“Spirito di Belsàbo,
Io ti scongiurò
Che per comando mio
Tu lasci una vita sfrenata
Come ’ai tenuto per il passato
E dentro il corpo di Tribaldo
Tu possa entrare e divenire
Un capo di famiglia
Fino a ordine mio.
E tutti quei
Fanciulli educherai (sic).”“Spirit of Belsàbo,
I now conjure thee
That by my command
Thou shalt leave the lewd life
Which thou did’st lead of old,
And enter into this body
Of Di Tribaldo, and become
Head of a family,
And educate his children.”
So into the body he went, as the spirit of Di Tribaldo went out, like the toy which shows the weather in which one puppet pops forth as the other goes in. So there he lay for a minute, all the children around in silent amazement that he had departed without cursing them. When all at once up leaped Balsàbo, as gay as a lark, crying like a Scaramuccio:
“Whoop, pigs! here we are again!”
Hearing which, the dear children, understanding that he had come to life again, did indeed weep bitterly, so that Di Tribaldo, had he stopped a little longer, might have been amazed. But he had no sooner gone out of his body than a great grim devil, a kind of detective demon, who was on the look-out for souls, whipped him up, gave him a couple of cuffs to keep him quiet, and, putting him into a game-bag, drawing the cords tight, and then rolling them round and tying them, flew off to give the prey up to the proper authorities, and what disposition they made of this precious piece of property I know not, nor truly do I much care. All that can be said is that ’twas a good riddance of bad rubbish, and that we may all rejoice that he comes no more into this story.
But what was the amazement of the well-nigh bereaved children when their solemn parent made a leap half-way to the ceiling, and then, while imitating with his mouth a zufolo, or shepherd’s pipe, to perfection, began to dance with grace a wild coranto, and anon sang:
“Chi ben vive, ben muore,
Io lo credo in mio cuore;
Oggi vivo, in figura,
E doman in sepoltura,
Ho scappato ben il orco,
Morto io, morto il porco!” [23]“He who lives well may well depart,
As I believe with all my heart.
To-day alive, and all in bloom,
To-morrow buried in the tomb;
But I’ve escaped, and don’t care why!
If I were dead the pig might die!
The pig might die, the world be burned!
And everything to ashes turned!”
Which pious song being ended, he asked them why they were all staring at him like a party of stuck pigs, and bade them scamper and send out for a good supper, with flowers and wine; and on their asking what he would have, he replied, still singing:
“Everything to please the palate,
Venison, woodcocks, larks, and sallet,
Partridges both wild and tame,
And every other kind of game,
Buttered eggs and macaroni,
Salmagundi, rice and honey,
Mince-pies and oyster too,
Lobster patties, veal ragoût,
Beef, with mushrooms round the dish,
And everything that heart could wish.”
Whereupon, being told by his eldest daughter, who was of opinion that he had gone mad, that such a supper would cost twenty crowns, he replied that it could not be done for the money, and that he should always expect such a meal every day, and a much better one when guests should come. Wherein he kept his word, and amazed them all by urging them to stuff and cram to their hearts’ desire, but especially by pressing them to drink; and whereas it had been of yore that they had been scolded like beasts if they so much as begged for a second glass of sour, half-watered wine, they were now jeered and jibed as duffers and sticks for not swigging off their bumpers of the best and strongest like men.
And they also noted a great change in this, that while the late Signore Tribaldo had ever been as severe in manner and conversation as any saint, and grim as an old owl, the Signore Balsàbo during the meal cracked one joke after the other, some of them none too seemly, and roared with laughter at their frightened looks. But as ’tis easy to teach young cats the way to the dairy, they began to slowly put out one paw after the other, and be of the opinion that on the whole their dear papa had been much improved by his death and revival. And some word having been said of games, he suddenly whipped out a pack of cards and proposed play. At which his eldest son replying that it would be but a thin game with them who had hardly a quattrino apiece, Balsàbo sent for his strong-box, which was indeed well-lined, and gave them each a hundred crowns in gold, swearing it was a shame that such a magnificent family as his should go about like poor beggars, because handsome youth and beautiful girls needed fine clothes, and that in future they were all to spend what they liked—and bless the expense at that!—for as long as there was twopence in the locker, half of it should be theirs.