THE DOUBLE-FACED STATUE, OR HOW VIRGILIO CONJURED JANUS.
“Now by two-headed Janus!
Nature hath formed strange fellows in her time!”Shakespeare.
“There were in Rome many temples of Janus, some unto him as bifrons, or double-faced. Caylus has published pictures of Greek vases on which are seen two heads thus united, the one of an elderly man, the other of a young woman.”—Dizionario Mitologico.
There was once in Florence, in the Tower della Zeccha, a statue of great antiquity, and it had only one body, or bust, but two heads; and one of these was of a man and the other of a woman, a thing marvellous to behold.
And Virgil, seeing this when it was first found in digging amid old ruins, had it placed upright and said:
“Behold two beings who form but a single person! I will conjure the image; it shall be a charm to do good; it shall teach a lesson to all.”
Thus he conjured:
“Statua da due faccie
Due, e un corpo solo,
Due faccie ed avete
Un sol cervello. Siete
Due esseri l’ uno per altro,
Dovete essere marito e moglie,
Dovete peccare con un sol pensiero.“Avete bene quattro occhi
Ma una sol vista,
Come tutti i mariti,
E moglie dorebbere essere,
E dovete fare la buona fortuna
Di tutti gli inamorati.”“Statue gifted with two faces,
Two and yet a single body!
Two and but one brain—then art thou
Two intended for each other—
Two who should be wife and husband,
Acting by the same reflection.“Unto you four eyes are given,
And but a single sight—ye are then
What indeed all wives and husbands
Ought to be if they’d be happy;
Therefore shalt thou bring good fortune
Unto all devoted lovers!”
Then Virgil touched the statue with his rod, and it replied:
“Tutti quelli che mi pregherano.
Di cuore sincera, amanti o sposi,
Tutti quelli saranno felice!”“All of those who’ll come here to adore me,
Be they lovers, be they married couples,
I will ever make them truly happy.”
The conception of a head with two faces, one male and the other female, is still very common in Italy. In the cloister of Santa Maria Novella in Florence the portraits of a husband and wife are thus united on a marble monumental tablet. And in Baveno, among the many graffiti or sketches and scrawls made by children on the walls on or near the church, there is one which is evidently traditional, representing Janus. This double-headed deity was continued in the Baphomet of the Knights Templars.
In the older legends are two tales declaring that Virgil made and enchanted two statues. This appears to be a variation of the story of Janus.
VIRGIL AND HIS COURTIERS.
“Virgilius also made a belfry.”—The Wonderful History of Virgilius the Sorcerer of Rome.
“To be a crow and seem a swan,
To look all truth, possessing none,
To appear a saint by every act,
And be a devil meanwhile at heart,
To prove that black is white, in sooth,
And cover up the false with truth;
And be a living lie, in short—
Such are the lives men lead at court.”Old Italian saying cited by Francesco Panico in his “Poetiche Dicerie” (1643); article, Courtiers.
“Above all lying is the lie as practised by evil courtiers, it being falsehood par excellence. For they are the arch architects, the cleverest of artists at forming lies, pre-eminent in cooking, seasoning, serving them with the honey of flattery or the vinegar of reproof.”—Francesco Panico (1643).
On a time Virgilio remained for many weeks alone at home, and never went to court. And during this retirement he made seven bells of gold, and on every one there was engraved a name or word.
On the first there was “Bugiardo” (or lying), on the second “Chiacchiera” (or tattling gossip), on the third “Malignità” (or evil spite), on the fourth “Chalugna” (or calumny), on the fifth “Maldicenza” (or vituperation), on the sixth “Invidia” (or envy), and on the seventh “Bassezza” (or vileness).
And these he hung up in a draught of air, so that as they swung in the breeze they rang and tinkled, first one alone, and then all.
One day the Emperor sent a messenger to Virgilio, asking him why he never came to court as of old. And Virgilio wrote in reply:
“My dear Emperor,
“It is no longer necessary that I should come to court to learn all that is said there. For where I am at home I hear all day long the voices of Falsehood, Tattling, Evil Spite, Calumny, Vituperation, Envy, and Vileness.”
