LA VIA DEL FICO.

"There stood formerly in the Via del Fico a very ancient palace with a garden, in which there grew a fig-tree which was said to have grown of itself, or without ever having been planted. This tree bore much fruit of great beauty.

"But however proud the owner of the tree was of its beauty, or however much he might desire to have its fruit, something always strangely occurred to prevent its being enjoyed. For when any one was about to pluck it, there suddenly appeared a great black dog, who, seizing men or women by their garments, dragged them away, beginning to howl and bay.

{205} And then they hurried away and let the figs alone, in order to make the dog cease his terrible unearthly baying; for it is believed to be an omen of death when a dog utters such sounds, it being such a presage of disaster as when a _civetta_ or small owl hoots on the roof.

"However, it sometimes happened that the dog did not come, but those who took and ate the figs fared just as badly all the same. For they soon began to feel ill and suffer dire pains, and when they had gone into their bedrooms and laid down, there always entered a beautiful girl clad in white, who began to whirl round (_a girarsi_) or spin, making all the time a great buzzing sound, until horror came over them, which when she perceived, she vanished.

"And many tried also to lop off boughs from the fig-tree, but they were found the second night replaced by a perfect new growth with fully ripe fruit. And it was not the least marvel of the tree that it was always in full leaf, with abundance of ripe figs on it, even in winter, when there was snow on the ground.

"One day men digging in the garden found a tablet of stone or metal on which was inscribed:

"'Il fico rispettate E non la toccate,'

E non cercate Neppure mangiarne.'

"'Respect the tree, and let it be, From branch to root, nor touch its fruit!

Of itself the tree did grow, From a dog who long ago, Enchanted by the fairies' power, Was buried here in mystic hour; Therefore we bid you let it stand, And if you follow the command You will be happy all your days, But woe to him who disobeys!'

"Now, the owner of the palazzo and garden was a man who had no faith in old legends, or love for such mysteries as these, and so he said, 'It is time to put an end to all this superst.i.tion, and I am determined to at once see whether all my prosperity depends on a fig-tree; so do you cut it down and tear it up, root and branch, utterly.'

"This was at once done by the labourers, but, while doing so, they heard sounds as of wailing and great lamenting in the earth beneath them. And when they, astonished, asked the signore to listen to the voices, he replied, 'Away with your superst.i.tions; we will see this time whether the tree will grow or return again.'

"Truly it did not return, but pa.s.sed away for ever, and with it all the property and prosperity of the lord. For in time he had to sell all he had, and, losing what he got, died in poverty. Then those who had to go in the street where his palace had been would say, '_Andiamo nella Via del Fico_,' just as they say, '_Andar per la Via de' Carri_,' but meaning to 'go in the way of what is worthless or poverty-stricken,' and so it was that the street came by its name."

This strange tale, which is evidently of great antiquity, and deeply inspired with real witch tradition, has, indeed, nothing in common with the pretty fairy stories which are so generally presented as const.i.tuting the whole of popular narrative folklore. It was not made nor intended to serve as a pleasing tale for youth, but to embody certain ideas which the witch-teacher explained to the pupil. The first of these is, that the _fig-tree_ planted under certain circ.u.mstances became a kind of Luck of Eden Hall to its possessor. This story comes from the Etruscan-Roman land, where traditions have been preserved with incredible fidelity. In the olden time Tarquin the Elder planted a fig-tree in a public place in Rome, and it was a matter of common faith that this tree would flourish for ever if undisturbed, and that on it depended the prosperity and preservation of the city. {207} And in India, the motherland of Greek and Roman mythology, it was believed that whenever one of certain ancient fig-trees died, that the reigning family would pa.s.s away. The opinion was widely spread that the fig-tree was above all others the one of life and destiny. In the Bagvatgeta, Krishna says of himself: "I am the spirit, the beginning, the middle, and the end of creation. I am as the _Aswatha_ (_pipal _or Indian fig) among trees." Hence it came that many Christians believed that the Tree of Life in Eden was not an apple but a fig-tree. The traditions which establish the fig-tree as being above all others one on whose existence that of individuals, families, and states depended, are extremely numerous and varied. "It was," remarks Alt, "not only a symbol of fertility, but an emblem of ever-renewed and never-extinguished _vitality_, and one of eternity, the resurrection, and of the transmigration of the soul." On the celebrated altar in Ghent, the Tree of Life is represented as a fig-tree (Menzel, _Christliche Symbolik_, i. 277). This universal belief explains why the fig-tree determines the duration and destiny of lives and families.

