Angelo
de Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology or
The Legends of Animals (Vol. II of II) London, Trubner & Co.,1872.
THE
DOG.
SUMMARY.
Why the myth of the dog is difficult of
interpretation.--_Entre
chien et loup._--The dog and the moon.--The
bitch Saramâ; her double
aspect in the Vedâs and in the _Râmâyaṇam_; messenger, consoler, and
infernal being.--The dog and the purple;
the dog and the meat; the
dog and its shadow; the fearless hero and
his shadow; the black
monster; the fear of Indras.--The two Vedic
dogs; Sârameyas and
Hermęs.--The favourite dog of Saramâ; the
dog that steals during the
sacrifice; the form of a dog to expiate
crimes committed in former
states of existence; relative Hindoo,
Pythagorean and Christian
beliefs.--The dog Yamas.--The dog demon
that barks, with the long
bitter tongue.--The red bitch towards
morning a beautiful maiden
during the night.--The intestines of the dog
eaten.--The hawk that
carries honey and the sterile woman.--Dog
and woodpecker.--The dog
carries the bones of the witch's
daughter.--The dog-messenger brings
news of the hero.--The nurse-bitch.--The
dog and his collar; the dog
tied up; the hero becomes a dog.--The dog
helps the hero.--The
branch of the apple-tree opens the
door.--The dog tears the devil in
pieces.--The two sons of Ivan think
themselves dog's sons.--The
intestines of the fish given to be eaten by
the bitch.--Ivan the son
of the bitch, the very strong hero, goes to
the infernal
regions.--Dioscuri, Kerberos, funereal
purifying dogs of the
Persians; the penitent dog; the two dogs
equivalent to the two
Açvinâu.--The luminous children transformed
into puppies; relative
legends; the maiden whose hands have been
cut off obtains golden
hands; branches of trees, hands, sons born
of a tree; the myth
compared and explained in the Vedic hymns,
with the example of
Hiraṇyahastas;
the word _vadhrimatî_.--The demoniacal dog.--The
strength of the mythical dog.--Monstrous
dogs.--The dog Sirius.--To
swear by the dog or by the wolf.--A dog is
always born among
wolves.--The dog dreamed of.--Double
appearance of the dog; the
stories of the king of the assassins and of
the magician with seven
heads.--St Vitus invoked in Sicily whilst a
dog is being tied
up.--The dog of the shepherd behaves like a
wolf among the
sheep.--The dog as an instrument of
chastisement; the expressions to
lead the dog and the ignominious punishment
of carrying the
dog.--The dogs that tear in pieces; the
death caused by the dog
prognosticated; the dogs Sirius and
Kerberos igneous and
pestilential; the incendiary dog of St
Dominic, the inventor of
pyres for burning heretics, and the dog of
the infected San Rocco.
The
myth of the dog is one of those of which the interpretation is
more
delicate. As the common dog stays upon the doorstep of the house,
so
is the mythical dog generally found at the gate of the sky, morning
and
evening, in connection with the two Açvinâu. It was a fugitive
phenomenon
of but an instant's duration which determined the formation
of
the principal myth of the dog. When this moment is past, the myth
changes
its nature. I have already referred to the French expression,
"entre
chien et loup," as used to denote the twilight;[29] the dog
precedes
by one instant the evening twilight, and follows by one
instant
that of morning: it is, in a word, the twilight at its most
luminous
moment. Inasmuch as it watches at the gates of night, it is
usually
a funereal, infernal, and formidable animal; inasmuch as it
guards
the gates of day, it is generally represented as a propitious
one;
and as we have seen that, of the two Açvinâu, one is in especial
relation
with the moon, and the other with the sun, so, of the two
dogs
of mythology, one is especially lunar, and the other especially
solar.
Between these two dogs we find the bitch their mother, who, if
I
am not mistaken, represents now the wandering moon of heaven, the
guiding
moon that illumines the path of the hero and heroine, now the
thunderbolt
that tears the cloud, and opens up the hiding-place of the
cows
or waters. We have, therefore, thus far three mythical dogs. One;
menacing,
is found by the solar hero in the evening at the western
gates
of heaven; the second, the more active, helps him in the forest
of
night, where he is hunting, guides him in danger, and shows him the
lurking-places
of his enemies whilst he is in the cloud or darkness;
the
third, in the morning, is quiet, and found by the hero when he
comes
out of the gloomy region, towards the eastern sky.
Let
us now examine briefly these three forms in Hindoo mythology. I
have
said that the mythical bitch appears to me sometimes to represent
the
moon, and sometimes the thunderbolt. In India, this bitch is named
Saramâ,
properly she who walks, who runs or flows. We are accustomed
to
say of the dog that it barks at the moon, which the popular proverb
connects
with robbers. The dog that barks at the moon,[30] is perhaps
the
same dog that barks to show that robbers are near. In the 108th
hymn
of the tenth book of the _Ṛigvedas_, we have a dramatic scene
between
the misers or thieves (the Paṇayas) and the bitch Saramâ, the
messenger
of Indras, who wishes for their treasures.[31] In order to
come
to them, she traverses the waters of the Rasâ (a river of hell);
the
treasure that is hidden in the mountain consists of cows, horses,
and
various riches; the Paṇayas wish Saramâ to stay with them
as their
sister,
and to enjoy the cows along with them; Saramâ answers that she
does
not recognise their brotherhood, inasmuch as she is already the
sister
of Indras, and the terrible Ańgirasas.[32] In the sixty-second
hymn
of the first book, the bitch Saramâ discovers the cows hidden in
the
rock, and receives in recompense from Indras and the Ańgirasas
nourishment
for her offspring; then men cry out, and the cows
bellow.[33]
Going towards the sun, in the path of the sun, Saramâ
finds
the cows.[34] When Indras splits the mountain open, Saramâ shows
him
first the waters.[35] Having previously seen the fissure in the
mountain,
she showed the way. The first she guided rapidly, the band
of
the noisy ones having previously heard the noise.[36] This noise
may
refer either to the waters, the sounding rivers (nadâs, nadîs), or
the
lowing cows (gavas). Now, this bitch that discovers the
hiding-places,
inasmuch as she breaks through the darkness of night,
seems
to be the moon; inasmuch as she breaks through the cloud, she
seems
to be the thunderbolt. The secret of this equivoque lies in the
root
_sar_. In the _Ṛigvedas_, we have seen Saramâ disdaining to
pass
for
the sister of the thieves or the monsters; in the _Râmâyaṇam_,[37]
the
wife of one of the monsters, of the very brother of Râvaṇas the
robber,
is called Saramâ, and takes, instead of the monster's part,
that
of Râmas and Sîtâ the ravished wife. We have already several
times
seen the moon as a beneficent cow, as a good fairy, or as the
Madonna.
