LEGENDS AND GHOST STORIES.
The Italian people possess an inexhaustible store of legends which they
have inherited from the Middle Ages. With the great mass of these
stories--legends of the saints or local legends--we have at present
nothing to do. It is enough to say that they do not differ materially
from the legends of the other Catholic peoples of Europe. The class to
which we shall devote our attention in this chapter is that of popular
legendary stories which have clustered around the person of our Lord and
his disciples, and around other favorite characters of mediaeval fancy,
such as Pilate, The Wandering Jew, etc. To these may be added tales
relating to the other world and stories which are of a legendary nature.
The first stories which we shall mention are those referring to mythical
journeys of our Lord and his apostles.
The first, "St. Peter and the Robbers" (Pitre, No. 121), relates that
once while the Master was journeying with the apostles they found
themselves at night out in the fields, and took shelter in a cabin
belonging to some shepherds, who received them very inhospitably and
gave them nothing to eat. Soon after, a band of robbers attacked the
flock and robbed the shepherds, who ran away. The robbers came to the
cabin, and when they heard from the apostles how shabbily they had been
treated, gave them the supper that the shepherds had prepared for
themselves, and went their way. "Blessed be the robbers!" said St.
Peter, "for they treat the hungry poor better than the rich do."
"Blessed be the robbers!" said the apostles, and ate their fill.
This story, as can easily be seen, is a tradition of the robbers who
pretend to have been blessed by Christ. St. Peter is the hero of several
stories, in which he plays anything but a dignified role. In one (Pitre,
No. 122), he is sent to buy some wine, and allows himself to be
persuaded by the wine merchant to eat some fennel-seed. After this he
cannot distinguish between good and bad wine, and purchases an inferior
kind. When the Master tasted it he said: "Eh! Peter! Peter! you have let
yourself be deceived."[J] Peter tasted it again and saw that it was
sour. Another apostle was sent to get some good wine, and "hence it is
that when you have to taste wine to see whether it is good, you must not
eat fennel-seed."
[Footnote J: This story is an attempt to explain the origin of the word
_'nfinucchiari_ (_infinocchiare_) to impose on one, by the word
_finocchio_, fennel-seed.]
L. THE LORD, ST. PETER, AND THE APOSTLES.
Once, while the Master was on a journey with the thirteen apostles, they
came to a village where there was no bread. The Master said: "Peter, let
each one of you carry a stone." They each took up a stone--St. Peter a
little bit of a one. The others were all loaded down, but St. Peter went
along very easily. The Master said: "Now let us go to another village.
If there is any bread there, we shall buy it; if there is none, I will
give you my blessing and the stones will become bread."
They went to another town, put the stones down, and rested. The Master
gave them his blessing, and the stones became bread. St. Peter, who had
carried a little one, felt his heart grow faint. "Master," he said, "how
am I going to eat?" "Eh! my brother, why did you carry a little stone?
The others, who loaded themselves down, have bread enough."
Then they went on, and the Master made them each carry another stone.
St. Peter was cunning this time and took a large one and all the others
carried small ones. The Lord said to the others: "Little ones, we will
have a laugh at Peter's expense." They arrived at another village, and
all the apostles threw away their stones because there was bread there;
and St. Peter was bent double, for he had carried a paving-stone with
him to no purpose.
On their journey they met a man; and as St. Peter was in advance of the
others, he said: "The Lord is coming shortly; ask Him a favor for your
soul." The man drew near and said: "Lord, my father is ill with old age.
Cure him, Master." The Lord said: "Am I a physician? Do you know what
you must do? Put him in a hot oven and your father will become a boy
again." They did so, and his father became a little boy.
The idea pleased St. Peter, and when he found himself alone he went
about seeking to make some old men young. By chance there met him one
who was seeking the Master because his mother was at the point of death
and he wanted her cured. St. Peter said: "What do you want?" "I want the
Master, for I have an old mother who is very ill, and the Master alone
can cure her." "Fortunately Peter is here! Do you know what you must do?
Heat an oven and put her in it, and she will be cured." The poor man
believed him, for he knew that the Lord loved St. Peter, so he went home
and immediately put his mother in the hot oven. What more could you
expect? The old woman was burned to a coal. "Ah! _santu di cca e di
dda!_"[K] cried the son; "that scurvy fellow has made me kill my
mother!" He hastened to St. Peter. The Master was present, and when he
heard the story could not control his laughter, and said: "Ah, Peter!
what have you done?" St. Peter tried to excuse himself, but the poor man
kept crying for his mother. What must the Master do? He had to go to the
house of the dead, and with a blessing which he there pronounced he
brought the old woman to life again, a beautiful young girl, and
relieved St. Peter of his great embarrassment.
[Footnote K: This is the strongest imprecation in Sicily.]
* * * * *
The last anecdote is quite popular, and is found in a number of popular
stories, as well as in the _Cento Novelle Antiche_[1]. A very amusing
version is from Venice (Widter-Wolf, No. 5), and is entitled:
LI. THE LORD, ST. PETER, AND THE BLACKSMITH.
In a little town about as large as Sehio or Thiene once lived a
master-smith,--a good, industrious, and skilful man, but so proud of his
skill that he would not deign to reply to anyone who did not address him
as "Professor." This pride in a man otherwise so blameless gave
universal dissatisfaction. One day our Lord appeared in the blacksmith's
shop, accompanied by St. Peter, whom He was always in the habit of
taking with Him on such excursions. "Professor," said the Lord, "will
you be so good as to permit me to do a little work at your forge?" "Why
not? it is at your service," replied the flattered smith. "What do you
wish to make?" "That you will soon see," said the Lord, and took up a
pair of tongs, with which he seized Peter and held him in the forge
until he was red-hot. Then he drew him out and hammered him on all
sides, and in less than ten minutes the old bald-headed apostle was
forged anew into a wonderfully handsome youth with beautiful hair. The
blacksmith stood speechless with astonishment, while the Lord and St.
Peter exchanged the most courteous thanks and compliments. Finally the
master-smith recovered himself and ran straight up to the second story,
where his sick old father lay in bed. "Father," he cried, "come quickly!
I have just learned how to make a strong young man of you." "My son,
have you lost your senses?" said the old man, half terrified. "No; only
believe me. I have just seen it myself." Finding that the old man
protested against the attempt, his son seized him forcibly, carried him
to the shop, and in spite of his shrieks and entreaties, thrust him into
the forge, but brought nothing out but a piece of charred leg, which
fell to pieces at the first blow of the hammer. Then he was seized with
anguish and remorse. He ran quickly in search of the two men, and
fortunately found them in the market-place. "Sir," he cried, "what have
you done? You have misled me. I wanted to imitate your skill, and I have
burned my father alive! Come with me quickly, and help me, if you can!"
Then the Lord smiled graciously, and said: "Go home comforted. You will
find your father alive and well, but an old man again." And so he did
find him, to his great joy. From that time his pride disappeared, and
whenever any one called him "Professor" he would exclaim: "Ah, what
folly that is! There are gentlemen in Venice and professors in Padua,
but I am a bungler."
* * * * *
The version in Knust is different. It is called "A Journey of Our
Saviour on Earth," and is, in substance, as follows: A father whose son
is a gambler, makes him become a soldier. The son deserts during a
stormy night and takes refuge in an inn. There he meets a man who seems
acquainted with his whole life and whose name is Salvatore (Saviour). He
knows that Peter has deserted and is pursued, but he will save him. To
gain a livelihood, he proposes to him to travel together and heal the
sick. An opportunity to do this is soon offered. A rich man is ill, and
Salvatore promises to heal him in three days. He makes every one
withdraw, prepares a potion from herbs, and cures the patient. The
relatives of the rich man offer in their gratitude all manner of costly
things to Salvatore, who, however, accepts only enough to support life.
Such an unreasonable proceeding enrages his companion to such a degree
that he parts from him. He wishes to cure people independently, and
promises a king to heal his sick daughter at once. But although he does
everything exactly like Salvatore, the only effect of the potion is to
kill the princess. As soon as the king learns this, he has Peter thrown
into prison. On his way there he meets Salvatore, who is ready to help
him at his request. The latter goes to the king and promises to raise
his daughter if he will release to him the prisoner. The king consents,
but threatens Salvatore with death in case of failure. The dead,
however, comes to life, and in gratitude offers her hand, through her
father, to Salvatore, who declares that it is his vocation to wander
over the earth. He asks that the maiden be given to his companion.[2]
In a story from Venice our Lord and St. Peter are hospitably received by
a poor woman who has no bed to offer them, but makes up one for them
from some straw and five ells of linen which she has bought that day.
When the Lord departs the next morning he bestows on the woman the power
of doing all day the first thing she does in the morning. She begins by
taking the linen from the bed of her guests, and pulls off piece after
piece of linen. A friend of hers learns this and determines to do the
same, but is punished by the Lord for her selfishness.[3]
LII. IN THIS WORLD ONE WEEPS AND ANOTHER LAUGHS.
Once the Lord, while he was making the world, called one of the apostles
and told him to look and see what the people were doing. The apostle
looked and said: "How curious! the people are weeping." The Lord
answered: "It is not the world yet!" The next day he bade the apostle
look again and see what the people were doing. The apostle looked and
saw the people laughing, and said: "The people are laughing." The Lord
answered: "It is not the world yet." The third day he made him look
again, and the apostle saw that some were weeping, and some were
laughing, and said: "Some of the people are weeping, and some are
laughing." The Lord said: "Now it is the world, because in this world
one weeps and another laughs."
* * * * *
The next legend accounts for the ass' long ears.
LIII. THE ASS.
It is related that when the Lord created the world, he also made all the
animals, and gave each its name. He also created the ass, which said:
"Lord, what is my name?" "Your name is ass!" The ass went away well
pleased. After a while it forgot its name, and went back to the Lord.
"Lord, what is my name?" "Ass!" After a while it came back again.
"Excuse me, Lord, what is my name?" "Ass, ass!" The ass turned and went
away, but forgot it another time, and came back. "Lord, I have forgotten
my name." The Lord could not stand it any longer, but seized its ears
and pulled them sharply, exclaiming: "Ass! Ass! Ass!" The ears were
pulled so hard that they became long, and that is why the ass has long
ears, and why we pull a person's ears to keep him from forgetting a
thing.
* * * * *
Another legend relates that when Christ was journeying through the world
he happened, dying with thirst, to enter a town. He saw a woman combing
her hair, and said: "Will you give me a drink of water? for I am dying
of thirst." "I am busy; it is not the time for water!" Christ said at
once:
"Cursed be the braid
That is braided Friday."
And continued his journey. After a time he saw a woman making dough for
bread. "Good woman, will you give me a drink of water?" "As much as you
will!" and went and drew some water and gave him. Christ said:
"Blessed be the dough
That is kneaded on Friday."
Hence it is that certain women are accustomed not to comb their hair on
Friday.
There is a satirical legend, called "The Lord's Will," which relates
that when Christ came to leave the world, he was in doubt as to whom to
leave all on the earth. If he left it to the gentlemen, what would the
nobility do? if to the nobility, what would become of the gentry, and
the workmen, and the peasants? While He was reflecting, the noblemen
came and asked the Lord to give them everything, which he did. Then the
priests came; and when they were told that everything had been given to
the nobility, "Oh! the devil!" they exclaimed. "Then I leave you the
devil," said the Lord. To the monks, who, when they heard what had been
done, exclaimed, "Patience!" patience was left. The workmen cried: "What
a fraud!" and received that for their share. Finally the peasants came
and said, with resignation: "Let us do the will of God;" and that was
their portion. And this is the reason why in this world the noblemen
command, the priests are helped by the devil, the monks are patient,
workmen fraudulent, and the peasants have to do many things they don't
want to, and are obliged to submit to the will of God.[4]
St. Peter's mother is the subject of a story which has given rise to a
wide-spread proverb. She was, so runs the story, an avaricious woman,
who never was known to do good to any one. In fact, during her whole
life she never gave anything away, except the top of an onion to a
beggar woman. After her death St. Peter's mother went to hell, and the
saint begged our Lord to release her. In consideration of her one
charitable act, an angel was sent to draw her from hell with an
onion-top. The other lost spirits clutched hold of her skirts, in order
to escape with her, but the selfish woman tried to shake them off, and
in her efforts to do so broke the onion-top, and fell back into hell.
This story has given rise to the saying, "Like St. Peter's mamma," which
is found, with slight variations, all over Italy.[5]
A curious version of this story is given in Bernoni (_Leggende fant._
No. 8): After the onion-top was broken and St. Peter's mother had fallen
back into hell, the story continues: "Out of regard, however, for St.
Peter, the Lord permitted her once a year, on St. Peter's day, to leave
hell and wander about the earth a week; and, indeed, she does so every
year, and during this week she plays all sorts of pranks and causes
great trouble."[6]
St. Peter's sisters are the subject of a story with a moral, contained
in Schneller, p. 6.
LIV. ST. PETER AND HIS SISTERS.
St. Peter had two sisters--one large, the other small. The little one
entered a convent and became a nun. St. Peter was delighted at this and
tried to persuade his big sister to become a nun also. She would not
listen to him, however, and said: "I would rather marry." After St.
Peter had suffered martyrdom, he became, as is well known, Porter of
Heaven. One day the Lord said to him: "Peter, open the gate of heaven
to-day as wide as you can, and get out all the heavenly ornaments and
decorations, for to-day a very deserving soul is going to arrive here."
St. Peter did as he was told with great joy, and thought: "Certainly my
little sister is dead, and is coming to heaven to-day." When everything
was ready, there came the soul of ---- his big sister, who had died and
left many children, who bitterly lamented her loss. The Lord gave her an
exalted place in heaven, much to the astonishment of St. Peter, who
thought: "I never should have imagined this; what shall I have to do
when the soul of my little sister comes?"
Not long after, the Lord said to him: "Peter, open the gate of heaven
to-day a little way, but a very little,--do you hear?" St. Peter did so
and wondered: "Who is coming to-day?" Then came the soul of his little
sister, and had so much trouble to squeeze through the gate that she
hurt herself; and she received a much lower place in heaven than the big
sister. At first St. Peter was amazed; afterwards he said: "It has
happened differently from what I imagined; but I see now that every
profession has its merits, and every one, if he only wishes, can enter
heaven."
* * * * *
The cycle of stories referring to our Lord would not be complete without
legends of Pilate, Judas, and the Wandering Jew. A powerful story is
told of the first in Pitre, No. 119, which is as follows:
LV. PILATE.
It is said that the following once took place at Rome: A wagon loaded
with stones was crossing a solitary spot in the country when one of the
wheels sank into the ground and it was impossible to extricate it for
some time. Finally they got it out, but there remained a large hole that
opened into a dark room under ground. "Who wishes to descend into this
hole?" "I," said the carter. They soon procured a rope and lowered the
carter into the dark room. We will suppose that this carter's name was
Master Francis. Well, then, Master Francis, when he was let down, turned
to the right and saw a door, which he opened, and found himself in
darkness that you could cut. He turned to the left, the same; he went
forward, the same; he turned once more and when he opened the door what
did he see? He saw a man seated before a table; before him, pen, ink,
and a written paper that he was reading; and when he finished it he
began over again, and never raised his eyes from the paper. Master
Francis, who was of incomparable courage, went up to him and said: "Who
are you?" The man made no answer, but continued to read. "Who are you?"
said Master Francis again; but not a word. The third time, the man said:
"Turn around, open your shirt, and I will write who I am on your back.
When you leave this place, go to the Pope and make him read who I am.
Remember, however, that the Pope alone must read it." Master Francis
turned about, opened his shirt, the man wrote on his back, and then sat
down again. Master Francis was courageous, it is true; but he was not
made of wood, and in that moment he was frightened to death. He fixed
his shirt and then asked: "How long have you been here?" but could get
no answer from him. Seeing that it was time lost to question him, he
gave the signal to those outside and was drawn up. When they saw him
they did not recognize him; he had grown entirely white and seemed like
an old man of ninety. "What was it? What happened?" they all began to
say. "Nothing, nothing," he replied; "take me to the Pope, for I must
confess." Two of those who were present conducted him to the Pope. When
he was with him he related what had happened and taking off his shirt,
said to him: "Read, your Holiness!" His Holiness read: "I AM PILATE."
And as he uttered these words the poor carter became a statue. And it is
said that that man was Pilate, who was condemned to stay in a cave,
always reading the sentence that he had pronounced on Jesus Christ,
without ever being able to take his eyes from the paper. This is the
story of Pilate who is neither saved nor damned.[7]
* * * * *
Judas is believed to have hanged himself on a tamarind-tree, which,
before that time, was a tall, beautiful tree. After Judas's death it
became the diminutive, shapeless shrub called _vruca_, which is a
synonym for all that is worthless. The soul of the traitor is condemned
to wander through the air, and every time it sees this shrub it pauses,
and imagines it sees its miserable body dangling from it, the prey of
birds and dogs.[8] This popular legend is told in the following words:
LVI. THE STORY OF JUDAS.
You must know that Judas was the one who betrayed Jesus Christ. Now when
Judas betrayed him, his Master said: "Repent, Judas, for I pardon you."
But Judas, not at all! he departed with his bag of money, in despair and
cursing heaven and earth. What did he do? While he was going along thus
desperate he came across a tamarind-tree. (You must know that the
tamarind was formerly a large tree, like the olive and walnut.) When he
saw this tamarind a wild thought entered his mind, remembering the
treason he had committed. He made a noose in a rope and hung himself to
the tamarind. And hence it is (because this traitor Judas was cursed by
God) that the tamarind-tree dried up, and from that time on it ceased
growing up into a tree and became a short, twisted, and tangled bush;
and its wood is good for nothing, neither to burn, nor to make anything
out of, and all on account of Judas, who hanged himself on it.
Some say that the soul of Judas went to the lowest hell, to suffer the
most painful torments; but I have heard, from older persons who can
know, that Judas's soul has a severer sentence. They say that it is in
the air, always wandering about the world, without being able to rise
higher or fall lower; and every day, on all the tamarind shrubs that it
meets, it sees its body hanging and torn by the dogs and birds of prey.
They say that the pain he suffers cannot be told, and that it makes the
flesh creep to think of it. And thus Jesus Christ condemned him for his
great treason.[9]
* * * * *
An interesting legend (Pitre, No. 120) is told of the Jew who struck our
Lord with the palm of his hand (St. John xviii. 22), and whom the
popular imagination has identified with the Malchus mentioned by St.
John, xviii. 10. It is called
LVII. DESPERATE MALCHUS.
This Malchus was one of those Jews who beat our Lord; a Jew more brutal
than can be told. When Christ was taken to Pilate's house, this Malchus,
with an iron glove, gave him a blow so heavy that it knocked out all his
teeth. For the sacrilegious act, the Lord condemned him to walk
constantly, without ever resting, around a column in an underground
room. This column is in a round room, and Malchus walks and walks
without ever having peace or rest. They say that he has walked so much
that he has worn the ground down many yards and made the column seem
higher than it was, for this Malchus has led this life ever since our
Lord's passion and death. It is said that this Malchus is desperate from
his remorse, and while he walks he beats the column, strikes his head
against the wall, and rages and laments; but notwithstanding he does not
die, for the sentence of God is that he must live until the day of
judgment.[10]
The same legend is found in Bernoni as follows:
LVIII. MALCHUS AT THE COLUMN.
Malchus was the head of the Jews who killed our Lord. The Lord pardoned
them all, and likewise the good thief, but he never pardoned Malchus,
because it was he who gave the Madonna a blow. He is confined under a
mountain, and condemned to walk around a column, without resting, as
long as the world lasts. Every time that he walks about the column he
gives it a blow in memory of the blow he gave the mother of our Lord. He
has walked around the column so long that he has sunk into the ground.
He is now up to his neck. When he is under, head and all, the world will
come to an end, and God will then send him to the place prepared for
him. He asks all those who go to see him (for there are such) whether
children are yet born; and when they say yes, he gives a deep sigh and
resumes his walk, saying: "The time is not yet!" for before the world
comes to an end there will be no children born for seven years.[11]
* * * * *
This legend recalls the Wandering Jew, who is known in Sicilian
tradition under the name of _Buttadeu_ (from _buttari_, to thrust away,
and _deu_, God) or more commonly as "The Jew who repulsed Jesus Christ."
He is reported to have appeared in Sicily, and the daughter of a certain
Antonino Caseio, a peasant of Salaparuta, gives the following account of
her father's encounter with _Buttadeu_:
LIX. THE STORY OF BUTTADEU.
It was in the winter, and my good father was at Scalone, in the
warehouse, warming himself at the fire, when he saw a man enter, dressed
differently from the people of that region, with breeches striped in
yellow, red, and black, and his cap the same way. My good father was
frightened. "Oh!" he said, "what is this person?" "Do not be afraid,"
the man said. "I am called _Buttadeu_." "Oh!" said my father, "I have
heard you mentioned. Be pleased to sit down a while and tell me
something." "I cannot sit, for I am condemned by my God always to walk."
And while he was speaking he was always walking up and down and had no
rest. Then he said: "Listen. I am going away; I leave you, in memory of
me, this, that you must say a _credo_ at the right hand of our Lord, and
five other _credos_ at his left, and a _salve regina_ to the Virgin, for
the grief I suffer on account of her son. I salute you." "Farewell."
"Farewell, my name is _Buttadeu_."[12]
* * * * *
We have only a few legends of the saints to mention. Undoubtedly a large
number are current among the people (Busk, pp. 196, 202, 203, 213-228,
gives a good many), but they do not differ materially from the literary
versions circulated by the Church. Those which we shall cite are purely
popular and belong to the great mediaeval legend-cycle.
The first is the legend of "Gregory on the Stone," which was so popular
in the mediaeval epics. There are several Italian versions, but we select
as the most complete the one in Gonzenbach, No. 85, called:
LX. THE STORY OF CRIVOLIU.
Once upon a time there was a brother and sister who had neither father
nor mother, and lived alone together. They loved each other so much that
they committed a sin which they should not have committed. When the time
came the sister gave birth to a boy, which the brother had secretly
baptized. Then he burnt into his shoulders a cross, with these words:
"Crivoliu, who is baptized; son of a brother and sister." After the
child was thus marked, he put it in a little box and threw it into the
sea.
Now it happened that a fisherman had just gone out to fish, and saw the
box floating on the waves. "A ship must have sunk somewhere," he
thought. "I will get the box, perhaps there is something useful in it."