And then he showed the bells to the messenger. The Emperor, when he had read the letter and heard all, laughed heartily, and said:
“So Virgilio keeps a court of his own! Yes, and a finer one than mine, for all his courtiers are clad in gold.”
VIRGIL AND THE THREE SHEPHERDS.
A Legend of the Monte Sybilla, near Rome.
“And, warrior, I could tell to thee
The words which split Eildon Hill in three,
And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone;
But to speak them were a deadly sin,
And for having but thought them my heart within
A treble penance must be done.”—Scott.
Miss Roma Lister, when residing in Florence, having written to her old nurse Maria, in Rome, asking her if she knew, or could find, any tales of Virgil, received after a while the following letter, written out by her son, who has evidently been well educated, to judge by his style and admirable handwriting:
“Rome, January 28, 1897.
“Mia buona Signorina,
“I have been seeking for some old person, a native of the Castelli Romani, who knew something relative to the magician Virgil, and I found in a street of the new quarters of Rome an old acquaintance, a man who is more than eighty years of age; and on asking him for what I wanted, he, after some reflection, recalled the following story:
“‘I was a small boy when my parents told me that in the Montagna della Sibilla there was once an old man who was indeed so very old that the most ancient people had ever known him as appearing of the same age, and he was called the magician Virgilio.
“‘One day three shepherds were in a cabin at the foot of the mountain, when the magician entered, and they were at first afraid of him, knowing his reputation. But he calmed them by saying that he never did harm to anyone, and that he had come down from the mountain to beg a favour from them.
“‘“There is,” he continued, “half-way up the mountain, a grotto, in which there is a great serpent which keeps me from entering. Therefore I beg you do me the kindness to capture it.”
“‘The shepherds replied that they would do so, thinking that he wanted them to kill the snake, but he explained to them that he wished to have it taken in a very large bottle (grandissimo boccione) [165] by means of certain herbs which he had provided.
“‘And the next day he came with the bottle and certain herbs which were strange to them, and certainly not grown in the country. And he said:
“‘“Go to the grotto, and lay the bottle down with its mouth towards the cavern, and when the serpent shall smell the herbs he will enter the bottle. Then do ye close it quickly and bring it to me. And all of this must be done without a word being spoken, else ye will meet with disaster.”
“‘So the three shepherds went their way, and after a time came to the grotto, which they entered, and did as the magician had ordered. Then, after a quarter of an hour, the serpent, smelling the herbs, came forth and entered the bottle. No sooner was he in it than one of the shepherds adroitly closed it, and cried unthinkingly:
“‘“Now you’re caught!”
“‘When all at once they felt the whole mountain shake, and heard an awful roar, and crashing timber round on every side, so that they fell on the ground half dead with fear. When they came to their senses each one found himself on the summit of a mountain, and the three peaks were far apart. It took them several days to return to their cabin, and all of them died a few days after.
“‘From that time the magician Virgil was no more seen in the land.’
“This is all which I could learn; should I hear more I will write at once to you.”
This is beyond question an imperfectly-told tale. What the sorcerer intended and effected was to divide a mountain into three peaks, as did Michael Scott, of whom legends are still left in Italy, as the reader may find by consulting the interesting work by the Rev. J. Wood Brown. [166] In the Italian tale the three shepherds who were together find themselves suddenly apart on the tops of three peaks, which clearly indicates the real aim of the narrative.
An old Indian woman, widow of an Indian governor, told me, as a thing unknown, that the three hills of Boston had been thus split by Glusgábe or Glooscap, the great Algonkin god. As this deity introduced culture to North America, it will be at once perceived that there was something truly weirdly, or strangely prophetic, in this act. As Glooscap was the first to lay out Boston—à la Trinité—he certainly ought to be regarded as the patron saint of that cultured city, and have at least a library, a lyceum, or a hotel named after him in the American Athens. The coincidence is very singular—Rome and Boston!
Eildon Hill, by which, as I have heard, Andrew Lang was born, is one of the picturesque places which attract legends and masters in folk-lore. Of it I have a strange souvenir. While in its vicinity I for three nights saw in a dream the Fairy Queen, and the “vision” was remarkably vivid, or so much so as to leave a strong or haunting impression on my waking hours. It was like a glimpse into elf-land. Of course it was simply the result of my recalling and thinking deeply on the legend of “True Thomas,” but the dream was very pleasant and sympathetic.
