Part 9

The Spirit of Mirth in this story has really nothing in common with Momus, who was, in fact, the God of Sneering, or captious, petty criticism of the kind which objects to great and grand or beautiful subjects, because of small defects. The Virgilian spirit is that of the minor rural gods, or the daughters of the dawn, who were all smiling sub-forms of the laughing Venus. These play the principal part in the mythology of the Tuscan peasantry. This spirit differs from that of Momus as an angel from a devil.

Psellus held that there was a soul in all statues.

That the God of Mirth, or Laughter, is in this tale also a gay young cavalier in Florentine society is paralleled or outdone by Chaucer in the “Manciple’s Tale,” in which Apollo is described as follows:

“Whan Phebus dwelled here in erth adoun, As oldé bookes maken mentioun, He was the mosté lusty bacheler Of all this world, and eke the best archer. . . . Thereto he was the semelieste man That is or was sithen the world began.”

That is, this “flour of bachelerie as well in fredom as in chivalrie” was simply human while here below, having “a wif which that he loved more than his lif.” Chaucer wrote this evidently with conscious humour of the naïve paradox by which those of his age could thus confuse gods and common mortals, even as a Red Indian vaguely confuses the great beaver or wolf with a human being. It is a curious reflection that, at the present day in Italy, there are believers in the old gods who regard the latter in the same way, as half divine and half like other folk.

NERO AND SENECA.

“This Seneka, of which that I devise, Because Nero had of him swiché drede, For he fro vices wold him ay chastise Discretely, as by word, and not by dede. ‘Sire,’ he wold say, ‘an Emperor mote nede Be vertuous, and haten tyrannie.’ For which he made him in a bathe to blede On both his armès till he mustè die.”

CHAUCER: _The Monke’s Tale_: _Nero_.

“Già tra le infamie delle regie sale Due uomini vedevansi soltanto A cui volera orribilmente male, Questo amatore delle stragi, e pianto, Uno di questi è Seneca, ch’ eguale In Roma non aver per nobil vanto Nelle dottrine di filosofia, E nel fare una bella poesia. . . . Nerone che non vuol d’ogni folliá, Avere appreso un rigido censore, Fece morir, con modi scellerati, Tanto costui, che Seneca, svenati!”

_Storia di Nerone_: _A Florentine Halfpenny Ballad_.

“Alteri vivere oportet si vis tibi vivere.”

“Thou must live for others if thou wouldst live for thyself.”—

SENECA: _Epistolæ_.

There was once in Rome a young Emperor named Nerone. As a boy, he was by no means badly inclined, and it seemed for a long time as if he would grow up into a great and good man.

He had a tutor or teacher named Seneco, {88} who was benevolent and wise beyond all the men of his time, and he had such influence on the young Nerone, that for two years the youth behaved well and did no harm to anyone.

But little by little he was led astray by courtiers who flattered and corrupted him, and who of course did all they could to injure Seneco in his esteem, saying that the sage was really an old knave, and that he was engaged in plots with the design of becoming Emperor himself. And the end of it all was that Nerone believed them.

So he sent a letter to Seneco, in which he declared that the time had come for the old man to die; but that he might choose his own manner of death by suicide.

Seneco, having read it, said: “What an evil youth is this, of what a corrupted heart! Well, infamous as the command is, I will die! But I will leave him a legacy which shall be his ruin.”

Thus he wrote to Nerone:

“I will die this very day, but I leave you a gift which is more than a fortune. It is a book of magic and necromancy. If you wish for anything, be it the love of a woman or the death of a man, or his disaster, or to destroy all Rome, you will find in the book spells by which it may be done.”

And when he knew that Nerone had the book, he went at once into a hot bath, and said to his surgeon:

“Open my veins, so that I may bleed to death. I will die, but I know that the Emperor will soon follow me.”

So he died, and all Rome wept. {89a}

Then Nerone read the book, and it seemed as if it were poisoned, for while reading it he perceived as it were an exhalation {89b} from hell.