Saramâ (of which Suramâ, another benignant rakshasî, is
probably
only an incorrect form[38]), the consoler of Sîtâ, who
announces
prophetically her approaching deliverance by her husband
Râmas,
appears to me in the light of another impersonation of the
moon.
It is on this account that Sîtâ[39] praises Saramâ as a
twin-sister
of hers (sahodarâ), affectionate, and capable of
traversing
the heavens, and penetrating into the watery infernal
regions
(rasâtalam).[40] The benignant sister of Sîtâ can only be
another
luminous being; she is the good sister whom the maiden of the
Russian
story, persecuted by her incestuous father, in _Afanassieff_,
finds
in the subterranean world, where she is consoled and assisted in
escaping
from the power of the witch; she is the moon. The moon is the
luminous
form of the gloomy sky of night, or of the funereal and
infernal
region; whilst its two luminous barriers in that sky, in the
east
and in the west, are morning and evening aurora; the luminous
forms
of the cloudy sky are lightning and thunderbolts. And it is from
one
of these luminous mythical forms that the Greeks, according to
Pollux,
quoted by Aldrovandi, made of the dog the inventor of purple,
which
the dog of Hęraklęs was the first to bite. The dog of the
Ćsopian
fable,[41] with meat in its mouth, is a variation of this
myth.
The red sky of evening appears purple in the morning, and in the
evening
as the meat that the dog lets fall into the waters of the
ocean
of night. In the _Pańćatantram_, we have instead the lion of
evening
(the evening sun), who, seeing in the fountain (or in the
ocean
of night) another lion (now the moon, now his own shadow, the
night,
or the cloud), throws himself into the water to tear him to
pieces,
and perishes in it. The hare (the moon) is the animal which
allures
the famished lion of evening to perish in the waters.
The
two sons of the bitch Saramâ preserve several of their mother's
characteristics.
Now they are spoken of together as Sârameyâu; now they
are
mentioned together, but distinct from one another; now one alone of
them,
the most legitimate, by the name of Sârameyas, whose identity with
the
Greek Hermęs or Hermeias has already been proved by Professor Kuhn.
Saramâ
in connection with the Paṇayas, merchants or thieves, and
Saramâ
as
the divine messenger, gives us the key to the legend of Mercury, god
of
thieves and merchants, and messenger of the gods.
In
a Vedic hymn we find described with great clearness the two dogs that
guard
the gates of hell, the monsters' dwelling, or the kingdom of the
dead.
It prays for one departed, "that he may be able to pass safely
beyond
the two dogs, sons of Saramâ, having four eyes, spotted, who
occupy
the right path, and to come to the benignant Manes" (for there
are
also the malignant ones, or Durvidatrâḥ);
these dogs are called "the
very
fierce guardians, who watch the road, observing men, have vast
nostrils,
are long-winded, and very strong, the messengers of Yamas;"
they
are invoked "that they may cause to enjoy the sight of the sun, and
give
a happy life."[42] But the _Ṛigvedas_ itself already shows us the
two
sons of the bitch Saramâ, as the two who look in turns (one after
the
other), whom Indras must put to sleep.[43] One, however, of the two
sons
of Saramâ is especially invoked and feared, the Sârameyas _par
excellence_.
The Vedic hymn speaks of him as he who returns
(punaḥsaras), and represents him as "luminous, with
reddish teeth, that
shine
like spears, in the well-rooted gums," and implores him to sleep,
or
"to bark only at the robber, or at the thief, not at the singers of
hymns
in honour of Indras."[44] The bitch Saramâ is passionately fond of
her
son; in recompense for her discovery of the cows of Indras, she
demands
nourishment for her son, which nourishment the commentator
explains
to be the milk of the liberated cows; the first rays of the
morning
sun and the last rays of the evening sun drink the milk of the
dawn
or silvery twilight. In the _Mahâbhâratam_,[45] the bitch Saramâ
curses
King Ǵanameǵayas, because his three brothers,
when attending the
sacrifice,
maltreated and flogged the dog Sârameyas, who had also gone
there,
although he had neither touched with his tongue nor desired with
his
eyes the oblations destined to the gods (as, on the contrary, the
white
dog did, who, in the sacrifice of Dion, near Athens, stole part of
the
victim, whence the name of Künosargęs was given to that place). The
same
legend occurs again, slightly modified, in the seventh book of the
_Râmâyaṇam_.[46] Râmas sends Lakshmaṇas, his brother, to see whether
there
are any disputes to be settled in the kingdom; Lakshmaṇas returns,
saying
that the whole kingdom is at peace. Râmas sends him again; he
sees
a dog erect on the doorstep of the palace, barking. The name of
this
dog is Sârameyas. Râmas enables him to enter the palace. The dog
complains
that he has been beaten without just cause by a Brâhman. The
Brâhman
is called, appears, confesses his fault, and awaits his
punishment.
