“‘Yes, you have cheated me,’ howled the devil to the architect.  ‘But I lay a curse upon your work.  It shall never be finished.’”—Snow and Planche’s “Legends of the Rhine.”

All great and ancient buildings which were never finished have a legend referring to their incompleteness.  There was one relative to the Cathedral of Cologne, which may be found in Planche’s “Legends of the Rhine,” and as there is a palazzo non finito in Florence, I at once scented an old story; nor was I disappointed, it being unearthed in due time, and written out for me as follows:

Il Palazzo non Finito.

“On the corner of the Via del Proconsole and the Borgo degli Albizzi there is an unfinished palace.

“The great Signore Alessandro Strozzi had a friend who, when dying, confided to him the care of his only son.  And it was a troublesome task, for the youth was of a strange temper.  And a vast property was left to the young man, his father imploring him not to waste it, and to live in friendship with his guardian.

“But his father had hardly closed his eyes in death before this youth began to act wildly, and above all things to gamble terribly.  And as the saying is, Il diavolo ha parte in ogni giuoco—‘The devil has a hand in every game,’ so he soon brought himself into company with the gamester.  Now, as you have heard, ’tis la lingua o la bocca e quella che fa il giuoco.

“‘Every game, as it is sung,
Is won by mouth, or else by tongue.’

“For some time the young man was satisfied with always winning at gambling.  Yes, he ruined scores, hundreds, and piled up gold till he got sick of the sight of cards.  You know the saying, ‘When the belly is full the eyes are tired,’ and ‘A crammed dove hates to fly.’

“So for a while he kept the devil busy, bringing him a girl here, and building him a tower there, sending him to India for diamonds, or setting him at work to keep off storm and hail from his vineyards, which the devil found hard work enough, I promise you, Signore, for then he had to fight other devils and witches.  Then he put him at a harder job.  There was a ghost of a stregone or wizard who haunted his palazzo.  Now such ghosts are the hardest to lay.

“‘Chi ha pazienza, cugino,
Ha i tordi grassi a un quattrino.’

“‘He who hath patience, mind me, cousin,
May buy fat larks a farthing a dozen.’

“Now, amid all these dealings, the young signore had contrived to fall in love with the daughter of his guardian, Alessandro Strozzi, and also to win her affections; but he observed one day when he went to see her, having the diavolino invisible by his side, the attendant spirit suddenly jibbed or balked, like a horse which stops before the door, and refused to go farther.  For there was a Madonna painted on the outside, and the devil said:

“‘I see a virgin form divine,
And virgins are not in my line;
I’m not especially devout:
Go thou within—I’ll wait without!’

“And the young man observing that his devil was devilishly afraid of holy water, made a note of it for future use.  And having asked the Signore Alessandro Strozzi for the hand of his daughter, the great lord consented, but made it a condition that the youth should build for his bride a palace on the corner of the Via del Proconsolo and the Borgo degli Albizzi, and it must be ready within a year.  This he said because in his heart he did not like the match, yet for his daughter’s love he put this form upon it, and he hoped that ere the time would be out something might happen to prevent the marriage.  In fin che v’è fiato v’è speranza—while there is breath, Signore, there is hope.

“Now the young man having resolved to finish with his devil for good and all, began to give him great hope in divers ways.  And one day he said to the imp:

“‘Secondly, the subjects.  Over the front door—bisogna mettermi Gesu Cristo onnipotente unitamente a Maria e il suo divin figlio, Padre, Figlio e Spirito Santo—that is, the Holy Family and Trinity, the Virgin and Child.’

“‘Wha—wha—what’s that?’ stammered the devil, aghast.  ‘It isn’t fair play—not according to the game.’

“‘On every door,’ continued the young man, raising his voice, and looking severely at the devil, ‘the same subject is to be repeated on a thick gold ground, all the ultramarine to be of the very best quality, washed in holy water.’

“‘Ugh! ugh! ugh!’ wailed the devil.

“‘The roof is to be covered with the images of saints as pinnacles, and, by the way, wherever you have a blank space, outside on the walls or inside, including ceilings—just cover it with the same subjects—the Temptation of Saint Antony or Saint—’

“‘Oh, go to the devil with your saints and gold grounds!’ roared the imp.  ‘Truly I have lost this game; fishing with a golden hook is a fool’s business.  There is the compact!’

