Virgil And The Daughter Of The Emperor Of Rome

“As the lily dies away
In the garden, in the plain,
Then as beautiful and gay
In the summer comes again;
So may life, when love is o’er,
In a child appear once more.”

The following strange legend, which was taken down by Maddalena from some authority to me unknown, near Arezzo, is so imperfectly told in the original, and is, moreover, so evidently repieced and botched by an ignorant narrator, that I at first rejected it altogether; but finding on consideration that it had some curious relations with other tales, I determined to give it for what it may be worth.

* * * * *

Once the Emperor of Rome was in his palace very melancholy, nor could he rally (_ralegrarla_), do what he might. Then he went forth into the groves to hear the birds sing, for this generally cheered him, but now it was of no avail.

Then he sent a courier to Florence, and bade him call Virgil with all haste.

Virgil followed the messenger at full speed.

“What wilt thou of me?” asked the sorcerer of the Emperor.

“I wish to be relieved from the melancholy which oppresses me. I want joy.”

“Do like me, and thou wilt always have a peaceful mind:

“‘I work no evil to any man;
I ever do what good I can.
He who acts thus has ever the power
To turn to peace the darkest hour!’”

“Nor do I recall that I ever did anything to regret,” replied the Emperor.

“Well, then, come with me, for I think that a little journey will be the best means of distracting your mind and relieving you from melancholy.”

“Very well,” replied the Emperor. “Lead where you will; anything for a change.”

“We will take a look at all the small districts of Tuscany,” answered Virgil.

“Going from the Florentino,
Through Valdarno to Casentino;
Where’er we see the olives bloom,
And smell the lily’s rich perfume,
And mountains rise and rivulets flow,
Thither, my lord, we two will go.”

To which the Emperor replied:

“Where’er you will, all things to see,
High or low—’tis all one to me,
If I can only happy be.”

So they travelled on through many places, but the Emperor was ever dull and sad; but when in Cortona he said that he felt a little better, and went forth with Virgil to look about the town.

[And it was unto this place and to a certain end that Virgil led his lord.]

Passing along a street, they saw at a window a girl of extraordinary beauty, who was knitting. . . . {a}

The girl instead of being angered, laughed, showing two rows of beautiful teeth, and said:

“Thou mayst become gold, and the skein a twist of gold.”

The girl was utterly surprised and confused at this, and knew not whether to accept or refuse (the gift offered).

The Emperor said to Virgil:

“Just see how beautiful she is. I would like to win her love, and make her mine.”

“Always the same song,” replied Virgil. “You never so much as say, ‘I wish she were my daughter.’”

“She can never be my daughter,” answered the Emperor; “but as she is as poor as she is beautiful, she may very easily become my love. Honour is of no value to a poor person.”

“Nay,” replied Virgil, “when the poor know its value, it is worth as much to them as gold to you who are wealthy. {b} And it is from your neglecting this that you have so long suffered, you knew not why [but an evil deed will burn, though you see no light and know not what it is]. For thus didst thou once betray a poor maid, and then cast her away without a further thought, not even bestowing aught upon her. And thou hadst a daughter, and her mother now lies ill and is well nigh to death. And it is this which afflicted thee [for every deed sends its light or shadow at some time unto the doer]. And now, if thou dost not repair this wrong, thou wilt never more know peace, and shalt ever sit in the chair of penitence.”

“And where is my daughter and her mother?” asked the Emperor.

“That girl is the daughter, and if you would see her mother, follow me,” replied Virgil.

When they entered the room where the dying woman lay, the Emperor recognised in her one whom he had loved.

“Truly,” he said, “she was the most beautiful to me of all.”

And he embraced and kissed her; she was of marvellous beauty; she asked him if he recognised their daughter.

“I recognise and acknowledge her,” he replied. “Wilt thou live?”

“No,” she replied; “for I have lived to the end, and return to life. [I am a fairy (_fata_) who came to earth to teach thee that fortune and power are given to the great not to oppress the weak and poor, but to benefit.”]

Saying this she died, and there remained a great bouquet of flowers.

The Emperor took his daughter to the palace, where she passed for his niece, and with her the flowers in which he ever beheld his old fairy love, and thus he lived happy and contented.