Exhausted with loss of blood, he can stay no longer. He departs; and

the lady, uttering loud cries of woe, leaps after him, unapparelled as

she is, out of the window, which was twenty feet from the ground, and

pursues him by the traces of his blood.

Along his path strayed the dame,

Until unto a hill she came.[481]

Into this hill one entrance led;

It with the blood was all sprinkléd.

Before her she can nothing see;

Whereat she thinketh full surelý

Her lover thither is gone in.

She entereth with mickle teen;

Within it light ne found she none;

Thorow it still she goeth on,

Until she from the hill issúed

In a fair meadow, rich and good.

With blood she stained found the grass,

At which she much dismayed was;

The trace lay of it on the ground.

Quite near she there a city found;

With walls it was enclosed all.--

There was not house, nor tower, nor hall,

That did not seem of silver fair:

The Mandevent[482] right wealthy are.

Before the town lay marshes rude,

The forest, and wild solitude.

On the other side, toward the donjón,

The water all around did run;

And here the shippès did entér,

More thannè three hundréd they were.

The lower gate wide open lay;

Therein the lady took her way,

Stil following the blood, that fell

The townè thorow to the castél.

Unto her spaké there no one,

Ne man nor woman found she none.

She to the palace came; with blood

The steps she found were all embrued;

She entered then a low chambére;

A knight she found fast sleeping there;

She knew him not--she passed on--

To a larger chamber came anon;

A bed, and nothing more, there found,

A knight was on it sleeping sound.

Still farther passed on the dame;

Unto the third chambére she came,

Where she gan find her lover's bed.

The posts were gold enamelled;

I could not price the clothes aright:

The chandeliers and tapers bright,

Which night and day burned constantly,

Were worth the gold of a citee.

She finds her lover at the point of death.

At seeing his wretched state the unhappy lady swoons again. The

expiring knight endeavours to console her; and, foretelling his own

death on that day, directs her to depart, lest his people in their

grief should ill treat her as the cause of his death. She, however,

protests that she will stay and die with him, as, if she returns, her

husband will put her to death. The knight repeats his consolations,

and gives her a ring, which, while she wears, her husband will retain

no remembrance of what relates to her. At the same time he gives her

his sword, which she is to keep safely and to give to her son when

grown up and become a valiant knight. He says, she then

Unto a festival will go;

Her lord will thither wend also;

Unto an abbey they will come,

Where they will see a stately tomb,

Will learn the story of the dead,

And how he was there buried.

There thou the sword shalt to him reach,

And all the ádventure then teach,

How he was born, who was his sire;

His deeds enough will then admire.

He then gave her a dress of fine silk, and insisted on her departure.

She is with difficulty induced to leave him, and is hardly half a

league from the place when she hears the bells tolling, and the cries

of grief of the people for the death of their lord. She faints four

times, but at length recovering retraces her steps, and returns to her

tower. Her husband makes no inquiry, and gives her no farther

uneasiness. She bare a son, as Eudemarec had foretold, and named him

Ywenec. As he grew up, there was not his peer in the kingdom for

beauty, valour, and generosity.

After Ywenec had been dubbed a knight, his supposed father was

summoned to attend the feast of St. Aaron at Carlion. He went,

accompanied by his wife and Ywenec. On their way, they stopped at a

rich abbey, where they were received with the utmost hospitality. Next

day, when they asked to depart, the abbot entreated them to stay a

little longer till he should show them the rest of the abbey. They

consented, and after dinner,

On entering the chapter-room,

They found a large and stately tomb,

Covered with rich tapestry,

Bordered with gold embroidery.

At head and feet and sides there were

Twenty tapers burning clear;

Of fine gold were the chandeliers;

Of amethyst were the censéres,

With which they incensed alwáy,

For great honoúr, this tomb each day.

The curiosity of the visitors was excited by the sight of this

magnificent tomb, and they learned, on inquiry, that therein lay one

of the noblest and most valiant knights that had ever lived. He had

been king of that country, and had been slain at Caerwent for the love

of a lady, leaving a vacancy in the throne which had never been since

filled, it being reserved, according to his last commands, for his son

by that lady.

When the Dame heard this, she called aloud to her son,

"Fair son, you now have heard," she said,

"That God hath us to this place led.

It is your father here doth lie,

Whom this old man slew wrongfully."

She then gave him the sword she had kept so long, relating the whole

story to him. At the conclusion she fainted on the tomb, and expired.

Filled with rage and grief, Ywenec at one blow struck off the head of

the old man, and avenged both his father and mother. The lady was

buried in the coffin with him whom she had loved, and the people

joyfully acknowledged Ywenec as king of the country.

Long time after maden they,

Who heard this ádventure, a Lay

Of the grief and the doloúr

That for love these did endure.

There are still to be seen in Brittany the rock, the cavern, the

fountain, the hole, the valley, etc., of the Fées.

The forest of Brezeliande, near Quintin, was, in the twelfth and

thirteenth centuries, regarded as the chief seat of Breton wonders. It

contained the tomb of Merlin. Robert de Wace, hearing of the wonders of

this forest, visited it; but, by his own account, to little purpose.

La allai je merveilles querre (_chercher_),

Vis la forêt et vis la terre;

Merveilles quis (_cherchai_) mais ne trovai,

Fol m'en revins, fol y allai;

Fol y allai, fol m'en revins,

Folie quis, por fol me tins.[483]

There were also the Fountain of Berenton and the Pe (_block_, or

_steps_) Merveilleux.

En Bretagne ce treuve-on

Une Fontaine et un Perron;

Quant on gette l'iaue (_eau_) dessus

Si vente et tonne et repluit jus (_à bas_).

Huon de Méry was more fortunate than Wace. He sprinkled the Perron

from the golden basin which hung from the oak that shaded it, and

beheld all the marvels.[484]

* * * * *

Such is the result of our inquiries respecting the Fairy system of

the "oldè gentil Bretons." Owing to the praiseworthy labours of a

Breton gentleman of the present day,[485] we are enabled to give the

following account of it as it actually prevails in Brittany.

Our author divides the Breton fairies into two classes,--the Fays

(_Fées_) and the Dwarfs (_Nains_); of which the Breton name seems to be

Korrig or Korrigan, and Korr or Korred.[486] The former he identifies,

as we have seen, very plausibly, with the Gallicenæ of Mela; for he says

that the ancient Welsh bards declare that they reverenced a being of the

female sex named Korid-gwen, _i. e._ Korid-woman, to whom they assigned

_nine_ virgins as attendants. To this being Taliesin gives a magic vase,

the edges of which are adorned with pearl, and it contains the wondrous

water of bardic genius and of universal knowledge.

The Korrigan, our authority further states, can predict the future,

assume any form they please, move from place to place with the

rapidity of thought, cure maladies by the aid of charms which they

communicate to their favourites. Their size is said not to exceed two

feet, but their proportions are most exact; and they have long flowing

hair, which they comb out with great care. Their only dress is a long

white veil, which they wind round their body. Seen at night, or in the

dusk of the evening, their beauty is great; but in the daylight their

eyes appear red, their hair white, and their faces wrinkled; hence

they rarely let themselves be seen by day. They are fond of music, and

have fine voices, but are not much given to dancing. Their favourite

haunts are the springs, by which they sit and comb their hair. They

are said to celebrate there every returning spring a great nocturnal

festival. On the sod at its brink is spread a table-cloth white as the

driven snow, covered with the most delicious viands. In the centre is

a crystal cup, which emits such light that there is no need of lamps.

At the end of the banquet a cup goes round filled with a liquor, one

drop of which would make one as wise as God himself. At the approach

of a mortal the whole vanishes.

Like fairies in general the Korrigan steal children, against which the

remedy usually employed is, to place the child under the protection of

the Virgin, by putting a rosary or a scapulary about its neck. They

are also fond of uniting themselves with handsome young men to

regenerate, as the peasants say, their accursed race. The general

belief respecting them is, that they were great princesses who, having

refused to embrace Christianity when it was preached in Armorica by

the Apostles, were struck by the curse of God. Hence it is that they

are said to be animated by a violent hatred of religion and the

clergy. The sight of a _soutane_, or the sound of a bell, puts them to

flight; but the object of greatest abhorrence to them is the Holy

Virgin. The last trait to be noticed of these beings is, that, like

similar beings in other countries, their breath is deadly.

The reader must have observed the strong resemblance which the Korrigan

bear to the Elle-maids of Scandinavia. In like manner the Korred are

very similar to the Trolls.[487] These are usually represented as short

and stumpy with shaggy hair, dark wrinkled faces, little deep-set eyes,

but bright as carbuncles. Their voice is cracked and hollow: their hands

have claws like a cat's; their feet are horny like those of a goat. They

are expert smiths and coiners; they are said to have great treasures in

the _dolmen_[488] in which they dwell, and of which they are regarded as

the builders. They dance around them by night, and wo to the belated

peasant who, passing by, is forced to join in their roundel; he usually

dies of exhaustion. Wednesday is their holiday; the first Wednesday in

May their annual festival, which they celebrate with dancing, singing,

and music. They have the same aversion to holy things as the Korrigan;

like them, too, they can fortell events to come. The Korrid is always

furnished with a large leathern purse, which is said to be full of gold;

but if any one succeeds in getting it from him, he finds nothing in it

but hair and a pair of scissors.

The Bretons also believe in Mermaids; they name them Morgan

(_sea-women_) and Morverc'h (_sea-daughters_), and say that they draw

down to their palaces of gold and crystal at the bottom of the sea or

of ponds, those who venture imprudently too near the edge of the

water. Like the mermaids they sing and comb their golden hair. In one

of the ballads we read, "Fisher, hast thou seen the mermaid combing

her hair, yellow as gold, by the noontide sun, at the edge of the

water?" "I have seen the fair mermaid. I have also heard her singing;

her songs were plaintive as the waves."[489]

In M. Villemarqué's collection there are three ballads relating to the

Korrigan and Korred. The following is a faithful translation of the

first of them in the exact measure of the original. All the Breton

poetry is rimed, very frequently in triads or tercets.

_Lord Nann and the Korrigan._

The Lord Nann and his bride so fair

In early youth united were,

In early youth divided were.

The lady lay-in yesternight

Of twins, their skin as snow was white,

A boy and girl, that glad his sight.

"What doth thy heart desire, loved one,

For giving me so fair a son?

Say, and at once it shall be done.

"A woodcock from the pool of the glyn,

Or roebuck from the forest green?"

