"Sunt et aliæ ludificationes malignorum spiritorum quas faciunt

interdum in nemoribus et locis amœnis, et frondosis arboribus, ubi

apparent in similitudine _puellarum_ aut _matronarum_ ornatu muliebri

et _candido_; interdum etiam _in stabulis, cum luminaribus cereis, ex

quibus apparent distillationes in comis et collis equorum et comæ

ipsorum diligenter tricatœ_; et audies eos, qui talia se vidisse

fatentur, dicentes veram ceram esse quæ de luminaribus hujusmodi

stillaverat. De illis vero substantiis quæ apparent in domibus quas

_dominas nocturnas_ et _principem_ earum vocant _Dominam Abundiam_ pro

eo quod domibus, quas frequentant, abundantiam bonorum temporalium

præstare putantur non aliter tibi sentiendum est neque aliter quam

quemadmodum de illis audivisti. Quapropter eo usque invaluit stultitia

hominum et insania vetularum ut vasa vini et receptacula ciborum

discooperta relinquant, et omnino nec obstruent neque claudant eis

noctibus quibus ad domos suos eas credunt adventuras; ea de causa

videlicet ut cibos et potus quasi paratos inveniant, et eos absque

difficultate apparitionis pro beneplacito sumant."[547]

Dame Abonde is also mentioned in the same century in the celebrated

Roman de la Rose as follows:--

Qui les cine sens ainsine deçoit

Par les fantosmes qu'il reçoit,

Dont maintes gens par lor folie

Cuident estre par nuit estries (_allés_)

_Errans_ avecques _Dame Habonde_.

Et dient que par tout le monde

Si tiers enfant de nacion (_naissance_)

Sunt de ceste condicion,

Qu'ils vont trois fois en la semaine,

Li cum destinée les maine (_mène_),

Et par tous ces ostex (_hôtels_) se boutent,

Ne eles ne barres ne redoutent.

Ains sen entrent par les fendaces (_fentes_)

Par chatieres et par crevaces.

Et se partent des cors les ames

Et vont avec les _bonnes dames_

Par leur foraius et par maisons.

Et le preuvent par tiex (_ces_) raisons:

Que les diversités veues

Ne sont pas eu lor liz (_lits_) venues,

Ains (_anzi_ It.) sunt lor ames que laborent

Et par le monde ainsinc sen corent.[548]

In these places we find that Abundia is a queen or ruler over a band

of what we may call fairies, who enter houses at night, feast there,

twist the horses' manes, etc. This may remind us at once of

Shakespeare's Queen Mab, whom, though only acquainted with Habundia

through a passage in Heywood,[549] we conjectured to have derived her

name from that of this French dame.[550] Chaucer, by the way, always

spells _habundance_ with an _h_, which may have become _m_ as it does

_n_ in Numps from Humphrey; so Edward makes Ned, Oliver Noll, etc.

* * * * *

The Lutin or Gobelin[551] of Normandy hardly differs in any respect

from the domestic spirit of Scandinavia and Germany. He is fond of

children and horses; and if the proverb

Ou il y a belle fille et bon vin

Là aussi hante le lutin

lie not, of young maidens also. He caresses the children, and gives

them nice things to eat, but he also whips and pinches them if

naughty.[552] He takes great care of the horses, gallops them at

times, and _lutines_ their manes, _i.e._, _elfs_ or plaits and twists

them in an inexplicable manner. So fond, indeed, is he of this

amusement, that it is related that when one time two young girls fell

asleep in a stable, he _lutined_ their hair in such a way that they

had to cut it all off. Sometimes the Lutin takes the form of a young

villager, and struts about with great complacency. On such occasions

it is necessary to call him Bon Garçon, a thing the Norman peasant

never neglects to do. At other times he appears under the form of a

horse ready bridled and saddled. If any peasant, weary after his day's

work, is induced to mount him in order to ride home, he begins to kick

and fling and rear and bound, and ends by jerking him into a marsh or

a ditch full of water. When he takes this form he is called Le Cheval

Bayard, probably after the famous steed of the Paladin Rinaldo.

The following tradition of "_Le Lutin, ou le Fé amoureux_," is related

in the neighbourhood of Argentan:--

A Fé was fond of a pretty young _paysanne_, and used to come every

evening when she was spinning at her fireside, and take his seat on a

stool opposite to her, and keep gazing on her fair face. The

ungrateful object of this respectful attention, however, told her

husband the whole story, and in his jealous mood he resolved to have

his revenge of the amorous Lutin. Accordingly, he heated the girdel

(_galetière_) red-hot, and placed it on the seat which he used to

occupy, and then dressing himself in his wife's clothes, he sat in her

place, and began to spin as well as he could. The Fé came as usual,

and instantly perceived the change. "Where," said he, "is La-belle

belle of yesterday evening, who draws, draws, and keeps always

twirling, while you, you turn, turn, and never twirl?" He, however,

went and took his usual seat, but immediately jumped up, screaming

with pain. His companions, who were at hand, inquired the cause. "I am

burnt," cried he. "Who burned you?" cried they. "Myself," replied he;

for this the woman had told him was her husband's name. At this they

mocked at him and went away.[553]

The best way, it is said, to banish a Lutin who haunts a house, is to

scatter flax-seed in the room that he most frequents. His love of

neatness and regularity will not allow him to let it lie there, and he

soon gets tired of picking it up, and so he goes away.

A Lutin, named the Nain Rouge, haunts the coast of Normandy. He is

kind in his way to the fishermen, and often gives them valuable aid;

but he punishes those who do not treat him with proper respect. Two

fishermen who lived near Dieppe, were going one day to Pollet. On

their way they found a little boy sitting on the road-side; they asked

him what he was doing there. "I am resting myself," said he, "for I am

going to Berneville" (a village within a league of Pollet.) They

invited him to join company; he agreed, and amused them greatly with

his tricks as they went along. At last, when they came to a pond near

Berneville, the malicious urchin caught up one of them, and flung him,

like a shuttlecock, up into the air over it; but, to his great

disappointment, he saw him land safe and sound at the other side.

"Thank your patron-Saint," cried he, with his cracked voice, "for

putting it into your mind to take some holy water when you were

getting up this morning. But for that you'd have got a nice dip."[554]

A parcel of children were playing on the strand at Pollet, when Le

Petit Homme Rouge came by. They began to make game of him, and he

instantly commenced pelting them with stones at such a rate that they

found it necessary to seek refuge in a fishing-boat, where, for the

space of an hour, as they crouched under the hatches, they heard the

shower of stones falling so that they were sure the boat must be

buried under them. At length the noise ceased, and when they ventured

to peep out, not a stone was to be seen.

There is also in Normandy a kind of spirits called Lubins, which take

the form of wolves, and enter the churchyards under the guidance of a

chief, who is quite black. They are very timorous, and at the least

noise they fly, crying "_Robert est mort! Robert est mort!_" People

say of a timorous man, "_Il a peur de Lubins!_"[555]

A belief in Fées, similar to those which we have denominated Fairies of

Romance, seems to have prevailed all over France during the middle ages.

The great Bertrand Duguesclin married a lady named Tiphaine, "extraite

de noble lignée," says his old biographer; "laquelle avoit environ

vingt-quatre ans, ne onques n'avoit été mariée et éstoit bonne et

sage, et moult experte aux arts d'astronomie; aucuns disoient qu'elle

éstoit _faée_ mais non éstoit, mais éstoit ainsi inspirée et de la

Grace de Dieu."

One of the chief articles of accusation against the heroic and

unfortunate Maid of Orleans, was "Que souvent alloit à une belle

fontaine au pais de Lorraine, laquelle elle nommoit _bonne fontaine

aux Fées_ nostre Seigneur, et en icelui lieu tous ceulx de pays quand

ils avoient fiebvre ils alloient pour recouvrer garison, et la alloit

souvent la dite Jehanne la Pucelle, sous un grand arbre qui la

fontaine ombroit, et s'apparurent à elle St. Katerine et St.

Marguerite."[556] She was also asked "Si elle sçait rien de _ceux qui

vont avecq les Fées_?"[557]

Of these Fées the most celebrated is Melusina, who was married to the

Count of Lusignan. Toward the end of the fourteenth century, Jean

d'Arras collected the traditions relating to her, and composed what he

called her "Chronicle." Stephen, a Dominican of the house of Lusignan,

took up the history written by Jean D'Arras, gave it consistency, and

cast such splendour about his heroine, that several noble houses were

ambitious of showing a descent from her. Those of Luxembourg and Rohan

even falsified their genealogies for that purpose; and the house of

Sassenage, though it might claim its descent from a monarch, preferred

Melusina, and to gratify them it was feigned that when she quitted

Lusignan she retired to the grot of Sassenage, in Dauphiny.

The following is a slight sketch of the story of the fair Melusina.[558]

Ange par la figure, et serpent par le rest

DE LILLE.

_Legend of Melusina._

Elinas, king of Albania, to divert his grief for the death of his

wife, amused himself with hunting. One day, at the chase, he went to a

fountain to quench his thirst: as he approached it he heard the voice

of a woman singing, and on coming to it he found there the beautiful

Fay Pressina.

After some time the Fay bestowed her hand upon him, on the condition

that he should never visit her at the time of her lying-in. She had

three daughters at a birth: Melusina, Melior, and Palatina. Nathas,

the king's son by a former wife, hastened to convey the joyful tidings

to his father, who, without reflection, flew to the chamber of the

queen, and entered as she was bathing her daughters. Pressina, on

seeing him, cried out that he had broken his word, and she must

depart; and taking up her three daughters, she disappeared.

She retired to the Lost Island;[559] so called because it was only by

chance any, even those who had repeatedly visited it, could find it.

Here she reared her children, taking them every morning to a high

mountain, whence Albania might be seen, and telling them that but for

their father's breach of promise they might have lived happily in the

distant land which they beheld. When they were fifteen years of age,

Melusina asked her mother particularly of what their father had been

guilty. On being informed of it, she conceived the design of being

revenged on him. Engaging her sisters to join in her plans, they set

out for Albania: arrived there, they took the king and all his wealth,

and, by a charm, inclosed him in a high mountain, called Brandelois.

On telling their mother what they had done, she, to punish them for

the unnatural action, condemned Melusina to become every Saturday a

serpent, from the waist downwards, till she should meet a man who

would marry her under the condition of never seeing her on a Saturday,

and should keep his promise. She inflicted other judgements on her two

sisters, less severe in proportion to their guilt. Melusina now went

roaming through the world in search of the man who was to deliver her.

She passed through the Black Forest, and that of Ardennes, and at last

she arrived in the forest of Colombiers, in Poitou, where all the Fays

of the neighbourhood came before her, telling her they had been

waiting for her to reign in that place.

Raymond having accidentally killed the count, his uncle, by the

glancing aside of his boar-spear, was wandering by night in the forest

of Colombiers. He arrived at a fountain that rose at the foot of a

high rock. This fountain was called by the people the Fountain of

Thirst, or the Fountain of the Fays,[560] on account of the many

marvellous things which had happened at it. At the time, when Raymond

arrived at the fountain, three ladies were diverting themselves there

by the light of the moon, the principal of whom was Melusina. Her

beauty and her amiable manners quickly won his love: she soothed him,

concealed the deed he had done, and married him, he promising on his

oath never to desire to see her on a Saturday. She assured him that a

breach of his oath would for ever deprive him of her whom he so much

loved, and be followed by the unhappiness of both for life. Out of her

great wealth, she built for him, in the neighbourhood of the Fountain

of Thirst, where he first saw her, the castle of Lusignan. She also

built La Rochelle, Cloitre Malliers, Mersent, and other places.

But destiny, that would have Melusina single, was incensed against her.