So he rowed after it and got it. When he opened it and saw the little
child in it, he had pity on the innocent child, took it home to his
wife, and said: "My dear wife, our youngest child is already old enough
to wean; nurse in its place this poor innocent child." So his wife took
little Crivoliu and nursed him, and loved him as though he were her own
child. The boy grew and thrived and became every day larger and
stronger.
The fisherman's sons, however, were jealous because their parents loved
the little foundling as well as them, and when they played with Crivoliu
and quarrelled, they called him a "foundling." The boy's heart was
saddened by this and he went to his foster-parents and said: "Dear
parents, tell me, am I truly not your son?" The fisherman's wife said:
"How should you not be my son? Have I not nursed you when you were a
baby?" The fisherman forbade his children very strictly to call little
Crivoliu a "foundling."
When the child was larger, the fisherman sent him to school with his
sons. The children, when they were out of their father's hearing, began
again to mock little Crivoliu and to call him "foundling," and the other
children in the school did the same. Then Crivoliu went again to his
foster-parents and asked them if he was not their son. They persuaded
him out of it, however, and put him off until he was fourteen. Then he
could no longer stand being called "foundling," and went to the
fisherman and his wife, and said: "Dear parents, I entreat you to tell
me whether I am your child or not." Then the fisherman told him how he
had found him and what was written on his shoulders. "Then I will go
forth, and do penance for the sins of my parents," said Crivoliu. The
fisherman's wife wept and lamented and would not let him go; but
Crivoliu would not be detained and wandered out into the wide world.
After he had wandered about a long time, he came one day to a lonely
place where there was only an inn. He asked the hostess: "Tell me, good
woman, is there a cave near by, to which you alone know the entrance?"
She answered: "Yes, my handsome youth, I know such a cave and will take
you to it willingly." Then Crivoliu took two _grani's_ worth of bread
and a little pitcher of water with him and had the hostess show him the
cave. It was some distance from the inn, and the entrance was so covered
with thorns and bushes that he could scarcely penetrate into the cave.
He sent the hostess back, crept into the cave, put the bread and water
on the ground, knelt with folded arms, and so did penance for the sins
of his parents.
Many, many years passed, I know not how many, but so many, that his
knees took root and he grew fast to the ground.
Now it happened that the Pope died at Rome, and a new one was to be
chosen. The cardinals all assembled, and a white dove was let loose: for
he on whom it should alight was to be Pope. The white dove made several
circles in the air, but alighted on no one. Then all the archbishops and
bishops were summoned, and the dove was again let loose, but it did not
settle on any one. Then all the priests and monks and hermits were
collected, but the white dove would not choose any of them. The people
were in great despair, and the cardinals had to wander forth and search
the whole country to see whether another hermit was yet to be found, and
a crowd of people accompanied them.
At last they came to the inn in the lonely neighborhood, and asked the
hostess whether she knew of any hermit or penitent who was yet unknown
to the world. The hostess answered: "Many years ago a sorrowful youth
came here and made me conduct him to a cave to do penance. He is surely
dead long ago, for he took with him only two _grani's_ worth of bread
and a pitcher of water." The cardinals said: "We will look, however, and
see whether he is still alive; take us to him." Then the hostess
conducted them to the cave; the entrance was scarcely to be recognized,
so overgrown was it with brambles, and before they could enter the
attendants had to cut away the brambles and bushes with axes. After they
had forced their way in, they saw Crivoliu kneeling in the cave, with
crossed arms, and his beard had grown so long that it touched the
ground, and before him lay the bread, and by it the pitcher of water;
for in all those years he had not eaten or drunken. When they let the
white dove loose now, it flew about in a circle for a moment and then
alighted on the head of the penitent. Then the cardinals perceived that
he was a saint, and begged him to come with them and be their Pope. As
they were going to raise him up, they noticed that his knees had grown
fast, and they had to cut the roots. Then they took him to Rome with
them and he was made Pope.
Now it happened that at the same time the sister said to her brother:
"Dear brother, when we were young, we committed a sin that we have not
yet confessed, for the Pope alone can absolve us from it. Let us go,
then, to Rome, before death overtakes us, and confess there our sin." So
they started on their journey to Rome, and when they arrived there they
entered the church where the Pope sat in the confessional.
When they had confessed in a loud voice, for one always confesses openly
to the Pope, the Pope said: "Behold, I am your son, for on my shoulder
is the mark you speak of. I have done penance many years for your sin,
until it has been forgiven you. I absolve you, therefore, from your sin,
and you shall stay with me and live in comfort." So they remained with
him, and when their time came, the Lord called them all three to his
kingdom.[13]
* * * * *
An important episode of the original legend is omitted in the above
version, but preserved in those in Pitre (No. 117) and Knust (No. 7).
The youth after discovering his origin sets out on his wanderings and
comes by chance to the country where his mother is living. They meet
and, not knowing their relation, marry. In the Sicilian story this
relationship is disclosed the day of the marriage by the son showing his
mother the box in which he was exposed as a child. In the version of
Knust (from Leghorn), the child leaves his foster-father and goes in
search of his parents. He encounters them without knowing it of course,
and they, supposing him to be a beggar boy, give him shelter and care
for him until he has grown up. Then he marries his mother, who
recognizes him by a lock of red hair. At the conclusion of the story,
after the Pope has heard the confession of his parents he reveals
himself, they all three embrace, and die thus united. The story adds,
"their tomb is still preserved in St. Peter's at Rome."
Another Pope, Silvester I, is the subject of a legend in Pitre (No. 118)
which contains the well-known myth of Constantine's leprosy healed by
his baptism at the hands of St. Silvester.
Of greater interest is a legend of St. James the Elder, the patron-saint
of Spain, a pilgrimage to whose shrine at Santiago in Galicia was so
popular during the Middle Ages. The only popular version which we have
found is in a Sicilian story in Gonzenbach, No. 90.
LXI. THE STORY OF ST. JAMES OF GALICIA.
There was once a king and queen who had no children, and who longed to
have a son or daughter. The queen prayed to St. James of Galicia, and
said: "O St. James! if you will grant me a son, he shall make a
pilgrimage to your shrine when he is eighteen years old." After a time
the queen had, through the favor of God and the saint, a beautiful boy
who was as handsome as if God had made him. The child grew rapidly and
became larger and fairer every day. When he was twelve years old, the
king died, and the queen remained alone with this son, whom she loved as
dearly as her eyes. Many years passed and the time drew near when the
prince should be eighteen. When the queen thought that she must soon
part from him to send him alone on the long pilgrimage, she became very
sorrowful and wept and sighed the whole day.
One day the prince said to her: "Mother, why do you sigh all day?" "It
is nothing, my son, only some cares of mine," she answered. "What are
you concerned about?" asked he. "Are you afraid that your farms in the
Plain (of Catania) are badly tilled? Let me go and look after them and
bring you news of them." The queen consented and the prince rode to the
Plain, to the property that belonged to them. He found everything in
good order, and returned to his mother and said: "Dear mother, rejoice,
and cease your care, for everything is going well on your property; the
cattle are thriving; the fields are tilled, and the grain will soon be
ripe." "Very well, my son," answered the queen, but she was not
cheerful, and the next day began to sigh and weep again. Then the prince
said to her: "Dear mother, if you do not tell me why you are so sad, I
will depart, and wander out in the wide world." The queen answered: "Ah,
my dear son, I am sad because you must now part from me. For before you
were born, when I longed for you so much, I vowed to St. James of
Galicia, that if he would grant you to me, you should make a pilgrimage
to his shrine when you were eighteen years old. And now you will soon be
eighteen, and I am sad because you must wander away alone, and be gone
so many years; for to reach the saint, one must journey a whole year."
"Is it nothing but that, dear mother?" asked her son. "Be not so
sorrowful. Only the dead return not. If I live, I will soon come back to
you."
So he comforted his mother, and when he was eighteen he took leave of
the queen, and said: "Now farewell, dear mother, and, God willing, we
shall meet again." The queen wept bitterly, and embraced him with many
tears; then she gave him three apples, and said: "My son, take these
three apples and give heed to my words. You shall not make the long
journey alone. When, however, a youth joins you and wishes to accompany
you, take him with you to the inn, and let him eat with you. After the
meal cut an apple in two halves, one large and the other small, and
offer them to the young man. If he takes the larger half, part from him,
for he will be no true friend to you; but if he takes the smaller half,
regard him as your brother, and share everything that you have with
him." After these words she embraced her son and blessed him, and the
prince departed.
He had already travelled a long time, and no one had met him. One day,
however, he saw a youth coming along the road who joined him and asked:
"Where are you going, handsome youth?" "I am making a pilgrimage to St.
James of Galicia;" and he told him of his mother's vow. "I must go
there, too," said the other, "for the same thing happened to my mother
as to yours; if we have the same journey to make, we can make it
together." They continued their journey together, but the prince was not
confidential towards his companion, for he thought: "I must first make
the trial with the apple."
As they were passing an inn, the prince said: "I am hungry: shall we not
have something to eat?" The other was willing, so they went in and ate
together. After they had eaten, the prince took out the apple, cut it in
two unequal halves, and offered them to the other, who took the larger
half. "You are no true friend," thought the prince; and to get rid of
him, he pretended to be ill, and obliged to remain there. The other
said: "I cannot wait for you, for I have far to go yet; so farewell."
"Farewell," said the prince, and was glad to be rid of him.
When he continued his journey again, he thought: "Ah, if God would only
send me a true friend, so that I should not have to travel alone!"
Not long after, another youth joined him and asked: "Handsome young man,
where are you going?" The prince answered him as he had done before, and
everything happened the same as with the first young man. After the
prince had got rid of him he resumed his journey and thought: "O God,
let me find a true friend who shall be to me a brother on the long
journey!" While he was uttering this prayer he saw a youth coming along
the way, who was a handsome lad, and appeared so friendly that he liked
him at once, and thought: "Ah, may this be the true friend!" The youth
joined him, and everything passed as before, except that this time the
youth took the smaller half of the apple, and the prince rejoiced that
he had found a true friend. "Fair youth," said he to him, "we must
consider ourselves as brothers now; what is mine shall be yours also,
and what is yours, shall be mine. We will travel together, until we come
to the shrine of the saint; and if one of us dies on the way, the other
must carry his body there. We will both promise this." They did so, and
regarded each other as brothers, and continued their journey together.
To reach the shrine of the saint requires a whole year; imagine, then,
how long the two must travel. One day when they came, weary and
exhausted, to a large, beautiful city, they said: "We will stay here and
rest a few days, and afterwards continue our journey." So they took a
small house, and dwelt in it. Now opposite it was the royal palace, and
one morning as the king was standing on the balcony, he saw the two
handsome youths, and thought: "Oh! how handsome these two youths are!
one is, however, much handsomer than the other. I will give him my
daughter in marriage." Now the prince was the handsomer of the two. In
order to attain his aim, the king invited them both to dinner, and when
they came to the palace received them in a very friendly manner and had
his daughter called, who was more beautiful than the sun and moon. When
they retired for the night, the king had a poisonous drink given to the
prince's companion, who fell down dead; for the king thought: "If his
friend dies, the other will remain here willingly, and think no more of
his pilgrimage, but marry my daughter."
The next morning, when the prince awoke, he asked: "Where is my friend?"