"The roebuck's flesh is savoury,

But for it thou to the wood should'st hie."

Lord Nann when he these words did hear,

He forthwith grasped his oaken spear,

And vaulting on his coal-black steed

Unto the green-wood hied with speed.

When he unto the wood drew nigh,

A fair white doe he there did spy,

And after her such chase he made,

The ground it shook beneath their tread.

And after her such chase made he,

From his brows the water copiously

And from his horse's sides ran down.

The evening had now come on,

And he came where a streamlet flowed

Fast by a Korrigan's abode;

And grassy turf spread all around.

To quench his thirst he sprang to ground.

The Korrig at her fount sat there

A-combing of her long fair hair.

She combed it with a comb of gold--

These ladies ne'er are poor, we're told.

"Rash man," cried she, "how dost thou dare

To come disturb my waters fair!

"Thou shalt unto me plight thy fay,

Or seven years thou shalt waste away,

Or thou shalt die ere the third day."

"To thee my faith plight will I ne'er,

For I am married now a year.

"I shall not surely waste away,

Nor shall I die ere the third day;

"I shall not die within three days,

But when it unto God shall please."--

"Good mother, mine, if you love me,

See that my bed made ready be,

For I have ta'en a malady.

"Let not one word to my wife be told;

In three days I shall lie in the mould,

A Korrigan has thus foretold."

And when three days were past and gone,

The young wife asked this question,--

"My mother-in-law, now tell me why

The bells all ring thus constantly?

"And why the priests a low mass sing,

All clad in white, as the bells ring?"

"Last night a poor man died whom we

A lodging gave through charity."

"My mother-in-law, tell me, I pray,

My Lord Nann whither is he gone away?"

"My daughter, to the town he's gone,

To see thee he will come anon."

"Good mother-in-law, to church to fare,

Shall I my red or blue gown wear?"

"The custom now is, daughter dear,

At church always in black to appear."

As they crossed o'er the churchyard-wall,

On her husband's grave her eye did fall.

"Who is now dead of our family,

That thus fresh dug our ground I see?"

"Alas! my child, the truth can I

Not hide: thy husband there doth lie."

On her two knees herself she cast

And rose no more, she breathed her last.

It was a marvel to see, men say,

The night that followed the day,

The lady in earth by her lord lay,

To see two oak-trees themselves rear

From the new-made grave into the air;

And on their branches two doves white,

Who there were hopping gay and light;

Which sang when rose the morning-ray

And then toward heaven sped away.

This ballad is very remarkable. Its similarity to that of Sir Olof, so

celebrated in Scandinavia, and of which we have already given two

variations out of fifteen, must strike every one; in its concluding

stanzas also it resembles other Scandinavian and English ballads. On

the other hand, the White Doe and the Korrigan at the fount remind us

of the Lais of Marie de France. Our opinion on the whole is, that the

ballad belongs to Scandinavia, whence it was brought at an early

period--by the Normans, we might say only for its Christian air in

both countries--and naturalised in the usual manner. It is rather

strange that there is neither an English nor a Scottish version of it.

* * * * *

The next lay, which is entirely composed in tercets, is the story of a

changeling. In order to recover her own child the mother is advised by

the Virgin, to whom she has prayed, to prepare a meal for ten

farm-servants in an egg-shell, which will make the Korrid speak, and

she is then to whip him well till he cries, and when he does so he

will be taken away. The woman does as directed: the Korr asks what she

is about: she tells him: "For ten, dear mother, in an eggshell! I have

seen the egg before I saw the white hen. I have seen the acorn before

I saw the tree: I have seen the acorn and I have seen the shoot: I

have seen the oak in the wood of Brézal, but never saw I such a thing

as this." "Thou hast seen too many things, my son," replied she, and

began to whip him, when one came crying, "Don't beat him, give him

back to me; I have not done yours any injury. He is king in our

country." When the woman went home she found her own child sleeping

sweetly in the cradle. He opened his eyes and said, "Ah! mother, I

have been a long time asleep!"

Among the Welsh legends above related, that of the Fairies Banished

has some resemblance to this; but M. Villemarqué says that he was told

a changeling-story by the Glamorgan peasantry, precisely the same as

the Breton legend. In it the changeling is heard muttering to himself

in a cracked voice, "I have seen the acorn before I saw the oak: I

have seen the egg before I saw the white hen: I have never seen the

like of this." It is remarkable that these words form a rimed triad or

tercet nearly the same with that in the Breton ballad,[490] whence M.

Villemarqué is led to suspect that the legend is anterior to the

seventh century, the epoch of the separation of the Britons of Wales

and Armorica. But as changelings seem to have come from the North, we

cannot consent to receive this theory. He also quotes from Geoffrey of

Monmouth's Life of Merlin, "There is in this forest," said Merlin the

Wild, "an oak laden with years: I saw it when it was beginning to grow

... I saw the acorn whence it rose, germinate and become a twig ... I

have then lived a long time." This would, in our opinion, tend to show

that this was an ordinary formula in the British language.

The third and last of those ballads tells, and not without humour, how

Paskou-Hir, _i. e._, Long-Paskou, the tailor, one Friday evening,

entered the abode of the Korred, and there dug up and carried home a

concealed treasure. They pursued him, and came into the court-yard

dancing with might and main, and singing,--

Dilun, dimeurs, dimerc'her

Ha diriaou, ha digwener.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,

And Thursday, and Friday.

Finding the door secured[491] they mount the roof and break a hole

through which they get in, and resume their dance on the floor, still

singing, Monday, Tuesday, etc., and calling on the tailor to come and

join them and they would teach him a dance that would crack his

back-bone, and they end by telling him that the money of the Korr is

good for nothing.

Another version says, that it was a baker who stole the treasure, and,

more cunning than the tailor, he strewed the floor of his house with

hot ashes and cinders on which the Korred burned their feet. This made

them scamper off, but before they went they smashed all his crockery

and earthenware. Their words were, "In Iannik-ann-Trevou's house we

burnt our horny feet and made a fine mess of his crockery."

The following legend will explain the song of the Korred.

_The Dance and Song of the Korred._

The valley of Goel was a celebrated haunt of the Korred.[492] It was

thought dangerous to pass through it at night lest one should be forced

to join in their dances, and thus perhaps lose his life. One evening,

however, a peasant and his wife thoughtlessly did so, and they soon

found themselves enveloped by the dancing sprites, who kept singing--

Lez y, Lez hon,

Bas an arer zo gant hon;

Lez on, Lez y,

Bas an arer zo gant y.

Let him go, let him go,

For he has the wand of the plough;

Let her go, let her go,

For she has the wand of the plough.

It seems the man had in his hand the _fourche_, or short stick, which

is used as a plough-paddle in Brittany, and this was a protection, for

the dancers made way for them to go out of the ring.

When this became known, many persons having fortified themselves with

a _fourche_, gratified their curiosity by witnessing the dance of the

Korred. Among the rest were two tailors, Peric and Jean, who, being

merry fellows, dared each other to join in the dance. They drew lots,

and the lot fell upon Peric, a humpbacked red-haired, but bold stout

little fellow. He went up to the Korred and asked permission to take

share in their dance. They granted it, and all went whirling round and

round, singing

Dilun, Dimeurs, Dimerc'her.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.

Peric, weary of the monotony, when there was a slight pause at the

last word, added

Ha Diriaou, ha Digwener.

And Thursday and Friday.

_Mat! mat!_ (good! good!) cried they, and gathering round him, they

offered him his choice of beauty, rank, or riches. He laughed, and

only asked them to remove his hump and change the colour of his hair.

They forthwith took hold of him and tossed him up into the air,

throwing him from hand to hand till at last he lighted on his feet

with a flat back and fine long black hair.

When Jean saw and heard of the change he resolved to try what _he_

could get from the potent Korred, so a few evenings after he went and

was admitted to the dance, which now went to the words as enlarged by

Peric. To make his addition he shouted out,

Ha Disadarn, ha Disul.

And Saturday and Sunday.

"What more? what more?" cried the Korred, but he only went on

repeating the words. They then asked him what he would have, and he

replied riches. They tossed him up, and kept bandying him about till

he cried for mercy, and on coming to the ground, he found he had got

Peric's hump and red hair.

It seems that the Korred were condemned to this continual dancing,

which was never to cease till a mortal should join in their dance, and

after naming all the days of the week, should add, _Ha cetu chu er

sizun_, "And now the week is ended." They punished Jean for coming so

near the end and then disappointing them.[493]

* * * * *

We add the following circumstances from other authorities:

At Carnac, near Quiberon, says M. de Cambry, in the department of

Morbihan, on the sea-shore, is the Temple of Carnac, called in Breton

"Ti Goriquet" (_House of the Gorics_), one of the most remarkable

Celtic monuments extant. It is composed of more than four thousand

large stones, standing erect in an arid plain, where neither tree nor

shrub is to be seen, and not even a pebble is to be found in the soil

on which they stand. If the inhabitants are asked concerning this

wonderful monument, they say it is an old camp of Cæsar's, an army

turned into stone, or that it is the work of the Crions or Gorics.

These they describe as little men between two and three feet high, who

carried these enormous masses on their hands; for, though little, they

are stronger than giants. Every night they dance around the stones;

and woe betide the traveller who approaches within their reach! he is

forced to join in the dance, where he is whirled about till,

breathless and exhausted, he falls down, amidst the peals of laughter

of the Crions. All vanish with the break of day.[494]

In the ruins of Tresmalouen dwell the Courils.[495] They are of a

malignant disposition, but great lovers of dancing. At night they sport

around the Druidical monuments. The unfortunate shepherd that approaches

them must dance their rounds with them till cock-crow; and the instances

are not few of persons thus ensnared who have been found next morning

dead with exhaustion and fatigue. Woe also to the ill-fated maiden who

draws near the Couril dance! nine months after, the family counts one

member more. Yet so great is the power and cunning of these Dwarfs, that

the young stranger bears no resemblance to them, but they impart to it

the features of some lad of the village.

A number of little men, not more than a foot high, dwell under the

castle of Morlaix. They live in holes in the ground, whither they may

often be seen going, and beating on basins. They possess great

treasures, which they sometimes bring out; and if any one pass by at

the time, allow him to take one handful, but no more. Should any one

attempt to fill his pockets, the money vanishes, and he is instantly

assailed by a shower of boxes in the ear from invisible hands.

