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.