"On the corner of the Palace Cavolaia there were anciently four devils of
iron. {98} These were once four gentlemen who, being wonderfully
intimate, had made a strange compact, swearing fidelity and love among
themselves to death, agreeing also that if they married, their wives and
children and property should be all in common.
"When such vows and oaths are uttered, the saints may pass them by, but
the devils hear them; they hear them in hell, and they laugh and cry,
'These are men who will some day be like us, and here for ever!' Such
sin as that is like a root which, once planted, may be let alone--the
longer it is in the ground, the more it grows. _Terra non avvilisce
oro_--earth does not spoil gold, but even virtue, like friendship, may
grow into a great vice when it grows too much.
"As it happened in this case. Well, the four friends were invited to a
great _festa_ in that fatal palace of the Cavolaia, and they all went.
And they danced and diverted themselves with great and beautiful ladies
in splendour and luxury. As the four were all singularly handsome and
greatly admired, the ladies came _con grandi tueletti_--in their best
array, _sfarzose per essere corteggiate_--making themselves magnificent
to be courted by these gentlemen, and so they looked at one another with
jealous eyes, and indeed many a girl there would have gladly been wife to
them all, or wished that the four were one, while the married dames
wished that they could _fare i sposamenti_--be loved by one or all.
People were wicked in those days!
"But what was their surprise--and a fearful surprise it was--when, after
all their gaiety, they heard at three o'clock in the morning the sound of
a bell which they had never heard before, and then divine music and
singing, and there entered a lady of such superhuman beauty as held them
enchanted and speechless. Now it was known that, by the strict rules of
that palace, the _festa_ must soon close, and there was only time for one
more dance, and it was sworn among these friends that every lady who
danced with one of them, must dance with all in succession. Truly they
now repented of their oath, for she was so beautiful.
"But the lady advancing, pointed out one of the four, and said, 'I will
dance with him alone.'
"The young signore would have refused, but he felt himself obliged,
despite himself, to obey her, and when they had danced, she suddenly
disappeared, leaving all amazed.
"And when they had recovered from the spell which had been upon them,
they said that as she had come in with the dawn and vanished with the
day, it must have been the Beautiful Alba, the enchanting queen of the
fairies.
"The _festa_ lasted for three days, and every night at the same hour the
beautiful Alba reappeared, enchanting all so wonderfully, that even the
ladies forgot their jealousy, and were as much fascinated by her as were
the men.
"Now of the four friends, three sternly reproached the other for breaking
his oath, they being themselves madly in love; but he replied, and truly,
that he had been compelled by some power which he could not resist to
obey her. But that, as a man of honour, so far as he could, he would
comply with the common oath which bound them.
"Then they declared that he should ask her if she loved him, and if she
assented, that he should inform her of their oath, and that she must
share her love with all or none--_altrimenti non avrebbe mai potuta
sposarla_.
"Which he did in good faith, and she answered, 'Hadst thou loved me
sincerely and fully, thou wouldst have broken that vile oath; and yet it
is creditable to thee that, as a man of honour, thou wilt not break thy
word. Therefore thou shalt be mine, but not till after a long and bitter
punishment. Now I ask thy friends and thee, if to be mine they are
willing to take the form of demons and bear it openly before all men.'
"And when he proposed it to his friends, he found them so madly in love
with the lady that they, thinking she meant some disguise, declared that
to be hers they would willingly wear any form, however terrible.
"And the fair Alba, having heard them, said, 'Yes, ye shall indeed be
mine; more than that I do not promise. Now meet me to-morrow at the
Canto dei Diavoli--at the Devil's Corner!'
"And they gazed at her astonished, never having heard of such a place.
But she replied, 'Go into the street and your feet shall guide you, and
truly it will be a great surprise.'
"And they laughed among themselves, saying, 'The surprise will be that
she will consent to become a wife to us all.'
"But when they came to the corner, in the night, what was their amazement
to see on it four figures of devils indeed, and Alba, who said, 'Now ye
are indeed mine, but as for my being yours, that is another matter.'
"Then touching each one, she also touched a devil, and said, 'This is thy
form; enter into it. Three of ye shall ever remain as such. As for this
fourth youth, he shall be with ye for a year, and then, set free, shall
live with me in human form. And from midnight till three in the morning
ye also may be as ye were, and go to the Palazzo Cavolaia, and dance and
be merry with the rest, but through the day become devils again.'
"And so it came to pass. After a year the image of the chosen lover
disappeared; and then one of the three was stolen, and then another, till
only one remained."
* * * * *
There is some confusion in the conclusion of this story, which I have
sought to correct. The exact words are, "For many years all four
remained, till _one_ was stolen away, and that was the image of the young
man who pleased the beautiful Alba, who thus relieved him of the spell."
But as there has been always only one devil on the corner, I cannot
otherwise reconcile the story with the fact.
I have said that this tale is ancient from intrinsic evidence. Such
extravagant alliances of friendship as is here described were actually
common in the Middle Ages; they existed in England even till the time of
Queen Elizabeth. In "Shakespeare and his Friends," or in the "Youth of
Shakespeare"--I forget which--two young men are represented as fighting a
duel because each declared that he loved the other most. There was no
insane folly of sentiment which was not developed in those days. But
this is so foreign to modern ideas, that I think it could only have
existed in tradition to these our times.
There were also during the Middle Ages strange heretical sects, among
whom such communism existed, like the polyandria of the ancient Hindoos.
There may be a trace of it in this story.
Alba, Albina, or Bellaria, appear in several Tuscan traditions. They are
forms of the Etruscan Alpan, the fairy of the Dawn, a sub-form of Venus,
the spirit of Light and Flowers, described in my work on "Etruscan Roman
Traditions." It may be remarked as an ingenious touch in the tale, that
she always appears at the first dawn, or at three o'clock, and vanishes
with broad day. This distinguishes her from the witches and evil
spirits, who always come at midnight and vanish at three o'clock.
The readiness with which the young men consented to assume the forms of
demons is easily explained. They understood that it meant only a
disguise, and it was very common in the Middle Ages for lovers to wear
something strange in honour of their mistresses. The dress of a devil
would only seem a joke to the habitues of the Cavolaia. It may be also
borne in mind that in other tales of Florence it is distinctly stated
that spirits confined in statues, columns, _et cetera_, only inhabit them
"as bees live in hives." They appear to sleep in them by day, and come
out at night. So in India the saint or demon only comes into the relic
or image from time to time, or when invoked.
After I had written the foregoing, I was so fortunate as to receive from
Maddalena yet another legend of the bronze imp of Giovanni di Bologna,
which tale she had unearthed in the purlieus of the Mercato Vecchio. I
have often met her when thus employed, always in the old part of the
town, amid towering old buildings bearing shields of the Middle Ages, or
in dusky _vicoli_ and _chiassi_, and when asked what she was doing, 'twas
ever the same reply, "_Ma_, _Signore Carlo_, there's an old woman--or
somebody--lives here who knows a story." And then I knew that there was
going to be a long colloquy in dialect which would appal any one who only
knew choice Italian, the end of which would be the recovery, perhaps from
half-a-dozen _vecchie_, of a legend like the following, of which I would
premise that it was not translated by me, but by Miss Roma Lister, who
knew Maddalena, having taken lessons from her in the sublime art of
_battezare le carte_, or telling fortunes by cards, and other branches of
the black art. And having received the manuscript, which was unusually
illegible and troublesome, I asked Miss Lister to kindly transcribe it,
but with great kindness she translated the whole, only begging me to
mention that it is given with the most scrupulous accuracy, word for
word, from the original, so far as the difference of language permitted.
IL DIAVOLINO DEL CANTO DE' DIAVOLI.
_The Imp of the Devil's Corner and the Pious Fairy_.
"There was once a pious fairy who employed all her time in going about
the streets of Florence in the shape of a woman, preaching moral sermons
for the good of her hearers, and singing so sweetly that all who heard
her voice fell in love with her. Even the women forgot to be jealous, so
charming was her voice, and dames and damsels followed her about, trying
to learn her manner of singing.
"Now the fairy had converted so many folk from their evil ways, that a
certain devil or imp--who also had much business in Florence about that
time--became jealous of the intruder, and swore to avenge himself; but it
appears that there was as much love as hate in the fiend's mind, for the
fairy's beautiful voice had worked its charm even when the hearer was a
devil. Now, besides being an imp of superior intelligence, he was also
an accomplished ventriloquist (or one who could imitate strange voices as
if sounding afar or in any place); so one day while the pious fairy in
the form of a beautiful maiden held forth to an admiring audience, two
voices were heard in the street, one here, another there, and the first
sang:
"'Senti o bella una parola,
Te la dico a te sola,
Qui nessun ci puo'l sentire
Una cosa ti vuo dire;
Se la senti la stemperona,
L'a un voce da buffona
Tiene in mano la corona. {103}
Per fare credere a questo o quella,
Che l'e sempre una verginella.'