The Bretons also say that there are spirits who silently skim the

milk-pans in the dairies. They likewise speak of Sand Yan y Tad (_St.

John and Father_), who carry five lights at their finger-ends, which

they make spin round and round like a wheel.[496]

There is a species of malignant beings, called Night-washers (_Eur

cunnerez noz_), who appear on the banks of streams, and call on the

passers-by to aid them to wash the linen of the dead. If any one

refuses, they drag him into the water and break his arms.

About Morlaix the people are afraid of evil beings they call Teurst.

One of these, called Teursapouliet, appears in the likeness of some

domestic animal.[497] In the district of Vannes is a colossal spirit

called Teus,[498] or Bugelnoz, who appears clothed in white between

midnight and two in the morning. His office is to rescue victims from

the Devil. He spreads his mantle over them, and they are secure. The

Devil comes over the ocean; but, unable to endure the look of the good

spirit, he sinks down again, and, the object of the spirit

accomplished, he vanishes.

FOOTNOTES:

[469] Poésies de Marie de France, par De Roquefort. Paris, 1820. If any

one should suspect that these are not genuine translations from the

Breton, his doubts will be dispelled by reading the original of the Lai

du Laustic in the Barzan-Breiz (i. 24) presently to be noticed.

[470] See above, p. 21.

[471] The Bas-Breton _Korrigan_ or _Korrigwen_ differs, as we may see,

but little from _Gallican_. Strabo (i. p. 304) says that Demeter and

_Kora_ were worshipped in an island in these parts.

[472] Sena is supposed to be L'Isle des Saints, nearly opposite Brest.

[473] Pomp. Mela, iii. 6.

[474] It might seem hardly necessary to inform the reader that these

verses and those that follow, are our own translations, from Marie de

France. Yet some have taken them for old English verses.

[475]

E korole nao c'horrigan,

Bleunvek ho bleo, gwisket gloan,

Kelc'h ar feunteun, d'al loar-gann.

VILLEMARQUÉ, _Barzan-Breiz_, i. 8.

The _c'h_ expresses the guttural.

[476] This manifestly alludes to Lanval or Graelent, or similar stories.

[477] It follows, in M. de Roquefort's edition,

"Deci ne muez fu ou désis."

Of which we can make no sense, and the French translation gives no

aid. In the Harleian MS. it is

"De cine muez fu ou de sis,"

which is more intelligible.

[478] This tends to prove that this is a translation from the Breton;

for Innocent III., in whose pontificate the cup was first refused to

the laity, died in 1216, when Henry III., to whom Marie is supposed to

have dedicated her Lais, was a child.

[479] The same was the case with the Wünschelweib (_Wish-woman_) of

German romance.

Swenne du einêst wünschest nâch mir,

Sô bin ich endelîchen bî dír,

says the lady to the Staufenberger. She adds,

Wâr ich wil dâ bin ich,

Den Wunsch hât mir Got gegeben.

He finds it to be true,

Er wûnschte nach der frouwen sîn,

Bî îm sô war diu schöne sîn.

GRIMM, _Deut. Mythol._, p. 391.

[480] In the Shâh-nâmeh, Siyawush, when he foresees his own death by

the treachery of Afrasiâb, tells his wife Ferengis, the daughter of

that monarch, that she will bear a son whom she is to name Ky Khosroo,

and who will avenge the death of his father: see Görres, Heldenbuch

von Iran, ii. 32.

[481]

Desi k'a une hoge vint:

En cele hoge ot une entree.

M. de Roquefort, in his Glossaire de la Langue Romaine, correctly

renders _hoge_ by _colline_. In his translation of this Lai he renders

it by _cabane_, not, perhaps, understanding how a hill could be

pervious. The story, however, of Prince Ahmed, and the romance of

Orfeo and Heurodis (see above, p. 52), are good authority on this

point: see also above, pp. 405, 408.

[482] In the Harleian MS. Mandement. M. de Roquefort confesses his total

ignorance of this people; we follow his example. May it not, however, be

connected with _manant_, and merely signify people, inhabitants?

[483] Roman de Roux, _v._ ii. 234.

[484] See Roquefort, Supplément au Glossaire de la Langue Romaine _s.

v._ Perron.

[485] Barzan-Breiz, Chants Populaires de la Bretagne, recueilles et

publiés par Th. Hersart de la Villemarqué. Paris, 1846. This is a most

valuable work and deserving to take its place with the Ballads of

Scotland, Scandinavia, and Servia, to none of which is it inferior. To

the credit of France the edition which we use is the fourth. How

different would the fate of such a work be in this country!

[486] We make this distinction, because in the ballads in which the

personage is a Fay, the word used is Korrigan or Korrig, while in that

in which the Dwarfs are actors, the words are Korr and Korred. But the

truth is, they are all but different forms of Korr. They are all the

same, singular and plural. The Breton changes its first consonant like

the Irish: see p. 371. We also meet with Crion, Goric, Couril, as

names of these beings, but they are only forms of those given above.

[487] Hence we may infer that they came originally from Scandinavia,

communicated most probably by the Normans.

[488] Stone-tables. They are called by the same name in Devon and

Cornwall; in Irish their appellation is Cromleach.

[489] Barzan-Breiz., i. xlix. 69.

[490]

WELSH. BRETON.

Gweliz mez ken gwelet derven, Gweliz vi ken guelet iar wenn,

Gweliz vi ken gwelet iar wenn, Gweliz mez ken gwelet gwezen.

Erioez ne wiliz evelhenn. Gweliz mez ha gweliz gwial,

Gweliz derven e Koat Brezal,

Biskoaz na weliz kemend all.

[491] The tailor cries "Shut the door! Here are the little _Duz_ of

the night" (_Setu ann Duzigou nouz_), and St. Augustine (De Civ. Dei,

c. xxiii.) speaks of "Daemones quos _Duscios_ Galli nuncupant." It may

remind us of our own word _Deuce_.

[492] In the original the word is Korrigan, but see above, p. 431.

[493] From an article signed H--Y in a cheap publication called Tracts

for the People. The writer says he heard it in the neighbourhood of

the Vale of Goel, and it has every appearance of being genuine.

Villemarqué (i. 61) mentions the last circumstance as to the end of

the penance of the Korred.

[494] Monumens Celtiques, p. 2. An old sailor told M. de Cambry, that

one of these stones covers an immense treasure, and that these

thousands of them have been set up the better to conceal it. He added

that a calculation, the key to which was to be found in the Tower of

London, would alone indicate the spot where the treasure lies.

[495] For what follows we are indebted to the MS. communication of Dr.

W. Grimm. He quotes as his authority the _Zeitung der Gesellschafter_

for 1826.

[496] The former seems to be a house spirit, the _Goblin_, _Follet_,

or _Lutin_ of the north of France; the latter is apparently the _Ignis

Fatuus_.

[497] So the Yorkshire Bar-guest.

[498] See above, p. 438.

SOUTHERN EUROPE.

O faretrate Ninfe, o agresti Pani,

O Satiri e Silvani, o Fauni e Driadi,

Najadi ed Amadriadi, e Semidee,

Oreadi, e Napee, or siete sole.

SANAZZARO.

Under the title of Southern Europe, we comprise Greece and those nations

whose languages are derived from the Latin; Italy, Spain, and France. Of

the Fairy-system, if there ever was one, of Portugal we have met with

nothing, at least in the works of Camoens, Bernardes, and Lobo.

The reader will, in this part of our work, find little corresponding

to the Gothic Dwarfs who have hitherto been our companions. The only

one of our former acquaintances that will attend us is honest

Hob-goblin, Brownie, Kobold, Nis, or however else he may style

himself. And it is very remarkable that we shall meet with him only in

those places where the Northmen, the Visigoths or other Scandinavian

tribes settled. Whence perhaps it might be concluded that they brought

him with them to the South of Europe.

GREECE.

Ὡς τερεινα Νυμφα

δροσερων εσωθεν αντρων. EURIPIDES.

Like a tender Nymph

Within the dewy caves.

The Grecian mythology, like its kindred systems, abounded in

personifications.[499] Modified by scenery so beautiful, rich, and

various as Hellas presented, it in general assigned the supposed

intelligences who presided over the various parts of external nature

more pleasing attributes than they elsewhere enjoyed. They were mostly

conceived to be of the female sex, and were denominated Nymphs, a word

originally signifying a new-married woman.

Whether it be owing to soil, climate, or to an original disposition of

mind and its organ, the Greeks have above all other people possessed a

perception of beauty of form, and a fondness for representing it. The

Nymphs of various kinds were therefore always presented to the

imagination, in the perfection of female youth and beauty. Under the

various appellations of Oreades, Dryades, Naïdes, Limniades, Nereides,

they dwelt in mountains, trees, springs, lakes, the sea, where, in

caverns and grottos, they passed a life whose occupations resembled

those of females of human race. The Wood-nymphs were the companions

and attendants of the huntress goddess Artemis; the Sea-nymphs averted

shipwreck from pious navigators; and the Spring- and River-nymphs

poured forth fruitfulness on the earth. All of them were honoured with

prayer and sacrifice; and all of them occasionally 'mingled in love'

with favoured mortals.

In the Homeric poems, the most ancient portion of Grecian literature,

we meet the various classes of Nymphs. In the Odyssey, they are the

attendants of Calypso, herself a goddess and a nymph. Of the female

attendants of Circe, the potent daughter of Helios, also designated as

a goddess and a nymph, it is said,

They spring from fountains and from sacred groves,

And holy streams that flow into the sea.

Yet these nymphs are of divine nature, and when Zeus, the father of

the gods, calls together his council,

None of the streams, save Ocean, stayed away,

Nor of the Nymphs, who dwell in beauteous groves,

And springs of streams, and verdant grassy slades.

The good Eumæus prays to the Nymphs to speed the return of his master,

reminding them of the numerous sacrifices Ulysses had offered to them.

In another part of the poem, their sacred cave is thus described:--

But at the harbour's head a long-leafed olive

Grows, and near to it lies a lovely cave,

Dusky and sacred to the Nymphs, whom men

Call Naïdes. In it large craters lie,

And two-eared pitchers, all of stone, and there

Bees build their combs. In it, too, are long looms

Of stone, and there the Nymphs do weave their robes,

Sea-purple, wondrous to behold. Aye-flowing

Waters are there; two entrances it hath;

That to the north is pervious unto men;

That to the south more sacred is, and there

Men enter not, but 'tis the Immortals' path.

