of a miller, bestowed upon him a valuable benefice. Now this lord was in
his time greatly feared beyond all other rulers, and though he was
cruel, yet was there in his cruelty a great measure of justice. Among
many cases which happened to him was this—that a rich abbot, for a
certain act of negligence (in that he had not properly fed two hounds
belonging to the said lord, and so had spoilt their tempers), was by him
fined 4000 _scudi_. At this the abbot began to ask for mercy, and the
said lord thereupon said to him: “If thou declarest unto me four things,
I will remit everything; and the things are these—I will that thou
shouldst tell me how far it is from here to heaven; how much water there
is in the sea; what they are doing in hell; and what is the worth of my
person.” The abbot hearing this began to sigh, and thought himself in
worse plight than before; yet, for the sake of peace and to gain time,
he prayed Bernabò that it would please him to grant him a term for the
answering of such deep questions. And the lord granted him the whole of
the following day, and, as one impatient to hear the end of the matter,
made him give security that he would return. The abbot returned to his
abbey exceeding sorrowful and full of thought, and puffing and blowing
like a frightened horse. When he had got thither, he met with a miller
who was one of his tenants, and who, seeing him thus afflicted, said:
“My lord, what is the matter, that ye puff and blow on this wise?” Said
the abbot: “I have good cause, for his lordship is going to be the ruin
of me if I do not declare unto him four things, which neither Solomon
nor Aristotle could do.” Said the miller: “What things are these?” The
abbot told him. Then the miller thought for a while, and said to the
abbot: “Sir, I will get ye out of this strait, an ye will.” The abbot
replied: “Would to God it might be so!” Said the miller: “I think both
God and the saints will be willing.” The abbot, who knew not what he
would be at, said: “If thou doest it, take from me what thou wilt, for
thou shalt ask me for nothing that I will not give thee, if it be
possible.”... Then said the miller: “I must put on your tunic and hood,
and I will shave my beard, and to-morrow morning, very early, I will go
into his presence, saying that I am the abbot, and I will settle the
four questions in such a way that I think he will be content.” The abbot
could not wait a moment before he had put the miller in his place, and
so it was done. Early in the morning the miller set out, and when he had
reached the gate of Bernabò’s house, he knocked and said that such and
such an abbot wished to answer certain questions which the lord had put
to him. The lord, willing to hear what the abbot had to say, and
wondering that he had returned so quickly, had him called. The miller,
coming into his presence in a room which was not very well lighted, made
his obeisance, holding his hand as much as possible before his face, and
was asked by Bernabò whether he were able to answer the four questions.
And he replied: “My lord, I am. Ye asked how far it is from here to
heaven; from this spot it is just thirty-six millions, eight hundred and
fifty-four thousand, seventy-two and a half miles, and twenty-two
paces.” Said Bernabò: “Thou hast given it very accurately; how wilt thou
prove this?” The miller replied: “Have the distance measured, and if it
be not even as I say, ye may have me hanged by the neck. In the second
place, ye asked how much water there is in the sea. This was very hard
to find out, since it is a thing that is never still, and there is
always more being added; but I have found out that there are in the sea
25,982,000,000 hogsheads, 7 barrels, 12 gallons, and 2 glasses.” Said
the lord: “How knowest thou this?” The miller answered: “I reckoned it
as well as I could,—if ye do not believe me, send and fetch barrels, and
have it measured. And if it be not correct, ye may have me quartered. In
the third place, your lordship asked what was being done in hell. In
hell there is hanging, drawing, quartering, and cutting off of heads
going on,—neither less nor more than what your lordship is doing here.”
Bernabò asked: “What reason dost thou give for this?” He replied: “I
have talked with a man who had been there, and it was from this man
Dante the Florentine heard what he wrote concerning the things of hell;
but this man is dead, and if ye do not believe me, send and ask him.
Fourthly, ye would know what was the value of your lordship’s person,
and I say that it is worth twenty-nine pence.” When Messer Bernabò heard
this, he turned to him in a fury, saying, “May the plague seize thee!