"He died suddenly last night, and is to be buried at once," answered the
servants. The prince said: "If my friend is dead, I cannot remain here
longer, but must depart this very hour." "Ah! do remain here," begged
the king. "I will give you my daughter for your wife." "No," said the
prince, "I cannot stay here. If you will grant me a wish, give me a
horse, and let me depart in peace; and when I have completed my
pilgrimage, I will return and marry your daughter." The king then gave
him a horse, which the prince mounted, and took his dead friend before
him on the saddle, and thus completed his journey. The young man,
however, was not dead, but lay only in a deep sleep.
When the prince reached the shrine of St. James of Galicia, he
dismounted, took his friend in his arms like a child, and entered the
church and laid the body on the steps of the altar before the saint, and
prayed: "O St. James of Galicia! behold, I have kept my vow. I have come
to you and have brought you my friend, also. I confide him now to you;
if you will restore him to life, we will laud your mercy; but if he is
not to come to life again, he has at least kept his vow." And behold,
while he was still praying, his dead friend rose, and became again alive
and well. Both thanked the saint, and gave him costly presents, and then
started on their journey home.
When they reached the city where the king lived, they occupied again the
little house opposite the royal palace. The king was greatly rejoiced to
see the handsome prince there again, and much handsomer than before; he
arranged great festivities, and had a splendid marriage celebrated, and
thus the prince married the fair princess. After the wedding they
remained several months with her father, and then the prince said: "My
mother is expecting me at home with great anxiety; therefore I cannot
stay longer here, but will return to my mother with my wife and my
friend." The king consented and they prepared for the journey.
Now the king had a deadly hatred against the poor, innocent youth, to
whom he had before given the fatal drink, and who had nevertheless
returned alive, and in order to cause him sorrow, he sent him in great
haste on the morning of the departure into the country with an errand.
"Hasten," he said. "Your friend will not start until you return." The
youth hastened away, without taking leave, and performed the king's
errand. The king, meanwhile, said to the prince: "Hasten your departure,
otherwise you cannot reach your quarters for the night before evening."
"I cannot depart without my friend," answered the prince. The king,
however, said: "Set out on your journey; he will be here within an hour,
and will soon overtake you on his swift horse." The prince allowed
himself to be persuaded, took leave of his father-in-law, and departed
with his wife. The poor friend could not fulfil the king's commission
before several hours, and when he finally returned, the king said to
him: "Your friend is already far from here; see how you can overtake
him."
So the poor youth had to leave the palace, and did not even receive a
horse, and began to run, and ran day and night until he overtook the
prince. From his great exertions, however, he contracted leprosy, so
that he looked ill, wretched, and dreadful. The prince, nevertheless,
received him in a friendly manner and cared for him like a brother.
They finally reached home, where the queen had awaited her son with
great anxiety, and now embraced him with perfect joy. The prince had a
bed prepared at once for his sick friend and summoned all the physicians
of the town and state, but no one could help him. When the poor youth
grew no better the prince addressed himself to St. James of Galicia and
said: "O St. James of Galicia! you raised my friend from the dead; help
him now this time also, and let him recover from his leprosy." While he
was praying, a servant entered and said: "A strange physician is
without, who will make the poor youth well again." This physician was
St. James of Galicia himself, who had heard the prayer of the prince and
had come to help his friend. You must know now that the prince's wife
had had a little girl who was a pretty, lovely child.
When the saint approached the bed of the sick youth, he first examined
him, and then said to the prince: "Do you really wish to see your friend
well again at any price?" "At any price," answered the prince; "only
tell me what can help him." "This evening, take your child," said the
saint, "open all her veins, and anoint with her blood your friend's
wounds, and he will be healed at once."
The prince was horrified when he heard that he himself must kill his
dear little daughter, but he answered: "I have promised my friend to
treat him like my brother; and if there is no other remedy, I will
sacrifice my child."
At evening he took the child and opened her veins and anointed with the
blood the sores of the sick youth, who was at once cleansed from his
foul leprosy. The child became pale and weak, and looked as if it were
dead. Then they laid it in its cradle and the poor parents were deeply
grieved, for they believed they had lost their child.
The next morning the physician came and asked after the patient. "He is
well and sound," answered the prince. "And where have you put your
child?" asked the saint. "There it lies dead in its cradle," said the
poor father, sadly. "Just look at her once and see how she is," said the
saint; and when they hastened to the cradle, they saw the child in it
alive and well again. Then the saint said: "I am St. James of Galicia,
and have come to help you, because I have seen what true friendship you
have displayed. Continue to love one another, and when you are in
trouble turn to me and I will come to your aid." With these words he
blessed them and disappeared from their sight. They lived piously and
did much good to the poor, and were happy and contented.[14]
* * * * *
There are several interesting legends found only in Gonzenbach's
collection. They can be mentioned but briefly here. The first (No. 87)
is entitled: "The Story of St. Oniria or Neria." Two huntsmen lost their
way in a wood and found at night a hut in which was a table set for
supper, and a fire which emitted a heavenly odor. They examined it and
found in the coals a heart, which they took with them when they
departed, the next morning. After they had travelled a while, they
stopped at an inn, and the pious and virtuous daughter of the innkeeper
waited on them, and noticed the odor which came from the jacket that one
of the huntsmen had laid aside on account of the heat. In the pocket she
found the heart, which she kept for a time on a table in her room. One
day she was seized with a great longing to eat it. She did so, and it
soon was evident that she was about to become a mother. Her father
treated her cruelly, for the shame she was going to bring on the
family, but her godmother interfered, and one night had a strange dream.
There appeared to her a saint, who said: "I am St. Oniria, and was
consumed by fire. Only my heart was left, so that I might be born again.
This heart the host's daughter has eaten, and she will, in due time,
give birth to me." The child was born as predicted, and grew handsomer
every day. The grandfather, however, could not endure him, and
ill-treated him as well as his mother.
One day, when the child was five years old, the grandfather took him to
the city. On the way they passed a place where there was much filth, and
the child said to his grandfather: "I wish you might wallow in it."
Afterwards they saw a poor man being carried to the grave on a ladder,
without any coffin. The child here wished that his grandfather, when he
died, might be like this one. Next they met the long funeral procession
of a rich man, and the child wished that his grandfather might not be
like this rich man. The grandfather, of course, in each case was very
angry, and was only restrained from beating the child by the mother's
godfather, who had accompanied them.
After they had finished their business in the city they set out for
home; and when they came to the spot where they had met the rich man's
funeral procession, the child made his grandfather put his ear to the
ground, when he heard a great noise, as if of iron pestles and
lamentations. The child explained that what he heard were the devils
tormenting the rich man's soul. When they came where they had seen the
poor man on the ladder, the grandfather listened again and heard the
rejoicings of the angels on receiving the poor man's soul.
When they came to the place where the filth was, the child made his
grandfather dig and find a pot of money which he told him to use better
than he had done his own. The child then said he was St. Oniria,
exculpated his mother, and said his grandfather would see him again when
the dead spoke with the living. Then he was taken up into heaven.
Years after, two men spent the night in the inn, and one murdered the
other and hid the body under the straw, where it was afterwards found by
other travellers, and the innkeeper accused of the murder. He was
condemned and was on the scaffold when a beautiful youth came riding in
hot haste, crying: "Pardon!" The youth led the people into the church,
before the coffin of the murdered man, and cried: "Rise, dead one, and
speak with the living, and tell us who murdered you." The dead man
replied: "The innkeeper is innocent; my treacherous companion killed
me." Then the youth accompanied the innkeeper home, revealed himself as
St. Oniria, blessed them, and disappeared.[15]
Another legend (No. 92), "The Story of the Hermit," has as its subject
the mystery of God's Providence, and is familiar to English readers in
the form of Parnell's Hermit. The substance of the Sicilian version is
as follows: A hermit sees a man wrongfully accused of theft and
shockingly maltreated. He thereupon concludes that God is unjust to
suffer such things, and determines to return to the world. On his way
back a handsome youth meets him and they journey together. A muleteer
allows them to ride his beasts, and in return the youth abstracts the
muleteer's money from his wallet and drops it in the road. A woman who
keeps an inn receives them hospitably, and on leaving the next morning,
the youth strangles her child in the cradle. All at once the youth
becomes a shining angel, and says to the hermit: "Listen to me, O man
who has been bold enough to murmur against God's decrees;" and then
explains that the person who had been wrongfully accused of theft had
years before murdered his father on that very spot; the muleteer's money
was stolen money, and the child of the hostess, had it lived, would have
become a robber and murderer. Then the angel says: "Now you see that
God's justice is more far-sighted than man's. Return, then, to your
hermitage, and repent if so be that your murmuring be forgiven you." The
angel disappears and the hermit returns to his mountain, does severer
penance, and dies a saint.[16]
The legend in Gonzenbach (No. 91) entitled "Joseph the Just" is nothing
but the story of Joseph and his Brethren, taken from the Bible. In the
Sicilian version Joseph has only three brothers; otherwise the story
follows the account in Genesis very closely. Another legend in the same
collection (No. 89), "The Story of Tobia and Tobiola," is the story of
Tobit and Tobias, taken from the apocryphal book of Tobit. The Sicilian
story differs in the names only.
There are several other Sicilian legends the heroes of which are pious,
simple youths, the religious counterparts of Giufa. One (Pitre, No.
112), called "The Poor Boy," tells the story of a simple youth who asked
the priest the way to paradise, and was told he must follow the strait
and narrow way. He took the first one he came to, and reached a convent
church during a festival, and imagined he had reached paradise. He was
found in the church when all had departed; but he persisted in
remaining, and the superior sent him a bowl of soup, which he put on the
altar; and when he was alone he began to converse confidentially with
the Lord on the crucifix, and said: "Lord, who put you on the cross?"
"Your sins!" and so the Lord responded to all his questions. The youth,
in tears, promised he would sin no more, and invited the Lord to descend
and partake of his repast with him. The Lord did so, and commanded him
to tell the monks in the convent that they would be damned unless they
sold all their property and bestowed it on the poor. If they would do so
and come and confess to the Lord himself, he would hear their confession
and give them the communion, and when it was finished they would all
die, one after the other, and enter the glory of paradise. The poor
youth went to the superior and gave him the Lord's message. The superior
sold the property of the convent, and everything turned out as the Lord
had said. The monks all confessed and died, and all who were present or
heard of the event were converted and died in the grace of God.[17]
This legend leads quite naturally to another, in which intercourse with
the other world is represented as still occasionally permitted to
mortals. It is found only in Sicily, having, curiously enough, parallels
in the rest of Europe, but none in Italy. It is called:
LXII. THE BAKER'S APPRENTICE.
There was once a baker who every morning loaded an ounceworth of bread
on a horse that came to his shop. One day he said: "I give this
ounceworth of bread to this horse and he renders me no account of it."
Then he said to his apprentice: "Vincenzo, the horse will come to-morrow
and I will give him the bread, but you must follow him and see where he
goes." The next day the horse came and the baker loaded him, and gave
the apprentice a piece of bread for himself. Vincenzo followed the
horse, and after a while came to a river of milk, and began to eat bread
and milk, and could not overtake the horse again. He then returned to
his master, who, seeing him return to no purpose, said: "To-morrow the
horse will come again; if you cannot tell me where he goes I will no
longer have you for my apprentice." The next day the apprentice followed
the horse again, and came to a river of wine, and began to eat bread and
wine, and lost sight of the horse. He returned to his master in despair
at having lost the horse. His master said: "Listen. The first time, one
pardons; the second time, one condones; the third time, one beats. If
to-morrow you do not follow the horse I will give you a good thrashing
and send you home." What did poor Vincenzo do? He followed the horse the
next day with his eyes open. After a while he came to a river of oil.
