Part 16

When in an instant they were borne away on a mighty wind and found themselves in the old room, and there also they found the loom, from which Gega could now weave at will cloth of gold or silver as well as silk.

Then the old woman looked steadily at Gega, and the girl saw the features of the former change to those of Nunzia, and as she embraced her, the old woman said:

“Yes, I am Mamma Nunzia, and I came from afar to restore to thee thy loom; but guard it well now, for if lost thou canst never recover it again. But if thou shouldst ever need aught, then invoke the grand magician Virgil, because he has always been my god.” {177}

Having said this, she departed, and Gega knew now that Nunzia was a white witch or a fairy. So, becoming rich, she was a lady, and ever after took good care of her loom and distrusted flattering friends.

* * * * *

This legend exists as a fairy-tale in many forms, and may be found in many countries; perhaps its beginning was in that of the princess who could spin straw into gold. To have some object which produces food or money _ad libitum_ when called on, to be cheated out of it, and finally be revenged on the cheater, is known to all.

Virgil is in one of these tales naïvely called a saint, and in this he is seriously addressed as a god, by which we, of course, understand a classical heathen deity, or any spirit powerful enough to answer prayer with personal favours. But Virgil as the maker of a magic loom which yields gold and silk, and as a _god_ at the same time, indicates a very possible derivation from a very grand ancient myth. The reader is probably familiar with the address of the Time Spirit in Goethe’s “Faust”:

“In Being’s flood, in action’s storm, I work and weave, above, beneath— Work and weave in endless motion Birth and Death—an infinite ocean, A-seizing and giving The fire of the Living. ’Tis thus at the roaring loom of Time I ply, And weave for God the garment thou see’st Him by.”

Thomas Carlyle informs us, in “Sartor Resartus,” that of the thousands who have spouted this really very intelligible formula of pantheism, none have understood it—implying thereby that to him it was no mystery. But Carlyle apparently did not know, else he would surely have told the reader, that the idea was derived from the Sanskrit myth that Maya (delusion or appearance), “the feminine half of the divine primitive creator (Urwesen), was represented as weaving the palpable universe from herself, for which reason she was typified as a spider.” {178} Hence Maia of the Greeks; and it is a curious coincidence that Maia in the Neapolitan legends is the mother of Virgil, all of which is confused, and may be accidental, but there may also be in it the remains of some curious and very ancient tradition. The spider was, however, certainly the emblem of domestic, stay-at-home, steady industry, as Friedrich illustrates, therefore of prosperity, hence it is believed to bring luck to those on whom it crawls, as set forth in the novel of “The Red Spider.” And it is evident that the moral of this tale of Virgil’s loom is to the effect that the heroine gained her good fortune by hard work at home, and came to grief by gadding abroad and playing the belle.

That Maia, or Illusion or Glamour, should, according to our tradition, be the mother of the greatest thaumaturgist, wonder-worker, poet, and sorcerer of yore is curious. That the original Maya of India should be the living loom from which the universe is spun, and that in another tale the _same_ magician, her son, is a god who makes a magic loom which spins gold, silver, and silk, may be all mere chance coincidence, but, if so, it is strange enough to rank as a miracle _per se_.

The name Gega, with _g_ the second soft, is very nearly _Gaia_, the Goddess of the Earth, who was one with Maia, as a type of the Universe.

As I regard this as a tradition of some importance, I would state that it owes nothing whatever to any inquiry, hint, or suggestion from me; that it was gathered from witch authority by Maddalena, near Prato; and, finally, that it is very faithfully translated, with the exception of the passages indicated by brackets, which were inserted by me to make the text clearer—a very necessary thing in most of these tales, where much is often palpably omitted. I have seldom had a story so badly written as this was; it appears to have been taken down without correction from some illiterate old woman, who hardly understood what she was narrating.

It is to be observed that in a number of these tales the proper names are strangely antique and significant. They are not such as are in use among the people, they would not even be known to most who are tolerably well read. I have only found several after special search in mythologies, etc.; and yet they are, I sincerely believe, in all cases appropriate to the tradition as in this case.

VIRGIL AND THE PRIEST.

