“One morning Barlacchia, with other boon companions, went to La Certosa, three miles distant from Florence, [71] where, having heard mass, they were taken over the convent by one of the friars, who showed them the convent and cells. Of which Barlacchia said ’twas all very fine, but that he would like to see the wine-cellar—sentendosi egli hauer sete—as he felt great thirst sadly stealing over him.
“To which the friar replied that he would gladly show them that part of the convent, but that unfortunately the Decano who kept the keys was absent. [Decano, dean or deacon, may be rendered roughly in English as a dog, or literally of a dog or currish.] To which Barlacchia replied, ‘Truly I am sorry for it, and I wish you were all de’ cani or dogs!’
Times have changed, and whether this tale brought about the reform I cannot say, but it is certain that the good monks at present, without waiting to be asked, generally offer a glass of their famous cordial to visitors. Tastes may differ, but to mine, when it is old, the green Certosa, though far cheaper, is superior to Chartreuse.
Another tale of Barlacchia, which has a certain theological affinity with this story, is as follows:
“A great illness once befell Barlacchia, so that it was rumoured all over Florence that he was dead, and great was the grieving thereover. But having recovered, by the grace of God, he went from his house to the palace of the Grand Duke, who said to him:
“‘Ha! art thou alive, Barlacchia? We all heard that thou wert dead.’
“‘Signore, it is true,’ was his reply. ‘I was indeed in the other world, but they sent me back again, and that for a mere trifle, which you forgot to give me.’
“‘And what was that?’ asked the Duke.
“‘I knocked,’ resumed Barlacchia, ‘at the gate of heaven, and they asked me who I was, what I had done in the world, and whether I had left any landed property. To which I replied no, never having begged for anything. So they sent me off, saying that they did not want any such poor devils about them—non volevano là simile dapochi. And therefore, illustrious Signore, I make so bold as to ask that you would kindly give me some small estate, so that another time I may not be turned away.’
“Which so pleased the magnificent and liberal Lorenzo that he bestowed on Barlacchia a podere or farm.
“Now for a long time after this illness, Barlacchia was very pale and haggard, so that everybody who met him (and he was well known to everybody) said, ‘Barlacchia, mind the rules’—meaning the rules of health; or else, ‘Barlacchia, look to yourself;’ or regolati! or guardatevi!—till at last he became tired with answering them. So he got several small wooden rules or rulers, such as writers use to draw lines, and hung them by a cord to his neck, and with them a little mirror, and when any one said ‘Regolati’—‘mind the rules,’ he made no reply, but looked at the sticks, and when they cried ‘Guardatevi!’ he regarded himself in the mirror, and so they were answered.”
This agrees with the sketch of Lorenzo as given by Oscar Browning in his admirable “Age of the Condottieri,” a short history of Mediæval Italy from 1409 to 1530:
“Lorenzo was a bad man of business; he spent such large sums on himself that he deserved the appellation of the Magnificent. He reduced himself to poverty by his extravagance; he alienated his fellow-citizens by his lust . . . and was shameless in the promotion of his private favourites.”
Yet with all this he was popular, and left a legendary fame in which generosity rivals a love of adventure. I have collected many traditions never as yet published relating to him, and in all he appears as a bon prince.
“But verily when I consider that what made a gallant lord four hundred years ago would be looked after now by the Lord Chancellor and the law courts with a sharp stick, I must needs,” writes Flaxius, “exclaim with Spenser sweet:
“‘Me seemes the world is run quite out of square,
For that which all men once did Vertue call,
Is now called Vice, and that which Vice was hight
Is now hight Vertue, and so used of all;
Right now is wrong, and wrong that was, is right,
As all things else in time are changed quight.’”