“Optuma tornæ
Forma bovis, cui turpe caput, cui plurima cervix,
Et crurum tenus a mento palearia pendent;
Tum longo nullus lateri modus; omnia magna,
Pes etiam, et camuris hirtæ sub cornibus aures.
Nec mihi displiceat maculis insignis, et albo,
Aut juga detrectans, interdumque aspera cornu,
Et faciem taurs propior, quæque ardua tota,
Et gradiens ima verrit vestigia cauda.”
VIRGILIUS: _Georgics_, lib. iii.
“Annescis, pinguem carnibus esse bovem?”
_Epigrams by_ FRIED. HOFMANN (1633).
“_Pallium non facit philosophum nec_
_Cucullus monachum_—”
“Dress if you will
A knave in silk, he will be shabby still.”
This legend, with several others, was gathered in or near Arezzo.
* * * * *
In the old times people suffered in many things far more than they now
do, firstly from the signori, who treated them worse than brutes, and as
if this were not enough, they were tormented by witches and wizards and
wicked people who went to the devil or his angels to revenge them on
their enemies. However, there were good and wise men who had the power
to conquer these evil ones, and who did all they could to untie their
knots and turn back their spells and curses on themselves, and the
greatest of these was named Virgilio, who passed all his life in doing
good.
Now, it is an old custom in Arezzo that when men take cattle to a fair,
be it oxen or cows or calves, the animals are tricked out or ornamented
as much as possible, and there is great competition as to this among the
peasants, for it is a great triumph for a contadino when all the people
say that his beasts made the finest show of any in the place; so that it
is said a man of Arezzo will spend more to bedeck his cattle for a fair
than he will to dress his daughters for a dance.
Now, there was a very worthy, honest man named Gianni, who was the head
or manager under the proprietor of a very fine estate near Arezzo, and
one day he went to the fair to buy a yoke of oxen. And what he cared for
was to get the best, for his master was rich and generous, and did not
much heed the price so that he really got his money’s worth.
But good as Gianni was, he had to suffer the affliction which none can
escape of being envied and hated. For wicked and spiteful souls find
something to hate in people who have not done them any wrong, and whom
they have not the least motive to harm—_nessunissimo motive_.
So the good Gianni found at the fair a pair of oxen which, so far as
ornament was concerned, were a sight to behold. For they were covered
with nets, and adorned with many bands of red woollen stuff all
embroidered with gold, and bearing in gold the name of their owner,
having many cords and tassels and scarfs of all colours on their heads.
And these cords were elaborately braided, while there hung a mirror on
the forehead of each animal, so that the elegance of their decoration was
the admiration of all who were at the fair.
Then Gianni, seeing the oxen, drew near, but before making an offer,
complimented the owner on their beautiful appearance. And this done, he
said:
“All very fine, but in doing business for my patron I set aside all
personal friendship. Your cattle are finely dressed up, but how are the
beasts themselves? That is all that I care to know, and I don’t wish to
have them turn out as it happened to a man who married a wife because he
admired her clothes, and found, when she was undressed, that she was a
mere scrap, and looked like a dried cod-fish.”
So they talked till the dealer took off the coverings, when Gianni found,
in fact, that the oxen had many faults.
“I am sorry to say, my friend,” quoth Gianni, “that I cannot buy them. I
have done you more than one good turn before now, as you well know, but
business is business, and I am buying for my master, so good-day.”
Then the owner was in a great rage, and grated his teeth, and swore
revenge, for there were many round about who laughed at him, and he
resolved to do evil to Gianni, who, however, thought no more of it, but
went about the fair till he found a pair of excellent oxen which were the
best for sale, and drove them home.
But as soon as they were in the stable they fell on the ground (dead).
Gianni was in despair, but the master, who had seen the cattle and found
them fine and in good condition when they arrived, did not blame him.
So the next day Gianni went to another fair, and bought another yoke of
oxen. But when in the evening they were in the stable, they fell dead at
once, as the others had done. Still the master had such faith in him,
that although he was greatly vexed at the loss, he bade the man go once
more to a fair and try his luck. So he went, and indeed returned with a
magnificent pair, which were carefully examined; but there was the same
result, for they also fell dead as soon as they were stabled.
Then the master resolved to go and buy cattle for himself, and did so.
But there was the same result: these fell dead like the others. And the
master, in despair and rage, said to Gianni:
“Here I give thee some money, and now begone, for I believe that thou
bringest evil to me. I have lost four yoke of oxen, and will lose no
more.”
So Gianni went forth with his wife and children, in great suffering. And
the master took in his place Dorione. This was the very man who had
owned the oxen which Gianni would not buy, and he was one who was versed
in all the sorcery of cattle, as such people in the mountains always are,
and by his witchcraft he had brought all this to pass.
