XII. THE SACRED MARRIAGE
§ 1. Diana as a Goddess of Fertility
[Sidenote: Dramatic marriages of gods and goddesses as a charm to promote vegetation.] In the last chapter we saw that according to a widespread belief, which is not without a foundation in fact, plants reproduce their kinds through the sexual union of male and female elements, and that on the principle of homoeopathic or imitative magic this reproduction can be stimulated by the real or mock marriage of men and women, who masquerade for the time being as spirits of vegetation. Such magical dramas have played a great part in the popular festivals of Europe, and based as they are on a very crude conception of natural law, it is clear that they must have been handed down from a remote antiquity. We shall hardly, therefore, err in assuming that they date from a time when the forefathers of the civilised nations of Europe were still barbarians, herding their cattle and cultivating patches of corn in the clearings of the vast forests, which then covered the greater part of the continent, from the Mediterranean to the Arctic Ocean. But if these old spells and enchantments for the growth of leaves and blossoms, of grass and flowers and fruit, have lingered down to our own time in the shape of pastoral plays and popular merry-makings, is it not reasonable to suppose that they survived in less attenuated forms some two thousand years ago among the civilised peoples of antiquity? Or, to put it otherwise, is it not likely that in certain festivals of the ancients we may be able to detect the equivalents of our May Day, Whitsuntide, and Midsummer celebrations, with this difference, that in those days the ceremonies had not yet dwindled into mere shows and pageants, but were still religious or magical rites, in which the actors consciously supported the high parts of gods and goddesses? Now in the first chapter of this book we found reason to believe that the priest who bore the title of King of the Wood at Nemi had for his mate the goddess of the grove, Diana herself. May not he and she, as King and Queen of the Wood, have been serious counterparts of the merry mummers who play the King and Queen of May, the Whitsuntide Bridegroom and Bride in modern Europe? and may not their union have been yearly celebrated in a theogamy or divine marriage? Such dramatic weddings of gods and goddesses, as we shall see presently, were carried out as solemn religious rites in many parts of the ancient world; hence there is no intrinsic improbability in the supposition that the sacred grove at Nemi may have been the scene of an annual ceremony of this sort. Direct evidence that it was so there is none, but analogy pleads in favour of the view, as I shall now endeavour to shew.
[Sidenote: Diana a goddess of the woodlands.] Diana was essentially a goddess of the woodlands, as Ceres was a goddess of the corn and Bacchus a god of the vine.[411] Her sanctuaries were commonly in groves, indeed every grove was sacred to her,[412] and she is often associated with the forest god Silvanus in dedications.[413] We must not [Sidenote: Sanctity of holy groves in antiquity.] forget that to the ancients the sanctity of a holy grove was very real and might not be violated with impunity. For example, in Attica there was a sanctuary of Erithasean Apollo, and it was enacted by law that any person caught in the act of cutting trees in it, or carrying away timber, firewood, or fallen leaves, should be punished with fifty stripes, if he was a slave, or with a fine of fifty drachms, if he was a freeman. The culprit was denounced by the priest to the king, that is, to the sacred official or minister of state who bore the royal title.[414] Similarly it was the duty of the sacred men at Andania, in Messenia, to scourge slaves and fine freemen who cut wood in the grove of the Great Goddesses.[415] In Crete it was forbidden, under pain of curses and fines, to fell timber, sow corn, and herd or fold flocks within the precinct of Dictaean Zeus.[416] In Italy like customs prevailed. Near Spoletium there was a sacred grove from which nothing might be taken, and in which no wood might be cut except just so much as was needed for the annual sacrifice. Any person who knowingly violated the sanctity of the grove had to expiate his offence by sacrificing an ox to Jupiter, and to pay besides a fine of three hundred pence.[417] In his treatise on farming Cato directs that before thinning a grove the Roman husbandman should offer a pig as an expiatory sacrifice to the god or goddess of the place, and should entreat his or her favour for himself, his children, and his household.[418] The Fratres Arvales or Brethren of the Tilled Fields were a Roman college of twelve priests, who performed public religious rites for the purpose of making the crops to grow, and they wore wreaths of ears of corn as a badge of their office.[419] Their sacrifices were offered in the grove of the goddess Dia, situated five miles down the Tiber from Rome. So hallowed was this grove, which is known to have included laurels and holly-oaks, that expiatory sacrifices of sows and lambs had to be offered when a rotten bough fell to the ground, or when an old tree was laid low by a storm or dragged down by a load of snow on its branches. And still more elaborate expiation had to be made with the slaughter of sows, sheep, and bulls when any of the sacred trees were struck by lightning and it was necessary to dig them up by the roots, split them, burn them, and plant others in their room.[420] At the annual festival of the Parilia, which was intended to ensure the welfare of the flocks and herds, Roman shepherds prayed to be forgiven if they had entered a hallowed grove, or sat down under a sacred tree, or lopped a holy bough in order to feed a sick sheep on the leaves.[421]
[Sidenote: Sense of the divinity of woods shared by polite Roman writers.] Nor was this sense of the indwelling divinity of the woods confined to the simple rustics who, tending their flocks in the chequered shade, felt the presence of spirits in the solemn stillness of the forest, heard their voices in the sough of the wind among the branches, and saw their handiwork in the fresh green of spring and the fading gold of autumn. The feeling was shared by the most cultivated minds in the greatest age of Roman civilisation. Pliny says that “the woods were formerly the temples of the deities, and even now simple country folk dedicate a tall tree to a god with the ritual of the olden time; and we adore sacred groves and the very silence that reigns in them not less devoutly than images that gleam with gold and ivory.”[422] Similarly Seneca writes: “If you come upon a grove of old trees that have shot up above the common height and shut out the sight of the sky by the gloom of their matted boughs, you feel there is a spirit in the place, so lofty is the wood, so lone the spot, so wondrous the thick unbroken shade.”[423]
[Sidenote: The breaking of the Golden Bough a rite of solemn significance, not a mere piece of bravado.] Thus the ancients, like many other people in various parts of the world, were deeply impressed with the sanctity of holy groves, and regarded even the cutting of a bough in them as a sacrilege which called for expiation. If therefore a candidate for the priesthood of Diana at Nemi had to break a branch of a certain tree in the sacred grove before he could fight the King of the Wood, we may be sure that the act was a rite of solemn significance, and that to treat it as a mere piece of bravado, a challenge to the priest to come on and defend his domain, would be to commit the commonest of all errors in dealing with the past, that, namely, of interpreting the customs of other races and other generations by reference to modern European standards. In order to understand an alien religion the first essential is to divest ourselves, as well as we can, of our own familiar prepossessions, and to place ourselves at the point of view of those whose faith and practice we are studying. To do this at all is difficult; to do it completely is perhaps impossible; yet the attempt must be made if the enquiry is to progress instead of returning on itself in a vicious circle.
[Sidenote: Diana not a mere goddess of trees, but, like Artemis, a personification of the teeming life of nature, both animal and vegetable.] But whatever her origin may have been, Diana was not always a mere goddess of trees. Like her Greek sister Artemis, she appears to have developed into a personification of the teeming life of nature, both animal and vegetable. As mistress of the greenwood she would naturally be thought to own the beasts, whether wild or tame, that ranged through it, lurking for their prey in its gloomy depths, munching the fresh leaves and shoots among the boughs, or cropping the herbage in the open glades and dells. Thus she might come [Sidenote: A deity of the woods is naturally the patron of the beasts in the woods, both game and cattle.] to be the patron goddess both of hunters and herdsmen,[424] just as Silvanus was the god not only of woods, but of cattle.[425] Similarly in Finland the wild beasts of the forest were regarded as the herds of the woodland God Tapio and of his stately and beautiful wife. No man might slay one of these animals without the gracious permission of their divine owners. Hence the hunter prayed to the sylvan deities, and vowed rich offerings to them if they would drive the game across his path. And cattle also seem to have enjoyed the protection of those spirits of the woods, both when they were in their stalls and while they strayed in the forest.[426] So in the belief of Russian peasants the spirit Leschiy rules both the wood and all the creatures in it. The bear is to him what the dog is to man; and the migrations of the squirrels, the field-mice, and other denizens of the woods are carried out in obedience to his behests. Success in the chase depends on his favour, and to assure himself of the spirit’s help the huntsman lays an offering, generally of bread and salt, on the trunk of a tree in the forest. In White Russia every herdsman must present a cow to Leschiy in summer, and in the Government of Archangel some herdsmen have won his favour so far that he even feeds and tends their herds for them.[427] Similarly the forest-god of the Lapps ruled over all the beasts of the forest; they were viewed as his herds, and good or bad luck in hunting depended on his will.[428] So, too, the Samagitians deemed the birds and beasts of the woods sacred, doubtless because they were under the protection of the sylvan god.[429] Before the Gayos of Sumatra hunt deer, wild goats, or wild pigs with hounds in the woods, they deem it necessary to obtain the leave of the unseen Lord of the forest. This is done according to a prescribed form by a man who has special skill in woodcraft. He lays down a quid of betel before a stake which is cut in a particular way to represent the Lord of the Wood, and having done so he prays to the spirit to signify his consent or refusal.[430]
[Sidenote: The crowning of hunting dogs on Diana’s day was probably a purificatory ceremony to cleanse them from the guilt of having killed game, the creatures of the goddess.] We have seen that at Diana’s festival it was customary to crown hunting dogs, to leave wild beasts in peace, and to perform a purificatory ceremony for the benefit of young people.[431] Some light is thrown on the meaning of these customs by a passage in Arrian’s treatise on hunting. He tells us that a good hound is a boon conferred by one of the gods upon the huntsman, who ought to testify his gratitude by sacrificing to the Huntress Artemis. Further, Arrian goes on to say: “It is right that after a successful chase a man should sacrifice and dedicate the first-fruits of his bag to the goddess, in order to purify both the hounds and the hunters, in accordance with old custom and usage.” He tells us that the Celts were wont to form a treasury for the goddess Artemis, into which they paid a fine of two obols for every hare they killed, a drachm for every fox, and four drachms for every roe. Once a year, on the birthday of Artemis, they opened the treasury, and with the accumulated fines purchased a sacrificial victim, it might be a sheep, a goat, or a calf. Having slain the animal and offered her share to the Huntress Artemis, they feasted, both men and dogs; and they crowned the dogs on that day “in order to signify,” says Arrian, “that the festival was for their benefit.”[432] The Celts to whom Arrian, a native of Bithynia, here refers were probably the Galatians of Asia Minor; but doubtless the custom he describes was imported by these barbarians, along with their native tongue[433] and the worship of the oak,[434] from their old home in Central or Northern Europe. The Celtic divinity whom Arrian identifies with Artemis may well have been really akin both to her and to the Italian Diana. We know from other sources that the Celts revered a woodland goddess of this type; thus Arduinna, goddess of the forest of the Ardennes, was represented, like Artemis and Diana, with a bow and quiver.[435] In any case the custom described by Arrian is good evidence of a belief that the wild beasts belong to the goddess of the wilds, who must be compensated for their destruction; and, taken with what he says of the need of purifying the hounds after a successful chase, the Celtic practice of crowning them at the annual festival of Artemis may have been meant to purge them of the stain they had contracted by killing the creatures of the goddess. The same explanation would naturally apply to the same custom observed by the Italians at the festival of Diana.
[Sidenote: Cattle crowned to protect them from witchcraft.] But why, it may be asked, should crowns or garlands cleanse dogs from the taint of bloodshed? An answer to this question is indicated by the reason which the South Slavonian peasant assigns for crowning the horns of his cows with wreaths of flowers on St. George’s Day, the twenty-third of April. He does it in order to guard the cattle against witchcraft; cows that have no crowns are regarded as given over to the witches. In the evening the chaplets are fastened to the door of the cattle-stall, and remain there throughout the year. A herdsman who fails to crown his beasts is scolded and sometimes beaten by his master.[436] The German and French custom of crowning cattle on Midsummer Day[437] probably springs from the same motive. For on Midsummer Eve, just as on Walpurgis Night, witches are very busy holding their nocturnal assemblies and trying to steal the milk and butter from the cows. To guard against them some people at this season lay besoms crosswise before the doors of the stalls. Others make fast the doors and stop up the chinks, lest the witches should creep through them on their return from the revels. In Swabia all the church bells used to be kept ringing from nine at night till break of day on Midsummer morning to drive away the infernal rout from honest folk’s houses. South Slavonian peasants are up betimes that morning, gather the dew from the grass, and wash the cows with it; that saves their milk from the hellish charms of the witches.[438]
[Sidenote: Similarly the crowning of hunting dogs may have been meant to protect them against the angry spirits of the beasts they had killed.] Now when we observe that garlands of flowers, like hawthorn and other green boughs,[439] avail to ward off the unseen powers of mischief, we may conjecture that the practice of crowning dogs at the festival of a huntress goddess was intended to preserve the hounds from the angry and dangerous spirits of the wild beasts which they had killed in the course of the year. Fantastical as this explanation may sound to us, it is perfectly in accordance with the ideas of the savage, who, as we shall see later on, resorts to a multitude of curious expedients for disarming the wrath of the animals whose life he has been obliged to take. Thus conceived, the custom in question might still be termed a purification; but its original purpose, like that of many other purificatory rites, would be not so much to cleanse moral guilt, as to raise a physical barrier against the assaults of malignant and mischievous spirits.[440]
[Sidenote: Conceived as the moon, Diana was also a goddess of crops and of childbirth.] But Diana was not merely a patroness of wild beasts, a mistress of woods and hills, of lonely glades and sounding rivers; conceived as the moon, and especially, it would seem, as the yellow harvest moon, she filled the farmer’s grange with goodly fruits, and heard the prayers of women in travail.[441] In her sacred grove at Nemi, as we have seen, she was especially worshipped as a goddess of childbirth, who bestowed offspring on men and women.[442] Thus Diana, like the Greek Artemis, with whom she was constantly identified, may be described as a goddess of nature in general and of fertility in particular.[443] We need not wonder, therefore, that in her sanctuary on the Aventine she was represented by an image copied from the many-breasted idol of the Ephesian Artemis, with all its crowded emblems of exuberant fecundity.[444] Hence too we can understand why an ancient Roman law, attributed to King Tullius Hostilius, prescribed that, when incest had been committed, an expiatory sacrifice should be offered by the pontiffs in the grove of Diana.[445] For we know that the crime of incest is commonly supposed to cause a dearth;[446] hence it would be meet that atonement for the offence should be made to the goddess of fertility.
[Sidenote: As a goddess of fertility Diana had herself to be fertile, and for that purpose needed a male partner.] Now on the principle that the goddess of fertility must herself be fertile, it behoved Diana to have a male partner. Her mate, if the testimony of Servius may be trusted, was that Virbius who had his representative, or perhaps rather his embodiment, in the King of the Wood at Nemi.[447] The aim of their union would be to promote the fruitfulness of the earth, of animals, and of mankind; and it might naturally be thought that this object would be more surely attained if the sacred nuptials were celebrated every year, the parts of the divine bride and bridegroom being played either by their images or by living persons. No ancient writer mentions that this was done in the grove at Nemi; but our knowledge of the Arician ritual is so scanty that the want of information on this head can hardly count as a fatal objection to the theory. That theory, in the absence of direct evidence, must necessarily be based on the analogy of similar customs practised elsewhere. Some modern examples of such customs, more or less degenerate, were described in the last chapter. Here we shall consider their ancient counterparts.
§ 2. The Marriage of the Gods
[Sidenote: Marriages of the gods in Babylonia and Assyria.] At Babylon the imposing sanctuary of Bel rose like a pyramid above the city in a series of eight towers or stories, planted one on the top of the other. On the highest tower, reached by an ascent which wound about all the rest, there stood a spacious temple, and in the temple a great bed, magnificently draped and cushioned, with a golden table beside it. In the temple no image was to be seen, and no human being passed the night there, save a single woman, whom, according to the Chaldean priests, the god chose from among all the women of Babylon. They said that the deity himself came into the temple at night and slept in the great bed; and the woman, as a consort of the god, might have no intercourse with mortal man.[448] As Bel at Babylon was identified with Marduk, the chief god of the city,[449] the woman who thus shared his bed was doubtless one of the “wives of Marduk” mentioned in the code of Hammurabi.[450] At Calah, which was for some time the capital of Assyria before it was displaced by Nineveh,[451] the marriage of the god Nabu appears to have been annually celebrated on the third of the month Iyyar or Airu, which corresponded to May. For on that day his bed was consecrated in the city, and the god entered his bedchamber, to return to his place on the following day. The ceremonies attending the consecration of the couch are minutely described in a liturgical text. After the appropriate offerings had been presented, the officiating priestess purified the feet of the divine image with a sprig of reed and a vessel of oil, approached the bed thrice, kissed the feet of the image, then retired and sat down. After that she burned cedar wood dipped in wine, set before the image the heart of a sheep wrapped in a cloth, and offered libations. Aromatic woods were consecrated and burnt, more libations and offerings were made, tables were spread for various divinities, and the ceremony ended with a prayer for the King. The god also went in procession to a grove, riding in a chariot beside his charioteer.[452]
[Sidenote: Marriage of the god Ammon to the Queen of Egypt.] At Thebes in Egypt a woman slept in the temple of Ammon as the consort of the god, and, like the human wife of Bel at Babylon, she was said to have no commerce with a man.[453] In Egyptian texts she is often mentioned as “the divine consort,” and usually she was no less a personage than the Queen of Egypt herself. For, according to the Egyptians, their monarchs were actually begotten by the god Ammon, who assumed for the time being the form of the reigning king, and in that disguise had intercourse with the queen. The divine procreation is carved and painted in great detail on the walls of two of the oldest temples in Egypt, those of Deir el Bahari and Luxor; and the inscriptions attached to the paintings leave no doubt as to the meaning of the scenes. The pictures at Deir el Bahari, which represent the begetting and birth of Queen Hatshopsitou, are the more ancient, and have been reproduced with but little change at Luxor, where they represent the begetting and birth of King Amenophis III. The nativity is depicted in about fifteen scenes, which may be grouped in three acts: first, the carnal union of the god with the queen; second, the birth; and third, the recognition of the infant by the gods. The marriage of Ammon with the queen is announced by a prologue in heaven; Ammon summons his assessors, the gods of Heliopolis, reveals to them the future birth of a new Pharaoh, a royal princess, and requests them to make ready the fluid of life and of strength, of which they are masters. Then the god is seen approaching the queen’s bedchamber; in front of him marches Thoth, with a roll of papyrus in his hand, who, to prevent mistakes, recites the official names of the queen, the spouse of the reigning king (Thothmes I. at Deir el Bahari, Thothmes IV. at Luxor), the fairest of women. Then Thoth withdraws behind Ammon, lifting his arm behind the god in order to renew his vital fluid at this critical moment. Next, according to the inscription, the mystery of incarnation takes place. Ammon lays aside his godhead and becomes flesh in the likeness of the king, the human spouse of the queen. The consummation of the divine union follows immediately. On a bed of state the god and the queen appear seated opposite each other, with their legs crossed. The queen receives from her husband the symbols of life and strength, while two goddesses, Neit and Selkit, the patronesses of matrimony, support the feet of the couple and guard them from harm. The text which encloses the scene sets forth clearly the reality of this mystic union of the human with the divine. “Thus saith Ammon-Ra, king of the gods, lord of Karnak, he who rules over Thebes, when he took the form of this male, the King of Upper and Nether Egypt, Thothmes I. (or Thothmes IV.), giver of life. He found the queen then when she lay in the glory of her palace. She awoke at the fragrance of the god, and marvelled at it. Straightway his Majesty went towards her, took possession of her, placed his heart in her, and shewed himself to her in his divine form. And upon his coming she was uplifted at the sight of his beauty, the love of the god ran through all her limbs, and the smell of the god and his breath were full of the perfumes of Pounit. And thus saith the royal spouse, the royal mother Ahmasi (or Moutemouaa), in presence of the majesty of this glorious god, Ammon, lord of Karnak, lord of Thebes, ‘Twice great are thy souls! It is noble to behold thy countenance when thou joinest thyself to my majesty in all grace! Thy dew impregnates all my limbs.’ Then, when the majesty of the god had accomplished all his desire with her, Ammon, the lord of the two lands, said to her: ‘She who is joined to Ammon, the first of the nobles, verily, such shall be the name of the daughter who shall open thy womb, since such is the course of the words that came forth from thy mouth. She shall reign in righteousness in all the earth, for my soul is hers, my heart is hers, my will is hers, my crown is hers, truly, that she may rule over the two lands, that she may guide the souls of all living.’”
[Sidenote: Nativity of the divine Egyptian kings represented on the monuments.] After the begetting of the divine child—for we must remember that the kings and queens of Egypt were regarded as divinities in their lifetime—another series of scenes represents the fashioning of its body and its birth. The god Khnoumou, who in the beginning of time moulded gods and men on his potter’s wheel, is seen seated at his wheel modelling the future king or queen and their doubles—those spiritual duplicates or external souls which were believed to hover invisible about both men and gods all through life. In front of Khnoumou kneels Hiqit, the frog-headed goddess, “the great magician”; she is holding out to the newly-created figures the symbol of life, the crux ansata ♀, in order that they may breathe and live. Another scene represents the birth. At Deir el Bahari the queen has already been delivered, and is presenting her daughter to several goddesses, who have acted the part of midwives. At Luxor the double of the royal infant is born first; the goddesses who serve as nurses have him in their arms, and the midwives are preparing to receive the real child. Behind the queen are the goddesses who watch over childbirth, led by Isis and Nephthys; and all around the spirits of the East, the West, the North, and the South are presenting the symbol of life or uttering acclamations. In a corner the grotesque god Bes and the female hippopotamus Api keep off all evil influence and every malignant spirit.
