St. Michael made the Italian? he is saying to them, and the
clear crystal ring of the sonorous Tuscan reaches to the farthest corner
of the square. Nay?--oh, for shame! Well, then, it was in this fashion;
long, long ago, when the world was but just called from chaos, the
Dominiddio was tired, as you all know, and took his rest on the seventh
day; and four of the saints, George and Denis and Jago and Michael,
stood round him with their wings folded and their swords idle.

So to them the good Lord said: "Look at those odds and ends, that are
all lying about after the earth is set rolling. Gather them up, and make
them into four living nations to people the globe." The saints obeyed
and set to the work.

St. George got a piece of pure gold and a huge lump of lead, and buried
the gold in the lead, so that none ever would guess it was there, and so
sent it rolling and bumping to earth, and called it the English people.

St. Jago got a bladder filled with wind, and put in it the heart of a
fox, and the fang of a wolf, and whilst it puffed and swelled like the
frog that called itself a bull, it was despatched to the world as the
Spaniard.

St. Denis did better than that; he caught a sunbeam flying, and he tied
it with a bright knot of ribbons, and he flashed it on earth as the
people of France; only, alas! he made two mistakes, he gave it no
ballast, and he dyed the ribbons blood-red.

Now St. Michael, marking their errors, caught a sunbeam likewise, and
many other things too; a mask of velvet, a poniard of steel, the chords
of a lute, the heart of a child, the sigh of a poet, the kiss of a
lover, a rose out of paradise, and a silver string from an angel's lyre.

Then with these in his hand he went and knelt down at the throne of the
Father. "Dear and great Lord," he prayed, "to make my work perfect, give
me one thing; give me a smile of God." And God smiled.

Then St. Michael sent his creation to earth, and called it the Italian.

But--most unhappily, as chance would have it--Satanas watching at the
gates of hell, thought to himself, "If I spoil not his work, earth will
be Eden in Italy." So he drew his bow in envy, and sped a poisoned
arrow; and the arrow cleft the rose of paradise, and broke the silver
string of the angel.

And to this day the Italian keeps the smile that God gave in his eyes;
but in his heart the devil's arrow rankles still.

Some call this barbed shaft Cruelty; some Superstition; some Ignorance;