"'Hear, O lovely maid, a word,
Only to thyself I'd bear it,
For it must not be o'erheard,
Least of all should the preacher hear it.
'Tis that, while seeming pious, she,
Holding in hand a rosary,
Her talk is all hypocrisy,
To make believe to simple ears,
That still the maiden wreath she wears.'
"Then another voice answered:
"'La risposta ti vuo dare,
Senza farti aspettare;
Ora di un bell' affare,
Te la voglio raccontare,
Quella donna che sta a cantare,
E una Strega di queste contrade,
Che va da questo e quello,
A cantarle indovinello,
A chi racconta: Voi siete
Buona donna affezionata.
Al vostro marito, ma non sapete,
Cie' di voi un 'altra appasionata.'
"'Friends, you'll not have long to wait
For what I'm going to relate;
And it is a pretty story
Which I am going to lay before ye.
That dame who singing there you see
Is a witch of this our Tuscany,
Who up and down the city flies,
Deceiving people with her lies,
Saying to one: The truth to tell,
I know you love your husband well;
But you will find, on close inspection,
Another has his fond affection.'
"In short, the imp, by changing his voice artfully, and singing his
ribald songs everywhere, managed in the end to persuade people that the
fairy was no better than she should be, and a common mischief-maker and
disturber of domestic peace. So the husbands, becoming jealous, began to
quarrel with their wives, and then to swear at the witch who led them
astray or put false suspicion into their minds.
"But it happened that the fairy was in high favour with a great saint,
and going to him, she told all her troubles and the wicked things which
were said of her, and besought him to free her good name from the
slanders which the imp of darkness had spread abroad (_l'aveva
chalugnato_).
"Then the saint, very angry, changed the devil into a bronze figure
(_mascherone_, an architectural ornament), but first compelled him to go
about to all who had been influenced by his slanders, and undo the
mischief which he had made, and finally to make a full confession in
public of everything, including his designs on the beautiful fairy, and
how he hoped by compromising her to lead her to share his fate.
"Truly the imp cut but a sorry figure when compelled to thus stand up in
the Old Market place at the corner of the Palazzo Cavolaia before a vast
multitude and avow all his dirty little tricks; but he contrived withal
to so artfully represent his passionate love for the fairy, and to turn
all his sins to that account, that many had compassion on him, so that
indeed among the people, in time, no one ever spoke ill of the _doppio
povero diavolo_, or doubly poor devil, for they said he was to be pitied
since he had no love on earth and was shut out of heaven.
"Nor did he quite lose his power, for it was said that after he had been
confined in the bronze image, if any one spoke ill of him or said, 'This
is a devil, and as a devil he can never enter Paradise,' then the imp
would persecute that man with strange voices and sounds until such time
as the offender should betake himself to the Palazzo della Cavolaia, and
there, standing before the bronze image, should ask his pardon.
"And if it pleased the Diavolino, he forgave them, and they had peace;
but if it did not, they were pursued by the double mocking voice which
made dialogue or sang duets over all their sins and follies and
disgraces. And whether they stayed at home or went abroad, the voices
were ever about them, crying aloud or tittering and whispering or
hissing, so that they had no rest by day or night; and this is what
befell all who spoke ill of the Diavolino del Canto dei Diavoli."
* * * * *
The saint mentioned in this story was certainly Pietro Martire or Peter
the Martyrer, better deserving the name of murderer, who, preaching at
the very corner where the bronze imp was afterwards placed, declared that
he beheld the devil, and promptly exorcised him. There can be little
doubt that the image was placed there to commemorate this probably "pious
fraud."
It is only since I wrote all this that I learned that there were formerly
_two_ of these devils, one having been stolen not many years ago. This
verifies to some extent the consistency of the author of the legend, "The
Devil of the Mercato Vecchio," who says there were four.
There is a very amusing and curious trait of character manifested in the
conclusion of this story which might escape the reader's attention were
it not indicated. It is the vindication of the "puir deil," and the very
evident desire to prove that he was led astray by love, and that even the
higher spirit could not take away all his power. Here I recognise beyond
all question the witch, the fortune-teller and sorceress, who prefers
Cain to Abel, and sings invocations to the former, and to Diana as the
dark queen of the _Strege_, and always takes sides with the heretic and
sinner and magian and goblin. It is the last working of the true spirit
of ancient heathenism, for the fortune-tellers, and especially those of
the mountains, all come of families who have been regarded as enemies by
the Church during all the Middle Ages, and who are probably real and
direct descendants of Canidia and her contemporaries, for where this
thing is in a family it never dies out. I have a great many traditions
in which the hand of the heathen witch and the worship of "him who has
been wronged" and banished to darkness, is as evident as it is here.
