"There was in this convent a friar called Il Beato Dyonisio, who was so
holy and such a marvellous doctor of medicine, that he was known as the
Frate Miraculoso or Miraculous Brother.
"And when any of the fraternity fell ill, this good medico would go to
them and say, 'Truly thou hast great need of a powerful remedy, O my
brother, and may it heal and purify thy soul as well as thy body!' {67}
And it always befell that when he had uttered this conjuration that the
patient recovered; and this was specially the case if after it they
confessed their sins with great devoutness.
"Brother Dyonisio tasted no food save bread and water; he slept on the
bare floor of his cell, in which there was no object to be seen save a
scourge with great knots; he never took off his garments, and was always
ready to attend any one taken ill.
"The other brothers of the convent were, however, all jolly monks, being
of the kind who wear the tunic as a tonic to give them a better--or
bitter--relish for secular delights, holding that it is far preferable to
have a great deal of pleasure for a little penitence than _per poco
piacer gran penitenza_--much penitence for very little pleasure. In
short, they were just at the other end of the rope away from Brother
Dyonisio, inasmuch as they ate chickens, _bistecche_ or beef-steaks, and
drank the best wine, even on fast-days--_giorni di vigiglia_--and slept
in the best of beds; yes, living like lords, and never bothering
themselves with any kind of penance, as all friars should do.
"Now there was among these monks one who was a great _bestemmiatore_, a
man of evil words and wicked ways, who had led a criminal life in the
world, and only taken refuge in the disguise of a monk in the convent to
escape the hand of justice. Brother Dyonisio knew all this, but said
nothing; nay, he even exorcised away a devil whom he saw was always
invisibly at the sinner's elbow, awaiting a chance to catch him by the
hair; but the Beato Dyonisio was too much for him, and kept the devil
ever far away.
"And this was the way he did it:
"It happened one evening that this _finto frate_, or mock monk or feigned
friar, took it into his head, out of pure mischief, and because it was
specially forbidden, to introduce a _donna di mala vita_, or a girl of no
holy life, into the convent to grace a festival, and so arranged with
divers other scapegraces that the damsel should be drawn up in a basket.
"And sure enough there came next morning to the outer gate a fresh and
jolly black-eyed _contadina_, who asked the mock monk whether he would
give her anything in charity. And the _finto frate_ answering sang:
"'You shall have the best of meat,
Anything you like to eat,
Cutlets, macaroni, chickens,
Every kind of dainty pickings.
Pasticcie and fegatelli,
Salame and mortadelle,
With good wine, if you are clever,
For a very trifling favour!'
"To which the girl replied:
"'Here I am, as here you see!
What would'st thou, holy man, with me?'
"The friar answered:
"'When thou hear'st the hoots and howls
At midnight of the dogs and owls,
And when all men are sunk in sleep,
And only witches watch do keep,
Come 'neath the window unto me,
And there thou wilt a basket see
Hung by a rope as from a shelf,
And in that basket stow thyself,
And I alone will draw thee up,
Then with us thou shalt gaily sup.'
"But the girl replied, as if in fear:
"'But if the rope should break away,
Oh, then there'd be the devil to pay,
Oh, holy father, first for thee--
But most especially for me!
For if by evil luck I'd cracked your
Connecting cord, my limbs I'd fracture!'
"The friar sang:
"'The rope is good, as it is long,
The basket's tough, my arms are strong,
Have thou no fear upon that score,
T'as hoisted many a maid before;
For often such a basket-full
Did I into a convent pull,
And many more I trust will I
Draw safely up before I die.'
"And at midnight the girl was there walking beneath the windows awaiting
the hour to rise--_Ascensionem expectans_--truly not to heaven, nor from
any great liking for the monks, but for a great fondness for
roast-chickens and good wine, having in her mind's eye such a supper as
she had never before enjoyed, and something to carry home with her.
"So at last there was a rustling sound above, as a window softly opened,
and a great basket came vibrating down below; and the damsel, well
assured, got into it like a hen into her nest, while the lusty friar
above began to draw like an artist.
"Now the _Beato frate_ Dyonisio, knowing all that passed round about by
virtue of his holy omniscience, determined to make manifest to the monks
that things not adapted to piety led them into the path of eternal
punishment.
"Therefore, just as the basket-full of girl touched the window of the
convent, it happened by the virtue of the holy Dyonisio that the rope
broke and the damsel came with a _capi tombola_ somerset or first-class
tumble into the street; but as she, poor soul, had only sinned for a
supper, which she greatly needed and seldom got, she was quit for a good
fright, since no other harm happened to her.
"But it was far otherwise with the wicked monk, who had only come into
that holy monastery to stir up sin; for he, leaning too far over at the
instant, fell with an awful howl to the ground, where he roared so with
pain that all the other monks came running to see what was the matter.
And they found him indeed, more dead than alive, terribly bruised, yet in
greater agony of mind than of body, saying that Satan had tempted him,
and that he would fain confess to the Beato Dyonisio, who alone could
save him.
"Then the good monk tended him, and so exhorted him that he left his evil
ways and became a worthy servant of God, and the devil ceased to tempt
him. And in due time Brother Dyonisio died, and as a saint they interred
him in the crypt under the convent, and the morning after his burial a
beautiful flower was found growing from his tomb, and so they sainted
him.
"The fall of the girl was a scandal and cause of laughter for all
Florence, so that from that day the monks never ventured more to draw up
damsels in baskets."