"What shall I do? the horse will get away from me now!" So he tied the
horse's reins to his girdle and began to eat bread and oil. The horse
pulled, but Vincenzo said: "When I finish the bread I will come." When
he had finished the bread he followed the horse, and after a time he
came to a cattle-farm where the grass was long and thick and the cattle
so thin that they could scarcely stand on their feet. Vincenzo was
astonished at seeing the grass so long and the cattle so lean. Then he
came to another farm, and saw that the grass was dry and short, and the
cattle fatter than you can believe. He said to himself: "Just see!
There, where the grass was long, the cattle were lean; here, where you
can hardly see the grass, the cattle are so fat!" The horse kept on, and
Vincenzo after him. After a while he met a sow with her tail full of
large knots, and wondered why she had such a tail. Farther on he came to
a watering-trough, where there was a toad trying to reach a crumb of
bread, and could not. Vincenzo continued his way, and arrived at a large
gate. The horse knocked at the gate with his head, and the door opened
and a beautiful lady appeared, who said she was the Madonna. When she
saw the youth she asked: "And what are you here for?" Vincenzo replied:
"This horse comes constantly to my master's to get an ounceworth of
bread, and my master never has been able to find out where he carries
it." "Very well; enter," said the lady; "I will show you where he
carries it." Then the lady began to call all the souls in purgatory: "My
children, come hither!" The souls then descended; and to some she gave
the worth of a _grano_ of bread, to some the worth of a _baiocco_, and
to others the worth of five _grani_, and the bread was gone in a moment.
When the bread had disappeared, the lady said to Vincenzo: "Did you see
nothing on your way?" "Yes, lady. The first day that my master sent me
to see where the horse went, I saw a river of milk." The lady said:
"That is the milk I gave my son." "The second day I saw a river of
wine." "That," said the lady, "is the wine with which my son was
consecrated." "The third day I saw a river of oil." "That is the oil
that they ask of me and of my son. What else did you see the third day?"
"I saw," answered Vincenzo, "a farm with cattle. There was plenty of
grass, but the cattle were lean. Afterwards I saw another farm, where
you could scarcely see the grass, and the cattle were fine and fat."
"These, my son, are the rich, who are in the midst of wealth; and no
matter how much they eat, it does no good; and the fat ones, that have
no grass to eat, are the poor, for my son supports and fattens them.
What else did you see?" "I saw a sow with her tail full of knots."
"That, my son, is those who repeat their rosaries and do not offer their
prayers to me or to my son; and my son makes knots in them." "I also saw
a watering-trough, with a toad that was reaching after a crumb of bread,
and could not get it." She said: "A poor person asked a woman for a bit
of bread, and she gave his hand such a blow that she made him drop it.
And what else did you see, my son?" "Nothing, lady." "Then come with me,
and I will show you something else." She took him by the hand and led
him into hell. When the poor youth heard the clanking of chains and saw
the darkness, he came near dying, and wanted to get out. "You see," said
the lady, "those who are lamenting and in chains and darkness are those
who are in mortal sin. Now come, and I will take you to purgatory."
There they heard nothing, and the darkness was so great that they could
see nothing. Vincenzo wished to depart, for he felt oppressed by
anguish. "Now," said the lady, "I will take you to the church of the
Holy Fathers. Do you see it, my son? This is the church of the Holy
Fathers, which first was full and now is empty. Come; now I will take
you to limbo. Do you see these little ones? These are those who died
unbaptized." The lady wished to show him paradise; but he was too
confused, so the lady made him look through a window. "Do you see this
great palace? There are three seats there; one for you, one for your
master, and one for your mistress." After this she took him to the gate.
The horse was no longer there. "Now," said Vincenzo, "how shall I find
my way back? I will follow the tracks of the horse, and so will get
home." The lady answered: "Close your eyes!" Vincenzo closed his eyes,
and found himself behind his master's door. When he entered he told all
that had occurred to his master and mistress. When he had finished his
story all three died and went to paradise.[18]
The most famous story of the class we are now considering is, however,
the one best known by its French title, "_Bonhomme Misere._" The French
version was popular as a chap-book as early as 1719, running through
fifteen editions from that date. The editor of the reprint referred to
in the note, as well as Grimm (II. 451), believed the story to be of
Italian origin and that the original would some day be discovered.[19]
This has proved to be the case, and we have now before us a number of
versions. These may be divided into two classes: one independent, the
other constituting a part only of some other story. The latter class is
generally connected with the cycle of our Lord's journeys upon earth,
and is represented by "The Master Thief" and "Brother Lustig" in
Germany, and "Beppo Pipetta" from Venice. The Sicilian versions which we
shall mention first, although independent stories, are connected with
the cycle of our Lord's journeys upon earth. We give first two versions
from Pitre (Nos. 124, 125).
LXIII. OCCASION.
Once upon a time there was a father and a mother who had a little boy.
They died and the child was left in the street. One of the neighbors had
pity upon him and took him in. The boy throve well and when he had grown
up the one who had sheltered him said: "Come now, Occasion (for this was
the boy's name), you are a man; why do you not think about supporting
yourself and relieving us from that care?" So the lad made up a bundle
and departed. He journeyed and journeyed until his clothes were worn out
and he was almost dead from hunger. One day he saw an inn and entered
it, and said to the innkeeper: "Do you want me for a servant? I wish
only a piece of bread for my wages." The host said to his wife: "What do
you say, Rosella? We have no children; shall we take this lad?" "Yes;"
and so they took him.
The boy was very attentive and did willingly whatever was commanded him,
and at last his master and mistress, who had grown to love him like a
son, went before the judge and adopted him.
Time passed and the innkeeper and his wife died and left all their
property to the young man, who, when he saw himself in possession of it,
made known: "That whoever should come to Occasion's inn could have food
for nothing." You can imagine the people that went there!
Now the Master and his apostles happened once to pass that way, and when
St. Thomas read this announcement he said: "Unless I see and touch with
my hands I shall not believe it. Let us go to this inn." They went there
and ate and drank and Occasion treated them like gentlemen. Before
leaving St. Thomas said: "Occasion, why don't you ask a favor of the
Master?" Then Occasion said: "Master, I have before my door this
fig-tree, and the children do not let me eat one of the figs. Whoever
goes by climbs up and pulls off some. Now I would like this favor, that
when any one climbs this tree, he must stay there until I permit him to
come down." "Your request is granted," said the Lord, and blessed the
tree.
It was a fine thing! The first who climbed up for figs stuck fast to the
tree without being able to move; another came, the same thing; and so
on; all stuck fast, one by the hand, another by the foot, another by the
head. When Occasion saw them he gave them a sound scolding and let them
go. The children were frightened and touched the figs no more.
Years passed and Occasion's money was coming to an end; so he called a
carpenter and told him to cut up the fig-tree and make him a bottle out
of it. This bottle had the property that Occasion could shut up in it
whoever he wished. One day Death went to fetch him, for Occasion was now
very old. Occasion said: "At your service; we will go. But see here,
Death, first do me a favor. I have this bottle of wine, and there is a
fly in it, and I don't like to drink from it; just go in there and take
it out for me, and then we will go." Death very foolishly entered the
bottle, when Occasion corked it and put it in his wallet, saying: "Stay
a bit with me."
While Death was shut up no one died; and everywhere you might see old
men with such long white beards that it was a sight. The apostles,
seeing this, went to the Master about it several times, and at last he
visited Occasion. "What is this? Here you have kept Death shut up so
many years, and the people are falling down from old age without dying!"
"Master," said Occasion, "do you want me to let Death out? If you will
give me a place in paradise, I will let him out." The Lord thought:
"What shall I do? If I don't grant him this favor, he will not leave me
in peace." So he said: "Your request is granted!" At these words Death
was set at liberty; Occasion was permitted to live a few years longer,
and then Death took him. Hence it is "That there is no death without
Occasion."
LXIV. BROTHER GIOVANNONE.
Once upon a time there was a convent at Casteltermini which contained
many monks, one of whom was named Brother Giovannone. At the time when
the Lord and all his apostles were on their travels they visited this
convent, and all the monks asked the Lord to pardon their souls; Brother
Giovannone asked nothing. St. Peter said to him: "Why do you not ask
pardon for your soul, like the others?" "I don't wish anything." St.
Peter said: "Nothing? When you come to paradise we will talk about it."
When the Master had taken his departure and had gone some distance,
Brother Giovannone began to cry out: "Master, Master, wait! I want a
favor, and it is that any one I command must get into my pouch." The
Master said: "This request is granted."
Brother Giovannone was old and one day Death came and said to him:
"Giovannone, you have three hours to live!" Brother Giovannone replied:
"When you come for me you must let me know half an hour before." After a
while Death came and said: "You are a dead man!" Brother Giovannone
replied: "In the name of Brother Giovannone, into my pouch with you,
Death!" Then he carried his pouch to a baker and asked him to hang it
up in the chimney until he came for it. For forty years no one died. At
the end of that time Brother Giovannone went and set Death free, so that
he might himself die, for he was so old he could do no more. The first
one that Death killed when he was free was Brother Giovannone, and then
he destroyed all those who had not died in the forty years.
After he was dead Brother Giovannone went and knocked at the gate of
paradise and St. Peter said to him: "There is no room for you here."
"Where must I go, then?" asked Brother Giovannone. "To purgatory,"
answered St. Peter. So he knocked at purgatory and they told him: "There
is no place for you here." "Where must I go, then?" "To hell." He
knocked at hell and Lucifer asked: "Who is there?" "Brother Giovannone."
Then Lucifer said to his devils: "You take the mace; you, the hammer;
you, the tongs!" Brother Giovannone asked: "What are you going to do
with these instruments?" "We are going to beat you." "In the name of
Brother Giovannone, into my pouch with you, all you devils!" Then he
hung the pouch about his neck and carried all the devils to a smith who
had eight apprentices, and the master, nine. "Master-smith, how much do
you want to hammer this pouch eight days and nights?" They agreed upon
forty ounces, and hammered day and night and the pouch was not reduced
to powder, and Brother Giovannone was always present. The last day the
smiths said: "What the devil are these; for they cannot be pounded
fine!" Brother Giovannone answered: "They are indeed devils! Pound
hard!" After they were through hammering, he took the pouch and emptied
it out in the plain; the devils were so bruised and mangled that they
could hardly drag themselves back to hell. Then Brother Giovannone went
and knocked again at paradise. "Who is there?" "Brother Giovannone."
"There is no room for you." "Peter, if you don't let me in I will call
you baldhead." "Now that you have called me baldhead," said St. Peter,
"you shall not enter." Brother Giovannone said: "Ah, what is that you
say? I will be even with you!" So he stood near the gate of paradise
and said to all the souls who were going to enter: "In the name of
Brother Giovannone, into my pouch, all you souls!" and no more souls
entered paradise. One day St. Peter said to the Master: "Why do no more
souls enter?" The Lord answered: "Because Brother Giovannone is behind
the gate putting them all in his pouch." "What shall we do?" said St.
