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Chapter 16. Dianus and Diana
In this chapter I propose to recapitulate the conclusions to which the
enquiry has thus far led us, and drawing together the scattered rays of light,
to turn them on the dark figure of the priest of Nemi.
We have found that at an early stage of society men, ignorant of the
secret processes of nature and of the narrow limits within which it is in our
power to control and direct them, have commonly arrogated to themselves
functions which in the present state of knowledge we should deem superhuman or
divine. The illusion has been fostered and maintained by the same causes which
begot it, namely, the marvellous order and uniformity with which nature
conducts her operations, the wheels of her great machine revolving with a
smoothness and precision which enable the patient observer to anticipate in
general the season, if not the very hour, when they will bring round the
fulfilment of his hopes or the accomplishment of his fears. The regularly
recurring events of this great cycle, or rather series of cycles, soon stamp
themselves even on the dull mind of the savage. He foresees them, and
foreseeing them mistakes the desired recurrence for an effect of his own will,
and the dreaded recurrence for an effect of the will of his enemies. Thus the
springs which set the vast machine in motion, though they lie far beyond our
ken, shrouded in a mystery which we can never hope to penetrate, appear to
ignorant man to lie within his reach: he fancies he can touch them and so work
by magic art all manner of good to himself and evil to his foes. In time the
fallacy of this belief becomes apparent to him: he discovers that there are
things he cannot do, pleasures which he is unable of himself to procure, pains
which even the most potent magician is powerless to avoid. The unattainable
good, the inevitable ill, are now ascribed by him to the action of invisible
powers, whose favour is joy and life, whose anger is misery and death. Thus
magic tends to be displaced by religion, and the sorcerer by the priest. At
this stage of thought the ultimate causes of things are conceived to be
personal beings, many in number and often discordant in character, who partake
of the nature and even of the frailty of man, though their might is greater
than his, and their life far exceeds the span of his ephemeral existence.
Their sharply-marked individualities, their clear-cut outlines have not yet
begun, under the powerful solvent of philosophy, to melt and coalesce into
that single unknown substratum of phenomena which, according to the qualities
with which our imagination invests it, goes by one or other of the
high-sounding names which the wit of man has devised to hide his ignorance.
Accordingly, so long as men look on their gods as beings akin to themselves
and not raised to an unapproachable height above them, they believe it to be
possible for those of their own number who surpass their fellows to attain to
the divine rank after death or even in life. Incarnate human deities of this
latter sort may be said to halt midway between the age of magic and the age of
religion. If they bear the names and display the pomp of deities, the powers
which they are supposed to wield are commonly those of their predecessor the
magician. Like him, they are expected to guard their people against hostile
enchantments, to heal them in sickness, to bless them with offspring, and to
provide them with an abundant supply of food by regulating the weather and
performing the other ceremonies which are deemed necessary to ensure the
fertility of the earth and the multiplication of animals. Men who are credited
with powers so lofty and far-reaching naturally hold the highest place in the
land, and while the rift between the spiritual and the temporal spheres has
not yet widened too far, they are supreme in civil as well as religious
matters: in a word, they are kings as well as gods. Thus the divinity which
hedges a king has its roots deep down in human history, and long ages pass
before these are sapped by a profounder view of nature and man.
In the classical period of Greek and Latin antiquity the reign of kings
was for the most part a thing of the past; yet the stories of their lineage,
titles, and pretensions suffice to prove that they too claimed to rule by
divine right and to exercise superhuman powers. Hence we may without undue
temerity assume that the King of the Wood at Nemi, though shorn in later times
of his glory and fallen on evil days, represented a long line of sacred kings
who had once received not only the homage but the adoration of their subjects
in return for the manifold blessings which they were supposed to dispense.
What little we know of the functions of Diana in the Arician grove seems to
prove that she was here conceived as a goddess of fertility, and particularly
as a divinity of childbirth. It is reasonable, therefore, to suppose that in
the discharge of these important duties she was assisted by her priest, the
two figuring as King and Queen of the Wood in a solemn marriage, which was
intended to make the earth gay with the blossoms of spring and the fruits of
autumn, and to gladden the hearts of men and women with healthful offspring.
