Chapter 68. The Golden Bough.
THUS the view that Balder's life was in the mistletoe is entirely in harmony
with primitive modes of thought. It may indeed sound like a contradiction
that, if his life was in the mistletoe, he should nevertheless have been
killed by a blow from the plant. But when a person's life is conceived as
embodied in a particular object, with the existence of which his own
existence is inseparably bound up, and the destruction of which involves
his own, the object in question may be regarded and spoken of
indifferently as his life or his death, as happens in the fairy tales. Hence if
a man's death is in an object, it is perfectly natural that he should be killed
by a blow from it. In the fairy tales Koshchei the Deathless is killed by a
blow from the egg or the stone in which his life or death is secreted; the
ogres burst when a certain grain of sand-doubtless containing their life or
death-is carried over their heads; the magician dies when the stone in
which his life or death is contained is put under his pillow; and the Tartar
hero is warned that he may be killed by the golden arrow or golden sword
in which his soul has been stowed away. 1
The idea that the life of the oak was in the mistletoe was probably
suggested, as I have said, by the observation that in winter the mistletoe
growing on the oak remains green while the oak itself is leafless. But the
position of the plant-growing not from the ground but from the trunk or
branches of the tree-might confirm this idea. Primitive man might think that,
like himself, the oak-spirit had sought to deposit his life in some safe
place, and for this purpose had pitched on the mistletoe, which, being in a
sense neither on earth nor in heaven, might be supposed to be fairly out of
harm's way. In a former chapter we saw that primitive man seeks to
preserve the life of his human divinities by keeping them poised between
earth and heaven, as the place where they are least likely to be assailed
by the dangers that encompass the life of man on earth. We can therefore
understand why it has been a rule both of ancient and of modern
folk-medicine that the mistletoe should not be allowed to touch the ground;
were it to touch the ground, its healing virtue would be gone. This may be
a survival of the old superstition that the plant in which the life of the
sacred tree was concentrated should not be exposed to the risk incurred
by contact with the earth. In an Indian legend, which offers a parallel to the
Balder myth, Indra swore to the demon Namuci that he would slay him
neither by day nor by night, neither with staff nor with bow, neither with the
palm of the hand nor with the fist, neither with the wet nor with the dry. But
he killed him in the morning twilight by sprinkling over him the foam of the
sea. The foam of the sea is just such an object as a savage might choose
to put his life in, because it occupies that sort of intermediate or
nondescript position between earth and sky or sea and sky in which
primitive man sees safety. It is therefore not surprising that the foam of the
river should be the totem of a clan in India. 2
Again, the view that the mistletoe owes its mystic character partly to its
not growing on the ground is confirmed by a parallel superstition about the
mountain-ash or rowan-tree. In Jutland a rowan that is found growing out
of the top of another tree is esteemed "exceedingly effective against
witchcraft: since it does not grow on the ground witches have no power
over it; if it is to have its full effect it must be cut on Ascension Day."
Hence it is placed over doors to prevent the ingress of witches. In Sweden
and Norway, also, magical properties are ascribed to a "flying-rowan"
(flögrönn), that is to a rowan which is found growing not in the ordinary
fashion on the ground but on another tree, or on a roof, or in a cleft of the
rock, where it has sprouted from seed scattered by birds. They say that a
man who is out in the dark should have a bit of "flying-rowan" with him to
chew; else he runs a risk of being bewitched and of being unable to stir
from the spot. Just as in Scandinavia the parasitic rowan is deemed a
countercharm to sorcery, so in Germany the parasitic mistletoe is still
commonly considered a protection against witch-craft, and in Sweden, as
we saw, the mistletoe which is gathered on Midsummer Eve is attached to
the ceiling of the house, the horse's stall or the cow's crib, in the belief
that this renders the Troll powerless to injure man or beast. 3
The view that the mistletoe was not merely the instrument of Balder's
death, but that it contained his life, is countenanced by the analogy of a
Scottish superstition. Tradition ran that the fate of the Hays of Errol, an
estate in Perthshire, near the Firth of Tay, was bound up with the mistletoe
that grew on a certain great oak. A member of the Hay family has recorded
the old belief as follows: "Among the low country families the badges are
now almost generally forgotten; but it appears by an ancient MS., and the
tradition of a few old people in Perthshire, that the badge of the Hays was
the mistletoe. There was formerly in the neighbourhood of Errol, and not far
from the Falcon stone, a vast oak of an unknown age, and upon which
grew a profusion of the plant: many charms and legends were considered
to be connected with the tree, and the duration of the family of Hay was
said to be united with its existence. It was believed that a sprig of the
mistletoe cut by a Hay on Allhallowmas eve, with a new dirk, and after
surrounding the tree three times sunwise, and pronouncing a certain spell,
was a sure charm against all glamour or witchery, and an infallible guard
in the day of battle. A spray gathered in the same manner was placed in
the cradle of infants, and thought to defend them from being changed for
elfbairns by the fairies. Finally, it was affirmed, that when the root of the
oak had perished, `the grass should grow in the hearth of Errol, and a
raven should sit in the falcon's nest.' The two most unlucky deeds which
could be done by one of the name of Hay was, to kill a white falcon, and
to cut down a limb from the oak of Errol. When the old tree was destroyed I
could never learn. The estate has been sold out of the family of Hay, and
of course it is said that the fatal oak was cut down a short time before." The
old superstition is recorded in verses which are traditionally ascribed to
Thomas the Rhymer:
While the mistletoe bats on Errol's aik,
And that aik stands fast,
The Hays shall flourish, and their good grey hawk
Shall nocht flinch before the blast.
