Chapter III: Part 3

“At the same time Laverna went to a great lord, and bought of him a castle, well-furnished, with much land. But this time she swore _on her head_ to pay in full in six months. And she did as she had done by the priest; she stole and sold everything—furniture, cattle, crops; there was not left wherewith to feed a fly.

“Then the priest and the lord appealed to the gods, complaining that they had been robbed by a goddess. And it was soon found that the thief was Laverna. Therefore she was called to judgment before all the gods. And she was asked what she had done with the property of the priest, unto whom she had sworn by her body to make payment at the time appointed. And she replied by a strange deed, which amazed them all, for she made her body disappear, so that only her head remained, and it cried:

“‘Behold me! I swore by my body, but body have I none.’

“Then all the gods laughed.

“After the priest came the lord, who had also been tricked, and to whom she had sworn by her head. And in reply to him Laverna showed to all present her whole body, and it was one of the greatest beauty, but without a head, and from the neck there came a voice which said:

“‘Behold me, for I am Laverna, who
Have come to answer to that lord’s complaint
Who swears that I contracted debt with him,
And have not paid, although the time is o’er,
And that I am a thief because I swore
Upon my head; but, as you all can see,
I have no head at all, and therefore I
Assuredly ne’er swore by such an oath!’

“Then there was indeed a storm of laughter among the gods, who made the matter right by ordering the head to join the body, and bidding Laverna pay up her dues, which she did.

“Then Jove spoke and said:

“‘Here is a roguish deity without a duty, while there are in Rome innumerable thieves, sharpers, cheats, and rascals—_ladri_, _bindolini_, _truffatori e scrocconi_—who live by deceit. These good folk have neither a church nor a god, and it is a great pity, for even the very devils have their master Satan. Therefore I command that in future Laverna shall be the goddess of all the knaves or dishonest tradesmen, and all the rubbish and refuse of the human race, who have been hitherto without a god or devil, inasmuch as they have been too despicable for the one or the other.’

“And so Laverna became the goddess of all dishonest people. Whenever anyone planned or intended any knavery or aught wicked, he entered her temple and invoked Laverna, who appeared to him as a woman’s head. But if he did his work badly and maladroitly, when he again invoked her he saw only the body. But if he was clever, then he beheld the whole goddess, head and body.

“Laverna was not more chaste than she was honest, and had many lovers and many children. It is said that, not being bad at heart, she often repented her life and sins; but do what she might she could not reform, because her passions were so inveterate. And if a man had got any woman with child, or any maid found herself _incinta_, and would hide it from the world and escape scandal, they would go every day to invoke Laverna. {40} Then, when the time came for the suppliant to be delivered, Laverna would bear her in sleep during the night to her temple, and after the birth cast her into slumber again, and carry her back to her bed. And when she awoke in the morning she was ever in vigorous health and felt no weariness, and all seemed to her as a dream.

“But to those who desired in time to reclaim their children Laverna was indulgent, if they led such lives as pleased her and faithfully worshipped her. And this is the manner of the ceremony and the incantation to be offered to Laverna every night:

“There must be a set place devoted to the goddess, be it a room, a cellar, or a grove, ever a solitary place. Then take a small table of the size of forty playing-cards set close together, and this must be hid in the same place, and going there at night. . . .

“Take the forty cards and spread them on the table, making of them, as it were, a close carpet on it. Take of the herbs _paura_ {41a} and _concordia_ and boil the two together, repeating meanwhile:

“‘Fo bollire la mano della concordia,
Per tenere a me concorde.
La Laverna, che possa portare a me
Il mio figlio e che possa
Guardarmelo da qual un pericolo!

“‘Bollo questa erba ma non bollo l’erba.
Bollo la _paura_ {41b} che possa tenere lontano
Qualunque persona, e se le viene,
L’idea a qualchuno di avvicinarsi,
Possa essere preso da paura,
E fuggire lontano!’”

“I boil the cluster of _concordia_
To keep in concord and at peace with me
Laverna, that she may restore to me
My child, and that she, by her favouring care,
May guard me well from danger all my life!

“I boil this herb, yet ’tis not it which boils;
I boil the _fear_ that it may keep afar
Any intruder, and if such should come
[To spy upon my rite], may he be struck
With fear, and in his terror haste away!”

“Having said this, put the boiled herbs in a bottle, and spread the cards on the table, one by one, saying:

“‘Batezzo queste quarante carte
Ma non batezzo le quarante carte.
Batezzo quaranta dei superiori
Alla dea Laverna che le sue
Persone divengono un vulcano
Fino che la Laverna non sara
Venuta da me colla mia creatura.
E questi dei dal naso dalla bocca,
E dall’ orecchie possino buttare
Fiammi di fuoco e cenere,
E lasciare pace e bene alia dea
Laverna, che possa anche essa
Abbracciare i suoi figli,
A sua volunta!’”

“I spread before me now the forty cards,
Yet ’tis not forty cards which here I spread,
But forty of the gods superior
To the deity Laverna, that their forms
May each and all become volcanoes hot,
Until Laverna comes and brings my child.
And till ’tis done, may they all cast
Hot flames of fire and coals from their lungs,
And leave her in all peace and happiness,
And still embrace her children at her will.”

* * * * *

The character of Virgil is here clearly enough only an introduction by the narrator, in order to make a Virgilian tale or narrative. But the incantation, which I believe to be _bonâ fide_ and ancient, is very curious and full of tradition. The daring to conjure the forty gods that they may suffer till they compel Laverna to yield is a very bold and original conception, but something like it is found very often in Italian witchcraft. It is of classic origin. In the witchcraft manufactured by the Church, which only dates from the last decade of the fifteenth century, it never occurs. The witches of Sprenger and Co. never lay any of the Trinity under a ban of torture till a desire is accomplished, nor are they ever even invoked.

_La femme comme il faut_, or “the only good woman,” is a very ungallant misogamic corner tavern sign once common in France. It represents a headless woman. Perhaps she was derived from some story like this of Laverna. It recalls the inhuman saying: “The only good (Red) Indian is a dead Indian.”

Laverna is in this tale another form of Diana. There are also traces of Lucina in the character.

VIRGIL AND THE UGLY GIRL.

“Though her ugliness may scare,
Money maketh all things fair.”

_Proverb_.

“_Gelt—wie lieb’ich Dich_.”—How truly I love thee! or, “Money—how I
love thee!”—_German Jest_.

There was once in Rome an ugly young lady; yes, the ugliest on earth! And, as if this were not enough, she was ill-tempered and spiteful, and in his whole course the sun did not shine on a more treacherous being. She was a true devilkin, being as small as a dwarf. However, devil or not, she was worth millions, and had the luck to be betrothed to the handsomest young man in Rome, who was, indeed, poor.

One day a certain Countess said to Virgil:

“I cannot understand how it comes to pass that such a splendid fellow is allied to such a horrid little fright—_un tal spauracchio_!”

Virgil said nothing, but he went home and took two scorpions, and by his magic art turned them into gold, and of these he made two ear-rings and sent them to the Countess, who was delighted with them, and when Virgil asked her if she liked them, answered: “_Tanta_, _tanta_, _sono molto belli_”—“Very much, they are so beautiful!”

“You said to me a little while ago,” replied Virgil, “that you did not see what the handsomest man in Rome finds to admire in the ugliest girl. It is gold, Signora Contessa, which does it all—gold which makes scorpions so charming that you wear them in your ears, and call them beautiful!”

The Countess laughed, and said: “Thou speakest truth—

“‘Gold like the sun turns darkness to night,
And fear or hatred to love and delight.
Gold makes raptures out of alarms,
Gold turns horror to beautiful charms,
And gives the beauty of youth to the old.
On earth there’s no magic like that of gold.’”

VIRGIL AND THE GEM.

SHOWING HOW VIRGIL BY HIS ART DROVE ALL THE FLIES OUT OF ROME.

“Cil une mouche d’arain fist,
Que toutes mouches qui estoient.
Celle approchier ne povoient.”

RENARS CONTREFAIS, A.D. 1318.

“Et fist une mousche d’arain,
De quoi encor le pris et ain.
A Naples cele mousche mist
Et de tel maniere la fist,
Que tant com la mousche fu la
Mousche dedenz Naples n’entra,
Mais je ne sai que puis devint,
La mousche, ne qu’il en avint.”

ADENÈS LI ROIS: _Roman de Cleomadès_. _XIIIth Century_.

“There were at that time near the city many swamps, in consequence of
which were swarms of _flies_, which caused death. And VIRGIL . . .
made a fly of gold, as large as a frog, by virtue of which all the
flies left the city.”—_La Cronaca di Partenope_, 1350.

“Trovasi chi egli fece una moscha di rame, che dove la posa niuna
moscha apariva mai presso a due saettate che incontanente non
morissi.”

ANTONIO PUCCI, _XIVth Century_.

Once there came to the Emperor a merchant with many gems and jewels, and begged him to purchase some.

The Emperor asked of Virgil, who was present:

“Which is the very best of all these stones?”

Virgil replied:

“Let them all remain for a time in the light of the sun, and I will tell you which is the gem of them all.”

This was done, and after a time a fly alighted on one.

“This is the gem of greatest value,” said Virgil.

“But it is really hardly worth a crown,” replied the merchant.

“And yet it is worth all the rest put together,” answered Virgil; “for it increases marvellously the intellect or understanding, and thereby one can win with it the love of whom he will.”

“Very well,” said the Emperor, “I will buy it, and find by experience whether it can increase wit whereby we gain hearts.”

He did so, and finding that the stone had the virtue which Virgil ascribed to it, said to the sage one day:

“How was it that thou didst find out and understand the value of that gem?”

“I knew it, because I saw that there was in the stone a very small fly (_moschettina_—gnat), and I knew that flies are very quick and gay, and have great cleverness, as anyone can see if he tries to catch them, and they make love all the time.”

“Truly thou art a devil, oh Virgil,” replied the Emperor; “and for reward I hereby make thee Emperor or Pope over all the flies. There are, by the way, far too many of them, and a perfect plague—they spoil all the meat in the shops. I would that thou couldst banish all thy subjects from Rome.”

“I will do it,” answered Virgil.

Then, by his magic, he summoned the Great Fly—Il Moscone, the King of all the Flies—and said to him:

“Thy subjects are far too many, and a sore plague to all mankind. I desire that thou wilt drive them all out of Rome.”

“I will do it,” replied the Moscone, “if thou wilt make a fly of gold as large as a great frog, and put it in my honour in the Church of Saint Peter. After which, there will no more flies be seen in Rome.”

