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Brambles and wild scratching things inhabit the chapel below； where the paintings are still visible to no one and the sacred relics of the consecrated altar stone are beneath heaps of dust。
Ah； but those thorns protect what remains of my home。 I have let them grow。 I have allowed the roads to vanish in the forest or broken them myself。 I must have something of what there was！ I must。
But I accuse myself again of going on and on； and I do； there is no doubt。 This chapter ought to be over。
But it's very like the little plays we used to do in my uncle's house； or those I saw before the Duomo in Cosimo's Florence。 There must be painted backdrops； props of fine detail； wires rigged for flight and costumes cut out and sewn before I can put my players on the boards and tell the fable of my making。
I can't help it。 Let me close my essay on the glories of the 1400s by saying what the great alchemist Ficino would say of it some years later on： It was 〃an age of gold。〃 I go now to the tragic moment。
3
IN WHICH THE HORROR DESCENDS UPON US
THE beginning of the end came the following spring。 I had passed my sixteenth birthday； which had fallen that I year on the very Tuesday before Lent； when we and all the villages were celebrating Carnival。 It had e rather early that year； so it was a bit cold； but it was a gay time。
It was on that night before Ash Wednesday that I had the terrible dream in which I saw myself holding the severed heads of my brother and my sister。 I woke up in a sweat； horrified by this dream。 I wrote it down in my book of dreams。 And then actually I forgot about it。 That was mon with me； only it had been truly the most horrid nightmare I'd ever had。 But when I mentioned my occasional nightmares to my mother or father or anyone else； they always said：
〃Vittorio； it's your own fault for reading the books you read。 You bring it on yourself。〃 To repeat； the dream was forgotten。 The country was by Easter in great flower； and the first warnings of horror to e； though I knew them not to be； were that the lower hamlets on our mountain were quite suddenly abandoned。
My father and I and two of the huntsmen and a gamekeeper and a soldier rode down to see for ourselves that the peasants in those parts had departed； some time before in fact； and taken the livestock with them。
It was eerie to see those deserted towns； small as they were and as insignificant。
We rode back up the mountain as a warm embracing darkness surrounded us； yet we found all the other villages we passed battened down with hardly a seam of light showing through the chinks of a shutter； or a tiny stem of reddened smoke rising from a chimney。
Of course my father's old clerk went into a rant that the vassals should be found； beaten； made to work the land。
My father； benevolent as always and pletely calm； sat at his desk in the candlelight； leaning on his elbow； and said that these had all been free men； they were not bound to him； if they did not choose to live on his mountain。 This was the way of the modern world； only he wished he knew what was afoot in our land。
Quite suddenly； he took notice of me standing and observing him； as if he hadn't seen me before； and he broke off the conference； dismissing the whole affair。 I thought nothing much about it。 But in the days that followed； some of the villagers from the lower slopes came up to live within the walls。 There were conferences in my father's chambers。 I heard arguments behind closed doors； and one night； at supper； all sat entirely too somber for our family； and finally my father rose from his massive chair； the Lord in the center of the table as always； and declared； as if he'd been silently accused：
〃I will not persecute some old women because they have stuck pins in wax dolls and burnt incense and read foolish incantations that mean nothing。 These old witches have been on our mountain forever。〃
My mother looked truly alarmed； and then gathering us all up … I was most unwilling … she took us away； Bartola； Matteo and me； and told us to go to bed early。 〃Don't stay up reading； Vittorio；〃 she said。 〃But what did Father mean？〃 asked Bartola。
〃Oh； it's the old village witches；〃 I said。 I used the Italian word strega。 〃Every now and then； one goes too far； there's a fight； but mostly it's just charms to cure a fever and such。〃
I thought my mother would hush me up； but she stood in the narrow stone stairs of the tower looking up at me with marked relief on her face； and she said：
〃Yes； yes； Vittorio； you are so right。 In Florence； people laugh at those old women。 You know Gattena yourself； she never really did more then sell love potions to the girls。〃
〃Surely we're not to drag her before a court！〃 I said； very happy that she was paying attention。 Bartola and Matteo were rapt。
〃No； no； not Gattena； certainly not。 Gattena's vanished。 Run off。〃
〃Gattena？〃 I asked； and then as my mother turned away； refusing； it seemed； to say another word； gesturing for me to escort my sister and brother safely to bed； I realized the gravity of this。
Gattena was the most feared and ical of the old witches； and if she had run off； if she was afraid of something； well； that was news； because she thought herself the one to be feared。
The following days were fresh and lovely and undisturbed by anything for me and my Bartola and Matteo； but when I looked back later； I recalled there was much going on。
One afternoon； I went up to the highest lookout window of the old tower where one guardsman； Tori； we called him； was falling asleep； and I looked down over all our land for as far as I could see。 〃Well； you won't find it；〃 he said。 〃What's that？〃 I remarked。
〃Smoke from a single hearth。 There is no more。〃 He yawned and leaned against the wall； heavily weighed down by his old boiled…leather jerkin； and sword。 〃All's well；〃 he said； and yawned again。 〃So they like city life； or to fight for Francesco Sforza over the Duchy of Milan； so let them go。 They didn't know how good they had it。〃
I turned away from him and looked over the woods again； and down into the valleys that I could see； and beyond to the slightly misty blue sky。 It was true； the little hamlets seemed frozen in time down there； but how could one be so sure？ It was not such a clear day。 And besides； everything was fine within the household。
My father drew olive oil； vegetables； milk； butter and many such goods from these villages； but he didn't need them。 If it was time for them to pass away； so be it。
Two nights later； however； it was undeniably obvious to me that everyone at supper was perpetually under a strain of sorts； which went entirely unvoiced； and that an agitation had gripped my mother； so that she was no longer engaging in her endless courtly chatter。 Conversation was not impossible； but it had changed。
But for all the elders who seemed deeply and secretly conflicted； there were others who seemed relatively oblivious to such things； and the pages went about serving gaily； and a little group of musicians； who'd e up the preceding day； gave us a lovely series of songs with the viol and the lute。
My mother couldn't be persuaded to do her old slow dances； however。
I