[Sidenote: These representations probably copied from the life.] We shall probably not err in assuming, with some eminent authorities, that the ceremonies of the nativity of the Pharaohs, thus emblazoned on the walls of Egyptian temples, were copied from the life; in other words, that the carved and painted scenes represent a real drama, which was acted by masked men and women whenever a queen of Egypt was brought to bed. “Here, as everywhere else in Egypt,” says Professor Maspero, “sculptor and painter did nothing but faithfully imitate reality. Theory required that the assimilation of the kings to the gods should be complete, so that every act of the royal life was, as it were, a tracing of the corresponding act of the divine life. From the moment that the king was Ammon, he wore the costume and badges of Ammon—the tall hat with the long plumes, the cross of life, the greyhound-headed sceptre—and thus arrayed he presented himself in the queen’s bedchamber to consummate the marriage. The assistants also assumed the costume and appearance of the divinities whom they incarnated; the men put on masks of jackals, hawks, and crocodiles, while the women donned masks of cows or frogs, according as they played the parts of Anubis, Khnoumou, Sovkou, Hathor, or Hiqit; and I am disposed to believe that the doubles of the new-born child were represented by as many puppets as were required by the ceremonies. Some of the rites were complicated, and must have tired excessively the mother and child who underwent them; but they are nothing to those that have been observed in similar circumstances in other lands. In general, we are bound to hold that all the pictures traced on the walls of the temples, in which the person of the king is concerned, correspond to a real action in which disguised personages played the part of gods.”[454]
[Sidenote: Human wives of Ammon in the decline of Egypt.] In the decline of Egypt from the eleventh century onward, the wives of Ammon at Thebes were called on to play a conspicuous part in the government of the country. The strong grip of the Pharaohs was relaxed and under their feeble successors the empire crumbled away into a number of petty independent states. In this dissolution of the central authority the crafty high priests of Ammon at Thebes contrived to usurp regal powers and to reign far and wide in the name of the deity, veiling their rescripts under the guise of oracles of the god, who, with the help of a little jugglery, complacently signified his assent to their wishes by nodding his head or even by speech. But curiously enough under this pretended theocracy the nominal ruler was not the priest himself, but his wife, the earthly consort of Ammon. Thus Thebes became for a time a ghostly principality governed ostensibly by a dynasty of female popes. Their office was hereditary, passing by rights from mother to daughter. But probably the entail was often broken by the policy or ambition of the men who stood behind the scenes and worked the religious puppet-show by hidden wires to the awe and astonishment of the gaping vulgar. Certainly we know that on one occasion King Psammetichus First foisted his own daughter into the Holy See by dedicating her to Ammon under a hypocritical profession of gratitude for favours bestowed on him by the deity. And the female pope had to submit to the dictation with the best grace she could assume, protesting her affection for the adopted daughter who had ousted her own daughter from the throne.[455]
[Sidenote: Human concubines of Ammon in Roman times.] At a later period, when Egypt lay under the heel of Rome, the character of “the divine consort” of Ammon at Thebes had greatly changed. For at the beginning of our era the custom was to appoint a young and beautiful girl, the scion of one of the noblest houses, to serve Ammon as his concubine. The Greeks called these maidens Pallades, apparently after their own virgin goddess Pallas; but the conduct of the girls was by no means maidenly, for they led the loosest of lives till puberty. Then they were mourned over and given in marriage.[456] Their graves were shown near Thebes.[457] The reason why their services ended at puberty may have been that as concubines of the god they might not bear children to mortal fathers; hence it was deemed prudent to terminate their relations with the divinity before they were of an age to become mothers. It was an Egyptian doctrine that a mortal woman could conceive by a god, but that a goddess could not conceive by a mortal man.[458] The certainty of maternity and the uncertainty of paternity suggest an obvious and probably sufficient ground for this theological distinction.
[Sidenote: Apollo and his prophetess at Patara.] Apollo was said to spend the winter months at Patara in Lycia and the summer months in the island of Delos, and accordingly he gave oracles for one half of the year in the one place, and for the other half in the other.[459] So long as he tarried at Patara, his prophetess was shut up with him in the temple every night.[460] At Ephesus there was a college [Sidenote: The Essenes of Artemis at Ephesus.] of sacred men called Essenes or King Bees who held office for a year, during which they had to observe strict chastity and other rules of ceremonial purity.[461] How many of them there were at a time we do not know, but there must have been several, for in Ephesian inscriptions they are regularly referred to in the plural. They cannot have been bound to lifelong celibacy, for in one of the inscriptions an Essen mentions his wife.[462] Possibly they were deemed the annual husbands of Artemis, the great many-breasted goddess of fertility at Ephesus, whose association with the bee is vouched for by the figures of bees which appear commonly both on her statues and on the coins of Ephesus.[463] If this conjecture is right, the King Bees and their bee-goddess Artemis at Ephesus would be closely parallel to the King of the Wood and his woodland-goddess Diana at Nemi, as these latter are interpreted by me. The rule of chastity imposed on the King Bees during their year of office would be easily explicable on this hypothesis. As the temporary husbands of the goddess they would be expected for the time being to have no intercourse with mortal women, just as the human wives of Bel and Ammon were supposed to have no commerce with mortal men.
[Sidenote: Marriage of Dionysus to the Queen at Athens.] At Athens the god of the vine, Dionysus, was annually married to the Queen, and it appears that the consummation of the divine union, as well as the espousals, was enacted at the ceremony; but whether the part of the god was played by a man or an image we do not know. Attic law required that the Queen should be a burgess and should never have known any man but her husband. She had to offer certain secret sacrifices on behalf of the state, and was permitted to see what no foreign woman might ever behold, and to enter where no other Athenian might set foot. She was assisted in the discharge of her solemn functions by fourteen sacred women, one for each of the altars of Dionysus. The old Dionysiac festival was held on the twelfth day of the month Anthesterion, corresponding roughly to our February, at the ancient sanctuary of Dionysus in the Marshes, which was never opened throughout the year save on that one day. At this festival the Queen exacted an oath of purity and chastity from the fourteen sacred women at the altar. Possibly her marriage was celebrated on the same day, though of that we have no positive evidence, and we learn from Aristotle that the ceremony took place, not at the sanctuary in the marshes, but in the old official residence of the King, known as the Cattle-stall, which stood near the Prytaneum or Town-hall on the north-eastern slope of the Acropolis.[464] But whatever the date of the wedding, its object can hardly have been any other than that of ensuring the fertility of the vines and other fruit-trees, of which Dionysus was the god. Thus both in form and in meaning the ceremony would answer to the nuptials of the King and Queen of May. Again, the story, dear to poets and artists, of the forsaken and sleeping Ariadne, waked and wedded by Dionysus, resembles so closely the little drama acted by French peasants of the Alps on May Day,[465] that, considering the character of Dionysus as a god of vegetation, we can hardly help regarding it as the reflection of a spring ceremony like the French one. In point of fact the [Sidenote: Dionysus and Ariadne.] marriage of Dionysus and Ariadne was believed by Preller to have been acted every spring in Crete.[466] His evidence, indeed, is inconclusive, but the view itself is probable. If I am right in comparing the two, the chief difference between the French and the Greek ceremonies appears to have been that in the former the sleeper was a forsaken bridegroom, in the latter a forsaken bride; and the group of stars in the sky, in which fancy saw Ariadne’s wedding crown,[467] may have been only a translation to heaven of the garland worn by the Greek girl who played the Queen of May.
[Sidenote: Marriage of Zeus with Demeter at Eleusis.] If at Athens, and probably elsewhere, the vine-god was married to a queen in order that the vines might be loaded with clusters of grapes, there is reason to think that a marriage of a different kind, intended to make the fields wave with yellow corn, was annually celebrated not many miles off, beyond the low hills that bound the plain of Athens on the west. In the great mysteries solemnised at Eleusis in the month of September the union of the sky-god Zeus with the corn-goddess Demeter appears to have been represented by the union of the hierophant with the priestess of Demeter, who acted the parts of god and goddess. But their intercourse was only dramatic or symbolical, for the hierophant had temporarily deprived himself of his virility by an application of hemlock. The torches having been extinguished, the pair descended into a murky place, while the throng of worshippers awaited in anxious suspense the result of the mystic congress, on which they believed their own salvation to depend. After a time the hierophant reappeared, and in a blaze of light silently exhibited to the assembly a reaped ear of corn, the fruit of the divine marriage. Then in a loud voice he proclaimed, “Queen Brimo has brought forth a sacred boy Brimos,” by which he meant, “The Mighty One has brought forth the Mighty.” The corn-mother in fact had given birth to her child, the corn, and her travail-pangs were enacted in the sacred drama.[468] This revelation of the reaped corn appears to have been the crowning act of the mysteries. Thus through the glamour shed round these rites by the poetry and philosophy of later ages there still looms, like a distant landscape through a sunlit haze, a simple rustic festival designed to cover the wide Eleusinian plain with a plenteous harvest by wedding the goddess of the corn to the sky-god, who fertilised the bare earth with genial showers.
[Sidenote: Marriage of Zeus and Hera at Plataea.] But Zeus was not always the sky-god, nor did he always marry the corn-goddess. If in antiquity a traveller, quitting Eleusis and passing through miles of olive-groves and corn-fields, had climbed the pine-clad mountains of Cithaeron and descended through the forest on their northern slope to Plataea, he might have chanced to find the people of that little Boeotian town celebrating a different marriage of the great god to a different goddess. The ceremony is described by a Greek antiquary whose note-book has fortunately preserved for us not a few rural customs of ancient Greece, of which the knowledge would otherwise have perished.
Every few years the people of Plataea held a festival which they called the Little Daedala. On the day of the festival they went out into an ancient oak forest, the trees of which were of gigantic girth. There they set some boiled meat on the ground, and watched the birds that gathered round it. When a raven was observed to carry off a piece of the meat and perch on an oak, the people followed it and cut down the tree. With the wood of the tree they made an image, dressed it as a bride, and placed it on a bullock-cart with a bridesmaid beside it. It seems then to have been drawn to the banks of the river Asopus and back to the town, attended by a piping and dancing crowd. After the festival the image was put away and kept till the celebration of the Great Daedala, which fell only once in sixty years, and was held by all the people of Boeotia. On this occasion all the images, fourteen in number, that had accumulated from the celebrations of the Little Daedala were dragged on wains in procession to the river Asopus, and then to the top of Mount Cithaeron. There an altar had been constructed of square blocks of wood fitted together, with brushwood heaped over it. Animals were sacrificed by being burned on the altar, and the altar itself, together with the images, was consumed by the flames. The blaze, we are told, rose to a prodigious height and was seen for many miles. To explain the origin of the festival a story ran that once upon a time Hera had quarrelled with Zeus and left him in high dudgeon. To lure her back Zeus gave out that he was about to marry the nymph Plataea, daughter of the river Asopus. He had a fine oak cut down, shaped and dressed as a bride, and conveyed on a bullock-cart. Transported with rage and jealousy, Hera flew to the cart, and tearing off the veil of the pretended bride, discovered the deceit that had been practised on her. Her rage now turned to laughter, and she became reconciled to her husband Zeus.[469]
[Sidenote: Resemblance of the Plataean ceremony to the spring and midsummer festivals of modern Europe.] The resemblance of this festival to some of the European spring and midsummer festivals is tolerably close. We have seen that in Russia at Whitsuntide the villagers go out into the wood, fell a birch-tree, dress it in woman’s clothes, and bring it back to the village with dance and song. On the third day it is thrown into the water.[470] Again, we have seen that in Bohemia on Midsummer Eve the village lads fell a tall fir or pine-tree in the wood and set it up on a height, where it is adorned with garlands, nosegays, and ribbons, and afterwards burnt.[471] The reason for burning the tree will appear afterwards; the custom itself is not uncommon in modern Europe. In some parts of the Pyrenees a tall and slender tree is cut down on May Day and kept till Midsummer Eve. It is then rolled to the top of a hill, set up, and burned.[472] In Angoulême on St. Peter’s Day, the twenty-ninth of June, a tall leafy poplar is set up in the market-place and burned.[473] Near Launceston in Cornwall there is a large tumulus known as Whiteborough, with a fosse round it. On this tumulus “there was formerly a great bonfire on Midsummer Eve; a large summer pole was fixed in the centre, round which the fuel was heaped up. It had a large bush on the top of it. Round this were parties of wrestlers contending for small prizes.” The rustics believed that giants were buried in such mounds, and nothing would tempt them to disturb their bones.[474] In Dublin on May-morning boys used to go out and cut a May-bush, bring it back to town, and then burn it.[475]
[Sidenote: All such ceremonies were originally magical rites intended to bring about the effects which they dramatically represented.] Probably the Boeotian festival belonged to the same class of rites. It represented the marriage of the powers of vegetation—the union of the oak-god with the oak-goddess[476]—in spring or midsummer, just as the same event is represented in modern Europe by a King and Queen or a Lord and Lady of the May. In the Boeotian, as in the Russian, ceremony the tree dressed as a woman stands for the English May-pole and May-queen in one. All such ceremonies, it must be remembered, are not, or at least were not originally, mere spectacular or dramatic exhibitions. They are magical rites designed to produce the effect which they dramatically set forth. If the revival of vegetation in spring is mimicked by the awakening of a sleeper, the mimicry is intended actually to quicken the growth of leaves and blossoms; if the marriage of the powers of vegetation is simulated by a King and Queen of May, the idea is that the powers thus personated will really be rendered more productive by the ceremony. In short, all these spring and midsummer festivals fall under the head of homoeopathic or imitative magic. The thing which people wish to bring about they represent dramatically, and the very representation is believed to effect, or at least to contribute to, the production of the desired result. In the case of the Daedala the story of Hera’s quarrel with Zeus and her sullen retirement may perhaps without straining be interpreted as a mythical expression for a bad season and the failure of the crops. The same disastrous effects were attributed to the anger and seclusion of Demeter after the loss of her daughter Proserpine.[477] Now the institution of a festival is often explained by a mythical story, which relates how upon a particular occasion those very calamities occurred which it is the real object of the festival to avert; so that if we know the myth told to account for the historical origin of the festival, we can often infer from it the real intention with which the festival was celebrated. If, therefore, the origin of the Daedala was explained by a story of a failure of crops and consequent famine, we may infer that the real object of the festival was to prevent the occurrence of such disasters; and, if I am right in my interpretation of the festival, the object was supposed to be effected by dramatically representing the marriage of the divinities most concerned with the production of trees and plants. The marriage of Zeus and Hera was acted at annual festivals in various parts of Greece,[478] and it is at least a fair conjecture that the nature and intention of these ceremonies were such as I have assigned to the Plataean festival of the Daedala; in other words, that Zeus and Hera at these festivals were the Greek equivalents of the Lord and Lady of the May. Homer’s glowing picture of Zeus and Hera couched on fresh hyacinths and crocuses,[479] like Milton’s description of the dalliance of Zephyr with Aurora, “as he met her once a-Maying,” was perhaps painted from the life.
[Sidenote: The god Frey and his human wife in Sweden.] The sacred marriage of Zeus and Hera had, as was natural, its counterpart among the northern kinsfolk of the Greeks. In Sweden every year a life-size image of Frey, the god of fertility, both animal and vegetable, was drawn about the country in a waggon attended by a beautiful girl who was called the god’s wife. She acted also as his priestess in his great temple at Upsala. Wherever the waggon came with the image of the god and his blooming young bride, the people crowded to meet them and offered sacrifices for a fruitful year. Once on a time a Norwegian exile named Gunnar Helming gave himself out to be Frey in person, and rode about on the sacred waggon dressed up in the god’s clothes. Everywhere the simple folk welcomed him as the deity, and observed with wonder and delight that a god walked about among men and ate and drank just like other people. And when the months went by, and the god’s fair young wife was seen to be with child, their joy waxed greatly, for they thought, “Surely this is an omen of a fruitful season.” It happened that the weather was then so mild, and the promise of a plenteous harvest so fair, that no man ever remembered such a year before. But one night the god departed in haste, with his wife and all the gold and silver and fine raiment which he had got together; and though the Swedes made after him, they could not catch him. He was over the hills and far away in Norway.[480] Similar ceremonies appear to have been observed by the [Sidenote: Similar customs in Gaul.] peasantry of Gaul in antiquity; for Gregory of Tours, writing in the sixth century of our era, says that at Autun the people used to carry about an image of a goddess in a waggon drawn by oxen. The intention of the ceremony was to ensure the safety of the crops and vines, and the rustics danced and sang in front of the image.[481] The old historian identifies the goddess with Cybele, the Great Mother goddess of Phrygia, and the identification would seem to be correct. For we learn from another source that men wrought up to a pitch of frenzy by the shrill music of flutes and the clash of cymbals, sacrificed their virility to the goddess, dashing the severed portions of themselves against her image.[482] Now this religious castration was a marked feature of the Phrygian worship of Cybele, but it is alien to Western modes of thought, although it still finds favour with a section of the barbarous, fanatical, semi-Oriental peasantry of Russia.[483] But whether of native or of Eastern origin the rites of the goddess of Autun closely conformed to those of the great Phrygian goddess and appear to have been, like them, a perverted form of the Sacred Marriage, which was designed to fertilise the earth, and in which eunuchs, strange as it may seem, personated the lovers of the goddess.[484]
[Sidenote: The custom of marrying gods to images or to living persons is found also among uncivilised peoples.] Thus the custom of marrying gods either to images or to human beings was widespread among the nations of antiquity. The ideas on which such a custom is based are too crude to allow us to doubt that the civilised Babylonians, Egyptians, and Greeks inherited it from their barbarous or savage forefathers. This presumption is strengthened when we find rites of a similar kind in vogue among the lower races. Thus, for example, we are told that once upon a [Sidenote: Custom of the Wotyaks.] time the Wotyaks of the Malmyz district in Russia were distressed by a series of bad harvests. They did not know what to do, but at last concluded that their powerful but mischievous god Keremet must be angry at being unmarried. So a deputation of elders visited the Wotyaks of Cura and came to an understanding with them on the subject. Then they returned home, laid in a large stock of brandy, and having made ready a gaily decked waggon and horses, they drove in procession with bells ringing, as they do when they are fetching home a bride, to the sacred grove at Cura. There they ate and drank merrily all night, and next morning they cut a square piece of turf in the grove and took it home with them. After this, though it fared well with the people of Malmyz, it fared ill with the people of Cura; for in Malmyz the bread was good, but in Cura it was bad. Hence the men of Cura who had consented to the marriage were blamed and roughly handled by their indignant fellow-villagers. “What they meant by this marriage ceremony,” says the writer who reports it, “it is not easy to imagine. Perhaps, as Bechterew thinks, they meant to marry Keremet to the kindly and fruitful Mukylćin, the Earth-wife, in order that she might influence him for good.”[485] This carrying of turf, like a bride, in a waggon from a sacred grove resembles the Plataean custom of carting an oak log as a bride from an ancient oak forest; and we have seen ground for thinking that the Plataean ceremony, like its Wotyak counterpart, was intended as a charm to secure fertility. When wells are dug in Bengal, a wooden image of a god is made and married to the goddess of water.[486]
[Sidenote: Custom of the Peruvian Indians.] Often the bride destined for the god is not a log or a clod, but a living woman of flesh and blood. The Indians of a village in Peru have been known to marry a beautiful girl, about fourteen years of age, to a stone shaped like a human being, which they regarded as a god (huaca). All the villagers took part in the marriage ceremony, which lasted three days, and was attended with much revelry. The girl thereafter remained a virgin and sacrificed to the idol for the people. They shewed her the utmost reverence and deemed her divine.[487] The Blackfoot Indians of North [Sidenote: Marriage of a woman to the Sun among the Blackfoot Indians.] America used to worship the Sun as their chief god, and they held a festival every year in his honour. Four days before the new moon of August the tribe halted on its march, and all hunting was suspended. Bodies of mounted men were on duty day and night to carry out the orders of the high priest of the Sun. He enjoined the people to fast and to take vapour baths during the four days before the new moon. Moreover, with the help of his council, he chose the Vestal who was to represent the Moon and to be married to the Sun at the festival. She might be either a virgin or a woman who had had but one husband. Any girl or woman found to have discharged the sacred duties without fulfilling the prescribed conditions was put to death. On the third day of preparation, after the last purification had been observed, they built a round temple of the Sun. Posts were driven into the ground in a circle; these were connected with cross-pieces, and the whole was covered with leaves. In the middle stood the sacred pole, supporting the roof. A bundle of many small branches of sacred wood, wrapped in a splendid buffalo robe, crowned the summit of the temple. The entrance was on the east, and within the sanctuary stood an altar on which rested the head of a buffalo. Beside the altar was the place reserved for the Vestal. Here, on a bed prepared for her, she slept “the sleep of war,” as it was called. Her other duties consisted in maintaining a sacred fire of fragrant herbs, in presenting a lighted pipe to her husband the Sun, and in telling the high priest the dream she dreamed during “the sleep of war.” On learning it the priest had it proclaimed to the whole nation to the beat of drum.[488] Every year about the middle of March, when the season for fishing with the drag-net began, the [Sidenote: Marriage of girls to fishing nets among the Hurons and Algonquins.] Algonquins and Hurons married their nets to two young girls, aged six or seven. At the wedding feast the net was placed between the two maidens, and was exhorted to take courage and catch many fish. The reason for choosing the brides so young was to make sure that they were virgins. The origin of the custom is said to have been this. One year, when the fishing season came round, the Algonquins cast their nets as usual, but took nothing. Surprised at their want of success, they did not know what to make of it, till the soul or genius (oki) of the net appeared to them in the likeness of a tall well-built man, who said to them in a great passion, “I have lost my wife and I cannot find one who has known no other man but me; that is why you do not succeed, and why you never will succeed till you give me satisfaction on this head.” So the Algonquins held a council and resolved to appease the spirit of the net by marrying him to two such very young girls that he could have no ground of complaint on that score for the future. They did so, and the fishing turned out all that could be wished. The thing got wind among their neighbours the Hurons, and they adopted the custom. A share of the catch was always given to the families of the two girls who acted as brides of the net for the year.[489]
[Sidenote: Sacred Marriage of the Sun-god and Earth-goddess among the Oraons.] The Oraons of Bengal worship the Earth as a goddess, and annually celebrate her marriage with the Sun-god Dharmē at the time when the sāl tree is in blossom. The ceremony is as follows. All bathe, then the men repair to the sacred grove (sarnā), while the women assemble at the house of the village priest. After sacrificing some fowls to the Sun-god and the demon of the grove, the men eat and drink. “The priest is then carried back to the village on the shoulders of a strong man. Near the village the women meet the men and wash their feet. With beating of drums and singing, dancing, and jumping, all proceed to the priest’s house, which has been decorated with leaves and flowers. Then the usual form of marriage is performed between the priest and his wife, symbolizing the supposed union between Sun and Earth. After the ceremony all eat and drink and make merry; they dance and sing obscene songs, and finally indulge in the vilest orgies. The object is to move the mother earth to become fruitful.”[490] Thus the Sacred Marriage of the Sun and Earth, personated by the priest and his wife, is celebrated as a charm to ensure the fertility of the ground; and for the same purpose, on the principle of homoeopathic magic, the people indulge in a licentious orgy. Among the Sulka of New Britain, at the village of Kolvagat, a certain man has charge of two stone figures which are called respectively “Our grandfather” (ngur es) and “Our grandmother” (ngur pei). They are said to be kept in a house built specially for the purpose. Fruits of the field are offered to them and left beside them to rot. When their guardian puts the two figures with their faces turned towards each other, the plantations are believed to flourish; but when he sets them back to back, there is dearth and the people suffer from eruptions on the skin.[491] This turning of the two images face to face may be regarded as a simple form of Sacred Marriage between the two divine powers represented by them, who are clearly supposed to control the fertility of the plantations.