Peter. The Lord answered: "See if you can get hold of the pouch and
bring them all in together." Brother Giovannone heard all this outside.
What did he do? He said: "Into the pouch with myself!" and in a moment
was in his own pouch. When St. Peter looked Brother Giovannone was not
to be seen, so he seized the pouch and dragged it into paradise and shut
the gate at once, and opened the pouch. The first one who came out was
Brother Giovannone himself, who began at once to quarrel with St. Peter
because St. Peter wished to put him out, and Brother Giovannone did not
want to go. Then the Lord said: "When one once enters the house of
Jesus, he does not leave it again."[20]
* * * * *
These stories have close parallels in two Roman legends collected by
Miss Busk. In the first, the innkeeper asks first for the faculty of
always winning at cards; and second, that any one who climbs his
fig-tree must stay there. When Death comes the host asks her (Death is
feminine in Italian) to climb the tree and pick him a few figs. When
once up the tree, the host refuses to let her down until she promises
him four hundred years of life. Death has to consent and the host in
turn promises to go quietly with her when she comes again. At the end of
the four hundred years Death takes the host to paradise. They pass by
hell on the way and the host proposes to the devil to play for the newly
received souls. The host wins fifteen thousand, which he carries with
him to paradise. St. Peter objects to letting the "rabble" in, and Jesus
Christ himself says: "The host may come in himself, but he has no
business with the others." Then the host says that he has made no
difficulty about numbers when Christ has come to his inn With as many as
he pleased. "That is true! that is right!" answered Jesus Christ. "Let
them all in! let them all in!"[21]
In the other story, a priest, Pret' Olivo, received from the Lord, in
reward for his hospitality, the favor of living a hundred years, and
that when Death came to fetch him he should be able to give her what
orders he pleased, and that she must obey him. Death called at the end
of the hundred years, and Pret' Olivo made her sit by the fire while he
said a mass. The fire grew hotter and hotter, but Death could not stir
until Pret' Olivo permitted her to, on condition that she should leave
him alone a hundred years. The second time Death called, Pret' Olivo
asked her to gather him some figs and commanded her to stay in the tree.
So Death a second time was obliged to promise him a respite of a hundred
years. The next time Death called, Pret' Olivo put on his vestments and
a cope, and took a pack of cards in his hand and went with Death. She
wanted to take him directly to paradise, but he insisted on going around
by the way of hell and playing a game of cards with the Devil. The
stakes were souls, and as fast as Pret' Olivo won, he hung a soul on his
cope until it was covered with them; then he hung them on his beretta,
and at last was obliged to stop, for there was no more room to hang any
souls. Death objected to taking all these souls to paradise, but could
not take Pret' Olivo without them. When they arrived at paradise St.
Peter made some objection to admitting them, but the Master gave his
permission and they all got in.[22]
* * * * *
The Tuscan version, which contains some of the traits of the last story,
is as follows:
LXV. GODFATHER MISERY.
Godfather Misery was old,--God knows how old! One day Jesus and St.
Peter, while wandering through the world to name the countries, came to
Godfather Misery's, who offered his visitors some polenta, and gave them
his own bed. Jesus, pleased with this reception, gave him some money,
and granted him these three favors: that whoever sits on his bench near
the fire cannot get up; that whoever climbs his fig-tree cannot descend;
and finally, out of regard to St. Peter, the salvation of his soul. One
day Death came to Godfather Misery, and wanted to carry him off.
Godfather Misery said: "It is too cold to travel." Death pressed him;
then he asked her to sit by the fire and warm herself a moment, and he
would soon be ready. Meanwhile he piled wood on the fire. Death felt
herself burning, and tried to move, but could not; so she had to grant
Godfather Misery another hundred years of life. Death was released; the
hundred years passed, and Death returned. Godfather Misery was at the
door, pretending to wait for her, and looking at his fig-tree in sorrow.
He begged Death to pick him a few figs for their journey. So Death
climbed up, but could not descend until she granted Godfather Misery
another hundred years. Even these passed, and Death reappeared. This
time there was no help, he must go. Death gave him time only to recite
an Ave Maria, and a Paternoster. Godfather Misery, however, could not
find this time, and said to Death, who was hurrying him: "You have given
me time, and I am taking it." Then Death had recourse to a stratagem,
and disguised herself like a Jesuit, and went where Godfather Misery
lived, and preached. Godfather Misery at first did not attend these
sermons, but his wife finally persuaded him to go to the church and hear
a sermon. Just as he entered, the preacher cried out that whoever said
an Ave Maria should save his soul. Godfather Misery, who recognized
Death, answered from a distance: "Go away! you will not get me." Then
Death went away in despair, and never got hold of him again. Godfather
Misery still lives, since misery never ends.[23]
In another Tuscan story, similar gifts are bestowed upon a smith, who
had always been a good Christian, to enable him to avoid a contract he
had made with the Devil, to sell him his soul for two years of life. The
first time the Devil comes he sits on the bench near the fire, and
cannot rise again until he extends his contract two years. The next time
he comes he does not enter the house, but looks in at a window that has
the power to detain any one who looks through it. Again the contract is
extended. The third time the Devil is caught in the fig-tree, and then a
new contract is drawn up, that the Devil and the smith are never to see
each other again.[24]
The second class of versions of the story of "_Bonhomme Misere_" is
where the legend is merely an episode of some other story. This class
comprises two stories from the territory of Venice. The first is
entitled "Beppo Pipetta," from the hero who saved the king's life, which
is threatened by some robbers. The king was in disguise, and Beppo did
not know who he was until he was summoned to the palace to be rewarded.
The king told Beppo that he need not be a soldier any longer, but might
remain with him or wherever he pleased, and offered to pay for all he
needed; for he had saved his life. We give the rest of the story in the
words of the original.
LXVI. BEPPO PIPETTA.
When his first joy at this good fortune was over, Beppo decided to visit
his relations. There he met a man in the street who entered into
conversation with him, and they chatted for a long time, until they
finally went into an inn to refresh themselves with something to eat and
drink. "How happens it," asked his new friend, who was vastly
entertained by Beppo's conversation, "that you, a soldier, carry no
knapsack?" "Hm!" said Beppo, "I don't care to weigh myself down on a
march with unnecessary things. I have no effects, and if I need
anything, I have a good master who pays all my bills." "Now," said the
stranger, "I will give you a knapsack, and a very valuable one too; for
if you say to any one, 'Jump in,' he will jump into the sack." With
these words the stranger took his leave.
"Wait," thought Beppo; "I will put this to the proof." And, indeed, a
favorable opportunity offered itself, for just then the landlord
appeared to demand the payment of his bill. "What do you want?" asked
Beppo. "My money; you might know that of yourself." "Let me alone! I
have no money." "What? you ragged soldier"--"Jump in!" said Beppo; and
the landlord went over his ears into the sack. Only after long entreaty,
and on condition that he would never again present his bill, would Beppo
let him out again. "Just wait, fellow! I'll teach you how to insult
soldiers," said he to the landlord, as he went out.
Tired and hungry after a long walk, Beppo again turned into an inn.
There he saw a man who was continually emptying a purse, but never
finished, for it always became full again. He quickly snatched the purse
out of the man's hand, and ran out of the inn, but no less quickly did
the owner run after him; and since he had not walked as far as Beppo,
who had been wandering about all day, he soon caught up with him. Then
Beppo cried: "Jump in!" and the owner was in the sack. "Listen," said
Beppo, after he had somewhat recovered his breath, "listen and be
reasonable. You have had the purse long enough; give it to me now, or
else you shall always stay in the sack." What could the man do?
Willingly or unwillingly, he had to give up the purse in order to get
out of the accursed sack.
For two years Beppo stayed at home, doing much good with the purse, and
much mischief with the sack, until at last he began to long for the
capital again, and returned there; but what was his astonishment at
seeing everything hung with black, and everybody in mourning. "Do you
not know what the trouble is?" he was asked, in reply to his questions
as to the cause of this sorrow; "don't you know that to-morrow the Devil
is going to carry away the king's daughter, on account of a foolish vow
that her father once made?" Then he went directly to the king, in order
to console him, but the latter would not put any faith in him. "Your
Majesty," said he, "you do not know what Beppo Pipetta can do. Only let
me have my own way."
Then he prepared, in a room of the palace, a large table, with paper,
pen, and ink, while the princess, in the next room, awaited her sad fate
in prayer. At midnight a fearful noise was heard, like the roaring of
the tempest; and at the last stroke of the clock, the Devil came through
the window into--the sack which Beppo held open for him, crying, "Jump
in!" "What are you doing here?" asked Beppo of the raging Devil. "How
does that concern you?" "I have my reasons," was the bold reply. "Wait a
little, you rascal!" cried Beppo; "I'll teach you manners!" and he
seized a stick and belabored the sack until the Devil in anguish called
upon all the saints. "Are you going to carry off the princess, now?"
"No, no; only let me out of this infamous sack!" "Do you promise never
to molest her?" "I promise, only let me out!" "No," said Beppo; "you
must repeat your promise before witnesses, and also give it in writing."
Then he called some gentlemen of the court into the room, had the
promise repeated, and permitted the Devil to stretch one hand out of the
sack, in order to write as follows: "I, the very Devil, herewith promise
that I will neither carry away H. R. H., the Princess, nor ever molest
her in future. SATAN, SPIRIT OF HELL."
"Good!" said Beppo; "the affair of the princess is now ended. But now,
on account of your previous impoliteness, allow me to give you a few
blows that may serve as reminders of me on your journey." When he had
done this, he opened the sack, and the Devil went out as he had come in,
through the window.
Then the king gave a great feast, at which Beppo sat between him and the
princess; and there was joy throughout the whole kingdom.
After a while Beppo took a pleasure trip and came to a place that
pleased him so much that he decided to remain there; but the police must
needs go through certain ceremonies and wanted to know who he was,
whence he came, and a multitude of other things. Then he answered: "I am
myself; let that suffice you. If you want to know anything more, write
to the king." Accordingly they wrote to the king, but he commanded them
to treat him with respect and not to disturb him.
When he had lived for many years in this place and had grown old, Death
came and knocked at his door. Beppo opened it and asked: "Who are you?"
"I am Death," was the answer. "Jump in!" cried Beppo, in great haste,
and behold! Death was in the sack. "What!" he exclaimed, "shall I, who
have so much to do, loiter my time away here?" "Just stay where you are,
you old villain," replied Beppo, and did not let him out for a year and
a half. Then there was universal satisfaction throughout the world, the
physicians being especially jubilant, for none of them ever lost a
patient. Then Death begged so humbly and represented so forcibly what
would be the consequences of this disorder, that Beppo agreed to let him
out, on condition that Death should not come back for him unless he was
willing. Death departed and sought by means of a few wars and
pestilences to make up for lost time.
At length Beppo grew so old that life became distasteful to him. Then he
sent for Death, who, however, would not come, fearing that Beppo might
change his mind. So the latter decided to go himself to Death. Death was
not at home; but remembering his vacation in the sack, had prudently
left the order that in case a certain Beppo Pipetta should come, he was
to be beaten soundly; an order which was executed punctiliously. Beaten
and cast out by Death, he went sadly to hell; but there the Devil had
given the porter orders to show him the same attention that he had
received at Death's abode, and that command also was conscientiously
obeyed.
