“Maint autres grand clercs ont estè
Au monde de grand poesié
Qui aprisrent tote lor vie,
Des sept ars et le astronomie,
Dont aucuns i ot qui a leur tens,
Firent merveille par lor sens;
Mais cil qui plus s’en entremist,
Fu Virgile qui mainte enfist.
Pour ce si vous en conterons
Aucune dont oi avons.”
_L’Image du Monde_ (1245).
Virgilio was as great a magician as he was a distinguished post. And of
the great works which he did when alive many are yet remembered here in
Florence, and among other things his skill was such that by means of it
he made statues sing and dance.
_Ecco come avenne_—behold how it came to pass! It chanced one day that
when walking alone in the environs of Florence, he found himself in a
place where there were four very beautiful Venuses. {67} And looking at
them with great admiration, and observing their forms, he said:
“Truly they all please me well; and if they could converse I hardly know
which I would choose for a companion. _Ebbene_! I will make them all
talk and walk, live and move, and can then see if anyone of them will
show any gratitude for the gift of life.”
Then he took human fat, and anointed with it all the statues, and then of
the blood of a wild boar, and rubbed it very thoroughly over them, and
when this was done he waved his magic wand, and said:
“In the name of my magic art and power I order you to speak and move and
live!”
And with this they all awoke, as it were, from a long dream, and stepping
down from their pedestals, they walked about, seeming far more beautiful
than before. And they gathered round Virgil, for truly they were
enchanted with him as well as by him, in more ways than one, and embraced
and kissed him with a thousand caresses and endearments, and each and all
wished him to select her as his mate.
Then Virgilio, laughing, said:
“I know not which to choose among the four;
I cannot make all four into a wife;
But to determine who shall be the first,
Do ye go forth and seek each one a gift,
And come to-morrow evening to my house,
And she who brings the gift which I prefer
Shall be the fair one first preferred by me.”
And on the following eve the first who came was the Venus Agamene; thus
was she called who brought the first gift, and this was a splendid
diamond. Virgilio received it with admiration, but said that he must
wait to see what the others would bring before he could decide.
Then the second was announced, whose name was Enrichetta, and she
presented a marvellous garment, richly embroidered and adorned. And this
too was admired; but to her also Virgilio said he would await what was to
come.
The third, whose name was Veronica, brought such a wonderful bouquet of
flowers that the magician was more pleased with it than he had been by
the diamond or the robe.
Then there came the fourth, called Diomira, and she brought a splendid
crown of —. {68} And Virgil preferred this to all, and gave the prize to
Diomira. So he bade them all come the next evening to a grand festival.
And when they came, it was indeed a wonderful assembly, for there were
present, and in life, all the statues from all the palaces. They came
down from their pedestals and danced in the house of Virgilio—nor did
they return until the early dawn; and so it came to pass that on that
night all the statues spoke and danced.
“They danced so merrily all the night,
Till the sun came in with a rosy light,
And touched the statues fair,
When in an instant every one
Was changed again to marble stone.
Per Bacco! I was there!”
* * * * *
It is not remarkable that there should be so many tales in Italy of
statues speaking or coming to life. They abounded among the Romans, and
are to be found in later literature. Bonifacius, in his “Ludicra,” as I
have said, collects instances of men who have loved statues, and Zaghi,
whom I shall quote again directly, does the same. But the idea of images
speaking is so natural that we need not have recourse to tradition to
account for its existence.
Among the archaic and very curious traditions in this tale we are told
that Virgil rubbed the statues with human fat and the blood of a wild
boar. Both of these occur not only in witchcraft, but also in the wild
science of the earlier time, as potent to give or take life. For the
blood of a boar that of a bull is equivalent. In the recipes for
preparing the celebrated poison of the Borgias one or the other is
presented. That of the boar still exists in the poisoning common in
Germany caused by eating _Blutwurst_. In the “Selva di Curiosità,” by
Gabriel Zaghi, 1674, there is a chapter (xx.) devoted to showing that
bull’s blood—_sangue di toro_—is a deadly poison; to prove this he cites
Plutarch, Pliny, Dioscorides, and others, from which it appears that the
idea is ancient. That it gives life to statues in the tale is quite in
keeping with the strange and rude homœopathy which is found in
Paracelsus, and all the writers on mystical medicine of his time, from
which Hahnemann drew his system, _i.e._, that what will kill can also
cure, or revive.
It is very remarkable that in this tale Agamene brings a diamond.
According to Hyginius (“Astronom.,” II., 13, _vide_ Friedrich, “Symbolich
der Natur.,” p. 658), Aega (or Aegamene) nursed the youthful Jupiter. In
another legend (No. 1) Virgil is the son of Jove. “Aega was a daughter
of the Sun, and of such brilliancy that the Titans, dazzled by her
splendour, begged their mother _Gäa_, or Gea, to hide her in the earth.”
This clearly indicates a diamond. Jupiter transformed her into a star.
It is simply possible, and only a conjecture of mine, that in Diomira we
find the name of Diomedea, the _Diomedea necessitas_ of Plato (“De
Repub,” lib. 6), who carried all before her. Diomira conquers all her
rivals in this legend. She is the _Venus Victrix_.
I cannot help believing when we find such curious instances of tradition
as that of Aega, or Agamene, surviving in these tales, that there is a
possibility that the whole story may, more or less, be of classic or very
ancient origin. We are not as yet able to _prove_ it, and so there are
none who attach much value to these fragments. But a day will come when
scholars will think more of them. That there still survives a great deal
of Græco-Latin lore which was not recorded by classic writers has become
to us a certainty. Therefore it is possible, though not now to be
proved, that these statues of Virgil had a common origin with the image
of Selostre, or _Testimonium luminis_, described by Pausanius, which
spoke when the sun rose or at the Aurora.
If it be possible, and it certainly is conjectural, that Diomira is the
same with Diadumena, we have beyond question a very remarkable
illustration of old tradition surviving in a popular tale; for Diadumena,
or “She who binds her forehead with a fillet,” or band, was the name of
one of the most beautiful statues of Polycletus. According to Winkelmann
(“Ist. dell Acte,” lib. 6, cap. 2), this statue was very frequently
copied and familiarly known. A statue in the Villa Farnese is believed
to be an imitation of it. Were this conjecture true, the gift brought by
Diomira would be the fillet which Virgil wears by tradition, as typical
of a poet. An ornament, fillet, or tiara is, effectively, a crown.
Therefore, the meaning of the myth is that a true poet is such by
necessity; he cannot help it—_poeta nascitur_, _non fit_.