Then Virgil went to the Emperor and told him what Il Moscone had said, and the Emperor commanded that the fly should be made of many pounds of gold, and it was placed in the Church of Saint Peter, and so long as it remained there no fly was ever seen within the walls of Rome.

* * * * *

I have another version of what is partially the same story, but with a curious addition, which is of greater antiquity and most unconsciously really Virgilian, or the old tale of the bull’s hide.

THE FLIES IN ROME.

It happened one summer in Rome that people were sadly afflicted with flies. Nothing like it had ever been seen; they swarmed by millions everywhere, they blackened the walls, the meat on the butchers’ stands was hidden under masses of them. And the poor suffered in their children, many of whom died, while all kinds of food was poisoned and corrupted everywhere. Then the Emperor said to Virgil:

“Truly, if thou hast indeed the art of conjuring, now is the time to show it, by conjuring away this curse, for I verily believe that all the flies of Egypt are come here to Rome.”

Virgil replied:

“If thou wilt give me so much land as I can enclose in an ox’s hide, I will drive all the flies away from Rome.”

The Emperor was well pleased to get so much for so small a price, as it seemed to him, and promised that he should truly have as much land as could be enclosed or covered {46} in the skin of an ox.

Virgil summoned Il Moscone, the King of the Flies, and said to him:

“I wish that all flies in Rome leave the city this very day!”

Il Moscone, the King of the Flies, replied:

“Cause me to become by magic a great fly of gold, and then put me in the Church of Saint Peter, and after that there will be no more insects in the city.”

Then Virgil conjured him into the form of a fly of gold, and it was placed in the church, and at that instant all the flies left Rome. At which the Emperor was well pleased.

Then the Emperor asked Virgil where the land lay which was to be taken in the ox-hide.

“Come to-morrow and you shall see,” answered the sage.

So the Emperor came with all his Court, and found Virgil mounted on horseback, bearing a great bundle of leather cord, like shoe-strings, and this had been made from the skin of the ox. And beginning at one gate and letting fall the cord, he rode around the city until all Rome was surrounded.

“Your Highness will observe,” said Virgil, “that I have taken exactly as much land as could be enclosed in an ox’s hide, and as Rome stands on the ground, therefore all Rome is mine.”

“And what wilt thou take for this bit of earth—houses, people and all?” inquired the Emperor.

“I ask what to me is its full value, oh my Emperor, for I have long loved your beautiful niece! Give her to me with one hundred thousand crowns in gold, and I will restore to you your city.”

The Emperor was well pleased to grant this, and so it came to pass that all Rome was bought and sold in one day for a purse and a princess, or for a woman and one hundred thousand crowns.

* * * * *

It will be observed by many readers that in the first tale here narrated there are combined two of the older Virgilian legends, one being that of the Gem which has within it a mysterious power, and which is thus told in “The Wonderful History of Virgil the Sorcerer.” {47}

“Soon after, the Emperor having his crown-jewels laid out before him,
sent for Virgilius, and said: ‘Master, you know many things, and few
are hid from your ken. Tell me now, if you be indeed a judge of
gems, which think you is the best of these?’ The Emperor having
pointed out one gem of peculiar brilliancy, Virgilius laid it, first
in the palm of his hand, then to his ear, and said: ‘Sire, in this
stone there is a worm.’ Forthwith the Emperor caused the stone to be
sawn asunder, and lo, in the centre was found a worm concealed!
Amazed at the sagacity of Virgilius, the Emperor, at the charge of
the country, raised his allowance to a whole loaf per diem.”

The story of the fly is told in almost all the collections. The reader will bear in mind the following frank and full admission, of which all critics are invited to make the worst, that in many cases I had already narrated these Virgilian tales to my collector, as I did here—a course which it is simply impossible to avoid where one is collecting in a speciality. If you want fairy-tales, take whatever the gods may send, but if you require nothing but legends of Red Cap, you must specify, and show samples of the wares demanded. But it may here be observed, that after I had communicated these tales, they all returned to me with important changes. In the older legends the fly made by Virgil is manifestly—like the leech which he also fabricated—simply an _amulet_ or talisman formed under the influence of the planets, or by astrology. In the version which I give there is an altogether different, far more ancient and mysterious motive power described. This is the direct aid of _Moscone_, the King of the Flies, suggestive of _Baal tse Bul_, or Beelzebub himself. The reader may find a chapter on this mystical being, who is also the god of news, in the “Legends of Florence,” Part II. According to my story, the Golden Fly is not a _talisman_ made by planetary influences, but a tribute of respect to a demon, which he demands shall be set up in Saint Peter’s. Here the _witch_, ever inimical to orthodox faith, appears in black and white—so true is it, as I have before remarked, that even where my assistant has been asked to re-tell a tale, it always returned with darker and stranger colouring, which gave it an interest far greater than existed in the simple narrative. The tale of the fly, as a mere amulet, is of almost no importance whatever, beyond its being an insignificant variant; but as a legend of the chief of the flies, or Beelzebub, claiming honour and a place in the great Christian Church, it is of extraordinary novelty.

Amber, in which insects are often found, especially small flies or midges, was anciently regarded as a gem, and is classed as one in the _Tesoro delle Goie_. _Trattato curioso_, Venice, 1676.

It may be observed that something like this story of the gem with an insect in it occurs not only in the early legends of Virgil, but also in the oldest _novelle_, as may be seen in Roscoe’s “Italian Novelists.” In fact, there is probably not one of the old Neapolitan Virgilian stories which is not, like this, of Oriental origin.

