“Virgilius also made a belfry.”—_The Wonderful History of Virgilius
the Sorcerer of Rome_.
“To be a crow and seem a swan,
To look all truth, possessing none,
To appear a saint by every act,
And be a devil meanwhile at heart,
To prove that black is white, in sooth,
And cover up the false with truth;
And be a living lie, in short—
Such are the lives men lead at court.”
_Old Italian saying cited by_ FRANCESCO PANICO _in his_ “_Poetiche
Dicerie_” (1643); article, Courtiers.
“Above all lying is the lie as practised by evil _courtiers_, it
being falsehood _par excellence_. For they are the arch architects,
the cleverest of artists at forming lies, pre-eminent in cooking,
seasoning, serving them with the honey of flattery or the vinegar of
reproof.”—FRANCESCO PANICO (1643).
On a time Virgilio remained for many weeks alone at home, and never went
to court. And during this retirement he made seven bells of gold, and on
every one there was engraved a name or word.
On the first there was “Bugiardo” (or lying), on the second “Chiacchiera”
(or tattling gossip), on the third “Malignità” (or evil spite), on the
fourth “Chalugna” (or calumny), on the fifth “Maldicenza” (or
vituperation), on the sixth “Invidia” (or envy), and on the seventh
“Bassezza” (or vileness).
And these he hung up in a draught of air, so that as they swung in the
breeze they rang and tinkled, first one alone, and then all.
One day the Emperor sent a messenger to Virgilio, asking him why he never
came to court as of old. And Virgilio wrote in reply:
“MY DEAR EMPEROR,
“It is no longer necessary that I should come to court to learn all
that is said there. For where I am at home I hear all day long the
voices of Falsehood, Tattling, Evil Spite, Calumny, Vituperation,
Envy, and Vileness.”
And then he showed the bells to the messenger. The Emperor, when he had
read the letter and heard all, laughed heartily, and said:
“So Virgilio keeps a court of his own! Yes, and a finer one than mine,
for all his courtiers are clad in gold.”
VIRGIL AND THE THREE SHEPHERDS.
A LEGEND OF THE MONTE SYBILLA, NEAR ROME.
“And, warrior, I could tell to thee
The words which split Eildon Hill in three,
And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone;
But to speak them were a deadly sin,
And for having but thought them my heart within
A treble penance must be done.”—SCOTT.
Miss Roma Lister, when residing in Florence, having written to her old
nurse Maria, in Rome, asking her if she knew, or could find, any tales of
Virgil, received after a while the following letter, written out by her
son, who has evidently been well educated, to judge by his style and
admirable handwriting:
“ROME, _January_ 28, 1897.
“MIA BUONA SIGNORINA,
“I have been seeking for some old person, a native of the Castelli
Romani, who knew something relative to the magician Virgil, and I
found in a street of the new quarters of Rome an old acquaintance, a
man who is more than eighty years of age; and on asking him for what
I wanted, he, after some reflection, recalled the following story:
“‘I was a small boy when my parents told me that in the Montagna
della Sibilla there was once an old man who was indeed so very old
that the most ancient people had ever known him as appearing of the
same age, and he was called the magician Virgilio.
“‘One day three shepherds were in a cabin at the foot of the
mountain, when the magician entered, and they were at first afraid of
him, knowing his reputation. But he calmed them by saying that he
never did harm to anyone, and that he had come down from the mountain
to beg a favour from them.
“‘“There is,” he continued, “half-way up the mountain, a grotto, in
which there is a great serpent which keeps me from entering.
Therefore I beg you do me the kindness to capture it.”
“‘The shepherds replied that they would do so, thinking that he
wanted them to kill the snake, but he explained to them that he
wished to have it taken in a very large bottle (_grandissimo
boccione_) {165} by means of certain herbs which he had provided.
“‘And the next day he came with the bottle and certain herbs which
were strange to them, and certainly not grown in the country. And he
said:
“‘“Go to the grotto, and lay the bottle down with its mouth towards
the cavern, and when the serpent shall smell the herbs he will enter
the bottle. Then do ye close it quickly and bring it to me. And all
of this must be done without a word being spoken, else ye will meet
with disaster.”
“‘So the three shepherds went their way, and after a time came to the
grotto, which they entered, and did as the magician had ordered.
Then, after a quarter of an hour, the serpent, smelling the herbs,
came forth and entered the bottle. No sooner was he in it than one
of the shepherds adroitly closed it, and cried unthinkingly:
“‘“Now you’re caught!”
“‘When all at once they felt the whole mountain shake, and heard an
awful roar, and crashing timber round on every side, so that they
fell on the ground half dead with fear. When they came to their
senses each one found himself on the summit of a mountain, and the
three peaks were far apart. It took them several days to return to
their cabin, and all of them died a few days after.
“‘From that time the magician Virgil was no more seen in the land.’
“This is all which I could learn; should I hear more I will write at
once to you.”
This is beyond question an imperfectly-told tale. What the sorcerer
intended and effected was to divide a mountain into three peaks, as did
Michael Scott, of whom legends are still left in Italy, as the reader may
find by consulting the interesting work by the Rev. J. Wood Brown. {166}
In the Italian tale the three shepherds who were together find themselves
suddenly apart on the tops of three peaks, which clearly indicates the
real aim of the narrative.
An old Indian woman, widow of an Indian governor, told me, as a thing
unknown, that the three hills of Boston had been thus split by Glusgábe
or Glooscap, the great Algonkin god. As this deity introduced culture to
North America, it will be at once perceived that there was something
truly _weirdly_, or strangely prophetic, in this act. As Glooscap was
the first to lay out Boston—_à la Trinité_—he certainly ought to be
regarded as the patron saint of that cultured city, and have at least a
library, a lyceum, or a hotel named after him in the American Athens.
The coincidence is very singular—Rome and Boston!
Eildon Hill, by which, as I have heard, Andrew Lang was born, is one of
the picturesque places which attract legends and masters in folk-lore.
Of it I have a strange souvenir. While in its vicinity I for three
nights saw in a dream the Fairy Queen, and the “vision” was remarkably
vivid, or so much so as to leave a strong or haunting impression on my
waking hours. It was like a glimpse into elf-land. Of course it was
simply the result of my recalling and thinking deeply on the legend of
“True Thomas,” but the dream was very pleasant and sympathetic.