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.”