“Therefore it came to pass
That the poor youth who was favoured
By the help of the fairy
Carried away the reward.
So it often goes in this world—
He who does the hard work
Often misses his pay,
When some one more favoured by fortune
Steps in and secures the prize.
Higher beings than man
Play with us like toys.
The youth was as nothing in this;
All that he won he owed
To the loving spirit Vira.”[35.1]
A moral amply justified, no doubt, by the Italian peasant’s experience of life.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE RESCUE OF ANDROMEDA IN SAGAS.
How far the tale of the loving spirit, Vira, is accepted by the Tuscan peasant as a recital of facts may be disputed. We have little but internal evidence to guide us; and that hardly seems conclusive. It may perhaps be regarded as a saga once inspired by faith in the powers of a supernatural being, but now the subject of more or less scepticism. The effect of doubt on a story would be to sever its moorings and set it free on the vague waters of tradition, unhampered by any names of known persons or places, or to which a serious credit is intended to be attached. The tale, as it was found by Mr. Leland, had not yet reached entire freedom. It is therefore a convenient link between the true märchen and the true saga,—neither wholly believed, nor recognised as merely told for pleasure.
That the story of the conquered dragon was believed, at least in classical times, we have already seen. Perseus, the slayer of the dragon and of Medusa, was one of the minor divinities of Greece; and the rescue of Hesione by Herakles seems to have been admitted among the achievements of a personage even more renowned and more generally worshipped than Perseus. Nor were these heroes alone in ancient Hellas. The Athenians honoured Theseus for a similar deed. Minos, who reigned at Gnossos in Crete, having desolated Attica with war to avenge the treacherous death of his son Androgeos, made peace at last for an annual tribute of seven young men and seven virgins, chosen from the most illustrious families of Athens, to be thrown as victims to the Minotaur, a monster half-bull and half-man, the issue of Pasiphae, the queen of Crete. Theseus volunteered as one of the victims. When the devoted band arrived at Crete, Ariadne, Minos’ daughter, fell in love with Theseus, and furnished him with a sword to kill the monster, and a clew of thread to enable him to find his way out of the labyrinth wherein it was kept. The city of Thespia at the foot of Mount Helicon rejoiced in a legend which bears a somewhat closer resemblance to Herakles’ adventure. By command of Zeus certain youths were every year exposed to a dragon. The lot fell on one occasion on Kleostratos. Clad in brazen armour set with hooks he went boldly forth; and though he lost his own life, he proved the monster’s bane.[37.1]
In later times the most famous name to which the exploit has been attributed is that of Saint George. Some versions of the legend reproduce one or other of the classical stories with more or less fidelity. Saint George is one of that numerous class of saints about whom nothing whatever authentic is known. It is indeed “very improbable that such a person ever lived.”[38.1] So much the greater scope has there been for the exercise of the pious imagination. The horrible details of his martyrdom, a subject on which ecclesiastical writers have expatiated with congenial extravagance and delight, have been grafted on those of the Rescue of Andromeda; and the Church may be congratulated on having converted and baptized the pagan hero, Perseus. The story of his fight with the dragon, as found at large in the Golden Legend of Jacob à Voragine, relates that a great swamp or pool near the town of Silena in Libya, was the lurking-place of a dragon, against which the people had often taken arms, only to be driven back. When it approached the city walls its pestiferous breath poisoned every one. Rather than suffer these visits, the citizens gave two sheep every day to appease it. After a while their flocks began to fail; and to meet the deficiency it was determined to offer for the future one sheep and a human being. The children, sons and daughters of the citizens, were chosen for the purpose by lot, and none were exempted from the chance. Almost all had been thus sacrificed when the lot fell upon the king’s only daughter. Her afflicted father offered his treasures of gold and silver and half his kingdom to purchase her exemption from so terrible a death. In vain. The people angrily, though justly, replied: “Thou thyself, O king, didst issue this edict; and now all our children are dead, and dost thou wish thy daughter to be saved? Unless thou obey the commands thou hast enforced upon others, we will deliver thee and thy house to the flames.” A delay of eight days, on the pretext of lamenting her fate, was all the monarch was able to obtain. At the end of that time the populace returned and said: “Why lose thy subjects for the sake of thy daughter? Lo! we are all dying from the breath of the dragon.” Then the king, seeing that there was no escape, caused the maiden to be clad in royal garments, and, folding her in his arms, bewailed her fate. At last, kissing her, he sobbed: “Would, my daughter, that I had died before thee, rather than to have lost thee thus!” She fell at his feet and besought his blessing, which, when he had bestowed amid his tears, she rose and went forth to the lake. Now it happened that the blessed George, a Cappadocian by birth, and a tribune, was passing by at that very time, and seeing her weeping he stopped and asked what was the matter. She replied: “Good youth, mount thy horse quickly and fly, lest thou die as well as I.” But the stranger answered: “Fear not, maiden, but tell me what thou awaitest here, with all the people looking on.” And she: “Thou hast a noble heart, good youth, I see, but why wilt thou die with me? Flee quickly.” “I will not stir a step,” quoth George, “until thou tell me what is the matter.” Then she explained it all to him. “Fear not, maiden,” he cried, “for in Christ’s name I will help thee.” “Good soldier, save thyself rather, lest thou perish too. Enough that I perish alone; for thou canst not deliver me—thou wouldst only die with me.” While they were thus talking, the dragon, approaching, lifted his head above the water. The maiden, trembling, cried: “Fly, sir, fly quickly!” But George mounted his horse, and, fortifying himself with the sign of the cross, he boldly advanced to meet the monster. Brandishing his lance, and commending himself to God, he pierced it with a mighty wound and threw it to the ground. Then he called to the damsel: “Pass thy girdle round its neck, nothing doubting.” When she had done so the dragon followed her like a gentle hound; and she led it to the city. The people fled in terror; but the blessed George signalled to them to stop, saying: “Fear not, for the Lord sent me unto you for this very thing, that I should deliver you from the torment of the dragon. Wherefore believe in Christ, and let every one of you be baptized, and I will slay the monster.” Then the king and all the people were baptized, to the number of twenty thousand men, beside women and children. The blessed George unsheathed his sword, slew the dragon; and four pairs of oxen were required to take it out of the city. The king built in honour of the blessed Mary and the blessed George a great church, from beneath whose altar a living fountain flowed for the healing of all who were sick. Moreover the king offered the victor an immense sum of money; but he commanded it to be given to the poor, and instructed the king in these four precepts (and here comes the moral), namely, to take care of the Church, to honour the priests, diligently to attend divine worship, and to be ever mindful of the poor. Then, having embraced the monarch, he departed.[40.1]
Such is the legend in its ecclesiastical shape; and in this edifying guise (though not to the same length) it seems to have been given, at least in England, together with some equally valuable details of the saint’s martyrdom, every year by the priest at the proper moment during divine service, on the Sunday preceding the saint’s festival, as part of the notice of the feast. It thus came to the people stamped with the authority of the Church.[41.1] The Christian nations of the Balkan peninsula have preserved it in popular tradition, with some circumstances which more nearly recall the classic saga. The name of the city desolated by the dragon is given as Troyan. Its inhabitants were given up to various kinds of sin. The blessed Virgin, having paid a visit to the place, returns to heaven bathed in tears, and recites in an assembly of the saints a dreadful catalogue of iniquities whereof she declares the inhabitants are guilty. The thundering Elijah advises that God send them terrible maladies, the plague, the typhus and the small-pox, to convert them from their evil ways. After seven years, however, they are still unconverted. Unseasonable and severe frost and snow are then tried for seven years, and after that seven years of drought; but all in vain. Then God made a lake beside the city; and in it He placed an insatiable dragon, which entered the town thrice a day, and devoured on every visit three hundred of the people. Over and above these hearty meals the monster every night exacted a fair maiden from the white city of Troyan; and soon the whole place was depopulated. The turn of Sava, the king’s daughter, came at last. She was conducted by the nobility of Troyan to the cold waters of the lake, and there abandoned to her fate. Suddenly a youth appeared upon a dappled courser, brandishing his mortal lance. Advancing to the shore, he greeted the maiden with the name of God; and she politely returned the salutation: “Life and health to thee, O hero on the dappled steed!” He goes on to inquire what she is doing there alone by the water; and she tells him her story. Then he catechises her as to her morals. Has her heart been always pure? Has she always been obedient to her parents? Has she ever adored the god of silver, or the god of gold, to which her people are in the habit of bowing down? When this highly orthodox knight has been satisfied on these points, he dismounts from his dappled steed, plants his lance in the grass, and says to the princess: “Pray examine my head a little, for I feel strangely sleepy.” Whereupon he lays his head in her lap, and she proceeds to perform for him a service doubtless