The marriage was made unhappy by the deformity of the children born of

one that was enchanted; but still Raymond's love for the beauty that

ravished both heart and eyes remained unshaken. Destiny now renewed her

attacks. Raymond's cousin had excited him to jealousy and to secret

concealment, by malicious suggestions of the purport of the Saturday

retirement of the countess. He hid himself; and then saw how the lovely

form of Melusina ended below in a snake, gray and sky-blue, mixed with

white. But it was not horror that seized him at the sight, it was

infinite anguish at the reflection that through his breach of faith he

might lose his lovely wife for ever. Yet this misfortune had not

speedily come on him, were it not that his son, Geoffroi with the

tooth,[561] had burned his brother Freimund, who would stay in the abbey

of Malliers, with the abbot and a hundred monks. At which the afflicted

father, count Raymond, when his wife Melusina was entering his closet to

comfort him, broke out into these words against her, before all the

courtiers who attended her:--"Out of my sight, thou pernicious snake and

odious serpent! thou contaminator of my race!"

Melusina's former anxiety was now verified, and the evil that had lain

so long in ambush had now fearfully sprung on him and her. At these

reproaches she fainted away; and when at length she revived, full of the

profoundest grief, she declared to him that she must now depart from

him, and, in obedience to a decree of destiny, fleet about the earth in

pain and suffering, as a spectre, until the day of doom; and that only

when one of her race was to die at Lusignan would she become visible.

Her words at parting were these:

"But one thing will I say unto thee before I part, that thou, and

those who for more than a hundred years shall succeed thee, shall know

that whenever I am seen to hover over the fair castle of Lusignan,

then will it be certain that in that very year the castle will get a

new lord; and though people may not perceive me in the air, yet they

will see me by the Fountain of Thirst; and thus shall it be so long as

the castle stands in honour and flourishing--especially on the Friday

before the lord of the castle shall die." Immediately, with wailing

and loud lamentation, she left the castle of Lusignan,[562] and has

ever since existed as a spectre of the night. Raymond died as a hermit

on Monserrat.

The president de Boissieu says,[563] that she chose for her retreat

one of the mountains of Sassenage, near Grenoble, on account of

certain vats that are there, and to which she communicated a virtue

which makes them, at this day, one of the seven wonders of Dauphiné.

They are two in number, of great beauty, and so admirably cut in the

rock, that it is easy to see they are not the work of unaided nature.

The virtue which Melusina communicated to them was, that of

announcing, by the water they contain, the abundance or scantiness of

the crops. When there is to be an abundant harvest, it rises over the

edges, and overflows; in middling years, the vats are but half full;

and when the crops are to fail, they are quite dry. One of these vats

is consecrated to corn, the other to wine.

The popular belief was strong in France that she used to appear on

what was called the tower of Melusina as often as any of the lords of

the race of Lusignan was to die; and that when the family was extinct,

and the castle had fallen to the crown, she was seen whenever a king

of France was to depart this life. Mézeray informs us that he was

assured of the truth of the appearance of Melusina on this tower

previous to the death of a Lusignan, or a king of France, by people of

reputation, and who were not by any means credulous. She appeared in a

mourning dress, and continued for a long time to utter the most

heart-piercing lamentation.

The following passage occurs in Brantôme's Eloge of the Duke of

Montpensier, who in 1574 destroyed Lusignan, and several other

retreats of the Huguenots:

"I heard, more than forty years ago, an old veteran say, that when the

Emperor Charles V. came to France, they brought him by Lusignan for

the sake of the recreation of hunting the deer, which were there in

great abundance in fine old parks of France; that he was never tired

admiring and praising the beauty, the size, and the chef d'œuvre of

that house, built, which is more, by such a lady, of whom he made them

tell him several fabulous tales, which are there quite common, even to

the good old women who washed their linen at the fountain, whom Queen

Catherine of Medicis, mother to the king, would also question and

listen to. Some told her that they used sometimes to see her come to

the fountain to bathe in it, in the form of a most beautiful woman,

and in the dress of a widow. Others said that they used to see her,

but very rarely, and that on Saturday evening, (for in that state she

did not let herself be seen,) bathing, half her body being that of a

very beautiful lady, the other half ending in a snake: others, that

she used to appear a-top of the great tower in a very beautiful form,

and as a snake. Some said, that when any great disaster was to come on

the kingdom, or a change of reign, or a death, or misfortune among her

relatives, who were the greatest people of France, and were kings,

that three days before she was heard to cry, with a cry most shrill

and terrible, three times.

"This is held to be perfectly true. Several persons of that place, who

have heard it, are positive of it, and hand it from father to son; and

say that, even when the siege came on, many soldiers and men of honour

who were there affirmed it. But it was when the order was given to

throw down and destroy her castles that she uttered her loudest cries

and wails. This is perfectly true, according to the saying of people

of honour. Since then she has not been heard. Some old wives, however,

say she has appeared to them, but very rarely."

Jean d'Arras declares that Serville, who defended the castle of Lusignan

for the English against the Duke of Berri, swore to that prince, upon

his faith and honour, "that, three days before the surrender of the

fortress, there entered into his chamber, though the doors were shut, a

large serpent, enamelled with white and blue, which came and struck its

tail several times against the feet of the bed where he was lying with

his wife, who was not at all frightened at it, though he was very much

so; and that when he seized his sword, the serpent changed all at once

into a woman, and said to him, _How, Serville, you who have been at so

many sieges and battles, are you afraid! Know that I am the mistress of

this castle, which I have built, and that you must surrender it very

soon._ When she had ended these words she resumed her serpent-shape, and

glided away so swiftly that he could not perceive her." The author adds,

that the prince told him that other credible people had sworn to him

that they too had seen her at the same time in other places in the

neighbourhood, and in the same form.

* * * * *

The old castle of Pirou, on the coast of the Cotentin, in Lower

Normandy, likewise owes its origin to the Fées.[564] These were the

daughters of a great lord of the country, who was a celebrated

magician. They built the castle long before the time of the invasions

of the Northmen, and dwelt there in peace and unity. But when these

pirates began to make their descents on the coast, the Fées, fearing

their violence, changed themselves into wild geese, and thus set them

at defiance. They did not, however, altogether abandon their castle;

for the elders of the place assert that every year, on the first of

March, a flock of wild geese returns to take possession of the nests

they had hollowed out for themselves in its walls. It was also said

that when a male child was born to the illustrious house of Pirou, the

males of these geese, displaying their finest grey plumage, strutted

about on the pavement in the courts of the castle; while, if it was a

girl, the females, in plumage whiter than snow, took precedence then

over the males. If the new-born maiden was to be a nun, it was

remarked that one of them did not join with the rest, but kept alone

in a corner, eating little, and deeply sighing.

The following traditions are attached to the castles of Argouges and

Rânes, in Normandy:--[565]

One of the lords of Argouges, when out hunting one day, met a bevy of

twenty ladies of rare beauty, all mounted on palfreys white as the

driven snow. One of them appeared to be their queen, and the lord of

Argouges became all at once so deeply enamoured of her, that he

offered on the spot to marry her. This lady was _fée_; she had for a

long time past secretly protected the Sire d'Argouges, and even caused

him to come off victorious in a combat with a terrible giant. As she

loved the object of her care, she willingly accepted his troth, but

under the express condition that he should never pronounce in her

presence the name of Death. So light a condition caused no

difficulty; the marriage took place under the happiest auspices, and

lovely children crowned their union. The fatal word was never heard,

and their happiness seemed without alloy. It came to pass, however,

one day at length, that the wedded pair were preparing to give their

presence at a tournament. The lady was long at her toilet, and her

husband waited for her with impatience. At length she made her

appearance. "Fair dame," said he, when he saw her, "you would be a

good person to send to fetch Death; for you take long enough to

perform what you are about."[566] Hardly had he pronounced the fatal

word when, uttering a piercing cry, as if actually struck by death,

the Fée lady disappeared, leaving the mark of her hand on the gate.

She comes every night clad in a white robe, and wanders round and

round the castle, uttering deep and continuous groans, amid which may

be heard, in funereal notes, _Death! Death!_[567]

The same legend, as we have said, adheres to the castle of Rânes,

where, however, it was on the top of a tower that the Fée vanished,

leaving, like Melusina, the mark of her foot on the battlements, where

it is still to be seen.

In explication of the former legend, M. Pluque observes, that at the

siege of Bayeux by Henry I., in 1106, Robert d'Argouges vanquished in

single combat a German of huge stature; and that the crest of the

house of Argouges is Faith, under the form of a woman naked to the

waist, seated in a bark, with the motto, or war-cry, _A la Fé!_ (i. e.

_à la foi!_) which the people pronounce _A la Fée!_

* * * * *

So far the genuine French Fées. On the revival of learning they appear

to have fallen into neglect, till the memory of them was awakened by

the appearance of the translation of the Italian tales of Straparola,

many of which seem to have become current among the people; and in the

end of the seventeenth century, the Contes des Fées of Perrault,

Madame d'Aulnoy, and their imitators and successors, gave them vogue

throughout Europe. These tales are too well known to our readers to

require us to make any observations on them.

FOOTNOTES:

[530] _Otia Imperialia_, p. 987: see above p. 302 _et alib_.

[531] Like the Irish _Play the Puck_, above, p. 371.

[532] _Otia Imper._ p. 981: see above, p. 394. It does not appear that

the abode of these porpoise-knights was beneath the water.

[533] _Otia Imper._ p. 897. See above p. 407. Orthone, the

House-spirit, who, according to Froissart, attended the Lord of

Corasse, in Gascony, resembled Hinzelmann in many points.

[534] Ibid.

[535] _Hujusmodi larvarum._ He classes the Fadas with Sylvans and Pans.

[536] P. 989. Speaking of the wonderful horse of Giraldus de

Cabreriis; Gervase says, _Si Fadus erat, i. e._ says Leibnitz,

incantatus, ut _Fadæ, Fatæ, Fées_.

[537] Cambry, Monumens Celtiques, p. 342. The author says, that

Esterelle, as well as all the Fairies, was the moon. This we very much

doubt. He derives her name from the Breton _Escler_, Brightness,

Lauza, from _Lac'h_ (Irish _Cloch_), a flat stone.

[538] Monuments religieux des Volces Tectosages, _ap._ Mlle. Bosquet,

Normandie, etc., p. 92: see above, pp. 161, 342.

[539] See Leroux de Lincy, _ap._ Mlle. Bosquet, p. 93, who adds "In

Lower Normandy, in the arrondissement of Bayeux, they never neglect

laying a table for the protecting genius of the babe about to be born;"

see our note on Virg. Buc. iv. 63. In a collection of decrees of

Councils made by Burchard of Worms, who died in 1024, we read as

follows: "Fecisti, ut quaedam mulieres in quibusdam temporibus anni

facere solent, ut in domo tua _mensam praepares_ et tuos cibos et potum

cum _tribus cultellis_ supra mensam poneres, ut si venissent _tres illae

sorores_ quas antiqua posteritas et antiqua stultitia Parcas nominavit,

ibi reficirentur ... ut credens illas quas tu dieis esse sorores tibi

posse aut hic aut in futuro prodesse?" GRIMM. _Deut. Mythol. Anhang_, p.

xxxviii., where we are also told that these Parcæ could give a man at

his birth the power of becoming a Werwolf. All this, however, does not

prove that they were the origin of the _Fées_: see above, p. 6.

[540] This may remind us of the Neck or Kelpie above, p. 162. It seems

confirmatory of our theory respecting the Visigoths, p. 466.

[541] Greg. Tur. De Glor. Confess. ch. xxxi., _ap._ Grimm. p. 466.

[542] Pilgrimage to Auvergne, ii. p. 294, _seq._

[543] Cambry, Monuments Celtiques, p. 232.

[544] It is evidently a _cromleach_. What is said of the nature of the

stones is also true of Stonehenge.

[545] Lettres de Madame S. à sa Fille. Périgueux, 1830: by M. Jouannet

of Bordeaux.