Dost think I am worth no more than an earthen pipkin?” The miller
replied, and not without great fear: “My Lord, listen to reason; ye know
that our Lord was sold for thirty pence,—I am surely right in supposing
that ye are worth one penny less than he.” When Bernabò heard this, he
imagined that this man could not be the abbot, and, looking fixedly at
him, perceiving that he was a man of far more sense than the abbot, he
said to him: “Thou art not the abbot.” The terror which the miller then
had, every one may imagine for himself; he knelt down, and with clasped
hands asked for mercy, telling Bernabò that he was the tenant of the
abbey mill, and how and why he had appeared before him in this disguise,
and that it was rather to please him than from any ill intention. But
Bernabò, hearing this, said: “Well, then, since he has made thee abbot,
and thou art worth more than he, by the faith of God, I will confirm
thee in thine office; and it is my will that from henceforth thou be the
abbot, and he the miller, and that thou have all the revenue of the
monastery, and he of the mill.” And thus he caused it to be during all
the rest of his life, that the miller should be an abbot, and the abbot
a miller.
_Franco Sacchetti._
_HOW SER NASTAGIO WAS COLLECTED FOR IN CHURCH._
Faustino, of Bologna, was in love with the beautiful Eugenia, but was
unable to meet her on account of the hostility of her parents, who kept
a very strict watch over her, and debarred her from the very sight of
him as much as they possibly could. Yet her mother, being of a religious
turn of mind, was unwilling that she should relinquish her usual
attendance on divine worship, and herself accompanied her daughter every
morning to hear mass at a church near their own house, but at so very
early an hour that not even the artisans of the city, much less the
young gentry of the place, were stirring. And there she heard service
performed by a priest expressly on her own account, though several other
persons might happen to be present, who were in the habit of rising
early.
[Illustration]
Now among these was a certain corn merchant named Ser Nastagio de’
Rodiotti, a man who had driven many a hard bargain and thriven
wonderfully in his trade, but of so devout a turn withal that he would
not for the world have made an usurious contract, or even speculated to
any extent, without having first attended mass. He lost not a single
opportunity of showing himself at church among the earliest of the
congregation, and was ready for business before a great portion of his
fellow-citizens were stirring.
Now in a short time it also reached the ears of Faustino, through the
good offices, it is supposed, of the young lady, that High Mass was to
be heard every morning at a certain church, with every particular
relating to the devotees who attended, and the nearest way thither.
Rejoiced at this news, her lover now resolved to rise somewhat earlier
than he had been accustomed to do, that he might avail himself of the
same advantage the lady enjoyed, in beginning the day with religious
duties. For this purpose he assumed a different dress, the better to
deceive the eyes of her careful mother, being perfectly aware that she
only made her appearance thus early with her daughter for the sake of
concealing her from his sight. In this way the young lady had the merit
of bringing Faustino to church, where they gazed at each other with the
utmost devotion, except, indeed, when the unlucky tradesman just
mentioned happened to place himself, as was frequently the case, exactly
in their way, so as to interrupt the silent communion of souls. And this
he did in so vexatious a manner that they could hardly observe each
other for a moment without exposing themselves to his searching eye and
keen observation. Greatly displeased at this kind of inquisition, the
lover frequently wished the devout corn dealer in Purgatory, or that he
would at least offer up his prayers in another church. Such an antipathy
did he at length conceive to Ser Nastagio, that he resolved to employ
his utmost efforts to prevail upon him to withdraw himself from that
spot. He at last hit upon a plan which he thought sure to succeed, in a
manner equally safe and amusing. He hastened without delay to the
officiating priest, whom he addressed as follows:—“It has ever been
esteemed, my good Messer Pastore, a most heavenly and laudable
disposition to devote ourselves to the relief of our poorer brethren.
And this you doubtless know far better than I can tell you.... But there
are many who, however destitute, feel ashamed to come forward for the
purpose of begging alms. Now I think that I have of late observed one of
them in a person who frequents your church. He was formerly a Jew, but
not long ago he became a Christian, and one whose exemplary life and
conduct render him in all respects worthy of the name. There is not a
more destitute being on the face of the earth; while such is his modesty
that I assure you I have frequently had the utmost difficulty in
persuading him to accept of alms. It would really be a meritorious act
were you to touch some morning on his cruel misfortunes, relating his
conversion to our faith, and the singular modesty with which he attempts
to conceal his wants. This would probably procure for him a handsome
contribution; and if you will only have the kindness to apprise me of
the day, I will bring a number of my friends along with me, and we shall
be sure to find this poor fellow seated in your church.”
