The Vicar’s Cat

The Vicar’s Cat, which is set in Poppi, is a story from ‘Fiabe Fantastiche – Le Novelle della Nonna’ (Fantastic Stories – Grandma’s Tales) by Emma Perodi. Translated by David Harris.

So bad was the weather that, instead of ripening the corn, the wind and rain were flattening it onto the ground. It was already the end of May and Maso and his brothers, seeing the fields so ravaged, scratched their heads and were at a loss what to do. Even the vines, which had already flowered, were withering away and the country folk were distraught at seeing so much hard work ruined by such terrible weather. It was too cold to sit on the porch in the evening and the Marcucci family huddled together in the chimney breast while the supper was cooking trying to escape the all-pervading damp caused by the unending rain.

Old Regina read her children’s minds as though they were an open book and understood their anxiety; when Sunday evening came round again and she was surrounded by her sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren, instead of waiting for them to ask her to tell a story, she chose a particularly lively one and began:

“I have often told you about Poppi and its gentry; in 1440, the Florentine Republic sent Neri Capponi with many troops to attack the castle stronghold. Count Francesco Guidi, the last of the lords of the castle, was forced to surrender to his attackers because he had run out of provisions. When the surrender had been accepted, he left Poppi with his sons and daughters and thirty-four beasts of burden and the Florentines took over the castle.

From that day, which marked the end of the reign of the Guidi Counts in Poppi and the Casentino, the Florentine Republic always sent an eminent citizen to occupy the post of Bishop’s Representative or Vicar of Poppi, as can be seen from the stone inscriptions in the castle courtyard.

At the time of which I am speaking, the Vicar was Signor Cicciaporco Cicciaporci, a very selfish and unkind man. He had no brothers or sisters and no family and his only companion was a one-eyed cat with lumps missing from its ears and tail that was quite hideous to behold.

For Signor Cicciaporco, however, the cat seemed to be a magical creature. Not only did he set a place for the cat at table but let the cat sleep with him, allowing the ugly beast to lay its head on the same pillow and rest its paws on his mouth.

The castle retainers were scandalized by the new Vicar’s unseemly ways and were indignant that they should have to obey a man in the thrall of a mangy old cat.

Had they known about the bond between Signor Cicciaporco and his cat Merlin they would have fled from Poppi leaving the Vicar and his tomcat alone in the castle.

Three years’ before, Signor Cicciaporco had been sitting deep in thought in a vast chamber in his palace above the Arno in Florence, his chin resting on his hand.

The noble lord had much to think about.

His father had died the previous evening and before breathing his last had said:

“Cicciaporco, you have never been a good son and I should like you to pay for the suffering that you have caused me with as much suffering of your own. I have drawn up a will and locked it in my counting-house. My Lord Neri de’Bardi has the key to the counting-house. I have not left you a brass farthing in the will. Good luck to you!”

It was as though the old man’s last words had been engraved on his son’s mind with a branding iron.

The old man’s body lay in his chamber surrounded by candles, priests were intoning at the foot of the bier and Cicciaporco was thinking about his sad fate.

It is true that he had not been a good son and had neglected his duties, preferring to enjoy himself and go his own way, but it did not seem fair that the old man should have left him without a penny and bequeathed his whole estate to goodness knows who.

“By the Devil, if only I could get into the counting-house”, exclaimed Cicciaporco, “I know what I would do with that hateful will!”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than one of the windows of the chamber swung open violently as though it had been caught by a gust of wind and Cicciaporco saw before him a mangy old cat with half a tail.

At this apparition the blood froze in his veins. The cat jumped down onto the floor and walked towards Cicciaporco miaowing quietly as if to reassure him.

When it reached him, it rubbed its head on his legs and the noble lord bent down to stroke its head.

As soon as Cicciaporco’s hand touched the cat’s fur it changed into a Devil.

“What do you want from me?” cried Cicciaporco, greatly afraid.

“You called me, didn’t you?” said the Devil. “I am here to help you get into the counting-house”.

“Why should you do this for me?”, replied Cicciaporco, “you must want something in return for this service”.

“Very little – give me your soul when you die. It won’t be much of a gift because it would have been mine anyway. It is better, however, that I make sure of it now”.

