8
DOMINE QUO VADIS.
‘You know, of course, about St. Peter, when they put him in the prisons here; he found a way of escaping through the “catacomboli,” and just as he had got out into the open road again he met Jesus Christ coming towards him carrying His cross. And St. Peter asked Him what he was doing going into the “catacomboli.” But Jesus Christ answered, “I am not going into the ‘catacomboli’ to stay; I am going back by the way you came to be crucified over again, since you refuse to die for the flock.” Then St. Peter turned and went all the way back, and was crucified with his head downwards, for he said he was not worthy to die in the same way as his Master.’
[Counterparts of these stories abound in the collections of all countries; in the Norse, and Gaelic, and Russian, more of the pagan element seems to stick to them. In Grimm’s are some with both much and little of it. From Tirol I have given two, which are literally free from it, in ‘Household Stories from the Land of Hofer;’ and I have one or two picked up for me by a friend in Brittany, of which the same may be said. On the other hand, we meet them again in another form in that large group of strange compounds, of which ‘Il Rè Moro,’ p. 97, &c., are the Roman representatives, and ‘Marienkind,’ pp. 7–12, ‘Grimm Kinder und Hausmährchen,’ ed. 1870, the link between them. In the minds of the Roman narrators, however, I am quite clear no such connexion exists. See also p. 207 infra.
One of the quaintest legends of this class is given in Scheible’s ‘Schaltjahr.’ It is meant for a charm to drive away wolves.]
‘Lord Jesus Christ and St. Peter went in the morning out.
As our Lady went on before she said (turning about),
“Ah, dear Lord! whither must we go in and out?
We must over hill and dale (roundabout).
May God guard the while my flock (devout).
Let not St. Peter go his keys without;
But take them and lock up the wild dogs’[14] snout,
That they no bone of them all may flout.”’
[2] ‘Date mi un po’ d’allogio;’ lit., Give me a small quantity of lodging—a humble mode of expression. [↑]
[3] ‘Chi è?’ (‘Who’s there’); but the humour of the expression here lies in its being the invariable Roman custom to sing out ‘Chi è?’ and wait till ‘Amici!’ is answered, before any door is opened. [↑]
[4] Comp. with Legend of the Marmolata in ‘Household Stories from the land of Hofer.’ [↑]
[5] ‘Un pagnotto di polenta’ was the expression used, meaning a great coarse loaf of Indian corn. The Roman poor have much the same contempt for inferior bread that we meet with in the same class at home, none eat ‘seconds’ who can possibly avoid it; but the pagnotto di polenta is only eaten by the poorest peasants. [↑]
[6] ‘Strutto,’ lard, enters into the composition of almost every Roman popular dish. [↑]
[7] ‘Che bolliva,’ constantly applied in Roman parlance to solids as well as liquids. [↑]
[8] The narrator was an admirable reciter, and as she uttered this ‘Vi sia concessa,’ in a solemn and majestic manner, she raised her hand and made the sign of the cross with a rapid and facile gesture, just as she might have seen the Pope do as he drove through Rome. [↑]
[9] ‘Trattoria,’ can only be translated by ‘tavern,’ but unfortunately the English word represents quite a different idea from the Roman. ‘Tavern’ suggests noise and riot, but a ‘trattoria’ is a place where a poor Roman will take his family to dine quietly with him on a festa as a treat. [↑]
[10] ‘Death,’ being feminine in Italian, has to be personified as a woman. The same occurs in a Spanish counterpart of this story which I have given under the title of ‘Starving John the Doctor’ in ‘Patrañas.’ The Spanish counterpart of the rest of the story will be found in ‘Where one can dine two can dine’ (‘Un Convidado invida a ciento’) in the same series. [↑]
[11] ‘Olive the priest.’ ‘When we were children,’ said the narrator, ‘my father used to tell us such a lot of stories of an evening, but of them all the two we used to ask for most, again and again, and the only two I remember, were “Mi butto,” and “Pret’ Olivo.” Do you know “Mi butto”? We used to shudder at it, and yet we used to ask for it.’ I incautiously admitted I did know it, instead of acquiring a fresh version. ‘Then here is “Pret’ Olivo.” I don’t suppose I was more than seven then, and now I am thirty-five, and I have never heard it since, but I’ll make the best I can of it. Of course it is not a true story; we knew that it couldn’t be true, as anyone can see; but it used to interest us children.’ [↑]
[12] ‘Vaene brutto prete! Questa non è roba per me.’ [↑]
[13] ‘Brutto Plutone!’ The traditional application of the name will not have escaped the reader. [↑]
[14] ‘Holzhund,’ I suppose, is used for wild dog. [↑]