“It may be,” said they, “that the person that fetched it may have deceived you, and put poison in the draught.” The servant, upon this, was immediately called up; he said that he had brought that which the apothecary had given him, without looking into what it might be, and that he would rather die than have done such a thing; being extremely fond of the youth, and besides a very worthy servant, he was easily credited. The apothecary was next sent for, but he positively asserted he had sent the same draught as usual. No one could imagine how this could have happened; the physicians, however, determined to come to the bottom of it, desired the bottles to be brought to them, and dipping in the finger, and tasting the dregs, they immediately perceived the sublimate of the cosmetic. “Good lady,” said they, “you have been deceived, this is not the endive decoction, but real poison.” The lady, examining the bottle more minutely, immediately suspected it was that wherein the wash used to be; terror seized her; she called the maid, and it was discovered that she had given her mistress the wrong bottle. The physicians instantly used every means in their power, but the poison had had too much time to work on the vital parts, and nothing could save him. The disconsolate mother threw herself on her lifeless child, and remained there till they really thought she had expired; the doctors, however, used their skill, and soon recovered her, but the poor creature, instead of feeling thankful for their kind offices, reproached them for not allowing her to die; but, said she, that which grief will not do, my hand shall accomplish. Thus saying, she caught a knife that lay on the table, and was in the act of destroying herself, when they all interposed. She called them most cruel in wishing her to endure life; cursed her hard fate, and her ill fortune; accused heaven; raved; insisted that her maid should be brought to her, that she might strangle her with her own hands, since her carelessness had brought her beloved son to the grave. Those present endeavoured to remind her that it was not any ill intention, but a mistake; and that, therefore, the girl did not deserve so severe a punishment. She insisted, however, that she should be taken up, and examined; but the judge, finding her more silly than guilty, absolved her. This did not satisfy dame Placida, and they were obliged to remove the young woman from her service, who was sorely grieved at her careless conduct, having been the cause of so fatal an accident. After this delirium and rage against the poor girl had subsided, she began to reflect on herself, and considering that her pride, in wishing to preserve her beauty, had been the sole cause, she tore her hair, scratched her face, and totally disfigured herself, and talked of nothing but killing herself; “No!” said she, “I, who have murdered my child, do not deserve to live!” She constantly entreated those who had the care of her to kill her. Finding this would not avail, she determined to starve herself, and would neither eat nor drink, and they were obliged to force some nourishing liquid down her throat. She at last went downright mad, and, in her madness, was ever calling upon her beloved son. She continued so a few years, and was at last happily released; happily, it must be allowed, since she would have suffered the most agonizing pain and anguish of heart had she lived.
THE DEAD ALIVE
There was, not many years ago, at a village called Valdistrove near Siena, a countryman of about thirty years of age, a fine stout and sturdy fellow, and industrious too, who never lost an hour in idleness, and one of the best labourers about the place. Santi-grande was his name, grande being added from a nick name given to his father. This fellow was extraordinarily strong and powerful, but the greatest ninny that ever lived; nature had certainly endowed him with strength of body, but had left his upper rooms totally unfurnished, in so much that he became the sport of the villagers, who delighted in playing him all sorts of tricks—no uncommon thing in villages, where an idiot or so is usually to be met with. Even gentlemen of the neighbourhood would often play him some trick or other. Poor Santi took it all very quietly—insensible of his inaptitude. Some time since a favorite goat, which he prided himself in, had brought forth two kids; he was highly delighted, and thought himself a Croesus in the possession of these, and planned what was to be done with the money they would fetch, when they were grown to a proper size. He said to his brother, “Simon! get me those two kids ready by the morning, for I will go to Siena to-morrow, and sell them.” Santi was so elated, that he could not sleep the whole night. Simon, who wished to humour him, got the kids ready, saying to him, “now don’t ye go and make a foolish bargain, for they are well worth three livres; they are stout little creatures.”
“Leave that to me,” said the poor silly fellow, “I knows how to make a bargain, I warrant you,” and away he went, Singing. It so happened that when he came to the Porta del Diavolo, two of his neighbours met him, and being in a merry humour, determined to have a little sport with him. Aware of his errand, one of them said, “well, Santi, have you capons to sell there?”
“Faith,” said Santi, “unless my brother has played me a trick I think they are two fine kids,” so saying, he was feeling their ears and shooting horns. Our two humourists observing that Santi was a little in doubt about their identity, were inclined to carry on the joke. “Nay,” said one, “feel again, for they are capons to a certainty.” A porter that happened to be near him, seeing what was going on, cried out “Here, master, will you sell your capons? What do you ask for them?” Santi stopped short in amazement at the question; the fellow drawing near, said, “well, will you sell them?”
“No,” said Santi, “I won’t; they are not capons, they are kids.” One of the youngsters kept close in conversation with Santi, asking him how he came to be so tricked; while the other, mending his pace, persuaded all those he met with, to ask the man if he would sell his capons? the which they all did. When the fellow got to the inn of the Angel, he told the landlord of the joke, and all the stable-boys and waiters came forth, crying out, “will you sell your capons, Santi?” and all seeming anxious to buy them. Poor Santi looked hard at the kids, and could not be persuaded that they could be capons, therefore made the same answer, that they were kids not capons; “for,” said he, “I told brother to pack up the kids, not capons.”
“Why,” said the youngster, “they are well worth the kids, but if thou attemptest to sell them for kids, every one will think thou art mad.” His companion, meanwhile, had gone forward to the city gate to tell the custom-house officers the joke, so that when Santi came to the gate, they demanded the duty for the capons, which was one penny each: “But,” said Santi, “these are kids.”
“Oh! let him alone,” said one of the officers, “he is mad, and wants to pay the duty for kids instead of capons.”