The dog Sârameyas proposes as his punishment that the
Brâhman
should take a wife (the usual proverbial satire against wives),
and
become head of a family in the very place where he himself had
supported
the same dignity prior to assuming the shape of a dog. After
this
the dog Sârameyas, who remembers his previous states of existence,
returns
to do penitence at Benares, whence he had come.
Therefore
the dog and the Kerberos are also a form into which the
hero
of the myth passes. The Hindoo and Pythagorean religious beliefs
both
teach that metempsychosis is a means of expiation; the curse of
the
offended deity is now a vengeance now a chastisement for an error
that
the hero or some one of his relations has committed, and which
has
provoked the deity's indignation.[47]
Sometimes
the deity himself assumes the form of a dog in order to put
the
hero's virtue to the proof, as in the last book of the
_Mahâbhâratam_,
where the god Yamas becomes a dog, and follows
Yudhishṭhiras (the son of Yamas), who regards him with such
affection,
that
when invited to mount into the chariot of the gods, he refuses to
do
so, unless his faithful dog is allowed to accompany him.
Sometimes,
however, the shape of a dog or bitch (as it is easy to pass
from
Yamas, the god of hell in the form of a dog, to the dog-fiend) is
a
real and specific form of a demon. The _Ṛigvedas_ speaks of the
dog-demons
bent upon tormenting Indras, who is requested to kill the
monster
in the form of an owl, a bat, a dog, a wolf, a great bird, a
vulture;[48]
it invokes the Açvinâu to destroy on every side the
barking
dogs;[49] it solicits the friends to destroy the long-tongued
and
avaricious dog (in the old Italian chronicle of Giov. Morelli,
misers
are called Cani del danaro, dogs of money), as the Bhrigavas
have
killed the monster Makhas.[50] And the skin of the red bitch is
another
monstrous form in which is dressed every morning (as the
aurora
in the morning sky), in the twenty-third Mongol story, the
beautiful
maiden who is in the power of the prince of the dragons; she
(as
moon) is a beautiful maiden only at night; towards day she becomes
a
red bitch (the moon gives up her place to the aurora); the youth who
has
married her wishes to burn this bitch's skin, but the maiden
disappears;
the sun overtakes the aurora, and he disappears with the
moon.
We have already seen this myth.
In
the eighteenth hymn of the fourth book of the _Ṛigvedas_, the
thirteenth
strophe seems to me to contain an interesting particular. A
devotee
complains as follows:--"In my misery I had the intestines of the
dog
cooked; I found among the gods no consoler; I saw my wife sterile;
the
hawk brought honey to me."[51] Here we find the dog in connection
with
a bird.[52] In the twenty-fifth story of the fourth book of
_Afanassieff_,
we find the woodpecker that brings food and drink to its
friend
the dog, and avenges him after his death. In the forty-first
story
of the fourth book, the dog is killed by the old witch, because he
carries
in a sack the bones of her wicked daughter, who has been
devoured
by the head of a mare. In the twentieth story of the fifth
book,
we have the dog in the capacity of a messenger employed by the
beautiful
girl whom the serpent has married; he carries to her father a
letter
that she has written, and brings his answer back to her. In the
legend
of St Peter, the dog serves as a messenger between Peter and
Simon
the magician; in the legend of San Rocco, the dog of our Lord
takes
bread to the saint, alone and ill under a tree. The name of
Cyrus's
nurse, according to Textor, was Küna, whence Cyrus might have
been
nourished, like Asklępios, with the milk of a dog. I have already
said
that the story of the dog is connected with the myth of the
Açvinâu,
or, what is the same thing, with that of the horse; horse and
dog
are considered in the light of coursers: the horse bears the hero,
and
the dog usually takes news of the hero to his friends, as the bitch
Saramâ,
the messenger of the gods, does in the _Ṛigvedas_.[53] The hero
who
assumes the shape of a horse cautions his father, when he sells him
to
the devil, not to give up the bridle to the buyer. In the
twenty-second
story of the fifth book of _Afanassieff_, the young man
transforms
himself into a dog, and lets his father sell him to a great
lord,
who is the devil in disguise, but tells him not to give up the
collar.[54]
The gentleman buys the dog for two hundred roubles, but
insists
upon having the collar too, calling the old man a thief upon the
latter
refusing to consign it into his hands. The old man, in his
distraction,
gives it up; the dog is thus in the power of the lord, that
is,
of the devil. But on the road, a hare (the moon) passes by; the
gentleman
lets the dog pursue it, and loses sight of it; the dog again
assumes
the shape of a hero, and rejoins his father. In the same story,
the
young man adopts, the second time, the form of a bird (we shall see
the
Açvinâu as swans and doves in the chapter on the swan, the goose,
and
the dove), and the third time that of a horse. In the twenty-eighth
story
of the fifth book, a horse, a dog, and an apple-tree are born of
the
dead bull who protects Ivan and Mary fleeing in the forest from the
bear.
Riding on the horse, and accompanied by the dog, Ivan goes to the
chase.