He read in the book how to commit all crimes and sins, how to seize on fortunes, or rob whom he would, and learned from it all the secrets of licentiousness—_tutte cose voluttiose_—and having finished it, he became a veritable devil.

He collected many lions and tigers, and all kinds of terrible wild beasts, and then drove among them all the Christians and saints in Rome, and they were devoured by the beasts. Then he took the fortunes of all the rich men, {89c} and decreed that all the women in the city were his wives. After which he every day debauched them in the open streets before their husbands, and likewise ordained that all men and women should do the same openly. And he committed even more infamous deeds in public places, with an orchestra, saying it was best to make love to the sound or accompaniment of music.

And one day, to make a scene in an opera, he (set fire to and) burned all Rome.

Then the people made a revolution, and drove him out of his palace. It is said that this palace was all gilded. (_Era tutto dorato_.)

In a public square was a statue of Seneco, and it was of marble. So the people in a rage drove Nerone before them until, utterly weary and exhausted, he fell down at the foot of the statue of Seneco. And beholding the image of his tutor, Nerone cried:

“_Tu mi vincesti_, _tu mi inperasti_—Thou hast conquered, O Seneco; thou hast prevailed over me, and had thy revenge! And accursed be the day in which thou didst send me the book which gave me the power to have all which I desired!”

And all who were present were astonished when they heard the statue reply:

“I am avenged, and thou art punished.”

Then a butcher struck him heavily; he gave him a death-wound with an axe, and Nerone, dying, said:

“If thou hast no shame for having killed an Emperor, thou shouldst at least blush at having put to death the best actor in Rome!”

Then the ground opened, and there came forth the flame and thunder of hell, with many devils who howled. . . .

And so did Nero die, who was the most infamous king {90} who ever lived in this world since it was a world.

* * * * *

Though there are so many authentic traits of the Emperor Nero in this tradition, the reader is not to infer from them that she who wrote it has had access to a copy of Suetonius. There is a “halfpenny dreadful,” or _sou_ shocker, entitled the “Life of Nero”—_Vita di Nerone_—published by Adriano Salani, the Catnach of Florence, Via Militare, No. 24 (No. 107 on his catalogue), to say nothing of other halfpenny classical works, such as the “Story of the Proud Emperor,” “The Empress Flavia,” and the “Tale of Pyramus and Thisbe,” which, as they are to be found on many open-air stands, may account for a great deal of such learning in the popular mind. One may meet daily in Italy with marvellous proof in many forms of what a strange, curious, confused mass of old Latin lore still lingers among the people, and the marvellous contrast which it presents to what the common folk read and reflect over in other lands. But Nero would be most likely to be remembered, because he is frequently mentioned or described in popular Lives of the Saints as a great maker of martyrs, and caster of them unto lions.

This does not belong to the cycle of Virgilian tales, but it was sent to me as one from Siena. To my collector it was all one, so that it referred to a magician, and had the idea occurred to the writer, the name of Virgilio would have been substituted for that of Seneca. Doubtless in their time, since they began life in India, or Egypt, or Arabia, these legends have borne many names, and been as garments to the memory of many sages—even as Buddha in his Jatakas was the first of a line which has ended in the heroes of European nurseries.

The halfpenny, or _soldo_, or _sou_ ballad of Nero, to which I have referred, is too curious as illustrating the remarkable knowledge of classical antiquity still current among the Italian people, to be lightly passed by. Its title-page is as follows:

“Storia di Nerone, dove si narrano, le Stragi, i Delitti, le Persecuzioni e gli Incendi commessi da questo infame Tiranno in Roma”—“History of Nero; in which is told the Murders and Crimes committed by this Infamous Tyrant in Rome.”

This poem and others of the same stamp are quite as barbarously classic-mediæval or Romanesque as anything in any of these stories of Virgilio, and if I cite it, it is to give a clear idea of the remarkable degree to which strange traditions, and very ancient legends or “learning,” have lingered among the people. I really cannot understand why this marvellous survival of old Latin romance, and this spirit of the Dark Ages among the people, attracts so little attention among literary people, and especially Italians. For it certainly indicates to any thinking mind the survival of a great deal of classic tradition which has never been recorded.