If the priest of Nemi posed not merely as a king, but as a god of the
grove, we have still to ask, What deity in particular did he personate? The
answer of antiquity is that he represented Virbius, the consort or lover of
Diana. But this does not help us much, for of Virbius we know little more than
the name. A clue to the mystery is perhaps supplied by the Vestal fire which
burned in the grove. For the perpetual holy fires of the Aryans in Europe
appear to have been commonly kindled and fed with oak-wood, and in Rome
itself, not many miles from Nemi, the fuel of the Vestal fire consisted of
oaken sticks or logs, as has been proved by a microscopic analysis of the
charred embers of the Vestal fire, which were discovered by Commendatore G.
Boni in the course of the memorable excavations which he conducted in the
Roman forum at the end of the nineteenth century. But the ritual of the
various Latin towns seems to have been marked by great uniformity; hence it is
reasonable to conclude that wherever in Latium a Vestal fire was maintained,
it was fed, as at Rome, with wood of the sacred oak. If this was so at Nemi,
it becomes probable that the hallowed grove there consisted of a natural
oak-wood, and that therefore the tree which the King of the Wood had to guard
at the peril of his life was itself an oak; indeed, it was from an evergreen
oak, according to Virgil, that Aeneas plucked the Golden Bough. Now the oak
was the sacred tree of Jupiter, the supreme god of the Latins. Hence it
follows that the King of the Wood, whose life was bound up in a fashion with
an oak, personated no less a deity than Jupiter himself. At least the
evidence, slight as it is, seems to point to this conclusion. The old Alban
dynasty of the Silvii or Woods, with their crown of oak leaves, apparently
aped the style and emulated the powers of Latian Jupiter, who dwelt on the top
of the Alban Mount. It is not impossible that the King of the Wood, who
guarded the sacred oak a little lower down the mountain, was the lawful
successor and representative of this ancient line of the Silvii or Woods. At
all events, if I am right in supposing that he passed for a human Jupiter, it
would appear that Virbius, with whom legend identified him, was nothing but a
local form of Jupiter, considered perhaps in his original aspect as a god of
the greenwood.
The hypothesis that in later times at all events the King of the Wood
played the part of the oak god Jupiter, is confirmed by an examination of his
divine partner Diana. For two distinct lines of argument converge to show that
if Diana was a queen of the woods in general, she was at Nemi a goddess of the
oak in particular. In the first place, she bore the title of Vesta, and as
such presided over a perpetual fire, which we have seen reason to believe was
fed with oak wood. But a goddess of fire is not far removed from a goddess of
the fuel which burns in the fire; primitive thought perhaps drew no sharp line
of distinction between the blaze and the wood that blazes. In the second
place, the nymph Egeria at Nemi appears to have been merely a form of Diana,
and Egeria is definitely said to have been a Dryad, a nymph of the oak.
Elsewhere in Italy the goddess had her home on oak-clad mountains. Thus Mount
Algidus, a spur of the Alban hills, was covered in antiquity with dark forests
of oak, both of the evergreen and the deciduous sort. In winter the snow lay
long on these cold hills, and their gloomy oak-woods were believed to be a
favourite haunt of Diana, as they have been of brigands in modern times.
Again, Mount Tifata, the long abrupt ridge of the Apennines which looks down
on the Campanian plain behind Capua, was wooded of old with evergreen oaks,
among which Diana had a temple. Here Sulla thanked the goddess for his victory
over the Marians in the plain below, attesting his gratitude by inscriptions
which were long afterwards to be seen in the temple. On the whole, then, we
conclude that at Nemi the King of the Wood personated the oak-god Jupiter and
mated with the oak-goddess Diana in the sacred grove. An echo of their mystic
union has come down to us in the legend of the loves of Numa and Egeria, who
according to some had their trysting-place in these holy woods.