The first day he captures a wolf's whelp alive, and carries it
home;
the second day he takes a young bear; the third day he returns to
the
chase, and forgets the dog; then the six-headed serpent, in the
shape
of a handsome youth, carries off his sister, and shuts the dog up
under
lock and key, throwing the key into the lake. Ivan returns, and,
by
the advice of a fairy, he breaks a twig off the apple-tree, and
strikes
with it the bolt of the door which encloses the dog; the dog is
thus
set at liberty, and Ivan lets dog, wolf, and bear loose upon the
serpent,
who is torn in pieces by them, and recovers his sister. In the
fiftieth
story of the fifth book, the dog of a warrior-hero tears the
devil,
who presents himself first in the form of a bull, and then in
that
of a bear, to prevent the wedding of the hero taking place. In the
fifty-second
story of the sixth book, the dogs which Ivan Tzarević has
received
from two fairies, together with a wolf's whelp, a bear's, and a
lion's
cub, tear the monster serpent to pieces. The two dogs carry us
back
to the myth of the Açvinâu. In the fifty-third story of the sixth
book,
the monster cuts Ivan's head off. Ivan has two sons, who believe
themselves
to be of canine descent; they ask their mother to be
permitted
to go and resuscitate their father. An old man gives them a
root,
which, when rubbed on Ivan's body, will bring him to life again;
they
take it, and use it as directed. Ivan is resuscitated, and the
monster
dies. Finally, in the fifty-fourth story of the fifth book of
_Afanassieff_,
we learn how the sons of the dog are born, and their mode
of
birth is analogous to that mentioned in the Vedic hymn. A king who
has
no sons has a fish with golden fins; he orders it to be cooked, and
to
be given to the queen to eat. The intestines of the fish (the
phallos)
are thrown to the bitch, the bones are gnawed by the cook, and
the
meat is eaten by the queen. To the bitch, the cook, and the queen a
son
is born at the same time. The three sons are all called Ivan, and
are
regarded as three brothers; but the strongest (he who accomplishes
the
most difficult enterprises) is Ivan the son of the bitch, who goes
under
ground into the kingdom of the monsters (as of the two Dioscuri,
one
descends into hell, like the two funereal dogs, light-coloured and
white,
of the Avesta, which are in perfect accordance with the Vedic
_Sârameyâu_[55]).
In the same story, besides the three brother-heroes,
three
heroic horses are brought forth by the three mares that have drunk
the
water in which the fish was washed before being cooked; in other
European
variations, and in the Russian stories themselves, therefore,
we
sometimes have, instead of the bitch's son, the son of the mare (or
the
cow). The two Açvinâu are now two horses, now two dogs, now a dog
and
a horse (now a bull and a lion).[56] Ivan Tzarević, whom the horse
and
the dog save from danger, is the same as the Vedic hero, the sun,
whom
the Açvinâu save from many dangers.
In
the Russian stories, as well as in the Italian ones, the witch
substitutes
for one, two, or three sons of the prince, who have stars on
their
forehead, and were born of the princess in her husband's absence,
one,
two, or three puppies. In these same stories, the hand of the
persecuted
princess is cut off. In the thirteenth story of the third
book
of _Afanassieff_,[57] the witch sister-in-law accuses her husband's
sister
of imaginary crimes in his presence. The brother cuts her hands
off;
she wanders into the forest; she comes out again only after the
lapse
of several years; a young merchant becomes enamoured of her, and
marries
her. During her husband's absence, she gives birth to a child
whose
body is all of gold, effigies of stars, moon, and sun covering it.
His
parents write to their son, telling him the news; but the witch
sister-in-law
abstracts the letter (as in the myth of Bellerophôn), and
forges
another, which announces, on the contrary, that a monster, half
dog
and half bear, is born. The husband writes back, bidding them wait
until
he returns to see with his own eyes his new-born son. The witch
intercepts
this letter also, and changes it for another, in which he
orders
his young wife to be sent away. The young woman, without hands,
wanders
about with her boy. The boy falls into a fountain; she weeps; an
old
man tells her to throw the stumps of her arms into the fountain; she
obeys,
her hands return, and she recovers her boy again. She finds her
husband;
and no sooner does she uncover the child in his sight, than all
the
room shines with light (asviatilo).
In
a Servian story, [58] the father of the maiden whose hands had been cut off by
the witch, her mother-in-law, causes, by means of the ashes of three burned
hairs from the tail of the black stallion and that of the white mare, golden
hands to grow on the maiden's arms. The apple-tree, with golden branches, which
we have already mentioned, is the same as this girl who comes out of the forest
(or wooden chest) with golden hands. From the branches it is easy to pass to
the hands of gold, to the fair-haired son who comes out of the trunk. [59] The
idea of a youth as the branch of a tree has been rendered poetical by
Shakspeare, who makes the Duchess of Gloster say of the seven sons of Edward--
"Edward's seven sons, whereof
thyself art one,
Were as seven phials of his sacred
blood,
Or seven fair branches springing from
one root."[60]
In
Hindoo myths, the hand of Savitar having been cut off, one of gold is given to
him, whence the epithet he enjoys of Hiraṇyahastas,
or he who has a golden hand. But in the 116th and 117th hymns of the first book
we find a more interesting datum. The branch is the hand of the tree; the branch
is the son who detaches himself from the maternal trunk of the tree; the golden
son is the same as the golden branch, the golden hand of the tree. The mother
who obtains a golden hand is the same as the mother who has Hiraṇyahastas--_i.e._, Golden-hand--for her son. The Vedic
hymn says that the Açvinâu gave Golden-hand as a son to the Vadhrimatî.[61] The
word _vadhrimatî_ is equivocal. The Petropolitan Dictionary interprets it only
as she who has a eunuch, or one who is castrated, for her husband, but the
proper sense of the word is she who
has
something cut off, she who has, that is, the maimed arm, as in the
fairy
tale, for which reason she is given a golden hand. As the wife of
a
eunuch, the Vedic woman, therefore, receives from the Açvinâu a son
with
a golden hand; as having an imperfect arm, she receives only a
golden
hand, as in the 116th hymn of the first book, the same Açvinâu
give
to Viçpalâ, who had lost his own in battle, an iron leg.[62] The
_Ṛigvedas_, therefore, already contains in
its germ the very popular
subject
of the man or woman without hands, in same way as we have
already
found in it, in embryo, the legends of the lame man, the blind
man
or woman, the ugly and the disguised woman.