VIRGIL AND CICERO.

“Magic is genius most mysterious, And poetry is genius passed to form, And these allied give birth to Eloquence; For never yet was there an orator Who did not owe his best to Poetry.”—C. G. L.

There was once a young man named Cicero, who was a student with Virgil, and who, being poor, served the great magician in all things.

When Christmas came, with the New Year, Virgil, being well pleased with his fidelity, resolved to make a handsome gift to Cicero, and so said:

“_Che vuoi_? What wilt thou have?”

“I would like,” replied young Cicero, “to be master of the art of speech”—_Il dono di parlar bene_.

“Would you not prefer wealth?” asked Virgil.

“He who hath a ready tongue can have his will mid old or young,” answered Cicero; “and as the proverb says:

“Chi ha eloquenza, Ad ogni cosa ha pretenza.”

“He who hath but eloquence Hath unto everything pretence.”

“But do not forget,” remarked Virgil, “that amiable speech is courteous and refined. And remember to always speak well of women—everywhere.”

“If it be false, or if it be true, Speak gently of women, whatever you do.”

After a while Cicero, wanting change of life or to try his fortune, left Virgil and Rome, going first to Florence and then to Ravenna, where his parents dwelt.

So ever travelling on afoot, he came one night to a solitary place among rocks in a forest, where he saw at some distance a ruined castle. And entering, hoping to find a place to sleep, he was astonished to perceive a light, and going further, came into a spacious hall, where, seated at a table, were six gentlemen and a lady, all of them far more beautiful and magnificent in every respect than ordinary mortals, especially the lady, who, as Cicero thought, surpassed all women whom he had ever seen, as the moon outshines the stars.

“_Salve Domine_!” exclaimed the scholar; “and excuse my intrusion, since I did not expect to find company here, though I would have indeed come many a day’s journey, had I known of it, to behold such handsome and brilliant cavaliers, and such a marvel of beauty as yon lady, as all the world would do.”

“Thou hast a smooth tongue and a sweet gift of speech,” replied the lady, with a smile; “and I not only thank thee for the whole company, but invite thee to sup with us, and lodge here, and be most welcome.”

So they supped gaily; and Cicero, who from the company of Virgil and his friends and the court was familiar with the world, was amazed, and wondered who these marvellous people could be. At last he chanced to ask:

“What day of the week is this?”

“Truly you can here take your choice,” replied the lady, with a laugh. “But of all the days of the week, which do you prefer?”

“Friday,” replied Cicero; “because it is the only one which bears a woman’s name or that of Venus. _Evviva Venere_, _evviva le donne_!

“Hurrah for Venus, whate’er befall! Long life unto love, and to ladies all!”

“This youth has a tongue of gold and honey,” said the lady. “And what do you think of the other days of the week?”

“Other people do not think much about them in any way,” replied Cicero. “But that is not the case with me. To me they are all saints and gods. _Domenica_ is a holy name, which praises the Lord. _Giovedi_ (Tuesday) is the day of Jove, and that is a glorious name. _Evviva Giove_! So it is with them all; and were I rich enough, I would build a temple to the days of the week wherein to worship them.”

“That money shall not be wanting, O thou happy man!” replied the lady. “Knowest thou who we are? We are the Seven Days of the Week; and for what thou hast said of me, every Friday thou shalt find a hundred gold crowns under thy pillow. And when thou needest any special favour, then pray to us all.”

And as he heard the last word Cicero fell asleep. When he awoke he was alone in the ruin, but by him was a purse with one hundred crowns in gold.

Then in time Cicero built the temple, as he had promised, to Venus, and in it he placed all the images of the seven gods. Then whoever wanted a favour invoked those deities, as indeed did Cicero when he needed aught; and those gods were the seven youths, and those youths whom he had found in the hall were the days of the week.