Our kind-hearted priest cheerfully complied with the wily lover’s
request. He proposed the next Sunday morning, when a large number of
people would be present, regretting that he had not been sooner informed
of the affair. Faustino next gave an exact description of the corn
merchant, observing that the poor man always appeared neat and clean, so
that he could not possibly mistake him. Then, taking leave of the good
friar, he hastened to communicate this piece of mischief to some of his
young companions. Punctually next Sunday they were at the church, even
early enough to hear the first mass; and there Messer Nastagio was seen
at his usual post, surrounded by a crowd of people. After going through
the Evangelists and the Creed, and muttering a few Aves, the good priest
paused and looked about him; then, wiping his forehead, and taking
breath for a while, he again addressed the congregation as
follows:—“Dearly beloved brethren, you must be aware that the most
pleasing thing you can do in the eyes of the Lord is to show your
charity towards poorer Christians.... As I know you are not wanting in
charity, but rather abounding in good works, I am not afraid to inform
you that there is a most deserving yet destitute object before you, who,
though too modest to urge your compassion, is in every way worthy of it.
Pray take pity upon him. Behold him!” he cried, pointing full at Ser
Nastagio: “Lo! thou art the man. Yes!” he continued, while the corn
merchant stared at him in the utmost astonishment; “yes, thou art the
man! Thy modesty shall no longer conceal thee from the eyes of the
people which are now fixed upon thee. For though thou wert once an
Israelite, my friend, thou art now one of the lost sheep which are
found, and if thou hast not much temporal, thou hast a hoard of eternal
wealth.” He addressed himself during the whole of this time, both by
words and signs, to Ser Nastagio, yet the poor merchant could by no
means persuade himself against the evidence of his own reason that he
was the person pointed out. Without stirring, therefore, he somewhat
reluctantly put his hand into his pocket, preparing to bestow his alms
in the same manner as the rest of the congregation. The first person to
present his contribution was the author of the trick, who, approaching
the spot where the merchant stood, offered his alms, and, in spite of
Ser Nastagio, dropped them into his hat. And though the incensed
tradesman exclaimed, “I have a longer purse than thou hast ears!” it
availed him nothing. The good priest pursued his theme without noticing
Ser Nastagio’s remark, except by saying, “Give no credit to his words,
good people, but give him alms, give him alms; it is his modest merit
which prevents him from accepting them. Yes, go thrust them into the
good man’s pockets; fill his hat, his shoes, his clothes with them, and
make him bear away with him the good fruits of your charity.” Then once
more directing his attention to the confused and angry merchant, he
exclaimed, “Do not look thus ashamed, but take them, take them; for,
believe me, good friend, many greater and better men have been reduced
to the same piteous plight. You should rather consider it as an honour
than otherwise, inasmuch as your necessities have not been the
consequence of your own misconduct, but solely arise from your embracing
the light of truth.”
The priest had no sooner ended than there was a general rush of the
whole congregation towards the place where the merchant stood,
endeavouring who should be first to deposit their donations in his
hands, while he in vain attempted to resist the tide of charitable
contributions which now poured in on every side. He had likewise to
struggle against his own avarice, for he would willingly have received
the money, though he did all in his power to repulse their gifts. When
the tumult had a little subsided, Ser Nastagio began to attack the
priest in the most virulent terms, until the preacher was inclined to
suspect that in some way he had been misinformed. He thus began to make
his excuses, as well as he could, for the error into which he had
fallen; but the lover’s purpose was accomplished, and the deed could not
be recalled. For the story was quickly circulated through the whole
city, to the infinite amusement of all its inhabitants, and Ser Nastagio
was never known to enter that church again.
