“Sole sub ardenti, resonant arbusta cicadis,”
he sings; a line which seems bathed in sunlight, and makes one see the green lizards too. On the whole I cannot help thinking that Virgil loved the cicadas.
It is interesting to find that in modern Italy, generally, but especially in Tuscany, the old ideas and legends in regard to the cicadas have not yet died out. Still, according to the Tuscan peasant, they were maids—not men—before the Muses, till Apollo, as a mark of his favour, promoted them into insects. Now, however, but little distinction seems to be drawn between cicadas and crickets, or grasshoppers, and, indeed, this was to some extent the case in classical times—the three often figuring together on ancient coins or rings. Amongst all of these—and together they supply a number of species—the greatest favourite with the Tuscan peasant of to-day—as perhaps it was in days long gone by—is a beautiful grey-green grasshopper, which the Americans would call a Katydid, but is, here, the cavalletta. This insect is looked upon as the special patron of children, upon whom it has the power of conferring musical and poetic genius, as well as more general mental endowments. To perform this properly, however, it must enter the room where its little favourite lies asleep, and this it seems often to do. The mother, should she see it, has her own part to play in the matter, which she does by tying the beneficent insect, by a long thread, to the bed-post, and chanting the following verses, with the idea, probably, that “then the charm is firm and good.”
“Cavalletta, good and fair,
You bring good fortune everywhere,
Then since into this house you’ve come,
Oh, bring good fortune to our home,
Unto me and everyone,
But bring it mostly to my son.
Cavalletta, this I pray,