The Story Of The Unfinished Palace

“‘Yes, you have cheated me,’ howled the devil to the architect. ‘But
I lay a curse upon your work. It shall never be finished.’”—_Snow
and Planche’s_ “_Legends of the Rhine_.”

All great and ancient buildings which were never finished have a legend referring to their incompleteness. There was one relative to the Cathedral of Cologne, which may be found in Planche’s “Legends of the Rhine,” and as there is a _palazzo non finito_ in Florence, I at once scented an old story; nor was I disappointed, it being unearthed in due time, and written out for me as follows:

IL PALAZZO NON FINITO.

“On the corner of the Via del Proconsole and the Borgo degli Albizzi there is an unfinished palace.

“The great Signore Alessandro Strozzi had a friend who, when dying, confided to him the care of his only son. And it was a troublesome task, for the youth was of a strange temper. And a vast property was left to the young man, his father imploring him not to waste it, and to live in friendship with his guardian.

“But his father had hardly closed his eyes in death before this youth began to act wildly, and above all things to gamble terribly. And as the saying is, _Il diavolo ha parte in ogni giuoco_—‘The devil has a hand in every game,’ so he soon brought himself into company with the gamester. Now, as you have heard, ’tis _la lingua o la bocca e quella che fa il giuoco_.

“‘Every game, as it is sung,
Is won by mouth, or else by tongue.’

“So this devil or imp by smooth talk succeeded in deceiving the young heir, and leading him into a compact by which he was to achieve for the Signore all the work which might be required of him for a hundred years, no matter what it was, and then the heir must forfeit his soul.

“For some time the young man was satisfied with always winning at gambling. Yes, he ruined scores, hundreds, and piled up gold till he got sick of the sight of cards. You know the saying, ‘When the belly is full the eyes are tired,’ and ‘A crammed dove hates to fly.’

“So for a while he kept the devil busy, bringing him a girl here, and building him a tower there, sending him to India for diamonds, or setting him at work to keep off storm and hail from his vineyards, which the devil found hard work enough, I promise you, Signore, for then he had to fight other devils and witches. Then he put him at a harder job. There was a ghost of a _stregone_ or wizard who haunted his _palazzo_. Now such ghosts are the hardest to lay.

“‘_E niente_, _Signore_,’ said the devil. ‘_E vi passarebbe un carro di fieno_. ’Tis nothing, my lord; one could drive a cartload of hay through it.’ {92} But the devil had a devil of a time to lay _that_ ghost! There was clanking of chains and howling, and _il diavolo scatenato_ all night long ere it was done.

“‘_E finito_, _Signore_,’ said the devil in the morning. But he looked so worn-out and tired, that the young man began to _think_.

“And he thought, ‘This devil of mine is not quite so clever as I supposed.’ And it is a fact that it was only a _diavolino_—a small devil who had thought the young man was a fool—in which he was mistaken. A man may have _un ramo di pazzo come l’olmo di Fiesole_—‘be a bit of a fool,’ but ‘a fool and a sage together can beat a clever man,’ as the saying is, and both were in this boy’s brain, for he came of wizard blood. So he reflected, ‘Perhaps I can cheat this devil after all.’ And he did it.

“Moreover, this devil being foolish, had begun to be too officious and consequential. He was continually annoying the Signore by asking for more work, even when he did not want it, as if to make a show of his immense ability and insatiable activity. Finally, beginning to believe in his own power, he began to appear far too frequently, uncalled, rising up from behind chairs abruptly in his own diabolical form, in order to inspire fear; but the young lad had not been born in Carnival to be afraid of a mask, as the saying is, and all this only made him resolve to send his attendant packing.

“‘Chi ha pazienza, cugino,
Ha i tordi grassi a un quattrino.’

“‘He who hath patience, mind me, cousin,
May buy fat larks a farthing a dozen.’

“Now, amid all these dealings, the young signore had contrived to fall in love with the daughter of his guardian, Alessandro Strozzi, and also to win her affections; but he observed one day when he went to see her, having the _diavolino_ invisible by his side, the attendant spirit suddenly jibbed or balked, like a horse which stops before the door, and refused to go farther. For there was a Madonna painted on the outside, and the devil said:

“‘I see a virgin form divine,
And virgins are not in my line;
I’m not especially devout:
Go thou within—I’ll wait without!’

“And the young man observing that his devil was devilishly afraid of holy water, made a note of it for future use. And having asked the Signore Alessandro Strozzi for the hand of his daughter, the great lord consented, but made it a condition that the youth should build for his bride a palace on the corner of the Via del Proconsolo and the Borgo degli Albizzi, and it must be ready within a year. This he said because in his heart he did not like the match, yet for his daughter’s love he put this form upon it, and he hoped that ere the time would be out something might happen to prevent the marriage. _In fin che v’è fiato v’è speranza_—while there is breath, Signore, there is hope.

“Now the young man having resolved to finish with his devil for good and all, began to give him great hope in divers ways. And one day he said to the imp:

“‘Truly thou hast great power, but I have a mind to make a great final game with thee. _Ogni bel giuoco vuol durar poco_—no good game should last long, and let us play this compact of ours out. If thou canst build for me a palace at the corner of the Via del Proconsolo and the Borgo degli Albizzi, and finish it in every detail exactly as I shall order it, then will I be thine, and thou need’st do no more work for me. And if thou canst not complete it to my taste, then our compact will be all smoke, and we two past acquaintances.’

“Now it is said that to cook an egg to a turn, make a dog’s bed to suit him exactly, or teach a Florentine a trick, _sono trè cose difficilé_—are three very difficult things to do, and this contract for building the palace on time with indefinite ornaments made the devil shake in his shoes. However, he knew that ‘Pippo found out how to stand an egg on its end,’ {94} and where there’s a will there’s a way, especially when you have ‘all hell to back you up’—_tutto l’inferno a spalleggiarvi_.