“Beware, beware of the Black Friar, Who sitteth by Norman stone.”—BYRON.

“Seven times shall he be accursed who returns evil for good, and seven times seven he who lives for himself alone, but seventy times seven the one who wrongs the orphan, the weak, the helpless, the widow or the young!”—_The Ladder of Sin_.

There is in Arezzo a lonely old lane or silent street where few people care to go after dark, nor do they love it much even by daylight, the reason being that it is haunted, for many have seen walking up and down in it after midnight the form of a ghostly friar, who is ever muttering to himself. So he wanders, speaking to none, but now and then he seems to be in great distress, and screams as if in agony, when light dim flames fly from his mouth and nostrils, and then he suddenly vanishes.

It is said that long, long ago there lived in or near Arezzo a poor young orphan girl who had no relations, and had been taken in charity as a servant in a farmer’s family, where she was not unkindly treated, but where everything was in harsh contrast to the life which she had led at home, for her parents, though poor, were gentle folk, and had brought her up tenderly.

So it happened that when at Easter she was ordered to kill for the usual feast a pet lamb, because all the rest were too busy to attend to it, she could not bring herself to do it, and wept bitterly when the lamb looked at her, which the master and mistress could not understand, and thought her very silly. And being deeply grieved at all this, she could eat nothing, and so went along weeping, wishing that her life were at an end. And while walking she met a priest, who was indeed a black sheep of the flock, or rather a wolf, for he was a hardened villain at heart, and ready for any knavery; and he, seeing that the girl, whose name was Ortenzia, was in distress, drew from her all her sad story, and was very much interested at learning that she had some small store of money and a few jewels and clothes, which her mother had charged her not to part with, but to keep till she should be married or for dire need.

Then the priest, pretending great sympathy and pity, said that the farm was no place for her, and that he himself was in great need of a maid-servant, and if she would come and live with him she should be to him as a daughter, and treated like a lady, with much more honeyed talk of the kind, till at last she assented to his request, at which he greatly rejoiced, and bade her be careful to bring with her all her property; whereupon he lost no time in inducing her to sign a paper transferring it all to him, which she in her ignorance very willingly did.

The poor child found very soon indeed that she had only changed the frying-pan for the fire, for the same night the priest made proposals to her, which she rejected in anger, when he attempted force, which she resisted, being strong and resolute, and declared that she would leave his house at once. But when she asked for her money and small property he jeered at her, saying that she had _given_ it to him, and all the law in the land could not take it away. And more than this, he declared she was possessed by a devil, and would certainly be damned for resisting him, and that he would excommunicate and curse her. Hearing all this, the girl became mad in fact, and rushed forth. For a long time she went roaming about the roads, in woods, and living on what people gave her in pity; but no one knew what it was that had turned her brain, and the priest, of course, said all that was ill and false of her.

One day, as the poor lunatic sat in a lonely place singing and making bouquets of wild-flowers, the priest passed, and he, seeing her still young and beautiful, was again inspired by passion, and threw his arms about her. She, seized with horror, again resisted, when all at once a voice was heard, and there stood before them a tall and dignified man, who said to the priest:

“Leave untouched that poor girl, who is all purity and goodness, thou who art all that is vile and foul!”

Then the priest, in great terror and white as death, replied:

“Pardon me, Signore Virgilio!”

“What thou hast deserved, thou must endure,” replied Virgil, “and long and bitter must thy penance be; but first of all restore to this poor creature all that of which thou hast robbed her, and make a public avowal of her innocence and of all thy crimes.”

And this he did; when Virgil said:

“Now from this hour thy spirit shall haunt the street where thou hast lived, and thou shalt never leave it, but wander up and down, thinking of all the evil thou hast wrought. And when thou wouldst curse or rage, it shall come forth from thy mouth in flames, and therewith thou shalt have some short relief.”

As for the girl, she was restored to health, and Virgil made for her a happy life, and she married well, and after a long and prosperous life passed away, having founded a great family in the land.

But the goblin friar still haunts the street in Arezzo, for he has not yet fully and truly repented, and a life as evil as his leaves its stain long after death.

