25. A vetâla is a kind of sprite, not always bad-natured, usually
carrying on a kind of weird existence in burial-places. "They
can possess themselves of the forms of those who die by the hand
of justice, and assume them. By the power of magic men can make
them obedient, and use them for all manner of difficult tasks
above their own strength and sufficiency." Brockhaus' Report of
the R. Saxon Scientific Soc. Philologico-historical Class, 1863,
p. 181. "The Vetâlas were a late introduction among the gods of popular
veneration." (Lassen, iv. 570.) "They came also to be regarded as
incarnations of both Vishnu and Shiva." (Lassen, iv. 159.)
26. Two interesting instances of the way in which traditionary legends
become attached to various persons as they float along the current
of time, have been brought to my notice while preparing these sheets
for the press. I cannot now recall where I picked up the story of
"The Balladmaker and the Bootmaker," which I have given in "Patrañas,"
but I am sure it was told of a wandering minstrel, and as occurring on
Spanish soil, as I have given it. I have since met it in "The Hundred
Novels" of Sacchetti (written little after the time of Boccacio)
as an episode in a no less celebrated life than that of Dante, thus:
"... Going out and passing by Porta S. Piero (Florence), he (Dante)
heard a blacksmith beating on his anvil, and singing 'Dante' just
as one sings a common ballad; mutilating here, and mixing in verses
of his own there; by which means Dante perceived that he sustained
great injury. He said nothing, however, but went into the workshop,
to where were laid ready many tools for use in the trade. Dante first
took up the hammer and flung it into the road; took up the pincers
and flung them into the road; took up the scales and flung them out
into the road. When he had thus flung many tools into the road, the
blacksmith turned round with a brutal air, crying out, 'Che diavol'
fate voi? Are you mad?' But Dante said, 'And thou; what hast thou
done?' 'I am busied about my craft,' said the blacksmith; 'and you
are spoiling my gear, throwing it out into the road like that.' Said
Dante, 'If you don't want me to spoil your things, don't you spoil
mine.' Said the smith. 'What have I spoilt of yours?' Said Dante,
'You sing my book, and you say it not as I made it; poem-making is my
trade, and you have spoilt it.' Then the blacksmith was full of fury,
but he had nothing to say; so he went out and picked up his tools,
and went on with his work, And the next time he felt inclined to sing,
he sang Tristano and Lancellotte, and left Dante alone." "... Another
day Dante was walking along, wearing the gorget and the bracciaiuola,
according to the custom of the time, when he met a man driving an
ass having a load of street sweepings, who, as he walked behind
his ass, ever and anon sang Dante's book, and when he had sung
a line or two, gave the donkey a hit, and cried 'Arrri!' Dante,
coming up with him, gave him a blow on his shoulder with his armlet
('con la bracciaiuola gli diede una grande batacchiata,' literally
'bastonnade:' bracciaiuola stands for both the armour covering the arm,
and for the tolerably formidable wooden instrument, fixed to the arm,
with which pallone-players strike the ball), saying, as he did so,
'That "arrri" was never put in by me.' As soon as the ass-driver
had got out of his way, he turned and made faces at Dante, saying,
'Take that!' But Dante, without suffering himself to be led into an
altercation with such a man, replied, amid the applause of all, 'I
would not give one of mine for a hundred of thine!'" (2.) It was lately
mentioned to me that there is a narrow mountain-pass in the Lechthal,
in Tirol, which is sometimes called Mangtritt (or St. Magnus' step),
and sometimes Jusalte (Saltus Julii, the leap of Julius), because
one tradition says Julius Cæsar leapt through it on horseback, and
another that it opened to let St. Magnus pass through when escaping
from a heathen horde.