In Troubador-Land | Page 6

and of the prospects
of harvest. If the bird sails along without a hitch, then the summer will
be fine, but if there be sluggishness of movement, and one halt, then
another, the year is sure to be one of storms and late frosts and hail.
Now what is the origin of this extraordinary custom--a custom that is
childish, and yet is so curious that one would hardly wish to see it
abolished?
Several stories are told to explain it, none very satisfactory. According
to one, a Florentine knight was in the crusading host of Godfrey de
Bouillon, and was the first to climb the walls of Jerusalem, and plant
thereon the banner of the Cross. He at once sent tidings of the recovery
of the Holy Sepulchre back to his native town by a carrier pigeon, and
thus the Florentines received the glad tidings long before it reached any
other city in Europe. In token of their gladness at the news, they

instituted the ceremony of the white pigeon and the carro on Easter
Eve.
[Illustration: A Florentine torch holder.]
Another story is to the effect that this Florentine entered the city of
Jerusalem before the first crusade, broke off a large fragment of the
Holy Sepulchre, and carried it to Florence. He was pursued by the
Saracens, but escaped by shoeing his horse with reversed irons.
Another version is that he resolved to bring back to Florence the sacred
flame that burnt in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Accordingly he
lighted thereat a torch, and rode back to Italy with the torch flaming.
But to protect it from the wind, he rode with his face to the tail of his
steed, screening the torch with his body. As he thus rode, folk who saw
him shouted "Pazzi! Pazzi!"--Fool! Fool! and this name was assumed
by his family ever after. The Pazzis of Florence every year paid all the
expenses of the carro till quite recently, when the Municipality
assumed the charge and now defray it from the city chest. Clearly the
origin of the custom is forgotten; nevertheless it is not difficult to
explain the meaning of the ceremony.
In the Eastern Church, and still, in many churches in the West, the
lights are extinguished on Good Friday, and formerly this was the case
with all fires, those of the domestic hearth as well as the lamps in
church. On Easter Day, fresh fire was struck with flint and steel by the
bishop, and all candles, lamps and hearths were rekindled from this
new light. At the present day one of the most solemn scenes in the
Eastern Church is this kindling of the Easter fire, and its
communication from one to another in a vast congregation assembled
to receive it and carry it off to their homes. In the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre at Jerusalem, the new fire kindled and blessed by the
patriarch, is cast down from the height of the dome.
In Florence, anciently, it was much the same. The archbishop struck the
Easter fire, and it was then distributed among the people; but there were
inconveniences, unseemly scuffles, accidents even, and the dove was
devised as a means of conveying the Easter fire outside the Duomo, and
kindling a great bonfire, whereat the people might light their torches

without desecrating the sacred building by scrambling and fighting
therein for the hallowed flame. At this bonfire all could obtain the fire
without inconvenience. By degrees the bonfire lost its significance, so
did the dove, and fables were invented to explain the custom. The
bonfire, moreover, degenerated into an exhibition of fireworks at
mid-day.
One morning my Jew friend insisted on my reading a letter he had just
received from his daughter, aged fourteen. He was proud of the
daughter, and highly pleased with the letter.
It began thus: "Cher papa--nous sommes sauvés. That picture of a
Genoese lady you bought for 200 francs, and doubted if you would be
able to get rid of, I sold before we left home for Provence to an
American, as a genuine Queen Elizabeth for 1,000 francs." Then
followed three closely-written pages of record of business transactions,
all showing a balance to the good, all showing a profit nowhere under
thirty per cent. Finally, the letter concluded: "Mamma's back is better.
Louis and I went on Sunday to see a farm. A cow, a stable, an old
peasantess saying her rosary, a daughter knitting--all real, not waxwork.
Votre fille très devouée, LEAH."
"That is a girl to be proud of," said my acquaintance. "And only
fourteen! But hein! here is another letter I have received, and it is
awkward." He told me that when he had been in London on business he
had lodged in the house of a