Some of the gems which I obtained from the site of Epidaurus bore allusion to the Mithraic cult, the existence of which is witnessed to by the monument on the Colle S. Giorgio. Two gems, one a bloodstone representing Æsculapius with his serpent-staff; and another, a carnelian, on which the same god of medicine stands side by side with his companion Salus, were especially interesting as bearing allusion to another Epidauritan cult of which we have historic evidence.
The Illyrian Epidaurus laid equal claim with her two Peloponnesian namesakes to be the chosen seat of the god of healing, from whom the inhabitants of this part are even said to have called themselves Asklepitani. The temple of Æsculapius at the Saronic Epidaurus was indeed of more world-wide celebrity among the ancients, and it was from this that the cult was grafted on to Rome itself; but perhaps if we knew more, it would be found that this Illyrian city could boast a greater antiquity for her worship. Here, at least, this form of serpent-worship seems to fit on to another, the Phœnician origin of which is beyond question, and which is intimately connected with the earliest historic traditions of this coast.
This district has been identified with that of the Encheleans, the Illyrian people with whom Cadmus and his wife took refuge according to the legend. Near here, according to ancient geographers, rose the rocks of Cadmus and Harmonia, where was the sacred cavern in which they were metamorphosed into dragons. Cadmus—whose very name is equivalent to ‘the East’—was recognised by the Greeks themselves as of Phœnician origin, and the whole myth is generally accepted as bearing reference to the civilising influence of Phœnician colonies on the Hellenic border.
It certainly seems more than a coincidence that the mythic account of Cadmus should connect him with this part of Illyricum, where we know not only from historical sources, but from actual remains, that Phœnician settlements existed in very early times. One account of the origin of the neighbouring city of Narona or Narbona makes it a Phœnician colony; the island of Meleda, whose ancient name is identical with that of the Phœnician Malta, the island of Lagosta, and others contain Phœnician inscriptions. What more natural than that the serpent-worship of these coasts should have been derived from the votaries of Esmun?
At the present day the Canalese peasants who inhabit the district about the site of ancient Epidaurus differ so essentially in face and form from the surrounding Sclavonic races whose language they speak, and are so Oriental in their appearance, that Appendini, the historian of Ragusa, has recorded an opinion that they are nothing else than descendants of the old Phœnician colonists of this coast. He would be indeed a bold man who should accept this theory without reserve, but I can bear the most emphatic testimony to the existence of a strikingly Oriental type in this neighbourhood. In Ragusa Vecchia itself the countenances struck me as of ordinary Serbian or Italian types. But in the market-place of Ragusa I noticed three peasant women whose faces bespoke, as plainly as faces can speak, an entirely different origin. On enquiring whence they came I found them to be natives of the Golfo di Breno, a cove about three miles distant from the site of Epidaurus. The faces were strikingly alike. They were long and narrow, the nose thin and long, very finely chiselled, and inclined to be aquiline, their eyes black, and their tresses to match. The big gold beads of her necklace, and the brilliant red and orange kerchief that coifs her head, are the same as those worn by her Serbo-Italian neighbours; but, assuredly, the face of the girl I sketched is that of a Syrian rather than a Serbian beauty!
Head of Brenese Peasant.
But to return to Cadmus. The modern Ragusa-Vecchians and Canalese cling with obstinacy to the tradition that a capacious cavern which opens beyond the Pianusa Canalitana, on the limestone steep of Mt. Sniesnica, is the very subterranean shrine where Cadmus and Harmonia were metamorphosed into serpents, and where afterwards Æsculapius kept his. It is still known as the Grotta d’Escolapio. Being four hours distant from Ragusa Vecchia, I had not opportunity to visit it; but Appendini, who explored it, has left a curious account of the cavern, which is very beautiful. Most interesting is the way in which Sclavonic mythology has appropriated the haunts of classical legend. The Vila herself, under a thin Italian disguise, has taken up her abode in the cavern of Cadmus and Æsculapius, and a religious awe falls on the Canalese peasant as he points out the Vasca della Ninfa. This is a natural vase formed by the stalagmite, looking into which, Appendini descried beneath the water three coins—offerings, doubtless, made to the goddess of the grot by her peasant votaries; but when this impious mortal would have put forth his hand and taken them up, his terrified guide restrained him—he knew that the cavern would close its jaws on whoever should attempt to carry off the Vila’s treasure.