[Sidenote: Marriage of women to gods in India and Africa.] At the village of Bas Doda, in the Gurgaon district of North-Western India, a fair is held on the twenty-sixth of the month Chait and the two following days. We are told that formerly girls of the Dhinwar class used to be married to the god at these festivals, and that they always died soon afterwards. Of late years the practice is said to have been discontinued.[492] In Behar during the month of Sawan (August) crowds of women, calling themselves Nagin or “wives of the snake,” go about for two and a half days begging; during this time they may neither sleep under a roof nor eat salt. Half the proceeds of their begging is given to Brahmans, and the other half spent in salt and sweet-meats, which are eaten by all the villagers.[493] Amongst the Ewe-speaking peoples of the Slave Coast in West Africa human wives of gods are very common. In Dahomey they swarm, and it has even been estimated that every fourth woman is devoted to the service of some deity. The chief business of these female votaries is prostitution. In every town there is at least one seminary where the handsomest girls, between ten and twelve years of age, are trained. They stay for three years, learning the chants and dances peculiar to the worship of the gods, and prostituting themselves to the priests and the inmates of the male seminaries. At the end of their noviciate they become public harlots. But no disgrace attaches to their profession, for it is believed that they are married to the god, and that their excesses are caused and directed by him. Strictly speaking, they should confine their favours to the male worshippers at the temple, but in practice they bestow them indiscriminately. Children born of such unions belong to the deity. As the wives of a god, these sacred women may not marry. But they are not bound to the service of the divinity for life. Some only bear his name and sacrifice to him on their birthdays.[494] Amongst these polygamous West African gods the sacred python seems to be particularly associated with the fertility of the earth; for he is invoked in excessively wet, dry, and barren seasons, and the time of year when young girls are sought out to be his brides is when the millet is beginning to sprout.[495]
[Sidenote: Women married to water-gods.] It deserves to be remarked that the supernatural being to whom women are married is often a god or spirit of water. Thus Mukasa, the god of the Victoria Nyanza lake, who was propitiated by the Baganda every time they undertook a long voyage, had virgins provided for him to serve as his wives. Like the Vestals they were bound to chastity, but unlike the Vestals they seem to have been often unfaithful. The custom lasted until Mwanga was converted to Christianity.[496] The Akikuyu of British East Africa worship the snake of a certain river, and at intervals of several years they marry the snake-god to women, but especially to young girls. For this purpose huts are built by order of the medicine-men, who there consummate the sacred marriage with the credulous female devotees. If the girls do not repair to the huts of their own accord in sufficient numbers, they are seized and dragged thither to the embraces of the deity. The offspring of these mystic unions appears to be fathered on God (Ngai); certainly there are children among the Akikuyu who pass for children of God.[497] In Kengtung, one of the principal Shan states of Upper Burma, the spirit of the Nawng Tung lake is regarded as very powerful, and is propitiated with offerings in the eighth month (about July) of each year. A remarkable feature of the worship of this spirit consists in the dedication to him of four virgins in marriage. Custom requires that this should be done once in every three years. It was actually done by the late king or chief (Sawbwa) in 1893, but down to 1901 the rite had not been performed by his successor. The following are the chief features of the ceremony. The virgins who are to wed the spirit of the lake must be of pure Hkön race. Orders are sent out for all the Hkön of the valley to attend. From the unmarried women of suitable age, ten are selected. These are as beautiful as may be, and must be without spot or blemish. Four maidens out of the ten are chosen by lot, and carefully dressed in new garments. A festival is held, usually at the house of the Chief Minister, where the girls sit on a raised platform. Four old women, thought to be possessed by spirits, enter and remain as long as the feast lasts. During this time anything they may want, such as food, betel, or cheroots, is handed to them by the four girls. Apparently the old women pass for representatives of the spirit, and hence they are waited on by the maidens destined to be his wives. Dotage, blindness, or any great infirmity of age seems to be accounted possession by a spirit for the purposes of this function. When the feast is over, the maidens are formally presented to the spirit, along with the various sacrifices and offerings. They are next taken to the chief’s residence, where strings are tied round their wrists by the ministers and elders to guard them against ill-luck. Usually they sleep a night or two at the palace, after which they may return to their homes. There seems to be no objection to their marrying afterwards. If nothing happens to any of the four, it is believed that the spirit of the lake loves them but little; but if one of them dies soon after the ceremony, it shews that she has been accepted by him. The spirit is propitiated with the sacrifice of pigs, fowls, and sometimes a buffalo.[498]
[Sidenote: Egyptian custom of drowning a girl as a sacrifice to the Nile.] In this last custom the death of the woman is regarded as a sign that the god has taken her to himself. Sometimes, apparently, it has not been left to the discretion of the divine bridegroom to take or leave his human bride; she was made over to him once for all in death. When the Arabs conquered Egypt they learned that at the annual rise of the Nile the Egyptians were wont to deck a young virgin in gay apparel and throw her into the river as a sacrifice, in order to obtain a plentiful inundation. The Arab general abolished the barbarous custom.[499] It is said that under the Tang dynasty the Chinese used to marry a young girl to the Yellow River once a year by drowning her in the water. For this purpose the witches chose the fairest damsel they could find and themselves superintended the fatal marriage. At last the local mandarin, a man of sense and humanity, forbade the custom. But the witches disregarded his edicts and made their preparations for the usual murder. So when the day was come, the magistrate appeared on the scene with his soldiers and had all the witches bound and thrown into the river to drown, telling them that no doubt the god would be able to choose his bride for himself from among them.[500] The princes of Koepang, a state in the East Indian island of Timor, deemed themselves descended from crocodiles; and on [Sidenote: Girls sacrificed as brides of crocodiles.] the coronation of a new prince a solemn sacrifice was made to the crocodiles in presence of the people. The offerings consisted of a pig with red bristles and a young girl prettily dressed, perfumed, and decked with flowers. She was taken down to the bank of the river and set on a sacred stone in a cave. Then one of the prince’s guards summoned the crocodiles. Soon one of the beasts appeared and dragged the girl down into the water. The people thought that he married her, and that if he did not find her a maid he would bring her back.[501] On festal occasions in the same state a new-born girl was sometimes dedicated to a crocodile, and then, with certain ceremonies of consecration, brought up to be married to a priest.[502] It is said that once, when the inhabitants of Cayeli in Buru—another East Indian island—were threatened with destruction by a swarm of crocodiles, they ascribed the misfortune to a passion which the prince of the crocodiles had conceived for a certain girl. Accordingly, they compelled the damsel’s father to dress her in bridal array and deliver her over to the clutches of her crocodile lover.[503]
[Sidenote: Virgin sacrificed as a bride to a jinnee of the sea in the Maldive Islands.] A usage of the same sort is reported to have prevailed in the Maldive Islands before the conversion of the inhabitants to Islam. The famous Arab traveller Ibn Batutah has described the custom and the manner in which it came to an end. He was assured by several trustworthy natives, whose names he gives, that when the people of the islands were idolaters there appeared to them every month an evil spirit among the jinn, who came from across the sea in the likeness of a ship full of burning lamps. The wont of the inhabitants, as soon as they perceived him, was to take a young virgin, and, having adorned her, to lead her to a heathen temple that stood on the shore, with a window looking out to sea. There they left the damsel for the night, and when they came back in the morning they found her a maid no more, and dead. Every month they drew lots, and he upon whom the lot fell gave up his daughter to the jinnee of the sea. In time there came to them a Berber named Abu ’lberecat, who knew the Coran by heart. He lodged in the house of an old woman of the isle of Mahal. One day, visiting his hostess, he found that she had gathered her family about her, and that the women were weeping as if there were a funeral. On enquiring into the cause of their distress, he learned that the lot had fallen on the old woman, and that she had an only daughter, who must be slain by the evil jinnee. Abu ’lberecat said to the old dame, “I will go this night instead of thy daughter.” Now he was quite beardless. So when the night was come they took him, and after he had performed his ablutions, they put him in the temple of idols. He set himself to recite the Coran; then the demon appeared at the window, but the man went on with his recitation. No sooner was the jinnee within hearing of the holy words than he dived into the sea. When morning broke, the old woman and her family and the people of the island came, according to their custom, to carry away the girl and burn her body. They found the stranger repeating the Coran, and took him to their king, whose name was Chenourazah, and made him relate his adventure. The king was astonished at it. The Berber proposed to the king that he should embrace Islam. Chenourazah said to him, “Tarry with us till next month; if thou shalt do what thou hast done, and shalt escape from the evil jinnee, I will be converted.” The stranger abode with the idolaters, and God disposed the king’s heart to receive the true faith. So before the month was out he became a Mussalman, he and his wives and his children and the people of his court. And when the next month began, the Berber was conducted to the temple of idols; but the demon did not appear, and the Berber set himself to recite the Coran till break of day. Then the Sultan and his subjects broke the idols and demolished the temple. The people of the island embraced Islam and sent messengers to the other isles, and their inhabitants were converted likewise. But by reason of the demon many of the Maldive Islands were depopulated before their conversion to Islam. When Ibn Batutah himself landed in the country he knew nothing of these things. One night, as he was going about his business, he heard of a sudden people saying in a loud voice, “There is no God but God,” and “God is great.” He saw children carrying copies of the Coran on their heads, and women beating on basins and vessels of copper. He was astonished at what they did, and he said, “What has happened?” They answered, “Dost thou not behold the sea?” He looked towards the sea, and beheld in the darkness, as it were, a great ship full of burning lamps and cressets. They said to him, “That is the demon. It is his wont to shew himself once a month; but after we have done that which thou hast seen, he returns to his place and does us no manner of harm.”[504]
[Sidenote: The story based on the phosphorescence of the sea.] It occurred to me that this myth of the demon lover may have been based on some physical phenomenon, electrical, lunar, or otherwise, which is periodically seen at night in the Maldive Islands. Accordingly I consulted Professor J. Stanley Gardiner, our foremost authority on the archipelago. His answer, which confirms my conjecture, runs thus: “A peculiar phosphorescence, like the glow of a lamp hidden by a roughened glass shade, is occasionally visible on lagoon shoals in the Maldives. I imagine it to have been due to some single animal with a greater phosphorescence than any at present known to us. A periodical appearance at some phase of the moon due to reproduction is not improbable and has parallels. The myth still exists in the Maldives, but in a rather different form.” He adds that “a number of these animals might of course appear on some shoal near Male,” the principal island of the group. To the eyes of the ignorant and superstitious such a mysterious glow, suddenly lighting up the sea in the dusk of the evening, might well appear a phantom ship, hung with burning lamps, bearing down on the devoted islands, and in the stillness of night the roar of the surf on the barrier reef might sound in their ears like the voice of the demon calling for his prey.[505]
§ 3. Sacrifices to Water-spirits
[Sidenote: Stories of the Perseus and Andromeda type.] Ibn Batutah’s narrative of the demon lover and his mortal brides closely resembles a well-known type of folk-tale, of which versions have been found from Japan and Annam in the East to Senegambia, Scandinavia, and Scotland in the West. The story varies in details from people to people, but as commonly told it runs thus. A certain country is infested by a many-headed serpent, dragon, or other monster, which would destroy the whole people if a human victim, generally a virgin, were not delivered up to him periodically. Many victims have perished, and at last it has fallen to the lot of the king’s own daughter to be sacrificed. She is exposed to the monster, but the hero of the tale, generally a young man of humble birth, interposes in her behalf, slays the monster, and receives the hand of the princess as his reward. In many of the tales the monster, who is sometimes described as a serpent, inhabits the water of a sea, a lake, or a fountain. In other versions he is a serpent or dragon who takes possession of the springs of water, and only allows the water to flow or the people to make use of it on condition of receiving a human victim.[506]
[Sidenote: Water-spirits conceived as serpents or dragons.] It would probably be a mistake to dismiss all these tales as pure inventions of the story-teller. Rather we may suppose that they reflect a real custom of sacrificing girls or women to be the wives of water-spirits, who are very often conceived as great serpents or dragons. Elsewhere I have cited many instances of this belief in serpent-shaped spirits of water;[507] here it may be worth while to add a few more. Thus the Warramunga of Central Australia perform elaborate ceremonies to appease or coerce a gigantic, but purely mythical water-snake who is said to have destroyed a number of people.[508] Some of the natives of western Australia fear to approach large pools, supposing them to be inhabited by a great serpent, who would kill them if they dared to drink or draw water there by night.[509] The Indians of New Granada believed that when the mother of all mankind, named Bachue, was grown old, she and her husband plunged into the Lake of Iguague, where they were changed into two enormous serpents, which still live in the lake and sometimes shew themselves.[510] The Oyampi Indians of French Guiana imagine that each waterfall has a guardian in the shape of a monstrous snake, who lies hidden under the eddy of the cascade, but has sometimes been seen to lift up its huge head. To see it is fatal. Canoe and Indians are then dragged down to the bottom, where the monster swallows all the men, and sometimes the canoe also. Hence the Oyampis never name a waterfall till they have passed it, for fear that the snake at the bottom of the water might hear its name and attack the rash intruders.[511] The Huichol Indians of Mexico adore water. Springs are sacred, and the gods in them are mothers or serpents, that rise with the clouds and descend as fructifying rain.[512] The Tarahumares, another Indian tribe of Mexico, think that every river, pool, and spring has its serpent, who causes the water to come up out of the earth. All these water-serpents are easily offended; hence the Tarahumares place their houses some little way from the water, and will not sleep near it when they are on a journey. Whenever they construct weirs to catch fish, they take care to offer fish to the water-serpent of the river; and when they are away from home and are making pinole, that is, toasted maize-meal, they drop the first of the pinole into the water as an offering to the serpents, who would otherwise try to seize them and chase them back to their own land.[513] In Basutoland the rivers Ketane and Maletsunyane tumble, with a roar of waters and a cloud of iridescent spray, into vast chasms hundreds of feet deep. The Basutos fear to approach the foot of these huge falls, for they think that a spirit in the shape of a gigantic snake haunts the seething cauldron which receives the falling waters.[514]
[Sidenote: Sacrifices of human beings to water-spirits.] The perils of the sea, of floods, of rapid rivers, of deep pools and lakes, naturally account for the belief that water-spirits are fickle and dangerous beings, who need to be appeased by sacrifices. Sometimes these sacrifices consist of animals, such as horses and bulls,[515] but often the victims are human beings. Thus at the mouth of the Bonny River there is a dangerous bar on which vessels trading to the river have been lost. This is bad for business, and accordingly the negroes used to sacrifice a young man annually to the spirit of the bar. The handsomest youth was chosen for the purpose, and for many months before the ceremony he lodged with the king. The people regarded him as sacred or ju-ju, and whatever he touched, even when he passed casually through the streets, shared his sanctity and belonged to him. Hence whenever he appeared in public the inhabitants fled before him, lest he should touch their garments or anything they might be carrying. He was kept in ignorance of the fate in store for him, and no one might inform him of it under pain of death. On an appointed day he was taken out to the bar in a canoe and induced to jump into the water. Then the rowers plied their paddles and left him to drown. A similar ceremony used to be performed at the New Calabar River, but the victim was a culprit. He was thrown into the water to be devoured by the sharks, which are there the principal fetish or ju-ju.[516] The chiefs of Duke Town, on the same coast of Guinea, were wont to make an annual offering to the river. A young woman of a light colour, or an albino, was chosen as the victim. On a set day they decked her with finery, took her down to Parrot Island, and with much ceremony plunged her in the stream. The fishermen of Efiat, at the mouth of the river, are said still to observe the rite in order to ensure a good catch of fish.[517] The King of Dahomey used to send from time to time a man, dressed out with the insignia of office, to Whydah to be drowned at the mouth of the river. The intention of the sacrifice was to attract merchant ships.[518] When a fisherman has been carried off by a crocodile, some of the natives on the banks of Lake Tanganyika take this for a sign that the spirit deems himself slighted, since he is obliged to come and find victims for himself instead of having them presented to him. Hence the sorcerers generally decide that a second victim is wanted; so, having chosen one, they bind him hand and foot and fling him into the lake to feed the crocodiles.[519] The crater of the volcano Tolucan in Mexico encloses two lakes of clear cold water, surrounded by gloomy forests of pine. Here, in the eighteenth month of the Toltec year, answering to February, children beautifully dressed and decked with flowers and gay feathers used to be drowned as an offering to Tlaloc, the god of the waters, who had a fine temple on the spot.[520] The Chams of Annam have traditions of a time when living men were thrown into the sea every year in order to propitiate the deities who looked after the fishing, and when children of good family were drowned in the water-channels in order that the rice-fields might be duly irrigated.[521]
[Sidenote: Water-spirits conceived as beneficent beings who dispense fertility.] This last instance brings out a more kindly aspect of the water-spirits. If these beings are dreaded by the fisherman and the mariner who tempt the angry sea, and by the huntsman who has to swim or ford the rushing rivers, they are viewed in a different light by the shepherd and the husbandman in hot and arid lands, where the pasture for the cattle and the produce of the fields alike depend on the supply of water, and where prolonged drought means starvation and death for man and beast. To men in such circumstances the spirits of the waters are beneficent beings, the dispensers of life and fertility, whether their blessings descend as rain from heaven or well up as springs of bubbling water in the parched desert. In the Semitic East, for example, where the rainfall is precarious or confined to certain seasons, the face of the earth is bare and withered for most of the year, except where it is kept fresh by irrigation or by the percolation of underground water. Here, accordingly, the local gods or Baalim had their seats originally in spots of natural fertility, by fountains and the banks of rivers, in groves and tangled thickets and green glades of mountain hollows and deep watercourses. As lords of the springs and subterranean waters they were supposed to be the sources of all the gifts of the land, the corn, the wine and the oil, the wool and the flax, the vines and the fig-trees.[522]
[Sidenote: Water-spirits conceived as bestowing offspring on women.] Where water-spirits are thus conceived as the authors of fertility in general, it is natural that they should be held to extend the sphere of their operations to men and animals; in other words, that the power of bestowing offspring on barren women and cattle should be ascribed to them. This ascription comes out clearly in a custom observed by Syrian women at the present day. Some of the channels of the Orontes are used for irrigation, but at a certain season of the year the streams are turned off and the dry bed of the channels is cleared of mud and any other matter that might clog the flow of the water. The first night that the water is turned on again, it is said to have the power of procreation. Accordingly barren women take their places in the channel, waiting for the embrace of the water-spirit in the rush of the stream.[523] Again, a pool of water in a cave at Juneh enjoys the same reputation. The people think a childless couple who bathe in the water will have offspring.[524] In India many wells are supposed to cure sterility, which is universally attributed to the agency of evil spirits. The water of seven wells is collected on the night of the Diwali or feast of lamps, and barren women bathe in it in order to remove their reproach. There is a well in Orissa where the priests throw betel-nuts into the mud. Childless women scramble for the nuts, and she who finds them will be a happy mother before long. For the same reason, after childbirth an Indian mother is taken to worship the village well. She walks round it in the course of the sun and smears the platform with red lead, which may be a substitute for blood. A Khandh priest will take a childless woman to the meeting of two streams, where he makes an offering to the god of births and sprinkles the woman with water in order to rid her of the influence of the spirit who hinders conception.[525] In the Punjaub a barren woman who desires to become a mother will sometimes be let down into a well on a Sunday or Tuesday night during the Diwali festival. After stripping herself of her clothes and bathing in the water, she is drawn up again and performs the chaukpurna ceremony with incantations taught by a wizard. When this ceremony has been performed, the well is supposed to run dry; its quickening and fertilising virtue has been abstracted by the woman.[526] The Indian sect of the Vallabhacharyas or Maharajas believe that bathing in a sacred well is a remedy for barrenness in women.[527] In antiquity the waters of Sinuessa in Campania were thought to bless childless wives with offspring.[528] To this day Syrian women resort to hot springs in order to obtain children from the saint or jinnee of the waters.[529] In Scotland the same fertilising virtue used to be, and probably still is, ascribed to certain springs. Wives who wished to become mothers formerly resorted to the well of St. Fillan at Comrie, and to the wells of St. Mary at Whitekirk and in the Isle of May.[530] In the Aran Islands, off the coast of Galway, women desirous of children pray at St. Eany’s Well, by the Angels’ Walk, and the men pray at the rag well by the church of the Four Comely Ones at Onaght.[531] Child’s Well in Oxford was supposed to have the virtue of making barren women to bring forth.[532] Near Bingfield in Northumberland there is a copious sulphur spring known as the Borewell. On the Sunday following the fourth day of July, that is about Midsummer Day, according to the old style, great crowds of people used to assemble at the well from all the surrounding hamlets and villages. The scene was like a fair, stalls for the sale of refreshments being brought and set up for the occasion. The neighbouring slopes were terraced, and seats formed for the convenience of pilgrims and visitors. Barren women prayed at the well that they might become mothers. If their faith was strong enough, their prayers were heard within the year.[533]
[Sidenote: Love of river-spirits for women in Greek mythology.] In Greek mythology similar ideas of the procreative power of water meet us in the stories of the loves of rivers for women and in the legends which traced the descent of heroes and heroines from river-gods.[534] In Sophocles’s play of The Trachinian Women Dejanira tells how she was wooed by the river Achelous, who came to her father and claimed her hand, appearing in the likeness now of a bull, now of a serpent, and now of a being with the body of a man and the front of an ox, while streams of water flowed from his shaggy beard. She relates, too, how glad she was when Hercules presented himself and vanquished the river-god in single combat and took her to wife.[535] The legend perhaps preserves a reminiscence of that custom of providing a water-god with a human wife which has been practised elsewhere. The motive of such a custom may have varied with the particular conception which happened to prevail of the character of the water-god. Where he was supposed to be a cruel and destructive being, who drowned men and laid waste the country, a wife would be offered simply to keep him in good humour, and so prevent him from doing mischief. But where he was viewed as the procreative power on whom the fertility of the earth and the fecundity of men and animals depended, his marriage would be deemed necessary for the purpose of enabling him to discharge his beneficent functions. This belief in the amorous character of rivers comes out plainly in a custom which was observed at Troy down to classical times. Maidens about to marry were wont to bathe in the Scamander, saying as they did so, “Scamander, take my virginity.” A similar custom appears to have been observed at the river Maeander, and perhaps in other parts of the Greek world. Occasionally, it would seem, young men took advantage of the practice to ravish the girls, and the offspring of such a union was fathered on the river-god.[536] The bath which a Greek bride and bridegroom regularly took before marriage appears to have been intended to bless their union with offspring through the fertilising influence of the water-nymphs.[537]
Thus it would appear that in many parts of the world a custom has prevailed of sacrificing human beings to water-spirits, and that in not a few cases the ceremony has taken the form of making over a woman to the spirit to be his wife, in order either to pacify his fury or to give play to his generative powers. Where the water-spirit was regarded as female, young men might be presented to her for a similar purpose, and this may be the reason why the victims sacrificed to water-spirits are sometimes males. Among civilised peoples these customs survive for the most part only in popular tales, of which the legend of Perseus and Andromeda, with its mediaeval counterpart of St. George and the Dragon, is the most familiar example. But occasionally they appear to have left traces of themselves in ceremonies and pageants. Thus at Furth in Bavaria a [Sidenote: Midsummer custom of slaying the dragon at Furth in Bavaria.] drama called the Slaying of the Dragon used to be acted every year about Midsummer, on the Sunday after Corpus Christi Day. Crowds of spectators flocked from the neighbourhood to witness it. The scene of the performance was the public square. On a platform stood or sat a princess wearing a golden crown on her head, and as many silver ornaments on her body as could be borrowed for the purpose. She was attended by a maid of honour. Opposite her was stationed the dragon, a dreadful monster of painted canvas stretched on a wooden skeleton and moved by two men inside. From time to time the creature would rush with gaping jaws into the dense crowd of spectators, who retreated hastily, tumbling over each other in their anxiety to escape. Then a knight in armour, attended by his men-at-arms, rode forth and asked the princess what she did “on this hard stone,” and why she looked so sad. She told him that the dragon was coming to eat her up. On that the knight bade her be of good cheer, for that with his sword he would rid the country of the monster. With that he charged the dragon, thrusting his spear into its maw and taking care to stab a bladder of bullock’s blood which was there concealed. The gush of blood which followed was an indispensable part of the show, and if the knight missed his stroke he was unmercifully jeered and taunted by the crowd. Having despatched the monster with sword and pistol, the knight then hastened to the princess and told her that he had slain the dragon who had so long oppressed the town. In return she tied a wreath round his arm, and announced that her noble father and mother would soon come to give them half the kingdom. The men-at-arms then escorted the knight and the princess to the tavern, there to end the day with dance and revelry. Bohemians and Bavarians came from many miles to witness this play of the Slaying of the Dragon, and when the monster’s blood streamed forth they eagerly mopped it up, along with the blood-soaked earth, in white cloths, which they afterwards laid on the flax-fields, in order that the flax might thrive and grow tall. For the “dragon’s blood” was thought to be a sure protection against witchcraft.[538] This use of the blood suffices to prove that the Slaying of the Dragon at Furth was not a mere popular spectacle, but a magical rite designed to fertilise the fields. As such it probably descended from a very remote antiquity, and may well have been invested with a character of solemnity, if not of tragedy, long before it degenerated into a farce.