* * * * *
"Which indeed seems to show," comments the learned Flaxius, "that if the
devil is never quite so black as he is painted, yet, on the other hand,
he is so far from being of a pure white--as the jolly George Sand boys,
such as Heine and Co., thought--that it is hard to make him out of any
lighter hue than mud and verdigris mixed. _In medio tutissimus ibis_.
'Tis also to be especially noted, that in this legend--as in Shelley's
poem--the Devil appears as a meddling wretch who is interested in small
things, and above all, as given to gossip:
"The Devil sat down in London town
Before earth's morning ray,
With a favourite imp he began to chat,
On religion, and scandal, and this and that,
Until the dawn of day."
SEEING THAT ALL WAS RIGHT
A LEGEND OF THE PORTA A SAN NICOLO
"God keep us from the devil's lackies,
Who are the aggravating jackies,
Who to the letter execute
An order and exactly do't,
Or else, with fancy free and bold,
Do twice as much as they are told,
And when reproved, cry bravely, 'Oh!
I _thought_ you'd like it so and so.'
From all such, wheresoe'er they be,
_Libera nos_, _Domine_!'
The Porta a San Nicolo in Florence is, among other legends, associated
with a jest played by the famous Barlacchia on a friend, the story of
which runs as follows:
"It is an old saying that _la porta di dietro e quella che ruba la casa_
(it is the back gate which robs a house), and it was going back to the
gate of San Nicolo which robbed a man of all his patience. This man had
gone with Barlacchia the jester from Florence to Val d'Arno, and on
returning they had stopped in the plain of Ripolo, where the friend was
obliged to delay for a time, while Barlacchia went on. Now it was so
late that although Barlacchia was certain to reach the Porto a San Nicolo
in time to enter, it was doubtful whether the one who came later could do
so unless a word should be spoken in advance to the guard, who for
friendship or a fee would sit up and let the late-comer in. Therefore
the friend said to the jester, '_Di gratia facesse sostenere la
porta_'--'See that the gate is all right,' or that all is right at the
bridge--meaning, of course, that he should make it right with the
guardian to let him in.
"And when Barlacchia came to the gate, he indeed asked the officer in
charge _se questi si sostengo_--whether it was all right, and if it stood
firmly, and was in no danger of falling, affirming that he was making
special inquiry at request of a friend who was commissioner of the city
gates and bridges, and obtained a paper certifying that the gate was in
excellent condition, after which he went home.
"Trotting along on his mule came the friend, who, believing that
Barlacchia had made it all right with the guard, had not hurried. But he
found it was all wrong, and that 'a great mistake had been made
somewhere,' as the eel said when he was thrown into boiling hot oil
instead of cold water. For he found the gate locked and nobody to let
him in, so that in a great rage he was obliged to go back to an inn which
was distinguished for nothing but its badness, _dove stette con gran
disagio quella notte_ (where he passed the night in great discomfort).
"And when morning came, he passed the gate, but stopped and asked whether
Barlacchia had been there the night before. To which the guard answered,
'Yes,' and that he had been very particular in his inquiries as to
whether the doors were firm on their hinges, and if the foundations were
secure; on hearing which, the man saw that he had been sold, {108} and
going to the Piazza Signoria, and meeting Barlacchia, _gli disse rilevata
villania_, let him have abuse in bold relief and large proportion, saying
that it was infamous to snipe his equal in all things and better in most,
in such a low-flung manner, unbecoming a half-grown chimney-sweep, and
that if he did not respect himself too much to use improper or strong
language, he would say that Barlacchia was a dastardly blackguard and a
son of a priest. To which Barlacchia remonstrated that he had performed
to perfection exactly what he had promised to do, yea, _a punto_, to the
very letter.
"Now by this time half Florence had assembled, and being delighted beyond
all measure at this racy dispute, insisted on forming a street-court and
settling the question _alla fresca_. And when the evidence was taken,
and all the facts, which long in darkness lay, were brought full clearly
to the light of day, there was such a roaring of laughter and clapping of
lands that you would have sworn the Guelfs and Ghibellines had got at it
again full swing. But the verdict was that Barlacchia was acquitted
without a stain on his character.
"_Haec fabula docet_," comments Flaxius, "that there be others besides
Tyll Eulenspiegel who make mischief by fulfilling laws too literally.
And there are no people in this world who contrive to break the Spirit of
Christianity so much as those who follow it simply to the Letter."