[546] See Mlle. Bosquet, La Normandie Romanesque et Merveilleuse, and

the works there quoted by this learned and ingenious lady. What

follows is so extremely like what we have seen above of the Korrigan

of the adjacent Brittany, that we hope she has been careful not to

transfer any of their traits to her Fées.

[547] Opera i. 1036; Paris, 1674, _ap._ Grimm, Deut. Mythol. p. 263.

[548] _Ap._ Grimm, _ut sup._ Douce (Ill. of Shak. i. 382) was, we

believe, the first who directed attention to Abundia. He quotes from

an old _fabliau_:

Ceste richesse nus abonde,

Nos l'avons de par Dame Abonde.

[549]

One kind of these the Italians Fatæ name;

Fée the French; we Sybils; and the same

Other White Nymphs; and those that have them seen,

Night Ladies some, of which Habundia queen.

_Hierarchie_, viii. p. 507.

[550] Mr. Thoms prefers a derivation from the Cymric, _Mab_, boy, child.

[551] There is no satisfactory derivation of _Lutin_, for we cannot

regard as such Grimm's _à luctu_. _Gobelin_, _Goblin_, or _Goubelin_,

is evidently the same as _Kobold_. _Follet_ (from _fol_, _fou_) and

_Farfadet_, are other names. Both _Gobelin_ and _Lutin_ were in use in

the 11th century. Orderic Vitalis, speaking of the demon whom St.

Taurin drove out of the temple of Diana, says, _Hunc vulgus Gobelinum

appellat_, and Wace (Roman de Rou, _v_ 9715) says of the familiar of

bishop Mauger who excommunicated the Conqueror

_Ne sei s'esteit lutin ou non._

[552] Mothers also threaten their children with him. _Le gobelin vous

mangera, le gobelin vous emportera._ PÈRE L'ABBÉ, _Etymologie_, i. p.

262.

[553] In another French tale a man to deceive a Fée, put on his wife's

clothes and was minding the child, but she said as she came in, "Non,

tu ne point la belle d'hier au soir, tu ne files, ni ne vogues, ni ton

fuseau ne t'enveloppes," and to punish him she turned some apples that

were roasting on the hearth into peas. SCHREIBER _ap._ GRIMM, p. 385.

[554] See above, p. 471.

[555] Lubin may be only another form of Lutin, and connected with the

English Lob. Its likeness to _loup_ may have given occasion to the

fiction of their taking the lupine form.

[556] Chartier.

[557] See above, p. 475.

[558] Histoire de Mélusine, tirée des Chroniques de Poitou. Paris,

1698. Dobenek, des Deutschen Mittelalter und Volksglauben.

[559] _i. e._ Cephalonia, see above, p. 41.

[560] It is at this day (1698) corruptly called La Font de Sée; and

every year in the month of May a fair is held in the neighbouring

mead, where the pastry-cooks sell figures of women, _bien coiffées_,

called Merlusines.--_French Author's Note_.

[561] A boar's tusk projected from his mouth. According to Brantôme, a

figure of him, cut in stone, stood at the portal of the Mélusine

tower, which was destroyed in 1574.

[562] At her departure she left the mark of her foot on the stone of

one of the windows, where it remained till the castle was destroyed.

[563] In his poem of Melusina, dedicated to Christina of Sweden.

[564] Mlle Bosquet, _ut sup._ p. 100.

[565] Mlle. Bosquet, _ut sup._ p. 98. The castle of Argouges is near

Bayeux, that of Rânes is in the arrondissement of Argentan.

[566] This proverbial expression is to be met with in various

languages: see Grimm, Deut. Mythol. p. 802.

[567] See above, p. 458.

EASTERN EUROPE.

Up the hill I went, and gazed round.

Hoping golden maids to see;

Trooping lovely maidens came, who

Round the hill danced merrily.

All the sweetest ditties singing,

Sweetest ditties that might be;

Bearing fragrant apple-blossoms,

These fair maidens came to me.

LETTISH SONG.

Europe is inhabited on the east and north-east, from the Frozen Ocean to

the Adriatic, by two extensive races named the Finns and the Slaves. The

former dwell round the northern edge of Scandinavia by the Icy Ocean,

and on the east and south-east of the Baltic. The Majjars, or the

dominant portion of the people of Hungary, are also of Finnish origin.

The Slaves who are akin to the Gotho-German race are also widely spread.

This stem numbers among its branches the Russians, Poles, Bohemians,

Servians, and the nations dwelling north-east of the Adriatic. Our

knowledge of the popular mythology of both races is very limited.

FINNS.

Bee! thou little mundane bird!

Fly away to where I bid thee;

O'er the moon, beneath the sun,

Behind the lofty heaven's stars,

Close by the Wain's axle--fly

To the great Creator's court.

FINNISH RUNE.

Of the mythology of the Finnish race, the first possibly that appeared

in Europe, and one of the most widely spread in the world, our

knowledge, as we have just stated, is very slight. It appears,

however, either to have influenced that of the Gothic race, or to have

been affected by it.

The Finlanders, Laplanders, and other nations of this race, who are

neighbours of the Scandinavians and Germans, believe, like them, in

Dwarfs and Kobolds. The former they describe as having a magnificent

region under the ground, to which mortals are sometimes admitted and

are there sumptuously entertained, getting plenty of tobacco and

brandy, and other things esteemed by them delicious.

It is an article of faith with the Finns that there dwell under the

altar in every church little misshapen beings which they call

_Kirkonwaki_, _i. e._, Church-folk. When the wives of these little

people have a difficult labour they are relieved if a Christian woman

visits them and lays her hand upon them. Such service is always

rewarded by a gift of gold and silver.[568]

The Kobold of Finland is called Para (from the Swedish Bjära); he

steals the milk from other people's cows, carries and coagulates it in

his stomach, and then disgorges it into the churn of his mistress.

There is a species of mushroom, which if it be fried with tar, salt

and sulphur, and then beaten with a rod, the woman who owns the Kobold

will quickly appear, and entreat to spare him.

The Alp, or nightmare, is called Painajainen, _i. e._, Presser. It

resembles a white maid, and its brightness illumines the whole room.

It causes people to scream out wofully; it also hurts young children,

and makes them squint. The remedy against it is _steel_ or a broom

placed under the pillow. The House-spirit named Tonttu (the Swedish

Tomtegubbe) is also common in Finland.[569] The Esthonians believe

that the Neck has fish's teeth.

An Esthonian legend relates that one time a girl was stopt by a pretty

boy that had on him a handsome peasant's belt and forced to scratch

his head a little. She did so, and while she was so engaged she was,

without her knowledge, fastened to him by his belt, but the rubbing of

her hand set him to sleep. Meanwhile a woman passed by, who came up

and asked the girl what she was doing there. She told her the whole

matter, and as she was speaking she freed herself from the belt. The

boy, however, slept sounder than ever and his mouth was wide open. The

woman who had come nearer cried at once, Ha! that's a _Näkki_ (Neck,)

see his _fish's teeth_! The Neck instantly vanished.[570]

The following Esthonian legend, though the Devil is the subject,

strongly resembles some of those of France and Great Britain:--

A man who had charge of the granary of a farm-house was sitting one

day moulding buttons in lead. The Devil came by, saluted him, and

said, "What are you doing there?" "I am moulding eyes." "Eyes! could

you make me new ones?" "To be sure I could; but I have none by me at

present." "Will you then do it another time?" "That will I." "When

shall I come again?" "Whenever you please." Next day the Devil came to

get his new eyes. "Will you have them large or small?" said the man.

"Very large." The man then put a large quantity of lead down to melt,

and said, "I cannot make them for you, unless you first let me tie you

fast." He then made him lie on his back on a bench and tied him down

with good strong thick ropes. When the Devil was thus fast bound he

asked the man what his name was. "My name is Myself (_Issi_)," replied

he. "That's a good name, I know none better." The lead was now melted;

the Devil opened his eyes as wide as he could, expecting to get the

new ones. "Now, I'm going to pour it out," said the man, and he poured

the melting lead into the eyes of the Devil, who jumped up with the

bench on his back, and ran away. As he passed by some people who were

ploughing, they asked him "Who did that to you?" "Myself did it (_Issi

teggi_)," replied the Devil. The people laughed and said, "If you did

it yourself, keep it yourself." The Devil died of his new eyes, and

since then no one has seen the Devil any more.[571]

The Hungarians or Madyars (Magyars) as they call themselves, are, as we

have seen, a portion of the Finnish race. Two collections of their

popular tales have been published of late years. The editor of one of

them which we have read,[572] assures us that he took them from the lips

of an old Hungarian soldier, who knew no language but his own. We

therefore cannot but regard the tales as genuine, though the mode and

tone in which they are narrated by the editor are not always the best.

They contain no traits of popular mythology,--a circumstance not a

little remarkable, rather resembling the French and Italian Fairy tales.

Several of them, however, are very pleasing. We regret that we have not

seen the other collection, which is apparently of greater value.[573]

FOOTNOTES:

[568] Mnemosyne, Abo 1821, _ap._ Grimm, Deut. Mythol. p. 426.

[569] Rühs, Finland und seine Bewohner.

[570] Grimm, Deut. Mythol. p. 459.

[571] Grimm, Deut. Mythol. p. 979. This is the fourth place where we

have met this story. Could they have all come from the Odyssey, the hero

of which tells the Cyclops, whom he blinds, that his name is Nobody?

[572] Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren. Wien, 1822.

[573] Mailath, Magyarische Sagen Mährchen, etc., 2 vols, 8vo. Stutg.

1837.

SLAVES.

Whatsoe'er at eve had raised the workmen,

Did the Vila raze ere dawn of morning.

BOWRING, _Servian Popular Poetry_.

A demon, in the attire of a mourning widow, used, in the Eastern

Russia, to go through the fields at noon in harvest-time, and break

the legs and arms of the workmen, who failed, when they saw her, to

fall on their faces. There was a remedy, however, against this. Trees,

long venerated, grew in the adjacent wood, the bark of which being

laid on the wound, removed the pain and healed it.[574]

The Vends believe in a similar being; but a Vend knows that when he

converses with her for an hour together about flax and the preparation

of it, if he always contradicts her, or says the paternoster backwards

without stopping, he is secure.[575]

The Russians also believe in a species of water and wood-maids,

called Rusalki. They are of a beautiful form, with long green hair;

they swing and balance themselves on the branches of trees--bathe in

lakes and rivers--play on the surface of the water--and wring their

locks on the green meads at the water's-edge. It is chiefly at

Whitsuntide that they appear, and the people then singing and dancing,

weave garlands for them, which they cast into the stream.[576]

* * * * *

The following is the Polish form of a legend which we have already met

with in several places:[577]

There came to a nobleman an unknown man, who called himself Iskrzycki

(_spark_ or _firestone_), and offered to engage in his service. The

contract was drawn up and signed, when the master perceived that

Iskrzycki had horse's hoofs, and he accordingly wanted to break off the

agreement; but the servant stood on his right, and declared that he

would enter on his duties, even against his master's will. From this

time forwards he took up his abode invisibly in the stove, and performed

all the tasks set him. People gradually grew accustomed to him, but at

last the lady prevailed on her lord to remove, and he hired another

estate. His people left the castle, and they had already gone the

greater part of the way, when on a bad part of the road the carriage was

near turning over, and the lady gave a loud cry of terror. Immediately a

voice answered from behind the carriage--"Never fear! Iskrzycki is with

you!" The lord and his lady now saw that there was no way of getting rid

of him, so they went back to the old house, and lived there on good

terms with their servant till the term of the engagement had arrived.

The Servian ballads, that have lately appeared,[578] have made us

acquainted with an interesting species of beings called Vilas. These

are represented as mountain-nymphs, young and beautiful, clad in

white, with long flying hair. Their voice is said to resemble that of

the woodpecker. They shoot, according to popular belief, deadly arrows

at men, and sometimes carry off children, whom their mothers in their

anger have consigned to them or the devil: yet the general character

of the Vilas is to injure none but those who intrude upon their

_kolos_, or roundels.