THE COLUMNS OF VIRGIL AND HIS THREE WONDERFUL STATUES.

“En sic meum opus ago,
Ut Romæ fecit imago
Quam sculpsit Virgilius,
Quæ manifestare suevit
Fures, sed cæsa quievit
Et os clausit digito.”

DE CORRUPTO ECCLESIÆ STATU: _XVIth Century_. _Virgilius the
Sorcerer_ (1892).

The reader who is familiar with “The Legends of Florence” will remember that, in the second series of that work, {49} there are several tales referring to the Red Pillars of the Baptistery, of which, as Murray’s “Guide Book” states, “at each side of the eastern entrance of the Battisterio di San Giovanni there is a shaft of red porphyry, presented by the Pisans in 1117.” To which I added:

“Other accounts state that the Florentines attached immense value to
these columns, and that once when there was to be a grand division of
plunder between Florence and Pisa, the people of the former city
preferred to take them, instead of a large sum of money, or something
which was apparently far more valuable. And the Pisans parted from
them most unwillingly, and to deprive them of value passed them
through a fire. Which is all unintelligible nonsense, but which
becomes clear when we read further.

“I had spoken of this to Mr. W. de Morgan, the distinguished scholar,
artist, and discoverer in ceramics, when he informed me that he had
found, in the ‘Cronaca Pisana’ of Gardo, a passage which clearly
explains the whole. It is as follows:

“In the year 1016, the Pisans brought the gates of wood which are in
the Duomo, and a small column, which is in the façade, or above the
gate of the Duomo. There are also at the chief entrance two columns,
about two fathoms each in length, of a reddish colour, and it is said
that whoever sees them is sure in that day not to be betrayed. And
these two columns which were so beautiful had been so enchanted by
the Saracens, {50a} that when a theft had been committed the face of
the thief could be seen reflected in them. And when they had
scorched them they sent them to Florence, after which time the
pillars lost their power; whence came the saying, _Fiorentini
ciechi_, or ‘blind Florentines.’ {50b}

“Unto which was added, _Pisani traditori_, or ‘treacherous Pisans.’
Those pillars were, in fact, magic mirrors which had acquired their
power by certain ceremonies performed when they were first polished,
and which were lost.”

A German writer on witchcraft, Peter Goldschmidt, states that there was once in olden time in Constantinople a certain Peter Corsa, who, by looking in two polished stones or magic mirrors, beheld in them proof that his wife, then far away, was unfaithful to him. It is possible, or probable, that this refers to the same pillars, before they had been brought to Pisa, even as the column of the Medicis in the Piazza Annunciata was sent from the East to Florence.

What renders this the more probable is the following passage by Comparetti, given in his “Virgilio nel Medio Evo”:

“In a History of the Pisans, written in French in the fifteenth
century and existing in manuscript in Berne, there is mention of two
columns made by Virgil, and which were then in the cathedral of Pisa,
on the tops of which one could see the likeness of anyone who had
stolen or fornicated.” See De Sinner, “Catal. Codicum MSS. Bibl.
Bernensis,” II., p. 129; Du Meril, “Mélanges,” p. 472.

It is most unlikely that the Pisans had _two_ pairs of columns, in each of which appeared the forms or phantoms or _simulacra_, of criminals, for which reason we may conclude that those in the Battisterio of Florence are quite the same as those which were said to have been made by Virgil. And it is also probable that the belief that they were made by Virgil went far to give them the great value which was attached to them. They should be called the columns of Virgil.

It may be observed that the Berne manuscript cited mentions that it was on the _top_ of the pillars that the visions were seen, and that the tops of the columns of the Battisterio have been knocked away, possibly by the Pisans, in order to deprive them of their peculiar value.

Virgil is also accredited with having made a statue which, like Mahomet’s coffin, hung free in mid-air, and was visible from every part of Rome, or in fact from every door and window. And it had the property that no woman who had once beheld it had, after that, any desire to behave improperly, which thing, according to the plainly-speaking author of “Les Faicts Merveilleux de Virgille,” was a sad affliction to the Roman dames, _qui aymoyent par amour_, since they could not put foot out of doors without seeing “that nasty-image” which prevented them from having _soulas de leurs amours_. So they all complained bitterly to Virgil’s wife, who promised to aid them. Therefore, one day when her husband was absent, she went up the bridge or ladder which led to the statue and threw down the latter. “So, from that time forth, the _dames de Rome firent à leur volonté et a leur plaisance_, _et furent bien ayses de lymage qui fut abbatu_.” Truly the Ibsenite and other novelists of the present day, but especially the lady realists of our time, have great cause to be thankful that no such statues are stuck up in the public places of our cities, for if such were the case their occupation would be gone for ever—or until they had overturned them.

Virgil would appear, however, to have been somewhat inconsistent in this matter of statues, or else desirous of demonstrating to the world that he could go to opposite extremes, since he made another, which is thus delicately hinted at in a footnote by Comparetti: {52}

“In contradizione con questo racconto in cui Virgilio apparisce come
protettore del buon costume, trovasi un altro racconto, secondo il
quale . . . egli avrebbe fatto una donna pubblica artificiale. Cosi
Enenkel nel suo ‘Weltbuch’; vede V. J. Hagen, ‘Gesammtten Abenteuer,’
II., 515; Massmonn, ‘Kaiser Chronik,’ III., 451. Una leggenda
rabbinica parla anch’ essa di una statua destinata a quell’ uso ed
esistente in Romæ. Vede Praetorius, ‘Anthropodemus Plutonicus,’ I.,
150, e Liebrecht nella ‘Germania di Pfeiffer,’ X., 414.”

The passage in Enenkel referred to is given with the rest of the “Weltbuch” by Comparetti, and is as follows:

“Virgilius der selbe man,
Begunde nu ze Rôme gân,
Und versuocht ’sain maisterschaft,
Ob es wær’ wâr der teuvel kraft,
Er macht’ ze Rôm’ ain stainein Weib
Von Künste den het ainen Leib
Swann’ ain Schalk, ain boeser Man
Wolte ze ainem Weibe gân,
Daz er gie zu dem Staine,
Der boese, der unraine,
Das im was bei des Staines Leib
Recht als ob er wær im Weib,
Nicht vür baz ich en sagen sol
Main mainung ’witzt ihr alle wol.”

Bonifacius, in his “Ludicra,” Ravisius Textor (“Officina”), and Kornmann (“Curiosa”) have brought together all the instances in special chapters of men who have fallen in love with statues. I observe that in a late popular novel this device of the _donna artificiale_ is described in a manner which leaves actually nothing to be desired to the lovers of indecency, vileness, blasphemy, or “realism”—_c’est tout un_.

It may be observed that in another tale collected by me, Virgil has for his Egeria a statue called Pæonia, which comes to life when he would confer with her, and which I regard, on what is at least startling coincidence if not full proof, a tradition of Minerva-Pæonia and Esculapius.

The tale in question declares that the magician Virgil, who had a marked fancy for making statues love, or turning women into stone—ever petting or petrifying among the petticoats—had a third favourite, a Pæonia, who was marble when not specially required for other purposes than ornament. These three ladies suggest the Graces:

“Aglaia, Euphrosyne que Thaliaque splendida
Clara letitiæ matres!”

It is probably by mere coincidence or chance that in Keats’ “Endymion” the habitual friend and comforter of the hero is:

“_Peona_, his sweet sister; of all those
His friends, the dearest, . . .
Whose eloquence did breathe away the curse.
She led him like some midnight spirit-nurse.”

But that Peona, through all the poem, plays the part which Pæonia has with Virgil is unquestionable. It would seem as if there is, if not a spiritual, at least an æsthetic influence in names. _Nomen est omen_. “All Bobs are bobbish,” said a farmer, “and all Dicks dickies.”

VIRGIL AND ADELONE.

“Who would have ever said that amid the horrors of prison I would
find a true friend to console me?”—BOETHIUS _to_ PATRICIUS.

“All by prayer and penitence
May be at length forgiven.”

_Ballad of Sir Tannhäuser_.

There once lived in Florence a young man who was not really bad at heart, but utterly selfish, especially to his relations, and was without heed or feeling as to the sufferings of others. And, it being in his power, he wasted all the income of the family on sport, letting his brothers and sisters endure great privations; nor would he have cared much had they starved. He was like all such people—frivolous and capricious. If he met a poor child in the street, he would give it a gold crown, and then let all at home hunger for days.

One day his suffering mother went to Virgilio, and, telling him all about her son, begged the master, if it were possible, to reform him.

Virgilio said to her: “I will indeed do something which will bring thy son to his senses.”

The young man was named Adelone, and Virgilio, meeting him the next day, said:

“If thou wouldst fain see a strange thing indeed—such as thou hast erewhile prayed me to show thee by my art—then be to-night at twelve in the cloister of Santa Maria Novella, where thou wilt see and learn that which it is most needful for thee to know. But to behold and bear the sight thou muse be bold, for a faint heart will fail before it.”

Then Adelone, who, to do him justice, was no coward, did not fail to be in the cloister of Santa Maria Novella at the appointed hour. And as the last stroke of twelve was heard, Adelone saw before him the spirit of a young man named Geronio, who had died one year before, and who had been, as one like him in all respects, his most intimate friend. They were always together, and what one did the other joined in; both were reckless wasters of money, and selfishly indifferent to their families. And as Adelone looked at Geronio he saw in the face of the latter such an expression of awful suffering, that it was a torture to behold him. And Geronio, seeing this, said:

“Depart now, for it is time; but this night I will come to thee and remain with thee till morning.” {55}

And Adelone was glad to have seen Geronio once more, but greatly grieved at finding him in such suffering.

That night he was in his room, which was on the ground, and at the appointed hour the spirit came. And, looking with awe at his friend, Adelone said:

“I see that thou art in pain beyond all belief.”

“Yes,” replied Geronio; “I suffer the greatest agony, such as no mortal could endure. But I pray you come with me.”

Then the two sunk softly down into the earth, ever deeper and deeper in silent darkness, until Adelone saw that they were in an immense cavern, all of gray ice, dimly lighted, with dripping icicles hanging from the roof, and all the floor was covered with dirty, half-freezing water, under which was a bed of stinking mud, and over all was an air of sadness and wretchedness beyond description.

“This is my home,” said Geronio; “but it is as nothing compared to what I suffer in my soul—which is a thousand times more terrible than anything which mortals can imagine, for they have no idea of what spiritual torture is like, because they always think of pain as bodily. But know that I had rather be beaten or burned in fire for a year than suffer for an instant the remorse which I endure.”

“Can anything be done to help you?” asked Adelone.

