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.