“It was night—deep, dark night—there came a blinding flash of light—an awful crash of indescribable unearthly sound, like a thunder-voice.  The imp, taking the form of a civetta or small owl, vanished through the window in the storm-wind and rain, wailing, ‘Mai finito!’

“And it is said that to this day the small owl still perches by night on the roof of the palace, wailing wearily—‘Unfinished! unfinished!’”

In no country in the world has unscrupulous vigorous intellect been so admired as in Italy, the land of the Borgias and Machiavellis.  In the rest of Europe man finds a master in the devil; in Italy he aims at becoming the devil’s master.  This is developed boldly in the legend of “Intialo,” to which I have devoted another chapter, and it appears as markedly in this.  The idea of having an attendant demon, whom the master, in the consciousness of superior intellect, despises, knowing that he will crush him when he will, is not to be found, I believe, in a single German, French, or any other legend not Italian.

“Have I not the magic wand, by means of which, having first invoked the spirit Odeken, one can enter the elfin castle?  Is not this a fine trot on the devil’s crupper?  Here it is—one of the palaces erected by rivals of the Romans.  Let us enter, for I hold a hand of glory to which all doors open.  Let us enter, hic et nunc, the palace fair. . . .  Here it was once on a Sabato of the Carnival that there entered four graceful youths of noble air.”—Arlecchino alle Nozze di Cana.

I very naturally made inquiry as to whether there was not a legend of the celebrated bronze devil made by Giovanni di Bologna, which remained until lately in the Mercato Vecchio, and I obtained the following, which is, from intrinsic evidence, extremely curious and ancient.

Il Diavolo alla Cavolaia.

“But what was their surprise—and a fearful surprise it was—when, after all their gaiety, they heard at three o’clock in the morning the sound of a bell which they had never heard before, and then divine music and singing, and there entered a lady of such superhuman beauty as held them enchanted and speechless.  Now it was known that, by the strict rules of that palace, the festa must soon close, and there was only time for one more dance, and it was sworn among these friends that every lady who danced with one of them, must dance with all in succession.  Truly they now repented of their oath, for she was so beautiful.

“But the lady advancing, pointed out one of the four, and said, ‘I will dance with him alone.’

“The young signore would have refused, but he felt himself obliged, despite himself, to obey her, and when they had danced, she suddenly disappeared, leaving all amazed.

“And when they had recovered from the spell which had been upon them, they said that as she had come in with the dawn and vanished with the day, it must have been the Beautiful Alba, the enchanting queen of the fairies.

“The festa lasted for three days, and every night at the same hour the beautiful Alba reappeared, enchanting all so wonderfully, that even the ladies forgot their jealousy, and were as much fascinated by her as were the men.

“Now of the four friends, three sternly reproached the other for breaking his oath, they being themselves madly in love; but he replied, and truly, that he had been compelled by some power which he could not resist to obey her.  But that, as a man of honour, so far as he could, he would comply with the common oath which bound them.

“Then they declared that he should ask her if she loved him, and if she assented, that he should inform her of their oath, and that she must share her love with all or none—altrimenti non avrebbe mai potuta sposarla.

“And when he proposed it to his friends, he found them so madly in love with the lady that they, thinking she meant some disguise, declared that to be hers they would willingly wear any form, however terrible.

“And the fair Alba, having heard them, said, ‘Yes, ye shall indeed be mine; more than that I do not promise.  Now meet me to-morrow at the Canto dei Diavoli—at the Devil’s Corner!’

“And they gazed at her astonished, never having heard of such a place.  But she replied, ‘Go into the street and your feet shall guide you, and truly it will be a great surprise.’

“And they laughed among themselves, saying, ‘The surprise will be that she will consent to become a wife to us all.’

“But when they came to the corner, in the night, what was their amazement to see on it four figures of devils indeed, and Alba, who said, ‘Now ye are indeed mine, but as for my being yours, that is another matter.’