“Yes, all can be done; and you can save me and not only give me peace, but do as much for thyself, and thereby escape what I have suffered. If thou wilt lead a good and loving life—good and kind to all, especially to thy family and friends, no longer wasting money and life on selfish follies, no longer neglecting duty and acting as an egoist—thus thou canst give me peace, and rescue me from this inferno. But woe unto thee, shouldst thou promise this and fail to keep thy word. For when thy time cometh, as come it will, thou wilt suffer as I do—yea, with redoubled remorse.”

Then Adelone, looking about him, saw many sad shades of men and women wandering or wading through the icy water; all people who had lived for themselves alone, all waiting till someone as yet alive should, by good conduct, save them. And none spoke, for they were doomed to silence. So they looked at one another, and passed on, and such looks were the only thing like comfort allowed them.

Then Adelone fell, as it seemed to him, asleep, and when he awoke he was in his own room, but he well knew that it was no dream which he had beheld. And from that hour he was another man, becoming as good as he had been bad, living to make all others happy, and devoted in every way to his family. And thereby he became for the first time truly contented.

* * * * *

Six months passed, and one night at twelve o’clock, on awaking, he saw before him Geronio, who no longer seemed to suffer as before, though there was still in his eyes something terrible.

“How is it with thee?” asked Adelone.

“Far better. Come with me.”

Then Adelone found himself in a great castle, which seemed like a free prison, which was grim and without comfort. Many souls were in it, but they were walking about together, or resting and conversing, apparently in no suffering. It was a joyless place, but not one of torture, nor was it filthy. {57}

“We do not suffer so much here,” said Geronio. “We have still much remorse, but at least we have the consolation of being able to converse one with another, and enjoy sympathy in sorrow.”

“What do you talk about?” asked Adelone.

“Chiefly about the people whom we hope will set us free. I talk of thee, because all my hope is in thee. I think of nothing else by day or night.”

Then Adelone returned to his home. After six months he beheld Geronio again. Again he found himself in a castle, but the spirits were conversing happily, many were singing hymns, they had guitars and mandolins, and here and there were vases of flowers which gave forth delightful perfume.

Geronio said to him:

“Here we are happier still, and, believe me, friend, if thou canst in this life make others as good as thou art, to love their relations and friends, and cease to be selfish, thereby everyone can save another soul, and win great reward for himself.”

Adelone replied:

“I truly will do all I can to content thee.”

From that day he did all that he could, not only to do good himself, but to cause others to act like him. Six months after this Geronio came to him and said:

“Now that I know that thou art truly good, learn that I am at peace. And as thou hast been the means of giving it to others, know that in future all good spirits will aid thee!”

It is not enough not to be a sinner. He who does not take care and pains and labour earnestly to make others happy will be punished as an evil-doer. He who does not love (us) is an enemy.

* * * * *

It is to be remarked in this, as in all the other tales from the same sources, when a moral end or plot is to be worked out, it is done without benefit of clergy or aid of priest, or the Church. For these are legends of the witches and wizards, who have ever been the foes, and consequently the hated and afflicted, of the orthodox. It is a curious reflection that as it has been said that the last savage in America will die with the last Indian, so the _strega_, or witch, will remain to the end a heathen. And I find curious emotion in the thought that what I have gathered, or am gathering, with such care, is the last remainder of antique heathenism in Europe. Superstitions there are everywhere, but in this kind Italy is alone.

VIRGIL AND DORIONE, or THE MAGIC VASE.

I have a vase in which I daily throw
All scraps and useless rubbish—oh that I
Had one wherein to cast away all thoughts,
Imaginations, dreams and memories
Which haunt and vex the soul, to disappear
For ever, lost in fast forgetfulness!
That were a vase indeed, and worth far more
Than that which forms the subject of this tale.

Many centuries ago there was in Naples a young man named Dorione, who studied magic, and his master was a great sorcerer named Virgil. One evening Dorione found himself in company with friends, and there was present another wizard named Belsevo. {58} Now, there was not bread enough in the house for supper for all.

“Never mind,” remarked Belsevo. “He who hath art will find his bread in any part. Observe me.”

Taking a large vase, he turned it upside down and said:

“Viene pane!
Abbiamo fame;
Dimmi o Cerere del pane!
Se questa grazia mi farai,
Sempre fedele a te sarai.”

“Come, bread, to me,
For hungry are we!
Oh, Ceres, give us bread!
Grant me this grace benign,
And I will be ever thine!”

Then he removed the vase, and there were on the table eight small loaves.

Then Belsevo said to Dorione:

“Canst thou not give us wine for the bread, O scholar of the grand master Virgil?”

But Dorione, being only a beginner in magic, could not effect such a miracle, and was much ashamed because all laughed at him.

The next morning Dorione told what had happened to Virgil.

“Well didst thou deserve,” replied the master, “to be thus scoffed at and jeered, for a young magician should never play tricks at a table like a juggler to amuse fools. But thou hast been sufficiently punished, and to please thee I will give thee a fine present. And if thou canst not make bread come, thou shalt at least have the power to make it and other things disappear. I will give thee this vase of bronze. It is but small, as thou seest, but tell any object, however large, to disappear in it, then the vase will swallow it. Thou shalt keep for thyself in secret a house somewhere, and whatever the vase may swallow thou wilt find it in the house, however distant thou mayst be from it. Only say, ‘Go into the vase!’ and by the vase it will be swallowed up. But thou shalt never use it to steal, or for any dishonest purpose. So long as thou art honest it will serve, and none shall rob thee of it. And if that should come to pass, call to it and it will return to thee.”