But under his care all the cattle flourished wonderfully, and the master
was much pleased with him. But Gianni was in extreme misery, and could
see nothing but beggary before him, because it was reported everywhere
that he brought bad luck, and he could get no employment.
One day, when matters were at their worst with him and there was not even
a piece of bread in his poor home, he met on the road a troop of
cavaliers, at the head of whom were two magnificently clad gentlemen, and
these were the Emperor and Virgil.
The poor peasant had stepped aside to admire the procession as it passed,
when all at once Virgil looked with a piercing glance at Gianni, and
cried:
“Man, what aileth thee that thou seemest so wretched? For I read in thy
face that thou sufferest unjustly, well-nigh to death.”
Then Gianni told his story, and Virgil answered:
“For all of this there is a remedy. Now, come with me to the house of
thy late master, where there is work to be done.”
“But they will drive me out headlong,” replied Gianni; “I dare not go.
And if I do not return to my family, who are all ill or starving to
death, they will think that some disaster has befallen me.”
“For that too there is also a remedy,” said Virgil, with a smile. “Have
no care. Now to thy master!”
“Why didst thou send away this honest man?” asked Virgil of the
_padrone_.
To which the master replied by telling all about the oxen. “Therefore,
because he brought ruin into my house did I dismiss him.”
“Well,” replied Virgil, “this time thou didst get rid of an honest man
and keep the knave. Now let us go and see to thy dead oxen.”
So they went apace to the spot where the dead oxen had all been thrown,
where the whole eight lay unchanged, for decay had not come upon them,
they were as sound as ever.
Then Virgil exclaimed, as he waved his wand:
“If ye are charmed, retake your breath!
If you’re bewitched, then wake from death!
Speak with a voice, and tell us why,
And who it was that made ye die!”
Then all the oxen came to life, and sang in chorus with human voices:
“Dorione slew us for revenge,
Because Gianni would not buy his oxen,
Truly they were greatly ornamented,
Yet withal were wretched, sorry cattle.
So he swore to be revenged upon him,
So he was revenged by witching us.”
“You have heard the whole truth,” said Virgil to the Emperor. “It is for
you to condemn the culprit.”
“I condemn him to be at once put to death,” replied the Emperor. “Hast
thou anything to add?”
“Yes,” said Virgil; “I condemn him to immediately become a goat after
death.”
Then Dorione was burnt alive for an evil wizard, and he leapt from the
flame in the form of a black goat and vanished.
Gianni returned in favour to his master, and all went well with him
evermore.
* * * * *
The very singular or unusual name of Dorione intimates a classical
origin, and it is true that one of the Danaides, the bride of Cerceste,
was called thus; but on this hook hangs no analogy. Dordione was the
Roman god of blackguardism _pur et simple_, unto whom people made obscene
offerings—which, according to sundry reviewers, might suggest the Dorian
of a certain novel of the ultra Greek-æsthetic school, which had many
admirers in certain circles, both in America and England. But it is very
remarkable that wherever it occurs, be it in pagan antiquity or modern
times, the name has always had a certain evil smell about it, a something
fish-like and ancient, but not venerable. It is true that I have already
given a legend of another Dorione, who was a protégé of Virgil; but even
this latter example was sadly given to “rapacious appropriation.” The
Dorians were all a bad lot from a moral point of view, according to
history.
It is remarkable that Dorione, who is a mountain shepherd or herdsman, is
noted as a sorcerer. Owing to their solitary lives and knowledge of
secrets in the medical treatment and management of cattle, this class in
many countries (but especially in France and Italy) is regarded as
consisting entirely of sorcerers. This is specially the case with
smiths, farriers, and all who exercise the veterinary art.
It may also strike the reader as singular that Dorione in the tale should
be moved to such deadly vengeance, simply because Gianni would not buy
his cattle, and preferred others. This is a very common and marked
characteristic of Italians. If you examine a man’s wares, talk about,
and especially if you touch them, you will often be expected to buy as a
matter of course. I have been seriously cautioned in a fair, by one who
was to the manner born, against examining anything unless I bought it, or
something. A few years ago, in Florence, a flower-girl asked an
Englishman to buy of her ware, which he declined to do, and then changing
his mind, bought a bouquet from another girl close by. Whereupon the
first _floriste_ stabbed and slew the second—to the great astonishment of
the tourist!
There is an unconscious fitness and propriety in making the author of the
“Georgics” so familiar with cattle that he is able to raise them from the
dead. The chorus of oxen, accusing the evil-doer, is an idea or motive
which also occurs in the story of Cain, as given in my “Legends of
Florence.”
The black goat is, and ever was in Italy, specially accursed as a type of
evil. Witches are rarely described as riding brooms—their steed is the
goat. Evil spirits, or souls of men accursed, haunt bridges in this
form. The perverse and mischievous spirit of the animal, as well as his
appearance, is sufficient to explain this.