ARADIA: gospel of witches part4

CHAPTER X1
The House of the Wind
"List to the whoop and whistle of the winds,
Their hollow drone as they come roaring on,
For strength hath many a voice, and when aroused
The flying tempest calls with awful joy
And echoes as it strikes the mountain-side,
Then crashes in the forest. Hear the cry!
Surely a god hath set his lions loose
And laughs to hear them as they rage afar."
-C. G. Leland.


The following story does not belong to the Gospel of the Witches, but I add it as it confirms the fact that the worship of Diana existed for a long time contemporary with Christianity. Its full title in the original MS., which was written out by Maddalena, after hearing it from a man who was native of Volterra, is La Pellegrina delta Casa al Vento-"The Female Pilgrim of the House of the Wind." It may be added that, as the tale declares, the house in question is still standing.


There is a peasant's house at the beginning of the hill or ascent leading to Volterra, and it is called the House of the Wind. Near it there once stood a small place, wherein dwelt a married couple, who had but one child, a daughter, whom they adored. Truly if the child had but a headache, they each had a worse attack from fear.


Little by little the girl grew older, and all the thought of the mother, who was very devout, was that she should become a nun. But the girl did not like this, and declared that she hoped to be married like others. And when looking from her window one day, she saw and heard the birds singing in the vines and among the trees all so merrily, she said to her mother that she hoped some day to have a family of little birds of her own, singing round her in a cheerful nest. At which the mother was so angry that she gave her daughter a cuff. And the young lady wept, but replied with spirit, that if beaten or treated in any such manner, that she would certainly soon find some way to escape and get married, for she had no idea of being made a nun of against her will.


At hearing this the mother was seriously frightened, for she knew the spirit of her child, and was afraid lest the girl already had a lover, and would make a great scandal over the blow; and turning it all over, she thought of an elderly lady of good family, but much reduced, who was famous for her intelligence, learning, and power of persuasion, and she thought, "This will be just the person to induce my daughter to become pious, and fill her head with devotion and make a nun of her." So she sent for this clever person, who was at once appointed the governess and constant attendant of the young lady, who, instead of quarrelling with her guardian, became devoted to her. However, everything this world does not go exactly as we would have it, and no one knows what fish or crab may hide under a rock in a river. For it so happened that the governess was not a Catholic at all, as will presently appear, and did not vex her pupil with any threats of a nun's life, nor even with an approval of it.


It came to pass that the young lady, who was in the habit of lying awake on moonlight nights to hear the nightingales sing, thought she heard her governess in the next room, of which the door was open, rise and go forth on the great balcony. The next night the same thing took place, and rising very softly and unseen, she beheld the lady praying, or at least kneeling in the moonlight, which seemed to her to be very singular conduct, the more so because the lady kneeling uttered words which the younger could not understand, and which certainly formed no part of the Church service.


And being much exercised over the strange occurrence, she at last, with timid excuses, told her governess what she had seen. Then the latter, after a little reflection, first binding her to a secrecy of life and death, for, as she declared, it was a matter of great peril, spoke a follows:-


"I, like thee, was instructed when young by priests to worship an invisible god. But an old woman in whom I had great confidence once said to me, 'Why worship a deity whom you cannot see, when there is the Moon in all her splendour visible? Worship her. Invoke Diana, the goddess of the Moon, and she will grant your prayers.' This shalt thou do, obeying the Vangelo, the Gospel of (the Witches and of) Diana, who is Queen of the Fairies and of the Moon."


Now the young lady being persuaded, was converted to the worship of Diana and the Moon, and having prayed with all her heart for a lover (having learned the conjuration to the goddess),[1] was soon rewarded by the attention and devotion of a brave and wealthy cavalier, who was indeed as admirable a suitor as any one could desire. But the mother, who was far more bent on gratifying vindictiveness and cruel vanity than on her daughter's happiness, was infuriated at this, and when the gentleman came to her, she bade him begone, for her daughter was vowed to become a nun, and a nun she should be or die.


Then the young lady was shut up in a cell in a tower, without even the company of her governess, and put to strong and hard pain, being made to sleep on the stone floor, and would have died of hunger had her mother had her way.