“Then touching each one, she also touched a devil, and said, ‘This is thy form; enter into it.  Three of ye shall ever remain as such.  As for this fourth youth, he shall be with ye for a year, and then, set free, shall live with me in human form.  And from midnight till three in the morning ye also may be as ye were, and go to the Palazzo Cavolaia, and dance and be merry with the rest, but through the day become devils again.’

“And so it came to pass.  After a year the image of the chosen lover disappeared; and then one of the three was stolen, and then another, till only one remained.”

I have said that this tale is ancient from intrinsic evidence.  Such extravagant alliances of friendship as is here described were actually common in the Middle Ages; they existed in England even till the time of Queen Elizabeth.  In “Shakespeare and his Friends,” or in the “Youth of Shakespeare”—I forget which—two young men are represented as fighting a duel because each declared that he loved the other most.  There was no insane folly of sentiment which was not developed in those days.  But this is so foreign to modern ideas, that I think it could only have existed in tradition to these our times.

There were also during the Middle Ages strange heretical sects, among whom such communism existed, like the polyandria of the ancient Hindoos.  There may be a trace of it in this story.

Alba, Albina, or Bellaria, appear in several Tuscan traditions.  They are forms of the Etruscan Alpan, the fairy of the Dawn, a sub-form of Venus, the spirit of Light and Flowers, described in my work on “Etruscan Roman Traditions.”  It may be remarked as an ingenious touch in the tale, that she always appears at the first dawn, or at three o’clock, and vanishes with broad day.  This distinguishes her from the witches and evil spirits, who always come at midnight and vanish at three o’clock.

After I had written the foregoing, I was so fortunate as to receive from Maddalena yet another legend of the bronze imp of Giovanni di Bologna, which tale she had unearthed in the purlieus of the Mercato Vecchio.  I have often met her when thus employed, always in the old part of the town, amid towering old buildings bearing shields of the Middle Ages, or in dusky vicoli and chiassi, and when asked what she was doing, ’twas ever the same reply, “Ma, Signore Carlo, there’s an old woman—or somebody—lives here who knows a story.”  And then I knew that there was going to be a long colloquy in dialect which would appal any one who only knew choice Italian, the end of which would be the recovery, perhaps from half-a-dozen vecchie, of a legend like the following, of which I would premise that it was not translated by me, but by Miss Roma Lister, who knew Maddalena, having taken lessons from her in the sublime art of battezare le carte, or telling fortunes by cards, and other branches of the black art.  And having received the manuscript, which was unusually illegible and troublesome, I asked Miss Lister to kindly transcribe it, but with great kindness she translated the whole, only begging me to mention that it is given with the most scrupulous accuracy, word for word, from the original, so far as the difference of language permitted.

Il Diavolino del Canto de’ Diavoli.
The Imp of the Devil’s Corner and the Pious Fairy.

“Now the fairy had converted so many folk from their evil ways, that a certain devil or imp—who also had much business in Florence about that time—became jealous of the intruder, and swore to avenge himself; but it appears that there was as much love as hate in the fiend’s mind, for the fairy’s beautiful voice had worked its charm even when the hearer was a devil.  Now, besides being an imp of superior intelligence, he was also an accomplished ventriloquist (or one who could imitate strange voices as if sounding afar or in any place); so one day while the pious fairy in the form of a beautiful maiden held forth to an admiring audience, two voices were heard in the street, one here, another there, and the first sang:

“In short, the imp, by changing his voice artfully, and singing his ribald songs everywhere, managed in the end to persuade people that the fairy was no better than she should be, and a common mischief-maker and disturber of domestic peace.  So the husbands, becoming jealous, began to quarrel with their wives, and then to swear at the witch who led them astray or put false suspicion into their minds.

“But it happened that the fairy was in high favour with a great saint, and going to him, she told all her troubles and the wicked things which were said of her, and besought him to free her good name from the slanders which the imp of darkness had spread abroad (l’aveva chalugnato).

“Then the saint, very angry, changed the devil into a bronze figure (mascherone, an architectural ornament), but first compelled him to go about to all who had been influenced by his slanders, and undo the mischief which he had made, and finally to make a full confession in public of everything, including his designs on the beautiful fairy, and how he hoped by compromising her to lead her to share his fate.