But when the root of the aik decays,
And the mistletoe dwines on its withered breast,
The grass shall grow on Errol's hearthstane,
And the corbie roup in the falcon's nest. 4
It is not a new opinion that the Golden Bough was the mistletoe. True,
Virgil does not identify but only compares it with mistletoe. But this may be
only a poetical device to cast a mystic glamour over the humble plant. Or,
more probably, his description was based on a popular superstition that at
certain times the mistletoe blazed out into a supernatural golden glory. The
poet tells how two doves, guiding Aeneas to the gloomy vale in whose
depth grew the Golden Bough, alighted upon a tree, "whence shone a
flickering gleam of gold. As in the woods in winter cold the mistletoe-a
plant not native to its tree-is green with fresh leaves and twines its yellow
berries about the boles; such seemed upon the shady holm-oak the leafy
gold, so rustled in the gentle breeze the golden leaf." Here Virgil definitely
describes the Golden Bough as growing on a holm-oak, and compares it
with the mistletoe. The inference is almost inevitable that the Golden Bough
was nothing but the mistletoe seen through the haze of poetry or of popular
superstition. 5
Now grounds have been shown for believing that the priest of the Arician
grove-the King of the Wood-personified the tree on which grew the
Golden Bough. Hence if that tree was the oak, the King of the Wood must
have been a personification of the oakspirit. It is, therefore, easy to
understand why, before he could be slain, it was necessary to break the
Golden Bough. As an oak-spirit, his life or death was in the mistletoe on
the oak, and so long as the mistletoe remained intact, he, like Balder,
could not die. To slay him, therefore, it was necessary to break the
mistletoe, and probably, as in the case of Balder, to throw it at him. And to
complete the parallel, it is only necessary to suppose that the King of the
Wood was formerly burned, dead or alive, at the midsummer fire festival
which, as we have seen, was annually celebrated in the Arician grove.
The perpetual fire which burned in the grove, like the perpetual fire which
burned in the temple of Vesta at Rome and under the oak at Romove, was
probably fed with the sacred oak-wood; and thus it would be in a great fire
of oak that the King of the Wood formerly met his end. At a later time, as I
have suggested, his annual tenure of office was lengthened or shortened,
as the case might be, by the rule which allowed him to live so long as he
could prove his divine right by the strong hand. But he only escaped the
fire to fall by the sword. 6
Thus it seems that at a remote age in the heart of Italy, beside the sweet
Lake of Nemi, the same fiery tragedy was annually enacted which Italian
merchants and soldiers were afterwards to witness among their rude
kindred, the Celts of Gaul, and which, if the Roman eagles had ever
swooped on Norway, might have been found repeated with little difference
among the barbarous Aryans of the North. The rite was probably an
essential feature in the ancient Aryan worship of the oak. 7
It only remains to ask, Why was the mistletoe called the Golden Bough?
The whitish-yellow of the mistletoe berries is hardly enough to account for
the name, for Virgil says that the bough was altogether golden, stems as
well as leaves. Perhaps the name may be derived from the rich golden
yellow which a bough of mistletoe assumes when it has been cut and kept
for some months; the bright tint is not confined to the leaves, but spreads to
the stalks as well, so that the whole branch appears to be indeed a Golden
Bough. Breton peasants hang up great bunches of mistletoe in front of their
cottages, and in the month of June these bunches are conspicuous for the
bright golden tinge of their foliage. In some parts of Brittany, especially
about Morbihan, branches of mistletoe are hung over the doors of stables
and byres to protect the horses and cattle, probably against witchcraft. 8
The yellow colour of the withered bough may partly explain why the
mistletoe has been sometimes supposed to possess the property of
disclosing treasures in the earth; for on the principles of homoeopathic
magic there is a natural affinity between a yellow bough and yellow gold.