Yet though thus exalted in rank, the Homeric Nymphs frequently

'blessed the bed' of heroes; and many a warrior who fought before Troy

could boast descent from a Naïs or a Nereis.

The sweet, gentle, pious, Ocean-nymphs, who in the Prometheus of

Æschylus appear as the consolers and advisers of its dignified hero,

seem to hold a nearly similar relation with man to the supernal gods.

Beholding the misery inflicted on Prometheus by the power of Zeus,

they cry,--

May never the all-ruling

Zeus set his rival power

Against my thoughts;

Nor may I ever fail

The gods, with holy feasts

Of sacrifices, drawing near,

Beside the ceaseless stream

Of father Ocëan:

Nor may I err in words;

But this abide with me

And never fade away.

One of the most interesting species of Nymphs is the Dryads, or

Hamadryads, those personifications of the vegetable life of plants. In

the Homeric hymn to Aphroditè, we find the following full and accurate

description of them. Aphroditè, when she informs Anchises of her

pregnancy, and her shame to have it known among the gods, says of the

child:--

But him, when first he sees the sun's clear light,

The Nymphs shall rear, the mountain-haunting Nymphs,

Deep-bosomed, who on this mountain great

And holy dwell, who neither goddesses

Nor women are. Their life is long; they eat

Ambrosial food, and with the deathless frame

The beauteous dance. With them, in the recess

Of lovely caves, well-spying Argos-slayer

And the Sileni mix in love. Straight pines

Or oaks high-headed spring with them upon

The earth man-feeding, soon as they are born;

Trees fair and flourishing; on the high hills

Lofty they stand; the Deathless' sacred grove

Men call them, and with iron never cut.

But when the fate of death is drawing near,

First wither on the earth the beauteous trees,

The bark around them wastes, the branches fall,

And the Nymph's soul at the same moment leaves

The sun's fair light.

They possessed power to reward and punish these who prolonged or

abridged the existence of their associate-tree. In the Argonautics of

Apollonius Rhodius, Phineus thus explains to the heroes the cause of

the poverty of Peræbius:--

But he was paying the penalty laid on

His father's crime; for one time, cutting trees

Alone among the hills, he spurned the prayer

Of the Hamadryas Nymph, who, weeping sore,

With earnest words besought him not to cut

The trunk of an oak tree, which, with herself

Coeval, had endured for many a year.

But, in the pride of youth, he foolishly

Cut it; and to him and to his race the Nymph

Gave ever after a lot profitless.

The Scholiast gives on this passage the following tale from Charon of

Lampsacus:

A man, named Rhœcus, happening to see an oak just ready to fall to the

ground, ordered his slaves to prop it. The Nymph, who had been on the

point of perishing with the tree, came to him and expressed her

gratitude to him for having saved her life, and at the same time desired

him to ask what reward he would. Rhœcus then requested her to permit

him to be her lover, and the Nymph acceded to his wishes. She at the

same time charged him strictly to avoid the society of every other

woman, and told him that a bee should be her messenger. One time the bee

happened to come to Rhœcus as he was playing at draughts, and he made a

rough reply. This so incensed the Nymph that she deprived him of sight.

Similar was the fate of the Sicilian Daphnis.[500] A Naïs loved him

and forbade him to hold intercourse with any other woman under pain of

loss of sight. Long he abstained, though tempted by the fairest maids

of Sicily. At length a princess contrived to intoxicate him: he broke

his vow, and the threatened penalty was inflicted.

FOOTNOTES:

[499] See our Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy, where (p. 237)

most of what follows will be found, with notes.

[500] Parthenius Erotica, chap. xxix.

ITALY.

Faune Nympharum fugientum amator,

Per meos fines et aprica rura

Lenis incedas, abeasque parvis

Æquus alumnis.

HORATIUS.

Unfortunately for our knowledge of the ancient Italian mythology, the

ballad-poetry of Rome is irrecoverably lost. A similar fate has

befallen the literature of Etruria, Umbria, and other parts of the

peninsula. The powerful influence exercised by Grecian genius over the

conquerors of the Grecian states utterly annihilated all that was

national and domestic in literature. Not but that Latin poetry abounds

in mythologic matter; but it is the mythology of Greece, not of Italy;

and the reader of Virgil and Ovid will observe with surprise how

little of what he meets in their works is Italian.

So much however of the population of ancient Italy, particularly of

Latium, was Pelasgian, that it is natural to suppose a great

similarity between the religious systems of Latium and Hellas. The

Latins do not, however, appear to have believed in choirs of Nymphs.

Those we read of, such as Egeria, Anna Perenna, Juturna, are all

solitary, all dwellers of fountains, streams, and lakes. The Italian

Diana did not, like the Grecian Artemis, speed over the mountains

attended by a train of buskined nymphs. No Dryads sought to avert the

fate of their kindred trees--no Nereides sported on the waves.

Dwarfish deities they had none. We are indeed told of the Lars,

particularly the rural Lars, as answering to the Gothic Dwarfs; but no

proofs are offered except the diminutive size of their statues. This

we hold to amount to nothing. Are we to suppose the following lines of

Plautus to have been delivered by an "eyas?"

Lest any marvel who I am, I shall

Briefly declare it. I am the family Lar

Of this house whence you see me coming out.

'Tis many years now that I keep and guard

This family; both father and grandsire

Of him that has it now, I aye protected.

Now his grandsire intrusted me a treasure

Of gold, that I, unknown to all, should keep it.

* * * * *

He has one daughter, who, each day with wine

Or incense, or with something, worships me.

She gives me crowns, and I in recompense

Have now made Euclio find the treasure out,

That if he will, he may more readily

Get her a match.[501]

The Lars were a portion of the Etrurian religion. The Etruscan word

Lar signifies Lord, with which it has a curious but casual

resemblance.[502] The Lars were regarded, like the Grecian heroes, as

being the souls of men who, after death, still hovered about their

former abodes, averting dangers from, and bestowing blessings on, the

inhabitants. They differed from the Penates, who were, properly

speaking, Gods, beings of a higher nature, personifications of

natural powers, the givers of abundance and wealth.

The old Italians, it appears, believed in a being, we know not of what

size, called an Incubo, that watched over treasure. "But what they say

I know not," says Petronius,[503] "but I have heard how he snatched

the cap of an Incubo and found a treasure."

* * * * *

Respecting the Fairy mythology of the modern Italians, what we have

been able to collect is very little.

The people of Naples, we are told,[504] believe in a being very much

resembling the Incubo, whom they call the Monaciello, or Little Monk.

They describe him as a short, thick kind of little man, dressed in the

long garments of a monk, with a broad-brimmed hat. He appears to

people in the dead of the night, and beckons to them to follow him. If

they have courage to do so, he leads them to some place where treasure

is concealed. Several are said to have made sudden fortunes through

him. In the Neapolitan story-book, named the Pentamerone, of which we

shall presently give an account, we meet with a Monaciello of a very

different character from this guardian of hidden treasure.

In the second tale of the first day of that work, when the prince in

the night heard the noise made by the Fairy in his room, "he thought

it was some chamber-boy coming to lighten his purse for him, or some

Monaciello to pull the clothes off him." And in the seventh tale of

the third day of the same collection, when Corvetto had hidden himself

under the Ogre's[505] bed to steal his quilt, "he began to pull quite

gently, when the Ogre awoke, and bid his wife not to pull the clothes

that way, or she'd strip him, and he would get his death of cold."

"Why, it's you that are stripping me," replied the Ogress, "and you

have not left a stitch on me." "Where the devil is the quilt?" says

the Ogre; and putting his hand to the ground, he happened to touch the

face of Corvetto, and immediately began to shout out, "The Monaciello,

the Monaciello, hola! candles! run, run!" Corvetto, meanwhile, got off

with his prize through the window.[506]

It is quite clear that the Monaciello is the same kind of being as the

House-spirit of the Gotho-German nations. He seems to belong

peculiarly to Naples, for we have not heard of him in any other part

of Italy. Now we are to recollect that this was the very place in

which the Normans settled, and so he may be their Nis or Kobold;[507]

or, as he is so very like the Spanish Duende, he may be that being

introduced by the Aragonese, who seem to have exercised so much

influence over the language and manners of the people of Naples.

* * * * *

The belief in Mermaids also prevailed in modern Italy. In the reign of

Roger, king of Sicily, a young man happening to be bathing in the sea

late in the evening, perceived that something was following him.

Supposing it to be one of his companions, he caught it by the hair,

and dragged it on shore. But finding it to be a maiden of great beauty

and of most perfect form, he threw his cloak about her, and took her

home, where she continued with him till they had a son. There was one

thing however which greatly grieved him, which was the reflection that

so beautiful a form should be dumb, for he had never heard her speak.

One day he was reproached by one of his companions, who said that it

was a spectre, and not a real woman, that he had at home: being both

angry and terrified, he laid his hand on the hilt of his sword, and

urged her with vehemence to tell him who or what she was, threatening

if she did not do so, to kill the child before her eyes. The spirit

only saying, that he had lost a good wife by forcing her to speak,

instantly vanished, leaving her son behind. A few years after, as the

boy was playing on the sea-shore with his companions, the spirit his

mother dragged him into the sea, where he was drowned.[508]

* * * * *

We now come to the Fate of romance and tale.

The earliest notice that we can recollect to have seen of these potent

ladies is in the Orlando Innamorato, where we meet the celebrated Fata

Morgana, who would at first appear to be, as a personification of

Fortune, a being of a higher order.

Ivi è una fata nomata Morgana,

Che a le genti diverse dona l'oro;

Quanto e per tutto il mondo or se ne spande

Convien che ad essa prima si dimande.

L. I. c. xxv. st. 5. ed. 1831.

But we afterwards find her in her proper station, subject, with the

Fate and Witches, to the redoubtable Demogorgon.[509] When Orlando, on

delivering Zilante from her, makes her swear by that awful power, the

poet says:

Sopra ogni fata è quel Demogorgone

(Non so se mai l'odiste raccontare)

E giudica tra loro e fa ragione,

E quel che piace a lui può di lor fare.

La notte si cavalea ad un montone,

Travarca le montagne e passa il mare,

E _strigie_, e _fate_, e fantasime vane

Batte con serpi vive ogni dimane.

Se le ritrova la dimane al mondo,

Perchè non ponno al giorno comparire,

Tanto le batte al colpo furibondo

Che volentier vorrien poter morire.

Or le incatena giù nel mar profondo,

Or sopra il vento scalze la fa gire,

Or per il fuoco dietro a sè le mena;

A cui dà questa, a cui quell' altra pena.

L. II. c. xiii. st. 27, 28.

According to Ariosto,[510] Demogorgon has a splendid temple palace in

the Himalaya mountains, whither every fifth year the Fate are all

summoned to appear before him, and give an account of their actions.

They travel through the air in various strange conveyances, and it is

no easy matter to distinguish between their convention and a Sabbath

of the Witches.

We meet with another Fata in Bojardo,[511] the beautiful Silvanella, who

raised a tomb over Narcissus, and then dissolved away into a fountain.

When Brandamarte opens the magnificent tomb and kisses the hideous

serpent that thrusts out its head, it gradually becomes a beautiful

maiden.

Questa era Febosilla quella fata,

Che edificato avea l'alto palaccio

E'l bel giardino e quella sepoltura,

Ove un gran tempo è stata in pena dura.

Perchè una fata non può morir mai,

Sin che non giunge il giorno del giudizio,

Ma ben ne la sua forma dura assai,

Mill' anni o più, sì come io aggio indizio.

Poi (siccome di questa io vi contai

Qual fabbricato avea il bell' edifizio)

In serpe si tramuta e stavvi tanto

Che di baciarla alcun si doni il vanto.

L. II. c. xxvi. st. 14, 15

The other Fate who appear in this poem are Le Fate Nera and Bianca,

the protectresses of Guidone and Aquilante; the Fata della Fonte, from

whom Mandricardo obtains the arms of Hector, and finally Alcina, the

sister of Morgana, who carries off Astolfo. Dragontina and Falerina,

the owners of such splendid gardens, may also have been Fate, though

they are not called so by the poet.

Alcina re-appears in great splendour in the Orlando Furioso, where

she is given a sister named Logistilla, and both, like Morgana in the

preceding poem, are in a great measure allegorical. We also obtain

there a glimpse of the White and Black Fate. The Maga Manto of Dante

becomes here a Fata, and we meet her in the form of a serpent; to

account for which she says,

Nascemmo ad un punto che d' ogni altro male

Siamo capaci fuor che della morte.

Ma giunta è con questo essere immortale

Condizion non men del morir forte;

Ch' ogni settimo giorno ognuna è certa

Che la sua forma in biscia si converta.

C. xliii. st. 98.

Elsewhere (x. 52) the poet tells us that

Morir non puote alcuna fata mai

Fin che il Sol gira, o il ciel non muta stilo.

In the Amadigi of Bernardo Tasso the Fate appear for the last time in

Italian poetry;[512] but in greater number, and, we may say, greater

splendour than elsewhere. There are two classes of them, the beneficent

and protective, and the seductive and injurious. The terms Maga and

Incantatrice, as well as Fata, are applied to them all indifferently.

The good Fairy-ladies are Urganda, termed _La savia_ and _La

sconosciuta_,[513] the guardian of Amadigi, and the fair Oriana; Silvana

or Silvanella who stands in a similar relation to Alidoro; Lucina, also

named La Donna del Lago, another protectress of Alidoro and of his

lady-love, the fair warrior Mirinda, sister of Amadigi; Eufrosina, the

sister of Lucina; Argea, called La Reina della Fate, the protectress of

Floridante, to whom, after making him undergo various trials, she gives

her daughter Filidora in marriage; finally, Argea's sister Filidea. The

Fate whose character resembles that of Alcina are Morganetta, Nivetta,

and Carvilia, the three daughters of Morgana. Beside these then are two

Fate of neutral character, Dragontina, who formed a palace, temple and

gardens, in which, at the desire of her father, she enchanted a young

prince and his wife; and Montana, who, to avenge the fate of her lover,

slain by Alidoro, enchanted that warrior in a temple which she had

raised to the memory of the fallen.[514]

Ma veggiam ch' io non stessi troppo a bada

Con queste Alcine e Morgane.

The earliest collections of European Fairy-tales in prose belong to

Italy. In 1550, Straparola, a native of Caravaggio, in the Milanese,

published at Venice his Notti Piacevoli, a collection of tales, jokes,

and riddles, of which several, and those the best, are Fairy-tales.

These were translated into French in 1560-76, and seem to have been the

origin of the so well known Contes des Feés. Perrault's Puss in Boots

(_Le Chat Botté_,) and the Princess Fairstar (_Belle Etoile_,) and many

others of Madame D'Aulnoy's, who borrowed largely from the Notti

Piacevoli, are to be found in Straparola. In 1637, eighty-seven years

after the Notti Piacevoli appeared at Naples, and in the Neapolitan

dialect, the Pentamerone, the best collection of Fairy-tales ever

written.[515] The author, Giambattista Basile,[516] had spent his youth

in Candia, and then passed several years rambling through Italy. He

seems to have carefully treasured up all the tales he heard, and he

wrote and published them, under the feigned name of Gian Alesio

Abbatutis, in his native dialect, not long before his death.

In the Tales and Popular Fictions we gave some translations from the

Notti Piacevoli, the only ones in English, and they will probably

remain such, as the work is not one likely ever to be translated. In

the same work we gave two from the Pentamerone, and three (the Dragon,

Gagliuso, and the Goatface) in the former edition of the present work.

Most certainly we were the first to render any of these curious tales

into English, and we look back with a mixture of pleasure and surprise

at our success in the unaided struggle with an idiom so different from

the classic Italian.[517] We fancied that we had been the first to

make translations from it into any language, but we afterwards learned

that of the two tales in our other work, the one, Peruonto, had been

translated into French (probably by the Abbé Galiani) for the Cabinet

des Fées, the other, the Serpent into German, by M. Grimm.[518] Of

late, this most original work has been brought within the reach of

ordinary readers by two translations, the one in German by Felix

Liebrecht, who has given the work complete with few omissions; the

other in English by Mr. J. E. Taylor, who has made a selection of

thirty tales, and these most carefully expurgated, in order that

agreeably to its second title, it might form a book of amusement even

for children--a most difficult task, and in which his success has been

far greater than might have been anticipated. All our own translations

have been incorporated in it, and we can safely refer to it those who

wish to know the real character and nature of the Pentamerone.

Whatever name Basile might give his book it is quite plain that he

never could have meant it merely for children. The language alone is

proof enough on that head. It is, besides, full of learned allusions

and of keen satire, so that it could only be understood and relished

by grown persons, for whose amusement it was apparently designed; and

its tales are surely not much more extravagant than some of those in

Ariosto and the other romantic poets. It in fact never was a child's

book like the Contes de ma Mère l' Oie. It has now become very scarce;

we could not at Naples meet with a copy of it, or even with any one

who had read it.

FOOTNOTES:

[501] Aulularia, Prologue.

[502] See our Mythology of Greece and Italy, p. 543; and our Ovid's

Fasti, Excursus iv.

[503] Satyricon, ch. 38. _Sunt qui eundem_ (Hercules) _Incubonem esse

velint_. Schol. Hor. Sat. ii. 6, 13.

[504] Viessieux, Italy and the Italians, vol. i. pp. 161, 162.

[505] _L'huorco_, the Orco of Bojardo and Ariosto, probably derived

from the Latin Orcus: see Mythol. of Greece and Italy, p. 527. In this

derivation we find that we had been anticipated by Minucci in his

notes on the Malmantile Racquistato, c. ii. st. 50.

In a work, from which we have derived some information (Lettres sur les

Contes des Fées, Paris, 1826), considerable pains are taken, we think to

little purpose, to deduce the French Ogre from the Oïgours, a Tartar

tribe, who with the other tribes of that people invaded Europe in the

twelfth century. In the Glossaire de la Langue Romaine, Ogre is

explained by Hongrois. Any one, however, that reads the Pentamerone will

see that the ugly, cruel, man-eating Huorco is plainly an Ogre; and

those expert at the _tours de passe passe_ of etymology will be at no

loss to deduce Ogre from Orco. See Tales and Popular Fictions, p. 223.

[506] In another of these tales, it is said of a young man, who, on

breaking open a cask, found a beautiful maiden in it, that he stood

for a while _comme o chillo che ha visto lo Monaciello_.

[507] See Tales and Popular Fictions, chap. ix. p. 269; see also

_Spain_ and _France_.

[508] Vincentius apud Kornmann, _de Miraculis Vivorum_.

[509] This being, unknown to classic mythology, is first mentioned by

Lactantius. It was probably from Boccaccio's Genealogia Deorum that

Bojardo got his knowledge of him.

[510] I Cinque Canti, c. i. st. l. _seq._

[511] Lib. II. xvii. 56, _seq._

[512] There is, however, a Maga or Fata named Falsirena in the Adone

of Marini.

[513] La Sabia and La Desconocida of the original romance, which Tasse

follows very closely in everything relating to Amadis and Oriana.

[514] Few of our readers, we presume, are acquainted with this poem, and

they will perhaps be surprised to learn that it is, after the Furioso,

the most beautiful romantic poem in the Italian language, graceful and

sweet almost to excess. It is strange that it should be neglected in

Italy also. One cause may be its length (One Hundred Cantos), another

the constant and inartificial breaking off of the stories, and perhaps

the chief one, its serious moral tone so different from that of Ariosto.

It might be styled The Legend of Constancy, for the love of its heroes

and heroines is proof against all temptations. Mr. Panizzi's charge of

abounding in scandalous stories, is not correct, for it is in reality

more delicate than even the Faerie Queene. Ginguené, who admired it,

appreciates it far more justly.

[515] See Tales and Popular Fictions, p. 183. The Pentamerone we may

observe, was not a title given to it by the author; in like manner the

only title Fielding gave his great work was The History of a Foundling.

[516] He was brother to Adriana and uncle to Leonora Baroni, the

ladies whose musical talents Milton celebrates.

[517] Ex. gr. Fiume is _shiume_; Fiore, _shiure_; Piaggia, _chiaja_;

Piombo, _chiummo_; Biondo, _ghiunno_. There are likewise numerous

Hispanicisms. Thus _gaiola_ in Gagliuso which we all rendered

_coffin_, is the Spanish _jaula_, cage, and the meaning apparently is

that he would have the cat stuffed and put in a glass-case; in like

manner calling the eyes suns (as in _na bellezza a doje sole_) occurs

in the plays of Calderon.

[518] In the Taschenbuch für altdeutscher Zeit und Kunst, 1816.

SPAIN.

Duendecillo, duendecillo,

Quien quiera que seas ó fueras,

El dinero que tú das

En lo que mandares vuelve.

CALDERON, _La Dama Duende_.

When we inquired after the fairy-system of Spain, we were told that

there was no such thing, for that the Inquisition had long since

eradicated all such ideas. Most certainly we would not willingly be

regarded as partisans of the Holy Office, yet still we must express our

doubt of the truth of this charge. In Señor Llorente's work, as far as

we can recollect, there is no account of prosecutions for Duende-heresy;

and even to the Holy Office we should give its due. Still, with all our

diligence, our collection of Iberian fairy-lore is extremely scanty.

Our earliest authority for Spain, as for other countries, is the

celebrated marshall of Champagne, Gervase of Tilbury, who thus

relates:--

_The Daughter of Peter De Cabinam._

In the bishoprick of Gerunda (_i. e._ Gerona), and the province of

Catalonia, stands a mountain which the natives call Convagum. It is

very steep, and on its summit is a lake of dark water, so deep that

it cannot be fathomed. The abode of the Demons is in this lake; and if

a stone, or anything else, be thrown into it, there rises from it an

awful tempest.

Not far from this mountain, in a village named Junchera, lived a man

named Peter de Cabinam, who being one day annoyed by the crying of his

little girl, wished in his anger that the Demons might fetch her away.

The child instantly vanished--snatched away by invisible hands--and was

seen no more. Time passed on; and it was seven years after this event,

when a man belonging to the village, as he was one day rambling about

the foot of the mountain, met a man weeping bitterly, and bewailing his

hard fate. On inquiry, he said that he had now been seven years in the

mountain under the power of the Demons, who employed him as a beast of

burden. He added, that there was also a girl in the mountain, the

daughter of Peter de Cabinam of Junchera, a servant like himself; but

that they were tired of her, and would restore her to her father if he

came to claim her. When this information came to Peter de Cabinam, he

forthwith ascended the mountain, and going to the edge of the lake, he

besought the Demons to give him back his child. Like a sudden gust of

wind she came, tall in stature, but wasted and dirty, her eyes rolling

wildly, and her speech inarticulate. The father, not knowing what to do

with her, applied to the Bishop of Gerunda, who took this opportunity of

edifying his people by exhibiting the girl to them, and warning them

against the danger of wishing that the Demons had their children. Some

time after the man also was released, and from him the people learned

that at the bottom of the lake there was a large palace, with a wide

gate, to which palace the Demons repaired from all parts of the world,

and which no one could enter but themselves, and those they brought

thither.[519]

_Origin of the House of Haro._

As Don Diego Lopez, lord of Biscay, was one day lying in wait for the

wild boar, he heard the voice of a woman who was singing. On looking

around, he beheld on the summit of a rock a damsel, exceedingly

beautiful, and richly attired. Smitten with her charms, he proffered

her his hand. In reply, she assured him that she was of high descent,

but frankly accepted his proffered hand; making, however, one

condition--he was never to pronounce a holy name. Tradition says that

the fair bride had only one defect, which was, that one of her feet

was like that of a goat. Diego Lopez, however, loved her well, and she

bore him two children, a daughter, and a son named Iniguez Guerra.

Now it happened one day, as they were sitting at dinner, that the lord

of Biscay threw a bone to the dogs, and a mastiff and a spaniel

quarrelled about it, and the spaniel griped the mastiff by the throat,

and throttled him. "Holy Mary!" exclaimed Don Diego, "who ever saw the

like?" Instantly the lady caught hold of the hands of her children;

Diego seized and held the boy, but the mother glided through the air

with the daughter, and sought again the mountains whence she had come.

Diego remained alone with his son; and some years after, when he

invaded the lands of the Moors, he was made captive by them, and led

to Toledo. Iniguez Guerra, who was now grown up, was greatly grieved

at the captivity of his father, and the men of the land told him that

his only hope was to find his mother, and obtain her aid. Iniguez made

no delay; he rode alone to the well-known mountains, and when he

reached them, behold! his fairy-mother stood there before him on the

summit of a rock. "Come unto me," said she, "for well do I know thy

errand." And she called to her Pardalo, the horse that ran without a

rider in the mountains, and she put a bridle into his mouth, and bade

Iniguez mount him, and told him that he must not give him either food

or water, or unsaddle or unbridle him, or put shoes upon his feet, and

that in one day the demon-steed would carry him to Toledo. And Iniguez

obeyed the injunctions of his mother, and succeeded in liberating his

father; but his mother never returned.[520]

In the large collection of Spanish ballads named El Romancero

Castellano, the only one that treats of fairy-lore is the following,

which tells of the enchantment of the King of Castille's daughter by

seven fairies,[521] for a period of seven years. It is of the same

character as the fairy-tales of France and Italy.

_La Infantine._

Á cazar va el caballero,

Á cazar como solia.--

Los perros lleva cansados,

El falcon perdido avia.

Arrimarase á un roble,

Alto es á maravilla,

En un ramo mas alto

Viera estar una Infantina.

Cabellos de su cabeza

Todo aquel roble cobrian;

"No te espantes, caballero

Ni tengas tamaña grima.

"Hija soy del buen rey

Y de la reina de Castilla;

Siete fadas me fadaron,[522]

En brazos de una ama mia,

"Que andase los siete años

Sola en esta montina.[523]

Hoy se cumplan los años

O mañana, en aquel dia.

"Por Dios te ruego, caballero

Llevesme en tu compañia,

Si quisieres por muger,

Si no sea por amiga."

"Espereis me vos, señora,

Esta mañana, aquel dia;

Iré yo tomar consejo

De una madre que tenia."

La niña le respondiera,

Y estas palabras, decia:

"O mal haya el caballero

Que sola deja la niña!"

El se va á tomar consejo,

Y ella queda en la montina.

Aconsejóle su madre

Que la tomase por amiga.

Quando volvió el caballero

No la hallara en la montina.

Vió la que la llevaban,

Com muy grande caballeria.

El caballero, que lo ha visto,

En el suelo se caia.

Desque en si hubo tornado

Estas palabras decia:

"Caballero que tal pierde

Muy grandes penas merecia.

Yo mismo seré el alcalde,

Yo me seré la justicia,

Que me cortan pies y manos,

Y me arrastran por la villa."[524]

_Pepito el Corcovado._

Pepito el Corcovado,[525] a gay lively little hunchback, used to gain

his living by his voice and his guitar; for he was a general favourite,

and was in constant request at weddings and other festivities. He was

going home one night from one of these festive occasions, being under

engagement for another in the morning, and, as it was in the celebrated

Sierra Morena, he contrived to lose his way. After trying in vain to

find it, he wrapped his cloak about him, and lay down for the night at

the foot of a cork-tree. He had hardly, however, gone to sleep, when he

was awakened by the sound of a number of little voices singing to an old

air with which he was well acquainted,

Lunes y Martes y Miercoles tres

over and over again. Deeming this to be imperfect, he struck in, adding,

Jueves y Viernes y Sabado seis.

The little folk were quite delighted, and for hours the mountain rang

with

Lunes y Martes y Miercoles tres,

Jueves y Viernes y Sabado seis.

Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday three,

Thursday and Friday and Saturday, six.

They finally crowded round Pepito, and bade him ask what he would for

having completed their song so beautifully. After a little

consideration, he begged to have his hump removed. So said so done, he

was in an instant one of the straightest men in all Spain. On his

return home, every one was amazed at the transformation. The story

soon got wind, and another hunchback, named Cirillo, but unlike

Pepito, as crooked in temper as in person, having learned from him

where the scene of his adventure lay, resolved to proceed thither and

try his luck. He accordingly reached the spot, sat under the

cork-tree, and saw and heard all that Pepito had heard and seen. He

resolved also to add to the song, and he struck in with "Y Domingo

siete" (_and Sunday seven_); but whether it was the breach of rhythm,

or the mention of the Lord's Day that gave offence, he was instantly

assailed with a shower of blows or pinches, and to make his calamity

the greater, Pepito's hump was added to his own.[526]

* * * * *

We thus may see that there are beings in Spain also answering to the

various classes of Fairies. But none of these have obtained the same

degree of reputation as the House-spirit, whose Spanish name is Duende

or Trasgo. In Torquemada's Spanish Mandeville, as the old English

version of it is named, there is a section devoted to the Duende, in

which some of his feats, such as pelting people with stones, clay, and

such like, are noticed, and in the last century the learned Father

Feijoo wrote an essay on Duendes,[527] _i.e._ on House-spirits; for he

says little of the proper Spanish Duende, and his examples are Hödiken

and the Kobolds, of which he had read in Agricola and other writers.

On the whole, perhaps, the best account of the Duende will be found in

Calderon's spritely comedy, named La Dama Duende.

In this piece, when Cosme, who pretends that he had seen the Duende

when he put out his candle, is asked by his master what he was like,

he replies:

Era un fraile

Tamañito, y tenia puesto

Un cucurucho tamaño;

Que por estas señas creo

Que era duende capuchino.

This _cucurucho_ was a long conical hat without a brim worn by the

clergy in general, and not by the Capuchins alone. A little before,

Cosme, when seeking to avert the appearance of the Duende, recites the

following lines, which have the appearance of being formed from some

popular charm against the House-spirit:

Señora dama duende,

Duelase de mi;

Que soy niño y solo,

Y nunca en tal me ví.

In De Solis' very amusing comedy of Un Bobo hace Ciento, Doña Ana

makes the following extremely pretty application of the popular idea

of the Duende:

Yo soy, don Luis, una dama

Que no conozco este duende

Del amor, si no es por fama.

In another of his plays (_El Amor al Uso_), a lady says:

Amor es duende importuno

Que al mundo asombrando trae;

Todos dicen que le ay,

Y no le ha visto ninguno.

The lines from Calderon prefixed to this section of our work, show

that money given by the Duende was as unsubstantial as fairy-money in

general. This is confirmed by Don Quixote, who tells his rather

covetous squire, that "los tesoros de los caballeros andantes son,

como los de los Duendes, aparentes y falsos."

The Spaniards seem also to agree with the people of other countries in

regarding the Fairies as being fallen angels. One of their most

celebrated poets thus expresses himself:

Disputase por hombres entendidos

Si fué de _los caidos_ este duende.