“Truly the imp cut but a sorry figure when compelled to thus stand up in the Old Market place at the corner of the Palazzo Cavolaia before a vast multitude and avow all his dirty little tricks; but he contrived withal to so artfully represent his passionate love for the fairy, and to turn all his sins to that account, that many had compassion on him, so that indeed among the people, in time, no one ever spoke ill of the doppio povero diavolo, or doubly poor devil, for they said he was to be pitied since he had no love on earth and was shut out of heaven.

“And if it pleased the Diavolino, he forgave them, and they had peace; but if it did not, they were pursued by the double mocking voice which made dialogue or sang duets over all their sins and follies and disgraces.  And whether they stayed at home or went abroad, the voices were ever about them, crying aloud or tittering and whispering or hissing, so that they had no rest by day or night; and this is what befell all who spoke ill of the Diavolino del Canto dei Diavoli.”

The saint mentioned in this story was certainly Pietro Martire or Peter the Martyrer, better deserving the name of murderer, who, preaching at the very corner where the bronze imp was afterwards placed, declared that he beheld the devil, and promptly exorcised him.  There can be little doubt that the image was placed there to commemorate this probably “pious fraud.”

It is only since I wrote all this that I learned that there were formerly two of these devils, one having been stolen not many years ago.  This verifies to some extent the consistency of the author of the legend, “The Devil of the Mercato Vecchio,” who says there were four.

“Which indeed seems to show,” comments the learned Flaxius, “that if the devil is never quite so black as he is painted, yet, on the other hand, he is so far from being of a pure white—as the jolly George Sand boys, such as Heine and Co., thought—that it is hard to make him out of any lighter hue than mud and verdigris mixed.  In medio tutissimus ibis.  ’Tis also to be especially noted, that in this legend—as in Shelley’s poem—the Devil appears as a meddling wretch who is interested in small things, and above all, as given to gossip:

“The Devil sat down in London town
Before earth’s morning ray,
With a favourite imp he began to chat,
On religion, and scandal, and this and that,
Until the dawn of day.”

“God keep us from the devil’s lackies,
Who are the aggravating jackies,
Who to the letter execute
An order and exactly do’t,
Or else, with fancy free and bold,
Do twice as much as they are told,
And when reproved, cry bravely, ‘Oh!
I thought you’d like it so and so.’
From all such, wheresoe’er they be,
      Libera nos, Domine!’

The Porta a San Nicolò in Florence is, among other legends, associated with a jest played by the famous Barlacchia on a friend, the story of which runs as follows:

“It is an old saying that la porta di dietro è quella che ruba la casa (it is the back gate which robs a house), and it was going back to the gate of San Nicolò which robbed a man of all his patience.  This man had gone with Barlacchia the jester from Florence to Val d’Arno, and on returning they had stopped in the plain of Ripolo, where the friend was obliged to delay for a time, while Barlacchia went on.  Now it was so late that although Barlacchia was certain to reach the Porto a San Nicolò in time to enter, it was doubtful whether the one who came later could do so unless a word should be spoken in advance to the guard, who for friendship or a fee would sit up and let the late-comer in.  Therefore the friend said to the jester, ‘Di gratia facesse sostenere la porta’—‘See that the gate is all right,’ or that all is right at the bridge—meaning, of course, that he should make it right with the guardian to let him in.

“Trotting along on his mule came the friend, who, believing that Barlacchia had made it all right with the guard, had not hurried.  But he found it was all wrong, and that ‘a great mistake had been made somewhere,’ as the eel said when he was thrown into boiling hot oil instead of cold water.  For he found the gate locked and nobody to let him in, so that in a great rage he was obliged to go back to an inn which was distinguished for nothing but its badness, dove stette con gran disagio quella notte (where he passed the night in great discomfort).

“On Dunmore Heath I also slewe
   A monstrous wild and cruell beaste
Called the Dun Cow of Dunmore plaine,
   Who many people had opprest.”

—Guy, Earl of Warwick.

The Via Vacchereccia is a very short street leading from the Signoria to the Via Por San Maria.  Vaccherricia, also Vacchereccia, means a cow, and is also applied scornfully to a bad woman.  The following legend was given to me as accounting for the name of the place.  A well-known Vienna beerhouse-restaurant, Gilli and Letta’s, has contributed much of late years to make this street known, and it was on its site that, at some time in “the fabled past,” the building stood in which dwelt the witch who figures in the story.

