Part 30 (2/2)

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-

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