But
to return to the dog. Besides his agility[63] in running, his
strength
holds a prominent place in the myth. The Kerberos shows an
extraordinary
strength in rending his enemies. In the Russian stories
the
dog is the hero's strength, and is associated with the wolf, the
bear,
and the lion. In popular stories, now terrible lions and now
dreadful
dogs are found guarding the gate of the monster's dwelling.
The
monk of San Gallo, in Du Cange, says that the "canes germanici"
are
so agile and ferocious, that they suffice alone to hunt tigers and
lions;
the same fable is repeated in Du Cange of the dogs of Albania, which are so
great and fierce, "ut tauros premant et leones perimant."
The
enormous chained dog, painted on the left side of the entrance of Roman houses,
near the porter's room; the motto _cave canem_; the expiations made in Greece
and at Rome (whence the names "Canaria Hospitia" and "Porta
Catularia," where a dog was immolated to appease the fury of the Canicula,
and whence the verse of Ovid--
"Pro cane sidereo canis hic
imponitur arć,")
at
the time of the Canicula or of the Canis Sirius, to conjure away
the
evils which he brings along with the summer heat, in connection
with
the _sol leo_, and the corresponding festival of the killing of
the
dog (künophontis), besides the barking dogs that appear in the
groin
of Scylla,[64] are all records of the mythical dog of hell. The
dog,
as a domestic animal, has been confounded with the savage brute
which
generally represents the monster. The dog is scarcely
distinguishable
from the wolf in the twilight. In Du Cange we read
that
in the Middle Ages it was the custom to swear now by the dog now
by
the wolf.[65] In the country round Arezzo, in Tuscany, it is
believed
that when a she-wolf brings forth her young ones, a dog is
always
found among them, which, if it were allowed to live, would
exterminate
all the wolves. But the she-wolf, knowing this, no sooner
perceives
the dog-wolf than she drowns it when she takes the wolves to
drink.[66]
In the district of Florence, it is believed that the wolf,
as
well as the dog, when it happens to be the subject of a dream, is
(as
in Terence) a prognostic of sickness or death, especially if the
dog
is dreamt of as running after or trying to bite one. In Horace
(_Ad
Galatheam_) it is an evil omen to meet with a pregnant bitch--
"Impios parrć prćcinentis omen
Ducat et prœgnans canis."
In
Sicily, St Vitus is prayed to that he may keep the dogs chained--
"Santu Vitu, Santu Vitu,
Io tri voti vi lu dicu:
Va', chiamativi a lu cani
Ca mi voli muzzicari."
And
when tying the dog up, they say--
"Santu Vitu,
Beddu e pulitu,
Anghi di cira
E di ferru filatu;
Pi lu nuomu di Maria
Ligu stu cani
Ch' aju avanti a mia."
When
the dog is tied up, they add--
"Fermati, cani
Ca t' aju ligatu."[67]
In
Italy and Russia, when the dog howls like a wolf, that is, plays the wolf, it
forebodes misfortune and death. It is also narrated,[68] that after the
alliance between Cćsar, Lepidus, and Antony, dogs howled like wolves.
When
one is bitten by a dog[69] in Sicily, a tuft of hair is cut off the dog and
plunged into wine with a burning cinder; this wine is given to be drunk by the
man who has been bitten. In _Aldrovandi_,[70] I read, on the other hand, that
to cure the bite of a mad dog, it is useful to cover the wound with wolf's
skin.
The
dog is a medium of chastisement. Our Italian expressions, "Menare il
cane
per l'aia" (to lead the dog about the barn-floor), and "Dare il
cane
a menare" (to give the dog to be led about), are probably a
reminiscence
of the ignominious medićval punishment of Germany of
carrying
the dog, inflicted upon a noble criminal, and which sometimes
preceded
his final execution.[71] The punishment of laceration by dogs,
which
has actually been carried out more than once by the order of
earthly
tyrants, has its prototype in the well-known myth of Kerberos
and
the avenging dogs of hell. Thus Pirithoos, who attempts to carry off
Persephônę
from the infernal king of the Molossians, is torn to pieces
by
the dog Trikerberos. Euripides, according to the popular tradition,
was
lacerated in the forest by the avenging dogs of Archelaos. It is
told
of Domitian, that when an astrologer on one occasion predicted his
approaching
death, he asked him whether he knew in what way he himself
would
die; the astrologer answered that he would be devoured by dogs
(death
by dogs is also predicted in a story of the _Pentamerone_);
Domitian,
to make the oracle false, ordered him to be killed and burned;
but
the wind put the flames out, and the dogs approached and devoured
the
corpse. Boleslaus II., king of Poland, in the legend of St
Stanislaus,
is torn by his own dogs while wandering in the forest, for
having
ordered the saint's death. The Vedic monster Çushnas, the
pestilential
dog Sirius of the summer skies, and the dog Kerberos of the
nocturnal
hell, vomit flames; they chastise the world, too, with
pestilential
flames; and the pagan world tries all arts, praying and
conjuring,
to rid itself of their baleful influences. But this dog is
immortal,
or rather it generates children, and returns to fill men with
terror
in a new, a more direct, and a more earthly form in the Christian
world.
It is narrated, in fact, that before the birth of St Dominic, the
famous
inventor of the tortures of the Holy Inquisition (a truly satanic
Lucifer),
his mother, being pregnant of him, dreamed that she saw a dog
carrying
a lighted brand about, setting the world on fire. St Dominic
truly
realised his mother's dream; he was really this incendiary dog;
and,
therefore, in the pictures that represent him, the dog is always
close
to him with its lighted brand. Christ is the Prometheus enlarged,
purified,
and idealised; and St Dominic, the monstrous Vulcan,
deteriorated,
diminished, and fanaticised, of the Christian Olympus. The
dog,
sacred in pagan antiquity to the infernal deities, was consecrated
to
St Dominic the incendiary, and to Rocco, the saint who protects the
sick
of the plague. The Roman feasts in honour of Vulcan (Volcanalia)
fell
in the month of August; and the Roman Catholic Church fętes in the
month
of August the two saints of the dogs of the fire and the plague,
St
Dominic and St Rocco.