The Vilas sometimes appear gaily dancing their kolos beneath the

branches of the Vishnia or Vistula cherry; sometimes a Vila is

introduced comforting the sorrows of an enamoured deer; at other times

collecting storms in the heavens;[579] now foretelling to a hero his

impending death;[580] now ruthlessly casting down each night the walls

of a rising fortress, till a young and lovely female is immured within

them.[581] She usually rides a seven-year old hart, with a bridle made

of snakes.

The following are specimens of these Servian ballads:

_Vilas_

Cherry! dearest Cherry!

Higher lift thy branches,

Under which the Vilas

Dance their magic roundels.

Them before Radisha

Dew from flowers, lashes,

Leadeth on two Vilas,

To the third he sayeth--

"Be thou mine, O Vila!

Thou shalt, with my mother,

In the cool shade seat thee;

Soft silk deftly spinning

From the golden distaff."[582]

_Deer and Vila._

A young deer track'd his way through the lone forest

One lonely day--another came in sadness--

And the third dawn'd, and brought him sighs and sorrow;

Then he address'd him to the forest Vila:

"Young deer," she said, "thou wild one of the forest!

Now tell me what great sorrow has oppress'd thee;

Why wanderest thou thus in the forest lonely:

Lonely one day--another day in sadness--

And the third day with sighs and anguish groaning?"

And thus the young deer to the Vila answered:

"O thou sweet sister! Vila of the forest!

Me has indeed a heavy grief befallen;

For I once had a fawn, mine own beloved,

And one sad day she sought the running water;

She enter'd it, but came not back to bless me.

Then, tell me, has she lost her way and wander'd?

Was she pursued and captured by the huntsman?

Or has she left me?--has she wholly left me--

Loving some other deer--and I forgotten?

Oh, if she has but lost her way, and wanders,

Teach her to find it--bring her back to love me!

Oh, if she has been captured by the huntsman,

Then may a fate as sad as mine await him!

But if she has forsaken me--if, faithless,

She loves another deer, and I forgotten--

Then may the huntsman speedily o'ertake her."[583]

We have already observed how almost all nations compare female beauty

to that of the beings of their legendary creed. With the Servians the

object of comparison is the lovely Vila. "She is fairer than the

mountain-Vila," is the highest praise of woman's beauty. In the ballad

of The Sister of the Kapitan Leka, it is said of the heroine

Rossandra, that in no country, either Turkey, or the land of the

Kauran, or Jowrs, was her fellow to be found. No white Bula

(Mohammedan), no Vlachin (Greek), no slender Latiness (Roman

Catholic), could compare with her,

And who on the hills hath seen the Vila--

E'en the Vila, brother, must to her yield.

The swiftness of the Vila also affords a subject of comparison: a

fleet horse is said to be "Vilaish," or "swift as a Vila."

* * * * *

The Morlacchi of Dalmatia, as Sir Gardner Wilkinson informs us,[584]

believe also in the Vila. They describe her as a handsome female, who

accompanies the man who is her favourite everywhere he goes, and

causes all his undertakings to prosper. One thus favoured is termed

Vilénik. Another of their objects of belief is the Maçieh, who appears

in the form of a boy, with a cap on his head, and is always laughing.

Any one to whom he appears gets the power of commanding him. If

ordered to bring money, he usually steals it from one of the

neighbours, and if taxed with his dishonesty, he goes to the sea and

comes back dripping and with money.

FOOTNOTES:

[574] Delrio, Lib. ii. Sect. 2. Boxhorn Resp. Moscov. Pars I.

[575] Grimm, Deut. Mythol. p. 447.

[576] Mone, vol. i. p. 144. Grimm, Deut. Mythol. p. 460.

[577] Grimm, _ut sup._ p. 480.

[578] Published by Wuk and translated by Talvi and others into German,

by Bowring into English.

[579] Bowring, p. 175. _Sabejam oblake_, Cloud-gatherer, is an epithet

of the Vila, answering to the Νεφεληγερετης of the Grecian Zeus.

[580] Death of Kralwich Marko. Bowring, p. 97.

[581] The building of Skadra. Ibid. p. 64.

[582] We have made this translation from a German version in the Wiener

Jahrbücher, vol. xxx. which is evidently more faithful than Bowring's.

[583] Bowring, This version differs considerably from the German one

of Talvi. We feel quite convinced that the English translator has

mistaken the sense.

[584] Dalmatia and Montenegro, etc.

AFRICANS, JEWS, Etc.

Lead from the hills the voice of riot comes,

Where Yumboes shout and beat their Jaloff drums.

T. K.

This division of our work is somewhat miscellaneous, not being

restricted to any particular race, or to any determinate part of the

earth's surface. It contains merely such matters as appeared to us to

be worthy of note, but which we could not include in any of the

preceding sections.

AFRICANS.

When evening's shades o'er Goree's isle extend,

The nimble Yumboes from the Paps descend,

Slily approach the natives' huts, and steal,

With secret hand, the pounded coos-coos meal.

T. K.

The Jaloff inhabitants of the mainland of Africa, opposite the isle of

Goree, believe in a species of beings who have a striking and

surprising correspondence with the Gothic Fairies. They call them

Yumboes, and describe them as being about two feet high, of a white

colour, as every thing preternatural is in Africa. It is remarkable

that, acting on the same principle as the Greeks, who called their

Furies Eumenides, and the Scots and Irish, who style the Fairies Good

Neighbours, or Good People, the Africans call the Yumboes, Bakhna

Rakhna, or Good People. The dress of the Yumboes exactly corresponds

with that of the natives, and they imitate their actions in every

particular. They attach themselves to particular families; and

whenever any of their members die, the Yumboes are heard to lament

them, and to dance upon their graves. The Moors believe the Yumboes to

be the souls of their deceased friends.

The chief abode of the Yumboes is a subterraneous dwelling on the

Paps, the hills about three miles distant from the coast. Here they

dwell in great magnificence, and many wonderful stories are told of

those persons, particularly Europeans, who have been received and

entertained in the subterraneous residence of the Yumboes: of how they

were placed at richly furnished tables; how nothing but hands and feet

were to be seen, which laid and removed the various dishes; of the

numerous stories the underground abode consisted of; the modes of

passing from one to the other without stairs, etc., etc.

In the evening the Yumboes come down to the habitation of man, wrapped

close in their _pangs_,[585] with only their eyes and nose visible.

They steal to the huts, where the women are pounding in mortars the

coos-coos, or corn, watch till the pounders are gone for sieves to

searce the meal, and then slily creep to the mortars, take out the

meal, and carry it off in their pangs, looking every moment behind

them, to see if they are observed or pursued; or they put it into

calabashes, and arranging themselves in a row, like the monkeys,

convey it from hand to hand, till it is placed in safety.

They are also seen at night in their canoes, out fishing in the bay.

They bring their fish to land, and, going to the fires kindled by the

natives to keep away the wild beasts, they steal each as much fire as

will roast his fish. They bury palm-wine, and when it becomes sour

they drink of it till it intoxicates them, and then make a great

noise, beating Jaloff drums on the hills.[586]

FOOTNOTES:

[585] The Pang (Span. _paño_, cloth) is an oblong piece of cotton cloth,

which the natives manufacture and wear wrapped round their bodies.

[586] For the preceding account of the Yumboes we are indebted to a

young lady, who spent several years of her childhood at Gorce. What

she related to us she had heard from her maid, a Jaloff woman, who

spoke no language but Jaloff.

JEWS.

במבניך יקרבון לא רמויקיא

PSALM xci. 5. _Chaldaicè_

And the Mazikeen shall not come near thy tents.

It has long been an established article of belief among the Jews that

there is a species of beings which they call Shedeem,[587]

Shehireem,[588] or Mazikeen.[589] These beings exactly correspond to

the Arabian Jinn;[590] and the Jews hold that it is by means of them

that all acts of magic and enchantment are performed.

The Talmud says that the Shedeem were the offspring of Adam. After he

had eaten of the Tree of life, Adam was excommunicated for one hundred

and thirty years. "In all those years," saith Rabbi Jeremiah Ben

Eliezar, "during which Adam was under excommunication, he begat

spirits, demons, and spectres of the night, as it is written, 'Adam

lived one hundred and thirty years, and begat children in his likeness

and in his image,' which teaches, that till that time he had not

begotten them in his own likeness." In Berashith Rabba, R. Simon says,

"During all the one hundred and thirty years that Adam was separate

from Eve, male spirits lay with her, and she bare by them, and female

spirits lay with Adam, and bare by him."

These Shedeem or Mazikeen are held to resemble the angels in three

things. They can see and not be seen; they have wings and can fly; they

know the future. In three respects they resemble mankind: they eat and

drink; they marry and have children; they are subject to death. It may

be added, they have the power of assuming any form they please; and so

the agreement between them and the Jinn of the Arabs is complete.

Moses Edrehi, a learned Jew of Morocco, has translated into Spanish

for us several of the tales of the Mazikeen contained in the Talmud

and Rabbinical writings. We select the following as specimens; and

according to our usual custom, adhere strictly to our original.

_The Broken Oaths._

There was a man who was very rich, and who had but one only son. He

bestowed upon him every kind of instruction, so that he became very

learned and of great talent.

Before his death the old man gave a great entertainment, and invited

all the chief people of the city; and when the entertainment was over,

he called his son, and made him swear, in the name of the great God of

the whole universe, that he never would travel or go out of his own

country. He then left him the whole of his riches on this condition,

and made him sign a paper to that effect, with sufficient witnesses,

in the presence of all that company, and he gave the paper into the

custody of one of the principal persons.

Some years after the death of his father, there came a very large ship

from India, laden with merchandise of great value. The captain when he

arrived inquired after the father of this young man, and the people

said unto him that he was dead, but that he had left a son, and they

conducted the captain to the young man's dwelling. The captain then

said unto him, "Sir, I have brought hither much property belonging to

thy father, and as there is much property of thy father's still

remaining, if thou wilt come with me, thou wilt be able to obtain much

riches, for thou canst recover all that is owing unto thy father." He

made answer unto the captain and said, that he could not travel, as he

had taken an oath unto his father that he never would go out of the

country. The captain, however, ceased not every day to persuade him,

until at length he gave him his word that he would go with him. He

then went unto the learned Rabbin that were at that time, to see if

they would give him absolution respecting the oath he had sworn unto

his father. But they counselled him not to leave the country. But his

eagerness to acquire more riches was so great, that he would not

hearken unto the counsel of any one. So he finally took his

resolution, and went away with the captain.

Now, when they were in the midst of the sea, lo! the ship went to

pieces, and all the merchandise that was on board was lost, and all

the people were drowned, save only this young man, who got upon a

plank. And the water carried him about from one place unto another,

until it cast him upon the land. But here he was in danger of

starving, and had nothing to eat but the herbs of the field, or to

drink but the running water.

One day an exceeding large eagle drew near unto him, and seated

himself on the ground before him. As he was now reduced to despair,

and had little hopes of being able to preserve his life, and knew not

where he was, he resolved to mount this eagle, and to sit upon his

back. He accordingly mounted the bird, and the eagle flew with him

until he brought him unto a country that was inhabited, where he left

him.[591] When he saw that he was in a land where there were people,

he was greatly rejoiced, and he immediately inquired where the great

Rabbi of that country dwelt. But all the people that were there stood

mocking at him, and cursing him, and saying that he should die,

because he had broken the oath he had sworn unto his father. When he

heard this he was greatly astonished at their knowing it, but he went

to the house of the chief person among them who said unto him that he

should abide in his house until they did him justice, because in that

country they were all Mazikeen, and they wanted to kill him because he

deserved death on account of the oath to his father, which he had

broken. "Therefore," said he, "when they will sentence thee, and will

lead thee forth to punishment, cry aloud and say, I call for justice

before God and the king! The king will then do his utmost to deliver

thee out of their hands, and thou wilt remain alive."