It may have struck the reader as singular that those who eat of the forbidden figs are punished by the visit of a beautiful girl who whirls around with a buzzing sound till they are overcome by awe. Here be it noted first of all, that the fig, like the pear, is exactly the shape of a top, even the stem representing the peg. Now, in ancient Latin witchlore or sorcery, extraordinary magic power, or even sanct.i.ty, was attached to everything which made a humming or buzzing sound. It was supposed, when properly made, with certain incantations or instruments, to be capable of throwing people into a trance. Chief among these instruments was the top. Thus Horace begs Crattidia to stop the enchantment of the buzzing top (Ode xv. Book v.).

On this subject I find the following in _Diavoli e Streghe_, by Dr. A.

Zangolini, 1864:

"The _rombo_ {208} is an instrument not unlike the _trottola_ or peg-top of our boys, called in Latin _turbo_, and in common language also _paleo_. It was believed that with it in witchcraft a lover could have his head turned with pa.s.sion, or that he would be turned at will while it spun. The same held true of other disks (tee-totums) of wood, iron, or copper."

This idea was extended to the hum of spinning-wheels, which aided the conception of the Fates, and the thread of life, to the buzzing of bees and flies, and many other variations of such sounds. Mr. Andrew Lang has in an admirable paper shown that the _bull-roarer_ has been regarded as so sacred among certain savages that women, or the profane, were not allowed to touch it. A bull-roarer is so easily constructed, that it is remarkable how few people are familiar with it. Take a common stick, say six inches in length, tie a cord three feet long to one end, and, grasping the other, whirl it round, with the result of astonishing all to whom it is not familiar by its sound:

"First it is but a gentle hum, Like bird-song warbling in the trees, Then like a torrent it doth foam, And then a wild and roaring breeze."

When vigorously spun, it may be heard of a calm evening for a mile, and its effect is then indescribably-I will not say, as most novelists here would, "_weird_," for I do not know that it prophesies anything, but it is certainly most suggestive of something mysterious.

Therefore the bayadere, with her spinning _pas seul_ and buzzing _romore_, who appears to the eater of the figs, is the magic top in person, her form being taken from the fig. The connection of the enchanted dog with the tree is not so clear, but it may be observed that there is a vast ma.s.s of tradition which makes the black dog a _chthonic_, that is, a subterranean or under-earthly symbol, and that in this story he comes out of the earth. This animal was a special favourite of Hecate-Diana of the world below, the queen of all the witches.

There is a vast quant.i.ty of folklore in reference to the fig as an emblem of fertility, reproduction, and sensual affinity, and, on the other side, of its being an emblem often used in proverbs to express the very contrary, or trifling value, worthlessness, and poverty. Thus, the barren fig-tree of the New Testament had a deep signification to all who were familiar with these poetic and mystic "correspondences." The reader has probably observed that in this story there is, as in a parable, a strong intimation of symbolism, or as if more were meant than meets the ear.

"Remains to be said," that the putting the thumb between the index and middle finger, which was regarded with awe by the Romans as driving away evil spirits, was called "making the fig," or _far la castagna_, to make the chestnut-in Latin, _medium ostendere digitum_. The same sign as the fig to drive away devils became a deadly insult when made at any one, as if he were a wizard and accursed. It had also a jeering and indecent meaning. It has been said that the fig, as a synonym for anything worthless, originated from the great abundance and cheapness of the fruit in Greece, but this is very unsatisfactory, since it would apply as well to olives or grain.

"This tale doth teach," notes the learned Flaxius, "as regards the folklore of the black dog, that in this life most things are good or bad, as we take them. For the black dog, Monsieur, of Cornelius Agrippa (like that in Faust) was a demon, albeit his pupil, Wierus, records that he himself knew the animal well, but never supposed there was aught of the goblin in it. And this same Wierus has mentioned (_loc. cit._, p. m.

325), that one of the things which most terrify the devil and all his gang is the blood of a black dog splashed on the wall. So in ancient symbolism death meant life, the two being correlative, and in witchcraft the spell of the frog and many more are meant to do deadly harm, or great good, according to the way in which they are worked. Wherein lies an immense moral lesson for ye all. Remember, children-

"'There is no pa.s.sion, vice, or crime, Which truly, closely understood, Does not, in the full course of time, Do far less harm than good.'"

IL PALAZZO FERONI SHOWING HOW IT GOT ITS NAME FROM A FAIRY

"Ah me! what perils do environ The man who meddles with cold iron!

Thus sang great Butler long ago, In Hudibras, as all men know; But in this story you will see How Iron was sold by irony."