_Girolamo Parabosco (16th century)._
_HOW A BARRISTER GOT HIS MONEY’S WORTH._
In our city there flourished a certain learned advocate, a member of the
great Castello family, Messer Dionisio by name. Having occasion to enter
into the legal arena with another advocate, whose name I cannot just now
recollect, Messer Dionisio was retained as counsel to Signor Giovanni
de’ Bentivogli. The case was tried before our worthy magistrate, Messer
Nicoluzzo de’ Piccoluomini, of Siena; and as it often happens to these
gentlemen of the robe, when deeply engaged in the interests of their
clients, they became so very personal in the cause of their principals,
that at length our friend’s adversary, unable to bear his bitter taunts,
fairly challenged his honour and veracity, which so incensed Messer
Dionisio that, in a fit of sudden passion, he clenched his fist and
smote his learned antagonist very severely on the mouth. The presiding
magistrate, greatly scandalised at our friend’s new method of enforcing
his arguments, vigorously remonstrated with him, and threatened to
enforce the full penalty of the law, assuring him that he dealt too
mildly in not committing him on the spot. He would have executed his
menace, had not the high qualities and connections of Messer Dionisio
restrained him. He replied to the judge’s threats, with the most perfect
composure, “Most noble prætor, according to the tenor of our civil law,
I believe you will only be able to demand about ten pieces from me;” and
putting his hand in his pocket, he drew forth ten broad gold ducats,
saying, “Take only what the law allows you, and hand me the remainder
back.” But the judge, seizing in a rage upon the whole, cried, “You must
apply elsewhere for the remainder;” which again brought the angry
counsellor upon his legs. Turning quickly round upon his adversary, now
busily employed in repairing the ruins of his jaws, and uttering fierce
exclamations for justice, our friend again addressed him: “If this be
the case, I must have what I have paid for, over and above;” and he
struck him a more violent blow than before upon his left cheek. He then
addressed the judge: “My lord, you have made me pay for more than the
amount of both the arguments I have applied in the very face of my
learned brother; but keep the money—he is a pitiful advocate indeed who
would scruple to take advantage of his opponent for the sake of ten
ducats. I have had my revenge.” And turning his back upon the court, he
left his brother advocate quite unable to make any reply, and grievously
lamenting and appealing to the magistrate for justice. He was at last
obliged to be patient, for though somewhat incensed the court could not
refrain from indulging a degree of mirth at Dionisio’s singular
arguments. The only sentence obtained that day in court was, “He who
received the injury sustained all the loss.”
_Sabadino degli Arienti (c. 1450–1500)._
_THE MERRY JESTS OF BUFFALMACCO THE PAINTER._
Buonamico di Cristofano, nicknamed Buffalmacco, was a pupil of Andrea
Tafi, and has been celebrated as a jester by Boccaccio. Franco Sacchetti
also tells how, when Buffalmacco was still a boy with Andrea, his master
had the habit, when the nights were long, of getting up before day to
work, and calling his boys. This was displeasing to Buonamico, who had
to rise in the middle of his best sleep, and he considered how he might
prevent Andrea from getting up before day to work, and this was what
occurred to him. Having found thirty great beetles in an ill-kept
cellar, he fastened on each of their backs a little candle, and at the
hour when Andrea was used to rise, he put them one by one through a hole
in the door into Andrea’s chamber, having first lighted the candles. His
master awaking at the hour for calling Buffalmacco, and seeing the
lights, was seized with terror and began to tremble like a fearful old
man as he was, and to say his prayers and repeat the psalms; and at
last, putting his head under the clothes, he thought no more that night
of calling Buffalmacco, but lay trembling with fear till daybreak. The
morning being come, he asked Buonamico if, like him, he had seen more
than a thousand devils. Buonamico answered, “No,” for he had kept his
eyes closed, and wondered he had not been called. “What!” said Tafi, “I
had something else to think of than painting, and am resolved to go into
another house.” The next night, although Buonamico only put three
beetles into Tafi’s chamber, yet he, from the last night’s terror and
the fear of those few devils, could get no sleep at all, and, as soon as
it was day, left the house determined never to return, and it took a
great deal of good counsel to make him change his mind. At last
Buonamico brought the priest to him, to console him. And Tafi and
Buonamico discussing the matter, Buonamico said: “I have always heard
say that demons are the greatest enemies of God, and consequently they
ought to be the chief adversaries of painters, because not only do we
always make them hideous, but we also never cease making saints on all
the walls, and so cause men in despite of the devils to become more and
more devout. So these devils being enraged against us, as they have
greater power by night than by day, they come playing us these tricks,
and it will be worse if this custom of getting up early is not quite
given up.” With such words Buffalmacco managed the matter, what the
priest said helping him; so that Tafi left off getting up early, and the
devils no longer went about the house at night with candles. But not
many months after, Tafi, drawn by the desire of gain, and having
forgotten his fears, began afresh to get up early and to call
Buffalmacco; whereon the beetles began again to appear, until he was
forced by his fears to give it up entirely, being earnestly counselled
to do so by the priest. And the matter being noised abroad in the city
for a time, neither Tafi nor any other painter ventured to get up at
night to work.
