A capital story is told by the author of the article in the "Civiltà Cattolica," which is to the point here, and which, even were it not told on such respectable authority, bears its truth on the face of it. As very frequently happens, a poor bottegaio, or shopkeeper, being hard-driven by his creditors, went to his priest, an uomo apostolico, and prayed him earnestly to give him three numbers to play in the lottery.
"But how under heaven," says the innocent priest, "has it ever got into your head that I can know the five numbers which are to issue in the lottery?"
"Eh! Padre mio! what will it cost you?" was the answer. "Just look at me and my wretched family; if we do not pay our rent on Saturday, out we go into the street. There is nothing left but the lottery, and you can give us the three numbers that will set all right."
"Oh, there you are again! I am ready to do all I can to assist you, but this matter of the lottery is impossible; and I must say, that your folly, in supposing I can give you the three lucky numbers, does little credit to your brains."
"Oh, no! no! do not say so, Padre mio! Give me a terno. It will be like rain in May, or cheese on my maccaroni. On my word of honor, I'll keep it secret. Via! You, so good and charitable, cannot refuse me the three numbers. Pray, content me this once."
"Caro mio! I will give you a rule for always being content:—Avoid Sin, think often on Death, and behave so as to deserve Paradise,—and so"——
"Basta! basta! Padre mio! That's enough. Thanks! thanks! God will reward you."
And, making a profound reverence, off the bottegaio rushes to his house. There he takes down the "Libro del Sogni," calls into consultation his wife and children, and, after a long and earnest discussion and study, the three numbers corresponding to the terms Sin, Death, and Paradise are settled upon, and away goes our friend to play them in the lottery. Will you believe it? the three numbers are drawn,—and the joy of the poor bottegaio and his family may well be imagined. But what you will not imagine is the persecution of the poor uomo apostolico which followed. The secret was all over town the next day, and he was beset by scores of applicants for numbers. Vainly he protested and declared that he knew nothing, and that the man's drawing the right numbers was all chance. Every word he spoke turned into numbers, and off ran his hearers to play them. He was like the girl in the fairy story, who dropped pearls every time she spoke. The worst of the imbroglio was, that in an hour the good priest had uttered words equivalent to all the ninety numbers in the lottery, and the players were all at loggerheads with each other. Nor did this persecution cease for weeks, nor until those who had played the numbers corresponding to his words found themselves, as the Italians say, with only flies in their hands.
The stupidity of many of the common people in regard to these numbers is wonderful. When the number drawn is next to the number they have, they console themselves with thinking that they were within one of it,—as if in such cases a miss were not as bad as a mile. But when the number drawn is a multiple of the one they play, it is a sympathetic number, and is next door to winning; and if the number come reversed,—as if, having played 12, it come out 21,—he laughs with delight. "Eh, don't you see, you stupid fellow," said the speziale of a village one day to a dunce of a contadino, of whose infallible terno not a single number had been drawn,—"Don't you see, in substance all your three numbers have been drawn? and it's shameful in you to be discontented. Here you have played 8—44—26, and instead of these have been drawn 7—11—62. Well! just observe! Your 8 is just within one point of being 7; your 44 is in substance 11, for 4 times 11 are 44 exactly; and your 26 is nothing more or less than precisely 62 reversed;—what would you ask more?" And by his own mode of reasoning, the poor contadino sees as clearly as possible that he has really won,—only the difficulty is that he cannot touch the prize without correcting the little variations. Ma, pazienza! he came so near this time, that he will be sure to win the next,—and away he goes to hunt out more sympathetic numbers, and to rejoice with his friends on coming so near winning.
Dreams of numbers are, of course, very frequent,—and are justly much prized. Yet one must know how to use them, and be brave and bold, or the opportunity is lost. I myself once dreamt of having gained a terno in the lottery, but was fool enough not to play it,—and in consequence lost a prize, the very numbers coming up in the next drawing. The next time I have such a dream, of course I shall play; but perhaps I shall be too late, and only lose. And this recalls to my mind a story, which may serve as a warning to the timid and an encouragement to the bold. An Englishman, who had lived on bad terms with a very quarrelsome and annoying wife, (according to his own account, of course,) had finally the luck, I mean the misfortune, to lose her. He had lived long enough in Italy, however, to say "Pazienza" and buried his sorrows and his wife in the same grave. But, after the lapse of some time, his wife appeared to him in a dream, and confessed her sins towards him during her life, and prayed his forgiveness, and added, that in token of reconciliation he must accept three numbers to play in the lottery, which would certainly win a great prize. But the husband was obstinate, and absolutely refused to follow the advice of a friend to whom he recounted the odd dream, and who urged him to play the numbers. "Bah!" he answered to this good counsel; "I know her too well;—she never meant well to me during her life, and I don't believe she's changed now that she's dead. She only means to play me a trick, and make me lose. But I'm too old a bird to be taken with her chaff." "Better play them," said his friend, and they separated. In the course of a week they met again. "By the way," said the friend, "did you see that your three numbers came up in the lottery this morning?" "The Devil they did! What a consummate fool I was not to play them!" "You didn't play them?" "No!" "Well, I did, and won a good round sum with them, too." So the obstinate husband, mad at his ill luck, cursed himself for a fool, and had his curses for his pains. That very night, however, his wife again appeared to him, and, though she reproached him a little for his want of faith in her, (no woman could be expected to forego such an opportunity, even though she were dead,) yet she forgave him, and added,—"Think no more about it now, for here are three more numbers, just as good." The husband, who had eaten the bitter food of experience, was determined at all events not to let his fortune slip again through his fingers, and played the highest possible terno in the lottery, and waited anxiously for the next drawing. He could scarcely eat his breakfast for nervousness, that morning,—but at last mid-day sounded, and the drawing took place, but no one of his numbers came up. "Too late! taken in!" he cried. "Confound her! she knew me better than I knew myself. She gave me a prize the first time, because she knew I wouldn't play it; and, having so whet my passions, she then gave me a blank the second time, because she knew I would play it. I might have known better."