Some Spanish etymologists say that Duende is a contraction of _Dueño

de casa_; others, that it comes from the Arabic _Dûar_, (dwelling) the

term used for the Arab camps on the north-coast of Africa. To us it

appears more probable that the Visigoths brought their ancient popular

creed with them to Spain[528] also, and that as Duerg became Drac in

Provence, it was converted into Duende in Spain.[529] It is further

not quite impossible that Duerg may be also the original of Trasgo, a

word for which we believe no etymon has been proposed.

FOOTNOTES:

[519] Otia Imperialia, p. 982. The Demons must have been some kind of

fairies: see above, p. 4.

[520] Related by Sir Francis Palgrave, but without giving any

authority, in the Quarterly Review, vol. xxii. See _France_.

[521] In Don Quixote (part i. chap. 50) we read of "los siete

castillos de las siete Fadas" beneath the lake of boiling pitch, and

of the fair princess who was enchanted in one of them.

[522] _Fada_ is certainly the elided part. of this verb, for the Latin

mode of elision (see above p. 7.) was retained in Spanish as well as

Italian. Thus _quedo_, _junto_, _harto_, _marchito_, _vacio_,

_enjuto_, _violento_, &c., come from _quedar_, _juntar_, _hartar_, &c.

As the Spanish, following the Latin, also frequently uses the past as

a present participle, as _un hombre atrevido_, "a daring man;" and the

same appears to take place in Italian, as _un huomo accorto_,

_saputo_, _avveduto_, _dispietato_; and even in French, as _un homme

réfléchi_, _désespéré_; may we not say that _fada_, _fata_, _fée_, is

enchant_ing_ rather than enchant_ed_?

[523] _Montina_ is a small wood.

[524] Romancero Castellano por Depping, ii. p. 198, 2nd edit. A

translation of this romance will be found in Thoms's Lays and Legends

of Spain.

[525] _i. e._ Joey the Hunchback. Pepito is the dim. of Pepe, _i. e._

José, Joseph.

[526] See Thoms's Lays and Legends of Spain, p. 83. It was related, he

says, to a friend of his by the late Sir John Malcolm, who had heard it

in Spain. It is also briefly related (probably on the same authority) in

the Quarterly Review, vol. xxii. (see above pp. 364, 438). Redi, in his

Letters, gives another form of it, in which the scene is at Benevento,

the agents are witches, and the hump is taken off, _senza verun suo

dolor_, with a saw of butter. _Y Domingo siete_ is, we are told, a

common phrase when any thing is said or done _mal à propos_.

[527] Teatro Critico, tom. ii. His object is to disprove their

existence, and he very justly says that the Duende was usually a knavish

servant who had his own reasons for making a noise and disturbing the

family. This theory will also explain the Duende-tales of Torquemada.

[528] See Tales and Popular Fictions, p. 269.

[529] The change of _r_ and _n_ is not without examples. Thus we have

αργυρον and _argentum_; _water_, English; _vand_, Danish; _vatn_,

Swedish. _Cristofero_ is _Cristofano_ in Tuscan; _homine_, _nomine_,

_sanguine_, are _hombre_, _nombre_, _sangre_, Spanish. In _Duerg_ when

_r_ became _n_, euphony changed _g_ to _d_, or _vice versâ_. The

changes words undergo when the derivation is certain, are often

curious. _Alguacil_, Spanish, is _El-wezeer_ Arab, as _Azucena_

Spanish, _Cecem_ Portuguese (white-lily) is _Sûsan_ Arab; _Guancia_

(cheek) Italian, is _Wange_ German; Ναυπακτος has become _Lépanto_. It

might not be safe to assert that the Persian _gurk_ and our _wolf_ are

the same, and yet the letters in them taken in order are all

commutable. Our _God be with you_ has shrunk to _Goodbye_, and the

Spanish _Vuestra merced_ to _Usted_, pr. _Usté_. There must, by the

way, some time or other, have been an intimate connexion between Spain

and England, so many of our familiar words seem to have a Spanish

origin. Thus _ninny_ is from _niño_; _booby_ from _bobo_; _pucker_

from _puchero_; _launch_ (a boat) from _lancha_; and perhaps _monkey_

(if not from _mannikin_) from _mono_, _monico_. We pronounce our

_colonel_ like the Spanish _coronel_.

FRANCE.

Pourquoi faut-il s'émerveiller

Que la raison la mieux sensée,

Lasse souvent de veiller,

Par des contes d'ogre et de fée

Ingenieusement bercée,

Prenne plaisir à sommeiller?

PERRAULT.

The Fairy mythology of France may be divided, as respects its locality,

into two parts, that of Northern and that of Southern France, the Langue

d'Oil and the Langue d'Oc. We will commence with the latter, as adjacent

to Spain. Of its mythology, Gervase of Tilbury, who resided in the

kingdom of Arles, has left us some interesting particulars, and other

authorities enable us to trace it down to the present day. Speaking of

the inhabitants of Arles, Gervase thus expresses himself:

"They also commonly assert, that the Dracs assume the human form, and

come early into the public market-place without any one being thereby

disturbed. These, they say, have their abode in the caverns of rivers,

and occasionally, floating along the stream in the form of gold rings or

cups, entice women or boys who are bathing on the banks of the river;

for, while they endeavour to grasp what they see, they are suddenly

seized and dragged down to the bottom: and this, they say, happens to

none more than to suckling women, who are taken by the Dracs to rear

their unlucky offspring; and sometimes, after they have spent seven

years there, they return to our hemisphere. These women say that they

lived with the Dracs and their wives in ample palaces, in the caverns

and banks of rivers. We have ourselves seen one of these women, who was

taken away while washing clothes on the banks of the Rhone. A wooden

bowl floated along by her, and, in endeavouring to catch it, having got

out into the deep water, she was carried down by a Drac, and made nurse

to his son below the water. She returned uninjured, and was hardly

recognised by her husband and friends after seven years' absence.

"After her return she related very wonderful things, such as that the

Dracs lived on people they had carried off, and turned themselves into

human forms; and she said that one day, when the Drac gave her an

eel-pasty to eat, she happened to put her fingers, that were greasy

with the fat, to one of her eyes and one side of her face, and she

immediately became endowed with most clear and distinct vision under

the water. When the third year of her time was expired, and she had

returned to her family, she very early one morning met the Drac in the

market-place of Beaucaire. She knew him at once, and saluting him,

inquired about the health of her mistress and the child. To this the

Drac replied, 'Harkye,' said he, 'with which eye do you see me?' She

pointed to the eye she had touched with the fat: the Drac immediately

thrust his finger into it, and he was no longer visible to any

one."[530]

* * * * *

Respecting the Dracs, Gervase farther adds:

"There is also on the banks of the Rhone, under a guardhouse, at the

North-gate of the city of Arles, a great pool of the river.... In

these deep places, they say that the Dracs are often seen of bright

nights, in the shape of men. A few years ago there was, for three

successive days, openly heard the following words in the place outside

the gate of the city, which I have mentioned, while the figure as it

were of a man ran along the bank: 'The hour is passed, and the man

does not come.' On the third day, about the ninth hour, while that

figure of a man raised his voice higher than usual, a young man ran

simply to the bank, plunged in, and was swallowed up; and the voice

was heard no more."

The word Drac is apparently derived from Draco; but we are inclined to

see its origin in the Northern _Duerg_. We must recollect that the

Visigoths long occupied Provence and Languedoc. It is, we apprehend,

still in use. _Fa le Drac_, in Provençal, signifies _Faire le

diable_.[531] Goudelin, a Provençal poet of the seventeenth century,

begins his Castel en l'Ayre with these lines:

Belomen qu' yeu _faré le Drac_

Se jamay trobi dins un sac

Cinc ô siés milante pistolos

Espessos como de redolos.

The following curious narrative also occurs in Gervase's work, and

might seem to belong to Provence:--

"Seamen tell that one time as a ship was sailing in the Mediterranean

sea, which sea we call ours, she was surrounded by an immense number of

porpoises (_delphinos_), and that when an active young man, one of the

crew, had wounded one of them with a weapon, and all the rest of them

had rapidly sought the bottom, a sudden and awful tempest enveloped the

ship. While the sailors were in doubt of their lives, lo! one in the

form of a knight came borne on a steed on the sea, and demanded that,

for the salvation of all the rest, the person who had wounded the

porpoise should be delivered up to him. The sailors were in an agony

between their own danger and their aversion to expose their comrade to

death, which seemed to them to be most cruel, and they thought it

infamous to consult their own safety at the expense of the life of

another. At last the man himself, deeming it better that all should be

saved at the cost of one, as they were guiltless, than that such a

number of people should run the risk of destruction on account of his

folly, and lest by defending him they should become guilty, devoted

himself to the death he merited, and voluntarily mounted the horse

behind the rider, who went over the firm water, taking his road along it

as if it had been the solid land. In a short time he reached a distant

region, where he found lying in a magnificent bed the knight whom he had

wounded the day before as a porpoise. He was directed by his guide to

pull out the weapon which was sticking in the wound, and when he had

done so, _the guilty right hand gave aid to the wound_. This being done,

the sailor was speedily brought back to the ship, and restored to his

companions. Hence it is, that from that time forth sailors have ceased

to hunt the porpoises."[532]

Gervase also describes the Kobold, or House-spirit, the Esprit Follet,

or Goblin of the North of France.

"There are," says he, "other demons, commonly called Follets, who

inhabit the houses of simple country people, and can be kept away

neither by water nor exorcisms; and as they are not seen, they pelt

people as they are going in at the door with stones, sticks, and

domestic utensils. Their words are heard like those of men, but their

form does not appear. I remember to have met several wonderful stories

of them in the Vita Abbreviata, et Miraculis beatissimi Antonii."[533]

Elsewhere[534] he speaks of the beings which he says are called Lamiæ,

who, he relates, are used to enter houses suddenly, ransack the jars

and tubs, pots and pitchers, take the children out of the cradles,

light lamps or candles, and sometimes oppress those who are sleeping.

Either Gervase mistook, or the Fadas of the south of France were

regarded as beings different from mankind. The former is, perhaps, the

more likely supposition. He thus speaks of them: "This, indeed, we

know to be proved every day by men who are beyond all exception; that

we have heard of some who were lovers of phantoms of this kind,[535]

which they call Fadas; and when they married other women, they died

before consummating the marriage. We have seen most of them live in

great temporal felicity, who when they withdrew themselves from the

embraces of these Fadas, or discovered the secret, lost not only their

temporal prosperity, but even the comfort of wretched life."[536]

"In the legend of St. Armentaire, composed about 1300, by Raymond, a

gentleman of Provence, we read of the Fée Esterelle, and of the

sacrifices to her, who used to give barren women beverages to drink,

to make them fruitful; and of a stone called _La Lauza de la Fada;_

that is the Fairy-stone on which they used to sacrifice to her."[537]

Even at the present day the belief in the Fadas seems to linger in

Provence and the adjoining districts.