Then in this dire need she prayed to Diana to set her free; when lo! she found the prison door unfastened, and easily escaped. Then having obtained a pilgrim's dress, she travelled far and wide, teaching and preaching the religion of old times, the religion of Diana, the Queen of the Fairies and of the Moon, the goddess of the poor and the oppressed.


And the fame of her wisdom and beauty went forth over all the land, and people worshipped her, calling her La Bella Pellegrina. At last her mother, hearing of


[1. This incantation is given in the chapter entitled "A Spell to Win Love."]


her, was in a greater rage than ever, and, in fine, after much trouble, succeeded in having her again arrested and cast into prison. And then in evil temper indeed she asked her whether she would become a nun; to which she replied that it was not possible, because she had left the Catholic Church and become a worshipper of Diana and of the Moon.


And the end of it was that the mother, regarding her daughter as lost, gave her up to the priests to be put to torture and death, as they did all who would not agree with them or who left their religion.


But the people were not well pleased with this, be cause. they adored her beauty and goodness, and there were few who had not enjoyed her charity.


But by the aid of her lover she obtained, as a last grace, that on the night before she was to be tortured and executed she might, with a guard, go forth into the garden of the palace and pray.


This she did, and standing by the door of the house, which is still there, prayed in the light of the full moon to Diana, that she might be delivered from the dire persecution to which she had been subjected, since even her own parents had willingly given her over to an awful death.


Now her parents and the priests, and all who sought her death, were in the palace watching lest she should escape.


When lo! in answer to her prayer there came a terrible tempest and overwhelming wind., a storm such as man had never seen before, which overthrew and swept away the palace with all who were in it; there was not one stone left upon another, nor one soul alive of all who were there. The gods had replied to the prayer.


The young lady escaped happily with her lover, wedded him, and the house of the peasant where the lady stood is still called La Casa al Vento, or the House of the Wind.


This is very accurately the story as I received it, but I freely admit that I have very much condensed the language of the original text, which consists of twenty pages, and which, as regards needless padding, indicates a capacity on the part of the narrator to write an average modern fashionable novel, even a second-rate French one, which is saying a great deal. It is true that there are in it no detailed descriptions of scenery, skies, trees, or clouds-and a great deal might be made of Volterra in that way-but it is prolonged in a manner which shows a gift for it. However, the narrative itself is strangely original and vigorous, for it is such a relic of pure classic heathenism, and such a survival of faith in the old mythology, as all the reflected second-hand Hellenism of the Æsthetes cannot equal. That a real worship of or belief in classic divinities should have survived to the present day in the very land of Papacy itself, is a much more curious fact than if a living mammoth had been dis covered in some out of the way corner of the earth, because the former is a human phenomenon. I foresee that the day will come, and that perhaps not so very far distant, when the world of scholars will be amazed to consider to what a late period an immense body of antique tradition survived in Northern Italy, and how indifferent the learned were regarding it; there having been in very truth only one man, and he a foreigner, who earnestly occupied himself with collecting and preserving it.


It is very probably that there were as many touching episodes among the heathen martyrs who were forced to give up their beloved deities, such as Diana, Venus, the Graces, and others, who were worshipped for beauty, as there were even among the Christians who were thrown to the lions. For the heathen loved their gods with a human personal sympathy, without mysticism or fear, as if they had been blood -relations; and there were many among them who really believed that such was the case when some damsel who had made a faux pas got out of it by attributing it all to some god, faun, or satyr; which is very touching. There is a great deal to be said for as well as against the idolaters or worshippers of dolls, as I heard a small girl define them.


CHAPTER XII
Tana, The Moon-Goddess
The following story, which appeared originally in the Legends of Florence, collected from the people by me, does not properly belong to the Witch's Gospel, as it is not strictly in accordance with it; and yet it could not well be omitted, since it is on the same subject. In it Diana appears simply as the lunar goddess of chastity, therefore not as a witch. It was given to me as Fana, but my informant said that it might be Tana; she was not sure. As Tana occurs in another tale, and as the subject is certainly Diana, there can hardly be a question of this.


Tana, la Dea della Luna.


Tana was a very beautiful girl, but extremely poor, and as modest and pure as she was beautiful and hum ble. She went from one contadino to another, or from farm to farm to work, and thus led an honest life. There was a young boor, a very ugly, bestial, and brutish fellow, who was after his fashion raging with love for her, but she could not so much as bear to look at him, and repelled all his advances.


But late one night, when she was returning alone from the farmhouse where she had worked to her home, this man, who had hidden himself in a thicket, leaped out on her and cried, "Non mi' sfuggerai; sara mia!"-"Thou canst not flee; mine thou shalt be!" And seeing no help near, and only the full moon looking down on her from heaven, Tana in despair cast herself on her knees and cried to it: -


I have no one on earth to defend me,
Thou alone dost see me in this strait,
Therefore I pray to thee, O Moon!
As thou art beautiful so thou art bright,
Flashing thy splendour over all mankind;
Even so I pray thee light up the mind
Of this poor ruffian, who would wrong me here,
Even to the worst. Cast light into his soul,
That he may let me be in peace, and then
Return in all thy light unto my home!"


When she had said this, there appeared before her a bright but shadowy form-uno ombra blanca
which said: -


"Rise, and go to thy home!
Thou hast well deserved this grace;
No one shall trouble thee more,
Purest of all on earth!
thou shalt a goddess be,
The Goddess of the Moon,
Of all enchantment queen!"


Thus it came to pass that Tana became the dea or spirit of the Moon.


Though the air be set to a different key, this is a poem of pure melody, and the same as Wordsworth's "Goody Blake and Harry Gill." Both Tana and the old dame are surprised and terrified; both pray to a power above: -


"The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray;
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy cold he turned away."


The dramatic centre is just the same in both. The English ballad soberly turns into an incurable fit of ague inflicted on a greedy young boor; the Italian witch-poetess, with finer sense, or with more sympathy for the heroine, casts the brute aside without further mention, and apotheosises the maiden, identifying her with the Moon. The former is more practical and probable, the latter more poetical.


And here it is worth while, despite digression, to remark what an immense majority there are of people who can perceive, feel, and value poetry in mere words or form-that is to say, objectively-and hardly know or note it when it is presented subjectively or as thought, but not put into some kind of verse or measure, or regulated form. This is a curious experiment and worth studying. Take a passage from some famous poet; write it out in pure simple prose, doing full justice to its real meaning, and if it still actually thrills or moves as poetry, then it is of the first class. But if it has lost its glamour absolutely, it is second-rate or inferior; for the best cannot be made out of mere words varnished with associations, be they of thought or feeling.


This is not such a far cry from the subject as might be deemed. Reading and feeling them subjectively, I am often struck by the fact that in these witch traditions which I have gathered there is a wondrous poetry of thought, which far excels the efforts of many modern bards, and which only requires the aid of some clever workman in words to assume the highest rank. A proof of what I have asserted may be found in the fact that, in such famous poems as the Finding of the Lyre, by James Russell Lowell, and that on the invention of the pipe by Pan, by Mrs. Browning, that which formed the most exquisite and refined portion of the original myths is omitted by both authors, simply because they missed or did not perceive it. For in the former we are not told that it was the breathing of the god Air (who was the inspiring soul of ancient music, and the Bellaria of modern witch-mythology) on the dried filament of the tortoise, which suggested to Hermes the making an instrument wherewith he made the music of the spheres and guided the course of the planets. As for Mrs. Browning, she leaves out Syrinx altogether, that is to say, the voice of the nymph still lingering in the pipe which had been her body. Now to my mind the old prose narrative of these myths is much more deeply poetical and moving, and far more inspired with beauty and romance, than are the well-rhymed and measured, but very imperfect versions given by our poets. And in fact, such want of intelligence or perception may be found in all the "classic" poems, not only of Keats, but of almost every poet of the age who has dealt in Greek subjects.


Great license is allowed to painters and poets, but when they take a subject, especially a deep tradition, and fail to perceive its real meaning or catch its point, and simply give us something very pretty, but not so inspired with meaning as the original, it can hardly be claimed that they have done their work as it might, or, in fact, should have been done. I find that this fault does not occur in the Italian or Tuscan witch-versions of the ancient fables; on the contrary, they keenly appreciate, and even expand, the antique spirit. Hence I have often had occasion to remark that it was not impossible that in some cases popular tradition, even as it now exists, has been preserved more fully and accurately than we find it in any Latin writer.