Cicciaporco thought for a little while, then said:

“You can have my soul, but I should like to decide when to hand it over myself. You must agree to this condition in writing”.

“Certainly”, said the Devil, puncturing a vein in his wrist with the tip of a hoof, and writing a legal deed in due and proper form on a parchment.

“Now, Sire, it is your turn to sign the deed”, he said when he had finished.

Cicciaporco also punctured a vein and wrote, as the Devil dictated:

“I, Cicciaporco Cicciaporci, son of Bencio Cicciaporci and Mistress Vincenza Carnesecchi, both deceased, commit my soul to the Devil provided that he helps me to break into the counting-house and find my father’s will”.

“Sign it”, ordered the Devil.

Cicciaporco signed it, the parchments were exchanged, and the Devil changed back into the mangy old tomcat and made for the door. Cicciaporco picked up the lantern and followed him.

The cat seemed to know its way around the corridors and stairs leading to the counting-house, because it hurried off in front of Cicciaporco and did not hesitate for a moment. When they had reached the door, the cat jumped up, stuck its nose into the lock, blew into it and the door opened as if by magic.

There was nothing to see, however, because the walls were covered with iron doors behind which the old man had locked away his riches, jewels and the infamous will.

The cat soon put Cicciaporco’s mind at rest. Jumping up, it put its mouth to one of the doors, blew into the keyhole and the door opened to reveal shelves on which a number of rolls of paper were stored. The word “Wills” was written on the roll in the middle.

Cicciaporco picked it up with a trembling hand, unrolled it and amongst the wills of all his ancestors found his father’s, still sealed; opening it, he read his punishment. The old man had left every last penny to the hospital of San Paolo and the Brothers of Mercy together with a few small bequests to his servants.

“What shall I do now?” asked Cicciaporco. “If I destroy the will, My Lord Neri de’Bardi who knows that it should be here, will denounce me; if I leave it here I shall be ruined; what do you think I should do?”

The cat seized the end of his tunic with its mouth and made him sit down at a table where there was some paper similar to the paper that the old man had used to write his will. Cicciaporco tried to imitate his father’s handwriting and seeing that he could do it very well, wrote a long eulogy to himself, making himself the sole heir. He added the bequests that the old man had made and sealed the will with the seal that was on the table, placed it back in the roll, shut the iron door, locked up the counting-house and hastened back to his chamber, again with the cat in front, where he quickly threw the genuine will onto the fire. However many times he threw the will onto the roaring fire in the great stone fireplace, however, the paper remained intact and did not even start to blacken.

The cat stared fixedly at the will, as though it were a mouse. Then it pounced on the will and swallowed it in one mouthful.

“It would be a brave man indeed who looked for the will inside your stomach!”, said Cicciaporco.

Feeling reassured, he started to undress and make ready for bed, when he heard a great clamour in the palace.

Seeing no reason to bestir himself, he lay in bed until frightened servants ran into his room, shouting:

“The corpse has raised a hand! The corpse’s eyes have moved!”

“Are you all madmen?! You must be mistaken!” exclaimed Cicciaporco.

“Come and look for yourself, Sire, and you will see that we are telling the truth”.

“I cannot”, he replied. “The sight of my poor dead father is too much for me; leave me to my grief”.

Cicciaporco, while pretending that nothing was amiss, was very frightened indeed and ordered his servants to lay his father’s body in the coffin and nail down the lid.

For some time there was no sound other than hammers hitting coffin nails; just as he was about to go to sleep, however, he was awakened by further cries. The servants, and this time the priests as well, ran into his room shouting that the dead man had raised part of the coffin lid which had been nailed down and had gnashed his teeth and raised his arm.

“You must have taken leave of your senses; dead men do not move. Leave me in peace!”

Instead of getting up and going to the dead man’s chamber to see for himself, Cicciaporco stayed firmly in bed where the threadbare old cat was also making itself comfortable.

Perhaps because of so much holy water and so many prayers, the dead man remained as still as the Good Lord intended, and Cicciaporco slept long into the morning. When he woke up, he called for his breakfast. When it arrived, the cat fell upon it and ate the best titbits, slobbering over all the others.

Cicciaporco, in a fury, threatened the cat, saying:

“I will not stand for such impudence!”