Then Dorione took the vase, and thanked the grand master Virgil. After a time the scholar went on a long journey. Dorione possessed a small castle in a remote place in the mountains of Tuscany, and in it was a secret vault. “There,” he said, “I will send all that the vase may swallow. Many a thing may be come by honestly, if one knew how to send it away and where to put it.

“‘He who hath a cage, I’ve heard,
In time will surely get a bird.’”

It came to pass that he became the secretary of a certain lord, who, like many of the brave gentry of his time, was ever at war with somebody, plundering or being plundered, every one in his turn, as fortune favoured.

“Up on the top of the hill to-day,
Down in the dale to-morrow;
Oft in the morning happy and gay,
After a night of sorrow;
For some must fall that others may rise,
And the swallow goes chirping as she flies.”

One evening his master heard a trumpet afar, and, looking forth, seemed suddenly startled, like a man in great alarm. Pointing to a splendid suit of armour, he said:

“Seest thou that armour, Dorione? It is worth ten thousand crowns, and I would give ten thousand it were this instant in hell. I took it in a raid from the Grand Duke, and he will be here in ten minutes with all his men. If he finds the armour I shall lose my head. And there, too, is an iron chest full of gold and jewels—all plunder, and all in evidence against me.”

“If you will give it to me,” answered Dorione, “I will make it all vanish in an instant.”

“Yea, I give it with all my heart; but be quick about it, for the Grand Duke and his soldiers are at the gate, and I feel the rope round my neck!”

Then Dorione brought his vase in a minute, and uttered the conjuration:

“Vattene via! Vattene via!
Roba bella, cosa mia!
Vai nell’ istante al mio castello!
Apri la bocca, vaso bello!”

“Hasten away! Begone! begone!
All ye fine things which are now mine own,
Fly to my castle—never pause;
Beautiful vase, now open thy jaws.”

And in an instant the armour and chest went flying into the vase and disappeared.

Just as they vanished the Duke and his men entered, but though they sought in every cranny they found nothing; and so, having come for a bargain of wool, went away shorn, {60} as the proverb says.

“Thou hast saved my life,” said the Signore. “God only knows how you ran away with the things, but you are welcome to them. Truly I was glad to get them, but a thousand times better pleased to see them go.”

One day the Signore and Dorione found themselves in a battle together, sore beset and separated from all their troop. They were in extremest danger of being killed. {61} When all at once there came an idea to Dorione, who had his vase slung to his side like a canteen. He pronounced the spell, ordering all the arms in the hands of the enemy to fly through the vase to his castle. In an instant swords and spears, daggers and battle-axes, had left their owners, who stood unarmed and amazed. So the two were saved.

The Signore took a great deal of booty, and rewarded Dorione very liberally, the more so because he was greatly delighted to see the gifts disappear in the vase—no matter what, all was fish to that net, and all the sheep black—and Dorione liked to please his kind master, especially in this way. Yes, to amuse him he would often wish away a gold-hilted and jewelled sword or helm from an enemy, and was pleased to hear the brave old knight laugh to see the things fly.

The generosity of the lord stopped, however, at a certain point. He had a beautiful daughter whom Dorione loved, _alla follia_, to distraction, but the father would not consent to bestow her on him. But it came to pass that one day the castle was besieged by a vast force, which spared neither man, woman nor child, and it seemed plain that the besieged must yield. The lord bade Dorione to cause the arms of the enemy to vanish.

“This time,” replied his secretary, “I cannot do it. The fame of my vase or of my power has spread far and wide, and the enemy have had their arms enchanted by a mighty sorcerer, so that I cannot take them.”

They fought on until of all the garrison only Dorione, with the lord and his daughter, were left alive. They were in extremity.

“And now,” thought Dorione, “something must be done, for there is many a wolf at the door. Let me see whether I cannot make the young lady go into my vase, and then her father.” So, bringing them together, he said:

“Signora bella, signora mia!
La più bella che su questa terra sia!
Ti prego—subito, subito,
Di qua vattene via!
Vai nell istante al mio castello,
Vi troverai un vaso bello,
Che la sua bocca aprira,
E li dentro ti salvera!”

“Lovely lady, lady mine own,
The fairest whom earth has ever known;
Fly in a hurry, oh, fly away!
Leave the castle—flit while you may,
And off to my distant shelter flee!
The beautiful vase is ready for thee,
Who will open her mouth to take you in.
Safe you will be when once within!”

In a second, ere the eye could follow, the young lady was whirled away mysteriously, and, the conjuration being repeated, then her father. After which Dorione prayed to the spirit of the vase, who was no other than Saint Virgil himself, {62a} to save him also. And in an instant he felt himself swallowed up like a bean in the mouth of a horse. And as soon he found himself in the vault of the castle with the lady and her father. And they were amazed, in looking about, to see what wealth was there gathered up, for Dorione had been very industrious in many a battle in sending arms and booty to his home.

Then all three, joining hands, danced and sang for joy to find themselves safe, Dorione and the lady doing the most rejoicing, because the lord had promptly said:

“After this you may get married.” And they had the wedding that night.