IL GIGLIO DI FIRENZE, OR THE STORY OF VIRGIL AND THE LILIES.

“The lily is the symbol of beauty and love. By the Greeks it was called Χαρμα Αφροδιτης, the joy of Venus, and according to Alciatus, Venus Urania was represented with a lily in her hand.”—J. B. FRIEDRICH: _Die Symbolik der Natur_.

This story is of the lily, or the _stemma_, or crest of Florence. One day Virgilio went forth to walk when he met with a Florentine, who saluted him, saying:

“Thou truly shouldst be a Florentine, since thou art by name a _vero giglio_”—a true lily (_Ver_’-_giglio_).

Then the poet replied:

“Truly I am entitled to the name, since our first ancestors were as the lilies of the field, who toiled not, neither did they spin, hence it came that they left me nothing.”

“But thou wilt leave a lordly heritage,” replied the nobleman, smiling; “the glory of a great name which shall honour all thy fellow-citizens, and which will ever remain in the shield as the flower of Florence.” {182}

* * * * *

This is a pretty tale, though it turns on a pun, and has nothing more than that in it. Much has been written to prove that the lilies in the shields of France and Florence and on the ends of sceptres are not lilies, but there can be no reasonable doubt of its Latin symbolical origin. Among the Romans the lily was the emblem of public hope, of patriotic expectation, hence we see Roman coins with lilies bearing the mottoes: _Spes Publica_, _Spes Augusta_, _Spes Populi Romani_, and Virgil himself, in referring to Marcellus, the presumed heir to the throne of Augustus, makes Anchises cry: “Bring handfuls of lilies!”

This did not occur to me till after translating the foregoing little tradition, and it is appropriate enough to suggest that it may have had some connection with the tale. The idea of its being attached to power, probably in reference to the community governed, was ancient and widely spread. Not only was the garment of the Olympian Jupiter adorned with lilies, {183a} but the old German Thor held in one hand the lightning and in the other a lily sceptre {183b} indicating peace and purity, or the welfare of the people. The lily was also the type of purity from its whiteness, the origin of which came from Susanna the Chaste, who during the Babylonian captivity remained the only virgin. Susan is in Hebrew _Shusam_, which means a lily. “This was transferred to the Virgin Mary.” Hence the legend that Saint Ægidius, when the immaculateness of the Virgin was questioned, wrote in sand the query as to whether she was a maid before, during, and after the Conception, whereupon a lily at once grew forth out of the sand, as is set forth in a poem by the German Smetz—of which lily-legends of many kinds there are enough to make a book as large as this of mine.

The cult of the lily in a poetical sense was carried to a great extent at one time. The Dominican P. Tommaso Caraffa, in his “Poetiche Dicerie,” or avowed efforts at fine writing, devotes a page of affected and certainly florid Italian to the “Giglio,” and there are Latin poems or passages on it by Bisselius, P. Laurent le Brun, P. Alb. Ines, given by Gandutius (“Descriptiones Poeticæ”), Leo Sanctius and A. Chanutius. There is also a passage in Martial eulogizing the flower in comparing to it the white tunic given to him by Parthenio:

“Lilia tu vincis, nec adhuc dilapsa ligustra, Et Tiburtino monte quod albet ebur. Spartanus tibi cedit color, Paphiæque columna Cedit Erithræis eruta gemma vadis.”

I saw once upon a time in Venice a magnificent snow-white carpet covered with lilies—a present from the Sultan to the well-known English diplomat and scholar, Layard—to which it seems to me that those lines of the Latin poet would be far more applicable than they could have been to what was in reality about the same as an ordinary clean shirt or blouse—for such was in fact the Roman tunic. It must, however, be candidly admitted that he does good service to humanity who in any way renders romantic, poetic, or popular, clean linen or personal purity of any kind.

VIRGIL AND THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF THE LILY.

“Ecce tibi viridi se _Lilia_ candice tollunt, Atque humiles alto despactant vertice flores Virginea ridente coma.”

P. LAURENCE LE BRUN, _El._ 50, 1. 7.

Once the Emperor went hunting, when he heard a marvellously sweet voice as of a lady singing, and all his dogs, as if called, ran into the forest.