“Miaow – I don’t care – miaow – what you think. I have a delicate stomach, miaow, miaow, and if I don’t get appetizing morsels to eat, I shall be sick. If I am sick the will could fall into someone else’s hands and you could end up in prison”.

This was a convincing argument and Cicciaporco sat down and ate the slobbering cat’s leftovers.

The dead man was to be buried that day. My Lord Neri de’Bardi arrived with the key to the infamous counting-house in which the will was kept, because he needed to find out where the dead man wished to be buried.

Cicciaporco went to meet Signor Neri who treated him with the compassion usually meted out to sons who are disinherited by their fathers.

Together with the clerk of the court and four witnesses, the executor unlocked the room, opened the iron door with another key, found the document and read it with great care. He then returned to the room where the coffin was and asked the dead man’s son and all his retainers to come in for the reading of the will.

They came in one by one and sat down along the walls. Cicciaporco, accompanied by the cat, came in last and stood by the window.

Signor Neri de’Bardi showed them that the seal was still intact and opened the document after he had sat down at a table.

No sooner had he started to read than he exclaimed:

“My Lord Bencio played a trick on me before he died!”

“What trick?” asked the clerk and the witnesses.

“He told me that he had not left anything to his son and instead he has left him everything.

“Perhaps he thought better of it as he was dying”, they all remarked. “Read on, Signor Neri”.

Neri started to read in a loud voice and as he read there were continuous blows from inside the coffin. It seemed that the dead man was furiously beating his head, elbows and knees against the wooden walls.

Cicciaporco had become very pale and was rooted to the spot; the retainers had all fled and the witnesses were looking at one another.

“Perhaps he is still alive?” asked Neri de’Bardi, going up to the coffin and shouting:

“Signor Bencio! Signor Bencio! Answer me if you are still alive”.

The noises had stopped, however, and no answer was forthcoming.

“The noises must be coming from the floor above” said Signor Neri. “Our only task now is to execute the will of the deceased and place his father’s estate in the hands of my Lord Cicciaporco”.

Suddenly there was a tremendous noise from inside the coffin and the cat jumped up and went and curled up alongside it. The witnesses, ashen-faced, were of the view that the coffin should be opened to find out whether Bencio was still alive.

“Sadly, he is dead” whispered Cicciaporco in a small voice. “He breathed his last breath yesterday. The palace is full of mice and one of them must have got into the coffin. You must have noticed that the noise stopped as soon as the cat curled up by the coffin! The mouse is obviously laying low because it knows an enemy is on the prowl”.

This was such a plausible explanation that the witnesses all believed it and as soon as the clerk had drawn up the deed declaring Cicciaporco to be his father’s heir, they all left.

“Stay close to the coffin, Puss, and go with the funeral party to San Jacopo”, ordered Cicciaporco.

“Miaow, miaow, I understand” the cat replied.

When the Brothers of Mercy arrived, the coffin was placed on their shoulders and the cat followed close behind. No further noise was heard and the coffin was interred in the family vault alongside the rest of the Carnesecchi family.

Up to now everything had gone well, and the cat returned to the castle where Cicciaporco was surrounded by relations who had come to pay their respects. Cicciaporco did not feel at all safe, however, and before night had fallen he ordered a locksmith to drill through the marble vault and secure an iron bolt. Cicciaporco then placed a lock on the bolt. He told everyone that he was taking this precaution to prevent robbers, tempted by his father’s rich garments and jewels, from desecrating the tomb. What he really feared, however, was that the dead man would come back to haunt him. When he had the key in his pocket he felt greatly relieved and went down into the counting-house where he shut himself in with the cat to count the many bags full of florins.

Hardly had he emptied them on the table than the door was struck as though by an iron beam and Cicciaporco became as pale as death.

The cat, fur and tail bristling, was ready to throw itself on anyone who entered.

“Open up”, came a cavernous voice from outside.
“Save me, Puss! It is he!”, said Cicciaporco hiding behind the cat.

At that moment the cat changed back into a Devil and ran to open the door.

The ghost of Signor Bencio, seeing the Devil, fled like the wind, dropping his shroud on the floor.

“Friend”, said the Devil to Cicciaporco, “I can free you from the ghost of your father, but I do not have the power to make him rest in peace in the vault at San Jacopo.