This suggestion is confirmed by the analogy of the marvellous properties
popularly ascribed to the mythical fern-seed, which is popularly supposed
to bloom like gold or fire on Midsummer Eve. Thus in Bohemia it is said that
"on St. John's Day fern-seed blooms with golden blossoms that gleam like
fire." Now it is a property of this mythical fern-seed that whoever has it, or
will ascend a mountain holding it in his hand on Midsummer Eve, will
discover a vein of gold or will see the treasures of the earth shining with a
bluish flame. In Russia they say that if you succeed in catching the
wondrous bloom of the fern at midnight on Midsummer Eve, you have only
to throw it up into the air, and it will fall like a star on the very spot where a
treasure lies hidden. In Brittany treasure-seekers gather fern-seed at
midnight on Midsummer Eve, and keep it till Palm Sunday of the following
year; then they strew the seed on the ground where they think a treasure
is concealed. Tyrolese peasants imagine that hidden treasures can be
seen glowing like flame on Midsummer Eve, and that fern-seed, gathered
at this mystic season, with the usual precautions, will help to bring the
buried gold to the surface. In the Swiss canton of Freiburg people used to
watch beside a fern on St. John's night in the hope of winning a treasure,
which the devil himself sometimes brought to them. In Bohemia they say
that he who procures the golden bloom of the fern at this season has
thereby the key to all hidden treasures; and that if maidens will spread a
cloth under the fast-fading bloom, red gold will drop into it. And in the
Tryol and Bohemia if you place fern-seed among money, the money will
never decrease, however much of it you spend. Sometimes the fern-seed
is supposed to bloom on Christmas night, and whoever catches it will
become very rich. In Styria they say that by gathering fern-seed on
Christmas night you can force the devil to bring you a bag of money. 9
Thus, on the principle of like by like, fern-seed is supposed to discover
gold because it is itself golden; and for a similar reason it enriches its
possessor with an unfailing supply of gold. But while the fern-seed is
described as golden, it is equally described as glowing and fiery. Hence,
when we consider that two great days for gathering the fabulous seed are
Midsummer Eve and Christmas-that is, the two solstices (for Christmas is
nothing but an old heathen celebration of the winter solstice)-we are led to
regard the fiery aspect of the fern-seed as primary, and its golden aspect
as secondary and derivative. Fern-seed, in fact, would seem to be an
emanation of the sun's fire at the two turning-points of its course, the
summer and winter solstices. This view is confirmed by a German story in
which a hunter is said to have procured fern-seed by shooting at the sun
on Midsummer Day at noon; three drops of blood fell down, which he
caught in a white cloth, and these blood-drops were the fern-seed. Here
the blood is clearly the blood of the sun, from which the fern-seed is thus
directly derived. Thus it may be taken as probable that fern-seed is
golden, because it is believed to be an emanation of the sun's golden
fire. 10
Now, like fern-seed, the mistletoe is gathered either at Midsummer or at
Christmas-that is, either at the summer or at the winter solstice-and, like
fern-seed, it is supposed to possess the power of revealing treasures in
the earth. On Midsummer Eve people in Sweden make divining-rods of
mistletoe, or of four different kinds of wood one of which must be mistletoe.