FOOTNOTES:
[29]
Leukophôs; a verse of Vilkelmus Brito defines it in a Latin strophe given in Du
Cange--
"Tempore quo neque nox neque lux sed
utrumque videtur;"
and
further on--
"Interque _canem distare
lupumque_."
According
to Pliny and Solinus, the shadow of the hyena makes the dog dumb, _i.e._, the
night disperses the twilight; the moon vanishes.
[30]
The dog was sacred to the huntress Diana, whom we know to be the moon, hence
the Latin proverb, "Delia nota canibus."
[31]
Indrasya dűtir ishitâ ćarâmi maha ićhantî paṇayo
nidhîn vaḥ; str.2.
[32]
Rasâyâ ataram payâṅsi; str. 2.--Ayaṁ nidhiḥ sarame adribudhno gobhir açvebhir
vasubhir nyṛishṭaḥ; str. 7.--Svasâraṁ tvâ kṛiṇavâi mâ punar gâ apa te gavâṁ subhage bhaǵâma;
str. 9.--Nâhaṁ veda bhrâtṛitvaṁ no
svasṛitvam indro vidur ańgirasaç ćaghorâḥ; str. 10.
[33]
Indrasyâńgirasâm ćeshṭâu vidat saramâ tanayâya dhâsim bṛihaspatir
bhinad
adrim vidad gâḥ sam usriyâbhir vâvaçanta naraḥ; str. 3.
[34]
Ṛitaṁ yatî
saramâ gâ avindat.--Ṛitasya pathâ saramâ vidad gâh;
_Ṛigv._ v. 45, 7, 8.
[35]
Apo yad adrim puruhűta dardar âvir bhuvat saramâ pűrvyaṁ te;
_Ṛigv._ iv. 16, 8.
[36]
Vidad yadî saramâ rugṇam adrer mahi pâthaḥ pűrvyaṁ sadhryak kaḥ
agraṁ nayat supady aksharâṇâm
aćhâ ravam prathamâ ǵânatî
gât; _Ṛigv._
iii.
31, 6.
[37]
vi. 9.
[38]
v. 62.
[39]
vi. 10.
[40]
Cfr. the Vedic text above quoted.
[41]
In the _Tuti-Name_, instead of the dog with the bone or piece of meat, we have
the fox. The dog who sees his shadow in the water; the fearless hero who, in
Tuscan stories, dies when he sees his own shadow; the black monster (the
shadow) who, in numerous stories, presents himself instead of the real hero to
espouse the beautiful princess, carry our thoughts back to Indras, who, in the
_Ṛigvedas_,
after
having defeated the monster, flees away over the rivers, upon
seeing
something which is probably the shadow of Vṛitras,
killed by
him,
or his own shadow. In the _Âitar. Brâhm._ iii. 2, 15, 16, 20,
this
flight of Indras is also recorded, and it is added, that Indras
hides
himself, and that the Pitaras (_i.e._, the souls of the
departed)
find him again. Indras thinks that he has killed Vṛitras,
but
really has not killed him; then the gods abandon him; the Marutas
alone
(as dogs friendly to the bitch Saramâ) remain faithful to him.
The
monster killed by Indras in the morning rises again at eve.
According
to other Vedic accounts, Indras is obliged to flee, stung by
remorse,
having committed a brâhmanicide.
[42]
_Ṛigv._ x. 14, 10-12.
[43]
Ni shvâpaya mithűdṛiçâu; _Ṛigv._ i. 29, 3.--The Petropolitan
Dictionary
explains the word _mith._ by "abwechselend sichtbar."
[44]
Yad arǵuna sarameya
dataḥ piçańga yaćhase vîva bhrâǵanta ṛishṭaya
upa
srakveshu bapsato ni shu svapa; stenaṁ râya
sârameya taskaraṁ vâ
punaḥsara stotrîn indrasya râyasi kim asmân dućhunâyase ni
shu svapa;
_Ṛigv._ vii. 55, 2, 3.
[45]
i. 657, 666.
[46]
Canto 62.
[47]
Thus Hecuba, the wife of Priam, after having suffered cruel tribulation as a
woman, in Ovid--
"Perdidit infelix hominis post omnia
formam
Externasque novo latratu terruit
auras."
In
the _Breviarium Romanum_, too, in the offices of the dead, God is besought not
to consign to the beasts (ne tradas bestiis, &c.) the souls of His
servants.
[48]
_Ṛigv._ vii.
104, 20, 22.
[49]
_Ṛigv._ i. 182, 4.
[50]
_Ṛigv._
ix. 101, 1, 13.
[51]
_Ṛigv._ iv. 18, 13. The bird who
brings honey has evidently here a phallical meaning, as also the intestine, the
part that is inside of now the dog, now the fish, and now the ass (all of which
are phallical symbols), desired as a delicacy by the women of fairy tales, must
be equivalent to the _madhu_ brought by the bird.
[52]
In the fifth story of the fourth book of the _Pentamerone_, the bird does the
same that a dog does in the third story of the third book; the bird brings a
knife, the dog brings a bone, and the imprisoned princess, by means of this
knife and bone, is enabled to make a hole in the prison, and to free herself.
[53]
In the _Pentamerone_, i. 7, the enchanted bitch brings to the princess news of
the young hero.
[54]
In the seventh Esthonian story, the man with the black horse binds three dogs
tightly; if they get loose, no one will be able to keep them back.--In the
_Edda_, Thrymer, the prince of the giants, keeps the grey dogs bound with
golden chains.