[Sidenote: St. Romain delivers Rouen from a dragon.] More famous was the dragon from which, according to legend, St. Romain delivered Rouen, and far more impressive was the ceremony with which, down to the French Revolution, the city commemorated its deliverance. The stately and beautiful edifices of the Middle Ages, which still adorn Rouen, formed a fitting background for a pageant which carried the mind back to the days when Henry II. of England and Richard Cœur-de-Lion, Dukes of Normandy, still had their palace in this ancient capital of their ancestral domains. Legend ran that about the year 520 A.D. a forest or marsh near the city was infested by a monstrous beast in the shape of a serpent or dragon, which every day wrought great harm to Rouen and its neighbourhood, devouring man and beast, causing boats and mariners on the river Seine to perish, and inflicting other woes innumerable on the commonwealth. At last the archbishop, St. Romain, resolved to beard the monster in his den. He could get none to accompany him but a prisoner condemned to death for murder. On their approach the dragon made as though he would swallow them up; but the archbishop, relying on the divine help, made the sign of the cross, and at once the monster became so gentle that he suffered the saint to bind him with his stole and the murderer to lead him like a lamb to the slaughter. Thus they went in procession to a public place in Rouen, where the dragon was burnt in the presence of the people and its ashes cast into the river. The murderer was pardoned for his services; and the fame of the deed having gone abroad, St. Romain, or his successor St. Ouen, whose memory is enshrined in a church of dreamlike beauty at Rouen, obtained from King Dagobert in perpetuity a privilege for the archbishop, dean, and canons of the cathedral, to wit, that every year on Ascension Day, the anniversary of the miracle, they should [Sidenote: In memory of this deliverance the archbishop and chapter of Rouen were annually allowed to pardon a malefactor on Ascension Day.] pardon and release from prison a malefactor, whomsoever they chose, and whatever the crime of which he had been guilty. This privilege, unique in France, was claimed by the chapter of the cathedral as early as the beginning of the thirteenth century; for in 1210, the governor of the castle of Rouen having boggled at giving up a prisoner, the chapter appealed to King Philip Augustus, who caused an enquiry to be made into the claim. At this enquiry nine witnesses swore that never in the reigns of Henry II. and Richard Cœur-de-Lion, Dukes of Normandy, had there been any difficulty raised on the point in question. Henceforward the chapter seems to have enjoyed the right without opposition down to 1790, when it exercised its privilege of mercy for the last time. Next year the face of things had changed; there was neither archbishop nor chapter at Rouen. A register of the names of the prisoners who were pardoned, together with an account of their crimes, was kept and still exists. Only a few of the names in the thirteenth century are known, and there are many gaps in the first half of the fourteenth century; but from that time onward the register is nearly complete. Most of the crimes appear to have been murder or homicide.
[Sidenote: Ceremony of the annual pardon and release of a prisoner at Rouen.] The proceedings, on the great day of pardon, varied somewhat in different ages. The following account is based in great part on a description written in the reign of Henry III. and published at Rouen in 1587. Fifteen days before Ascension Day the canons of the cathedral summoned the king’s officers to stop all proceedings against criminals detained in prison. Afterwards, on the Monday of Rogations, two canons examined the prisoners and took their confessions, going from prison to prison till Ascension Day. On that day, about seven o’clock in the morning, all the canons assembled in the chapter-house and invoked the grace of the Holy Spirit by the hymn Veni creator Spiritus, and other prayers. Also they made oath to reveal none of the depositions of the criminals, but to hold them sacred under the seal of confession. The depositions having been taken and the commissioners heard, the chapter, after due deliberation, named him or her among the prisoners who was to receive the benefit of the privilege. A card bearing the prisoner’s name and sealed with the seal of the chapter was then sent to the members of parliament, who were sitting in full assembly, clad in their red robes, in the great hall of the palace to receive the nomination of the prisoner and to give it legal effect. The criminal was then released and pardoned. Immediately the minster bells began to ring, the doors of the cathedral were flung open, the organ pealed, hymns were sung, candles lit, and every solemnity observed in token of joy and gladness. Further, in presence of the conclave all the depositions of the other prisoners were burnt on the altar of the chapter-house. Then the archbishop and the whole of the clergy of the cathedral went in procession to the great square known as the Old Tower near the river, carrying the shrines and reliquaries of the minster, and accompanied by the joyous music of hautboys and clarions. Apparently the Old Tower occupies the site of the ancient castle of the Dukes of Normandy, and the custom of going thither in procession came down from a time when the prisoners were detained in the castle-dungeons. In the square there stood, and still stands, a platform of stone raised high above the ground and approached by flights of steps. Thither they brought the shrine (fierte) of St. Romain, and thither too was led the pardoned prisoner. He ascended the platform, and after confessing his sins and receiving absolution he thrice lifted the shrine of St. Romain, while the innumerable multitude assembled in the square cried aloud, each time the shrine was lifted, “Noel! Noel! Noel!” which was understood to mean “God be with us!” That done, the procession re-formed and returned to the cathedral. At the head walked a beadle clad in violet, who bore on a pole the wicker effigy of the winged dragon of Notre Dame, holding a large fish in its mouth. The whispers and cries excited by the appearance of the monster were drowned in the loud fanfares of cornets, clarions, and trumpets. Behind the musicians, who wore the liveries of the Master of the Brotherhood of Notre Dame with his arms emblazoned on an ensign of taffeta, came the carved silver-gilt shrine of Notre Dame. After it followed the clergy of the cathedral to the number of two hundred, clad in robes of violet or crimson silk, bearing banners, crosses, and shrines, and chanting the hymn De resurrectione Domini. Then came the archbishop, giving his blessing to the great multitude who thronged the streets. The prisoner himself walked behind, bareheaded, crowned with flowers, carrying one end of the litter which supported the shrine of St. Romain; the fetters he had worn hung from the litter; and with him paced, with lighted torches in their hands, the men or women who, for the last seven years, had in like manner received their pardon. Another beadle, in a violet livery, marched behind bearing aloft on a pole the wicker effigy of the dragon (Gargouille) destroyed by St. Romain; in its mouth the dragon sometimes held a live animal, such as a young fox, a rabbit, or a sucking pig, and it was attended by the Brotherhood of the Gargouillards. The clergy of the thirty-two parishes of Rouen also took part in the procession, which moved from the Old Tower to the cathedral amid the acclamations of the crowd, while from every church tower in the city the bells rang out a joyous peal, the great Georges d’Amboise thundering above them all. After mass had been performed in the cathedral, the prisoner was taken to the house of the Master of the Brotherhood of St. Romain, where he was magnificently feasted, lodged, and served, however humble his rank. Next morning he again presented himself to the chapter, where, kneeling in the presence of a great assembly, he was severely reproved for his sins and admonished to give thanks to God, to St. Romain, and to the canons for the pardon he had received in virtue of the privilege.
[Sidenote: History and meaning of the privilege of the Fierte or shrine of St. Romain at Rouen.] What was the origin and meaning of this remarkable privilege of the Fierte, as the shrine of St. Romain was called? Its history has been carefully investigated by A. Floquet, Chief Registrar of the Royal Court of Rouen, with the aid of all the documentary evidence, including the archives both at Rouen and Paris. He appears to have shewn conclusively that the association of St. Romain with the custom is comparatively late. We possess a life of the saint in Latin verse, dating from the eighth century, in which the miracles said to have been wrought by him are set forth in a strain of pompous eulogy. Yet neither in it nor in any of the other early lives of St. Romain and St. Ouen, nor in any of the older chronicles and martyrologies, is a single word said about the destruction of the dragon and the deliverance of the prisoner. It is not till 1394 that we meet for the first time with a mention of the miracle. Moreover, the deliverance of the prisoner can hardly have been instituted in honour of St. Romain, else it would have taken place on the twenty-third of October, the day on which the Church of Rouen celebrates the translation of the saint’s bones to the cathedral. St. Romain died in 638, and his bones were transferred to the cathedral of Rouen at the end of the eleventh or the beginning of the twelfth century. Further, Floquet has adduced strong grounds for believing that the privilege claimed by the chapter of Rouen of annually pardoning a condemned criminal on Ascension Day was unknown in the early years of the twelfth century, and that it originated in the reign of Henry I. or Stephen, if not in that of Henry II. He supposes the ceremony to have been in its origin a scenic representation of the triumph of Christ over sin and death, the deliverance of the condemned prisoner symbolising the deliverance of man from the yoke of corruption, and bringing home to the people in a visible form the great mystery which the festival of the Ascension was instituted to commemorate. Such dramatic expositions of Christian doctrine, he points out, were common in the Middle Ages.
[Sidenote: Suggested origin of the custom.] Plausible as is this solution of the problem, it can scarcely be regarded as satisfactory. Had this been the real origin of the privilege, we should expect to find the Ascension of Christ either plainly enacted, or at least distinctly alluded to in the ceremony; but this, so far as we can learn, was not so. Again, would it not savour of blasphemy to represent the sinless and glorified Redeemer by a ruffian stained with the blackest crimes? Moreover, the part played by the dragon in the legend and in the spectacle seems too important to allow us to explain it away, with Floquet, as a mere symbol of the suppression of paganism by St. Romain. The tale of the conquest of the dragon is older than Christianity, and cannot be explained by it. At Rouen the connexion of St. Romain with the story seems certainly to be late, but that does not prove the story itself to be late also. Judging from the analogy of similar tales elsewhere, we may conjecture that in the Rouen version the criminal represents a victim annually sacrificed to a water-spirit or other fabulous being, while the Christian saint has displaced a pagan hero, who was said to have delivered the victim from death and put an end to the sacrifice by slaying the monster. Thus it seems possible that the custom of annually pardoning a condemned malefactor may have superseded an older practice of treating him as a public scapegoat, who died to save the rest of the people. In the sequel we shall see that such customs have been observed in many lands. It is not incredible that at Rouen a usage of this sort should have survived in a modified shape from pagan times down to the twelfth century, and that the Church should at last have intervened to save the wretch and turn a relic of heathendom to the glory of God and St. Romain. But this explanation of the famous privilege of the Fierte is put forward with a full sense of the difficulties attending it, and with no wish to dogmatise on so obscure a subject.[539]
Footnote 411:
Speaking of the one God who reveals himself in many forms and under many names, Augustine says: “Ipse in aethere sit Jupiter, ipse in aëre Juno, ipse in mare Neptunus ... Liber in vineis, Ceres in frumentis, Diana in silvis,” etc. (De civitate Dei, iv. 11).
Footnote 412:
Servius on Virgil, Georg. iii. 332: “Nam, ut diximus, et omnis quercus Jovi est consecrata, et omnis lucus Dianae.”
Footnote 413:
W. H. Roscher, Lexikon der griech. und röm. Mythologie, i. 1005; H. Dessau, Inscriptiones Latinae selectae, Nos. 3266-3268.
Footnote 414:
Dittenberger, Sylloge inscriptionum Graecarum, 2nd Ed., No. 568; Ch. Michel, Recueil d’inscriptions grecques, No. 686; E. S. Roberts, Introduction to Greek Epigraphy, ii., No. 139.
Footnote 415:
Dittenberger, op. cit. No. 653, lines 79 sqq.; Ch. Michel, op. cit., No. 694. As to the grove see Pausanias, iv. 33. 4 sq.
Footnote 416:
Dittenberger, op. cit., No. 929, lines 80 sqq. Compare id. No. 569; Pausanias, ii. 28. 7.
Footnote 417:
H. Dessau, Inscriptiones Latinae selectae, No. 4911.
Footnote 418:
Cato, De agri cultura, 139.
Footnote 419:
Varro, De lingua Latina, v. 85, ed. C. O. Müller; Pliny, Nat. Hist. xviii. 6.
Footnote 420:
G. Henzen, Acta Fratrum Arvalium (Berlin, 1874), pp. 136-143; H. Dessau, Inscriptiones Latinae selectae, ii., Nos. 5042, 5043, 5045, 5046, 5048.
Footnote 421:
Ovid, Fasti, iv. 749-755.
Footnote 422:
Pliny, Nat. Hist. xii. 3.
Footnote 423:
Seneca, Epist. iv. 12. 3. See further L. Preller, Römische Mythologie, 3rd Ed., i. 108 sqq. For evidence of the poets he refers to Virgil, Georg. iii. 332 sqq.; Tibullus, i. 1. 11; Ovid, Amores, iii. 1. 1 sq.
Footnote 424:
On Diana as a huntress see H. Dessau, Inscriptiones Latinae selectae, Nos. 3257-3266. For indications of her care for domestic cattle see Livy, i. 45; Plutarch, Quaestiones Romanae, 4; and above, vol. i. p. 7.
Footnote 425:
Virgil, Aen., viii. 600 sq., with Servius’s note.
Footnote 426:
M. A. Castren, Vorlesungen über die finnische Mythologie (St. Petersburg, 1853), pp. 92-99.
Footnote 427:
P. v. Stenin, “Über den Geisterglauben in Russland,” Globus, lvii. (1890), p. 283.
Footnote 428:
J. Abercromby, The Pre- and Proto-historic Finns (London, 1898), i. 161.
Footnote 429:
Mathias Michov, “De Sarmatia Asiana atque Europea,” in Novus Orbis regionum ac insularum veteribus incognitarum, p. 457.
Footnote 430:
C. Snouck Hurgronje, Het Gajōland en zijne Bewoners (Batavia, 1903), pp. 351, 359.
Footnote 431:
See vol. i. p. 14.
Footnote 432:
Arrian, Cynegeticus, 33 sq.
Footnote 433:
The Galatians retained their Celtic speech as late as the fourth century of our era, for Jerome says that in his day their language hardly differed from that of the Treveri, a Celtic tribe on the Moselle, whose name survives in Treves. See Jerome, Commentar. in Epist. ad Galatas, lib. ii. praef. (Migne’s Patrologia Latina, vol. xxvi. col. 357).
Footnote 434:
See below, p. 363.
Footnote 435:
H. Dessau, Inscriptiones Latinae selectae, No. 4633; Ihm, in Pauly-Wissowa’s Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, ii. 616, s.v. “Arduinna”; compare id. i. 104, s.v. “Abnoba.”
Footnote 436:
F. S. Krauss, Volksglaube und religiöser Brauch der Südslaven (Münster i. W., 1890), p. 125.
Footnote 437:
J. H. Schmitz, Sitten und Bräuche, Lieder, Sprüchwörter und Räthsel des Eifler Volkes (Treves, 1856-1858), i. 42 sq.; A. Kuhn und W. Schwartz, Norddeutsche Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche, pp. 393 sq.; Ch. Beauquier, Les Mois en Franche-Comté (Paris, 1900), p. 90. In Sweden and parts of Germany cattle are crowned on the day in spring when they are first driven out to pasture, which is sometimes at Whitsuntide (A. Kuhn, Die Herabkunft des Feuers, 2nd Ed., pp. 163 sq.; L. Lloyd, Peasant Life in Sweden, pp. 246 sq.; A. Kuhn, Märkische Sagen und Märchen, pp. 315 sq., 327 sq.; P. Drechsler, Sitte, Brauch und Volksglaube in Schlesien, i. 123). Amongst the Romans cattle were crowned at the Ambarvalia (Tibullus, ii. 1. 7 sq.; Ovid, Fasti, i. 663); and asses and mill-stones were crowned at Vesta’s festival on the ninth of June (Propertius, v. 1. 21; Ovid, Fasti, vi. 311 sq.). The original motive of all these customs may have been the one indicated in the text. Perhaps the same explanation might be found to apply to certain other cases of wearing wreaths or crowns.
Footnote 438:
Tettau und Temme, Die Volkssagen Ostpreussens, Litthauens und Westpreussens, pp. 263 sq.; A. Kuhn und W. Schwartz, Norddeutsche Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche, p. 392; Reinsberg-Düringsfeld, Das festliche Jahr, p. 181; id., Calendrier belge, i. 423 sq.; A. Birlinger, Volksthümliches aus Schwaben, i. p. 278, § 437; R. Eisel, Sagenbuch des Voigtlandes, p. 210; F. J. Wiedemann, Aus dem inneren und äusseren Leben der Ehsten, p. 363; F. S. Krauss, Volksglaube und religiöser Brauch der Südslaven, p. 128.
Footnote 439:
See above, pp. 52-55.
Footnote 440:
In Nepaul a festival known as Khichâ Pûjâ is held, at which worship is offered to dogs, and garlands of flowers are placed round the necks of every dog in the country (W. Crooke, Popular Religion and Folk-lore of Northern India, Westminster, 1896, ii. 221). But as the custom is apparently not limited to hunting dogs, the explanation suggested above would hardly apply.
Footnote 441:
Catullus, xxxiv. 9-20; Cicero, De natura deorum, ii. 26. 68 sq.; Varro, De lingua Latina, v. 68 sq. It deserves to be remembered that Diana’s day was the thirteenth of August, which in general would be the time when the splendid harvest moon was at the full. Indian women in Peru used to pray to the moon to grant them an easy delivery. See P. J. de Arriaga, Extirpacion de la idolatria del Piru (Lima, 1621), p. 32.
Footnote 442:
See above, vol. i. p. 12.
Footnote 443:
In like manner the Greeks conceived of the goddess Earth as the mother not only of corn but of cattle and of human offspring. See the Homeric Hymn to Earth (No. 30).
Footnote 444:
Strabo, iv. 1. 4 and 5, pp. 179 sq. The image on the Aventine was copied from that at Marseilles, which in turn was copied from the one at Ephesus.
Footnote 445:
Tacitus, Annals, xii. 8. The Romans feared that the marriage of Claudius with his paternal cousin Agrippina, which they regarded as incest, might result in some public calamity (Tacitus, Annals, xii. 5).
Footnote 446:
See above, pp. 107 sqq.
Footnote 447:
See above, vol. i. pp. 20 sq., 40.
Footnote 448:
Herodotus, i. 181 sq.
Footnote 449:
M. Jastrow, Religion of Babylonia and Assyria, pp. 117 sq.; L. W. King, Babylonian Mythology and Religion, pp. 18, 21.
Footnote 450:
H. Winckler, Die Gesetze Hammurabis 2nd Ed., (Leipsic, 1903), p. 31 § 182. The expression is translated “votary of Marduk” by Mr C. H. W. Johns (Babylonian and Assyrian Laws, Contracts, and Letters, Edinburgh, 1904, p. 60). “The votary of Marduk is the god’s wife vowed to perpetual chastity, and is therefore distinct from the devotees of Ištar. Like the ordinary courtesan, these formed a separate class and enjoyed special privileges” (S. A. Cook, The Laws of Moses and the Code of Hammurabi, London, 1903, p. 148).
Footnote 451:
M. Jastrow, op. cit. pp. 42 sq.
Footnote 452:
C. Johnston in Journal of the American Oriental Society, xviii. First Half (1897), pp. 153-155; R. F. Harper, Assyrian and Babylonian Literature (New York, 1901), p. 249. For the equivalence of Iyyar or Airu with May see Encyclopaedia Biblica, s.v. “Months,” iii. coll. 3193 sq.
Footnote 453:
Herodotus, i. 182.
Footnote 454:
G. Maspero, in Journal des Savants, année 1899, pp. 401-406; A. Moret, Du caractère religieux de la royauté Pharaonique (Paris, 1902), pp. 48-73; A. Wiedemann, Herodots zweites Buch (Leipsic, 1890), pp. 268 sq. M. Moret shares the view of Prof. Maspero that the pictures, or rather painted reliefs, were copied from masquerades in which the king and other men and women figured as gods and goddesses. As to the Egyptian doctrine of the spiritual double or external soul (Ka), see A. Wiedemann, The Ancient Egyptian Doctrine of the Immortality of the Soul (London, 1895), pp. 10 sqq.
Footnote 455:
A. Erman, Die ägyptische Religion (Berlin, 1905), pp. 75, 165 sq.; compare id., Ägypten und ägyptisches Leben im Altertum, pp. 400 sq. As to the ghostly rule of the high priests of Ammon at Thebes see further G. Maspero, Histoire ancienne des peuples de l’Orient classique, les premières mêlées des peuples (Paris, 1897), pp. 559 sqq.; J. H. Breasted, A History of the Ancient Egyptians (London, 1908), pp. 350 sq., 357 sq.; C. P. Tiele, Geschichte der Religion im Altertum, i. (Gotha, 1896), p. 66.
Footnote 456:
Strabo, xvii. 1. 46, p. 816.
Footnote 457:
Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca, i. 47.
Footnote 458:
Plutarch, Quaestiones conviviales, viii. 1. 6 sq.; id., Numa, 4.
Footnote 459:
Servius on Virgil, Aen. iv. 143. Compare Horace, Odes, iii. 62 sqq.
Footnote 460:
Herodotus, i. 182.
Footnote 461:
Pausanias, viii. 13. 1. As to the meaning of the title Essen see Callimachus, Hymn to Zeus, 16; Hesychius, Suidas, and Etymologicum Magnum, s.v. Ἕσσην. The ancients mistook the Queen bee for a male, and hence spoke of King bees. See Aristotle, Histor. animal. v. 21 sq., ix. 40, pp. 553, 623 sqq., ed. Bekker; id., De animalium generatione, iii. 10, p. 760, ed. Bekker; Aelian, Nat. animal. i. 10, v. 10 sq.; Virgil, Georg. iv. 21, 68; W. Walter-Tornow, De apium mellisque apud veteres significatione (Berlin, 1894), pp. 30 sqq. The Essenes or King Bees are not to be confounded with the nominal kings (Basileis) of Ephesus, who probably held office for life. See above, vol. i. p. 47.
Footnote 462:
J. T. Wood, Discoveries at Ephesus, Inscriptions from the Temple of Diana, pp. 2, 14; Inscriptions from the Augusteum, p. 4; Inscriptions from the City and Suburbs, p. 38.
Footnote 463:
See B. V. Head, Coins of Ephesus (London, 1880), and above, vol. i. pp. 37 sq. Modern writers sometimes assert that the priestesses of the Ephesian Artemis were called Bees. Certain other Greek priestesses were undoubtedly called Bees, and it seems not improbable that the priestesses of the Ephesian Artemis bore the same title and represented the goddess in her character of a bee. But no ancient writer, so far as I know, affirms it. See my note on Pausanias, viii. 13. 1.
Footnote 464:
Demosthenes, Contra Neaer. 73-78, pp. 1369-1371; Aristotle, Constitution of Athens, iii. 5; Hesychius, s.vv. Διονύσου γάμος and γεραραί; Etymologicum Magnum, s.v. γεραῖραι; Pollux, viii. 108; K. F. Hermann, Gottesdienstliche Alterthümer, 2nd Ed., § 32. 15, § 58. 11 sqq.; Aug. Mommsen, Feste der Stadt Athen im Altertum (Leipsic, 1898), pp. 391 sqq. From Demosthenes, l.c., compared with Thucydides, ii. 15, it seems certain that the oath was administered by the Queen at the time and place mentioned in the text. Formerly it was assumed that her marriage to Dionysus was celebrated at the same place and time; but the assumption as to the place was disproved by the discovery of Aristotle’s Constitution of Athens, and with it the assumption as to the time falls to the ground. As the Greek months were commonly named after the festivals which were held in them, it is tempting to conjecture that the sacred marriage took place in the Marriage Month (Gamelion), answering to our January. But more probably that month was named after the sacred marriage of Zeus and Hera, which was celebrated at Athens and elsewhere. See below, p. 143. This is the view of W. H. Roscher (Juno und Hera, p. 73, n. 217) and Aug. Mommsen (Feste der Stadt Athen, p. 383). From the name Cattle-stall, applied to the scene of the marriage, Miss J. E. Harrison ingeniously conjectured that in the rite Dionysus may have been represented as a bull (Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion, p. 537). The conjecture was anticipated by Prof. U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Aristoteles und Athen (Berlin, 1893), ii. 42. Dionysus was often conceived by the Greeks in the form of a bull.
Footnote 465:
Above, pp. 92 sq.
Footnote 466:
L. Preller, Ausgewählte Aufsätze (Berlin, 1864), pp. 293-296; compare his Griechische Mythologie, 4th ed., ed. C. Robert, i. 681 sqq.
Footnote 467:
Hyginus, Astronomica, i. 5.
Footnote 468:
Tertullian, Ad nationes, ii. 7, “Cur rapitur sacerdos Cereris si non tale Ceres passa est?” Asterius Amasenus, Encomium in sanctos martyres, in Migne’s Patrologia Graeca, xl. col. 324, Οὐκ ἐκεῖ (at Eleusis) τὸ καταβάσιον τὸ σκοτεινόν, καὶ αἱ σεμναὶ τοῦ ἱεροφάντου πρὸς τὴν ἱερείαν συντυχίαι, μόνου πρὸς μόνην; Οὐχ αἱ λαμπάδες σβέννυνται, καὶ ὁ πολὺς καὶ ἀναρίθμητος δῆμος τὴν σωτηρίαν αὐτῶν εἶναι νομίζουσι τὰ ἐν τῷ σκότῳ παρὰ τῶν δύο πραττόμενα; Psellus, Quaenam sunt Graecorum opiniones de daemonibus, p. 39. ed. J. F. Boissonade, τὰ δέ γε μυστήρια τούτων, οἷα αὐτίκα τὰ Ἐλευσίνια, τὸν μυθικὸν ὑποκρίνεται Δία μιγνύμενον τῇ Δηοῖ, ἤγουν τῇ Δήμητρι ... Ὕποκρίνεται δὲ καὶ τὰς τῆς Δηοῦς ὠδῖνας. Ἱκετηρίαι γοῦν αὐτίκα Δηοῦς καὶ χολῆς πόσις καὶ καρδιαλγίαι. Ἐφ’ οἷς καί τι τραγοσκελὲς μίμημα παθαινόμενον περὶ τοῖς διδύμοις, ὅτιπερ ὁ Ζεύς, δίκας ἀποτιννὺς τῆς βίας τῇ Δήμητρι, τράγου ὄρχεις ἀποτεμών, τῷ κόλπῳ ταύτης κατέθετο ὥσπερ δὴ καὶ ἑαυτοῦ (compare Arnobius, Adversus nationes, v. 20-23); Schol. on Plato, Gorgias, p. 497 c, Ἐτελεῖτο δὲ ταῦτα (the Eleusinian mysteries) καὶ Δηοῖ καὶ Κορῇ, ὅτι ταύτην μὲν Πλούτων ἁρπάξειε, Δηοῖ δὲ μιγείη Ζεύς; Hippolytus, Refutatio omnium haeresium, v. 8, pp. 162, 164, ed. Duncker and Schneidewin, Λέγουσι δὲ αύτον (God), φησί, Φρύγες καὶ χλοερὸν στάχυν τεθερισμένον, καὶ μετὰ τοὺς Φρύγας Ἀθηναῖοι μυοῦντες Ἐλευσίνια, καὶ ἐπιδεικνύντες τοῖς ἐποπτεύουσι τὸ μέγα καὶ θαυμαστὸν καὶ τελειότατον ἐποπτικὸν ἐκεῖ μυστήριον ἐν σιωπῇ, τεθερισμένον στάχυν. Ὁ δὲ στάχυς οὗτός ἐστι καὶ παρὰ Ἀθηναίοις ὁ παρὰ τοῦ ἀχαρακτηρίστου φωστὴρ τέλειος μέγας, καθάπερ αὐτὸς ὁ ἱεροφάντης, οὐκ ἀποκεκομμένος μέν, ὡς ὁ Ἄττις, εὐνουχισμένος δὲ διὰ κωνείου καὶ πᾶσαν παρῃτημένος τὴν σαρκικὴν γένεσιν, νυκτὸς ἐν Ἐλευσῖνι ὑπὸ πολλῷ πυρὶ τελῶν τὰ μεγάλα καὶ ἄρρητα μυστήρια βοᾷ καὶ κέκραγε λέγων· ἱερὸν ἔτεκε πότνια κοῦρον Βριμὼ Βριμόν, τουτέστιν ἰσχυρὰ ἰσχυρόν. In combining and interpreting this fragmentary evidence I have followed Mr. P. Foucart (Recherches sur l’origine et la nature des mystères d’Eleusis, Paris, 1895, pp. 48 sq.; id., Les Grands Mystères d’Eleusis, Paris, 1900, p. 69), and Miss J. E. Harrison (Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion, pp. 549 sqq.). In antiquity it was believed that an ointment or plaster of hemlock applied to the genital organs prevented them from discharging their function. See Dioscorides, De materia medica, iv. 79; Pliny, Nat. Hist. xxv. 154. Dr. J. B. Bradbury, Downing Professor of Medicine in the University of Cambridge, informs me that this belief is correct. “Although conium [hemlock] is not used as an anaphrodisiac at the present day, there can be no doubt that it has this effect. When rubbed into the skin it depresses sensory nerve-endings and is absorbed. After absorption it depresses all sympathetic nerve-cells. Both these effects would tend to diminish organic reflexes such as aphrodisia” (Dr. W. E. Dixon, Pharmacological Laboratory, Cambridge). Pausanias seems to imply that the hierophant was forbidden to marry (ii. 14. 1). It may have been so in his age, the second century of our era; but an inscription of the first century B.C. shews that at that time it was lawful for him to take a wife. See P. Foucart, Les Grands Mystères d’Eleusis, pp. 26 sqq. (extract from the Mémoires de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, vol. xxxvii.).
Footnote 469:
Pausanias, ix. 3; Plutarch, quoted by Eusebius, Praepar. Evang. iii. 1 sq.
Footnote 470:
Above, p. 64.
Footnote 471:
Above, p. 66.
Footnote 472:
W. Mannhardt, Baumkultus, p. 177.
Footnote 473:
W. Mannhardt, Baumkultus, pp. 177 sq.
Footnote 474:
J. Brand, Popular Antiquities, i. 318 sq.; W. Mannhardt, Baumkultus, p. 178.
Footnote 475:
W. Hone, Every Day Book, ii. 595 sq.; W. Mannhardt, Baumkultus, p. 178.
Footnote 476:
With regard to Zeus as an oak-god see below, pp. 358 sq. Hera appears with an oak-tree and her sacred bird the peacock perched on it in a group which is preserved in the Palazzo degli Conservatori at Rome. In the same group Pallas is represented with her olive-tree and her owl; so that the conjunction of the oak with Hera cannot be accidental. See W. Helbig, Führer durch die öffentlichen Sammlungen klassischen Altertümer in Rom 2nd Ed., (Leipsic, 1899), i. 397, No. 587.
Footnote 477:
Pausanias, viii. 42.
Footnote 478:
At Cnossus in Crete, Diodorus Siculus, v. 72; at Samos, Lactantius, Instit. i. 17 (compare Augustine, De civitate Dei, vi. 7); at Athens, Photius, Lexicon, s.v. ἱερὸν γάμον; Etymologicum Magnum, s.v. ἱερομνήμονες, p. 468. 52. A fragment of Pherecydes relating to the marriage of Zeus and Hera came to light some years ago. See Grenfell and Hunt, New Classical and other Greek and Latin Papyri (Oxford, 1897), p. 23; H. Weil, in Revue des Études grecques, x. (1897) pp. 1-9. The subject has been discussed by W. H. Roscher (Juno und Hera, Leipsic, 1875, pp. 72 sqq.). From the wide prevalence of the rite he infers that the custom of the sacred marriage was once common to all the Greek tribes.
Footnote 479:
Iliad, xiv. 347 sqq. Hera was worshipped under the title of Flowery at Argos (Pausanias, ii. 22. 1; compare Etymol. Magn. s.v. Ἄνθεια, p. 108, line 48), and women called Flower-bearers served in her sanctuary (Pollux, iv. 78). A great festival of gathering flowers was celebrated by Peloponnesian women in spring (Hesychius, s.v. ἠροσάνθεια, compare Photius, Lexicon, s.v. Ἠροάνθια). The first of May is still a festival of flowers in Peloponnese. See Folk-lore, i. (1890) pp. 518 sqq.
Footnote 480:
J. Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, 4th ed., i. 176; P. Herrmann, Nordische Mythologie (Leipsic, 1903), pp. 198 sqq., 217, 520, 529; E. H. Meyer, Mythologie der Germanen (Strasburg, 1903), pp. 366 sq. The procession of Frey and his wife in the waggon is doubtless the same with the procession of Nerthus in a waggon which Tacitus describes (Germania, 40). Nerthus seems to be no other than Freya, the wife of Frey. See the commentators on Tacitus, l.c., and especially K. Müllenhoff, Deutsche Altertumskunde, iv. (Berlin, 1900) pp. 468 sq.
Footnote 481:
Gregory of Tours, De gloria confessorum, 77 (Migne’s Patrologia Latina, lxxi. col. 884). Compare Sulpicius Severus, Vita S. Martini, 12: “Quia esset haec Gallorum rusticis consuetudo, simulacra daemonum candido tecta velamine misera per agros suos circumferre dementia.”
Footnote 482:
“Passio Sancti Symphoriani,” chs. 2 and 6 (Migne’s Patrologia Graeca, v. 1463, 1466).
Footnote 483:
These crazy wretches castrate men and mutilate women. Hence they are known as the Skoptsy (“mutilated”). See N. Tsakni, La Russie sectaire, pp. 74 sqq.
Footnote 484:
As to this feature in the ritual of Cybele, see Adonis, Attis, Osiris, Second Edition, pp. 219 sqq.
Footnote 485:
Max Buch, Die Wotjäken (Stuttgart, 1882), p. 137.
Footnote 486:
E. A. Gait, in Census of India, 1901, vol. vi. part i. p. 190.
Footnote 487:
P. J. de Arriaga, Extirpacion de la idolatria del Piru (Lima, 1621), p. 20.
Footnote 488:
Father Lacombe, in Missions Catholiques, ii. (1869) pp. 359 sq.
Footnote 489:
Relations des Jésuites, 1636, p. 109, and 1639, p. 95 (Canadian reprint); Charlevoix, Histoire de la Nouvelle France, v. 225; Chateaubriand, Voyage en Amérique (Paris, 1870), pp. 140-142.
Footnote 490:
Rev. F. Hahn, “Some Notes on the Religion and Superstitions of the Orāos,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, lxxii. part iii. (Calcutta, 1904) p. 12. For another account of the ceremonies held by the Oraons in spring see above, pp. 76 sq.
Footnote 491:
P. Rascher, “Die Sulka,” Archiv für Anthropologie, xxix. (1904) p. 217.
Footnote 492:
W. Crooke, Popular Religion and Folk-lore of Northern India (Westminster, 1896), ii. 118.
Footnote 493:
W. Crooke, op. cit. ii. 138.
Footnote 494:
A. B. Ellis, The Ewe-speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast, pp. 139-142.
Footnote 495:
Adonis, Attis, Osiris, Second Edition, pp. 58 sq.
Footnote 496:
Sir Harry Johnston, The Uganda Protectorate (London, 1902), ii. 677.
Footnote 497:
From notes sent to me by Mr. A. C. Hollis, 21st May 1908.
Footnote 498:
J. G. Scott and J. P. Hardiman, Gazetteer of Upper Burma and the Shan States, part ii. vol. i. (Rangoon, 1901) p. 439.
Footnote 499:
E. W. Lane, Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians (Paisley and London, 1895), chap. xxvi. p. 500. The authority for the statement is the Arab historian Makrizi.
Footnote 500:
The North China Herald, 4th May 1906, p. 235.
Footnote 501:
G. A. Wilken, “Het animisme bij de volken van den Indischen Archipel,” De Indische Gids, June 1884, p. 994 (referring to Veth, Het eiland Timor, p. 21); A. Bastian, Indonesien, ii. (Berlin, 1885) p. 8.
Footnote 502:
A. Bastian, op. cit. p. 11.
Footnote 503:
A. Bastian, Indonesien, i. (Berlin, 1884) p. 134.
Footnote 504:
Voyages d’Ibn Batoutah, texte arabe, accompagné d’une traduction, par C. Defrémery et B. R. Sanguinetti (Paris, 1853-1858), iv. 126-130.
Footnote 505:
The Thanda Pulayans, on the west coast of India, think that the phosphorescence on the surface of the sea indicates the presence of the spirits of their ancestors, who are fishing in the backwaters. See E. Thurston, Ethnographic Notes in Southern India, p. 293. Similarly the Sulkas of New Britain fancy that the mysterious glow comes from souls bathing in the water. See P. Rascher, “Die Sulka,” Archiv für Anthropologie, xxix. (1904) p. 216.
Footnote 506:
For a list of these tales, with references to the authorities, see my note on Pausanias, ix. 26. 7. To the examples there referred to add I. V. Zingerle, Kinder- und Hausmärchen aus Tirol, Nos. 8, 21, 35, pp. 35 sqq., 100 sqq., 178 sqq.; G. F. Abbott, Macedonian Folk-lore, pp. 270 sqq. This type of story has been elaborately investigated by Mr. E. S. Hartland (The Legend of Perseus, London, 1894-1896), but he has not discussed the custom of the sacred marriage, on which the story seems to be founded.
Footnote 507:
Note on Pausanias, ix. 10. 5.
Footnote 508:
Spencer and Gillen, Northern Tribes of Central Australia, pp. 226 sqq.
Footnote 509:
R. Salvado, Mémoires historiques sur l’Australie (Paris, 1854), p. 262.
Footnote 510:
H. Ternaux-Compans, Essai sur l’ancien Cundinamarca, pp. 6 sq.
Footnote 511:
H. Coudreau, Chez nos Indiens (Paris, 1895), pp. 303 sq.
Footnote 512:
C. Lumholtz, Unknown Mexico (London, 1903), ii. 57.
Footnote 513:
C. Lumholtz, op. cit. i. 402 sq.
Footnote 514:
T. I. Fairclough, “Notes on the Basutos,” Journal of the African Society, No. 14, January 1905, p. 201.
Footnote 515:
To the examples given in my note on Pausanias viii. 7. 2, add Ph. Paulitschke, Ethnographie Nordost-Afrikas, die geistige Cultur der Danâkil, Galla und Somâl (Berlin, 1896), pp. 46, 50; “De Dajaks op Borneo,” Mededeelingen van wege het Nederlandsche Zendelinggenootschap, xiii. (1869) p. 72; A. D’Orbigny, Voyage dans l’Amérique Méridionale, ii. 93, 160 (see above, pp. 16 sq.); F. Blumentritt, “Über die Eingeborenen der Insel Palawan und der Inselgruppe der Talamianen,” Globus, lix. (1891) p. 167; W. Crooke, Popular Religion and Folk-lore of Northern India (Westminster, 1896), i. 46; Father Guillemé, in Annales de la Propagation de la Foi, lx. (1888) p. 252.
Footnote 516:
W. F. W. Owen, Narrative of Voyages to explore the Shores of Africa, Arabia, and Madagascar (London, 1833), ii. 354 sq.
Footnote 517:
H. Goldie, Calabar and its Mission, New Edition (Edinburgh and London, 1901), p. 43.
Footnote 518:
Annales de la Propagation de la Foi, xxxiii. (1861) p. 152.
Footnote 519:
Father Guillemé, in Annales de la Propagation de la Foi, lx. (1888) p. 253.
Footnote 520:
Brasseur de Bourbourg, Histoire des nations civilisées du Mexique et de l’Amérique-Centrale, i. 327 sq.
Footnote 521:
E. Aymonier, “Les Tchames et leurs religions,” Revue de l’histoire des religions, xxiv. (1891) p. 213.
Footnote 522:
W. Robertson Smith, Religion of the Semites, 2nd Ed., pp. 96-104.
Footnote 523:
S. I. Curtiss, Primitive Semitic Religion To-day (Chicago, 1902), p. 117.
Footnote 524:
S. I. Curtiss, op. cit. p. 119.
Footnote 525:
W. Crooke, Popular Religion and Folk-lore of Northern India (Westminster, 1896), ii. 50 sq., 225 sq.
Footnote 526:
Census of India, 1901, vol. xvii., Punjab, p. 164.
Footnote 527:
W. Crooke, Tribes and Castes of the North-Western Provinces and Oudh, iv. 425. As to the sect of the Maharajas, see above, vol. i. pp. 406 sq.
Footnote 528:
Pliny, Nat. Hist. xxxi. 8.
Footnote 529:
S. I. Curtiss, Primitive Semitic Religion To-day, pp. 116 sq.; Mrs. H. H. Spoer, “The Powers of Evil in Jerusalem,” Folk-lore, xviii. (1907) p. 55; A. Jaussen, Coutumes des Arabes au pays de Moab (Paris, 1908), p. 360.
Footnote 530:
J. M. Mackinlay, Folk-lore of Scottish Lochs and Springs (Glasgow, 1893), p. 112.
Footnote 531:
A. C. Haddon and C. R. Browne, “The Ethnography of the Aran Islands,” Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, ii. (1893), p. 819.
Footnote 532:
R. C. Hope, The Legendary Lore of the Holy Wells of England (London, 1893), p. 122.
Footnote 533:
R. C. Hope, op. cit. pp. 107 sq.
Footnote 534:
See, for example, Pausanias, ii. 15. 5, v. 7. 2 sq., vi. 22. 9, vii. 23. 1 sq., viii. 43. 1, ix. 1. 1 sq., ix. 34. 6 and 9.
Footnote 535:
Sophocles, Trachiniae, 6 sqq. The combat of Hercules with the bull-shaped river-god in presence of Dejanira is the subject of a red-figured vase painting. See Miss J. E. Harrison, Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion 2nd Ed., (Cambridge, 1908), Fig. 133, p. 434.
Footnote 536:
Aeschines, Epist. x. The letters of Aeschines are spurious, but there is no reason to doubt that the custom here described was actually observed.
Footnote 537:
See the evidence collected by Mr. Floyd G. Ballentine, “Some Phases of the Cult of the Nymphs,” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, xv. (1904) pp. 97 sqq.
Footnote 538:
F. Panzer, Beitrag zur deutschen Mythologie, i. 107-110, ii. 550. At Ragusa in Sicily an enormous effigy of a dragon, with movable tail and eyes, is carried in procession on St. George’s Day (April 23rd); and along with it two huge sugar loaves, decorated with flowers, figure in the procession. At the end of the festival these loaves are broken into little bits, and every farmer puts one of the pieces in his sowed fields to ensure a good crop. See G. Pitrè, Feste patronali in Sicilia (Turin and Palermo, 1900), pp. 323 sq. In this custom the fertility charm remains, though the marriage ceremony appears to be absent. As to the mummers’ play of St. George, see E. K. Chambers, The Mediaeval Stage (Oxford, 1903), i. 205 sqq.; A. Beatty, “The St. George, or Mummers’, Plays,” Transactions of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters, xv. part ii. (October, 1906) pp. 273-324. A separate copy of the latter work was kindly sent to me by the author.
Footnote 539:
See F. N. Taillepied, Recueil des Antiquitez et singularitez de la ville de Rouen (Rouen, 1587), pp. 93-105; A. Floquet, Histoire du privilége de Saint Romain (2 vols. 8vo, Rouen, 1833). Briefer notices of the custom and legend will be found in A. Bosquet’s La Normandie romanesque et merveilleuse (Paris and Rouen, 1845), pp. 405-409; and A. de Nore’s Coutumes, mythes, et traditions des provinces de France (Paris and Lyons, 1846), pp. 245-250. The gilt fierte, or portable shrine of St. Romain, is preserved in the Chapter Library of the Cathedral at Rouen, where I saw it in May 1902. It is in the form of a chapel, on the roof of which the saint stands erect, trampling on the winged dragon, while the condemned prisoner kneels in front of him. This, however, is not the original shrine, which was so decayed that in 1776 the Chapter decided to replace it by another. See Floquet, op. cit. ii. 338-346. The custom of carrying the dragons in procession was stopped in 1753 because of its tendency to impair the solemnity of the ceremony (Floquet, op. cit. ii. 301). Even more famous than the dragon of Rouen was the dragon of Tarascon, an effigy of which used to be carried in procession on Whitsunday. See A. de Nore, op. cit. pp. 47 sqq. As to other French dragons see P. Sébillot, Le Folk-lore de France, i. (Paris, 1904) pp. 468-470.
XIII. THE KINGS OF ROME AND ALBA
§ 1. Numa and Egeria
[Sidenote: Egeria at Nemi a nymph of water and of the oak, perhaps a form of Diana.] From the foregoing survey of custom and legend we may infer that the sacred marriage of the powers both of vegetation and of water has been celebrated by many peoples for the sake of promoting the fertility of the earth, on which the life of animals and men ultimately depends, and that in such rites the part of the divine bridegroom or bride is often sustained by a man or woman. The evidence may, therefore, lend some countenance to the conjecture that in the sacred grove at Nemi, where the powers of vegetation and of water manifested themselves in the fair forms of shady woods, tumbling cascades, and glassy lake, a marriage like that of our King and Queen of May was annually celebrated between the mortal King of the Wood and the immortal Queen of the Wood, Diana. In this connexion an important figure in the grove was the water-nymph Egeria, who was worshipped by pregnant women because she, like Diana, could grant them an easy delivery.[540] From this it seems fairly safe to conclude that, like many other springs, the water of Egeria was credited with a power of facilitating conception as well as delivery. The votive offerings found on the spot, which clearly refer to the begetting of children,[541] may possibly have been dedicated to Egeria rather than to Diana, or perhaps we should rather say that the water-nymph Egeria is only another form of the great nature-goddess Diana herself, the mistress of sounding rivers as well as of umbrageous woods,[542] who had her home by the lake and her mirror in its calm waters, and whose Greek counterpart Artemis loved to haunt meres and springs.[543] The identification of Egeria with Diana is confirmed by a statement of Plutarch that Egeria was one of the oak-nymphs[544] whom the Romans believed to preside over every green oak-grove;[545] for while Diana was a goddess of the woodlands in general she appears to have been intimately associated with oaks in particular, especially at her sacred grove of Nemi.[546] Perhaps, then, Egeria was the fairy of a spring that flowed from the roots of a sacred oak. Such a spring is said to have gushed from the foot of the great oak at Dodona, and from its murmurous flow the priestess drew oracles.[547] Among the Greeks a draught of water from certain sacred springs or wells was supposed to confer prophetic powers.[548] This would explain the more than mortal wisdom with which, according to tradition, Egeria inspired her royal husband or lover Numa.[549] When we remember how very often in early society the king is held responsible for the fall of rain and the fruitfulness of the earth, it seems hardly rash to conjecture that in the legend of the nuptials of Numa and [Sidenote: The legend of the nuptials of Numa and Egeria may be a reminiscence of a sacred marriage which the kings of Rome contracted with a goddess of water and of vegetation.] Egeria we have a reminiscence of a sacred marriage which the old Roman kings regularly contracted with a goddess of vegetation and water for the purpose of enabling him to discharge his divine or magical functions. In such a rite the part of the goddess might be played either by an image or a woman, and if by a woman, probably by the Queen. If there is any truth in this conjecture, we may suppose that the King and Queen of Rome masqueraded as god and goddess at their marriage, exactly as the King and Queen of Egypt appear to have done.[550] The legend of Numa and Egeria points to a sacred grove rather than to a house as the scene of the nuptial union, which, like the marriage of the King and Queen of May, or of the vine-god and the Queen of Athens, may have been annually celebrated as a charm to ensure the fertility not only of the earth but of man and beast. Now, according to some accounts, the scene of the marriage was no other than the sacred grove of Nemi, and on quite independent grounds we have been led to suppose that in that same grove the King of the Wood was wedded to Diana. The convergence of the two distinct lines of enquiry suggests that the legendary union of the Roman king with Egeria may have been a reflection or duplicate of the union of the King of the Wood with Egeria or her double Diana. This does not imply that the Roman kings ever served as Kings of the Wood in the Arician grove, but only that they may originally have been invested with a sacred character of the same general kind, and may have held office on similar terms. To be more explicit, it is possible that they reigned, not by right of birth, but in virtue of their supposed divinity as representatives or embodiments of a god, and that as such they mated with a goddess, and had to prove their fitness from time to time to discharge their divine functions by engaging in a severe bodily struggle, which may often have proved fatal to them, leaving the crown to their victorious adversary. Our knowledge of the Roman kingship is far too scanty to allow us to affirm any one of these propositions with confidence; but at least there are some scattered hints or indications of a similarity in all these respects between the priests of Nemi and the kings of Rome, or perhaps rather between their remote predecessors in the dark ages which preceded the dawn of legend.[551]
§ 2. The King as Jupiter
[Sidenote: The Roman king seems to have personated Jupiter and worn his costume.] In the first place, then, it would seem that the Roman king personated no less a deity than Jupiter himself. For down to imperial times victorious generals celebrating a triumph, and magistrates presiding at the games in the Circus, wore the costume of Jupiter, which was borrowed for the occasion from his great temple on the Capitol; and it has been held with a high degree of probability both by ancients and moderns that in so doing they copied the traditionary attire and insignia of the Roman kings.[552] They rode a chariot drawn by four laurel-crowned horses through the city, where every one else went on foot;[553] they wore purple robes embroidered or spangled with gold; in the right hand they bore a branch of laurel and in the left hand an ivory sceptre topped with an eagle; a wreath of laurel crowned their brows; their face was reddened with vermilion; and over their head a slave held a heavy crown of massy gold fashioned in the likeness of oak leaves.[554] In this attire the assimilation of the man to the god comes out above all in the eagle-topped sceptre, the oaken crown, and the reddened face. For the eagle was the bird of Jove, the oak was his sacred tree, and the face of his image standing in his four-horse chariot on the Capitol was in like manner regularly dyed red on festivals; indeed, so important was it deemed to keep the divine features properly rouged that one of the first duties of the censors was to contract for having this done.[555] The Greeks sometimes painted red the face or the whole body of the wine-god Dionysus.[556] These customs may have been a substitute for an older practice of feeding a god by smearing the face, and especially the lips, of his idol with the blood of a sacrificial victim. Many examples of such a practice might be adduced from the religion of barbarous peoples.[557] As the triumphal procession always ended in the temple of Jupiter on the Capitol, it was peculiarly appropriate that the head of the victor should be graced by a crown of oak leaves, for not only was every oak consecrated to Jupiter,[558] but the Capitoline temple of the god was said to have been built by Romulus beside a sacred oak, venerated by shepherds, to which the king attached the spoils won by him from the enemy’s general in battle.[559] We are expressly told that the oak crown was [Sidenote: The oak crown as an emblem of Jupiter and of the Roman emperors.] sacred to Capitoline Jupiter;[560] a passage of Ovid proves that it was regarded as the god’s special emblem. Writing in exile on the shores of the Black Sea, the poet sends the book which he has just composed to Rome to be published there; he personifies the volume and imagines it passing along the Sacred Way and up to the door of the emperor’s stately palace on the Palatine hill. Above the portal hung shining arms and a crown of oak leaves. At the sight the poet starts: “Is this, quoth I, the house of Jove? For sure to my prophetic soul the oaken crown was reason good to think it so.”[561] The senate had granted Augustus the right to have the wreath of oak always suspended over his door;[562] and elsewhere Ovid counts this among the more than mortal honours bestowed on the emperor.[563] On the Capitol at Cirta there stood a silver image of Jupiter wearing a silver crown of oak leaves and acorns.[564] Similarly at Dodona, the most famous sanctuary of the oak in Greece, the image of Zeus appears to have worn a chaplet of oak leaves; for the god is constantly thus portrayed on coins of Epirus.[565] And just as Roman kings appear to have personated the oak-god Jupiter, so Greek kings appear to have personated the oak-god Zeus. The legendary Salmoneus of Elis is certainly reported to have done so;[566] Periphas, an ancient king of Athens, is said to have been styled Zeus by his people, and to have been changed into an eagle by his jealous name-sake.[567] In Homer kings are often spoken of as nurtured by Zeus and divine.[568] Indeed we are told that in ancient days every Greek king was called Zeus.[569]
[Sidenote: To the Romans the breach between the human and the divine was not so wide as it seems to us.] Thus we may fairly assume that on certain solemn occasions Roman generals and magistrates personated the supreme god, and that in so doing they revived the practice of the early kings. To us moderns, for whom the breach which divides the human and the divine has deepened into an impassable gulf, such mimicry may appear impious, but it was otherwise with the ancients. To their thinking gods and men were akin, for many families traced their descent from a divinity, and the deification of a man probably seemed as little extraordinary to them as the canonisation of a saint seems to a modern Catholic. The Romans in particular were quite familiar with the spectacle of men masquerading as spirits; for at the funerals of great houses all the illustrious dead of the family were personated by men specially chosen for their resemblance to the departed. These representatives wore [Sidenote: Roman custom of representing dead ancestors by masked men.] masks fashioned and painted in the likeness of the originals: they were dressed in rich robes of office, resplendent with purple and gold, such as the dead nobles had worn in their lifetime: like them, they rode in chariots through the city preceded by the rods and axes, and attended by all the pomp and heraldry of high station; and when at last the funeral procession, after threading its way through the crowded streets, defiled into the Forum, the maskers solemnly took their seats on ivory chairs placed for them on the platform of the Rostra, in the sight of the people, recalling no doubt to the old, by their silent presence, the memories of an illustrious past, and firing the young with the ambition of a glorious future.[570]
[Sidenote: The kings of Alba seem also to have claimed to represent Jupiter.] According to a tradition which we have no reason to reject, Rome was founded by settlers from Alba Longa, a city situated on the slope of the Alban hills, overlooking the lake and the Campagna.[571] Hence if the Roman kings claimed to be representatives or embodiments of Jupiter, the god of the sky, of the thunder, and of the oak, it is natural to suppose that the kings of Alba, from whom the founder of Rome traced his descent, may have set up the same claim before them. Now the Alban dynasty bore the name of Silvii or Wood, and it can hardly be without significance that in the vision of the historic glories of Rome revealed to Aeneas in the underworld, Virgil, an antiquary as well as a poet, should represent all the line of Silvii as crowned [Sidenote: The Silvii and the Julii.] with oak.[572] A chaplet of oak leaves would thus seem to have been part of the insignia of the old kings of Alba Longa as of their successors the kings of Rome; in both cases it marked the monarch as the human representative of the oak-god. With regard to Silvius, the first king of the Alban dynasty, we are told that he got his name because he had been born or brought up in the forest, and that when he came to man’s estate he contested the kingdom with his kinsman Julus, whose name, as some of the ancients themselves [Sidenote: Julus, the little Jupiter.] perceived, means the Little Jupiter. The people decided in favour of Silvius, but his rival Julus was consoled for the loss of the crown by being invested with religious authority and the office of chief pontiff, or perhaps rather of Flamen Dialis, the highest dignity after the kingship. From this Julus or Little Jupiter, the noble house of the Julii, and hence the first emperors of Rome, believed themselves to be sprung.[573] The legend of the dispute between Silvius and Julus may preserve a reminiscence of such a partition of spiritual and temporal powers in Alba Longa as afterwards took place in Rome, when the old regal office was divided between the Consuls and the King of the Sacred Rites.[574] Many more instances of such a schism will meet us later on. That the Julian house worshipped Vejovis, the Little Jupiter, according to the ancient rites of Alba Longa, is proved by the inscription on an altar which they dedicated to him at their ancestral home of Bovillae, a colony of Alba Longa, situated at the foot of the Alban hills.[575] The Caesars, the most illustrious family of the Julian house, took their name from their long hair (caesaries),[576] which was probably in those early days, as it was among the Franks long afterwards, a symbol of royalty.[577]
[Sidenote: The Alban kings seem to have been expected to make thunder and rain for the good of their subjects.] But in ceding the pontificate to their rivals, it would seem that the reigning dynasty of the Silvii or Woods by no means renounced their own claim to personate the god of the oak and the thunder; for the Roman annals record that one of them, Romulus, Remulus, or Amulius Silvius by name, set up for being a god in his own person, the equal or superior of Jupiter. To support his pretensions and overawe his subjects, he constructed machines whereby he mimicked the clap of thunder and the flash of lightning. Diodorus relates that in the season of fruitage, when thunder is loud and frequent, the king commanded his soldiers to drown the roar of heaven’s artillery by clashing their swords against their shields. But he paid the penalty of his impiety, for he perished, he and his house, struck by a thunderbolt in the midst of a dreadful storm. Swollen by the rain, the Alban lake rose in flood and drowned his palace. But still, says an ancient historian, when the water is low and the surface unruffled by a breeze, you may see the ruins of the palace at the bottom of the clear lake.[578] Taken along with the similar story of Salmoneus, king of Elis,[579] this legend points to a real custom observed by the early kings of Greece and Italy, who like their fellows in Africa down to modern times may have been expected to produce rain and thunder for the good of the crops.[580] The priestly king Numa passed for an adept in the art of drawing down lightning from the sky.[581] Mock thunder, we know, has been made by various peoples as a rain-charm in modern times;[582] why should it not have been made by kings in antiquity?
[Sidenote: The legends of the deaths of Roman kings point to a close connexion between the king and the thunder-god.] In this connexion it deserves to be noted that, according to the legend, Salmoneus, like his Alban counterpart, was killed by a thunderbolt; and that one of the Roman kings, Tullus Hostilius, is reported to have met with the same end in an attempt to draw down Jupiter in the form of lightning from the sky.[583] Aeneas himself, the legendary ancestor both of the Alban and the Roman kings, vanished from the world in a violent thunderstorm, and was afterwards worshipped as Jupiter Indiges. A mound of earth, encircled with fine trees, on the bank of the little river Numicius was pointed out as his grave.[584] Romulus, too, the first king of Rome, [Sidenote: Death and deification of Romulus.] disappeared in like manner. It was the seventh of July, and the king was reviewing his army at the Goat’s Marsh, outside the walls of the city. Suddenly the sky lowered and a tempest burst, accompanied by peals of thunder. Soon the storm had swept by, leaving the brightness and serenity of the summer day behind. But Romulus was never seen again. Those who had stood by him said they saw him caught up to heaven in a whirlwind; and not long afterwards a certain Proculus Julius, a patrician of Alban birth and descent, declared on oath that Romulus had appeared to him clad in bright armour, and announced that the Romans were to worship him as a god under the name of Quirinus, and to build him a temple on the spot. The temple was built and the place was henceforth known as the Quirinal hill.[585] In this legend it is significant that the annunciation of the king’s divinity should be put in the mouth of a member of the Julian house, a native of Alba; for we have seen reason to believe that at Alba the Julii had competed with the Silvii, from whom Romulus was descended, for the kingship, and with it for the honour of personating Jupiter. If, as seems to be philologically possible, the word Quirinus is derived from the same root as quercus, “an oak,” the name of the deified Romulus would mean no more than “the oak-god,” that is, Jupiter.[586] Thus the tradition would square perfectly with the other indications of custom and legend which have led us to conclude that the kings both of Rome and of Alba claimed to embody in their own persons the god of the sky, of thunder, and of the oak. Certainly the stories which associated the deaths of so many of them with thunderstorms point to a close connexion with the god of thunder and lightning. A king who had been wont to fulminate in his lifetime might naturally be supposed at death to be carried up in a thunderstorm to heaven, there to discharge above the clouds the same duties which he had performed on earth. Such a tale would be all the more likely to attach itself to the twin Romulus, if the early Romans shared the widespread superstition that twins have power over the weather in general and over rain and wind in particular.[587] That tempests are caused by the spirits of the dead is a belief of the Araucanians of Chili. Not a storm bursts upon the Andes or the ocean which these Indians do not ascribe to a battle between the souls of their fellow-countrymen and the dead Spaniards. In the roaring of the wind they hear the trampling of the ghostly horses, in the peal of the thunder the roll of the drums, and in the flashes of lightning the fire of the artillery.[588]
[Sidenote: Every Latin town probably had its local Jupiter.] Thus, if the kings of Alba and Rome imitated Jupiter as god of the oak by wearing a crown of oak leaves, they seem also to have copied him in his character of a weather-god by pretending to make thunder and lightning. And if they did so, it is probable that, like Jupiter in heaven and many kings on earth, they also acted as public rain-makers, wringing showers from the dark sky by their enchantments whenever the parched earth cried out for the refreshing moisture. At Rome the sluices of heaven were opened by means of a sacred stone, and the ceremony appears to have formed part of the ritual of Jupiter Elicius, the god who elicits from the clouds the flashing lightning and the dripping rain.[589] And who so well fitted to perform the ceremony as the king, the living representative of the sky-god?
[Sidenote: Many local Jupiters in Latium.] The conclusion which we have reached as to the kings of Rome and Alba probably holds good of all the kings of ancient Latium: each of them, we may suppose, represented or embodied the local Jupiter. For we can hardly doubt that of old every Latin town or settlement had its own Jupiter, as every town and almost every church in modern Italy has its own Madonna; and like the Baal of the Semites the local Jupiter was commonly worshipped on high places. Wooded heights, round which the rain-clouds gather, were indeed the natural sanctuaries for a god of the sky, the rain, and the oak. At Rome he occupied one summit of the Capitoline hill, while the other summit was assigned to his wife Juno, whose temple, with the long flight [Sidenote: Capitoline Jupiter and Juno.] of stairs leading up to it, has for ages been appropriately replaced by the church of St. Mary “in the altar of the sky” (in Araceli).[590] That both heights were originally wooded seems certain, for down to imperial times the saddle which joins them was known as the place “between the two groves.”[591] Virgil tells us that the hilltop where gilded temples glittered in his day had been covered of old by shaggy thickets, the haunt of woodland elves and savage men, “born of the tree-trunks and the heart of oak.”[592] These thickets were probably composed of oaks, for the oak crown [Sidenote: The hills of Rome once wooded with oaks.] was sacred to Capitoline Juno as well as to Jupiter;[593] it was to a sacred oak on the Capitol that Romulus fastened the spoils,[594] and there is evidence that in early times oak-woods clothed other of the hills on which Rome was afterwards built. Thus the Caelian hill went originally by the name of the Mountain of the Oak Grove on account of the thickets of oak by which it was overgrown,[595] and Jupiter was here worshipped in his character of the oak-god;[596] one of the old gates of Rome, apparently between the Caelian and the Esquiline hills, was called the Gate of the Oak Grove for a similar reason;[597] and within the walls hard by was a Chapel of the Oak Grove dedicated to the worship of the oak-nymphs.[598] These nymphs appear on coins of the Accoleian family as three women supporting on their shoulders a pole from which rise leafy branches.[599] The Esquiline hill seems also to have derived its name from its oaks. After mentioning the Chapel of the Oak and other hallowed groves which still dotted the hill in his time, the antiquary Varro tells us that their bounds were now much curtailed, adding with a sigh that it was no wonder the sacred old trees should give way to the modern worship of Mammon.[600] Apparently the Roman nobles of those days sold the ancient woods, as their descendants sell their beautiful gardens, for building-land. To this list of oak-clad hills on the left bank of the Tiber must be added the Quirinal, if Quirinus, who had a very ancient shrine on the hill, was the oak-god.[601] Under the Aventine was a grove of evergreen oaks,[602] which appears to have been no other than the grove of Egeria outside the Porta Capena.[603] The old grove of Vesta, which once skirted the foot of the Palatine hill on the side of the Forum,[604] must surely have been a grove of oaks; for not only does an oak appear growing beside the temple of Vesta on a fine relief preserved in the gallery of the Uffizi at Florence, but [Sidenote: The sacred Vestal fire fed with oak-wood.] charred embers of the sacred Vestal fire have in recent years been discovered at the temple of Vesta in the Forum, and a microscopic analysis of them has proved that they consist of the pith or heart of trunks or great branches of oak (quercus).[605] The full significance of this discovery will appear later on. When the plebeians seceded to the Janiculum in the third century before Christ, the dictator Q. Hortensius summoned a meeting of the people and passed a law in an oak grove, which perhaps grew on the hill.[606] In this neighbourhood there was a street called the Street of the Oak Grove; it is mentioned in an inscription found in its original position near the modern Garibaldi bridge.[607] On the Vatican hill there stood an evergreen oak which was believed to be older than Rome; an inscription in Etruscan letters on a bronze tablet proclaimed the sanctity of the tree.[608] Finally, that oak woods existed at or near Rome in the earliest times has lately been demonstrated by the discovery in the Forum itself of a prehistoric cemetery, which contains amongst other sepultures the bones of several young children deposited in rudely hollowed trunks of oak.[609] With all this evidence before us we need not wonder that Virgil should speak of the primitive inhabitants of Rome as “born of the tree-trunks and the heart of oak,” and that the Roman kings should have worn crowns of oak leaves in imitation of the oak-god Jupiter, who dwelt in his sacred grove on the Capitol.
[Sidenote: The Alban kings may have imitated Latian Jupiter, who dwelt on the top of the Alban Mount.] If the kings of Rome aped Capitoline Jove, their predecessors the kings of Alba probably laid themselves out to mimic the great Latian Jupiter, who had his seat above the city on the summit of the Alban Mountain. Latinus, the legendary ancestor of the dynasty, was said to have been changed into Latian Jupiter after vanishing from the world in the mysterious fashion characteristic of the old Latin kings.[610] The sanctuary of the god on the top of the mountain was the religious centre of the Latin League, as Alba was its political capital till Rome wrested the supremacy from its ancient rival. Apparently no temple, in our sense of the word, was ever erected to Jupiter on this his holy mountain; as god of the sky and thunder he appropriately received the homage of his worshippers in the open air. The massive wall, of which some remains still enclose the old garden of the Passionist monastery, seems to have been part of the sacred precinct which Tarquin the Proud, the last king of Rome, marked out for the solemn annual assembly of the Latin League.[611] The god’s oldest sanctuary on this airy mountain-top was a grove;[612] and bearing in mind not merely the special consecration of the oak to Jupiter, but also the traditional oak crown of the Alban kings and the analogy of the Capitoline Jupiter at Rome, we may suppose that the trees in the grove were oaks.[613] We know that in antiquity Mount Algidus, an outlying group of the Alban hills, was covered with dark forests of oak;[614] and among the tribes who belonged to the Latin League in the earliest days, and were entitled to share the flesh of the white bull sacrificed on the Alban Mount, there was one whose members styled themselves the Men of the Oak,[615] doubtless on account of the woods among which they dwelt.
[Sidenote: Theophrastus’s description of the woods of Latium.] But we should err if we pictured to ourselves the country as covered in historical times with an unbroken forest of oaks. Theophrastus has left us a description of the woods of Latium as they were in the fourth century before Christ. He says: “The land of the Latins is all moist. The plains produce laurels, myrtles, and wonderful beeches; for they fell trees of such a size that a single stem suffices for the keel of a Tyrrhenian ship. Pines and firs grow in the mountains. What they call the land of Circe is a lofty headland thickly wooded with oak, myrtle, and luxuriant laurels. The natives say that Circe dwelt there, and they shew the grave of Elpenor, from which grow myrtles such as wreaths are made of, whereas the other myrtle-trees are tall.”[616] Thus the prospect from the top [Sidenote: The prospect from the Alban Mount in antiquity.] of the Alban Mount in the early days of Rome must have been very different in some respects from what it is to-day. The purple Apennines, indeed, in their eternal calm on the one hand, and the shining Mediterranean in its eternal unrest on the other, no doubt looked then much as they look now, whether bathed in sunshine, or chequered by the fleeting shadows of clouds; but instead of the desolate brown expanse of the fever-stricken Campagna, spanned by its long lines of ruined aqueducts, like the broken arches of the bridge in the vision of Mirza, the eye must have ranged over woodlands that stretched away, mile after mile, on all sides, till their varied hues of green or autumnal scarlet and gold melted insensibly into the blue of the distant mountains and sea.
Thus the Alban Mount was to the Latins what Olympus was to the Greeks, the lofty abode of the sky-god, who hurled his thunderbolts from above the clouds. The white steers which were here sacrificed to him in his sacred grove, as in the Capitol at Rome,[617] remind us of the white bulls which the Druids of Gaul sacrificed under the holy oak when [Sidenote: Resemblance between the Latin worship of Jupiter and the Druidical worship of the oak.] they cut the mistletoe;[618] and the parallel would be all the closer if, as we have seen reason to think, the Latins worshipped Jupiter originally in groves of oak. Other resemblances between ancient Gaul and Latium will meet us later on. When we remember that the ancient Italian and Celtic peoples spoke languages which are nearly related to each other,[619] we shall not be surprised at discovering traces of community in their religion, especially in what concerns the worship of the god of the oak and the thunder. For that worship, as we shall see presently, belongs to the oldest stratum of Aryan civilisation in Europe.
[Sidenote: Sacred marriage of Jupiter and Juno.] But Jupiter did not reign alone on the top of his holy mountain. He had his consort with him, the goddess Juno, who was worshipped here under the same title, Moneta, as on the Capitol at Rome.[620] As the oak crown was sacred to Jupiter and Juno on the Capitol,[621] so we may suppose it was on the Alban Mount, from which the Capitoline worship was derived. Thus the oak-god would have his oak-goddess in the sacred oak grove. So at Dodona the oak-god Zeus was coupled with Dione, whose very name is only a dialectically different form of Juno;[622] and so on the top of Mount Cithaeron he was periodically wedded to an oaken image of Hera.[623] It is probable, though it cannot be positively proved, that the sacred marriage of Jupiter and Juno was annually celebrated by all the peoples of the Latin stock in the month which they named after the goddess, the midsummer month of June.[624] Now on the first of June the Roman pontiffs performed certain rites in the grove of Helernus beside the Tiber, and on the same day, and perhaps in the same place, a nymph of the grove, by name Carna, received offerings of lard and bean-porridge. She was said to be a huntress, chaste and coy, who gave [Sidenote: Janus and Carna.] the slip to her lovers in the depths of the wood, but was caught by Janus. Some took her to be Diana herself.[625] If she were indeed a form of that goddess, her union with Janus, that is, Dianus, would be appropriate; and as she had a chapel on the Caelian hill, which was once covered with oak-woods,[626] she may have been, like Egeria, an oak-nymph. Further, Janus, or Dianus, and Diana, as we shall see later on, were originally mere doubles of Jupiter and Juno, with whom they coincide in name and to some extent in function. Hence it appears to be not impossible that the rite celebrated by the pontiffs on the first of June in the sacred grove of Helernus was the marriage of Jupiter and Juno under the forms of Janus and Diana. It would be some confirmation of this view if we could be sure that, as Ovid seems to imply, the Romans were in the habit of placing branches of white thorn or buckthorn in their [Sidenote: Ancient use of white thorn or buckthorn to ward off witchcraft.] windows on the first of June to keep out the witches;[627] for in some parts of Europe precisely the same custom is observed, for the same reason, a month earlier, on the marriage day of the King and Queen of May.[628] The Greeks certainly believed that branches of white thorn or buckthorn fastened to a door or outside the house had power to disarm the malignant arts of sorcerers[629] and to exclude spirits. Hence they hung up branches of it before the door when sacrifices were being offered to the dead, lest any of the prowling ghosts should be tempted to revisit their old homes or to invade those of other people.[630] When the atheist Bion lay adying, he not only caused sacrifices to be offered on his behalf to the gods whose existence he had denied, but got an old hag to mumble incantations over him and to bind magical thongs about his arms, and he had boughs of buckthorn and laurel attached to the lintel to keep out death.[631] However, the evidence as to the rites observed by the Romans on the first of June is too slight and dubious to allow us to press the parallel with May Day.
[Sidenote: At the sacred marriage of Jupiter and Juno in later times the parts of the deities may have been acted by the Flamen Dialis and the Flaminica.] If at any time of the year the Romans celebrated the sacred marriage of Jupiter and Juno, as the Greeks commonly celebrated the corresponding marriage of Zeus and Hera,[632] we may suppose that under the Republic the ceremony was either performed over images of the divine pair or acted by the Flamen Dialis and his wife the Flaminica. For the Flamen Dialis was the priest of Jove; indeed, ancient and modern writers have regarded him, with much probability, as a living image of Jupiter, a human embodiment of the sky-god.[633] In earlier times the Roman king, as representative of Jupiter, would naturally play the part of the heavenly bridegroom at the sacred marriage, while his queen would figure as the heavenly bride, just as in Egypt [Sidenote: The Flamen and Flaminica may have been the deputies of the king and queen.] the king and queen masqueraded in the character of deities, and as at Athens the queen annually wedded the vine-god Dionysus. That the Roman king and queen should act the parts of Jupiter and Juno would seem all the more natural because these deities themselves bore the title of King and Queen.[634] Even if the office of Flamen Dialis existed under the kings, as it appears to have done, the double representation of Jupiter by the king and the flamen need not have seemed extraordinary to the Romans of the time. The same sort of duplication, as we saw, appears to have taken place at Alba, when the Julii were allowed to represent the supreme god in the character of Little Jupiters, while the royal dynasty of the Silvii continued to wield the divine thunder and lightning.[635] And long ages afterwards, history repeating itself, another member of the Julian house, the first emperor of Rome, was deified in his lifetime under the title of Jupiter, while a flamen was appointed to do for him what the Flamen Dialis did for the heavenly Jove.[636] It is said that Numa, the typical priestly king, at first himself discharged the functions of Flamen Dialis, but afterwards appointed a separate priest of Jupiter with that title, in order that the kings, untrammeled by the burdensome religious observances attached to the priesthood, might be free to lead their armies to battle.[637] The tradition may be substantially correct; for analogy shews that the functions of a priestly king are too harassing and too incongruous to be permanently united in the same hands, and that sooner or later the holder of the office seeks to rid himself of part of his burden by deputing to others, according to his temper and tastes, either his civil or his religious duties. Hence we may take it as probable that the fighting kings of Rome, tired of parading as Jupiter and of observing all the elaborate ritual, all the tedious restrictions which the character of godhead entailed on them, were glad to relegate these pious mummeries to a substitute, in whose hands they left the crosier at home while they went forth to wield the sharp Roman sword abroad. This would explain why the traditions of the later kings, from Tullus Hostilius onwards, exhibit so few traces of sacred or priestly functions adhering to their office. Among the ceremonies which they henceforward performed by deputy may have been the rite of the sacred marriage.
[Sidenote: At the sacred marriage the King and Queen of Rome probably personated the god and goddess of the oak.] Whether that was so or not, the legend of Numa and Egeria appears to embody a reminiscence of a time when the priestly king himself played the part of the divine bridegroom; and as we have seen reason to suppose that the Roman kings personated the oak-god, while Egeria is expressly said to have been an oak-nymph, the story of their union in the sacred grove raises a presumption that at Rome in the regal period a ceremony was periodically performed exactly analogous to that which was annually celebrated at Athens down to the time of Aristotle.[638] The marriage of the King of Rome to the oak-goddess, like the wedding of the vine-god to the Queen of Athens, must have been intended to quicken the growth of vegetation by homoeopathic magic. Of the two forms of the rite we can hardly doubt that the Roman was the older, and that long before the northern invaders met with the vine on the shores of the Mediterranean their forefathers had married the tree-god to the tree-goddess in the vast oak forests of Central and Northern Europe. In the England of our day the forests have mostly disappeared, yet still on many a village green and in many a country lane a faded image of the sacred marriage lingers in the rustic pageantry of May Day.
Footnote 540:
See above, vol. i. pp. 17 sq.
Footnote 541:
See above, vol. i. p. 12.
Footnote 542:
Catullus, xxxiv. 9 sqq.
Footnote 543:
Wernicke, in Pauly-Wissowa, Real-Encyklopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, ii. coll. 1343, 1351.
Footnote 544:
Plutarch, De fortuna Romanorum, 9. This statement would be strongly confirmed by etymology if we could be sure that, as Mr. A. B. Cook has suggested, the name Egeria is derived from a root aeg meaning “oak.” The name is spelt Aegeria by Valerius Maximus (i. 2. 1). See A. B. Cook, “Zeus, Jupiter, and the Oak,” Classical Review, xviii. (1904) p. 366; id. “The European Sky-God,” Folk-lore, xvi. (1905) pp. 283 sq.; and as to the root aeg see O. Schrader, Reallexikon der indogermanischen Atertumskunde (Strasburg, 1901), p. 164.
Footnote 545:
Festus, s.v. “Querquetulanae,” pp. 260, 261, ed. C. O. Müller.
Footnote 546:
See below, p. 380.
Footnote 547:
Servius on Virgil, Aen. iii. 466.
Footnote 548:
Tacitus, Annals, ii. 54; Pliny, Nat. Hist. ii. 232; Pausanias, ix. 2. 11, x. 24. 7; Lucian, Bis accusatus, 1.
Footnote 549:
See above, vol. i. p. 18.
Footnote 550:
See above, pp. 130 sqq.
Footnote 551:
The first, I believe, to point out a parallelism in detail between Rome and Aricia was Mr. A. B. Cook (Classical Review, xvii. (1902) pp. 376 sqq.); but from the similarity he inferred the humanity of the Arician priests rather than the divinity of the Roman kings. A fuller consideration of all the evidence has since led him, rightly as I conceive, to reverse the inference. See his articles “Zeus, Jupiter, and the Oak,” The Classical Review, xviii. (1904) pp. 360-375; “The European Sky-God,” Folk-lore, xvi. (1905) pp. 260-332. In the first and second editions of this work I had suggested that the regifugium at Rome may have been a relic of a rule of succession to the throne like that which obtained at Nemi. The following discussion of the religious position of the old Latin kings owes much to Mr. Cook’s sagacity and learning, of which he freely imparted to me.
Footnote 552:
Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Rom. iii. 61 sq., iv. 74, v. 35; B. G. Niebuhr, History of Rome, ii. 36; Th. Mommsen, History of Rome, New Edition (London, 1894), i. 83; A. J. H. Greenidge, Roman Public Life (London, 1901), pp. 44 sq. But Mommsen, while he held that the costume of a Roman god and of the Roman king was the same, denied that the king personated the god. A truer historical insight is displayed by K. O. Müller in his treatment of the subject (Die Etrusker, Stuttgart, 1877, i. 348 sq.). For a discussion of the evidence see Th. Mommsen, Römisches Staatsrecht, 3rd Ed., i. 372 sq., ii. 5 sq.; J. Marquardt, Römische Staatsverwaltung, ii. 566 sq., iii. 2nd Ed., 507 sq.; id., Privatleben der Römer, 2nd Ed., 542 sq.; K. O. Müller, op. cit. i. 344-350, ii. 198-200; Aust, s.v. “Juppiter,” in W. H. Roscher’s Lexikon der griech. u. röm. Mythologie, ii. coll. 633, 725-728. Among the chief passages of ancient authors on the subject are Dionysius Halicarnasensis, ll.cc.; Strabo, v. 2. 2, p. 220; Diodorus Siculus, v. 40; Appian, Pun. 66; Zonaras, Annal. vii. 8 and 21; Livy, i. 8. 1 sq., v. 23. 4 sq., v. 41. 2, x. 7. 9 sq.; Florus, i. 5. 6; Pliny, Nat. Hist. viii. 195, xv. 127, 130, 137, xxxiii. 11. 111 sq.; Juvenal, x. 36-43; Ovid, Ex Ponto, ii. 57 sq.; Macrobius, Saturn. i. 6. 7-9; Servius on Virgil, Ecl. vi. 22, x. 27; Ael. Lampridius, Alexander Severus, 40. 8; Jul. Capitolinus, Gordiani tres, 4. 4; Aulus Gellius, v. 6. 5-7; Tertullian, De corona militis, 13. The fullest descriptions of a Roman triumph are those of Appian and Zonaras (vii. 21).
Footnote 553:
Camillus triumphed in a chariot drawn by white horses like the sacred white horses of Jupiter and the Sun. His Republican contemporaries were offended at what they regarded as a too close imitation of the gods (Livy, v. 23. 5 sq.; Plutarch, Camillus, 7; Dio Cassius, lii. 13); but the Roman emperors followed his example, or perhaps revived the old custom of the kings. See Dio Cassius, xliii. 14; Suetonius, Nero, 25; Pliny, Panegyric, 22; Propertius, v. 1. 32; Ovid, Ars amat. i. 214. On the sanctity of white horses among various branches of the Aryan stock, see J. von Negelein, “Die volksthümliche Bedeutung der weissen Farbe,” Zeitschrift für Ethnologie, xxxiii. (1901) pp. 62-66; W. Ridgeway, The Origin and Influence of the Thoroughbred Horse (Cambridge, 1905), pp. 105, 186, 187, 294, 295, 419. As to the horses of the Sun, see above, vol. i. pp. 315 sq.
Footnote 554:
Tertullian, De corona militis, 13, “Coronant et publicos ordines laureis publicae causae magistratus vero insuper aureis. Praeferuntur etiam illis Hetruscae. Hoc vocabulum est coronarum, quas gemmis et foliis ex auro quercinis ob Jovem insignes ad deducendas thensas cum palmatis togis sumunt.” The thensae were the sacred cars in which the images of the gods were carried at the procession of the Circensian games (see W. Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, 3rd Ed., s.v.). That the Etruscan crown described by Tertullian was the golden crown held by a slave over the head of a general on his triumph may be inferred from Pliny, Nat. Hist. xxxiii. 11, “Vulgoque sic triumphabant, et cum corona ex auro Etrusca sustineretur a tergo, anulus tamen in digito ferreus erat aeque triumphantis et servi fortasse coronam sustinentis.” Compare Zonaras, Annal. vii. 21; Juvenal, x. 38 sqq. Mommsen says that the triumphal golden crown was made in the shape of laurel leaves (Römisches Staatsrecht, i. 3rd Ed., 427); but none of the ancient authors cited by him appears to affirm this, with the exception of Aulus Gellius (v. 6. 5-7, “Triumphales coronae sunt aureae, quae imperatoribus ob honorem triumphi mittuntur. Id vulgo dicitur aurum coronarium. Haec antiquitus e lauru erant, post fieri ex aura coeptae”). Gellius may have confused the wreath of real laurel which the general wore on his head (Pliny, Nat. Hist. xxxiii. 127, 130, 137) with the golden crown which was held over him by a slave. The two crowns are clearly distinguished by Zonaras (l.c.), though he does not describe the shape of the golden crown. Thus there is no good ground for rejecting the express testimony of Tertullian that the golden crown was shaped like oak-leaves. This seems to have been Mommsen’s own earlier opinion, since he mentions “a chaplet of oaken leaves in gold” as part of the insignia of the Roman kings (Roman History, London, 1894, i. 83).
Footnote 555:
Pliny, Nat. Hist. xxxiii. 111 sq.; Servius on Virgil, Ecl. vi. 22, x. 27.
Footnote 556:
Pausanias, ii. 2. 6, vii. 26. 11, viii. 39. 6. For other examples of idols painted red see my note on Pausanias, ii. 2. 6.
Footnote 557:
For instances see Fr. Kunstmann, “Valentin Ferdinand’s Beschreibung der Serra Leoa,” Abhandlungen d. histor. Classe d. kön. Bayer. Akademie d. Wissenschaften, ix. (Munich, 1866) p. 131; J. B. Labat, Relation historique de l’Éthiopie Occidentale (Paris, 1732), i. 250; Gmelin, Reise durch Sibirien, ii. 476; “Ueber den religiösen Glauben und die Ceremonien der heidnischen Samojeden im Kreise Mesen,” Zeitschrift für allgemeine Erdkunde, N.F. viii. (1860) p. 59; E. Rae, The White Sea Peninsula, p. 150; J. B. Müller, “Les Mœurs et usages des Ostiackes,” Recueil de voiages au Nord, viii. (Amsterdam, 1727) pp. 414 sq.; Delamare, in Annales de la Propagation de la Foi, xii. (1840) p. 482; Sahagun, Histoire générale des choses de la Nouvelle-Espagne (Paris, 1880), p. 185; J. de Velasco, Histoire du royaume de Quito, p. 121 (Ternaux-Compans, Voyages, relations et mémoires, xviii., Paris, 1840); E. J. Payne, History of the New World called America, i. 374 n. 1; F. B. Jevons, Introduction to the History of Religion (London, 1896), p. 158. Often we are merely told that the blood is smeared or sprinkled on the image. See A. B. Ellis, Ewe-speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast, pp. 42, 79; id., Yoruba-speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast, pp. 102, 106; A. F. Mockler-Ferryman, British Nigeria (London, 1902), p. 255; Fr. Kramer, “Der Götzendienst der Niasser,” Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, xxxiii. (1890) p. 496. For more examples see my note on Pausanias, ii. 2. 6.
Footnote 558:
Pliny, Nat. Hist. xii. 3; Phaedrus, iii. 17. 1 sqq.; Servius on Virgil, Georg. iii. 332, and on Ecl. i. 17.
Footnote 559:
Livy, i. 10. 4 sqq.
Footnote 560:
Plutarch, Quaest. Rom. 92.
Footnote 561:
Ovid, Tristia, iii. 31 sqq.
Footnote 562:
Dio Cassius, liii. 19.
Footnote 563:
Ovid, Fasti, i. 607 sqq., iv. 953 sq. Tiberius refused a similar honour (Suetonius, Tiberius, 26); but Domitian seems to have accepted it (Martial, viii. 82. 7). Two statues of Claudius, one in the Vatican, the other in the Lateran Museum, represent the emperor as Jupiter wearing the oak crown (W. Helbig, Führer durch die öffentlichen Sammlungen klassischer Altertümer in Rom, 2nd Ed., i. Nos. 312, 673).
Footnote 564:
Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, viii. No. 6981.
Footnote 565:
J. Overbeck, Griechische Kunstmythologie, Besonderer Theil, i. 232 sqq.; L. R. Farnell, The Cults of the Greek States, i. 107 sq.
Footnote 566:
See above, vol. i. p. 310.
Footnote 567:
Antoninus Liberalis, Transform. 6. For this and the two following passages of Tzetzes I am indebted to Mr. A. B. Cook. See further his articles, “Zeus, Jupiter, and the Oak,” Classical Review, xvii. (1903) p. 409; “The European Sky-god,” Folk-lore, xv. (1904) pp. 299 sqq.