* * * * *
This story is so widely spread in many forms, that the reader can hardly
have failed to have heard it; in fact, there are few colleges where it
has not happened that a basket has not been used for such smuggling. One
of the most amusing instances is of a damsel in New Haven, or Cambridge,
Massachusetts, who was very forgetful. One day she said to a friend,
"You have no idea how wicked some girls are. The other morning early--I
mean late at night--I was going by the college when I saw a girl being
drawn up in a basket by some students, when all at once the rope
broke--_and down I came_."
In Germany, as in the East, the tale is told of a wooer who is drawn up
half-way in a basket and then let remain for everybody to behold. In
Uhland's Old Ballads there is one to this effect of Heinrich Corrade der
Schreiber im Korbe. Tales on this theme at least need not be regarded as
strictly traditional.
There is another little legend attached to La Certosa which owes its
small interest to being told of a man who was one of the Joe Millers of
Italy in the days of the Medici. It is a curious fact that humorists do
most abound and are most popular in great epochs of culture.
Domenico Barlacchi was a _banditore_--herald or public crier--of
Florence, commonly known as Il Barlacchia, who lived in the time of
Lorenzo de' Medici, and who, being _molto piacevole e faceto_, or
pleasing and facetious, as I am assured by an ancient yellow jest-book of
1636 now before me, became, like Piovano Arlotto and Gonella, one of the
famous wits of his time. It is worth noting, though it will be no news
to any folk-lorist, that in these flying leaves, or fleeting collections
of facetiae, there are many more indications of familiar old Florentine
life than are to be gleaned from the formal histories which are most
cited by writers who endeavour to illustrate it.
"One morning Barlacchia, with other boon companions, went to La
Certosa, three miles distant from Florence, {71} where, having heard
mass, they were taken over the convent by one of the friars, who
showed them the convent and cells. Of which Barlacchia said 'twas
all very fine, but that he would like to see the
wine-cellar--_sentendosi egli hauer sete_--as he felt great thirst
sadly stealing over him.
"To which the friar replied that he would gladly show them that part
of the convent, but that unfortunately the Decano who kept the keys
was absent. [_Decano_, dean or deacon, may be rendered roughly in
English as a dog, or literally of a dog or currish.] To which
Barlacchia replied, 'Truly I am sorry for it, and I wish you were all
_de' cani_ or dogs!'
Times have changed, and whether this tale brought about the reform I
cannot say, but it is certain that the good monks at present, without
waiting to be asked, generally offer a glass of their famous cordial to
visitors. Tastes may differ, but to mine, when it is old, the green
Certosa, though far cheaper, is superior to Chartreuse.
Another tale of Barlacchia, which has a certain theological affinity with
this story, is as follows:
"A great illness once befell Barlacchia, so that it was rumoured all
over Florence that he was dead, and great was the grieving thereover.
But having recovered, by the grace of God, he went from his house to
the palace of the Grand Duke, who said to him:
"'Ha! art thou alive, Barlacchia? We all heard that thou wert dead.'
"'Signore, it is true,' was his reply. 'I was indeed in the other
world, but they sent me back again, and that for a mere trifle, which
you forgot to give me.'
"'And what was that?' asked the Duke.
"'I knocked,' resumed Barlacchia, 'at the gate of heaven, and they
asked me who I was, what I had done in the world, and whether I had
left any landed property. To which I replied no, never having begged
for anything. So they sent me off, saying that they did not want any
such poor devils about them--_non volevano la simile dapochi_. And
therefore, illustrious Signore, I make so bold as to ask that you
would kindly give me some small estate, so that another time I may
not be turned away.'
"Which so pleased the magnificent and liberal Lorenzo that he
bestowed on Barlacchia a _podere_ or farm.
"Now for a long time after this illness, Barlacchia was very pale and
haggard, so that everybody who met him (and he was well known to
everybody) said, 'Barlacchia, _mind the rules_'--meaning the rules of
health; or else, 'Barlacchia, look to yourself;' or _regolati_! or
_guardatevi_!--till at last he became tired with answering them. So
he got several small wooden rules or rulers, such as writers use to
draw lines, and hung them by a cord to his neck, and with them a
little mirror, and when any one said '_Regolati_'--'mind the rules,'
he made no reply, but looked at the sticks, and when they cried
'_Guardatevi_!' he regarded himself in the mirror, and so they were
answered."
This agrees with the sketch of Lorenzo as given by Oscar Browning in his
admirable "Age of the Condottieri," a short history of Mediaeval Italy
from 1409 to 1530:
"Lorenzo was a bad man of business; he spent such large sums on
himself that he deserved the appellation of the Magnificent. He
reduced himself to poverty by his extravagance; he alienated his
fellow-citizens by his lust . . . and was shameless in the promotion
of his private favourites."
Yet with all this he was popular, and left a legendary fame in which
generosity rivals a love of adventure. I have collected many traditions
never as yet published relating to him, and in all he appears as a _bon
prince_.
"But verily when I consider that what made a gallant lord four hundred
years ago would be looked after now by the Lord Chancellor and the law
courts with a sharp stick, I must needs," writes Flaxius, "exclaim with
Spenser sweet:
"'Me seemes the world is run quite out of square,
For that which all men once did Vertue call,
Is now called Vice, and that which Vice was hight
Is now hight Vertue, and so used of all;
Right now is wrong, and wrong that was, is right,
As all things else in time are changed quight.'"