“‘_Eureka_! I have it,’ he at last exclaimed, ‘by the neck and tail. I will _spogliar la tesoria_—rob the treasury and spoil the Egyptian—_si non in errore versatus sum_—unless I am stupendously mistaken. Monk! thy weird will soon be dreed—thy penance prophesied will soon be o’er.’ “Saying this he went into the city. And there the next day, going to a fair dame of his acquaintance, who excelled all the ladies of all Italy in ingenious needlework, he had made of silk a rose; and so deftly was it done, that had it been put on a bush, you would have sworn that a nightingale would have sung to it, or bee have sought to ravish it. “Then going to a Venetian perfumer’s, the wise Flaxius had his flower well scented with best attar of roses from Constantinople, and when midnight struck he was at the tower once more calling to the goblin. “‘_Che vuoi_? What dost thou seek?’ cried the Elf. “‘The treasure of the monk!’ “‘_Bene_! Give me a rose.’ “‘_Ecco_! There it is,’ replied Flaxius, extending it. “‘_Non facit_—it won’t do,’ answered the goblin (thinking Flaxius to be a monk). ‘It is a sham rose artificially coloured, _murice tincta est_.’ “‘Smell it,’ replied Flaxius calmly. “‘The _smell_ is all right, I admit,’ answered the guardian of the gold. ‘The perfume is delicious;’ here he sniffed at it deeply, being, like all his kind, enraptured with perfume, ‘and that much of it is, I grant, the real thing.’ “‘Now tell me,’ inquired Flaxius, ‘truly—_religiosè testimonium dicere_—by thy great ancestress Diana and her sister-double Herodias and her Nine Cats, by the Moon and the eternal Shadow, Endamone, and the word which Bergoia whispered into the ear of the Ox, and the Lamia whom thou lovest—what is it makes a man? Is it his soul or his body?’ “‘Man of mystery and master of the hidden lore,’ replied the awe-struck goblin, ‘it is his _soul_.’ “‘And is not the perfume of the rose its _soul_—that which breathes its life, in which it speaks to fairies or to men? Is not the voice in song or sweetened words the perfume of the spirit, ever true? Is not—’ “‘I give it up,’ replied the goblin. ‘The priest may turn in now for a long, long nap. Here, take his gold, and _ne gioire tutto d’allegrezza_—may you have a merry time with it. There is a great deal of good drinking in a thousand crowns; and if you ever try to _ludere latrunculis vel aleis_, or shake the bones or dice, I promise you three sixes. By the way, I’ll just keep this rose to remember you by. _Addio—a rivederlei_!’ “So the bedesman slept amid his ashes cold, and the good Flaxius, who was a stout carl for the nonce, with a broad back and a great beard, returned, bearing a mighty sack of ancient gold, which stood him in good stead for many a day. And the goblin is still there in the tower.”