"When one passes under a bridge, or in halls of great palaces, or the
vault of a church, or among high rocks, if he calls aloud, he will hear
what is called the _echo_ of his voice.
"Yet it is really not his own voice which he hears, but the mocking
voices of spirits, the reason being that they are confined to these
places, and therefore we do not hear them in the open air, where they are
free. But we can hear them clearly in great places enclosed, as, for
instance, under vaults, and far oftener in the country, because in
limited spaces their voices are confined and not lost. And these are the
voices of people who were merry and jovial while on earth, and who now
take delight _a rifare il verso_, to re-echo a strain.
"But under the Ponte alle Grazie we hear the cry of the spirit of a girl.
She was very beautiful, and had grown up from infancy in constant
companionship with a youth of the neighbourhood, and so from liking as
children they went on to loving at a more advanced age, with greater
fondness and with deeper passion.
"And it went so far that at last the girl found herself with child, and
then she was in great trouble, not knowing how to hide this from her
parents. _Sta beccata da una serpe_, as the proverb is; 'she had been
stung by a serpent,' and now began to feel the poison. But the youth was
faithful and true, and promised to marry her as soon as he could possibly
arrange matters. So she was quieted for a time.
"But she had a vilely false friend, and a most intimate one, in a girl
who, being a witch, or of that kind, hated her bitterly at heart, albeit
she knew well _portare bene la maschera_, how to wear the mask.
"Now the poor girl told this false friend that she was _enceinte_, and
that her lover would marry her; and the dear friend took her, as the
saying is, a trip to Volterra, during which a man was treated like a
prince and robbed or murdered at the end. For she insinuated that the
marriage might fail, and meantime she, the friend, would consult witches
and _fate_, who would get her out of her troubles and make all right as
sure as the Angelus. And the false friend went to the witches, but she
took them a lock of hair from the head of the lover to conjure away his
love and work harm. And knowing what the bridal dress would be, she made
herself one like it in every detail. And she so directed that the bride
on the wedding morning shut herself up in a room and see no one till she
should be sent for.
"The bride-to-be passed the morning in great anxiety, and while waiting
there received a large bouquet of orange-flowers as a gift from her
friend. And these she had perfumed with a witch-powder. And the bride
having inhaled the scent, fell into a deep sleep, or rather trance,
during which she was delivered of a babe, and knew nothing of it. Now
the people in the house hearing the child cry, ran into the room, and
some one ran to the bridegroom, who was just going to be married to the
false friend, who had by aid of the witches put on a face and a false
seeming, the very counterpart of her he loved.
"Then the unfortunate girl hearing that her betrothed was being married,
and maddened by shame and grief, rushed in her bride's dress through the
streets, and coming to the Bridge delle Grazie, the river being high,
threw herself into it and was drowned; still holding the bouquet of
orange-blossoms in her hand, she was carried on the torrent into death.
"Then the young man, who had discovered the cheat, and whose heart was
broken, said, 'As we were one in life, so we will be in death,' and threw
himself into the Arno from the same place whence she had plunged, and
like her was drowned. And the echo from the bridge is the sound of their
voices, or of hers. Perhaps she answers to the girls and he to the men;
anyhow they are always there, like the hymns in a church."
* * * * *
There is a special interest in the first two paragraphs of this story, as
indicating how a person who believes in spirits, and is quite ignorant of
natural philosophy, explains phenomena. It is precisely in this manner
that most early science was confused with superstition; and there is more
of it still existing than even the learned are aware of.
I know not whether echoes are more remarkable in and about Florence than
elsewhere, but they are certainly specially noticed in the local
folk-lore, and there are among the witches invocations to echoes, voices
of the wind, and similar sounds. One of the most remarkable echoes which
I ever heard is in the well of the Villa Guicciardini, now belonging to
Sir John Edgar. It is very accurate in repeating every sound in a manner
so suggestive of a mocking goblin, that one can easily believe that a
peasant would never doubt that it was caused by another being. It
renders laughter again with a singularly strange and original effect.
Even when standing by or talking near this mystic fount, the echo from
time to time cast back scraps of phrases and murmurs, as if joining in
the conversation. It is worth observing (_vide_ the story of the Three
Horns) that this villa once belonged to--and is, as a matter of course,
haunted by the ghost of--Messer Guicciardini, the great writer, who was
himself a faithful echo of the history of his country, and of the wisdom
of the ancients. Thus into things do things repeat themselves, and souls
still live in what surrounded them. I have not seen this mystic well
noticed in any of the Florentine guide-books of any kind, but its goblin
is as well worthy an interview as many better known characters. Yea, it
may be that he is the soul of Guicciardini himself, but when I was there
I forgot to ask him if it were so?
I can, however, inform the reader as to the incantation which is needed
to call to the spirit of the well to settle this question. Take a copy
of his "Maxims" and read them through; then drink off one glass of wine
to the health of the author, and, bending over the well, distinctly
cry--"Sei Messer Guicciardini, di cosi?"--strongly accentuating the last
syllable. And if the reply be in the affirmative, you may draw your own
conclusions. For those who are not Italianate, it will do quite as well
if they cry, "Guicciardini? No or yes?" For even this echo is not equal
to the Irish one, which to "_How do you do_?" replied, "Pretty well, I
thank you!"
There is a very good story of the Ponte alle Grazie, anciently known as
the Rubaconte, from the Podesta in whose year of office it was built,
told originally by Sachetti in his _Novelle_ and Manni, _Veglie
Piacevoli_, who drew it indeed from Venetian or Neapolitan-Oriental
sources, and which is best told by Leader Scott in "The Echoes of Old
Florence." It still lives among the people, and is briefly as follows,
in another form: