The Emperor Trajan was saved from death during a fearful earthquake by a man of colossal proportions, who came to lead him out of his palace at Antioch; and Attila, who, to the surprise of the world, spared Rome and Italy at the request of Pope Leo the Great, mentioned as the true motive of his action the appearance of a majestic old man in priestly garments, who had threatened him, drawing his sword, with instant death if he did not grant all that the Roman high-priest should demand.
In other cases, which are as numerous as they are striking, the genius assumes the shape of a woman. Thus Dio Cassius ("Hist. Rome," l. lv.), as well as Suetonius ("Claudius," l. i), relate that when Drusus had ravaged Germany, and was on the point of crossing the Elbe, the formidable shape of a gigantic woman appeared to him, who waded up to the middle of the stream and then called out: "Whither, O Drusus? Canst thou put no limit to thy thirst of conquest? Back! the end of thy deeds and of thy life is at hand!" History records that Drusus fell back without apparent reason, and that he died before he reached the banks of the Rhine. Tacitus tells us, in like manner, a vision which encouraged Curtius Rufus at the time when he, a gladiator's son, and holding a most humble position, was accompanying a quæstor on his way to Africa. As he walked up and down a passage in deep meditation, a woman of unusual size appeared to him and said: "Thou, O Rufus, shalt be proconsul of this province!" The young man, perhaps encouraged and supported by a vision which was the result of his own ambitious dreams, rose rapidly by his eminent ability, and after he had reached the consulate, really obtained the province of Africa (Ann., xi. 21). The younger Pliny, who tells the same story in his admirable letter to Sura on the subject of magic, adds that the genius appeared a second time to the great proconsul, but remained silent. The latter saw in this silence a warning of approaching death, and prepared for his end, which did not fail soon to close his career.
It is very striking to see how in these visions also the inner life of man was invariably clearly and distinctly reflected. The ambitious youth saw his good fortune personified in the shape of a beautiful woman, which his excited imagination called Africa, and which he hoped some time or other to call his own. Brutus, on the contrary, full of anticipations of evil, and suffering, and perhaps unconsciously, bitter remorse on account of Cæsar's murder, saw his sad fate as a hideous demon. The army, also, sharing, no doubt, their leader's dark apprehensions, looked upon the black Æthiopian who entered the camp as an evil omen. The appointed meeting at Philippi was merely an evidence of the superior ability of Brutus, who foresaw the probable course of the war and knew the great strategic importance of the famous town.
In the same manner a tradition was long cherished in Augsburg of a fanatic heroine on horseback, who appeared to Attila when he attempted to cross the river Lech on his way from Italy to Pannonia. She called out to him: "Back!" and made a deep impression upon his mind. The picture of the giant woman was long preserved in a Minorite convent in the city, and was evidently German in features and in costume. It is by no means impossible that the lofty but superstitious mind of the ruthless conqueror, after having long busied itself with his approaching attack upon a mighty, unknown nation, personified to himself in a momentary trance the genius of that race in the shape of a majestic woman.
This was all the more probable as Holy Writ also presents to us a whole series of mighty women who exercised at times a lasting influence on the fate of the chosen people, and the world's history abounds with similar instances. There was Deborah, "a prophetess who judged Israel at that time," and went to aid in the defeat of Sisera, and there was Huldah, the prophetess, who warned Josiah, king of Judah. We have the same grand images in Greek and in Roman history, and German annals mention more than one Jettha and Velleda. The series of warnings given by the more tender-hearted sex runs through the annals of modern races from the oldest times to our own day. One of the latest instances happened to a king well known for his sneering skepticism and his utter disbelief of all higher powers. This was Bernadotte, who forsook his benefactor in order to mount the throne of Sweden, and turned his own sword against his former master. Long years after the fall of Napoleon, he was on the point of sending his son Oscar with an army against Norway, and met with much opposition in the Council of State. Full of impatience and indignation, he mounted his horse and rode out to cool his heated mind; as he approached a dark forest near Stockholm, he saw an old woman sitting by the wayside, whose quaint costume and wild, disheveled hair attracted his attention. He asked her roughly what she was doing there? Her reply was: "If Oscar goes into the war which you propose, he will not strike but receive the first blow." The king was impressed by the warning and returned, full of thoughts, to his palace; after a sleepless night he informed the Council of State that he had changed his views, and would not send the prince to Norway (La Presse, May 4, 1844). Even if we accept the interview with the woman as a mere vision, the effect of the king's long and anxious preoccupation with an important plan upon the success of which the security of his throne and the continuation of his dynasty might depend, the question still remains, why a man of his tastes and haughty skepticism should have clothed his doubts in words uttered by an old woman, dressed in fancy costume?