Footnote 568:
H. Ebeling, Lexicon Homericum, s.vv. βασιλεύς, διοτρεφής, and θεῖος.
Footnote 569:
J. Tzetzes, Antehomerica, 102 sq.:
οἱ πρὶν γάρ τε Δίας πάντας κάλεον βασιλῆας, οὕνεκά μιν καλὸς Διὸς ἀστὴρ σκῆπτρον ὀπάζει.
id., Chiliades, i. 474:
τοὺς βασιλεῖς δ’ ἀνέκαθε Δίας ἐκάλουν πάντας.
Footnote 570:
Polybius, vi. 53 sq.
Footnote 571:
As to the situation, see Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Ant. Rom. i. 66; H. Nissen, Italische Landeskunde, ii. 582 sq.
Footnote 572:
Virgil, Aen. vi. 772. I have to thank Mr. A. B. Cook for directing my attention to the Alban kings and their interesting legends. See his articles “Zeus, Jupiter, and the Oak,” Classical Review, xviii. (1904) pp. 363 sq.; “The European Sky-god,” Folk-lore, xvi. (1905) pp. 285 sqq.
Footnote 573:
Virgil, Aen. vi. 760 sqq., with the commentary of Servius; Livy, i. 3. 6 sqq.; Ovid, Metam. xiv. 609 sqq.; id., Fasti, iv. 39 sqq.; Festus, s.v. “Silvi,” p. 340, ed. C. O. Müller; Aurelius Victor, Origo gentis Romanae, 15-17; Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Rom. i. 70; Diodorus Siculus, in Eusebius, Chronic. i. coll. 285, 287, ed. A. Schoene; Diodorus Siculus, vii. 3a and 3b, vol. ii. pp. 110-112, ed. L. Dindorf (Teubner edition); Joannes Lydus, De magistratibus, i. 21. As to the derivation of the name Julus, see Aurelius Victor, op. cit. 15, “Igitur Latini Ascanium ob insignem virtutem non solum Jove ortum crediderunt, sed etiam per diminutionem, declinato paululum nomine, primo Jobum, dein postea Julum appellarant”; also Steuding, in W. H. Roscher’s Lexikon d. griech. u. röm. Mythologie, ii. 574. Compare W. M. Lindsay, The Latin Language (Oxford, 1894), p. 250. According to Diodorus, the priesthood bestowed on Julus was the pontificate; but the name Julus or Little Jupiter suggests that the office was rather that of Flamen Dialis, who was a sort of living embodiment of Jupiter (see below, pp. 191 sq.), and whose name of Dialis is derived from the same root as Julus. On the Julii and their relation to Vejovis see R. H. Klausen, Aeneas und die Penaten, ii. 1059 sqq.
Footnote 574:
See above, p. 1, and vol. i. p. 44.
Footnote 575:
Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, xiv. No. 2387; L. Preller, Römische Mythologie, 3rd Ed., i. 263 sq. On Vejovis as the Little Jupiter see Festus, s.v. “Vesculi,” p. 379, “Ve enim syllabam rei parvae praeponebant, unde Veiovem parvum Iovem et vegrandem fabam minutam dicebant”; also Ovid, Fasti, iii. 429-448. At Rome the sanctuary of Vejovis was on the saddle between the two peaks of the Capitoline hill (Aulus Gellius, v. 12. 1 sq.; Ovid, Fasti, iii. 429 sq.); thus he appropriately dwelt on the same hill as the Great Jupiter, but lower down the slope. On coins of the Gargilian, Ogulnian and Vergilian houses Vejovis is represented by a youthful beardless head, crowned with oak. See E. Babelon, Monnaies de la République Romaine, i. 532, ii. 266, 529. On other Republican coins his head is crowned with laurel. See E. Babelon, op. cit. i. 77, 505-508, ii. 6, 8. Circensian games were held at Bovillae in honour of the Julian family, and Tiberius dedicated a chapel to them there. See Tacitus, Annals, ii. 41, xv. 23.
Footnote 576:
Festus, s.v. “Caesar,” p. 57, ed. C. O. Müller. Other but less probable explanations of the name are suggested by Aelius Spartianus (Helius, ii. 3 sq.).
Footnote 577:
As to the Frankish kings see Agathias, Hist. i. 3; J. Grimm, Deutsche Rechtsalterthümer, pp. 239 sqq.; The Golden Bough, Second Edition, i. 368 sq.
Footnote 578:
Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Roman. i. 71; Diodorus Siculus, in Eusebius, Chronic. bk. i. coll. 287, 289, ed. A. Schoene; Diodorus Siculus, vii. 3a and 4, ed. L. Dindorf; Zonaras, Annal. vii. 1; Aurelius Victor, Origo gentis Romanae, 18; Ovid, Metam. xiv. 616-618; id., Fasti, iv. 50; Livy, i. 3. 9. The king is called Romulus by Livy, Remulus by Ovid, Aremulus by Aurelius Victor, Amulius by Zonaras, Amulius or Arramulius by Diodorus, and Allodius by Dionysius. A tale of a city submerged in the Alban lake is still current in the neighbourhood. See the English translators’ note to Niebuhr’s History of Rome, 3rd Ed., i. 200. Similar stories are told in many lands. See my note on Pausanias, vii. 24. 6.
Footnote 579:
See above, vol. i. p. 310.
Footnote 580:
See above, vol. i. pp. 342 sqq.
Footnote 581:
Pliny, Nat. Hist. ii. 140, xxviii. 13 sq. Other writers speak only of Numa’s skill in expiating the prodigy or evil omen of thunderbolts. See Livy, i. 20. 7; Ovid, Fasti, iii. 285-348; Plutarch, Numa, 15; Arnobius, Adversus nationes, v. 1-4.
Footnote 582:
See above, vol. i. pp. 248, 251.
Footnote 583:
Apollodorus, i. 9. 7; Virgil, Aen. vi. 592 sqq.; Pliny, Nat. Hist. ii. 140, xxviii. 14 (referring to the first book of L. Piso’s Annals); Livy, i. 31. 8; Aurelius Victor, De viris illustribus, 4; Zonaras, Annal. vii. 6. According to another account Tullus Hostilius was murdered by his successor Ancus Martius during a violent storm (Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Rom. iii. 35; Zonaras, l.c.).
Footnote 584:
Livy, i. 2. 6; Ovid, Metam. xiv. 598-608; Pliny, Nat. Hist. iii. 56; Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Rom. i. 64; Servius on Virgil, Aen. i. 259; Aurelius Victor, Origo gentis Romanae, 14. Only the last writer mentions the thunderstorm.
Footnote 585:
Livy, i. 16; Cicero, De legibus, i. 1. 3; id., De re publica, i. 16. 25, ii. 10. 20; Ovid, Fasti, ii. 475-512; Plutarch, Romulus, 27 sq.; Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Rom. ii. 56 and 63; Zonaras, Annal. vii. 4; Aurelius Victor, De viris illustribus, 2; Florus, Epitoma, i. 1. 16-18. From Cicero (De legibus, i. 1. 3) we learn that the apparition of Romulus to Proculus Julius took place near the spot where the house of Atticus afterwards stood, and from Cornelius Nepos (Atticus, 13. 2) we know that Atticus had an agreeable villa and shady garden on the Quirinal. As to the temple of Quirinus see also Varro, De lingua Latina, v. 51; Festus, pp. 254, 255, ed. C. O. Müller; Pliny, Nat. Hist. xv. 120. As to the site of the temple and the question whether it was identical with the temple dedicated by L. Papirius Cursor in 293 B.C. (Livy, x. 46. 7; Pliny, Nat. Hist. vii. 213) see O. Richter, Topographie der Stadt Rom, 2nd Ed., pp. 286 sqq.; G. Wissowa, Gesammelte Abhandlungen (Munich, 1904), pp. 144 sqq.
Footnote 586:
See A. B. Cook, “Zeus, Jupiter, and the Oak,” Classical Review, xviii. (1904) pp. 368 sq.; id. “The European Sky-god,” Folk-lore, xvi. (1905) p. 281. But a serious argument against the proposed derivation of Quirinus from quercus is that, as I am informed by my learned philological friend the Rev. Prof. J. H. Moulton, it is inconsistent with the much more probable derivation of Perkunas from quercus. See below, p. 367, note 3.
Footnote 587:
See above, vol. i. pp. 262 sqq.
Footnote 588:
J. I. Molina, Geographical, Natural, and Civil History of Chili (London, 1809), ii. 92 sq. The savage Conibos of the Ucayali river in eastern Peru imagine that thunder is the voice of the dead (W. Smyth and F. Lowe, Journey from Lima to Para, London, 1836, p. 240); and among them when parents who have lost a child within three months hear thunder, they go and dance on the grave, howling turn about (De St. Cricq, “Voyage du Pérou au Brésil,” Bulletin de la Société de Géographie, ivme série, vi., Paris, 1853, p. 294). The Yuracares of eastern Peru threaten the thunder-god with their arrows and defy him when he thunders (A. D’Orbigny, L’Homme américain, i. 365), just as the Thracians did of old (Herodotus, iv. 94). So the Kayans of Borneo, on hearing a peal of thunder, have been seen to grasp their swords for the purpose of keeping off the demon who causes it (A. W. Nieuwenhuis, In Centraal Borneo, i. 140 sq., 146 sq.).
Footnote 589:
See above, vol. i. p. 310; and for the connexion of the rite with Jupiter Elicius see O. Gilbert, Geschichte und Topographie der Stadt Rom im Altertum, ii. 154 sq.; Aust, in W. H. Roscher’s Lexikon der griech. und röm. Mythologie, ii. 657 sq. As to the connexion of Jupiter with the rain-making ceremony (aquaelicium), the combined evidence of Petronius (Sat. 44) and Tertullian (Apologeticus, 40) seems to me conclusive.
Footnote 590:
Ovid, Fasti, i. 637 sq., vi. 183 sqq.; Livy, vii. 28. 4 sq.; Cicero, De divinatione, i. 45. 101; Solinus, i. 21. Although the temple was not dedicated until 344 B.C., the worship of the goddess of the hill appears to have been very ancient. See H. Jordan, Topographie der Stadt Rom im Altertum, i. 2, pp. 109 sq.; W. H. Roscher, Lexikon d. griech. u. röm. Mythologie, ii. coll. 592 sq.
Footnote 591:
Livy, i. 8. 5; Ovid, Fasti, iii. 430; Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Rom. ii. 15.
Footnote 592:
Virgil, Aen. viii. 314-318, 347-354.
Footnote 593:
Plutarch, Quaest. Rom. 92.
Footnote 594:
Livy, i. 10. 5.
Footnote 595:
Mons Querquetulanus; see Tacitus, Annals, iv. 65.
Footnote 596:
A monument found at Rome represents Jupiter beside an oak, and underneath is the dedication: Jovi Caelio. See H. Dessau, Inscriptiones Latinae selectae, No. 3080.
Footnote 597:
Porta Querquetulana or Querquetularia; see Pliny, Nat. Hist. xvi. 37; Festus, pp. 260, 261, ed. C. O. Müller.
Footnote 598:
Festus, ll.cc.; Varro, De lingua Latina, v. 49.
Footnote 599:
E. Babelon, Monnaies de la République Romaine, i. 99 sq.
Footnote 600:
Varro, De lingua Latina, v. 49, where, however, “alii ab aesculetis” is a conjecture of C. O. Müller’s. I do not know what authority O. Richter has for reading aesculis consitae (“planted with oaks”) for excultae in this passage (Topographie der Stadt Rom, 2nd Ed., p. 302, n. 4). Modern topographers prefer to derive the name from ex-colere in the sense of “the hill outside the city” (O. Richter, l.c.; O. Gilbert, Geschichte und Topographie der Stadt Rom im Altertum, i. 166 sq.).
Footnote 601:
See above, p. 182.
Footnote 602:
Ovid, Fasti, iii. 295 sq.
Footnote 603:
See above, vol. i. p. 18; and for the identification, O. Gilbert, Geschichte und Topographie der Stadt Rom im Altertum, ii. 152 sqq.; A. B. Cook, “Zeus, Jupiter, and the Oak,” Classical Review, xviii. (1904) p. 366.
Footnote 604:
Cicero, De divinatione, i. 45, 101.
Footnote 605:
G. Boni, in Notizie degli Scavi, May 1900, pp. 161, 172; id., Aedes Vestae, p. 14 (extract from the Nuova Antologia, 1st August 1900). Copies of these and other papers containing Commendatore Boni’s account of his memorable excavations and discoveries were kindly given me by him during my stay in Rome in the winter of 1900-1901. That the fire in question was a sacrificial one is proved by the bones, potsherds, and rude copper money found among the ashes. Commend. Boni thinks that the charred remains of the wood prove that the fire was extinguished, probably by libations, and that therefore it cannot have been the perpetual holy fire of Vesta, which would have burned up completely all the fuel. But a new fire was annually lit on the first of March (Ovid, Fasti, iii. 143 sq.; Macrobius, Saturn. i. 12. 6), which may imply that the old fire was ceremonially extinguished, as often happens in such cases.
Footnote 606:
Pliny, Nat. Hist. xvi. 37.
Footnote 607:
O. Richter, Topographie der Stadt Rom, 2nd Ed., p. 211.
Footnote 608:
Pliny, Nat. Hist. xvi. 237. The inscription was probably not in the Etruscan language, but only in an archaic alphabet like that employed in the inscription on the pyramidal stone which has been found under the Black Stone in the Forum.
Footnote 609:
G. Boni, “Bimbi Romulei,” Nuova Antologia, 16th February 1904, pp. 5 sqq. (separate reprint); E. Burton-Brown, Recent Excavations in the Roman Forum (London, 1904), p. 150.
Footnote 610:
Festus, s.v. “Oscillantes,” p. 194, ed. C. O. Müller.
Footnote 611:
Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Rom. iv. 49; A. Schwegler, Römische Geschichte, i. 341; H. Nissen, Italische Landeskunde, ii. 580. It is to be observed that Dionysius does not here speak of the dedication of a temple to Jupiter; when he describes the foundation of the temple of Capitoline Jupiter by Tarquin (iv. 59 and 61) his language is quite different. The monastery, founded in 1777 by Cardinal York, the last of the Stuarts, has now been converted into a meteorological station and an inn (K. Baedeker, Central Italy and Rome, 13th Ed., p. 400). It is fitting enough that the atmospheric phenomena should be observed by modern science on the spot where they were worshipped by ancient piety.
Footnote 612:
Livy, i. 31. 3.
Footnote 613:
According to tradition, the future site of Alba Longa was marked out by a white sow and her litter, which were found lying under evergreen oaks (Virgil, Aen. viii. 43), as Mr. A. B. Cook has pointed out (Classical Review, xviii. 363). The tradition seems to shew that the neighbourhood of the city was wooded with oaks.
Footnote 614:
See below, p. 380.
Footnote 615:
Querquetulani. See Pliny, Nat. Hist. iii. 69; Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Rom. v. 61. As to the white bulls sacrificed at the great Latin festival and partaken of by the members of the League, see Arnobius, Adversus nationes, ii. 68; Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Ant. Rom. iv. 49. Compare Cicero, Pro Plancio, ix. 23; Varro, De lingua Latina, vi. 25.
Footnote 616:
Theophrastus, Histor. plant. v. 8. 3.
Footnote 617:
Arnobius, Adversus nationes, ii. 68; Livy, xxii. 10. 7; Ovid, Ex Ponto, iv. 4. 31; Servius on Virgil, Georg. ii. 146; Horace, Carmen Saeculare, 49.
Footnote 618:
Pliny, Nat. Hist. xvi. 250 sq.
Footnote 619:
“Italic and Keltic are so closely bound together by important phonetic and morphological affinities that they are sometimes spoken of as one branch” of Aryan speech (J. H. Moulton, Two Lectures on the Science of Language, Cambridge, 1903, p. 6, note). “The connection of the Celtic and Italic languages is structural. It is much deeper than that of Celts and Teutons, and goes back to an earlier epoch. Celts and Latins must have dwelt together as an undivided people in the valley of the Danube, and it must have been at a much later time—after the Umbrians and Latins had crossed the Alps—that the contact of Celts and Teutons came about” (Isaac Taylor, The Origin of the Aryans, p. 192; compare id. p. 257). See also P. Giles, Manual of Comparative Philology 2nd Ed., (London, 1901), p. 26.
Footnote 620:
Livy, xlii. 7. 1, xlv. 15. 10. Compare Dio Cassius, xxxix. 20. 1. The temple on the Alban Mount was dedicated in 168 B.C., but the worship was doubtless far older.
Footnote 621:
See above, pp. 176, 184.
Footnote 622:
Strabo, vii. 7. 12, p. 329; Hyperides, Or. iii. coll. 35-37, pp. 43 sq., ed. Blass; G. Curtius, Griech. Etymologie, 5th Ed., p. 236; W. H. Roscher, Juno und Hera (Leipsic, 1875), pp. 17 sq.; id., Lexikon d. griech. u. röm. Mythologie, ii. coll. 576, 578 sq. See below, p. 381.
Footnote 623:
See above, pp. 140 sqq.
Footnote 624:
W. H. Roscher, Juno und Hera, pp. 64 sqq.; id., Lexikon d. griech. u. röm. Mythologie, ii. 575 sq., 591 sqq. At Falerii the image of Juno was annually carried in procession from her sacred grove, and in some respects the ceremony resembled a marriage procession (Ovid, Amores, iii. 13; Dionysius Halicarnasensis, Antiquit. Rom. i. 21). The name of June was Junius at Rome, Junonius at Aricia, Laurentum and Lavinia, and Junonalis at Tibur and Praeneste (Ovid, Fasti, vi. 59-63; Macrobius, Sat. i. 12. 30). The forms Junonius and Junonalis are recognised by Festus (p. 103, ed. C. O. Müller). Their existence among the Latins seems to render the derivation of Junius from Juno quite certain, though that derivation is doubted by Mr. W. Warde Fowler (Roman Festivals of the Period of the Republic, pp. 99 sq.).
Footnote 625:
Ovid, Fasti, vi. 101-168; Macrobius, Sat. i. 12. 31-33; Tertullian, Ad nationes, ii. 9; Varro, quoted by Nonius Marcellus, De compendiosa doctrina, p. 390, ed. L. Quicherat. There was a sacred beechen grove of Diana on a hill called Corne near Tusculum (Pliny, Nat. Hist. xvi. 242). But Corne has probably no connection with Carna. The grove of Helernus was crowded with worshippers on the first of February (Ovid, Fasti, ii. 67, where Helerni is a conjectural emendation for Averni or Asyli). Nothing else is known about Helernus, unless with Merkel (in his edition of Ovid’s Fasti, pp. cxlviii. sq.) we read Elerno for Eterno in Festus, p. 93, ed. C. O. Müller. In that case it would seem that black oxen were sacrificed to him. From the association of Carna with Janus it was inferred by Merkel (l.c.) that the grove of Helernus stood on or near the Janiculum, where there was a grove of oaks (see above, p. 186). But the language of Ovid (Fasti, ii. 67) points rather to the mouth of the Tiber.
Footnote 626:
See above, p. 185.
Footnote 627:
Ovid, Fasti, vi. 129-168. A Roman bride on the way to her husband’s house was preceded by a boy bearing a torch of buckthorn (spina alba, Festus, s.v. “Patrimi,” p. 245, ed. C. O. Müller; Varro, quoted by Nonius Marcellus, De compendiosa doctrina, s.v. “Fax,” p. 116, ed. L. Quicherat). The intention probably was to defend her from enchantment and evil spirits. Branches of buckthorn were also thought to protect a house against thunderbolts (Columella, De re rustica, x. 346 sq.).
Footnote 628:
See above, p. 54.
Footnote 629:
Dioscorides, De arte medica, i. 119.
Footnote 630:
Scholiast on Nicander, Theriaca, 861.
Footnote 631:
Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum, iv. 54-57.
Footnote 632:
See above, p. 143.
Footnote 633:
Plutarch, Quaest. Rom. 111 εἰκὸς μὲν οὖν ἐστι καὶ τὸν ἱερέα τοῦ Διὸς ὥσπερ ἔμψυχον καὶ ἱερὸν ἄγαλμα καταφύξιμον ἀνεῖσθαι τοῖς δεομένοις; L. Preller, Römische Mythologie, 3rd Ed., i. 201; F. B. Jevons, Plutarch’s Romane Questions, p. lxxiii.; C. Julian, in Daremberg et Saglio, Dictionnaire des antiquités grecques et romaines, ii. 1156 sqq.
Footnote 634:
Cicero, De re publica, iii. 13. 22; Virgil, Aen. x. 112; Horace, Sat. ii. 1. 42 sq.; Ovid, Fasti, vi. 37; Varro, De lingua Latina, v. 6. 7; Livy, v. 21. 2, v. 23. 7; Pliny, Nat. Hist. xxxv. 115; Flavius Vopiscus, Probus, xii. 7; L. Preller, Römische Mythologie, 3rd Ed., i. 205, 284; W. H. Roscher, Lexikon d. griech. u. röm. Mythologie, ii. 600 sqq.
Footnote 635:
See above, pp. 179 sq.
Footnote 636:
Cicero, Philippics, ii. 43. 110; Suetonius, Divus Julius, 76; Dio Cassius, xliv. 6. The coincidence has been pointed out by Mr. A. B. Cook (Classical Review, xviii. 371).
Footnote 637:
Livy, i. 20. 1 sq.
Footnote 638:
Numa was not the only Roman king who is said to have enjoyed the favours of a goddess. Romulus was married to Hersilia, who seems to have been a Sabine goddess. Ovid tells us how, when the dead Romulus had been raised to the rank of a god under the name of Quirinus, his widow Hersilia was deified as his consort. Thus, if Quirinus was a Sabine oak-god, his wife would be an oak-goddess, like Egeria. See Ovid, Metam. xiv. 829-851. Compare Livy, i. 11. 2; Plutarch, Numa, 14. On Hersilia as a goddess see A. Schwegler, Römische Geschichte, i. 478, note 10; L. Preller, Römische Mythologie, 3rd Ed., i. 372. Again, of King Servius Tullius we read how the goddess Fortuna, smitten with love of him, used to enter his house nightly by a window. See Ovid, Fasti, vi. 569 sqq.; Plutarch, Quaestiones Romanae, 36; id., De fortuna Romanorum, 10. However, the origin and nature of Fortuna are too obscure to allow us to base any conclusions on this legend. For various more or less conjectural explanations of the goddess see W. Warde Fowler, Roman Festivals of the Period of the Republic, pp. 161-172.