The Medici Boots

by Pearl Norton Swet

  Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from Weird Tales August-September 1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  The Medici Boots

  By PEARL NORTON SWET

  _The amethyst-covered boots had been worn by an evil wanton in medieval Florence--but what malefic power did they carry over into our own time?_

  * * * * *

  For fifty years they lay under glass in the Dickerson museum and theywere labeled "The Medici Boots." They were fashioned of creamyleather, pliable as a young girl's hands. They were threaded withsilver, appliqued with sapphire silks and scarlet, and set on the tipof each was a pale and lovely amethyst. Such were the Medici boots.

  Old Silas Dickerson, globe-trotter and collector, had brought theboots from a dusty shop in Florence when he was a young man filledwith the lust for travel and adventure. The years passed and SilasDickerson was an old man, his hair white, his eyes dim, his veinedhands trembling with the ague that precedes death.

  When he was ninety and the years of his wanderings over, SilasDickerson died one morning as he sat in a high-backed Venetian chairin his private museum. The Fourteenth Century gold-leaf paintings, theJapanese processional banners, the stolen bones of a Normandysaint--all the beloved trophies of his travels must have watched thedead man impassively for hours before his housekeeper found him.

  The old man sat with his head thrown back against the faded tapestryof the Venetian chair, his eyes closed, his bony arms extended alongthe beautifully carved arms of the chair, and on his lap lay theMedici boots.

  It was high noon when they found him, and the sun was streamingthrough the stained-glass window above the chair and picking at theamethysts, so that the violet stones seemed to eye Marthe, the oldhousekeeper, with an impudent glitter. Marthe muttered a prayer andcrossed herself, before she ran like a scared rabbit with the news ofthe master's death.

  "She imparted to me those terrible secrets of the BlackArts which were deep in her soul."]

  Silas Dickerson's only surviving relatives, the three youngDelameters, did not take too seriously the note which was found amongthe papers in the museum's desk. Old Silas had written the note. Itwas addressed to John Delameter, for John was his uncle's favorite,but John's pretty wife, Suzanne, and his twin brother, Doctor Eric,read it over his shoulder; and they all smiled tolerantly. OldDickerson had written of things incomprehensible to the young moderns:

  "The contents of my private museum are yours, John, to do with as yousee fit. Merely as a suggestion, I would say that the AntiquarianSociety would snap up many of the things. A very few are of noparticular value, except to me. One thing I want done, however. TheMedici boots of ivory leather must either be destroyed or be put forever under glass in a _public_ museum. I prefer that they bedestroyed, for they are a dangerous possession. They have gone to theadulterous rendezvous celebrated in the scandalous verses of Lorenzothe Magnificent. They have shod the feet of a murderess. They werecursed by the Church as trappings of the Devil, inciting the wearer tofoul deeds and intrigue.

  "I shall not disturb you with all their hideous history, but I repeat,they are a dangerous possession. I have taken care to keep them underlock and key, behind plate glass, for more than fifty years. I havenever taken them out. Destroy the Medici boots, before they destroyyou!"

  "But he did take them out!" cried Suzanne. "Uncle was holding theboots when--when Marthe found him there in the museum."

  John reread the note, and looked thoughtfully at his young wife. "Yes.Perhaps he was preparing to destroy them right then. Of course, Ithink the poor old fellow took things a bit too seriously--he was veryold, you know, and Marthe says he practically lived in this museum ofhis."

  "And why call a pair of old boots dangerous? Of course, we all knowthe Medicis were plenty dangerous, but the Medici boots--that'sridiculous, John. Besides----"

  Suzanne paused provocatively, her red lips pouting. She looked down ather trimly shod feet. "Besides, I'd like to try on those Mediciboots--just once. They're lovely, I think."

  John was frowning thoughtfully. He scarcely heard her suggestion. Hespoke to Eric, instead, and his voice seemed a bit troubled.

  "I believe that Uncle _was_ getting ready to destroy those boots thatvery morning he died; else why should he have taken them from theircase--after fifty years?"

  "Yes, I believe you're right, John, because that note is dated fully amonth before Uncle's death. I think he brooded over leaving thoseboots to one he cared for. Poor old man!"

  "I wouldn't call him so, Eric. He had his dreams of adventure realizedmore fully than most men. I--I think I'll do as he says. I'll destroythe Medici boots."

  "If you'd feel better about it," assented his brother. But Suzanne didnot speak. She was looking at her shoe, pursing her lips thoughtfully,seeing her feet encased in the gay embroideries of the Medici boots.

  John seemed relieved by his decision. "Yes, I'd better do it. We'll begetting back to town in a few days. Old Erskine, you know, Uncle'slawyer, is coming down this afternoon. Then soon we'll be on the wing,Susie and I--Vienna, Paris, the Alps--thanks to Uncle."

  "Maybe you think I'm not thankful for my chance at a bit more work atJohns Hopkins," said Eric, and they did not again speak of the Mediciboots.

  * * * * *

  The deaf old lawyer of the Dickerson estate arrived, and Suzanne, withthe easy capability that was part of her charm, saw that he was madecomfortable.

  At seven there was a perfect dinner served on the awninged terraceoutside the softly lit living-room. The stars aided the two littlerosy lamps on the table, and swaying willows beside a stone-encircledpool swung the incense of the garden about them.

  As dinner ended, John took from the pocket of his coat a small,limp-leather book. He pushed back his dessert plate and laid the bookon the table, tapping it with a finger as he spoke.

  "This is the history of the Medici boots. It was in the littlewall-safe in the museum. After all Uncle said of the Medici boots,shall we read it?" And turning to the old lawyer, he told of SilasDickerson's letter concerning the boots.

  Erskine shook his head, smiling. "Most collectors get an exaggeratedsense of the supernatural. Read this, by all means--it should proveinteresting."

  "Yes, read it, John." Suzanne and Eric spoke almost together.

  So, in the circle of rosy light at their little table, John read thestory of the Medici boots. It was not a long story and it was told inthe language of an anonymous translator, but as John read on, hislisteners were drawn together, as by a spell. They scarcely breathed,and the summer night that was so mildly beautiful seemed to take on asense of hovering danger.

  "In the palace of Giuliano de' Medici I have lived long. I am an old woman now, as the years are reckoned in this infamous place, though I am but fifty and three.

  "Separated from my betrothed, duped, sold into the marble labyrinth of this hateful palace, it was long before my spirit broke and I went forth, bejeweled and attired in elegance, among the silk-clad Florentines. I was labeled the most beautiful mistress of any of the Medici. I was smirked at, fawned upon for my lord's favors, obscenely jested about in the orgies that took place in the great banquet hall of the palace.

  "But in my heart always lay the remembrance of my lost love, and in my soul grew black hatred for the Medici and all their kind. I, who had dreamed only of a modest home, a kind husband, black-haired, tru
sting little children, was made a tool of the Medici infamy.

  "In time, I almost felt myself in league with the Devil. Secretly, and with a growing sense of elation, I made frequent rendezvous with a foul hag whose very name was anathema to the churchly folk of Florence. In her hole of a room in a certain noisome street, she imparted to me those terrible secrets of the Black Arts which were deep in her soul. It was amusing that she was paid in Medici gold.

  "The corruption of the Medici bred in them fear; in me a sort of reckless bravery. It was I who poisoned the wine of many a foe of the Medici. It was I who put the point of a dagger in the heart of the old Prince de Vittorio, whose lands and power and palaces were coveted by my lord, Giuliano.

  "After a time, bloodshed became an exhilaration to me; the death agonies of those who drank