The number of practical, sensible men who have, even in recent times, believed themselves under the special care and protection of a genius or guardian angel, is much larger than is commonly known. The ancients looked upon a genius as a part of their mythology; and modern Christians, who cherish this belief, refer to the fact that the Saviour said of little children: "In heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father" (Matt. xviii. 10). These visions—for so they must be called—vary greatly in different persons. To some men they appear only when great dangers are threatening or sublime efforts have to be made; while in others, they assume, by their frequency, a more or less permanent form, and may even be inherited, becoming tutelary deities of certain houses, familiar spirits, or specially appointed guardian angels of the members of a family or single individuals. Hence, the well-known accounts of the genius of Socrates and the familiar spirits of the Bible, in ancient times. Hence, also, the almost uninterrupted line of similar accounts through the Middle Ages down to our own day. Thus, Campanella stated that whenever he was threatened with misfortune, he fell into a state half way between waking and sleeping, in which he heard a voice say: "Campanella! Campanella!" and several other words, without ever seeing a person. Calignan, Chancelor of Navarre, heard in Béarn, his name called three times, and then received a warning from the same voice to leave the town promptly, as the plague was to rage there fearfully. He obeyed the order, and escaped the ravages of the terrible disease (Beaumont, "Tractat.," etc., p. 208). The Jesuit Giovanni Carrera had a protecting genius, whom he frequently consulted in cases of special difficulty. He became so familiar with him, that he had himself waked every night for his prayers, but when at times he hesitated to rise at once, the spirit abandoned him for a time, and Carrera could only induce him to come back by long-continued praying and fasting ("Hist. S. J.," iii. p. 177).
The Bernadottes had a tradition that one of their ancestors had married a fairy, who remained the good genius of the family, and long since had predicted that one of that blood would mount a throne. The Bernadotte who became a king never forgot the prophecy, and was largely influenced by it, when the Swedish nobles offered him the throne. It is well known that Napoleon himself either believed, or affected to believe, in a good genius, who guided his steps and protected him from danger. He appeared, according to his own statements, sometimes in the shape of a ball of fire, which he called his "star," or as a man dressed in red, who paid him occasional visits. General Rapp relates that, in the year 1806, he once found the Emperor in his room, apparently absorbed in such deep meditation that he did not notice his entrance, but that, when fairly aroused, he seized Rapp by the arm and asked him if saw that star? When the latter replied that he saw nothing, Napoleon continued: "It is my star; it is standing just above you. It has never forsaken me; I see it on all important occasions; it orders me to go on, and has always been a token of success." The story, coming from General Rapp himself, is quoted here as endorsed by the great historian, Amédée Thierry.
Des Mousseaux reports the following facts upon the evidence of trustworthy personal friends. (La Magie, etc., p. 366.) A Mme. N., the daughter of a general, was constantly visited by her mother, who had died long ago, and received from her frequent information of secret things, which procured for herself the reputation of being a prophetess. At one time her mother's spirit warned her to try and prevent her husband, who would die by suicide, from carrying out his purpose. Every precaution was taken, and even the knives and forks were removed after meals; but it so happened that a soldier of the National Guard came into the house and left his loaded gun in an anteroom. The lady's husband unfortunately chanced to see it, took it and blew his brains out on the spot.
A peculiarly interesting class of visions are those to which great artists have, at times, owed their greatest triumphs. Here, also, the line between mere delusion and real magic phenomena is often so faint as to escape attention. For artists must needs cultivate their imagination at the expense of other faculties, and naturally live more in an ideal world than in a real world. Preoccupied as they are, by the nature of their pursuits, with images of more than earthly beauty, they come easily to form ideals in their minds, which they endeavor to fix first upon their memory, and then upon canvas or in marble, on paper or in rapturous words. Raphael Sanzio had long in vain tried to portray the Holy Virgin according to a vague ideal in his mind; at last he awoke one night and saw in the place where his sketch was hanging a bright light, and in the radiance the Mother of Christ in matchless beauty, and with supernatural holiness in her features. The vision remained deeply impressed upon his mind, and was ever after the original of which even his best Madonnas could only be imperfect copies. Benvenuto Cellini, when sick unto death, repeatedly saw an old man trying to pull him down into his boat, but as soon as his faithful servant came and touched him, the hideous vision disappeared. The artist had evidently a picture of Charon and his Acherontic boat in his mind, which was thus reproduced in his feverish dreams. On another occasion, when he had long been in prison, and in despair contemplated suicide, an "unknown being" suddenly seized him and hurled him back to a distance of four yards, where he remained lying for hours half dead. In the following night a "fair youth" appeared to him and made him bitter reproaches on account of his sinful purpose. The same youthful genius appeared to him repeatedly when a great crisis approached in his marvelously adventurous life, and more than once revealed to him the mysteries of the future. (Goethe's "Benv. Cell." i. p. 375.) Poor Tasso had fearful hallucinations during the time when his mind was disordered, but above them all hovered, as it were, the vision of a glorious Virgin surrounded by a bright light, which always comforted and probably alone saved him from self-destruction. Like Raphael, Dannecker also had long tried in vain to find perfect expression for his ideal of a Christ on the Cross; one night, however, he also saw the Saviour in a dream, and at once proceeded to form his model, from which was afterwards copied the well-known statue of transcendent beauty and power.
Paganini used to tell with an amusing air of assumed awe and reverence, that his mother had seen, a few days before his birth, an angel with two wings and of such dazzling splendor that she could not bear to look at the apparition. The heavenly messenger invited her to express a wish, and promised that it should be fulfilled. Thereupon she begged him on her knees to make her Nicolo a great violinist, and was told that it should be so. The vision—perhaps nothing more than a vivid form of earnest desire and fervent prayer—had, no doubt, a serious influence on the great artist, who was himself strangely susceptible to such impressions. (Moniteur, Sept. 30, 1860.)