La Via Vacchereccia.

“There lived long ago in the Via Vacchereccia a poor girl, who was, however, so beautiful and graceful, and sweet in her manner, that it seemed to be a marvel that she belonged to the people, and still more that she was the daughter of the woman who was believed to be her mother, for the latter was as ugly as she was wicked, brutal, and cruel before all the world, and a witch in secret, a creature without heart or humanity.

“Now it happened that Artemisia in time attracted the attention and love of a young gentleman, who, while of moderate estate, was by no means rich; and he had learned to know her through his mother, an admirable lady, who had often employed Artemisia, and been impressed by her beauty and goodness.  So it happened that the mother favoured the son’s suit, and as Artemisia loved the young man, it seemed as if her sufferings would soon be at an end, for be it observed that the witch treated the maid at all times with extraordinary cruelty.

“But it did not suit the views of the old woman at all that the girl on whom she reckoned to bring in much money from great protectors, and whom she was wont to call the cow from whom she would yet draw support, should settle down into the wife of a small noble of moderate means.  So she not only scornfully rejected the suit, but scolded and beat Artemisia with even greater wickedness than ever.

“But there are times when the gentlest natures (especially when supported by good principles and truly good blood) will not give way to any oppression, however cruel, and Artemisia, feeling keenly that the marriage was most advantageous for her, and a great honour, and that her whole heart had been wisely given, for once turned on the old woman and defied her, threatening to appeal to the law, and showing that she knew so much that was wicked in her life that the witch became as much frightened as she was enraged, well knowing that an investigation by justice would bring her to the bonfire.  So, inspired by the devil, she turned the girl into a cow, and shut her up in a stable in the courtyard of the house, where she went every day two or three times to beat and torture her victim in the most fiendish manner.

“And, full of this thought, he went by night to the house, where there was an opening like a window or portal in the courtyard, and began to sing:

“‘Batte le dodici a una campana,
Si sente appena dalla lontana.

“‘Se almeno la voce potessi sentire,
Della mia bella che tanto deve soffrire.’

“‘Midnight is striking, I hear it afar,
High in the heaven shines many a star.

“‘And oh that the voice of the one I could hear,
Who suffers so sadly—the love I hold dear.

“‘Oh stars, if you’re looking with pity on me,
I pray you the maid from affliction to free!’

“As he sang this, he heard a cow lowing in the courtyard, and as his mind was full of the idea of enchantment, his attention was attracted to it.  Then he sang:

“‘If enchanted here you be,
Low, but gently, one, two, three!
Low in answer unto me,
And a rescue soon you’ll see.’

“Then the cow lowed three times, very softly, and the young man, delighted, put to her other questions, and being very shrewd, he so managed it as to extract with only yea and nay all the story.  Having learned all this, he reflected that to beat a terrier ’tis well to take a bulldog, and after much inquiry, he found that there dwelt in Arezzo a great sorcerer, but a man of noble character, and was, moreover, astonished to learn from his mother that this gran mago had been a friend of his father.

“And being well received by the wise man, and having told his story, the sage replied:

“‘Go to the stable when she shall be absent, and I will provide that she shall be away all to-morrow.  Then bind verbena on the cow’s horns, and hang a crucifix over the door, and sprinkle all the floor with holy water and incense, and sing to the cow:

“‘The witch is not thy mother in truth,
She stole thee in thy early youth,
She has deserved thy bitterest hate,
Then fear not to retaliate;
And when she comes to thee again,
Then rush at her with might and main;
She has heaped on thee many a scorn,
Repay it with thy pointed horn.’

“‘And note that there is a halter on the cow’s neck, and this is the charm which gives her the form of a cow, but it cannot be removed except in a church by the priest.’

“And to this he added other advice, which was duly followed.