Accordingly, when he was tried before the senate, and before their

princes and great men, he was found guilty, and sentenced to death,

according to the law of God. And when they led him forth to be slain,

he put his fingers before God, and before his majesty the king.[592]

When they heard this, they took him before the king, who examined him,

and saw that, in justice, he was worthy of death. But the king asked

him if he had studied or knew the law of Moses, or had studied the

Talmud, and various authors; and he saw that he was very learned, and

a great Rabbi, and it grieved him much that he should be put to death.

The king, therefore, begged that they would defer his execution until

the following day, for he wished to give his case a little further

consideration. At this they all held their peace, and departed.

Next day all the senators, governors, chief men, and all the people of

the city, came together to see and hear the sentence of the king, and

also to behold the death of this man, as it would be for them a very

curious sight. Now, while they were all standing there assembled, before

the king came forth from his palace to give his judgement, he called for

this man who was condemned to death, and asked him if he was willing to

remain with him and teach his children what he knew, as, in such case,

he would do his utmost to deliver him from death. He made answer that he

was willing. The king then went forth from his palace, and seated

himself upon his throne of judgement, and called all the chief men, and

all the people, and spake unto them in this sort:--

"Sirs, it is a truth that you have adjudged this man to death, which

he deserves: but there is no rule without an exception, and I believe

that this man hath not yet come to his time that he should die. For if

it was the will of God that he should die, he would have died along

with the rest of the people who were on board the same ship with him

when the ship went to pieces, and not have escaped as he hath done.

Again, if it was the will of God that he should die, he would not have

reached the land, and an eagle would not have come and brought him

hither amongst us. In like manner, God hath delivered him from you,

for he might have been slain by you. He hath thus been delivered out

of these manifold and great perils, and it therefore seemeth unto me

that he should live; as for the sin that he hath committed, in

breaking his oath, it is between him and God, who shall reward him for

it one day or other. He shall therefore be free from us; and I ordain

that no one shall touch him, or do him any evil; and whosoever

troubleth him shall be put to death."

When they heard these words of the king, they all expressed themselves

well pleased at his decision; and the man remained in the house of the

king, teaching his children. He continued in the palace for three

years, highly respected by every one, and greatly esteemed by the king

for his talents and his capacity.

Now it came to pass that the king was obliged to set forth with an

army, to war against one of the provinces of his kingdom which had

rebelled. As he was on the point to set out, he called for this man,

and gave him all the keys of his palaces and his treasures, and said

unto him, "Behold! thou mayest view every thing that is in the land

and in the palaces; but thou hast here a golden key of one palace

which thou must beware of opening, for on the day that thou openest it

I will slay thee." Then, charging the people to respect and attend to

him, the king took his leave of him and departed. When the king was

gone, he began to open and examine all the palaces, and all the

curiosities, which were such as he had never seen in his life, and all

the treasures of the greatest riches that could be in the world; in

short, he saw mountains upon mountains of diamonds of great weight,

and other things of various kinds, most admirable to behold. But when

he had seen all, he was not satisfied; he wanted to see more. And as

his desire was very great, he would open the other palace; and he

thought he should suffer no injury thereby, so that he resolved to

open it. Five or six times he drew nigh to open it, and as often he

drew back in fear: at length he took courage and opened it.

There were seven apartments, one within the other, and every apartment

was full of different rich and curious things. In the seventh

apartment was the princess, with other women, all richly dressed, and

very beautiful. When the princess saw him, she gave a sigh, and said,

"Man, it grieveth me for thee! how art thou come hither? Where is thy

regard for the advice of my father, who entreated thee not to open

this palace, when he gave thee the keys of his palaces and his

treasures, and straitly charged thee not to come hither? Know now that

my father is coming, and that he will surely slay thee. But if thou

wilt follow my counsel, and wilt espouse me, I will save thee; but

thou must give unto me thy oath, that thou wilt do it." He replied

that he would, and he sware unto her, and gave it unto her in writing.

She then said unto him, "When my father asketh thee why thou hast

opened the palace, thou shalt make answer, and say that thou desirest

to marry me, and then he will let thee escape, and not slay thee."

He had scarcely ended speaking with her, when the king entered, with

his sword drawn in his hand, to slay him. Then he threw himself on the

ground, and began to entreat him, and said that he was desirous to

marry the princess. When the king heard this, he was rejoiced that he

would remain there, and so teach his children all the knowledge he

possessed; for he was of great capacity in everything. He therefore

told him, that he would leave it to his daughter, whether she would

have him or not. The king then asked his daughter, and she replied,

"What your majesty doth for me is well done." The king then gave his

consent for her marriage with him. The contract was made, and notice

was given to all the chief persons of the city, and the wedding was

appointed to be in two months.

When the appointed time was come, all the chief men of all the

provinces of the kingdom were invited, and a great feast was made to

celebrate the marriage of the princess; and they were married to their

great joy and happiness.

On the first night of their marriage, when the husband and the wife

were alone, she said unto him, "Behold! I am not like one of you, and

thou seest that, thanks be unto God! there is no defect in my body;

if, therefore, though we have been publicly married with the consent

of my father, thou art not content to live with me as husband and

wife, thou art at liberty, and no one shall know it; but if thou art

content with all thy will, thou must swear unto me that thou wilt

never leave me." He replied, that he was well content with everything;

and he sware unto her, and wrote it down on paper, and signed it with

his hand, and gave it unto her; and they lived happily as man and wife

for many years, and they had children; and his first-born he named

Solomon, after the name of king Solomon.

Immediately after the marriage, the king caused it to be proclaimed that

his son-in-law should be the second person in the kingdom to give

judgement, and to punish such as should be deserving of punishment. This

the king did with the consent of all the great men of the country.

But, after some years, this man began to be very anxious and

melancholy; and his wife asked him many times what it was that ailed

him, but he would never tell her the cause: yet she persuaded him so

much, that at length he told it unto her, and said, that when he

looked upon his children he remembered the other children that he had,

and his other wife, and that he yearned to behold them once more. His

wife replied, "My dear husband, let not this give thee any uneasiness,

for if thou wishest to see them, thou canst see them." He answered,

"If thou wilt do me this favour and grace, I shall thank thee much."

She asked him how long he wished to stay with his wife and children,

and he answered, three months; but she said, "No; I will give thee the

space of a year, on condition, that as soon as the year is expired

thou return again unto me." He answered, "If thou show me this favour,

I will do all that thou wilt command me." She said, "Take an oath that

thou wilt keep thy word." He then sware, and wrote it down on paper,

and gave it unto her.

She then called one of her servants, and ordered him to convey him to

his own house with all the speed he could make; and in the space of a

few minutes he found himself in his own house with his wife and

children. The man then asked him if he had any commands for his lady? He

replied, "I have nothing to do with thee or thy lady. I am now with my

wife and children; I know no other, and therefore I have no message to

give." The servant then returned to his mistress; and she asked him what

his master had said, and if he had given him any message. He answered,

"Madam, if I tell thee what he hath said, thou wilt not believe me." She

then pressed him, and he told her all. She said, "It doth not signify."

He remained, then, very happy with his family; but at the end of the

year his wife sent a messenger unto him to call him back unto her, as

the year was expired. But he answered that he would not, and that he had

nothing to do with them, as he was a man, and had nothing more to say

with them. The messenger returned and told his mistress, and she sent

other messengers of greater dignity, for she said this one is not

sufficient for him. But he made the same reply that he had made unto the

first. She then sent greater still, three or four times; and at last she

was obliged to send her son Solomon. When he saw his son he embraced

him, and asked him what he wanted. He told him that his mother had sent

him, that he might come back with him, and that if he would not, she

would come and avenge herself upon him. His father replied, that he had

no mind to depart from his house; that he would stay with his wife and

children, who were human beings like himself. So when his son saw that

there was no remedy, and that he would not come with him, he returned

unto his mother, and related the whole unto her.

His mother was then obliged to go herself with her great army. When they

arrived at the city where the man dwelt, they said unto the princess

that they would go up and slay the man that was her husband, and all the

people of the city; but she answered, "No; they had not permission to

kill any one, as all the Hebrews, when they lie down to sleep at night,

make their prayers unto God to protect and guard them from all Mazikeen;

so that we have no right or permission to touch them; and if we do them

a mischief, we shall be chastised for it by the God of Israel, who

governeth the whole world. Do you, therefore, bide here without the

city, and in the morning I and my son Solomon will arise and go unto

the school of the Rabbin and the Sanhedrim, and if they will do me

justice with him, well; if not, I will avenge myself upon him and upon

them." They all made answer and said, "It is well said."

In the morning she arose with her son Solomon, and went unto the great

school, where the divine Law was taught. They were consulting, when

they heard the voice of one crying aloud, and saying, "Sirs, justice

before God, and before you, upon such a one, my husband;" and all the

people were amazed, and were in astonishment when they heard the voice

three times, and saw no one. They then sent for the man, who came unto

them and related the whole story, and said that he had no mind to go

with her. They again heard the voice, which said, "Sirs, here are his

oaths, signed by himself, which he sware and signed each time;" and

then three written papers fell before them. They read them, and asked

him if that was his signature. He said it was. They said unto him, "It

is ill done to break so many oaths," and that there was no remedy, but

that he should go with her to where he had lived so many years with

her, and where she had saved him from death, and he had had children

by her. "As for us, we advise thee to go with her, and if thou dost

not, it will not come to good; for she is not an ordinary person, but

is a princess, and merits attention, more especially as she hath right

on her side." He answered that he would give her Guet (a bill of

divorce); but she made answer, that that would not be for her honour.

In fine, he refused absolutely to go with her.

After a great deal of argument, and when she saw that there were no

means to persuade him, she said, "Sirs, I am highly obliged and grateful

to you; for I see that you do me the justice of God, and he will not

accept it. You are free, and the sin will be upon his soul. Wherefore,

sirs, since there is no remedy with him, I entreat that he will suffer

me to take leave of him, and to embrace him." He replied that she might,

and as soon as she embraced him she drew out his soul, and he died. She

then said, "Sirs, here is his son Solomon, who is one of yourselves. I

will give him sufficient riches, and he shall be heir along with the

children of his other wife, and you will make him among you a great

Rabbi; for he is of sufficient ability, as you may see if you will

examine him. Farewell." So saying, she departed with her army.[593]

_The Moohel._

There was once a man who was exceedingly rich, but out of all measure

avaricious, and who never had done a good deed in his life, and never

had given even the value of a farthing unto the poor.

It happened one winter's night, between the hours of twelve and one,

that a man came and knocked loudly at the door of this miser. He

opened the window, and saw a man at the door, and he asked him what it

was he wanted. He said that he wanted him to go with him to a village

twelve miles distant from the town, to circumcise a young child that

would be eight days old in the morning.

Now you must know, that this man of whom we treat was a Jew and a

Moohel, that is, one whose office it is to circumcise the young

children; and with all his avarice in money matters, he was not

avaricious in his office, for he believed in the end of the world, and

therefore he did this good action.

He accordingly agreed to go with the man, and he kindled a fire, and

put his clothes before it, and got ready the instruments he required

for performing the ceremony. He then set out along with the strange

man, whom he knew not, though it was winter, and dark and rainy; and

they went along, journeying through the wilderness. This unfortunate

Moohel, who did not know his way in the wilderness, and in the dark,

every now and then fell over the stones on the way; but they still

went on until they came to a great and lofty mountain in the midst of

the wilderness, where people never passed, and where there are no

people to be seen, but only dark, dark mountains, that fill with

terror those who look upon them.