The treasure-seeker places the rod on the ground after sundown, and
when it rests directly over treasure, the rod begins to move as if it were
alive. Now, if the mistletoe discovers gold, it must be in its character of the
Golden Bough; and if it is gathered at the solstices, must not the Golden
Bough, like the golden fern-seed, be an emanation of the sun's fire? The
question cannot be answered with a simple affirmative. We have seen that
the old Aryans perhaps kindled the solstitial and other ceremonial fires in
part as sun-charms, that is, with the intention of supplying the sun with
fresh fire; and as these fires were usually made by the friction or
combustion of oak-wood, it may have appeared to the ancient Aryan that
the sun was periodically recruited from the fire which resided in the sacred
oak. In other words, the oak may have seemed to him the original
storehouse or reservoir of the fire which was from time to time drawn out to
feed the sun. But if the life of the oak was conceived to be in the mistletoe,
the mistletoe must on that view have contained the seed or germ of the fire
which was elicited by friction from the wood of the oak. Thus, instead of
saying that the mistletoe was an emanation of the sun's fire, it might be
more correct to say that the sun's fire was regarded as an emanation of the
mistletoe. No wonder, then, that the mistletoe shone with a golden
splendour, and was called the Golden Bough. Probably, however, like
fern-seed, it was thought to assume its golden aspect only at those stated
times, especially midsummer, when fire was drawn from the oak to light up
the sun. At Pulverbatch, in Shropshire, it was believed within living
memory that the oak-tree blooms on Midsummer Eve and the blossom
withers before daylight. A maiden who wishes to know her lot in marriage
should spread a white cloth under the tree at night, and in the morning she
will find a little dust, which is all that remains of the flower. She should
place the pinch of dust under her pillow, and then her future husband will
appear to her in her dreams. This fleeting bloom of the oak, if I am right,
was probably the mistletoe in its character of the Golden Bough. The
conjecture is confirmed by the observation that in Wales a real sprig of
mistletoe gathered on Midsummer Eve is similarly placed under the pillow
to induce prophetic dreams; and further the mode of catching the imaginary
bloom of the oak in a white cloth is exactly that which was employed by
the Druids to catch the real mistletoe when it dropped from the bough of
the oak, severed by the golden sickle. As Shropshire borders on Wales,
the belief that the oak blooms on Midsummer Eve may be Welsh in its
immediate origin, though probably the belief is a fragment of the primitive
Aryan creed. In some parts of Italy, as we saw, peasants still go out on
Midsummer morning to search the oak-trees for the "oil of St. John,"
which, like the mistletoe, heals all wounds, and is, perhaps, the mistletoe
itself in its glorified aspect. Thus it is easy to understand how a title like the
Golden Bough, so little descriptive of its usual appearance on the tree,
should have been applied to the seemingly insignificant parasite. Further,
we can perhaps see why in antiquity mistletoe was believed to possess
the remarkable property of extinguishing fire, and why in Sweden it is still
kept in houses as a safeguard against conflagration. Its fiery nature marks
it out, on homoeopathic principles, as the best possible cure or preventive
of injury by fire. 11
These considerations may partially explain why Virgil makes Aeneas
carry a glorified bough of mistletoe with him on his descent into the gloomy
subterranean world. The poet describes how at the very gates of hell there
stretched a vast and gloomy wood, and how the hero, following the flight
of two doves that lured him on, wandered into the depths of the immemorial
forest till he saw afar off through the shadows of the trees the flickering
light of the Golden Bough illuminating the matted boughs overhead. If the
mistletoe, as a yellow withered bough in the sad autumn woods, was
conceived to contain the seed of fire, what better companion could a
forlorn wanderer in the nether shades take with him than a bough that
would be a lamp to his feet as well as a rod and staff to his hands? Armed
with it he might boldly confront the dreadful spectres that would cross his
path on his adventurous journey. Hence when Aeneas, emerging from the
forest, comes to the banks of Styx, winding slow with sluggish stream
through the infernal marsh, and the surly ferryman refuses him passage in
his boat, he has but to draw the Golden Bough from his bosom and hold it
up, and straightway the blusterer quails at the sight and meekly receives
the hero into his crazy bark, which sinks deep in the water under the
unusual weight of the living man. Even in recent times, as we have seen,
mistletoe has been deemed a protection against witches and trolls, and the
ancients may well have credited it with the same magical virtue. And if the
parasite can, as some of our peasants believe, open all locks, why should
it not have served as an "open Sesame" in the hands of Aeneas to unlock
the gates of death? 12
Now, too, we can conjecture why Virbius at Nemi came to be
confounded with the sun. If Virbius was, as I have tried to show, a
tree-spirit, he must have been the spirit of the oak on which grew the
Golden Bough; for tradition represented him as the first of the Kings of the
Wood. As an oak-spirit he must have been supposed periodically to
rekindle the sun's fire, and might therefore easily be confounded with the
sun itself. Similarly we can explain why Balder, an oak-spirit, was
described as "so fair of face and so shining that a light went forth from
him," and why he should have been so often taken to be the sun. And in
general we may say that in primitive society, when the only known way of
making fire is by the friction of wood, the savage must necessarily
conceive of fire as a property stored away, like sap or juice, in trees, from
which he has laboriously to extract it. The Senal Indians of California
"profess to believe that the whole world was once a globe of fire, whence
that element passed up into the trees, and now comes out whenever two
pieces of wood are rubbed together." Similarly the Maidu Indians of
California hold that "the earth was primarily a globe of molten matter, and
from that the principle of fire ascended through the roots into the trunk and
branches of trees, whence the Indians can extract it by means of their
drill." In Namoluk, one of the Caroline Islands, they say that the art of
making fire was taught men by the gods. Olofaet, the cunning master of
flames, gave fire to the bird mwi and bade him carry it to earth in his bill.