[Illustration]
While painting the church of the convent of Faenza, at Florence,
Buffalmacco, who was very careless and negligent in his dress, as in
other things, did not always wear his hood and mantle, as was the
fashion at the time; and the nuns, watching him through the screen they
had erected, began to complain that it did not please them to see him in
his doublet. At last, as he always appeared in the same fashion, they
began to think that he was only some boy employed in mixing colours; and
they gave him to understand, through their abbess, that they should
prefer to see his master, and not always him. To this Buonamico answered
good-humouredly that when the master came he would let them know,
understanding, nevertheless, how little confidence they had in him. Then
he took a stool, and placed upon it another, and on the top he put a
pitcher or water-jug, and fastened a hood on the handle, and covered up
the rest of the jug with a cloak, fastening it well behind the tables;
and having fixed a pencil in the spout of the jug, he went away. The
nuns coming again to see the picture through a hole that they had made
in the screen, saw the supposed master in his fine attire, and not
doubting that he was working with all his might, doing very different
work from what that boy did, for several days were quite content. At
last, being desirous to see what fine things the master had done in the
last fortnight (during which time Buonamico had not been there at all),
one night, thinking he was gone, they went to see his picture, and were
overcome with confusion when one more bold than the rest detected the
solemn master, who during the fortnight had done no work at all. But,
acknowledging that he had only treated them as they deserved, and that
the work which he had done was worthy of praise, they sent their steward
to call Buonamico back; and he with great laughter went back to his
work, letting them see the difference between men and water-jugs, and
that it does not always do to judge a man’s work by his clothes. So in a
few days he finished a picture with which they were greatly pleased,
except that the faces seemed to them to be too pale and wan. Buonamico
having heard this, and knowing that the Abbess had some wine which was
the best in Florence, told them that if they wished to remedy the
defect, it could only be done by mixing the colours with good wine; and
then if the cheeks were touched with the colour, they would become red
and of a more lively aspect. The good sisters hearing this, and ready to
believe everything, kept him always supplied with excellent wine while
he worked; and he, while enjoying the wine himself, to please them, made
his colours more fresh and bright.
[Illustration]
_Vasari_ (1512–1574).
A certain painter had a picture, wherein was an ox which looked better
than the rest. Michael Angelo Buonarotti being asked why the painter had
made it more life-like than the rest, replied, “Every painter succeeds
best in a portrait of himself.”
_Vasari._
Another painter had executed a historical picture, in which every figure
was copied from some other artist, insomuch that no part of the picture
was his own. It was shown to Michael Angelo Buonarotti, who, when he had
seen it, was asked by a very intimate friend of his what he thought of
it. He replied: “He has done well, but, at the Day of Judgment, when all
bodies will resume their own limbs again, I do not know what will become
of that historical picture, for there will be nothing left of it.”
_Vasari._
_CHORUS FROM “LA MANDRAGOLA.”_
How happy is he, as all may see
Who has the good fortune a fool to be,
And what you tell him will always believe!
No ambition can grieve,
No fear can affright him
Which are wont to be seeds
Of pain and annoy.
This doctor of ours,
’Tis not hard to delight him—
If you tell him ‘twill gain him
His heart’s wish and joy,
He’ll believe in good faith that an ass can fly,—
Or that black is white, and the truth a lie,—
All things in the world he may well forget—
Save the one whereon his whole heart is set.
_Niccolo Machiavelli_ (1469–1527).
_FRA TIMOTEO’S MONOLOGUE._
FRA TIMOTEO (_alone_).