One of the most picturesque mediaeval palaces in Florence is that of the Feroni, and its architectural beauty is greatly enhanced by its fine situation at the head of the Tornabuoni on the Piazza della Trinita, with the magnificent column of the Medicis just before its gate. According to Italian authority, "this palace may be called, after those of the Praetorio (_i.e._, Bargello) and the Signoria, the most characteristic building of its epoch in Florence. It is said to have been built by Arnolfo di Cambio. It once belonged to the Spini, from whom it pa.s.sed to the Feroni." When I was in Florence in 184647, this palace was the best hotel in Florence, and the one in which I lived. There have been great "restorations" in the city since that time, but very few which have not been most discreditably and foolishly conducted, even to the utter destruction of all that was truly interesting in them; as, for instance, "the house of Dante, torn down within a few years to be rebuilt, so that now not one stone rests upon another of the original;" and "Santa Maria Novella, where the usual monkish hatred of everything not _rococo_ and trashy has shown itself by destroying beautiful work of earlier times, or selling it to the Kensington Museum, setting up a barbarously gilt gingerbread high altar, and daubing the handsome Gothic sacristy with gaudy colours." To which the author of Murray's "Guide-Book for Central Italy" adds, that "perhaps on the whole list of ecclesiastical restorations there does not exist a more deplorable instance of monastic vandalism than has been perpetrated here by the architect Romoli"-a remark which falls unfortunately very far short of the truth. Such ruin is wrought _everywhere_ at present; witness the beautiful Fonte Gaja, "the masterpiece of Jacopo della Quercia in Siena (1402), which, since the change of Government, was not 'restored,' but _totally destroyed and carted away_, a miserable modern copy having been recently set up in its place" (Hare, "Cities of Central Italy"), all of which was probably done to "make a job" for a favoured builder. "But what can you expect," adds a friend, "in a country where it is common to cover a beautiful dry stone wall with plaster, and then paint it over to resemble the original stone," because, as I was navely told, "the rough stone itself looks _too cheap_"? Anybody who has lived long in Italy can add infinitely to such instances. The Palazzo Feroni has, however, suffered so little, for a wonder, from restoration, and still really looks so genuinely old, that it deserves special mention, and may serve as an excuse for my remarks on the manner in which ancient works are destroyed so _con amore_ by monks and modern munic.i.p.alities. I may here note that this building is, in a sense, the common rendezvous for all the visitors to Florence, chiefly English and Americans, since in it are the very large circulating library and reading-rooms of Vieusseux. {212}

There is, of course, a legend attached to the Palazzo Feroni, and it is as follows:

IL PALAZZO FERONI.

"The Signore Pietro, who afterwards received the name Feroni, was a very rich man, and yet hated by the poor, on whom he bestowed nothing, and not much liked by his equals, though he gave them costly entertainments; for there was in all the man and in his character something inconsistent and contradictory, or of _corna contra croce_-'the horns against the cross,'

as the proverb hath it, which made it so that one never knew where to have him:

"'Un, al monte, e l'altro al pian, Quel che, e oggi, non e doman.'

"'On the hill in joy, in the dale in sorrow- One thing to-day, and another to-morrow.'

"For to take him at every point, there was something to count off. Thus in all the city there was no one-according to his own declaration-who was

Richer or more prosperous,

Or who had enjoyed a better education,

Or who had such remarkable general knowledge of everything taking place,

Or more of a distinguished courtier,

Or one with such a train of dependants, and people of all kinds running after him,

Or more generally accomplished,

Or better looking-

"And finally, no one so physically strong, as he was accustomed to boast to everybody on first acquaintance, and give them proofs of it-he having heard somewhere that 'physical force makes a deeper impression than courtesy.' But all these fine gifts failed to inspire respect (and here was another puzzle in his nature), either because he was so tremendously vain that he looked down on all mortals as so many insects, and all pretty much alike as compared to himself, or else from a foolish carelessness and want of respect, he made himself quite as familiar with trivial people as with anybody. {213}

"One evening the Signore Pietro gave a grand ball in his palace, and as the guests came in-the beauty and grace and courtly style of all Italy in its golden time-he half closed his eyes, lazily looking at the brilliant swarm of human b.u.t.terflies and walking flowers, despising while admiring them, though if he had been asked to give a reason for his contempt he would have been puzzled, not having any great amount of self-respect for himself. And they spun round and round in the dance. . . .

"When all at once he saw among the guests a lady, unknown to him, of such striking and singular appearance as to rouse him promptly from his idle thought. She was indeed wonderfully beautiful, but what was very noticeable was her absolutely ivory white complexion, which hardly seemed human, her profuse black silken hair; and most of all her unearthly large jet-black eyes, of incredible brilliancy, with such a strange expression as neither the Signore Pietro nor any one else present had ever seen before. There was a power in them, a kind of basilisk-fascination allied to angelic sweetness-fire and ice . . . _ostra e tramontan_-a hot and cold wind.

"The Signore Pietro, with his prompt tact, made the lady's paleness a pretence for addressing her. 'Did she feel ill-everything in the house was at her disposition-