“Then the next day the young man went to the stable, and did all that the wise man had bid, and hiding near, awaited the return of the witch.  Nor had he indeed long to wait, for the witch, who was evidently in a great rage at something, and bore a cruel-looking stick with an iron goad on the end, rushed to the courtyard and into the stable, but fell flat on the floor, being overcome by the holy water.  And the cow, whose halter had been untied from the post, turned on her with fury, and tossed and gored her, and trampled on her till she was senseless, and then ran full speed, guided by the young man, to the Baptistery, into which she entered, and where there was a priest awaiting her.  And the priest sprinkled her with holy water, and took the halter from her neck, and she was disenchanted, and became once more the beautiful Artemisia.

“And when all this was done, the mago revealed to the maiden that her parents, who were still living, were very great and wealthy people, so that there was soon a grand reunion, a general recognition, and a happy marriage.

“‘Maidens, beware lest witches catch you;
Think of the Via Vacchereccia;
And tourists dining in the same,
Note how the street once got its name.’”

“If any secret should sacred be,
Though it guarded the life of a family,
And any woman be there about,
She will die but what she will find it out;
And though it hurried her soul to—well—
That secret she must immediately tell.”

—Sage Stuffing for Young Ducks.

There are in Italy, as elsewhere, families to whom a fatality or tradition is attached.  The following is a curious legend of the kind:

La Fattuchiera della Porta alla Croce.

“There was a very old Florentine family which lived in a castle in the country.  The elder or head of this family had always one room in which no one was ever allowed to enter.  There he passed hours alone every day, and woe to any one who dared disturb him while there.  And this had been the case for generations, and no one had ever found out what the secret was.  This was, of course, a great vexation to the ladies of the family—perche la donna e sempre churiosa—women being always inquisitive.

“And most inquisitive of all was a niece of the old man, who had got it into her head that the secret was simply a great treasure which she might obtain.  Therefore she resolved to consult with a certain witch, who would tell her what it was, and how she could enter the mysterious room.  This sorceress lived hard by the Porta alla Croce, for there are always many witches in that quarter.

“Then they went into a field, and the fortune-teller produced a goblet of coloured glass, and called to the swallow, which is a bird of good omen, and to the small owl, which forebodes evil, and said, ‘Whichever shall alight first on the edge of this cup will be a sign to you of success or failure.’

“But the first which came and sat upon the cup was the owl.

“Then the witch said, ‘What there is in that room I cannot reveal, for it disturbs my soul far too much.  But I know that the number of that room is thirteen, and you can infer for yourself what that portends; and more I cannot tell you, save that you should be extremely careful and keep a cheerful heart—otherwise there is great trouble awaiting you.’

“But the lady returned home in a great rage at her disappointment, and all the more resolved to enter the room.  Then all the family finding this out, reproached her, and urged her not to be so distracted; and she, being obstinate, only became the more determined; for she was furious that she could not force an old man to reveal a secret which had been handed down for many generations, and which could only be confided to one, or to the eldest, when the old man should die.

“And at last her evil will or mania attained such command over her, that she resolved to kill all the family one by one, till the succession of the secret should come to her.  And so, after boiling deadly herbs with care, she made a strong subtle poison.  And by this means she put to death her parents, brothers and sisters, aunts and all the family, without remorse, so resolved was she to master the secret.

“Therewith the old man died, and scarcely had he departed ere she called an old woman who was allied and devoted to the family, and in a rage told her all the secret.  The old woman reproved her, saying that she would bring punishment on herself.  But, without heeding this, the lady ran to the chamber, entered, and seeing the skull, gave it a kick and hurled it from the window, far below.

“But a minute after she heard a rattling sound, and looking at the window, there the skull was grinning at her.  Again she threw it down, and again it returned, and was with her wherever she went; day after day, waking or sleeping, the skull was always before her eyes.

“At last fear came over her, and then horror, and she said to the old woman, ‘Let us go to some place far, far away, and bury the skull.  Perhaps it will rest in its grave.’  The old woman tried to dissuade her, and they went to a lonely spot at a great distance, and there they dug long and deep.

“Dug till a great hole was made, and the lady standing on the edge dropped the skull into it.  Then the hole spread into a great pit, flame rose from it—the edge crumbled away—the guilty woman fell into the fire, and the earth closed over it all, and there was no trace left of her.

“The skull returned to the castle and to its room; people say it is there to this day.  The old woman returned too, and being the last remote relation, entered into possession of the property.”