To this theory it may naturally be objected that the divine consort of
Jupiter was not Diana but Juno, and that if Diana had a mate at all he might
be expected to bear the name not of Jupiter, but of Dianus or Janus, the
latter of these forms being merely a corruption of the former. All this is
true, but the objection may be parried by observing that the two pairs of
deities, Jupiter and Juno on the one side, and Dianus and Diana, or Janus and
Jana, on the other side, are merely duplicates of each other, their names and
their functions being in substance and origin identical. With regard to their
names, all four of them come from the same Aryan root DI, meaning bright,
which occurs in the names of the corresponding Greek deities, Zeus and his old
female consort Dione. In regard to their functions, Juno and Diana were both
goddesses of fecundity and childbirth, and both were sooner or later
identified with the moon. As to the true nature and functions of Janus the
ancients themselves were puzzled; and where they hesitated, it is not for us
confidently to decide. But the view mentioned by Varro that Janus was the god
of the sky is supported not only by the etymological identity of his name with
that of the sky-god Jupiter, but also by the relation in which he appears to
have stood to Jupiter's two mates, Juno and Juturna. For the epithet Junonian
bestowed on Janus points to a marriage union between the two deities; and
according to one account Janus was the husband of the water-nymph Juturna, who
according to others was beloved by Jupiter. Moreover, Janus, like Jove, was
regularly invoked, and commonly spoken of under the title of Father. Indeed,
he was identified with Jupiter not merely by the logic of the learned St.
Augustine, but by the piety of a pagan worshipper who dedicated an offering to
Jupiter Dianus. A trace of his relation to the oak may be found in the
oakwoods of the Janiculum, the hill on the right bank of the Tiber, where
Janus is said to have reigned as a king in the remotest ages of Italian
history.
Thus, if I am right, the same ancient pair of deities was variously known
among the Greek and Italian peoples as Zeus and Dione, Jupiter and Juno, or
Dianus (Janus) and Diana (Jana), the names of the divinities being identical
in substance, though varying in form with the dialect of the particular tribe
which worshipped them. At first, when the peoples dwelt near each other, the
difference between the deities would be hardly more than one of name; in other
words, it would be almost purely dialectical. But the gradual dispersion of
the tribes, and their consequent isolation from each other, would favour the
growth of divergent modes of conceiving and worshipping the gods whom they had
carried with them from their old home, so that in time discrepancies of myth
and ritual would tend to spring up and thereby to convert a nominal into a
real distinction between the divinities. Accordingly when, with the slow
progress of culture, the long period of barbarism and separation was passing
away, and the rising political power of a single strong community had begun to
draw or hammer its weaker neighbours into a nation, the confluent peoples
would throw their gods, like their dialects, into a common stock; and thus it
might come about that the same ancient deities, which their forefathers had
worshipped together before the dispersion, would now be so disguised by the
accumulated effect of dialectical and religious divergencies that their
original identity might fail to be recognised, and they would take their
places side by side as independent divinities in the national pantheon.
This duplication of deities, the result of the final fusion of kindred
tribes who had long lived apart, would account for the appearance of Janus
beside Jupiter, and of Diana or Jana beside Juno in the Roman religion. At
least this appears to be a more probable theory than the opinion, which has
found favour with some modern scholars, that Janus was originally nothing but
the god of doors. That a deity of his dignity and importance, whom the Romans
revered as a god of gods and the father of his people, should have started in
life as a humble, though doubtless respectable, doorkeeper appears very
unlikely. So lofty an end hardly consorts with so lowly a beginning. It is
more probable that the door (janua) got its name from Janus than that he got
his name from it. This view is strengthened by a consideration of the word
janua itself. The regular word for door is the same in all the languages of
the Aryan family from India to Ireland. It is dur in Sanscrit, thura in
Greek, tür in German, door in English, dorus in old Irish, and foris
in Latin. Yet besides this ordinary name for door, which the Latins shared
with all their Aryan brethren, they had also the name janua, to which there
is no corresponding term in any Indo-European speech. The word has the
appearance of being an adjectival form derived from the noun Janus. I
conjecture that it may have been customary to set up an image or symbol of
Janus at the principal door of the house in order to place the entrance under
the protection of the great god. A door thus guarded might be known as a
janua foris, that is, a Januan door, and the phrase might in time be
abridged into janua, the noun foris being understood but not expressed.