Smarting from the blows he had received, and vexed that neither Death
nor the Devil wanted him, he went to paradise. Here he announced himself
to St. Peter, but the saint thought that he had better first consult the
Lord.
Meanwhile Beppo threw his cap over the wall into paradise. After he had
waited a while, St. Peter reappeared and said: "I am very sorry, but our
Lord doesn't want you here." "Very well," said Beppo, "but you will at
least let me get my cap," and with that he slipped through the gate and
sat down on the cap. When St. Peter commanded him to get up and begone,
he replied, composedly: "Gently, my dear sir! at present I am sitting on
my own property, where I do not receive orders from any one!"
And so he remained in paradise.[25]
* * * * *
The story known to our readers from the Grimm collection, "Godfather
Death," is found in Sicily and Venice. The version from the latter place
given in Bernoni (_Trad. pop._ p. 6) is as follows:
LXVII. THE JUST MAN.
Once upon a time there was a peasant and his wife who had a child that
they would not baptize until they could find a just man for his
godfather. The father took the child in his arms and went into the
street to look for this just man. After he had walked along a while, he
met a man, who was our Lord, and said to him: "I have this child to
baptize, but I do not want to give him to any one who is not just; are
you just?" The Lord answered: "But--I don't know whether I am just."
Then the peasant passed on and met a woman, who was the Madonna, and
said to her: "I have this child to baptize and do not wish to give him
to any one who is not just; are you just?" "I don't know," said the
Madonna; "but go on, for you will find some one who is just." He went
his way and met another woman, who was Death, and said to her: "I have
been sent to you, for I have been told that you are just, and I have
this child to baptize, and do not wish to give it to one who is not
just; are you just?" Death said: "Yes, I believe I am just! Let us
baptize the child, and then I will show you whether I am just." Then
they baptized the child, and afterwards Death led the peasant into a
very long room, where there were many lights burning. "Godmother," said
the man, astonished at seeing all the lights, "what are all these
lights?" Death said: "These are the lights of all the souls in the
world. Would you like to see, friend? this is yours and this is your
son's." When the peasant saw that his light was about to expire, he
said: "And when the oil is all consumed, godmother?" "Then," answered
Death, "you must come with me, for I am Death." "Oh! for mercy's sake,"
cried the peasant, "let me at least take a little oil from my son's lamp
and put it in mine!" "No, no, godfather," said Death, "I don't do
anything of that sort; you wished to see a just person, and a just
person you have found. And now go home and arrange your affairs, for I
am waiting for you."[26]
* * * * *
We can mention but briefly another Venetian legend which, like several
of those already given, reaches back to the Middle Ages. A wealthy
knight, who has led a wicked life, repents when he grows old, and his
confessor enjoins on him a three years' penance. The knight refuses, for
he might die at the end of two years and lose all that amount of
penance. He refuses in turn a penance of two years, of one year, and
even of a month, but agrees to do penance for one night. He mounts his
horse, takes leave of his family, and rides away to the church, which is
at some distance. After he has ridden for a time, his daughter comes
running after him and calls him back, for robbers have attacked the
castle. He will not be diverted from his purpose, and tells her that
there are servants and soldiers enough to defend the house. Then a
servant cries out that the castle is in flames, and his own wife calls
for help against violence. The knight calmly continues his way, leaving
his servants to act for him, and simply saying: "I have no time for it
now."
Finally he enters the church and begins his penance. Here he is
disturbed by the sexton, who bids him depart, so that he can close the
church; a priest orders him to leave, as he is not worthy to hear a
mass; at midnight twelve watchmen come and order him to go with them to
the judge, but he will not move for any of them; at two o'clock a band
of soldiers surround him and order him to depart, and at five o'clock a
wild throng of people burst into the church and cry: "Let us drive him
out!" then the church begins to burn, and the knight finds himself in
the midst of flames, but still he moves not. At last, when the appointed
hour comes, he leaves the church and rides home to find that none of his
family had left the castle, but the various persons who had tried to
divert him from his penance were emissaries of the Devil. Then the
knight sees how great a sinner he was and declares that he will do
penance all the rest of his life.[27]
Bernoni in his _Leggende fantastiche_ gives nine legends, one of which
is the story of St. Peter's mother, mentioned above. Of the remaining
ones, several may be classed under ghost stories, and two illustrate the
great sanctity attached by the Italian to the spiritual relationship
contracted by godmothers and godfathers, and by groomsmen and the bride.
It is well known that in the Romish Church a godfather or godmother
contracts a spiritual relationship with the godson or goddaughter and
their parents which would prevent marriage between the parties. This
relationship the popular imagination has extended to the godfather and
godmother, and any improper intimacy between the two is regarded as the
most deadly sin. The first of Bernoni's legends is entitled:
LXVIII. OF A GODFATHER AND A GODMOTHER OF ST. JOHN WHO MADE LOVE.
Here in Venice, heaven knows how many centuries ago, there was a
gentleman and a lady, husband and wife, who were rich people. Well,
there frequented their house a _compare_ (godfather) of St. John; and it
came to pass that he and his _comare_ (godmother, _i. e._ the one who
had been godmother to the same child to which he had been godfather),
the lady of the house, made love to each other in secret. This lady had
a maid, and this maid knew everything. So one day this lady said to the
maid: "Hold your tongue, and you'll see that you will be satisfied with
me. When I come to die, you shall have an allowance of a dollar a day."
So this maid kept always on good terms with the lady. It happened that
the _compare_ fell very ill. The lady was so desperately sorry, that her
husband kept saying to her: "Come, will you make yourself ill too? It's
no use fretting, for it's what we must all come to." At last the
_compare_ died. And she took it so to heart, that she fell ill in
earnest. When her husband saw her giving way to such low spirits, he
began to suspect that there had been something between her and the
_compare_; but he never said a word about it to annoy her, but bore it
like a philosopher. The maid was always by her mistress' bedside, and
the mistress said to her: "Remember that, if I die, you must watch by me
quite alone, for I won't have any one else." And the maid promised her
that she would. Well, that day went by, and the next day, and the next,
and the lady got worse and worse, until at last she died. You can fancy
how sorry her husband was. And the maid and the other servants were very
sorry, too, for she was a very good lady. The other servants offered to
sit up and watch with the maid; but she said: "No; I must sit up by
myself, for my mistress said she would have no others." And they said:
"Very well. If you want anything, ring the bell, and we shall be ready
to do anything you want." Then the maid had four tapers lighted, and
placed at the foot of the bed, and she took the Office for the Dead in
her hand and began to read it.
Just at midnight the door of the room burst open, and she saw the figure
of the _compare_ come in. Directly she saw him she felt her blood turn
to water. She tried to cry out, but she was so terrified that she
couldn't make a sound. Then she got up from her chair and went to ring
the bell; and the dead man, without saying a word (because, of course,
dead folks can't talk), gave her a sharp blow on the hand to prevent
her from ringing. And he signed her to take a taper in her hand, and
come with him to her mistress' bed. She obeyed. When the dead man got to
the bedside, he took the lady, and sat her up on the bed, and he began
to put her stockings on her feet, and he dressed her from head to foot.
When she was dressed, he pulled her out of bed, took her by the arm, and
they both went out at the door, with the maid going before them to light
the way. In this palace there was an underground passage--there are many
like it in Venice--and they went down into it. When they got to a
certain part of it, he gave a great knock to the taper that the maid had
in her hand, and left her in the dark. The maid was so terrified that
she fell down on the ground, all rolled up together like a ball, and
there she lay.
At daybreak the other servants thought they would go and see how the
maid was getting on, as she had not called them all night. So they went
and opened the door of the room, and saw nobody there at all, either
living or dead. They were frightened out of their wits, and ran to their
master, and said: "Oh, mercy on us, there's nobody left, neither the
dead woman nor the live one! The room's quite empty." Said the master:
"You don't say so!" Then he dressed himself as fast as he could, and
went and looked, and found nobody. And he saw that the clothes his wife
wore to go out in were gone too. Then he called the servants, and said
to them: "Here, take these torches, and let us go and look in the
underground passage." So all the people went down there with lighted
torches; and after searching about a bit, they found the poor maid, who
gave no sign of life. The servants took her by one arm; but it was all
bent up stiff, and wouldn't move. And they tried the other arm, and that
was the same, and all her body was knotted together quite stiff. Then
they took up this ball of a woman, and carried her up-stairs, and put
her on her bed. The master sent for the doctors, to see if they could
bring back life to her. And by degrees she began to open her eyes and
move her fingers. But she had had a stroke and couldn't speak. But by
the movements of her fingers they could make out nearly everything she
wanted to say. Then the master had the torches lighted again, and went
down again into the underground passage, to see if he could find any
trace of the dead woman. They looked and looked, but they could find
nothing but a deep hole. And the master understood directly that that
was where his wife and her _compare_ had been swallowed up. And upon
that he went up-stairs again; but he wouldn't stay any longer in that
palace, nor even in Venice, and he went away to Verona. And in the
palace he left the maid, with her dollar a day and people to take care
of her and feed her, for to the end of her days she was bedridden and
couldn't speak. And the master would have every one free to go and see
that sight, that it might be a warning to all people who had the evil
intention of not respecting the baptismal relationship.[28]
* * * * *
The second of Bernoni's legends turns on the peculiar sanctity of the
relation of a groomsman (_compare de l'anelo_) to the bride. The full
title is: "About a _compare de l'anelo_ who pressed the bride's hand
with evil intent." It is as follows:
LIX. THE GROOMSMAN
You must know that we Venetians have a saying that the groomsman is the
godfather of the first child. Well, in the parish of the Angel Raphael
it happened that there was a young man and woman who were in love with
each other. So they agreed to be married, and the bridegroom looked out
for his best man. According to custom, directly he had chosen his best
man, he took him to the bride's house, and said to her: "Look here, this
is your groomsman." Directly the groomsman saw the bride he fell so much
in love with her that he consented more than willingly to be the best
man. Well, the wedding day came, and this man went into the church with
evil thoughts in his heart. When they came out of the church they had a
collation, according to custom, and then in the afternoon they had a
gondola to go to the tavern, as people used to do on such days. First
the bride got into the gondola, with the best man, and then the
bridegroom and the relations. When they were getting into the boat the
groomsman took the bride's hand to help her in, and he squeezed it, and
squeezed it so hard that he hurt her severely.
As time went on he saw that the bride thought nothing about him, and he
began not to care for her, either. But by and by he began to have a sort
of scruple of conscience about what he had done to his _comare_ on the
wedding day. And the more he thought of it, the more he felt this
scruple. So he made up his mind to go to confession, and to tell his
confessor what he had done, and with what evil intention. "You have
committed a great sin, my son," said the priest; "I shall give you a
penance,--a heavy penance. Will you do it?" "Yes, father," said he;
"tell me what it is." The priest answered: "Listen. You must make a
journey in the night-time to a place that I shall tell you of. But mind;
whatever voices you hear, you must never turn back for an instant! And
take three apples with you, and you will meet three noblemen, and you
must give one apple to each of them." Then the priest told him the place
he was to go to, and the groomsman left him. Well, he waited until
night-fall, and then he took his three apples and set out. He walked and
walked and walked, until at last he came to the place the priest had
told him of, and he heard such a talking and murmuring, you can't think!