The man who came with the Moohel now laid his hand on a great stone of

the mountain, so large that five hundred persons could not remove or

raise it; yet he raised it with only one hand. The place then opened,

and they both descended. There were many flights of steps, and it was

very deep within the earth, and below there was an entire city. They

entered then into a palace that was very large and handsome; it had

fine gardens, and there was a great deal of light, and music, and much

dancing of men and women. When they saw this Moohel approach, they

began to laugh and to mock at him; but the poor Moohel was greatly

astonished at all the things that he saw, and as he stood looking on,

he began to consider and reflect upon them; and then he saw that they

were not human beings like us, and great fear came upon him; but he

had no means of getting out, or of saving himself, so he constrained

himself, and remained quiet.

Now the man who had brought him thither was one of their commanders,

and a great personage among them. He took him then to the apartment of

the lying-in woman, that he might view the child. The man then went

away, and left him with the lying-in woman. But the woman groaned in

great affliction, and began to weep. The Moohel asked her what ailed

her? Then said the woman unto the Moohel, "How didst thou come hither?

Knowest thou in what place thou art, and amongst whom thou art?" The

Moohel replied that he did not, as he had not ventured to speak. The

woman then explained, "Thou art in the land of the Mazikeen, and all

the people that are here are Mazikeen; but I am a being like unto

thyself; for when I was yet young and little, I was once alone in a

dark place, and these people took me and brought me hither; and I was

married to this husband, who is one of their great men, and who is,

moreover, a Jew, for there are different religions among them; and I

also am a Jewess; and when this child was born, I spake unto my

husband, and entreated of him, that he would get a Moohel to

circumcise the babe; and so he brought thee hither. But thou art in

great danger here, and art lost; for thou wilt never be able to go out

from here, and wilt be like one of them. Yet, as I have compassion for

thee, and particularly as thou hast, out of kindness, come hither to

circumcise the babe, and out of humanity, I will give thee a counsel

that may be of service unto thee; and that is, when they ask thee to

eat or to drink, take good heed not to touch anything; for if thou

taste anything of theirs thou wilt become like one of them, and wilt

remain here for ever."

The husband now came in, and they went to the congregation to perform

the morning prayer. After the prayer, they returned to the house to

perform the ceremony of circumcision. The Moohel took a cup of wine,

and gave it to taste to the lying-in woman, to the babe, and to all

who were invited to the ceremony; for this is the manner and the

custom. But the man who had fetched the Moohel said unto him, "Thou

also shouldst taste." The Moohel replied, that he could not, for he

had dreamed an evil dream, and that he must fast; and by this excuse

he escaped. But he waited for him till night, and then they brought

him meat and drink; but he replied that he could not eat until he had

passed two or three days fasting. When the man who had brought him

thither saw that he would neither eat nor drink for so long a time, he

took compassion upon him, and said unto him, "What is the matter with

thee, that thou wilt neither eat nor drink?"--"Sir," replied the

Moohel, "I ask and desire no other thing but to go home unto my

family; for this week we hold a feast, and I should be with my family.

I therefore most humbly supplicate thee to take me unto my own house."

He then began to beg and entreat him most earnestly, and the woman

also entreated for him.

The man then said unto him, "Since thou desirest to go home unto thy

house, come then with me; I will give thee a present for thy trouble.

Come with me, where thou mayest see and take whatever will seem good

unto thee." The Moohel answered, "I do not wish for anything. Thanks

be to God! I am very rich--I want for nothing, but to return home unto

my family."--"Nevertheless," said he, "come with me, till I show thee

curious things that thou hast never seen in thy life." He was

accordingly persuaded; he went with him, and he showed him divers

apartments all full of silver, of gold, of diamonds, of all sorts of

precious stones, and of other curious and magnificent things, such as

he had never seen in his life.

He thus led him from one chamber to another, and continually asked him

if he wished for anything; for if he did, he might take it. But he

still refused, and would take nothing. At length they came to the last

chamber, where there was nothing but bunches of keys hanging. The

Moohel raised his eyes at seeing such a number of keys, and, lo! he

beheld a bunch of keys that was his own. He began then to reflect

deeply; and the man said unto him, "What dost thou stand gazing at? I

have shown thee many precious and curious things, and yet thou didst

not bestow so much attention upon them as upon these old keys, that

are of little worth." "Be not offended, sir," answered the Moohel,

"but these keys are so like mine, and I believe they are the same." He

took the keys and began to examine them, and to point out each key

separately to the man, who at length said unto him, "Thou art right,

they are thy keys. Know that I am lord over the hearts of the people

who never at any time do good; and as thou performest this good deed

of circumcision, and riskest thy life in dangerous journeys, and goest

with all sorts of people to do the commandment of the God of Israel,

here, take the keys! From henceforward thy heart will be opened,[594]

and will be good toward the poor, which will cause thee to live a long

and a happy life with thy family. Come now with me; I will carry thee

home to thy house and to thy family. Now shut thine eyes."

He shut his eyes, and instantly found himself in his own house amidst

his family. He then began to distribute money to all the poor that were

in the land, every week and every month. But the world is always curious

to hear novelties and strange events, and the people, and even his own

wife, as this was a very wonderful thing, pressed him and persuaded him,

until at length he was obliged to relate the whole history of what had

befallen him, from the beginning even unto the end; and it was a matter

of great delight to all the world; and they did much good to the poor,

and they all became rich, with great prosperity. And the Moohel lived

very long, and spent a great and a happy life with his family, a pattern

and an example unto the whole world.[595]

_The Mazik-Ass._

It came to pass in the countries of Africa, in a particular month,

during which it is the usage and the custom of the Jews to rise in the

night to say their prayers, that a servant, whose business it was to

knock at the doors, and to call up the people, found one night an ass

(_jumento_) in the street; and he mounted upon him, and went riding

along and calling up the people. And, as he rode, lo! the ass began to

swell and to increase in size, until he became three hundred yards in

height, and reached up even unto the top of the loftiest tower of the

church, upon which he set the man, and then went away; and on the

morrow the man was found sitting upon the tower. Now, thou must know

that this ass was one of the Mazikeen.

* * * * *

The Jews have, as it were, brought us back to Asia. As we proceed

eastwards from Persia, where we commenced, India first meets our view,

but of the numerous beings of its copious and intricate mythology, no

class seems to belong to earth unless it be the Yakshas who attend on

Kuveras, the Hindoo Plutos, and have charge of his enchanted gardens

on the summit of Himalaya, and who bear some resemblance to the

Dwarfs. There are also the misshapen Pisachas, who love to dwell in

gloom; the Vidhyadharas, _i. e._, Masters of Magic, are said to

resemble the Jinn of the Arabs; and the dancing and singing Gandharvas

and Apsaresas may be compared with the Nymphs of Grecian mythology.

Eastwards still lies China. Here there is a species of beings named

Shinseën, who are said to haunt the woods and mountains, where, exempt

from the passions and the cares of life, they dwell in a state of

blissful ease; but still exercise an influence over human affairs.

Sometimes they appear as old men with long beards; at other times as

young maidens, sauntering amid rocks and woods by moonlight.[596]

We do not recollect to have met, in our reading, with any other beings

bearing a resemblance to what we term Fairies.

FOOTNOTES:

[587] שרים from שרר to lay waste, Deut. xxxii. 17.

[588] שעירים from שער horreo, Isaiah, xiii. 22.

[589] מויקין from נוק to hurt.

[590] Moses Edrehi, our informant, says that the Mazikeen are called

in the Arabic language, _znoon_ ([Illustration]), _i. e._ Jinn.

[591] Comp. Lane, Thousand and One Nights, iii. p. 91.

[592] To signify that he appealed to them.

[593] From a rabbinical book called Mahasee Yerusalemee, _i. e._ History

of a Hebrew of Jerusalem.--"Very old," says Moses Edrehi, "and known by

the Hebrews to be true." "Moreover," saith he of another tale, "it

really happened, because every thing that is written in the Jewish books

is true; for no one can print any new book without its being examined

and approved of by the greatest and chiefest Rabbin and wise men of that

time and city, and the proofs must be very strong and clear; so that all

the wonderful stories in these books are true." The Jews are not

singular in this mode of vouching for the truth of wonderful stories.

[594] The moral here is apparent.

[595] From a very ancient rabbinical book called R. H. It is needless

to point out its resemblance to German and other tales.

[596] See Davis's translation of The Fortunate Union, i. 68.

CONCLUSION.

Here, then, we conclude. The task which we imposed on ourselves was to

collect, arrange, classify, and give under one point of view the

various ideas and legends respecting Fairies and similar beings of the

popular creed, which lay scattered in a variety of books and a variety

of languages. We have marked resemblances, traced coincidences, and

offered etymologies. Many legends, especially German ones, we know,

exist, which are not to be found in this work; but, in general, they

offer no new traits of popular lore, and most persons will, we

apprehend, be content with what we have given.

The labours of MM. Grimm in this department of philosophy can never be

too highly praised. They have been, in fact, the creators of it; and the

German Mythology is a work of the most extensive learning, and written

in the spirit of true philosophy. And this is no light praise; for of

all subjects, Mythology appears to be the one on which imagination is

most apt to run riot. Hence, it has been frequently almost brought into

contempt by the wild vagaries of those who have presumed to write on it

without judgement of common sense. Though all may not agree with the

opinions or deductions in the preceding pages, we trust that they will

find in them no traces of ill-regulated imagination.

As works of this kind have no bearing on material enjoyments, the number

of those who will think lightly of them in these days will, of course,

not be small. But in the view of sane reason and philosophy, the subject

is by no means unimportant, nay, it is even more important than many of

higher pretensions. To trace the corruption and degradation of the pure

religion of the Gospel, has always been held to be a task worthy of the

highest intellect: we should not, therefore, despise the present one,

which is the same in kind though different in degree. We have seen that

all these legendary beings and their characters and acts are remnants of

ancient religious systems, the mental offspring of deep-thinking sages.

It is surely, then, not uninteresting to trace them to their present

form and condition. Even in a historic point of view they are not

undeserving of attention. Thus, should our theory on the subject be

correct, it is of importance to observe how the tribes around the

Baltic, when they made conquests in the Roman Empire, brought with them

the religious ideas of their forefathers, and left traces of them, which

are discernible even at the present day. Again, nothing more interests

the botanist than to find the same plants, modified by local

circumstances, growing in widely-distant regions. The interest is

similar when we find the same legends, modified also by circumstances,

springing up in distant countries, and amongst tribes and nations who

could hardly have had any communication.[597]

This work is therefore to be regarded as a part of the philosophy of

popular fiction. It is not by any means intended to be a work of mere

amusement, and those who view or represent it in that light will do it

manifest injustice. Many of the legends, no doubt, may possess

attractions even for children; but the same is true of the narratives

of Herodotus, and still more of those of the Old Testament, and

therefore should not derogate from its real importance. At the same

time, we have adopted a light and facile style, as that which we

deemed best suited to the character of the subject and the taste of

this country; but we trust that this will not lower either our subject

or ourselves in the eyes of our readers.[598]

FOOTNOTES:

[597] Under the title Similar Legends in the Index, legends of this

kind are arranged with references to the places where they occur.

[598] The legends from the German and other languages are, in general,

faithfully translated, whence the style is at times rude and negligent;

English legends are for the most part, also, merely transcribed.

APPENDIX.

The following tales are some of those which we contributed to the Irish

Fairy Legends. Subjoined is a selection from the verses which we have

written on various occasions, chiefly to oblige our lady-friends. They

are inserted merely to show that the writer could compose well-rimed

stanzas, while he lays no claim whatever to the title of poet.

_The Harvest Dinner._

It was Monday, and a fine October morning. The sun had been some time

above the mountains, and the hoar frost and the dew-drops on the

gossamers[599] were glittering in the light, when Thady Byrne, on

coming in to get his breakfast, saw his neighbour Paddy Cavenagh, who

lived on the other side of the road, at his own door tying his brogues.

"A good morrow to you, Paddy, honey," said Thady Byrne.

"Good morrow, kindly, Thady," said Paddy.