THE GOLDEN PINE-CONE.
“Quid sibi vult, illa Pinus, quàm semper statis diebus in deum matris intromittis sanctuarium?”—Arnobius, i. 5.
There was once a young man named Constanzo, who was blessed, as they say, in form and fortune, he being both fair in face and rich. Now, whether it was that what he had seen and learned of ladies at court had displeased him, is not recorded or remembered, but one thing is certain, that he had made up his mind to marry a poor girl, and so began to look about among humble folk at the maids, which indeed pleased many of them beyond belief, though it was taken ill by their parents, who had but small faith in such attentions.
But the one whom it displeased most of all was the mother of Constanzo, who, when he said that he would marry a poor girl, declared in a rage that he should do nothing of the kind, because she would allow no such person to come in the house. To which he replied that as he was of age, and the master, he would do as he pleased. Then there were ill words, for the mother had a bad temper and worse will, and had gone the worst way to work, because of all things her son could least endure being governed. And she was the more enraged because her son had hitherto always been docile and quiet, but she now found that she had driven him up to a height which he had not before dreamed of occupying and where he would now remain. But she vowed vengeance in her heart, saying: “Marry or not—this shall cost thee dear. Te lo farò pagare!”
Many months passed, and no more was said, when one day the young gentleman went to the chase with his friends, and impelled by some strange influence, took a road and went afar into a part of the country which was unknown to him. At noon they dismounted to rest, when, being very thirsty, Constanzo expressed a desire for water.
And just as he said it there came by a contadina, carrying two jars of water, cold and dripping, fresh from a fountain. And the young signor having drunk, observed that the girl was of enchanting or dazzling beauty, with a charming expression of innocence, which went to his heart.
“Constanza,” the girl replied.
“And I am Constanzo,” he cried; “and as our names so our hearts shall be—one made for the other!”
“But you are a rich lord, and I am a poor girl,” she slowly answered, “so it can never be.”
But as both had loved at sight, and sincerely, it was soon arranged, and the end was that the pair were married, and Constanza became a signora and went to live in the castle with her lord. His mother, who was more his enemy than ever, and ten times that of his wife, made no sign of anger, but professed love and devotion, expressing delight every day and oftener that her son had chosen so fair a wife, and one so worthy of him.
It came to pass that Constanza was about to become a mother, and at this time her husband was called to the wars, and that so far away that many days must pass before he could send a letter to his home. But his mother showed herself so kind, though she had death and revenge at her heart, that Constanzo was greatly relieved, and departed almost light of heart, for he was a brave man, as well as good, and such people borrow no trouble ere it is due.
But the old signora looked after him with bitterness, saying, “Thou shalt pay me, and the hour is not far off.” And when she saw his wife she murmured:
“Now revenge shall take its shape;
Truly thou canst not escape;
Be it death or be it dole,
I will sting thee to the soul.”
Then when the hour came that the countess was to be confined, the old woman told her that she herself alone would serve and attend to all—e che avrebbe fatto tutto da se. But going forth, she found a pine-tree and took from it a cone, which she in secret set to boil in water, singing to it:
“Bolli, bolli!
Senza posa.
Che nel letto
Vi é la sposa,
Un fanciullo
Alla luce mi dara,
E una pina diventera!“Bolli, bolli!
Mio decotto
Bolli, bolli!
Senza posa!
Il profumo
Che tu spandi,
Si spanda
In corpo alla
Alla sposa e il figlio,
Il figlio che fara
Pina d’ oro diventera!”“Boil and boil,
Rest defying!
In the bed
The wife is lying;
Soon her babe
The light will see,
But a pine-cone
It shall be!“Boil and boil,
And well digest!
Boil and boil,
And never rest!
May the perfume
Which you spread
Thrill the body
To the head,
And the child
Which we shall see,
A golden pine-cone
Let it be!”
And soon the countess gave birth to a beautiful daughter with golden hair, but the old woman promptly took the little one and bathed it in the water in which she had boiled the pine-cone, whereupon it became a golden pine-cone, and the poor mother was made to believe that this was her first-born; and the same was written to the father, who replied to his wife that, whatever might happen, he would ever remain as he had been.
