“Put out the light, and then—put out the light!”
“Ut inquit Hecateus in Genealogiis: Enim vero cùm _duæ_ essent Vestæ,
per antiquiorem Saturni matrem; terram; at per juniorem ignem purum
ætheris significarunt.”—_Mythologia Natalis Comitis_, A.D. 1616.
Many centuries have passed since there was (worshipped) in Florence a
goddess who was the great spirit of virtue and chastity, (yet) when a
maid had gone astray she always devoted herself to worship the beautiful
Avesta, as this deity was called, and the latter never failed in such
case to get her devotee out of the difficulty. Her temple was that
building which is now called the Baptistery of Saint John, and she was
the goddess of light, as of candles, torches, and all that illuminates.
And Avesta was, as I have said, known as the deity of virtue, albeit many
of the people shrugged their shoulders when they heard this, being
evidently strongly inclined to doubt, but they said nothing for fear of
punishment.
For it was rumoured that Avesta had many lovers, and that in the rites of
her religion there were secrets too dark to discover, and that as
everything in her worship was involved in mystery and carried on
occultly, it followed, of course, that it involved something wrong. And
it was observed that once a month many women who worshipped her met in
her temple by night, and that they were accompanied by their lovers, who
with them adored the goddess in the form of a large lighted lamp. But
that when this rite was at an end and the multitude had departed, there
remained unnoted a number, by whom the doors were closed and the light
extinguished, when a general orgy ensued, no one knowing who the others
might be. {98a} And it was from this came the saying which is always
heard when two lovers are seated together by a light and it goes out,
that Avesta did it. {98b}
There was in Florence a young lord who loved a lady of great beauty. But
she had a bitter rival, who to cross their love had recourse to sorcery
or witchcraft, and so “bound” or cast on him a spell which weakened his
very life, and made him impotent and wretched, that his very heart seemed
to be turned to water.
And this spell the witch worked by taking a padlock and locking it,
saying:
“Chiudo la catena,
Ma non chiudo la catena,
Chiudo il corpo e l’anima
Di questo bel signor ingrato,
Chi non ha voluto,
Corrispondermi in amore, {98c}
Ha preferito un’ altra a me,
E questa io l’odio
Come odio la signorina,
Pure catena che incateni
Tanti diavoli tieni!
Tengo incatenata questo signor
Fino a mio comando
Che nessuno la possa disciogliere
E incatenato possa stare,
Fino che non si decidera
Di sposarmi. . . .”
“Now here I close the lock,
Yet ’tis not a lock which I close;
I shut the body and soul
Of this ungrateful lord,
Who would not meet my love,
But loves another instead,
Another whom I hate,
Whom I here lock and chain
With devil’s power again.
I hold this man fast bound
That none shall set him free
Until I so command,
And bound he shall remain
Till he will marry me.”
One day Virgil was passing the Piazza del Duomo, when he met with the
young man who had thus been bound or bewitched, and the victim was so
pale and evidently in terrible suffering, that the great poet and
magician, who was ever pitying and kind, was moved to the heart, and
said:
“Fair youth, what trouble have you, that you seem to be in such
suffering?”
The young man replied that he, being in love unto life and death, had
been bewitched by some malignant sorcery.
“That I can well see,” replied the sage, “and I am glad that it will be
an easy thing for me to cure you. Go thou into a field which is just
beyond Fiesole, in a place among the rocks. There thou wilt find a flat
stone bearing a mark. Lift it, and beneath thou wilt find a padlock and
chain. Take this golden key: it is enchanted, for with it thou canst
open any lock in the world of door or chain. {99} Keep the lock, open
it, and then go to the Temple of Vesta and return thanks with prayer, and
wait for what will come.”
So the young man did as Virgil had told him, and among the rocks found
the stone and the padlock, and went to the Temple of Avesta, where he
opened the lock and made the prayer to the goddess, which having done, he
fell asleep, and no one beheld him.
And while he was there the young lady entered the Baptistery to worship
Avesta, to offer her devotions, which being ended, she sat down and also
fell into a deep sleep, and no one observed her.
But later in the night, when the doors were closed and the light
extinguished, and the worshippers who remained were calling “Avesta!” the
two sleepers who were side by side were awakened by a rustling of silk,
and this was caused by the dress of the goddess, who roused them. And
the young man found himself restored to vigorous health and unwonted
passion, and quickly noting that a lady was by him, and carried away by
feelings beyond his control, embraced and kissed her—nor did she indeed
resist, for the will of Avesta was on them both. But noting that the
lady had a silk handkerchief {100} partly out of her pocket, he adroitly
stole it, putting in its place his own, and so with a kiss he left her,
neither knowing who the other was. But on awaking, as if it were from a
dream or a delirium, the lady was overcome with shame and grief, and
could only think that madness or magic had overcome her reason, to cause
her to yield as she had done. For this morning she felt more
passionately in love with her betrothed than she had ever done before,
and this was because the spell which had bound her was broken with the
opening of the padlock.