“So he built and built away, with one gang of devils disguised as workmen by day, and another, invisible, by night, and everybody was amazed to see how the palace rose like weeds after a rain; for, as the saying is, _mala herba presto cresce_—‘ill weeds grow apace,’ and this had the devil to water it.

“Till at last one day, when the six months were nearly up, the imp said to the master:

“‘_Ebbene_, Signore, it is getting to the time for you to tell me how you would like to have the palace decorated. Thus far everything has been done exactly as you directed.’

“‘Ah yes, I see—all done but the finishing. Well, it may be a little hard, but I promise you, on the word of a gentleman (_tra galant’ uomini una parola e un instrumento_), that I will not ask you to do anything which cannot be executed even by the artists of this city.’

“Now the devil was delighted to hear this (for he was afraid he might be called on to work miracles unheard of), and so replied:

“‘_Top_! what man has done the devil can do. I’ll risk the trick if you swear that men can work it.’

“‘I swear!’

“‘And what is the finish?’

“‘Oh, very easy. My wife who is to be is of a very pious turn, and I want to please her. Firstly, all the work must be equal in execution to the best by the greatest masters—painting, sculpture, and gilding.’

“‘Agreed.’

“‘Secondly, the subjects. Over the front door—_bisogna mettermi Gesu Cristo onnipotente unitamente a Maria e il suo divin figlio_, _Padre_, _Figlio e Spirito Santo_—that is, the Holy Family and Trinity, the Virgin and Child.’

“‘Wha—wha—what’s that?’ stammered the devil, aghast. ‘It isn’t fair play—not according to the game.’

“‘On every door,’ continued the young man, raising his voice, and looking severely at the devil, ‘the same subject is to be repeated on a thick gold ground, all the ultramarine to be of the very best quality, washed in holy water.’

“‘Ugh! ugh! ugh!’ wailed the devil.

“‘The roof is to be covered with the images of saints as pinnacles, and, by the way, wherever you have a blank space, outside on the walls or inside, including ceilings—just cover it with the same subjects—the Temptation of Saint Antony or Saint—’

“‘Oh, go to the devil with your saints and gold grounds!’ roared the imp. ‘Truly I have lost this game; fishing with a golden hook is a fool’s business. There is the compact!’

“It was night—deep, dark night—there came a blinding flash of light—an awful crash of indescribable unearthly sound, like a thunder-voice. The imp, taking the form of a _civetta_ or small owl, vanished through the window in the storm-wind and rain, wailing, ‘_Mai finito_!’

“And it is said that to this day the small owl still perches by night on the roof of the palace, wailing wearily—‘Unfinished! unfinished!’”

* * * * *

In no country in the world has unscrupulous vigorous intellect been so admired as in Italy, the land of the Borgias and Machiavellis. In the rest of Europe man finds a master in the devil; in Italy he aims at becoming the devil’s master. This is developed boldly in the legend of “Intialo,” to which I have devoted another chapter, and it appears as markedly in this. The idea of having an attendant demon, whom the master, in the consciousness of superior intellect, despises, knowing that he will crush him when he will, is not to be found, I believe, in a single German, French, or any other legend not Italian.

If this be so, it is a conception well deserving study, as illustrating the subtle and powerful Italian intellect as it was first analysed by Macaulay, and is now popularly understood by such writers as Scaife. {96} It is indeed a most unholy and unchristian conception, since it is quite at war with the orthodox theology of the Church, as of Calvin and Luther, which makes the devil the grand master of mankind, and irresistible except where man is saved by a _special_ miracle or grace.

And it may also be noted from such traditions that folk-lore, when it shall have risen to a sense of its true dignity and power, will not limit itself to collecting variants of fairy tales to prove the routes of races over the earth, but rise to illustrating the characteristic, and even the æsthetic, developments of different stocks. That we are now laying the basis for this is evident.

Though the devil dared not depict lives and legends of the saints upon the palace, he did not neglect to put his own ugly likeness there, repeated above the four front windows in a perfectly appalling Gothic style, which contrasts oddly with the later and severe character of the stately building. These faces are fiendish enough to have suggested the story.

It may here be mentioned that it was in the middle of the Borgo degli Albizzi, near this palace, that that indefatigable corpse-reviver and worker of miracles, San Zenobio, raised from the dead the child of a noble and rich French lady. “Then in that place there was put a pillar of white marble in the middle of the street, as a token of a great miracle.”

“_Hæc fabula docet_—this fable teaches,” adds Flaxius the immortal,
“that there was never yet anything left incomplete by neglect or
incapacity or poverty, be it in buildings or in that higher
structure, man himself, but what it was attributed to the devil. If
it had not been for the devil, what fine fellows, what charming
creatures, we would all have been to be sure! The devil alone
inspires us to sin; _we_ would never have dreamed of it. Whence I
conclude that the devil is dearer to man, and a greater benefactor,
than all the saints and several deities thrown in, because he serves
as a scudaway scapegoat, and excellent excuse for the sins of all the
orthodox of all time. How horrible it would be were we all made unto
ourselves distinctly responsible for our sins—our unfinished palaces,
our good resolutions broken; and how very pleasant it is that it is
all the devil’s fault, and not our own! Oh my friends, did I believe
as ye do—which I don’t—I would long ago have raised altars and
churches to the devil, wherein I would praise him daily as the one
who in spirit and in truth takes upon himself the sins of all the
world, bearing the burden of our iniquities. For saying which thing,
but in other words, the best Christian of his age, Bishop Agobard,
was hunted down well-nigh to death. Thus endeth a great lesson!”