"Why, thin, Paddy, avick, it isn't your airly risin', anyhow that 'ill

do you any harm this mornin'."

"It's thrue enough for you, Thady Byrne," answered Paddy casting a

look up at the sky; "for I b'leeve it's purty late in the day. But I

was up, you see, murdherin' late last night."

"To be shure, thin, Paddy, it was up at the great dinner, yisterday,

above at the big house you wor."

"Ay was it; an' a rattlin' fine dinner we had uv it, too."

"Why, thin, Paddy, agrah, what's to ail you now, but you'd jist sit

yourself down here on this piece o' green sod, an' tell us all about

it from beginnin' to ind."

"Niver say the word twist, man; I'll give you the whole full an' thrue

account uv it, an' welcome."

They sat down on the roadside, and Paddy thus began.

"Well, you see, Thady, we'd a powerful great harvist uv it, you know,

this year, an' the min all worked like jewels, as they are; an' the

masther was in great sperits, an' he promis'd he'd give us all a grand

dinner whin the dhrawin'-in was over, an' the corn all safe in the

haggard. So this last week, you see, crown'd the business; an' on

Satherday night the last shafe was nately tied an' sint in to the

misthress, an' everything was finisht, all to the tatchin' o' the

ricks. Well, you see, jist as Larry Toole was come down from headin'

the last rick, an' we war takin' away the laddher, out comes the

misthress herself--long life to her--by the light o' the moon; an',

'Boys,' sez she, 'yez hav' finish'd the harvist bravely, an' I invite

yez all to dinner here to-morrow; an' if yez come airly, yez 'ill git

mass in the big hall, widout the throuble o' goin' up all the ways to

the chapel for it.'"

"Why, thin, did she raally say so, Paddy?"

"That she did--the divil the word o' lie in it."

"Well, go on."

"Well, if we didn't set up a shout for her, it's no matther!"

"Ay, an' a good right yez had too, Paddy, avick."

"Well, you see, yistherday mornin'--which, God be praised, was as fine

a day as iver come out of the sky--whin I tuk the beard off o' me, Tom

Conner an' I set off together for the big house. An' I don't know,

Thady, whether it was the fineness o' the day, or the thoughts o' the

good dinner we wor to have, or the kindness o' the misthress, that med

my heart so light, but I filt, anyhow, as gay as any skylark. Well,

whin we got up to the house, there was every one o' the people that's

in the work, min, women and childher, all come together in the yard;

an' a purty sight it was to luk upon, Thady: they wor all so nate an

so clane, an' so happy."

"Thrue for you, Paddy, agrah; an' a fine thing it is, too, to work wid

a raal gintleman like the masther. But till us, avick, how was it the

misthress conthrived to get the mass for yez: shure Father Miley

himself, or the codjuthor, didn't come over."

"No, in troth didn't they, but the misthress managed it betther nor all

that. You see, Thady, there's a priest, an ould friend o' the family's,

one Father Mulhall's on a visit, this fortnight past, up at the big

house. He's as gay a little man as iver spoke, only he's a little too

fond o' the dhrop,--the more's the pity,--an' it's whispered about among

the sarvints that by manes uv it he lost a parish he had down the

counthry; an' he was an his way up to Dublin, whin he stopt to spind a

few days wid his ould frinds the masther an' misthress.

"Well, you see, the misthress on Satherday, widout sayin' a single

word uv it to any livin' sowl, writes a letther wid her own hand, an'

sinds Tom Freen off wid it to Father Miley, to ax him for a loan o'

the vistmints. Father Miley, you know's a mighty ginteel man intirely,

and one that likes to obleege the quolity in anything that doesn't go

agin' his juty; an' glad he was to hav' it in his power to sarve the

misthress; an' he sint off the vistmints wid all his heart an' sowl

an' as civil a letther, Tommy Freen says, for he hard the misthress

readin' it, as ivir was pinned."

"Well, there was an alther, you see, got up in the big hall, jist

bechune the two doors--if ivir you wor in it--ladin' into the

store-room, an' the room the childher sleep in; and whin iviry thing

was ready we all come in, an' the priest gev' us as good mass iviry

taste as if we wor up at the chapel for it. The misthress an' all the

family attinded thimsilves, an' they stud jist widinside o' the

parlour-door; and it was raaly surprisin', Thady, to see how dacently

they behaved thimsilves. If they wor all their lives goin' to chapel

they cudn't have behaved thimsilves betther nor they did."

"Ay, Paddy, mavourneen; I'll be bail they didn't skit and laugh the

way some people would be doin'."

"Laugh! not thimsilves, indeed. They'd more manners, if nothin' else,

nor to do that. Well, to go an wid my story: whin the mass was ovir we

wint sthrollin' about the lawn an' place till three o'clock come, an'

thin you see the big bell rung out for dinner, an' may be it wasn't we

that wor glad to hear it. So away wid us to the long barn where the

dinner was laid out; an' 'pon my conscience, Thady Byrne, there's not

one word o' lie in what I'm goin' to tell you; but at the sight o' so

much vittles iviry taste uv appetite in the world lift me, an' I thought

I'd ha' fainted down an the ground that was undher me. There was, you

see, two rows o' long tables laid the whole linth o' the barn, an' table

cloths spred upon iviry inch o' them; an' there was rounds o' beef, an'

rumps o' beef, an' ribs o' beef, both biled an' roast, an' there was

ligs o' mootton, and han's o' pork, and pieces o' fine bacon, an' there

was cabbage an' pratees to no ind, an' a knife an' fork laid for iviry

body; an' barrils o' beer an' porther, with the cocks in iviry one o'

them, an' moogs an' porringirs in hapes. In all my born days, Thady

dear, I nivir laid eyes on sich a load o' vittles."

"By the powers o' dilph! Paddy, ahaygar, an' it _was_ a grand sight

shure enough. Tare an' ayjirs! what ill loock I had not to be in the

work this year! But go on, agra."

"Well, you see, the masther himself stud up at the ind uv one o' the

tables, an' coot up a fine piece o' the beef for us; and right

forenint him at the other ind, sot ould Paddy Byrne, for, though you

know he is a farmer himself, yet the misthress is so fond uv him--he

is sich a mighty dacint man--that she would by all manner o' manes

hav' him there. Then the priest was at the head o' th' other table,

an' said grace for us, an' thin fill to slashin' up another piece o'

the beef for us: and forenint him sot Jim Murray the stchewart; an'

shure enough, Thady, it was oursilves that played away in grand style

at the beef an' the mootton, an' the cabbage, an' all th' other fine

things. An' there was Tom Freen, and all th' other sarvints waitin'

upon us an' handin' us dhrink, jist as if we wor so many grand

gintlemin that wor dinin' wid the masther. Well, you see, whin we wor

about half doon, in walks the misthress hursilf, an' the young

masther, an' the young ladies, an' the ladies from Dublin that's down

on a visit wid the misthress, jist, as she said, to see that we wor

happy and merry ovir our dinner; an' thin, Thady, you see, widout

anybody sayin' a single word, we all stud up like one man, an' iviry

man an' boy wid his full porringer o' porther in his hand dhrank long

life an' success to the misthress and masther an' iviry one o' the

family. I don't know for others, Thady, but for mysilf, I nivir said a

prayer in all my life more from the heart; and a good right I had,

shure, and iviry one that was there, too; for, to say nothin' o' the

dinner, is there the likes uv her in the whole side o' the counthry

for goodness to the poor, whethir they're sick or they're well.

Wouldn't I mysilf, if it worn't but for her, be a lone an' desolate

man this blissed day?"

"It's thrue for you, avick, for she brought Judy through it betther

nor any docther o' thim all."

"Well, to make a long story short, we et, an' we dhrank, an' we laughed,

an' we talked, till we wor tirt, an' as soon as it grew dusk, we wor all

called agin into the hall: an' there, you see, the misthress had got

ovir Tim Connel, the blind piper, an' had sint for all the women that

could come, an' the cook had tay for thim down below in the kitchen; an'

they come up to the hall, an' there was chairs set round it for us all

to sit upon, an' the misthress come out o' the parlour, an' 'Boys,' says

she, 'I hope yez med a good dinnir, an' I've bin thinkin' uv yez, you

see, an' I've got yez plinty o' partnirs, an' it's your own faults if

yez don't spind a pleasint evinin'.' So wid that we set up another shout

for the misthress, an' Tim sthruck up, an' the masther tuk out Nilly

Mooney into the middle of the flure to dance a jig, and it was they that

futted it nately. Thin the masther called out Dinny Moran, an' dhragged

him up to one o' the Dublin young ladies, an' bid Dinny be stout an' ax

her out to dance wid him. So Dinny, you see, though he was ashamed to

make so free wid the lady, still he was afeard not to do as the masther

bid him; so, by my conscience, he bowled up to her manfully, an' hild

out the fist an' axed her out to dance wid him, an' she gev' him her

hand in a crack, an' Dinny whipt her out into the middle o' the hall,

forenint us all, an' pulled up his breeches an' called out to Tim to

blow up 'The Rocks of Cashel' for thim. An' thin _my_ jewil if you wor

but to see thim! Dinny flingin' the ligs about as if they'd fly from off

him, an' the lady now here, now there, jist for all the world as if she

was a sperit, for not a taste o' n'ise did she make on the flure that

ivir was hard; and Dinny callin' out to Tim to play it up fasther an'

fasther, an' Tim almost workin' his elbow through the bag, till at last

the lady was fairly tirt, an' Dinny thin clapt his hands an' up jumpt

Piggy Reilly, an' she attacked him bouldly, an' danced down Dinny an'

thin up got Johnny Regan an' put her down complately. An' sence the

world was a world, I b'leeve there nivir was such dancin' seen."

"The sarra the doubt uv it, avick I'm sartin'; they're all o' thim

sich rael fine dancers. An' only to think o' the lady dancin' wid the

likes o' Dinny!"

"Well, you see, poor ould Paddy Byrne, whin he hears that the womin

wor all to be there, in he goes into the parlor to the misthress, an'

axes her if he might make so bould as to go home and fetch _his_

woman. So the misthress, you see, though you know Katty Byrne's no

great favourite wid hur, was glad to obleege Paddy, an' so Katty Byrne

was there too. An' thin ould Hugh Carr axt hur out to move a minnet

wid him, an' there was Hugh, as stiff as if he dined on one o' the

spits, wid his black wig an' his long brown coat, an' his blue

stockin's, movin' about wid his hat in his hand, an' ladin' Katty

about, an' lukin' so soft upon her; an' Katty, in her stiff mob-cap,

wid the ears pinned down undher her chin, an' hur little black hat on

the top uv her head; an' she at one corner curcheyin' to Hugh, an'

Hugh at another bowin' to her, an' iviry body wundherin' at thim, they

moved it so iligantly."

"Troth, Paddy, avourneen, that was well worth goin' a mile o' ground

to see."

"Well, you see; whin the dancin' was ovir they tuk to the singin', an'

Bill Carey gev' the 'Wounded Hussar,' an' the 'Poor but Honest

So'dger,' in sich style that yi'd have h'ard him up on the top o' Slee

Roo; an' Dinny Moran an' ould Tom Freen gev' us the best songs they

had, an' the priest sung the 'Cruiskeen Laun' for us gaily, an' one o'

the young ladies played an' sung upon a thing widin in the parlor,

like a table, that was purtier nor any pipes to listen to."

"An' didn't Bill giv' yez 'As down by Banna's Banks I sthrayed?' Shure

that's one o' the best songs he has."

"An' that he did, till he med the very sates shake undher us; but a

body can't remimber iviry thing, you know. Well, where was I? Oh, ay!

You see, my dear, the poor little priest was all the night long goin'

backwards an' forwards, iviry minit, bechune the parlor an' the hall;

an' the sperits, you see, was lyin' opin on the sideboord, an' the

dear little man he cudn't, for the life uv him, keep himself from it,

so he kipt helpin' himself to a dhrop now an' a dhrop thin, till at

last he got all as one as tipsy. So thin he comes out into the hall

among us, an' goes about whisperin' to us to go home, an' not to be

keepin' the family out o' their bids. But the misthress she saw what

he was at, an' she stud up, an' she spoke out an' she said, 'Good

people,' sez she, 'nivir mind what the priest says to yez; yez are my

company, an' not his, an' yez are heartily welcum to stay as long as

yez like.' So whin he found he cud get no good uv us at all, he rowled

off wid himself to his bid; an' his head, you see, was so bothered wid

the liquor he'd bin takin', that he nivir once thought o' takin' off

his boots, but tumbled into bed wid thim upon him, Tommy Freen tould

us, whin he wint into the room to luk afther him; and divil be in Tim,

when he h'ard it but he lilts up the 'Priest in his Boots;' and, God

forgive us, we all burst out laughin', for shure who could hilp it, if

it was the bishop himsilf?"

"Troth, it was a shame for yez, anyhow. But Paddy, agrah, did yez come

away at all?"

"Why at last we did, afther another round o' the punch to the glory an'

success o' the family. And now, Thady, comes the most surprisintest part

o' the whole story. I was all alone, you see, for my woman, you know,

cudn't lave the childher to come to the dance; so, as it was a fine

moonshiny night, nothin' 'ud sarve me but I must go out into the

paddock, to luk afther poor Rainbow the plough bullock, that's got a bad

shouldher, and so by that manes, you see, I misst o' the cumpany, an'

had to go home all alone by myself. Well, you see, it was out by the

back gate I come, an' it was thin about twelve in the night, as well as

I cud jidge by the Plough, an' the moon was shinin' as bright as a

silver dish, and there wasn't a sound to be hard, barrin' the screechin'

o' the ould owl down in the ivy-wall; an' I filt it all very pleasant,

for I was sumhow rather hearty, you see, wid the dhrink I'd bin takin';

for you know, Thady Byrne, I'm a sober man."

"That's no lie for you, Paddy, avick. A little, as they say, goes a

great way wid you."

"Well, you see, an I wint whistlin' to mysilf some o' the chunes they

wor singin', and thinkin' uv any thing, shure, but the good people;

whin jist as I come to the cornir o' the plantation, an' got a sight

o' the big bush, I thought, faith, I seen sum things movin' backwards

an' for'ards, an' dancin' like, up in the bush. I was quite sartin it

was the fairies that, you know, resort to it, for I cud see, I

thought, their little red caps an' green jackits quite plain. Well, I

was thinkin', at first, o' goin' back an' gittin' home through the

fields; but, says I to myself, says I, what sh'uld I be afeard uv? I'm

an honest man that does nobody any harm; an' I h'ard mass this

mornin'; an' it's neither Holly eve nor St. John's eve, nor any other

o' their great days, an' they can do me no harm, I'm sartin. So I med

the sign o' the crass, an' an I wint in God's name, till I come right

undher the bush; and what do you think they wor, Thady, afther all?"

"Arrah, how can I till? But you wor a stout man anyhow, Paddy, agrah!"

"Why, thin, what was it but the green laves o' the ould bush, an' the

rid bunches o' the haves that war wavin' and shakin' in the moonlight.

Well on I goes till I come to the cornir o' the Crab road, whin I

happined to cast my eyes ovir tow'st the little moat in the Moatfield,

an' there, by my sowl! (God forgive me for swaerin',) I seen the

fairies in rael airnist."

"You did, thin, did you?"

"Ay, by my faith, did I, an' a mighty purty sight it was to see, too, I

can tell you, Thady. The side o' the moat, you see, that luks into the

field was opin, and out uv it there come the darlintest little calvacade

o' the purtiest little fellows you ivir laid your eyes upon. They wor

all dhrest in green huntin' frocks, wid nice little rid caps on their

heads, an' they wor all mounted on purty little, long-tailed, white

ponies, not so big as young kids, an' they rode two and two so nicely.

Well, you see, they tuk right acrass the field, jist abuv the san'pit,

an' I was wundherin' in myself what they'd do whin they come to the big

ditch, thinkin' they'd nivir git ovir it. But I'll tell you what it is,

Thady. Misther Tom and the brown mare, though they're both o' thim gay

good at either ditch or wall, they're not to be talked uv in the same

day wid thim. They tuk the ditch, you see, big as it is, in full

sthroke; not a man o' thim was shuk in his sate, nor lost his rank; it

was pop, pop, pop, ovir wid thim; and thin, hurra, away wid thim like

shot acrass the High Field, in the direction o' the ould church. Well,

my dear, while I was sthrainin' my eyes lukin' afther thim, I hears a

great rumblin' noise cumin' out o' the moat, an' whin I turned about to

luk at it, what did I see but a great ould family coach-an'-six comin'

out o' the moat, and makin' direct for the gate where I was stannin'.

Well, says I, I'm a lost man now, anyhow. There was no use at all, you

see, in thinkin' to run for it, for they wor dhrivin' at the rate uv a

hunt; so down I got into the gripe o' the ditch, thinkin' to snake off

wid mysilf while they war op'nin' the gate. But, be the laws, the gate

flew opin widout a sowl layin' a finger to it, the very instant minnet

they come up to it, an' they wheeled down the road jist close to the

spot where I was hidin', an' I seen thim as plain as I now see you; an'

a quare sight it was, too, to see; for not a morsel uv head that ivir

was, was there upon one o' the horses, nor on the coachman neither, and

yit, for all that, Thady, the Lord Lef'nint's coach cudn't ha' med a

handier nor a shorter turn nor they med out o' the gate; an' the blind

thief uv a coachman, jist as they wor makin' the wheel, was near takin'

the eye out o' me wid the lash uv his long whip, as he was cuttin' up

the horses to show off his dhrivin'. I've my doubts that the schamer

knew I was there well enough, and that he did it all a purpose. Well, as

it passed by me, I peept in at the quolity widinside, an' not a head, no

not as big as the head uv a pin, was there among the whole kit o' thim,

an' four fine futmin that war stannin' behind the coach war jist like

the rest o' thim."

"Well, to be shure, but it _was_ a quare sight."

"Well, away they wint tattherin' along the road, makin' the fire fly

out o' the stones at no rate. So whin I seen they'd no eyes, I knew it

was onpossible they could ivir see _me_, so up I got out o' the ditch,

and afther thim wid me along the road as fast as ivir I culd lay fut

to ground. But whin I got to the rise o' the hill I seen they wor a

great ways a-head o' me, an' they'd takin to the fields, an' war

makin' off for the ould church too. I thought they might have some

business o' their own there, an' that it might not be safe for

sthrangers to be goin' afther thim; so as I was by this time near my

own house, I wint in and got quietly to bid, widout sayin' anything to

the woman about it; an' long enough it was before I cud git to sleep

for thinkin' o' thim, an' that's the raison, Thady, I was up so late

this mornin'. But wasn't it a sthrange thing, Thady?"

"Faith, an' shure it was, Paddy ahayger, as sthrange a thing as ivir

was. But are you quite sartin an' shure that you seen thim?"

"Am I sartin an' shure I seen thim? Am I sartin an' shure I see the

nose there on your face? What was to ail me not to see thim? Wasn't

the moon shinin' as bright as day? An' didn't they pass widin a yard

o' me? And did ivir any one see me dhrunk, or hear me tell a lie?"

"It's thrue for you, Paddy, no one ivir did, and myself doesn't

rightly know what to say to it?"[600]

_The Young Piper._

There was livin', it's not very long ago, on the bordhers o' the county

Wicklow, a dacint honest couple, whose names wor Mick Flanagan and Judy

Muldoon. These poor people wor blist, as the saying is, wid four

childher, all buys: three o' them wor as fine, stout, healthy,

goodlukin' childher as ivir the sun shone upon; an' it was enough to

make any Irishman proud of the breed of his counthrymen to see thim

about one o'clock on a find summer's day stannin' at their father's

cabin-door, wid their beautiful, fine flaxen hair hangin' in curls about

their heads, an' their cheeks like two rosy apples, an' a big, laughin'

potato smokin' in their hand. A proud man, was Mick, o' these fine

childher, an' a proud woman, too, was Judy; an' raison enough they had

to be so. But it was far otherwise wid the remainin' one, which was the

ouldest; he was the most miserable, ugly, ill-conditioned brat that ivir

God put life into: he was so ill thriven, that he was nivir able to

stand alone or to lave his cradle; he had long, shaggy, matted, curly

hair, as black as the sut; his face was uv a greenish yollow colour; his

eyes wor like two burnin' coals, an' wor for ever movin' in his head, as

if they had the parpaitual motion. Before he was a twel'month ould he

had a mouth full o' great teeth; his hands wor like kite's claws, and

his legs wor no thicker nor the handle of a whip, and about as straight

as a rapin' hook; to make the matther worse, he had the gut uv a

cormorant, and the whinge, and the yelp, and the screech, and the yowl,

was never out of his mouth.

The neighbours all suspicted that he was somethin' not right, more

especialy as it was obsarved, that whin people, as they use to do in

the counthry, got about the fire, and begun to talk o' religion and

good things, the brat, as he lay in the cradle which his mother

ginerally put near the fireplace that he might be snug, used to sit

up, as they wor in the middle of their talk, and begin to bellow as if

the divil was in him in right airnest: this, as I said, led the

neighbours to think that all wasn't right wid him, an' there was a

gineral consultashion held one day, about what id be best to do wid

him. Some advised to put him out an the shovel, but Judy's pride was

up at that. A purty thing, indeed, that a child of her's shud be put

an a shovel, an' flung out on the dunghill jist like a dead kitten or

a pisoned rat; no, no, she wouldn't hear to that at all. One ould

woman, who was considhered mighty skilful an' knowin' intirely in

fairy matthers sthrongly recomminded to put the tongs in the fire, an'

to hate thim rid hot, an' thin to take his nose in thim, an' that that

id, beyant all manner o' doubt, make him tell what he was, an' whare

he come from (for the gineral suspishion was, that he was changed by

the good people); but Judy was too saft-harted, an' too fond o' the

imp, so she wouldn't giv' into this plan neither, though iverybody

said she was wrong; and may be so she was, but it's a hard thing, you

know, to blame a mother. Well some advised one thing and some another,

at last one spoke of sindin fur the priest, who was a very holy an' a

very larned man, to see it; to this Judy uv ecorse had no objection,

but one thing or another always purvinted her doing so, an' the upshot

o' the business was that the priest niver seen him at all. Well,

things wint on in the ould way for some time longer. The brat

continued yelpin' an' yowlin', an' aitin' more nor his three brothers

put together, an' playin' all sorts uv unlucky thricks, for he was

mighty mischievyously inclined, till it happened one day that Tim

Carrol, the blind piper, goin' his rounds, called in and sot down by

the fire to hav' a bit o' chat wid the woman o' the house. So afther

some time, Tim, who was no churl uv his music, yoked an the pipes an'

begun to bellows away in high style; whin the instant minnit he begun,

the young fellow, who was lyin' as still as a mouse in his cradle, sot

up, an' begun to grin an' to twist his ugly phiz, an' to swing about

his long tawny arms, an' to kick out his crucked ligs, an' to show

signs o' grate glee at the music. At last nothin' id sarve him but he

must git the pipes into his own hands, an', to humour him, his mother

axt Tim to lind thim to the child for a minnit. Tim, who was kind to

childher, readily consinted; and, as Tim hadn't his sight, Judy

herself brought thim to the cradle, an' wint to put thim an him, but

she had no need, for the youth seemed quite up to the business. He

buckled an the pipes, set the bellows undher one arm and the bag

undher th' other, an' worked thim both as knowingly as iv he was

twinty years at the thrade, an' lilted up "Sheela na Guira," in the

finest style that iver was hard.