Then for a time Cicero lived in happiness. But something came to disturb it, for one morning he saw at a window near by a young lady of such marvellous beauty that he was as if enchanted, nor was she less pleased with him.

“Tell me, thou splendid star,” said Cicero, “the very truth now passing in thy mind. Dost thou love me?”

“In very truth,” she replied, “I do love thee. O Cicero, but thou lovest only to lose, for this day I am to leave Rome never to return, unless thou canst by some miracle so manage it as to prevent the journey, and keep me here!”

Then Cicero went to the Temple of the Days and conjured them thus:

“Lunedi e Marte! (Martedi.) Fai che la stella mia non parta! Mercurio e Giove! Fai che la stella non mova!”

“Monday and Tuesday, I pray you cause my love to remain! Wednesday and Thursday, Let her not move! Venus, thou who art the fairest day, The one whom I most adore! Thou who hast put me in the way of wealth, And unto whom I truly built a temple, As I did promise in the bygone time, And as thou thyself didst promise, That if I needed aught, and came to thee, My wishes should be granted, now I pray To Venus and to Saturn—Saturday, That as I have no peace, and none can know, Till I have won the maid, give her to me! And thou, O Sunday, when the wedding comes, I pray thee give her to me with thy hand!”

Then a voice from the depth of the temple replied:

“Because thou hast spoken so well, What thou hast asked is granted; She whom thou lovest Is not of the race of men; She is an enchantress, Born of Venus, who loves her, Venus, who bent her to love thee; The grace is granted: Wed and be happy!”

* * * * *

This pretty and fanciful, or strange, tale recalls that in the “Pentamerone” of Gianbattista Basile, the Neapolitan, in which a young man meets the Twelve Months in human form, and pleases March by speaking well of him. In this story the hero is a famed orator, who not only possesses the _gaber_—or “gift of the gab”—but of whom we are told how he came by it, namely, from Virgil, whose verse has indeed for ages wakened eloquence in many hearts.

The days of the week in English are derived as follows:

Sunday Sun day. Monday Moon day. Tuesday Tuisco’s day. Wednesday Woden or Odin’s day. Thursday Thor’s day. Friday Frey’s day. Saturday Seater’s day.

According to this, Friday is the luckiest day, because Frey was the god who gave good fortune, and Freya, his female counterpart, was the Northern Venus. The Italian names with their gods correspond to ours, as the deities of the North resembled those of the Latin pantheon. As this is an interesting subject, I take from the Italian Historical-Mythological Dictionary the following:

“_Settimana_ is a time composed of seven days. Dion Cassius asserts that the Egyptians were the first to divide time into periods of seven days, and that it was suggested by the seven planets. However, the ancients in this did not follow the rule, since in that case we should have had Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, the Sun, Venus, Mercury, and the Moon. Saturday, Sabato, is derived from Saturn, who ruled the first hour.”

It was, in fact, from the disposition of the _hours_ that the days of the week received their names; hence the transposition of names, as is very ingeniously worked out by the author.

It is almost amusing to observe that in this, as in all tales coming from a witch source, the incantations, though not at all necessary to the story, are given with scrupulous care.

To the reader who would seriously study Cicero, yet in a deeply interesting form, I commend “Cicero and his Friends,” by Gaston Bussier (London: A. D. Innes and Co., 1897). According to this genial and vigorous French writer, there is a great deal of mystery as to the manner in which the noble orator acquired the money to purchase estates and villas, when he was notoriously devoid of income. It is true that a great deal of public money was passing through his hands just then, but as he was as incorruptible and pure as an average American senator, of course _this_ cannot account for his acquisitions. Here the legend comes to our aid and meets the difficulty. Having the Seven Days to draw upon, which probably means infinite extension of time and renewal of his notes, the great Roman, borrowing, like his friend Cæsar, by millions, got along very comfortably. In fact, they borrowed so much that all Rome was interested in their prosperity, and helped to make them rich that they might pay.