The Emperor followed and was amazed at seeing a lady, beautiful beyond any he had ever beheld, holding in one hand a lily and wearing a broad girdle as of steel and gold, which shone like diamonds. The dogs fawned round her when the Emperor addressed her, but as he spoke she sank into the ground, and left no trace.

The Emperor came the second day also, alone, and beheld her again, when she disappeared as before.

The third day he told the whole to Virgil, and took the sage with him. And when the lady appeared Virgil touched her with his wand, and she stood still as a statue.

Then Virgil said:

“Oh, my lord, consider well this Lady of the Lily, and especially her girdle; for in the time when that lady shall lose that girdle Florence will gain more in one year than it now increases in ten.”

And with this the lady vanished as before, and they returned home.

VIRGIL AND THE DAUGHTER OF THE EMPEROR OF ROME.

“As the lily dies away In the garden, in the plain, Then as beautiful and gay In the summer comes again; So may life, when love is o’er, In a child appear once more.”

The following strange legend, which was taken down by Maddalena from some authority to me unknown, near Arezzo, is so imperfectly told in the original, and is, moreover, so evidently repieced and botched by an ignorant narrator, that I at first rejected it altogether; but finding on consideration that it had some curious relations with other tales, I determined to give it for what it may be worth.

* * * * *

Once the Emperor of Rome was in his palace very melancholy, nor could he rally (_ralegrarla_), do what he might. Then he went forth into the groves to hear the birds sing, for this generally cheered him, but now it was of no avail.

Then he sent a courier to Florence, and bade him call Virgil with all haste.

Virgil followed the messenger at full speed.

“What wilt thou of me?” asked the sorcerer of the Emperor.

“I wish to be relieved from the melancholy which oppresses me. I want joy.”

“Do like me, and thou wilt always have a peaceful mind:

“‘I work no evil to any man; I ever do what good I can. He who acts thus has ever the power To turn to peace the darkest hour!’”

“Nor do I recall that I ever did anything to regret,” replied the Emperor.

“Well, then, come with me, for I think that a little journey will be the best means of distracting your mind and relieving you from melancholy.”

“Very well,” replied the Emperor. “Lead where you will; anything for a change.”

“We will take a look at all the small districts of Tuscany,” answered Virgil.

“Going from the Florentino, Through Valdarno to Casentino; Where’er we see the olives bloom, And smell the lily’s rich perfume, And mountains rise and rivulets flow, Thither, my lord, we two will go.”

To which the Emperor replied:

“Where’er you will, all things to see, High or low—’tis all one to me, If I can only happy be.”

So they travelled on through many places, but the Emperor was ever dull and sad; but when in Cortona he said that he felt a little better, and went forth with Virgil to look about the town.

[And it was unto this place and to a certain end that Virgil led his lord.]

Passing along a street, they saw at a window a girl of extraordinary beauty, who was knitting. . . . {187a}

The girl instead of being angered, laughed, showing two rows of beautiful teeth, and said:

“Thou mayst become gold, and the skein a twist of gold.”

The girl was utterly surprised and confused at this, and knew not whether to accept or refuse (the gift offered).

The Emperor said to Virgil:

“Just see how beautiful she is. I would like to win her love, and make her mine.”

“Always the same song,” replied Virgil. “You never so much as say, ‘I wish she were my daughter.’”

“She can never be my daughter,” answered the Emperor; “but as she is as poor as she is beautiful, she may very easily become my love. Honour is of no value to a poor person.”

“Nay,” replied Virgil, “when the poor know its value, it is worth as much to them as gold to you who are wealthy. {187b} And it is from your neglecting this that you have so long suffered, you knew not why [but an evil deed will burn, though you see no light and know not what it is]. For thus didst thou once betray a poor maid, and then cast her away without a further thought, not even bestowing aught upon her. And thou hadst a daughter, and her mother now lies ill and is well nigh to death. And it is this which afflicted thee [for every deed sends its light or shadow at some time unto the doer]. And now, if thou dost not repair this wrong, thou wilt never more know peace, and shalt ever sit in the chair of penitence.”

