 
Virgil is introduced, I may say, almost incidentally in the following tale, not by any means as coryphÆus or hero, as is indeed the case in several other stories, which fact, on due reflection, is of importance, because it indicates unmistakably that he is so well known in popular tradition as to be recognisable even in a minor rÔle. It is as when one swears by a saint, or Bacchus—in Florence one hears the latter invoked forty times where a Christian deity is apostrophized once—’tis not to form a portion of the sentence, but to give it force, as Chinese artillerymen, when they fire a ball at an enemy, sometimes grease the mouth of a gun, to increase the loudness of the report and thereby frighten the foe. Which figure of a saint is not that of Saint Malapropos, because, as the reader may note in another tale, Virgil is very seriously described as a santo. Now to the narrative. Sancte Virgile, ora pro nobis! In very ancient times there were few families in Cettardo, and these were all perfectly equal, there being among them neither rich nor poor. They all worked hard in fields or forests for a living, and were like a company of friends or brothers. And of evenings, when they were not too weary, they met many together in some house, all in love and harmony, to talk about the crops, and their children, or repeat the rosario, “Babbo—papa—I wish to tell thee something in presence of all who are here assembled, with all due respect to them, since there are certainly so many here who could with greater propriety set it forth. Then all exclaimed in chorus: “Speak, and we will listen to thee!” And then the infant, in this fashion, spoke: “Know that this night I have spoken with a spirit, the bel Folettino col beretta rossa—the beautiful fairy with the red cap—and it told me that for this our land we have no name or coat of arms. But the time has come to have that which shall represent the country, and therefore we should choose a chief who will open commerce for us, and found a school so that our young people shall escape from ignorance.” “Truly, thou hast spoken well!” cried all present. “Evviva il capo—hurrah for a chief!—and that chief shall be thy father, dear child!” “Moreover,” added the good girl, “I will, to show my gratitude, give you the design for the armorial bearings, and in due time tell you all that is needful to be done. All of that will I find out, and also a name for the country.” “Do so, and deserve our gratitude.” “I thank you again,” said the girl, “and I will pay attention to the subject, since you show such sympathy.” The next day she went to herd a flock of sheep, as was her custom; and then, lying down on the ground as wild boars are wont to do,
“Una voce le rispose:
“To which a voice replied:
“And who art thou who speakest to me?” asked the girl. “I am the Spirit of the Red Cap.” “And who is my protector?” “The magician Virgil,” replied the Voice. Then she invoked Virgil, who appeared in person, and asked what she would have. She replied that she had been charged to find a name and object to represent the land. “It is well,” answered Virgil. “I have already written the name on a leaf; now take this thing in thy hand”—here he gave her an onion—“and cast it into yonder cavern, from which there is an underground way.” The girl obeyed; the onion spun round and rolled away; she followed it afar, till at last it stopped at a leaf on which was written “Cettardo.” And it was in this spot where the onion stopped that the town in after time was built, and where the girl found the leaf is now the municipal palace. And so, one by one, great buildings rose. Thus came the name and arms of Cettardo. In due time the maid had a lover, and it was said that these two were the only ones who could go through the subterranean passage. And it hath been, and may be still, proved that any If we compare this legend with other traditions, there can be little doubt that it is at least of Roman origin. The great veneration for the onion among the Egyptians—“Happy people,” wrote Juvenal, “to have gods growing in their gardens!”—which passed to the Romans, probably, in later days through the priests of Serapis and Isis, It is, however, in the mention of a subterranean passage full of mephitic vapour, which seems to have no connection with the tale whatever, that the clue to the whole tradition may be found. The people wanting a name and a site for a city, receive them from a pythoness or sibyl, the two being identified in many legends. The grotto of the Sybil near Naples is approached by a long subterranean road, over which I have myself passed—being carried on the back of a strong peasant-guide. Just in the middle of the wet, winding cavern, I said: “You are a good horse.” “Horses who talk need the spur,” I replied, giving him a gentle reminder with my heel. He laughed, and trotted on. However, he got his “macaroni.” That the pythoness, or female oracle, was first intoxicated with the vapour of carbonic acid gas in a cavern, and that her utterances were recorded on leaves which blew about loosely and were then gathered and put together, is well known, and it is this, apparently, which is meant in this tale by the flying leaf bearing the name of Cettardo. Plutarch, in his “Treatise on Abandoned Oracles,” declares that “the terrestrial effluvium was the conductor of the god into the body of the Pythia.” As the vapours disappeared, the oracle became dumb, or, as Cicero expresses it:
The onion was a symbol of fertility and increase of population, therefore it was well adapted to serve as a fetish for a new city. It was also among the Egyptians par eminence typical of the resurrection, so that no woman was buried without one. It may be observed that in this legend Virgil appears as a guardian spirit or god, certainly not as a mortal. It would almost seem as if there were an undercurrent of genial satire or mockery in the part where THE END. Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row, London. |
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