[55]
Einen gelblichen Hund mit vier Augen oder einen weissen mit gelben Ohren;
_Vendidad_, viii. 41, _et seq._, Spiegel's version. And Anquetil, describing
the _Baraschnon no schabé_, represents the purifying dog as follows:--"Le
Mobed prend le bâton ŕ neuf nœuds, entre dans les Keischs et attache la
cuillčre de fer au neuvičme nœud. L'impur entre aussi dans les Keischs. On y
amčne un chien; et si c'est une femme que l'on purifie, comme elle doit ętre
nue, c'est aussi une femme qui tient le
chien.
L'impur ayant la main droite sur sa tęte et la gauche sur le
chien,
passe successivement sur les six premičres pierres et s'y lave
avec
l'urine que lui donne le Mobed."--In the _Kâtyây. Sű._ the question
is
seriously discussed whether a dog, who was seen to fast on the
fourteenth
day of the month, did so on account of religious
penitence.--Cfr.
Muir's _Sanskṛit Texts_, i. 365.
[56]
Dog and horse, with bites and kicks, kill the monster doe and free the two
brother-heroes in the _Pentamerone_, i. 9.
[57]
Cfr. also the sixth of the third book.--In the second story of the third book
of the _Pentamerone_, the sister herself cuts off her own hands, of which her
brother, who wishes to marry her, is enamoured.--Cfr. the _Medićval Legends of
Santa Uliva_, annotated by Professor Alessandro d'Ancona, Pisa, Nistri, 1863;
and the _Figlia del Re di Dacia_, illustrated by Professor Alessandro Wesselofski,
Pisa, Nistri, 1866, besides the thirty-first of the stories of the Brothers Grimm.
[58]
The thirty-third of the collection of Karadzik, quoted by Professor Wesselofsky
in his introduction to the story of the _Figlia del Re di Dacia_.
[59]
Cfr. my little essay on the _Albero di Natale_.
[60]
_King Richard II._, act. i. scene 2.
[61]
Çrutaṁ tać ćhâsur iva vadhrimat yâ hiraṇyahastam açvinâv adattam;
_Ṛigv._ i. 116, 13.--Hiraṇyahastam
açvinâ rarâṇâ putraṁ narâ
vadhrimatyâ
adattam; i. 117, 24.--The dog in connection with a man's
hand
is mentioned in the Latin works of Petrarch, when speaking of
Vespasian,
who considered as a good omen the incident of a dog
bringing
a man's hand into the refectory.
[62]
Sadyo ǵańghâm âyasîm
viçpalâyai dhane hite sartave praty
adhattam;
str. 15.
[63]
It is perhaps for this reason that the Hungarians give to their
dogs
names of rivers, as being runners; but it is also said that they
do
so from their belief that a dog which bears the name of a river or
piece
of water never goes mad, especially if he be a white dog,
inasmuch
as the Hungarians consider the red dog and the black or
spotted
one as diabolical shapes. In Tuscany, when a Christian's tooth
is
taken out, it must be hidden carefully, that the dogs may not find
it
and eat it; here dog and devil are assimilated.
[64]
Scylla laves her groin in a fountain, the waters of which the
enchantress
Circe has corrupted, upon which monstrous dogs appear in
her
body, whence Ovid--
"Scylla venit mediaque tenus
descenderat alvo,
Cum sua fœdari latrantibus inguina
monstris
Aspicit, ac primo non credens corporis
illas
Esse sui partes, refugitque, abiitque
timetque
Ora proterva canum."
[65]
Hćc lucem accipiunt ab Joinville in Hist. S. Ludovici, dum fœdera
inter
Imp. Joannem Vatatzem et Comanorum Principem inita recenset, eaque
firmata
ebibito alterius invicem sanguine, hacque adhibita ceremonia,
quam
sic enarrat: "Et ancore firent-ils autre chose. Car ils firent
passer
un chien entre nos gens et eux, et découpčrent tout le chien ŕ
leurs
espées, disans que ainsy fussent-ils découpez s'ils failloient
l'un
ŕ l'autre."--Cfr. in Du Cange the expression "cerebrare canem."
[66]
In a fable of Abstemius, a shepherd's dog eats one of the sheep
every
day, instead of watching over the flock. The shepherd kills him,
saying,
that he prefers the wolf, a declared enemy, to the dog, a
false
friend. This uncertainty and confusion between the dog and the
wolf
explains the double nature of the dog; to prove which I shall
refer
to two unpublished Italian stories: the first, which I heard
from
the mouth of a peasant-woman of Fucecchio, shows the bitch in the
capacity
of the monster's spy; the second was narrated a few years ago
by
a Piedmontese bandit to a peasant-woman who had shown hospitality
to
him, at Capellanuova, near Cavour in Piedmont. The first story is
called
_The King of the Assassins_, and is as follows:--
There
was once a widow with three daughters who worked as seamstresses.
They
sit upon a terrace; a handsome lord passes and marries the eldest;
he
takes her to his castle in the middle of a wood, after having told
her
that he is the chief of the assassins. He gives her a she-puppy and
says,
"This will be your companion; if you treat her well, it is as if
you
treated me well." Taking her into the palace, he shows her all the
rooms,
and gives her all the keys; of four rooms, however, which he
indicates,
there are two which she must not enter; if she does so, evil
will
befall her. The chief of the assassins spends one day at home and
then
three away. During his absence she maltreats the puppy, and gives
her
scarcely anything to eat; then she lets herself be overcome by
curiosity,
and goes to see what there is in the two rooms, followed by
the
puppy. She sees in one room heads of dead people, and in the other
tongues,
ears, &c., hung up. This sight fills her with terror. The chief
of
the assassins returns and asks the bitch whether she has been well
treated;
she makes signs to the contrary, and informs her master that
his
wife has been in the forbidden rooms. He cuts off her head, and goes
to
find the second sister, whom he induces to come to him by under
invitation
to visit his wife; she undergoes the same miserable fate.