“Help me, for goodness sake! I don’t want to be poor since poverty frightens me more than that ghost”.

“You will die rich and esteemed by all whenever you so choose. You can be certain of that”.

“That is all I want”.

After this conversation the Devil changed back into a cat and Cicciaporco started to count the many florins, some of which were gold. He spent the night occupied in this way and at daybreak he locked the door of the counting-house and went for breakfast.

The cat stuck its nose into its master’s plate and the servants wanted to shoo it away. Cicciaporco, rather than shouting at the cat, shouted at the servants. Even if the cat had taken food from his mouth, he would have let it, so devoted was he to that animal to which he owed his fortune.

The servants, however, who knew nothing of what had happened, said that their new master was mad and entertained the neighbourhood with tales about him.

The second night after the funeral, Cicciaporco went to bed early and at midnight the door opened and the ghost of Signor Bencio appeared. The cat, as on the previous night, changed into a Devil and the ghost fled.

This happened every night and although Cicciaporco was no longer frightened, he had had enough of these unwanted visits. Knowing that the Vicarship of Poppi was vacant, he asked for the post and was given it.

“The ghost will leave me alone down there”, he said. “If he has to travel that far every night, he’ll soon tire of it. What do you think, Puss?”

The cat replied by extending its claws and bristling its fur as if to say:

“If he comes, I shall be there!”

Cicciaporco tied up all his business affairs in Florence, appointed Signor Neri de’Bardi as his attorney and left Florence on horseback with the mangy old cat on his saddle.

The Vicar’s servants were by now used to seeing him with the cat at his side and no longer took any notice, but the people of Poppi, when they saw him arrive with such a strange companion, burst out laughing and nicknamed the cat “The Vicar’s keeper”.

On the first night and the second night and for many more nights, Cicciaporco slept like a good pope in the castle’s chamber of honour. However, when he saw that everyone was poking fun at him because of a cat that treated him worse than a servant he decided that he would have to find some way of getting rid of the cat. Help given and promises made are soon forgotten and the Vicar had already forgotten that without the cat the doors of the counting-house would never have opened before him and he would not have inherited his fortune.

The cat, however, could read his thoughts and one day when they were alone said:

“Cicciaporco, miaow, miaow, I have to go away. The King of Hell has entrusted me with another mission involving a certain nun from Pratovecchio. Miaow, miaow, don’t forget me”.

No sooner had he spoken these words than he disappeared.

“Thank goodness”, exclaimed Cicciaporco breathing a huge sigh of relief. “Now I am a happy man. My Lord Bencio can’t be bothered to travel so far and has left me in peace, the cat has gone off, I am rich, on my own and I have a noble position … who could be happier than me? Now I must think about taking a wife”.

There was little to think about since he had made his choice some time before and only the cat had prevented him from getting married, so he had a splendid horse saddled up and journeyed to Bibbiena to the house of the Saccone where there was a comely maiden called Violante.

Violante’s father, as you might expect, was delighted to be asked for Violante’s hand in marriage and the wedding was fixed for the following month. That evening the Saccones laid on a banquet in their house to celebrate the betrothal.

Cicciaporco, very merry from the copious amounts of wine he had drunk, returned very late to the castle and fell asleep the minute he had got into bed. Before he had fallen into a deep sleep, however, he felt two ice-cold hands grip his feet and pull him out of bed.

“Who is it?” yelled the Vicar.

“It is I, your father”, answered a cavernous voice. “You have abandoned me to the fires of Purgatory by failing to respect my will and I shall torment you for all eternity”.

He then started to slap Cicciaporco with his stiff and ice-cold hands.

“Rescue me, Cat!”, shrieked the Vicar.

“Repent, you scoundrel!”, went on Signor Bencio continuing to slap his son.

This lasted for an hour or so until, just before daybreak, the old man’s ghost disappeared back to Purgatory.

That day the Vicar remained confined to his bed thinking about the past night’s events, afraid that the coming night might bring similar terrors.

As evening approached, he heard miaowing on the doorstep and the cat appeared.

“Miaow, miaow, what has happened?”, the cat asked.

“O Cat, don’t leave me again. You see what my father has done to me!”

“I expected it, miaow, miaow, but since you were thinking about getting rid of me, I wanted to show you what would happen if My Lord Vicar did not have his cat alongside him”.