"On the night of the 31st of December," says Du Mege,[538] the "Fées

(_Hadas_) enter the dwellings of their worshipers. They bear good-luck

in their right, ill-luck in their left-hand. Care has been taken to

prepare for them in a clean retired room, such a repast as is suited

to them. The doors and windows are left open; a white cloth is laid on

a table with a loaf, a knife, a vessel full of water or wine, and a

cup. A lighted candle or wax taper is set in the centre of the table.

It is the general belief that those who present them with the best

food may expect all kinds of prosperity for their property and their

family; while those who acquit themselves grudgingly of their duty

toward the Fées, or who neglect to make preparations worthy of these

divinities, may expect the greatest misfortunes."

From the following passage of the Roman de Guillaume au Court-Nez it

would appear that three was the number of the Hadas.

Coustume avoient les gens, par véritez,

Et _en Provence_ et en autres regnez.

Tables métoient et siéges ordenez,

Et sur la table iij blans pains bulétez,

Iij poz de vins et iij hénez de lès

Et par eneoste iert li enfès posez.[539]

Some years ago a lady, named Marie Aycard, published a volume named

"Ballades et Chants populaires de la Provence," two of which seem to be

founded on popular legends. She names the one La Fée aux Cheveux Verts,

and in it relates the story of a young mariner of Marseilles who was in

the habit of rowing out to sea by himself in the evening. On one of

these occasions he felt himself drawn down by an invisible power, and on

reaching the bottom found himself at the gate of a splendid palace,

where he was received by a most beautiful fairy, only her hair was

green. She at once told him her love, to which he responded as she

wished, and after detaining him some time she dismissed him, giving him

two fishes, that he might account for his absence by saying that he had

been fishing. The same invisible power brought him back to his boat, and

he reached home at sunrise. The size and form of his fishes, such as had

never been seen, excited general wonder; but he feared the fairy too

much to reveal his secret. An invincible attraction still drew him to

the submarine palace, but at last he saw a maiden whose charms, in his

eyes, eclipsed those of the fairy. He now fled the sea-shore, but every

time he approached his mistress he received an invisible blow, and he

continually was haunted by threatening voices. At length he felt an

irresistible desire to go out again to sea. When there he was drawn down

as before to the palace, but the fairy now was changed, and saying, "You

have betrayed me--you shall die," she caused him to be devoured by the

sea-monsters. But other accounts say that she kept him with her till age

had furrowed his brow with wrinkles, and then sent him back to poverty

on earth.

The other legend named Le Lutin tells how seven little boys,

regardless of the warnings of their old grandmother, would go out at

night on various affairs. As they went along a pretty little black

horse came up to them, and they all were induced to mount on his back.

When they met any of their playmates they invited them also to mount,

and the back of the little horse, stretched so that at last he had on

him not less than thirty little boys. He then made with all speed for

the sea, and plunging into it with them they were all drowned.[540]

Passing to Auvergne we find Gregory of Tours in the sixth century thus

relating an event which happened in his youth. A man was going one

morning to the forest, and he took the precaution to have his

breakfast, which he was taking with him, blessed before he set out.

Coming to the river, before it was yet day, he drove his bullock-cart

into the ferry-boat (_in ponte qui super navem est_), and when he was

about half-way over he heard a voice saying, "Down with him! down with

him! be quick!" (_Merge, merge, ne moreris!_) to which another

replied, "I should have done it without your telling me if something

holy did not prevent me; for I would have you to know that he is

fortified with the priest's blessing, so that I cannot hurt him."[541]

Miss Costello[542] heard in Auvergne a story of a changeling, which the

mother, by the direction of the Curé, took to the market-place, where

she whipped it well, till its mother, La Fée du Grand Cascade, brought

her back her own child. She also relates at great length a legend which

she styles La Blonde de la Roche, in which a young lady, instructed by

her nurse, learns to change her form, and thus become a companion of the

Fées, who are beings of tiny dimensions. Afterwards, when she is

married, they take away her children, but she manages to recover them.

"La Tioul de las Fadas is within five and a half leagues of St. Flour,

at Pirols, a village of Haute Auvergne. It is composed of six large

rude stones, covered by a seventh, larger and more massive than the

rest; it is twelve feet long, and eight and a half wide. The tradition

relates that a Fée who was fond of keeping her sheep on the spot

occupied by this monument, resolved to shelter herself from the wind

and rain. For this purpose she went far, very far, (_bien loin, bien

loin_) in search of such masses of granite, as six yoke of oxen could

not move, and she gave them the form of a little house. She carried,

it is said, the largest and heaviest of them on the top of her

spindle, and so little was she incommoded by the weight of it, that

she continued to spin all the way."[543]

The following legend is traditional in Périgord:--

Embosomed in the forest of the canton of La Double, near the road

leading from Périgueux to Ribérac, is a monument named Roque Brun. It

consists of four enormous rocks placed two and two, so as to form an

alley ten feet long and six wide. A fifth rock, higher and thicker

than the others, closes this space on the west. The whole is covered

by a huge mass of rock, at least twelve feet by seven, and from three

to four feet thick. There can be no doubt of its being the work of

man, and it is remarkable that the stone composing it is different

from that of the soil on which it stands.[544] The tradition of the

canton, however, is, that many thousand years ago there was a Fée who

was the sovereign of the whole country, and having lost her husband in

a battle fought in this very place she resolved to bury him on the

spot. She therefore called six of her pages, and ordered them to

fetch, each one of these stones, and to place them in the order which

they still maintain. They instantly obeyed, and they carried and

arranged the huge masses as easily as if they had been only

rose-leaves. When the tomb was completed, the Fairy ascended it, and

turning to the east, she thrice cursed, in a voice of thunder, whoever

should henceforth dare even to touch this monument of her royal

spouse. Many an instance is still recorded by the peasantry of those

who dared and were punished.[545]

* * * * *

The Fairy-lore of the North of France, at least of Normandy, is, as

was to be expected, similar to that of the other portions of the

Gotho-German race. We meet it in the _fées_ or fairies, and the

_lutins_ or _gobelins_, which answer to the Kobolds, Nisses, and such

like of those nations.[546]

The Fées are small and handsome in person; they are fond of dancing

in the night-time, and in their dances which are circular they form

the _Cercles des Fées_, or fairy-rings. If any one approaches their

dance, he is irresistibly impelled to take part in it. He is admitted

with the greatest courtesy; but as the whirling movement increases,

and goes faster and faster, his head becomes giddy, and he falls to

the ground utterly exhausted. Sometimes the _fées_ amuse themselves by

flinging him up to a great height in the air, and, if not killed by

the fall, he is found next morning full of bruises. These little

beings, it is also said, haunt solitary springs, where they wash their

linen, which they then dry by way of preference on the Druidic stones,

if at hand, and lay up in the hollows of rocks or barrows, thence

named _Chambres_ or _Grottes des Fées_. But, further, it is said of

them, like the _Lutins_, they select particular farms to which they

resort at night, and there making use of horses, harness and utensils

of all kinds, they employ themselves at various kinds of work, of

which, however, no traces remain in the morning. They are fond of

mounting and galloping the horses; their seat is on the neck, and they

tie together locks of the mane to form stirrups. Their presence,

however, always brings luck, the cattle thrive where they are, the

utensils of which they have made use, if broken are mended and made as

good as new. They are altogether most kind and obliging, and have been

known to give cakes to those to whom they have taken a fancy.

The Fées of Normandy are, like others, guilty of child-changing. A

countrywoman as she was one day carrying her child on her arm met a Fée

similarly engaged, who proposed an exchange. But she would not consent,

even though, she said, the Fée's babe were _nine times finer than her

own_. A few days after, having left her child in the house when she went

to work in the fields, it appeared to her on her return that it had been

changed. She immediately consulted a neighbour, who to put the matter to

the proof, broke a dozen eggs and ranged the shells before the child,

who instantly began to cry out, _Oh! what a number of cream-pots! Oh!

what a number of cream-pots!_ The matter was now beyond doubt, and the

neighbour next advised to make it cry lustily in order to bring its real

mother to it. This also succeeded; the Fée came imploring them to spare

her child, and the real one should be restored.

There is another kind of Fées known in Normandy by the name of _Dames

Blanches_, or White Ladies, who are of a less benevolent character.

These lurk in narrow places, such as ravines, fords and bridges, where

passengers cannot well avoid them, and there seek to attract their

attention. The Dame Blanche sometimes requires him whom she thus meets

to join her in a dance, or to hand her over a plank. If he does so she

makes him many courtesies, and then vanishes. One of these ladies

named La Dame d'Aprigny, used to appear in a winding narrow ravine

which occupied the place of the present Rue Saint Quentin at Bayeux,

where, by her involved dances, she prevented any one from passing. She

meantime held out her hand, inviting him to join her, and if he did so

she dismissed him after a round or two; but if he drew back, she

seized him and flung him into one of the ditches which were full of

briars and thorns. Another Dame Blanche took her station on a narrow

wooden bridge over the Dive, in the district of Falaise, named the

Pont d'Angot. She sat on it and would not allow any one to pass unless

he went on his knees to her; if he refused, the Fée gave him over to

the _lutins_, the cats, owls, and other beings which, under her sway,

haunt the place, by whom he was cruelly tormented.

Near the village of Puys, half a league to the north-east of Dieppe,

there is a high plateau, surrounded on all sides by large

entrenchments, except that over the sea, where the cliffs render it

inaccessible. It is named _La Cité de Limes_ or _La Camp de César_ or

simply _Le Catel_ or _Castel_. Tradition tells that the Fées used to

hold a fair there, at which all sorts of magic articles from their

secret stores were offered for sale, and the most courteous entreaties

and blandishments were employed to induce those who frequented it to

become purchasers. But the moment any one did so, and stretched forth

his hand to take the article he had selected, the perfidious Fées

seized him and hurled him down the cliffs.

Such are the accounts of the Fées still current in Normandy. To these

we may add that of Dame Abonde or Habonde, current in the middle ages.

William of Auvergne, bishop of Paris, who died in the year 1248, thus

writes:--