From this to the use of janua to designate a door in general, whether
guarded by an image of Janus or not, would be an easy and natural transition.
If there is any truth in this conjecture, it may explain very simply the
origin of the double head of Janus, which has so long exercised the ingenuity
of mythologists. When it had become customary to guard the entrance of houses
and towns by an image of Janus, it might well be deemed necessary to make the
sentinel god look both ways, before and behind, at the same time, in order
that nothing should escape his vigilant eye. For if the divine watchman always
faced in one direction, it is easy to imagine what mischief might have been
wrought with impunity behind his back. This explanation of the double-headed
Janus at Rome is confirmed by the double-headed idol which the Bush negroes in
the interior of Surinam regularly set up as a guardian at the entrance of a
village. The idol consists of a block of wood with a human face rudely carved
on each side; it stands under a gateway composed of two uprights and a
cross-bar. Beside the idol generally lies a white rag intended to keep off the
devil; and sometimes there is also a stick which seems to represent a bludgeon
or weapon of some sort. Further, from the cross-bar hangs a small log which
serves the useful purpose of knocking on the head any evil spirit who might
attempt to pass through the gateway. Clearly this double-headed fetish at the
gateway of the negro villages in Surinam bears a close resemblance to the
double-headed images of Janus which, grasping a stick in one hand and a key in
the other, stood sentinel at Roman gates and doorways; and we can hardly doubt
that in both cases the heads facing two ways are to be similarly explained as
expressive of the vigilance of the guardian god, who kept his eye on spiritual
foes behind and before, and stood ready to bludgeon them on the spot. We may,
therefore, dispense with the tedious and unsatisfactory explanations which, if
we may trust Ovid, the wily Janus himself fobbed off an anxious Roman
enquirer.
To apply these conclusions to the priest of Nemi, we may suppose that as
the mate of Diana he represented originally Dianus or Janus rather than
Jupiter, but that the difference between these deities was of old merely
superficial, going little deeper than the names, and leaving practically
unaffected the essential functions of the god as a power of the sky, the
thunder, and the oak. It was fitting, therefore, that his human representative
at Nemi should dwell, as we have seen reason to believe he did, in an oak
grove. His title of King of the Wood clearly indicates the sylvan character of
the deity whom he served; and since he could only be assailed by him who had
plucked the bough of a certain tree in the grove, his own life might be said
to be bound up with that of the sacred tree. Thus he not only served but
embodied the great Aryan god of the oak; and as an oak-god he would mate with
the oak-goddess, whether she went by the name of Egeria or Diana. Their union,
however consummated, would be deemed essential to the fertility of the earth
and the fecundity of man and beast. Further, as the oak-god was also a god of
the sky, the thunder, and the rain, so his human representative would be
required, like many other divine kings, to cause the clouds to gather, the
thunder to peal, and the rain to descend in due season, that the fields and
orchards might bear fruit and the pastures be covered with luxuriant herbage.
The reputed possessor of powers so exalted must have been a very important
personage; and the remains of buildings and of votive offerings which have
been found on the site of the sanctuary combine with the testimony of
classical writers to prove that in later times it was one of the greatest and
most popular shrines in Italy. Even in the old days, when the champaign
country around was still parcelled out among the petty tribes who composed the
Latin League, the sacred grove is known to have been an object of their common
reverence and care. And just as the kings of Cambodia used to send offerings
to the mystic kings of Fire and Water far in the dim depths of the tropical
forest, so, we may well believe, from all sides of the broad Latian plain the
eyes and footsteps of Italian pilgrims turned to the quarter where, standing
sharply out against the faint blue line of the Apennines or the deeper blue of
the distant sea, the Alban Mountain rose before them, the home of the
mysterious priest of Nemi, the King of the Wood. There, among the green woods
and beside the still waters of the lonely hills, the ancient Aryan worship of
the god of the oak, the thunder, and the dripping sky lingered in its early,
almost Druidical form, long after a great political and intellectual
revolution had shifted the capital of Latin religion from the forest to the
city, from Nemi to Rome.
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