The mother-in-law took the pine-cone and placed it on a mantelpiece, as such curious or odd things are generally disposed of. And when her son returned she contrived in so many ways and with craft to calumniate his wife that the poor lady was ere long imprisoned in a tower.
But a strange thing now happened, for every night the pine-cone, unseen by all, left like a living thing its place on the chimney-piece and wandered over the castle, returning at five o’clock to its place, but ever going just below the lady’s window, where it sang:
“O cara madre mia!
Luce degli occhi miei!
Cessa quel pianto,
E non farmi più soffrir!”“O mother, darling mother,
Light of my eyes, I pray
That thou wilt cease thy weeping,
So mine may pass away.”
Yet, after he had shut his wife up in the tower, Constanzo had not an instant’s peace of mind. Therefore, to be assured, he one day went to consult the great magician Virgil. And having told all that had happened, the wise man said:
“Thou hast imprisoned thy wife, she who is pure and true, in a tower, and all on the lying words and slanders of that vile witch your mother. And thou hast suffered bitterly, and well deserved it, as all do who are weak enough to believe evil reports of a single witness; for who is there who may not lie, especially among women, when they are jealous and full of revenge? Now do thou set free thy wife (and bid her come to me and I will teach her what to do).”
So the count obeyed.
Then the mother took the pine-cone and threw it up three times into the air, singing:
“Pina, mia bella pina!
Dei pini tu sei regina!
Dei pini sei prottetrice,
D’ un pino pianta la radice!
E torna una fanciulla bella
Come un occhio
Di sole in braccio
A tuo padre
Ed a tua madre!“Pine, the fairest ever seen,
Of all cones thou art the queen!
Guarding them in sun or shade,
And ’tis granted that, when planted,
Thou shalt be a charming maid,
Ever sweet and ever true
To thy sire and mother too.”
And this was done, and the cone forthwith grew up a fair maid, who was the joy of her parents’ life. But the people in a rage seized on the old witch, who was covered with a coat of pitch and burned alive in the public square.
This legend was gathered in and sent to me from Siena. As a narrative it is a fairy-tale of the most commonplace description, its incidents being found in many others. But so far as the pine-cone is concerned it is of great originality, and retains remarkable relics of old Latin lore. The pine-tree was a favourite of Cybele, and it was consecrated to Silvanus, who is still known and has a cult in the mountains of the Romagna Toscana. This rural deity often bore a pine-cone in his hand. Propertius also assigns the pine to Pan. The cone was pre-eminently a phallic emblem, therefore specially holy; in this sense it was placed on the staff borne by the specially initiated to Bacchus. It was incredibly popular as an amulet, on account of its supposed magical virtues, therefore no one object is more frequently produced in ancient art. A modern writer, observing this, and not being able to account for it, very feebly attributes it to the fact that the object is so common that it is naturally used for a model. “Artists,” he says, “in fact prefer to use what comes ready to hand, and to copy such plants as are ever under their eye.” So writes the great dilettante Caylus, forgetting that a thousand objects quite as suitable to decoration as the pine-cone, and quite as common, were not used at all.
The pine typified a new birth, according to Friedrich; this was because it was evergreen, and therefore sacred as immortal to Cybele. Thus Ovid (“Metamorphoses,” x. 103) writes, “Pinus grata deum matri.” The French Layard, in the new “Annales de l’Institut Archæologique,” vol. xix., has emphatically indicated the connection of the pine-cone with the cult of Venus, and as a reproductive symbol. It is in this sense clearly set forth in the Italian or Sienese legend, where the pine-cone planted in the earth grows up as the girl with golden locks. This is very probably indeed the relic of an old Roman mythical tale or poem.
The golden pine-cone appears in other tales. Wolf (“Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie,” vol. i., p. 297) says that in Franconia there were once three travelling Handwerksburschen, or craftsmen, who met with a beautiful lady, who when asked for alms gave to each a pine-cone from a tree. Two of them threw the gifts away, but the third found his changed to solid gold. In order to make an amulet which is kept in the house, pine-cones are often gilded in Italy. I have seen them here in Florence, and very pretty ornaments they make.