VIRGIL AND THE GODDESS VESTA.

“Put out the light, and then—put out the light!”

“Ut inquit Hecateus in Genealogiis: Enim vero cùm _duæ_ essent Vestæ, per antiquiorem Saturni matrem; terram; at per juniorem ignem purum ætheris significarunt.”—_Mythologia Natalis Comitis_, A.D. 1616.

Many centuries have passed since there was (worshipped) in Florence a goddess who was the great spirit of virtue and chastity, (yet) when a maid had gone astray she always devoted herself to worship the beautiful Avesta, as this deity was called, and the latter never failed in such case to get her devotee out of the difficulty. Her temple was that building which is now called the Baptistery of Saint John, and she was the goddess of light, as of candles, torches, and all that illuminates. And Avesta was, as I have said, known as the deity of virtue, albeit many of the people shrugged their shoulders when they heard this, being evidently strongly inclined to doubt, but they said nothing for fear of punishment.

For it was rumoured that Avesta had many lovers, and that in the rites of her religion there were secrets too dark to discover, and that as everything in her worship was involved in mystery and carried on occultly, it followed, of course, that it involved something wrong. And it was observed that once a month many women who worshipped her met in her temple by night, and that they were accompanied by their lovers, who with them adored the goddess in the form of a large lighted lamp. But that when this rite was at an end and the multitude had departed, there remained unnoted a number, by whom the doors were closed and the light extinguished, when a general orgy ensued, no one knowing who the others might be. {98a} And it was from this came the saying which is always heard when two lovers are seated together by a light and it goes out, that Avesta did it. {98b}

There was in Florence a young lord who loved a lady of great beauty. But she had a bitter rival, who to cross their love had recourse to sorcery or witchcraft, and so “bound” or cast on him a spell which weakened his very life, and made him impotent and wretched, that his very heart seemed to be turned to water.

And this spell the witch worked by taking a padlock and locking it, saying:

“Chiudo la catena, Ma non chiudo la catena, Chiudo il corpo e l’anima Di questo bel signor ingrato, Chi non ha voluto, Corrispondermi in amore, {98c} Ha preferito un’ altra a me, E questa io l’odio Come odio la signorina, Pure catena che incateni Tanti diavoli tieni! Tengo incatenata questo signor Fino a mio comando Che nessuno la possa disciogliere E incatenato possa stare, Fino che non si decidera Di sposarmi. . . .”

“Now here I close the lock, Yet ’tis not a lock which I close; I shut the body and soul Of this ungrateful lord, Who would not meet my love, But loves another instead, Another whom I hate, Whom I here lock and chain With devil’s power again. I hold this man fast bound That none shall set him free Until I so command, And bound he shall remain Till he will marry me.”

One day Virgil was passing the Piazza del Duomo, when he met with the young man who had thus been bound or bewitched, and the victim was so pale and evidently in terrible suffering, that the great poet and magician, who was ever pitying and kind, was moved to the heart, and said:

“Fair youth, what trouble have you, that you seem to be in such suffering?”

The young man replied that he, being in love unto life and death, had been bewitched by some malignant sorcery.

“That I can well see,” replied the sage, “and I am glad that it will be an easy thing for me to cure you. Go thou into a field which is just beyond Fiesole, in a place among the rocks. There thou wilt find a flat stone bearing a mark. Lift it, and beneath thou wilt find a padlock and chain. Take this golden key: it is enchanted, for with it thou canst open any lock in the world of door or chain. {99} Keep the lock, open it, and then go to the Temple of Vesta and return thanks with prayer, and wait for what will come.”

So the young man did as Virgil had told him, and among the rocks found the stone and the padlock, and went to the Temple of Avesta, where he opened the lock and made the prayer to the goddess, which having done, he fell asleep, and no one beheld him.

And while he was there the young lady entered the Baptistery to worship Avesta, to offer her devotions, which being ended, she sat down and also fell into a deep sleep, and no one observed her.