So the bird flew from tree to tree and stored away the slumbering force of
the fire in the wood, from which men can elicit it by friction. In the ancient
Vedic hymns of India the fire-god Agni "is spoken of as born in wood, as
the embryo of plants, or as distributed in plants. He is also said to have
entered into all plants or to strive after them. When he is called the embryo
of trees or of trees as well as plants, there may be a side-glance at the fire
produced in forests by the friction of the boughs of trees." 13
A tree which has been struck by lightning is naturally regarded by the
savage as charged with a double or triple portion of fire; for has he not
seen the mighty flash enter into the trunk with his own eyes? Hence
perhaps we may explain some of the many superstitious beliefs concerning
trees that have been struck by lightning. When the Thompson Indians of
British Columbia wished to set fire to the houses of their enemies, they shot
at them arrows which were either made from a tree that had been struck by
lightning or had splinters of such wood attached to them. Wendish
peasants of Saxony refuse to burn in their stoves the wood of trees that
have been struck by lightning; they say that with such fuel the house
would be burnt down. In like manner the Thonga of South Africa will not
use such wood as fuel nor warm themselves at a fire which has been
kindled with it. On the contrary, when lightning sets fire to a tree, the
Winamwanga of Northern Rhodesia put out all the fires in the village and
plaster the fireplaces afresh, while the head men convey the
lightning-kindled fire to the chief, who prays over it. The chief then sends
out the new fire to all his villages, and the villagers reward his messengers
for the boon. This shows that they look upon fire kindled by lightning with
reverence, and the reverence is intelligible, for they speak of thunder and
lightning as God himself coming down to earth. Similarly the Maidu Indians
of California believe that a Great Man created the world and all its
inhabitants, and that lightning is nothing but the Great Man himself
descending swiftly out of heaven and rending the trees with his flaming
arms. 14
It is a plausible theory that the reverence which the ancient peoples of
Europe paid to the oak, and the connexion which they traced between the
tree and their sky-god, were derived from the much greater frequency with
which the oak appears to be struck by lightning than any other tree of our
European forests. This peculiarity of the tree has seemingly been
established by a series of observations instituted within recent years by
scientific enquirers who have no mythological theory to maintain. However
we may explain it, whether by the easier passage of electricity through
oak-wood than through any other timber, or in some other way, the fact
itself may well have attracted the notice of our rude forefathers, who dwelt
in the vast forests which then covered a large part of Europe; and they
might naturally account for it in their simple religious way by supposing
that the great sky-god, whom they worshipped and whose awful voice
they heard in the roll of thunder, loved the oak above all the trees of the
wood and often descended into it from the murky cloud in a flash of
lightning, leaving a token of his presence or of his passage in the riven
and blackened trunk and the blasted foliage. Such trees would thenceforth
be encircled by a nimbus of glory as the visible seats of the thundering
sky-god. Certain it is that, like some savages, both Greeks and Romans
identified their great god of the sky and of the oak with the lightning flash
which struck the ground; and they regularly enclosed such a stricken spot
and treated it thereafter as sacred. It is not rash to suppose that the
ancestors of the Celts and Germans in the forests of Central Europe paid a
like respect for like reasons to a blasted oak. 15
This explanation of the Aryan reverence for the oak and of the
association of the tree with the great god of the thunder and the sky, was
suggested or implied long ago by Jacob Grimm, and has been in recent
years powerfully reinforced by Mr. W. Warde Fowler. It appears to be
simpler and more probable than the explanation which I formerly adopted,
namely, that the oak was worshipped primarily for the many benefits which
our rude forefathers derived from the tree, particularly for the fire which
they drew by friction from its wood; and that the connexion of the oak with
the sky was an after-thought based on the belief that the flash of lightning
was nothing but the spark which the sky-god up aloft elicited by rubbing
two pieces of oak-wood against each other, just as his savage worshipper
kindled fire in the forest on earth. On that theory the god of the thunder and
the sky was derived from the original god of the oak; on the present theory,
which I now prefer, the god of the sky and the thunder was the great
original deity of our Aryan ancestors, and his association with the oak was
merely an inference based on the frequency with which the oak was seen