Now apropos of missing the point, I would remind certain very literal readers that if they find many faults of grammar, mis-spelling, and worse in the Italian texts in this book, they will not, as a distinguished reviewer has done, attribute them all to the ignorance of the author, but to the imperfect education of the person who collected and recorded them. I am reminded of this by having seen in a circulating library a copy of my Legends of Florence, in which some good careful soul had taken pains with a pencil to correct all the archaisms. Wherein he or she was like a certain Boston proof-reader, who in a book of mine changed the spelling of many citations from Chaucer, Spenser, and others into the purest, or impurest, Webster; he being under the impression that I was extremely ignorant of orthography. As for the writing in or injuring books, which always belong partly to posterity, it is a sin of vulgarity as well as morality, and indicates what people are more than they dream.


"Only a cad as low as a thief
Would write in a book or turn down a leaf,
Since 'tis thievery, as well is known,
To make free with that which is not our own.


CHAPTER XIII
Diana and the Children
"And there withall Diana gan appere
With bowe in hand right as an Hunteresse,
And saydê, 'Daughter, stint thine heavinesse!'
And forth she wente and made a vanishing."
-Chaucer (C.T), "The Knight's Tale."


There was in Florence in the oldest time a noble farmily, but grown so poor that their giorni di festa or feast-days were few and far between. However, they dwelt in their old palace (which was in the street now called La Via Cittadella), which was a fine old building, and so they kept up a brave show before the world, when many a day they hardly had anything to eat.


Round this palace was a large garden, in which stood an ancient marble statue of Diana, like a beautiful woman who seemed to be running with a dog by her side. She held in her hand a bow, and on her forehead was a small moon. And it was said that by night, when all was still, the statue became like life, and fled, and did not return till the moon set or the sun rose.


The father of the family had two children, who were good and intelligent. One day they came home with many flowers which had been given to them, and the little girl said to her brother:-


"The beautiful lady with the bow ought to have some of these!"


Saying this, they laid flowers before the stature and made a wreath which the boy placed on her head. Just then the great poet and magician Virgil, who knew everything about the gods and fairies, entered the garden and said, smiling:-


"You have made, the offering of flowers to the goddess quite correctly, as they did of old; all that remains is to pronounce the prayer properly,[1] and it is this:"


So he repeated the


Invocation to Diana.


Bella dea dell'arco!
Bella dea delle freccie!
Della caccia e dei cani!
Tu vegli colle stelle,
Quando il sole va dormir
Tu colla luna in fronte
Cacci la notte meglio del di.
Colle tue Ninfe, al suono
Di trombe-Sel la regina
Del cacclatori-regina delle notte,
Tu che sei la cacciatrice
Più potente di ogni,
Cacciator-ti prego
Pensa un poco a noi!


[1. The most important part of witchcraft is to intone or accent the incantations accurately, in a manner like that of church chanting or Arab recitations. Hence the apparently prose form of most spells.]


To Diana.


Lovely Goddess of the bow!
Lovely Goddess of the arrows!
Of all hounds and of all hunting
Thou who wakest in starry heaven
When the sun is sunk in slumber
Thou with moon upon they forehead,
Who the chase by night preferrest
Unto hunting in the daylight,
With thy nymphs unto the music
Of the horn-thyself the huntress,
And most powerful: I pray thee
Think, although but for an instant,
Upon us who pray unto thee!'


Then Virgil taught them also the Scongiurazione or spell to be uttered when good fortune or aught is specially required.


The Conjuration of Diana.


"Bella dea del arco del cielo!
Delle stelle e della luna!
La regina più potente
Del cacciatori e della notte!
A te ricorriamo,
E chiediamo il tuo aiuto
Che tu possa darci
Sempre la buona fortuna!"


[1. It is to be observed that the invocation is strictly a psalm of praise or a hymn; the scongiurazione is a request or prwer, though it often takes the form of a threat or menace. This only exists in classic witchcraft.]


Fair goddess of the rainbow,
Of the stars and of the moon!
The queen most powerful
Of hunters and the night!
We beg of thee thy aid,
That thou may'st give to us
The best of fortune ever!


Then he added. the conclusion:-


"Se la nostra scongiurazione
Ascolterai,
E buona fortuna ci darei,
Un segnale a noi lo darei!"


If thou heed'st our evocation
And wilt give good fortune to us,
Then in proof give us a token![1]


[1. Something is here omitted, which can, however, be supplied from many other sit nilar incantations. It was probably as follows:-


If thou art favourable
And wilt grant my prayer,
Then may I hear
The bark of a dog,
The neigh of a horse,
The croaking of a frog,
The chirp of a bird,
The song of a cricket,
et cætera.


Three or four of these sounds were generally selected. They vary more or less, but seldom materially, from these. Sometimes visible manifestations, as, for instance, lightning, are requested. To see a white horse is a sign that the prayer will be granted after some delay. It also signifies victory.]


And having taught them this, Virgil departed.


Then the children ran to tell their parents all that had happened, and the latter impressed it on them to keep it a secret, nor breathe a word or hint thereof to any one. But what was their amazement when they found early the next morning before the statue a deer freshly killed, which gave them good dinners for many a day; nor did they want thereafter at any time game of all kinds, when the prayer had been devoutly pronounced.


There was a neighbour of this family, a priest, who held in hate all the ways and worship of the gods of the old time, and whatever did not belong to his religion, and he, passing the garden one day, beheld the statue of Diana crowned with roses and other flowers. And being in a rage, and seeing in the street a decayed cabbage, he rolled it in the mud, and threw itall dripping at the face Of the goddess, saying:-





"Ecco mala bestia d'idoll!
Questo e l'omaggio che to ti do,
Gia che il diavolo ti aiuta!"


Behold, thou vile beast of idolatry,
This is the worship which thou hast from me,
And the devil do the rest for thee!


Then the priest heard a voice in the gloom where the leaves were dense, and it said:-


"Bene, bene! Tu mi hai fatto
L'offrando-tu avrai
La tua porzione
Della mia caccia. Aspetta!"


It is well! I give thee warning,
Since thou hast made thy offering,
Sonic of the game to thee I'll bring;
Thou'lt have thy share in the morning.


All that night the priest suffered from horrible dreams and dread, and when at last, just before three o'clock, he fell asleep, he suddenly awoke from a nightmare in which it seemed as if something heavy rested on his chest. And something indeed fell from him and rolled on the floor. And when he rose and picked it up, and looked at it by the light of the moon, he saw that it was a human head, half decayed.[1]


Another priest, who had heard his cry of terror, entered his room, and having looked at the head, said:-


"I know that face! It is of a man whom I confessed, and who was beheaded three months ago at Siena." And three days after the priest who had insulted the goddess died.


The foregoing tale was not given to me as belonging to the Gospel of the Witches, but as one
of a very large series of traditions relating to Virgil as a magician. But it has its proper place in
this book, because it contains the invocation to and incantation of Diana, these being remarkably beautiful and original. When we remember


[1. "La testa d'un uomo piena di verme e puzzolente." A parody in kind for the decayed cabbage, much completer than the end of the German tale resembling it.]


how these "hymns" have been handed down or preserved by old women, and doubtless much garbled, changed, and deformed by transmission, it cannot but seem wonderful that so much classic beauty still remains in them, as, for instance, in


"Lovely goddess of the bow!
Lovely goddess of the arrow!
Thou who walk'st in starry heaven!"


Robert Browning was a great poet, but if we compare all the Italian witch-poems of and to Diana with the former's much-admired speech of Diana-Artemis, it will certainly be admitted by impartial critics that the spells are fully equal to the following by the bard-


"I am a goddess of the ambrosial courts,
And save by Here, Queen of Pride, surpassed
By none whose temples whiten this the world:
Through Heaven I roll my lucid moon along,
I shed in Hell o'er my pate people peace,
On Earth, I, caring for the creatures, guard
Each pregnant yellow wolf and fox-bitch sleek,
And every feathered mother's callow brood,
And all the love green haunts and loneliness."


This is pretty, but it is only imitation, and neither in form or spirit really equal to the incantations, which are sincere in faith. And it may here be observed in sorrow, yet in very truth, that in a very great number of modern poetical handlings of classic mythic subjects, the writers have, despite all their genius as artists, produced rococo work which will appear to be such to an other generation, simply from their having missed the point, or omitted from ignorance something vital which the folk-lorist would probably not have lost. Achilles may be admirably drawn, as I have seen him, in a Louis XIV. wig with a Turkish scimitar, but still one could wish that the designer had been a little more familiar with Greek garments and weapons.