highly appreciated by the peasants who sing the ballad. Under the soothing influence of her gentle fingers he falls asleep; and while he rests the lake rises in waves and the dragon emerges. The bashful maid was ashamed to awaken her deliverer; but her tears rolled down upon his face, and he leaped up like one possessed. He tore out the lance from the earth, and pricking his steed forward until it stood up to its knees in the lake, struck the monster in the jaw with his lance, dragged it ashore, bound it with a silken girdle, and put the girdle into the princess’ hand. He directed her to conduct it through the city, in the hope that the sight would at last convert the inhabitants, that they might desist from their infinite wickednesses, destroy the god of silver, worship the true God, and venerate himself, Saint George, as their patron. “If they will not be converted, set free,” he says, “the insatiable dragon, and he will devour the people of Troyan.” The argument thus presented on his behalf by the princess was irresistible. The city was converted, and its harvests of corn and wine thenceforward prospered. Its patron, Saint George, became an object of reverence, as he is to this day; but whether the dragon also became a reformed character, or was put to death, the ballad omits to inform us.[43.1]
The Bosnian folk-song I have here summarised reappears with little change, both in Servia and in Bulgaria.[43.2] In the island of Lesbos, on the other hand, it has greater affinities to the märchen discussed in previous chapters. A monster, having established himself near a fountain, is propitiated with a human being every morning and evening, otherwise he would stop the flow of water. The lot fell in due course on the king’s daughter. On one side wept the king; on the other wept the queen. They wept and cried: “Alas, our only daughter!” Saint George heard their lamentations, and drew nigh to save her. He did not stop to put her through her catechism; but having learnt in the briefest words from the maiden that the dragon was to eat her, he hurriedly called to her: “Come here, my dear; sit down and louse me; and when the water foams, then awaken me!” The abrupt transitions of a traditional ballad do not enable us to judge whether the damsel was long occupied in removing the consequences of his saintly disregard of cleanliness; for her next exclamation is: “Rise up, rise up, O conqueror! The water foams, and the dragon is sharpening his teeth for me!” Her tears flowed like an impetuous river, and wetted the saint in his armour of gold. He sprang at the winged monster, and with a thrust of his javelin stretched him dead. The king in his gratitude offered him his daughter in marriage. “Instead of marrying thy daughter,” the holy and unambitious man replied, “instead of calling me thy son-in-law, build a church in the name of Christ. In the midst of the church erect a knight; write on the knight this one word: Saint George, that all the world may come and pay him homage.”[44.1]
The name and legend of Saint George are known in Abyssinia, where the story is perhaps told in a fashion as pious as the foregoing. Unfortunately I am unable to give the edifying details. But at the Exhibition at Palermo a few years ago, some pictures were shown as specimens of native art. One of them represented Saint George on horseback, and another was thus described by an interpreter: “There was a dragon that slew all the virgins; Saint George killed it. Near the place where the dragon died was a euphorbia tree, wherein a virgin who was afraid of the beast had taken refuge. The virgin did not believe that the dragon was dead, and Saint George gave her the cord, saying: ‘Pull it, and thou wilt see that it does not move.’ ”[44.2]
We are not immediately concerned with the revolting legend of the saint’s martyrdom. It may be well, however, to point out that this appears to be the oldest part of the story. Mr. Baring-Gould, indeed, conjectures that the incident of the Rescue of Andromeda attached itself to his name in consequence of a misunderstanding—on whose part he does not specify—of the concluding words of an encomium on the saint made by Metaphrastes, a Byzantine writer of the early part of the tenth century, in which he ascribes to his hero the feat of confounding and making a mock of the cunning dragon, meaning of course the Devil.[45.1] Such misunderstandings are not unknown in the legends of the saints. M. Maury enumerates forty-two saints, not including Saint George, to whom a victory over a dragon has been ascribed by a similar blunder; and it would not be surprising to find that his list is far from complete.[46.1] Whatever may have been the cause of the appropriation of the incident to Saint George, it is certain that the belief in the story is to be found everywhere in Europe. In some places it has even been localised, as at Mansfeld, where the saint is declared to have been a knight named George, who was Count of Mansfeld, and whose own daughter was the damsel rescued from the maw of the dragon. His statue as he slew the monster stands over the church-door; and there can be little doubt that the statue, whether intended for Saint George or any other person, has caused the localisation of the tradition.[46.2]