to be struck by lightning. If the Aryans, as some think, roamed the wide
steppes of Russia or Central Asia with their flocks and herds before they
plunged into the gloom of the European forests, they may have worshipped
the god of the blue or cloudy firmament and the flashing thunderbolt long
before they thought of associating him with the blasted oaks in their new
home. 16
Perhaps the new theory has the further advantage of throwing light on the
special sanctity ascribed to mistletoe which grows on an oak. The mere
rarity of such a growth on an oak hardly suffices to explain the extent and
the persistence of the superstition. A hint of its real origin is possibly
furnished by the statement of Pliny that the Druids worshipped the plant
because they believed it to have fallen from heaven and to be a token that
the tree on which it grew was chosen by the god himself. Can they have
thought that the mistletoe dropped on the oak in a flash of lightning? The
conjecture is confirmed by the name thunder-besom which is applied to
mistletoe in the Swiss canton of Aargau, for the epithet clearly implies a
close connexion between the parasite and the thunder; indeed
"thunder-besom" is a popular name in Germany for any bushy nest-like
excrescence growing on a branch, because such a parasitic growth is
actually believed by the ignorant to be a product of lightning. If there is
any truth in this conjecture, the real reason why the Druids worshipped a
mistletoe-bearing oak above all other trees of the forest was a belief that
every such oak had not only been struck by lightning but bore among its
branches a visible emanation of the celestial fire; so that in cutting the
mistletoe with mystic rites they were securing for themselves all the
magical properties of a thunder-bolt. If that was so, we must apparently
conclude that the mistletoe was deemed an emanation of the lightning
rather than, as I have thus far argued, of the midsummer sun. Perhaps,
indeed, we might combine the two seemingly divergent views by
supposing that in the old Aryan creed the mistletoe descended from the
sun on Midsummer Day in a flash of lightning. But such a combination is
artificial and unsupported, so far as I know, by any positive evidence.
Whether on mythical principles the two interpretations can really be
reconciled with each other or not, I will not presume to say; but even
should they prove to be discrepant, the inconsistency need not have
prevented our rude forefathers from embracing both of them at the same
time with an equal fervour of conviction; for like the great majority of
mankind the savage is above being hidebound by the trammels of a
pedantic logic. In attempting to track his devious thought through the jungle
of crass ignorance and blind fear, we must always remember that we are
treading enchanted ground, and must beware of taking for solid realities
the cloudy shapes that cross our path or hover and gibber at us through
the gloom. We can never completely replace ourselves at the standpoint of
primitive man, see things with his eyes, and feel our hearts beat with the
emotions that stirred his. All our theories concerning him and his ways
must therefore fall far short of certainty; the utmost we can aspire to in such
matters is a reasonable degree of probability. 17
To conclude these enquiries we may say that if Balder was indeed, as I
have conjectured, a personification of a mistletoe-bearing oak, his death
by a blow of the mistletoe might on the new theory be explained as a death
by a stroke of lightning. So long as the mistletoe, in which the flame of the
lightning smouldered, was suffered to remain among the boughs, so long
no harm could befall the good and kindly god of the oak, who kept his life
stowed away for safety between earth and heaven in the mysterious
parasite; but when once that seat of his life, or of his death, was torn from
the branch and hurled at the trunk, the tree fell-the god died-smitten by a
thunderbolt. 18
And what we have said of Balder in the oak forests of Scandinavia may
perhaps, with all due diffidence in a question so obscure and uncertain,
be applied to the priest of Diana, the King of the Wood, at Aricia in the oak
forests of Italy. He may have personated in flesh and blood the great Italian
god of the sky, Jupiter, who had kindly come down from heaven in the
lightning flash to dwell among men in the mistletoe-the thunder-besom-the
Golden Bough-growing on the sacred oak in the dells of Nemi. If that was
so, we need not wonder that the priest guarded with drawn sword the
mystic bough which contained the god's life and his own. The goddess
whom he served and married was herself, if I am right, no other than the
Queen of Heaven, the true wife of the sky-god. For she, too, loved the
solitude of the woods and the lonely hills, and sailing overhead on clear
nights in the likeness of the silver moon looked down with pleasure on her
own fair image reflected on the calm, the burnished surface of the lake,
Diana's Mirror. 19