But what was the astonishment of the lover, who was also restored to all
his health and strength, when in the morning he looked at the
handkerchief which he had carried away and found embroidered on it the
arms and name of his love! So he went to visit her, and his greeting
was:
“Signorina, have you lost a handkerchief?”
“Not that I know of,” replied the lady, amazed.
“Look at the one in your pocket, and then at _this_,” was his laughing
reply.
She did so, and understanding all in an instant, cried out in shame and
horror, while she became at first like blood and then milk. Then the
gentleman said:
“It seems to me, Signorina, that we must by mistake have exchanged
handkerchiefs last night in the dark, and no wonder, considering the
fervency of our devotions. And since we have begun to worship and pray
so devoutly, and have entered on such a good path, it were a pity for us
to turn back, and therefore it were well for us to continue to travel on
it hand in hand together. But I propose that instead of changing
pocket-handkerchiefs, we exchange rings before the altar and get
married.”
The lady laughed and replied:
“I accept with great pleasure, Signore, the handkerchief; just as the
women in Turkey do when it is thrown to them. And you know the proverb:
“‘La donna chi prende
Tosto si rende
E poi si vende.’”
“She who will take will give herself away,
And she who gives will sell herself, they say.”
“Even so will I sell mine for thine; but you must take the bargain on the
nail, and the ball on the bound in the game of love.”
“Yes,” replied the young man; “I do so with all my heart. But as for our
handkerchiefs, I now see that it is true that the peasant does not always
know what it is that he carries home in his bag from the mill. Thanks be
to Avesta that we found such good flour in our sacks!”
“To Vesta and to Virgil be all praise!” replied the lady. “But I think
that while we continue our daily worship in the temple, we will go there
no longer by night. _Vi sono troppo donne devote nel buio_”—There are
too many lady devotees there in the darkness.
* * * * *
As a mere story this legend were as well left out, but it is one of a
hundred as regards curious relics of mythologic and other lore. Firstly,
be it observed that a secret doctrine, or esoteric as opposed to exoteric
teaching, was taught in all the mysteries of the gods. Diana, who is
identical with Vesta, Avesta, or Hestia, as a goddess of light by night
and also of chastity, had her lovers in secret. What further identifies
the two is that in this tale girls who have got into trouble through
love, pray to Vesta, even as Roman maids did under similar circumstances
specially to Diana.
There is no historical proof whatever that the Baptistery was ever a
temple of Vesta, but there is very remarkable circumstantial evidence to
that effect which I have indicated in detail in an article in the
_Architectural Review_. Both Vesta and Saint John were each in her or
his religion the special deities or incarnations of Light or Fire, and
Purity or Chastity. The temples of Vesta were like those of Mars, and
Mars alone, either round, hexagonal, or square, to indicate the form
attributed with variations to the world. The early tradition of all
writers on Florence speaks of the Baptistery of Saint John as having been
a temple of Mars, which legend the priests naturally endeavoured to deny,
thinking it more devout and “genteel” to attribute its erection to a
Christian Empress.
The binding and rendering impotent by means of a padlock, and forty other
devices, to render married folk miserable, or lovers languid, was so
common two centuries ago, that there is almost a literature, occult,
theological, and legal, on the subject. The Rabbis say it was invented
by Ham, the son of Noah. The superstition was generally spread in Greece
and Rome. It is still very commonly believed in and practised by witches
all over Europe, and especially by gipsies and the Italian _strege_.
What is above all to be remarked in this tale is that it recognises a
double nature in Vesta—one as a chaste goddess of fire, the other of a
voluptuous or generative deity, signified by extinguishing the lights.
And this is precisely what the oldest writers declared, though it was
quite forgotten in later times. As Natalis Comes declares, “There were
_two_ Vestas, one by the first wife of Saturn, another by the younger
one, meaning the earth, the other fire,” as Ovid witnesses, “Fastorum,”
lib. 6. In fact, there was a double or second to every one of the Greek
or Etruscan gods. And this belief which was forgotten by the higher
classes remained among the people. And it may be specially noted that
the second Vesta was called the mother of the gods, as Strabo declares,
and she was in fact the Venus of the primitive or Saturnian mythology.