I have not been able to get a wink of sleep to-night, for wondering how
Callimaco and the rest have been getting on. I have been trying to pass
the time, while waiting, by attending to various matters. I said the
morning prayers, read a chapter of the _Lives of the Holy Fathers_, went
into church and lit a lamp which had gone out, and changed the veil of a
statue of the Madonna which works miracles. How many times have I told
the monks to keep that image clean? And then they wonder why there is a
lack of devotion! I remember the time when there were five hundred
images here, and now there are not twenty. This is all our own fault; we
have not been able to keep up the reputation of the place. We used to go
in procession after service every evening, and have the Lauds sung every
Saturday. We always made vows here, so as to get fresh images, and we
used to encourage the men and women who came to confession to make vows
likewise. Nowadays none of these things are done, and we are astonished
that there is so little enthusiasm! What an amazingly small quantity of
brains these monks of mine have among them!
_Niccolo Machiavelli._
THE MEDIÆVAL UNDERGRADUATE.
There was once at Padua a Sicilian scholar called Pontius, who seeing
one day a countryman with a pair of fat fowls, pretending that he wanted
to buy them, made a bargain with him and said, “Come home with me, and
over and above the price I will give thee some breakfast.” So he led him
to a place where there was a bell-tower, which is separate from the
church, so that one can go all round it; and opposite one of the four
faces of the Campanile was the end of a little street. Here Pontius,
having first thought of what he wished to do, said to the countryman: “I
have wagered these fowls with one of my comrades, who says that this
tower is certainly forty feet in circumference; and I say no. So just at
that moment when I met you I had been buying this string to measure it
with; and before we go home, I want to ascertain which of us has won.”
Thus saying, he took the string out of his sleeve, and gave one end of
it to the countryman to hold, and saying, “Give here!” he took the fowls
from him, and holding the other end of the string, began to go round the
tower, as if to measure it, making the countryman stop on that side of
the tower which was opposite the end of the little street. When he had
reached this side he drove a nail into the wall and tied the string to
it, and thus leaving it, went off quietly down the street with the
fowls. The countryman remained for a great space of time, waiting till
he should have finished measuring; but at last, when he had several
times said, “What are you doing so long?” he went to see, and found that
the one who held the string was not Pontius, but a nail driven into the
wall, which was all that remained to him as payment for the fowls.
_Baldassarre Castiglione_ (1478–1529).
The Bishop of Corvia, in order to find out the intentions of the Pope,
one day said to him: “Holy father, it is commonly reported in all Rome,
and even in the palace, that your holiness is about to make me
governor.” Then the Pope replied, “Never mind what they say; they are
nothing but low-tongued rascals.”
_Baldassarre Castiglione._
A certain pleader, to whom his adversary said, in presence of the judge:
“What art thou barking for?” replied, “Because I see a thief.”
_Baldassarre Castiglione._
The Archbishop of Florence once said to Cardinal Alessandrino that a man
has nothing but his goods, his body, and his soul; and that the first is
ruined for him by the lawyers, the second by the doctors, and the third
by the theologians. Then Giuliano the Magnificent quoted the remarks by
Nicoletto—viz., that it was rare to find a lawyer who would go to law, a
doctor who would take physic, or a theologian who was a good Christian.
_Baldassarre Castiglione._
A miser, who had refused to sell his corn while it was dear, seeing that
the price had gone down, hanged himself in despair to one of the beams
in his chamber. One of his servants, having heard the noise, ran in, and
finding his master hanging from the ceiling, forthwith cut the rope and
so saved his life. When the miser had come to himself, he insisted that
the servant should pay for the rope which he had cut.
_Baldassarre Castiglione._
As Duke Frederic of Urbino was one day talking of what was to be done
with a large quantity of earth, which had been dug up in order to lay
the foundation of his palace, an abbot who was present said: “My lord, I
have been thinking where it should be put, and I have a good idea: order
a great ditch to be dug, and you may then dispose of the earth without
further hindrance.” The duke replied, not without a smile: “What are we
to do with the earth which will be dug from this new ditch?” The abbot
answered: “Let it be made big enough to hold both.” And thus, although
the duke tried to show him that the larger the ditch the more earth
would be dug out of it, he could not understand that it could not be
made large enough to contain both heaps, but only replied, “Make it so
much the larger.”
_Baldassarre Castiglione._
_A ROMAN PRELATE OF 1519._
[Illustration]