One voice said one thing, and one another. These were all folks who had
committed great sins against St. John; but he knew nothing about that.
He heard them calling out: "Turn back! turn back!" But not he! No; he
went straight on, without ever looking round, let them call ever so
much. After he had gone on a while he saw the three noblemen, and he
saluted them and gave them an apple apiece. The last of the three had
his arm hidden under his cloak, and the _compare_ saw that the gentleman
had great difficulty in stretching his arm out to take the apple. At
length he pulled his arm from under his cloak, and showed a hand
swelled up to such a huge size that the _compare_ was frightened to look
at it. But he gave him the apple, the same as to the others, and they
all three thanked him and went away. The _compare_ returned home again,
and went to his confessor and told him all that had happened. Then the
priest said: "See, now, my son, you are saved. For the first of the
three noblemen was the Lord, the second was St. Peter, and the third was
St. John. You saw what a hand he had. Well, that was the hand you
squeezed on the wedding day; and so, instead of squeezing the bride's
hand, you really hurt St. John!"[29]
* * * * *
The third legend is entitled: "Of two _compari_ of St. John who swore by
the name of St. John." Two _compari_ who had not seen each other for
some time met one day, and one invited the other to lunch and paid the
bill. The other declared that he would do the same a week hence. When he
said this they happened to be standing where two streets crossed. "Then
we meet a week from to-day at this spot and at this hour!" "Yes." "By
St. John, I will not fail!" "I swear by St. John that I will be here
awaiting you!" During the week, however, the _compare_ who had paid for
the lunch died. The other did not know he was dead, and at the appointed
time he went to the place to meet him. While there a friend passed, who
asked: "What are you doing here?" "I am waiting for my _compare_ Tony."
"You are waiting for your _compare_ Tony! Why, he has been dead three
days! You will wait a long time!" "You say he is dead? There he is
coming!" And, indeed, he saw him, but his friend did not. The dead man
stopped before his _compare_ and said: "You are right in being here at
this spot, and you can thank God; otherwise, I would teach you to swear
in the name of St. John!" Then he suddenly disappeared and his _compare_
saw him no more, for his oath was only to be at that spot.
The sanctity of an ordinary oath is shown in the fourth story: "Of two
lovers who swore fidelity in life and death." Two young persons made
love, unknown to the girl's parents. The youth made her swear that she
would love him in life and death. Some time after, he was killed in a
brawl. The girl did not know it, and the young man's ghost continued to
visit her as usual, and she began to grow pale and thin. The father
discovered the state of the case, and consulted the priest, who learned
from the girl, in confession, how matters stood, and came with a black
cat, a stole, and book, to conjure the spirit and save the girl.
The fifth legend is entitled: "The Night of the Dead"; _i. e._ the eve
of All Saints' Day. A servant girl, rising early one morning as she
supposed (it was really midnight), witnesses a weird procession, which
she unwittingly disturbs by lowering her candle and asking the last
passer-by to light it. This he does; but when she pulls up her basket
she finds in it, besides the lighted candle, a human arm. Her confessor
tells her to wait a year, until the procession passes again, then hold a
black cat tightly in her arms, and restore the arm to its owner. This
she does, with the words: "Here, master, take your arm; I am much
obliged to you." He took the arm angrily, and said: "You may thank God
you have that cat in your arms; otherwise, what I am, that you would be
also."
The sixth legend is of an incredulous priest, who believes that where
the dead are, there they stay. It is as follows:
LXX. THE PARISH PRIEST OF SAN MARCUOLA.
Once upon a time there was a parish priest at San Marcuola, here in
Venice, who was a very good man. He couldn't bear to see women in church
with hats or bonnets on their heads, and he had spirit enough to go and
make them take them off. "For," said he, "the church is the house of
God; and what is not permitted to men ought not to be permitted to
women." But when a woman had a shawl over her shoulders he would have
her throw it over her head, that she might not be stared at and ogled.
But this priest had one fault: he did not believe in ghosts; and one
day he was preaching a sermon, and in this sermon he said to the people:
"Listen, now, dearly beloved brethren. This morning, when I came into
the church here, there comes up to me one of my flock, and she says to
me, all in a flutter: 'Oh, Father, what a fright I have had this night!
I was asleep in my bed, and the ghosts came and twitched away my
coverlet!' But I answered her: 'Dear daughter, that is not possible;
because _where the dead are, there they stay_.'" And so he declared
before all the congregation that it was not true that the dead could
come back and be seen and heard. In the evening the priest went to bed
as usual, and about midnight he heard the house-bell ring loudly. The
servant went out on to the balcony and saw a great company of people in
the street, and she called out: "Who's there?" and they asked her if the
Priest of San Marcuola was at home. And she said Yes; but he was in bed.
Then they said he must come down. But the priest, when he heard about
it, refused to go. They then began to ring the bell again and tell the
servant to call her master; and the priest said he wouldn't go anywhere.
Then all the doors burst open, and the whole company marched up-stairs
into the priest's bedroom, and bade him get up and dress himself and
come with them; and he was obliged to do what they said. When they
reached a certain spot they set him in the midst of them, and they gave
him so many knocks and cuffs that he didn't know which side to turn
himself; and then they said: "This is for a remembrance of the poor
defunct;" and upon that they all vanished away and were seen no more,
and the poor priest went back home, bruised from head to foot. And so
the ghosts proved plain enough that it isn't true to say: "_Where the
dead are, there they stay_."[30]
* * * * *
The story of Don Juan appears in the seventh legend, entitled:
LXXI. THE GENTLEMAN WHO KICKED A SKULL.
There was once a youth who did nothing but eat, drink, and amuse
himself, because he was immensely wealthy and had nothing to think
about. He scoffed at every one; he dishonored all the young girls; he
played all sorts of tricks, and was tired of everything. One day he took
it into his head to give a grand banquet; and thereupon he invited all
his friends and many women and all his acquaintances.
While they were preparing the banquet he took a walk, and passed through
a street where there was a cemetery. While walking he noticed on the
ground a skull. He gave it a kick, and then he went up to it and said to
it in jest: "You, too, will come, will you not, to my banquet to-night?"
Then he went his way, and returned home. At the house the banquet was
ready and the guests had all arrived. They sat down to the table, and
ate and drank to the sound of music, and diverted themselves joyfully.
Meanwhile midnight drew near, and when the clock was on the stroke a
ringing of bells was heard. The servants went to see who it was, and
beheld a great ghost, who said to them: "Tell Count Robert that I am the
one he invited this morning to his banquet." They went to their master
and told him what the ghost had said. The master said: "I? All those
whom I invited are here, and I have invited no one else." They said: "If
you should see him! It is a ghost that is terrifying." Then it came into
the young man's mind that it might be that dead man; and he said to the
servants: "Quick! quick! close the doors and balconies, so that he
cannot enter!" The servants went to close everything; but hardly had
they done so when the doors and balconies were thrown wide open and the
ghost entered. He went up where they were feasting, and said: "Robert!
Robert! was it not enough for you to profane everything? Have you wished
to disturb the dead, also? The end has come!" All were terrified, and
fled here and there, some concealing themselves, and some falling on
their knees. Then the ghost seized Robert by the throat and strangled
him and carried him away with him; and thus he has left this example,
that it is not permitted to mock the poor dead.[31]
* * * * *
The ninth and last of Bernoni's legends is a story about Massariol, the
domestic spirit of the Venetians. A man of family, whose business takes
him out at night, finds in the street a basket containing an infant. The
weather is very cold, so the good man carries the foundling home, and
his wife, who already has a young child, makes the little stranger as
comfortable as possible. He is cared for and put in the cradle by the
side of the other child. The husband and wife have to leave the room a
moment; when they return the foundling has disappeared. The husband asks
in amazement: "What can it mean?" She answers: "I am sure I don't know;
can it be Massariol?" Then he goes out on the balcony and sees at a
distance one who seems like a man, but is not, who is clapping his hands
and laughing and making all manner of fun of him, and then suddenly
disappears.
The same mischievous spirit plays many other pranks. Sometimes he cheats
the ferrymen out of their toll; sometimes he disguises himself like the
baker's lad, and calls at the houses to take the bread to the oven, and
then carries it away to some square or bridge; sometimes, when the
washing is hung out, he carries it off to some distant place, and when
the owners have at last found their property, Massariol laughs in their
faces and disappears. The woman who related these stories to Bernoni
added: "Massariol has never done anything bad; he likes to laugh and
joke and fool people. He, too, has been shut up, I don't know where, by
the Holy Office, the same as the witches, fairies, and magicians."
Pitre's collection contains little that falls under the second heading
of this chapter. The following story, however, is interesting from its
English parallels:
LXXIII. SADDAEDDA.
Once upon a time there was a girl called Saddaedda, who was crazy. One
day, when her mother had gone into the country and she was left alone in
the house, she went into a church where the funeral service was being
read over the body of a rich lady. The girl hid herself in the
confessional. No one knew she was there; so, when the other people had
gone, she was left alone with the corpse. It was dressed out in a
rose-colored robe and everything else becoming, and it had ear-rings in
its ears and rings on its fingers. These the girl took off, and then she
began to undress the body. When she came to the stockings she drew off
one easily, but at the other she had to pull so hard that at last the
leg came off with it. Saddaedda took the leg, carried it to her lonely
home, and locked it up in a box. At night came the dead lady and knocked
at the door. "Who's there?" said the girl. "It is I," answered the
corpse. "Give me back my leg and stocking!" But Saddaedda paid no heed
to the request. Next day she prepared a feast and invited some of her
playfellows to spend the night with her. They came, feasted, and went to
sleep. At midnight the dead woman began to knock at the door and to
repeat last night's request. Saddaedda took no notice of the noise but
her companions, whom it awoke, were horrified, and as soon as they
could, they ran away. On the third night just the same happened. On the
fourth she could persuade only one girl to keep her company. On the
fifth she was left entirely alone. The corpse came, forced open the
door, strode up to Saddaedda's bed, and strangled her. Then the dead
woman opened the box, took out her leg and stocking, and carried them
off with her to her grave.[32]
* * * * *
This chapter would be incomplete without reference to treasure stories.
A number of these are given by Miss Busk in her interesting collection.
A few are found in Pitre, only one of which needs mention here, on
account of its parallels in other countries. It is called _Lu Vicerre
Tunnina_, "Viceroy Tunny" (_tunnina_ is the flesh of the tunny-fish).
There was at Palermo a man who sold tunny-fish. One night he dreamed
that some one appeared to him and said: "Do you wish to find your Fate?
Go under the bridge _di li Testi_ (of the Heads, so the people call the
_Ponte dell' Ammiraglio_, a bridge now abandoned, constructed in 1113 by
the Admiral Georgios Antiochenos); there you will find it." For three
nights he dreamed the same thing. The third time, he went under the
bridge and found a poor man all in rags. The fish-seller was frightened
and was going away, when the man called him. It was his Fate. He said:
"To-night, at midnight, where you have placed the barrels of fish, dig,
and what you find is yours."
The fish-dealer did as he was told; dug, and found a staircase, which he
descended, and found a room full of money. The fish-dealer became
wealthy, lent the king of Spain money, and was made viceroy and raised
to the rank of prince and duke.[33]