The good lord, as a proof of affection and esteem for Dorione, pronounced an oration of regret as a penance on himself for not having sooner consented to the nuptials, ending with these words: “And now let everyone here present drink a cask of wine, and get as drunk as a tile, or four fiddlers.” {62b}

VIRGIL AND THE LADY OF ICE AND WATER. {63}

“And truly at that time it came to pass
That Virgil, by the power of sorcery,
Made a fair lady, who did shine like glass
Or diamonds with wondrous brilliancy,
Whom to the Emperor he did present,
And who therewith, I trow, was well content.”

VIRGILO IL MAGO (MS.).

It happened on a time that the Emperor, coming from Rome to Florence, was guest in the Duke’s palace, and treated so magnificently and in a manner so much after his own heart, that he was indeed well content.

Now, in those days there was in Florence no Signore who, when he gave an entertainment, did not invite Virgil, not only because he was the greatest poet in Italy, but because he always played some admirable trick or jest, which made men merry and was always new.

So at the first great feast the Emperor was greatly delighted at the endless jokes, as well as by the genius of the distinguished guest.

Therefore, when the Emperor, before his departure, gave in turn a great entertainment to all the nobles of Florence, as well as of Rome, who were in the city, he sent the first invitation to Virgil, requesting him at the same time to invent for the occasion a jest of the first magnitude.

So unto this for such occasion the magician gave all his mind. And that the Emperor should really “_catch_ the fly,” he resolved that the jest should be one at the Imperial expense—_e lo scherzo voleva farlo a lui medesimo_.

After long meditation he exclaimed, “_Ecco_, _l’ ho trovato_! I’ve got it! I will give him a girl made of water!”

Forthwith he wrote to the Emperor that he would not fail to be at the festival, but also begged permission to bring with him a beautiful young lady—his cousin.

The Emperor, who was very devoted to the fair sex, inferred from this directly that the jest was to be of a kind which would please all free gallants—that is to say, the being introduced to some easy and beautiful conquest—either wedded or a maid. And, delighted at the thought that the trick would take this turn, he replied to Virgil that he had _carta biancha_, or full permission to bring with him whomever he pleased.

Then the magician made a woman of ice and light and water, clear as the light of day he made her, and touched her thrice with his wand, and lo! she became beautiful—but such a beauty, indeed, that you would not find the like in going round the world; the sun or moon ne’er shone upon her like, for she was made of star-rays and ice and dewdrops, so that she looked like all the stars swimming in a burnished golden sky, and shining like the sun, so resplendent in her beauty that she dazzled the eyes.

When Virgilio arrived at the palace, all the guests were there before him, and they were so overwhelmed with blank amazement at the sight of the sorcerer with such a beauty, that they, in silence and awed, drew apart on either side, leaving open space through which Virgilio passed to the Emperor. And the latter was himself for a minute stupefied at the sight of such brilliancy and beauty, when, recovering himself, he gave his arm to the fair cousin, and asked her name. To which she replied: “_La Donna di Diaccio_” (ice).

“_Donna di Fuoco_! (Our Lady of Fire), {64} rather,” cried the Emperor, “since all hearts are inflamed at thy beauty. Truly, I had no idea that the great poet had such a lovely cousin!”

The dance began, and the Emperor would have no other partner than this lady, who outshone the rest as the moon the stars, and yet surpassed them even more by her exquisite grace in every movement, and by her skill as a dancer, so that one seemed to see a thousand exquisite statues or studied forms of grace succeeding to one another as she moved. Nor was she less fascinating in her language than in her beauty, and no wonder, for Virgilio had called into the form one of the wittiest and most gifted of all the fairies to aid the jest.

So the dance swept on, and the Emperor, utterly enchanted, forgot Virgilio and his promised jest, and the time, and the court, and all things save the beauty beside him. Finally he withdrew with her to a side-room, where, sending for refreshment, he sat pouring forth wine into himself and love into the ears of the lady by turns.

Virgil, indeed, wishing the Emperor to have a fine time of it for awhile, did nothing to disturb the splendid pair. But as daybreak would soon appear, he spoke to one and another, saying that he had promised the Emperor a merry jest to make them all laugh. Whereupon there was a general cry for the diversion, and by one consent the gay company invaded the room where the fond couple sat.

Then Virgil, with the greatest politeness and a laughing air, said:

“Excuse me, your Highness, but it seems that my fair cousin here has so engrossed you that you have forgotten that you laid an absolute command on me that I should prepare and play some rare jest, the like of which you had never seen, and I fear, should I forget it, you may ne’er forgive me.”

Then the Emperor, good-natured and grateful to the poet for his fair cousin’s sake, excused the intrusion, and begged for the jest, expressing a hope that it would be a thoroughly good one.

Then Virgil said to the Emperor:

“Take my cousin upon thy lap, and let her arms be round thy neck!”

“_Per Bacco_!” cried the Emperor, “the jest begins well!”

“And now embrace her firmly!” exclaimed Virgil.

“Better and better!” quoth the Emperor.

Then Virgil spoke solemnly to the lady, and said:

“What is thy name?”

“Donna di Diaccia,” was her reply.

“Then, Lady of Ice,” replied the wondrous man, “in the name of my magic power, I summon you to return to the ice from which you sprung, and to the water from which you were born!”

Then little by little, as she sat in the Emperor’s lap, the beautiful girl became a brilliant block of ice, and truly the great man, as his fingers and all his person began to freeze, was fain to place the image on the sofa, where they saw it presently thaw—features and feet and all dispersing, and running away in a stream, till every trace had flown, and the Emperor and the company understood that they had been admiring a Woman of Water.