“‘A campanile—a church bell-tower of a fool,’ contributed his wife, who had just come in.
“The poor horse continued to bleed.
“‘You are like the mouse,’ added a neighbour, ‘who thought because he had dipped the end of his tail in the meal, that he owned and could run the mill.’
“‘The Florentine method of shoeing horses,’ remarked Saint Peter gravely, ‘does not appear to be invariably successful. I think that we had better recur to mine.’ And with this he put the hoof to the ankle, and presto! the miracle was wrought again. That is the story. In most cases, Signore, un pazzo gitta una pietra nel pozzo—a fool rolls a rock into a well which it requires a hundred wise men to get out again. This time a single sage
sufficed. But for that you must have the Lord at your back, as Saint Peter had.”
“Why do they say, as foolish as a crawfish or lobster?” I inquired.
“Because, Signore, the granchio, be he lobster or crawfish, carries his head in the scarsella, which is a hole in his belly. Men who have their brains in their bellies—or gluttons—are generally foolish. But what is the use of boasting of our wisdom? He who has neither poor men nor fools among his relations was born of the lightning or of thunder.”
There is another story current among the people, though it is in print, but as it is a merry one, belonging truly enough to the folk-lore of Florence, I give it as it runs:
“You have heard of Piovano Arlotto, who made this our town so lively long ago. It was rich then, indeed. There are more flowers than florins in Florence now: ogni fior non fa frutto—all flowers do not bear fruit.
“Well, it happened one day that Piovano, having heard a good story from Piero di Cosimo de’ Medicis, answered with another. Now the tale which Messer Piero di Cosimo told was this: