cheese, they say, dolefully or contemptuously,
as the case may be; and an old
English parallel to this was, Two half-moons
will never make a bulwark. Blood is
stronger than water, we feel still: the
Italians change it to Mi strigne più la camiscia
che non la gonnella—my shirt binds closer
to me than my gown; an even more
suggestive rendering of which, Near is my
shirt, but nearer is my skin, used to be
heard in England formerly. It is hard for
thee to kick against the pricks, has been
repeated by us since the New Testament
has been translated into our mother tongue;
Duro è scalcheggiare contra lo sprone—
it is severe (or painful) to jerk against
the spur, is the more every-day allusion
of the Italians. Do as you are bid, is
scarcely a proverb with us, but it very
often leaves our lips; Legar l'asino dove
vuole il padrone—tie the ass where the
master wishes, entails the same unquestioned
obedience in Italy. Have two
strings to your bow, we say, as a caution;
Tenere il piè in due staffe—hold the foot
in both stirrups, is the same good (albeit
impossible) advice of an Italian. He is a
jack-of-all-trades, we say of a person who
can do most things handily; E un uomo
da bosco e da riviera—he is a man of the
woods and the river, denotes the same
convertible utility in Italy. To count our
chickens before they're hatched, is
considered comical anticipation of good
fortune in England; Vender la pelle dell'
orso—to sell the skin of the bear, before,
of course, you have shot at and effectually
killed him, is laughed at as heartily in
Italy. I have scotched the snake, we say
here, when we are sure our work is over;
Ho fato il becco all' oca—I have put the
beak to the goose, is triumphed by an
Italian. Every little helps, we say, when
we are not over-particular as to our materials;
Ogni acqua immolla—all water
softens, or, Ogni prun fa siepe—any
bramble-bush makes hedging, has the same
meaning to an Italian. It's as broad as it's
long, or six of one and half a dozen of the
other, is our saying when we mean that
two things will be pretty equal in the end;
Chi mura a secco, mura spesso—who builds
dry (that is, in the loose primitive way,
without the expense of mortar) must build
all the thicker, is the equivalent reflection
of an Italian. Our, A close mouth catches
no flies, is matched in Italy by Che dorme
non piglia pesce—he who sleeps nets no
fish. This is no time for trifling, said by
us when we want to be in earnest, is
changed by an Italian into Non e tempo dì
dar fieno a oche—to-day is not the time to
give hay to geese. 'Tis opportunity makes
the thief, we say, as additional reason for
locking up things securely; All' arca aperta
il giusto vi pecca—at the open coffer even
the just man sins, expresses the same belief
of the Italians. A cat may look at a king,
we say contemptuously, if we are reproved
for a suspicion of insolence; Un cane
guarda un arcivescovo—a dog may look at
an archbishop, is the defiance of the
ecclesiastic-ridden Italian. He has overrun the
constable, was applied to a spendthrift in
our debt-hating England; Avanzare i piedi
fuor del letto—put the feet outside the
bed, is the queer equivalent in Italy. He
thought the streets would be paved with
gold, denounces extravagant expectation
here; Le vigne vi si legano colle salsiccie
—vines are tied together at that place
with sausages, is told to whomsoever is
wise enough to believe it by an Italian.
Hunger is the best sauce, we say, when
we care not whether the coming dinner
is roast beef or Scotch haggis; Appetito
non vuol salsa—appetite wants no sauce,
expresses the same eagerness in Italy.
Then we say, Half a loaf is better than
no bread, and the Italian agrees with us
by saying, A tempo di carestia pan
veccioso—in scarcity time vetch-mixed bread
(which, naturally, would be despised after
a bounteous harvest); and he calls a
good appetite generally Salsa di San
Bernardo—St. Bernard's sauce. It was like
a wet blanket over us, we say, when
some too ceremonious or unapt thing spoils
our cheerfulness; Ragionar de' morti a
tavola—to talk of the dead at table,
complain out, under similar circumstances, the
susceptible Italians. When the candles are
out all cats are grey, or Joan in the dark
is as good as my lady, is English, and
smacks of mediaeval times notably; Ogni
cuffia è buona per la notte—any coif is
good at night, is Italian, and marks the
same period. If you're born to be hanged,
you will never be drowned, is our
questionable comforting; Quello che ha ad esser
de' lupi, non sarà mai de cani—What is
meant to be wolf can never be dog, is
similar philosophy of the Italians. If it
doesn't go one way, it goes another, we
say, when our substance is vanishing;
Quello che non va nelle maniche, va ne’
gheroni—what doesn't go into the sleeves
goes into the gussets, is the rueful cry of
an Italian. Talk of the devil, and he is
sure to appear, we say irreverently; E non