight struck he was at the tower once more calling to the goblin.
"'_Che vuoi_? What dost thou seek?' cried the Elf.
"'The treasure of the monk!'
"'_Bene_! Give me a rose.'
"'_Ecco_! There it is,' replied Flaxius, extending it.
"'_Non facit_--it won't do,' answered the goblin (thinking Flaxius to be
a monk). 'It is a sham rose artificially coloured, _murice tincta est_.'
"'Smell it,' replied Flaxius calmly.
"'The _smell_ is all right, I admit,' answered the guardian of the gold.
'The perfume is delicious;' here he sniffed at it deeply, being, like all
his kind, enraptured with perfume, 'and that much of it is, I grant, the
real thing.'
"'Now tell me,' inquired Flaxius, 'truly--_religiose testimonium
dicere_--by thy great ancestress Diana and her sister-double Herodias and
her Nine Cats, by the Moon and the eternal Shadow, Endamone, and the word
which Bergoia whispered into the ear of the Ox, and the Lamia whom thou
lovest--what is it makes a man? Is it his soul or his body?'
"'Man of mystery and master of the hidden lore,' replied the awe-struck
goblin, 'it is his _soul_.'
"'And is not the perfume of the rose its _soul_--that which breathes its
life, in which it speaks to fairies or to men? Is not the voice in song
or sweetened words the perfume of the spirit, ever true? Is not--'
"'I give it up,' replied the goblin. 'The priest may turn in now for a
long, long nap. Here, take his gold, and _ne gioire tutto
d'allegrezza_--may you have a merry time with it. There is a great deal
of good drinking in a thousand crowns; and if you ever try to _ludere
latrunculis vel aleis_, or shake the bones or dice, I promise you three
sixes. By the way, I'll just keep this rose to remember you by.
_Addio--a rivederlei_!'
"So the bedesman slept amid his ashes cold, and the good Flaxius, who was
a stout carl for the nonce, with a broad back and a great beard,
returned, bearing a mighty sack of ancient gold, which stood him in good
stead for many a day. And the goblin is still there in the tower."
"_Haec fabula docet_," wrote Flaxius as he revised the proof with a
red-lead pencil, for which he had paid a penny in the Calzolaio. "This
tale teaches that in this life there is naught which hath not its ideal
side or inner soul, which may raise us to higher reflection or greater
profit, if we will but seek it. The lower the man the lower he looks,
but it is all to his loss in the end. Now every chapter in this book, O
my son--or daughter--may seem to thee only a rose of silk, yet do not
stop at that, but try to find therein a perfume. For thou art thyself, I
doubt not, such a rose, even if thy threads (as in most of us) be
somewhat worn, torn, or faded, yet with a soul far better than many deem
who see thee only afar off. And this my book is written for the perfume,
not the silk of my reader. And there is no person who is better than
what the world deems him or her to be who will not find in it marvellous
comfort, solace, and satisfaction."
Thus wrote Flaxius.
* * * * *
Since I penned the foregoing from memory, I have found the Italian text
or original, which had been mislaid for years. In it the tale is
succinctly told within the compass of forty lines, and ends with these
words:
"'Take the treasure, and give me the rose!'
"And so the spirit gave him the treasure and took the rose, and the
poor man went home enriched, and the priest to sleep in peace--_fra
gli eterni_--among the eternals."
I ought, of course, to have given scientifically only the text word for
word, but _litera scripta manet_--what is written remains, and Flaxius is
an old friend of mine, and I greatly desired to introduce him to my
readers. And I doubt not that the reviewers will tell me if I have
sinned!
"Do a good deed, or aught that's fit,
You never again may hear of it;
But make a slip, all will detect it,
And every friend at once correct it!"