“And where is my daughter and her mother?” asked the Emperor.

“That girl is the daughter, and if you would see her mother, follow me,” replied Virgil.

When they entered the room where the dying woman lay, the Emperor recognised in her one whom he had loved.

“Truly,” he said, “she was the most beautiful to me of all.”

And he embraced and kissed her; she was of marvellous beauty; she asked him if he recognised their daughter.

“I recognise and acknowledge her,” he replied. “Wilt thou live?”

“No,” she replied; “for I have lived to the end, and return to life. [I am a fairy (_fata_) who came to earth to teach thee that fortune and power are given to the great not to oppress the weak and poor, but to benefit.”]

Saying this she died, and there remained a great bouquet of flowers.

The Emperor took his daughter to the palace, where she passed for his niece, and with her the flowers in which he ever beheld his old fairy love, and thus he lived happy and contented.

* * * * *

To supply a very important omission in this legend, I would add that the bouquet was certainly of lilies, as occurs in other legends, and the real meaning of the whole is a very significant illustration of the history and meaning of the flower. Old writers and mythic symbolism, as Friedrich and many more have shown, believed that Nature taught, not vaguely and metaphorically, but directly, many moral lessons, and that of the lily was purity and truth. By comparing this with the other stories relating to this flower which I have given, it will hardly be denied that my conjectural emendations formed part of the original, which the narrator had not remembered or understood.

There is something beautifully poetical in the fancy that spirits, _fata_, assume human form, that they by their influence on great men, princes or kaisars, may change their lives, and teach them lessons by means of love or flowers. This makes of the tale an allegory. It was in this light that Dante saw all the poems of Virgil, as appears by passages in the “Convito,” in which curious book (p. 36, ed. 1490) there is a passage declaring that the world is round and hath a North and South Pole, in the former of which there is a city named Maria, and on the other one called Lucia, and that Rome is 2,600 miles from the one, “more or less,” and 7,500 miles from the other.

“And thus do men, each in his different way, From fancies unto wilder fancies stray.”

Or as the same great poet expresses it in the same curious book: “Man is like unto a weary pilgrim upon a road which he hath never before travelled, who every time that he sees from afar a house, deems that it is the lodging which he seeks, and finding his mistake, believes it is the next, and so he erreth on from place to place until he finds the tavern which he seeks. And ’tis the same, be it with boys seeking apples or birds, or their elders taking fancies to garments, or a horse, or a woman, or wealth, ever wanting something else or more and so ever on.”

The lily in Italian tales is the flower of happy, saintly deaths; it fills the beds of the departing, it sprouts from the graves of the holy and the good. In one legend it is the white flower of the departing soul which changes into a white bird. But in this story it has a doubly significant meaning, as the crest of Florence and as conveying a significant meaning to its ruler.

The “Convito” of Dante is not nearly so well known as the “Commedia,” but it deserves study. The only copy which I have ever read is the editio princeps of 1490, which I bought of an itinerant street-vendor for 4 soldi, or twopence.

VIRGIL AND POLLIONE, OR THE SPIRIT OF THE PROVERB.

“A Proverb is a relic or remain of ancient philosophy, preserved among many ruins by its brevity and fitness.”—ARISTOTLE AP. SYNESIUS.

“I Proverbi e la sapienza dell uomo El Proverbio no fale.”

_Proverbi Veneti_, _da_ PASQUALIGO.

“He who leaves money leaves what may be lost, But he who leaves a _Proverb_ keen and true Leaves that wherein his soul will never die.”

C. G. LELAND.

“Tremendo leone, destriero animoso Che in lungo riposo giaceste al suo pié. Mostrate agli audaci cui grato e l’ errore Che ’l vostro vigore scemato non è.”

GABRIEL ROSSETTI (1832).

There was once a young man of genius, and honest; he was a true gentleman (_vero galantuomo_), with a good heart.

At that time there was also in Rome a great magician who was called the Poet, but his real name was Virgilio. And the honest youth, whose name was Pollione, was a student with Virgilio, and also his servant.