Then
he goes to take the third sister, and tells her who he is; she
answers,
"It is better thus, for I shall no longer be afraid of
thieves."
She gives the bitch soup, caresses her, and makes herself
loved
by her; the king of the assassins is contented, and the puppy
leads
a happy life. After a month, while he is out and the puppy amusing
itself
in the garden, she enters the two rooms, finds her two sisters,
and
goes into the other rooms, where there are ointments to fasten on
limbs
that have been cut off, and ointments to bring the dead to life.
Having
resuscitated her sisters, and given them food, she hides them in
two
great jars, furnished with breathing holes, and asks her husband to
take
them as a present to her mother, warning him not to look into the
jars,
as she will see him. He takes them, and when he tries to look in,
he
hears, as he had been forewarned, not one voice, but two whispering
from
within them, "My love, I see you." Terrified at this, he gives up
the
two jars at once to the mother. Meanwhile his wife has killed the
bitch
in boiling oil; she then brings all the dead men and women to
life,
amongst whom there is Carlino, the son of a king of France, who
marries
her. Upon the return of the king of the assassins he perceives
the
treachery, and vows revenge; going to Paris, he has a golden pillar
constructed
in which a man can be concealed without any aperture being
visible,
and bribes an old woman of the palace to lay on the prince's
pillow
a leaf of paper which will put him and all his servants to sleep
as
soon as he reclines on it. Shutting himself up in the pillar, he has
it
carried before the palace; the queen wishes to possess it, and
insists
upon having it at the foot of her bed. Night comes; the prince
puts
his head upon the leaf, and he and his servants are at once thrown
into
a deep sleep. The assassin steps out of the pillar, threatens to
put
the princess to death, and goes into the kitchen to fill a copper
with
oil, in which to boil her. Meanwhile she calls her husband to help
her,
but in vain; she rings the bell, but no one answers; the king of
the
assassins returns and drags her out of bed; she catches hold of the
prince's
head, and thus draws it off the paper; the prince and his
servants
awake, and the enchanter is burnt alive.
The
second story is called _The Magician of the Seven Heads_, and was
narrated
to me by the peasant-woman in the following terms:--
An
old man and woman have two children, Giacomo and Carolina. Giacomo
looks
after three sheep. A hunter passes and asks for them; Giacomo
gives
them, and receives in reward three dogs, Throttle-iron,
Run-like-the-wind,
and Pass-everywhere, besides a whistle. The father
refuses
to keep Giacomo at home; he goes away with his three dogs, of
which
the first carries bread, the second viands, and the third wine.
He
comes to a magician's palace and is well received. Bringing his
sister,
the magician falls in love with her and wishes to marry her;
but
to this end the brother must be weakened by the abstraction of his
dogs.
His sister feigns illness and asks for flour; the miller demands
a
dog for the flour, and Giacomo yields it for love of his sister; in
a
similar manner the other two dogs are wheedled away from him. The
magician
tries to strangle Giacomo, but the latter blows his whistle,
and
the dogs appear and kill the magician and the sister. Giacomo goes
away
with the three dogs, and comes to a city which is in mourning
because
the king's daughter is to be devoured by the seven-headed
magician.
Giacomo, by means of the three dogs, kills the monster; the
grateful
princess puts the hem of her robe round Throttle-iron's neck
and
promises to marry Giacomo. The latter, who is in mourning for his
sister,
asks for a year and a day; but before going he cuts the seven
tongues
of the magician off and takes them with him. The maiden
returns
to the palace. The chimney-sweeper forces her to recognise him
as
her deliverer; the king, her father, consents to his marrying her;
the
princess, however, stipulates to be allowed to wait for a year and
a
day, which is accorded. At the expiration of the appointed time,
Giacomo
returns, and hears that the princess is going to be married.
He
sends Throttle-iron to strike the chimney-sweeper (the black man,
the
Saracen, the Turk, the gipsy, the monster) with his tail, in order
that
his collar may be remarked; he then presents himself as the real
deliverer
of the princess, and demands that the magician's heads be
brought;
as the tongues are wanting, the trick is discovered. The
young
couple are married, and the chimney-sweeper is burnt.
[67]
Cfr. the _Biblioteca delle Tradizioni Popolari Siciliane_, edited
by
Gius. Pitrč, ii. canto 811.
[68]
In Richardus Dinothus, quoted by Aldrovandi.
[69]
From a letter of my friend Pitrč.
[70]
_De Quadrup. Dig. Viv._ ii.
[71]
Cfr. Du Cange, _s. v._ "canem ferre." The ignominy connected with
this
punishment has perhaps a phallic signification, the dog and the
phallos
appear in connection with each other in an unpublished legend
maliciously
narrated at Santo Stefano di Calcinaia, near Florence, and
which
asserts that woman was not born of a man, but of a dog. Adam was
asleep;
the dog carried off one of his ribs; Adam ran after the dog to
recover
it, but brought back nothing save the dog's tail, which came
away
in his hand. The tail of the ass, horse, or pig, which is left in
the
peasant's hand in other burlesque traditions, besides serving as
an
indication, as the most visible part, to find the lost or fallen
animal
again, or to return into itself, may perhaps have a meaning
analogous
to that of the tail of Adam's dog.--I hope the reader will
pardon
me these frequent repugnant allusions to indecent images; but
being
obliged to go back to an epoch in which idealism was still in
its
cradle, while physical life was in all its plenitude of vigour,
images
were taken in preference from the things of a more sensible
nature,
and which made a deeper and more abiding impression. It is
well
known that in the production of the Vedic fire by means of the
friction
of two sticks, the male and the female are alluded to, so
that
the grandiose and splendid poetical myth of Prometheus had its
origin
in the lowest of similitudes.