“You are right, I have treated you badly, please forgive me. I wanted to get married and feared that your presence would be an obstacle to the wedding”.

“There is no reason why you shouldn’t get married provided that I can be a witness”.

“Impossible!”, exclaimed the Vicar. “The marriage would not be legitimate”.

“You don’t really think, my friend, that I would appear as a cat? I can change myself into a physician, a knight or anything that you want”.

“In that case, I accept”.

Preparations were made to celebrate the wedding with great pomp and a very handsome knight calling himself Lando Carnesecchi and a cousin of the groom arrived at the Pieve Church in Bibbiena as the Vicar’s witness. While the priest was blessing the ring, however, a very strange thing happened. The Madonna depicted in the hanging above the altar turned her face away from the Vicar and the Florentine knight and all the candles went out on their side of the church.

The bride turned ashen-faced and fainted dead away, her mother screamed, the priest fled and with him all the guests. Everyone was shouting and running this way and that in their haste to flee from the church, saying that a sacrilege had been committed, that the church had been desecrated, that it must be the Devil’s work and that the Devil must be none other than the Vicar or his witness. This opinion was so widespread that it soon became a chorus and reached the ears of the bride’s father who was trying to make his way through the crowd that had gathered on the square so that he could carry Violante, still swooning, home.

“This is no place for us!”, the false knight whispered to the Vicar.

The crowd, seeing them about to leave, began to shout:

“Over here, over here! Here’s the Devil!”.

Then they all bent down to pick up stones and began to hurl them at the poor Vicar. The knight, sensing that matters were taking a turn for the worse, had changed back into a cat and was slinking away through the crowd without a care for his companion.

The stones, thrown with such fury at such close range, had wounded the Vicar in the head, the face, the chest and the shoulders and the poor man, feeling his life ebbing away, fell to the ground.

Many people were saying:

“Prepare the pyre, let’s burn him alive!”

A hundred or more people then ran to gather wood and kindling and built a woodpile right on the place where the maypole is always planted for dancing on the last night of the carnival.

Cicciaporco Cicciaporci, seeing no way out, repented all the evil he had done and especially his pact with the Devil.

When the wood in the pyre started to crackle and his end was nigh, rather than suffer the fate of Saint Laurence, he cried out:

“Satan, save me from the pyre and take my soul because I have had enough of this pitiful life!”

As soon as he had spoken these words, the ground on which he lay opened up and all those who were looking forward to seeing him burn were sadly disappointed.

The cat ran round the abyss that had opened up and just as the crowd were about to start throwing stones, leapt into the pit that had opened up for the Vicar of Poppi and disappeared too.

After the death of Signor Cicciaporco, everyone understood why he had been so attached to the cat and such was their superstition that the people of Poppi hurried to the castle, gathered up everything that the Vicar had ever touched and burned it on the square in front of the castle. Since that day cats have not been welcome visitors in their houses. The Vicar’s servants had holy water sprinkled in Signor Cicciaporco’s chamber and then walled up the doors and windows. It is said that groans are often heard from that room during the night and are enough to bring the flesh of those sleeping in the castle out in goose bumps. I have never heard them, however.

“And there the story ends”, said old Regina, “put your hand up if you didn’t enjoy it”.

Not a single hand was raised and Maso said:

“Thank you, Mamma, for cheering us up by telling one of your tales. For a couple of hours I have managed to forget the withered corn and the frost-bitten vines. With all this rain and wind, this is going to be a sad year for us and we shall need courage and patience”.

“We’ll find it”, replied Vezzosa, “and since the Good Lord helps those who help themselves, we shall have to help out too. There are many places in Soci that employ women as well as men and we shall go and work there. There’s no shame in keeping busy”.

“Indeed”, replied her sisters-in-law. “You have shown us, Vezzosa, what we must do in case Maso’s dire warnings come true”.

So great were the bonds of affection between the Marcuccis that everyone began at that moment to think how they could help the family.

I shall not tell you their thoughts. You are all acquainted with those good countryfolk and know that they would make any sacrifice to spare their nearest and dearest, and especially old Regina, from suffering and distress. In future we shall see how they bore their heavy burden with fortitude and admire them even more. But now, let’s put the horse in front of the cart and let the story take its course.