“These bagarozzi don’t know what Ascension day is nowadays, or they would hide themselves,” he said.
Mr. Vane asked what connection there was between bagarozzi and Ascension day, and the servant-man, albeit a little ashamed of having committed himself to tell a story, explained:
“When I was young, it was a custom among the Roman boys, on the vigil of the Ascension, to go down into our cellars, or those of our neighbors, and catch as many bagarozzi as we could. When evening came, we fixed to the back of each one a bit of wax taper, melting the end to make it stick. Half an hour or so after Ave Maria we marshalled our bugs, lighted the tapers on their backs, and sent them off in a procession. While they went we sang a song we had. It was a pretty sight to see the little tapers scampering off through the dark.”
“Why! I should think it would have scorched them!” Bianca exclaimed with surprise.
The man laughed at her simplicity. “Who knows?” he said, with a shrug. “They never came back to tell us.”
Isabel inquired what the song was to which this novel procession marched.
The man laughed again and repeated the doggerel:
“'Corri, corri, bagarone;
Che dimane è l’Ascensione;
L’Ascension delle pagnotte: