{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_24614/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_24614","id":"gutenberg_24614","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24614","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Archaeology & Anthropology","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Fairy tales","Folklore"],"text":"Produced by R. Cedron, Marcia Brooks, Henry Craig and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCIENCE\n\nOF\n\nFAIRY TALES\n\nAN INQUIRY INTO FAIRY MYTHOLOGY.\n\n\nBY\nEDWIN SIDNEY HARTLAND,\nFELLOW OF THE SOCIETY OF ANTIQUARIES.\n\n\nLONDON:\nWALTER SCOTT,\n24, WARWICK LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW.\n1891.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe chief object of this volume is to exhibit, in a manner acceptable to\nreaders who are not specialists, the application of the principles and\nmethods which guide investigations into popular traditions to a few of\nthe most remarkable stories embodying the Fairy superstitions of the\nCeltic and Teutonic peoples. Some of the subjects discussed have already\nbeen dealt with by more competent inquirers. But even in these cases I\nhave sometimes been able to supply additional illustrations of the\nconclusions previously arrived at, and occasionally, I hope, to carry\nthe argument a step or two further than had been done before. I have\nthus tried to render the following pages not wholly valueless to\nstudents.\n\nA portion of the book incorporates the substance of some articles which\nI contributed to \"The Archaeological Review\" and \"Folk-Lore.\" But these\nhave been to a considerable extent re-written; and it is hoped that in\nthe process wider and more accurate generalizations have been attained.\n\nMy hearty thanks are due to the various friends whose generous\nassistance has been recorded in the footnotes, and especially to\nProfessor Dr. George Stephens, the veteran antiquary of the North, and\nMr. W. G. Fretton, who have not measured their pains on behalf of one\nwhose only claim on them was a common desire to pry into the recesses of\nthe past. I am under still deeper obligations to Mr. G. L. Gomme,\nF.S.A., who has so readily acceded to my request that he would read the\nproof-sheets, and whose suggestions have repeatedly been of the greatest\nvalue; and to Mr. Havelock Ellis for the counsel and suggestions which\nhis experience has more than once enabled him to give as the book was\npassing through the press.\n\nI have been anxious to enable the reader who cares to do so to verify\nevery statement made; but some of them no doubt have escaped reference.\nMany books are cited again and again, and in similar cases the reader's\ntime is frequently wasted in searching for the first mention of a book,\nso as to ascertain its title and other particulars. To avoid the trouble\nI have so many times experienced in this way, I have put together in an\nAppendix a list of the principal authorities made use of, indicating\nthem by the short title by which they are cited in the footnotes, and\ngiving sufficient bibliographical details to enable them to be\nidentified. Classics and works which are in every one's hands I have not\nthought it necessary to include in the list.\n\nE. S. H.\n\nBARNWOOD COURT, GLOUCESTER,\n\n_24th October, 1890._\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note: Any transcriber's notes are abbreviated in the\ntext as TN: The caret (^) is used to indicate superscript.]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                                 Page\n   CHAPTER I.\n   THE ART OF STORY-TELLING                                         1\n\n   CHAPTER II.\n   SAVAGE IDEAS                                                    22\n\n   CHAPTER III.\n   FAIRY BIRTHS AND HUMAN MIDWIVES                                 37\n\n   CHAPTER IV.\n   FAIRY BIRTHS AND HUMAN MIDWIVES (_continued_)                   59\n\n   CHAPTER V.\n   CHANGELINGS                                                     93\n\n   CHAPTER VI.\n   ROBBERIES FROM FAIRYLAND                                       135\n\n   CHAPTER VII.\n   THE SUPERNATURAL LAPSE OF TIME IN FAIRYLAND                    161\n\n   CHAPTER VIII.\n   THE SUPERNATURAL LAPSE OF TIME IN FAIRYLAND (_continued_)      196\n\n   CHAPTER IX.\n   THE SUPERNATURAL LAPSE OF TIME IN FAIRYLAND (_continued_)      222\n\n   CHAPTER X.\n   SWAN-MAIDENS                                                   255\n\n   CHAPTER XI.\n   SWAN-MAIDENS (_continued_)                                     283\n\n   CHAPTER XII.\n   CONCLUSION                                                     333\n\n   APPENDIX                                                       353\n\n   INDEX                                                          367\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCIENCE OF FAIRY TALES.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE ART OF STORY-TELLING.\n\n     The art of story-telling--Unity of human imagination--Definition\n     of Fairy Tales--Variable value of Tradition--Story-telling and\n     the story-teller among various peoples--The connection of\n     folk-tales with folk-songs--Continuity of Tradition--Need of\n     accuracy and good faith in reporting stories.\n\n\nThe art of story-telling has been cultivated in all ages and among all\nnations of which we have any record; it is the outcome of an instinct\nimplanted universally in the human mind. By means of a story the savage\nphilosopher accounts for his own existence and that of all the phenomena\nwhich surround him. With a story the mothers of the wildest tribes awe\ntheir little ones into silence, or rouse them into delight. And the\nweary hunters beguile the long silence of a desert night with the mirth\nand wonders of a tale. The imagination is not less fruitful in the\nhigher races; and, passing through forms sometimes more, sometimes less,\nserious, the art of story-telling unites with the kindred arts of dance\nand song to form the epic or the drama, or develops under the complex\ninfluences of modern life into the prose romance and the novel. These in\ntheir various ways are its ultimate expression; and the loftiest genius\nhas found no fitter vehicle to convey its lessons of truth and beauty.\n\nBut even in the most refined products of the imagination the same\nsubstances are found which compose the rudest. Something has, of course,\nbeen dropped in the process; and where we can examine the process stage\nby stage, we can discern the point whereat each successive portion has\nbeen purged away. But much has also been gained. To change the figure,\nit is like the continuous development of living things, amorphous at\nfirst, by and by shooting out into monstrous growths, unwieldy and\nhalf-organized, anon settling into compact and beautiful shapes of\nsubtlest power and most divine suggestion. But the last state contains\nnothing more than was either obvious or latent in the first. Man's\nimagination, like every other known power, works by fixed laws, the\nexistence and operation of which it is possible to trace; and it works\nupon the same material,--the external universe, the mental and moral\nconstitution of man and his social relations. Hence, diverse as may seem\nat first sight the results among the cultured Europeans and the debased\nHottentots, the philosophical Hindoos and the Red Indians of the Far\nWest, they present, on a close examination, features absolutely\nidentical. The outlines of a story-plot among savage races are wilder\nand more unconfined; they are often a vast unhidebound corpse, but one\nthat bears no distant resemblance to forms we think more reasonable only\nbecause we find it difficult to let ourselves down to the level of\nsavage ignorance, and to lay aside the data of thought which have been\nwon for us by the painful efforts of civilization. The incidents, making\nall due allowance for these differences and those of climate and\nphysical surroundings, are not merely alike; they are often\nindistinguishable. It cannot, of course, be expected that the characters\nof the actors in these stories will be drawn with skill, or indeed that\nany attention will be paid to them. Character-study is a late\ndevelopment. True: we ought not to overlook the fact that we have to do\nwith barbarous ideals. In a rudimentary state of civilization the\npassions, like the arts, are distinguished not by subtlety and\ncomplexity, but by simplicity and violence of contrast. This may account\nto some extent for what seems to us repulsive, inconsistent or\nimpossible. But we must above all things beware of crediting the\nstory-teller with that degree of conscious art which is only possible in\nan advanced culture and under literary influences. Indeed, the\nresearches which are constantly extending the history of human\ncivilization into a remoter and remoter past, go everywhere to show that\nstory-telling is an inevitable and wholly unconscious growth, probably\narising, as we shall see in the next chapter, out of narratives believed\nto record actual events.\n\nI need not stop now to illustrate this position, which is no new one,\nand the main lines of which I hope will be rendered apparent in the\ncourse of this volume. But it is necessary, perhaps, to point out that,\nalthough these are the premises from which I start, the limitations\nimposed by a work of the size and pretensions of this one will not allow\nme to traverse more than a very small corner of the field here opened to\nview. It is, therefore, not my intention to attempt any formal proof of\nthe foregoing generalizations. Rather I hope that if any reader deem it\nproper to require the complete evidence on which they rest, he will be\nled to further investigations on his own behalf. His feet, I can promise\nhim, will wander along flowery paths, where every winding will bring him\nfresh surprises, and every step discover new sources of enjoyment.\n\nThe stories with which we shall deal in the following pages are vaguely\ncalled Fairy Tales. These we may define to be: Traditionary narratives\nnot in their present form relating to beings held to be divine, nor to\ncosmological or national events, but in which the supernatural plays an\nessential part. It will be seen that literary tales, such as those of\nHans Andersen and Lord Brabourne, based though they often are upon\ntradition, are excluded from Fairy Tales as thus defined. Much no doubt\nmight be said both interesting and instructive concerning these\nbrilliant works. But it would be literary criticism, a thing widely\ndifferent from the scientific treatment of Fairy Tales. The Science of\nFairy Tales is concerned with tradition, and not with literature. It\nfinds its subjects in the stories which have descended from mouth to\nmouth from an unknown past; and if reference be occasionally made to\nworks of conscious literary art, the value of such works is not in the\nart they display, but the evidence they yield of the existence of given\ntales in certain forms at periods and places approximately capable of\ndetermination: evidence, in a word, which appropriates and fixes a\npre-existing tradition. But even in this they are inferior in importance\nto historical or topographical works, where we frequently meet with\nrecords of the utmost importance in considering the origin and meaning\nof Folk-tales.\n\nLiterature, in short, of whatever kind, is of no value to the student of\nFairy Tales, as that phrase is here used, save as a witness to\nTradition. Tradition itself, however, is variable in value, if regard be\nhad alone to purity and originality. For a tribe may conceivably be so\nisolated that it is improbable that any outside influence can have\naffected its traditions for a long series of generations; or on the\nother hand it may be in the highway of nations. It may be physically of\na type unique and unalloyed by foreign blood; or it may be the progeny\nof a mingling of all the races on the earth. Now it is obvious that if\nwe desire to reason concerning the wide distribution, or the innate and\nnecessary character of any idea, or of any story, the testimony of a\ngiven tribe or class of men will vary in proportion to its segregation\nfrom other tribes and classes: where we can with most probability\nexclude outside influence as a factor in its mental evolution, there we\nshall gather evidence of the greatest value for the purpose of our\nargument.\n\nAgain: some nations have developed the art of story-telling more highly\nthan others, since some stages of civilization are more favourable to\nthis development than others, and all nations are not in the same stage.\nThe further question may, therefore, be put whether these various stages\nof development may not produce differences of manner in\nstory-telling--differences which may indicate, if they do not cause,\ndeep-seated differences in the value of the traditions themselves. To\nmake my meaning clear: a people which requires its story-tellers to\nrelate their stories in the very words in which they have been conveyed\nfrom time immemorial, and allows no deviation, will preserve its\ntraditions with the least possible blemish and the least possible\nchange. In proportion as latitude in repetition is permitted and\ninvention is allowed to atone for want of memory, tradition will change\nand become uncertain. Such latitude may be differently encouraged by\ndifferent social states. A social state is part of, and inseparable\nfrom, the sum total of arts, knowledge, organization and customs which\nwe call the _civilization_, or the _stage of civilization_, of a people.\nIt may be worth while to spend a short time in examining the mode of\nstory-telling and the requirements of a story-teller among nations in\ndifferent stages of civilization. We shall thus endeavour to appreciate\nthe differences in the manner of telling, and to ascertain in general\nterms how far these differences affect the value of the traditions.\n\nIf we turn first to some of the Celtic nations, we find a social state\nin which the art of story-telling has received a high degree of\nattention. The late Mr. J. F. Campbell, to whom the science of Folklore\nowes an incalculable debt, describes a condition of things in the\nWestern Highlands extremely favourable to the cultivation of\nfolk-tales. Quoting from one of his most assiduous collectors, he says\nthat most of the inhabitants of Barra and South Uist are Roman\nCatholics, unable to speak English or to read or write. Hence it is\nimprobable that they can have borrowed much from the literature of other\nnations. Among these people in the long winter nights the recitation of\ntales is very common. They gather in crowds at the houses of those who\nare reputed to be good tale-tellers. Their stories frequently relate to\nthe exploits of the Ossianic heroes, of whose existence they are as much\nconvinced as ordinary English folk are of the existence and deeds of the\nBritish army in its most recent wars. During the tales \"the emotions of\nthe reciters are occasionally very strongly excited, and so also are\nthose of the listeners, almost shedding tears at one time, and giving\nway to loud laughter at another. A good many of them firmly believe in\nall the extravagance of these stories.\" Another of his collectors, a\nself-educated workman in the employ of the Duke of Argyll, writing more\nthan thirty years ago to him, speaks of what used to take place about\nLoch Lomond upwards of fifty years before--that is to say, about the\nbeginning of the present century. The old people then would pass the\nwinter evenings telling each other traditional stories. These chiefly\nconcerned freebooters, and tribal raids and quarrels, and included\ndescriptions of the manners, dress and weapons of their ancestors and\nthe hardships they had to endure. The youngsters also would gather, and\namuse themselves with games or the telling of tales of a more romantic\ncast. But the chief story-tellers appear to have been the tailors and\nshoemakers, who were literally journeymen, going from house to house in\nsearch of work. As they travelled about, they picked up great numbers of\ntales, which they repeated; \"and as the country people made the telling\nof these tales, and listening to hear them, their winter night's\namusement, scarcely any part of them would be lost.\" In these tales\nGaelic words were often used which had dropped out of ordinary\nparlance, giving proof of careful adherence to the ancient forms; and\nthe writer records that the previous year he had heard a story told\nidentical with one he had heard forty years before from a different man\nthirty miles away; and this story contained old Gaelic words the meaning\nof which the teller did not know. A gamekeeper from Ross-shire also\ntestified to similar customs at his native place: the assemblies of the\nyoung to hear their elders repeat, on winter nights, the tales they had\nlearned from their fathers before them, and the renown of the travelling\ntailor and shoemaker. When a stranger came to the village it was the\nsignal for a general gathering at the house where he stayed, to listen\nto his tales. The goodman of the house usually began with some favourite\ntale, and the stranger was expected to do the rest. It was a common\nsaying: \"The first tale by the goodman, and tales to daylight by the\nguest.\" The minister, however, came to the village in 1830, and the\nschoolmaster soon followed, with the inevitable result of putting an end\nto these delightful times.[1]\n\nNot very different is the account given by M. Luzel of the _Veillees_ in\nwhich he has often taken part in Brittany. In the lonely farmhouse after\nthe evening meal prayers are said, and the life in Breton of the saint\nof the day read, all the family assemble with the servants and labourers\naround the old-fashioned hearth, where the fire of oaken logs spirts and\nblazes, defying the wind and the rain or snow without. The talk is of\nthe oxen and the horses and the work of the season. The women are at\ntheir wheels; and while they spin they sing love ditties, or ballads of\nmore tragic or martial tone. The children running about grow tired of\ntheir games, and of the tedious conversation of their elders, and demand\na tale, it matters not what, of giants, or goblins, or witches--nay,\neven of ghosts. They are soon gratified; and if an old man, as\nfrequently happens, be the narrator, he is fortified and rewarded for\nthe toil by a mug of cider constantly replenished. One such depositary\nof tradition is described as a blind beggar, a veritable Homer in wooden\nshoon, with an inexhaustible memory of songs and tales of every kind. He\nwas welcome everywhere, in the well-to-do farmhouse as in the humble\ncottage. He stayed as long as he pleased, sometimes for whole weeks; and\nit was with reluctance that he was allowed to leave in order to become\nfor a time the charm of another fireside, where he was always awaited\nwith impatience.[2]\n\nM. Braga, the Portuguese scholar, quotes an old French writer, Jean le\nChapelain, as recording a custom in Normandy similar to that of\nRoss-shire, that the guest was always expected to repay hospitality by\ntelling tales or singing songs to his host. And he states that the\nemigrants from Portugal to Brazil took this custom with them. In Gascony\nM. Arnaudin formed his collection of tales a few years ago by assisting\nat gatherings like those just described in Brittany, as well as at\nmarriages and at various agricultural festivals.[3]\n\nSimilar customs existed in Wales within living memory, and in remote\ndistricts they probably exist to-day. If they do not now continue in\nEngland, it is at least certain that our forefathers did not differ in\nthis respect from their neighbours. A writer of the seventeenth century,\nin enumerating the causes of upholding \"the damnable doctrine of\nwitchcraft,\" mentions: \"Old wives' fables, who sit talking and chatting\nof many false old stories of Witches and Fairies and Robin Goodfellow,\nand walking spirits and the dead walking again; all of which lying\nfancies people are more naturally inclined to listen after than to the\nScriptures.\" And if we go further back we find in chapter clv. of the\nprinted editions of the \"Gesta Romanorum\" an interesting picture of\ndomestic life. The whole family is portrayed gathering round the fire in\nthe winter evenings and beguiling the time by telling stories. Such we\nare informed was the custom among the higher classes. It was, indeed,\nthe custom among all classes, not only in England but on the Continent,\nthroughout the Middle Ages. The eminent French antiquary, Paul Lacroix,\nspeaks of wakes, or evening parties, where fairy tales and other\nsuperstitions were propagated, as having a very ancient origin. He\nstates that they are still (as we have already seen in Brittany and\nGascony) the custom in most of the French provinces, and that they\nformed important events in the private lives of the peasants.[4]\n\nIt is difficult to sever the occasion and mode of the tale-telling from\nthe character of the teller; nor would it be wise to do so. And in this\nconnection it is interesting to pause for a moment on Dr. Pitre's\ndescription of Agatuzza Messia, the old woman from whom he derived so\nlarge a number of the stories in his magnificent collection, and whom he\nregarded as a model story-teller. I am tempted to quote his account at\nlength. \"Anything but beautiful,\" he says, \"she has facile speech,\nefficacious phrases, an attractive manner of telling, whence you divine\nher extraordinary memory and the sallies of her natural wit. Messia\nalready reckons her seventy years, and is a mother, grandmother, and\ngreat grandmother. As a child, she was told by her grandmother an\ninfinity of tales which she had learned from her mother, and _she_ in\nturn from her grandfather; she had a good memory and never forgot them.\nThere are women who have heard hundreds of tales and remember none; and\nthere are others who, though they remember them, have not the grace of\nnarration. Among her companions of the Borgo, a quarter of Palermo,\nMessia enjoyed the reputation of a fine story-teller; and the more one\nheard her, the more one desired to hear. Almost half a century ago she\nwas obliged to go with her husband to Messina, and lived there some\ntime: a circumstance, this, worthy of note, since our countrywomen never\ngo away from their own district save from the gravest necessity.\nReturning to her native home, she spoke of things of which the gossips\nof the neighbourhood could not speak: she spoke of the Citadel, a\nfortress which no one could take, not even the Turks themselves; she\nspoke of the Pharos of Messina, which was beautiful, but dangerous for\nsailors; she spoke of Reggio in Calabria, which, facing the walls of\nMessina, seemed to wish to touch hands with them; and she remembered and\nmimicked the pronunciation of the Milazzesi, who spoke, Messia said, so\ncuriously as to make one laugh. All these reminiscences have remained\nmost vivid in her memory. She cannot read, but she knows so many things\nthat no one else knows, and repeats them with a propriety of tongue that\nis a pleasure to hear. This is a characteristic to which I call my\nreaders' attention. If the tale turns upon a vessel which has to make a\nvoyage, she utters, without remarking it, or without seeming to do so,\nsailors' phrases, and words which only seamen and those who have to do\nwith seamen are acquainted with. If the heroine arrives, poor and\ndesolate, at a baker's and takes a place there, Messia's language is so\ncompletely that of the trade that you would believe that the baking of\nbread had been her business, whereas at Palermo this occupation, an\nordinary one in the families of the large and small communes of the\nisland, is that of professional bakers alone.... As a young woman Messia\nwas a tailoress; when through toil her sight became weakened, she turned\nto sewing winter quilts. But in the midst of this work, whereby she\nearns her living, she finds time for the fulfilment of her religious\nduties; every day, winter and summer, in rain or snow, in the gloaming\nshe goes to her prayers. Whatever feast is celebrated in the church, she\nis solicitous to attend: Monday, she is at the Ponte dell' Ammiraglio\npraying for the Souls of the Beheaded; Wednesday, you find her at San\nGiuseppe keeping the festival of the Madonna della Providenza; every\nFriday she goes to San Francesco di Paola, reciting by the way her\naccustomed beads; and if one Saturday pass when she ought to go to the\nMadonna dei Cappuccini, another does not; and there she prays with a\ndevotion which none can understand who has not experienced it. Messia\nwitnessed my birth and held me in her arms: hence I have been able to\ncollect from her mouth the many and beautiful traditions to which her\nname is appended. She has repeated to the grown man the tales she had\ntold to the child thirty years before; nor has her narration lost a\nshade of the old sincerity, vivacity, and grace. The reader will only\nfind the cold and naked words; but Messia's narration consists, more\nthan in words, in the restless movement of the eyes, in the waving of\nthe arms, in the gestures of the whole person, which rises, walks around\nthe room, bends, and is again uplifted, making her voice now soft, now\nexcited, now fearful, now sweet, now hoarse, as it portrays the voices\nof the various personages, and the action which these are\nperforming.\"[5]\n\nSuch a woman as is here described is a born story-teller; and her art,\nas exhibited in the tales attributed to her in Dr. Pitre's collection,\nreaches perhaps the highest point possible in tradition. Women are\nusually the best narrators of nursery tales. Most of the modern\ncollections, from that of the brothers Grimm downwards, owe their\nchoicest treasures to women. In the Panjab, however, Captain Temple\nascribes to children marvellous power of telling tales, which he states\nthey are not slow to exercise after sunset, when the scanty evening meal\nis done and they huddle together in their little beds beneath the\ntwinkling stars, while the hot air cools, the mosquito sings, and the\nvillage dogs bark at imaginary foes. The Rev. Hinton Knowles' collection\nwas gathered in Cashmere apparently from men and boys only; but all\nclasses contributed, from the governor and the pandit down to the barber\nand the day-labourer, the only qualification being that they should be\nentirely free from European influence.[6]\n\nBut nursery tales told simply for amusement are far from being the only\nkind of traditional narrative. Savage and barbarous races, to whom the\nart of writing is unknown, are dependent upon memory for such records as\nthey have of their past; and sometimes a professional class arises to\npreserve and repeat the stories believed to embody these records. Among\nthe Maories and their Polynesian kinsmen the priests are the great\ndepositaries of tradition. It is principally from them that Mr. White\nand the Rev. W. W. Gill have obtained their collections. But the orators\nand chiefs are also fully conversant with the narratives; and their\nspeeches are filled with allusions to them, and with quotations from\nancient poems relating the deeds of their forefathers. The difficulty of\nfollowing such allusions, and consequently of understanding the meaning\nof the chiefs when addressing him on behalf of their fellow-countrymen,\nfirst induced, or compelled, Sir George Grey, when Governor of New\nZealand, to make the inquiries whose results are embodied in his work on\nPolynesian Mythology. The Eskimo of Greenland, at the other end of the\nworld, divide their tales into two classes: the ancient and the modern.\nThe former may be considered, Dr. Rink says, as more or less the\nproperty of the whole nation, while the latter are limited to certain\nparts of the country, or even to certain people who claim to be akin to\none another. The art of telling these tales is \"practised by certain\npersons specially gifted in this respect; and among a hundred people\nthere may generally be found one or two particularly favoured with the\nart of the _raconteur_, besides several tolerable narrators.\" It is the\nnarrators of the ancient tales \"who compose the more recent stories by\npicking up the occurrences and adventures of their latest ancestors,\nhanded down occasionally by some old members of the family, and\nconnecting and embellishing them by a large addition of the\nsupernatural, for which purpose resort is always had to the same\ntraditional and mystic elements of the ancient folklore.\"[7]\n\nBut the art of story-telling has not everywhere given rise to a\nprofessional class. When the Malagasy receive friends at their houses,\nthey themselves recount the deeds of their ancestors, which are handed\ndown from father to son, and form the principal topic of conversation.\nSo, too, the savage Ahts of Vancouver Island sit round their fires\nsinging and chatting; \"and the older men, we are told, lying and\nbragging after the manner of story-tellers, recount their feats in war,\nor the chase, to a listening group.\" Mr. Im Thurn has drawn an\ninteresting picture of the habits at night of the Indian tribes of\nGuiana. The men, if at home, spend the greater part of the day in their\nhammocks, smoking, \"and leisurely fashioning arrowheads, or some such\narticles of use or of ornament.... When the day has at last come to an\nend, and the women have gathered together enough wood for the fires\nduring the night, they, too, throw themselves into their hammocks; and\nall talk together. Till far into the night the men tell endless stories,\nsometimes droning them out in a sort of monotonous chant, sometimes\ndelivering them with a startling amount of emphasis and gesticulation.\nThe boys and younger men add to the noise by marching round the houses,\nblowing horns and playing on flutes. There is but little rest to be\nobtained in an Indian settlement by night. These people sleep, as dogs\ndo, without difficulty, for brief periods, but frequently and\nindifferently by day or night as may be convenient. The men, having\nslept at intervals during the day, do not need night-rest; the women are\nnot considered in the matter. At last, in the very middle of their\nstories, the party drops off to sleep; and all is quiet for a short\nwhile. Presently some woman gets up to renew the fires, or to see to\nsome other domestic work. Roused by the noise which she makes, all the\ndogs of the settlement break into a chorus of barks and yelps. This\nwakes the children, who begin to scream. The men turn in their hammocks,\nand immediately resume their stories, apparently from the point at which\nthey left off, and as if they had never ceased. This time it is but a\nshort interruption to the silence of the night; and before long\neverything again becomes quiet, till some new outbreak is caused, much\nas was the last. In the very middle of the night there are perhaps some\nhours of quiet. But about an hour before dawn, some of the men having to\ngo out to hunt, effectually wake everybody about them by playing flutes,\nor beating drums, as they go to bathe before leaving the settlement.\"[8]\n\nBut the folk-tale cannot be separated in this inquiry from the folk-song\nwith which, in its origin and development, it is so closely connected.\nIn India there are, or were until recent years, everywhere professional\nbards; and the stories told in Indian villages are frequently the\nsubstance of the chants of these bards. More than this, the line between\nsinging and narration is so faintly drawn, that the bards themselves\noften interpose great patches of prose between the metrical portions of\ntheir recitations. Fairs, festivals, and marriages all over India are\nattended by the bards, who are always ready to perform for pay and\ndrink. Mr. Leland believes the stories he obtained from the Christian\nAlgonkins of New England, concerning the ancient heroes of the race and\nother mythical personages, to have once been delivered as poems from\ngeneration to generation and always chanted. The deeds of Maori warriors\nare handed down in song; just as we find in Beowulf, the story of\nHrothgar's ancestors was sung before his own companions-in-arms by his\ngleemen to the accompaniment of some instrument after the mead cup had\ngone round. The Roman historian attests the prevalence among the German\ntribes of ancient songs, which he expressly mentions as their only kind\nof memory or record,--thus showing that all their tales, whether\nmythologic or heroic, were for better preservation cast into metrical\nform. Some of these, enshrining the deeds of their heroes, were chanted\non going into battle, in order to arouse the warriors' courage. And as\nfar back as the light of history, or of literature, penetrates, not only\nthe Teutonic, but also the Celtic nations loved to have their actions\ncelebrated thus. To a Welsh king his household bard was as necessary as\nhis domestic chaplain, or his court physician, and in the ancient laws\nhis duties, his precedence, his perquisites, and even the songs he was\nexpected to sing, are minutely prescribed. The bards were organized into\na regular order, or college, with an official chief. They were not\nmerely singers or poets, but also tale-tellers; and from the Mabinogion\nwe gather that listening to songs and tales was one of the habitual, if\nnot daily pastimes, of a court.[9]\n\nIt is needless to follow through the Middle Ages the history of the\ntroubadour, the minstrel and the jongleur, who played so large part in\nthe social life of those times. Many of them were retainers of noblemen\nand kings; but others roamed about from place to place, singing their\nlays and reciting their stories (for they dealt in prose as well as\nverse), very much in the manner of the Indian bards just mentioned.\nTheir stock-in-trade must have been partly traditional and partly of\ntheir own composition. In this respect they were probably less\nhide-bound than their Indian brethren are. For the latter, whether\nretainers of the native grandees, as many of them are, or members of the\nhumbler class of wandering minstrels, are expected to repeat their lays\nas they have received them. But, although in the main these professional\ngentlemen adhere to the traditional words which they know by heart, the\ntemptation must be very strong to foist at suitable pauses into their\ntales impromptu passages--best described in stage language as\n\"gag\"--which they think will be acceptable to their audience. And\nwhether or not this be actually the case with the Indian bards, we are\nexpressly told that it is so with the Arab story-teller, and that it\naccounts for much of the ribaldry and filth which have become embedded\nin the immortal \"Nights.\" A viol having only one string accompanies the\npassages in verse with which the stories are interlarded; and a similar\ninstrument seems to be used for the like purpose among the orthodox\nGuslars of Bosnia and Herzegovina.[10] A description given by Sir\nRichard Burton of a story-teller at the bazaar at Tangier may stand,\nexcept as to the external details, for that of an Arab reciter\nthroughout Northern Africa and the Moslem East. \"The market people,\" he\nsays, \"form a ring about the reciter, a stalwart man, affecting little\nraiment besides a broad waist-belt into which his lower chiffons are\ntucked, and noticeable only for his shock hair, wild eyes, broad grin,\nand generally disreputable aspect. He usually handles a short stick;\nand, when drummer and piper are absent, he carries a tiny tomtom shaped\nlike an hour-glass, upon which he taps the periods. This Scealuidhe, as\nthe Irish call him, opens the drama with an extempore prayer, proving\nthat he and the audience are good Moslems; he speaks slowly and with\nemphasis, varying the diction with breaks of animation, abundant action\nand the most comical grimace: he advances, retires, and wheels about,\nillustrating every point with pantomime; and his features, voice and\ngestures are so expressive that even Europeans who cannot understand a\nword of Arabic, divine the meaning of his tale. The audience stands\nbreathless and motionless, surprising strangers by the ingenuousness and\nfreshness of feeling hidden under their hard and savage exterior. The\nperformance usually ends with the embryo actor going round for alms, and\nflourishing in the air every silver bit, the usual honorarium being a\nfew _f'lus_, that marvellous money of Barbary, big coppers worth\none-twelfth of a penny.\" Another writer, who has published modern Arab\nfolk-tales, obtained eleven out of twelve from his cook, a man who could\nneither read nor write, but possessed an excellent memory. His stories\nwere derived from his mother and aunts, and from old women who\nfrequented his early home. The remaining tale was dictated by a sheikh\nwith some, though small, pretensions to education, and this tale, though\nat bottom a genuine folk-tale, presented traces of literary\nmanipulation.[11]\n\nThe literary touches here spoken of were probably not impromptu. But it\nmust be admitted that the tendency to insert local colouring and \"gag\"\nis almost irresistible amongst the Arabs. Dr. Steere notices it as a\ncharacteristic of the story-tellers of the Swahili, a people of mixed\nArab and Negro descent at Zanzibar;[12] and it is perhaps inevitable in\na professional reciter whose audience, like himself, is restless and\nvivacious in so high a degree. The only case in which any restraint\nwould be certain to be felt is where a narrative believed to be of\nreligious import is given. Under the influence of religious feeling the\nmost mobile of races become conservative; and traditions of a sacred\ncharacter are the most likely of all to be handed down unchanged from\nfather to son. Directly we get outside the charmed circle of religious\ncustom, precept, and story, the awe which has the most powerful effect\nin preserving tradition intact ceases to work; and we are left to a\nsomewhat less conservative force of habit to retain the old form of\nwords and the time-honoured ceremonies. Still this force is powerful;\nthe dislike of voluntary change forbids amendment even of formularies\nwhich have long ceased to be understood, and have often become\nridiculous because their meaning has been lost. It is by no means an\nuncommon thing for the rustic story-teller to be unable to explain\nexpressions, and indeed whole episodes, in any other way than Uncle\nRemus, when called upon to say who Miss Meadows was: \"She wuz in de\ntale, Miss Meadows en de gals wuz, en de tale I give you like hi't wer'\ngun ter me.\" Dr. Steere, speaking of a collection of Swahili tales by M.\nJablonsky which I think has never been published, tells us that almost\nall of the tales had \"sung parts,\" and of some of these even they who\nsang them could scarcely explain the meaning. Here we may observe the\nconnection with the folk-song; and it is a strong evidence of adherence\nto ancient tradition. Frequently in Dr. Steere's own experience the\nskeleton of the story seemed to be contained in these snatches of song,\nwhich were connected together by an account, apparently extemporized, of\nthe intervening history. In these latter portions, if the hypothesis of\nextemporization were correct, the words of course would be different,\nbut the substance might remain untouched. I suspect, however, that the\nextemporization was nothing like so complete as the learned writer\nimagined, but rather that the tale, as told with song and narrative\nmingled, was in a state of gradual decay or transition from verse to\nprose, and that the prose portions were, to almost as great an extent as\nthe verse, traditional.\n\nBe this as it may, the tenacity with which the illiterate story-teller\ngenerally adheres to the substance and to the very words of his\nnarrative is remarkable--and this in spite of the freedom sometimes\ntaken of dramatic illustration, and the license to introduce occasional\nlocal and personal allusions and \"gag.\" These are easily separable from\nthe genuine tale. What Dr. Rink says of the Eskimo story-telling holds\ngood, more or less, all over the world. \"The art,\" he states, \"requires\nthe ancient tales to be related as nearly as possible in the very words\nof the original version, with only a few arbitrary reiterations, and\notherwise only varied according to the individual talents of the\nnarrator, as to the mode of recitation, gesture, &c. The only real\ndiscretionary power allowed by the audience to the narrator is the\ninsertion of a few peculiar passages from other traditions; but even in\nthat case no alteration of these original or elementary materials used\nin the composition of tales is admissible. Generally, even the smallest\ndeviation from the original version will be taken notice of and\ncorrected, if any intelligent person happens to be present. This\ncircumstance,\" he adds, \"accounts for their existence in an unaltered\nshape through ages; for had there been the slightest tendency to\nvariation on the part of the narrator, or relish for it on that of the\naudience, every similarity of these tales, told in such widely-separated\ncountries, would certainly have been lost in the course of centuries.\"\nHere the audience, wedded to the accustomed formularies, is represented\nas controlling any inclination to variation on the reciter's part. How\nfar such an attitude of mind may have been produced by previous\nrepetitions in the same words we need not inquire. Certain it is that\naccuracy would be likely to generate the love of accuracy, and _that_\nagain to react so as to compel adherence to the form of words which the\near had been led to expect. Readers of Grimm will remember the anxiety\nbetrayed by a peasant woman of Niederzwehr, near Cassel, that her very\nwords and expressions should be taken down. They who have studied the\nrecords collectors have made of the methods they have adopted, and the\nassistance they have received from narrators who have understood and\nsympathized with their purpose, will not find anything exceptional in\nthis woman's conduct.[13]\n\nNor must we overlook the effect of dramatic and pantomimic action. At\nfirst sight action, like that of Messia or the Arab reciter, might seem\nto make for freedom in narration. But it may well be questioned if this\nbe so to any great extent. For in a short time certain attitudes, looks,\nand gestures become inseparably wedded, not only in the actor's mind,\nbut also in the minds of the audience who have grown accustomed to them,\nwith the passages and the very words to which they are appropriate. The\neye as well as the ear learns what to expect, with results proportioned\nto the comparative values of those two senses as avenues of knowledge.\nThe history of the stage, the observation of our own nurseries, will\nshow with how much suspicion any innovation on the mode of interpreting\nan old favourite is viewed.\n\nTo sum up: it would appear that national differences in the manner of\nstory-telling are for the most part superficial. Whether told by men to\nmen in the bazaar or the coffee-house of the East, or by old men or\nwomen to children in the sacred recesses of the European home, or by men\nto a mixed assembly during the endless nights of the Arctic Circle, or\nin the huts of the tropical forest, and notwithstanding the license\noften taken by a professional reciter, the endeavour to render to the\naudience just that which the speaker has himself received from his\npredecessors is paramount. The faithful delivery of the tradition is the\nprinciple underlying all variation of manner; and it is not confined to\nany one race or people. It is not denied that changes do take place as\nthe story passes from one to another. This indeed is the inevitable\nresult of the play of the two counteracting forces just described--the\nconservative tendency and the tendency to variation. It is the condition\nof development; it is what makes a science of Folk-tales both necessary\nand possible. Nor can it be denied that some changes are voluntary. But\nthe voluntary changes are rare; and the involuntary changes are only\nsuch as are natural and unavoidable if the story is to continue its\nexistence in the midst of the ever-shifting social organism of humanity.\nThe student must, therefore, know something of the habits, the natural\nand social surroundings, and the modes of the thought of the people\nwhose stories he examines. But this known, it is not difficult to\ndecipher the documents.\n\nThere is, however, one caution--namely, to be assured that the documents\nare gathered direct from the lips of the illiterate story-teller, and\nset down with accuracy and good faith. Every turn of phrase, awkward or\ncoarse though it may seem to cultured ears, must be unrelentingly\nreported; and every grotesquery, each strange word, or incomprehensible\nor silly incident, must be given without flinching. Any attempt to\nsoften down inconsistencies, vulgarities or stupidities, detracts from\nthe value of the text, and may hide or destroy something from which the\nstudent may be able to make a discovery of importance to science.\nHappily the collectors of the present day are fully alive to this need.\nThe pains they take to ensure correctness are great, and their\nexperiences in so doing are often very interesting. Happily, too, the\nstudent soon learns to distinguish the collections whose sincerity is\ncertain from those furbished up by literary art. The latter may have\npurposes of amusement to serve, but beyond that they are of\ncomparatively little use.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Campbell, vol. i. pp. xii. xiv. lvii.\n\n[2] Luzel, \"Veillees,\" _passim_.\n\n[3] Introduction to Romero, p. x.; Arnaudin, p. 5.\n\n[4] Thomas Ady, \"A Candle in the Dark\" (1656) (_Cf._ Aubrey, \"Remaines,\"\np. 67); \"Gesta Romanorum,\" Introd., p. xxv. (E.E.T.S.); Lacroix, p. 100.\n\n[5] Pitre, vol. iv. p. xvii.\n\n[6] \"Wide-awake Stories,\" p. 1; Knowles, p. ix.\n\n[7] White, vol. i. p. vi.; Sir G. Grey, p. vii.; Gill, p. xx.; Rink, pp.\n83, 85.\n\n[8] Ellis, \"History of Madagascar,\" vol. i. p. 264; Sproat, \"Scenes and\nStudies of Savage Life,\" p. 51; Im Thurn, pp. 215, 216.\n\n[9] Temple, \"Legends of the Panjab,\" vol. i. p. v.; Thorburn, p. 172;\nLeland, p. 12; Taylor, p. 306; \"Beowulf,\" lay 16; Tacitus, \"Germania,\"\ncc., 2, 3; \"Ancient Laws and Institutions of Wales\" (Public Record\nCommission, 1841), pp. 15, 35, &c.\n\n[10] Burton, \"Nights,\" vol. x. p. 163; \"Revue des Trad. Pop.\" vol. iv.\np. 6. In Greece and Albania, however, the viol would seem not to be\nused. Women are the chief reciters. Von Hahn, vol. i. p. ix.\n\n[11] Spitta Bey, p. viii.\n\n[12] Steere, pp. v., vii.\n\n[13] Rink, p. 85; Grimm, \"Maerchen,\" p. vii.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nSAVAGE IDEAS.\n\n     Sagas and _Maerchen_--Fairy Tales based upon ideas familiar to\n     savages--The Doctrine of Spirits--The Doctrine of\n     Transformation--Totemism--Death--Witchcraft--The predominance of\n     imagination over reason in savages--Method of the inquiry.\n\n\nFairy Tales, as defined in the previous chapter, fall under two heads.\nUnder the first we may place all those stories which relate to definite\nsupernatural beings, or definite orders of supernatural beings, held\nreally to exist, and the scenes of which are usually laid in some\nspecified locality. Stories belonging to this class do not necessarily,\nhowever, deal with the supernatural. Often they are told of historical\nheroes, or persons believed to have once lived. For instance, the\nlegends of Lady Godiva and Whittington and his Cat, which, however\nimprobable, contain nothing of the supernatural, must be reckoned under\nthis head equally with the story of the Luck of Edenhall, or the Maori\ntale of the Rending asunder of Heaven and Earth. In other words, this\nclass is by no means confined to Fairy Tales, but includes all stories\nwhich are, or at all events have been up to recent years, and in the\nform in which they come to us, looked upon as narratives of actual\noccurrences. They are called _Sagas_. The other class of tales consists\nof such as are told simply for amusement, like Jack and the Beanstalk,\nCinderella, Beauty and the Beast, and Puss in Boots. They may embody\nincidents believed in other countries, or in other stages of\ncivilization, to be true in fact; but in the form in which we have them\nthis belief has long since been dropped. In general, the reins are\nthrown upon the neck of the imagination; and, marvellous though the\nstory be, it cannot fail to find acceptance, because nobody asserts that\nits events ever took place, and nobody desires to bring down its flights\nto the level either of logic or experience. Unlike the saga, it binds\nthe conscience neither of teller nor of listener; its hero or heroine\nhas no historical name or fame, either national or local; and being\nuntrammelled either by history or probability, the one condition the tale\nis expected to fulfil is to end happily. Stories of this class are\ntechnically called _Maerchen_: we have no better English name for them\nthan _Nursery Tales_.\n\nIf we inquire which of these two species of tales is the earlier in the\nhistory of culture, it seems that the priority must be given to sagas.\nThe matter, indeed, is not quite free from doubt, because low down in\nthe scale of civilization, as among the Ainos of Japan, stories are told\nwhich appear to be no more than _maerchen_; and because, on the other\nhand, it is at all times easier, even for experienced collectors, to\nobtain sagas than _maerchen_. But among the lower races, a vastly\npreponderating number of tales recorded by Europeans who have lived with\nthem on the terms of the greatest intimacy is told to account for the\nphenomena of nature, or their own history and organization. From many\nsavage peoples we have no other stories at all; and it is not uncommon\nto find narratives at bottom identical with some of these told as\n_maerchen_ among nations that have reached a higher plane. In these\ncases, at all events, it looks as if the tales, or tales from which they\nhad been derived, had been originally believed as true, and, having\nceased to be thus received, had continued to be repeated, in a shape\nmore or less altered, for mere amusement. If we may venture to affirm\nthis and to generalize from such cases, this is the way in which\n_maerchen_ have arisen.\n\nBut sagas are not only perhaps the most ancient of tales, they are\ncertainly the most persistent. By their attachment to places and to\npersons, a religious sanction is frequently given to them, a local and\nnational pride is commonly felt in preserving them. Thus they are\nremembered when nursery tales are forgotten; they are more easily\ncommunicated to strangers; they find their way into literature and so\nare rendered imperishable.\n\nFairy Tales of both these classes are compounded of incidents which are\nthe common property of many nations, and not a few whereof are known all\nover the habitable globe. In some instances the whole plot, a more or\nless intricate one, is found among races the most diverse in\ncivilization and character. Where the plot is intricate, or contains\nelements of a kind unlikely to have originated independently, we may be\njustified in suspecting diffusion from one centre. Then it is that the\nhistory and circumstances of a nation become important factors in the\ninquiry; and upon the purity of blood and the isolation from\nneighbouring races may depend our decision as to the original or\nderivative character of such a tradition. Sometimes the passage of a\nstory from one country to another can be proved by literary evidence.\nThis is markedly the case with Apologues and Facetious Tales, two\nclasses of traditions which do not come within the purview of the\npresent work. But the story has then passed beyond the traditional\nstage, or else such proof could not be given. In tracing the history of\na folk-tale which has entered into literature, the problem is to\nascertain how far the literary variations we meet with may have been\ninfluenced by pre-existing traditional tales formed upon similar lines.\nIn general, however, it may be safely said of Fairy Tales (with which we\nare more immediately concerned) that the argument in favour of their\npropagation from a single centre lacks support. The incidents of which\nthey are composed are based upon ideas not peculiar to any one people,\nideas familiar to savages everywhere, and only slowly modified and\ntransformed as savagery gives way to barbarism, and barbarism to modern\ncivilization and scientific knowledge of the material phenomena of the\nuniverse. The ideas referred to are expressed by races in the lower\nculture both in belief and in custom. And many of the tales which now\namuse our children appear to have grown out of myths believed in the\nmost matter-of-fact way by our remote forefathers; while others enshrine\nrelics of long-forgotten customs and modes of tribal organization.\n\nThere is one habit of thought familiar to savage tribes that to us,\ntrained through long centuries of progressive knowledge, seems in the\nhighest degree absurd and even incomprehensible. As a matter of\nevery-day practice we cannot, if we would, go back to that infantine\nstate of mind which regards not only our fellow men and women, but all\nobjects animate and inanimate around us, as instinct with a\nconsciousness, a personality akin to our own. This, however, is the\nsavage philosophy of things. To a large proportion of human beings at\nthe present day beasts and birds, trees and plants, the sea, the\nmountains, the wind, the sun, the moon, the clouds and the stars, day\nand night, the heaven and the earth, are alive and possessed of the\npassions and the cunning and the will they feel within themselves. The\nonly difference is that these things are vastly cleverer and more\npowerful than men. Hence they are to be dreaded, to be appeased--if\npossible, to be outwitted--even, sometimes, to be punished. We may\nobserve this childish habit of thought in our nurseries to-day when one\nof our little ones accidentally runs against the table, and forthwith\nturns round to beat the senseless wood as if it had voluntarily and\nmaliciously caused his pain; or when another, looking wistfully out of\nwindow, adjures the rain in the old rhyme:\n\n    \"Rain, rain, go away!\n    Come again another day!\"\n\nPoets, too, and orators in their loftiest moods revert to language and\nmodes of expression which have no meaning apart from this belief in the\nconscious animation of every object in the world. They may move us for\nthe moment by their utterances; but we never take their raptures\nliterally. To the savage, however, it is no figure of speech to call\nupon the sun to behold some great deed, or to declare that the moon\nhides her face; to assert that the ocean smiles, or that the river\nswells with rage, and overwhelms a wayfarer who is crossing it, or an\nunsuspecting village on its banks. These phrases for him fit the facts\nof nature as closely as those which record that the man eats or the boy\nruns. Nay, what would seem incredible to him would be to deny that the\nsun can see or the moon hide her face, the ocean smile or the river\nbecome enraged. Conscious personality and human emotions are visible to\nhim everywhere and in all things.\n\nIt matters not to the savage that human form and speech are absent.\nThese are not necessary, or, if they are, they can be assumed either at\nwill or under certain conditions. For one of the consequences, or at\nleast one of the accompaniments, of this stage of thought is the belief\nin change of form without loss of individual identity. The bear whom the\nsavage meets in the woods is too cunning to appear and do battle with\nhim as a man; but he could if he chose. The stars were once men and\nwomen. Sun and moon, the wind and the waters, perform all the functions\nof living beings: they speak, they eat, they marry and have children.\nRocks and trees are not always as immovable as they appear: sometimes\nthey are to be seen as beasts or men, whose shapes they still, it may\nbe, dimly retain.\n\nIt follows that peoples in this stage of thought cannot have, in theory\nat all events, the repugnance to a sexual union between man and the\nlower animals with which religious training and the growth of\ncivilization have impressed all the higher races. Such peoples admit\nthe possibility of a marriage wherein one party may be human and the\nother an animal of a different species, or even a tree or plant. If they\ndo not regard it as an event which can take place in their own time and\nneighbourhood, it does not seem entirely incredible as an event of the\npast; and sometimes customs are preserved on into a higher degree of\nculture--such as that of wedding, for special purposes, a man to a\ntree--unmistakably bespeaking former, if not present, beliefs. Moreover,\ntribes in the stage of thought here described, hold themselves to be\nactually descended from material objects often the most diverse from\nhuman form. These are not only animals (beasts, birds, fishes, reptiles,\nand even insects) or vegetables, but occasionally the sun, the sea, the\nearth, and other things unendowed with life. Such mythic ancestors are\nworshipped as divine. This superstition is called _Totemism_, and the\nmythic ancestor is known as the _Totem_. As a people passes gradually\ninto a higher stage of culture, greater stress is constantly laid on the\nhuman qualities of the Totem, until it becomes at length an\nanthropomorphic god. To such deity the object previously reverenced as a\nTotem is attached, and a new and modified legend grows up to account for\nthe connection.\n\nThe belief in metamorphosis involves opinions on the subject of death\nwhich are worth a moment's pause. Death is a problem to all men, to the\nsavage as to the most civilized. Least of any can the savage look upon\nit as extinction. He emphatically believes that he has something within\nhim that survives the dissolution of his outward frame. This is his\nspirit, the seat of his consciousness, his real self. As he himself has\na spirit, so every object in the world has a spirit. He peoples the\nuniverse, as he knows it, with spirits akin to his own. It is to their\nspirits that all the varied objects around him, all the phenomena\nobservable by day or by night, owe the consciousness, the personality, I\nhave already tried to describe. These spirits are separable from the\nmaterial form with which they are clad. When the savage sleeps, his\nspirit goes forth upon various adventures. These adventures he remembers\nas dreams; but they are as veritable as his waking deeds; and he awakes\nwhen his spirit returns to him. In his dreams he sees his friends, his\nfoes; he kills imaginary bears and venison. He knows therefore that\nother men's spirits travel while their bodies sleep and undergo\nadventures like his own, and in company often with his spirit. He knows\nthat the spirits of wild animals range abroad and encounter his spirit.\nWhat is death but the spirit going forth to return no more? Rocks and\nrivers perhaps cannot die, or at least their life immeasurably exceeds\nthat of men. But the trees of the forest may, for he can cut them down\nand burn them. Yet, inasmuch as it is the nature of a body to have an\nindwelling spirit, death--the permanent severing of body and\nspirit--cannot occur naturally: it must be due to the machination of\nsome enemy, by violence, by poison, or by sorcery.\n\nThe spirit that has gone forth for ever is not, by quitting its bodily\ntenement, deprived of power offensive and defensive. It is frequently\nimpelled by hostile motives to injure those yet in the flesh; and it\nmust, therefore, be appeased, or deceived, or driven away. This is the\nend and aim of funeral rites: this is the meaning of many periodical\nceremonies in which the whole tribe takes part. For the same reason,\nwhen the hunter slays a powerful animal, he apologizes and lays the\nblame on his arrows or his spear, or on some one else. For the same\nreason the woodman, when he cuts down a tree, asks permission to do so\nand offers sacrifices, and he provides a green sprig to stick into the\nstump as soon as the tree falls, that it may be a new home for the\nspirit thus dislodged. For since the spirit is neither slain, nor\ndeprived of power, by destruction of the body, or by severance from the\nbody, it may find another to dwell in. Spirits of dead men, like other\nspirits, may assume fresh bodies, new forms, and forms not necessarily\nhuman. A favourite form is that of a snake: it was as a snake that the\nspirit of Anchises appeared and accepted the offerings made by his pious\nson. In their new forms the spirits of the dead are sometimes, as in\nthis case, kindly, at other times malicious, but always to be treated\nwith respect, always to be conciliated; for their power is great. They\ncan in their turn cause disease, misfortune, death.\n\nAnother characteristic of the mental condition I am describing must not\nbe omitted. Connection of thought, even though purely fortuitous, is\ntaken to indicate actual connection of the things represented in\nthought. This connection is, of course, often founded on association of\ntime or place, and once formed it is not easily broken. For example, any\nobject once belonging to a man recalls the thought of him. The\nconnection between him and that object is therefore looked upon as still\nexisting, and he may be affected by the conduct shown towards it. This\napplies with special force to such objects as articles of clothing, and\nstill more to footprints and to spittle, hair, nail-parings and\nexcrement. Injury to these with malicious intent will hurt him from whom\nthey are derived. In the same way a personal name is looked upon as\ninseparable from its owner; and savages are frequently careful to guard\nthe knowledge of their true names from others, being content to be\naddressed and spoken of by a nickname, or a substituted epithet. The\nreason of this is that the knowledge of another's name confers power\nover that other: it is as though he, or at least an essential part of\nhim, were in the possession of the person who had obtained the knowledge\nof his name. It is perhaps not an unfair deduction from the same\npremises that endows an image with the properties of its prototype--nay,\nidentifies it with its prototype. This leads on the one hand to\nidol-worship, and on the other hand to the rites of witchcraft wherein\nthe wizard is said to make a figure of a man, call it by his name, and\nthen transfix it with nails or thorns, or burn it, with the object of\ncausing pain and ultimately death to the person represented. Nor is a\nvery different process of thought discernible in the belief that by\neating human or other flesh the spirit (or at any rate some of the\nspiritual qualities) formerly animating it can be transferred to the\neater. So a brave enemy is devoured in the hope of acquiring his\nbravery; and a pregnant woman is denied the flesh of hares and other\nanimals whose qualities it is undesirable her children should have.\n\nTo minds guiltless of inductive reasoning an accidental coincidence is a\nsure proof of cause and effect. Travellers' tales are full of examples\nof misfortunes quite beyond foresight or control, but attributed by the\nsavages among whom the narrators have sojourned to some perfectly\ninnocent act on their part, or merely to their presence, or to some\nstrange article of their equipment. Occasionally the anger of the gods\nis aroused by these things; and missionaries, in particular, have\nsuffered much on this account. But sometimes a more direct causation is\nimagined, though it is probably not always easy to distinguish the two\ncases. Omens also are founded upon accidental coincidences. The most\nlively imagination may fail to trace cause and effect between the\nmeeting of a magpie at setting out and a fruitless errand following, or\nbetween a certain condition of the entrails of an animal sacrificed and\na victory or defeat thereafter. But the imagination is not to be beaten\nthus. If the magpie did not cause failure, at all events it foretold it;\nand the look of the entrails was an omen of the gain or loss of the\nbattle.\n\nAgain, a merely fanciful resemblance is a sufficient association to\nestablish actual connection. Why do the Bushmen kindle great fires in\ntime of drought, if not because of the similarity in appearance between\nsmoke and rain-clouds? Such resemblances, to give a familiar instance,\nhave fastened on certain rocks and stones many legends of transformation\nin conformity with the belief already discussed; and they account for a\nvast variety of symbolism in the rites and ceremonies of nations all\nover the world.\n\nThe topic is well nigh endless; but enough has been said to enable the\nreader to see how widely pervasive in human affairs is the belief in\nreal connection founded on nothing more substantial than association of\nthought, however occasioned. Nothing, indeed, is too absurd for this\nbelief. It is one of the most fruitful causes of superstition; and it\nonly disappears very gradually from the higher civilization as the\nreasoning powers become more and more highly trained. In magic, or\nwitchcraft, we find it developed into a system, with professional\nministers and well-established rules. By these rules its ministers\ndeclare themselves able to perform all the wonders of transformation\nreferred to above, to command spirits, to bring distant persons and\nthings into their immediate presence, to inflict injury and death upon\nwhom they please, to bestow wealth and happiness, and to foretell the\nfuture. The terror they have thus inspired, and the horrors wrought\nunder the influence of that terror, form one of the saddest chapters of\nhistory.[14]\n\nI do not of course pretend that the foregoing is a complete account of\nthe mental processes of savage peoples. Still less have I attempted to\ntrace the history of the various characteristics mentioned, or to show\nthe order of their evolution. To attempt either of these things would\nbe beyond the scope of the present work. I have simply enumerated a few\nof the elements in the psychology of men in a low state of culture which\nit is needful to bear in mind in order to understand the stories we are\nabout to examine. In those stories we shall find many impossibilities,\nmany absurdities and many traces of customs repulsive to our modes of\nthought and foreign to our manners. The explanation is to be obtained,\nnot by speculations based on far-fetched metaphors supposed to have\nexisted in the speech of early races, nor in philological puzzles, but\nby soberly inquiring into the facts of barbarian and savage life and\ninto the psychological phenomena of which the facts are the outcome. The\nevidence of these facts and phenomena is to be found scattered up and\ndown the pages of writers of every age, creed and country. On hardly any\nsubject have men of such different degrees of learning, such various and\nopposite prejudices, left us their testimony--testimony from the nature\nof the subject more than ordinarily liable to be affected by prejudice,\nand by the limitations of each witness's powers of observation and\nopportunities of ascertaining the truth. But after all deductions for\nprejudice, mistake, inaccuracy and every other shortcoming, there is\nleft a strong, an invincible consensus of testimony, honest, independent\nand full of undesigned corroborations, to the development of the mind of\nall races in the lower culture along the lines here indicated. Nay,\nmore; the numerous remains of archaic institutions, as well as of\nbeliefs among the most advanced nations, prove that they too have passed\nthrough the very same stages in which we find the most backward still\nlingering--stages which the less enlightened classes even of our own\ncountrymen at the present day are loth to quit. And the further we\npenetrate in these investigations, the more frequent and striking are\nthe coincidences between the mental phenomena already described which\nare still manifested by savage peoples, and those of which the evidence\nhas not yet disappeared from our own midst.\n\nNor need we be surprised at this, for the root whence all these\nphenomena spring is the predominance of imagination over reason in the\nuncivilized. Man, while his experience is limited to a small tract of\nearth, and his life is divided between a struggle with nature and his\nfellow-man for the permission and the means to live, on the one hand,\nand seasons of idleness, empty perforce of every opportunity and every\ndesire for improving his condition, on the other, cannot acquire the\nmaterials of a real knowledge of his physical environment. His only data\nfor interpreting the world and the objects it contains, so far as he is\nacquainted with them, are his own consciousness and his own emotions.\nUpon these his drafts are unbounded; and if he have any curiosity about\nthe origin and government of things, his hypotheses take the shape of\ntales in which the actors, whatever form they bear, are essentially\nhimself in motive and deed, but magnified and distorted to meet his\nwishes or his fears, or the conditions of the problem as presented to\nhis limited vision. The thought which is the measure of his universe is\nas yet hardly disciplined by anything beyond his passions.\n\nNor does the predominance of the imagination issue only in these tales\nand in songs--the two modes of expression we most readily attribute to\nthe imagination. In practical life it issues in superstitious\nobservances, and in social and political institutions. Social\ninstitutions are sometimes of great complexity, even in the depth of\nsavagery. Together with political institutions they supply the model on\nwhich are framed man's ideas of the relationship to one another and to\nhimself of the supernatural beings whom he creates; and in turn they\nreflect and perpetuate those ideas in ceremonial and other observances.\nThe student of Fairy Tales, therefore, cannot afford to neglect the\nstudy of institutions; for it often throws a light altogether\nunexpected on the origin and meaning of a story. Tradition must, indeed,\nbe studied as a whole. As with other sciences, its division into parts\nis natural and necessary; but it should never be forgotten that none of\nits parts can be rightly understood without reference to the others. By\nTradition I mean the entire circle of thought and practice, custom as\nwell as belief, ceremonies, tales, music, songs, dances and other\namusements, the philosophy and the superstitions and the institutions,\ndelivered by word of mouth and by example from generation to generation\nthrough unremembered ages: in a word, the sum total of the psychological\nphenomena of uncivilized man. Every people has its own body of\nTradition, its own Folklore, which comprises a slowly diminishing part,\nor the whole, of its mental furniture, according as the art of writing\nis, or is not, known. The invention of writing, by enabling records to\nbe made and thoughts and facts to be communicated with certainty from\none to another, first renders possible the accumulation of true\nknowledge and ensures a constantly accelerating advance in civilization.\nBut in every civilized nation there are backward classes to whom reading\nand writing are either quite unknown, or at least unfamiliar; and there\nare certain matters in the lives even of the lettered classes which\nremain more or less under the dominion of Tradition. Culture, in the\nsense of a mode of life guided by reason and utilizing the discoveries\nand inventions that are the gift of science, finds its way but slowly\namong a people, and filters only sluggishly through its habits, its\ninstitutions and its creeds. Surely, however, though gradually it\nadvances, like a rising tide which creeps along the beach, here\nundermining a heap of sand, there surrounding, isolating, and at last\nsubmerging a rock, here swallowing up a pool brilliant with living\ncreatures and many-coloured weed, there mingling with and overwhelming a\nrivulet that leaps down to its embrace, until all the shore is covered\nwith its waters. Meanwhile, he who would understand its course must know\nthe conformation of the coast,--the windings, the crags (their\ncomposition as well as their shape), the hollows, the sands, the\nstreams; for without these its currents and its force are alike\ninexplicable. The analogy must not be pressed too far; but it will help\nus to understand why we find a fragment of a custom in one place, a\nportion of a tale jumbled up with portions of dissimilar tales in\nanother place, a segment of a superstition, and again a worn and broken\nrelic of a once vigorous institution. They are the rocks and the sands\nwhich the flood of civilization is first isolating, then undermining,\nand at last overwhelming, and hiding from our view. They are (to change\nthe figure) survivals of an earlier state of existence, unintelligible\nif regarded singly, made to render up their secret only by comparison\nwith other survivals, and with examples of a like state of existence\nelsewhere. Taken collectively, they enable us to trace the evolution of\ncivilization from a period before history begins, and through more\nrecent times by channels whereof history gives no account.\n\nThese are the premises whence we set out, and the principles which will\nguide us, in the study on which we are about to enter. The name of Fairy\nTales is legion; but they are made up of incidents whose number is\ncomparatively limited. And though it would be impossible to deal\nadequately with more than a small fraction of them in a work like the\npresent, still a selection may be so treated as to convey a reasonably\njust notion of the application of the principles laid down and of the\nresults to be obtained. In making such a selection several interesting\ngroups of stories, unconnected as between themselves, might be chosen\nfor consideration. The disadvantage of this course would be the\nfragmentary nature of the discussions, and consequently of the\nconclusions arrived at. It is not wholly possible to avoid this\ndisadvantage in any mode of treatment; but it is possible to lessen it.\nI propose, therefore, to deal with a few of the most interesting sagas\nrelative to the Fairy Mythology strictly so called. We shall thus\nconfine our view to a well-defined area, in the hope that we may obtain\nsuch an idea of it as in its main lines at all events may be taken to be\nfairly true to the facts, and that we may learn who really were these\nmysterious beings who played so large a part in our fathers'\nsuperstitions. As yet, however, we must not be disappointed if we find\nthat the state of scientific inquiry will not admit of many conclusions,\nand such as we may reach can at present be stated only tentatively and\nwith caution. Science, like Mr. Fox in the nursery tale, writes up over\nall the doors of her palace:\n\n    \"Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.\"\n\nMany a victim has found to his cost what it meant to disregard this\nwarning.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] I have not thought it necessary to illustrate at length the\ncharacteristics of savage thought enumerated above. They are\nexhaustively discussed by Dr. Tylor in \"Primitive Culture,\" Sir John\nLubbock in \"The Origin of Civilization,\" Mr. Andrew Lang in \"Myth Ritual\nand Religion,\" and some of them by Mr. J. G. Frazer in \"Totemism,\" and\nmore recently in \"The Golden Bough,\" published since these pages were\nwritten.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nFAIRY BIRTHS AND HUMAN MIDWIVES.\n\n     Stories of midwives who have been summoned to the birth of\n     fairies--Human visitors to Fairyland must not eat there--The\n     reason--Fairies' gratitude--The conditions of fairy gifts.\n\n\nA tale, the scene of which is laid near Beddgelert, runs, as translated\nby Professor Rhys, in this way:--\"Once on a time, when a midwife from\nNanhwynan had newly got to the Hafodydd Brithion to pursue her calling,\na gentleman came to the door on a fine grey steed and bade her come with\nhim at once. Such was the authority with which he spoke, that the poor\nmidwife durst not refuse to go, however much it was her duty to stay\nwhere she was. So she mounted behind him, and off they went, like the\nflight of a swallow, through Cwmllan, over the Bwlch, down Nant yr Aran,\nand over the Gadair to Cwm Hafod Ruffydd before the poor woman had time\neven to say Oh! When they got there, she saw before her a magnificent\nmansion, splendidly lit up with such lamps as she had never before seen.\nThey entered the court, and a crowd of servants in expensive liveries\ncame to meet them, and she was at once led through the great hall into a\nbed-chamber, the like of which she had never seen. There the mistress of\nthe house, to whom she had been fetched, was awaiting her. She got\nthrough her duties successfully, and stayed there until the lady had\ncompletely recovered, nor had she spent any part of her life so merrily;\nthere was naught but festivity day and night: dancing, singing, and\nendless rejoicing reigned there. But merry as it was, she found she\nmust go, and the nobleman gave her a large purse, with the order not to\nopen it until she had got into her own house; then he bade one of his\nservants escort her the same way she had come. When she reached home she\nopened the purse, and, to her great joy, it was full of money; and she\nlived happily on those earnings to the end of her life.\"[15]\n\nIt is a long leap from Carnarvonshire to Lapland, where this story is\ntold with no great variation. A clergyman's wife in Swedish Lappmark,\nthe cleverest midwife in all Sweden, was summoned one fine summer's\nevening to attend a mysterious being of Troll race and great might,\ncalled Vitra. At this unusual call she took counsel with her husband,\nwho, however, deemed it best for her to go. Her guide led her into a\nsplendid building, the rooms whereof were as clean and elegant as those\nof very illustrious folk; and in a beautiful bed lay a still more\nbeautiful woman, for whom her services were required, and who was no\nother than Vitra herself. Under the midwife's care Vitra speedily gave\nbirth to a fair girl, and in a few minutes had entirely recovered, and\nfetched all sorts of refreshments, which she laid before her\nbenefactress. The latter refused to eat, in spite of Vitra's reassuring\npersuasion, and further refused the money which the Troll-wife pressed\nupon her. Vitra then sent her home, bidding her look on the table when\nnext she entered her cowherd's hut and see what she would find there.\nShe thought no more of the matter until the following spring, when on\nentering the hut she found on the table half a dozen large spoons of\npure silver with her name engraved thereon in neat letters. These spoons\nlong remained an heirloom in the clergyman's family to testify the truth\nof the story. A Swedish book, published in 1775, contains a tale,\nnarrated in the form of a legal declaration solemnly subscribed on the\n12th April 1671 by the fortunate midwife's husband, whose name was Peter\nRahm, and who also seems to have been a clergyman. On the authority of\nthis declaration we are called on to believe that the event recorded\nactually happened in the year 1660. Peter Rahm alleges that he and his\nwife were at their farm one evening late when there came a little man,\nswart of face and clad in grey, who begged the declarant's wife to come\nand help his wife then in labour. The declarant, seeing that they had to\ndo with a Troll, prayed over his wife, blessed her, and bade her in\nGod's name go with the stranger. She seemed to be borne along by the\nwind. After her task was accomplished she, like the clergyman's wife\njust mentioned, refused the food offered her, and was borne home in the\nsame manner as she had come. The next day she found on a shelf in the\nsitting-room a heap of old silver pieces and clippings, which it is to\nbe supposed the Troll had brought her.[16]\n\nApart from the need of human aid, common to all the legends with which\nwe are dealing, the two points emphasized by these Swedish tales are the\nmidwife's refusal of food and the gratitude of the Troll. In a Swabian\nstory the Earthman, as he is called, apologizes for omitting to offer\nfood. In this case the midwife was afraid to go alone with her summoner,\nand begged that her husband might accompany her. This was permitted; and\nthe Earthman showed them the way through the forest with his lantern,\nfor it was of course night. They came first to a moss door, then to a\nwooden door, and lastly to a door of shining metal, whence a staircase\nwent down into the earth, and led them into a large and splendid chamber\nwhere the Earthwife lay. When the object of their visit was accomplished\nthe Earthman thanked the woman much, and said: \"You do not relish our\nmeat and drink, wherefore I will bestow something else upon thee.\" With\nthese words he gave her a whole apronful of black coals, and taking his\nlantern again he lighted the midwife and her husband home. On the way\nhome she slily threw away one coal after another. The Earthman said\nnothing until he was about to take his leave, when he observed merely:\n\"The less you scattered the more you might have.\" After he had gone the\nwoman's husband remonstrated with her, bidding her keep the coals, for\nthe Earthman appeared in earnest with his gift. When they reached home,\nhowever, she shook out her apron on the hearth, and behold! instead of\ncoals, glittering true gold pieces. The woman now sought eagerly enough\nafter the coals she had thrown away, but she found them not.[17]\n\nConfining our attention for the moment to the refusal of food, it would\nseem that the Earthman's apology in the foregoing narrative is, as too\nmany human apologies are, a mere excuse. The real reason for the\nmidwife's abstention was not that fairy food was distasteful, but that\nshe durst not touch it, under penalty of never again returning to the\nlight of day. A Danish tradition tells of a woman who was taken by an\nelf on Christmas Eve down into the earth to attend his wife. As soon as\nthe elfwife was delivered her husband took the child away; for if he\ncould find two newly married persons in the bridal bed, before they had\nrepeated their Paternoster, he could, by laying the child between them,\nprocure for it all the good fortune intended for the newly wedded pair.\nDuring his absence the elfwife took the opportunity of instructing her\nhelper as to her conduct when he returned; and the first and chief point\nof her advice was to eat nothing that was offered her. The elfwife was\nherself a Christian woman who had been inveigled down into the dwellings\nof the elves; she had eaten, and therefore had never escaped again. On\nthe elf's return, accordingly, the midwife refused food, and he said:\n\"They did not strike thee on the mouth who taught thee that.\" Late\nrabbinical writings contain a similar legend of a Mohel, a man whose\noffice it was to circumcise, who was summoned one winter's night by a\nstranger to perform the ceremony upon a child who would be eight days\nold the following day. The stranger led him to a lofty mountain, into\nthe bowels of which they passed, and after descending many flights of\nsteps found themselves in a great city. Here the Mohel was taken to a\npalace, in one of whose apartments was the child's mother lying. When\nshe saw the Mohel she began to weep, and told him that he was in the\nland of the Mazikin, but that she was a human being, a Jewess, who had\nbeen carried away when little from home and brought thither. And she\ncounselled him to take good heed to refuse everything whether of meat or\ndrink that might be offered him: \"For if thou taste anything of theirs\nthou wilt become like one of them, and wilt remain here for ever.\"[18]\n\nWe touch here upon a very ancient and widespread superstition, which we\nmay pause to illustrate from different parts of the world. A Manx tale,\nwhich can be traced back to Waldron, narrates the night adventure of a\nfarmer who lost his way in returning home from Peel, and was led by the\nsound of music into a large hall where were a great number of little\npeople feasting. Among them were some faces he seemed to know; but he\ntook no notice of them until the little folk offered him drink, when one\nof them, whose features seemed not unknown to him, plucked him by the\ncoat and forbade him, whatever he did, to taste anything he saw before\nhim; \"for if you do\", he added, \"you will be as I am, and return no more\nto your family.\"[19]\n\nIt is necessary for the hero of a Picard story to go and seek the devil\nin his own abode. The devil of popular imagination, though a terrific\nogre, is not the entirely Evil One of theologians; and one of his good\npoints in the story referred to is that he has three fair daughters, the\nfairest of whom is compelled by the hero to help him in overcoming her\nfather. She accordingly instructs him to eat no meat and to drink no\nwine at the devil's house, otherwise he will be poisoned. This may\nremind us of Kan Puedaei, who in the Altaic ballad descends with his steed\nto the middle of the earth and encounters various monsters. There the\ngrass and the water of the mountain forest through which he rode were\npoison. In both cases, what is probably meant is, that to eat or drink\nis to return no more from these mysterious abodes; and it may be to the\nintent to obviate any such consequence that Saint Peter, in sending a\ncertain king's son down through a black and stinking hole a hundred\ntoises deep underground, in a Gascon tale, to fetch Saint Peter's own\nsword, provides him with just enough bread in his wallet every morning\nto prevent his bursting with hunger. An extension of this thought\nsometimes even prohibits the hero from accepting a seat or a bed offered\nby way of hospitality on the part of the devil, or the sorceress, to\nwhose dwelling his business may take him, or even to look at the fair\ntemptress who may seek to entice him to eat.[20]\n\nThe meaning of the superstition is not easy to trace, but it should be\nremembered that in the lower stages of human civilization no distinction\nis drawn between supernatural or spiritual beings who have never been\nenclosed in human bodies, and the spirits of the dead. Savage philosophy\nmingles them together in one phantasmagoria of grotesquery and horror.\nThe line which separates fairies and ogres from the souls of men has\ngradually grown up through ages of Christian teaching; and, broad as it\nmay seem to us, it is occasionally hardly visible in these stories.\nEvery now and then it is ignored, as in the case of the old friends\nfound among the \"little people\" by the Manx farmer. Less startling than\nthese, but quite as much in point, are the women, like some already\nmentioned, who are carried off into Fairyland, where they become wives\nand mothers. They can never come back to their old life, though they\nretain enough of the \"mortal mixture\" to require the adventurous human\nmidwife to relieve their pains. Accordingly, we need not be surprised if\nthe same incidents of story or fibres of superstition attach at one time\nto ghosts and at another to the non-human creatures of imagination, or\nif Hades and Fairyland are often confounded. Both are equally the realm\nof the supernatural. We may therefore inquire whether eating is\nforbidden to the chance sojourner in the place of the dead equally as to\nthe sojourner in Fairyland, if he wish to return to the upper air. And\nwe shall find that it is.\n\nProserpine ate seven grains of a pomegranate which grew in the Elysian\nFields, and so was compelled to remain in the Shades, the wife of \"the\ngrisly king.\" Thus, too, when Morgan the Fay takes measures to get Ogier\nthe Dane into her power she causes him to be shipwrecked on a loadstone\nrock near to Avalon. Escaping from the sea, he comes to an orchard, and\nthere eats an apple which, it is not too much to say, seals his fate.\nAgain, when Thomas of Erceldoune is being led down by the Fairy Queen\ninto her realm, he desires to eat of the fruit of certain trees.\n\n    \"He presed to pul the frute with his honde,\n    As man for fode was nyhonde feynte;\n    She seid, Thomas, lat them stande,\n    Or ellis the fiend will the ateynte.\n    If thou pulle the sothe to sey,\n    Thi soule goeth to the fyre of hell\n    Hit cummes never out til doomsday,\n    But ther ever in payne to dwelle.\"\n\nAn old story preserved for us by Saxo Grammaticus describes the visit of\nsome Danish heroes to Guthmund, a giant who rules a delightful land\nbeyond a certain river crossed by a golden bridge. Thorkill, their\nconductor, a Scandinavian Ulysses for cunning, warns his companions of\nthe various temptations that will be set before them. They must forbear\nthe food of the country, and be satisfied with that which they had\nbrought with them; moreover, they must keep apart from the natives,\ntaking care not so much as to touch them. In spite, however, of\nThorkill's warnings to them, and his excuses in their behalf to the\nking, some of the heroes fell and were left behind when their friends\nwere at last allowed to depart.[21] So far we see that the prohibition\nand the danger we found extant in the Fairyland of modern folk-tales\napply also to the classic Hades; and we have traced them back a long way\ninto the Middle Ages in French, British, and Danish traditions relating\nto fairies and other supernatural existences, with a special threat of\nHell in the case of Thomas of Erceldoune.\n\nOn the other side of the globe the Banks' islanders believe, like the\nGreeks, in an underground kingdom of the dead, which they call Panoi.\nOnly a few years ago a woman was living who professed to have been down\nthere. Her object had been to visit her brother, who had recently died.\nTo do this she perfumed herself with water in which a dead rat had been\nsteeped, so as to give herself a death-like smell. She then pulled up a\nbird's nest and descended through the hole thus made. Her brother, whom\nof course she found, cautioned her to eat nothing, and by taking his\nadvice she was able to return. A similar tale is told of a New Zealand\nwoman of rank, who was lucky enough to come back from the abode of\ndeparted spirits by the assistance of her father and his repeated\ncommands to avoid tasting the disgusting food of the dead. Waeinaemoeinen,\nthe epic hero of the Finns, determined to penetrate to Manala, the\nregion of the dead. We need not follow in detail his voyage; it will\nsuffice to say that on his arrival, after a long parley with the maiden\ndaughter of Tuoni, the king of the island, beer was brought to him in a\ntwo-eared tankard.\n\n    \"Waeinaemoeinen, old and trusty,\n    Gaz'd awhile upon the tankard;\n    Lo! within it frogs were spawning,\n    Worms about its sides were laying.\n    Words in this wise then he utter'd:\n    'Not to drink have I come hither\n    From the tankard of Manala,\n    Not to empty Tuoni's beaker;\n    They who drink of beer are drowned,\n    Those who drain the can are ruin'd.'\"[22]\n\nThe hero's concluding words might form a motto for our teetotallers; and\nin any case his abstinence enabled him to succeed in his errand and\nreturn. A point is made in the poem of the loathsome character of the\nbeverage offered him, which thus agrees with the poison referred to in\nsome of the narratives I have previously cited. The natives of the\nSouthern Seas universally represent the sustenance of spirits as filthy\nand abominable. A most remarkable coincidence with the description of\nTuoni's beer occurs in a curious story told on one of the Hervey\nIslands, concerning a Mangaian Dante. Being apparently near death, this\nman directed that, as soon as the breath was out of his body, a\ncocoa-nut should be cracked, and its kernel disengaged from the shell\nand placed upon his stomach under the grave-clothes. Having descended\nto the Shades, he beheld Miru, the horrible hag who rules them, and\nwhose deformities need not now be detailed. She commanded him to draw\nnear. \"The trembling human spirit obeyed, and sat down before Miru.\nAccording to her unvarying practice she set for her intended victim a\nbowl of food, and bade him eat it quite up. Miru, with evident anxiety,\nwaited to see him swallow it. As Tekanae took up the bowl, to his horror\nhe found it to consist of living centipedes. The quick-witted mortal now\nrecollected the cocoa-nut kernel at the pit of his stomach, and hidden\nfrom Miru's view by his clothes. With one hand he held the bowl to his\nlips, as if about to swallow its contents; with the other he secretly\nheld the cocoa-nut kernel, and ate it--the bowl concealing the nut from\nMiru. It was evident to the goddess that Tekanae was actually swallowing\n_something_: what else could it be but the contents of the fatal bowl?\nTekanae craftily contrived whilst eating the nourishing cocoa-nut to\nallow the live centipedes to fall on the ground one or two at a time. As\nthe intended victim was all the time sitting on the ground it was no\ndifficult achievement in this way to empty the bowl completely by the\ntime he had finished the cocoa-nut. Miru waited in vain to see her\nintended victim writhing in agony and raging with thirst. Her practice\non such occasions was to direct the tortured victim-spirit to dive in a\nlake close by, to seek relief. None that dived into that water ever came\nup alive; excessive anguish and quenchless thirst so distracting their\nthoughts that they were invariably drowned. Miru would afterwards cook\nand eat her victims at leisure. Here was a new event in her history: the\nbowl of living centipedes had been disposed of, and yet Tekanae\nmanifested no sign of pain, no intention to leap into the cooling, but\nfatal, waters. Long did Miru wait; but in vain. At last she said to her\nvisitor, 'Return to the upper world' (_i.e._, to life). 'Only remember\nthis--do not speak against me to mortals. Reveal not my ugly form and\nmy mode of treating my visitors. Should you be so foolish as to do so,\nyou will certainly at some future time come back to my domains, and I\nwill see to it that you do not escape my vengeance a second time!'\nTekanae accordingly left the Shades, and came back to life\"; but he, it\nis needless to say, carefully disregarded the hag's injunction, or we\nshould not have had the foregoing veracious account of what happens\nbelow.[23]\n\nThe tortures reserved for Miru's victims cast a weird light on the\nwarning in the Picard story against eating and drinking what the devil\nmay offer. But whether poisoning in the latter case would have been the\npreliminary to a hearty meal to be made off the unlucky youth by his\ntreacherous host, or no, it is impossible to determine. What the tales\ndo suggest, however, is that the food buried with the dead by\nuncivilized tribes may be meant to provide them against the contingency\nof having to partake of the hospitality of the Shades, and so afford\nthem a chance of escaping back to the upper air. But, putting this\nconjecture aside, we have found the supposition that to eat of fairy\nfood is to return no more, equally applicable to the world of the dead\nas to Fairyland. In seeking its meaning, therefore, we must not be\nsatisfied without an explanation that will fit both. Almost all over the\nearth the rite of hospitality has been held to confer obligations on its\nrecipient, and to unite him by special ties to the giver. And even where\nthe notion of hospitality does not enter, to join in a common meal has\noften been held to symbolize, if not to constitute, union of a very\nsacred kind. The formation of blood relationship, or brotherhood, and\nformal adoption into a tribe or family (ceremonies well known in the\nlower culture), are usually, if not always, cemented in this way. The\nmodern wedding breakfast, with its bridecake, is a survival from a very\nancient mode of solemnizing the closest tie of all; and when Proserpine\ntasted a pomegranate she partook of a fruit of a specially symbolic\ncharacter to signify acceptance of her new destiny as her captor's wife.\nHence to partake of food in the land of spirits, whether they are human\ndead, or fairies, is to proclaim one's union with them and to renounce\nthe fellowship of mortals.\n\nThe other point emphasized in the Swedish tales quoted just now is the\nTroll's gratitude, as evidenced by his gifts to the successful midwife.\nBefore considering this, however, let us note that these supernatural\nbeings do not like to be imposed upon. A German midwife who was summoned\nby a Waterman, or Nix, to aid a woman in labour, was told by the latter:\n\"I am a Christian woman as well as you; and I was carried off by a\nWaterman, who changed me. When my husband comes in now and offers you\nmoney, take no more from him than you usually get, or else he will twist\nyour neck. Take good care!\" And in another tale, told at Kemnitz of the\nNicker, as he is there called, when he asks the midwife how much he owes\nher, she answers that she will take no more from him than from other\npeople. \"That's lucky for thee,\" he replies; \"hadst thou demanded more,\nit would have gone ill with thee!\" But for all that he gave her an apron\nfull of gold and brought her safely home.[24]\n\nA Pomeranian story marks the transition to a type of tale wherein one\nspecial characteristic of elfin gifts is presented. For in this case,\nwhen the mannikin asked the midwife what her charge was, she modestly\nreplied: \"Oh, nothing; the little trouble I have had does not call for\nany payment.\" \"Now then, lift up thy apron!\" answered he; and it was\nquickly filled with the rubbish that lay in the corner of the room.\nTaking his lantern, the elf then politely guided her home. When she\nshook out the contents of her apron, lo! it was no rubbish which fell\non the ground, but pure, shining minted gold. Hitherto she and her\nfather had been very poor; thenceforth they had no more want their whole\nlives long. This gift of an object apparently worthless, which turns\nout, on the conditions being observed, of the utmost value, is a\ncommonplace of fairy transactions. It is one of the most obvious\nmanifestations of superhuman power; and as such it has always been a\nfavourite incident in the stories of all nations. We have only to do\nhere with the gift as it appears in the group under analysis; and in\nthese cases it presents little variety. In a tale told on the lake of\nZug the dwarf fills the woman's apron with something at which he bids\nher on no account look before she is in her own house. Her curiosity,\nhowever, is uncontrollable; and the moment the dwarf vanishes she peeps\ninto her apron, to find simply black coals. She, in a rage, flings them\naway, keeping only two as evidence of the shabby treatment she had met\nwith; but when she got home these two were nothing less than precious\nstones. She at once ran back to where she had shaken out the supposed\ncoals; but they were all gone. So a recompense of straws, dust, birch\nleaves, or shavings becomes, as elsewhere told, pure gold, pure silver,\nor thalers. Nor is the story confined to Europe. In Dardistan it is\nrelated that a boy, taken down by a Yatsh, or demon, into an underground\npalace, is allowed to be present at a Yatsh wedding. He finds the\nYatshes assembled in great force and in possession of a number of\nvaluables belonging to the dwellers in his own village. On his return\nhis guide presents him with a sack full of coals, which he empties as\nsoon as he is out of sight. One little piece, however, remains, and is\ntransformed into a gold coin when he reaches home.[25]\n\nConversely, when the midwife is rewarded with that which seems valuable\nit turns out worthless. An Irishwoman, in relating a professional\nexperience among the Good People, wound up her story as follows: \"The\nking slipped five guineas into my hand as soon as I was on the ground,\nand thanked me, and bade me good-night. I hope I'll never see his face\nagain. I got into bed, and couldn't sleep for a long time; and when I\nexamined my five guineas this morning, that I left in the table-drawer\nthe last thing, I found five withered leaves of oak--bad scran to the\ngiver!\" This incident recalls the Barber's tale of his fourth brother in\nthe \"Arabian Nights.\" This unlucky man went on selling meat to a\nsorcerer for five months, and putting the bright new money in which the\nlatter paid him into a box by itself; but when he came to open the box\nhe found in it nothing but a parcel of leaves, or, as Sir Richard Burton\nhas it, bits of white paper cut round to look like coin. Chinese\nfolklore is full of similar occurrences, which we cannot now stay to\ndiscuss. But, returning to western traditions, there is a way of\ncounteracting the elves' transforming magic. The wife of a farmer named\nNiels Hansen, of Uglerup, in Denmark, was summoned to attend a\ntroll-wife, who told her that the troll, her husband, would offer her a\nquantity of gold; \"but,\" she said, \"unless you cast this knife behind\nyou when you go out, it will be nothing but coal when you reach home\".\nThe woman followed her patient's advice, and so continued to carry\nsafely home a costly present of gold.[26]\n\nThe objection of supernatural beings to iron, and its power of undoing\ntheir charms, will be considered in a future chapter. The good luck of\nNiels Hansen's wife offers meantime another subject of interest; for it\nwas due to her own kindness of heart. A short time before she had been\nraking hay in a field, when she caught a large and fat toad between the\nteeth of her rake. She gently released it, saying: \"Poor thing! I see\nthat thou needest help; I will help thee.\" That toad was the troll-wife,\nand as she afterwards attended her she was horrified to see a hideous\nserpent hanging down just above her head. Her fright led to explanations\nand an expression of gratitude on the part of the troll-wife. This\nincident is by no means uncommon; but a very few examples must suffice\nhere. Generally the woman's terror is attributed to a millstone hanging\nover her head. At Grammendorf, in Pomerania, a maid saw, every time she\nwent to milk the cows, a hateful toad hopping about in the stable. She\ndetermined to kill it, and would have seized it one day had it not, in\nthe very nick of time, succeeded in creeping into a hole, where she\ncould not get at it. A few days after, when she was again busy in the\nstable, a little Ulk, as the elves there are called, came and invited\nher to descend with him into Fairyland. On reaching the bottom of a\nstaircase with her conductor, she found her services were required for\nan Ulkwife, whose time was at hand. Entering the dwelling she was\nfrightened to observe a huge millstone above her, suspended by a silken\nthread; and the Ulk, seeing her terror, told her she had caused him\nexactly the same, when she chased the poor toad and attempted to kill\nit. The girl was compelled to share in the feast which followed. When it\nwas over she was given a piece of gold, that she was carefully to\npreserve; for so long as she did so she would never be in want of money.\nBut her guide warned her at parting never to relate her experience,\notherwise the elves would fetch her again, and set her under the\nmillstone, which would then fall and crush her. Whether this was indeed\nthe consequence of her narrating this very true story we do not know.\nAfter some of the beliefs we have been considering in the foregoing\npages it is, however, interesting to note that no ill attended her\neating and drinking in Fairyland, and that the gold she received did not\nturn to dross, though it possessed other miraculous qualities which\nmight very well have led her to the bad end threatened by the Ulk.\nPerhaps a portion of the story has been lost.[27]\n\nSometimes a different turn is given to the tale. A Swabian peasant-woman\nwas once in the fields with her servant-maid, when they saw a big toad.\nThe woman told her maid to kill it. The latter replied: \"No; I won't do\nthat, and I will stand sponsor for it yet once more.\" Not long\nafterwards she was sent for to become sponsor, and was conducted into\nthe lake, where she found the toad now in guise of a woman. After the\nceremony was over, the lake-woman rewarded her with a bushel of straw,\nand sent by her hand a girdle for her mistress. On the way home the girl\ntried the girdle on a tree to see how it would look, and in a moment the\ntree was torn into a thousand pieces. This was the punishment devised by\nthe lake-woman for her mistress, because she had wished to put her to\ndeath while in the form of a toad. The straw was, of course, pure gold;\nbut the girl foolishly cast it all away except a few stalks which clung\nto her dress. So a countryman who accidentally spilt some hot broth on a\nwitch, disguised as a toad, is presented by her another day with a\ngirdle for his little son. Suspecting something wrong, he tries it on\nhis dog, which at once swells up and bursts. This is a Saxon saga from\nTransylvania; an Irish saga brings us to the same catastrophe. There a\ngirl meets a frog which is painfully bloated, and kicks it unfeelingly\naside, with the words: \"May you never be delivered till I am midwife to\nyou!\" Now the frog was a water-fairy dwelling in a lake, into which the\ngirl soon after was conveyed and compelled to become the fairy's\nmidwife. By way of reward she is presented with a red cloak, which, on\nher way home, she hangs up in admiration on a tree. Well was it for her\nthat she did so, for it set the tree on fire; and had she worn it, as\nshe meant to do, on the following Sunday at Mass, the chapel itself\nwould have been in a blaze.[28]\n\nThe fairies' revenge here missed its mark, though calculated on no\ntrifling scale. Indeed, the rewards they bestowed were never nicely\nbalanced with the good or ill they intended to requite, but were\nshowered in open-handed fashion as by those who could afford to be\nlavish. Of this we have already had several instances; a few more may be\ngiven. At Palermo a tale is told of a midwife who was one day cooking in\nher own kitchen when a hand appeared and a voice cried: \"Give to me!\"\nShe took a plate and filled it from the food she was preparing.\nPresently the hand returned the plate full of golden money. This was\nrepeated daily; and the woman, seeing the generous payment, became more\nand more free with her portions of food. At the end of nine months a\nknocking was heard at the door; and, descending, she found two giants,\nwho caught her up on their shoulders, and unceremoniously ran off with\nher. They carried her to a lady who needed her offices, and she assisted\nto bring into the world two fine boys. The lady evidently was fully\nalive to her own dignity, for she kept the woman a proper human month,\nto the distress of her husband, who, not knowing what had become of her,\nsearched the city night and day, and at last gave her up for dead. Then\nthe lady (a fairy princess she was) asked her if she wished to go, and\nwhether she would be paid by blows or pinches. The poor midwife deemed\nher last hour was come, and said to herself that if she must die it\nwould be better to die quickly; so she chose blows. Accordingly the\nprincess called the two giants, and sent her home with a large sack of\nmoney, which enabled her to relinquish business, set up her carriage,\nand become one of the first ladies in Palermo. Ten years passed; and one\nday a grand carriage stopped at her door. A lady alighted and entered\nher palace. When she had her face to face, the lady said: \"Gossip, do\nyou know me?\" \"No, madam.\" \"What! do you not remember that I am the lady\nto whom you came ten years ago, when these children were born? I, too,\nam she who held out her hand and asked for food. I was the fairies'\ncaptive; and if you had not been generous enough to give me to eat, I\nshould have died in the night. And because you were generous you have\nbecome rich. Now I am freed, and here I am with my sons.\" The quondam\nmidwife, with tears in her eyes, looked at her, and blessed the moment\nshe had done a generous act. So they became lifelong friends.[29]\n\nI have given the foregoing tale almost at full length because it has\nnot, so far as I know, appeared before in any other than its native\nSicilian dress, and because analogous stories are not common in\ncollections from Mediterranean countries. This rarity is not, I need\nhardly say, from any absence of the mythological material, and perhaps\nit may be due to accident in the formation of the collections. If the\nstory were really wanting elsewhere in Southern Europe, we might be\npermitted the conjecture that its presence in Sicily was to be accounted\nfor by the Norman settlements there. One such story, however, is\nrecorded from the Island of Kimolos, one of the Cyclades, but without\nthe human captivity in Elfland, without the acts of charity, and without\nthe gratitude. The Nereids of the Kimoliote caves are of a grimmer\nhumour than the kindly-natured underground folk of Celtic and Teutonic\nlands, or than the heroine of Palermo. The payment to their human help\nis no subject of jest to them. A woman whom they once called in was\nroundly told: \"If it be a boy you shall be happy; but if it be a girl we\nwill tear you in four parts, and hang you in this cave.\" The unhappy\nmidwife of course determined that it should be a boy; and when a girl\narrived she made believe it was a boy, swaddled it up tightly, and went\nhome. When, eight days afterwards, the child was unpacked, the Nereids'\nrage and disappointment were great; and they sent one of their number to\nknock at her door in the hope that she would answer the first summons.\nNow to answer the first summons of a Nereid meant madness. Of this the\nwoman was fully aware; and her cunning cheated them even of their\nrevenge.[30]\n\nSometimes these supernatural beings bestow gifts of a more distinctly\ndivine character than any of the foregoing. A midwife in Strathspey, on\none such occasion, was desired to ask what she would, and it should be\ngranted if in the power of the fairies. She asked that success might\nattend herself and her posterity in all similar operations. The gift was\nconferred; and her great-grandson still continued to exercise it when\nMr. Stewart was collecting the materials for his work on the\nsuperstitions of the Highlanders, published in 1823. In like manner the\nMohel, to whose adventure I have already referred, and who was\noriginally an avaricious man, received the grace of benevolence to the\npoor, which caused him to live a long and happy life with his family, a\npattern unto the whole world. The gift was symbolized by the\nrestoration to him of his own bunch of keys, which he found with many\nothers in the possession of his uncanny conductor. This personage had\nheld the keys by virtue of his being lord over the hearts of those who\nnever at any time do good: in other words, he was the demon of\ncovetousness. Here we have an instance, more or less conscious, of the\ntendency, so marked in Jewish literature, to parable. But the form of\nthe parable bears striking testimony to its origin in a myth common to\nmany races. The keys in particular probably indicate that the recompense\nat one time took the shape of a palladium. This is not at all uncommon\nin the tales. The Countess Von Ranzau was once summoned from her castle\nof Breitenburg in Schleswig to the help of a dwarf-woman, and in return\nreceived, according to one account, a large piece of gold to be made\ninto fifty counters, a herring and two spindles, upon the preservation\nof which the fortunes of the family were to depend. The gifts are\nvariously stated in different versions of the tale, but all the versions\nagree in attaching to them blessings on the noble house of Ranzau so\nlong as they were kept in the family. The Frau Von Hahnen, in a Bohemian\nlegend, receives for her services to a water-nix three pieces of gold,\nwith the injunction to take care of them, and never to let them go out\nof the hands of her own lineage, else the whole family would fall into\npoverty. She bequeathed the treasures to her three sons; but the\nyoungest son took a wife, who with a light heart gave the fairy gold\naway. Misery, of course, resulted from her folly; and the race of Hahnen\nspeedily came to an end.[31]\n\nIt is quite possible that the spoons bestowed by Vitra upon the\nclergyman's wife in Lappmark were once reputed to be the subject of a\nsimilar proviso. So common, forsooth, was the stipulation, that in one\nway or other it was annexed to well-nigh all fairy gifts: they brought\nluck to their possessor for the time being. Examples of this are\nendless: one only will content us in this connection; and, like Vitra's\ngift, we shall find it in Swedish Lappmark. A peasant who had one day\nbeen unlucky at the chase, was returning disgusted, when he met a fine\ngentleman who begged him to come and cure his wife. The peasant\nprotested in vain that he was not a doctor. The other would take no\ndenial, insisting that it was no matter, for if he would only put his\nhands upon the lady she would be healed. Accordingly the stranger led\nhim to the very top of a mountain, where was perched a castle he had\nnever seen before. On entering it he found the walls were mirrors, the\nroof overhead of silver, the carpets of gold-embroidered silk, and the\nfurniture of the purest gold and jewels. The stranger took him into a\nroom where lay the loveliest of princesses on a golden bed, screaming\nwith pain. As soon as she saw the peasant she begged him to come and put\nhis hands upon her. Almost stupefied with astonishment he hesitated to\nlay his coarse hands upon so fair a dame. But at length he yielded; and\nin a moment her pain ceased, and she was made whole. She stood up and\nthanked him, begging him to tarry awhile and eat with them. This,\nhowever, he declined to do, for he feared that if he tasted the food\nwhich was offered him he must remain there. The stranger whom he had\nfollowed then took a leathern purse, filled it with small round pieces\nof wood, and gave it to the peasant with these words: \"So long as thou\nart in possession of this purse money will never fail thee. But if thou\nshouldst ever see me again, beware of speaking to me; for if thou speak\nthy luck will depart.\" When the man got home he found the purse filled\nwith dollars; and by virtue of its magical property he became the\nrichest man in the parish. As soon as he found the purse always full,\nwhatever he took out of it, he began to live in a spendthrift manner\nand frequented the alehouse. One evening as he sat there he beheld the\nstranger with a bottle in his hand going round and gathering the drops\nwhich the guests shook from time to time out of their glasses. The rich\npeasant was surprised that one who had given him so much did not seem\nable to buy himself a single dram, but was reduced to this means of\ngetting a drink. Thereupon he went up to him and said: \"Thou hast shown\nme more kindness than any other man ever did, and I will willingly treat\nthee to a little.\" The words were scarce out of his mouth when he\nreceived such a blow on his head that he fell stunned to the ground; and\nwhen again he came to himself the stranger and his purse were both gone.\nFrom that day forward he became poorer and poorer, until he was reduced\nto absolute beggary.[32]\n\nThis story exemplifies every point that had had interested us in this\ndiscussion: the need of the Trolls for human help, the refusal of food,\nfairy gratitude, and the conditions involved in the acceptance of\nsupernatural gifts. It mentions one further characteristic of fairy\nnature--the objection to be recognized and addressed by men who are\nprivileged to see them. But the consideration of this requires another\nchapter.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[15] \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. v. p. 70, translated from \"Y Brython,\" vol. iv.\np. 251.\n\n[16] Poestion, p. 111; Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" p. 457, note, quoting at\nlength the declaration from Huelpher, \"Samlingen om Jaemtland.\" A\ntranslation will be found in Keightley, p. 122.\n\n[17] Meier, p. 59.\n\n[18] Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 128, from Thiele, \"Danmark's Folkesagn\";\nKeightley, p. 506.\n\n[19] Waldron, p. 28.\n\n[20] \"Melusine,\" vol. i. p. 446; Radloff, vol. i. p. 78; Blade, vol. i.\np. 161; Cosquin, vol. ii. p. 10; Cavallius, p. 281; \"Revue des Trad.\nPop.\" vol. iv. p. 222.\n\n[21] Child, vol. i. p. 319; \"Thomas of Erceldoune,\" p. 11 (Cambridge\nText); Saxo, \"Gesta Dan.\" l. viii.\n\n[22] _Journal of Anthrop. Inst._ vol. x. p. 282; Shortland, p. 150;\n\"Kalewala,\" rune xvi. l. 293.\n\n[23] Gill, p. 172.\n\n[24] Keightley, p. 261; Kuhn und Schwartz, p. 93.\n\n[25] Jahn, p. 72; Keightley, p. 275, quoting Mueller, \"Bilder und Sagen\naus der Schweiz,\" p. 119; Birlinger, \"Volksthuemliches,\" vol. i. p. 42;\nKuhn, p. 82; Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 128; vol. iii. p. 54, quoting\nMuellenhoff, \"Sagen, &c., der Herzogthuemer Schleswig, Holstein und\nLauenburg\"; Kuhn und Schwartz, p. 173; Wratislaw, p. 40; Wenzig, p. 198;\nLiebrecht, p. 100, citing \"Results of a Tour in Dardistan\", part iii. p.\n3.\n\n[26] Kennedy, p. 106; Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 130, quoting Thiele,\n\"Danmark's Folkesagn.\"\n\n[27] Jahn, p. 64; _cf._ p. 74, where there are two maidens, one of whom\nhad saved the toad when the other desired to kill it. They stand\nsponsors for the fairy child, and are rewarded with sweepings which turn\nto gold; also Bartsch, vol. i. p. 50, where a sword is suspended.\n\n[28] Meier, p. 69; Mueller, p. 140; \"N. and Q.,\" 7th ser. vol. v. p. 501.\n\n[29] Pitre, vol. v. p. 23. The story in its present form does not say\nthat the human food enabled the lady to return from Fairyland, but only\nthat it saved her life. Probably, however, an earlier version may have\nshown the incident in a more primitive form.\n\n[30] Bent, p. 46.\n\n[31] Keightley, p. 388, citing Stewart; Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 50 _et\nseq._, quoting Muellenhoff and Thiele; Grohmann, p. 145; see also Thorpe,\nvol. iii. p. 51.\n\n[32] Poestion, p. 119.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nFAIRY BIRTHS AND HUMAN MIDWIVES (_continued_).\n\n     The magical ointment--Human prying punished by fairies, and by\n     other supernatural beings--Dame Berchta--Hertha--Lady\n     Godiva--Analogous stories in Europe--In the East--Religious\n     ceremonies performed by women only--Lady Godiva a pagan goddess.\n\n\nBefore we quit the subject of fairy births, we have a few more stories\nto discuss. They resemble in their general tenor those already noticed;\nbut instead of one or other of the incidents considered in the previous\nchapter we are led to a different catastrophe by the introduction of a\nnew incident--that of the Magical Ointment. The plot no longer hinges\nupon fairy gratitude, but upon human curiosity and disobedience.\n\nThe typical tale is told, and exceedingly well told--though, alas! not\nexactly in the language of the natives--by Mrs. Bray in her Letters to\nSouthey, of a certain midwife of Tavistock. One midnight, as she was\ngetting into bed, this good woman was summoned by a strange,\nsquint-eyed, little, ugly old fellow to follow him straightway, and\nattend upon his wife. In spite of her instinctive repulsion she could\nnot resist the command; and in a moment the little man whisked her, with\nhimself, upon a large coal-black horse with eyes of fire, which stood\nwaiting at the door. Ere long she found herself at the door of a neat\ncottage; the patient was a decent-looking woman who already had two\nchildren, and all things were prepared for her visit. When the child--a\nfine, bouncing babe--was born, its mother gave the midwife some\nointment, with directions to \"strike the child's eyes with it.\" Now the\nword _strike_ in the Devonshire dialect means not to give a blow, but to\nrub, or touch, gently; and as the woman obeyed she thought the task an\nodd one, and in her curiosity tried the effect of the ointment upon one\nof her own eyes. At once a change was wrought in the appearance of\neverything around her. The new mother appeared no longer as a homely\ncottager, but a beautiful lady attired in white; the babe, fairer than\nbefore, but still witnessing with the elvish cast of its eye to its\npaternity, was wrapped in swaddling clothes of silvery gauze; while the\nelder children, who sat on either side of the bed, were transformed into\nflat-nosed imps, who with mops and mows were busied to no end in\nscratching their own polls, or in pulling the fairy lady's ears with\ntheir long and hairy paws. The nurse, discreetly silent about what she\nhad done and the wonderful metamorphoses she beheld around her, got away\nfrom the house of enchantment as quickly as she could; and the\nsour-looking old fellow who had brought her carried her back on his\nsteed much faster than they had come. But the next market-day, when she\nsallied forth to sell her eggs, whom should she see but the same\nill-looking scoundrel busied in pilfering sundry articles from stall to\nstall. So she went up to him, and with a nonchalant air addressed him,\ninquiring after his wife and child, who, she hoped, were both as well as\ncould be expected. \"What!\" exclaimed the old pixy thief, \"do you _see_\nme to-day?\" \"See you! to be sure I do, as plain as I see the sun in the\nskies; and I see you are busy into the bargain,\" she replied. \"Do you\nso?\" cried he; \"pray, with which eye do you see all this?\" \"With the\nright eye, to be sure.\" \"The ointment! the ointment!\" exclaimed the old\nfellow; \"take that for meddling with what did not belong to you: you\nshall see me no more.\" He struck her eye as he spoke, and from that\nhour till the day of her death she was blind on the right side, thus\ndearly paying for having gratified an idle curiosity in the house of a\npixy.[33]\n\nIn this tale the midwife acquired her supernatural vision through\ngratifying her curiosity; but perhaps in the larger number of instances\nit is acquired by accident. Her eye smarts or itches; and without\nthinking, she rubs it with a finger covered with the Magical Ointment.\nIn a Breton variant, however, a certain stone, perfectly polished, and\nin the form of an egg, is given to the woman to rub the fairy child's\neyes. In order to test its virtue she applies it to her own right eye,\nthus obtaining the faculty of seeing the elves when they rendered\nthemselves invisible to ordinary sight. Sometimes, moreover, the\neye-salve is expressly given for the purpose of being used by the nurse\nupon her own eyes. This was the case with a doctor who, in a north\ncountry tale, was presented with one kind of ointment before he entered\nthe fairy realm and another when he left it. The former gave him to\nbehold a splendid portico in the side of a steep hill, through which he\npassed into the fairies' hall within; but on anointing one eye with the\nlatter ointment, to that eye the hill seemed restored to its natural\nshape. Similarly in Nithsdale a fairy rewards the kindness of a young\nmother, to whom she had committed her babe to suckle, by taking her on a\nvisit to Fairyland. A door opened in a green hillside, disclosing a\nporch which the nurse and her conductor entered. There the lady dropped\nthree drops of a precious dew on the nurse's left eyelid, and they were\nadmitted to a beautiful land watered with meandering rivulets and yellow\nwith corn, where the trees were laden with fruits which dropped honey.\nThe nurse was here presented with magical gifts, and when a green dew\nhad baptized her right eye she was enabled to behold further wonders.\nOn returning, the fairy passed her hand over the woman's eye and\nrestored its normal powers; but the woman had sufficient address to\nsecure the wonder-working balm. By its means she retained for many years\nthe gift of discerning the earth-visiting spirits; but on one occasion,\nhappening to meet the fairy lady who had given her the child, she\nattempted to shake hands with her. \"What ee d' ye see me wi'?\" whispered\nshe. \"Wi' them baith,\" answered the matron. The fairy accordingly\nbreathed on her eyes; and even the power of the box failed afterwards to\nrestore their enchanted vision. A Carnarvonshire story, probably\nincomplete, makes no mention of the ointment conferring supernatural\nsight; but when the midwife is to be dismissed she is told to rub her\neyes with a certain salve, whereupon she at once finds herself sitting\non a tuft of rushes, and not in a palace: baby and all had disappeared.\nThe sequel, however, shows that by some means she had retained the power\nof seeing fairies, at least with one eye; for when she next went to the\ntown, lo and behold! busily buying was the elf whose wife she had\nattended. He betrayed the usual annoyance at being noticed by the woman;\nand on learning with which eye she saw him he vanished, never more to be\nlooked upon by her. A tale from Guernsey attributes the magical faculty\nto some of the child's saliva which fell into the nurse's eye. And a\nstill more extraordinary cause is assigned to it in a tradition from\nLower Brittany, where it is said to be due to the sacred bond formed\nbetween the woman and a masculine elf when she became godmother and he\ngodfather to the babe.[34]\n\nThe effect of the wonder-working salve or water is differently described\nin different tales. The fairy maiden Rockflower speaks of it to her\nlover, in a Breton tale from Saint Cast, as \"clearing his eyes like her\nown.\" And this is evidently to be understood in all cases. Accordingly,\nwe find the invariable result is that the favoured mortal beholds swarms\nof fairies who were invisible before. But their dwellings, their\nclothing, and their surroundings in general suffer a transformation by\nno means always the same. A hovel or a cavern becomes a palace, whose\ninhabitants, however ugly they may be, are attired like princesses and\ncourtiers, and are served with vessels of silver and gold. On the other\nhand a castle is changed by the magical balm into \"a big rough cave,\nwith water oozing over the edges of the stones, and through the clay;\nand the lady, and the lord, and the child, weazened, poverty-bitten\ncrathurs--nothing but skin and bone, and the rich dresses were old\nrags.\" This is an Irish picture; but in the north of England it is much\nthe same. Instead of a neat cottage the midwife perceives the large\noverhanging branches of an ancient oak, whose hollow and moss-grown\ntrunk she had before mistaken for the fireplace, where glow-worms\nsupplied the place of lamps. And in North Wales, when Mrs. Gamp\nincautiously rubbed an itching eye with the finger she had used to rub\nthe baby's eyes, \"then she saw with that eye that the wife lay on a\nbundle of rushes and withered ferns, in a large cave of big stones all\nround her, with a little fire in one corner of it; and she also saw that\nthe lady was only Eilian, her former servant-girl, whilst with the other\neye she beheld the finest place she had ever seen.\" More terrible still,\nin another story, evidently influenced by the Welsh Methodist revival,\nthe unhappy woman beheld \"herself surrounded by fearful flames; the\nladies and gentlemen looked like devils, and the children appeared like\nthe most hideous imps of hell, though with the other parts of her eyes\nall looked grand and beautiful as before.\"[35]\n\nHowever disturbing these visions may have been, the nurse was generally\ndiscreet enough to maintain perfect silence upon them until she got back\nto the safety of her own home. But it is not very surprising if her\ntongue sometimes got the better of her, as in a story obtained by\nProfessor Rhys at Ystrad Meurig. There the heroine said to the elf-lady\nin the evening, as she was dressing the infant: \"You have had a great\nmany visitors to-day.\" To this the lady sharply replied: \"How do you\nknow that? Have you been putting the ointment to your eyes?\" Thereupon\nshe jumped out of bed, and blew into her eyes, saying: \"Now you will see\nno more.\" The woman could never afterwards see the fairies, nor was the\nointment entrusted to her again. So in the Cornish tale of Cherry of\nZennor, that young damsel, being hired by a fairy widower to keep house\nfor him, has the assurance to fall in love with him. She touches her own\neyes with the unguent kept for anointing the eyes of her master's little\nboy, and in consequence catches her master kissing a lovely lady. When\nhe next attempts to kiss Cherry herself she slaps his face, and, mad\nwith jealousy, lets slip the secret. No fairy widower with any\nself-respect could put up with such conduct as this; and Cherry has to\nquit Fairyland. Her parents had supposed her dead; and when she returned\nthey believed at first it was her ghost. Indeed, it is said she was\nnever afterwards right in her head; and on moonlight nights, until she\ndied, she would wander on to the Lady Downs to look for her master.[36]\n\nThe earliest writer who mentions a story of this type is Gervase of\nTilbury, marshal of the kingdom of Arles, who wrote about the beginning\nof the thirteenth century. He professes to have himself met with a woman\nof Arles who was one day washing clothes on the banks of the Rhone, when\na wooden bowl floated by her. In trying to catch it, she got out of her\ndepth and was seized by a Drac. The Dracs were beings who haunted the\nwaters of rivers and dwelt in the deep pools, appearing often on the\nbanks and in the towns in human form. The woman in question was carried\ndown beneath the stream, and, like Cherry of Zennor, made nurse to her\ncaptor's son. One day the Drac gave her an eel pasty to eat. Her fingers\nbecame greasy with the fat; and she happened to put them to one of her\neyes. Forthwith she acquired a clear and distinct vision under the\nwater. After some years she was allowed to return to her husband and\nfamily; and going early one morning to the market-place of Beaucaire,\nshe met the Drac. Recognizing him at once, she saluted him and asked\nafter the health of his wife and child. \"With which eye do you see me?\"\ninquired the Drac. The woman pointed to the eye she had touched with the\neel-fat; and thrusting his finger into it, the Drac vanished from\nsight.[37]\n\nThe only punishment suffered in these cases is the deprivation of the\npower of seeing fairies, or banishment from their society. This seems\nmild enough: much more was generally inflicted. The story first quoted\nrelates what seems to be the ordinary form of vengeance for disregard of\nthe prohibition to use the fairy eye-salve, namely, loss of sight in the\noffending eye. Spitting or striking is usually the means adopted by the\nelves to effect this end. Sometimes, however, the eye is torn from its\nsocket. Whether there is much to choose between these different ways of\nundergoing the punishment is doubtful; but it should be noted that the\nlast-mentioned mode is a favourite one in Brittany, and follows not so\nmuch on recognition as on denunciation by the virtuous mortal of the\nelf's thieving propensities. \"See what thieves these fairies are!\" cried\na woman who watched one of them putting her hand into the pocket of a\ncountry woman's apron. The fairy instantly turned round and tore out her\neye. \"Thieves!\" bawled another on a similar occasion, with the same\nresult. In a Cornish tale a woman is entrusted in her own house with the\ncare of an elf-child. The child brought remarkable prosperity to the\nhouse, and his foster-mother grew very fond of him. Finding that a\ncertain water in which she was required to wash his face made it very\nbright, she determined to try it on her own, and splashed some of it\ninto her eye. This conferred the gift of seeing the little people, who\nplayed with her boy, but had hitherto been invisible to her; and one day\nshe was surprised to meet her nursling's father in the market--stealing.\nRecognition followed, and the stranger exclaimed:\n\n    \"Water for elf, not water for self,\n    You've lost your eye, your child, and yourself.\"\n\nFrom that hour she was blind in the right eye. When she got home the boy\nwas gone; and she and her husband, who had once been so happy, became\npoor and wretched.[38]\n\nHere poverty and wretchedness, as well as the loss of an eye, were\ninflicted. In a Northumbrian case the foster-parent lost his charge and\nboth eyes. So in a story from Guernsey, the midwife, on the Saturday\nfollowing her attendance on the lady, meets the husband and father in a\nshop filling his basket to right and left. She at once comprehends the\nplenty that reigned in his mysterious dwelling. \"Ah, you wicked thief, I\nsee you!\" she cried. \"You see me; how?\" he inquired. \"With my eyes,\" she\nreplied. \"In that case I will soon put you out of power to play the\nspy,\" he answered. So saying, he spat in her face, and she became blind\non the spot. A Danish story also relates that a midwife, who had\ninadvertently anointed her eyes with the salve handed to her by the\nelf-folk for the usual purpose, was going home afterwards and passed by\na rye-field. The field was swarming with elves, who were busy clipping\noff the ears of rye. Indignantly she cried out: \"What are you doing\nthere?\" The little people thronged round her, and angrily answered: \"If\nthou canst see us, thus shalt thou be served;\" and suiting the action to\nthe word, they put out her eyes.[39]\n\nHuman beings, however, betray their meddling with fairy ointment in\nother ways than by speech. The following curious story was related as\ncurrent at his native place, by Dr. Carre of St. Jacut-de-la-Mer, to M.\nSebillot. A fisherman from St. Jacut was the last to return one evening\nat dusk from the scene of his labours; and as he walked along the wet\nsand of the seashore, he suddenly came upon a number of sea-fairies in a\ncavern, talking and gesticulating with vivacity, though he could not\nhear what they said. He beheld them rub their eyes and bodies with a\nsort of pomade, when, lo! their appearance changed, and they were\nenabled to walk away in the guise of ordinary women. Hiding carefully\nbehind a large rock, he watched them out of sight; and then, impelled by\ncuriosity, he made straight for the cave. There he found what was left\nof the pomade, and taking a little on his finger, he smeared it around\nhis left eye. By this means he found himself able to penetrate the\nvarious disguises assumed by the fairies for the purpose of robbing or\nannoying mankind. He recognized as one of that mischievous race a\nbeggar-woman whom he saw a few days afterwards going from door to door\ndemanding charity. He saw her casting spells on certain houses, and\npeering eagerly into all, as if she were seeking for something to steal.\nHe distinguished, too, when out in his boat, fish which were real fish\nfrom fish which were in reality \"ladies of the sea,\" employed in\nentangling the nets and playing other tricks upon the seamen. Attending\nthe fair of Ploubalay, he saw several elves who had assumed the shapes\nof fortune-tellers, showmen, or gamblers, to deceive the country folk;\nand this permitted him to keep clear of their temptations. But as he\nsmiled to himself at what was going on around him, some of the elves,\nwho were exhibiting themselves on a platform in front of one of the\nbooths, caught sight of him; and he saw by the anger in their looks that\nthey had divined his secret. Before he had time to fly, one of them,\nwith the rapidity of an arrow, struck his clairvoyant eye with a stick\nand burst it. That is what happened to him who would learn the secrets\nof the sea-fairies.[40]\n\nSuch was the punishment of curiosity; nor is it by fairies alone that\ncuriosity is punished. Cranmere Pool on Dartmoor is, we are told, a\ngreat penal settlement for refractory spirits. Many of the former\ninhabitants of the parish are supposed to be still there expiating their\nghostly pranks. Of the spirit of one old farmer it is related that it\ntook seven clergymen to secure him. They, however, succeeded at last in\ntransforming him into a colt, which was given in charge to a servant-boy\nwith directions to take him to Cranmere Pool, and there on the brink of\nthe pool to slip off the halter and return instantly without looking\nround. He did look round, in spite of the warning, and beheld the colt\nin the form of a ball of fire plunge into the water. But as the\nmysterious beast plunged he gave the lad a parting kick, which knocked\nout one of his eyes, just as the Calender was deprived of his eye in the\n\"Arabian Nights.\" Still worse was the fate that overtook a woman, who,\nat midnight on New Year's Eve, when all water is turned into wine, was\nfoolhardy enough to go to a well. As she bent over it to draw, one came\nand plucked out her eye, saying:\n\n    \"All water is wine,\n    And thy two eyes are mine.\"\n\nA variant of the story relates that the woman herself disappeared, and\ngives the rhyme as\n\n    \"All water is wine,\n    And what is thereby is mine.\"[41]\n\nAt the end of the last chapter we noted as a characteristic of fairy\nnature the objection to be recognized and addressed by men who are\nprivileged to see them. We are now able to carry the generalization a\nstep further. For, from the instances adduced in the foregoing pages, it\nis obviously a common belief that supernatural personages, without\ndistinction, dislike not merely being recognized and addressed, but even\nbeing seen, or at all events being watched, and are only willing to be\nmanifested to humanity at their own pleasure and for their own purposes.\nIn the stories of the Magical Ointment it is not so much the theft as\nthe contravention of the implicit prohibition against prying into fairy\nbusiness that rouses elfin anger. This will appear more clearly from the\nfuller consideration of cases like those mentioned in the last\nparagraph, in which punishment follows directly upon the act of spying.\nIn Northamptonshire, we learn that a man whose house was frequented by\nfairies, and who had received many favours from them, became smitten\nwith a violent desire to behold his invisible benefactors. Accordingly,\nhe one night stationed himself behind a knot in the door which divided\nthe living-room of his cottage from the sleeping-apartment. True to\ntheir custom, the elves came to disport themselves on his\ncarefully-swept hearth, and to render to the household their usual good\noffices. But no sooner had the man glanced upon them than he became\nblind; and so provoked were the fairies at this breach of hospitality\nthat they deserted his dwelling, and never more returned to it. In\nSouthern Germany and Switzerland, a mysterious lady known as Dame\nBerchta is reputed to be abroad on Twelfth Night. She is admittedly the\nrelic of a heathen goddess, one of whose attributes was to be a leader\nof the souls of the dead; and as such she is followed by a band of\nchildren. For her the peasants on Twelfth Night set a repast, of which,\nif she be pleased, she and her troop partake. A servant boy at a\npeasant's farm in the Tirol on one such occasion perceived Lady\nBerchta's approach, and hid himself behind the kneading-trough to watch\nwhat she would do. She immediately became aware of his presence as he\npeeped through a chink, and called to one of her children to go and stop\nthat chink. The child went and blew into it, and the boy became\nstark-blind. Thus he continued for a year, nor could any doctor help\nhim, until an old experienced man advised him to go to the same place on\nthe following Twelfth-tide, and falling down on his knees behind the\nkneading-trough, to bewail his curiosity. He accordingly did so. Dame\nBerchta came again, and taking pity on him, commanded one of her\nchildren to restore his sight. The child went and blew once more through\nthe chink, and the boy saw. Berchta, however, and her weird troop he saw\nnot; but the food set out for them had disappeared.[42]\n\nThe tradition of the goddess Hertha lingered until recently, and\nperchance lingers still, in the island of Ruegen. She had her dwelling,\nit is believed, in the Herthaburg; and often yet, in the clear\nmoonlight, out of the forest which enfolds that hill, a fair lady comes\nsurrounded by her maids to bathe in the lake at its foot. After awhile\nthey emerge from the waters, and, wrapt again in their long white veils,\nthey vanish flickering among the trees. But to the belated wanderer, if\nany such there be, who looks upon this scene, it is a vision of dread;\nfor he is drawn by irresistible might to the lake wherein the white lady\nis bathing, to be swallowed up in its depths. And it is said that every\nyear the lady must lure one unhappy mortal into the flood. So in the\nclassic mythology, if Ovid report aright, Actaeon met the fearful fate of\ntransformation into a stag by \"gazing on divinity disrobed,\" and was\ntorn in pieces by his own hounds. Hertha was, indeed, according to\nTacitus, more terrible than Diana, since death was the penalty even when\nduty called her slaves to the awful sight.[43]\n\nThese traditions have led us away from the Magical Ointment, which thus\nappears to be only one aspect of the larger theme of the objection on\nthe part of supernatural beings to human prying. Nor need we regret\nhaving strayed; for we are brought naturally to one of the most\ninteresting of our national legends, namely, that of Lady Godiva; and it\nwill well repay a little consideration. As generally told to-day it\nbears an unmistakable resemblance to the foregoing stories; but there\nseems some difficulty in classing it with them, because Peeping Tom is\nwanting in the most ancient version known to us.\n\nGodiva, properly Godgifu, was an undoubted historical personage, the\nwife of Leofric, Earl of the Mercians, and mother of the Earls Morcar\nand Edwin, and of Edith, wife first of Gruffydd, Prince of North Wales,\nand afterwards of King Harold the Second. The earliest mention of her\nfamous ride through Coventry is by Roger of Wendover, who wrote in the\nbeginning of the thirteenth century, or a hundred and fifty years or\nthereabout after her death. His account of the matter is as follows:\n\"The countess Godiva, who was a great lover of God's mother, longing to\nfree the town of Coventry from the oppression of a heavy toll, often\nwith urgent prayers besought her husband, that from regard to Jesus\nChrist and His mother, he would free the town from that service, and\nfrom all other heavy burdens; and when the earl sharply rebuked her for\nfoolishly asking what was so much to his damage, and always forbade her\nevermore to speak to him on the subject; and while she, on the other\nhand, with a woman's pertinacity, never ceased to exasperate her husband\non that matter, he at last made her this answer: 'Mount your horse, and\nride naked before all the people, through the market of the town from\none end to the other, and on your return you shall have your request.'\nOn which Godiva replied: 'But will you give me permission if I am\nwilling to do it?' 'I will,' said he. Whereupon the countess, beloved of\nGod, loosed her hair and let down her tresses, which covered the whole\nof her body like a veil, and then mounting her horse and attended by two\nknights, she rode through the market place without being seen, except\nher fair legs; and having completed the journey, she returned with\ngladness to her astonished husband, and obtained of him what she had\nasked, for Earl Leofric freed the town of Coventry and its inhabitants\nfrom the aforesaid service, and confirmed what he had done by a\ncharter.\"[44] According to the more modern version, the inhabitants\nwere enjoined to remain within doors, and, in the Laureate's words:\n\n        \"one low churl, compact of thankless earth,\n    The fatal byword of all years to come,\n    Boring a little auger-hole in fear,\n    Peep'd--but his eyes, before they had their will,\n    Were shrivell'd into darkness in his head,\n    And dropt before him. So the powers who wait\n    On noble deeds, cancell'd a sense misus'd.\"\n\nIt is not my business now to prove that the legend is untrue in fact, or\nI should insist, first, that its omission by previous writers, who refer\nboth to Leofric and Godgifu and their various good deeds, is strong\nnegative testimony against it; and I should show, from a calculation\nmade by the late Mr. M. H. Bloxam, and founded on the record of Domesday\nBook, that the population of Coventry in Leofric's time could scarcely\nhave exceeded three hundred and fifty souls, all in a greater or less\ndegree of servitude, and dwelling probably in wooden hovels each of a\nsingle story, with a door, but no window.[45] There was, therefore, no\nmarket on the scale contemplated by Roger of Wendover,--hardly, indeed,\na town through which Godgifu could have ridden; and a mere toll would\nhave been a matter of small moment when the people were all serfs. The\ntale, in short, in the form given by the chronicler, could not have been\ntold until after Coventry had risen to wealth and importance by means of\nits monastery, whereof Godgifu and her husband were the founders.\nNobody, however, now asserts that Roger of Wendover's narrative is to be\ntaken seriously. What therefore I want to point out in it is that\nGodgifu's bargain was that she should ride naked _before all the\npeople_. And this is what the historian understands her to have done;\nfor he states that she rode through the market-place without being\nseen, _except her fair legs_, all the rest of her body being covered by\nher hair like a veil. He tells us nothing about a proclamation to the\ninhabitants to keep within doors; and of course Peeping Tom is an\nimpossibility in this version of the tale.\n\nCoventry has for generations honoured its benefactress by a periodical\nprocession, wherein she is represented by a girl dressed as nearly like\nthe countess on her ride as the manners of the day have permitted. When\nthis procession was first instituted, is unknown. The earliest mention\nof it seems to be in the year 1678. Its object then was to proclaim the\nGreat Fair, and Lady Godiva was merely an incident in it. The Lansdowne\nMSS. in the British Museum contain an account of a visit to Coventry by\nthe \"captain, lieutenant, and ancient\" of the military company of\nNorwich, who travelled in the Midland Counties in August 1634. These\ntourists describe St. Mary's Hall as adorned at the upper end \"with rich\nhangings, and all about with fayre pictures, one more especially of a\nnoble lady (the Lady Godiva) whose memory they have cause not to forget,\nfor that shee purchas'd and redeem'd their lost infringed liberties and\nffreedomes, and obtained remission of heavy tributes impos'd upon them,\nby undertaking a hard and unseemly task, w'ch was to ride naked openly\nat high noone day through the city on a milk-white steed, w'ch she\nwillingly performed, according to her lord's strict injunction. It may\nbe very well discussed heere whether his hatred or her love exceeded.\nHer fayre long hayre did much offend the wanton's glancing eye.\" In this\nrecord we have no additional fact except the mention of \"high noone day\"\nas the time of the journey; for the allusion to \"the wanton's glancing\neye\" is too vague to be interpreted of Peeping Tom, and the writer does\nnot refer to any commemorative procession. It has been supposed,\ntherefore, that the carnival times of Charles the Second both begot the\nprocession and tacked Peeping Tom to the legend. But it is more likely\nthat the procession is as old as the fair, which was held under a\ncharter of Henry the Third, granted in 1217. Such pageants were not\nuncommon in municipal life, and were everywhere to the taste of the\npeople. Whether Lady Godiva was a primitive part of it is another\nquestion. The mention of the procession in 1678 occurs in a manuscript\nvolume of annals of the city, in a handwriting of the period. The entry\nin question is as follows: \"31 May 1678 being the great Fair at Coventry\nthere was an extraordinary\" [Here the bottom of the page is reached; and\nin turning over the chronicler has omitted a word, for on the top of the\nnext page we read:] \"Divers of the Companies\" [_i.e._, the City Guilds]\n\"set out each a follower, The Mayor Two, and the Sheriffs each one and 2\nat the publick charge, there were divers Streamers with the Companies\narms and Ja. Swinnertons Son represented Lady Godiva.\"[46]\n\nThis brief entry is by no means free from ambiguity. Perhaps all that we\nare warranted in inferring from it is that the annual procession was,\nthat year, of unusual splendour. Whether, as has been conjectured, it\nwas the first time Lady Godiva had ever made her appearance, there\nseems more doubt. Apart from any evidence, there is no improbability in\nsupposing that she may have formed part of earlier processions; though\nit may be that during the period of Puritan ascendency the show had been\nneglected and the lady in particular had been discountenanced. If this\nbe so, however, it is difficult to account for the manner in which her\nfigure is referred to by the writer, unless there were some personal\nreason connected with James Swinnerton, or his son, undiscoverable by us\nat this distance of time.\n\nBut whatever doubt may exist as to Godiva's share in the early\nprocessions, there appears no less as to the episode of Peeping Tom.\nLooking out of an upper story of the King's Head, at the corner of\nSmithford Street, is an oaken figure called by the name of the notorious\ntailor. It is in reality a statue of a man in armour, dating no further\nback than the reign of Henry the Seventh; and, as a local antiquary\nnotes, \"to favour the posture of his leaning out of window, the arms\nhave been cut off at the elbows.\"[47] This statue, now generally\nbelieved to have been intended for St. George, could not have been thus\nappropriated and adapted to its present purpose until its original\ndesign had been forgotten and the incongruity of its costume passed\nunrecognized. This is said to have been in 1678, when a figure,\nidentified with the one in question, was put up in Grey Friars Lane by\nAlderman Owen.\n\nIt must not be overlooked that there may have been from the first more\nthan one version of the legend, and that a version rejected by, or\nperhaps unknown to, Roger of Wendover and the writers who followed him\nmay have always included the order to the inhabitants to keep within\ndoors, of which Peeping Tom would seem to be the necessary\naccompaniment. Unfortunately, we have no evidence on this point. The\nearliest record of such a version appears in one of the manuscript\nvolumes already alluded to. It has not been hitherto printed; and it is\nso much at variance, alike with the legend preserved in the thirteenth\ncentury, and the poem of the nineteenth century, that I quote it\nentire:--\"The Franchisment and Freedome of Coventry was purchased in\nmanner Following. Godiva the wife of Leofric Earle of Chester and Duke\nof March requesting of her Lord freedome for this That Towne, obtained\nthe same upon condition that she should ride naked through the same; who\nfor the Love she bare to the Inhabitants thereof, and the perpetuall\nremembrance of her Great Affection thereunto, performed the same as\nFolloweth. In the forenoone all householders were Commanded to keep in\ntheir Families shutting their doores and windows close whilst the\nDutchess performed this good deed, which done she rode naked through the\nmidst of the Towne, without any other Coverture save only her hair. But\nabout the midst of the Citty her horse neighed, whereat one desirous to\nsee the strange Case lett downe a Window, and looked out, for which fact\nor for that the Horse did neigh, as the cause thereof, Though all the\nTowne were Franchised, yet horses were not toll-free to this day.\"[48]\n\nThe manuscript in which this passage occurs is copied from an older\nmanuscript which appears to have been compiled in the sixteenth\ncentury. Unfortunately, however, the latter is imperfect, a leaf having\nbeen torn out at this very point. We cannot, therefore, say with\ncertainty that the account of the famous ride was ever comprised in it.\nBut the expressions made use of imply that the windows were closed with\nshutters rather than glass, and that they were opened by letting down\nthe shutters, which were either loose or affixed by a hinge to the\nbottom sills. It is a question exactly at what period glass came into\ngeneral use for windows in the burgesses' houses at Coventry. Down\nalmost to the middle of the fifteenth century all glass was imported;\nand consequently it was not so common in the midlands as near the coast,\nespecially the south-eastern coast. We shall probably be on the safe\nside if we assume that in the early years of the sixteenth century, at\nall events, the ordinary dwelling-house at Coventry was no longer\ndestitute of this luxury. It would seem, therefore, that the story, in\nthe form here given, cannot be later, and may be much earlier, than the\nlatter years of the fifteenth century.\n\nFailing definite evidence to carry us back further, it becomes of\nimportance to inquire whether there are any traditions in other places\nfrom which we may reason. In the \"History of Gloucestershire,\" printed\nby Samuel Rudder of Cirencester in 1779, we read that the parishioners\nof St. Briavels, hard by the Forest of Dean, \"have a custom of\ndistributing yearly upon Whitsunday, after divine service, pieces of\nbread and cheese to the congregation at church, to defray the expenses\nof which every householder in the parish pays a penny to the\nchurchwardens; and this is said to be for the privilege of cutting and\ntaking the wood in Hudnolls. The tradition is that the privilege was\nobtained of some Earl of Hereford, then lord of the Forest of Dean, at\nthe instance of his lady, upon the same hard terms that Lady Godiva\nobtained the privileges for the citizens of Coventry.\" It appears that\nRudder, while in the main accurately relating both custom and tradition,\nhas made the mistake of supposing that the payment was made to the\nchurchwardens, whereas it was in all probability made to the constable\nof the castle of St. Briavels as warden of the Forest of Dean. The\ncustom is now in a late stage of decadence, and local inquiries have\nfailed to elicit any further details throwing light on the point under\nconsideration.[49]\n\nI am not aware of any other European tradition that will bear comparison\nwith that of Godiva, but Liebrecht relates that he remembers in his\nyouth, about the year 1820, in a German newspaper, a story according to\nwhich a countess frees her husband's subjects from a heavy punishment\nimposed by him. She undertakes to walk a certain course clad only in her\nshift, and she performs it, but clad in a shift of iron.[50] The\ncondition is here eluded rather than fulfilled; and the point of the\nstory is consequently varied. It would be interesting to have the tale\nunearthed from the old newspaper, and to know where its scene was laid,\nand whether it was a genuine piece of folklore.\n\nEastern tales, however, furnish us repeatedly with incidents in which a\nlady parades the streets of a city, and during her progress all folk are\nbidden to close their shops and withdraw into their houses on pain of\ndeath. The example of the Princess Badroulbadour will occur to every\nreader of the \"Arabian Nights.\" This, however, is by no means a solitary\nexample. In the story of Kamar Al-Zaman and the Jeweller's Wife, one of\nthe stories of the \"Nights\" rejected on moral grounds by Lane, but\ntranslated by Burton, a dervish relates that he chanced one Friday to\nenter the city of Bassorah, and found the streets deserted. The shops\nwere open; but neither man nor woman, girl nor boy, dog nor cat was to\nbe seen. By and by he heard a sound of drums, and hiding himself in a\ncoffee-house, he looked out through a crevice and saw forty pairs of\nslave girls, with uncovered heads and faces displayed, come walking\nthrough the market, and in their midst a lady riding unveiled and\nadorned with gold and gems. In front of her was a damsel bearing in\nbaldric a great sword with haft of emerald and tassels of\njewel-encrusted gold. Pausing close to the dervish, the lady said to her\nmaidens: \"I hear a noise of somewhat within yonder shop; so do ye search\nit, lest haply there be one hidden there, with intent to enjoy a look at\nus while we have our faces unveiled.\" Accordingly they searched the shop\nopposite the coffee-house, and brought forth a man. At the lady's\ncommand the damsel with the sword smote off his head, and leaving the\ncorpse lying on the ground, the procession swept on. It turned out that\nthe lady was the wife of a jeweller to whom the King of Bassorah was\ndesirous of granting a boon, and at her request the boon obtained was a\nproclamation commanding that all the townsfolk should every Friday enter\nthe mosques two hours before the hour of prayer, so that none might\nabide in the town, great or small, unless they were in the mosques or in\nthe houses with the doors locked upon them; but all the shops were to be\nleft open. Then the lady had permission to ride with her slave-women\nthrough the heart of the town, and none were to look on her from window\nor lattice; and every one whom she found abroad she was at liberty to\nkill. A similar incident is related in the life of Kurroglu, the\nrobber-poet of Persia, where a beautiful princess passes in state\nthrough the bazaars every Friday on her way to the mosque, while all the\nmen are banished.[51] Here, again, some one was of course found playing\nthe spy.\n\nA version of the incident, which can be traced further back in literary\nform than either of the foregoing, occurs in the \"Ardshi-Bordshi.\" This\nbook is a Mongolian recension of a Sanskrit collection of stories\nconcerning Vikramaditya, a monarch who, if he ever lived, seems to have\nflourished about the beginning of the Christian era. He was celebrated,\nlike Solomon, for his wisdom and his might; and his name became the\ncentre of a vast accretion of legends. Some of these legends were\ntranslated into Mongolian late in the Middle Ages, and formed a small\ncollection called after Ardshi-Bordshi, the nominal hero. In the story\nto which I wish to direct attention, a certain king has a daughter\nbearing the name of Sunshine, of whom he was so jealous that if any one\nlooked upon her his eyes were put out, and the man who entered her\napartments had his legs broken. Naturally, the young lady got tired of\nbeing thus immured, and complained to her father that, as she had no\nopportunity of seeing man or beast, the time hung heavily on her hands;\nand she begged him to let her go out on the fifteenth of the month and\nlook about her. The king agreed to this; but, the sly old rascal!\nnothing was further from his intention than to gratify his daughter's\nlonging for masculine converse. Wherefore he issued a decree that all\nobjects for sale were to be exposed openly to the view, all cattle to be\nleft indoors, the men and women were to withdraw into their houses and\nclose their doors and windows, and if any one came forth he should be\nseverely punished. On the appointed day, Sunshine, surrounded by her\nladies, and seated in a brand-new chariot, drove through the town, and\nviewed the merchandise and goods exposed for sale. The king had a\nminister, named Moon, who could not restrain his curiosity; and he\npeeped at her from a balcony. The princess, as he did so, caught sight\nof him and made signs to him, which were interpreted by the penetration\nof his wife to be an invitation to meet her clandestinely. The wife\nhardly displayed what most ladies would deem \"a proper spirit\" in\nadvising compliance; and the consequence of taking that advice would\nhave been serious trouble both to himself and to the princess, had it\nnot been for the ready wit of the two women, who got over the difficulty\nby contriving an ingenious equivocation not unknown in other stories, by\nwhich the princess cleared herself and her lover on oath.[52]\n\nIt is true that in these tales the lady who rides forth is not naked;\nbut to ride openly and unveiled would be thought almost as immodest in\ncountries where strict seclusion is imposed upon women. All these tales\ninclude the Peeping Tom incident; and it appears, indeed, so obvious a\ncorollary to the central thought of Lady Godiva's adventure that it is\nhardly likely to have required centuries for its evolution. From some\ntraditions, however, it is absent. A story belonging to the Cinderella\ncycle, found at Smyrna, relates that when a certain king desired to\nmarry his own daughter, the maiden, by the advice of her Fate, demanded\nas the price of compliance three magnificent dresses. Having obtained\nthese, she asked permission to go unseen (like Badroulbadour) to the\nbath. The king, to gratify her, forbade his subjects on pain of death to\nopen their shops or to show themselves in the streets while she passed\nby. She thus got an opportunity of escaping from the city, of which she\ndid not fail to make use,--greatly, no doubt, to her unnatural father's\ndisgust. An Indian tradition also tells us that the inhabitants of\nChamba were under the necessity of digging a canal for irrigation, but\nwhen it was dug, owing to the enchantments of an evil spirit, not a\ndrop of water could be got to flow along its course. A magician at last\nfound out that the spell could be dissolved if the beautiful and\nvirtuous young princess of Chamba would consent to traverse a given\ndistance of the plain entirely naked, in full view of the populace, and\nto lose her head when the journey was accomplished. After much\nhesitation, her compassion triumphed over her shame; and she undertook\nthe task. But lo! as she advanced, a thick line of young trees arose to\nright and left, completely hiding her from cynical eyes. And the shady\ncanal is shown to-day by the good people of Chamba as one of the most\nauthentic monuments of their history.[53]\n\nSo far the stories. Concerning which it must be observed that they are\nevidence that the myth of Lady Godiva is widely diffused in the East,\nand that the spy is usually, though not always, part of the tale. The\nSmyrnoean version must probably be thrown out of the reckoning. It is, as\nI have already mentioned, a variant of the Cinderella cycle. The problem\nof the plot is how to get the heroine unseen out of her father's\nclutches. This is commonly effected by the simple mechanism of a\ndisguise and a night escape. Other methods, I need not now detail, are,\nhowever, sometimes adopted; and the excuse of going to the bath, with\nthe order to the people to close their shops and keep within doors,\nwould seem to reveal nothing more than the unconscious influence of\nAladdin or some other of the Eastern stories. Throwing this out, then,\nas accidental, an overwhelming proportion of the analogues cited\ncontains the spy. It would be dangerous to reason on the supposition\nthat the proportions of all the Asiatic variants extant correspond with\nthose of the variants cited; but we are at liberty to assume that a\nlarge number, if not the majority, comprise the incident of Peeping\nTom. None of them was known in Europe until Galland published his\ntranslation of the \"Arabian Nights\" in the year 1704--upwards of two\ncenturies later than the latest period at which the story as given in\nthe Coventry manuscript can have come into existence.\n\nBut the stories, though they may go a little way to help us in regard to\nthe incident of Peeping Tom, throw no light on the origin of the legend,\nor of the procession. Let us therefore turn to one or two curious\nreligious ceremonies, which may have some bearing upon it. A potent\nspell to bring rain was reported as actually practised during the\nGorakhpur famine of 1873-4. It consisted of a gang of women stripping\nthemselves perfectly naked, and going out by night to drag the plough\nacross a field. The men were kept carefully out of the way, as it was\nbelieved that peeping by them would not only vitiate the spell, but\nbring trouble on the village. It would not be a long step from this\nbelief to a story in which peeping was alleged to have taken place with\ndisastrous effects, either to the village, or (by favour of the deities\nintended to be propitiated) to the culprit himself. At the festival of\nthe local goddess in the village of Serur, in the Southern Mahratta\ncountry, the third and fourth days are devoted to private offerings.\nMany women, we are told, on these days walk naked to the temple in\nfulfilment of vows, \"but they were covered with leaves and boughs of\ntrees, and surrounded by their female relations and friends.\"[54]\n\nThe performance of religious rites by women alone, when men are required\nunder heavy penalties to absent themselves, is, indeed, not very\nuncommon in savage life. Nor is it confined to savage life. When Rome\nwas at the height of her civilization and her triumphs, the festival of\nthe Bona Dea was rendered notorious by the divorce of Caesar's wife and\nby legal proceedings against an aristocratic scoundrel, who, for the\npurposes of an intrigue with her, had violated the sacred ceremonies.\nThe Bona Dea, or Good Goddess, was a woodland deity, the daughter and\nwife of Faunus. Her worship had descended from a remote antiquity; and\nher annual festival was held in the month of December, and was attended\nonly by women. The matrons of the noblest families of Rome met by night\nin the house of the highest official of the state to perform the\ntraditional ceremonies of the goddess, and to pray for the well-being of\nthe Roman people. Only women, and those of the most unsullied character,\nwere permitted to attend; and the breach of this rule by Clodius,\ndisguised in woman's garb, constituted a heinous offence against the\nstate, from the penalties of which he only escaped, if we may believe\nCicero, by bribing the judges.[55]\n\nAt the village of Southam, not far from Coventry, another procession in\nhonour of Godiva formerly took place. Very little is known about it now,\nsave one singular fact, namely, that there were two Godivas in the\ncavalcade, and one of them was black. Southam was part of the property\npossessed by Earl Leofric; and it has been suggested that this is enough\nto account for the commemoration of Godgifu. It would no doubt be an\nexcellent reason for affixing her renowned name to a periodical ceremony\nalready performed there. But it would hardly be a reason for\ncommemorating her extortion of privileges in which the inhabitants of\nSoutham did not share; and it would leave the black lady unexplained.\nShe may, indeed, have been a mere travesty, though the hypothesis would\nbe anything but free from difficulty. Here, again, if we have recourse\nto the comparison of ceremonies, we may obtain some light. Among the\ntribes of the Gold Coast of Africa the wives of men who have gone to war\nmake a daily procession through the town. They are stark naked, painted\nall over with white, and decorated with beads and charms. Any man who is\nfound in the town is attacked and driven away. And on the occasion of a\nbattle the women imitate the actions the men are thought to be\nperforming, with guns, sticks, and knives. The Gold Coast is a long way\noff; but not only do black women there paint themselves white in their\nsacred rites, white women in Britain have painted themselves, if not\nblack, at least a dark blue. Pliny records that both matrons and\nunmarried girls among the Britons in the first century of the Christian\nera were in the habit of staining themselves all over with the juice of\nthe woad; and he adds that, thus rivalling the swarthy hue of the\nAEthiopians, they go on these occasions in a state of nature. We are\nsometimes taught that when the English invaded Britain, the natives whom\nthey found here were all driven out or massacred. There are, however,\nmany reasons for doubting that this wholesale destruction was as\ncomplete as has been imagined. The name of Coventry betrays in its\ntermination a Celtic element; and this could hardly have entered into it\nhad there not been in the neighbourhood a considerable British-speaking\npopulation. What is more likely than that at Southam this population\ncontinued and preserved its customs, and that one of such customs was\nthat very religious rite of which Pliny speaks? Unhappily he tells us\nnothing about the rite itself, nor the deity in whose honour it was\nperformed. But it would not involve a great stretch of fancy to suppose\nthat in the black lady of Southam we have a survival of the performance.\nIt is not too much to say that this explanation would have the merit of\nbeing intelligible and adequate.[56]\n\nIn all countries ceremonies of a special character are usually dramatic.\nThey represent, or are believed to represent, actions of the divinities\nin whose honour they are performed. The rites of the Bona Dea, we know,\nwere of this kind; and they consequently degenerated into orgies of a\nshameful character. The Coventry procession is admittedly a\nrepresentation of Godgifu's ride. It is not now, nor has it been so long\nas we have any records of it--that is to say for two hundred\nyears--connected with any professed act of worship; but this is not\nincompatible with its being the long-descended relic of some such\nobservance as those I have described. The introduction of Christianity\ndid not annihilate the older cults. The new religion incorporated some\nof them; and although the rest were no longer regarded as sacred, the\nfeeling of obligation remained attached to them for centuries. They were\nsecularized, and ultimately degraded for the most part into burlesque.\nSuch as were connected with municipal life, or, as we shall see in a\nfuture chapter, with family life, retained a measure of solemnity long\nafter it had passed away from rites which had been abandoned to an\nunorganized mob. This is well illustrated by the contrast between the\nceremonial at Coventry (whatever its origin) and that at St. Briavels.\nThe stronger hand of a municipality would have a restraining power\nwanting to that of a village community, or a parish--especially if the\nlatter had been governed by a lord, who in later times had been shorn of\nhis authority, or had ceased to reside among, or take an interest in the\naffairs of, his tenantry. Something like this I take to have been the\nhistory of St. Briavels. There does not appear from Rudder's account to\nhave been, in his time at least, any pageant commemorative of the\nachievement of the lady to whom the parishioners reckoned themselves to\nowe their privileges; nor have I been able to trace one by local\ninquiries. But the tradition is at St. Briavels unmistakably connected\nwith a religious and social rite. The distribution of food on a day of\nhigh and holy festival in the church to the congregation, and paid for\nby a levy upon every householder in the parish, can point to nothing\nelse than a feast of the whole community as a solemn act of worship. Its\ndegeneracy in more recent times has been thus described to me by the\nRev. W. Taprell Allen:--\"For many years it was customary to bring to the\nchurch on Whitsunday afternoon baskets of the stalest bread and hardest\ncheese, cut up into small pieces the size of dice. Immediately after the\nservice the bread and cheese were scrambled for in the church, and it\nwas a custom to use them as pellets, the parson coming in for his share\nas he left the pulpit. About 1857, or perhaps a year or two later, the\nunseemly custom was transferred from the church to the churchyard, the\nbread and cheese being thrown down from the church tower. Later on it\nwas transferred to the road outside the church gates. It now lasts but a\nfew minutes. A few years ago all the roughs of the Forest used to come\nover, and there was much drinking and fighting; but now it is very\ndifferent. The custom has in fact been dying out.\" From these later\nstages of decay the Godiva pageant was saved by becoming a municipal\nfestival. And while at St. Briavels we can watch the progress of\ndegeneration from a point at which the religious character of the\nceremony had not quite vanished, down to the most unblushing burlesque,\nand to its ultimate expulsion from consecrated precincts,--at Coventry\nwe see but one phase, one moment, at which the rite, if it ever had any\ntitle to that name, seems to have been photographed and rendered\npermanent.\n\nIt is obvious, however, that a feast is not a dramatic representation of\na ride; and the point requiring elucidation is the intimate relation of\nthe feast at St. Briavels with a story apparently so irrelevant as that\nof the countess' ride. To explain this, we must suppose that the feast\nwas only part--doubtless the concluding part--of a ceremony, and that\nthe former portion was a procession, of which the central figure was\nidentical with that familiar to us at Coventry. But such a procession,\nterminating in a sacred feast, would have had no meaning if the naked\nlady represented a creature merely of flesh and blood. It is only\nexplicable on the hypothesis that she was the goddess of a heathen cult,\nsuch as Hertha (or Nerthus), whose periodical progress among her subject\ntribes is described in a well-known passage by Tacitus,[57] and yet\nsurvives, as we have seen, in the folklore of Ruegen. Now the historian\ntells us that Hertha was Mother Earth, the goddess of the soil, whose\nyearly celebration would appropriately take place in the spring or early\nsummer. To her the produce of the land would be ascribed; and in her\nname and by her permission would all agricultural operations be\nperformed. Such a goddess it must be who is honoured by the ceremonies\nalready noticed in India. Such a goddess, at any rate, was the Bona Dea;\nand to such a goddess we may readily believe would be ascribed the\nprivilege of cutting wood. It is quite consistent with this that the\npayment by every household at St. Briavels should be made to the warden\nof the forest, and that it should be spent by him on the goddess'\nfestival. We are left to surmise what were the tolls and burdens at\nCoventry, so vaguely referred to by Roger of Wendover. Pigs and horses,\nwe learn from two different sources, were not included in the exemptions\nobtained by the countess; and the reason for this in the latter case is\naccounted for by the incident of Peeping Tom.\n\nOne other point is worthy of mention: both at St. Briavels and at\nCoventry the commemoration takes place nearly at the same time of year.\nThe Great Fair at Coventry opens on the day after Corpus Christi\nDay--that is to say, the Friday after Trinity Sunday. Corpus Christi Day\nitself was the day on which the celebrated Coventry Miracle Plays were\nperformed; and the Fair opened the next morning. At the same time of\nyear too--namely, on Ascension Day--a custom, for which there is no\nexplanation in any record, was observed at St. Michael's Church, York,\nwhen ale and bread and cheese were yearly given away in the church to\nthe poor of the parish.[58] Although Ascension Day is separated by three\nweeks from Corpus Christi, the movable character of the feasts would\nbridge this gulf without any difficulty; and heathen observances of the\nsame nature, and referring to the same season, when they had to be\nreconciled to the Christian calendar, might easily find places in some\ninstances on one day and in others on another day. Godgifu and her\nhusband were honoured as founders of the Benedictine monastery at\nCoventry, which rose upon the ruins of an earlier house of Benedictine\nnuns founded by Osburg, a lady of the royal house, nearly two hundred\nyears before. This nunnery had been destroyed in the Danish wars about\nthe year 1016. Consequently, if any legend, or ceremony, was known or\npractised at Coventry in connection with some traditional patroness, the\nname of Godgifu was ready to hand to be identified with it. Through the\nmonastery Coventry first rose to wealth and repute; and the townsfolk on\nthis score owed a debt of gratitude to the foundress, though there is no\nrecord whether any special day was set apart in her honour.\n\nOn the whole, then, there is ground for supposing that the legend and\nprocession of Lady Godiva are survivals of a pagan belief and worship\nlocated at Coventry; that the legend was concerned with a being awful\nand mysterious as Dame Berchta, or Hertha herself; and that the incident\nof Peeping Tom was from the first, or at all events from an early date,\npart of the story. The evidence upon which these conclusions rest may be\nshortly recapitulated thus:--\n\n1. The absence of historical foundation for the tradition.\n\n2. The close resemblance between the tradition and other stories and\nsuperstitions which unquestionably deal with heathen goddesses, such as\nBerchta and Hertha.\n\n3. The equally close analogy between the procession and that described\nin Eastern stories, which, so far as we know, could not have reached\nEngland at the latest period when the procession could possibly have\nbeen instituted; and between the procession and certain heathen rites\npractised not only in the East, but as near home as Rome and\nGermany,--nay, in Britain itself.\n\n4. The occurrence of a similar procession at Southam, in the same\ncounty, having the special feature of a black lady, best explained as a\nsurvival of certain rites practised by the ancient Britons.\n\n5. The connection between the analogous legend at St. Briavel's and the\nremains of a sacred communal feast that can hardly be anything else than\nthe degraded remnant of a pagan observance.\n\nThe want of historical evidence cannot, of course, be overlooked; but we\nmust remember that in investigating traditions and traditional\nobservances we are dealing with a phase of civilization of which history\nonly yields rare and indirect glimpses. It is the absence of direct\nevidence that, not only in the science of Folklore, but also in the\nphysical sciences, causes resort to the evidence afforded by comparison\nof other structures and processes. On the validity of this evidence, and\nthe reasoning based upon it, nearly all our scientific learning depends.\nIn spite, therefore, of the defects in the historical evidence, and in\nthe absence of evidence to the contrary, it can scarcely be denied that\nthe analogies in both custom and legend here brought together amount to\na fairly strong presumption in favour of the conclusions I have ventured\nto draw from them.\n\nIf I may formulate my conjecture as to the course of development\nactually pursued, it would be something like this. The ceremony at\nCoventry is a survival of an annual rite in honour of a heathen goddess,\nfrom which men were excluded. This rite, like all such, would have been\na part of the tribal cult, and intimately associated with the tribal\nlife and organization. Side by side with it a myth would have been\nevolved, accounting for the performance as a dramatic representation of\nan event in the goddess' career. This myth would have been similar in\noutline to those recited above, and would have comprised an explanation\nof the exclusion of men. When Christianity spread through the district\nthe inhabitants would still cling to their old custom and their old\nmyth, as we know was done elsewhere, because it was bound up with their\nsocial life. But, if not violently put down by the rulers of the land,\nboth custom and myth would, little by little, lose their sacred\ncharacter as the new religion increased in influence, and would become\ntransformed into municipal ceremonies. This process would be slow,\ncenturies being required for its completion; but it would be aided by\nthe gradual development of the tribe first into a settled village\ncommunity, and thence into a mediaeval township. With the loss of\nsanctity the reason for prohibiting the attendance of men would vanish;\nbut the tradition of it would be preserved in the incident of the story\nwhich narrated Peeping Tom's treachery.[59]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[33] Mrs. Bray, vol. i. p. 174.\n\n[34] \"Revue Celtique,\" vol. i. p. 231; Keightley, p. 312, citing \"The\nLocal Historian's Table-Book,\" by M. A. Richardson. Cromek, p. 242; \"Y\nCymmrodor,\" vol. iv. p. 209; \"Revue des Trad. Pop.\" vol. iii. p. 426;\n\"Revue Celtique,\" vol. i. p. 232.\n\n[35] Sebillot, \"Contes,\" vol. ii. p. 34; \"Revue des Trad. Pop.\" vol.\niii. p. 428; Sebillot, \"Litt. Orale,\" p. 21; Kennedy, p. 106; Keightley,\np. 311; \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. vi. p. 166; Wirt Sikes, p. 87. This story\npurports to be quoted from Howells, p. 349--an impossible reference,\nseeing that the volume in question only contains 194 pages. The\npeculiarities of Mr. Sikes' authorities, however, need very little\ncomment.\n\n[36] \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. vi. p. 194; Hunt, p. 120.\n\n[37] Gerv. Tilb. _Dcc._ iii. c. 85.\n\n[38] Sebillot, \"Contes,\" vol. ii. p. 42; \"Litt. Orale,\" p. 23; \"Trad. et\nSuper.\" p. 109. But in these cases the operation was performed\npainlessly enough, for the victims were unaware of their loss until they\ncame to look in the glass. In one of Prof. Rhys' stories the eye is\npricked with a green rush; \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. vi. p. 178: Hunt, p. 83.\nSee also Sebillot, \"Contes,\" vol. i. p. 119.\n\n[39] Keightley, p. 310; \"Revue des Trad. Pop.\" vol. iii. p. 426; Thorpe,\nvol. ii. p. 129, quoting Thiele. In another Danish tale given on the\nsame page, the woman's blindness is attributed to her having divulged\nwhat she had seen in Fairyland.\n\n[40] Sebillot, \"Litt. Orale,\" p. 24.\n\n[41] \"Choice Notes,\" p. 170; Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 8. The latter form of\nthe story seems more usual. See Gredt, pp. 28, 29, where we are plainly\ntold that the hapless mortals are fetched away by the devil.\n\n[42] Sternberg, p. 132 (see also Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 12); Von Alpenburg,\np. 63. See a similar story in Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" p. 276, from Boerner,\n\"Folk-tales of the Orlagau.\" In the latter case, however, the punishment\nseems to have been inflicted for jeering.\n\n[43] Jahn, p. 177, quoting Temme, \"Volkssagen\"; Ovid, \"Metam.\" l. iii.\nfab. 3; Tacitus, \"Germ.\" c. 40.\n\n[44] Roger of Wendover, \"Flowers of History,\" sub anno 1057. I quote\nfrom Dr. Giles' translation.\n\n[45] See his Presidential Address to the Warwickshire Naturalists' and\nArchaeologists' Field Club, 1886.\n\n[46] MS. marked D. This entry is an interpolation in a list of mayors\nand sheriffs in a different handwriting. There are several such\ninterpolations in the volume. Coventry possesses a number of MS. volumes\nof annals, one of which (see below) seems to date from the latter part\nof the sixteenth century, and the rest from the latter part of the\nseventeenth. In the MS. marked F. (considered by Mr. W. G. Fretton,\nF.S.A., to be in the handwriting of John Tipper, of Bablake, Coventry, a\nschoolmaster and local antiquary at the end of the seventeenth and\nbeginning of the eighteenth centuries), and also in the MS. in the\nBritish Museum (Additional MSS. 11,364), the entry runs simply:--\"1678\nMichaell Earle (Mercer) Mayor; Francis Clark, George Allatt, Sherriffs.\nThis year y^e severall Companies had new streamers, and attended y^e\nMayor to proclaim y^e faire, and each company cloathed one boy or two to\naugment y^e show.\" The latter MS. elsewhere speaks of the story of\nGodiva's ride as \"comonly known, and yearly comemorated by the Mayor,\nAldermen, and y^e severall companies.\"\n\n[47] This statue used to be decked out on the occasion of the procession\nin the long peruke and neckcloth of the reign of Charles II. See T.\nWard, \"Collections for the Continuation of Dugdale's Antiquities of\nWarwickshire\" (2 vols., fol. MS., Brit. Mus., Additional MSS., Nos.\n29,264, 29,265), vol. ii. fol. 143.\n\n[48] MS. marked E, Coventry, seventeenth century. A careful examination\nof the language of Roger of Wendover, Matthew Paris, John of Brompton,\nand Matthew of Westminster, shows that Roger of Wendover's account is\nthe source of the other three, Matthew Paris copying most closely, and\nJohn of Brompton most freely. John of Brompton and Matthew of\nWestminster omit the escort. Their statement as to Godiva's being unseen\nrefers to the hair which covered her; and the latter informs us, with a\ntouch of rhetoric, that Leofric regarded it as a miracle.\n\n[49] Rudder, p. 307. The Rev. W. Taprell Allen, M.A., Vicar of St.\nBriavels, has been kind enough to supply me with the correction from\nlocal inquiries and intimate acquaintance with the traditions and\naffairs of the parish extending over many years. See also \"Gent. Mag.\nLib.\" (Manners and Customs), p. 230.\n\n[50] Liebrecht, p. 104.\n\n[51] Burton, \"Nights,\" vol. ix. p. 255; Burton, \"Supp. Nights,\" vol.\niii. p. 570 (Appendix by Mr. W. A. Clouston). Kurroglu flourished in the\nsecond half of the seventeenth century.\n\n[52] This story is edited by Juelg in Mongolian and German (Innsbruck,\n1867). Miss Busk gives a free adaptation rather than a translation of\nthe German version, \"Sagas,\" p. 315. Prof. De Gubernatis, \"Zool. Myth.\"\nvol. i. p. 138, of course interprets it as a sun-myth--an interpretation\nto which the names Sunshine and Moon, and the date of the adventure (the\nfifteenth of the month), lend themselves.\n\n[53] Von Hahn, vol. ii. p. 225; \"Tour du Monde,\" vol. xxi. p. 342,\nquoted by Liebrecht, p. 105.\n\n[54] \"Panjab N. and Q.\" vol. iii. pp. 41, 115; \"Journal Ethnol. Soc.\nLondon,\" N. S., vol. i. p. 98.\n\n[55] The information relating to the Bona Dea has been collected by\nPreller, \"Roem. Myth.\" vol. i. p. 398; and see the authorities he has\ncited.\n\n[56] Ellis, p. 226; Pliny, \"Nat. Hist.\" l. xxii. c. 1. For the\ninformation as to the procession at Southam I am indebted to Mr. W. G.\nFretton, who formerly lived there.\n\n[57] \"Germania,\" c. 40; _cf._ c. 9.\n\n[58] Nicholson, p. 32.\n\n[59] I am indebted to Mr. Samuel Timmins, F.S.A., and to Mr. W. G.\nFretton, F.S.A., for a great amount of local information and other\nassistance which they have spared no pains to render me, and to the Town\nClerk of Coventry for permission to inspect the invaluable local\nmanuscripts belonging to the Corporation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nCHANGELINGS.\n\n     The belief in changelings--Precautions against changing--Motives\n     assigned for changing--Attempts frustrated--How changelings may\n     be known--Their physical characteristics--Devices to lead them to\n     betray themselves--Their subsequent treatment--Journey to\n     Fairyland to fetch back the true child--Adult changelings.\n\n\nA new-born babe, of all human beings the most helpless, has always\nroused compassion and care. Nor is it a matter for wonder if its\nhelplessness against physical dangers have led to the assumption that it\nis exposed to spiritual or supernatural evils more than its elders. At\nall events it seems a widespread superstition that a babe, when first it\nmakes its appearance in this world, must be protected not merely against\nthe natural perils of its condition, but also against enemies of an even\nmore subtle and fearful description. The shape taken by this\nsuperstition in north-western Europe is the belief in Changelings--a\nbelief which I propose to examine in the present chapter.[60]\n\nBy the belief in changelings I mean a belief that fairies and other\nimaginary beings are on the watch for young children, or (as we shall\nsee hereafter) sometimes even for adults, that they may, if they can\nfind them unguarded, seize and carry them off, leaving in their place\none of themselves, or a block of wood animated by their enchantments and\nmade to resemble the stolen person. Wise mothers take precautions\nagainst such thefts. These precautions are tolerably simple, and for the\nmost part display the same general character. First and foremost among\nthem is the rite of baptism, whereby the little one is admitted into the\nChristian Church. Faith in the efficacy of baptism as a protection from\nthe powers hostile to man is not less strong among communities nominally\nProtestant than among Roman Catholics, and has doubtless operated to\nbring many children within the pale of the visible Church who might\notherwise have been long in reaching that sacred enclosure. Examples of\nthe belief in the power of baptism against the depredations of fairies\ncould easily be cited from all Protestant countries. Without doing this,\nwe may just pause to note that baptism was also reckoned a remedy for\ndisease. This is doubtless a relic of the old creed which refers all\nhuman ailments to witchcraft and other spiritualistic origins. Mr.\nHenderson, speaking of the notion prevalent in the north of England that\nsickly infants never thrive until they are christened, relates a story\ncommunicated to him by a clergyman, within whose personal knowledge it\nhad happened. He says: \"The infant child of a chimney-sweeper at Thorne,\nin the West Riding of Yorkshire, was in a very weak state of health, and\nappeared to be pining away. A neighbour looked in, and inquired if the\nchild had been baptized. On an answer being given in the negative, she\ngravely said, 'I would try having it christened.' The counsel was taken,\nand I believe with success.\" The same belief is found both in North and\nSouth Wales. It is also testified to by a Scottish clergyman, who\nmoreover adduces the following conversation as illustrative of it and of\n\"an undefinable sort of awe about unbaptized infants, as well as an idea\nof uncanniness in having them without baptism in the house,\" which is\nentertained among the labouring classes in the north-east of Scotland.\n\"Oh, sir,\" said the wife of a working man to the minister, on asking him\nto baptize her child along with others, whose mothers were present,\n\"this registration's the warst thing the queentry ever saw; it sud be\ndeen awa' wee athegeethir!\" \"Why?\" asked the minister, in astonishment\nat the woman's words and earnestness of manner. \"It'll pit oot kirsnin\nathegeethir. Ye see the craitirs gets their names, an we jist think that\naneuch, an' we're in nae hurry sennin for you.\" How far, as this\nanecdote dimly suggests, it was the giving of a name which was supposed\nto protect a child, I cannot say: more probably it was the dedication to\nGod involved in baptism. This is countenanced by the precaution said to\nhave been observed in Nithsdale when a pretty child was born to\nconsecrate it to God, and sue for its protection by \"taking the Beuk\"\nand other acts of prayer and devotion.[61]\n\nPutting aside such ceremonies as these which may be supposed distinctly\nChristian, there were other charms looked upon as efficacious. Thus in\nScotland it was deemed highly judicious to keep an open Bible always\nnear a child, and even to place the holy volume beneath the head of a\nwoman in labour. In some parts of Germany it is enough to lay a single\nleaf out of a Bible or prayer-book in the cradle, until by the baptism\nof the infant the danger of robbery passes away; and a prayer-book is\nalso placed under the pillow of the newly-made mother, who is at that\ntime specially liable to fall under the power of the underground folk.\nIndeed a prayer-book, or the mere repetition of a Paternoster, is\nequally valuable with a Bible for these purposes; and if, by the neglect\nof any of these precautions, an opportunity be given to the foe, the\nchild may yet be saved by the utterance of the name of Jesus Christ at\nthe moment when the change is being effected. Holy water and the sign of\nthe cross, in Ireland, or a rosary blessed by a priest, in Picardy,\nenjoy a similar reputation.[62]\n\nAll these means of prevention are veneered with some sort of\nChristianity; but there are others which display Heathenism naked and\nunblushing. While a child in Mecklenburg remains unbaptized it is\nnecessary to burn a light in the chamber. Nor is the superstition\nconfined to one district: it is common all over Germany and Denmark; it\nwas once common in England; it is found in Ireland; it is found among\nthe Lithuanians on the shores of the Baltic; it was practised by the\nancient Romans, and appears to be a relic of the sacred character\nanciently imputed to fire. In the island of Lewis fire used to be\ncarried round women before they were churched and children before they\nwere christened, both night and morning; and this was held effectual to\npreserve both mother and infant from evil spirits, and (in the case of\nthe infant) from being changed. The Sad Dar, one of the sacred books of\nthe Parsees, contains directions to keep a continual fire in the house\nduring a woman's pregnancy, and after the child is born to burn a lamp\nfor three nights and days--a fire, indeed, is declared to be better--\"so\nthat the demons and fiends may not be able to do any damage and harm.\"\nBy way of enforcing this precept we are told that when Zoroaster was\nborn, a demon came at the head of a hundred and fifty other demons,\nevery night for three nights, to slay him, but they were put to flight\nby seeing the fire, and were consequently unable to hurt him.[63]\n\nIron or steel, in the shape of needles, a key, a knife, a pair of tongs,\nan open pair of scissors, or in any other shape, if placed in the\ncradle, secured the desired end. In Bulgaria a reaping-hook is placed in\na corner of the room for the same purpose. I shall not stay now to\ndiscuss the reason why supernatural beings dread and dislike iron. The\nopen pair of scissors, however, it should be observed, has double power;\nfor it is not only of the abhorred metal,--it is also in form a cross.\nThe use of the cross in baptism was probably one of the reasons for the\nefficacy of that rite against felonious fairies. At all events, over a\nvery wide area the cross is thought a potent protection; nor is the\nbelief by any means confined to Christian lands. Mr. Mitchell-Innes\ntells us that the fear of changelings exists in China. \"To avert the\ncalamity of nursing a demon, dried banana-skin is burnt to ashes, which\nare then mixed with water. Into this the mother dips her finger and\npaints a cross upon the sleeping babe's forehead. In a short time the\ndemon soul returns--for the soul wanders from the body during sleep and\nis free--but, failing to recognize the body thus disguised, flies off.\nThe true soul, which has been waiting for an opportunity, now approaches\nthe dormant body, and, if the mark has been washed off in time, takes\npossession of it; but if not, it, like the demon, failing to recognize\nthe body, departs, and the child dies in its sleep.\"[64] How to hit the\nexact moment between the flight of the demon and the advent of the true\nsoul doubtless puzzles many a Chinese mother fully as much as the cross\npuzzles the two competing souls. But when she is successful she baffles\nthe evil spirit by deceit, of which the cross is made the instrument;\nthough we may well believe that the child is not disguised in this way\nwithout reference to the cross's inherent sanctity; for it is a\nreligious symbol among nations who never heard the gospel of the\nCrucified.\n\nSpirits whose baleful influences are feared by man are happily easily\ntricked. To this guilelessness on their part must be attributed another\nstrange method of defeating their evil designs on children. It appears\nto be enough to lay over the infant, or on the bed beside the mother, a\nportion of the father's clothes. A shepherd's wife living near Selkirk\nwas lying in bed one day with her new-born boy at her side, when she\nheard a sound of talking and laughter in the room. Suspecting what\nturned out to be the case, she seized in great alarm her husband's\nwaistcoat, which was lying at the foot of the bed, and flung it over\nherself and the child. The fairies, for it was they who were the cause\nof the noise, set up a loud scream, crying out: \"Auld Luckie has cheated\nus o' our bairnie!\" Soon afterwards the woman heard something fall down\nthe chimney, and looking out she saw a waxen effigy of her baby, stuck\nfull of pins, lying on the hearth. The would-be thieves had meant to\nsubstitute this for the child. When her husband came home he made up a\nlarge fire and threw the doll upon it; but, instead of burning, the\nthing flew up the chimney amid shouts of laughter from the unseen\nvisitors. The suggestion seems to be that the sight of the father's\nclothes leads \"the good people\" to think that he himself is present\nwatching over his offspring. Some articles of clothing, however, seem to\nhave special virtue, such as a right shirt-sleeve or a left stocking,\nthough wherefore is not very clear; and in China, about Canton, a\nfisherman's net is employed with as little apparent reason. In Sweden\nthe babe is wrapped in red cloth, which we may be allowed to conjecture\nis intended to cozen the fairies by simulating fire.[65]\n\nMoreover, certain plants are credited with a similar gift. In Germany\norant (whatever that may be), blue marjoram, and black cumin; and in\nDenmark garlic--nasty enough surely to keep any beings off--and bread\nare used. The Danes, too, place salt in the cradle or over the door. The\nItalians fear not only fairies who rob them of their children, but also\nwitches who tear the faces of unbaptized infants. These are both old\nsuperstitions, dating in one form or other from classic times. To baulk\nthe witches of their prey it is in some places customary to keep a light\nburning in the chamber at night, and to affix at the door of the house\nthe image of a saint, hanging to it a rosary and an unravelled napkin;\nwhile behind the door are put a jar full of salt and a brush. A twofold\ndefence is thus built up; for the witch, beholding the image of the\nsaint and the rosary, will straightway retire; or if these fail to warn\nher off, she will on entering be compelled to count the grains of salt,\nthe broken threads of the napkin, and the twigs of the brush--a task\nthat will keep her occupied from midnight, when at the earliest she can\ndare appear, until dawn, when she must slink away without having been\nable to attain her object. Among the Greeks witches are believed to have\ngreat power. They seek new-born babes to suck their blood or to prick\nthem to death with sharp instruments. Often they inflict such injuries\nthat a child remains for ever a cripple or an invalid. The Nereids of\nthe fountains and springs are also on the watch \"to exchange one of\ntheir own fractious offspring for a mortal babe.\" Constant watchfulness,\nand baptism as soon as the Church permits it, are therefore necessary.\nIn England it seems to have been held in former days that witches stole\nchildren from their cradles before baptism to make an oil or unguent by\nboiling them to a jelly. A part of this jelly they used to drink, and\nwith the remainder they rubbed their bodies. This was the orthodox means\nof acquiring magical powers. It is a Sicilian belief that the hands of\nunbaptized children are used by witches in their sorceries.[66]\n\nAs we might expect, the reason why unbaptized babes are held to be so\nliable to these attacks is that until the initiatory rite has been\nperformed they are looked upon as heathen, and therefore peculiarly\nunder the dominion of evil spirits. In Sicily and in Spain an infant\nuntil baptism is called by the opprobrious epithets of _Pagan_, _Turk_,\n_Moor_, _Jew_. Even women will not kiss it, for to kiss a Moor, at all\nevents in Spain, is sin; though, on the other hand, to kiss an\nunbaptized child, if no one else have kissed it, is sovereign against\ntoothache. By the Greeks these little innocents are regarded not merely\nas not Christians, but as really less human than demoniac in their\nnature. This is said, indeed, to be the teaching of the Church. The\nlower classes, at least (and, presumably therefore, not long ago the\nupper classes) believe it firmly; so that an unbaptized babe is called\n_Drakos_ (feminine, _Drakoula_), that is to say, serpent or dragon. This\nis the same opprobrious title that we found Gervase of Tilbury applying\nto the evil spirits infesting the waters of the Rhone; and we cannot\ndoubt that it is intended to convey an imputation of Satanic nature.[67]\nThe extent of this superstition would form an interesting subject of\ninquiry. If it could be established as existing now or formerly among\nother Christian nations (and the superstitions of Sicily and Spain just\ncited point to this) it would help to clear up much of the difficulty\nsurrounding the subject of changelings, especially the motives actuating\nboth fairies and witches in their depredations. And, as infant baptism\nis by no means exclusively a Christian rite, research among heathen\nnations would be equally pertinent.\n\nMeanwhile the motive usually assigned to fairies in northern stories is\nthat of preserving and improving their race, on the one hand by carrying\noff human children to be brought up among the elves and to become united\nwith them, and on the other hand by obtaining the milk and fostering\ncare of human mothers for their own offspring. Doubts have been\nexpressed by the German poet and mythologist, Karl Simrock, whether this\nwas the primitive motive. He suggests that originally these spirits were\nlooked upon as wholly beneficent, and even the theft of children was\ndictated by their care for the best interests of mankind. Nor does he\nhesitate to lay it down that the selfish designs just mentioned were\nfirst attributed to them when with growing enlightenment the feeling\nmanifested itself that the kindly beings were falling into decay.[68]\n\nIt might be sufficient to reply that no spiritual existences imagined by\nmen in a state of civilization such as surrounded our Celtic and\nTeutonic forefathers were ever regarded as unswervingly benevolent:\ncaprice and vindictiveness, if not cruelty, are always elements of their\ncharacter. Beyond this general consideration, however, there is a\nfurther and conclusive answer in the fact that there is no warrant in\ntradition for the supposition that could we penetrate to the oldest\nstrata of mythical belief we should not discover selfish designs imputed\nto \"the good people.\" The distinguished commentator himself is bound to\nadmit that the belief in their need of human help is entwined in the\nvery roots of the Teutonic myths. It is, indeed, nothing but the\nmediaeval and Teutonic form of tenets common to all the nations upon\nearth. The changeling superstition and the classic stories of children\nand adults beloved by gods of high and low degree are consistent with\nthis belief, and inseparable from it. The motive is so far\ncomprehensible: what is wanted is to know whether any special relations,\nsuch as are pointed at by the Greek epithet _Drakos_, were held to exist\nbetween the mysterious world and newly-born babes which would render the\nlatter more obnoxious to attack than elder children or adults; or\nwhether, as I have put it at the beginning of this chapter, their\nhelplessness alone suggested their exceeding danger. To solve the riddle\nwe must wait for a larger accumulation of documents.[69]\n\nBut in the best regulated families it is not always possible to prevent\nthe abduction from being attempted, and sometimes accomplished, in spite\nof every precaution. One night a Welsh woman, waking in a fright in her\nhusband's absence, missed her baby. She sought for it and caught it upon\nthe boards above the bed: the fairies had not succeeded in bearing it\nany further away. Another felt her boy being taken from her arms;\nwhereupon she screamed and held him tightly, and, according to her own\nexpression, \"God and me were too hard for them.\" The child grew up to\nbecome a famous preacher. A peasant woman in Mecklenburg who ventured to\nsleep without a light was attacked by an elf-woman. The stranger seized\nthe child, but was baffled by the woman's determination; for she\nstruggled and shrieked for her husband, and when he hurried in with a\nlight the fairy vanished.[70]\n\nNor is it always the mother who arrests the theft. A trick frequently\nplayed by the dwarfs in Northern Germany on the birth of a child was to\npinch a cow's ear; and when the animal bellowed and everybody ran out to\nknow why, a dwarf would slip indoors and effect the change. On one such\noccasion the father saw his infant being dragged out of the room. In the\nnick of time he grasped it and drew it towards himself. The changeling\nleft in its place was found in the bed; and this he kept too, defying\nthe efforts of the underground folk to regain it. At a place in North\nJutland it happened many years ago in a lying-in room that the mother\ncould get no sleep while the lights were burning. So her husband\nresolved to take the child in his arm, in order to keep strict watch\nover it so long as it was dark. But, unfortunately, he fell asleep; and\non being awakened by a shake of the arm, he saw a tall woman standing by\nthe bed, and found that he had an infant in each arm. The woman\ninstantly vanished; and as he had forgotten in which arm he had held his\nchild, there he lay without knowing which of the two children was his\nown. A boy, who was watching his younger sister while his parents were\nboth from home, saw a small man and woman come from behind the oven.\nThey told him to give them the little one; and when he refused they\nstepped to the cradle and endeavoured to take the babe by force. The\nboy, however, was strong and bold, and laid about him with such\ndetermination that the robbers at length took to flight. On the\nLithuanian coast of the Baltic substantially the same tale is told with\nmore humour. There a farmer's boy sleeping in the living-room of the\nhouse is awakened by the proceedings of two _laumes_, or elves. They\nstealthily fetch out of the bedroom the new-born babe and swathe it in\nswaddling clothes of their own, while they wrap in its clothes the\noven-broom. Then they began to quarrel which of them should carry the\nbroom thus rolled up into the bedroom; and as they were unable to agree\nthey resolved to carry it together. No sooner had they disappeared into\nthe inner apartment than the boy leaped out of bed, picked up his\nmistress' child and took it into his own bed. When the _laumes_ returned\nthe infant was not to be found. They were both very angry and began to\nscold one another: \"It's your fault.\" \"No, it's your fault; didn't I\nsay, You carry it, while I stay here and keep watch? I said it would be\nstolen!\" While they wrangled thus, kakary ku! crew the cock, and, foiled\nand enraged, they had to make off. The boy had great difficulty in\nwakening his mistress, who was in a deep sleep, dreaming a horrible\ndream that a stock of wood had been placed on her breast so that she\ncould hardly breathe. He told her what had happened, but she would not\nbelieve it until she saw that she had _two_ children--one to which she\nhad given birth, the other fashioned out of the oven-broom.[71]\n\nPrayer and the utterance of a holy name are to the full as effectual as\nphysical strength. A fisherwoman in the north-east of Scotland was once\nleft alone in bed with her baby, when in came a little man dressed in\ngreen, and proceeded to lay hold of the child. The woman knew at once\nwith whom she had to do, and ejaculated: \"God be atween you an' me!\" Out\nrushed the fairy in a moment, and mother and babe were left without\nfurther molestation. A curious tale is told of two Strathspey smugglers\nwho were one night laying in a stock of whiskey at Glenlivat when they\nheard the child in the cradle give a piercing cry, just as if it had\nbeen shot. The mother, of course, blessed it; and the Strathspey lads\ntook no further notice, and soon afterwards went their way with their\ngoods. Before they had gone far they found a fine healthy child lying\nall alone on the roadside, and recognized it as their friend's. They saw\nat once how the affair stood. The fairies had taken away the real infant\nand left a stock; but owing to the pious ejaculation of the mother, they\nhad been forced to drop it. As the urgency of their business did not\nadmit of their return they took the child with them, and kept it until\nthey went to Glenlivat again. On their arrival here they said nothing\nabout the child, which they kept concealed. In the course of\nconversation the woman remarked that the disease which had attacked the\nlittle one the last time they were there had never left it, and she had\nnow scarce any hope of its recovery. As if to confirm her statement, it\ncontinued uttering most piercing cries. The smugglers thereupon produced\nthe real babe healthy and hearty, and told her how they had found it.\nThe mother was, of course, pleased to recover it; and the next thing was\nto dispose of the changeling. For this purpose the Strathspey lads got\nan old creel to put him in and some straw to light under it. Seeing the\nserious turn matters were likely to take he resolved not to await the\ntrial, but flew up the smoke-hole and cried out from the top that but\nfor the guests events would have gone very differently.[72]\n\nTwo pixies of Dartmoor, in the shape of large bundles of rags, led away\none of two children who were following their mother homeward. It was\neventually found, on a search being made by the neighbours with\nlanterns, under a certain large oak tree known to be pixy-haunted. This\nis hardly a changeling story, as no attempt was made to foist a false\nchild on the parent. A tale from the Isle of Man contains two similar\nincidents of attempted robbery without replacing the stolen child by one\nof superhuman birth. The fairies there adopted artifices like those of\nthe North German dwarfs above mentioned. A few nights after a woman had\nbeen delivered of her first child a cry of fire was raised, and every\none ran out of the house to see whence it proceeded, leaving the\nhelpless mother alone with her babe. On returning they found the infant\nlying on the threshold of the house. The following year, when another\nlittle stranger had presented itself, a noise was heard in an out-house\namong the cattle. Again everybody that was stirring, including the\nnurse, hurried forth to learn what was the matter, believing that the\ncattle had got loose. But finding all safe, they came back, only to\ndiscover that the new-born babe had been taken out of bed, as the former\nhad been, and on their coming dropped in the middle of the entry. It\nmight have been supposed that these two warnings would have been enough;\nbut a third time the trick was played, and then more successfully.\nForgetting what had previously happened, all who were in the house ran\nout one night on hearing a noise in the cow-house--all, that is, except\nthe mother, who could not move, and the nurse, who was sleeping off the\neffects of alcohol. The former was lying broad awake and saw her child\nlifted from the bed by invisible hands and carried clean away. She\nshrieked at once to the nurse, but failed to arouse her; and when her\nhusband returned, an infant was indeed lying beside her, but a poor,\nlean, withered, deformed creature, very different from her own. It lay\nquite naked, though the clothes of the true child had been considerately\nleft for it by the ravishers.[73]\n\nOne of the difficulties experienced by the fairies on two of the three\noccasions here narrated in making off with the little one occurred at\nthe door of the house. That they should have tried, repeatedly at all\nevents, to pass out that way is almost as remarkable as that they should\nhave been permitted more than once to attempt the theft. For the\nthreshold is a part of the dwelling which from of old has been held\nsacred, and is generally avoided by uncanny beings. Wiser, though still\ndoomed to failure, were those Irish elves who lifted up a window and\nhanded the infant out. For it happened that a neighbour who was coming\nto pay a visit that moment stopped before the house, and exclaimed: \"God\nkeep all here from harm!\" No sooner had she uttered the words than she\nsaw the child put forth, how, or by whom, she did not know; and without\nhesitation she went up and took it away home with her. The next morning\nwhen she called to see how her friend fared great was the moan made to\nher over the behaviour of the child--so different from what it had ever\nbeen before--crying all the night and keeping awake its mother, who\ncould not quiet it by any means. \"I'll tell you what you'll do with the\nbrat,\" she replied; \"whip it well first, and then bring it to the\ncross-roads, and leave the fairy in the ditch there for any one to take\nthat pleases; for I have your child at home safe and sound as he was\nhanded out of the window last night to me.\" When the mother heard this,\nshe just stepped out to get a rod; but before she returned the\nchangeling had vanished, and no one either saw or heard of it again.[74]\n\nFairies, however, when bent upon mischief, are not always baulked so\neasily. They effect the exchange, sometimes in the house, and sometimes\nwhen the parent is at work in the fields and incautiously puts her\noffspring down the while. In these circumstances, grievous as may be the\nsuspicion arising from the changed conduct of the nursling, it is not\nalways easy to be sure of what has taken place. Tests, therefore, have\nto be applied. Often the appearance is enough. A \"mighty big head,\" or\nan abnormally thick head and neck, is in Germany deemed sufficient\ncredentials from Fairyland; while in a case from Lapland, where the hand\nand foot grew so rapidly as to become speedily nearly half an ell in\nlength and the child was unable to learn to speak, whereas she readily\nunderstood what was said to her, these deviations from the course of\nnature were looked upon as conclusive evidence.[75] A reputed changeling\nshown to Waldron in the Isle of Man early in the last century is thus\ndescribed: \"Nothing under heaven could have a more beautiful face; but\nthough between five and six years old, and seemingly healthy, he was so\nfar from being able to walk, or stand, that he could not so much as move\nany one joint; his limbs were vastly long for his age, but smaller than\nan infant's of six months; his complexion was perfectly delicate, and he\nhad the finest hair in the world; he never spoke, nor cried, eat scarce\nanything, and was very seldom seen to smile, but if any one called him a\nfairy-elf, he would frown and fix his eyes so earnestly on those who\nsaid it, as if he would look them through. His mother, or at least his\nsupposed mother, being very poor, frequently went out a-charing, and\nleft him a whole day together. The neighbours, out of curiosity, have\noften looked in at the window to see how he behaved when alone, which,\nwhenever they did, they were sure to find him laughing and in the utmost\ndelight. This made them judge that he was not without company more\npleasing to him than any mortal's could be; and what made this\nconjecture seem the more reasonable was, that if he were left ever so\ndirty, the woman at her return saw him with a clean face, and his hair\ncombed with the utmost exactness and nicety.\"[76] Luther tells us that\nhe saw and touched at Dessau a changed child which was twelve years of\nage. The account he gives of the child is that \"he had his eyes and all\nmembers like another child; he did nothing but feed, and would eat as\nmuch as two clowns or threshers were able to eat. When one touched it,\nthen it cried out. When any evil happened in the house, then it laughed\nand was joyful; but when all went well, then it cried and was very sad.\"\nSo much for the Reformer's testimony of what he saw and was told. His\ntheories and generalizations are in their way not less interesting than\nhis testimony: as might have been expected, they are an adaptation of\nthe ordinary superstitions to his own grim scheme of things. \"Such\nchangelings and killcrops,\" he goes on to say, \"_supponit Satan in locum\nverorum filiorum_; for the devil hath this power, that he changeth\nchildren, and instead thereof layeth devils in the cradles, which thrive\nnot, only they feed and suck: but such changelings live not above\neighteen or nineteen years. It sometimes falleth out that the children\nof women in child-bed are thus changed, and Devils laid in their stead,\none of which more fouleth itself than ten other children do, so that\nthe parents are much therewith disquieted; and the mothers in such sort\nare sucked out, that afterwards they are able to give suck no more.\"[77]\n\nMaking allowance for the influence of imagination, there can be no\ndoubt, on comparison of these passages, that the children to whom the\ncharacter of changelings was ascribed were invariably deformed or\ndiseased. The delightful author of the \"Popular Romances of the West of\nEngland\" says that some thirty or forty years before the date of writing\nhe had seen several reputed changelings. And his evidence is express\nthat \"in every case they have been sad examples of the influence of\nmesenteric disease.\" After describing their external symptoms, he adds:\n\"The wasted frame, with sometimes strumous swellings, and the unnatural\nabdominal enlargement which accompanies disease of mesenteric glands,\ngives a very sad, and often a most unnatural, appearance to the\nsufferer.\" Professor Rhys' description of a reputed changeling, one\nEllis Bach, of Nant Gwrtheyrn, in Carnarvonshire, is instructive as\nshowing the kind of being accredited among the Welsh with fairy nature.\nThe professor is repeating the account given to him of this poor\ncreature, who died nearly half a century ago. He tells us: \"His father\nwas a farmer, whose children, both boys and girls, were like ordinary\nfolks, excepting Ellis, who was deformed, his legs being so short that\nhis body seemed only a few inches from the ground when he walked. His\nvoice was also small and squeaky. However, he was very sharp, and could\nfind his way among the rocks pretty well when he went in quest of his\nfather's sheep and goats, of which there used to be plenty there\nformerly. Everybody believed Ellis to have been a changeling, and one\nsaying of his is well known in that part of the country. When strangers\nvisited Nant Gwrtheyrn, a thing which did not frequently happen, and\nwhen his parents asked them to their table, and pressed them to eat, he\nwould squeak out drily: _'B'yta 'nynna b'yta'r cwbwl_,' that is to\nsay--'Eating--that means eating all.'\" A changeling in Monmouthshire,\ndescribed by an eye-witness at the beginning of the present century, was\nsimply an idiot of a forbidding aspect, a dark, tawny complexion, and\nmuch addicted to screaming.[78]\n\nBut a changeling was to be known in other ways than by his physical\ndefects; under careful management he might be led to betray himself in\nspeech or action. A Kirkcudbrightshire tale represents a child as once\nleft in charge of a tailor, who \"commenced a discourse\" with him.\n\"'Will, hae ye your pipes?' says the tailor. 'They're below my head,'\nsays the tenant of the cradle. 'Play me a spring,' says the tailor. Like\nthought, the little man, jumping from the cradle, played round the room\nwith great glee. A curious noise was heard meantime outside; and the\ntailor asked what it meant. The little elf called out: 'It's my folk\nwanting me,' and away he fled up the chimney, leaving the tailor more\ndead than alive.\" In the neighbouring county of Dumfries the story is\ntold with more gusto. The gudewife goes to the hump-backed tailor, and\nsays: \"Wullie, I maun awa' to Dunse about my wab, and I dinna ken what\nto do wi' the bairn till I come back: ye ken it's but a whingin',\nscreechin', skirlin' wallidreg--but we maun bear wi' dispensations. I\nwad wuss ye,' quoth she, 'to tak tent till't till I come hame--ye sall\nhae a roosin' ingle, and a blast o' the goodman's tobacco-pipe forbye.'\nWullie was naething laith, and back they gaed the-gither. Wullie sits\ndown at the fire, and awa' wi' her yarn gaes the wife; but scarce had\nshe steekit the door, and wan half-way down the close, when the bairn\ncocks up on its doup in the cradle, and rounds in Wullie's lug: 'Wullie\nTylor, an' ye winna tell my mither when she comes back, I'se play ye a\nbonny spring on the bagpipes.' I wat Wullie's heart was like to loup the\nhool--for tylors, ye ken, are aye timorsome--but he thinks to himsel':\n'Fair fashions are still best,' an' 'It's better to fleetch fules than\nto flyte wi' them'; so he rounds again in the bairn's lug: 'Play up, my\ndoo, an' I'se tell naebody.' Wi' that the fairy ripes amang the cradle\nstrae, and pu's oot a pair o' pipes, sic as tylor Wullie ne'er had seen\nin a' his days--muntit wi' ivory, and gold, and silver, and dymonts, and\nwhat not. I dinna ken what spring the fairy played, but this I ken weel,\nthat Wullie had nae great goo o' his performance; so he sits thinkin' to\nhimsel': 'This maun be a deil's get, Auld Waughorn himsel' may come to\nrock his son's cradle, and play me some foul prank;' so he catches the\nbairn by the cuff o' the neck, and whupt him into the fire, bagpipes and\na'!\"[79]\n\nIn Nithsdale the elf-child displays a superhuman power of work. The\nmother left it on one occasion in the charge of a servant-girl, who sat\nbemoaning herself. \"Wer't nae for thy girning face I would knock the\nbig, winnow the corn, and grun the meal!\" \"Lowse the cradle band,\" cried\nthe child, \"and tent the neighbours, an' I'll work yere wark.\" With that\nhe started up, the wind arose, the corn was winnowed, the outlyers were\nfoddered, the hand-mill moved around as by instinct, and the knocking\nmell did its work with amazing rapidity. The lass and the elf meanwhile\ntook their ease, until, on the mistress's return, he was restored to the\ncradle and began to yell anew.[80]\n\nMost of the stories of changelings, in fact, assume that, though the\noutward characteristics might justify vehement suspicion, yet they were\nnot absolutely decisive, and that to arrive at certainty the elf must be\nbrought to betray himself. No great subtlety, however, was needful; for\nthe stratagem employed varies but little, as the following examples will\nshow. The child of a married couple in Mecklenburg at two years of age\nwas no longer than a shoe, but had a mighty big head, and, withal, was\nunable to learn to speak. Its parents were led by an old man to suspect\nthat it had been changed, and their adviser told them: \"If you wish to\nbecome certain, take an empty egg-shell, and in the child's presence\npour in new beer and cause it to ferment by means of yeast. If then the\nchild speak, my conjecture is right.\" His counsel was followed, and\nscarcely had the beer fermented when the child cried out from the\ncradle:\n\n    \"I am as old\n    As Bohemian gold,\n    Yet for the first time now I see\n    Beer in an egg-shell brew'd to be.\"\n\nThe parents determined to fling the babe into the river the following\nnight; but when at midnight they rose for the purpose they found in the\ncradle a strong, blooming child. In a Welsh tale from Radnorshire the\negg-shell is boiled full of pottage in the children's sight (there are\ntwins in this case) and taken out as a dinner for the reapers who\nhappened to be cutting the rye and oats. In Glamorganshire the woman\ndeclares she is mixing a pasty for the reapers. An Icelandic legend\nmakes a woman set a pot containing food to cook on the fire and fasten\ntwigs end to end in continuation of the handle of a spoon until the\ntopmost one appears above the chimney, when she puts the bowl in the\npot. Another woman in a Danish tale engaged to drive a changeling out of\nthe house he troubled; and this is how she set about it. In his\ntemporary absence she killed a pig and made a black pudding of it, hide,\nhair and all. On his return she set it before him, for he was a\nprodigious eater. He began gobbling it up as usual; but as he ate his\nefforts gradually slackened, and at last he sat quite still, eyeing it\nthoughtfully. Then he exclaimed: \"A pudding with hide! and a pudding\nwith hair! a pudding with eyes! and a pudding with bones in it! Thrice\nhave I seen a young wood spring upon Tiis Lake, but never yet did I see\nsuch a pudding! The devil will stay here no longer!\" And so saying he\nran off and never returned.[81]\n\nOf these devices, however, the normal one is that of the egg-shells.\nSometimes one egg-shell only is employed, sometimes two--a dozen--or an\nindefinite number. At seaside places, like Normandy and the Channel\nIslands, egg-shells are sometimes replaced by shells of shell-fish.[82]\nIn all the stories the end is the same, namely, to excite the curiosity\nand wonder of the imp to such a pitch that he gives expression to it in\nlanguage akin to that of the North German or the Danish tale just\nquoted. The measure of age given in his exclamation is usually that of\nthe trees in the forest, or indeed the forest itself. In the instance\nfrom Mecklenburg, Bohemian gold (_Boehmer Gold_) is made the measure, and\nthis runs through quite a number of Low Dutch stories. There can be\nlittle doubt, however, that it is a corruption, and that the true form\nis, as given in a Schleswig-Holstein tale, Bohemian Forest (_Behmer\nWoelt_).[83] In Hesse Wester Forest (_Westerwald_) is found, and so on\nin other countries, the narrator in each case referring to some wood\nwell known to his audience. The Lithuanian elf, or _laumes_, says: \"I am\nso old, I was already in the world before the Kamschtschen Wood was\nplanted, wherein great trees grew, and _that_ is now laid waste again;\nbut anything so wonderful I have never seen.\" In Normandy the changeling\ndeclares: \"I have seen the Forest of Ardennes burnt seven times, but I\nnever saw so many pots boil.\" The astonishment of a Scandinavian imp\nexpressed itself even more graphically, for when he saw an egg-shell\nboiling on the fire having one end of a measuring rod set in it, he\ncrept out of the cradle on his hands, leaving his feet still inside, and\nstretched himself out longer and longer until he reached right across\nthe floor and up the chimney, when he exclaimed: \"Well! seven times have\nI seen the wood fall in Lessoe Forest, but never till now have I seen so\nbig a ladle in so small a pot!\" And the Danish story I have cited above\nrepresents the child as saying that he has seen a young wood thrice upon\nTiis Lake.[84] The Welsh fairies are curiously youthful compared with\nthese hoary infants, which is all the more remarkable when the daring\nexaggerations of Cambrian story-tellers are considered. It is a modest\nclaim only to have seen the acorn before the oak and the egg before the\nhen, yet that is all that is put forward. In one of the Lays of Marie de\nFrance the wood of Brezal is indicated as the spot where the oak was\nseen.[85] The formula thus variously used would appear to be a common\none to describe great antiquity, and in all probability itself dates\nback to a very remote period.\n\nBut changelings frequently conform to the more civilized usage of\nmeasuring their age by years. And various are the estimates given us,\nfrom fifteen hundred years in the Emerald Isle down to the computation,\nerring perhaps on the other side, of the young gentleman in the English\ntale, who remarks: \"Seven years old was I before I came to the nurse,\nand four years have I lived since, and never saw so many milk-pans\nbefore.\" A yet more mysterious hint as to her earlier life is dropped by\nan imp in Brittany. She has been treated to the sight of milk boiling in\negg-shells, and cries: \"I shall soon be a hundred years old, but I never\nsaw so many shells boiling! I was born in Pif and in Paf, in the country\nwhere cats are made; but I never saw anything like it!\"[86] To all\nright-minded persons this disclosure contained sufficient warrant for\nher reputed mother to repudiate her as a witch, though cats are no less\nintimate with fairies than with conjurers.\n\nSimrock, in his work on German mythology already cited, inclines to the\nopinion that the object of the ceremony which the suspected child is\nmade to witness is to produce laughter. He says: \"The dwarf is no\nover-ripe beauty who must keep her age secret. Rather something\nridiculous must be done to cause him to laugh, because laughter brings\ndeliverance.\"[87] The problem set before the heroes of many folk-tales\nis to compel laughter, but that does not seem to be intended in these\nchangeling stories. At least I have only met with it in one, and it\ncertainly is not common. The confession of age which the ceremony draws\nforth is really much more. It is a confession that the apparently human\nbabe is an imposture, that it belongs in fact to a different race, and\nhas no claim on the mother's care and tenderness. Therefore it is not\nalways enough for the fraud to be discovered: active means must\nsometimes be taken to rid the family of their supernatural burden and\nregain their own little one. In Grimm's story, in which the child\nlaughs, a host of elves comes suddenly bringing back the true and\ncarrying away the false one; and in many of the German and Northern\ntales the changeling disappears in one way or other immediately after\nits exclamation. We are sometimes even told in so many words that the\nchangeling had betrayed himself, and the underground folk were obliged\nto give back the stolen child. And in the Lithuanian story we have cited\nthe _laumes_ straightway falls sick and dies.[88] Such conduct accords\nentirely with the resentment at being recognized which we have in a\nprevious chapter found to be a characteristic of spiritual existences.\nIt is much more like the dislike of being found out attributed to beings\nwho are in the habit of walking invisible, than any mystical effect of\nlaughter.\n\nIf this be so, still less do the stories where it is required actually\nto drive the imp away support the learned German's contention. The means\ntaken in these stories are very various. Sometimes it is enough to let\nthe child severely alone, as once in the Isle of Man where a woman laid\nher child down in the field while she was cutting corn, and a fairy\nchanged it there and then. The changeling began to scream, but the\nmother was prevented by a man who had been a witness to the transaction\nfrom picking it up; and when the fairy found that no notice was taken\nthe true child was brought back. In the island of Lewis the custom was\nto dig a grave in the fields on Quarter Day and lay the goblin in it\nuntil the next morning, by which time it was believed the human babe\nwould be returned. In the north of Germany one is advised not to touch\nthe changeling with the hands, but to overturn the cradle so that the\nchild falls on the floor. The elf must then be swept out of the door\nwith an old broom, when the dwarfs will come and bring back the stolen\nchild. Putting it on the dunghill and leaving it there to cry has been\npractised successfully in England; but in Ireland this is only one part\nof a long and serious ceremony directed by a wizard or \"fairy-man.\" In\ndealing with these stories we must always remember that not merely are\nwe concerned with sagas of something long past, but with a yet living\nsuperstition, and that the practices I am about to mention--even the\nmost cruel and the most ridiculous of them--so far respond to the actual\nbeliefs of the people that instances of their occurrence are quite\nrecent and well authenticated, as we shall presently see. An anonymous\nbut well-informed writer describes, as if it were by no means an unusual\nceremony, that just referred to; and Kennedy gives the same in the shape\nof a legend. It seems to consist in taking a clean shovel and seating\nthe changeling on its broad iron blade, and thus conveying the creature\nto the manure heap. The assistants would then join hands and circle\nabout the heap thrice while the fairy-man chanted an incantation in the\nIrish language. At its conclusion all present would withdraw into the\nhouse, leaving the child where it had been placed, to howl and cry as it\npleased. Says Mr. Kennedy: \"They soon felt the air around them sweep\nthis way and that, as if it was stirred by the motion of wings, but\nthey remained quiet and silent for about ten minutes. Opening the door,\nthey then looked out, and saw the bundle of straw on the heap, but\nneither child nor fairy. 'Go into your bedroom, Katty,' said the\nfairy-man, 'and see if there's anything left on the bed!' She did so,\nand they soon heard a cry of joy, and Katty was among them in a moment,\nkissing and hugging her own healthy-looking child, who was waking and\nrubbing his eyes, and wondering at the lights and all the eager\nfaces.\"[89]\n\nWhether it was the noise made by the child or the incantation that drew\nthe \"good people's\" attention, we are left in doubt by this story. A\nNorman woman was, however, advised to make her child cry lustily \"in\norder to bring its _real_ mother to it.\" And this is probably the\nmeaning of the many tales in which the elf is beaten, or starved and\nsubjected to other ill-usage, or is threatened with death.[90] In the\nPfloeckenstein Lake in Bohemia wild women are believed to dwell, who,\namong other attributes common to elves or fairies, are believed to\nchange infants. In order to compel a re-exchange, directions are given\nto bind with a weed growing at the bottom of the lake and to beat with a\nrod of the same, calling out therewithal: \"Take thine own and bring me\nmine.\" A mother in a Little Russian tale had a baby of extraordinary\nhabits. When alone, he jumped out of the cradle, no longer a baby but a\nbearded old man, gobbled up the food out of the stove, and then lay down\nagain a screeching babe. A wise woman who was consulted placed him on a\nblock of wood and began to chop the block under his feet. He screeched\nand she chopped; he screeched and she chopped; until he became an old\nman again and made the enigmatical confession: \"I have transformed\nmyself not once nor twice only. I was first a fish, then I became a\nbird, an ant, and a quadruped, and now I have once more made trial of\nbeing a human being. It isn't better thus than being among the ants; but\namong human beings--it isn't worse!\" Here the chopping was evidently a\nthreat to kill. Nor, if we may trust the stories, was this threat always\nan empty one. The changeling fashioned out of a broom in the Lithuanian\nstory already cited, was disposed of, by the parish priest's advice, by\nhewing its head off. The reason given by the holy man was that it was\nnot yet four and twenty hours old, and it would not be really alive\nuntil the expiration of that time. Accordingly when the neck was severed\nnothing but a wisp of straw was found inside, though blood flowed as if\nthere were veins.[91]\n\nBut even more truculent methods are represented by the story-tellers as\nresorted to free the afflicted household. Nothing short of fire is\noften deemed sufficient for the purpose. There were various methods of\napplying it. Sometimes we are told of a shovel being made red-hot and\nheld before the child's face; sometimes he is seated on it and flung out\ninto the dung-pit, or into the oven; or again, the poker would be heated\nto mark the sign of the cross on his forehead, or the tongs to take him\nby the nose. Or he is thrown bodily on the fire, or suspended over it in\na creel or a pot; and in the north of Scotland the latter must be hung\nfrom a piece of the branch of a hazel tree. In this case we are told\nthat if the child screamed it was a changeling, and it was held fast to\nprevent its escape. Generally, however, it is related that the elf\nflies up the chimney, and when safely at the top he stops to make\nuncomplimentary remarks upon his persecutors. In the Nithsdale story\nwhich I have already cited, the servant girl at midnight covers up the\nchimney and every other inlet, makes the embers glowing hot, and\nundressing the changeling tosses it on them. In answer to its yells the\nfairies are heard moaning and rattling at the window boards, the\nchimney-head, and the door. \"In the name o' God, bring back the bairn,\"\nshe exclaims. In a moment up flew the window, the human child was laid\nunharmed on the mother's lap, while its guilty substitute flew up the\nchimney with a loud laugh.[92]\n\nFrightful as this cruelty would seem to every one if perpetrated on the\nmother's own offspring, it was regarded with equanimity as applied to a\ngoblin; and it is not more frightful than what has been actually\nperpetrated on young children, and that within a very few years, under\nthe belief that they were beings of a different race. Instances need not\nbe multiplied; it will be enough to show that one of the horrible\nmethods of disposing of changelings referred to in the last paragraph\ncame under judicial notice no longer ago than the month of May 1884. Two\nwomen were reported in the \"Daily Telegraph\" as having been arrested at\nClonmel on the 17th of that month, charged with cruelly ill-treating a\nchild three years old. The evidence given was to the effect that the\nneighbours fancied that the child, who had not the use of his limbs, was\na changeling. During the mother's absence the prisoners accordingly\nentered her house and placed the child naked on a hot shovel, \"under the\nimpression that this would break the charm.\" As might have been\nexpected the poor little thing was severely burnt, and, when the women\nwere apprehended, it was in a precarious condition. The prisoners, on\nbeing remanded, were hooted by an indignant crowd. It might be thought\nthat this was an indication of the decay of superstition, even in\nIreland, however much to be condemned as an outburst of feeling against\nunconvicted and even untried persons. But we must regard it rather as a\nprotest against the prisoners' inhumanity than against their\nsuperstition: in either case, of course, the product of advancing\ncivilization. For if we may trust the witness of other sagas we find the\ntrial by fire commuted to a symbolic act, as though men had begun to be\nrevolted by the cruelty, even when committed only on a fairy who had\nbeen found out, but were unwilling to abandon their belief in the power\nof the exorcism. In the north-east of Scotland, for example, where a\nbeggar, who had diagnosed a changeling, was allowed to try his hand at\ndisposing of it, he made a large fire on the hearth and held a black hen\nover it till she struggled, and finally escaped from his grasp, flying\nout by the \"lum.\" More minute directions are given by the cunning man in\na Glamorganshire tale. After poring over his big book, he told his\ndistracted client to find a black hen without a single feather of any\nother colour. This she was to bake (not living, but dead, as appears by\nthe sequel) before a fire of wood (not, as usual, of peat), with\nfeathers and all intact. Every window and opening was to be closed,\nexcept one--presumably the chimney; and she was not to watch the\n_crimbil_, or changeling, until the hen had been done enough, which she\nwould know by the falling off of all her feathers. The more knowing\nwoman, in an Irish story, attributes the fact of the infant's being\nchanged to the Evil Eye; and her directions for treatment require the\nmother to watch for the woman who has given it the Evil Eye, inveigle\nher into the house and cut a piece secretly out of her cloak. This piece\nof the cloak was then to be burnt close to the child until the smoke\nmade him sneeze, when the spell would be broken and her own child\nrestored. The writer who records this tale mentions the following mode\nof proceeding as a common one, namely: to place the babe in the middle\nof the cabin and light a fire round it, fully expecting it to be changed\ninto a sod of turf, but manifestly not intending to do bodily harm to it\nindependently of any such change. In Carnarvonshire a clergyman is\ncredited with telling a mother to cover a shovel with salt, mark a cross\nin the salt, and burn it in the chamber where the child was, judiciously\nopening the window first.[93] It is satisfactory to know that, so far as\nthe recorded cases go, the ceremony lost nothing of its power by being\nthus toned down.\n\nFire, however, was not the only element efficacious for turning to\nflight these troublesome aliens. Water's antagonism to witches is\nnotorious; and ample use was made of it in the old witch trials. It is\nequally obnoxious to fairies and their congeners. In a Welsh story from\nRadnorshire, when the mother has been by the egg-shell device convinced\nof the exchange of her own twin children, she takes the goblin twins and\nflings them into Llyn Ebyr; but their true kinsmen clad in blue trousers\n(their usual garb) save them, and the mother receives her own again. In\nother tales she drops the twins into the river; but in one case the\nwitch who has been credited with the change bathes the child at a\nmountain spout, or _pistyll_, and exacts a promise from the mother to\nduck him in cold water every morning for three months. It is not very\nsurprising to learn that \"at the end of that time there was no finer\ninfant in the Cwm.\"[94]\n\nThere is an oft-quoted passage in Luther's \"Table Talk,\" in which he\nrelates that he told the Prince of Anhalt that if he were prince he\nwould venture _homicidium_ upon a certain changeling with which he had\nbeen brought into contact, and throw it into the river Moldaw. The great\nReformer was only on a level with his countrymen in their superstitions\nin reference to changelings, or Killcrops, as they were then called. I\nhave already quoted his opinion of them as devils; and the test of their\ntrue nature, which he seems to have thought infallible, was their\ninordinate appetite; nor did he attach any value to baptism as a means\nof exorcism. One excellent tale he tells on the subject concerns a\npeasant who lived near Halberstadt, in Saxony. This good man, in\naccordance with advice, was taking the child to Halberstadt to be rocked\nat the shrine of the Virgin Mary, when in crossing a river another devil\nthat was below in the river called out \"Killcrop! Killcrop!\" Then, says\nLuther, the child in the basket, that had never before spoken one word,\nanswered \"Ho, ho!\" The devil in the water asked, \"Whither art thou\ngoing?\" and the child replied, \"I am going to Halberstadt to our Loving\nMother, to be rocked.\" In his fright the man threw the basket containing\nthe child over the bridge into the water, whereupon the two devils flew\naway together and cried \"Ho, ho, ha!\" tumbling themselves one over\nanother, and so vanished.[95] This may be taken as a type of many a\nstory current in North Germany and the neighbouring Slavonic lands. It\nis not, however, unknown in this country. Mr. Hunt has versified a\nCornish tale in which the mother took her brat to the chapel well to\nplunge it at dawn and pass it round slowly three times _against_ the\nsun, as she had been advised to do on the first three Wednesdays in the\nmonth of May. Reaching the top of the hill on one of these occasions,\nshe heard a shrill voice in her ear: \"Tredrill, Tredrill! thy wife and\nchildren greet thee well.\" The little one of course replied, much to her\nastonishment, repudiating all concern for his wife and children, and\nintimating his enjoyment of the life he was leading, and the spell that\nwas being wrought in his behalf. In the end she got rid of him by the\nhomely process of beating and leaving him on the ground near the old\nchurch stile. A Sutherlandshire tradition tells of a child less than a\nyear old who suddenly addressed his mother in verse as he was being\ncarried through a wild glen. Translated, the youth's impromptu lines run\nthus:--\n\n    \"Many is the dun hummel cow\n    (Each having a calf)\n    In the opposite dun glen,\n    Without the aid of dog,\n    Or man, or woman, or gillie,\n    One man excepted,\n    And he grey----\"\n\nAt that moment his remarks were interrupted by the terrified woman\nthrowing him down in the plaid which wrapt him, and scampering home,\nwhere to her joy she found her true babe smiling in the cradle.[96]\n\nThese verses carry us back to the egg-shell episode, from which the\nconsideration of the means adopted to drive away the intrusive goblin\nhas diverted us. They contain a vague assertion of age like those then\nbefore us, but not a hint of laughter. Nor have we found anything\nthroughout the whole discussion to favour Simrock's suggestion, or to\nshake the opinion that the dissolution of the fairy spell was derived\neither from the vexation of the supernatural folk at their own\nself-betrayal, or from the disclosure to the human foster-parents of\nthe true state of the facts, and their consequent determination to\nexorcise the demon.\n\nIt is true we have a few more stories to examine, but we shall find that\nthey all confirm this conclusion. The cases we have yet to deal with,\nexcept the first, exhibit a different and much more humane treatment of\nthe changeling than the foregoing. The case excepted is found in\nCarnarvonshire, where one infallible method of getting rid of the child\nwas to place it on the floor and let all present in the house throw a\npiece of iron at it. The old woman who mentioned this to Professor Rhys\nconjectured that the object was to convince the _Tylwyth Teg_, or fairy\npeople, of the intention to kill the babe, in order to induce them to\nbring the right child back.[97] This would be the same motive as that\nwhich threatened death by fire or other ill-usage, in some of the\ninstances mentioned above. But we could not thus account for the\nrequirement that iron, and only iron, was to be used; and here we have,\nin fact, a superstition carefully preserved, while its meaning has quite\npassed out of memory. In a future chapter we shall examine the attitude\nof mythical beings in folklore to metals, and especially to iron; in the\nmeantime we may content ourselves with noting this addition to the\nexamples we have already met with of the horror with which they regarded\nit.\n\nSo far from its being always deemed wise to neglect or injure the\nchangeling, it was not infrequently supposed to be necessary to take the\ngreatest care of it, thereby and by other means to propitiate its elvish\ntribe. This was the course pursued with the best results by a Devonshire\nmother; and a woman at Strassberg, in North Germany, was counselled by\nall her gossips to act lovingly, and above all not to beat the imp, lest\nher own little one be beaten in turn by the underground folk. So in a\nHessian tale mentioned by Grimm, a _wichtel-wife_ caught almost in the\nact of kidnapping refused to give up the babe until the woman had placed\nthe changed one to her breast, and \"nourished it for once with the\ngenerous milk of human kind.\" In Ireland, even when the child is placed\non a dunghill, the charm recited under the direction of the \"fairy-man\"\npromises kindly entertainment in future for the \"gambolling crew,\" if\nthey will only undo what they have done. A method in favour in the north\nof Scotland is to take the suspected elf to some known haunt of its\nrace, generally, we are told, some spot where peculiar soughing sounds\nare heard, or to some barrow, or stone circle, and lay it down,\nrepeating certain incantations the while. What the words of these\nincantations are we are not informed, but we learn that an offering of\nbread, butter, milk, cheese, eggs, and flesh of fowl must accompany the\nchild. The parents then retire for an hour or two, or until after\nmidnight; and if on returning these things have disappeared, they\nconclude that the offering is accepted and their own child returned.[98]\n\nNeither ill-usage nor kindness, neither neglect nor propitiation, was\nsometimes prescribed and acted upon, but--harder than either--a journey\nto Fairyland to fetch back the captive. A man on the island of Ruegen,\nwhose carelessness had occasioned the loss of his child, watched until\nthe underground dwellers sallied forth on another raid, when he hastened\nto the mouth of the hole that led into their realm, and went boldly\ndown. There in the Underworld he found the child, and thus the robbers\nwere forced to take their own again instead. In a more detailed\nnarrative from Islay, the father arms himself with a Bible, a dirk, and\na crowing cock, and having found the hill where the \"Good People\" had\ntheir abode open, and filled with the lights and sounds of festival, he\napproached and stuck the dirk into the threshold. The object of this was\nto prevent the entrance from closing upon him. Then he steadily\nadvanced, protected from harm by the Bible at his breast. Within, his\nboy (who was thirteen or fourteen years of age) was working at the\nforge; but when the man demanded him the elves burst into a loud laugh,\nwhich aroused the cock in his arms. The cock at once leaped upon his\nshoulders, flapped his wings, and crowed loud and long. The enraged\nelves thereupon cast the man and his son both out of the hill, and flung\nthe dirk after them; and in an instant all was dark. It should be added\nthat for a year and a day afterwards the boy did no work, and scarcely\nspoke; but he ultimately became a very famous smith, the inventor of a\nspecially fine and well-tempered sword. The changeling himself in one of\nLady Wilde's tales directs his foster-mother to Fairyland. The way\nthither was down a well; and she was led by the portress, an old woman,\ninto the royal palace. There the queen admits that she stole the child,\n\"for he was so beautiful,\" and put her own instead. The re-exchange is\neffected, and the good woman is feasted with food which the fairies\ncannot touch, because it has been sprinkled with salt. When she found\nherself again at home, she fancied she had only been away an hour: it\nwas three years.[99]\n\nBut it was not always necessary to incur the risk of going as far as the\nother world. The Glamorganshire woman, whose successful cooking of a\nblack hen has been already referred to, had first to go at full moon to\na place where four roads met, and hide herself to watch the fairy\nprocession which passed at midnight. There in the midst of the music and\nthe _Bendith eu mammau_ she beheld her own dear little child. One of the\nmost interesting changeling stories was gravely related in the \"Irish\nFireside\" for the 7th of January 1884, concerning a land-leaguer who\nhad been imprisoned as a suspect under the then latest Coercion Act.\nWhen this patriot was a boy he had been stolen by the fairies, one of\nthemselves having been left in his place. The parish priest, however,\ninterfered; and by a miracle he caused the elf for a moment to\ndisappear, and the boy to return to tell him the conditions on which his\ncaptivity might be ended. The information given, the goblin again\nreplaced the true son; but the good priest was now able to deal\neffectually with the matter. The imp was accordingly dipped thrice in\nLough Lane (a small lake in the eastern part of Westmeath), when \"a curl\ncame on the water, and up from the deep came the naked form of the boy,\nwho walked on the water to meet his father on shore. The father wrapped\nhis overcoat about his son, and commenced his homeward march,\naccompanied by a line of soldiers, who also came out of the lake. The\nboy's mother was enjoined not to speak until the rescuing party would\nreach home. She accidentally spoke; and immediately the son dropped a\ntear, and forced himself out of his father's arms, piteously exclaiming:\n'Father, father, my mother spoke! You cannot keep me. I must go.' He\ndisappeared, and, reaching home, the father found the sprite again on\nthe hearth.\" The ghostly father's services were called into requisition\na second time; and better luck awaited an effort under his direction\nafter the performance of a second miracle like the first. For this time\nthe mother succeeded in holding her tongue, notwithstanding that at\nevery stream on the way home from the lake the car on which the boy was\ncarried was upset, and he himself fainted.[100] This is declared to have\nhappened no longer ago than the year 1869. The writer, apparently a\npious Roman Catholic, who vouches for the fact, probably never heard the\ntouching tale of Orpheus and Eurydice.\n\nThe foregoing story, as well as some of those previously mentioned,\nshows that fairy depredations were by no means confined to babes and\nyoung children. Indeed adults were often carried off; and, although this\nchapter is already far too long, I cannot close it without briefly\nexamining a few such cases. Putting aside those, then, in which boys or\nyoung men have been taken, as already sufficiently discussed, all the\nother cases of robbery, as distinguished from seduction or illusion, are\nconcerned with matrons. The elfin race were supposed to be on the watch\nfor unchurched or unsained mothers to have the benefit of their milk. In\none instance the captive was reputed to have freed herself by promising\nin exchange her husband's best mare under milk, which was retained by\nthe captors until it was exhausted and almost dead. More usually the\nstory relates that a piece of wood is carved in the likeness of the lady\nand laid in her place, the husband and friends being deceived into\nbelieving it to be herself. A man returning home at night overhears the\nsupernatural beings at work. He listens and catches the words: \"Mak' it\nred cheekit an' red lippit like the smith o' Bonnykelly's wife.\"\nMastering the situation he runs off to the smith's house, and sains the\nnew mother and her babe. And he is only just in time, for hardly has he\nfinished than a great thud is heard outside. On going out a piece of\nbog-fir is found,--the image the fairies intended to substitute for the\nsmith's wife. In North German and Danish tales it is the husband who\noverhears the conspirators at work, and he often has coolness enough to\nwatch their proceedings on his return home and, bouncing out upon them,\nto catch them just as they are about to complete their crime. Thus, one\nclever fellow succeeded in retaining both his wife and the image already\nput into her bed, which he thrust into the oven to blaze and crackle in\nthe sight and hearing of his wife's assembled friends, who supposed he\nwas burning her until he produced her to their astonished gaze. A tale\nfrom Badenoch represents the man as discovering the fraud from finding\nhis wife, a woman of unruffled temper, suddenly turned a shrew. So he\npiles up a great fire and threatens to throw the occupant of the bed\nupon it unless she tells him what has become of his own wife. She then\nconfesses that the latter has been carried off, and she has been\nappointed successor; but by his determination he happily succeeds in\nrecapturing his own at a certain fairy knoll near Inverness.[101]\n\nIt happens occasionally that these victims of elfin gallantry are\nrescued by other men than their husbands. A smith at work one day hears\na great moaning and sobbing out of doors. Looking out he sees a troll\ndriving a pregnant woman before him, and crying to her continually: \"A\nlittle further yet! a little further yet!\" He instantly springs forward\nwith a red-hot iron in his hand, which he holds between the troll and\nhis thrall, so that the former has to abandon her and take to flight.\nThe smith then took the woman under his protection, and the same night\nshe was delivered of twins. Going to the husband to console him for his\nloss, he is surprised to find a woman exactly resembling his friend's\nwife in her bed. He saw how the matter stood, and seizing an axe he\nkilled the witch on the spot, and restored to the husband his real wife\nand new-born children. This is a Danish legend; but there is a Highland\none very similar to it. A man meets one night a troop of fairies with a\nprize of some sort. Recollecting that fairies are obliged to exchange\nwhatever they may have with any one who offers them anything, no matter\nwhat its value, for it, he flings his bonnet to them, calling out: \"Mine\nis yours, and yours is mine!\" The prize which they dropped turned out to\nbe an English lady whom they had carried off, leaving in her place a\nstock, which, of course, died and was buried. The Sassenach woman lived\nfor some years in the Highlander's house, until the captain in command\nof an English regiment came to lodge in his house with his son, while\nthe soldiers were making new roads through the country. There the son\nrecognized his mother, and the father his wife long mourned as\ndead.[102]\n\nThe death and burial of changelings, though, as here, occurring in the\ntales, are not often alluded to; and there are grounds for thinking them\na special deduction of the Scottish mind. Sometimes the incident is\nghastly enough to satisfy the devoted lover of horrors. The west of\nScotland furnishes an instance in which the exchange was not discovered\nuntil after the child's apparent death. It was buried in due course; but\nsuspicion having been aroused, the grave and coffin were opened, and not\na corpse but only a wooden figure was found within. A farmer at Kintraw,\nin Argyllshire, lost his wife. On the Sunday after the funeral, when he\nand his servants returned from church, the children, who had been left\nat home, reported that their mother had been to see them, and had combed\nand dressed them. The following Sunday they made the same statement, in\nspite of the punishment their father had thought proper to inflict for\ntelling a lie on the first occasion. The next time she came the eldest\nchild asked her why she came, when she said that she had been carried\noff by \"the good people,\" and could only get away for an hour or two on\nSundays, and should her coffin be opened it would be found to contain\nnothing but a withered leaf. The minister, however, who ridiculed the\nstory, refused to allow the coffin to be opened; and when, some little\ntime after, he was found dead near the Fairies' Hill, above Kintraw, he\nwas held by many to be a victim to the indignation of the fairy world he\nhad laughed at. Sir Walter Scott mentions the tale of a farmer's wife\nin Lothian, who, after being carried off by the fairies, reappeared\nrepeatedly on Sunday to her children, and combed their hair. On one of\nthese occasions the husband met her, and was told that there was one way\nto recover her, namely, by lying in wait on Hallowe'en for the\nprocession of fairies, and stepping boldly out, and seizing her as she\npassed among them. At the moment of execution, however, his heart\nfailed, and he lost his wife for ever. In connection with this, Scott\nrefers to a real event which happened at the town of North Berwick. A\nwidower, who was paying addresses with a view to second marriage, was\ntroubled by dreams of his former wife, to whom he had been tenderly\nattached. One morning he declared to the minister that she had appeared\nto him the previous night, stating that she was a captive in Fairyland,\nand begged him to attempt her deliverance. The mode she prescribed was\nto bring the minister and certain others to her grave at midnight to dig\nup her body, and recite certain prayers, after which the corpse would\nbecome animated and flee from him. It was to be pursued by the swiftest\nrunner in the parish, and if he could catch it before it had encircled\nthe church thrice, the rest were to come to his help and hold it\nnotwithstanding its struggles, and the shapes into which it might be\ntransformed. In this way she would be redeemed. The minister, however,\ndeclined to take part in so absurd and indecent a proceeding.[103]\n\nAbsurd and indecent it would undoubtedly have been to unearth a dead\nbody in the expectation of any such result; but it would have been\nentirely in harmony with current superstition. The stories and beliefs\nexamined in the present chapter prove that there has been no\nsuperstition too gross, or too cruel, to survive into the midst of the\ncivilization of the nineteenth century; and the exhumation of a corpse,\nof the two, is less barbarous than the torture by fire of an innocent\nchild. The flight, struggles, and transformation of a bespelled lady are\nfound both in _maerchen_ and saga: some examples of the latter will come\nunder our notice in a future chapter.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[60] The belief in changelings is not confined to Europe, though the\naccounts we have of it elsewhere are meagre. It is found, as we shall\nsee further on, in China. It is found also among the natives of the\nPacific slopes of North America, where it is death to the mother to\nsuckle the changeling. Dorman, p. 24, citing Bancroft.\n\n[61] See a curious Scottish ballad given at length, \"F. L. Record,\" vol.\ni. p. 235; Henderson, p. 15; \"Cymru Fu N. and Q.\" vol. ii. p. 144;\nGregor, p. 11 (_cf._ Harland and Wilkinson, p. 221); Cromek, p. 247. See\nWebster, p. 73, where a witch carries away a child who is not blessed\nwhen it sneezes.\n\n[62] Napier, p. 40; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. i. p. 56; Kuhn, pp. 365, 196;\nKnoop, p. 155; \"Zeits. f. Volksk.\" vol. ii. p. 33; Kennedy, p. 95;\nCarnoy, p. 4; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. ii. p. 257.\n\n[63] Bartsch, vol. i. pp. 64, 89; vol. ii. p. 43; Kuhn, p. 195; Knoop,\n_loc. cit._; Jahn, pp. 52, 71; Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 174; \"Zeits. f.\nVolksk.\" vol. ii. _loc. cit._ W. Map, Dist. ii. c. 14; Brand, vol. ii.\np. 8, note; Lady Wilde, vol. i. pp. 71, 73; Schleicher, p. 93;\nTertullian, \"Adv. Nationes,\" l. ii. c. 11; Brand, vol. ii. p. 334 note,\nquoting Martin, \"History of the Western Islands\"; Train, vol. ii. p.\n132; \"Sacred Books of the East,\" vol. xxiv. p. 277. As to the use of\nfire in China, see \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. v. p. 225; and generally as to\nthe efficacy of fire in driving off evil spirits see Tylor, vol. ii. p.\n177.\n\n[64] Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" p. 468; Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 2, vol. iii. p.\n45; Train, vol. ii. p. 133; Garnett, pp. 231, 315; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol.\nv. p. 225. In Eastern Prussia a steel used for striking a light, a\nhammer, or anything else that will strike fire, is used. This seems to\ncombine the dread of steel with that of fire (Lemke, p. 41).\n\n[65] Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" _loc. cit._; Train, vol. ii. _loc. cit._;\nHenderson, p. 14; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. v. p. 224; \"Zeits. f. Volksk.\"\nvol. ii, p. 33; \"N. and Q.\" 7th ser. vol. x. p. 185.\n\n[66] Henderson, _loc. cit._; Bartsch, vol. ii. p. 192; Pitre, vol. xv.\npp. 154 note, 155; vol. xvii. p. 102, quoting Castelli, \"Credenze ed\nusi\"; Horace, \"Ep. ad Pison,\" v. 340; Dorsa, p. 146; Wright, \"Middle\nAges,\" vol. i. p. 290; Garnett, p. 70; \"Melusine,\" vol. v. p. 90,\nquoting English authorities. Map, Dist. ii. c. 14, gives a story of\nbabies killed by a witch. St. Augustine records that the god Silvanus\nwas feared as likely to injure women in child-bed, and that for their\nprotection three men were employed to go round the house during the\nnight and to strike the threshold with a hatchet and a pestle and sweep\nit with a brush; and he makes merry over the superstition (\"De Civ.\nDei,\" l. vi. c. 9).\n\n[67] Pitre, vol. xii. p. 304, note; vol. xv. p. 154; \"F. L. Espan.\" vol.\nii. p. 51; De Gubernatis, \"Usi Natal.\" p. 219, quoting Bezoles, \"Le\nBapteme.\"\n\n[68] Bartsch, vol. i. p. 46; Jahn, p. 89; Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" p. 468;\nSimrock, p. 418.\n\n[69] There is another motive for the robbery of a human creature,\nmentioned only, I think, in the Romance of Thomas the Rhymer, namely,\nthat at certain seasons the foul fiend fetches his fee, or tribute of a\nliving soul, from among the underground folk. Several difficulties arise\nupon this; but it is needless to discuss them until the motive in\nquestion be found imputed elsewhere than in a literary work of the\nfifteenth century, and ballads derived therefrom.\n\nSince the foregoing note was written my attention has been drawn to the\nfollowing statement in Lady Wilde, vol. i. p. 70: \"Sometimes it is said\nthe fairies carry off the mortal child for a sacrifice, as they have to\noffer one every seven years to the devil in return for the power he\ngives them. And beautiful young girls are carried off, also, either for\nsacrifice or to be wedded to the fairy king.\" It is easier to generalize\nin this manner than to produce documents in proof. And I think I am\nexpressing the opinion of all folklore students when I say that, with\nall respect for Lady Wilde, I would rather not lay any stress upon her\ngeneral statements. Indeed, those of anybody, however great an\nauthority, need to be checked by the evidence of particular instances. I\nawait such evidence.\n\n[70] Sikes, p. 62; _cf._ Brand, vol. ii. p. 334 note; Bartsch, vol. i.\np. 46.\n\n[71] Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 175; vol. iii. p. 43; Kuhn, p. 195; Schleicher,\np. 92.\n\n[72] Gregor, p. 61; Keightley, p. 393; Campbell, vol. ii. p. 64.\n\n[73] Hunt, p. 96; Waldron, p. 30. This account was given to the author\nby the mother herself.\n\n[74] Croker, p. 81. See a similar tale in Campbell, vol. ii. p. 58.\nGregor, p. 61, mentions the dog-hole as the way by which children are\nsometimes carried off.\n\n[75] Bartsch, vol. i. p. 46; Kuhn, p. 196; Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" p. 468;\nPoestion, p. 114; Grohmann, p. 113.\n\n[76] Waldron, p. 29. The same writer gives a similar account of the\nchangeling mentioned above, p. 107.\n\n[77] \"Colloquia Mensalia,\" quoted by Southey, \"The Doctor\" (London,\n1848), p. 621. As to the attribute of greed, _cf._ Keightley, p. 125.\n\n[78] Hunt, p. 85; \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. vi. p. 175; Rev. Edmund Jones, \"A\nRelation of Apparitions,\" quoted by Wirt Sikes, p. 56. Thiele relates a\nstory in which a wild stallion colt is brought in to smell two babes,\none of which is a changeling. Every time he smells one he is quiet and\nlicks it; but on smelling the other he is invariably restive and strives\nto kick it. The latter, therefore, is the changeling. (Thorpe, vol. ii.\np. 177.) Sir John Maundeville also states that in Sicily is a kind of\nserpent whereby men assay the legitimacy of their children. If the\nchildren be illegitimate the serpents bite and kill them; if otherwise\nthey do them no harm--an easy and off-hand way of getting rid of them!\n(\"Early Trav.\" p. 155).\n\n[79] Campbell, vol. ii. p. 58; Chambers, p. 70.\n\n[80] Cromek, p. 246.\n\n[81] Bartsch, vol. i. p. 42; Sikes, p. 59, quoting from the \"Cambrian\nQuarterly,\" vol. ii. p. 86; \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. vi. p. 209; Arnason's\n\"Icelandic Legends,\" cited in Kennedy, p. 89; Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 174,\nquoting Thiele, \"Danmark's Folkesagn samlede.\" See also Keightley, p.\n125.\n\n[82] Fleury, p. 60; \"Revue des Trad. Pop.\" vol. iii. p. 162.\n\n[83] Cf. _Boehmen-Gold_, Bartsch, vol. i. p. 22; _Boehmegold_, ibid. p.\n47; _Boehmer Gold_, ibid. pp. 65, 79, and presumably p. 89; _Boehma gold_,\nKuhn und Schwartz, p. 30; _Boehman gold_, ibid. p. 31; _boem un gold_\n(timber and gold), ibid. p. 105; _Boem un holt_ (timber and wood), Jahn,\np. 90; _Bernholt in den Wolt_ (firewood in the forest), and _Bremer\nWold_, Muellenhoff, cited Grimm, \"Tales,\" vol. i. p. 388. These\nvariations while preserving a similar sound are suspicious.\n\n[84] Grimm, \"Tales,\" vol. i. pp. 163, 388; Schleicher, p. 91; Fleury, p.\n60; Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 176; quoting Asbjoernsen, \"Huldreeventyr,\" vol.\nii. p. 165. _Cf._ Sebillot, \"Contes Pop.\" vol. ii. p. 78.\n\n[85] Sikes, pp. 58, 59; Howells, p. 138; \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. iv. p. 208,\nvol. vi. pp. 172, 204; Keightley, p. 436.\n\n[86] Croker, p. 65; \"A Pleasant Treatise of Witches,\" p. 62, quoted in\nHazlitt, \"Fairy Tales,\" p. 372; Sebillot, \"Contes,\" vol. ii. p. 76;\nCarnoy, p. 4; Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 157; Campbell, vol. ii. p. 47; \"Revue\ndes Trad. Pop.\" vol. iii. p. 162. _Cf._ a Basque tale given by Webster,\nwhere the Devil is tricked into telling his age (Webster, p. 58).\n\n[87] Simrock, p. 419.\n\n[88] Jahn, p. 89; Schleicher, p. 91.\n\n[89] \"Choice Notes,\" p. 27; (this seems to have been a common\nprescription in Wales: see \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. vi, pp. 175, 178; and in\nthe Western Highlands: see Campbell, vol. ii. p. 64.) Brand, vol. ii. p.\n335, note; (this seems also to be the case in some parts of Ireland,\nLady Wilde, vol. i. p. 70.) Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 157; Kennedy, p. 94;\n\"Irish Folk Lore,\" p. 45.\n\n[90] _Beaten_--Lay of Marie de France, quoted Keightley, p. 436;\nCostello, \"Pilgrimage to Auvergne,\" vol. ii. p. 294, quoted Keightley,\np. 471; Fleury, p. 62, citing Bosquet, \"Normandie Romanesque\"; Howells,\np. 139; Aubrey, \"Remains,\" p. 30; Jahn, pp. 98, 101; Kuhn und Schwartz,\np. 29; Croker, p. 81. _Starved, beaten, &c._--Croker, p. 77. _Threatened\nto be killed_--Sebillot, \"Trad. et Super.\" vol. i. p. 118; \"Contes,\"\nvol. i. p. 28, vol. ii. p. 76; Carnoy, p. 4.\n\n[91] Grohmann, p. 135; Wratislaw, p. 161; Schleicher, p. 92.\n\n[92] \"Y Brython,\" vol. ii. p. 20; Kennedy, p. 90; Thorpe, vol. ii. p.\n174; Napier, p. 40; Lady Wilde, vol. i. pp. 72, 171; Keightley, p. 393;\n\"Revue des Trad. Pop.\" vol. iii. p. 162; Campbell, vol. ii. pp. 47, 61;\nCroker, p. 65; Chambers, p. 70; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. i. p. 56; Gregor,\npp. 8, 9; Cromek, p. 246.\n\n[93] \"Daily Telegraph,\" 19 May 1884; Gregor, p. 61; Lady Wilde, vol. i.\npp. 38, 173; \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. vi. p. 209, vol. v. p. 72.\n\n[94] \"Cambrian Quarterly,\" vol. ii. p. 86, quoted, Sikes, p. 59; \"Y\nCymmrodor,\" vol. iv. p. 208, vol. vi. pp. 172, 203. Mr. Sikes refers to\na case in which the child was bathed in a solution of foxglove as having\nactually occurred in Carnarvonshire in 1857, but he gives no authority.\n\n[95] Quoted in Southey, _loc. cit._ Muellenhoff relates a similar tale,\nsee Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 46; also Grohmann, p. 126; Kuhn und Schwartz,\np. 30. Bowker, p. 73, relates a story embodying a similar episode, but\napparently connected with Wild Hunt legends. See his note, ibid. p. 251.\n\n[96] Hunt, p. 91; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. vi. p. 182.\n\n[97] \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. vi. p. 181.\n\n[98] Mrs. Bray, vol. i. p. 167; Kuhn, p. 196; Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" p.\n468, note; \"Irish F. L.\" p. 45; Napier, p. 42.\n\n[99] Jahn, p. 52; Campbell, vol. ii. p. 47; Lady Wilde, vol. i. p. 119.\n\n[100] \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. ii. p. 91, quoting the \"Irish Fireside.\"\n\n[101] Gregor, p. 62; Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 139, quoting Thiele; vol. iii.\np. 41, quoting Muellenhoff; Campbell, vol. ii. p. 67; Cromek, p. 244.\n\n[102] Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 133, quoting Thiele; Keightley, p. 391,\nquoting Stewart, \"The Popular Superstitions of the Highlanders.\"\n\n[103] Napier, p. 41; Lord A. Campbell, \"Waifs and Strays,\" p. 71;\n\"Border Minstrelsy,\" vol. ii. p. 173.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nROBBERIES FROM FAIRYLAND.\n\n     The tale of Elidorus--Celtic and Teutonic stories of theft from\n     supernatural beings--The thief unsuccessful--Cases of successful\n     robbery--Robbery from the king of the serpents--Robbery of a\n     drinking-cup, or horn--The horn of Oldenburg and similar\n     vessels--The Luck of Edenhall--The cup of Ballafletcher--These\n     vessels sacrificial and pagan.\n\n\nThe earliest writers who allude to the Welsh fairy traditions are\nGiraldus Cambrensis and Walter Map, two members of that constellation of\nliterary men which rendered brilliant the early years of the Plantagenet\ndynasty. Giraldus, with whom alone we have to do in this chapter, lays\nthe scene of what is perhaps his most famous story near Swansea, and\nstates that the adventures narrated occurred a short time before his own\ndays. The story concerns one Elidorus, a priest, upon whose persistent\ndeclarations it is founded. This good man in his youth ran away from the\ndiscipline and frequent stripes of his preceptor, and hid himself under\nthe hollow bank of a river. There he remained fasting for two days; and\nthen two men of pigmy stature appeared, and invited him to come with\nthem, and they would lead him into a country full of delights and\nsports. A more powerful temptation could not have been offered to a\nrunaway schoolboy of twelve years old; and the invitation was speedily\naccepted. He accompanied his guides into a subterranean land, where he\nfound a people of small stature but pure morals. He was brought into the\npresence of the king, and by him handed over to his son, who was then a\nboy. In that land he dwelt for some time; but he often used to return by\nvarious paths to the upper day, and on one of these occasions he made\nhimself known to his mother, declaring to her the nature, manners, and\nstate of the pigmy folk. She desired him to bring her a present of gold,\nwhich was plentiful in that region; and he accordingly stole a golden\nball while at play with the king's son, and ran off with it to his\nmother, hotly pursued. Reaching home, his foot stumbled on the\nthreshold, and, dropping the ball, he fell into the room where his\nmother was sitting. The two pigmies who had followed him at once seized\nthe ball and made off with it, not without expressing their contempt for\nthe thief who had returned their kindness with such ingratitude; and\nElidorus, though he sought it carefully with penitence and shame, could\nnever again find the way into the underground realm.[104]\n\nNarratives of the theft of valuables from supernatural beings are found\nall the world over. In this way, for example, in the mythology of more\nthan one nation mankind obtained the blessing of fire. Such tales,\nhowever, throw but little light on this one of Elidorus; and it will\ntherefore be more profitable in considering it to confine our attention\nto those generally resembling it current among Celts and Teutons. They\nare very common; and the lesson they usually teach is that honesty is\nthe best policy--at all events, in regard to beings whose power is not\nbounded by the ordinary human limitations. Beginning with South Wales,\nwe find one of these tales told by the Rev. Edward Davies, a clergyman\nin Gloucestershire at the beginning of this century, who was the author\nof two curious works on Welsh antiquities, stuffed with useless, because\nmisdirected, learning. The tale in question relates to a small lake \"in\nthe mountains of Brecknock,\" concerning which we are informed that every\nMayday a certain door in a rock near the lake was found open. He who\nwas bold enough to enter was led by a secret passage to a small island,\notherwise invisible, in the middle of the lake. This was a fairy island,\na garden of enchanting beauty, inhabited by the _Tylwyth Teg_ (or Fair\nFamily), and stored with fruits and flowers. The inhabitants treated\ntheir visitors with lavish hospitality, but permitted nothing to be\ncarried away. One day this prohibition was violated by a visitor, who\nput into his pocket a flower with which he had been presented. The Fair\nFamily showed no outward resentment. Their guests were dismissed with\nthe accustomed courtesy; but the moment he who had broken their behest\n\"touched unhallowed ground\" the flower disappeared, and he lost his\nsenses. Nor has the mysterious door ever been found again.[105]\n\nIn both these cases the thief is unsuccessful, and the punishment of his\ncrime is the loss of fairy intercourse; perhaps the mildest form which\npunishment could take. But sometimes the _chevalier d'industrie_ is\nlucky enough to secure his spoils. It is related that certain white\nghosts were in the habit of playing by night at skittles on a level\ngrass-plot on the Lueningsberg, near Aerzen, in North Germany. A\njourneyman weaver, who was in love with a miller's daughter, but lacked\nthe means to marry her, thought there could be no harm in robbing the\nghosts of one of the golden balls with which they used to play. He\naccordingly concealed himself one evening; and when the harmless\nspectres came out he seized one of their balls, and scampered away with\nit, followed by the angry owners. A stream crossed his path, and,\nmissing the plank bridge which spanned it, he sprang into the water.\nThis saved him, for the spirits had no power there; and a merry wedding\nwas the speedy sequel of his adventure. In like manner a fairy, who, in\na Breton saga, was incautious enough to winnow gold in broad daylight in\na field where a man was pruning beeches, excited the latter's attention\nby this singular proceeding; and the man possessed himself of the\ntreasure by simply flinging into it a hallowed rosary. In Germany the\nwater-nix has the reputation of being a good shoemaker. It is related\nthat a man, who once saw a nix on the shore of the March busy at his\nwork, threw a rosary upon it. The nix disappeared, leaving the shoe; and\na variant states that the shoe was so well made that the owner wore out\nsuccessively twelve other shoes which he had caused to be made to match\nit, without its being any the worse.[106]\n\nWe have already seen in the last chapter that the performance of\nChristian rites and the exhibition of Christian symbols and sacred books\nhave a powerful effect against fairies. But further, the invocation, or\nindeed the simple utterance, of a sacred name has always been held to\ncounteract enchantments and the wiles of all supernatural beings who are\nnot themselves part and parcel of what I may, without offence and for\nwant of a better term, call the Christian mythology, and who may\ntherefore at times, if not constantly, be supposed to be hostile to the\nChristian powers and to persons under their protection. These beliefs\nare, of course, in one form or another part of the machinery of every\nreligion. The tales just quoted are examples of the potency of a symbol.\nA North German story is equally emphatic as to the value of a holy name.\nWe are told that late one evening a boy saw a great number of hares\ndancing and leaping. Now hares are specially witch-possessed animals. As\nhe stood and watched them one of them sprang towards him and tried to\nbite his leg. But he said: \"Go away! thou art not of God, but of the\ndevil.\" Instantly the whole company vanished; but he heard a doleful\nvoice exclaiming: \"My silver beaker, my silver beaker!\" On reaching home\nhe told his adventure; and his father at once started back with him to\nthe place, where they found a silver beaker inscribed with a name\nneither they nor the goldsmith, to whom they sold the goblet for a large\nsum of money, could read. The district whence this story comes furnishes\nus also with an account of a man who, being out late one night, came\nupon a fire surrounded by a large circle of women sitting at a table. He\nventured to seat himself among them. Each one had brought something for\nthe meal; and a man-cook went round them asking each what she had got.\nWhen he came to the hero of the story the latter struck him with his\nstick, saying: \"I have a blow which our Lord God gave the devil.\"\nThereupon the whole assembly disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the\nkettle which hung over the fire, and which the man took and long\npreserved to testify the truth of his story. A Cornish fisherman was\nscarcely less lucky without the protection of a pious exclamation. For\none night going home he found a crowd of \"little people\" on the beach.\nThey were sitting in a semicircle holding their hats towards one of\ntheir number, who was pitching gold pieces from a heap into them. The\nfisherman contrived to introduce his hat among them without being\nnoticed, and having got a share of the money, made off with it. He was\nfollowed by the piskies, but had a good start, and managed to reach home\nand shut the door upon them. Yet so narrow was his escape that he left\nthe tails of his sea-coat in their hands.[107]\n\nVengeance, however, is sometimes swift and sure upon these robberies. It\nis believed in Germany that the king of the snakes is wont to come out\nto sun himself at noon; and that he then lays aside his crown, a prize\nfor any one who can seize it. A horseman, coming at the opportune\nmoment, did so once; but the serpent-king called forth his subjects and\npursued him. By the help of his good steed the man succeeded in arriving\nat home; and, thankful to have escaped the danger, he patted the beast's\nneck as he jumped down, saying: \"Faithfully hast thou helped me!\" At\nthat instant a snake, which had hidden herself unnoticed in the horse's\ntail, bit the man; and little joy had he of his crime. In another story\nthe girl who steals the crown is deafened by the cries of her victim;\nand elsewhere, when the serpent-king is unable to reach the robber, he\nbatters his own head to pieces in ineffectual rage. Perhaps he deserved\nhis fate in some of these cases, for it seems he had a foolish liking to\nlay down his crown on a white cloth, or a white, or blue, silk\nhandkerchief,--a predilection which the robber did not fail to provide\nhim with the opportunity of gratifying, and of repenting.[108]\n\nOther tales represent the thief as compelled to restore the stolen\ngoods. Thus a man who found the trolls on the Danish isle of Fuur\ncarrying their treasures out into the air, shot thrice over them, and\nthereby forced the owners to quit them. He caught up the gold and silver\nand rode off with it, followed by the chief troll. But after he got into\nthe house and shut the doors there was such a storming and hissing\noutside, that the whole house seemed ablaze. Terrified, he flung the bag\nwherein he had secured the treasures out into the night. The storm\nceased, and he heard a voice crying: \"Thou hast still enough.\" In the\nmorning he found a heavy silver cup, which had fallen behind a chest of\ndrawers. Again, a farm servant of South Kongerslev, in Denmark, who went\nat his master's instance, on Christmas Eve, to see what the trolls in a\nneighbouring hill were doing, was offered drink from a golden cup. He\ntook the cup, and casting out its contents, spurred his horse from the\nspot, hotly pursued. On the way back he passed the dwelling of a band of\ntrolls at enmity with those from whom he had stolen the cup. Counselled\nby them, he took to the ploughed field, where his pursuers were unable\nto follow him, and so escaped. The farmer kept the goblet until the\nfollowing Christmas Eve, when his wife imprudently helped a tattered\nbeggar to beer in it. It is not wonderful that both the cup and the\nbeggar vanished; but we are to understand that the beggar was a troll.\nPerhaps he was. In Thyholm, a district of Denmark, there is a range of\nlofty mounds formerly inhabited by trolls. Some peasants who were once\npassing by these mounds prayed the trolls to give them some beer. In a\nmoment a little creature came out and presented a large silver can to\none of the men, who had no sooner grasped it than he set spurs to his\nhorse, with the intention of keeping it. But the little man of the mound\nwas too quick for him, for he speedily caught him and compelled him to\nreturn the can. In a Pomeranian story the underground folk forestalled\nthe intention to rob them on the part of a farmer's boy whose thirst\nthey had quenched with a can of delicious brown-beer. Having drunk, he\nhid the can itself, with the object of taking it home when his day's\nwork was done, for it was of pure silver; but when he afterwards went to\nlook for it, it had disappeared.[109]\n\nMoreover, ungrateful mortals are sometimes punished, even when they are\nlucky enough to secure their prize. Thus it is told of a man of Zahren,\nin Mecklenburg, who was seized with thirst on his way home from Penzlin,\nthat he heard music in a barrow known to be the haunt of the underground\nfolk. People were then on familiar terms with the latter; and the man\ncried out and asked for a drink. Nor did he ask in vain; for his appeal\nwas at once answered by the appearance of a little fellow with a flask\nof delicious drink. After slaking his thirst the man took the\nopportunity to make off with the flask; but he was pursued by the whole\ntroop of elves, only one of whom, and he had only one leg, succeeded in\nkeeping up with him. The thief, however, managed to get over a\ncross-road where One-leg could not follow him; and the latter then,\nmaking a virtue of necessity, cried out: \"Thou mayst keep the flask; and\nhenceforth always drink thereout, for it will never be empty; but beware\nof looking into it.\" For some years the elf's injunction was observed;\nbut one day, in a fit of curiosity, the peasant looked into the bottom\nof the flask, and there sat a horrid toad! The toad disappeared, and so\ndid the liquor; and the man in a short time fell miserably sick. In a\nNorse tale, a man whose bride is about to be carried off by Huldre-folk,\nrescues her by shooting over her head a pistol loaded with a silver\nbullet. This has the effect of dissolving the witchery; and he is\nforthwith enabled to seize her and gallop off, not unpursued. One of the\ntrolls, to retard his flight, held out to him a well-filled golden horn.\nHe took the horn, but cast the liquor away, and rode away with both horn\nand girl. The trolls, when they found themselves unable to catch him,\ncried after him in their exasperation: \"The red cock shall crow over thy\ndwelling!\" And behold! his house stood in a blaze. Similarly, a Swedish\ntradition relates that one of the serving-men of the lady of Liungby, in\nScania, one night of Christmas in the year 1490, rode out to inquire the\ncause of the noise at the Magle stone. He found the trolls dancing and\nmaking merry. A fair troll-woman stepped forth and offered him a\ndrinking-horn and a pipe, praying he would drink the troll-king's health\nand blow in the pipe. He snatched the horn and pipe from her, and\nspurring back to the mansion, delivered them into his lady's hands. The\ntrolls followed and begged to have their treasures back, promising\nprosperity to the lady's race if she would restore them. She kept them,\nhowever; and they are said to be still preserved at Liungby as memorials\nof the adventure. But the serving-man who took them died three days\nafter, and the horse on the second day; the mansion has been twice\nburnt, and the family never prospered after. On the eve of the first of\nMay the witches of Germany hold high revel. Every year the fields and\nfarmyards of a certain landowner were so injured by these nocturnal\nfestivities that one of his servants determined to put a stop to the\nmischief. Going to the trysting-place, he found the witches eating and\ndrinking around a large slab of marble which rested on four golden\npillars; and on the slab lay a golden horn of wondrous form. The\nsorceresses invited him to join the feast; but a fellow-servant whom he\nmet there warned him not to drink, for they only wished to poison him.\nWherefore he flung the proffered beverage away, seized the horn, and\ngalloped home as hard as he could. All doors and gates had been left\nopen for him; and the witches consequently were unable to catch him. The\nnext day a gentleman in fine clothes appeared and begged his master to\nrestore the horn, promising in return to surround his property with a\nwall seven feet high, but threatening, in case of refusal, to burn his\nfarms down thrice, and that just when he thought himself richest. Three\ndays were allowed to the landowner for consideration, but he declined to\nrestore the horn. The next harvest had hardly been housed when his barns\nwere in flames. Three times did this happen, and the landowner was\nreduced to poverty. By the king's kindness he was enabled to rebuild;\nand he then made every effort to discover the owner of the horn, sending\nit about for that purpose even as far as Constantinople; but no one\ncould be found to claim it.[110]\n\nSomewhat more courteous was a Danish boy whom an Elf-maiden met and\noffered drink from a costly drinking-horn one evening as he rode\nhomeward late from Ristrup to Siellevskov. He received the horn, but\nfearing to drink its contents, poured them out behind him, so that, as\nin several of these stories, they fell on the horse's back, and singed\nthe hair off. The horn he held fast, and the horse probably needed no\nsecond hint to start at the top of its speed. The elf-damsel gave chase\nuntil horse and man reached a running water, across which she could not\nfollow them. Seeing herself outwitted, she implored the youth to give\nher back the horn, promising him in reward the strength of twelve men.\nOn this assurance he returned the horn to her, and got what she had\npromised him. But the exchange was not very profitable; for with the\nstrength of twelve men he had unfortunately acquired the appetite of\ntwelve. Here it may well be thought that the supernatural gift only took\nits appropriate abatement. In a story from the north of Scotland the cup\nwas stolen for the purpose of undoing a certain spell, and was\nhonourably returned when the purpose was accomplished. Uistean, we are\ntold, was a great slayer of Fuathan, supernatural beings apparently akin\nto fairies. He shot one day into a wreath of mist, and a beautiful woman\nfell down at his side. He took her home; and she remained in his house\nfor a year, speechless. On a day at the end of the year he was benighted\nin the mountains, and seeing a light in a hill, he drew nigh, and found\nthe fairies feasting. He entered the hill, and heard the butler, as he\nwas handing the drink round, say: \"It is a year from this night's night\nthat we lost the daughter of the Earl of Antrim. She has the power of\nthe draught on her that she does not speak a word till she gets a drink\nfrom the cup that is in my hand.\" When the butler reached Uistean, he\nhanded him the cup. The latter, on getting it in his hand, ran off,\npursued by the fairies until the cock crew. When he got home, he gave\nthe lady in his house to drink out of the cup; and immediately her\nspeech returned. She then told him she was the Earl of Antrim's\ndaughter, stolen by the fairies from child-bed. Uistean took back the\ncup to the hill whence he had brought it, and then restored the lady to\nher father safe and sound, the fairy woman who had been left in her\nplace vanishing meantime in a flame of fire.[111]\n\nThere are also legends in which a hat conferring invisibility, or a\nglove, figures; but the stolen article is usually, as in most of the\ninstances cited above, a cup or a drinking-horn. Many such articles are\nstill preserved in various parts of Northern Europe. Of these the most\ncelebrated are the Luck of Edenhall and the Oldenburg horn. But before\ndiscussing these I must refer to some other stories, the material\nevidence of which is no longer extant. Gervase of Tilbury relates that\nin a forest of Gloucestershire there is a glade in the midst whereof\nstands a hillock rising to the height of a man. Knights and hunters were\nwont, when fatigued with heat and thirst, to ascend the hillock in\nquestion to obtain relief. This had to be done singly and alone. The\nadventurous man then would say: \"I thirst,\" when a cupbearer would\nappear and present him with a large drinking-horn adorned with gold and\ngems, as, says the writer, was the custom among the most ancient\nEnglish, and containing liquor of some unknown but most delicious\nflavour. When he had drunk this, all heat and weariness fled from his\nbody, and the cupbearer presented him with a towel to wipe his mouth\nwithal; and then having performed his office he disappeared, waiting\nneither for recompense nor inquiry. One day an ill-conditioned knight of\nthe city of Gloucester, having gotten the horn into his hands, contrary\nto custom and good manners kept it. But the Earl of Gloucester, having\nheard of it, condemned the robber to death, and gave the horn to King\nHenry I., lest he should be thought to have approved of such wickedness\nif he had added the rapine of another to the store of his own private\nproperty. Gervase of Tilbury wrote near the beginning of the thirteenth\ncentury. His contemporary, William of Newbury, relates a similar story,\nbut lays its scene in Yorkshire. He says that a peasant coming home late\nat night, not very sober, and passing by a barrow, heard the noise of\nsinging and feasting. Seeing a door open in the side of the barrow, he\nlooked in, and beheld a great banquet. One of the attendants offered him\na cup, which he took, but would not drink. Instead of doing so, he\npoured out the contents, and kept the vessel. The fleetness of his beast\nenabled him to distance all pursuit, and he escaped. We are told that\nthe cup, described as of unknown material, of unusual colour and of\nextraordinary form, was presented to Henry I., who gave it to his\nbrother-in-law, David, King of the Scots. After having been kept for\nseveral years in the Scottish treasury it was given by William the Lion\nto King Henry II., who wished to see it.[112]\n\nBy a fortune somewhat rare, this story, having been written down in the\ndays of the early Plantagenet kings, has been lately found again among\nthe folk in the East Riding. The how, or barrow, where it is now said to\nhave occurred is Willey How, near Wold Newton, on the Bridlington road,\na conspicuous mound about three hundred feet in circumference and sixty\nfeet in height. The rustic to whom the adventure happened was an\ninhabitant of Wold Newton, who had been on a visit to the neighbouring\nvillage of North Burton, and was belated. Another tale resembling the\nGloucestershire saga is found in Swabia, though the object of which the\nmysterious benefactor was deprived was not a cup, but a knife. Some farm\nservants, while at work in the fields, were approached by an unusually\nbeautiful maiden clad in black. Every day about nine or ten o'clock in\nthe morning, and again about four o'clock in the afternoon, she brought\nthem a small pitcher of wine and a loaf of snow-white bread--greater\nluxuries, probably, to peasants then even than they would be now. She\nalways brought a very pretty silver knife to cut the bread, and always\nbegged them to be sure to give it back to her, else she were lost. Her\nvisits continued until one of the servants took it into his head to keep\nthe knife, which he was ungrateful enough to do in spite of her tears\nand prayers. Finding all entreaties vain, she uttered piercing cries of\ndistress, tore her fair hair, rent her silken clothes, and vanished,\nnever to be seen again. But often you may hear on the spot where she\nonce appeared sobs and the sound of weeping.[113]\n\nA Cornish tale relates that a farmer's boy of Portallow was one night\nsent to a neighbouring village for some household necessaries. On the\nway he fell in with some piskies, and by repeating the formula he heard\nthem use, transported himself with them, first to Portallow Green, then\nto Seaton Beach, and finally to \"the King of France's cellar,\" where he\njoined his mysterious companions in tasting that monarch's wines. They\nthen passed through magnificent rooms, where the tables were laden for\na feast. By way of taking some memorial of his travels he pocketed one\nof the rich silver goblets which stood on one of the tables. After a\nvery short stay the word was passed to return, and presently he found\nhimself again at home. The good wife complimented him on his despatch.\n\"You'd say so, if you only know'd where I've been,\" he replied; \"I've\nbeen wi' the piskies to Seaton Beach, and I've been to the King o'\nFrance's house, and all in five minutes.\" The farmer stared and said the\nboy was _mazed_. \"I thought you'd say I was mazed, so I brort away this\nmug to show vor et,\" he answered, producing the goblet. With such\nundeniable evidence his story could not be any longer doubted. Stealing\nfrom a natural enemy like the King of France was probably rather\nmeritorious than otherwise; and the goblet remained in the boy's family\nfor generations, though unfortunately it is no longer forthcoming for\nthe satisfaction of those who may still be sceptical.[114]\n\nThis story differs from the others I have detailed, in narrating a raid\nby supernatural beings on the dwelling of a human potentate--a raid in\nwhich a human creature joined and brought away a substantial trophy. In\nthe seventeenth century there was in the possession of Lord Duffus an\nold silver cup, called the Fairy Cup, concerning which the following\ntradition was related to John Aubrey, the antiquary, by a correspondent\nwriting from Scotland on the 25th of March 1695. An ancestor of the then\nLord Duffus was walking in the fields near his house in Morayshire when\nhe heard the noise of a whirlwind and of voices crying: \"Horse and\nHattock!\" This was the exclamation fairies were said to use \"when they\nremove from any place.\" Lord Duffus was bold enough to cry \"Horse and\nHattock\" also, and was immediately caught up through the air with the\nfairies to the King of France's cellar at Paris, where, after he had\nheartily drunk, he fell asleep. There he was found lying the next\nmorning with the silver cup in his hand, and was promptly brought before\nthe King, to whom, on being questioned, he repeated this story; and the\nKing, in dismissing him, presented him with the cup. Where it may be now\nI do not know, nor does Aubrey's correspondent furnish us with any\ndescription of it, save the negative but important remark that it had\nnothing engraven upon it beside the arms of the family.[115]\n\nOn this vessel, therefore, if it be yet in existence, there is nothing\nto warrant the name of Fairy Cup, or to connect it with the adventure\njust related. Nor does the Oldenburg Horn itself bear any greater marks\nof authenticity. That famous vessel is still exhibited at the palace of\nRosenborg at Copenhagen. It is of silver gilt, and ornamented in paste\nwith enamel. It bears coats of arms and inscriptions, showing that it\nwas made for King Christian I. of Denmark in honour of the Three Kings\nof Cologne, and cannot therefore be older than the middle of the\nfifteenth century. The legend attached to it claims for it a much\ngreater antiquity. The legend itself was narrated in Hamelmann's\n\"Oldenburger Chronik\" at the end of the sixteenth century, and is even\nyet current in the mouths of the Oldenburg folk. Hamelmann dates it in\nthe year 990, when the then Count of Oldenburg was hunting in the forest\nof Bernefeuer. He had followed a roe from that forest to the Osenberg,\nand had distanced all his attendants. It was the twentieth of July, the\nweather was hot, and the count thirsty. He cried out for a draught of\nwater, and had scarcely uttered the words, when the hill opened and a\nbeautiful damsel appeared and offered him drink in this horn. Not liking\nthe look of the beverage, he declined to drink. Whereupon she pressed\nhim to do so, assuring him that it would go well with him and his\nthenceforth, and with the whole house of Oldenburg; but if the count\nwould not believe her and drink there would be no unity from that time\nin the Oldenburg family. He had no faith in her words, and poured out\nthe drink, which took the hair off his horse wherever it splashed him,\nand galloped away with the horn.[116]\n\nOther drinking-horns, of which precisely analogous tales are told, are\nstill to be seen in Norway. Of the one at Halsteengaard it is related\nthat the posterity of the robber, down to the ninth generation, were\nafflicted, as a penalty, with some bodily blemish. This horn is\ndescribed as holding nearly three quarts, and as being encircled by a\nstrong gilt copper ring, about three inches broad, on which, in monkish\ncharacters, are to be read the names of the Three Kings of Cologne,\nMelchior, Baltazar, and Caspar. It is further ornamented with a small\ngilt copper plate, forming the setting of an oval crystal. Another horn,\npreserved in the museum at Arendal, was obtained in a similar manner. A\nfather, pursuing his daughter and her lover, was stopped by a troll, and\noffered drink in it. Instead of drinking, he cast out the contents, with\nthe usual result, and put spurs to his horse. He was counselled by\nanother troll, who was not on good terms with the first, to ride through\nthe rye and not through the wheat; but even when his pursuer was impeded\nby the tall rye-stalks, only the crowing of the cock before dawn rescued\nhim. The vessel is encircled by three silver gilt rings, bearing an\ninscription, which seems not quite correctly reported, as follows:\n\"Potum servorum benedic deus alme tuorum reliquam unus benede le un\nCaspar Melchior Baltazar.\"[117]\n\nThe legend of which I am treating attaches also to a number of sacred\nchalices. At Aagerup, in Zealand, is one of these. The thief, nearly\novertaken by the trolls he had robbed, prayed to God in his distress,\nand vowed to bestow the cup upon the church if his prayer were heard.\nThe church of Vigersted, also in Zealand, possesses another. In the\nlatter case the man took refuge in the church, where he was besieged by\nthe trolls until morning. In Bornholm a chalice and paten belonging to\nthe church are said to have been made out of a cup stolen in the same\nway by a peasant whose mother was a mermaid, and who had inherited some\nportion of her supernatural power; hence, probably, his intercourse with\nthe trolls, of which he took so mean an advantage. At Vioel, near\nFlensborg, in Schleswig, is a beaker belonging to the church, and, like\nthe chalice at Aagerup, of gold, of which it is narrated that it was\npresented full of a liquor resembling buttermilk to a man who was riding\nby a barrow where the underground folk were holding high festival. He\nemptied and rode off with it in the usual manner. A cry arose behind\nhim: \"Three-legs, come out!\" and, looking round, he saw a monster\npursuing him. Finding this creature unable to come up with him, he heard\nmany voices calling: \"Two-legs, come out!\" But his horse was swifter\nthan Two-legs. Then One-leg was summoned, as in the story already cited\nfrom Mecklenburg, and came after him with gigantic springs, and would\nhave caught him, but the door of his own house luckily stood open. He\nhad scarcely entered, and slammed it to, when One-leg stood outside,\nbanging against it, and foiled. The beaker was presented to the church\nin fulfilment of a vow made by the robber in his fright; and it is now\nused as the communion-cup. At Rambin, on the island of Ruegen, is another\ncup, the story of which relates that the man to whom it was offered by\nthe underground folk did not refuse to drink, but having drunk, he kept\nthe vessel and took it home. A boy who was employed to watch horses by\nnight on a turf moor near the village of Kritzemow, in Mecklenburg,\nannoyed the underground folk by the constant cracking of his whip. One\nnight, as he was thus amusing himself, a mannikin came up to him and\noffered him drink in a silver-gilt beaker. The boy took the beaker, but\nbeing openly on bad terms with the elves, argued no good to himself from\nsuch an offering. So he instantly leaped on horseback and fled, with the\nvessel in his hand, along the road to Biestow and Rostock. The mannikin,\nof course, followed, but, coming to a crossway, was compelled to give up\nthe chase. When the boy reached Biestow much of the liquid, as was to be\nexpected, had been shaken out of the cup, and wherever on the horse it\nhad fallen the hair had been burnt away. Glad of escaping this danger,\nthe boy thanked God and handed the vessel over to the church at Biestow.\nIn none of these instances, however, do I find any description of the\ngoblet.[118]\n\nFortunately there is one, and that the most celebrated of all the cups\nto which a fairy origin has been ascribed, which has been often and\naccurately delineated both with pen and pencil. I refer to the Luck of\nEdenhall. It belongs to Sir George Musgrave of Edenhall in Cumberland,\nin the possession of whose family it has been for many generations. The\ntradition is that a butler, going to fetch water from a well in the\ngarden, called St. Cuthbert's Well, came upon a company of fairies at\ntheir revels, and snatched it from them. As the little, ill-used folk\ndisappeared, after an ineffectual attempt to recover it, they cried:\n\n    \"If this glass do break or fall,\n    Farewell the luck of Edenhall!\"\n\nThe most recent account of it was written in the year 1880, by the Rev.\nDr. Fitch, for \"The Scarborough Gazette,\" from which it has been\nreprinted for private circulation in the shape of a dainty pamphlet. He\nspeaks of it, from a personal examination, as \"a glass stoup, a drinking\nvessel, about six inches in height, having a circular base, perfectly\nflat, two inches in diameter, gradually expanding upwards till it ends\nin a mouth four inches across. The material is by no means fine in\nquality, presenting, as it does on close inspection, several small\ncavities or air-bubbles. The general hue is a warm green, resembling the\ntone known by artists as _brown pink_. Upon the transparent glass is\ntraced a geometric pattern in white and blue enamel, somewhat raised,\naided by gold and a little crimson. It will, of course, stand on its\nbase, but it would be far from wise to entrust it, when filled, to this\nsupport.\" Dr. Fitch is in accord with the common opinion of antiquaries\nin pronouncing it to be of Venetian origin, though Mr. Franks thought it\nSaracenic. He describes the case in which it is kept as evidently made\nfor it, being of the same shape. \"The lid of this case,\" he says,\n\"rather unevenly fits the body by overlapping it. There is no hinge; the\nfastenings are certain hooks or catches, not in good condition; the\nsecurity and better apposition of the lid is maintained by a piece of\nleather, not unlike a modern boot-lace, or thin thong. The case dates,\nprobably, from the fifteenth century, as articles made of similar\nmaterial, viz., _cuir bouilli_, softened or boiled leather, were much in\nuse in that age. This case bears an elegantly varied pattern that has\nbeen recognized in an inkstand of Henry the Seventh's, yet extant. Upon\nthe lid of this case, in very chaste and well-formed characters, is the\nsacred monogram I.H.S.\" These three letters, which do not really form a\nmonogram, have possibly given rise to the surmise, or tradition, that\nthe Luck was once used as a sacred vessel. Dr. Fitch goes on to quote\nseveral authorities, showing that chalices of glass were sanctioned by\nthe church, and were, in fact, made and used; and the Luck may have been\nsuch a vessel. But I can see no sufficient evidence of it. There is\nnothing to show that the leathern case is of the same date as the glass\nitself; and it may have been made long afterwards. The earliest mention\nof the relic seems to have been by Francis Douce, the antiquary, who was\nat Edenhall in 1785, and wrote some verses upon it; nor is there any\nauthentic family history attaching to it. The shape of the goblet, its\nunsteadiness when full, and the difficulty of drinking from it without\nspilling some of its contents, of which Dr. Fitch had some experience,\nwould point to its being intended rather for convivial than sacred\nuses.\n\nThe hypothesis of the Luck's having once been a chalice explains\nnothing; because, as we have seen, several of the cups alleged to have\nbeen stolen from supernatural beings are chalices to this day. Moreover,\nwhat are we to think of the drinking-horns of which the same tale is\ntold? Some of these already mentioned bear, not indeed the sacred\nletters, but prayers and the names of the sainted Kings of Cologne,\nthough, unlike the cups, they are not found in churches. One\ndrinking-horn, however, was preserved in the cathedral at Wexioe, in\nSweden, until carried away by the Danes in 1570. This horn, stated to be\nof three hundred colours, was received by a knight on Christmas morning\nfrom a troll-wife, whose head he there and then cut off with his sword.\nThe king dubbed him Trolle in memory of the deed, and bestowed on him a\ncoat-of-arms containing a headless troll.[119] How the horn came into\nthe possession of the cathedral I do not know; but at all events it\ncould never have been a chalice.\n\nA silver cup, perhaps still used for sacramental purposes at the parish\nchurch of Malew, in the Isle of Man, is the subject of the following\nlegend. A farmer returning homeward to the parish of Malew from Peel was\nbenighted and lost his way among the mountains. In the course of his\nwanderings he was drawn by the sound of sweet music into a large hall\nwhere a number of little people were banqueting. Among them were some\nfaces he thought he had formerly seen; but he forbore to take any notice\nof them. Nor did they take any notice of him until he was offered drink,\nwhen one of them, whose features seemed not unknown to him, plucked him\nby the coat and forbade him, whatever he did, to taste anything he saw\nbefore him; \"for if you do,\" he added, \"you will be as I am, and return\nno more to your family.\" Accordingly, when a large silver beaker was put\ninto his hand, filled with liquor, he found an opportunity to throw its\ncontents on the ground. The music forthwith ceased, and the company\ndisappeared, leaving the cup in his hand. On finding his way home, he\ntold the minister of the parish what had occurred; and the latter, with\nthe instincts of his profession, advised him to devote the cup to the\nservice of the Church. We are indebted to Waldron's well-known\n\"Description of the Isle of Man,\" originally published in 1731, for this\nstory. A later writer, annotating Waldron's work rather more than a\nquarter of a century ago, refers to the vessel in question as a paten;\nhe states that it was still preserved in the church, and that it bore\nengraved the legend: \"Sancte Lupe ora pro nobis.\"[120] There are no\nfewer than eleven saints named Lupus in the calendar. Whichever of them\nwas invoked here, the inscription points to a continental origin for the\nvessel, whether cup or paten, and is not inconsistent with its being of\nsome antiquity.\n\nMr. Train, who quotes the tradition in his account of the Isle of Man,\nstates that several similar tales had been placed at his disposal by\nfriends in the island; but it was naturally beneath the dignity of an\nhistorian to do more than give a single specimen of this \"shade of\nsuperstition,\" as he calls it. He does, however, mention (though\napparently without being conscious of any close relationship with the\ncup of Kirk Malew) an antique crystal goblet in the possession, when he\nwrote, of Colonel Wilks, the proprietor of the Estate of Ballafletcher,\nfour or five miles from Douglas. It is described as larger than a common\nbell-shaped tumbler, uncommonly light and chaste in appearance, and\nornamented with floral scrolls, having between the designs, on two\nsides, upright _columellae_ of five pillars. The history of this cup is\ninteresting. It is said to have been taken by Magnus, the Norwegian King\nof Man, from St. Olave's shrine. On what ground this statement rests\ndoes not appear. What is really known about the goblet is that having\nbelonged for at least a hundred years to the Fletcher family, the owners\nof Ballafletcher, it was sold with the effects of the last of the family\nin 1778, and was bought by Robert Caesar, Esq., who gave it to his niece\nfor safe keeping. This niece was, perhaps, the \"old lady, a connection\nof the family of Fletcher,\" who is mentioned by Train as having\npresented the cup to Colonel Wilks. The tradition is that it had been\ngiven to the first of the Fletcher family more than two centuries ago,\nwith the injunction \"that as long as he preserved it peace and plenty\nwould follow; but woe to him who broke it, as he would surely be haunted\nby the _lhiannan Shee_,\" or \"peaceful spirit\" of Ballafletcher. It was\nkept in a recess, whence it was never taken except on Christmas and\nEaster days, or, according to Train's account, at Christmas alone. Then,\nwe are told, it was \"filled with wine, and quaffed off at a breath by\nthe head of the house only, as a libation to the spirit for her\nprotection.\"[121]\n\nHere is no mention of the theft of the goblet unless from St. Olave's\nsanctuary; but yet I think we have a glimpse of the real character of\nthe cups to which the legend I am discussing attaches. They were\nprobably sacrificial vessels dedicated to the old pagan worship of the\nhouse-spirits, of which we find so many traces among the Indo-European\npeoples. These house-spirits had their chief seat on the family hearth;\nand their great festival was that of the New Year, celebrated at the\nwinter solstice. The policy of the Church in early and mediaeval times\nwas to baptize to Christian uses as many of the heathen beliefs and\nceremonies as possible. The New Year festival thus became united with\nthe anniversary of the birth of Christ; and it is matter of history that\nas the Danes used, previously to their conversion, to drink to Odin and\nthe Anses, so after that event they were in the habit of solemnly\npledging Our Lord, His Apostles and the Saints. Such of the old beliefs\nand practices, however, as the Church could neither impress with a\nsacred character, nor destroy, lingered on. Among them were the\nsuperstitions of the fairies and the household spirits; and there is\nnothing unlikely in the supposition that special vessels were kept for\nthe ceremonies in which these beings were propitiated. For this purpose\na horn would serve as well as any goblet; if, indeed, it were not\nactually preferred, as being older, and therefore more sacred in shape\nand material. As these ceremonies gradually fell into desuetude, or were\nput down by clerical influence, it would be both natural and in\naccordance with policy that the cups devoted to the supposed rites\nshould be transferred to the service of the Church.[122] They would all\nbe old-fashioned, quaint, and, many of them, of foreign and unknown\nprovenance. Already connected in the minds of the people with the spirit\nworld, a supernatural origin would be ascribed to them; and gift or\nrobbery would be the theory of acquisition most readily adopted. Now,\ntheory in a certain stage of culture is indistinguishable from\nnarrative.\n\nIn this chapter I have dealt entirely with stolen goods; but, as we have\nseen in previous chapters, tales of cups and other articles lent or\ngiven by elves in exchange for services rendered are by no means\nunknown. I cannot, however, recall any of such gifts which are now\nextant. It were much to be wished that all the drinking-vessels--nay,\nall the articles of every kind--to which legends of supernatural origin\nbelong were actually figured and described. Much light would thereby be\nthrown upon their true history. I will only now point out, with regard\nto the Luck of Edenhall, and the three horns of Oldenburg, of\nHalsteengaard, and of Arendal, of which we have full descriptions, that\nwhat we know of them is all in confirmation of the theory suggested. In\nparticular, the names of the Three Kings connect the horns with a\nChristmas, or Twelfth Night, festival, which is exactly what the theory\nof the sacrificial nature of these vessels would lead us to expect. If\nwe turn from the actual beakers to the stories, it is surprising how\nmany of these we find pointing to the same festival. The cup of South\nKongerslev was won and lost on Christmas Eve. The horn and pipe of\nLiungby were stolen \"one night of Christmas.\" It was at Christmas-time\nthat the Danish boy acquired his supernatural strength by giving back to\nthe elf-maiden the horn he had taken from her. The Halsteengaard horn\nand the golden beaker of Aagerup were both reft from the trolls on\nChristmas Eve, and the horn of Wexioe on Christmas morning. The night of\nSt. John's Day is mentioned as the time when the horn now at Arendal was\nobtained. The saint here referred to is probably St. John the\nEvangelist, whose feast is on December the 27th. And in more than one\ncase the incident is connected with a marriage, which would be an\nappropriate occasion for the propitiation of the household spirit. The\nonly instance presenting any difficulty is that of the cup at Kirk\nMalew; and there the difficulty arises from the name of the saint to\nwhom the cup was apparently dedicated. Nor is it lessened by the number\nof saints bearing the name of Lupus. The days on which these holy men\nare respectively commemorated range through the calendar from January to\nOctober; and until we know which of them was intended it is useless to\nattempt an explanation. The question, however, is of small account in\nthe face of the probability called forth by the coincidences that\nremain.\n\nThere is one other matter to which I would call attention, namely, that\nwhile stories of the type discussed in the foregoing pages are common to\nboth Celts and Teutons, the stolen cup is exclusively a Teutonic\npossession. More than that, no authentic record of the preservation of\nthe relic itself is found save in the homes and conquests of the\nScandinavian race. Is this to be accounted for by the late date of\nChristianity, and, therefore, the more recent survival of heathen rites\namong Teutonic, and especially Scandinavian, peoples?\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[104] Girald. Cambr., l. i. c. 8.\n\n[105] Davies, \"Mythology,\" p. 155. Mr. Wirt Sikes quotes this story\nwithout acknowledgment, stating that the legend, \"varying but little in\nphraseology, is current in the neighbourhood of a dozen different\nmountain lakes.\" As if he had collected it himself! (Sikes, p. 45).\nCompare an Eskimo story of a girl who, having acquired _angakok_ power,\nvisited the _ingnersuit_, or underground folk, \"and received presents\nfrom them; but while carrying them homewards the gifts were wafted out\nof her hands and flew back to their first owners\" (Rink, p. 460).\n\n[106] Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 120, apparently quoting Harry's \"Sagen,\nMaerchen und Legenden Niedersachsens\"; Sebillot, \"Trad. et Sup.\" vol. i.\np. 115; \"Zeits. f. Volksk.\" vol. ii. p. 415, quoting Vernaleken.\n\n[107] Kuhn und Schwartz, pp. 305, 306; \"Choice Notes,\" p. 76.\n\n[108] Niederhoeffer, vol. iv. p. 130; Bartsch, vol. i. p. 278; Thorpe,\nvol. iii. p. 56, quoting Muellenhoff; Birlinger, \"Volksthuemliches,\" vol.\ni. p. 103; Grimm, \"Tales,\" vol. ii. p. 77. A Lusatian tradition quoted\nby Grimm in a note represents the watersnake-king's crown as not only\nvaluable in itself, but like other fairy property, the bringer of great\nriches to its possessor. Ibid. 406. _Cf._ a Hindoo story to the same\neffect, Day, p. 17; and many other tales.\n\n[109] Thorpe, vol. ii. pp. 148, 146, 121, quoting Thiele, \"Danmarks\nFolkesagn;\" Jahn, p. 75.\n\n[110] Bartsch, vol. i. p. 83 (see also p. 41); Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 6,\nquoting Faye, \"Norske Folkesagn\"; ibid. p. 89, quoting Afzelius,\n\"Svenske Folkets Sago-Haefder\"; Kuhn und Schwartz, p. 26.\n\n[111] Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 142, quoting Thiele. See also Keightley, p.\n88; Campbell, vol. ii. p. 97.\n\n[112] Gerv. Tilb., Decis. iii. c. 60; Guil. Neub. \"Chronica Rerum\nAnglic.\" lib. i. c. 28, quoted by Liebrecht in a note to Gerv. Tilb.\n\n[113] Nicholson, p. 83. Mr. Nicholson in a letter to me says that he had\nthe story as given by him from an old inhabitant of Bridlington, and\nthat it is current in the neighbourhood. Birlinger, \"Volkst.\" vol. i.\npp. 3, 5.\n\n[114] \"Choice Notes,\" p. 73.\n\n[115] Aubrey, \"Miscellany,\" p. 149.\n\n[116] Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 128; Kuhn und Schwartz, p. 280. The latter is\nthe version still found as traditional. Its details are not so full, and\nare in some respects different.\n\n[117] Thorpe, vol. ii. pp. 15, 14, apparently quoting Faye. Dr. Geo.\nStephens of the University of Copenhagen very kindly made a great number\nof inquiries for me with a view to obtain information, and, if possible,\ndrawings of the Scandinavian horns and cups, but unhappily with little\nsuccess. The answer to his inquiries in reference to the horns of\nHalsteengaard and Arendal, sent by Prof. Olaf Rygh, the learned Keeper\nof the Norwegian Museum at Christiania, will be read with interest. He\nsays: \"Mr. Hartland's notice of 'Halsteengaard' in Norway doubtless\nrefers to a local tale about a drinking-horn formerly in the hands of\nthe owner of Holsteingaard, Aal parish, Hallingdal. It was first made\npublic in the year 174-, in 'Ivar Wiels Beskriveke over Ringerige og\nHallingdals Fogderi,' in 'Topografisk Journal for Norge,' Part XXXI.,\nChristiania, 1804, pp. 179-183. I know nothing more as to the fate of\nthis horn than what is said in Nicolaysen's 'Norske Fornlevninger,' p.\n152, that it is said to have been sent to the Bergen Museum in 1845.\nShould this be so, it will be almost impossible to identify it among the\nmany such horns in that collection. As described by Wiel, it was merely\na very simple specimen of the kind with the common inscription JASPAR X\nMELCHIOR X BALTAZAR. This class of horn was largely imported to Norway\nfrom North Germany in the 15th and 16th centuries.\n\n\"Meanwhile I beg to point out that the oldest legend of this kind which\nhas come down to us is found in 'Biskop Jens Nilssons Visitatsboeger og\nReise-optegnelser, udgivne af Dr. Yngvar Nielsen,' p. 393. It was\nwritten by the bishop or his amanuensis during his visitation, 1595, in\nFlatdal parish, Telemarken. What has become of the horn spoken of by the\nbishop I cannot say.\n\n\"I have no idea of what is meant by Mr. Hartland's reference to Arendal.\nPossibly it may concern something in the museum there, but of which I\nnever heard. The printed catalogue of the museum (Arendal, 1882)\nincludes nothing from the middle age or later.\"\n\n[118] Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 144, quoting Thiele. Keightley, pp. 109, 111,\nnote; (The latter mentions another theft of a silver jug where the thief\nwas saved by crossing running water.) Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 140; vol. iii.\np. 70, quoting Muellenhoff; Jahn, p. 53; Bartsch, vol. i. p. 60.\n\n[119] Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 91, quoting Afzelius.\n\n[120] Waldron, pp. 28, 106.\n\n[121] Train, vol. ii. p. 154; and see a note by Harrison to his edition\nof Waldron, p. 106. The cup is stated by Harrison to have been, when he\nwrote, in the possession of Major Bacon, of Seafield House. Mrs.\nRussell, of Oxford, kindly made inquiries for me in the Isle of Man as\nto its present whereabouts, and that of the cup of Kirk Malew, and\ninserted a query in _Yn Livar Manninagh_, the organ of the Isle of Man\nNatural History and Antiquarian Society, but without eliciting any\ninformation.\n\n[122] It is not irrelevant to observe in this connection that several of\nthe chalices in Sweden are said to have been presented to the churches\nby priests to whom a Berg-woman had offered drink in these very cups or\nbowls (Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 90, quoting Afzelius).\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE SUPERNATURAL LAPSE OF TIME IN FAIRYLAND.\n\n     The story of Rhys and Llewelyn--Dancing for a\n     twelvemonth--British variants--Lapse of time among the Siberian\n     Tartars--German and Slavonic stories--The penalty of curiosity\n     and greed--A Lapp tale--The mother leaving her child in the\n     mysterious cave--Rip van Winkle--Eastern variants--King\n     Herla--The Adalantado of the Seven Cities--The Seven\n     Sleepers--King Wenzel and the smith--Lost brides and\n     bridegrooms--The Monk Felix--Visits to Paradise--A Japanese tale.\n\n\nIn previous chapters we have seen that human beings are sometimes taken\nby fairies into Fairyland, and that they are there kept for a longer or\nshorter period, or, it may be, are never permitted to return to earth at\nall. We have noted cases in which they are led down for temporary\npurposes and, if they are prudent, are enabled to return when those\npurposes are accomplished. We have noted other cases in which babes or\ngrown women have been stolen and retained until their kindred have\ncompelled restoration. The story cited in the last chapter from Giraldus\ndescribes a seduction of a different kind. There the visit to Fairyland\nwas of a more voluntary character, and the hero was able to go to and\nfro as he pleased. We have also met with tales in which the temptation\nof food, or more usually of drink, has been held out to the wayfarer;\nand we have learned that the result of yielding would be to give himself\nwholly into the fairies' hands. I propose now to examine instances in\nwhich temptation of one kind or other has been successful, or in which\na spell has been cast over man or woman, not merely preventing the\nbewitched person from regaining his home and human society, but also\nrendering him, while under the spell, impervious to the attacks of time\nand unconscious of its flight.\n\nThese stories are of many types. The first type comes, so far as I know,\nonly from Celtic sources. It is very widely known in Wales, and we may\ncall it, from its best-known example, the \"Rhys and Llewelyn type.\" A\nstory obtained between sixty and seventy years ago in the Vale of Neath\nrelates that Rhys and Llewelyn were fellow-servants to a farmer; and\nthey had been engaged one day in carrying lime for their master. As they\nwere going home, driving their mountain ponies before them in the\ntwilight, Rhys suddenly called to his companion to stop and listen to\nthe music. It was a tune, he said, to which he had danced a hundred\ntimes, and he must go and have a dance now. So he told his companion to\ngo on with the horses and he would soon overtake him. Llewelyn could\nhear nothing, and began to remonstrate; but away sprang Rhys, and he\ncalled after him in vain. Accordingly he went home, put up the ponies,\nate his supper and went to bed, thinking that Rhys had only made a\npretext for going to the alehouse. But when morning came, and still no\nsign of Rhys, he told his master what had occurred. Search proving\nfruitless, suspicion fell on Llewelyn of having murdered his\nfellow-servant; and he was accordingly imprisoned. A farmer in the\nneighbourhood, skilled in fairy matters, guessing how things might have\nbeen, proposed that himself and some others, including the narrator of\nthe story, should accompany Llewelyn to the place where he parted with\nRhys. On coming to it, \"Hush!\" cried Llewelyn, \"I hear music, I hear\nsweet harps.\" All listened, but could hear nothing. But Llewelyn's foot\nwas on the outward edge of the fairy-ring. \"Put your foot on mine,\nDavid,\" he said to the narrator. The latter did so, and so did each of\nthe party, one after the other, and then heard the sound of many harps,\nand saw within a circle, about twenty feet across, great numbers of\nlittle people dancing round and round. Among them was Rhys, whom\nLlewelyn caught by the smock-frock, as he came by him, and pulled him\nout of the circle. \"Where are the horses? where are the horses?\" cried\nhe. \"Horses, indeed!\" said Llewelyn. Rhys urged him to go home and let\nhim finish his dance, in which he averred he had not been engaged more\nthan five minutes. It was only by main force they got him away; and the\nsequel was that he could not be persuaded of the time that had passed in\nthe dance: he became melancholy, took to his bed, and soon after\ndied.[123]\n\nVariants of this tale are found all over Wales. At Pwllheli, Professor\nRhys was told of two youths who went out to fetch cattle and came at\ndusk upon a party of fairies dancing. One was drawn into the circle; and\nthe other was suspected of murdering him, until, at a wizard's\nsuggestion, he went again to the same spot at the end of a year and a\nday. There he found his friend dancing, and managed to get him out,\nreduced to a mere skeleton. The first question put by the rescued man\nwas as to the cattle he was driving. Again, at Trefriw, Professor Rhys\nfound a belief that when a young man got into a fairy-ring the fairy\ndamsels took him away; but he could be got out unharmed at the end of a\nyear and a day, when he would be found dancing with them in the same\nring. The mode of recovery was to touch him with a piece of iron and to\ndrag him out at once. We shall consider hereafter the reason for\ntouching the captive with iron. In this way was recovered, after the\nexpiration of a year and a day, a youth who had wandered into a\nfairy-ring. He had new shoes on at the time he was lost; and he could\nnot be made to understand that he had been there more than five minutes\nuntil he was asked to look at his new shoes, which were by that time in\npieces. Near Aberystwyth, Professor Rhys was told of a servant-maid who\nwas lost while looking for some calves. Her fellow-servant, a man, was\ntaken into custody on a charge of murdering her. A \"wise man,\" however,\nfound out that she was with the fairies; and by his directions the\nservant-man was successful at the end of the usual period of twelve\nmonths and a day in drawing her out of the fairy-ring at the place where\nshe was lost. As soon as she was released and saw her fellow-servant\n(who was carefully dressed in the same clothes as he had on when she\nleft him), she asked about the calves. On their way home she told her\nmaster, the servant-man, and the others, that she would stay with them\nuntil her master should strike her with iron. One day, therefore, when\nshe was helping her master to harness a horse the bit touched her, and\nshe disappeared instantly and was never seen from that time forth. In\nanother case, said to have happened in Anglesea, a girl got into a\nfairy-circle while looking, with her father, for a lost cow. By a \"wise\nman's\" advice, however, he rescued her by pulling her out of the circle\nthe very hour of the night of the anniversary of his loss. The first\ninquiry she then made was after the cow, for she had not the slightest\nrecollection of the time she had spent with the fairies.[124]\n\nA ghastly sequel, more frequently found in a type of the story\nconsidered later on, sometimes occurs. In Carmarthenshire it is said\nthat a farmer going out one morning very early was lost; nor were any\ntidings heard of him for more than twelve months afterwards, until one\nday a man passing by a lonely spot saw him dancing, and spoke to him.\nThis broke the spell; and the farmer, as if waking out of a dream,\nexclaimed: \"Oh dear! where are my horses?\" Stepping out of the magical\ncircle, he fell down and mingled his dust with the earth. In North Wales\na story was generally current a couple of generations since of two men\ntravelling together who were benighted in a wood. One of them slept, but\nthe other fell into the hands of the fairies. With the help of a\nwizard's advice, some of his relatives rescued him at the end of a year.\nThey went to the place where his companion had missed him, there found\nhim dancing with the fairies and dragged him out of the ring. The\nunfortunate man, imagining it was the same night and that he was with\nhis companion, immediately asked if it were not better to go home. He\nwas offered some food, which he began to eat; but he had no sooner done\nso than he mouldered away. A similar tradition attaches to a certain\nyew-tree near Mathafarn in the parish of Llanwrin. One of two\nfarm-servants was lost at that spot, and found again, a year after,\ndancing in a fairy-circle. On being dragged out he was asked if he did\nnot feel hungry. \"No,\" he replied, \"and if I did, have I not here in my\nwallet the remains of my dinner that I had before I fell asleep?\" He did\nnot know that a year had passed by. His look was like a skeleton; and as\nsoon as he had tasted food he too mouldered away.[125]\n\nIn Scotland the story is told without this terrible end. For example, in\nSutherlandshire we learn that a man who had been with a friend to the\ntown of Lairg to enter his first child's birth in the session-books, and\nto buy a keg of whisky against the christening, sat down to rest at the\nfoot of the hill of Durcha, near a large hole from which they soon\nheard a sound of piping and dancing. Feeling curious, he entered the\ncavern, and disappeared. His friend was accused of murder, but being\nallowed a year and a day to vindicate himself, he used to repair at dusk\nto the fatal spot and call and pray. One day before the term ran out, he\nsat, as usual, in the gloaming by the cavern, when, what seemed his\nfriend's shadow passed within it. It was his friend himself, tripping\nmerrily with the fairies. The accused man succeeded in catching him by\nthe sleeve and pulling him out. \"Why could you not let me finish my\nreel, Sandy?\" asked the bewitched man. \"Bless me!\" rejoined Sandy, \"have\nyou not had enough of reeling this last twelvemonth?\" But the other\nwould not believe in this lapse of time until he found his wife sitting\nby the door with a yearling child in her arms. In Kirkcudbrightshire,\none night about Hallowe'en two young ploughmen, returning from an\nerrand, passed by an old ruined mill and heard within music and dancing.\nOne of them went in; and nothing was seen of him again until a year\nafter, when his companion went to the same place, Bible in hand, and\ndelivered him from the evil beings into whose power he had fallen.[126]\n\nThe captive, however, does not always require to be sought for: he is\nsometimes released voluntarily by his captors. A man who lived at\nYstradgynlais, in Brecknockshire, going out one day to look after his\ncattle and sheep on the mountain, disappeared. In about three weeks,\nafter search had been made in vain for him and his wife had given him up\nfor dead, he came home. His wife asked him where he had been for the\npast three weeks. \"Three weeks! Is it three weeks you call three hours?\"\nsaid he. Pressed to say where he had been, he told her he had been\nplaying on his flute (which he usually took with him on the mountain) at\nthe Llorfa, a spot near the Van Pool, when he was surrounded at a\ndistance by little beings like men, who closed nearer and nearer to him\nuntil they became a very small circle. They sang and danced, and so\naffected him that he quite lost himself. They offered him some small\ncakes to eat, of which he partook; and he had never enjoyed himself so\nwell in his life. Near Bridgend is a place where a woman is said to have\nlived who was absent ten years with the fairies, and thought she was not\nout of the house more than ten minutes. With a woman's proverbial\npersistency, she would not believe her husband's assurances that it was\nten years since she disappeared; and the serious disagreement between\nthem which ensued was so notorious that it gave a name to the place\nwhere they lived. A happier result is believed to have attended an\nadventure that foreboded much worse to a man at Dornoch, in\nSutherlandshire. He was present at a funeral in the churchyard on New\nYear's Day, and was so piqued at not being invited, as all the others\nwere, to some of the New Year's festivities, that in his vexation,\nhappening to see a skull lying at his feet, he struck it with his staff\nand said: \"Thou seemest to be forsaken and uncared-for, like myself. I\nhave been bidden by none; neither have I invited any: I now invite\nthee!\" That night as he and his wife were sitting down alone to supper,\na venerable old man entered the room in silence and took his share of\nthe delicacies provided. In those days the New Year's feast was kept up\nfor eleven days together; and the stranger's visit was repeated in the\nsame absolute silence for six nights. At last the host, alarmed and\nuneasy, sought the priest's advice as to how he was to get rid of his\nunwelcome guest. The reverend father bade him, in laying the bannocks in\nthe basket for the seventh day's supper, reverse the last-baked one.\nThis, he declared, would induce the old man to speak. It did; and the\nspeech was an invitation--nay, rather a command--to spend the remainder\nof the festival with him in the churchyard. The priest, again consulted,\nadvised compliance; and the man went trembling to the tryst. He found\nin the churchyard a great house, brilliantly illuminated, where he\nenjoyed himself, eating, drinking, piping and dancing. After what seemed\nthe lapse of a few hours, the grey master of the house came to him, and\nbade him hasten home, or his wife would be married to another; and in\nparting he advised him always to respect the remains of the dead.\nScarcely had he done speaking when the grey old man himself, the guests,\nthe house, and all that it contained, vanished, leaving the man to crawl\nhome alone in the moonlight as best he might after so long a debauch.\nFor he had been absent a year and a day; and when he got home he found\nhis wife in a bride's dress, and the whole house gay with a bridal\nparty. His entrance broke in upon the mirth: his wife swooned, and the\nnew bridegroom scrambled up the chimney. But when she got over her\nfright, and her husband had recovered from the fatigue of his year-long\ndance, they made it up, and lived happily ever after.[127]\n\nA story of this type has been elaborated by a Welsh writer who is known\nas \"Glasynys\" into a little romance, in which the hero is a shepherd\nlad, and the heroine a fairy maiden whom he weds and brings home with\nhim. This need not detain us; but a more authentic story from the Vale\nof Neath may be mentioned. It concerns a boy called Gitto Bach, or\nLittle Griffith, a farmer's son, who disappeared. During two whole years\nnothing was heard of him; but at length one morning when his mother, who\nhad long and bitterly mourned for him as dead, opened the door, whom\nshould she see sitting on the threshold but Gitto with a bundle under\nhis arm. He was dressed and looked exactly as when she last saw him, for\nhe had not grown a bit. \"Where have you been all this time?\" asked his\nmother. \"Why, it was only yesterday I went away,\" he replied; and\nopening the bundle, he showed her a dress the \"little children,\" as he\ncalled them, had given him for dancing with them. The dress was of white\npaper without seam. With maternal caution she put it into the fire.[128]\n\nI am not aware of many foreign examples of this type; but among the\nSiberian Tartars their extravagant heroes sometimes feast overlong with\nfriends as mythical as themselves. On one occasion\n\n    \"They caroused, they feasted.\n    That a month had flown\n    They knew not;\n    That a year had gone by\n    They knew not.\n    As a year went by\n    It seemed like a day;\n    As two years went by\n    It seemed like two days;\n    As three years went by\n    It seemed like three days.\"\n\nAgain, when a hero was married the time very naturally passed rapidly.\n\"One day he thought he had lived here--he had lived a month; two days he\nbelieved he had lived--he had lived two months; three days he believed\nhe had lived--he had lived three months.\" And he was much surprised to\nlearn from his bride how long it really was, though time seems always to\nhave gone wrong with him. For after he was born it is recorded that in\none day he became a year old, in two days two years, and in seven days\nseven years old; after which he performed some heroic feats, ate\nfourteen sheep and three cows, and then lying down slept for seven days\nand seven nights--in other words, until he was fourteen years old. In a\nBreton tale a girl who goes down underground, to become godmother to a\nfairy child, thinks, when she returns, that she has been away but two\ndays, though in the meantime her god-child has grown big: she has been\nin fact ten years. In a Hessian legend the time of absence is seven\nyears.[129]\n\nTurning away from this type, in which pleasure, and especially the\npleasure of music and dancing, is the motive, let us look at what seem\nto be some specially German and Slavonic types of the tale. In the\nlatter it is rather an act of service (sometimes under compulsion),\ncuriosity or greed, which leads the mortal into the mysterious regions\nwhere time has so little power. At Eldena, in Pomerania, are the ruins\nof a monastery and church, formerly very wealthy, under which are said\nto be some remarkable chambers. Two Capuchin monks came from Rome many\nyears ago, and inquired of the head of the police after a hidden door\nwhich led under the ruins. He lent them his servant-boy, who, under\ntheir direction, removed the rubbish and found the door. It opened at\nthe touch of the monks, and they entered with the servant. Passing\nthrough several rooms they reached one in which many persons were\nsitting and writing. Here they were courteously received; and after a\ngood deal of secret conference between the monks and their hosts, they\nwere dismissed. When the servant came back to the upper air, he found he\nhad been absent three whole years. Blanik is the name of a mountain in\nBohemia, beneath which are lofty halls whose walls are entirely\nfashioned of rock-crystal. In these halls the Bohemian hero, the holy\nKing Wenzel, sleeps with a chosen band of his knights, until some day\nthe utmost need of his country shall summon him and them to her aid. A\nsmith, who dwelt near the mountain, was once mowing his meadow, when a\nstranger came and bade him follow him. The stranger led him into the\nmountain, where he beheld the sleeping knights, each one upon his horse,\nhis head bent down upon the horse's neck. His guide then brought him\ntools that he might shoe the horses, but told him to beware in his work\nof knocking against any of the knights. The smith skilfully performed\nhis work, but as he was shoeing the last horse he accidentally touched\nthe rider, who started up, crying out: \"Is it time?\" \"Not yet,\" replied\nhe who had brought the smith thither, motioning the latter to keep\nquiet. When the task was done, the smith received the old shoes by way\nof reward. On returning home he was astonished to find two mowers at\nwork in his meadow, whereas he had only left one there. From them he\nlearned that he had been away a whole year; and when he opened his bag,\nbehold the old horse-shoes were all of solid gold! On Easter Sunday,\nduring mass, the grey horse belonging to another peasant living at the\nfoot of the Blanik disappeared. While in quest of him the owner found\nthe mountain open, and, entering, arrived in the hall where the knights\nsat round a large table of stone and slept. Each of them wore black\narmour, save their chief, who shone in gold and bore three herons'\nfeathers in his helm. Ever and anon one or other of the knights would\nlook up and ask: \"Is it time?\" But on their chief shaking his head he\nwould sink again to rest. While the peasant was in the midst of his\nastonishment he heard a neighing behind him; and turning round he left\nthe cavern. His horse was quietly grazing outside; but when he got home\nevery one shrank in fright away from him. His wife sat at the table in\ndeep mourning. On seeing him she shrieked and asked: \"Where have you\nbeen for a whole year?\" He thought he had only been absent a single\nhour. A servant-man driving two horses over the Blanik heard the\ntrampling of steeds and a battle-march played. It was the knights\nreturning from their mimic combat; and the horses he was driving were\nso excited that he was compelled to follow with them into the mountain,\nwhich then closed upon them. Nor did he reach home until ten years had\npassed away, though he thought it had only been as many days.[130]\n\nWe shall have occasion to return to Blanik and its knights. Parallel\ntraditions attach, as is well known, to the Kyffhaeuser, a mountain in\nThuringia, where Frederick Barbarossa sleeps. A peasant going with corn\nto market at Nordhausen, drove by the Kyffhaeuser, where he was met by a\nlittle grey man, who asked him whither he was going, and offered to\nreward him if he would accompany him instead. The little grey man led\nhim through a great gateway into the mountain till they came at last to\na castle. There he took from the peasant his waggon and horses, and led\nhim into a hall gorgeously illuminated and filled with people, where he\nwas well entertained. At last the little grey man told him it was now\ntime he went home, and rewarding him bountifully he led him forth. His\nwaggon and horses were given to him again, and he trudged homeward well\npleased. Arrived there, however, his wife opened her eyes wide to see\nhim, for he had been absent a year, and she had long accounted him dead.\nIt fared not quite so well with a journeyman joiner from Nordhausen, by\nname Thiele, who found the mountain open, as it is every seven years,\nand went in. There he saw the Marquis John (whoever he may have been),\nwith his beard spreading over the table and his nails grown through it.\nAround the walls lay great wine-vats, whose hoops and wood had alike\nrolled away; but the wine had formed its own shell and was blood-red. A\nlittle drop remained in the wine-glass which stood before the Marquis\nJohn. The joiner made bold to drain it off, and thereupon fell asleep.\nWhen he awoke again he had slept for seven years in the mountain.[131]\n\nCuriosity and greed caused this man to lose seven years of his life.\nThis is a motive often met with in these stories. A young girl during\nthe midday rest left a hayfield in the Lavantthal, Carinthia, to climb\nthe Schoenofen, whence there is a fine view over the valley. As she\nreached the top she became aware of an open door in the rock. She\nentered, and found herself in a cellar-like room. Two fine black steeds\nstood at the fodder-trough and fed off the finest oats. Marvelling how\nthey got there, she put a few handfuls of the oats into her pocket, and\npassed on into a second chamber. A chest stood there, and on the chest\nlay a black dog. Near him was a loaf of bread, in which a knife was\nstuck. With ready wit she divined, or recollected, the purpose of the\nbread; and cutting a good slice she threw it to the dog. While he was\nbusy devouring it she filled her apron from the treasure contained in\nthe chest. But meantime the door closed, and there was nothing for it\nbut to lie down and sleep. She awoke to find the door wide open, and at\nonce made the best of her way home. But she was not a little astounded\nto learn that she had been gone for a whole year.[132]\n\nA Lapp tale presents this mysterious lapse of time as the sequel of an\nadventure similar to that of Ulysses with Polyphemus. An old Lapp,\nhaving lost his way while hunting, came to a cottage. The door was open;\nand he entered to remain there the night, and began to cook in a pot he\ncarried with him the game he had caught that day. Suddenly a witch\nentered, and asked him: \"What is your name?\" \"Myself,\" answered the\nLapp; and taking a spoonful of the boiling liquid he flung it in her\nface. She cried out: \"Myself has burnt me! Myself has burnt me!\" \"If you\nhave burnt yourself you ought to suffer,\" answered her companion from\nthe neighbouring mountain. The hunter was thus delivered for the moment\nfrom the witch, who, however, as she went away, exclaimed: \"Self has\nburnt me; Self shall sleep till the new year!\" When the Lapp had\nfinished his repast he lay down to repose. On awaking he rummaged in his\nprovision-sack: he found its contents mouldy and putrid. Nor could he\nunderstand this before he got home and learned that he had been missing\nfor six months.[133]\n\nThis story is unlike the previous ones, inasmuch as it represents the\nsix months' disappearance as in no way due to any enticements, either of\nsupernatural beings or of the hero's own passions. Neither music, nor\ndancing, neither greed nor curiosity, led him astray. The aboriginal\ninhabitants of Japan in like manner tell of a certain man who went out\nin his boat to fish and was carried off by a storm to an unknown land.\nThe chief, an old man of divine aspect, begged him to stay there for the\nnight, promising to send him home to his own country on the morrow. The\npromise was fulfilled by his being sent with some of the old chief's\nsubjects who were going thither; but the man was enjoined to lie down in\nthe boat and cover up his head. When he reached his native place the\nsailors threw him into the water; and ere he came to himself sailors and\nboat had disappeared. He had been away for a whole year; and the chief\nappeared to him shortly afterwards in a dream, revealing himself as no\nhuman being, but the chief of the salmon, the divine fish; and he\nrequired the man thenceforth to worship him. Curiously similar to the\nJapanese tale is a tale told to M. Sebillot by a cabin-boy of Saint Cast\nin Brittany. A fisherman caught one day the king of the fishes, in the\nshape of a small gilded fish, but was persuaded to let him go under\npromise to send (such is the popular belief in the unselfishness of\nkings) at all times as many of his subjects as the fisherman wanted into\nhis nets. The promise was royally fulfilled. More than this, when the\nfisherman's boat was once capsized by a storm the king of the fishes\nappeared, gave its drowning owner to drink from a bottle he had brought\nfor the purpose, and conveyed him under the water to his capital,--a\nbeautiful city whose streets, surpassing those of London in the\ntraditions of English peasant children, were paved not only with gold\nbut with diamonds and other gems. The fisherman promptly filled his\npockets with these paving-stones; and then the king politely told him:\n\"When you are tired of being with us, you have only to say so.\" There is\na limit to hospitality; so the fisherman took the hint, and told the\nking how delighted he should be to remain there always, but that he had\na wife and children at home who would think he was drowned. The king\ncalled a tunny and commanded him to take the fisherman on his back and\ndeposit him on a rock near the shore, where the other fishers could see\nand rescue him. Then, with the parting gift of an inexhaustible purse,\nhe dismissed his guest. When the fisherman got back to his village he\nfound he had been away more than six months. In the chapter on\nChangelings I had occasion to refer to some instances of women being\ncarried off at a critical time in their lives. One more such instance\nmay be added here. Among the Bohemians a mythical female called\nPolednice is believed to be dangerous to women who have recently added\nto the population; and such women are accordingly warned to keep within\ndoors, especially at noon and after the angelus in the evening. On one\noccasion a woman, who scorned the warnings she had received, was carried\noff by Polednice in the form of a whirlwind, as she sat in the\nharvest-field chatting with the reapers, to whom she had brought their\ndinner. Only after a year and a day was she permitted to return.[134]\n\nIn some of the German and Bohemian tales a curious incident occurs.\nBeneath the Rollberg, near Niemes, in Bohemia, is a treasure-vault, the\ndoor of which stands open for a short time every Palm Sunday. A woman\nonce found it open thus and entered with her child. There she saw a\nnumber of Knights Templars sitting round a table, gambling. They did not\nnotice her; so she helped herself from a pile of gold lying near them,\nhaving first set down her child. Beside the gold lay a black dog, which\nbarked from time to time. The woman knew that the third time it barked\nthe door would close; wherefore she hastened out. When she bethought\nherself of the child it was too late: she had left it behind in her\nhaste, and the vault was closed. The following year she returned at the\nhour when the door was open, and found the little one safe and sound, in\neither hand a fair red apple. Frequently in these tales a beautiful lady\ncomes and ministers to the child during its mother's absence; at other\ntimes, a man. The treasure of King Darius is believed to be buried\nbeneath the Sattelburg in Transylvania. A Wallachian woman, with her\nyearling babe in her arms, once found the door open and went in. There\nsat an old, long-bearded man, and about him stood chests full of silver\nand gold. She asked him if she might take some of this treasure for\nherself. \"Oh, yes,\" answered he, \"as much as you like.\" She put down the\nchild and filled her skirts with gold, put the gold outside and\nre-entered. Having obtained permission, she filled and emptied her\nskirts a second time. But when she turned to enter a third time the door\nbanged-to, and she was left outside. She cried out for her child, and\nwept--in vain. Then she made her way to the priest and laid her case\nbefore him. He advised her to pray daily for a whole year, and she would\nthen get her child again. She carried out his injunction; and the\nfollowing year she went again to the Sattelburg. The door was open, and\nshe found the babe still seated in the chest where she had put it down.\nIt was playing with a golden apple, which it held up to her, crying:\n\"Look, mother, look!\" The mother was astonished to hear it speak, and\nasked: \"Whence hast thou that beautiful apple?\" \"From the old man, who\nhas given me to eat too.\" The man was, however, no longer to be seen;\nand as the mother took her child and left the place, the door closed\nbehind her.[135]\n\nBut the most numerous, and assuredly the most weird and interesting, of\nthese stories belong to a type which we may call, after the famous\nPosthumous Writing of Diedrich Knickerbocker, the \"Rip van Winkle type.\"\nHere the hero remains under the spell of the supernatural until he\npasses the ordinary term of life; and he comes back to find all his\nfriends dead and himself nothing but a dim memory. It will be needless\nhere to recapitulate the tale of Rip van Winkle himself. Whether any\nsuch legend really lingers about the Kaatskill mountains I do not know;\nbut I have a vehement suspicion that Washington Irving was indebted\nrather to Otmar's \"Traditions of the Harz,\" a book published at Bremen\nin the year 1800. In this book the scene of the tale is laid on the\nKyffhaeuser, and with the exception of such embellishments as the keen\ntongue of Dame van Winkle and a few others, the incidents in the\nadventures of Peter Claus the Goatherd are absolutely the same as those\nof Rip van Winkle.[136]\n\nOf all the variants of this type it is in China that we find the one\nmost resembling it. Wang Chih, afterwards one of the holy men of the\nTaoists, wandering one day in the mountains of Kue Chow to gather\nfirewood, entered a grotto in which some aged men were playing at chess.\nHe laid down his axe and watched their game, in the course of which one\nof them handed him something in size and shape like a date-stone,\ntelling him to put it into his mouth. No sooner had he done so than\nhunger and thirst passed away. After some time had elapsed one of the\nplayers said: \"It is long since you came here; you should go home now.\"\nWang Chih accordingly proceeded to pick up his axe, but found that its\nhandle had mouldered into dust; and on reaching home he became aware\nthat not hours, nor days, but centuries had passed since he left it, and\nthat no vestige of his kinsfolk remained. Another legend tells of a\nhorseman who, riding over the hills, sees several old men playing a game\nwith rushes. He ties his horse to a tree while he looks on at them. In a\nfew minutes, as it seems to him, he turns to depart; but his horse is\nalready a skeleton, and of the saddle and bridle rotten pieces only are\nleft. He seeks his home; but that too is gone; and he lies down and dies\nbroken-hearted. A similar story is told in Japan of a man who goes into\nthe mountains to cut wood, and watches two mysterious ladies playing at\nchess while seven generations of mortal men pass away. Both these\nlegends omit the supernatural food which seems to support life, not only\nin the case of Wang Chih, but also in that of Peter Claus. In another\nChinese tale two friends, wandering in the T'ien-t'ai mountains, are\nentertained by two beautiful girls, who feed them on a kind of\nhaschisch, a drug made from hemp; and when they return they find that\nthey have passed seven generations of ordinary men in the society of\nthese ladies. Another Taoist devotee was admitted for a while into the\nnext world, where he was fed on cakes, and, as if he were a dyspeptic,\nhe received much comfort from having all his digestive organs removed.\nAfter awhile he was sent back to this world, to find himself much\nyounger than his youngest grandson.[137]\n\nFeasts in Fairyland occupy an unconscionable length of time. Walter Map,\nwriting in the latter half of the twelfth century, relates a legend\nconcerning a mythical British king, Herla, who was on terms of\nfriendship with the king of the pigmies. The latter appeared to him one\nday riding on a goat, a man such as Pan might have been described to be,\nwith a very large head, a fiery face, and a long red beard. A spotted\nfawn-skin adorned his breast, but the lower part of his body was exposed\nand shaggy, and his legs degenerated into goat's feet. This queer little\nfellow declared himself very near akin to Herla, foretold that the king\nof the Franks was about to send ambassadors offering his daughter as\nwife to the king of the Britons, and invited himself to the wedding. He\nproposed a pact between them, that when he had attended Herla's wedding,\nHerla should the following year attend his. Accordingly at Herla's\nwedding the pigmy king appears with a vast train of courtiers and\nservants, and numbers of precious gifts. The next year he sends to bid\nHerla to his own wedding. Herla goes. Penetrating a mountain cavern, he\nand his followers emerge into the light, not of sun or moon, but of\ninnumerable torches, and reach the pigmies' dwellings, whose splendour\nMap compares with Ovid's description of the palace of the sun. Having\ngiven so charming, and doubtless so accurate, a portrait of the pigmy\nking, it is a pity the courtier-like ecclesiastic has forgotten to\ninform us what his bride was like. He leaves us to guess that her\nattractions must have corresponded with those of her stately lord,\ntelling us simply that when the wedding was over, and the gifts which\nHerla brought had been presented, he obtained leave to depart, and set\nout for home, laden, he too, with gifts, among which are enumerated\nhorses, dogs, hawks, and other requisites of a handsome outfit for\nhunting or fowling. Indeed, the bridegroom himself accompanied them as\nfar as the darkness of the cavern through which they had to pass; and at\nparting he added to his presentations that of a bloodhound, so small as\nto be carried, forbidding any of the train to alight anywhere until the\nhound should leap from his bearer. When Herla found himself once more\nwithin his own realm he met with an old shepherd, and inquired for\ntidings of his queen by name. The shepherd looked at him astonished,\nscarcely understanding his speech; for he was a Saxon, whereas Herla\nwas a Briton. Nor, as he told the king, had he heard of such a queen,\nunless it were a queen of the former Britons, whose husband, Herla, was\nsaid to have disappeared at yonder rock with a dwarf, and never to have\nbeen seen again. That, however, was long ago, for it was now more than\ntwo hundred years since the Britons had been driven out and the Saxons\nhad taken possession of the land. The king was stupefied, for he deemed\nhe had only been away three days, and could hardly keep his seat. Some\nof his followers, forgetful of the pigmy king's prohibition, alighted\nwithout waiting for the dog to lead the way, and were at once crumbled\ninto dust. Herla and those who were wiser took warning by the fate of\ntheir companions. One story declared that they were wandering still; and\nmany persons asserted that they had often beheld the host upon its mad,\nits endless journey. But Map concludes that the last time it appeared\nwas in the year of King Henry the Second's coronation, when it was seen\nby many Welshmen to plunge into the Wye in Herefordshire.[138]\n\nCases in which dancing endures for a whole twelvemonth have already been\nmentioned. This might be thought a moderate length of time for a ball,\neven for a fairy ball; but some have been known to last longer. Two\ncelebrated fiddlers of Strathspey were inveigled by a venerable old man,\nwho ought to have known better, into a little hill near Inverness, where\nthey supplied the music for a brilliant assembly which lasted in fact\nfor a hundred years, though to them it seemed but a few hours. They\nemerged into daylight again on a Sunday; and when they had learned the\nreal state of affairs, and recovered from their astonishment at the\nmiracle which had been wrought in them, they went, as was meet, to\nchurch. They sat listening for awhile to the ringing of the bells; but\nwhen the clergyman began to read the gospel, at the first word he\nuttered they both fell into dust. This is a favourite form of the legend\nin Wales as well as Scotland; but, pathetic and beautiful as the various\nversions are, they present no variations of importance.[139]\n\nOften the stranger's festive visit to Fairyland is rounded with a sleep.\nWe have seen this in the instance of Rip van Winkle. Another legend has\nbeen put into literary form by Washington Irving, this time from a\nPortuguese source. It relates the adventures of a noble youth who set\nout to find an island in which some of the former inhabitants of the\nPeninsula had taken refuge at the time of the Moorish conquest, and\nwhere their descendants still dwelt. The island was believed to contain\nseven cities; and the adventurer was appointed by the king of Portugal\nAdalantado, or governor, of the Seven Cities. He reached the island, and\nwas received as Adalantado, was feasted, and then fell asleep. When he\ncame to himself again he was on board a homeward-bound vessel, having\nbeen picked up senseless from a drifting wreck. He reached Lisbon, but\nno one knew him. His ancestral mansion was occupied by others: none of\nhis name had dwelt in it for many a year. He hurried to his betrothed,\nonly to fling himself, not, as he thought, at her feet, but at the feet\nof her great-granddaughter. In cases like this the supernatural lapse of\ntime may be conceived as taking place during the enchanted sleep, rather\nthan during the festivities. According to a Coptic Christian romance,\nAbimelek, the youthful favourite of King Zedekiah, preserved the prophet\nJeremiah's life when he was thrown into prison, and afterwards persuaded\nhis master to give him charge of the prophet, and to permit him to\nrelease him from the dungeon. In reward, Jeremiah promised him that he\nshould never see the destruction of Jerusalem, nor experience the\nBabylonish captivity, and yet that he should not die. The sun should\ntake care of him, the atmosphere nourish him; the earth on which he\nslept should give him repose, and he should taste of joy for seventy\nyears until he should again see Jerusalem in its glory, flourishing as\nbefore. Accordingly, going out one day, as his custom was, into the\nroyal garden to gather grapes and figs, God caused him to rest and fall\nasleep beneath the shadow of a rock. There he lay peacefully slumbering\nwhile the city was besieged by Nebuchadnezzar, and during the horrors of\nits capture and the whole of the seventy sad years that followed. When\nhe awoke, it was to meet the prophet Jeremiah returning from the\ncaptivity, and he entered the restored city with him in triumph. But the\nseventy years had seemed to him but a few hours; nor had he known\nanything of what passed while he slumbered. Mohammed in the Koran\nmentions a story referred by the commentators to Ezra. He is represented\nas passing by a village (said to mean Jerusalem) when it was desolate,\nand saying: \"How will God revive this after its death?\" And God made him\ndie for a hundred years. Then He raised him and asked: \"How long hast\nthou tarried?\" Said the man: \"I have tarried a day, or some part of a\nday.\" But God said: \"Nay, thou hast tarried a hundred years. Look at thy\nfood and drink, they are not spoiled; and look at thine ass; for we will\nmake thee a sign to men. And look at the bones, how we scatter them and\nthen clothe them with flesh.\" And when it was made manifest to him, he\nsaid: \"I know that God is mighty over all.\"[140]\n\nMohammed probably was unconscious that this is to all intents and\npurposes the same story as that of the Seven Sleepers, to which he\nrefers in the chapter on the Cave. Some of the phrases he uses are,\nindeed, identical. As usually told, this legend speaks of seven youths\nof Ephesus who had fled from the persecutions of the heathen emperor\nDecius, and taken refuge in a cave, where they slept for upwards of\nthree hundred years. In Mohammed's time, however, it should be noted,\nthe number of the sleepers was undetermined; they were credited with a\ndog who slept with them, like Ezra's ass; and Mohammed's notion of the\ntime they slept was only one hundred years. One of the wild tribes on\nthe northern frontier of Afghanistan is said to tell the following story\nconcerning a cavern in the Hirak Valley, known as the cave of the Seven\nSleepers. A king bearing the suspicious name of Dakianus, deceived by\nthe devil, set himself up as a god. Six of his servants, however, having\nreason to think that his claim was unfounded, fled from him and fell in\nwith a shepherd, who agreed to throw in his lot with theirs and to guide\nthem to a cavern where they might all hide. The shepherd's dog followed\nhis master; but the six fugitives insisted on his being driven back lest\nhe should betray their whereabouts. The shepherd begged that he might go\nwith them, as he had been his faithful companion for years; but in vain.\nSo he struck the dog with his stick, breaking one of his legs. The dog\nstill followed; and the shepherd repeated the blow, breaking a second\nleg. Finding that the dog continued to crawl after them notwithstanding\nthis, the men were struck with pity and took it in turns to carry the\npoor animal. Arrived at the cave, they all lay down and slept for three\nhundred and nine years. Assuming the genuineness of the tradition, which\nperhaps rests on no very good authority, its form is obviously due to\nMohammedan influence. But the belief in this miraculous sleep is\ntraceable beyond Christian and Mohammedan legends into the Paganism of\nclassical antiquity. Pliny, writing in the first century of our era,\nalludes to a story told of the Cretan poet Epimenides, who, when a boy,\nfell asleep in a cave, and continued in that state for fifty-seven\nyears. On waking he was greatly surprised at the change in the\nappearance of everything around him, as he thought he had only slept for\na few hours; and though he did not, as in the Welsh and Scottish tales,\nfall into dust, still old age came upon him in as many days as the years\nhe had passed in slumber.[141]\n\nNor is it only in dancing, feasting, or sleeping that the time passes\nquickly with supernatural folk. A shepherd at the foot of the Blanik,\nwho missed one of his flock, followed it into a cavern, whence he could\nnot return because the mountain closed upon him with a crash. A dwarf\ncame and led him into a large hall. There he saw King Wenzel sleeping\nwith his knights. The king awoke, and bade him stay and clean the\narmour. One day--perhaps the criticism would be too carping which\ninquired how he knew the day from the night--he received permission to\ngo, and a bag which he was told contained his reward. When he reached\nthe light of day, he opened the bag and found it filled with oats. In\nthe village all was changed, for he had been a hundred years in the\nmountain, and nobody knew him. He succeeded in getting a lodging, and on\nagain opening his bag, lo! all the grains of oats had turned to gold\npieces and thalers, so that he was able to buy a fine house, and\nspeedily became the richest man in the place. This was a pleasanter fate\nthan that of the Tirolese peasant who followed his herd under a stone,\nwhere they had all disappeared. He presently came into a lovely garden;\nand there a lady came, and, inviting him to eat, offered to take him as\ngardener. He readily assented; but after some weeks he began to be\nhomesick, and, taking leave of his mistress, went home. On arriving\nthere he was astounded that he knew no one, and no one knew him, save an\nold crone, who at length came to him and said: \"Where have you been? I\nhave been looking for you for two hundred years.\" Thus saying, she took\nhim by the hand and he fell dead; for the crone who had sought him so\nlong was Death.[142]\n\nSave in the legends that tell of a mother leaving her child in the\nmountain from her eagerness to gather treasure, we have encountered but\nfew instances of women being beguiled. They are, indeed, not so numerous\nas those where the sterner sex is thus overcome; nor need we be detained\nby most of them. A Danish tradition, however, runs that a bride, during\nthe dancing and festivities of her wedding-day, left the room and\nthoughtlessly walked towards a mound where the elves were also making\nmerry. The hillock was standing, as is usual on such occasions, on red\npillars; and as she drew near, one of the company offered her a cup of\nwine. She drank, and then suffered herself to join in a dance. When the\ndance was over she hastened home. But alas! house, farm, everything was\nchanged. The noise and mirth of the wedding was stilled. No one knew\nher; but at length, on hearing her lamentation, an old woman exclaimed:\n\"Was it you, then, who disappeared at my grandfather's brother's\nwedding, a hundred years ago?\" At these words the aged bride fell down\nand expired. A prettier, if not a more pathetic, story is widely current\non the banks of the Rhine. A maiden who bore an excellent character for\npiety and goodness was about to be married. She was fond of roses; and\non the wedding morning she stepped into the garden to gather a small\nbunch. There she met a man whom she did not know. He admired two lovely\nblossoms which she had, but said he had many finer in his garden: would\nshe not go with him? \"I cannot,\" she said; \"I must go to the church: it\nis high time.\" \"It is not far,\" urged the stranger. The maiden allowed\nherself to be persuaded; and the man showed her beautiful, beautiful\nflowers--finer she had never seen--and gave her a wonderful rose of\nwhich she was very proud. Then she hastened back, lest she should be too\nlate. When she mounted the steps of the house she could not understand\nwhat had happened to her. Children whom she knew not were playing there:\npeople whom she did not recognize were within. And every one ran away\nfrom her, frightened to see a strange woman in an antiquated\nwedding-dress stand there bitterly weeping. She had but just left her\nbridegroom to go for a moment into the garden, and in so short a time\nguests and bridegroom had all vanished. She asked after her bridegroom,\nand nobody knew him. At last she told her story to the folk around her.\nA man said he had bought the house, and knew nothing at all of her\nbridegroom or her parents. They took her to the parish priest. He\nreached his church-books down, and there he found recorded that almost\ntwo hundred years before, a certain bride on the wedding-day had\ndisappeared from her father's house. Burdened thus with two centuries of\nlife, she lingered on a few lonely years, and then sank into the grave;\nand the good, simple villagers whisper that the strange gardener was no\nother than the Lord Jesus, who thus provided for His humble child an\nescape from a union which would have been the source of bitterest woe.\nAfter this it is almost an anti-climax to refer to a Scottish tale in\nwhich a bridegroom was similarly spirited away. As he was leaving the\nchurch after the ceremony, a tall dark man met him and asked him to come\nround to the back of the church, for he wanted to speak to him. When he\ncomplied, the dark man asked him to be good enough to stand there until\na small piece of candle he held in his hand should burn out. He\ngood-humouredly complied. The candle took, as he thought, less than two\nminutes to burn; and he then rushed off to overtake his friends. On his\nway he saw a man cutting turf, and asked if it were long since the\nwedding party had passed. The man replied that he did not know that any\nwedding party had passed that way to-day, or for a long time. \"Oh, there\nwas a marriage to-day,\" said the other, \"and I am the bridegroom. I was\nasked by a man to go with him to the back of the church, and I went. I\nam now running to overtake the party.\" The turf-cutter, feeling that\nthis could not be, asked him what date he supposed that day was. The\nbridegroom's answer was in fact two hundred years short of the real\ndate: he had passed two centuries in those two minutes which the bit of\ncandle took, as he thought, to burn. \"I remember,\" said he who cut the\nturf, \"that my grandfather used to tell something of such a\ndisappearance of a bridegroom, a story which his grandfather told him as\na fact which happened when he was young.\" \"Ah, well then, I am the\nbridegroom,\" sighed the unfortunate man, and fell away as he stood,\nuntil nothing remained but a small heap of earth.[143]\n\nEvery reader of Longfellow loves the story of the Monk Felix, so\nexquisitely told in \"The Golden Legend.\" Its immediate source I do not\nknow; but it is certain that the tradition is a genuine one, and has\nobtained a local habitation in many parts of Europe. Southey relates it\nas attached to the Spanish convent of San Salvador de Villar, where the\ntomb of the Abbot to whom the adventure happened was shown. And he is\nvery severe on \"the dishonest monks who, for the honour of their convent\nand the lucre of gain, palmed this lay (for such in its origin it was)\nupon their neighbours as a true legend.\" In Wales, the ruined monastery\nat Clynnog-Fawr, on the coast of Carnarvonshire, founded by St. Beuno,\nthe uncle of the more famous St. Winifred, has been celebrated by a\nWelsh antiquary as the scene of the same event, in memory whereof a\nwoodland patch near Clynnog is said to be called Llwyn-y-Nef, the Grove\nof Heaven. At Pantshonshenkin, in Carmarthenshire, a youth went out\nearly one summer's morning and was lost. An old woman, Catti Madlen,\nprophesied of him that he was in the fairies' power and would not be\nreleased until the last sap of a certain sycamore tree had dried up.\nWhen that time came he returned. He had been listening all the while to\nthe singing of a bird, and supposed only a few minutes had elapsed,\nthough, seventy years had in fact gone over his head. In the Mabinogi of\nBranwen, daughter of Llyr, Pryderi and his companions, while bearing the\nhead of Bran the Blessed, to bury it in the White Mount in London, were\nentertained seven years at Harlech, feasting and listening to the\nsinging of the three birds of Rhiannon--a mythical figure in whom\nProfessor Rhys can hardly be wrong in seeing an old Celtic goddess. In\nGermany and the Netherlands the story is widely spread. At the abbey of\nAfflighem, Fulgentius, who was abbot towards the close of the eleventh\ncentury, received the announcement one day that a stranger monk had\nknocked at the gate and claimed to be one of the brethren of that\ncloister. His story was that he had sung matins that morning with the\nrest of the brotherhood; and when they came to the verse of the 90th\nPsalm where it is said: \"A thousand years in Thy sight are but as\nyesterday,\" he had fallen into deep meditation, and continued sitting in\nthe choir when the others had departed, and that a little bird had then\nappeared to him and sung so sweetly that he had followed it into the\nforest, whence, after a short stay, he had now returned, but found the\nabbey so changed that he hardly knew it. On questioning him about his\nabbot and the name of the king whom he supposed to be still reigning,\nFulgentius found that both had been dead for three hundred years. The\nsame tale is told of other monasteries. In Transylvania it is told\nconcerning a student of the school at Kronstadt that he was to preach on\nthe fifteenth Sunday after Trinity in St. John's Church, now known as\nthe Church of the Franciscans, and on the Saturday previous he walked\nout on the Kapellenberg to rehearse his sermon. After he had learned it\nhe saw a beautiful bird, and tried to catch it. It led him on and on\ninto a cavern, where he met a dwarf, who showed the astonished and\ncurious student all the wealth of gold and jewels stored up in the\nvaults of the mountain. When he escaped again to the upper air the trees\nand the houses were altered; other and unknown faces greeted him at the\nschool; his own room was changed--taken by another; a different rector\nruled; and in short a hundred years had elapsed since he had gone forth\nto study his sermon for the next day. The old record-book, bound in\npigskin, reposed on the rector's shelves. He took it down: it contained\nan entry of the student's having quitted the school and not returned,\nand of the difficulty caused thereby at St. John's Church, where he was\nto have preached the following day. By the time the entry was found and\nthe mystery solved, it was noon. The student was hungry with his\nhundred-years' fast; and he sat down with the others at the common table\nto dine. But he had no sooner tasted the first spoonful of soup than his\nwhole frame underwent a change. From a ruddy youth he became an old man\nin the last stage of decrepitude. His comrades scarce had time to hurry\nhim upon a bed ere he breathed his last. Some pretty verses, attributed\nto Alaric A. Watts, commemorate a similar incident, said to have\nhappened to two sisters who were nuns at Beverley Minister. They\ndisappeared one evening after vespers. After some months they were found\nin a trance in the north tower. On being aroused they declared they had\nbeen admitted into Paradise, whither they would return before morning.\nThey died in the night; and the beautiful monument called the Sisters'\nShrine still witnesses to the truth of their story.[144]\n\nFrom monastic meditations we may pass without any long interval to a\ntype of the story that perhaps appears at its best in M. Luzel's\ncharming collection of distinctively Christian traditions of Lower\nBrittany. In this type we are given the adventures of a youth who\nundertakes to carry a letter to \"_Monsieur le Bon Dieu_\" in Paradise.\nProceeding by the directions of a hermit, he is guided by a ball to the\nhermit's brother, who points out the road and describes the various\ndifficulties through which he will have to pass. Accordingly he climbs\nthe mountain before him; and the path then leads him across an arid\nmeadow filled with fat cattle, and next over a lush pasture tenanted\nonly by lean and sickly kine. Having left this behind he enters an\navenue where, under the trees, youths and damsels richly clad are\nfeasting and making merry; and they tempt the traveller to join them.\nThe path then becomes narrow and steep, and encumbered with brambles and\nnettles and stones. Here he meets a rolling fire, but standing firm in\nthe middle of the path, the fire passes harmlessly over his head. Hardly\nhas it gone by, however, when he hears a terrible roar behind him, as\nthough the sea in all its fury were at his heels ready to engulf him. He\nresolutely refuses to look back; and the noise subsides. A thick hedge\nof thorns closes the way before him; but he pushes through it, only to\nfall into a ditch filled with nettles and brambles on the other side,\nwhere he faints with loss of blood. When he recovers and scrambles out\nof the ditch, he reaches a place filled with the sweet perfume of\nflowers, with butterflies, and with the melody of birds. A clear river\nwaters this beautiful land; and there he sits upon a stone and bathes\nhis cruelly torn feet. No wonder he falls asleep and dreams that he is\nalready in Paradise. Awaking, he finds his strength restored, and his\nwounds healed. Before him is Mount Calvary, the Saviour still upon the\ncross, and the blood yet running from His body. A crowd of little\nchildren are trying to climb the mountain; but ere they reach the top\nthey roll down again continually to the foot, only to recommence the\ntoil. They crowd round the traveller, and beseech him to take them with\nhim; and he takes three, one on each shoulder and one by the hand; but\nwith them he cannot get to the top, for he is hurled back again and\nagain. Leaving them therefore behind, he climbs with ease, and throws\nhimself at the foot of the cross to pray and weep. On rising, he sees\nbefore him a palace that proves to be Paradise itself. St. Peter, the\ncelestial porter, receives his letter and carries it to its destination.\nWhile the youth waits, he finds St. Peter's spectacles on the table and\namuses himself by trying them on. Many and marvellous are the things\nthey reveal to him; but the porter comes back, and he hastily takes off\nthe glasses, fearing to be scolded. St. Peter, however, tells him: \"Fear\nnothing, my child. You have already been looking through my glasses for\nfive hundred years!\" \"But I have only just put them on my nose!\" \"Yes,\nmy child,\" returned the door-keeper, \"it is five hundred years, and I\nsee you find the time short.\" After this it is a trifle that he spends\nanother hundred years looking at the seat reserved for himself in\nParadise and thinks them only a moment. The Eternal Father's reply to\nthe letter is handed to him; and since his master and the king who sent\nhim on the errand have both long been dead and in Paradise (though on\nlower seats than that which he is to occupy), he is bidden to take the\nreply to his parish prices [TN: priests]. The priest will in return hand\nhim a hundred crowns, which he is to give to the poor, and when the\nlast penny has been distributed he will die and enter Paradise, to\nobtain the seat he has been allowed to see. As he makes his way back,\none of the hermits explains to him the various sights he beheld and the\ndifficulties he conquered during his outward journey. I shall not stop\nto unveil the allegories of this traditional Pilgrim's Progress, which\nis known from Brittany to Transylvania, from Iceland to Sicily. Other\nBreton tales exist, describing a similar journey, in all of which the\nmiraculous lapse of time is an incident. In one the youth is sent to the\nsun to inquire why it is red in the morning when it rises. In another a\nmaiden is married to a mysterious stranger, who turns out to be Death.\nHer brother goes to visit her, and is allowed to accompany her husband\non his daily flight, in the course of which he sees a number of\nremarkable sights, each one of them a parable.[145]\n\nA story is told at Glienke, near New Brandenburg, of two friends who\nmade mutual promises to attend one another's weddings. One was married,\nand his friend kept his word; but before the latter's turn to marry came\nthe married man had fallen into want, and under the pressure of need had\ncommitted robbery, a crime for which he had been hanged. Shortly\nafterwards his friend was about to be married; and his way a few days\nbefore, in the transaction of his business, led him past the gallows\nwhere the body still swung. As he drew near he murmured a Paternoster\nfor the dead man, and said: \"At your wedding I enjoyed myself; and you\npromised me to come to mine, and now you cannot come!\" A voice from the\ngallows distinctly replied: \"Yes, I will come.\" To the wedding feast\naccordingly the dead man came, with the rope round his neck, and was\nplaced between the pastor and the sacristan. He ate and drank in\nsilence, and departed. As he left, he beckoned the bridegroom to follow\nhim; and when they got outside the village the hanged man said: \"Thanks\nto your Paternoster, I am saved.\" They walked a little further, and the\nbridegroom noticed that the country was unknown to him. They were in a\nlarge and beautiful garden. \"Will you not return?\" asked the dead man;\n\"they will miss you.\" \"Oh! let me stay; it is so lovely here,\" replied\nhis friend. \"Know that we are in Paradise; you cannot go with me any\nfurther. Farewell!\" So saying the dead man vanished. Then the bridegroom\nturned back; but he did not reach the village for three days. There all\nwas changed. He asked after his bride: no one knew her. He sought the\npastor and found a stranger. When he told his tale the pastor searched\nthe church-books and discovered that a man of his name had been married\none hundred and fifty years before. The bridegroom asked for food; but\nwhen he had eaten it he sank into a heap of ashes at the pastor's feet.\nThe Transylvanian legend of \"The Gravedigger in Heaven\" also turns upon\nan invitation thoughtlessly given to a dead man and accepted. The\nentertainment is followed by a counter-invitation; and the gravedigger\nis forced to pay a return visit. He is taken to Heaven, where, among\nother things, he sees at intervals three leaves fall slowly one after\nanother from off a large tree in the garden. The tree is the Tree of\nLife, from which a leaf falls at the end of every century. He was three\nhundred years in Heaven and thought it scarce an hour. The Icelandic\nversion concerns a wicked priest. His unjust ways are reproved by a\nstranger who takes him to the place of joy and the place of torment, and\nshows him other wonderful things such as the youth in the Breton tale is\npermitted to behold. When he is brought back, and the stranger leaves\nhim, he finds that he has been absent seven years, and his living is now\nheld by another priest.[146]\n\nHere, perhaps, is a fitting place to mention the Happy Islands of\nEverlasting Life as known to Japanese tradition, though the story can\nhardly be said to belong to the type we have just discussed,--perhaps\nnot strictly to any of the foregoing types. A Japanese hero, the wise\nVasobiove, it was who succeeded in reaching the Happy Islands, and in\nreturning to bring sure tidings of them. For, like St. Brendan's Isle in\nwestern lore, these islands may be visible for a moment and afar off to\nthe seafarer, but a mortal foot has hardly ever trodden them. Vasobiove,\nhowever, in his boat alone, set sail from Nagasaki, and, in spite of\nwind and waves, landed on the green shore of Horaisan. Two hundred years\nhe sojourned there; yet wist he not how long the period was, there where\neverything remained the same, where there was neither birth nor death,\nwhere none heeded the flight of time. With dance and music, in\nintercourse with wise men and lovely women, his days passed away. But at\nlength he grew weary of this sweet round of existence: he longed for\ndeath--an impossible wish in a land where death was unknown. No poison,\nno deadly weapons were to be found. To tumble down a chasm, or to fling\noneself on sharp rocks was no more than a fall upon a soft cushion. If\nhe would drown himself in the sea, the water refused its office, and\nbore him like a cork. Weary to death the poor Vasobiove could find no\nhelp. In this need a thought struck him: he caught and tamed a giant\nstork and taught him to carry him. On the back of this bird he returned\nover sea and land to his beloved Japan, bringing the news of the realm\nof Horaisan. His story took hold of the hearts of his fellow-countrymen;\nand that the story-tellers might never forget it, it has been\nemblazoned by the painters in a thousand ways. Nor can the stranger go\nanywhere in Japan without seeing the old, old man depicted on his stork\nand being reminded of his voyage to the Happy Islands.[147]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[123] Croker, vol. iii. p. 215. This tale is given by Sikes, p. 70, of\ncourse without any acknowledgment. It is also found in Keightley, p.\n415.\n\n[124] \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. vi. pp. 174, 157, 196, 187.\n\n[125] Howells, pp. 141, 145; Sikes, p. 73. I have not been able to trace\nMr. Sikes' authority for the last story; but his experience and skill in\nborrowing from other books are so much greater than in oral collection\nthat it is probably from some literary source, though no doubt many of\nthe embellishments are his own. The foundation, however, appears to be\ntraditional.\n\n[126] Campbell, vol. ii. pp. 63, 55.\n\n[127] \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. vi. p. 191. (This story was told to the\npresent writer and Mr. G. L. Gomme by Alderman Howel Walters, of\nYstradgynlais, who had it from an old man who knew the hero well and\ngave implicit credit to the narrative.) \"Trans. Aberd. Eistedd.\" p. 227;\n\"F. L. Journal,\" vol. vi. p. 183. A similar tale is referred to in\nJones' \"Account of the Parish of Aberystruth,\" 1779, quoted in \"Choice\nNotes,\" p. 157.\n\n[128] \"Cymru Fu,\" p. 177 (a translation is given by Professor Rhys in \"Y\nCymmrodor,\" vol. v. p. 81); Croker, vol. iii. p. 208.\n\n[129] Radloff, vol. i. p. 95, vol. iv. p. 109; Sebillot, \"Contes,\" vol.\nii. p. 8; Grimm, \"Tales,\" vol. i. p. 162.\n\n[130] Jahn, p. 199; Grohmann, pp. 19, 20, 18.\n\n[131] Kuhn und Schwartz, pp. 220, 222.\n\n[132] Rappold, p. 34.\n\n[133] \"Archivio,\" vol. vi. p. 398.\n\n[134] \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. vi. p. 33; \"Archivio,\" vol. ix. p. 233\nGrohmann, p. 112.\n\n[135] Grohmann, pp. 29, 289, 296, 298; Mueller, p. 83.\n\n[136] See Thorpe's translation of the story, \"Yule Tide Stories,\" p.\n475.\n\n[137] Dennys, p. 98; Giles, vol. ii. pp. 89 note, 85; Brauns, p. 366.\n\n[138] Map, Dist. i. c. 11. But see below, p. 234.\n\n[139] Croker, vol. iii. p. 17; Howells, p. 123; \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. iv.\np. 196, vol. v. pp. 108, 113.\n\n[140] \"Wolfert's Roost, and other Sketches,\" by Washington Irving\n(London, 1855) p. 225; Amelineau, vol. ii. p. 111; Koran, c. 2 (\"Sacred\nBooks of the East,\" vol. vi. p. 41); \"Masnavi i Ma'navi,\" p. 214.\n\n[141] Koran, c. 18 (\"Sacred Books of the East,\" vol. ix. p. 14); \"Indian\nN. and Q.\" vol. iv. p. 8, quoting the \"Pall Mall Gazette\" (The story of\nthe Seven Sleepers is also localized at N'gaous in Algeria; Certeux et\nCarnoy, vol. i. p. 63.) Pliny, \"Nat. Hist.\" l. vii. c. 33.\n\n[142] Grohmann, p. 16; Schneller, p. 217.\n\n[143] Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 138; Birlinger, \"Volkst.\" vol. i. p. 257\n(_cf._ Bartsch, vol. i, p. 326, where there is no wedding, and curiosity\nis the lady's motive for venturing into the fairy cavern); \"Celtic Mag.\"\nOct. 1887, p. 566.\n\n[144] Southey, \"Doctor,\" p. 574; \"Y Brython,\" vol. iii. p. 111, and\nCymru Fu, p. 183; Howells, p. 127; \"Y Llyvyr Coch,\" p. 40 (Lady\nCharlotte Guest's translation, p. 381); Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 297,\nquoting Wolf; Mueller, p. 50 (_cf._ Jahn, p. 96). The reader will not\nfail to remark the record-book bound in pigskin as a resemblance in\ndetail to Longfellow's version. Thorpe alludes in a note to a German\npoem by Wegener, which I have not seen. Nicholson, p. 58.\n\n[145] Luzel, \"Legendes Chret.\" vol. i. pp. 225, 216, 247, 249; \"Contes,\"\nvol. i. pp. 14, 40; _cf._ Pitre, vol. vi. p. 1; and Gonzenbach, vol. ii.\np. 171, in neither of which the lapse of time is an incident. Dr. Pitre\nsays that the tale has no analogues (_riscontri_) outside Sicily; by\nwhich I understand him to mean that it has not been hitherto found in\nany other Italian-speaking land.\n\n[146] Bartsch, vol. i. p. 282; Mueller, p. 46; Powell and Magnusson, vol.\nii. p. 37.\n\n[147] Brauns, p. 146.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE SUPERNATURAL LAPSE OF TIME IN FAIRYLAND\n\n(_continued_).\n\n     Ossian in the Tir na n'Og--The Island of Happiness--The\n     Mermaid--Thomas of Erceldoune--Olger the Dane--The Sleeping\n     Hero--King Arthur--Don Sebastian--The expected deliverer--British\n     variants--German variants--Frederick Barbarossa--Nameless\n     heroes--Slavonic variants.\n\n\nThe stories we have hitherto considered, relating to the supernatural\nlapse of time in fairyland, have attributed the mortal's detention there\nto various motives. Compulsion on the part of the superhuman powers, and\npleasure, curiosity, greed, sheer folly, as also the performance of just\nand willing service on the part of the mortal, have been among the\ncauses of his entrance thither and his sojourn amid its enchantments.\nHuman nature could hardly have been what it is if the supreme passion of\nlove had been absent from the list. Nor is it wanting, though not found\nin the same plenteous measure that will meet us when we come to deal\nwith the Swan-maiden myth--that is to say, with the group of stories\nconcerning the capture by men of maidens of superhuman birth.\n\nWe may take as typical the story of Oisin, or Ossian, as told in\nIreland. In County Clare it is said that once when he was in the full\nvigour of youth Oisin lay down under a tree to rest and fell asleep.\nAwaking with a start, he saw a lady richly clad, and of more than mortal\nbeauty, gazing on him. She was the Queen of Tir na n'Og, the Country of\nPerpetual Youth. She had fallen in love with Oisin, as the strange\nItalian lady is said to have done with a poet of whose existence we are\nsomewhat better assured than of Oisin's; and she invited him to\naccompany her to her own realm and share her throne. Oisin was not long\nin making up his mind, and all the delights of Tir na n'Og were laid at\nhis feet. In one part of the palace garden, however, was a broad flat\nstone, on which he was forbidden to stand, under penalty of the heaviest\nmisfortune. Probably, as is usual in these cases, if he had not been\nforbidden, he would never have thought of standing on it. But one day\nfinding himself near it, the temptation to transgress was irresistible.\nHe yielded, and stepping on the stone he found himself in full view of\nhis native land, the very existence of which he had forgotten till that\nmoment. Even in the short space of time since he left it much had\nchanged: it was suffering from oppression and violence. Overcome with\ngrief, he hastened to the queen and prayed for leave to go back, that he\nmight help his people. The queen tried to dissuade him, but in vain. She\nasked him how long he supposed he had been absent. Oisin told her:\n\"Thrice seven days.\" She replied that three times thrice seven years had\npassed since he arrived in Tir na n'Og; and though Time could not enter\nthat land, it would immediately assert its dominion over him if he left\nit. At length she persuaded him to promise that he would return to his\ncountry for one day only, and then come back to dwell with her for ever.\nShe accordingly gave him a beautiful jet-black horse, from whose back he\nwas on no account to alight, or at all events not to allow the bridle to\nfall from his hand; and in parting she gifted him with wisdom and\nknowledge far surpassing that of men. Mounting the steed, he soon found\nhimself near his former home; and as he journeyed he met a man driving a\nhorse, across whose back was thrown a sack of corn. The sack had fallen\na little aside; and the man asked Oisin to assist him in balancing it\nproperly. Oisin, good-naturedly stooping, caught it and gave it such a\nheave that it fell over on the other side. Annoyed at his ill-success,\nhe forgot his bride's commands, and sprang from the horse to lift the\nsack from the ground, letting go the bridle at the same time. Forthwith\nthe steed vanished; and Oisin instantly became a blind, feeble, helpless\nold man--everything lost but the wisdom and knowledge bestowed upon him\nby his immortal bride.[148]\n\nA variant adds some particulars, from which it appears that Oisin was\nnot only husband of the queen, but also rightful monarch of Tir na n'Og.\nFor in that land was a strange custom. The office of king was the prize\nof a race every seven years. Oisin's predecessor had consulted a Druid\nas to the length of his own tenure, and had been told that he might keep\nthe crown for ever unless his son-in-law took it from him. Now the\nking's only daughter was the finest woman in Tir na n'Og, or indeed in\nthe world; and the king naturally thought that if he could so deform his\ndaughter that no one would wed her he would be safe. So he struck her\nwith a rod of Druidic spells, which turned her head into a pig's head.\nThis she was condemned to wear until she could marry one of Fin Mac\nCumhail's sons in Erin. The young lady, therefore, went in search of Fin\nMac Cumhail's sons; and having chosen Oisin she found an opportunity to\ntell him her tale, with the result that he wedded her without delay. The\nsame moment her deformity was gone, and her beauty as perfect as before\nshe was enchanted. Oisin returned to Tir na n'Og with her; and on the\nfirst race for the crown he won so easily that no man ever cared to\ndispute it with him afterwards. So he reigned for many a year, until one\nday the longing seized him to go to Erin and see his father and his men.\nHis wife told him that if he set foot in Erin he would never come back\nto her, and he would become a blind old man; and she asked him how long\nhe thought it was since he came to Tir na n'Og. \"About three years,\" he\nreplied. \"It is three hundred years,\" she said. However, if he must go\nshe would give him a white steed to bear him; but if he dismounted, or\ntouched the soil of Erin with his foot, the steed would return that\ninstant, and he would be left a poor old man. This inevitable\ncatastrophe occurred in his eagerness to blow the great horn of the\nFenians, in order to summon his friends around him. His subsequent\nadventures with Saint Patrick, interesting though they are, are\nunimportant for our present purpose.[149]\n\nPerhaps the nearest analogue to this is the Italian Swan-maiden\n_maerchen_, of the Island of Happiness. There a youth sets out to seek\nFortune, and finds her in the shape of a maiden bathing, whose clothes\nhe steals, obtaining possession thereby of her book of command, and so\ncompelling her to wed him. But in his absence his mother gives her the\nbook again, which enables her to return to her home in the Island of\nHappiness. Thither her husband goes to seek her, and after a variety of\nadventures he is reunited to her. All goes smoothly until he desires to\nvisit his mother, supposing that he had only been in the island for two\nmonths, whereas in fact he has been there two hundred years. Fortune,\nfinding he was bent on going, was more prudent than the queen of Tir na\nn'Og, for she went with him on the magic horse. In their way they met\nwith a lean woman who had worn out a carriage-load of shoes in\ntravelling. She feigned to fall to the ground to see if Fortune's\nhusband would lift her up. But Fortune cried out to him: \"Beware! that\nis Death!\" A little further on they met a devil in the guise of a great\nlord riding a horse whose legs were worn out with much running. He also\nfell from his horse. This was another trap for Fortune's husband; but\nagain she cried out to him: \"Beware!\" Then, having reached his own\nneighbourhood and satisfied himself that no one knew him, and that none\neven of the oldest remembered his mother, he allowed his wife to lead\nhim back to the Island of Happiness, where he still dwells with\nher.[150]\n\nIn an Annamite saga a certain king wished to build a town on a site he\nhad fixed upon. All at once a tree bearing an unknown foliage and\nstrange flowers sprang up on the spot. It was determined to offer these\nflowers to the king; and sentinels were placed to see that no one\nplucked the blossoms. A rock still pointed out in the north of Annam was\nthe home of a race of genii. A young and lovely maiden belonging to that\nrace visited the tree, and was unlucky enough to touch one of the\nflowers and to cause it to drop. She was at once seized by the guards,\nbut was released at the intercession of a certain mandarin. The\nmandarin's heart was susceptible: he fell in love with her, and,\npursuing her, he was admitted into the abodes of the Immortals and\nreceived by the maiden of his dreams. His happiness continued until the\nday when it was his lady's turn to be in attendance on the queen of the\nImmortals. Ere she left him she warned him against opening the back door\nof the palace where they dwelt, otherwise he would be compelled to\nreturn home, and his present abode would be forbidden to him from that\nmoment. He disobeyed her. On opening the door he beheld once more the\noutside world, and his family came to his remembrance. The Immortals\nwho were within earshot drove him out, and forbade him to return. He\nthought he had only been there a few days, but he could no longer find\nhis relatives. No one knew the name he asked for. At last an old man\nsaid: \"There existed once, under the reign of I do not now remember what\nsovereign, an old mandarin of the name, but you would have some\ndifficulty in finding him, for he has been dead three or four hundred\nyears.\" An Esthonian tale represents a mermaid, the daughter of the\nWater-Mother, as falling in love with a loutish boy, the youngest son of\na peasant, and taking him down to dwell with her as her husband in her\npalace beneath the waves. The form in which she appeared to him was a\nwoman's; but she passed her Thursdays in seclusion, which she forbade\nhim to break, enjoining him, moreover, never to call her Mermaid. After\nlittle more than a year, however, he grew curious and jealous, and\nyielded to the temptation of peeping through the curtain of her chamber,\nwhere he beheld her swimming about, half woman and half fish. He had\nbroken the condition of his happiness, and might no longer stay with\nher. Wherefore he was cast up again on the shore where he had first met\nthe mermaid. Rising and going into the village he inquired for his\nparents, but found that they had been dead for more than thirty years,\nand that his brothers were dead too. He himself was unconsciously\nchanged into an old man. For a few days he wandered about the shore, and\nthe charitable gave him bread. He ventured to tell his history to one\nkind friend; but the same night he disappeared, and in a few days the\nwaves cast up his body on the beach.[151]\n\nThe foregoing tales all combine with the characteristics of the group\nunder discussion, either those of the Swan-maiden group or those of the\nForbidden Chamber group. In the myth of the Swan-maidens, as in some\ntypes of the myth of the Forbidden Chamber, the human hero weds a\nsupernatural bride; and a story containing such an incident seems to\nhave a tendency to unite itself to one or other of these two groups.\nThis tendency is not, however, always developed. The two ladies in the\nChinese legend, cited in the last chapter, were neither Swan-maidens nor\nfemale Bluebeards; and this is not the only tale from the Flowery Land\nin which these superhuman beauties appear without promoting the\ndevelopment in question. Nor do I find any hint of it in the tradition\nof Bran Mac Fearbhall, King of Ireland, who was one day lulled asleep by\na strain of fairy music. On awaking he found the silver branch of a tree\nby his side; and a strange lady appeared at his court and invited him to\na land of happiness. He handed her the silver branch; and the next\nmorning with a company of thirty persons he sailed out on the ocean. In\na few days they landed on an island inhabited only by women, of whom the\nstrange lady appeared to be the chieftainess. Here Bran Mac Fearbhall\nremained several ages before returning to his own palace near Lough\nFoyle. An Arab tale in the Bibliotheque Nationale at Paris shows us a\nking's son who in his wanderings lands on a strange island, where he\nmarries the king's daughter and becomes his father-in-law's vizier. The\ncountry was watered by a river which flowed at certain seasons from a\ngreat mountain. Every year it was the vizier's duty to enter the cavern,\nhaving first received instructions from the king and a mysterious gift.\nAt the end of an hour he reappeared, followed by the stream, which\ncontinued to flow during the time needful for the fertilization of the\ncountry. When the prince as vizier entered the cavern he found a negro,\nwho led him to his mistress, the queen of a people of Amazons. In her\nhands was the management of the river; and she had caused the\nperiodical drought in order to exact a tribute of date-stones which she\nhad to pass on to an Ifrit, to purchase his forbearance towards her own\nsubjects. The prince ingratiates himself with her: she suppresses the\nperiodical droughts and marries him. After two centuries of wedded life\nshe dies, leaving him ten daughters, whom he takes back, together with\nconsiderable wealth, to the city formerly governed by his father-in-law,\nand now by his great-great-grandson. The latter was a hundred years old,\nand venerable by the side of his great-great-grandfather, over whose\nhead the years had passed in that enchanted realm without effect. He\nmade himself known to his descendant and stayed ten years with him; but\nwhether he succeeded in marrying off any of his daughters, of ages so\nvery uncertain, the abstract of the story I have before me does not say.\nAt last he returned to his native land, and reigned there for a long\ntime.[152]\n\nIn the hero of the Island of Happiness we found just now one who, having\nreturned to earth for a season, had been taken back again by his\nsupernatural spouse to a more lasting enjoyment. But he is not alone in\nhis good fortune. Thomas of Erceldoune, a personage less shadowy than\nsome of those commemorated in this chapter, is known to have lived in\nthe thirteenth century. His reputation for prophetic powers has been\nwide and lasting. These powers were said to be, like Oisin's, a gift\nfrom the Fairy Queen. She met him under the Eildon Tree, which stood on\nthe easternmost of the three Eildon Hills. Having got him into her\npower, she took him down with her into Fairyland, where he abode, as he\ndeemed, for three days, but in reality for three years. At the end of\nthat time the lady carries him back to Eildon Tree and bids him\nfarewell. He asks her for some token whereby he may say that he had been\nwith her; and she bestows on him a prophetic tongue that cannot lie,\nand leaves him with a promise to meet him again on Huntley Banks. Here\nboth the old ballads and the older romance desert us; but if we may\ntrust Sir Walter Scott's report of the tradition current in the\nneighbourhood, Thomas was under an obligation to return to Fairyland\nwhenever he was summoned. \"Accordingly, while Thomas was making merry\nwith his friends in the tower of Ercildoune, a person came running in,\nand told, with marks of fear and astonishment, that a hart and hind had\nleft the neighbouring forest, and were, composedly and slowly, parading\nthe street of the village. The prophet instantly arose, left his\nhabitation, and followed the wonderful animals to the forest, whence he\nwas never seen to return. According to the popular belief, he still\n'drees his weird' in Fairyland, and is one day expected to revisit\nearth. In the meanwhile his memory is held in the most profound\nrespect.\"[153]\n\nIn the romance of Ogier, or Olger, the Dane, one of the Paladins of\nCharlemagne, it is related that six fairies presided at his birth and\nbestowed various gifts upon him. Morgan the Fay, the last of the six,\npromised that after a long and glorious career he should never die, but\ndwell with her in her castle of Avalon. Wherefore, after he had lived\nand fought and loved for more than a hundred years, Morgan caused him to\nbe shipwrecked. All men thought he had perished. In reality Morgan had\ntaken this means of bringing him to Avalon, where she met him and put a\nring on his finger, which restored him to youth, and a golden crown of\nmyrtle and laurel on his brow--the crown of forgetfulness. His toils,\nhis battles, even his loves were forgotten; and his heart was filled\nwith a new devotion, namely, for the fairy queen Morgan. With her he\ndwelt in pleasures ever new for two hundred years, until there came a\nday when France and Christendom fell into trouble and danger, and the\npeoples cried out for a deliverer. Morgan heard them, and resolved that\nOlger must go to fight for them. She lifted the crown from his brow, and\nhis memory came back. She bade him guard well his ring, and gave him a\ntorch: if that torch were lighted his life would burn out with the last\nspark. He returned to France, fought the Paynim and conquered, freeing\nFrance and Christendom. The widowed queen of France then intrigued to\nmarry him; but as she was on the point of attaining her purpose Morgan\nappeared and caught him away. In Avalon he still dreams in her arms; and\nsome day when France is in her direst need, Olger will come back on his\nfamous charger to smite and to deliver her.\n\nHere we come upon another type, the story and the superstition of the\nexpected deliverer, which is widely scattered through Europe. In this\ncountry the most noted example is that of King Arthur, who may fitly\ngive his name to the type. King Arthur, according to the romances, is,\nlike Olger, in the Island of Avalon, where indeed the romance of Olger\ndeclares that the two heroes met. Sir Thomas Malory tells us: \"Some men\nyet say in many parts of England that King Arthur is not dead, but had\nby the will of our Lord Jesus Christ into another place; and men say\nthat hee will come againe, and he shall winne the holy crosse. I will\nnot say that it shall bee so, but rather I will say that heere in this\nworld hee changed his life. But many men say that there is written upon\nhis tombe this verse: Hic jacet Arthurus, rex quondam, rexque futurus.\"\nThis is a belief dear to the heart of many an oppressed people. It was\ntold of Harold that he was not slain at Senlac, and that he would yet\ncome back to lead his countrymen against the hated Normans. Even of\nRoderick, the Last of the Goths, deeply stained as he was with crime,\nmen were loth to believe that he was dead. In the latter part of the\nsixteenth century, after Don Sebastian had fallen in the ill-fated\nexpedition to Morocco, Philip the Second of Spain took advantage of the\nfailure of the male line on the death of the cardinal-king, Henry, to\nadd Portugal to his dominions, already too large. His tyranny roused a\npopular party whose faith was that Don Sebastian was not really dead: he\nwas reigning in the Island of the Seven Cities, and he would return by\nand by to drive out the Spaniards and their justly execrated king. Even\nin the year 1761 a monk was condemned by the Inquisition as a\nSebastianist, a believer and a disseminator of false prophecies,--so\nlong did the tradition linger. In the Spanish peninsula, indeed, the\nsuperstition has been by no means confined to Christians. The Moors who\nwere left in the mountains of Valentia looked for the return of their\nhero Alfatimi upon a green horse, from his place of concealment in the\nSierra de Aguar, to defend them and to put their Catholic tyrants to the\nsword.[154]\n\nOppression nourishes beliefs of this kind. It was under the Roman\ndominion that the Jewish expectation of a Messiah grew to its utmost\nstrength; and the manifestation of the Messiah was to be preceded by the\nreappearance of Elijah, a prophet who was not dead but translated to\nheaven. And strange sometimes are the gods from whom salvation is to\ncome. Only a few years ago, if we may trust Bishop Melchisedech of\nRoumania, there was a Slavonic sect, the object of whose worship was\nNapoleon the First. He, said his worshippers, had not really died; he\nwas only at Irkousk, in Siberia, where, at the head of a powerful, an\ninvincible, army, he was ready once more to overrun the world.[155]\n\nBut, however the belief in a deity, or hero, who is to return some day,\nmay be strengthened by political causes, it is not dependent upon them.\nMany races having traditions of a Culture God--that is, of a superior\nbeing who has taught them agriculture and the arts of life, and led them\nto victory over their enemies--add that he has gone away from them for\nawhile, and that he will some day come back again. Quetzalcoatl and\nViracocha, the culture gods of Mexico and Peru, are familiar instances\nof this. In the later Brahminism of India, Vishnu, having already\naccomplished nine avatars, or incarnations, for special emergencies in\nthe past, was yet to have one more avatar for the final destruction of\nthe wicked and the restoration of goodness at the end of the present\nage; he would then be revealed in the sky seated on a white horse and\nwielding a blazing sword. I need not specify others: it will be manifest\nthat the traditions of modern Europe we have been considering contain\nthe same thought. Nor is it unlikely that they have been influenced by\nthe Christian doctrine of the Second Advent. Many of them have received\nthe polish of literature. The stories of Olger and Arthur, for example,\nhave descended to us as romances written by cultivated men. Don\nSebastian was the plaything of a political party, if not the symbol of\nreligious heresy, for nearly two centuries. In all these stories we\nencounter the belief that the god or hero is in heaven, or in some\nremote land. Such a belief is the sign of a civilization comparatively\nadvanced. The cruder and more archaic belief is that he sleeps within\nthe hills.\n\nThis cruder belief is more familiar in the folklore of Europe than the\nother. King Arthur was believed to lie with his warriors beneath the\nCraig-y-Ddinas (Castle Rock) in the Vale of Neath. Iolo Morganwg, a\nwell-known Welsh antiquary, used to relate a curious tradition\nconcerning this rock. A Welshman, it was said, walking over London\nBridge with a hazel staff in his hand, was met by an Englishman, who\ntold him that the stick he carried grew on a spot under which were\nhidden vast treasures, and if the Welshman remembered the place and\nwould show it to him he would put him in possession of those treasures.\nAfter some demur the Welshman consented, and took the Englishman (who\nwas in fact a wizard) to the Craig-y-Ddinas and showed him the spot.\nThey dug up the hazel tree on which the staff grew and found under it a\nbroad flat stone. This covered the entrance to a cavern in which\nthousands of warriors lay in a circle sleeping on their arms. In the\ncentre of the entrance hung a bell which the conjurer begged the\nWelshman to beware of touching. But if at any time he did touch it and\nany of the warriors should ask if it were day, he was to answer without\nhesitation: \"No; sleep thou on.\" The warriors' arms were so brightly\npolished that they illumined the whole cavern; and one of them had arms\nthat outshone the rest, and a crown of gold lay by his side. This was\nArthur; and when the Welshman had taken as much as he could carry of the\ngold which lay in a heap amid the warriors, both men passed out; not,\nhowever, without the Welshman's accidentally touching the bell. It rang;\nbut when the inquiry: \"Is it day?\" came from one of the warriors, he was\nprompt with the reply: \"No; sleep thou on.\" The conjurer afterwards told\nhim that the company he had seen lay asleep ready for the dawn of the\nday when the Black Eagle and the Golden Eagle should go to war, the\nclamour of which would make the earth tremble so much that the bell\nwould ring loudly and the warriors would start up, seize their arms, and\ndestroy the enemies of the Cymry, who should then repossess the island\nof Britain and be governed from Caerlleon with justice and peace so long\nas the world endured. When the Welshman's treasure was all spent he went\nback to the cavern and helped himself still more liberally than before.\nOn his way out he touched the bell again: again it rang. But this time\nhe was not so ready with his answer, and some of the warriors rose up,\ntook the gold from him, beat him and cast him out of the cave. He never\nrecovered the effects of that beating, but remained a cripple and a\npauper to the end of his days; and he never could find the entrance to\nthe cavern again. Merlin and the charm\n\n    \"Of woven paces and of waving hands\"\n\nI need not do more than mention. A recess in the rock three miles\neastward of Carmarthen, called Merlin's Cave, is generally accredited as\nthe place where Vivien perpetrated her treachery. Merlin's county is\npossessed of another enchanted hero. On the northern side of Mynydd Mawr\n(the Great Mountain) near Llandilo, is a cave where Owen Lawgoch (Owen\nof the Red Hand), one of the last chieftains who fought against the\nEnglish, lies with his men asleep. And there they will lie until\nawakened by the sound of a trumpet and the clang of arms on Rhywgoch,\nwhen they will arise and conquer their Saxon foes, driving them from the\nland. A more famous chieftain is the subject of a similar belief in the\nVale of Gwent. Considerable obscurity overhangs the fate of Owen\nGlendower. What is certain about him is that he disappeared from history\nin the year 1415. What is believed in the Vale of Gwent is that he and\nhis men still live and lie asleep on their arms in a cave there, called\n\"Gogov y Ddinas,\" or Castle Cave, where they will continue until England\nbecome self-debased; but that then they will sally forth to reconquer\ntheir country, privileges, and crown for the Welsh, who shall be\ndispossessed of them no more until the Day of Judgment.[156]\n\nIn other Celtic lands the same superstition occurs. There is a hole\ncalled the Devil's Den at the foot of a mountain in the Isle of Man\nwhere it was believed in the last century that a great prince who never\nknew death had been bound by spells for six hundred years; but none had\never had courage enough to explore the hole. In Sutherlandshire it is\nsaid that a man once entered a cave and there found many huge men all\nasleep on the floor. They rested on their elbows. In the centre of the\nhall was a stone table, and on it lay a bugle. The man put the bugle to\nhis lips and blew once. They all stirred. He blew a second blast, and\none of the giants, rubbing his eyes, said: \"Do not do that again, or you\nwill wake us!\" The intruder fled in terror, and never found the mouth of\nthe cavern again. Earl Gerald of Mullaghmast sleeps with his warriors in\na cavern under the castle, or Rath, of Mullaghmast. A long table runs\ndown the middle of the cave. The Earl sits at the head, and his troopers\nin complete armour on either side, their heads resting on the table.\nTheir horses, saddled and bridled, stand behind their masters in stalls\non either side. The Earl was a leader of the Irish; he was very skilful\nat weapons, and deep in the black art. He could change himself into any\nshape he pleased. His lady was always begging him to let her see him in\nsome strange shape; but he always put her off, for he told her that if\nduring his transformation she showed the least fright he would not\nrecover his natural form till many generations of men were under the\nmould. Nothing, however, would do for the lady but an exhibition of his\npowers; so one evening he changed himself into a goldfinch. While he was\nplaying with her in this form a hawk caught sight of him and pursued\nhim. The hawk dashed itself against a table and was killed; but the lady\nhad given a loud scream at seeing her husband's danger, and neither\ngoldfinch nor Earl did she behold again. Once in seven years the Earl\nrides round the Curragh of Kildare on a horse whose silver shoes were\nhalf an inch thick when he disappeared. When they are worn as thin as a\ncat's ear, a miller's son, who is to be born with six fingers on each\nhand, will blow his trumpet, the troopers will awake and mount their\nhorses and with the Earl go forth to battle against the English; and he\nwill reign King of Ireland for twoscore years. A horse-dealer once found\nthe lighted cavern open on the night the Earl was riding round the\nCurragh and went in. In his astonishment at what he saw he dropped a\nbridle on the ground. The sound of its fall echoing in the recesses of\nthe cave aroused one of the warriors nearest to him; and he lifted up\nhis head and asked: \"Is it time yet?\" The man had the wit to say: \"Not\nyet, but soon will;\" and the heavy helmet sank down once more upon the\ntable, while the man made the best of his way out. On Rathlin Island\nthere is a ruin called Bruce's Castle. In a cave beneath lie Bruce and\nhis chief warriors in an enchanted sleep; but some day they will arise\nand unite the island to Scotland. Only once in seven years the entrance\nto the cave is visible. A man discovered it on one of these occasions,\nand went in. He found himself in the presence of these men in armour. A\nsabre was half-sheathed in the earth at his feet. He tried to draw it,\nbut every one of the sleepers lifted his head and put his hand on his\nsword. The intruder fled; but ere the gate of the cavern clanged behind\nhim he heard voices calling fiercely after him: \"Why could we not be\nleft to sleep?\"[157]\n\nThe population of the south and west of Yorkshire is largely Celtic. A\ntradition of Arthur seems to have been preserved among them to the\neffect that he and his knights sit spell-bound in the ruins of a castle,\nbelieved by the clergyman who communicated it to Mr. Alfred Nutt to be\nRichmond Castle. Wherever it was, a man named Potter Thompson\npenetrated by chance into the hall, and found them sitting around a\ntable whereon lay a sword and a horn. The man did not venture, like the\nSutherlandshire intruder, to blow the horn, but turned and fled at once.\nThere, it seems, he made a mistake; for had he done so he would have\nreleased Arthur from the spell. And as he crossed the threshold again a\nvoice sounded in his ears:--\n\n    \"Potter Thompson, Potter Thompson, hadst thou blown the horn,\n    Thou hadst been the greatest man that ever was born.\"\n\nHe had missed his chance, and could not return into the enchanted hall.\nBy the twelfth century the legend of Arthur had reached Sicily, perhaps\nwith the Normans. Gervase of Tilbury tells us that a boy was in charge\nof the Bishop of Catania's palfrey, when it broke loose and ran away. He\npursued it boldly into the dark recesses of Mount Etna, where, on a wide\nplain full of all delights, he found Arthur stretched on a royal couch\nin a palace built with wonderful skill. Having explained what brought\nhim thither, the hero caused the horse to be given up to him, and added\ngifts which were afterwards beheld with astonishment by many. Arthur\ninformed him, moreover, that he had been compelled to remain there on\naccount of his wound, which broke out afresh every year.[158]\n\nIn Teutonic lands the legends of the sleeping host and the sleeping\nmonarch are very numerous. Grimm in his Mythology has collected many of\nthem. I select for mention a few only, adding one or two not included by\nhim. Karl the Great lies in the Unterberg, near Salzburg, and also in\nthe Odenberg, where Woden himself, according to other legends, is said\nto be. Siegfried, the hero of the Nibelungen Lied, dwells in the\nmountain fastness of Geroldseck. Diedrich rests in the mountains of\nAlsace, his hand upon his sword, waiting till the Turk shall water his\nhorses on the banks of the Rhine. On the Gruetli, where once they met to\nswear the oath which freed their country, lie the three founders of the\nSwiss Federation in a cleft of the rock. The Danes have appropriated\nOlger, who, Grimm says, really belongs to the Ardennes; and in a vaulted\nchamber under the castle of Kronburg he sits, with a number of warriors\nclad in mail, about a stone table, into which his beard has grown. A\nslave who was condemned to death received pardon and freedom on\ncondition of descending to ascertain what was beneath the castle; for at\nthat time no one knew, and no one could explain the clashing of armour\nsometimes heard below. He passed through an iron doorway and found\nhimself in the presence of Olger and his men. Their heads rested on\ntheir arms, which were crossed upon the table. When Olger lifted up his\nhead the table burst asunder. \"Reach me thy hand,\" he said to the slave;\nbut the latter, not venturing to give his hand, held out an iron bar\ninstead, which Olger squeezed so that the marks remained visible. At\nlength letting it go, he exclaimed: \"It gladdens me that there are still\nmen in Denmark!\"[159]\n\nBut of all the great names appropriated by this myth, the one which has\nthus been made most famous is that of Frederick Barbarossa. When he was\ndrowned in crossing the river Calycadmus in Asia Minor, the peasants of\nGermany refused to believe in his death, and constantly expected him to\nreturn. Poems which go back to the middle of the fourteenth century, or\nwithin a century and a half of Frederick's death, prove the existence of\na tradition to this effect. More than this, they contain allusions to\nsome of the details about to be mentioned, and foretell his recovery of\nthe Holy Sepulchre. The Kyffhaeuser in Thuringia is the mountain usually\npointed out as his place of retreat, though other places also claim the\nhonour. Within the cavern he sits at a stone table, and rests his head\nupon his hand. His beard grows round the table: twice already has it\nmade the circuit; when it has grown round the third time the emperor\nwill awake. He will then come forth, and will hang his shield on a\nwithered tree which will break into leaf, and a better time will dawn.\nGorgeous descriptions are given of the cavern. It is radiant with gold\nand jewels; and though it is a cavern deep in the earth, it shines\nwithin like the sunniest day. The most splendid trees and shrubs stand\nthere, and through the midst of this Paradise flows a brook whose very\nmud is pure gold. Here the emperor's rest is not so profound as might\nhave been expected. A strain of music easily seems to rouse him. A\nshepherd having once piped to him, Frederick asked: \"Fly the ravens\nround the mountain still?\" \"Yes,\" replied the shepherd. \"Then must I\nsleep another hundred years,\" murmured the emperor. The shepherd was\ntaken into the armoury, and rewarded with the stand of a hand-basin,\nwhich turned out to be of pure gold. A party of musicians on their way\nhome from a wedding passed that way, and played a tune \"for the old\nEmperor Frederick.\" Thereupon a maiden stepped out, and brought them the\nemperor's thanks, presenting each of them with a horse's head by way of\nremembrance. All but one threw the gift away in contempt. One, however,\nkept his \"to have a joke with his old woman,\" as he phrased it, and\ntaking it home he put it under the pillow. In the morning, when his wife\nturned up the pillow to look at it, instead of a horse's head she\nbrought forth a lump of gold. Other stories are told of persons who have\npenetrated into the emperor's presence and been enriched. A shepherd\nfound the mountain open on St. John's Day, and entered. He was allowed\nto take some of the horse-meal, which when he reached home he found to\nbe gold. Women have been given knots of flax, of the same metal. A\nswineherd, however, who went in, was less lucky. The emperor's\nlady-housekeeper made signs to him that he might take some of the\ntreasure on the table before him; accordingly he stuffed his pockets\nfull. As he turned to go out she called after him: \"Forget not the\nbest!\" She meant a flower which lay on the table; but he heeded not, and\nthe mountain, slamming behind him, cut off his heel, so that he died in\ngreat pain.[160]\n\nSuch are a few of the legends relating to the Kyffhaeuser; but it should\nbe observed that Frederick Barbarossa's is not the only name given to\nthe slumbering hero. We have already seen in the last chapter that one\ntradition calls him the Marquis John. Another dubs him the Emperor Otto;\nand yet in another Dame Holle is identified with his housekeeper. Now\nthis difference in the traditions about names, while they agree in the\nsubstance of the superstition, indicates that the substance is older and\nmore important than the names, and that well-known names have become\naffixed to the traditions as they happened from time to time to strike\nthe popular imagination. This is confirmed by the fact that in many\nplaces where similar traditions are located, no personal name at all is\ngiven to the hero. In the Guckenberg, near Fraenkischgemuenden, _an\nemperor_ disappeared a long time ago with his army. A boy selling rolls\nonce met an old man, to whom he complained of bad trade. The old man\nsaid he could show him a place where he could bring his rolls every day;\nbut he must tell no one thereof. So saying, he led the boy into the\nmountain, where there were many people. The emperor himself sat at a\ntable, round which his beard had grown twice: when it has grown round\nit once more he will come forth again with all his men. The boy's rolls\nwere bought; and he daily repeated his visit. After a while, however, he\ncould not pass the ancient coin wherein he was paid. The people in the\nvillage, grown suspicious, made him confess all; and he could never find\nhis way to the mountain again. In the \"Auersperg Chronicle,\" under the\nyear 1223, it is recorded that from a certain mountain which Grimm\nidentifies with the Donnersberg (Thor's mountain), near Worms, a\nmultitude of armed horsemen used daily to issue, and thither daily to\nreturn. A man, who armed himself with the sign of the cross, and\nquestioned one of the host in the name of Our Lord, was told by him: \"We\nare not, as you think, phantoms, nor, as we seem, a band of soldiers,\nbut the souls of slain soldiers. The arms and clothing, and horses,\nbecause they once were the instruments of sin, are now to us the\nmaterials of our punishment; for what you behold upon us is really on\nfire, although you cannot perceive it with your bodily eyes.\" We saw in\nan earlier chapter that a story influenced by the Welsh Methodist\nrevival represented the midwife whose sight was cleared by fairy\nointment as beholding herself surrounded by flames, and the fairies\nabout her in the guise of devils. In the same way here the wonders\nrecorded by a pious ecclesiastic have taken, though possibly not in the\nfirst instance from him, a strictly orthodox form, and one calculated to\npoint a pulpit moral.[161]\n\nOver against the last two legends we may place two from Upper Alsace. A\nbody of the Emperor Karl the Great's warriors had become so puffed up by\ntheir successes that at last they pointed their guns and cannon against\nheaven itself. Scarcely had they discharged their pieces when the whole\nhost sank into the earth. Every seventh year they may be seen by night\non their horses, exercising. Concerning them it is said that a baker's\ndaughter of Ruffach, in the Ochsenfeld valley, was carrying white bread\nto the next village, when she met a soldier on a white horse who offered\nto lead her to a place where she could sell the bread immediately for a\ngood price. She accordingly followed him through a subterranean passage\ninto a great camp quite full of long-bearded soldiers, who were all fast\nasleep. Here she sold all her bread, and was well paid; and for several\nyears she continued daily to sell her bread there, so that her father\nbecame a rich man. One day she was ill and unable to go, whereupon she\nsent her brother, describing the place to him. He found it, but a door\nblocked up the passage, and he could not open it. The girl died soon\nafter, and since then no one has entered the subterranean camp. From\nBuetow in Pomerania comes a saga similar to that of Olger at Kronburg. A\nmountain in the neighbourhood is held to be an enchanted castle,\ncommunicating by an underground passage with the castle of Buetow. A\ncriminal was once offered his choice whether to die by the hangman, or\nto make his way by the passage in question to the enchanted castle, and\nbring back a written proof from the lord who sat enchanted within it. He\nsucceeded in his mission; and the document he brought back is believed\nto be laid up among the archives of the town. According to another\naccount a man once met two women who led him into the mountain, where he\nfound a populous city. They brought him safely back after he had spent\nsix hours within the mountain. A saga referred to by Grimm relates how a\nshepherd found in the cavern of the Willberg _a little man_ sitting at a\nstone table through which his beard had grown; and in another three\nunnamed malefactors are spoken of. In Sweden there is a story that may\nremind us of the Sutherlandshire legend. In a large cleft of the\nmountain of Billingen, in West Gothland, called the Giant's Path, it is\nsaid there was formerly a way leading far into the mountain, into which\na peasant once penetrated, and found a man lying asleep on a large\nstone. No one knows how he came there; but every time the bell tolls for\nprayers in Yglunda church, he turns round and sighs. So he will continue\nuntil Doomsday.[162] In none of these stories is the hero identified\nwith any known historical person.\n\nAmong the Slavonic peoples corresponding sagas are told. In Servia and\nBulgaria King Marko is the enchanted hero. He is variously held to be in\na palace on some mysterious island, or in a mountain not far from the\nIron Gates. The traveller who crosses the mountain calls to him: \"Marko,\ndost thou live?\" and in the echo he believes that Marko gives him a\nreply. \"Prince\" Marko is also believed by the Serbs to be in the\nmountain Urvina with his horse Sharatz, asleep. His sword is rising\nslowly out of the mountain. When it is fully disclosed, Marko will awake\nand deliver his people. If other accounts may be trusted, however, he\nhas retired to the Alps since the invention of gunpowder, and now lives\nas a hermit in a cave. So great pity was it\n\n    \"This villainous saltpetre should be digg'd\n    Out of the bowels of the harmless earth.\"[163]\n\nThe Carpathian hero is Dobocz, the robber chief. He is bespelled by a\njealous mistress in a cavern on the Czornahora, where he perpetually\ncounts the gold he has hidden. On certain days of the year he comes out\nwith his followers; and then he has often been seen by the mountaineers.\nSometimes he visits his wife in her rock-dwelling by Polansko, where she\ntoo is enchanted; and on such occasions the nightly festivities may be\nseen and heard. Bold are they who endeavour to penetrate the depths of\nthe mountain where Dobocz dwells. They never return, but are caught by\nthe robber and added to his band. Strengthened with these reinforcements\nhis companions will be with him when the charm shall one day be broken,\nand he will issue forth to take vengeance on the men who betrayed him.\nSome of the stories of Blanik Mountain, where Wenzel, the king of\nBohemia, lies, have been set before the reader. The horses of himself\nand his followers stand ever ready saddled; and at midnight the mountain\nopens, and the king and his knights ride forth to exercise upon the\nplain. But other heroes than Wenzel dispute with him the honour of being\nthe enchanted inhabitant of the Blanik. One clear moonlight night of\nspring the burgesses of Jung-Wositz were aroused from their slumbers by\nthe beating of drums, and the clang of armour, and the trampling of\nhorses. Terrified at such a rout, and not knowing what it might mean,\nthey seized their weapons and stood on the defensive. Nor were they a\nlittle surprised to see on the open meadows a troop of horsemen engaged\nin knightly play. By and by, at the sound of the kettledrum, the troop\nformed into rank, and vanished into the mountain, which closed behind\nthem with a crash. The burgesses offered a reward to whomsoever would\nexplore the recesses of the mountain, and bring them sure tidings of the\nghostly horsemen. Three years passed by ere the task was attempted. At\nlast a clever man, Zdenko von Zasmuk, undertook the adventure. He was\nlucky enough to find the mountain open; and riding in, he came into a\nvast lighted hall where slept on stone benches the knights of the\nmountain, now changed into fine old men with long white beards. Their\nsnow-white horses, ready saddled, stood fastened to the piers of the\nvault. Zdenko accidentally knocked down a spear; and the clangour,\nechoing round the hall, awakened the men. He explained to them why he\nhad come, and politely offered, if they wished, to attempt their\ndeliverance. Their leader informed him in reply that he was Ulrich von\nRosenberg, that he with his companions had fallen gloriously against\nChichka, in defence of the city of Litic, and that God, instead of\nadmitting them into Paradise, had assigned them an abode in that place\nuntil Bohemia should be at its sorest need; then they would sally forth,\nand bring back peace and happiness to the land. And he enjoined Zdenko\nto make this known to the people. So saying, he sank again to sleep. It\nis said, moreover, that when the time of which Ulrich spoke shall come,\na certain hazel-tree shall begin to blossom, though it will be winter. A\nquite different story alleges that it is the Knight Stoymir, who is\nunder the spell at Blanik. His last struggle against the plundering\nhordes which overran the country took place there; and he with all his\nband perished. The next morning when the enemy had departed his friends\nsearched the battlefield, but not a trace could be recovered of their\nbodies. It was first thought that the foes had carried them off to be\nransomed. At night, however, the inhabitants of the neighbourhood were\nroused from slumber by the noise of a host; and they beheld the slain\nheroes exercising and afterwards watering their horses at the beck\nbefore they returned to the mountain. The herdsman who told the\nforegoing tale declared that he had been into the mountain, and had\nhimself seen Stoymir and his companions in their sleep. There can be no\ndoubt, therefore, of its truth.[164]\n\nLegends of buried armies occur also at Trzebnica, in Silesia, where the\nPoles encountered the Turks, and at Matwa in the Prussian province of\nPosen. In the former a girl who is admitted into the cavern is warned\nagainst touching a bell that, as in the Welsh tale, hangs in the\nentrance. She cannot resist the temptation to transgress this command,\nand is ignominiously ejected. In the latter, an old man buys corn for\nthe troops. Again, in the Carpathians, as in one of the sagas concerning\nthe Blanik, a smith is summoned to shoe the steeds. The Rev. W. S.\nLach-Szyrma, in addition to these stories, gave the Folklore Society\nsome years ago, from a chap-book of Posen, the following abstract of a\nlegend I have not met with elsewhere: \"Once upon a time, in Mazowia,\nthere were seven victorious leaders. After having won a hundred battles,\nfinding their beards had grown white, they ordered their soldiers to\nbuild in their honour a very high tower. The soldiers built and built,\nbut every day part of the tower tumbled down. This lasted a whole year.\nThe leaders, after supper, assembled at the ruins of the tower. Here, at\nthe sound of lutes and songs, immediately a tower grew up from the earth\nto heaven, and on its seven pinnacles shone the seven helmets of the\nseven leaders. Higher and higher they rose, but brighter and brighter\nthey shone till they appeared as the seven stars in heaven. The soldiers\nsank down into graves which had been dug round the tower and fell\nasleep. The tower has melted out of view, but on fine nights we still\nsee the seven helmets of the leaders, and the soldiers are sleeping till\nthey are wanted.\"[165]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[148] \"Choice Notes,\" p. 94.\n\n[149] Curtin, p. 327. See also Kennedy, p. 240, and \"F. L. Record,\" vol.\nii. p. 15, where the late Mr. H. C. Coote quotes the \"Transactions of\nthe Ossianic Society.\"\n\n[150] Comparetti, vol. i. p. 212. An English version is given by Mr.\nCoote, \"F. L. Record,\" vol. ii. p. 12. Madame D'Aulnoy gives a similar\nstory in her \"Histoire d'Hypolite, Comte de Douglas,\" which seems to be\nthe original of a tale in verse quoted by Mr. Baring-Gould from\nDodsley's \"Poetical Collection.\" See \"F. L. Record,\" vol. ii. p. 8;\nBaring-Gould, p. 547.\n\n[151] Des Michels, p. 38; Kreutzwald, p. 212. See also my article on\n\"The Forbidden Chamber,\" \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. iii. p. 193, where the\nrelations of the Esthonian tale to the myth of the Forbidden Chamber are\ndiscussed.\n\n[152] Dennys, p. 98, \"Gent. Mag. Lib.\" (Eng. Trad. Lore), p. 22; \"Revue\ndes Trad. Pop.\" vol. iii. p. 566.\n\n[153] \"Thomas of Erceldoune,\" _passim_; Child, vol. i. p. 318; \"Border\nMinstrelsy,\" vol. iii. p. 170.\n\n[154] Malory, vol. iii. p. 339; Braga, vol. ii. p. 238; Liebrecht in a\nnote to Gerv. Tilb., p. 95, quoting Aznar, \"Expulsion de los Moriscos.\"\n\n[155] \"Athenaeum,\" No. 2,400, 25 Oct. 1873, giving an account of Bishop\nMelchisedech's book, entitled \"Lipovenismulu,\" on the creed and customs\nof the Raskolnics, or Russian schismatics.\n\n[156] \"Trans. Aberd. Eistedd.,\" p. 227, quoting Waring's \"Recollections\nof Iolo Morganwg\"; Black's \"Picturesque Guide to Wales\" (1872), p. 279;\nHowells, p. 104; \"Iolo MSS.\" (Llandovery, 1848), pp. 68, 454, quoting\nfrom papers attributed to the Rev. Evan Evans, and said to be, when\ncopied by Iolo Morganwg, in the possession of Paul Panton, Esq., of\nAnglesea.\n\n[157] Waldron, p. 68; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. vi. p. 164; Kennedy, p. 172,\nLady Wilde, vol. i. p. 161.\n\n[158] \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. i. p. 193; Gerv. Tilb., Dec. ii. c. 12. See\nMr. Nutt's remarks on these in his admirable \"Studies on the Legend of\nthe Holy Grail\" (London, 1888), pp. 123, 196.\n\n[159] Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" pp. 953, 955, 961; Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 222,\ntranslating Thiele; Certeux et Carnoy, vol. i. p. 65.\n\n[160] Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.,\" p. 955; Kuhn und Schwartz, p. 217. See also\nThorpe, vol. iii. p. 101, translating Kuhn und Schwartz, and Grimm.\n\n[161] Kuhn und Schwartz, pp. 220, 222; Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" pp. 953,\n954.\n\n[162] Meier, pp. 122, 123; Jahn, p. 248; Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" p. 961;\nThorpe, vol. ii. p. 91, from Afzelius. In an Austrian _maerchen_ the\nSleeping Host is a host of serpents. The king slept on a crystal table\nin the centre. During the winter serpents are believed to sleep. In the\nspring the oldest serpent awakes and wakens the others, crying: \"It is\ntime\" (Vernaleken, p. 113).\n\n[163] Grohmann, p. 10. Marko was a shepherd, who for a service rendered\nto a Vila was gifted by her with heroism, beauty, and other good fortune\n(Krauss, \"Volksgl.\" p. 103).\n\n[164] Grohmann, pp. 11, 13, 15.\n\n[165] \"F. L. Record,\" vol. iv. p. 67. Mr. Lach-Szyrma conjectures that\nthe seven stars are the stars of _Ursa Major_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE SUPERNATURAL LAPSE OF TIME IN FAIRYLAND\n\n(_continued_).\n\n     The story not an early one--Its weirdest developments\n     European--Stories of short time appearing long--Mohammed's\n     night-journey and its variants--The Sleeping Hero, a heathen\n     god--The Wild Hunt--The Enchanted Princess, a heathen goddess.\n\n\nThe visits to Fairyland recorded in Chapter VII differ only in one\nrespect from those mentioned in earlier chapters of this book. Like\nthem, they are visits of business or of pleasure. Mortals are summoned\nto perform some service for the mysterious beings whose dwelling is\nbeneath the earth, such as to stand sponsor to their children, or to\nshoe their horses; or they go to take a message from this world, or to\nbring a message back. Or else they are drawn into the regions over which\nthe power of the supernatural extends, by curiosity, by the desire of\npleasure, or else by the invitation, or unconsciously by the spell, of\ntheir superhuman inhabitants. The point at which the visits differ from\nthose we have previously considered, and from a hundred others precisely\nparallel in all other respects, is in their length. To the entrammelled\nmortal the visit seems to last but a moment; for while under the fairy\nsway he is unconscious of the flight of time. In other stories deception\nis practised on the sight. The midwife, without the ointment, is\ndeceived like Thor by Utgard-Loki: nothing is as it appears to her.\nParents and husbands are deceived by changelings: they are made to\nbelieve that images of dead wood are living creatures, or human corpses.\nIn these stories, on the other hand, the magic is directed against the\nsense of time. A subtler, a weirder, a more awful horror is thus added\nto the dread of communion with the supernatural.\n\nThis horror is one arising comparatively late in the history of culture.\nThe idea of time must first grow up and be elaborated. Time is dependent\non number. A savage who can barely count beyond five cannot know\nanything of stories which deal with the lapse of centuries. Even the\nvaguer, but shorter, period of a generation will be an idea he cannot\ngrasp. We have therefore found no such tales in the lower savagery; and\neven among the Lapplanders and the Siberian tribes the stories we have\nbeen able to collect speak only of short periods, such as the transition\nfrom autumn to spring, where a man had slept through the winter, and the\nexpansion of a day into a month, or a year. In these two cases not only\nthe phases of the moon and the measurement of time by them, which must\nhave been early in development, but also the cycle of the seasons had\nbeen observed. But the idea lying at the root of this group of tales is\nas yet only in germ. The full terror of the situation, as exhibited in\nthe traditions of the more highly organized societies of Europe and of\nthe extreme Orient, is unforeseen. For it is in proportion to the\norganization of society that such a catastrophe as the loss of years,\nand thereby of kindred and friends, becomes really dreadful. Indeed, it\nwould seem to have been reserved for the European nations to put the\nfinal touches of gloom and horror upon the canvas. It may be sufficient\nto refer this to the more sombre imagination of Western peoples. But we\nought not to overlook the influence of the Catholic Church in darkening\nthe general tone of the imagination, and particularly the tone of the\nfairy sagas, by the absolute and unquestioned supremacy she demanded,\nand the frightful penalties, temporal and spiritual, she invoked upon\nthose who dared to indulge in cults she was unable to incorporate. To\nmen under such an influence, intercourse with fairies would be a thing\nunholy; and the greater the temptations to it, the severer, they would\ndeem, should be the penalties. This is the frame of mind which would, if\nwith shuddering, yet without a murmur, acquiesce in the justice of the\ndoom suffered by Herla, to put an extreme case--a frame of mind\nundoubtedly countenanced by the equally uncompromising claims of various\nforms of Protestantism. But, while reprobating commerce with unhallowed\nspirits, intercourse with spirits sanctioned by the Church was believed\nto be almost equally possible, and was encouraged as much as the other\nwas denounced. If such intercourse sometimes resulted in severance\nbetween the favoured mortal and his human friends, this was only an\nextension of the monastic idea; and, as in that case, the loss was held\nto be abundantly compensated by the favour of Heaven and the bliss\nreceived. At all events it is certain, from whatever cause, that the\ndeepest depths and the loftiest heights of which this story-plot has\nbeen found capable, have been reached only under Christian influences.\nPliny and Mohammed, the Taoist and the Shintoist, have recorded no tale\nthat sways our emotions like those of Herla, the Aged Bride, and the\nMonk Felix.\n\nBut the magical power over time operates now and then in the contrary\nway, by making a short time appear long. A few examples may be\ninteresting, though they will in no way affect the foregoing\nconclusions. In the tenth part of a night Mohammed, it will be\nremembered, was taken up to Paradise on the back of the beast Alborac,\nand passed through all the seven heavens into the presence of Allah\nhimself, with whom he had a conversation, which could not have been a\nvery short one, and was then brought back by the way he had gone. He\nremained long enough in each heaven to give a full, true and particular\naccount of it and of its inhabitants, and performed various other feats\nduring the journey. Nor will it be forgotten how one of the Sultans one\nday expressing doubts on the possibility of so much having happened to\nthe Apostle in so short a time, a learned doctor of the Mohammedan law\ncaused a basin of water to be brought and requested him to dip his head\ninto it. When the Sultan dipped his head he found himself in a strange\ncountry, alone and friendless, on the seashore. He made his way to a\nneighbouring town, obtained employment, became rich, married, lived\nseven years with his wife, who afterwards, to his great grief, died, and\nthen he lost all. One day he was wandering in despondency along the\nseashore, where he had first found himself; and in his despair he\ndetermined to cast himself into the sea. Scarcely had he done so when he\nbeheld his courtiers standing around his throne: he was once more\nSultan, and the basin of water into which he had dipped his head was\nbefore him. He began furiously to reproach the learned doctor for\nbanishing him from his capital and sending him into the midst of\nvicissitudes and adventures for so many years. Nor was it without\ndifficulty that he was brought to believe that he had only just dipped\nhis head into the water and lifted it out again.\n\nThis type of story is less frequent than the other, but it is known in\ncountries far apart. A stripling, in Pembrokeshire, joined a fairy\ndance, and found himself in a palace glittering with gold and pearls,\nwhere he remained in great enjoyment with the fairy folk for many years.\nOne restriction was laid upon him: he was not to drink from a certain\nwell in the midst of the palace gardens. But he could not forbear. In\nthat well swam golden fishes and fishes of all colours. One day the\nyouth, impelled by curiosity, plunged his hand into the water; but in a\nmoment fishes and all disappeared, a shriek ran through the garden, and\nhe found himself again on the hillside with his father's flocks around\nhim. In fact, he had never left the sheep, and what seemed to him to be\nyears had been only minutes, during which the fairy spell had been over\nhim. In Count Lucanor, a Spanish work of the fourteenth century, is a\nstory of a Dean of Santiago, who went to Don Illan, a magician of\nToledo, to be instructed in necromancy. Don Illan made a difficulty,\nstating that the dean was a man of influence and consequently likely to\nattain a high position, and that men when they rise forget easily all\npast obligations, as well as the persons from whom they received them.\nThe dean, however, protested that, no matter to what eminence he\nattained, he would never fail to remember and to help his former\nfriends, and the magician in particular. This being the bargain, Don\nIllan led the dean into a remote apartment, first desiring his\nhousekeeper to procure some partridges for supper, but not to cook them\nuntil she had his special commands. Scarcely had the dean and his friend\nreached the room when two messengers arrived from the dean's uncle, the\narchbishop, summoning him to his death-bed. Being unwilling, however, to\nforego the lessons he was about to receive, he contented himself with a\nrespectful reply. Four days afterwards other messengers arrived with\nletters informing the dean of the archbishop's death, and again at the\nend of other seven or eight days he learned that he himself had been\nappointed archbishop in his uncle's place. Don Illan solicited the\nvacant deanery for his son; but the new archbishop preferred his own\nbrother, inviting, however, Don Illan and his son to accompany him to\nhis see. After awhile, the deanery was again vacant: and again the\narchbishop refused Don Illan's suit, in favour of one of his own uncles.\nTwo years later, the archbishop was named cardinal and summoned to Rome,\nwith liberty to name his successor in the see. Don Illan, pressing his\nsuit more urgently, was again repulsed in favour of another uncle. At\nlength the pope died, and the new cardinal was chosen pope. Don Illan,\nwho had accompanied him to Rome, then reminded him that he had now no\nexcuse for not fulfilling the promises he had so often repeated to him.\nThe pope sought to put him off; but Don Illan complained in earnest of\nthe many promises he had made, none of which had been kept, and declared\nthat he had no longer any faith in his words. The pope, much angered,\nthreatened to have Don Illan thrown into prison as a heretic and a\nsorcerer; for he knew that in Toledo he had no other means of support\nbut by practising the art of necromancy. Don Illan, seeing how ill the\npope had requited his services, prepared to depart; and the pope, as if\nhe had not already shown sufficient ingratitude, refused even to grant\nhim wherewith to support himself on the road. \"Then,\" retorted Don\nIllan, \"since I have nothing to eat, I must needs fall back on the\npartridges I ordered for to-night's supper.\" He then called out to his\nhousekeeper and ordered her to cook the birds. No sooner had he thus\nspoken than the dean found himself again in Toledo, still dean of\nSantiago, as on his arrival, for, in fact, he had not stirred from the\nplace. This was simply the way the magician had chosen to test his\ncharacter, before committing himself to his hands; and the dean was so\ncrestfallen he had nothing to reply to the reproaches wherewith Don\nIllan dismissed him without even a taste of the partridges.[166]\n\nA modern folk-tale from Cashmere tells of a Brahmin who prayed to know\nsomething of the state of the departed. One morning, while bathing in\nthe river, his spirit left him and entered the body of the infant child\nof a cobbler. The child grew up, learned his father's business, married,\nand had a large family, when suddenly he was made aware of his high\ncaste, and, abandoning all, he went to another country. There the king\nhad just died; and the stranger was chosen in his place, and put upon\nhis throne. In the course of a few years his wife came to know where he\nwas, and sought to join him. In this or some other way his people\nlearned that he was a cobbler; and great consternation prevailed on\naccount of his low caste. Some of his subjects fled; others performed\ngreat penances; and some indeed burnt themselves lest they should be\nexcommunicated. When the king heard all this, he too burnt himself; and\nhis spirit went and re-occupied the Brahmin's corpse, which still lay by\nthe riverside. Thereupon the Brahmin got up and went home to his wife,\nwho only said: \"How quickly you have performed your ablutions this\nmorning!\" The Brahmin said not a word of his adventures, notwithstanding\nhe was greatly astonished. To crown all, however, about a week\nafterwards a man came to him begging, and said he had eaten nothing for\nfive days, during which he had been running away from his country\nbecause a cobbler had been made king. All the people, he said, were\nrunning away, or burning themselves, to escape the consequences of such\nan evil. The Brahmin, while he gave the man food, thought: \"How can\nthese things be? I have been a cobbler for several years; I have reigned\nas a king for several years;--and this man confirms the truth of my\nthoughts. Yet my wife declares I have not been absent from this house\nmore than the usual time; and I believe her, for she does not look any\nolder, neither is the place changed in any way.\" Thus were the gods\nteaching him that the soul passes through various stages of existence\naccording to a man's thoughts, words, and acts, and in the great\nHereafter a day is equal to a thousand years, and a thousand years are\nequal to a day.[167]\n\nWe may now turn to the types in which the spell is believed to be still\npowerful over heroes once mighty but now hidden within the hills, or in\nsome far-off land, awaiting in magical sleep, or in more than human\ndelight, the summons that shall bid them return to succour their\ndistressed people in the hour of utmost need. As to the personality of\nthese heroes there can be no doubt. Grimm long ago pointed out that the\nred-bearded king beneath the Kyffhaeuser can be no other than Thor, the\nold Teutonic god of thunder, and that the long beard--sometimes\ndescribed as white--attributed to other leaders was a token of Woden.\nThe very name of Woden is preserved in the Odenberg, to which several of\nsuch legends attach; and the hidden king there is sometimes called Karl\nthe Great, and sometimes Woden. In other countries Quetzalcoatl and\nVishnu, we know, are gods of the native cults. Oisin, Merlin, and King\nArthur all belong to the old Celtic Pantheon. And if some other sleeping\nor vanished heroes bear the names of personages who once had a real\nexistence, they are but decked in borrowed plumes. In short, all these\nHidden Heroes are gods of the earlier faiths, vanquished by Christianity\nbut not destroyed.\n\nIf this be so, it may be inferred that these gods were at one time\nconceived as presently active, and that it is only since the\nintroduction of the new faith that they have been thought to be retired\nbeneath the overhanging hills or in the Islands of the Blest. But this\nwas not so. In all regions the chief activity of the deities has always\nbeen placed in the past. Upon the stories told of the deeds of yesterday\nthe belief of to-day is founded. Whether it be creation, or strife\nagainst evil spirits, or the punishment of men, or the invention of the\ncivilizing arts, or the endless amours of too susceptible divinities,\nall is looked upon as past and done. The present is a state of rest, of\nsuspension of labour, or at least of cessation of open and visible\nactivity. These gods, like men, require an abode. In the later stages of\nculture this abode is a Paradise on some more or less imaginary\nmountain-top, or effectually cut off from men by the magical tempests\nof the immeasurable main, or by the supreme and silent heights of\nheaven. But this exaltation of ideas took long to reach. At first a\nstrange rock, a fountain, the recesses of a cavern, or the mysterious\ndepths of the forest, enshrouded the divinity. In the earlier stages of\nsavagery it would be almost truer to say that these _were_ very often\nthe divinity: at least they were often his outward and visible form. Mr.\nIm Thurn, who has had exceptional opportunities of observing the\ncharacteristics of the savage mind, and has made exceptionally good use\nof those opportunities, in describing the animism of the Indians of\nGuiana, says: \"Every object in the whole world is a being consisting of\nbody and spirit, and differs from every other object in no respect\nexcept that of bodily form, and in the greater or less degree of brute\npower and brute cunning consequent on the difference of bodily form and\nbodily habits.\" Then, after discussing the lower animals and plants as\neach possessed of body and soul, and particularizing several rocks which\nare supposed by the Indians to possess spirits like human beings, he\ngoes on: \"It is unnecessary to multiply instances, further than by\nsaying that almost every rock seen for the first time, and any rock\nwhich is in any way abnormal whenever seen, is believed to consist of\nbody and spirit. And not only many rocks, but also many waterfalls,\nstreams, and indeed material bodies of every sort, are supposed to\nconsist each of a body and a spirit as does man; and that not all\ninanimate objects have this dual nature avowedly attributed to them is\nprobably only due to the chance that, while all such objects may at any\ntime, in any of the ways above indicated, show signs of the presence of\na spirit within them, this spirit has not yet been noticed in some\ncases.\"[168] From this belief to that in which the rocks and hills and\nother inanimate objects are looked upon as having the relation to\nspirits, not of body and soul, but of dwelling and dweller, is a step\nupward, and perhaps a long one. But it is a natural development, and one\nwhich would inevitably take place as the popular opinion of the power of\ncertain spirits grew, and these spirits attracted to themselves\nsuperstitions and sagas current among the people whose civilization was\nby the same slow movement growing too.\n\nThe development spoken of would perhaps be assisted by the erection of\nmonuments like piles of stones, or earthen barrows, over the dead. As\nformerly in their huts, so now in their graves, the dead would be\nregarded as the occupiers. Their spirits were still living, and would be\nseen from time to time haunting the spot. Food would be buried with\nthem; and sacrifices at the moment of burial and on subsequent occasions\nwould be offered to them. In process of time among illiterate races\ntheir identity would be forgotten, and then if the barrows were not\nlarge enough to attract attention the superstitions which had their seat\nthere might cease. But if the barrows could not be overlooked, the\nspirits supposed to haunt them might merge into some other objects of\nreverence. In Denmark the barrows are invariably regarded as the haunt\nof fairies; and this is frequently the case in other countries.[169]\nWhen men once became habituated to think of a barrow as not the outward\nand visible form of some spirit, but simply its dwelling-place--still\nmore, perhaps, if many interments took place within it, so that it\nbecame the dwelling-place of many spirits--they would be led by an easy\ntransition to think of rocks, fountains, hills, and other natural\nobjects in the same way. The spirits once supposed to be their inner\nidentity would become perfectly separable in thought from them, because\nmerely their tenants. Thus the gulf would be bridged between the savage\nphilosophy of spirits described by Mr. Im Thurn, and the polytheism of\nthe higher heathendom, represented by Mexico, Scandinavia, and Greece.\n\nBut whether they travelled by this, or any different road, certain it is\nthat in the remoter times of the higher heathendom men had arrived no\nfurther than the belief that certain spots, and preferably certain\nstriking objects, were the abodes of their gods. This was a doctrine\ndeveloped directly from that which regarded the more remarkable objects\nof nature as the bodies of powerful spirits. Nor was it ever entirely\nabandoned; for even after the more advanced and thoughtful of the\ncommunity had reached the idea of an Olympus, or an Asgard, far removed\nabove the every-day earth of humanity, the gods still had their temples,\nand sacred legends still attached to places where events of the divine\nhistory had happened. Consequently some localities kept their reputation\nof sanctity. That they were really the abiding-places of the gods the\ncommon people would not cease to hold, whatever might be taught or held\nby those who had renounced that crudity. And, indeed, it may be doubted\nwhether anybody ever renounced it altogether. Probably, at all events,\nmost persons would see no difficulty in believing that the god dwelt on\nthe sacred spot of earth and also at the same time in heaven. They would\naccept both traditions as equally true, without troubling themselves how\nto reconcile them.\n\nBut the gods did not always remain in their dwellings. The Wild Hunt, a\ntradition of a furious host riding abroad with a terrific noise of\nshouts and horns and the braying of hounds, common to Germany and\nEngland, has been identified beyond doubt by Grimm with Woden and his\nhost. We cannot here discuss the subject except in its relations with\nthe group of stories now under consideration. Woden, it will be borne in\nmind, is one of the figures of the old mythology merged in the Hidden\nHero beneath the German hills. Now, nothing is more natural than that,\nwhen a company of warriors is conceived as lying ready for a summons,\nthemselves all armed and their steeds standing harnessed at their sides,\nthey should be thought now and then to sally forth. This was the sound\nwhich surprised the good burgesses of Jung-Wositz when Ulrich von\nRosenberg and his train rode out by night upon the plain. In this way\nKing Wenzel exercises his followers, and the unfortunate Stoymir\nvindicated his existence beneath the Blanik notwithstanding his death.\nIn this way too, before a war, Diedrich is heard preparing for battle at\none o'clock in the morning on the mountain of Ax. Once in seven years\nEarl Gerald rides round the Curragh of Kildare; and every seventh year\nthe host at Ochsenfeld in Upper Alsace may be seen by night exercising\non their horses. On certain days the Carpathian robber issues from his\ncavern in the Czornahora. Grimm mentions the story of a blacksmith who\nfound a gap he had never noticed before in the face of a cliff on the\nOdenberg, and entering, stood in the presence of mighty men, playing\nthere at bowls with balls of iron, as Rip van Winkle's friends were\nplaying at ninepins. So a Wallachian saga connects the Wild Hunt with a\nmysterious forest castle built by the Knight Sigmirian, who was cursed\nwith banishment for three hundred years from the society of men for\nrefusing the daughter of the King of Stones. In the same category we\nmust put the spectral host in the Donnersberg, and Herla's company,\nwhich haunted the Welsh marches, and is described by Walter Map as a\ngreat band of men and women on foot and in chariots, with pack-saddles\nand panniers, birds and dogs, advancing with trumpets and shouts, and\nall sorts of weapons ready for emergencies. Night was the usual time of\nHerla's wanderings, but the last time he and his train were seen was at\nnoon. Those who then saw them, being unable to obtain an answer to their\nchallenge by words, prepared to exact one by arms; but the moment they\ndid so the troop rose into the air and disappeared, nor was it ever seen\nagain.[170]\n\nThis is a different account of Herla from that previously quoted from an\nearlier part of Map's work; but perhaps, if it were worth while to spend\nthe time, not altogether irreconcilable with it. The tradition, it\nshould be observed, appears to have been an English, and not a Welsh,\ntradition, since the host received the English name of Herlething.\nGervase of Tilbury, writing about the same time, reports that Arthur was\nsaid by the foresters, or woodwards, both in Britain and in Brittany, to\nbe very often seen at midday, or in the evening moonlight at full of the\nmoon, accompanied by a troop of soldiers, hunters, dogs, and the sound\nof horns. This is manifestly a Celtic tradition. But these occasions are\nnot the last on which such appearances have been seen and heard in this\ncountry. If we may believe a tract published in 1643, spectral fights\nhad taken place at Keniton, in Northamptonshire, during four successive\nSaturday and Sunday nights of the preceding Christmastide. By those who\nare reported to have witnessed the phenomenon--and among them were\nseveral gentlemen of credit mentioned by name as despatched by the king\nhimself from Oxford--it was taken to be a ghostly repetition of the\nbattle of Edgehill, which had been fought only two months before on the\nadjacent fields. The excitement of men's minds during periods of\ncommotion has doubtless much to do with the currency of beliefs like\nthis. Saint Augustine alludes to a story of a battle between evil\nspirits beheld upon a plain in Campania during the civil wars of Rome.\nAs in the case of Edgehill, the vision was accompanied by all the noises\nof a conflict; and indeed the saint goes the length of declaring that\nafter it was over the ground was covered with the footprints of men and\nhorses. On the spot where this is said to have happened an actual battle\ntook place not very long after.[171] These two instances are unconnected\nwith the Sleeping Host; but many of the legends explicitly declare the\nexercises of the host when it emerges from its retirement to consist of\na sham fight. Although the legends containing this account are not all\nfound among Teutonic peoples, it cannot be deemed irrelevant to draw\nattention to the fact that similar fights are mentioned as the daily\noccupation of the heroes who attain to Valhalla, just as the nightly\nfeasts of that roystering paradise correspond to the refreshments\nprovided for the warriors around the tables of stone in their\nsubterranean retreats. Whatever may have been the creed of other\nEuropean races, it is hardly to be doubted that in these German\nsuperstitions we have an approach to the primitive belief, of which the\nEddaic Valhalla was a late and idealized development.\n\nBut we may--nay, we must--go further. For in the history of traditional\nreligions goddesses have been as popular as gods; and if we are right in\nseeing, with Grimm, the archaic gods in the Hidden Heroes, some where\nwe must find their mates, the corresponding goddesses. We have already\nhad glimpses of them in Morgan the Fay, in the Emperor Frederick's\nlady-housekeeper (_ausgeberin_) and in the maid who in another saga\nattended on his bidding. The lady-housekeeper is expressly called in one\nstory Dame Holle. Now Dame Holle herself is the leader of a Furious\nHost, or Wild Hunt, and has been identified by Grimm beyond any doubt as\na pagan goddess, like Berchta.\n\nLet us take another story in which the female companion of the enchanted\nhero appears. Near the town of Garz, on the island of Ruegen, lies a lake\nby which a castle formerly stood. It belonged to an old heathen king,\nwhose avarice heaped up great store of gold and jewels in the vaults\nbeneath. It was taken and destroyed by the Christians, and its owner was\ntransformed into a great black dog ever watching his treasure. Sometimes\nhe is still seen in human form with helm, or golden crown, and coat of\nmail, riding a grey horse over the city and the lake; sometimes he is\nmet with by night in the forest, wearing a black fur cap and carrying a\nwhite staff. It is possible to disenchant him, but only if a pure\nvirgin, on St. John's night between twelve and one o'clock, will\nventure, naked and alone, to climb the castle wall and wander backwards\nto and fro amid the ruins, until she light upon the spot where the\nstairway of the tower leads down into the treasure chamber. Slipping\ndown, she will then be able to take as much gold and jewels as she can\ncarry, and what she cannot herself carry the old king will bring after\nher, so that she will be rich for the rest of her life. But she must\nreturn by sunrise, and she must not once look behind her, nor speak a\nsingle word, else not only will she fail, but she will perish miserably.\nA princess who was accused of unchastity obtained her father's\npermission to try this adventure, in order to prove the falsehood of the\ncharge against her. She safely gained the vault, which was illuminated\nwith a thousand lights. The king, a little grey old man, bestowed the\ntreasure upon her, and sent a number of servants laden with it to follow\nher. All would have gone well, but unhappily when she had climbed a few\nof the old steps she looked round to see if the servants were coming. At\nonce the king changed into a great black dog, that sprang upon her with\nfiery throat and glowing eyes. She just had time to scream out when the\ndoor slammed to, the steps sank, and she fell back into the vault in\ndarkness. She has sat there now for four hundred years, waiting until a\npure youth shall find his way down in the same manner on St. John's\nnight, shall bow to her thrice and silently kiss her. He may then take\nher hand and lead her forth to be his bride; and he will inherit such\nriches as a whole kingdom cannot buy.[172]\n\nBut goddesses do not always play so secondary a part. In a wood in\nPomerania stands a round, flat hill called the Castle Hill, and at its\nfoot lies a little lake known as the Hertha Lake. By its name it is thus\ndirectly connected with one of the old divinities, like that lake on the\nisland of Ruegen referred to in Chapter IV. And here, too, a mysterious\nlady has been seen to wash, a young and lovely maiden, clad in\nblack--not in secret, as in the former instance, but openly, as if for\nthe purpose of attracting attention from passers-by, and of being spoken\nto. At last a broad-shouldered workman, named Kramp, ventured to give\nthe maiden \"the time of day,\" and to get her into conversation. She told\nhim she was a princess, who, with her castle, had been from time\nimmemorial enchanted, and that she was still waiting for her deliverer.\nThe mode of loosing the spell was by carrying her on his back in silence\nto the churchyard of Wusseken and there putting her down, being careful\nnot to look round the while; for, happen what would, he could take no\nharm, even if it were threatened to tear his head off. He undertook the\ntask, and had nearly accomplished it without troubling in the least\nabout the troops of spirits which followed him, when suddenly, as he\ndrew near the churchyard, a hurricane arose and took his cap off.\nForgetful of his promise, he looked round; and the maiden rose into the\nair, weeping and crying out that she could never be delivered now. A\nstory told in Mecklenburg is more picturesque. It concerns the daughter\nof a lake-king, who leagued himself with other knights against a robber,\nthe owner of a castle called the Glamburg, which was a place of some\nstrength, being entirely surrounded by the water of the Lake of Glam.\nThe confederates were defeated; and nine large round barrows were raised\nthe next day over the slain, among whom was the lake-king. His daughter\nwept upon her father's grave, and her tears, as they touched the earth,\nbecame lovely blue flowers. These flowers still grow upon the loftiest\nof the nine barrows, while the others are quite destitute of them. The\nprincess threw herself that night--it was St. John's night--into the\nlake; and now every year on St. John's night, between twelve and one\no'clock, a bridge of copper rises out of the lake, and the princess\nappears upon it, sighing for her deliverance.[173]\n\nThe typical form of the tale is as follows: In the Buchenberg by Doberan\ndwells an enchanted princess, who can only be released once in a hundred\nyears, on St. John's Day between twelve and one. In the year 1818 a\nservant boy was watching sheep on the eastern side of the Buchenberg the\nday before St. John's day. About noon a white lady appeared to him and\ntold him that he could deliver her, if he would, the next day at the\nsame hour, kiss her. She would then come to him in the form of a toad\nwith a red band round its neck. The shepherd promised; but the next day\nwhen he saw the toad he was so horrified that he ran away. A variant\nrecords the hour as between twelve and one at night, and the form of the\nlady as a snake which sought to twine round the shepherd's neck. A\ngreat treasure buried in the hill would have been his had he stood the\nproof; but now the lady will have to wait until a beech tree shall have\ngrown up on the spot and been cut down, and of its timber a cradle made:\nthe child that is rocked in that cradle will have power to save her.\nThis is in effect the story told by Sir John Maundeville concerning the\ndaughter of Hippocrates, the renowned physician, who was said to have\nbeen enchanted by Diana on the island of Cos, or (as he calls it) Lango,\nand given with so much of Mr. William Morris' power in \"The Earthly\nParadise.\"[174] \"Then listen!\" says the damsel in the ruined castle to\nthe seaman whom she meets--\n\n    \"Then listen! when this day is overpast,\n      A fearful monster I shall be again,\n    And thou may'st be my saviour at the last,\n      Unless, once more, thy words are nought and vain;\n      If thou of love and sovereignty art fain,\n    Come thou next morn, and when thou seest here\n    A hideous dragon, have thereof no fear,\n\n    \"But take the loathsome head up in thine hands,\n      And kiss it, and be master presently\n    Of twice the wealth that is in all the lands,\n      From Cathay to the head of Italy;\n      And master also, if it pleaseth thee,\n    Of all thou praisest as so fresh and bright,\n    Of what thou callest crown of all delight.\"\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"Ah, me! to hold my child upon my knees,\n    After the weeping of unkindly tears,\n    And all the wrongs of these four hundred years.\"\n\nBut the horrible apparition of the dragon was too much for the\nadventurer's courage:\n\n      \"He cried out and wildly at her smote,\n    Shutting his eyes, and turned and from the place\n    Ran swiftly, with a white and ghastly face,\"\n\nto die within three days, a raving maniac. And\n\n        \"Never any man again durst go\n    To seek her woman's form, and end her wo.\"\n\nIt would be too tedious to run through even a small proportion of the\nexamples of this tale, almost innumerable in Germany alone. Fortunately,\nit will only be necessary to allude to a few of its chief features. When\nthe enchanted princess assumes a monstrous form, the usual ordeal of the\nwould-be deliverer is to kiss her. A toad or a snake is, perhaps, her\nfavourite form; but occasionally she is half woman, half toad, or half\nwoman, half snake. Further transformations now and then take place, as\nfrom a snake into a fiery dog, or from a bear into a lion, from a lion\ninto a snake. Sometimes as a bear alone she threatens her deliverer. In\na Carinthian saga he is to cut three birch rods at the full of the moon,\nand then wait at the appointed place. The damsel approaches in the guise\nof a snake, with a bunch of keys in her mouth, and menaces him, hissing\nand snorting fire. Unmoved by the creature's rage, he is to strike her\nthrice on the head with each rod and take the keys from her mouth. In\nthe Duchy of Luxemburg the favourite form assumed by the princess is\nthat of a fire-breathing snake, bearing in her mouth a bunch of keys, or\na ring; and the deliverer's task then is to take the keys or ring away\nwith his own mouth. It is believed that Melusina, whose story we shall\ndeal with in the following chapters, is enchanted beneath the Bockfels,\na rock near the town of Luxemburg. There she appears every seventh year\nin human form and puts one stitch in a smock. When she shall have\nfinished sewing the smock she will be delivered; but woe then to the\ntown! for its ruins will be her grave and monument. Men have often\nundertaken her earlier deliverance. This is to be effected at midnight,\nwhen she appears as a snake, by taking with the mouth a key from her\nmouth and flinging it into the Alzet. No one, however, has yet succeeded\nin doing this; and meantime when a calamity threatens the town, whose\nfaithful guardian she is, she gives warning by gliding round the\nBockfels uttering loud laments.[175]\n\nBut in many of the sagas the princess meets her hero in her own proper\nshape, and then the feat to be performed varies much more. In a Prussian\ntale she comes out of a deep lake, which occupies the site of a\nonce-mighty castle, at sunset, clothed in black, and accompanied by a\nblack dog. The castle belonged to the young lady's parents, who were\nwicked, though she herself was pious; and it was destroyed on account of\ntheir evil doings. Since that time she has wandered around, seeking some\nbold and pious man who will follow her into the depths of the lake, and\nthus remove the curse. This would seem but another form of the tradition\nof the lake at the foot of the Herthaburg on the isle of Ruegen. In\nanother story the lady must be brought an unbaptized child to kiss. In\nyet another the deliverer is led down through a dark underground passage\ninto a brilliantly lighted room, where sit three black men writing at a\ntable, and is bidden to take one of two swords which lie on the table\nand strike off the enchanted lady's head. To cut off the head of a\nbewitched person is an effectual means of destroying the spell. So, in\nthe Gaelic story of the Widow and her Daughters, the heroine\ndecapitates the horse-ogre, who thereupon returns to his true form as a\nking's son, and marries her. A large number of parallel instances might\neasily be given; but they would lead us too far afield. The lady of the\nPrincess Hill, near Warin, in Mecklenburg, has to be held fast from\nmidnight until one o'clock in spite of all frightful apparitions of\nsnakes, dragons, and toads which crowd around and threaten the\nadventurer. In the same way Peleus, desiring to secure Thetis, had to\nhold her fast through her various magical changes until she found\nresistance useless, and returned to her true form. In a modern Cretan\ntale the hero, by the advice of an old woman, seizes at night a Nereid\nby the hair and holds her until the cock crows, in spite of her changes\nsuccessively into a dog, a snake, a camel, and fire. The process of\ndisenchanting Tam Lin, in the ballad of that name, was for his lady-love\nto take him in her arms and hold him, notwithstanding his transformation\ninto a snake, a bear, a lion, a red-hot iron, and lastly into a \"burning\ngleed,\" when he was to be immediately flung into a well.[176]\n\nWe have already seen that the task is sometimes to carry the maiden to a\nchurchyard. At the Castle Hill of Buetow she was to be carried to the\nPolish churchyard and there thrown to the ground with all the\ndeliverer's might. A castle is said to have stood formerly on the site\nof Budow Mill in Eastern Pomerania. An enchanted princess now haunts the\nplace. She is only to be freed by a bachelor who will carry her in\nsilence, and without looking behind him, around the churchyard; but the\nspirits which hold her under their spell will seek in every way to\nhinder her deliverance. On the Mueggelsberg is, or was (for it is said to\nbe now destroyed), a large stone under which a treasure lies. It was\ncalled the Devil's Altar; and at night it often seemed, from the\nneighbouring village of Mueggelsheim, to be in a blaze; but on drawing\nnear the fire would vanish from sight. At Koepenick, another village not\nfar off, it was called the Princesses' Stone, but the lake at the foot\nof the hill was called the Devil's Lake. The stone was said to occupy\nthe site of a castle, now enchanted and swallowed up in the earth.\nBeneath it a hole ran deep into the mountain, out of which a princess\nwas sometimes of an evening seen to come, with a casket of pure gold in\nher hand. He who would carry her thrice round the church of Koepenick\nwithout looking about him, would win the casket of gold and deliver her.\nThe names of the stone and of the lake, as well as the attendant\ncircumstances, are strong evidence in favour of the conclusion that we\nhave in this superstition a relic of heathen times, and a record of some\ndivinity believed to reside at that spot. A princess, clad in white and\nhaving a golden spinning-wheel in her hand, was believed to appear on\nthe Castle Hill at Biesenthal, at midday. Once at midnight she appeared\nto a gardener who had often heard voices at night summoning him to the\ncastle garden. At first he was frightened at the vision, but at length\nconsented to carry her to the church, which stands near the hill. He\ntook her on his back; but when he entered the churchyard gate he\nsuddenly met a carriage drawn by coal-black horses, which vomited fire.\nSo terrified was he that he shrieked aloud, whereupon the carriage\nvanished, and the princess flew away moaning: \"For ever lost!\" In a case\nwhere a prince had been enchanted, the feat was to wrestle with him\nthree nights in succession.[177]\n\nBut it was not always that so hard a task was set before the deliverer.\nTo our thinking, it says little for the German way of doing business\nthat the difficulty in unspelling the castle near Lossin, and the\nmaiden who dwelt therein, was to buy a pair of shoes without bargaining\nand cheapening their price, but to pay for them exactly the piece of\nmoney which the maiden handed to the youth who undertook the enterprise.\nIn another case a maiden was seen to scour a kettle at a little lake.\nShe was enchanted. The man who beheld her thought the kettle would prove\nuseful at his approaching wedding, and borrowed it on the express\ncondition of returning it at a fixed time. He failed to do so, and the\nEvil One came and fetched it; and the maiden had to wait longer for her\ndeliverance. There are stories similar to this of fairies lending such\narticles on this condition. If the condition be not complied with, the\nfairies are never seen again. Aubrey relates that in the vestry of\nFrensham Church, in Surrey, is a great kettle, which was borrowed from\nthe fairies who lived in the Borough Hill, about a mile away. It was not\nreturned according to promise, and though afterwards taken back, it was\nnot received, nor since that time had there been any borrowing\nthere.[178]\n\nA man who was in the habit of meeting in a certain wood an adder, which\nalways sneezed thrice as he passed, consulted his parish priest on the\nsubject. The priest advised him to say the next time, as he would to a\nhuman friend who sneezed: \"God help thee!\" The man did so, whereupon the\nadder shot forth before him with fiery body and terrible rattling, so\nstartling him that he turned and fled. The snake hurried after him,\ncrying out that it would not hurt him, but that if he would take (not,\nhowever, with naked hands) the bunch of keys that hung about its neck,\nit would then lead the way to a great treasure and make him happy. He\nturned a deaf ear to these entreaties; and as he ran away he heard the\nsnake exclaim that now it must remain enchanted until yon little oak\ntree had grown great, and a cradle had been made out of the timber: the\nfirst child that lay in that cradle would be able to deliver it. The\nsame incident reappears in another saga, in which some men passing\nthrough the forest hear a sneeze, and one of them says: \"God help thee!\"\nThe sneeze and the blessing are repeated; but when the sneeze was heard\na third time, the man exclaimed: \"Oh, go to the devil!\" \"I believe\nsomebody is making game of us,\" said another. But a mannikin stepped\nforward and said: \"If you had said a third time 'God help thee!' I\nshould have been saved. Now I must wait until an acorn falls from yonder\ntree and becomes an oak, and a cradle is made out of its timber. The\nchild that comes to lie in that cradle will be able to deliver me.\" In\nthis case all that was required was a thrice-repeated blessing. Another\ncurious means of deliverance is found in a story from Old Strelitz.\nThere an enchanted princess haunted a bridge a short distance from one\nof the gates of the town, on the road to Woldegk. Whoever in going over\nthis bridge uttered a certain word, could unspell her if he would\nafterwards allow her to walk beside him the rest of the way over the\nbridge without speaking; but the difficulty was that nobody knew what\nthe powerful word was.[179]\n\nTwo other legends may be noticed on the mode of undoing the spell. The\nWhite Lady who haunts the White Tower on the White Hill at Prague was\nmarried to a king. She betrayed him, and married his enemy, from whom\nshe subsequently fled with an officer of his army. She was, however,\ncaught, and walled up in the White Tower. From this she may be delivered\nif she can find any one who will allow her to give him three stabs in\nthe breast with a bayonet without uttering a sound. Once she prevailed\non a young recruit, who was placed as sentinel before the magazine of\nthe castle, to stand the necessary trial; but on receiving the first\nblow he could not forbear crying aloud: \"Jesus! Mary! thou hast given\nit me!\" Another old castle in Bohemia has twelve ladies enchanted by day\nas fish in the fountain of the castle garden, and appearing only at\nnight in their true shape. They can not be disenchanted unless by twelve\nmen who will remain in the castle for twelve months without once going\noutside the walls.[180]\n\nThese bring us to a number of _maerchen_ in which the bespelled heroine\nis released by a youth who suffers torture on her account. The\nTransylvanian gipsies tell a tale of a very poor man who, instructed by\na dream, climbed a certain mountain and found a beautiful maiden before\na cavern, spinning her own golden hair. She had been sold by her\nheartless parents to an evil spirit, who compelled her to this labour;\nbut she could be saved if she could find any one willing to undergo in\nsilence, for her sake, an hour's torture from the evil spirit on three\nsuccessive nights. The man expressed himself ready to make the attempt;\nhe entered the cave, and at midnight a gigantic Prikulich, or evil\nspirit, appeared, and questioned him as to who he was and what he wanted\nthere. Failing to get any reply, the Prikulich flung him to the ground\nand danced about madly on him. The man endured without a moan; and at\none o'clock the Prikulich disappeared. The second night the man was\nbeaten with a heavy hammer, and so tortured that the maiden had great\ndifficulty in persuading him to stand the third proof. While she was\npraying him, however, to stay, the Prikulich appeared the third time,\nand beat him again with the hammer until he was half dead. Then the\ngoblin made a fire and flung him into it. The poor fellow uttered not a\nsingle sound, in spite of all this torment; and the maiden was saved and\nwedded her deliverer. This is a tale by no means uncommon. Want of space\nforbids us to follow it in detail, but a few references in the note\nbelow will enable the reader to do so if he please. Meantime, I will\nonly say that sometimes the princess who is thus to be rescued is\nenchanted in the form of a snake, sometimes of a she-goat, sometimes of\na bird; and in one of the stories she herself, in the shape of a monster\nlike a hedgehog, comes out of a coffin to tear the hero in pieces.[181]\nThe group is allied, on the one hand, to that of Fearless Johnny who,\npassing the night in a haunted house, expelled the ghosts, or goblins,\nwhich had taken possession of it; on the other hand, to that of the\nBriar Rose, illustrated by Mr. Burne Jones' series of paintings.\n\nThe Briar Rose, or The Beauty of Sleeping Wood, as it comes to us from\nPerrault's hands, is the story of a maiden who was cursed by an offended\nfairy to pierce her hand with a spindle and to die of it--a curse\nafterwards mitigated into a sleep of a hundred years. Every effort was\nmade by the king, her father, to avert the doom, but in vain; and for a\nwhole century the princess and all her court remained in the castle in a\nmagical sleep, while the castle itself and all within it were protected\nfrom intrusion by an equally magical growth of brambles and thorns,\nwhich not only prevented access, but entirely hid it from view. At\nlength a king's son found his way in at the very moment the fated period\ncame to an end; or, as we have it in other versions, he awakened the\nmaiden with a kiss. In the old stories of the Niblungs and the Volsungs\nOdin has pricked the shield-maid Brynhild with a sleep-thorn, and thus\ncondemned her to sleep within the shield-burg on Hindfell. Attracted by\nthe appearance of fire, Sigurd comes to the shield-burg and, finding\nBrynhild, releases her from her slumber by ripping up her armour with\nhis sword. This is chronologically the earliest form of the myth of the\nEnchanted Princess with which we are acquainted; and it is interwoven\nwith the very fibres of the Teutonic mythology. It is no wonder,\ntherefore, that the Germans have given it so prominent a place in their\nfolklore. So far as now appears it is less conspicuous in the folklore\nof the other European races with the exception of the Slaves, and when\nit does show itself it shows itself chiefly as a _maerchen_. But,\nalthough what we know of the folklore of the Teutonic and Slavonic races\nmay suggest reasons for this, we must not forget how rarely we can\ndogmatize with safety on national characteristics. To this rule the\nfolklore of a nation is no exception; nay, rather, the rule applies with\na double emphasis to a subject the scientific investigation of which has\nso lately begun and has yet achieved so little.\n\nDeclining this speculation, therefore, we turn to a last point in the\nsagas before us, namely, the propitious time for the disenchantment.\nDifferent times of the year are spoken of for this purpose. In some\nstories it is Advent, or New Year's night, when the lady makes her\nappearance and may be delivered. In a Pomeranian saga, where a woman\ncursed her seven daughters and they became mice, a woman, who is of the\nsame age as the mother when she uttered the curse, must come with seven\nsons of the same ages as the daughters were when they were cursed, on\nGood Friday at noon, to the thicket where the mice are, and put her sons\non a certain round stone there. The seven mice will then return to human\nshape; and when the children are old enough they will marry, and become\nrich and happy for the rest of their lives. A Carinthian tale requires\nthe deliverer to come the next full moon after \"May-Sunday\"; and\nMay-night is the date fixed in another case. But the favourite time is\nSt. John's Day, either at noon or midnight.[182] Some of these days are\necclesiastical festivals; but perhaps the only one which has not\nsuperseded an ancient heathen feast is Good Friday. The policy of the\nChurch, in consecrating to Christian uses as many as possible of the\nseasons and customs she found already honoured among the peoples she had\nconquered, seized upon their holy days and made them her own. And if the\nscience of Folklore has taught us anything, it is that the observances\non these converted holy days external to the rites demanded by the\nChurch are relics of the ceremonies performed in pagan days to pagan\ndeities. In none of these instances has the proof been more conclusive\nthan in that of St. John's, or Midsummer Day. Grimm, first, with\nabundant learning, and more recently Mr. Frazer, with a wealth of\nillustration surpassing that of Grimm himself, and indeed inaccessible\nin his day, have shown that the Midsummer festival was kept in honour of\nthe sun; that it consisted of the ceremonial kindling of fire, the\ngathering and use of floral garlands, the offering of human and other\nsacrifices, and the performance of sacred dances; and that its object\nwas to increase the power of the sun by magical sympathy, to obtain a\ngood harvest and fruitfulness of all creatures, and to purge the sins of\nthe people. It was, in fact, the chief ceremony of the year among the\nEuropean races.\n\nProminent among the remnants of these ceremonies continued down to\nmodern days are the Midsummer bonfires. These were lighted on the tops\nof mountains, hills, or even barrows. This situation may be thought to\nhave symbolic reference to the solstice; but probably a still more\npowerful reason for it was the already sacred character of such places.\nBut we need hardly consider whether the ceremonies of which the bonfires\nare the remnant, were observed on the hill-tops and other high places\nbecause the latter were already sacred, or, conversely, the hill tops\nand other high places were held sacred because of the ceremonies enacted\nthere; for in either case the sanctity remains. Wells and pools, too,\nmany of them still held sacred, were in various ways the objects of\nsuperstition at the Midsummer festival; for which the Church, when she\nchose to take the practices under her protection, had an ample excuse in\nSt. John's mission to baptize.[183] Now, whatever spots were the haunt\nof pagan divinities, there it was doubtless that those divinities were\nexpected to appear; and by the same reasoning they would be most likely\nto appear during the favoured hours of the holy days. This is exactly\nwhat we find to be the case with Enchanted Princesses, and, so far as\nthe days are recorded, with Sleeping Heroes. The heroes lie within the\nhills, which in many legends are only open on certain days. The\nprincesses appear upon the hills, or by the sides of pools, the sites,\nif we believe the legends, of ancient castles where they dwelt. Once in\nthe year, or once in a cycle of years, on a certain day, usually\nMidsummer Day or Midsummer Eve, they come to wash, or to fetch water, in\ntheir own form, either compelled or permitted by the terms of the curse\nthat has bound them; and then it is that mortals are admitted to an\ninterview and may render them the service of disenchantment. The\ninstances in which the days are specified are so frequent we may perhaps\nsuspect that they were originally mentioned in all, but that time and\nother circumstances have caused them to be forgotten. However this may\nbe, it is only reasonable to conclude that, in the number of instances\nremaining, we have a tradition of the honours long ago paid to these\ndegraded divinities on the days appointed for their worship.\n\nI may be going too far in suggesting that the feats to be performed\nafford some confirmation of this conclusion; yet it seems to me there is\nmuch to be said for such an opinion. The appearance of a god in animal\nform--even in a loathsome animal form--would not derogate from his\nessential godhead. Where in these stories the deliverer has to deal with\nan animal, a kiss is the usual task prescribed. Kissing is a very\nancient and well-known act of worship, which survives among us in many a\npractice of the Roman Catholic Church, as well as in the form of oath\ntaken daily in our law courts; and it may be that the more repulsive the\nobject to be kissed, the greater the merit of kissing it. Again, the\nlady who required to be followed into the depths of a lake may be\nmatched with the goddess Hertha, whose slaves were drowned in the\nself-same waters wherein they had washed her; nor does it seem more\nmenial to carry a princess than to wash a goddess. The ceremony of\ncarrying may indeed be the relic of a solemn procession, or of a sacred\ndrama. The words of blessing following on a sneeze need no explanation;\nand the omission to return at the promised time a borrowed kettle would\nbe more likely to provoke the anger of a god than to retard the\ndeliverance of a mortal. This is implied by the statement that the devil\nfetched the kettle himself; and we need have little doubt that in an\nearlier form the story so described it. I am unable to explain the\nunknown word which would deliver the lady who haunted the bridge at Old\nStrelitz, unless it be a reminiscence of an incantation.\n\nThere remain the demand for an unbaptized child to kiss, the torture to\nwhich the heroes of the two Bohemian sagas submit, the requirement in\nthe Pomeranian tale to place seven brothers on the stone haunted by the\nseven mice, and lastly the personal violence to the damsel involved in\nstriking her with a birch-rod or a bunch of juniper and in beheadal. In\nall these we probably have traces of sacrifice. The offering of an\ninnocent child is familiar, if not comprehensible, enough to any one who\nhas the most superficial acquaintance with savage rites. We have already\nseen that an unbaptized child is regarded as a pagan, and is an object\nof desire on the part of supernatural beings. The same reasons which\ninduce fairies to steal it would probably render it an acceptable\noffering to a pagan divinity. No words need be wasted on the torture, or\nthe tale of the mice. But the personal violence, if indeed the remnant\nof a tradition of sacrifice, involves the slaughter of the divinity\nherself. This might be thought an insuperable objection; but it is not\nreally so. For, however absurd it may seem to us, it is a very\nwidespread custom to sacrifice to a divinity his living representative\nor incarnation, whether in animal or human form. It is believed in such\ncases that the victim's spirit, released by sacrifice, forthwith finds a\nhome in another body. The subject is too vast and complex to be\ndiscussed here at length; the reader who desires to follow it out can do\nso in Mr. Frazer's profoundly interesting work on \"The Golden Bough.\"\nAssuming, however, the custom and belief, as here stated, to be\nadmitted, it will be seen that the underlying thought is precisely that\nwhich we want in order to explain this mode of disenchantment. For if,\non the one hand, what looks like murder be enjoined in a number of\nstories for the purpose of disenchanting a bewitched person; and if, on\nthe other hand, the result of solemnly slaughtering a victim be in fact\nheld to be simply the release of the victim's spirit--nay, if it was the\nprescribed mode of releasing that spirit--to seek a new, sometimes a\nbetter, abode in a fresh body, we may surely be satisfied that both\nthese have the same origin. We may then go further, and see in this\nunspelling incident, performed, as in the Enchanted Princess stories, in\nthis way, at a haunted spot, frequently on a day of special sanctity,\none more proof that the princess herself was in the earlier shape of\nthe traditions no other than a goddess.\n\nFinally: the myth of the Enchanted Princess has preserved in many of its\nvariants a detail more archaic than any in that of the Sleeping Hero,\nand one which is decisive as to the lady's real status. If Frederick\nwere to arise and come forth from his sleeping-place, the Kyffhaeuser\nitself would remain. If Arthur were to awake and quit the Castle Rock,\nthe rock itself wherein he lay would still be there. But the lake or\nmountain haunted by an enchanted maiden often owes its very existence,\nif not to her, at least to the spell which holds her enthralled. When\nshe is delivered the place will be changed: the lake will give way to a\npalace; the earth will open and a buried castle will reascend to the\nsurface; what is now nothing but an old grey boulder will forthwith\nreturn to its previous condition of an inhabited and stately building;\nor what is now a dwelling of men will become desolate. One of the best\nexamples of this is the superstition I have already cited concerning\nMelusina. When she finishes her needlework she will be disenchanted, but\nonly to die; and the ruins of the town of Luxemburg will be her grave\nand monument. In other words, the existence of the town is bound up with\nher enchantment,--that is to say, with her life. In the same way the\nbespelled damsel of the Urschelberg, near Pfullingen, in Swabia, is\ncalled by the very name of the mountain--the Old Urschel. This can only\nbe the survival of a belief in the enchanted lady as the indwelling\nspirit, the soul, the real life of the spot she haunted: a belief which\ngoes back to a deeper depth of savagery than one that regards her as a\nlocal goddess, and out of which the latter would be easily\ndeveloped.[184]\n\nThese considerations by no means exhaust the case; but I have said\nenough in support of conclusions anticipated by Grimm's clear-sighted\ngenius and confirmed by every fresh discovery. Let me, therefore,\nrecapitulate the results of the investigations contained in this and the\ntwo preceding chapters. We have rapidly examined several types of fairy\ntales in which the hero, detained in Fairyland, is unconscious of the\nflight of time. These tales are characteristic of a high rather than a\nlow stage of civilization. Connected with them we have found the story\nof King Arthur, the Sleeping Hero, \"_rex quondam, rex que futurus_,\" the\nexpected deliverer, sometimes believed to be hidden beneath the hills,\nat other times in a far-off land, or from time to time traversing the\nworld with his band of attendants as the Wild Hunt. This is a tradition\nof a heathen god put down by Christianity, but not destroyed in the\nhearts and memories of the people--a tradition independent of political\ninfluences, but to which oppression is apt to give special and enduring\nvitality. The corresponding tradition concerning a heathen goddess is\ndiscovered in the Enchanted Princess of a thousand sagas, whose peculiar\nhome, if they have one, is in Teutonic and Slavonic countries.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[166] Howells, p. 120; \"Count Lucanor,\" p. 77.\n\n[167] Knowles, p. 17.\n\n[168] Im Thurn, pp. 352, 354. _Cf._ Brett, p. 375. So Leland, p. 3: \"The\nIndian _m'teoulin_, or magician, distinctly taught that every created\nthing, animate or inanimate, had its indwelling spirit. Whatever had an\n_idea_ had a soul.\"\n\n[169] _Cf._ Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" p. 962, quoting Harry, \"Nieders.\nSagen\"; Jahn, p. 228, quoting Temme. Many of the sanctuaries of the\nCelts were upon mounds, which were either barrows of the dead, or were\nexpressly made for temples; and the god was called in Irish _Cenn\nCruaich_, in Welsh _Penn Cruc_ (now _Pen Crug_), both meaning the Head\nor Chief of the Mound (Rhys, \"Hibbert Lectures,\" p. 201). Many mounds in\nEngland, now crowned by churches, have been conjectured to be old Celtic\ntemples. See an able paper by Mr. T. W. Shore on \"Characteristic\nSurvivals of the Celts in Hampshire,\" _Journ. Anthrop. Inst._, vol. xx.\np. 9. Mont St. Michel, near Carnac, in Brittany, is a chambered barrow\nsurmounted by a little chapel. From the relics found in the tomb, as\nwell as the size of the barrow itself, some person, or persons, of\nimportance must have been buried there. The mound may well have been a\nhaunted, a sacred spot ever since the ashes of the dead and their costly\nweapons and ornaments were committed to its keeping far back in the\nNeolithic age. Instances might easily be multiplied.\n\n[170] Mueller, p. 203; Map, Dist. iv. c. 13.\n\n[171] Gerv. Tilb., Dec. ii. c. 12; \"Book of Days,\" vol. i. p. 154;\nAugustine, \"De Civ. Dei,\" l. ii. c. 25.\n\n[172] Jahn, p. 182, quoting Arndt.\n\n[173] Knoop, p. 10; Bartsch, vol. i. p. 273.\n\n[174] Bartsch, vol. i. p. 271; \"Early Trav.,\" p. 138.\n\n[175] Bartsch, vol. i. pp. 269 (citing Niederhoeffer, below), 271, 272,\n273, 274, 318. In this last case it is a man who is to be saved by a\nkiss from a woman while he is in serpent form. Niederhoeffer, vol. i. pp.\n58, 168, vol. ii. p. 235; Meier, pp. 6, 31, 321; Kuhn und Schwartz, pp.\n9, 201; Baring-Gould, p. 223, citing Kornemann, \"Mons Veneris,\" and\nPraetorius, \"Weltbeschreibung\"; Jahn, p. 220; Rappold, p. 135. Gredt, pp.\n8, 9, 215, 228, &c. In one of Meier's Swabian tales the princess appears\nas a snake and flings herself round the neck of her would-be\ndeliverer--a woman--who is to strike her lightly with a bunch of\njuniper: Meier, p. 27. In one of Kuhn und Schwartz' collection, where\nthe princess becomes a toad, no ceremony is prescribed: Kuhn und\nSchwartz, p. 9.\n\n[176] Von Tettau, p. 220; Kuhn, pp. 66, 99; Bartsch, vol. i. p. 272;\nJahn, p. 249; Ovid, \"Metam.\" l. xi. f. 5; Child, vol. i. pp. 336 (citing\nSchmidt, \"Volkleben der Neugriechen,\" p. 115), 340.\n\n[177] Knoop, pp. 6, 57; Kuhn, pp. 113, 172; Kuhn und Schwartz, p. 1. The\nprohibition to look back was imposed on Orpheus when he went to rescue\nEurydice from Hades.\n\n[178] Knoop, pp. 51, 59; Keightley, p. 295, quoting Aubrey's \"Natural\nHistory of Surrey\"; \"Gent. Mag. Lib.\" (Pop. Supers.), p. 280.\n\n[179] Meier, pp. 209, 87; Niederhoeffer, vol. iii. p. 251.\n\n[180] Grohmann, pp. 56, 50.\n\n[181] Von Wlislocki, p. 76; Campbell, vol. ii. p. 293; Luzel, \"Contes,\"\nvol. i. pp. 198, 217; \"Annuaire des Trad. Pop.\" 1887, p. 53; Pitre, vol.\nv. pp. 238, 248; Grundtvig, vol. i. p. 148; Schneller, pp. 103, 109.\n\n[182] Meier, p. 26; Bartsch, vol. i. pp. 271, 272, 274; Jahn, p. 185;\nRappold, p. 135; Bartsch, vol. i. pp. 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 283, 308,\n318; Niederhoeffer, vol. i. p. 168, vol. ii. p. 235, vol. iii. p. 171;\nKnoop, p. 10; Jahn, pp. 182, 185, 206, 207, 217, 220, 221; and many\nothers.\n\n[183] \"Gent. Mag. Lib.\" (Pop. Superst.) p. 51; Brand, vol. i. p. 250,\nnote; Pitre, vol. xii. pp. 304, 307; Bartsch, vol. ii. p. 288;\n\"Antiquary,\" vol. xxi. p. 195, vol. xxii. p. 67. _Cf._ a legend in which\nthe scene haunted by the enchanted lady is a Johannisberg on the top of\nwhich is a chapel dedicated to St. John the Baptist, to which\npilgrimages were made and the lady appeared on Midsummer Day (Gredt, pp.\n215, 219, 225, 579).\n\n[184] Von Tettau, p. 220; Kuhn und Schwartz, pp. 9, 200; Meier, pp. 6,\n8; Gredt, pp. 7, 228, 281. In another story, quoted by Meier (p. 34),\nfrom Crusius' \"Schwaeb. Chron.\", the enchanted maiden is called \"a\nheathen's daughter\"--pointing directly to pagan origin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nSWAN-MAIDENS.\n\n     The _maerchen_ of Hasan of Bassorah--The Marquis of the Sun--The\n     feather robe and other disguises--The taboo--The Star's\n     Daughter--Melusina--The Lady of the Van Pool and other\n     variants--The Nightmare.\n\n\nThe narratives with which we have hitherto been occupied belong to the\nclass called Sagas. But our discussions of them have led us once and\nagain to refer to the other class mentioned in the second Chapter--that\nof Nursery Tales or _Maerchen_. For, as I have already pointed out, there\nis no bridgeless gulf between them. We have seen the very same incidents\nnarrated in Wales or in Germany with breathless awe as a veritable\noccurrence which in India, or among the Arabs, are a mere play of fancy.\nEqually well the case may be reversed, and what is gravely told at the\nantipodes as a series of events in the life of a Maori ancestor, may be\nreported in France or England as a nursery tale. Nay, we need not go out\nof Europe itself to find the same plot serving for a saga in one land\nand a _maerchen_, detached from all circumstances of time and place, in\nanother.\n\nAn excellent example of this is furnished by the myth of the\nSwan-maiden, one of the most widely distributed, and at the same time\none of the most beautiful, stories ever evolved from the mind of man. As\nits first type I shall take the tale of Hasan of Bassorah, where it has\nbeen treated with an epic grandeur hardly surpassed by any of its\ncompanions in the famous \"Nights,\" and perhaps only by one of the less\nfamous but equally splendid Mabinogion of old Wales.\n\nHasan is a worthless boy who falls under the influence of a Magian, who\nprofesses to be an alchemist, and who at length kidnaps him. Having used\nhim with great cruelty the Magian takes him fifteen days' journey on\ndromedaries into the desert to a high mountain, at the foot whereof the\nold rascal sews him up in a skin, together with a knife and a small\nprovision of three cakes and a leathern bottle of water, afterwards\nretiring to a distance. One of the vultures which infest the mountain\nthen pounces on Hasan and carries him to the top. In accordance with the\nMagian's instructions, the hero, on arriving there, slits the skin, and\njumping out, to the bird's affright, picks up and casts down to the\nMagian bundles of the wood which he finds around him. This wood is the\nmeans by which the alchemy is performed; and having gathered up the\nbundles the Magian leaves Hasan to his fate. The youth, after despairing\nof life, finds his way to a palace where dwell seven maidens, with whom\nhe remains for awhile in Platonic friendship. When they are summoned\naway by their father for a two months' absence, they leave him their\nkeys, straitly charging him not to open a certain door. He disregards\ntheir wishes, and finds within a magnificent pavilion enclosing a basin\nbrimful of water, at which ten birds come to bathe and play. The birds\nfor this purpose cast their feathers; and Hasan is favoured with the\nsight of \"ten virgins, maids whose beauty shamed the brilliancy of the\nmoon.\" He fell madly in love with the chief damsel, who turns out to be\na daughter of a King of the Jann. On the return of the maidens of the\npalace he is advised by them to watch the next time the birds come, and\nto take possession of the feather-suit belonging to the damsel of his\nchoice, for without this she cannot return home with her attendants. He\nsucceeds in doing so, and thus compels her to remain with him and\nbecome his wife. With her he departs to his own country and settles in\nBagdad, where his wife bears him two sons. During his temporary absence,\nhowever, she persuades her mother-in-law--who, unfortunately for the\nhappiness of the household, lives with the young couple--to let her have\nthe feather-suit which her husband has left under her charge. Clad with\nthis she takes her two boys in her arms and sails away through the air\nto the islands of Wak, leaving a message for the hapless Hasan that if\nhe loves her he may come and seek her there. Now the islands of Wak were\nseven islands, wherein was a mighty host, all virgin girls, and the\ninner isles were peopled by satans and marids and warlocks and various\ntribesmen of the Jinn, and whoso entered their land never returned\nthence; and Hasan's wife was one of the king's daughters. To reach her\nhe would have to cross seven wadys and seven seas and seven mighty\nmountains. Undaunted, however, by the difficulties wherewith he is\nthreatened, he determines to find her, swearing by Allah never to turn\nback till he regain his beloved, or till death overtake him. By the help\nof sundry potentates of more or less forbidding aspect and supernatural\npower, to whom he gets letters of introduction, and who live in gorgeous\npalaces amid deserts, and are served by demons only uglier and less\nmighty than themselves, he succeeds in traversing the Land of Birds, the\nLand of Wild Beasts, the country of the Warlocks and the Enchanters, and\nthe Land of the Jinn, and enters the islands of Wak--there to fall into\nthe hands of that masterful virago, his wife's eldest sister. After a\npreliminary outburst against Hasan, this amiable creature pours, as is\nthe wont of women, the full torrent of her wrath against her erring\nsister. From the tortures she inflicts, Hasan at length rescues his\nwife, with their two sons, by means of a cap of invisibility and a rod\nconferring authority over seven tribes of the Jinn, which he has stolen\nfrom two boys who are quarrelling over them. When his sister-in-law\nwith an army of Jinn pursues the fugitives, the subjects of the rod\novercome her. His wife begs for her sister's life and reconciles her\nhusband to her, and then returns with her husband to his home in Bagdad,\nto quit him no more.[185]\n\nSuch in meagre outline is this wonderful story. Its variants are legion,\nand I can only refer to a few of them which are of special interest. In\ndealing with these I shall confine my attention to the essential points\nof the plot, touching only such details as are germane to the questions\nthus evoked. We shall accordingly pass in review the maiden's disguise\nand capture, her flight and her recapture; and afterwards turning to\nother types of the tale, we shall look at the corresponding incidents to\nbe met with therein, reserving for another chapter the consideration of\nthe meaning of the myth, so far as it can be traced.\n\nThe bird whose shape is assumed by the Jinn in the foregoing tale is not\nspecified; but in Europe, where beauty and grace and purity find so apt\nan emblem in the swan, several of the most important variants have\nnaturally appropriated that majestic form to the heroine, and have thus\ngiven a name to the whole group of stories. In Sweden, for example, we\nare told of a young hunter who beheld three swans descend on the\nseashore and lay their plumage aside before they plunged into the water.\nWhen he looked at the robes so laid aside they appeared like linen, and\nthe forms that were swimming in the waves were damsels of dazzling\nwhiteness. Advised by his foster-mother, he secures the linen of the\nyoungest and fairest. She, therefore, could not follow her companions\nwhen they drew on their plumage and flew away; and being thus in the\nhunter's power, she became his wife. The hero of a story current among\nthe Germans of Transylvania opens, like Hasan, a forbidden door, and\nfinds three swan-maids bathing in a blue pool. Their clothes are\ncontained in satchels on its margin, and when he has taken the satchel\nof the youngest he must not look behind until he has reached home. This\ndone, he finds the maiden there and persuades her to marry him. Mikailo\nIvanovitch, the hero of a popular Russian ballad, wanders by the sea,\nand, gazing out upon a quiet bay, beholds a white swan floating there.\nHe draws his bow to shoot her, but she prays him to desist; and rising\nover the blue sea upon her white wings, she turns into a beautiful\nmaiden. Surprised with love, he offers to kiss her; but she reveals\nherself as a heathen princess and demands first to be baptized, and then\nshe will wed him. In a Hessian story a forester sees a fair swan\nfloating on a lonely lake. He is about to shoot it when it warns him to\ndesist, or it will cost him his life. Immediately the swan was\ntransformed into a maiden, who told him she was bewitched, but could be\nfreed if he would say a Paternoster for her every Sunday for a\ntwelvemonth, and meantime keep silence concerning his adventure. The\ntest proved too hard, and he lost her.[186]\n\nThe swan, however, by no means monopolizes the honour of concealing the\nheroine's form. In a Finnish tale from OEsterbotten, a dead father\nappears in dreams to his three sons, commanding them to watch singly by\nnight the geese on the sea-strand. The two elder are so frightened by\nthe darkness that they scamper home. But the youngest, despised and\ndirty, watches boldly, till at the first flush of dawn three geese fly\nthither, strip off their feathers, and plunge, as lovely maidens, into\nthe water to bathe. Then the youth chooses the most beautiful of the\nthree pairs of wings he finds on the shore, hides them, and awaits\nevents; nor does he give them up again to the owner until she has\nbetrothed herself to him. Elsewhere the damsels are described as ducks;\nbut a more common shape is that of doves. A story is current in Bohemia\nof a boy whom a witch leads to a spring. Over the spring stands an old\nelm-tree haunted by three white doves, who are enchanted princesses.\nCatching one and plucking out her wings, he restores her to her natural\ncondition; and she brings him to his parents, whom he had lost in the\nsack of the city where they dwelt. The Magyars speak of three pigeons\ncoming every noontide to a great white lake, where they turn somersaults\nand are transformed into girls. They are really fairy-maidens; and a boy\nwho can steal the dress of one of them and run away with it, resisting\nthe temptation to look back when she calls in caressing tones, succeeds\nin winning her. In the \"Bahar Danush\" a merchant's son perceives four\ndoves alight at sunset by a piece of water, and, resuming their natural\nform (for they are Peries), forthwith undress and plunge into the water.\nHe steals their clothes, and thus compels the one whom he chooses to\naccept him as her husband. The extravagance characteristic of the\n\"Arabian Nights,\" when, in the story of Janshah, it represents the\nladies as doves, expands their figures to the size of eagles, with far\nless effect, however, than where they retain more moderate dimensions.\nNo better illustration of this can be given than the story from South\nSmaland of the fair Castle east of the Sun and north of the Earth,\nversified so exquisitely in \"The Earthly Paradise.\" There a peasant,\nfinding that the fine grass of a meadow belonging to him was constantly\ntrodden down during the summer nights, set his three sons, one after\nanother, to watch for the trespassers. The two elder, as usual in these\ntales, are unsuccessful, but the youngest keeps wide awake until the sun\nis about to rise. A rustling in the air, as of birds, then heralds the\nflight of three doves, who cast their feathers and become fair maidens.\nThese maidens begin to dance on the green grass, and so featly do they\nstep that they scarce seem to touch the ground. To the watching youth,\none among them looked more beautiful than all other women; and he\npictured to himself the possession of her as more to be longed for than\nthat of every other in the world. So he rose and stole their plumage,\nnor did he restore it until the king's daughter, the fairest of them\nall, had plighted her troth to him.[187]\n\nThe story is by no means confined to Europe and Asia. The Arawaks, one\nof the aboriginal tribes of Guiana, relate that a beautiful royal\nvulture was once captured by a hunter. She was the daughter of Anuanima,\nsovereign of a race whose country is above the sky, and who lay aside\nthere the appearance of birds for that of humanity. Smitten with love\nfor the hunter, the captive divested herself of her feathers and\nexhibited her true form--that of a beautiful girl. \"She becomes his\nwife, bears him above the clouds, and, after much trouble, persuades her\nfather and family to receive him. All then goes well, until he expresses\na wish to visit his aged mother, when they discard him, and set him on\nthe top of a very high tree, the trunk of which is covered with\nformidable prickles. He appeals pathetically to all the living creatures\naround. Then spiders spin cords to help him, and fluttering birds ease\nhis descent, so that at last he reaches the ground in safety. Then\nfollow his efforts, extending over several years, to regain his wife,\nwhom he tenderly loves. Her family seek to destroy him; but by his\nstrength and sagacity he is victorious in every encounter. The birds at\nlength espouse his cause, assemble their forces, and bear him as their\ncommander above the sky. He is at last slain by a valiant young warrior,\nresembling himself in person and features. It is his own son, born after\nhis expulsion from the upper regions, and brought up there in ignorance\nof his own father. The legend ends with the conflagration of the house\nof the royal vultures, who, hemmed in by crowds of hostile birds, are\nunable to use their wings, and forced to fight and die in their human\nforms.\"[188] This tale, so primitive in form, can hardly have travelled\nround half the globe to the remote American Indians among whom it was\ndiscovered. And yet in many of its features it presents the most\nstriking likeness to several of the versions current in the Old World.\n\nSometimes, however, as in the tale of Hasan, the species is left\nundescribed. Among the Eskimo the heroine is vaguely referred to as a\nsea-fowl. The Kurds have a strange tale of a bird they call the Bird\nSimer. His daughter has been ensnared by a giant when she and three\nother birds were out flying; but she is at length rescued by two heroes,\none of whom she weds. When she becomes homesick she puts on her\nfeather-dress and flies away.[189]\n\nA Pomeranian saga forms an interesting link between the Swan-maiden\ngroup and the legends of Enchanted Princesses discussed in the last\nchapter. A huntsman, going his rounds in the forest, drew near a pool\nwhich lies at the foot of the Huehnerberg. There he saw a girl bathing;\nand thinking that she was from the neighbouring village, he picked up\nher clothes, with the intention of playing her a trick. When she saw\nwhat he had done, she left the water and hastened after him, begging him\nto give back her clothes--or at any rate her shift. He, however, was not\nto be moved; and she then told him she was an enchanted princess, and\nwithout her shift she could not return. _Now_ he was fully determined\nnot to give up the precious article of apparel. She was, therefore,\ncompelled to follow him to his hut, where his mother kept house for him.\nThe huntsman there put the shift into a chest, of which he took the key,\nso that the maiden could not escape; and after some time she accepted\nthe position, and agreed to become his wife. Years passed by, and\nseveral children had been born, when one day he went out, leaving the\nkey of the chest behind. When the heroine saw this she begged her\nmother-in-law to open the chest and show her the shift; for, we are\ntold, the enchanted princess could not herself open the trunk. She\nbegged so hard that her mother-in-law at last complied; and no sooner\nhad she got the shift into her hands than she vanished out of sight.\nWhen the husband returned and heard what had happened, he made up his\nmind to seek her. So he climbed the Huehnerberg and let himself down the\nopening he found there. He soon arrived at the underground castle.\nBefore its closed gate lay a great black dog, around whose neck a paper\nhung which conveniently contained directions how to penetrate into the\ncastle. Following these, he presently found himself in the presence of\nthe princess, his wife, who was right glad to see him, and gave him a\nglass of wine to strengthen him for the task before him; for at midnight\nthe Evil One would come to drive him out of the castle and prevent the\nlady's deliverance. At this point, unfortunately, the reciter's memory\nfailed: hence we do not know the details of the rescue. But we may\nconjecture, from the precedents, that the huntsman had to endure\ntorture. The issue was that he was successful, the castle ascended out\nof the earth, and husband and wife were reunited.[190]\n\nThis story differs in many important respects from the type; and it\ncontains the incident, very rare in a modern European saga belonging to\nthis group, of the recovery of the bride. I shall have occasion to\nrevert to the curious inability of the enchanted princess to open the\nchest containing the wonderful shift. Meanwhile, let me observe that in\nmost of the tales the feather-dress, or talisman, by which the bride may\nescape, is committed to the care of a third person--usually a kinswoman\nof the husband, and in many cases his mother; and that the wife as a\nrule only recovers it when it is given to her, or at least when that\nwhich contains it has been opened by another: she seems incapable of\nfinding it herself.\n\nThere is another type of the Swan-maiden myth, which appears to be the\nfavourite of the Latin nations, though it is also to be met with among\nother peoples. Its outline may, perhaps, best be given from the nursery\ntale of the Marquis of the Sun, as told at Seville. The Marquis of the\nSun was a great gamester. A man played with him and lost all he had, and\nthen staked his soul--and lost it. The Marquis instructed him, if he\ndesired to recover it, to come to him when he had worn out a pair of\niron shoes. In the course of his wanderings he finds a struggle going on\nover a dead man, whose creditors would not allow him to be buried until\nhis debts had been paid. Iron Shoes pays them, and one shoe goes to\npieces. He afterwards meets a cavalier, who reveals himself as the dead\nman whose debts had been paid, and who is desirous of requiting that\nfavour. He therefore directs Iron Shoes to the banks of a river where\nthree white doves come, change into princesses, and bathe. Iron Shoes is\nto take the dress of the smallest, and thus get her to tell him whither\nhe has to go. Obeying this direction, he learns from the princess that\nthe Marquis is her father; and she shows him the way to his castle.\nArrived there, he demands his soul. Before conceding it the Marquis sets\nhim tasks: to level an inconvenient mountain, so that the sun may shine\non the castle; to sow the site of the mountain with fruit trees, and\ngather the fruit of them in one day for dinner; to find a piece of plate\nwhich the Marquis's great-grandfather had dropped into the river; to\ncatch and mount a horse which is no other than the Marquis himself; and\nto choose a bride from among the princesses, his daughters. The damsel\nwho had shown Iron Shoes the way to the palace performs the first two of\nthese tasks: and she teaches him how to perform the others. For the\nthird, he has to cut her up and cast her into the river, whence she\nimmediately rises whole again, triumphantly bringing the lost piece of\nplate. In butchering her he has, however, clumsily dropped a piece of\nher little finger on the ground. It is accordingly wanting when she\nrises from the river; and this is the token by which Iron Shoes\nrecognizes her when he has to choose a bride; for, in choosing, he is\nonly allowed to see the little fingers of these candidates for\nmatrimony. He and his bride afterwards flee from the castle; but we need\nnot follow their adventures now.[191]\n\nIn stories of this type doves are the shape usually assumed by the\nheroine and her comrades; but swans and geese are often found, and in a\nRussian tale we are even introduced to spoonbills. Nor do the birds I\nhave mentioned by any means exhaust the disguises of these supernatural\nladies. The stories comprised under this and the foregoing type are\nnearly all _maerchen_; but when we come to other types where sagas become\nmore numerous, we find other animals favoured, well-nigh to the\nexclusion of birds. In the latter types there is no recovery of the wife\nwhen she has once abandoned her husband. An inhabitant of Unst, one of\nthe Shetland Islands, beholds a number of the sea-folk dancing by\nmoonlight on the shore of a small bay. Near them lie several sealskins.\nHe snatches up one, the property, as it turns out, of a fair maiden, who\nthereupon becomes his wife. Years after, one of their children finds her\nsealskin, and runs to display it to his mother, not knowing it was hers.\nShe puts it on, becomes a seal, and plunges into the waters. In Croatia\nit is said that a soldier once, watching in a haunted mill, saw a\nshe-wolf enter, divest herself of her skin, and come out of it a damsel.\nShe hangs the skin on a peg and goes to sleep before the fire. While she\nsleeps the soldier takes the skin and nails it fast to the mill-wheel,\nso that she cannot recover it. He marries her, and she bears him two\nsons. The elder of these children hears that his mother is a wolf. He\nbecomes inquisitive, and his father at length tells him where the skin\nis. When he tells his mother, she goes away and is heard of no more. A\nSutherlandshire story speaks of a mermaid who fell in love with a\nfisherman. As he did not want to be carried away into the sea he, by\nfair means or foul, succeeded in getting hold of her pouch and belt, on\nwhich her power of swimming depended, and so retained her on land; and\nshe became his bride. But we are not surprised to hear that her tail was\nalways in the way: her silky hair grew tangled too, for her comb and\nglass were in the pouch; the dogs teased her, and rude people mocked\nher. Thus her life was made wretched. But one day in her husband's\nabsence the labourers were pulling down a stack of corn. As she watched\nthem, weeping for her lost freedom, she espied her precious pouch and\nbelt, which had been built in and buried among the sheaves. She caught\nit and leaped into the sea.[192]\n\nIn the last tale there is no change of form: the hero simply possesses\nhimself of something without which the supernatural maiden has no power\nto leave him. Even in the true Hasan of Bassorah type, the magical\nchange does not always occur. A variant translated by Jonathan Scott\nfrom a Syrian manuscript merely enwraps the descending damsels in robes\nof light green silk. When her robe is taken the chosen beauty is kept\nfrom following her companions in their return flight. Similar to this is\nthe Pomeranian saga already cited. In the New Hebrides there is a legend\nof seven winged women whose home was in heaven, and who came down to\nearth to bathe. Before bathing, they put off their wings. According to\nthe version told in Aurora island, Qatu one day, seeing them thus\nbathing, took the wings of one and buried them at the foot of the main\npost of his house. In this way he won their owner as his wife; and she\nso remained until she found her wings again. In modern Greece it is\nbelieved that Nereids can be caught by seizing their wings, their\nclothes, or even their handkerchiefs. The Bulgarians, who have similar\ntales, call the supernatural ladies Samodivas; and they are captured by\nmeans of their raiment. A number of parallels have been cited from\nvarious sources by M. Cosquin, a few of which may be mentioned. A\nBurmese drama, for instance, sets before us nine princesses of the city\nof the Silver Mountain, who wear enchanted girdles that enable them to\nfly as swiftly as a bird. The youngest of these princesses is caught\nwhile bathing, by means of a magical slip-knot. A divine ancestress of\nthe Bantiks, a tribe inhabiting the Celebes Islands, came down from the\nsky with seven companions to bathe. A man who saw them took them for\ndoves, but was surprised to find that they were women. He possessed\nhimself of the clothes of one of them, and thus obliged her to marry\nhim. In a story told by the Santals of India, the daughters of the sun\nmake use of a spider's thread to reach the earth. A shepherd, whom they\nunblushingly invite to bathe with them, persuades them to try which of\nthem all can remain longest under water; and while they are in the river\nhe scrambles out, and, taking the upper garment of the one whom he\nloves, flees with it to his home. In another Indian tale, five apsaras,\nor celestial dancers, are conveyed in an enchanted car to a pool in the\nforest. Seven supernatural maidens, in a Samoyede _maerchen_, are brought\nin their reindeer chariot to a lake, where the hero possesses himself of\nthe best suit of garments he finds on the shore. The owner prays him to\ngive them up; but he refuses, until he obtains a definite pledge of\nmarriage, saying: \"If I give thee the garments thou wilt fare up again\nto heaven.\"[193]\n\nIn none of these stories (and they are but samples of many) does the\nfeather dress occur; yet it has left reminiscences which are\nunmistakable. The variants hitherto cited have all betrayed these\nreminiscences as articles of clothing, or conveyance, or in the\npardonable mistake of the Bantik forefather at the time of capture. I\nshall refer presently to cases whence the plumage has faded entirely out\nof the story--and that in spite of its picturesqueness--without leaving\na trace. But let me first call attention to the fact that, even where it\nis preserved, we often do not find it exactly how and where we should\nhave expected it. Witness the curious Algonkin tale of \"How one of the\nPartridge's wives became a Sheldrake Duck.\" A hunter, we are told,\nreturning home in his canoe, saw a beautiful girl sitting on a rock by\nthe river, making a moccasin. He paddled up softly to capture her; but\nshe jumped into the water and disappeared. Her mother, however, who\nlived at the bottom, compelled her to return to the hunter and be his\nwife. The legend then takes a turn in the direction of the Bluebeard\nmyth; for the woman yields to curiosity, and thus deprives her husband\nof his luck. When he finds this out he seizes his bow to beat her. \"When\nshe saw him seize his bow to beat her she ran down to the river, and\njumped in to escape death at his hands, though it should be by drowning.\nBut as she fell into the water she became a sheldrake duck.\" The\nPassamaquoddies, who relate this story, have hardly yet passed out of\nthe stage of thought in which no steadfast boundary is set between men\nand the lower animals. The amphibious maiden, who dwelt in the bottom of\nthe river, could not be drowned by jumping into the stream; and it is\nevident that she only resumes her true aquatic form in escaping from her\nhusband, who, it should be added, is himself called Partridge and seems\nto be regarded as, in fact, a fowl of that species. A still more\nremarkable instance is to be found among the Welsh of Carnarvonshire,\nwho, it need hardly be said, are now on a very different level of\ncivilization from that of the Passamaquoddies. They tell us that when\nthe fairy bride of Corwrion quitted her unlucky husband, she at once\nflew through the air and plunged into the lake; and one account\nsignificantly describes her as flying away _like a wood-hen_. Can it\nhave been many generations since she was spoken of as actually changing\ninto a bird?[194]\n\nWe may now pass to wholly different types of the tradition. In all the\nstories where the magical dress appears, whether as a feather-skin, the\nhide of a quadruped, or in the modified form of wings, a robe, an apron,\na veil or other symbol, the catastrophe is brought about by the wife's\nrecovery, usually more or less accidental, of the article in question.\nBut it is obvious that where the incident of the dress is wanting, the\nloss of the supernatural bride must be brought about by other means. In\nsome traditions, the woman's caprice, or the fulfilment of her fate, is\ndeemed enough for this purpose; but in the most developed stories it is\ncaused by the breach of a _taboo_. _Taboo_ is a word adopted from the\nPolynesian languages, signifying, first, something set apart, thence\nholy and inviolable, and lastly something simply forbidden. It is\ngenerally used in English as a verb of which the nearest equivalent is\nanother curious verb--to boycott. A person or thing _tabooed_ is one\navoided by express or tacit agreement on the part of any class or number\nof persons; and _to taboo_ is to avoid in pursuance of such an\nagreement. In Folklore, however, the word is used in a different and\nwider sense. It includes every sort of prohibition, from the social or\nreligious boycott (if I may use the word), to which it would be more\nproperly applied, down to any injunction addressed by a supernatural\nbeing to the hero or heroine of a tale. Folklore students of the\nanthropological school are so apt to refer these last prohibitions for\ntheir origin to the more general prohibitions of the former kind, that\nperhaps this indiscriminate use of the word may be held to beg some of\nthe questions at issue. It is certain, however, that the scholars who\noriginally applied it to what I may call private prohibitions, had no\nsuch thought in their minds. They found it a convenient term, applicable\nby no great stretch of its ordinary meaning, and they appropriated it\nto the purposes of science. I shall therefore use it without scruple as\na well recognized word, and without any question-begging intent.\n\nHaving premised so much, I will proceed to set forth shortly the balder\ntype of the story, where there is no taboo, then the fuller type. Their\nrelations to one another will be dealt with in the next chapter.\n\nAn Algonkin legend relates that a hunter beheld a basket descend from\nheaven, containing twelve young maidens of ravishing beauty. He\nattempted to approach, but on perceiving him they quickly re-entered the\nbasket and were drawn up again out of his sight. Another day, however,\nhe succeeded, by disguising himself as a mouse, in capturing the\nyoungest of the damsels, whom he married and by whom he had a son. But\nnothing could console his wife for the society of her sisters, which she\nhad lost. So one day she made a small basket; and having entered it with\nher child she sang the charm she and her sisters had formerly used, and\nascended once more to the star from whence she had come. It is added\nthat when two years had elapsed the star said to his daughter: \"Thy son\nwants to see his father; go down, therefore, to the earth and fetch thy\nhusband, and tell him to bring us specimens of all the animals he\nkills.\" This was done. The hunter ascended with his wife to the sky; and\nthere a great feast was given, in which the animals he brought were\nserved up. Those of the guests who took the paws or the tails were\ntransformed into animals. The hunter himself took a white feather, and\nwith his wife and child was metamorphosed into a falcon.[195] I will\nonly now remark on the latter part of the tale that it is told by the\nsame race as the Sheldrake Duck's adventures; and if we deem it probable\nthat the heroine of that narrative simply resumed her pristine form in\nbecoming a duck, the same reasoning will hold good as to the falcons\nhere. This type of the myth we may call the \"Star's Daughter type.\"\n\nThe other type may be named after Melusina, the famous Countess of\nLusignan. The earliest writer to mention the legend which afterwards\nbecame identified with her name, was Gervase of Tilbury, who relates\nthat Raymond, the lord of a certain castle a few miles from Aix in\nProvence, riding alone on the banks of the river, unexpectedly met an\nunknown lady of rare beauty, also alone, riding on a splendidly\ncaparisoned palfrey. On his saluting her she replied, addressing him by\nname. Astonished at this, but encouraged, he made improper overtures to\nher; to which she declined to assent, intimating, however, in the most\nunabashed way, that she would marry him if he liked. He agreed to this;\nbut the lady imposed a further condition, namely, that he should never\nsee her naked; for if once he did so, all the prosperity and all the\nhappiness with which he was about to be blessed would depart, and he\nwould be left to drag out the rest of his life in wretchedness. On these\nterms they were married; and every earthly felicity followed,--wealth,\nrenown, bodily strength, the love of his fellow-men, and children--boys\nand girls--of the greatest beauty. But one day his lady was bathing in\nthe bedroom, when he came in from hunting and fowling, laden with\npartridges and other game. While food was being prepared the thought\nstruck him that he would go and see her in her bath. So many years had\nhe enjoyed unalloyed prosperity that, if there ever were any force in\nher threat, he deemed it had long since passed away. Deaf to his wife's\npleadings, he tore away the curtain from the bath and beheld her naked;\nbut only for an instant, for she was forthwith changed into a serpent,\nand, putting her head under the water, she disappeared. Nor ever was she\nseen again; but sometimes in the darkness of night the nurses would\nhear her busy with a mother's care for her little children. Gervase adds\nthat one of her daughters was married to a relative of his own belonging\nto a noble family of Provence, and her descendants were living at the\ntime he wrote.[196]\n\nThe story, as told of Melusina, was amplified, but in its substance\ndiffered little from the foregoing. Melusina does not forbid her husband\nto see her naked, but bargains for absolute privacy on Saturdays. When\nRaymond violates this covenant he finds her in her bath with her lower\nextremities changed into a serpent's tail. The lady appears to be\nunconscious of her husband's discovery; and nothing happens until, in a\nparoxysm of anger and grief, arising from the murder of one of his\nchildren by another, he cries out upon her as an odious serpent, the\ncontaminator of his race. It will be remembered that in the Esthonian\ntale cited in Chapter VIII the youth is forbidden to call his mistress\nmermaid; and all goes well until he peeps into the locked chamber, where\nshe passes her Thursdays, and finds her in mermaid form. Far away in\nJapan we learn that the hero Hohodemi wedded Toyotamahime, a daughter of\nthe Sea-god, and built a house for her on the strand where she might\ngive birth to her child. She strictly forbade him to come near until the\nhappy event was over: he was to remain in his own dwelling, and on no\naccount to attempt to see her until she sent for him. His curiosity,\nhowever, was too much for his happiness. He peeped, and saw his wife\nwrithing to and fro on the floor in the shape of a dragon. He started\nback, shocked; and when, later on, Toyotamahime called him to her, she\nsaw by his countenance that he had discovered the secret she had thought\nto hide from all mankind. In spite of his entreaties she plunged into\nthe sea, never more to see her lord. Her boy, notwithstanding, was still\nthe object of her care. She sent her sister to watch over him, and he\ngrew up to become the father of the first Emperor of Japan. In a Maori\ntale the hero loses his wife through prematurely tearing down a screen\nhe had erected for her convenience on a similar occasion. A Moravian\ntale speaks of a bride who shuts herself up every eighth day, and when\nher husband looks through the keyhole, he beholds her thighs clad with\nhair and her feet those of goats. This is a _maerchen_; and in the end,\nhaving paid the penalty of his rashness by undergoing adventures like\nthose of Hasan, the hero regains his love. A Tirolese _maerchen_ tells us\nof a witch who, in the shape of a beautiful girl, took service with a\nrich man and made a conquest of his son. She wedded him on condition\nthat he would never look upon her by candlelight. The youth, like a\nmasculine Psyche, breaks the taboo; and a drop of the wax, falling on\nher cheek, awakens her. It was in vain that he blew out the taper and\nlay down. When he awoke in the morning she was gone; but a pair of shoes\nwith iron soles stood by the bed, with a paper directing him to seek her\ntill the soles were worn out, and then he should find her again. By the\naid of a mantle of invisibility, and a chair which bore him where he\nwished, he arrived in the nick of time to prevent her marriage with\nanother bridegroom. The proper reconciliation follows, and her true\nhusband bears her home in triumph. Not so happy was the hero of a\nCorsican saga, who insisted on seeing his wife's naked shoulder and\nfound it nothing but bones--the skeleton of their love which he had thus\nmurdered.[197]\n\nAt the foot of the steep grassy cliffs of the Van Mountains in\nCarmarthenshire lies a lonely pool, called Llyn y Fan Fach, which is the\nscene of a variant of Melusina, less celebrated, indeed, but equally\nromantic and far more beautiful. The legend may still be heard on the\nlips of the peasantry; and more than one version has found its way into\nprint. The most complete was written down by Mr. William Rees, of Tonn\n(a well-known Welsh antiquary and publisher), from the oral recitation\nof two old men and a woman, natives of Myddfai, where the hero of the\nstory is said to have dwelt. Stated shortly, the legend is to the\nfollowing effect: The son of a widow who lived at Blaensawdde, a little\nvillage about three-quarters of a mile from the pool, was one day\ntending his mother's cattle upon its shore when, to his astonishment, he\nbeheld the Lady of the Lake sitting upon its unruffled surface, which\nshe used as a mirror while she combed out her graceful ringlets. She\nimperceptibly glided nearer to him, but eluded his grasp and refused the\nbait of barley bread and cheese that he held out to her, saying as she\ndived and disappeared:\n\n    \"Cras dy fara;\n    Nid hawdd fy nala!\"\n    (\"Hard-baked is thy bread;\n    It is not easy to catch me!\")\n\nAn offer of unbaked dough, or _toes_, the next day was equally\nunsuccessful. She exclaimed:\n\n    \"Llaith dy fara!\n    Ti ni fynna'.\"\n    (\"Unbaked is thy bread!\n    I will not have thee.\")\n\nBut the slightly baked bread, which the youth subsequently took, by his\nmother's advice, was accepted: he seized the lady's hand and persuaded\nher to become his bride. Diving into the lake she then fetched her\nfather--\"a hoary-headed man of noble mien and extraordinary stature, but\nhaving otherwise all the force and strength of youth\"--who rose from the\ndepths with _two_ ladies and was ready to consent to the match, provided\nthe young man could distinguish which of the two ladies before him was\nthe object of his affections. This was no small test of love, inasmuch\nas the maidens were exactly alike in form and features. One of them,\nhowever, thrust her foot a little forward; and the hero recognized a\npeculiarity of her shoe-tie, which he had somehow had leisure to notice\nat his previous interviews. The father admits the correctness of his\nchoice, and bestows a dowry of sheep, cattle, goats, and horses, but\nstipulates in the most business-like way that these animals shall return\nwith the bride, if at any time her husband prove unkind and strike her\nthrice without a cause.\n\nSo far Mr. Rees' version. A version published in the \"Cambro-Briton\" is\nsomewhat different. Three beautiful damsels appear from the pool, and\nare repeatedly pursued by the young farmer, but in vain. They always\nreached the water before him and taunted him with the couplet:\n\n    \"Cras dy fara,\n    Anhawdd ein dala!\"\n\nOne day some moist bread from the lake came floating ashore. The youth\nseized and devoured it; and the following day he was successful in\ncatching the ladies. The one to whom he offers marriage consents on the\nunderstanding that he will recognize her the next day from among the\nthree sisters. He does so by the strapping of her sandal; and she is\naccompanied to her new home by seven cows, two oxen, and a bull from the\nlake. A third version presents the maiden as rowing on New Year's Eve up\nand down the lake in a golden boat with a golden oar. She disappears\nfrom the hero's gaze, without replying to his adjurations. Counselled by\na soothsayer, who dwells on the mountain, he casts loaves and cheese\nnight after night from Midsummer Eve to New Year's Eve into the water,\nuntil at length the magic skiff again appears, and the fairy, stepping\nashore, weds her persistent wooer.\n\nIn all three versions the bridegroom is forbidden to strike \"three\ncauseless blows.\" Of course he disobeys. According to the\n\"Cambro-Briton\" version it happened that one day, preparing for a fair,\nhe desired his wife to go to the field for his horse. Finding her\ndilatory in doing so, he tapped her arm thrice with his glove, saying,\nhalf in jest: \"Go, go, go!\" The blows were slight, but they were blows;\nand, the terms of the marriage contract being broken, the dame\ndeparted--she and her cattle with her--back into the lake. The other two\naccounts agree in spreading the blows over a much greater length of\ntime. Mr. Rees' version relates that once the husband and wife were\ninvited to a christening in the neighbourhood. The lady, however, seemed\nreluctant to go, making the feminine excuse that the distance was too\nfar to walk. Her husband told her to fetch one of the horses from the\nfield. \"I will,\" said she, \"if you will bring me my gloves, which I left\nin the house.\" He went, and, returning with the gloves, found that she\nhad not gone for the horse, so he jocularly slapped her shoulder with\none of the gloves, saying: \"Go, go!\" Whereupon she reminded him of the\ncondition that he was not to strike her without a cause, and warned him\nto be more careful in future. Another time, when they were together at a\nwedding, she burst out sobbing amid the joy and mirth of all around her.\nHer husband touched her on the shoulder and inquired the cause of her\nweeping. She replied: \"Now people are entering into trouble; and your\ntroubles are likely to commence, as you have the second time stricken me\nwithout a cause.\" Finding how very wide an interpretation she put upon\nthe \"causeless blows,\" the unfortunate husband did his best to avoid\nanything which could give occasion for the third and last blow. But one\nday they were together at a funeral, where, in the midst of the grief,\nshe appeared in the highest spirits and indulged in immoderate fits of\nlaughter. Her husband was so shocked that he touched her, saying:\n\"Hush, hush! don't laugh!\" She retorted that she laughed \"because\npeople, when they die, go out of trouble\"; and, rising up, she left the\nhouse, exclaiming: \"The last blow has been struck; our marriage contract\nis broken, and at an end! Farewell!\" Hurrying home, she called together\nall her fairy cattle, walked off with them to the lake, and vanished in\nits waters. Even a little black calf, slaughtered and suspended on the\nhook, descended alive and well again to obey his mistress' summons; and\nfour grey oxen, which were ploughing, dragged the plough behind them as\nthey went, leaving a well-marked furrow, that remains to this day \"to\nwitness if I lie.\" The remaining version, with some differences of\ndetail, represents the same eccentric pessimism on the lady's part\n(presumably attributable to the greater spiritual insight of her\nsupernatural character), as the cause of the husband's not unwarranted\nannoyance and of his breach of the agreement. She had borne him three\nfair sons; and although she had quitted her husband for ever, she\ncontinued to manifest herself occasionally to them, and gave them\ninstruction in herbs and medicine, predicting that they and their issue\nwould become during many generations the most renowned physicians in the\ncountry.[198]\n\nSuch is the legend of the Van Pool. It has a number of variants, both in\nWales and elsewhere, the examination of which I postpone for the\npresent. Hitherto I have been guided in the mention of variants of this\nmyth chiefly by the desire of showing how one type insensibly merges\ninto another. The only type I have now left for examination may be\ncalled the \"Nightmare type.\" It is allied not so much to the stories of\nMelusina and the Lady of the Van Pool as to stories like that of the\nCroatian wolf-maiden. According to German and Slavonic belief the\nnightmare is a human being--frequently one whose love has been slighted,\nand who in this shape is enabled to approach the beloved object. It\nslips through the keyhole, or any other hole in a building, and presses\nits victim sometimes to death. But it can be caught by quickly stopping\nthe hole through which it has entered. A certain man did so one night;\nand in the morning he found a young and lovely maiden in the room. On\nasking her whence she came, she told him from Engelland (angel-land,\nEngland). He hid her clothes, married her, and had by her three\nchildren. The only thing peculiar about her was that she used constantly\nto sing while spinning:\n\n    \"Now calls my mother (_or_, blows my father) in Engelland,\n    Mary Catharine,\n    Drive out thy swine.\"\n\nOne day her husband came home and found that his wife had been telling\nthe children that she had come as a nightmare from Engelland. When he\nreproached her for it, she went to the cupboard where her clothes were\nhidden, threw them over herself, and vanished. Yet she could not quite\nforsake her husband and little ones. On Saturdays she came unseen and\nlaid out their clean clothes; and every night she appeared while others\nslept, and taking the baby out of the cradle quieted it at her breast.\nThe allusion to the nightmare's clothes is uncommon; but it is an\nunmistakable link with the types we have been considering. In other\ntales she is caught in the shape of a straw; and she is generally\nreleased by taking the stopper out of the hole whereby she entered. The\naccount she gives of herself is that she has come out of England, that\nthe pastor had been guilty of some omission in the service when she was\nbaptized, and hence she became a nightmare, but to be re-christened\nwould cure her. She often hears her mother call her. In one story she\nvanished on being reproached with her origin, and in another on being\nasked how she became a nightmare.[199]\n\nAn Esthonian tale speaks of a father who found his little boy one night\nin an unquiet slumber. He noticed over the bed a hole in the wall\nthrough which the wind was whistling, and thought it was this which was\ndisturbing him. Wherefore he stopped it up; and no sooner had he done so\nthan he saw on the bed by the boy's side a pretty little girl, who\nteased and played with him so that he could not sleep in peace. The\nchild was thus forced to stay in the house. She grew up with the other\nchildren, and being quick and industrious was beloved by all. Specially\nwas she dear to the boy in whose bed she was found; and when he grew up\nhe married her. One Sunday in church she burst out laughing during the\nsermon. After the service was over the husband inquired what she was\nlaughing at. She refused to tell him, save on condition of his telling\nher in return how she came into his father's house. When she had\nextracted this promise from him, she told him she saw stretched on the\nwall of the church a great horse-skin, on which the Evil One was writing\nthe names of all those who slept or chattered in church, and paid no\nheed to God's word. The skin was at last full of names; and in order to\nfind room for more the Devil had to pull it with his teeth, so as to\nstretch it further. In so doing he bumped his head against the wall, and\nmade a wry face: whereat she, who saw it, laughed. When they got home\nher husband pulled out the piece of wood which his father had put into\nthe hole; and the same instant his wife was gone. The husband was\ndisconsolate, but he saw her no more. It was said, however, that she\noften appeared to his two children in secret, and brought them precious\ngifts. In Smaland a parallel legend is current, according to which the\nancestress of a certain family was an elf-maid who came into the house\nwith the sunbeams through a knot-hole in the wall, and, after being\nmarried to the son and bearing him four children, vanished the same way\nas she had come. In North Germany it is believed that when seven boys,\nor seven girls, are born in succession, one among them is a nightmare. A\nman who had unknowingly wedded such a nightmare found that she\ndisappeared from his bed at nights; and on watching her he discovered\nthat she slipped through the hole for the strap by which the latch was\nlifted, returning the same way. So he stopped up the opening, and thus\nalways retained her. After a considerable time he wanted to use the\nlatch, and thinking she had forgotten her bad habit and he might safely\ntake the peg out, he did so; but the next night she was missing, and\nnever came back, though every Sunday morning the man found clean linen\nlaid out for him as usual.[200]\n\nA Pomeranian tradition relates the adventure of an officer who was much\ntroubled by the nightmare. He caught her in the usual manner and wedded\nher, although he could not persuade her to say whence she came. After\nsome years she induced her husband to open the holes he had stopped up;\nand the next morning she had disappeared. But he found written in chalk\non the table the words: \"If thou wilt seek me, the Commander of London\nis my father.\" He sought her in London and found her; and having taken\nthe precaution to rechristen her he lived happily with her ever\nafter.[201] This is the only instance I have met with where the\nnightmare-wife is recovered. It would be interesting to know why England\nis assigned as the home of these perturbed spirits.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[185] Burton, \"Nights,\" vol. viii. p. 7.\n\n[186] Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 69, quoting Afzelius; Haltrich, p. 15;\nHapgood, p. 214; Meier, \"Volksmaerchen,\" p. 39; Baring-Gould, p. 575. No\nauthority is given by Mr. Baring-Gould, and I have been unable to trace\nthe Hessian tale; but I rely on his correctness. He also cites an\nincoherent Swan-maiden tale from Castren, of which he manages to make\nmore sense than I can (Castren, \"Altaischen Voelker,\" p. 172). In an\nIrish tale Oengus, the son of the Dagda, falls in love, through a dream,\nwith Caer ib Ormaith, who is one year in the form of a swan and the next\nin human shape. After union with her he seems to have undergone the same\nalternation of form (_Revue Celtique_, vol. iii. p. 342, from a MS. in\nthe British Museum).\n\n[187] Schreck, p. 35; Vernaleken, pp. 274, 287; Jones and Kropf, p. 95;\n\"Bahar-Danush,\" vol. ii. p. 213 (an abstract of this story will be found\nin Keightley, p. 20); Burton, \"Nights,\" vol. v. p. 344; Steere, p. 349;\nCavallius, p. 175, freely translated by Thorpe, \"Yule-Tide Stories,\" p.\n158. Mr. Morris turns the doves into swans. _Cf._ a South-Slavonic tale\nfrom Varazdina, Krauss, vol. i. p. 409.\n\n[188] Brett, \"Legends and Myths,\" p. 29. This legend is told with\nfurther details by Im Thurn, p. 381.\n\n[189] Rink, p. 145; Prym und Socin, p. 51.\n\n[190] Knoop, p. 104.\n\n[191] \"F. L. Espan.\" vol. i. p. 187.\n\n[192] Keightley, p. 169, from Hibbert, \"Description of the Shetland\nIslands\"; Wratislaw, p. 290; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. vi. p. 165. As a\npoint of resemblance with the Lady of the Van Pool, quoted further on,\nit may be noted that these seal-women (the legend of their capture is a\ncommon one in the Shetland Islands) had the power to conjure up from the\ndeep a superior breed of horned cattle, many of whose offspring are\nstill to be seen (Dr. Karl Blind in \"Contemp. Rev.\" 1881, quoted by Mac\nRitchie, p. 4).\n\n[193] Kirby, p. 319; \"Arch. Rev.\" vol. ii. p. 90; Schmidt, p. 133; Bent,\np. 13; Von Hahn, vol. i. p. 295 (_cf._ vol. ii. p. 82); Garnett, p. 352,\ntranslating Dozon's \"Chansons Populaires Bulgares\"; Cosquin, vol. ii. p.\n18. _Cf._ Ralston, \"Tibetan Tales,\" p. 53; Landes, p. 123; Comparetti,\nvol. i. p. 212, translated \"F. L. Record,\" vol. ii. p. 12; Grimm,\n\"Tales,\" vol. ii. p. 331; Poestion, p. 55; Vernaleken, p. 274; Pitre,\nvol. iv. p. 140; Sastri, p. 80.\n\n[194] Leland, p. 300. _Cf._ ibid. p. 140, where the maidens are called\nweasels, and ultimately marry stars. \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. iv. p. 201. In\na tale rendered from the modern Greek by Von Hahn the name Swan-maiden\nis preserved in the title, though the plumage has disappeared from the\ntext. Stress can hardly be laid upon this, as the title is no part of\nthe tale. Von Hahn, vol. i. p. 131.\n\n[195] \"La Tradition,\" March 1889, p. 78, quoting the Abbe Domenech,\n\"Voyage pittoresque dans les deserts du Nouveau Monde,\" p. 214. Mr.\nFarrer gives the same story from \"Algic Researches\" (Farrer, \"Primitive\nManners,\" p. 256).\n\n[196] Gerv. Tilb. Dec. i. c. 15.\n\n[197] Brauns, p. 138; White, vol. ii. p. 141; Vernaleken, p. 294;\nSchneller, p. 23; Ortoli, p. 284.\n\n[198] \"The Physicians of Myddfai--Meddygon Myddfai,\" translated by John\nPughe, Esq., F.R.C.S., and edited by Rev. John Williams ab Ithel, M.A.\n(1861), p. xxi. \"Cambro-Briton,\" vol. ii. p. 315; Sikes, p. 40. Mr.\nSikes gives no authority for the third version. I have assumed its\ngenuineness, though I confess Mr. Sikes' methods are not such as to\ninspire confidence.\n\n[199] Jahn, p. 364, _et seqq._; Knoop, pp. 26, 83, 103; Kuhn, pp. 47,\n197, 374; Kuhn und Schwartz, pp. 14, 91, 298; Schleicher, p. 93; Thorpe,\nvol. ii. p. 169, quoting Thiele. Note the suggestion of Pope Gregory's\npun in the name of the native land of the nightmare. Elsewhere a child\nbecomes a nightmare who is born on a Sunday and baptized on a Sunday at\nthe same hour, or one at whose baptism some wicked person has secretly\nmuttered in response to one of the priest's questions some wrong words,\nor \"It shall become a nightmare\" (Lemke, p. 42). Similar superstitions\nattached to somnabulism; see Lecky, \"History of Rationalism,\" vol. i. p.\n81, note 2.\n\n[200] Jannsen, vol. i. p. 53; Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 70, quoting Afzelius,\nvol. ii. p. 29, quoting Muellenhoff. It is a common Teutonic belief that\nknot-holes are attributable to elves (Grimm, \"Teut. Myth.\" p. 461).\n\n[201] \"Am Urds-Brunnen,\" vol. vi. p. 58.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nSWAN-MAIDENS (_continued_).\n\n     The incident of the recovery of the bride not found in all the\n     stories--New Zealand sagas--Andrianoro--Mother-right--The father\n     represented under a forbidding aspect--Tasks imposed on the\n     hero--The Buddhist theory of the Grateful Animals--The\n     feather-robe a symbol of bride's superhuman character--Mode of\n     capture--The Taboo--Dislike of fairies for iron--Utterance of\n     name forbidden--Other prohibitions--Fulfilment of fate--The taboo\n     a mark of progress in civilization--The divine ancestress--Totems\n     and Banshees--Re-appearance of mother to her children--The lady\n     of the Van Pool an archaic deity.\n\n\nI hope I have made clear in the last chapter the connection between the\nvarious types of the Swan-maiden group of folk-tales. The one idea\nrunning through them all is that of a man wedding a supernatural maiden\nand unable to retain her. She must return to her own country and her own\nkin; and if he desire to recover her he must pursue her thither and\nconquer his right to her by undergoing superhuman penance or performing\nsuperhuman tasks,--neither of which it is given to ordinary men to do.\nIt follows that only when the story is told of men who can be conceived\nas released from the limitations we have been gradually learning during\nthe progress of civilization to regard as essential to humanity--only\nwhen the reins are laid upon the neck of invention,--is it possible to\nrelate the narrative of the recovery of the bride. These conditions are\ntwice fulfilled in the history of a folk-tale. They are fulfilled,\nfirst, when men are in that early stage of thought in which the\nlimitations of man's nature are unknown, when speculations of the kind\ntouched upon in our second chapter, and illustrated repeatedly in the\ncourse of this work, are received as undisputed opinions. They are\nfulfilled again when the relics of these opinions, and the memories of\nthe mythical events believed in accordance with such opinions, are still\noperative in the mind, though no longer with the vividness of primitive\ntimes; when some of them still hold together, but for the most part they\nare decaying and falling to pieces, and are only like the faded rags of\na once splendid robe which a child may gather round its puny form and\nmake believe for the moment that it is a king. To the genuine credulity\nof the South-Sea Islander, and to the conscious make-believe of the Arab\nstory-teller and the peasant who repeats the modern _maerchen_, all\nthings are possible. But to the same peasant when relating the\ntraditional histories of his neighbours, and to the grave mediaeval\nchronicler, only some things are possible, though many more things than\nare possible to us. The slow and partial advance of knowledge destroys\nsome superstitions sooner, others later. Some branches of the tree of\nmarvel flourish with apparently unimpaired life long after others have\nwithered, and others again have only begun to fade. Hence, where the\nadventures of Tawhaki, the mythical New Zealander, are incredible, the\nlegend of the origin of the Physicians of Myddfai from the Lady of the\nLake may still be gravely accepted. Gervase of Tilbury would probably\nhave treated the wild story of Hasan's adventures in the islands of Wak\nas what it is; but he tells us he has seen and conversed with women who\nhad been captives to the Dracs beneath the waters of the Rhone, while a\nrelative of his own had married a genuine descendant of the serpent-lady\nof that castle in the valley of Trets.\n\nAccordingly, the episode of the recovery of the bride is scarcely ever\nfound in the sagas of modern Europe, or indeed of any nation that has\nprogressed beyond a certain mark in civilization. But it is common in\ntheir _maerchen_, as well as in the sagas of more backward nations. In\nthe sagas of the advanced races, with rare exceptions, the most we get\nis what looks like a reminiscence of the episode in the occasional\nreappearance of the supernatural wife to her children, or as a Banshee.\nPutting this reminiscence, if it be one, aside for the present, we will\nfirst discuss some aspects of the bride's recovery. In doing so, though\nthe natural order may seem to be inverted, we shall in effect clear the\nground for the proper understanding of the main features of the myth.\n\nMany variants of the legend of Tawhaki are current among the Maories.\nAccording to that adopted by Sir George Grey, he was a hero renowned for\nhis courage, whose fame had reached to heaven. There Tango-tango, a\nmaiden of heavenly race, fell in love with him from report; and one\nnight she descended to the earth and lay down by his side. She continued\nto do this nightly, stealing away again before dawn to her home. But\nwhen she found herself likely to become a mother she remained with him\nopenly; and when her daughter was born she gave her to her husband to\nwash. Evidently he did not like the work, for while carrying out his\nwife's instructions, Tawhaki made a very rude remark about the child.\nHearing this, Tango-tango began to sob bitterly, and at last rose up\nfrom her place with the child and took flight to the sky. Her husband\ndetermined to seek her. He found his way to the place where a creeper\nhung down from heaven and struck its roots into the earth. It was\nguarded there by a blind old ancestress of his, whom he restored to\nsight, and from whom he obtained directions how to climb the plant.\nArrived in heaven, he disguised himself and had to undergo the\nindignity--he, a mighty chieftain--of being enslaved by his wife's\nrelatives, for whom he was compelled to perform menial work. At length,\nhowever, he manifested himself to his wife and was reconciled to her.\nHe is still in heaven, and is worshipped as a god. Another version\nrepresents a cloud swooping upon the wife and taking her away. Tawhaki\nendeavoured in vain to follow her by mounting on a kite. A third version\nsimply relates that the lady returned to her friends. Her husband, on\narriving at the _pa_, or settlement, where she dwelt, found among the\nchildren his own son, by whom he sent his wife a love-token she had\nformerly given him. This led to recognition, and she eventually returned\nwith him to his home. A more interesting variant tells us that the fame\nof the nobleness of Tini-rau was heard by Hine-te-iwaiwa, who determined\nto set her cap (or whatever might be its equivalent in her scanty\ncostume) at him. She obtained an interview with him, by a device\nrecalling the conduct of the ladies in The Land East of the Sun, for she\nbroke and destroyed some bathing-pools belonging to the hero. A quest of\nthe intruder naturally followed, with the result that Tini-rau took her\nto live with him. She made short work of her rivals, his elder wives;\nand all went smoothly until Hine, one unlucky day, asked her husband to\nperform an operation upon her head as necessary as familiar in some\nstrata of civilization. In doing this he made disrespectful observations\nabout her, when lo! a mist settled down upon them, from the midst of\nwhich her elder brother came and took his sister away. Tini-rau, unable\nto endure her absence, determined to go after his wife, accompanied by a\nflight of birds, by whose cries he was informed, as he passed one\nsettlement after another, whether or not his wife was there. At length\nhe discovered her whereabouts, and made himself known to her sister by a\ntoken which Hine understood. Then he came to her, and she announced his\narrival to all the people, who assembled and welcomed him. He abode\nthere; and when his wife's relatives complained that he did not go and\nget food, he obtained it in abundance by the exercise of magical\npowers; and so they lived happy ever after.[202]\n\nNow let us turn to the Malagasy tale of the way in which Andrianoro\nobtained a wife from heaven. There three sisters, whose dwelling-place\nis in heaven, frequent a lake in the crystal waters whereof they swim,\ntaking flight at once on the approach of any human being. By a diviner's\nadvice the hero changes into three lemons, which the youngest sister\ndesires to take; but the others, fearing a snare, persuade her to fly\naway with them. Foiled thus, the hero changes into bluish water in the\nmidst of the lake, then into the seed of a vegetable growing by the\nwaterside, and ultimately into an ant. He is at length successful in\nseizing the youngest maiden, who consents to be his wife in spite of the\ndifference of race; for, while her captor is a man living on the earth,\nher father dwells in heaven, whence the thunderbolt darts forth if he\nspeak, and she herself drinks no spirits, \"for if spirits even touch my\nmouth I die.\" After some time, during his absence, his father and mother\nforce _toaka_, or rum, into the lady's mouth, and she dies; but on his\nreturn he insists on opening her grave, and, to his joy, finds her alive\nagain. But she will not now stay on earth: she must return to her father\nand mother in the sky. They are grieving for her, and the thunder is a\nsign of their grief. Finding himself unable to prevail upon her to stay,\nhe obtains permission to accompany her. She warns him, however, of the\ndangers he will have to encounter,--the thunderbolt when her father\nspeaks, and the tasks her father will lay upon him. Before he goes he\naccordingly calls the beasts and the birds together; he slays oxen to\nfeed them; he tells them the tests he is about to undergo, and takes\npromises from them to accomplish the things that trouble him. Obedient\nto his wife, he displays great humility to his father-in-law; and by\nthe aid of the lower animals he comes triumphant out of every trial. The\nbeasts with their tusks plough up the spacious fields of heaven; the\nbeasts and birds uproot the giant trees; from the Crocodile Lake the\ncrocodiles themselves bring the thousand spades; between cattle which\nare exactly alike the cattle-fly distinguishes the cows from the calves;\nand the little fly, settling on the nose of the heroine's mother,\nenables the hero to point her out among her daughters. The wife's father\nis astonished, and gives his daughter anew to the hero to be his wife,\ndismissing them with a dower of oxen, slaves and money.[203]\n\nIt will be observed that the adventures undergone by Andrianoro in\nheaven are very different from those of the Maori heroes. Tawhaki and\nTini-rau have certainly to submit to hardships and indignities before\nthey can be reunited to their wives; and they perform actions of\nsuperhuman power. But these actions are not performed as the condition\nof reunion; nor are the tasks and the indignities laid upon them by any\nparental ogre. In fact the parental ogre is as conspicuous by his\nabsence from the New Zealand stories as he is by his presence in those\nof Andrianoro and the Marquis of the Sun. How is this to be explained?\nThe reason seems to lie in the different organization of society under\nwhich the tale attained its present form in either case. At an early\nperiod of civilization, kinship is reckoned exclusively through the\nmother: even the father is in no way related to his children. This is a\nstage hardly ever found complete in all its consequences, but of which\nthe traces remain in the customs and in the lore of many nations who\nhave long since passed from it, becoming, as we might expect, fainter\nand fewer as it recedes into the distance. Such traces are abundant in\nMaori tradition; and they point to a comparatively recent emergence\nfrom female kinship. Among these traces is the omission of the heavy\nfather from the stories before us. Tango-tango and Hine-te-iwaiwa were\nboth maidens of more than mortal race; and presumably their parents\nwould be conceived of as still alive. But they are not so much as\nalluded to--a sure sign that there was no paternal authority to which\nthese ladies would be accountable. Indeed, if accountable at all, they\nare so to the whole circle of their relatives, or to their tribe in\ngeneral. It is their brothers who assist them in time of need. Tawhaki\nbecomes the slave of his brothers-in-law. To her \"people\" Hine announces\nher husband's arrival: she simply announces it; nor does it appear that\nany consent on their part is required. Tini-rau takes his place at once\nas a tribesman, and is expected to contribute by his labour and skill to\nthe sustenance of the whole brotherhood.\n\nOne of the consequences of reckoning descent only through females, which\nmay be noticed here, is that the children belong to the mother and the\nmother's family. A trace of this lingers about the story of Tawhaki in\nthe affront to Tango-tango caused by her husband's offensive remark upon\ntheir little one. In a society where the offspring are the father's, or\neven where, as in modern civilized life, they are treated as belonging\nto both parents and partaking of the nature of both, no such offence\ncould be taken. Another consequence is that in the organization of\nsociety the wife still continues after marriage to reside with, and to\nbe part of, the community to which she belongs by birth. The man leaves\nhis father and his mother and cleaves to his wife. Hence it would be\nnatural for her to return home to her own kindred, and for him to seek\nher and dwell with her there. This is illustrated not only in the Maori\nlegends just cited, but also in the Arawak story given in the last\nchapter, where the husband is received into the vulture race until he\ndesires to visit his mother. He is then discarded as if he had\ncommitted some unpardonable breach of custom; and he cannot be restored\nto his former privileges. Although the Greeks had before the dawn of\nhistory ceased to practise mother-right, a trace of it lingers in a\nmodern folk-tale from Epirus. There a man had by the ordinary device\nobtained an elf as a wife; and she bore him a child. After this her own\nkinsmen came and begged her to return to them; but she refused on the\nground that she had a husband and child. \"Then bring them with you,\"\nthey replied. Accordingly, she took her husband and child, and went back\nwith them to dwell among the elves. It seems, however, to be felt that\nthis was an unusual proceeding; otherwise it would have been needless to\nplead with the lady to return, and to extend a special invitation to\nthose whom she would not abandon: an indication, this, that the story\nhas been adapted to a higher plane of civilization, in which it was no\nlonger the custom for the husband to go and dwell among his wife's\npeople.[204]\n\nOn the other hand, Andrianoro's wife lives under patriarchal government.\nThe Malagasy have advanced further on the path of civilization than the\nMaories; and at the stage of progress they have reached, the father is\nmuch more like an absolute monarch. In the story referred to, the lady\nhad married without her father's consent. Accordingly her marriage is\nignored, and her lover has to perform a number of services for his\nfather-in-law, and so purchase formal consent to their union. Nor will\nit escape the reader that when the wielder of the thunderbolt at last\ngives his daughter to her husband, he dismisses them back to the home of\nthe latter. Hasan, too, it will be remembered, returns to Bagdad with\nhis wife and children, though we probably have a survival of an older\nform of the story in his relations with her redoubtable sister. This\nlady holds a position impossible in an Arab kingdom. Her father is a\nmere shadow, hardly mentioned but to save appearances; so much more\nsubstantial is her power and her opposition to the match. The variants\nof the Marquis of the Sun are found chiefly among European nations,[205]\nwhose history, institutions, and habits of thought lead them to attach\ngreat value to paternal authority. In the tasks performed in _maerchen_\nof this type, and the precipitate flight which usually takes place on\nthe wedding night from the ogre's secret wrath, it would seem that we\nhave a reminiscence of the archaic institutions of marriage by purchase\nand marriage by capture,--both alike incidents of the period when\nmother-right (as the reckoning of descent solely through females is\ncalled) has ceased to exist in a pure form, and society has passed, or\nis passing, into the patriarchal stage. The Marquis of the Sun type is,\ntherefore, more recent than the other types of the Swan-maiden\ntradition, none of which so uniformly in all their variants recognize\nthe father's supreme position.[206]\n\nIf the tasks and the flight be a reminiscence of purchase and capture,\nwe may find in that reminiscence a reason why nearly all the stories\nconcur in representing the father under a forbidding aspect. As his\ndaughter's vendor,--her unwilling vendor,--as her guardian from capture,\nhe would be the natural foe of her lover. He is not always so ready as\nthe Bird Simer to give up to another his rights over her; but perhaps\nthe Bird Simer's readiness may be partly explained by the husband's\nhaving already performed the feat of rescuing the maiden from a giant,\nbeside slaying his own brother for her sake. Usually the father is a\nfrightful ogre or giant; not infrequently he is no less a personage than\nthe Devil himself. And the contrast between him and his lovely daughter\nwould be more and more strongly felt as purchase and capture ceased to\nbe serious methods of bride-winning. Hence, probably, the thought of\nreal relationship would be abandoned, and the maiden would often be\nconceived of as enchanted and captive in the hands of a malevolent\nbeing.\n\nWe will not now stop to discuss the tasks in detail: we can only afford\ntime to glance at one of them, namely, that of distinguishing the maid\nfrom her sisters. There are three chief means by which the lover or\nhusband is enabled to identify the object of his devotion. Two of these\ndepend upon the lady herself: in the one she slily helps her lover; in\nthe other he recognizes an insignificant peculiarity of her person or\nattire. The third means is an indication given by one of the lower\nanimals, which has better means of knowledge than the suitor, due\nprobably to its greater cleverness--a quality, as I have already pointed\nout in Chapter II., universally credited in a certain stage of culture\nto these creatures. We will deal first with the second means.\n\nThe most usual personal idiosyncrasy of the damsel is the want of a\nfinger, or some deformity in it, the result of her previous efforts to\naid the hero. Thus, in a Basque tale the lad is set to find a ring lost\nby the ogre in a river. This is accomplished by cutting up the maiden\nand throwing the pieces into the stream; but a part of the little finger\nsticks in his shoe. When he afterwards has to choose between the ogre's\ndaughters with his eyes shut, he recognizes his love by the loss of her\nlittle finger. The giant's daughter, in a West Highland tale, makes a\nladder with her fingers for her lover to climb a tree to fetch a\nmagpie's eggs; and, in the hurry, she leaves her little finger at the\ntop. This accident arises sometimes, as in the Marquis of the Sun, from\nthe dropping of a piece of flesh on the ground when the hero cuts up his\nbeloved; or, according to a story of the Italian Tirol, from spilling\nsome of her blood. In the latter case, three drops of blood fall into\nthe lake, instead of the bucket prepared to receive them, and thereby\nalmost cause the failure of his task. When the magician afterwards leads\nthe youth to his daughters and bids him choose, he takes the youngest by\nthe hand, and says: \"I choose this one.\" We are not told that there was\nany difference in the maidens' hands, but this is surely to be inferred.\nIn the Milanese story of the King of the Sun the hero also chooses his\nwife blindfold from the king's three daughters by touching their hands;\nand here, too, we must suppose previous help or concert, though it has\ndisappeared from the text. In a story from Lorraine, John has to take\nthe devil's daughter, Greenfeather, to pieces to find a spire for the\ntop of a castle that he is compelled to build; and in putting her\ntogether again he sets one of her little fingers clumsily. With bandaged\neyes he has to find the lady who has assisted him; and he succeeds by\nputting his hand on hers. The lad who falls into the strange gentleman's\nhands in a Breton tale, forgets to put the little toe of the girl's left\nfoot into the caldron; and when she and her two sisters are led before\nhim veiled and clad in other than their ordinary garb, he knows her at\nonce by the loss of her toe. As it is told in Denmark the enchanted\nprincess agrees with the king's son to wind a red silken thread around\nher little finger; and by this means he identifies her, though in the\nform of a little grey-haired, long-eared she-ass, and again of a\nwrinkled, toothless, palsied old woman, into which the sorceress, whose\ncaptive she is, changes her. In a Swedish story the damsel informs her\nlover that when the mermaid's daughters appear in various repulsive\nforms she will be changed into a little cat with her side burnt and one\near snipped. The Catalonian _maerchen_ of Joanescas represents the\nheroine as wanting a joint of her finger, from her lover having torn off\nsome of her feathers by accident when he stole her robe. \"Monk\" Lewis in\nhis \"Journal of a West India Proprietor\" gives an Ananci tale in which\nthe heroine and her two sisters are changed into black cats: the two\nlatter bore scarlet threads round their necks, the former a blue\nthread.[207] According to the Carmarthenshire saga, the lady is\nrecognized by the strapping of her sandal.\n\nIn several of the stories just cited, and many of their congeners, the\nmaiden forewarns her suitor how she will be disguised, or by what marks\nshe will be known. Sometimes, however, she makes a sign to him on the\nspot. The Lady of the Van Pool only thrusts her foot forward that he may\nnotice her shoe-tie; but Cekanka in a Bohemian tale is bold enough to\nwink at him. In a Russian variant of the Marquis of the Sun, to which I\nhave already referred, the hero is in the power of the Water King. On\nhis way to that potentate's palace he had, by the advice of the Baba\nYaga, gone to the seashore and watched until twelve spoonbills alighted,\nand, turning into maidens, had unrobed for the purpose of bathing. Then\nhe had stolen the eldest maiden's shift, to restore it only on her\npromise to aid him against her father, the Water King. She redeems the\npledge by performing for him the usual tasks, the last of which is to\nchoose the same bride thrice among the king's twelve daughters. The\nfirst time she secretly agrees with him that she will wave her\nhandkerchief; the second time she is to be arranging her dress; and the\nthird time he will see a fly above her head.[208]\n\nHere we are led to the third means of recognition. The incident of help\nrendered by one or more of the lower animals to man is a favourite one\nin folk-tales; and it has furnished a large portion of the argumentative\nstock-in-trade of those scholars who contend for their Indian origin. We\nare assured that every tale which contains this incident must be\nreferred to a Buddhist source, or at least has been subjected to\nBuddhist influence. This theory is supported by reference to the\ndoctrine of love for all living creatures which Buddha is said to have\npromulgated. The command to overcome hatred by love, the precepts of\nself-sacrifice and devotion to others' good were not limited in the\nBuddha's discourses, if those discourses be correctly reported, to our\nconduct towards our fellow-men: they included all creation. And they\nwere enforced by parables which represented good as done in turn to men\nby all sorts of creatures, even the wildest and the most savage. Stories\nof grateful beasts, of the type familiar to us in Androcles and the\nLion, became favourites among the disciples of the Light of Asia.\nScholars, therefore, have told us that wherever a grateful beast thrusts\nhis muzzle into the story, that story must have come from India, and\nmust have come since the rise of Buddhism. Nay, they go further. In\nevery instance where a beast appears as helping the hero, we are taught\nto presume that the hero has first helped the beast, even though no\ntrace of such an incident be actually found. It must have been so,\notherwise the beast would have had no motive for helping the hero,--and,\nit may be added, the theorist would have had no ground for claiming the\nstory as proceeding from a Buddhist source.\n\nNow all this would have been seen at once to be very poor reasoning, but\nfor one fact. A number, sufficient to be called large, of parables, have\nactually made their way from India to Europe in historic times, and\nsince the age of Gautama. The literary history of these parables can be\ntraced; and it must be acknowledged that, whatever their origin, they\nhave been adopted into Buddhist works and adapted to Buddhist doctrine.\nFurther, it seems demonstrated that some of them have descended into the\noral tradition of various nations in Europe, Asia, and even Africa. But\nwhen so much as this is conceded, it still fails to account for the\nspread of the story of the Grateful Beasts and, even more signally, for\nthe incident of the Beast-helpers where there is no gratitude in the\ncase. A very slight examination of the incident as it appears in the\ngroup of legends now before us will convince us of this.\n\nFirst of all, let it be admitted that in several of these tales the\nservice rendered by the brute is in requital for a good turn on the part\nof the hero. Andrianoro, as we have seen, begins by making friends with\nvarious animals by means of the mammon of unrighteousness in the shape\nof a feast. Jagatalapratapa, in the narrative already cited from the\nTamil book translated into English under the title of \"The Dravidian\nNights Entertainments,\" pursuing one of Indra's four daughters, is\ncompelled by her father, after three other trials, to choose her out\nfrom her sisters, who are all converted into one shape. He prays\nassistance from a kind of grasshopper; and the little creature, in\nreturn for a previous benefit, hops upon her foot. But it is somewhat\ncurious, if the theory be true, that even in stories told among peoples\ndistinctly under Buddhist influence the gratitude is by no means an\ninvariable point. Thus the princess in the Burmese drama is betrayed by\n\"the king of flies\" to her husband, though the abstract we have of the\nplay gives us no hint of any previous transaction between the puny\nmonarch and the hero; and it is worthy of note that the Tibetan version\nof the same plot given by Mr. Ralston from the Kah-Gyur knows nothing of\nthis entomological agency. There the hero is a Bodisat, who, if he does\nnot recognize his beloved among the thousand companions who surround\nher, at least has a spell the utterance of which compels her to step out\nfrom among them. It does not appear that Kasimbaha, the Bantik\npatriarch, is required to undergo this particular test. But he is\nindebted to a bird for indicating the lady's residence; a glow-worm\nplaces itself at her chamber door; and a fly shows him which of a number\nof dishes set before him he must not uncover. M. Cosquin, who is an\nadherent of the Buddhist hypothesis, in relating this instance, is\ncompelled expressly to say that \"one does not see why\" these animals\nshould render such services. Neither, on M. Cosquin's principle, can one\nsee why, in the Arawak story, the spiders should spin cords to help the\noutcast husband down from heaven, or the birds take his part against the\nvulture-folk to enable him to recover his wife.[209] The proof of\nBuddhist influence must rest heavily on its advocates here, both on\naccount of the absence of motive for gratitude, and of the distance of\nthe Arawak people from India and the utter disparity of civilizations.\n\nThe agency of recognition, when attributed to one of the lower animals,\nis ordinarily an insect; but the reason is, as often as not, a prior\narrangement with the lady, as in the Russian story of the Water King.\nThe Polish _maerchen_ of Prince Unexpected follows this line. In it, the\nprincess warns her lover that she will have a ladybird over her right\neye. When a thousand maidens all alike are produced to poor Hans in a\nBohemian tale, he has no difficulty in selecting the right one; for a\nwitch has bidden him \"choose her on whom, from the roof of the chamber,\na spider descends.\"[210]\n\nThese considerations are sufficient to prove that the incident of the\nHelpful Beasts, as found in the Swan-maiden group of stories, cannot be\nattributed to a Buddhist origin.\n\nWe have now dealt with an episode of the mythical narrative, necessary,\nindeed, to its completion, but found only under certain conditions which\nI have pointed out. We have seen this episode in two distinct forms\nwhose respective sources we have assigned to two distinct stages of\nculture. The form characteristic of the European _maerchen_ is apparently\nmore barbarous in several respects than that yielded by the islanders of\nthe Southern Ocean; but the latter bears testimony to a state of society\nmore archaic than the other. Presumably, therefore, it represents more\nnearly the primitive form of the story.\n\nWe turn next to the central incidents. In the previous chapter I have\ntaken pains to show the unmistakable relation between the different\ntypes of the myth, in spite of the omission of the feather-robe, or\nindeed of any substitute for it. The truth is that the feather-robe is\nno more than a symbol of the wife's superhuman nature. From the more\narchaic variants it is absent; but frequently the true form of the lady\nis held to be that of a member of what we contemptuously call \"the brute\ncreation.\" Men in savagery, as we have already seen, have quite\ndifferent feelings from those of contempt for brutes. On the contrary,\nthey entertain the highest respect and even awe for them. They trace\ntheir descent from some of them; and a change of form from beast to man,\nor from man to beast, while still preserving individual identity, would\nnot seem at all incredible, or even odd, to them. By and by, however,\nthe number of creatures having these astonishing powers would decrease,\nas the circle of experience widened. But there would linger a belief in\nremarkable instances, as at Shan-si, in China, where it is believed that\nthere is still a bird which can divest itself of its feathers and become\na woman. Not every swan would then be deemed capable of turning when it\npleased into a fair maiden; and when this change happened, it would be\nattributed to enchantment, which had caused the maiden merely to assume\nthe appearance of a swan for a time and for a special purpose. This\noften occurs, as we have seen, in _maerchen_, where the contrast between\nthe heroine and her father, or, as it is then often put, her master, is\nvery strong. It occurs, too, in tales belonging to other types. A\n_maerchen_ told by Dr. Pitre relates that a man had a pet magpie, which\nby enchantment had the power of casting its wings and becoming a woman.\nShe always practised this power in his absence; but he came home one day\nand found her wings on the chair. He burnt them, and she remained\npermanently a woman and married him. In a saga from Guiana a warlock's\ndaughter persuades her father to transform her into a dog that she may\nventure near a hunter whom she loves. He accordingly gives her a skin,\nwhich she draws over her shoulders, and thus becomes a hound. When the\nhunter finds her in his hut as a maiden, the charmed skin hanging up and\nrevealing her secret, he flings the skin into the fire and weds\nher.[211]\n\nBut enchantment is not the only explanation. The lady may, like Hasan's\nbride, be held to belong to a superior race to men, though properly in\nhuman form. In either case the peltry would be a mere veil hiding the\ntrue individuality for a while. It would thus acquire a distinct magical\nefficacy; so that when deprived of it, the maiden would be unable to\neffect the change. A remarkable instance of this occurs in an Arab saga.\nThere a man, at Algiers, puts to death his three daughters, who\nafterwards appear to a guitar-player and dance to his playing. As they\ndance they throw him the rind of the oranges they hold in their hands;\nand this rind is found the next day changed into gold pieces and into\njewels. The following year the maidens appear again to the\nguitar-player. He manages to get hold of their shrouds, which he burns.\nThey thereupon come back to life, and he weds the youngest of them. This\nis said to have happened no longer ago than sixty years before the\nFrench conquest of Algiers.[212]\n\nNothing of the sort is found in the Maori tales. To the natives of New\nZealand no change seemed needful: the lady was of supernatural birth and\ncould fly as she pleased. The same may be said of Andrianoro's wife,\nnotwithstanding that the Malagasy variant, as a whole, bespeaks a higher\nlevel of culture than the adventures of Tawhaki and Tini-rau. As little\ndo we find the magical robe in the Passamaquoddy story of the Partridge\nand the Sheldrake Duck. The Dyaks of Borneo are unconscious of the need\nof it in the saga of their ancestral fish, the _puttin_, which was\ncaught by a man, and when laid in his boat turned into a girl, whom he\ngave to his son for a bride. The Chinese have endless tales about foxes\nwhich assume human form; but the fox's skin plays no part in them. And\nin a Japanese tale belonging to the group under consideration, the lady\nchanges into a fox and back again into a lady without any apparatus of\npeltry.[213]\n\nAgain, in the nursery tales of the higher races, the dress when cast\nseems simply an article of human clothing, often nothing but a girdle,\nveil, or apron; and it is only when donned by the enchanted lady, or\nelf, that it is found to be neither more nor less than a complete\nplumage. Thence it easily passes into a mere instrument of power, like\nthe mermaid's belt and pouch in the Scottish story, or the book of\ncommand in the _maerchen_ of the Island of Happiness, and is on its way\nto final disappearance.\n\nThe maiden's capture is effected in those types of the tale where the\nenchanted garment is worn, by the theft of the garment. These cases will\nnot detain our attention: we will pass at once to the discussion of\nthose where there is no transformation to be effected or dreaded.\nPerhaps the most interesting of all are the Welsh sagas; and of these\nnot the least remarkable is the suit by offerings of food. Andrianoro\ntried this device in the Malagasy story; but it was unsuccessful. In a\nCarnarvonshire analogue from Llanberis, the youth entices his beloved\ninto his grasp by means of an apple:[214] in the Van Pool variants the\noffering assumes almost a sacramental character. Until the fairy maiden\nhas tasted earthly bread, or until her suitor has eaten of the food\nwhich sustains her, he cannot be united to her. Here we are reminded on\nthe one hand of the elfin food considered in a former chapter, to\npartake of which sealed the adventurer's fate and prevented him for ever\nfrom returning to his human home; and on the other hand of the ceremony\nof eating together which among so many nations has been part of the\nmarriage rites.\n\nWalter Map relates a curious story of Llangorse Lake having affinities\nfor the Land East of the Sun, and still more with one of the Maori\nsagas. Wastin of Wastiniog watched, the writer tells us, three clear\nmoonlit nights and saw bands of women in his oat-fields, and followed\nthem until they plunged into the pool, where he overheard them\nconversing, and saying to one another: \"If he did so and so, he would\ncatch one of us.\" Thus instructed, he of course succeeded in capturing\none. Here, as in many of the stories, the lady has obviously designs\nupon the mortal of opposite sex, and deliberately throws herself in his\nway. But she lays a taboo upon him, promising to serve him willingly and\nwith all obedient devotion, until that day he should strike her in anger\nwith his bridle. After the birth of several children he was unfortunate\nenough on some occasion, the details of which Walter Map has forgotten,\nto break the condition; whereupon she fled with all her offspring, of\nwhom her husband was barely able to save one before she plunged with the\nrest into the lake. This one, whom he called Triunnis Nagelwch, grew up,\nand entered the service of the King of North Wales. At his royal\nmaster's command, Triunnis once led a marauding expedition into the\nterritory of the King of Brecknock. A battle ensued, when he was\ndefeated and his band cut to pieces. It is said that Triunnis himself\nwas saved by his mother, and thenceforth dwelt with her in the lake.\n\"But, indeed,\" adds the truth-loving Walter, \"I think it is a lie,\nbecause a delusion of this kind is so likely to account for his body not\nhaving been found.\"[215]\n\nIn spite, however, of such unwonted incredulity, Map, having once begun\nby telling this story, proceeds to tell another like it, which he seems\nto have no difficulty in believing. The second tale concerns a hero of\nthe Welsh border, Wild Edric, of whose historic reality as one of the\nEnglish rebels against William the Conqueror there is ample proof. It\nappears that Edric, returning from hunting, lost his way in the Forest\nof Dean, and accompanied only by one boy, reached about midnight a large\nhouse which turned out to be a drinking-shop, such as the English, Map\nsays, call a _guildhouse_. On approaching it he saw a light, and looking\nin, he beheld a number of women dancing. They were beautiful in\ncountenance, bigger and taller than ordinary women. He noticed one among\nthem fairer than the rest, and (Walter, perhaps, had Fair Rosamund in\nhis mind when he says) more to be desired than all the darlings of\nkings. Edric rushed round the house and, finding an entrance, dashed in\nand with the help of his boy dragged her out, despite a furious\nresistance in which the nails and teeth of her companions made\nthemselves felt. She brooded in sullen silence for three whole days; but\non the fourth day she exclaimed to her new master: \"Bless you, my\ndearest, and you will be blessed too, and enjoy health and prosperity\nuntil you reproach me on account of my sisters, or the place, or the\ngrove whence you have snatched me away, or anything connected with it.\nFor the very day you do so your happiness will forsake you. I shall be\ntaken away; and you will suffer repeated misfortune, and long for your\nown death.\" He pledged himself to fidelity; and to their splendid\nnuptials nobles came from far and near. King William heard of the\nwonder, and bade the newly wedded pair to London, where he was then\nholding his court, that he might test the truth of the tale. They proved\nit to him by many witnesses from their own country; but the chief\ntestimony was that of the lady's superhuman beauty; and he dismissed\nthem in admiration to their home. After many years of happiness Edric\nreturned one evening late from hunting, and could not find his wife. He\nspent some time in vainly calling for her before she came. \"Of course,\"\nhe began, angrily, \"you have not been detained so long by your sisters,\nhave you?\" The rest of his wrath fell upon the empty air; for at the\nmention of her sisters she vanished. And neither her husband's\nself-reproaches, nor his tears, nor any search could ever find her\nagain.[216]\n\nA point far more interesting than the actual mode of capture is the\ntaboo. The condition on which the heroine remains with her captor-spouse\nis, in stories of the Hasan of Bassorah type, his preservation of the\nfeather-garb; in those of the Melusina type (with which we are now\ndealing), his observance of the taboo. In the tales just cited from\nWalter Map we have two important forms of the taboo, and in the legend\nof Melusina herself we have a third. The latter is an example of the\nordinary objection on the part of supernatural beings to be seen\notherwise than just how and when they please, which we have dealt with\nin a previous chapter; and little need be added to what I have already\nsaid on the subject. The other two are, however, worth some\nconsideration.\n\nIn the account of Wastin of Wastiniog we are told that he was forbidden\nto strike his wife with the bridle. Let us compare this prohibition with\nthat of the fairy of \"the bottomless pool of Corwrion,\" in Upper\nArllechwedd, Carnarvonshire, who wedded the heir of the owner of\nCorwrion. The marriage took place on two conditions--first, that the\nhusband was not to know his wife's name, though he might give her any\nname he chose; and, second, that if she misbehaved towards him, he might\nnow and then beat her with a rod, but that he should not strike her with\niron, on pain of her leaving him at once. \"This covenant,\" says\nProfessor Rhys in repeating the tale, \"was kept for some years, so that\nthey lived happily together, and had four children, of whom the two\nyoungest were a boy and a girl. But one day, as they went to one of the\nfields of Bryn Twrw, in the direction of Penardd Gron, to catch a pony,\nthe fairy wife, being so much nimbler than her husband, ran before him\nand had her hand in the pony's mane in no time. She called out to her\nhusband to throw her a halter; but instead of that he threw towards her\na bridle with an iron bit, which, as bad luck would have it, struck her.\nThe wife at once flew through the air, and plunged headlong into\nCorwrion Lake. The husband returned sighing and weeping towards Bryn\nTwrw (Noise Hill), and when he reached it, the _twrw_ (noise) there was\ngreater than had ever been heard before, namely, that of weeping after\n'Belene'; and it was then, after he had struck her with iron, that he\nfirst learnt what his wife's name was.\"[217]\n\nThe perusal of this saga will raise a suspicion that the original form\nof the taboo in Wastin's case was a prohibition against striking with\niron, and that the prohibition was eventually infringed by means of a\nbridle. Whether the alteration was due to a blunder on Map's part in\nrelating the story is of no importance; but the suspicion will be raised\nto a certainty by turning to some other sagas in Professor Rhys'\nadmirable collection. It is related at Waenfawr, near Carnarvon, that a\nyouth broke, like Wild Edric, into a dance of the fairies on the banks\nof the Gwyrfai, near Cwellyn Lake, one moonlit night, and carried off a\nmaiden. She at first refused to wed him, but consented to remain his\nservant. One evening, however, he overheard two of her kindred speaking\nof her, and caught her name--Penelope. When she found that he had learnt\nher name she gave way to grief: evidently she now knew that her fate was\nsealed. On his importunity being renewed, she at length consented to\nmarry him, but on the condition that he should not strike her with iron.\nHere again the taboo was broken by the flinging of a bridle while\nchasing a horse. A similar tale was related in the vale of Beddgelert,\nwherein the stolen lady would only consent to be the servant of her\nravisher if he could find out her name. When he had discovered it, she\nasked in astonishment; \"O mortal, who has betrayed my name to thee?\"\nThen, lifting up her tiny folded hands, she exclaimed: \"Alas! my fate,\nmy fate!\" Even then she would only marry him on condition that if ever\nhe should touch her with iron she would be free to leave him and return\nto her family. Catastrophe, as before. In a variant the maiden, pressed\nby her human lover, promises to marry, provided he can find out her\nname. When he succeeds in doing this she faints away, but has to submit\nto her doom. In doing so, she imposes one more proviso: he is not to\ntouch her with iron, nor is there to be a bolt of iron, or a lock, on\ntheir door. The servant-girl, in another story cited in Chapter VII.,\nwho was rescued from Fairyland, could only stay, it will be remembered,\nin her master's service so long afterward, as he forebore to strike her\nwith iron; and the fatal blow was struck accidentally with a bit.[218]\n\nMr. Andrew Lang has remarked, following Dr. Tylor, that in this taboo\nthe fairy mistress is \"the representative of the stone age.\" This is so;\nand the reason is, because she belongs to the realm of the supernatural.\nWhen the use of metals was discovered, stone implements were discarded\nin ordinary life; but for ages afterwards knives of stone were used for\nreligious purposes. There is evidence, for instance, that the Hebrews,\nto seek no further, employed them in some of their sacred rites; an\naltar of stone was forbidden to be hewn; and when King Solomon built the\ntemple, \"there was neither hammer, nor axe, nor any tool of iron heard\nin the house while it was in building.\" Although there may be no direct\nevidence of such a practice among the Cymric Britons, they were probably\nno exception to the rule, which seems to have been general throughout\nthe world; and the Druids' custom of cutting the mistletoe with a\ngolden, not with an iron, sickle, points in this direction. The\nretention of stone instruments in religious worship was doubtless due\nto the intense conservatism of religious feeling. The gods, having been\nserved with stone for so long, would be conceived of as naturally\nobjecting to change; and the implements whose use had continued through\nso many revolutions in ordinary human utensils, would thereby have\nacquired a divine character. Changes of religion, however, brought in\ntime changes even in these usages. Christianity was bound to no special\nreverence for knives and arrowheads of flint; but they seem to have been\nstill vaguely associated with the discarded deities, or their allies,\nthe Nymphs and Oreads and Fairies of stream or wood or dell, and with\nthe supernatural generally. A familiar example of this is the name of\nElfbolts given by the country people in this and other lands to these\nold-world objects, whenever turned up by the harrow or the spade. Now\nthe traditional preference on the part of supernatural beings for stone\ninstruments is only one side of the thought which would, as its reverse\nside, show a distinct abhorrence by the same mythical personages for\nmetals, and chiefly (since we have long passed out of the bronze age)\nfor iron. Not only do witches and spirits object to the horseshoe; axes\nand iron wedges are equally distasteful to them--at all events in\nDenmark. So in Brittany, when men go to gather the _herbe d'or_, a\nmedicinal plant of extraordinary virtue, they go barefooted, in a white\nrobe and fasting, and no iron may be employed; and though all the\nnecessary ceremonies be performed, only holy men will be able to find\nit. The magical properties of this plant, as well as the rites requisite\nto obtain it, disclose its sacredness to the old divinities. It shines\nat a distance like gold, and if one tread on it he will fall asleep, and\nwill come to understand the languages of birds, dogs, and wolves.[219]\n\nIn previous chapters we have already had occasion to note this dislike\nfor iron and steel. Hence the placing of scissors and fire-steel in an\nunchristened babe's cradle. Hence the reason for the midwife's casting a\nknife behind her when she left the troll's dwelling laden with his\ngifts; and for the Islay father's taking the precaution of striking his\ndirk into the threshold when he sought his son in the fairy hill. So,\ntoo, in Sweden people who bathed in the sea were gravely advised to cast\ninto it close to them a fire-steel, a knife, or the like, to prevent any\nmonster from hurting them. The bolts and locks to which the fairy of\nBeddgelert objected would have prevented her free passage into and out\nof the house.\n\nIn the Pomeranian saga quoted in the last chapter, the enchanted\nprincess is unable to open the trunk which contains her magical shift:\nshe must wait for another to open it and give her the garment. In the\nsame way Hasan's bride could not herself go to the chest and get her\nfeather-dress. The key was committed to her mother-in-law's care, and\nwas forced from the old woman by Zubaydah, the Caliph's wife; nor did it\never come into the fairy's hands, for her dress was fetched for her by\nMasrur at Zubaydah's bidding. It is not unlikely that the reason for the\nsupernatural wife's difficulty in these and analogous cases is the metal\nlock and key. But we must not forget that the robe is not always locked\nup in a chest. Sometimes it is hidden in a hole in the wall, sometimes\nin a stack of corn, sometimes beneath the main-post of the wooden hut in\nwhich the wedded pair are dwelling. Moreover, we must not leave out of\naccount that in the Nightmare type the wife cannot herself take the\nwooden stopper out of the hole through which she entered; but directly\nit is removed by another she vanishes. These things go to show that such\nsupernatural beings cannot themselves undo charms expressly performed\nagainst them. So evil spirits cannot penetrate a circle drawn around him\nby one who invokes them. So, too, the sign of the cross is an efficient\nprotection against them; and it is therefore made upon churches and\naltars at the time of consecration.\n\nBut the stipulation made by the lady of Corwrion was twofold. Not only\nwas her bridegroom to forbear striking her with iron, but he was not\neven to know her name. It is so difficult for us to put ourselves into\nthe mental attitude of savages, that we do not understand the objection\nthey almost all entertain to the mention of their names. The objection\nitself is, however, well known and widely spread; but it is not always\nmanifested in exactly the same form. In some cases a man only refuses to\nutter his own name, while he will utter another's name readily enough.\nSometimes it is deemed an unpardonable thing to call another by name; he\nmust be addressed, or spoken of by an epithet. And frequently a man's\nreal name is a profound secret, known only to himself, all others\nknowing him only by some epithet or title. Sometimes it is only\nforbidden to relatives by marriage to speak one another's names. Thus in\nvarious ways etiquette has prescribed a number of customs limiting the\nutterance of names among savage and barbarous peoples all the world\nover. The origin of these rules and customs seems to have been the dread\nof sorcery. A personal name was held to be a part of its owner; and,\njust as the possession of a lock of another's hair, or even a paring of\nhis nail, was believed to confer power over him, so was the knowledge of\nhis name. Similarly men in the lower culture have a great fear of having\ntheir likenesses taken; and everybody is familiar with the belief that a\nwitch, who has made a waxen image and given it the name of any one whom\nshe wants to injure, can, by sticking pins in it, or melting it in a\nflame, inflict pain, and even death, upon the person whom the doll\nrepresents.[220]\n\nIllustrations of this superstition might easily be multiplied from every\nnation under heaven. But we need not go so far afield; for if we compare\nthe taboo in the story of Corwrion with the other stories I have cited\nfrom the same county, we shall have no difficulty in satisfying\nourselves as to its meaning. It can only belong to the stage of thought\nwhich looks with dread on the use that may be made of one's name by an\nenemy,--a stage of thought in which the fairy might naturally fear for a\nman of another race, albeit her husband, to become possessed of her real\nname. What else can we infer from the evident terror and grief with\nwhich the captive ladies hear their names from their suitors' lips? It\nis clear that the knowledge of the fairy's name conferred power over her\nwhich she was unable to resist. This is surely the interpretation also\nof the Danish tale of a man from whom a Hill-troll had stolen no fewer\nthan three wives. Riding home late one night afterwards, he saw a great\ncrowd of Hill-folk dancing and making merry; and among them he\nrecognized his three wives. One of these was Kirsten, his best beloved,\nand he called out to her and named her name. The troll, whose name was\nSkynd, or Hurry, came up to him and asked him why he presumed to call\nKirsten. The man explained that she had been his favourite wife, and\nbegged him with tears to give her back to him. The troll at last\nconsented, but with the proviso that he should never hurry (_skynde_)\nher. For a long time the condition was observed; but one day, as she was\ndelayed in fetching something for her husband from the loft, he cried\nout to her: \"Make haste (_skynde dig_), Kirsten!\" And he had hardly\nspoken the words when the woman was gone, compelled to return to the\ntroll's abode. Here we have the phenomenon in a double form; for not\nonly does the husband regain his wife from the troll by pronouncing her\nname, but he loses her once more by inadvertently summoning her captor.\nIt is a German superstition that a mara, or nightmare, can be\neffectually exorcised if the sufferer surmises who it is, and instantly\naddresses it by name.[221] We can now understand how, in the\nCarmarthenshire story mentioned in Chapter VII., the farmer was rescued\nfrom the fairies under whose spell he had been for twelve months. A man\ncaught sight of him dancing on the mountain and broke the spell by\nspeaking to him. It must have been the utterance of his name that drew\nhim out of the enchanted circle.\n\nReturning, however, to the legend of Wastin, we may observe how much\nnarrower and less likely to be infringed is the taboo imposed on him\nthan that imposed on the youth of Blaensawdde. Yet the lady of the Van\nPool, whatever her practice, had in theory some relics of old-fashioned\nwifely duty. She did not object to the chastisement which the laws of\nWales allowed a husband to bestow. A husband was permitted to beat his\nwife for three causes; and if on any other occasion he raised his hand\nagainst her, she had her remedy in the shape of a _sarad_, or fine, to\nbe paid to her for the disgrace. But a _sarad_ would not satisfy this\nproud lady; nothing less than a divorce would meet the case. The\nPartridge's wife, as we have seen, was still more exacting: she declined\nto be struck at all. In the same way the fish who had become a girl, in\nthe Dyak story, cautioned her husband to use her well; and when he\nstruck her she rushed back screaming into the water. In another Bornoese\ntradition, which is quoted by Mr. Farrer, the heroine is taken up to the\nsky because her husband had struck her, there having been no previous\nprohibition.[222] A different sort of personal violence is resented in\nthe Bantik legend cited above. There the husband is forbidden to tear\nout one white hair which adorns Outahagi, his wife's head. He disobeys\nafter she has given birth to a son; and she vanishes in a tempest and\nreturns to the sky, where her husband is forced to seek her again.\n\nThe stipulation made by Wild Edric's bride is still more arbitrary,\naccording to our notions, than these. Her husband was forbidden to\nreproach her on account of her sisters, or the place from which he\nsnatched her away. In other words, he was forbidden to charge her with\nher supernatural character. When Diarmaid, the daughter of King\nUnderwaves, comes in the form of a beggar to Fionn and insists on\nsharing his couch, she becomes a beautiful girl, and consents to marry\nhim on condition that he does not say to her thrice how he found her. In\na variant, the hero, going out shooting, meets with a hare, which, when\nhard pressed by the dogs, turns into a woman. She promises to wed him on\nhis entering into three vows, namely, not to ask his king to a feast\nwithout first letting her know (a most housewifely proviso), not to cast\nup to her in any company that he found her in the form of a hare, and\nnot to leave her in the company of only one man. Both these are West\nHighland tales; and in the manner of the taboo they closely resemble\nthat given by Map. In an Illyrian story, a Vila is by a youth found one\nmorning sleeping in the grass. He is astonished at her beauty, and\nplants a shade for her. When she wakes she is pleased, and asks what he\nwants for such kindness. He asks nothing less than to take her to wife;\nand she is content, but, avowing herself a Vila, forbids him to utter\nthat name, for if he should do so she must quit him at once. Keats has\nglorified one of these stories by his touch; and it was a true instinct\nthat guided him to make Lamia's disappearance follow, not on Apollonius'\ndenunciation of her real character, but on the echo of the words \"A\nserpent!\" by her astounded husband, Lycius. What matter that the\nphilosopher should make a charge against her? It was only when her lover\nrepeated the foul word that she forsook him. The nightmare-wife in one\nof the stories mentioned in the last chapter vanishes, it will be\nremembered, on being reproached with her origin, and in another on being\nasked how she became a nightmare; and the lady in the Esthonian tale\nwarns her husband against calling her Mermaid. In this connection it is\nobvious to refer to the euphemistic title Eumenides, bestowed by the\nGreeks on the Furies, and to the parallel names, Good People and Fair\nFamily, for fays in this country. In all these cases the thought is\ndistinguishable from that of the Carnarvonshire sagas; for the offence\nis not given by the utterance of a personal name, but by incautious use\nof a generic appellation which conveys reproach, if not scorn.[223]\n\nThe heroine of a saga of the Gold Coast was really a fish, but was in\nthe form of a woman. Her husband had sworn to her that he would not\nallude in any way to her home or her relatives; and, relying on this\npromise, his wife had disclosed her true nature to him and taken him\ndown to her home. He was kindly received there, but was speared by some\nfishermen, and only with difficulty rescued by his new relatives, who\nenjoined him when he returned to earth with his wife to keep the\nspearhead carefully concealed. It was, however, found and claimed by its\nowner; and to escape the charge of theft the husband reluctantly\nnarrated the whole adventure. No evil consequences immediately ensued\nfrom this breach of his vow. But he had lately taken a second wife; and\nshe one day quarrelled with the first wife and taunted her with being a\nfish. Upbraiding her husband for having revealed the secret, the latter\nplunged into the sea and resumed her former shape. So in the Pawnee\nstory of The Ghost Wife, a wife who had died is persuaded by her husband\nto come back from the Spirit Land to dwell again with himself and her\nchild. All goes well until he takes a second wife, who turns out\nill-tempered and jealous of the first wife. Quarrelling with her one\nday, she reproaches the latter with being nothing but a ghost. The next\nmorning when the husband awoke, his first wife was no longer by his\nside. She had returned to the Spirit Land; and the following night both\nhe and the child died in their sleep--called by the first wife to\nherself.[224] These sagas bring us back to that of Melusina, who\ndisappears, it will be recollected, not when the count, her husband,\nbreaks the taboo, but when, by calling her a serpent, he betrays his\nguilty knowledge.\n\nA name, indeed, is the cause of offence and disappearance in many other\nof these stories. The chieftain of the Quins, who owned the Castle of\nInchiquin on the lake of that name, near the town of Ennis in Ireland,\nfound in one of the many caves of the neighbourhood a lady who consented\nto become his bride, only stipulating that no one bearing the name of\nO'Brien should be allowed to enter the castle gate. When this\nprohibition was infringed she sprang through a window with her child\ninto the lake. The property has long since passed into the hands of the\nO'Briens; and amid the ruins of the castle the fatal window is still\nshown nearly as perfect as when the supernatural lady leaped through it\ninto the waters. It may be safely said that the primitive form of the\ntaboo has not come down to us in this tale, and that it owes its\npresent form to the fact that the O'Briens have acquired the estates\nonce owned by the Quins. Probably the utterance of some hateful name was\nforbidden. But whatever name may have been able to disturb the\nequanimity of the Lady of Inchiquin, we are now familiar enough with\nthese superstitions to understand why a holy name should be tabooed by\nthe goat-footed fairy wife of Don Diego Lopez in the Spanish tale\nnarrated by Sir Francis Palgrave. \"Holy Mary!\" exclaimed the Don, as he\nwitnessed an unexpected quarrel among his dogs, \"who ever saw the like?\"\nHis wife, without more ado, seized her daughter and glided through the\nair to her native mountains. Nor did she ever return, though she\nafterwards, at her son's request, supplied an enchanted horse to release\nher husband when in captivity to the Moors. In two Norman variants the\nlady forbids the utterance in her presence of the name of Death.[225]\n\nThese high-born heroines had, forsooth, highly developed sensibilities.\nThe wife of a Teton (the Tetons are a tribe of American natives)\ndeserted him, abandoned her infant to her younger brother's care, and\nplunged into a stream, where she became what we call a mermaid,--and all\nbecause her husband had scolded her. In another American tale, where the\nwife was a snake, she deserted him from jealousy. A Tirolese saga speaks\nof a man who had a wife of unknown extraction. She had bidden him,\nwhenever she baked bread, to pour water for her with his right hand. He\npoured it once with the left, to see what would happen. He soon saw, to\nhis cost; for she flew out of the house. The Queen of Sheba, according\nto a celebrated Arab writer, was the daughter of the King of China and a\nPeri. Her birth came about on this wise. Her father, hunting, met two\nsnakes, a black one and a white, struggling together in deadly combat.\nHe killed the black one, and caused the white one to be carefully\ncarried to his palace and into his private apartment. On entering the\nroom the next day, he was surprised to find a lovely lady, who announced\nherself as a Peri, and thanked him for delivering her the day before\nfrom her enemy, the black snake. As a proof of her gratitude she offered\nhim her sister in marriage, subject, however, to the proviso that he\nshould never question her why she did this or that, else she would\nvanish, never to be seen again. The king agreed, and had every reason to\nbe pleased with his beautiful bride. A son was born to them; but the\nlady put it in the fire. The king wept and tore his beard, but said\nnothing. Then a daughter of singular loveliness--afterwards Balkis,\nQueen of Sheba--was born: a she-bear appeared at the door, and the\nmother flung her babe into its jaws. The king tore out not only his\nbeard, but the hair of his head, in silence. A climax, however, came\nwhen, in the course of a war, he and his army had to effect a seven\ndays' march across a certain desert. On the fifth day came the queen, a\nlarge knife in her hand, and, slitting the provision-bags and the\nwaterskins, strewed the whole of the food upon the ground, and brought\nthe king and his army face to face with death. Her husband could no\nlonger restrain himself from questioning her. Then she told him that his\nvizier, bribed by the enemy, had poisoned the food and water in order to\ndestroy him and his army, and that his son had a constitutional defect\nwhich would have prevented him from living three days if she had not put\nhim in the fire. The she-bear, who was no other than a trusty old nurse,\nbrought back his daughter at her call; but the queen herself\ndisappeared, and he saw her no more. The Nereid in the Cretan tale\nreferred to in Chapter IX obstinately refused to speak, although her\nlover had fairly conquered her. But after she bore him a son, the old\nwoman of whom he had previously taken counsel advised him to heat the\noven and threaten his mistress that if she would not speak he would\nthrow the boy into it. The Nereid seized the babe, and, crying out: \"Let\ngo my child, dog!\" tore it from his arms and vanished. It is related by\nApollodorus that Thetis, who was also a Nereid, wished to make her son\nimmortal. To this end she buried him in fire by night to burn out his\nhuman elements, and anointed him with ambrosia by day. Peleus, her\nhusband, was not informed of the reason for this lively proceeding; and,\nseeing his child in the fire, he called out. Thetis, thus thwarted,\nabandoned both husband and child in disgust, and went back to her native\nelement. In the great Sanskrit epic of the Mahabharata we are told that\nKing Santanu, walking by a riverside one day, met and fell in love with\na beautiful girl, who told him that she was the river Ganges, and could\nonly marry him on condition that he never questioned her conduct. To\nthis he, with a truly royal gallantry, agreed; and she bore him several\nchildren, all of whom she threw into the river as soon as they were\nborn. At last she bore him a boy, Bhishma; and her husband begged her to\nspare his life, whereupon she instantly changed into the river Ganges\nand flowed away. Incompatibility of temper, as evidenced by three simple\ndisagreements, was a sufficient ground of divorce for the fairy of Llyn\nNelferch, in the parish of Ystradyfodwg, in Glamorganshire, from her\nhuman husband. In a variant of the Maori sagas, to which I have more\nthan once referred, the lady quits her spouse in disgust because he\nturns out _not_ to be a cannibal, as she had hoped from his truculent\nname, Kai-tangata, or man-eater. Truly a heartrending instance of\nmisplaced confidence![226]\n\nMany of these stories belong to the Star's Daughter type,--that is to\nsay, are wanting in the taboo. But in every variant of the Swan-maiden\ngroup, to whatsoever type it may belong, the catastrophe is inevitable\nfrom the beginning. Whether or not it depends on the breach of an\nexplicit taboo, it is equally the work of doom. A legend of the Loo-Choo\nIslands expresses this feeling in its baldest form. A farmer sees a\nbright light in his well, and, on drawing near, beholds a woman diving\nand washing in the water. Her clothes, strange in shape and of a ruddy\nsunset colour, are hanging on a pine-tree near at hand. He takes them,\nand thus compels her to marry him. She lives with him for ten years,\nbearing him a son and a daughter. At the end of that time her fate is\nfulfilled; she ascends a tree during her husband's absence, and, having\nbidden her children farewell, glides off on a cloud and disappears. Both\nin its approximation to the Hasan of Bassorah type and in its\nattributing the separation of husband and wife to fate, this tale agrees\nremarkably with the Lay of Weyland Smith, where we are told: \"From the\nsouth through Mirkwood, to fulfil their fates, the young fairy maidens\nflew. The southern ladies alighted to rest on the sea-strand, and fell\nto spinning their goodly linen. First Allrune, Cear's fair daughter,\ntook Egil to her bright bosom. The second, Swanwhite, took Slagfin. But\nLathgund, her sister, clasped the white neck of Weyland. Seven winters\nthey stayed there in peace, but the eighth they began to pine, the ninth\nthey must needs part. The young fairy maidens hastened to Mirkwood to\nfulfil their fates.\" A Vidyadhari, too, who, in the Katha-sarit-sagara,\nis caught in the orthodox manner, dwells with a certain ascetic until\nshe brings forth a child. She then calmly remarks to her holy paramour:\n\"My curse has been brought to an end by living with you. If you desire\nto see any more of me, cook this child of mine with rice and eat it; you\nwill then be reunited to me!\" Having said this, she vanished. The\nascetic followed her directions, and was thus enabled to fly after her.\nIn one of the New Zealand variants we are told that the time came for\nWhai-tiri to return to her home. The same thing is indicated to the wife\nin a Tirolese tale by means of a voice, which her husband hears as he\npasses through the forest. The voice cried: \"Tell Mao that Mamao is\ndead.\" When he repeated this to his wife she disappeared; and he never\nsaw or heard of her after. In view of these narratives there can be\nlittle doubt as to the meaning of the Arab tradition of the she-demon,\nfrom whom one of the clans was descended. Her union with their human\nfather came suddenly to an end when she beheld a flash of\nlightning.[227]\n\nThe Star's Daughter, however, returned to the sky because she was\nhomesick. Nor is she the only heroine of these tales who did so; but\nhomesick heroines are not very interesting, and I pass to one who had a\nnobler reason for quitting her love. The saga is told at Rarotonga of a\ngirl of dazzling white complexion who came up out of a fountain and was\ncaught. She became the wife of a chief. It was the custom of the\ninhabitants of the world from which she came to perform the Caesarean\noperation on females who were ready to give birth; so that the birth of\na child involved the mother's death. When she found on the earth, to her\nsurprise, that by allowing nature to take its course the mother as well\nas the child was saved, she persuaded her husband to go with her to the\nlower world to endeavour to put a stop to the cruel custom. He was ready\nto accompany her; but after five several efforts to dive with her\nthrough the fountain to the regions below he was obliged to abandon the\nattempt. Sorrowfully embracing each other, the \"peerless one\" said: \"I\nalone will go to the spirit-world to teach what I have learnt from you.\"\nAt this she again dived down into the clear waters, and was never more\nseen on earth.[228]\n\nIt will not have escaped the reader's attention, that among the more\nbackward races the taboo appears generally simpler in form, or is absent\naltogether. Among most, if not all, of the peoples who tell stories\nwherein this is the case, the marriage bonds are of the loosest\ndescription; and there is, therefore, nothing very remarkable in the\nsupernatural bride's conduct. We might expect to find that as advances\nare made in civilization, and marriage becomes more regarded, the reason\nfor separation would become more and more complex and cogent. Am I going\ntoo far in suggesting that the resumption by the bride of her bird or\nbeast shape marks a stage in the development of the myth beyond the\nStar's Daughter type; and the formal taboo, where the human figure is\nnot abandoned, a stage later still? In our view, indeed, the taboo is\nnot less irrational, as a means of putting an end to the marriage, than\nthe retrieved robe or skin. But we forget how recent in civilization is\nthe sanctity of the marriage-tie. Even among Christian nations divorce\nwas practised during the Middle Ages for very slight reasons, despite\nthe authority of popes and priests. In Eastern countries the husband has\nalways had little check on his liberty of putting away a wife for any\ncause, or no cause at all; and, though unrecognized by the religious\nbooks, which have enforced the husband's rights with so stern a\nsanction, this liberty on his part may have been counter-balanced,\noftener than we think, by corresponding liberty on the wife's part.\nBeyond doubt this has been so in India, where it is effected by means\nof marriage settlements. In Bengal, for instance, a bridegroom is\nsometimes compelled to execute a deed in which he stipulates never to\nscold his wife, the penalty being a divorce; and deeds are not unknown\nempowering the wife to get a divorce if her husband ever so much as\ndisagree with her.[229] This is incompatibility of temper with a\nvengeance! Even the fairy of Llyn Nelferch was willing to put up with\ntwo disagreements; and no taboo in story has gone, or could go, further.\n\nMoreover, some of the taboos are such as the etiquette of various\npeoples would entirely approve, though breaches of them might not be\nvisited so severely as in the tales. I have already pointed out that the\nLady of the Van Pool would have had a legal remedy for blows without\ncause. The romance lies in the wide interpretation she gave to the\nblows, and their disproportionate punishment. These transfer the\nhearer's sympathies from the wife to the husband. Precisely parallel\nseems to be the injunction laid upon Hohodemi, by Toyotamahime, daughter\nof the Sea-god. I know not what may be the rule in Japan; but it is\nprobably not different from that which obtains in China. There, as we\nlearn from the Li Ki, one of the Confucian classics, a wife in\nToyotamahime's condition would, even among the poor, be placed in a\nseparate apartment; and her husband, though it would be his duty to send\ntwice a day to ask after her, would not see her, nor apparently enter\nher room until the child was presented to him to be named. Curiously\nenough the prohibition in the Japanese tale is identical with that\nimposed by Pressina, herself a water-fay, the mother of Melusina,\naccording to the romance of Jean d'Arras written at the end of the\nfourteenth century. Melusina and the Esthonian mermaid laid down another\nrule: they demanded a recurring period during which they would be free\nfrom marital intrusion. India is not Europe; but it cannot be thought\nquite irrelevant to observe that much more than this is commonly secured\nto a bride in many parts of India. For by the marriage settlement it is\nexpressly agreed that she is to go to her father's house as often as she\nlikes; and if her husband object, she is empowered in the deed to bring\nan action against him for false imprisonment.[230]\n\nHere we may leave the subject of the taboo. Something, however, must be\nsaid on the Swan-maiden as divine ancestress. But first of all, let me\nadvert to one or two cases where divinity is ascribed without\nprogenitorship. The Maori heroine and her husband are worshipped. They\ndo not appear to be considered actual parents of any New Zealand clan;\nbut the husband at all events would be deemed one of the same blood.\nPassing over to New Guinea, we find a remarkable saga concerning the\nmoon. The moon is a daughter of the earth, born by the assistance of a\nnative of the village of Keile, about twenty miles to the eastward of\nPort Moresby. A long while ago, digging deeper than usual, he came upon\na round, smooth, silvery, shining object, which, after he had got it out\nand lifted it up, grew rapidly larger and larger until it floated away.\nHe set out to search for it; nor did he desist until one day he came\nupon a large pool in the river and found a beautiful woman bathing. On\nthe bank lay her grass petticoat where she had cast it off. He sat down\nupon it; and when her attention was attracted to him by his dogs, they\nrecognized one another. She was the moon, and he was the man who had dug\nher up out of the earth; and he claimed her as his wife. \"If I marry\nyou,\" she replied, \"you must die; but as you have touched my clothes you\nmust die in any case, and so for one day I will marry you, and then you\nmust go home to your village and prepare for death.\" Accordingly they\nwere married for one day; and the man then went home, made his funeral\nfeast and died. The moon in due course married the sun, as it was her\ndoom to do; but his intolerable jealousies rendered their union so\nwretched that they at last agreed to see as little of one another as\npossible. This accounts for their conduct ever since. An Annamite legend\nrelates that a woodcutter found some fairies bathing at a lovely\nfountain. He took possession of the raiment of one, and hid it at the\nbottom of his rice-barn. In this way he compelled its owner to become\nhis wife; and they lived together happily for some years. Their son was\nthree years old when, in her husband's absence, she sold their stock of\nrice. On clearing out the barn her clothes were found. She bade farewell\nto the child, left her comb stuck in his collar, donned her clothes and\nflew away. When her husband returned and learned how matters stood, he\ntook his son and repaired to the fountain, where happily they fell in\nwith some of his wife's servants who were sent thither to draw water.\nEngaging them in conversation, he caused his son to drop the comb into\none of the water-jars. By this means his wife recognized them, and sent\nan enchanted handkerchief which enabled him to fly and follow her\nservants to her home. After awhile she sent him and her son back to the\nearth, promising to get permission in a short time to return and live\nwith them. By the carelessness of one of her servants, however, both\nfather and son were dropped into the sea and drowned. Apprised of the\ncatastrophe by ravens, the fairy transformed her servant, by way of\npunishment, into--or according to a variant, became herself--the morning\nstar, while father and son became the evening star. And now the morning\nstar and the evening star perpetually seek one another, but never again\ncan they meet.[231]\n\nTurning to the instances where ancestry is claimed, we find that the\nchiefs of the Ati clan are descended from \"the peerless one\" of\nRarotonga. The Arawak Indians of Guiana reckon descent in the female\nline. One of their families takes its name from its foremother, the\nwarlock's daughter who was provided with the dogskin mentioned on a\nprevious page. Another family deduces its name and pedigree from an\nearth-spirit married to one of its ancestors; but it does not appear\nwhether any Swan-maiden myth attaches to her. The fish _puttin_ is\nsacred among the Dyaks. On no account will they eat it, because they\nwould be eating their relations, for they are descended from the lady\nwhose first and last form was a _puttin_. In other words, the _puttin_\nis their totem. A family of the town of Chama on the Gold Coast claims\nin like manner to be descended from the fish-woman of whose story I have\ngiven an outline; and a legend to the same effect is current at the\nneighbouring town of Appam; nor in either instance do the members of the\nfamily dare to eat of the fish of the kind to which they believe their\nancestress belonged. The totem superstition is manifest in the case of\nthe Phoenician, or Babylonian, goddess Derceto, who was represented as\nwoman to the waist and thence downward fish. She was believed to have\nbeen a woman, the mother of Semiramis, and to have thrown herself in\ndespair into a lake. Her worshippers abstained from eating fish; though\nfish were offered to her in sacrifice, and golden fish suspended in her\ntemple. Melusina was the mother of the family of Lusignan. She used to\nappear and shriek on one of the castle towers as often as the head of\nthe family, or a King of France, was to die, or when any disaster was\nabout to happen to the realm, or to the town of Luxemburg. She was also\nthe author of certain presages of plenty or famine. Similar legends are\ntold of the castles of Argouges and Ranes in Normandy. If the Irish\nBanshee tales could be minutely examined, it is probable that they would\nresolve themselves into stories of supernatural ancestresses. To the\nVila of the Illyrian story, and the fairy of Sir Francis Palgrave's\nSpanish story, noble families attribute their origin. A family in the\nTirol is descended from the lady who insisted on her husband's pouring\nwater with his right hand; and the members of a noble Greek family have\nthe blood of a Nereid in their veins.[232]\n\nThough the heroine of the Van Pool might never return to her husband,\nshe was drawn back to earth by the care of her three sons, who, by means\nof her instructions, became celebrated physicians. On one occasion she\naccompanied them to a place still called Pant-y-Meddygon (the hollow, or\ndingle, of the physicians), and there pointed out to them the various\nherbs which grew around, and revealed their medicinal virtues. It is\nadded that, in order that their knowledge should not be lost, the\nphysicians wisely committed the same to writing for the benefit of\nmankind throughout all ages. A collection of medical recipes purporting\nto be this very work still exists in a manuscript preserved at Jesus\nCollege, Oxford, which is now in course of publication by Professor Rhys\nand Mr. J. Gwenogvryn Evans, and is known as the Red Book of Hergest. An\nedition of the \"Meddygon Myddfai,\" as this collection is called, was\npublished by the Welsh MSS. Society thirty years ago, with an English\ntranslation. It professes to have been written under the direction of\nRhiwallon the Physician and his sons Kadwgan, Gruffydd, and Einion; and\nthey are called \"the ablest and most eminent of the physicians of their\ntime and of the time of Rhys Gryg, their lord, and the lord of Dinevor,\nthe nobleman who kept their rights and privileges whole unto them, as\nwas meet.\" This nobleman was Prince of South Wales in the early part of\nthe thirteenth century; and his monumental effigy is in the cathedral\nof St. David's. Mr. Gwenogvryn Evans, than whom there is no higher\nauthority, is of opinion that the manuscript was written at the end of\nthe fourteenth century--that is to say, about two hundred years after\nthe date at which the marriage between the youth of Blaensawdde and his\nfairy love is alleged to have taken place; and it is believed by the\neditor of the published volume to be a copy of a still more ancient\nmanuscript now in the British Museum. Yet it contains no reference to\nthe legend of the Van Pool. The volume in question includes a transcript\nof another manuscript of the work, which is ascribed in the colophon to\nHowel the Physician, who, writing in the first person, claims to be\n\"regularly descended in the male line from the said Einion, the son of\nRhiwallon, the physician of Myddfai, being resident in Cilgwryd, in\nGower.\" This recension of the work is much later in date than the\nformer. A portion of it cannot be older than the end of the fifteenth\ncentury; and the manuscript from which it was printed was probably the\nresult of accretions extending over a long period of time, down to the\nyear 1743, when it was copied \"from the book of John Jones, Physician of\nMyddfai, the last lineal descendant of the family.\" The remedies it\ncontains, though many of them are antique enough, and superstitious\nenough, are of various dates and sources; and, so far from being\nattributed to a supernatural origin, they are distinctly said to \"have\nbeen proved to be the best and most suitable for the human body through\nthe research and diligent study of Rhiwallon\" and his three sons. The\nnegative evidence of the \"Meddygon Myddfai,\" therefore, tends to show\nthat the connection of the Van Pool story with the Physicians is of\ncomparatively recent date.[233]\n\nAnd yet it is but natural (if we may use such an expression) that a\nmythical creature like the Lady of the Lake should be the progenitor of\nan extraordinary offspring. Elsewhere we have seen her sisters the\ntotems of clans, the goddesses of nations, the parents of great families\nand renowned personages. Melusina gave birth to monsters of ugliness and\nevil,[234] and through them to a long line of nobles. So the heroine of\nthe Llanberis legend had two sons and two daughters, all of whom were\nremarkable. The elder son became a great physician, and all his\ndescendants were celebrated for their proficiency in medicine. The\nsecond son was a Welsh Tubal-cain. One of the daughters invented the\nsmall ten-stringed harp, and the other the spinning wheel. \"Thus,\" we\nare told, \"were introduced the arts of medicine, manufactures, music,\nand woollen work!\" If, then, there were a family at Myddfai celebrated\nfor their leechcraft, and possessed of lands and influence, as we know\nwas the fact, their hereditary skill would seem to an ignorant peasantry\nto demand a supernatural origin; and their wealth and material power\nwould not refuse the additional consideration which a connection with\nthe legend of the neighbouring pool would bring them.\n\nBut for all that the incident of the reappearance by the mother to her\nchildren may have been part of the original story. The Carnarvonshire\nfairies of various tales analogous to that of the Van Pool are recalled\nby maternal love to the scenes of their wedded life; and the hapless\nfather hears his wife's voice outside the window chanting pathetically:\n\n    \"If my son should feel it cold,\n    Let him wear his father's coat;\n    If the fair one feel the cold,\n    Let her wear my petticoat!\"\n\nWhatever he may have thought of these valuable directions, they hardly\nseem to us sufficient to have brought the lady up from \"the bottomless\npool of Corwrion\" to utter. There is more sense in the mother's song in\na Kaffir tale. This woman was not of purely supernatural origin. She was\nborn in consequence of her (human) mother's eating pellets given her by\na bird. Married to a chief by whom she was greatly beloved, it was\nnoticed that she never went out of doors by day. In her husband's\nabsence her father-in-law forced her to go and fetch water from the\nriver for him in the daytime. Like the woman by the waters of the Rhone,\nshe was drawn down into the river. That evening her child cried\npiteously; and the nurse took it to the stream in the middle of the\nnight, singing:\n\n    \"It is crying, it is crying,\n    The child of Sihamba Ngenyanga;\n    It is crying, it will not be pacified.\"\n\nThe mother thereupon came out of the water, and wailed this song as she\nput the child to her breast:\n\n    \"It is crying, it is crying,\n    The child of the walker by moonlight.\n    It was done intentionally by people whose names are unmentionable.[235]\n    They sent her for water during the day.\n    She tried to dip with the milk-basket, and then it sank.\n    Tried to dip with the ladle, and then it sank.\n    Tried to dip with the mantle, and then it sank.\"\n\nThe result of the information conveyed in these words was her ultimate\nrecovery by her husband with the assistance of her mother, who was a\nskilful sorceress.[236]\n\nA Finnish tale belonging to the Cinderella group represents the heroine\nas changed into a reindeer-cow by an ogress who takes her place as wife\nand mother. But her babe will not be comforted; so a woman, to whose\ncare he is committed, carries him into the forest, and sings the\nfollowing incantation:\n\n    \"Little blue eyes, little red-fell,\n    Come thou thine own son to suckle,\n    Feed whom thou hast given birth to!\n    Of that cannibal nought will he,\n    Never drinks from that bloodsucker;\n    For her breasts to him are loathsome,\n    Nor can hunger drive him to them.\"\n\nThe reindeer cannot withstand this appeal. She casts her skin, and comes\nin human form to suckle her child. This results, after two repetitions\nin the husband's burning the reindeer hide and clasping her in his arms.\nBut, like Peleus, he has to hold her fast in spite of various\ntransformations, until he has overcome the charm and has her once more\nin her pristine shape![237]\n\nIt was not strength so much as boldness and tenacity that conquered\nhere. In the Kaffir story the husband's first attempt to pull his wife\nout of the water by sheer force failed. Thus, too, in one of the\nTirolese stories already mentioned the husband lies in wait for his wife\nwhen she returns, as usual, to comb her little girl's hair on a\nSaturday. He catches her by the arm as she enters; and she tells him\nthat if he can hold her for a little while she must stay: otherwise she\nwill never come again. All his strength is, however, too little to\nstruggle successfully with her. The mother's visits to her children are,\nindeed, a frequent sequel to the story; and occasionally the tie which\ncompels her to return is taken advantage of by the forsaken husband to\nobtain possession of her again. But fraud, not force, is the means\nemployed, as in the Lapp story of the Maiden out of the Sea, where the\nmermaid's clothes are once more confiscated. In a legend of Llyn y\nDywarchen (the Lake of the Sod), not very far from Beddgelert, the\nwater-nymph subsequently appears to her husband, conversing with him\nfrom a floating turf while he stands on the shore. Here the motive of\nthe reappearance is the unusual one of conjugal, rather than parental,\naffection.[238]\n\nI must not omit to add that the first Sunday in August is kept in the\nneighbourhood of the Van Pool as the anniversary of the fairy's return\nto the lake. It is believed that annually on that day a commotion takes\nplace in the lake; its waters boil to herald the approach of the lady\nwith her oxen. It was, and still is (though in decreasing force), the\ncustom for large numbers of people to make a pilgrimage to witness the\nphenomenon; and it is said that the lady herself appears in mermaid form\nupon the surface, and combs her tresses. I have little doubt that in\nthis superstition we have the relic of a religious festival in honour of\nan archaic divinity whose abode was in the lake. She has, perhaps, only\nescaped being an enchanted princess by being a Welsh rather than a\nGerman goddess. If the mermaid form be of genuine antiquity,--about\nwhich I confess to a lurking suspicion,--it is another bond with the\nScottish stories, with Melusina and with Derceto.[239]\n\nWe have now considered the principal points of the myth. The\nfeather-robe, or skin, we found absent from all its more archaic\nexamples. There, no change of form occurs, or when it does occur it is\naccomplished by simple transformation. When present, the robe is a mere\nsymbol of the lady's superhuman nature, or else the result of\nenchantment. These are more recent types, and are all, or nearly all,\n_maerchen_. In the later sagas, such as those of Melusina and the Lady of\nthe Van Pool, it is again absent; though relics of the change of form\nfrequently remain.\n\nCapture of the Swan-maiden proper is effected by theft of her robe: in\nother types either by main force, or more frequently with her consent,\nmore or less willingly given, or by her own initiative.\n\nWe then passed to the more important subject of the taboo. The taboo,\nstrictly speaking, only appears where the peltry is absent. Several of\nits forms correspond with rules of antique etiquette. Others recall\nspecial points connected with savage life, such as the dislike of iron\nand steel, and the prejudice against the mention of a personal name.\nOther prohibitions are against reproaching the wife with her origin,\nagainst reminding her of her former condition, or against questioning\nher conduct or crossing her will. But whether the taboo be present or\nabsent, the loss of the wife is equally inevitable, equally foreseen\nfrom the beginning. It is the doom of the connection between a simple\nman and a superhuman female. Even where the feather-robe is absent the\ntaboo is not always found. Among savages the marriage-bond is often very\nloose: notably in the more backward races. And among these the\nsuperhuman wife's excuse for flight is simpler; and sometimes it is only\nan arbitrary exercise of will. The taboo grows up with the advance in\ncivilization.\n\nLastly, we considered the Swan-maiden as divine ancestress. We found her\nresident in heaven, we found her worshipped, we found her as the totem\nof a clan. The totemistic stories are widely spread,--so widely, indeed,\nas to afford a presumption that we have in them a clue to the whole\nmeaning of the myth. For not only have we the complete totemistic form,\nas among the Dyaks and the tribes of the Gold Coast; but we find the\nsuperstition fading through the goddess Derceto into modern sagas of the\nsupernatural mother of a family, who to her sometimes owe extraordinary\npowers, and over whose fate she continually watches.\n\nHere, then, our study of this beautiful myth must close. I am far from\nsuggesting that the subject is exhausted. On the contrary, it is so\nlarge and so complex that I have rigidly abstained from anything more\nthan a very imperfect examination of its principal features. On some of\nthe points here partially discussed I shall have something more to add\nin our final chapter, when discussing certain theories on the fairy\nbeliefs.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[202] Grey, p. 66; Taylor, p. 138; White, vol. i. pp. 95, 115, _et\nseqq._, vol. ii. p. 127, _et seqq_.\n\n[203] \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. i. p. 202; \"Revue des Trad. Pop.\" vol. iv.\np. 305.\n\n[204] Von Hahn, vol. ii. p. 78. In illustration of these remarks on\nmarital relations in a society where female kinship only is recognized,\nlet me quote the following paragraph concerning Maori customs. The\nMaories, it must be borne in mind, have only recently emerged from this\nstage; and many relics of it remain.\n\n\"Sometimes the father simply told his intended son-in-law he might come\nand live with his daughter; she was thenceforth considered his wife, he\nlived with his father-in-law, and became one of the tribe, or _hapu_, to\nwhich his wife belonged, and in case of war, was often obliged to fight\nagainst his own relatives. So common is the custom of the bridegroom\ngoing to live with his wife's family, that it frequently occurs, when he\nrefuses to do so, she will leave him, and go back to her relatives;\nseveral instances came under my notice where young men have tried to\nbreak through this custom, and have so lost their wives\" (Taylor, p.\n337).\n\n[205] Not entirely: see Burton, \"Suppl. Nights,\" vol. vi. p. 363; \"F. L.\nJournal,\" vol. i. p. 284; Sastri, p. 148.\n\n[206] In speaking of a type as more or less recent than another, it must\nbe recollected that I am not speaking of chronological order, but of the\norder of development. For aught we know, the story of the Marquis of the\nSun may as a matter of date be actually older, could we trace it, than\nthe far more archaic story of Tawhaki. But the society in which it took\nshape was more advanced than that disclosed in the Maori legend.\n\n[207] Webster, p. 120; Campbell, vol. i. p. 25; \"Melusine,\" vol. i. p.\n446; \"F. L. Espan.\" vol. i. p. 187; Schneller, p. 71; Imbriani, p. 411;\nCosquin, vol. i. pp. 9, 25; Sebillot, \"Contes,\" vol. i. p. 197;\nGrundtvig, vol. i. p. 46; Cavallius, p. 255; Maspons y Labros, p. 102;\n\"F. L. Journal,\" vol. i. p. 284, quoting Lewis.\n\n[208] Waldau, p. 248; Ralston, \"R. F. Tales,\" p. 120, from Afanasief.\n\n[209] Compare the assistance rendered by the birds to Tini-rau, _supra_,\np. 286. The Eskimo hero is conveyed to his wife on a salmon's tail\n(Rink, p. 145). Where is the Buddhist pedigree of this incident, or the\nevidence of Buddhist influence which produced it?\n\n[210] Sastri, p. 80; Cosquin, vol. ii. pp. 19, 18; Ralston, \"Tibetan\nTales,\" p. 72; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. ii. p. 9; Vernaleken, p. 280.\n\n[211] \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. vii. p. 318; Pitre, vol. iv. pp. 391, 410. A\nvariant given by Prof. De Gubernatis is nearly allied to the Cinderella\ngroup (\"Novelline,\" p. 29); Brett, p. 176.\n\n[212] Basset, p. 161, quoting Bresnier, \"Cours de langue Arabe.\" In a\nMaya story given by Dr. Brinton, the husband prevents his wife's\ntransformation in a different way--namely, by throwing salt (\"F. L.\nJournal,\" vol. i. p. 251).\n\n[213] \"Journ. Ethnol. Soc.\" N. S., vol. ii. p. 26; Giles, _passim_;\nBrauns, p. 388.\n\n[214] \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. v. p. 94.\n\n[215] Map, Dist. ii. c. 11.\n\n[216] Map, Dist. ii. c. 12.\n\n[217] \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. iv. p. 201. Nothing turns on the actual names\nin these stories; they have been evidently much corrupted,--probably\npast all recognition.\n\n[218] Ibid. p. 189; vol. v. pp. 59, 66; vol. vi. p. 196.\n\n[219] Pliny l. xvi. c. 95; Thorpe, vol. ii. pp. 275, 277; Stephens, p.\n248, citing the \"Barzas Breiz.\"\n\n[220] The above paragraphs had scarcely been written when the London\npapers (June 1890) reprinted extracts from a letter in the _Vossische\nZeitung_ relating the adventures of Dr. Bayol, the Governor of Kotenon,\nwho was recently imprisoned by the bloodthirsty King of Dahomey. The\nking was too suspicious to sign the letter written in his name to the\nPresident of the French Republic. In all probability he was unwilling to\nlet the President have his sign manual, for of course M. Carnot would\nhave no hesitation in bewitching him by its means.\n\n[221] Keightley, p. 121, quoting from Thiele; Thorpe, vol. iii. p. 155.\n\n[222] Ancient Laws and Institutes of Wales (Public Record Comm., 1841)\npp. 44, 252. (The Dimetian code was the one in force at Myddfai; but\nthat of Gwynedd was similar in this respect.) Farrer, p. 256.\n\n[223] Campbell, vol. iii. p. 403; Mac Innes, p. 211; Wratislaw, p. 314.\n_Cf._ a similar story told by a peasant to Dr. Krauss' mother no longer\nago than 1888, as having recently happened at Mrkopolje: he \"knew the\nparties!\" (Krauss, \"Volksgl.\" p. 107).\n\n[224] Ellis, p. 208; Grinnell, p. 129.\n\n[225] \"Choice Notes,\" p. 96; _cf._ Jahn, p. 364, cited above, p. 279.\n(Kennedy relates the story of the Lady of Inchiquin differently.\nAccording to him the husband was never to invite company to the castle.\nThis is probably more modern than the other version. Kennedy, p. 282.)\nKeightley, p. 458, quoting the _Quarterly Review_, vol. xxii. Sir\nFrancis Palgrave, though an accurate writer, was guilty of the\nunpardonable sin of invariably neglecting to give his authorities. Ibid.\np. 485, quoting Mdlle. Bosquet, \"La Normandie Romanesque.\"\n\n[226] \"Journal Amer. F. L.\" vol ii. p. 137; vol. i. p. 76; Schneller, p.\n210; \"Rosenoel,\" vol. i. p. 162; Child, vol. i. p. 337, quoting Schmidt\nand Apollodorus; \"Panjab N. & Q.,\" vol. ii. p. 207. (In this form the\nstory is found as a tradition, probably derived from the Mahabharata.)\n\"Trans. Aberd. Eistedd.\" p. 225; White, vol. i. p. 126.\n\n[227] Dennys, p. 140; \"Corpus Poet. Bor.\" vol. i. p. 168;\n\"Katha-sarit-sagara,\" vol. ii. p. 453, _cf._ p. 577; White, vol. i. p.\n88; Schneller, p. 210; Robertson Smith, p. 50.\n\n[228] Gill, p. 265.\n\n[229] \"Indian N. & Q.\" vol. iv. p. 147.\n\n[230] \"Sacred Books of the East,\" vol. xxvii. pp. 471, 475, 476; \"Indian\nN. & Q.\" vol. iv. p. 147.\n\n[231] Romilly, p. 134; Landes, p. 123.\n\n[232] Bent, p. 13. The Nereids in modern Greek folklore are conceived in\nall points as Swan-maidens. They fly through the air by means of magical\nraiment (Schmidt, p. 133).\n\n[233] See my article on the \"Meddygon Myddfai,\" entitled \"Old Welsh Folk\nMedicine,\" \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. ix. p. 227.\n\n[234] A certain German family used to excuse its faults by attributing\nthem to a sea-fay who was reckoned among its ancestors; Birlinger, \"Aus\nSchwaben,\" vol. i. p. 7, quoting the \"Zimmerische Chronik.\"\n\n[235] Namely, her husband's father, whose name she was not permitted by\netiquette to utter. See above, p. 309.\n\n[236] Theal, p. 54. The Teton lady who became a mermaid was summoned, by\nsinging an incantation, to suckle her child; \"Journal Amer. F. L.\" vol.\nii. p. 137.\n\n[237] Schreck, p. 71.\n\n[238] Poestion, p. 55; \"Cymru Fu,\" p. 474.\n\n[239] \"Y Cymmrodor,\" vol. iv. p. 177, vol. vi. p. 203. I have also made\ninquiries at Ystradgynlais, in the neighbourhood of the lake, the\nresults of which confirm the statements of Professor Rhys'\ncorrespondents; but I have failed to elicit any further information.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n     Retrospect--The fairies of Celtic and Teutonic races of the same\n     nature as the supernatural beings celebrated in the traditions of\n     other nations--All superstitions of supernatural beings\n     explicable by reference to the conceptions of\n     savages--Liebrecht's Ghost Theory of some Swan-maiden\n     myths--MacRitchie's Finn Theory--The amount of truth in\n     them--Both founded on too narrow an induction--Conclusion.\n\n\nWe have in the preceding pages examined some of the principal groups of\ntales and superstitions relating to Fairies proper,--that is to say, the\nElves and Fays of Celtic and Teutonic tradition.\n\nDealing in the first instance with the sagas found in this country, or\nin Germany, our investigations have by no means ended there; for in\norder to understand these sagas, we have found occasion to refer again\nand again to the _maerchen_, as well as the sagas, of other European\nnations,--nay, to the traditions of races as wide apart from our own in\ngeographical position and culture, as the South Sea Islanders, the\nAinos, and the Aborigines of America. And we have found among peoples in\nthe most distant parts of the globe similar stories and superstitions.\nIncidentally, too, we have learned something of the details of archaic\npractices, and have found the two great divisions of Tradition,--belief\nand practice,--inseparably interwoven.\n\nI do not pretend to have touched upon all the myths referring to\nFairies, as thus strictly defined; and the Kobolds and Puck, the\nHousehold Spirits and Mischievous Demons, have scarcely been so much as\nmentioned. Want of space forbids our going further. It is hoped,\nhowever, that enough has been said, not merely to give the readers an\nidea of the Fairy Mythology correct as far as it goes, but, beyond that,\nto vindicate the method pursued in the investigation, as laid down in\nour second chapter, by demonstrating the essential identity of human\nimagination all over the world, and by tracing the stories with which we\nhave been dealing to a more barbarous state of society and a more\narchaic plane of thought. It now remains, therefore, to recall what we\nhave ascertained concerning the nature and origin of the Fairies, and\nbriefly to consider two rival theories.\n\nWe started from some of the ascertained facts of savage thought and\nsavage life. The doctrine of Spirits formed our first proposition. This\nwe defined to be the belief held by savages that man consists of body\nand spirit; that it is possible for the spirit to quit the body and roam\nat will in different shapes about the world, returning to the body as to\nits natural home; that in the spirit's absence the body sleeps, and that\nit dies if the spirit return not; further, that the universe swarms with\nspirits embodied and disembodied, because everything in the world has a\nspirit, and all these spirits are analogues of the human spirit, having\nthe same will and acting from the same motives; and that if by chance\nany of these spirits be ejected from its body, it may continue to exist\nwithout a body, or it may find and enter a new body, not necessarily\nsuch an one as it occupied before, but one quite different. The doctrine\nof Transformation was another of our premises: that is to say, the\nbelief held by savages in the possibility of a change of form while\npreserving the same identity. A third premise was the belief in\nWitchcraft, or the power of certain persons to cause the transformations\njust mentioned, and to perform by means of spells, or symbolic actions\nand mystical words, various other feats beyond ordinary human power. And\nthere were others to which I need not now refer, all of which were\nassumed to be expressed in the tales and songs, and in the social and\npolitical institutions, of savages. Along with these, we assumed the\nhypothesis of the evolution of civilization from savagery. By this I\nmean that just as the higher orders of animal and vegetable life have\nbeen developed from germs which appeared on this planet incalculable\nages ago; so during a past of unknown length the civilization of the\nhighest races of men has been gradually evolving through the various\nstages of savagery and barbarism up to what we know it to-day; and so\nevery nation, no matter how barbarous, has arisen from a lower stage\nthan that in which it is found, and is on its way, if left to its\nnatural processes, to something higher and better. This is an hypothesis\nwhich does not, of course, exclude the possibility of temporary and\npartial relapses, such as we know have taken place in the history of\nevery civilized country, any more than it excludes the possibility of\nthe decay and death of empires; but upon the whole it claims that\nprogress and not retrogression is the law of human society. The\ndifferent stages of this progress have everywhere left their mark on the\ntales and songs, the sayings and superstitions, the social, religious\nand political institutions--in other words, on the belief and\npractice--of mankind.\n\nStarting from these premises, we have examined five groups, or cycles,\nof tales concerning the Fairy Mythology. We have found Fairyland very\nhuman in its organization. Its inhabitants marry, sometimes among\nthemselves, sometimes into mankind. They have children born to them; and\nthey require at such times female assistance. They steal children from\nmen, and leave their own miserable brats in exchange; they steal women,\nand sometimes leave in their stead blocks of wood, animated by magical\nart, or sometimes one of themselves. In the former case the animation\ndoes not usually last very long, and the women is then supposed to die.\nTheir females sometimes in turn become captive to men. Unions thus\nformed are, however, not lasting, until the husband has followed the\nwife to her own home, and conquered his right to her afresh by some\ngreat adventure. This is not always in the story: presumably, therefore,\nnot always possible. On the other hand, he who enters Fairyland and\npartakes of fairy food is spell-bound: he cannot return--at least for\nmany years, perhaps for ever--to the land of men. Fairies are grateful\nto men for benefits conferred, and resentful for injuries. They never\nfail to reward those who do them a kindness; but their gifts usually\nhave conditions attached, which detract from their value and sometimes\nbecome a source of loss and misery. Nor do they forget to revenge\nthemselves on those who offend them; and to watch them, when they do not\ndesire to be manifested, is a mortal offence. Their chief distinction\nfrom men is in their unbounded magical powers, whereof we have had\nseveral illustrations. They make things seem other than they are; they\nappear and disappear at will; they make long time seem short, or short\ntime long; they change their own forms; they cast spells over mortals,\nand keep them spell-bound for ages.\n\nAll these customs and all these powers are asserted of the Fairies\nproperly so called. And when we look at the superstitions of other races\nthan the Celts and Teutons, to which our inquiries have been primarily\ndirected, we find the same things asserted of all sorts of creatures.\nDeities, ancestors, witches, ghosts, as well as animals of every kind,\nare endowed by the belief of nations all over the world with powers\nprecisely similar to those of the Fairies, and with natures and social\norganizations corresponding with those of men. These beliefs can only be\nreferred to the same origin as the fairy superstitions; and all arise\nout of the doctrine of spirits, the doctrine of transformations, and the\nbelief in witchcraft, held by savage tribes.\n\nBut here I must, at the risk of some few repetitions, notice a theory on\nthe subject of the Swan-maiden myth enunciated by Liebrecht. That\ndistinguished writer, in his book on Folklore, devotes a section to the\nconsideration of the group which has occupied us in the last two\nchapters, and maintains, with his accustomed wealth of allusion and his\naccustomed ingenuity, that some at least of the Swan-maidens are nothing\nmore nor less than ghosts of the departed, rescued from the kingdom of\ndarkness for a while, but bound to return thither after a short respite\nhere with those whom they love. Now it is clear that if Swan-maiden\ntales are to be resolved into ghost stories, all other supernatural\nbeings, gods and devils as well as fairies and ghosts, will turn out to\nbe nothing but spectres of the dead. A summary of his argument, and of\nthe reasons for rejecting it, will, therefore, not only fill up any\nserious gaps in our discussion of the main incidents of the myth in\nquestion; but it will take a wider sweep, and include the whole subject\nof the present volume.\n\nHis argument, as I understand it, is based, first, on the terms of the\ntaboo. The object of the taboo, he thinks, is to avoid any remark being\nmade, any question being asked, any object being presented, which would\nremind these spirits of their proper home, and awaken a longing they\ncannot withstand to return. There is an old Teutonic legend of a knight\nwho came in a little boat drawn by a swan to succour and wed a\ndistressed lady, on whom he laid a charge never to ask whence he came,\nor in what country he was born. When she breaks this commandment the\nswan reappears and fetches him away. So the nightmare-wife, as we have\nseen, in one of the tales vanishes on being asked how she became a\nnightmare. Again, the fay of Argouges disappears on the name of Death\nbeing mentioned in her presence. A fair maiden in an Indian tale, who is\nfound by the hero in the neighbourhood of a fountain, and bears the name\nof Bheki (Frog), forbids her husband ever to let her see water. When she\nis thirsty and begs him for water, the doom is fulfilled on his bringing\nit to her. A similar tale may be added from Ireland, though Liebrecht\ndoes not mention it. A man who lived near Lough Sheelin, in County\nMeath, was annoyed by having his corn eaten night after night. So he sat\nup to watch; and to his astonishment a number of horses came up out of\nthe lake driven by a most beautiful woman, whom he seized and induced to\nmarry him. She made the stipulation that she was never to be allowed to\nsee the lake again; and for over twenty years she lived happily with\nhim, till one day she strolled out to look at the haymakers, and caught\nsight of the distant water. With a loud cry she flew straight to it, and\nvanished beneath the surface.[240]\n\nLiebrecht's next reason is based upon the place where the maiden is\nfound,--a forest, or a house in the forest. In this connection he refers\nto the tavern, or drinking-shop, on the borders of the forest, where\nWild Edric found his bride, and points to a variant of the story, also\ngiven by Walter Map, in which she is said, in so many words, to have\nbeen snatched _from the dead_.[241] The forest, he fancies, is the place\nof the dead, the underworld. Lastly, he gives numerous legends of the\nMiddle Ages,--some of which found their way into the \"Decameron,\" that\ngreat storehouse of floating tales, and other literary works of\nimagination, as well as into chronicles,--and instances from more modern\nfolklore, wherein a mistress or wife dies, or seems to die, and is\nburied, yet is afterwards recovered from the tomb, and lives to wed, if\na maiden, and to bear children. He supports these by references to the\nvampire superstitions, and to the case of Osiris, who returned after\ndeath to Isis and became the father of Horus. And, following Uhland, he\ncompares the sleep-thorn, with which Odin pricked the Valkyrie,\nBrynhild, and so put her into a magic slumber, to the stake which was\ndriven into the corpse suspected of being a vampire, to prevent its\nrising any more from the grave and troubling the living.\n\nNow it may be admitted that there is much that is plausible, much even\nthat is true, in this theory. It might be urged in its behalf that (as\nwe have had more than one occasion in the course of this work to know)\nFairyland is frequently not to be distinguished from the world of the\ndead. Time is not known there; and the same consequences of permanent\nabode follow upon eating the food of the dead and the food of the\nfairies. Further, when living persons are stolen by fairies, mere dead\nimages are sometimes left in their place. These arguments, and such as\nthese, might well be added to Liebrecht's; and it would be hard to say\nthat a formidable case was not made out. And yet the theory fails to\ntake account of some rather important considerations. Perhaps the\nstrongest point made--a point insisted on with great power--is that of\nthe taboo. The case of the lady of Argouges is certainly very striking,\nthough, taken by itself, it is far from conclusive. It might very well\nbe that a supernatural being, in remaining here, would be obliged to\nsubmit to mortality, contrary perhaps to its nature; and to remind it of\nthis might fill it with an irresistible impulse to fly from so horrible\na fate. I do not say this is the explanation, but it is as feasible as\nthe other. In the Spanish story it was not the utterance of the name of\nDeath, but of a holy name--the name of Mary--which compelled the wife to\nleave her husband. Here she was unquestionably regarded by Spanish\northodoxy, not as a spirit of the dead, but as a foul fiend, able to\nassume what bodily form it would, but bound to none. The prohibition of\ninquiry as to the bride's former home may arise not so much from a\ndesire to avoid the recollection, as from the resentment of impertinent\ncuriosity, which we have seen arouses excessive annoyance in\nsupernatural bosoms. The resentment of equally impertinent reproaches,\nor a reminiscence of savage etiquette that avoids the direct name, may\naccount at least as well for other forms of the taboo. Liebrecht\nsuggests most ingeniously that assault and battery must strike the\nunhappy elf still more strongly than reproaches, as a difference between\nher present and former condition, and remind her still more\nimportunately of her earlier home, and that this explains the\nprohibition of the \"three causeless blows.\" It may be so, though there\nis no hint of this in the stories; and yet her former condition need not\nhave been that of a ghost of the dead, nor her earlier home the tomb. By\nfar the greater number of these stories represent the maiden as a\nwater-nymph; but it is the depths of the earth rather than the water\nwhich are commonly regarded as the dwelling-place of the departed.\nMoreover, the correspondence I have tried to point out between the\netiquette of various peoples and the taboo,--such, for instance, as the\nban upon a husband's breaking into his wife's seclusion at a delicate\nmoment in his family history,--would remain, on Liebrecht's theory,\npurely accidental. Nor would the theory account for the absence of a\ntaboo in the lower savagery, nor for the totemistic character of the\nlady, nor, least of all, for the peltry which is the most picturesque,\nif not the most important, incident in this group of tales.\n\nIn fact, the only direct evidence for Liebrecht's contention is the\nvariant of Wild Edric's legend alluded to by Map. His words are,\nspeaking of Alnoth, Edric's son, a great benefactor of the see of\nHereford: \"The man whose mother vanished into air openly in the sight of\nmany persons, being indignant at her husband's reproaching her that he\nhad carried her off by force from among the dead (_quod cam a mortuis\nrapuisset_).\" Upon this it is to be observed that the expression here\nmade use of cannot be regarded as one which had accidentally dropped out\nof the narrative previously given; but it is an allusion to an\nindependent and inconsistent version, given in forgetfulness that the\nwriter had already in another part of his work related the story at\nlarge and with comments. There he had explicitly called Alnoth--the heir\nand offspring of a devil (_daemon_), and had expressed his wonder that\nsuch a person should have given up his whole inheritance (namely, the\nmanor of Ledbury North, which he made over to the see of Hereford in\ngratitude for the miraculous cure of his palsy) to Christ in return for\nhis restored health, and spent the rest of his life as a pilgrim.\nMediaeval writers (especially ecclesiastics) were in a difficulty in\ndescribing fairies. They looked upon them as having an objective\nexistence; and yet they knew not how to classify them. Fairies were\ncertainly neither departed saints nor holy angels. Beside these two\nkinds of spirits, the only choice left was between devils and ghosts of\nthe wicked dead, or, at most, of the dead who had no claims to\nextraordinary goodness. They did not believe in any other creatures\nwhich could be identified with these mysterious elves. It is no wonder,\ntherefore, if they were occasionally perplexed, occasionally\ninconsistent, sometimes denouncing them as devils, at other times\ndismissing them as ghosts.[242]\n\nThis is what seems to have happened to Map. In the two chapters\nimmediately preceding, he has given two legends illustrating each horn\nof the dilemma. One of these relates the marriage of Henno\nWith-the-Teeth, who found a lovely maiden in a grove on the coast of\nNormandy. She was sitting alone, apparelled in royal silk, and weeping.\nHer beauty and her tears attracted the gallant knight, to whom, in\nresponse to his questions, she told a cock-and-bull story about her\nfather having brought her, all unwilling as she was, by sea to be\nmarried to the King of France; but having been driven by a storm on the\nshore, she said she had landed, and then her father had taken advantage\nof a sudden change of wind to sail away, leaving her to her fate. Henno\nwas an easy conquest: he took her home and married her. Unluckily,\nhowever, he had a mother who had her suspicions. She noticed that her\nfair daughter-in-law, though she went often to church, always upon some\ntrumpery excuse came late, so as to avoid being sprinkled with holy\nwater, and as regularly left before the consecration of the elements. So\nthis virtuous old vixen determined to watch one Sunday morning; and she\ndiscovered that after Henno had gone to church, his wife, transformed\ninto a serpent, entered a bath, and in a little while, issuing upon a\ncloth which her maid had spread out for her, she tore it into pieces\nwith her teeth before resuming human form. The maid afterwards went\nthrough the like performance, her mistress waiting upon her. All this\nwas in due course confided to Henno, who, in company with a priest,\nunexpectedly burst in the next time upon his wife and her servant, and\nsprinkled them with holy water. Mistress and maid thereupon with a great\nyell bounded out through the roof and disappeared.\n\nClearly these ladies were devils: no other creatures with self-respect\nwould be guilty of such transformations and such constant disregard of\nthe proprieties at church. Ghosts get their turn in Map's other\nnarrative. It concerns a man whose wife had died. After sorrowing long\nfor her death, he found her one night in a deep and solitary dale amid a\nnumber of women. With great joy he seized her, and, carrying her off,\nlived with her again for many years and had a numerous progeny. Not a\nfew of her descendants were living when Map wrote, and were known as\n_the children of the dead woman_. This, of course, is not a Swan-maiden\nstory at all. At the end of Chapter V. I have referred to some similar\ntales; and what we learned during our discussion of the subject of\nChangelings may lead us to suspect that we have here in an imperfect\nform a story of the exchange of an adult woman for a lifeless image, and\nher recovery from the hands of her ravishers. This is by no means the\nsame plot as that of the stories recounted by Liebrecht in which the\nwife or the betrothed is rescued from the grave. Those stories, at least\nin warm climates where burials are hurried, and in rude ages when\nmedical skill is comparatively undeveloped, are all within the bounds of\npossibility. There does not appear in them any trace of\nmythology,--hardly even of the supernatural; and he would be a bold man\nwho would deny that a substratum of fact may not underlie some of them.\nTo establish their relationship with the group we are now considering,\nlinks of a much more evident character are wanting. The fact that they\nare traditional is not of itself sufficient. The fairy of the Forest of\nDean had not revived after death, or supposed death; nor had she been\nrecovered from supernatural beings who had stolen her away. Map's\naccount, to whatever his expression _from the dead_ may point, is\ninconsistent with either the one or the other. Rather she was stolen\nfrom her own kindred, to become the wife of him who had won her by his\nown right arm.\n\nBut a single instance, and that instance either inconsistent with the\nanalogous traditions, or unable to supply a cogent or consistent\nexplanation of them, is not a very safe basis for a theory. What is it\nworth when it is inconsistent even with the theory itself? Indeed, if\nit were consistent with the theory, we might match it with another\ninstance wholly irreconcilable. Mikailo Ivanovitch in the Russian ballad\nmarries a Swan-maiden, who, unlike some of the ladies just mentioned,\ninsists upon being first baptized into the Christian faith. She makes\nthe stipulation that when the one of them dies the other shall go living\ninto the grave with the dead, and there abide for three months. She\nherself dies. Mikailo enters the grave with her, and there conquers a\ndragon which comes to feast on the dead bodies. The dragon is compelled\nto fetch the waters of life and death, by means of which the hero brings\nhis dead love back to life. Marya, the White Swan, however, proved\nherself so ungrateful that after awhile she took another husband, and\ntwice she acted the part of Delilah to Mikailo. The third time she tried\nit he was compelled in self-defence to put an end to her wiles by\ncutting off her head. This is honest, downright death. There is no\nmistaking it. But then it is impossible that Marya, the White Swan, was\na mere ghost filched from the dead and eager to return. Yet the story of\nMarya is equally a Swan-maiden story, and is just as good to build a\ntheory on as Map's variant of Wild Edric.[243]\n\nIn replying, however, to the arguments of so learned and acute a writer\nas Liebrecht, it is not enough to point out these distinctions and\ninconsistencies: it is not enough to show that the terms of the taboo do\nnot warrant the construction he has put upon them, nor that he has\nfailed to account for very significant incidents. If he has mistaken the\nmeaning of the legends, we should be able to make clear the source of\nhis error. It arises, I hold, from an imperfect apprehension of the\narchaic philosophy underlying the narratives. Liebrecht's comparisons\nare, with one exception, limited to European variants. His premises were\nthus too narrow to admit of his making valid deductions. Perhaps even\nyet we are hardly in a position to do this; but at all events the\nsources of possible error are diminished by the wider area we are able\nto survey, and from the evidence of which we reason. We have compared\nthe stories, both mediaeval and modern, mentioned by Liebrecht, with\n_maerchen_ and sagas told among nations outside European influence in\nvarious degrees of civilization, down to the savagery of Kaffirs and\nDyaks. We have succeeded in classifying their differences, and in spite\nof them we have found all the tales in substantial agreement. They are\nall built on the same general plan; the same backbone of thought runs\nthrough them; and between them all there is no greater divergence than\nthat which in the physical realm separates mammal from bird, or bird\nfrom reptile. It is inevitable to conclude that even the most recently\ndiscovered folk-tale of them has come to us from a distant period when\nour forefathers were in the same rude state as Dyaks and South Sea\nIslanders. No actual adventure of Wild Edric or Raymond of Lusignan gave\nrise to these stories. English patriot and Burgundian Count were only\nthe names whereon they fastened,--the mountains which towered above the\nplain and gathered about their heads the vapours already floating in the\natmosphere. We must therefore go back far beyond the Middle Ages to\nlearn in what manner we are to understand these stories,--back to the\nstate of savagery whence the inhabitants of Europe had long emerged when\nMap and Gervase wrote, but of which the relics linger among us even yet.\n\nThe necessarily meagre exposition of some of the most salient\ncharacteristics of savage thought with which we started has been\nillustrated and its outlines filled in to some extent in the course of\nthe subsequent discussions. I need not, therefore, do more than draw\nattention as briefly as possible to those characteristics that are\nrelevant here. First and foremost, we have found some of the\nSwan-maiden tales boldly professing to account for the worship of\ntotems; and so thoroughly does totemism appear to be ingrained in the\nmyth that there is some reason for thinking that here we have a clue to\nthe myth's origin and meaning. But the intellect to which totemism is a\ncredible theory draws no line of demarcation between humanity and the\nlife and consciousness it recognizes in the whole encircling universe.\nTo it, accordingly, a story of union between a man and a fish, a swan or\na serpent, involves no difficulty. When advancing knowledge, and with\nknowledge repulsion from such a story, begins to threaten it, another\nbelief advances to its defence. For nothing is easier to creatures as\nclever as the lower animals than a change of form. They can, whenever\nthey please, assume the appearance of man or woman: it is as natural to\nthem as the shape under which they are usually seen. Again, the life\nthat swarms about the savage philosopher does not always manifest itself\nvisibly. It is often unseen. The world is filled with spirits, of whom\nsome have inhabited human bodies, others have not. To the savage they\nare all alike; for those who have not hitherto inhabited human bodies\nmay do so at will, or may inhabit other bodies, either animal or\nvegetable, and those who have once done so may do so again.\n\nAll these--Totemism, the equality and essential identity of nature\nbetween man and all other objects in the universe, the doctrine of\nTransformation, the doctrine of Spirits--are phases of savage thought,\nevery one of which has been incorporated in the myth of the\nSwan-maidens, and every one of which, except one special and very\nlimited development of the doctrine of Spirits, is ignored in\nLiebrecht's theory. The theory is, indeed, an admirable illustration of\nthe danger of reasoning without a sufficiently wide area of induction.\nLiebrecht's mistake on the present occasion was twofold: he only dealt\nwith one or, at most, two types of the myth; and he ignored the savage\nvariants. Had he taken into consideration other types--such as Hasan,\nthe Marquis of the Sun, the Star's Daughter;--had he been aware of the\nsavage variants all over the world, he would not have formed a theory so\ninconsistent with the facts, and so little fitted to solve the problems\npropounded, not merely by the phenomena of the Swan-maiden group, but by\nthose of other tales in which supernatural beings intervene.\n\nIn reasoning by induction, the greater the number of facts taken into\naccount, the greater the probability of sound reasoning; and therefore\nthe greater the number of facts a theory will explain, the more likely\nit is to be true. Had Liebrecht's theory touched only the Swan-maiden\ngroup, it would have been more convenient to discuss it in the last\nchapter. But inasmuch as its truth would involve much wider issues, it\nseemed better to reserve it to be dealt with here. For if the theory be\nvalid for Melusina, the Lady of the Van Pool, and other water-nymphs, it\nis valid also for the \"water-woman\" who, in a Transylvanian story, dwelt\nin a lake in the forest between Mehburg and Reps. She had two sons,\nwhose father was a man, and the younger of whom became king of that\nland. But when the Saxon immigration took place the incomers cut down\nthe wood; the lake dried up, and as it dried up, the lives of the\nwater-spirit and her son gradually sank lower and lower, and at last\nwere extinguished with the extinction of the lake.[244] Now I will\nventure to say that this story is to be explained satisfactorily on no\ntheory yet broached, unless it be the theory that we have in it a\nsurvival of the savage doctrine of Spirits. Least of all it is to be\nexplained by any adaptation of what I may call the Ghost\ntheory,--namely, that the water-spirit and her son were already the\nspirits of dead human beings.\n\nLeaving this one example of the value of Liebrecht's theory, as applied\nto water-spirits, to stand for all, I turn to another order of beings\nwith supernatural powers referred to several times in the foregoing\npages: I mean Witches. I adduced in Chapter X. a Tirolese tale, a\nvariant of the Melusina type, wherein the wife was a witch. It will have\nbeen obvious to every reader that the tale is simply that of Cupid and\nPsyche with the parts reversed; and I might urge that Cupid and the\nwitch were beings of precisely the same nature. Waiving this for the\nmoment, however, no one will deny that the witch takes the place of the\nSwan-maiden, or fairy, in other stories of the group. But perhaps it may\nbe suggested that the name _witch_ (_Angana_, _Hexe_) has got into the\nstory by accident; and that not a witch in our sense of the word, but a\nghost from the dead, is really meant. There might be something to be\nsaid for this if there were any substantial distinction to be made\nbetween ghosts and witches and fairies. In the tales and superstitions\ndiscussed in the present volume we have found no distinction. Whether it\nbe child-stealing, transformation, midnight meetings, possession and\ngift of enchanted objects, spell-binding, or whatever function, or\nhabit, or power be predicted of one, it will be found to be common to\nthe three. I conclude, therefore, that they are all three of the same\nnature. This is what a consideration of the superstitions of savages\nwould lead me to expect. The belief in fairies, ghosts, and witches is a\nsurvival of those superstitions. It is, of course, not found in equal\ncoherence, equal strength of all its parts, equal logic (if I may so\nexpress it) everywhere. We must not be surprised if, as it is gradually\npenetrated by the growing forces of civilization, it becomes\nfragmentary, and the attributes of these various orders of supernatural\nbeings begin to be differentiated. They are never completely so; and the\nproof of this is that what is at one place, at one time, or by one\npeople, ascribed to one order, is at another place, at another time, or\nby another people, ascribed to another order. The nature of the\nclassical deities was identical too; and hence Cupid and the witch of\nthe Tirolese tale are the masculine and feminine counterparts of the\nsame conception.\n\nLastly, a few words must be expended on a totally different theory\nlately put forward by Mr. MacRitchie. This theory is not altogether a\nnew one; it has been before the world for many years. But Mr. MacRitchie\nhas, first in \"The Archaeological Review,\" and since then more\nelaborately in a separate book, entitled \"The Testimony of Tradition,\"\nworked it out and fortified it with an array of arguments philological,\nhistorical, topographical, and traditional. He claims to have\nestablished that the fairies of the Celtic and Teutonic races are\nneither more nor less than the prehistoric tribes whom they conquered\nand drove back, and whose lands they now possess. He identifies these\nmysterious beings with the Picts of Scotland, the Feinne of the Scottish\nHighlands and of Ireland, and the Finns and Lapps of Scandinavia. And he\nsuggests that the Eskimo, the Ainos, and I know not what other dwarfish\nraces, are relics of the same people; while Santa Klaus, the patron\nsaint of children, is only a tradition of the wealthy and beneficent\ncharacter borne by this ill-used folk. Primarily his arguments are\nconcerned with Scotland and Ireland. He builds much on the howes or\nbarrows, called in Scotland Picts' houses, which in both countries bear\nthe reputation of being the haunt of fairies or dwarfs, and some of\nwhich seem to have been in fact dwelling-places. He quotes Dr. Karl\nBlind to show that Finns intermarried with the Shetlanders, and that\nthey were believed to come over in the form of seals, casting aside\ntheir sealskins when they landed. In this connection he relates how the\nFinn women were captured by taking possession of their sealskins,\nwithout which they could not get away from their captors. He also shows\nthat illimitable riches and magical powers were ascribed to the Picts\nand to the Finns, and that the Lapps were pre-eminent in witchcraft.\n\nI shall leave it to Celtic scholars to deal with Mr. MacRitchie's\nremarkable etymologies and with his historical arguments, confining\nmyself to one or two observations on the traditional aspect of the\ntheory. Now I should be the last to undervalue any traces of history to\nbe found in tradition. I have elsewhere drawn attention to the\nimportance of the study of this element in folk-tales;[245] and I am\nquite ready to admit that nothing is more likely than the transfer to\nthe mythical beings of Celtic superstition of some features derived from\nalien races. Savages and barbarians are in the habit of imputing to\nstrangers and foes in greatly extended measure the might of witchcraft\nthey claim for themselves. And the wider the differences between\nthemselves and the foreigners, the more mysterious to them are the\nhabits and appearance of the latter, and the more powerful do they\nbelieve them. All this might account for many details that we are told\nconcerning the dwarfs, the Picts, the Finns, or by whatever other names\nthe elvish race may have been known to Scots and Irishmen. But further\nthan this I cannot go with Mr. MacRitchie. I hold his error, like that\nof Liebrecht already discussed, to be founded on too narrow an\ninduction. This volume will have been written in vain, as it appears\nthat for Mr. MacRitchie the vastly more important works of Dr. Tylor and\nMr. Andrew Lang have been written in vain, unless I have made it clear\nthat the myths of nations all over the world follow one general law and\ndisplay common characteristics. I am not astonished to find the Shetland\ntale of marriage with a seal-woman reproduced on the Gold Coast and\namong the Dyaks of Borneo. But Mr. MacRitchie ought to be very much\nastonished; for he can hardly show that the historical Finns were known\nin these out-of-the-way places. It seems to me natural to find that in\nScotland and Ireland fairies dwelt in barrows, and in Annam and Arabia\nin hills and rocks; and that both in this country and in the far East\nthey inveigled unhappy mortals into their dwellings and kept them for\ngenerations--nay, for centuries. That the Shoshone of California should\ndread their infants being changed by the Ninumbees, or dwarfs, in the\nsame way as the Celts of the British Islands, and the Teutons too,\ndreaded their infants being changed, does not seem at all incredible to\nme. That to eat the food of the dead in New Zealand prevents a living\nman from returning to the land of the living, just as Persephone was\nretained in Hades by partaking of the pomegranate, and just as to eat\nthe food of fairies hinders the Manx or the Hebrew adventurer from\nrejoining his friends on the surface of the earth, is in no way\nperplexing to me. But all these things, and they might be multiplied\nindefinitely, must be very perplexing to Mr. MacRitchie, if he be not\nprepared to prove that Annamites and Arabs, Hebrews and Shoshone, New\nZealanders and classical Greeks alike, were acquainted with the Picts\nand the Finns, and alike celebrated them in their traditions.\n\nThe truth Mr. MacRitchie does not reckon with is, that no theory will\nexplain the nature and origin of the fairy superstitions which does not\nalso explain the nature and origin of every other supernatural being\nworshipped or dreaded by uncivilized mankind throughout the world. And\nuntil he shall address himself to this task, however ingenious his\nguesses, however amusing his philology, however delightfully wild his\nliterary and historical arguments, he will not succeed in convincing any\nserious student.\n\nHere then we must pause. Obvious are the differences between the nations\nof mankind: differences of physical conformation,--that is to say, of\nrace; divergences of mental and moral development,--that is to say, of\ncivilization. Hitherto the task attempted by folklore has been to show\nthat underlying all these differences there is a broad foundation of\ncommon agreement; that distinctions of race do not extend to mental and\nmoral constitution; that the highest nation on the ladder of culture has\nclimbed from the same rung on which the lowest are yet standing; and\nthat the absurd and incongruous customs and institutions and the equally\nabsurd and impossible stories and beliefs found imbedded in the\ncivilization of the more advanced nations are explicable, and explicable\nonly, as relics of the phases wherethrough those nations have passed\nfrom the depths of savagery.\n\nIf it be admitted in general terms that the evidence collected and\nmarshalled up to the present time has established among sure scientific\nfacts so much of the past of humanity, this achievement is but the\nbeginning of toil. A wide field has been opened to the student for the\ncollection and arrangement of details, before the true meaning of many a\nstrange custom and stranger tale will be thoroughly understood. I have\ntried to do something of the kind in the foregoing pages. But beyond\nthis there is the more delicate investigation of the ethnic element in\nfolklore. Can we assign to the various races their special shares in the\ndevelopment of a common tradition? Can we show what direction each race\ntook, and how and why it modified the general inheritance?\n\nOn the other hand, it is not asserted that the status of savagery was\nthe primitive condition of men. Of course it may have been. But if not,\nthere is work to be done in endeavouring to ascertain what lies behind\nit. The questions started from this point wander across the border of\nfolklore into pure psychology; but it is a psychology based not upon\nintrospection and analysis of the mind of the civilized man, developed\nunder the complex influences that have been acting and reacting during\nuntold years of upward struggling, always arduous and often cruel, but a\npsychology which must be painfully reconstructed from the simplest and\nmost archaic phenomena disclosed by anthropological research. Who can\nsay what light may not thus be thrown as well on the destiny as on the\norigin of mankind?\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[240] Liebrecht, p. 54; \"F. L. Journal,\" vol. vii. p. 312.\n\n[241] Map, Dist. iv. c. 10.\n\n[242] The sect of the Cabalists, indeed, believed in the existence of\nspirits of nature, embodiments or representatives of the four elements,\nwhich they called respectively gnomes, sylphs, salamanders, and ondines.\nTo this strange sect some of the savage opinions on the subject of\nspirits seem to have been transmitted in a philosophical form from\nclassical antiquity. They taught that it was possible for the\nphilosopher by austerity and study to rise to intercourse with these\nelemental spirits, and even to obtain them in marriage. But the orthodox\nregarded the Cabalists as magicians and their spirits as foul incubi.\nSee Lecky, \"History of Rationalism,\" vol. i. p. 46.\n\n[243] Hapgood, p. 214.\n\n[244] Mueller, p. 33.\n\n[245] \"Folklore,\" vol. i. pp. 113, 116.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL LIST OF SOME OF THE WORKS REFERRED TO IN THE FOREGOING\nPAGES.\n\n\n_Aberd. Eistedd._ See _Trans. Aberd. Eistedd_.\n\nALPENBURG. See Von Alpenburg.\n\nAMELINEAU. Contes et Romans del' Egypte Chretienne par E. Amelineau. 2\nvols. Paris, 1888.\n\n_Amer. F. L._ See _Journal Amer. F. L_.\n\n_Am Urds-Brunnen._ Am Urds-Brunnen. Mittheilungen fuer Freunde\nvolksthuemlich-wissenschaftlicher Kunde. 6 vols. [The first two volumes\nentitled _Am Urds-Brunnen_, _Organ des Vereins fuer Verbreitung\nvolksthuemlich-wissenschaftlicher Kunde_.] Rendsburg, 1881-89.\n\n_Antiquary._ The Antiquary, a Magazine devoted to the study of the Past.\n22 vols. London, 1880-90, still proceeding.\n\n_Archivio._ Archivio per lo studio delle Tradizioni Popolari Rivista\nTrimestrale diretta da G. Pitre e S. Salomone-Marino. 9 vols. Palermo,\n1882-90, still proceeding.\n\n_Arch. Rev._ The Archaeological Review. 4 vols. London, 1888-90.\n\nARNAUDIN. Contes Populaires recueillis dans la Grande Lande le Born les\nPetites Landes et le Marensin par Felix Arnaudin. Paris, 1887.\n\nAUBREY, _Miscellanies._ Miscellanies upon various subjects. By John\nAubrey, F.R.S. 4th edition. London, 1857.\n\n---- _Remaines._ Remaines of Gentilisme and Judaisme. By John Aubrey,\nR.S.S. 1686-87. Edited and annotated by James Britten, F.L.S. London,\n1881. (Folk-Lore Society.)\n\n\n_Bahar-Danush._ Bahar-Danush; or Garden of Knowledge. An Oriental\nRomance. Translated from the Persic of Einaiut Oollah. By Jonathan\nScott. 3 vols. Shrewsbury, 1799.\n\nBARING-GOULD. Curious Myths of the Middle Ages. By S. Baring-Gould, M.A.\nNew edition. London, 1869.\n\nBARTSCH. Sagen, Maerchen und Gebraeuche aus Mecklenburg. Gesammelt und\nherausgegeben von Karl Bartsch. 2 vols. Wien, 1879-80.\n\nBASSET. Contes Populaires Berberes recueillis, traduits et annotes par\nRene Basset. Paris, 1887.\n\nBENT. The Cyclades, or Life among the Insular Greeks. By J. Theodore\nBent, B.A. London, 1885.\n\nBIRLINGER, _Aus Schwaben._ Aus Schwaben Sagen, Legenden, Aberglauben,\nSitten, Rechtsbraeuche, Ortsneckereien, Lieder, Kinderreime Neue Sammlung\nvon Anton Birlinger. 2 vols. Wiesbaden, 1874.\n\n---- _Volksthuemliches._ Volksthuemliches aus Schwaben. Herausgegeben von\nDr. Anton Birlinger. 2 vols. and Woerterbuechlein. Freiburg im Breisgau,\n1861-62.\n\nBLADE. Contes Populaires de la Gascogne par M. Jean-Francois Blade. 3\nvols. Paris, 1886.\n\n_Border Minstrelsy._ Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border: consisting of\nHistorical and Romantic Ballads, collected in the Southern Counties of\nScotland. 3rd edition. 3 vols. Edinburgh, 1806.\n\nBOWKER. Goblin Tales of Lancashire. By James Bowker, F.R.G.S.I. London,\nN.D.\n\nBRAGA. Ethnographia Portugueza. O Povo Portuguez nos seus Costumes,\nCrencas e Tradicoes por Theophilo Braga. 2 vols. Lisboa, 1886.\n\nBRAND. Observations on Popular Antiquities: chiefly illustrating the\norigin of our vulgar Customs, Ceremonies, and Superstitions. By John\nBrand, M.A., F. and Sec. S.A. Arranged and revised, with additions by\nHenry Ellis, F.R.S., Sec. S.A. 2 vols. London, 1813.\n\nBRAUNS. Japanische Maerchen und Sagen gesammelt und herausgegeben von\nDavid Brauns. Leipzig, 1885.\n\nBRAY. See Mrs. Bray.\n\nBRETT. The Indian Tribes of Guiana: their condition and habits. By the\nRev. W. H. Brett. London, 1868.\n\n---- _Legends and Myths._ Legends and Myths of the Aboriginal Indians of\nBritish Guiana. Collected and edited by the Rev. William Henry Brett, B.\nD. London, N.D.\n\n_Brython._ See _Y Brython_.\n\nBURTON, _Nights._ A plain and literal translation of the Arabian Nights'\nEntertainments, now entitled The Book of the Thousand Nights and a\nNight, with introduction, explanatory notes, &c. by Richard F. Burton.\n10 vols. Privately printed. 1885.\n\n---- _Suppl. Nights._ Supplemental Nights to The Book of the Thousand\nNights and a Night with notes anthropological and explanatory by Richard\nF. Burton. 6 vols. Privately printed. 1886-88.\n\nBUSK, _Sagas._ Sagas from the Far East; or Kalmouk and Mongolian\nTraditionary Tales. With historical preface and explanatory notes by the\nauthor of Patranas, &c. [Miss R. H. Busk]. London, 1873.\n\n\nCAMPBELL. Popular Tales of the West Highlands orally collected with a\ntranslation by J. F. Campbell. 4 vols. Edinburgh, 1860-62.\n\nCAMPBELL, Lord A. See Lord A. Campbell.\n\nCARNOY. Litterature Orale de la Picardie par E. Henry Carnoy. Paris,\n1883.\n\nCASTREN, _Altaischen Voelker._ M. Alexander Castren's Ethnologische\nVorlesungen ueber die Altaischen Voelker nebst Samojedischen Maerchen und\nTartarischen Heldensagen. Herausgegeben von Anton Schiefner. St.\nPetersburg, 1857.\n\nCAVALLIUS. Schwedische Volkssagen und Maerchen. Nach muendlicher\nUeberlieferung gesammelt und herausgegeben von Gunnar Olof Hylten\nCavallius und George Stephens. Mit Varianten und kritischen Anmerkungen.\nDeutsch von Carl Oberleitner. Wien, 1848.\n\nCERTEUX ET CARNOY. Contributions au Folk-Lore des Arabes. L'Algerie\nTraditionnelle Legendes, Contes, &c., par A. Certeux et E. Henry Carnoy.\nFirst vol. only published. Paris, 1884.\n\nCHAMBERS. Popular Rhymes of Scotland. Robert Chambers. London, 1870.\n\nCHILD. The English and Scottish Popular Ballads edited by Francis James\nChild. Boston, U.S.A. Privately printed. [The prospectus is dated 1882.\nIt announced \"about 8 parts\": only six of these (making three volumes)\nhave been issued to date.]\n\n_Choice Notes._ Choice Notes from \"Notes and Queries.\" Folk Lore.\nLondon, 1859.\n\nCOMPARETTI. Novelline Popolari Italiane pubblicate ed illustrate da\nDomenico Comparetti. First vol. only published. Roma, 1875.\n\n_Corpus Poet. Bor._ Corpus Poeticum Boreale. The Poetry of the Old\nNorthern Tongue from the earliest times to the thirteenth century.\nEdited by Gudbrand Vigfusson, M.A., and F. York Powell, M.A. 2 vols.\nOxford, 1883.\n\nCOSQUIN. Emmanuel Cosquin. Contes Populaires de Lorraine compares avec\nles Contes des autres Provinces de France et des Pays Etrangers. 2 vols.\nParis, N.D.\n\n_Count Lucanor._ Count Lucanor; or The Fifty Pleasant Stories of\nPatronio. Written by the Prince Don Juan Manuel and first done into\nEnglish by James York, M.D., 1868. London, 1888.\n\nCROMEK. Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song with Historical and\nTraditional Notices relative to the Manners and Customs of the\nPeasantry, now first published by R. H. Cromek, F.A.S. Ed. London, 1810.\nReprint: Paisley, 1880.\n\nCURTIN. Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland by Jeremiah Curtin. London, 1890.\n\n_Cymmrodor._ See _Y Cymmrodor_.\n\n_Cymru Fu._ \"Cymru Fu\"; yn cynwys Hanesion, Traddodiadau, yn nghyda\nChwedlau a Dammegion Cymreig (oddiar lafar gwlad a gweithiau y prif\nawduron). Wrexham, N.D. [Preface dated October 1862.]\n\n_Cymru Fu N. and Q._ Cymru Fu: Notes and Queries relating to the past\nHistory of Wales and the Border Countries. 2 vols. Cardiff, 1887-90,\nstill proceeding.\n\n\nDAVIES, _Mythology._ The Mythology and Rites of the British Druids by\nEdward Davies, author of Celtic Researches. London, 1809.\n\nDAY. Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day. London, 1883.\n\nDE GUBERNATIS, _Novelline._ Le Novelline di Santo Stefano raccolte da\nAngelo De Gubernatis. Torino, 1869.\n\n---- _Usi Natal._ A. De Gubernatis. Storia comparata degli Usi Natalizi\nin Italia e presso gli altri-popoli Indo-Europei. Milano, 1878.\n\n---- _Zool. Myth._ Zoological Mythology or The Legends of Animals by\nAngelo De Gubernatis. 2 vols. London, 1872.\n\nDENNYS. The Folk-Lore of China, and its affinities with that of the\nAryan and Semitic Races. By N. B. Dennys, Ph.D., F.R.G.S. London, 1876.\n\nDES MICHELS. Contes Plaisants Annamites traduits en Francais pour la\npremiere fois par Abel Des Michels. Paris, 1888.\n\nDORMAN. The Origin of Primitive Superstitions and their Development,\n&c., among the Aborigines of America. By Rushton M. Dorman.\nPhiladelphia, 1881.\n\nDORSA. La Tradizione Greco-Latina negli usi e nelle credenze popolari\ndella Calabria citeriore per Vincenzo Dorsa. 2a edizione. Cozenza, 1884.\n\n\n_Early Trav._ Early Travels in Palestine, edited by Thomas Wright Esq.,\nM.A., F.S.A., &c. London, 1848.\n\nELLIS. The Tshi-speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast of West Africa. Their\nreligion, manners, customs, laws, language, &c. By A. B. Ellis. London,\n1887.\n\n\nFARRER. Primitive Manners and Customs. By James A. Farrer. London, 1879.\n\n_F. L. Espan._ Folk-Lore Espanol. Biblioteca de las Tradiciones\nPopulares Espanolas. 11 vols. Sevilla, 1883-90, still proceeding.\n\n_Folk-Lore._ Folk-Lore, a quarterly Review of Myth, Tradition,\nInstitution, and Custom. London, 1890, still proceeding. [Organ of the\nFolk-Lore Society.]\n\n_F. L. Journal._ The Folk-Lore Journal. 7 vols. London, 1883-89. [Organ\nof the Folk-Lore Society.]\n\n_F. L. Record._ The Folk-Lore Record. 5 vols. N.D. [1878-82. Organ of\nthe Folk-Lore Society.]\n\nFLEURY. Litterature Orale de la Basse-Normandie (Hague et Val-de-Saire)\npar Jean Fleury. Paris, 1883.\n\n\nGARNETT. The Women of Turkey and their Folklore by Lucy M. J. Garnett.\nThe Christian Women. London, 1890.\n\n_Gent. Mag. Lib._ The Gentleman's Magazine Library: being a classified\ncollection of the chief contents of the Gentleman's Magazine from 1731\nto 1868. Edited by George Lawrence Gomme, F.S.A. 11 vols. London,\n1883-90, still proceeding. [Vols. not numbered, but distinguished by the\ntitle of their contents.]\n\nGERV. TILB. Des Gervasius von Tilbury Otia Imperialia. In einer Auswahl\nneu herausgegeben und mit Anmerkungen begleitet von Felix Liebrecht.\nHannover, 1856.\n\n_Gesta Romanorum._ Gesta Romanorum translated from the Latin by the Rev.\nCharles Swan, revised and corrected by Wynnard Hooper, B.A. London,\n1877.\n\nGILES. Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio. Translated and annotated\nby Herbert A. Giles. 2 vols. London, 1880.\n\nGILL. Myths and Songs from the South Pacific. By the Rev. William Wyatt\nGill, B.A. London, 1876.\n\nGIRALD. CAMBR. The Itinerary of Archbishop Baldwin through Wales,\ntranslated by Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Bart., in The Historical Works of\nGiraldus Cambrensis, edited by Thomas Wright Esq., M.A., F.S.A. London,\n1887.\n\nGONZENBACH. Sicilianische Maerchen. Aus dem Volksmund gesammelt von Laura\nGonzenbach. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1870.\n\nGREDT. Sagenschatz des Luxemburger Landes. Gesammelt von Dr. N. Gredt.\nLuxemburg, 1885.\n\nGREGOR. Notes on the Folk-Lore of the North-East of Scotland. By the\nReverend Walter Gregor, M.A. London, 1881. (Folk-Lore Society.)\n\nGREY. See Sir G. Grey.\n\nGRIMM, _Maerchen._ Kinder- und Haus-Maerchen gesammelt durch die Brueder\nGrimm. 17te Auflage. Berlin, 1880.\n\n---- _Tales._ Grimm's Household Tales. With the author's notes translated\nfrom the German and edited by Margaret Hunt. 2 vols. London, 1884.\n\n---- _Teut. Myth._ Teutonic Mythology by Jacob Grimm translated from the\nfourth edition with notes and appendix by James Steven Stallybrass. 4\nvols. with continuous pagination. London, 1880-88.\n\nGRINNELL. Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk Tales with notes on the Origin,\nCustoms, and Character of the Pawnee People by George Bird Grinnell. New\nYork, 1889.\n\nGROHMANN. Sagen aus Boehmen gesammelt und herausgegeben von Dr. Josef\nVirgil Grohmann. Prag, 1883.\n\nGRUNDTVIG. Daenische Volksmaerchen von Svend Grundtvig. Uebersetzt von\nWillibald Leo. Neue Ausgabe. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1885.\n\nGUBERNATIS. See De Gubernatis.\n\n\nHAHN. See Von Hahn.\n\nHALTRICH. Deutsche Volksmaerchen aus dem Sachsenlande in Siebenbuergen.\nGesammelt von Josef Haltrich. 4te Auflage. Wien, 1885.\n\nHAPGOOD. The Epic Songs of Russia by Isabel Florence Hapgood. New York,\nN.D. [Preface dated August 1885.]\n\nHARLAND and WILKINSON. Lancashire Legends, Traditions, Pageants, Sports,\n&c. By John Harland, F.S.A., and T. T. Wilkinson, F.R.A.S. London, 1873.\n\nHAZLITT, _Fairy Tales._ Fairy Tales, Legends and Romances illustrating\nShakespeare and other Early English writers to which are prefixed two\npreliminary dissertations by Joseph Ritson. [Edited by W. C. Hazlitt.]\nLondon, 1875.\n\nHENDERSON. Notes on the Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties of England\nand the Borders. New Edition. By William Henderson. London, 1879.\n(Folk-Lore Society.)\n\nHOWELLS. Cambrian Superstitions, comprising Ghosts, Omens, Witchcraft,\nTraditions, &c. By W. Howells. Tipton, 1831.\n\nHUNT. Popular Romances of the West of England or the Drolls, Traditions\nand Superstitions of Old Cornwall collected and edited by Robert Hunt,\nF.R.S. 3rd edition, revised and enlarged. London, 1881.\n\n\nIMBRIANI. La Novellaja Fiorentina fiabe e novelline stenografate in\nFirenze dal dettato popolare da Vittorio Imbriani. Ristampa accresciute\ndi molte novelle inedite, &c., nelle quali e accolta La Novellaja\nMilanese dello stesso raccoglitore. Livorno, 1877.\n\nIM THURN. Among the Indians of Guiana being sketches chiefly\nanthropologic from the interior of British Guiana. By Everard F. im\nThurn, M.A. London, 1883.\n\n_Indian N. and Q._ Indian Notes and Queries (late \"Panjab Notes and\nQueries\"), a Monthly Periodical conducted by Captain R. C. Temple and\nothers. 7 vols. Allahabad, 1883-90, still proceeding.\n\n_Irish Folk Lore_, or _Irish F. L._ Irish Folk Lore: Traditions and\nSuperstitions of the Country; with humorous tales. By \"Lageniensis.\"\nGlasgow, N.D. [Preface dated April 1870.]\n\n\nJAHN. Volkssagen aus Pommern und Ruegen. Gesammelt und herausgegeben von\nDr. Ulrich Jahn. Stettin, 1886.\n\nJANNSEN. Maerchen und Sagen des estnischen Volkes gesammelt und uebersetzt\nvon Harry Jannsen. Two series. 1st ser. Dorpat, 1881: 2nd ser. Riga,\n1888.\n\nJONES and KROPF. The Folk-Tales of the Magyars. Collected by Kriza,\nErdelyi, Pap and others. Translated and edited by the Rev. W. Henry\nJones and Lewis L. Kropf. London, 1889. (Folk-Lore Society.)\n\n_Journal. Amer. F. L._ The Journal of American Folk-Lore. 3 vols.\nBoston, 1888-90, still proceeding. [Organ of the American Folk-Lore\nSociety.]\n\n\n_Kalewala._ Kalewala, des National-Epos der Finnen, nach der zweiten\nAusgabe ins Deutsche uebertragen von Anton Schiefner. Helsingfors, 1852.\n\n_Katha Sarit Sagara._ The Katha Sarit Sagara, or Ocean of the Streams of\nStory translated from the original Sanskrit by C. H. Tawney, M.A. 2\nvols. Calcutta, 1880-84.\n\nKEIGHTLEY. The Fairy Mythology, illustrative of the Romance and\nSuperstition of various Countries by Thomas Keightley. New Edition,\nrevised and greatly enlarged. London, 1882.\n\nKENNEDY. Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts. Collected and narrated\nby Patrick Kennedy. London, 1866.\n\nKIRBY. The New Arabian Nights. Select Tales, not included by Galland or\nLane. Translated and edited by W. F. Kirby. London, N.D.\n\nKNOOP. Volkssagen, Erzaehlungen, Aberglauben, Gebraeuche und Maerchen aus\ndem oestlichen Hinterpommern. Gesammelt von Otto Knoop. Posen, 1885.\n\nKNOWLES. Folk-Tales of Kashmir. By the Rev. J. Hinton Knowles. London,\n1888.\n\nKRAUSS. Sagen und Maerchen der Suedslaven. Zum grossen Teil aus\nungedruckten Quellen von Dr. Friedrich S. Krauss. 2 vols. Leipzig,\n1883-84.\n\n---- _Volksgl._ Volksglaube und religioeser Brauch der Suedslaven.\nVorwiegend nach eigenen Ermittlungen von Dr. Friedrich S. Krauss.\nMuenster i W. 1890.\n\nKREUTZWALD. Ehstnische Maerchen. Aufgezeichnet von Friedrich Kreutzwald.\nAus dem Ehstnischen uebersetzt von F. Loewe. Halle, 1869.\n\nKUHN. Maerkische Sagen und Maerchen nebst einem Anhange von Gebraeuchen\nund Aberglauben gesammelt und herausgegeben von Adalbert Kuhn. Berlin,\n1843.\n\nKUHN UND SCHWARTZ. Norddeutsche Sagen, Maerchen und Gebraeuche aus\nMecklenburg, &c. Aus dem munde des Volkes gesammelt und herausgegeben\nvon A. Kuhn und W. Schwartz. Leipzig, 1848.\n\n\nLADY WILDE. Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms and Superstitions of Ireland.\nBy Lady Wilde. 2 vols. London, 1887.\n\nLA CROIX. Manners Customs and Dress during the Middle Ages and during\nthe Renaissance Period by Paul La Croix (Bibliophile Jacob). 4th\nthousand. London, 1876.\n\nLANDES. Contes et Legendes Annamites par A. Landes. Saigon, 1886.\n\n_La Tradition._ La Tradition Revue Generale des Contes, Legendes,\nChants, Usages, Traditions et Arts populaires. 4 vols. Paris, 1887-90,\nstill proceeding. [Organ of the Societe des Traditionnistes.]\n\nLELAND. The Algonquin Legends of New England, or Myths and Folk-Lore of\nthe Micmac, Passamaquoddy, and Penobscot Tribes by Charles G. Leland.\nLondon, 1884.\n\nLEMKE. Volksthuemliches in Ostpreussen von E. Lemke. 2 vols. Mohrungen,\n1884-87.\n\nLIEBRECHT. Zur Volkskunde. Alte und neue Aufsaetze von Felix Liebrecht.\nHeilbronn, 1879.\n\n_Llyvyr Coch._ See _Y Llyvyr Coch_.\n\nLord A. CAMPBELL, _Waifs and Strays._ Waifs and Strays of Celtic\nTradition. I. Argyllshire Series. Edited by Lord Archibald Campbell.\nLondon, 1879.\n\nLUZEL, _Contes._ Contes Populaires de Basse-Bretagne par F. M. Luzel. 3\nvols. Paris, 1887.\n\n---- _Legendes Chret._ Legendes Chretiennes de la Basse-Bretagne par F.\nM. Luzel. 2 vols. Paris, 1881.\n\n---- _Veillees._ Veillees Bretonnes par F. M. Luzel. Morlaix, 1879.\n\n\nMACINNES. Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition. Folk and Hero Tales.\nCollected, Edited and Translated by the Rev. D. Mac Innes. With Notes by\nthe Editor and Alfred Nutt. London, 1890.\n\nMACRITCHIE. The Testimony of Tradition by David MacRitchie. London,\n1890.\n\nMALORY. La Mort d' Arthure. The History of King Arthur and of the\nKnights of the Round Table. Compiled by Sir Thomas Malory, Knt. Edited\nfrom the text of the edition of 1634 by Thomas Wright Esq., M.A., F.S.A.\n2nd edition. 3 vols. London, 1866.\n\nMAP. Gualteri Mapes De Nugis Curialium Distinctiones Quinque. Edited\nfrom the unique manuscript in the Bodleian Library at Oxford by Thomas\nWright Esq., M.A., F.S.A., &c. London, 1850.\n\n_Masnavi i Ma'navi._ Masnavi i Ma'navi. The Spiritual Couplets of\nMaulana Jalalu-'d-Din Muhammad i Rumi. Translated and abridged by E. H.\nWhinfield, M.A. London, 1887.\n\nMASPONS Y LABROS. Folk-Lore Catala. Cuentos Populars Catalans per lo Dr.\nFrancisco de S. Maspons y Labros. Barcelona, 1885.\n\nMEIER. Deutsche Sagen, Sitten und Gebraeuche aus Schwaben, gesammelt von\nErnst Meier. Stuttgart, 1852.\n\n---- _Maerchen._ Deutsche Volksmaerchen aus Schwaben. Aus dem Munde des\nVolks gesammelt und herausgegeben von Dr. Ernst Meier. 3te Auflage.\nStuttgart, N.D.\n\n_Melusine._ Melusine Recueil de Mythologie, Litterature Populaire,\nTraditions et Usages publie par H. Gaidoz et E. Rolland. [Since vol.\niii. by H. Gaidoz alone.] 5 vols. Paris, 1878-90, still proceeding.\n\nMICHELS. See Des Michels.\n\nMRS. BRAY. The Borders of the Tamar and the Tavy; their Natural History,\n&c., by Mrs. Bray. New Edition. 2 vols. London, 1879.\n\nMUeLLER. Siebenbuergische Sagen gesammelt und herausgegeben von Dr.\nFriedrich Mueller. Zweite veraenderte Auflage. Wien, 1885.\n\n\nNAPIER. Folk Lore: or Superstitious Beliefs in the West of Scotland\nwithin this Century. By James Napier, F.R.S.E., F.C.S., &c. Paisley;\n1879.\n\nNICHOLSON. Folk Lore of East Yorkshire. By John Nicholson. London, 1890.\n\nNIEDERHOeFFER. Mecklenburg's Volkssagen. Gesammelt und herausgegeben von\nM. Dr. A. Niederhoeffer. 4 vols. Leipzig, N.D. [Vorwort dated Februar\n1857.]\n\n\nORTOLI. Les Contes Populaires del' Ile de Corse par J. B. Frederic\nOrtoli. Paris, 1883.\n\n\n_Panjab N. and Q._ See _Indian N. and Q_.\n\nPITRE. Biblioteca delle Tradizioni Popolari Siciliane per cura di\nGiuseppe Pitre. 18 vols. Palermo, 1871-88.\n\nPOESTION. Lapplaendische Maerchen, Volkssagen, Raetsel und Sprichwoerter.\nNach lapplaendischen, norwegischen und schwedischen Quellen von J. C.\nPoestion. Wien, 1886.\n\nPOWELL and MAGNUSSON. Icelandic Legends (collected by Jon Arnason)\nTranslated by George E. J. Powell and Eirikr Magnusson. 2nd series.\nLondon, 1866.\n\nPRELLER, _Roem. Myth._ Roemische Mythologie von L. Preller. 3te Auflage. 2\nvols. Berlin, 1881-83.\n\nPRYM UND SOCIN. Kurdische Sammlungen. Erzaehlungen und Lieder im\ndialekte des Tur 'Abdin. Gesammelt, herausgegeben und uebersetzt von\nEugen Prym und Albert Socin. St. Petersburg, 1887. [A second part, by\nSocin only, consisting of tales and songs in the dialect of Bohtan, has\nsince been published, 1890.]\n\n\nRADLOFF. Proben der Volkslitteratur der Tuerkischen Staemme Sued-Sibiriens,\ngesammelt und uebersetzt von Dr. W. Radloff. 6 vols. [the last two\nentitled P. der V. der Noerdlichen Tuerkischen Staemme.] St. Petersburg,\n1866-86.\n\nRALSTON, _R. F. Tales._ Russian Folk-Tales by W. R. S. Ralston, M.A.\nLondon, 1873.\n\n---- _Tibetan Tales._ Tibetan Tales derived from Indian Sources.\nTranslated from the Tibetan of the Kah-Gyur by F. Anton von Schiefner.\nDone into English from the German by W. R. S. Ralston, M.A. London,\n1882.\n\nRAPPOLD. Sagen aus Kaernten. Zusammengestellt und theilweise neu erzaehlt\nvon Professor J. Rappold. Augsburg, 1887.\n\n_Revue des Trad. Pop._ Revue des Traditions Populaires. 5 vols. Paris,\n1886-90, still proceeding. [Organ of the Societe des Traditions\nPopulaires.]\n\nRHYS, _Hibbert Lectures._ The Hibbert Lectures, 1886. Lectures on the\nOrigin and Growth of Religion as illustrated by Celtic Heathendom. By\nJohn Rhys. London, 1888.\n\nRINK. Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo by Dr. Henry Rink. Translated\nfrom the Danish by the author. Edited by Dr. Robert Brown. Edinburgh,\n1875.\n\nROBERTSON SMITH. Lectures on the Religion of the Semites. First Series.\nThe Fundamental Institutions. By W. Robertson Smith, M.A., LL.D.\nEdinburgh, 1889.\n\nROMERO. Contos Populares do Brazil collegidos pelo Dr. Sylvio Romero.\nLisboa, 1885.\n\nROMILLY. From my Verandah in New Guinea Sketches and Traditions by Hugh\nHastings Romilly, C.M.G. London, 1889.\n\n_Rosenoel._ Rosenoel oder Sagen und Kunden des Morgenlaendes aus\narabischen, persischen und tuerkischen Quellen gesammelt. 2 vols.\nStuttgart, 1813.\n\nRUDDER. A New History of Gloucestershire. Cirencester, Samuel Rudder,\n1779.\n\n\nSASTRI. The Dravidian Nights Entertainments: being a translation of\nMadanakamarajankadai. By Pandit S. M. Natesa Sastri. Madras, 1886.\n\nSAXO, _Gesta Dan._ Saxonis Grammatici Gesta Danorum, herausgegeben von\nAlfred Holder. Strassberg, 1886.\n\nSCHLEICHER. Litaueische Maerchen, Sprichwoerter, Raetsel und Lieder.\nGesammelt und uebersetzt von August Schleicher. Weimar, 1857.\n\nSCHMIDT. Griechische Maerchen, Sagen und Volkslieder gesammelt, uebersetzt\nund erlaeutert von Bernhardt Schmidt. Leipzig, 1877.\n\nSCHNELLER. Maerchen und Sagen aus Waelschtirol. Gesammelt von Christian\nSchneller. Innsbruck, 1867.\n\nSCHRECK. Finnische Maerchen uebersetzt von Emmy Schreck. Weimar, 1887.\n\nSEBILLOT, _Contes._ Paul Sebillot. Contes Populaires de la Haute\nBretagne. Paris, 1880. Do. 2me serie. Contes des Paysans et des\nPecheurs. Paris, 1881. Do. 3me serie. Contes des Marins. Paris, 1882.\n\n---- _Litt. Orale._ Litterature Orale de la Haute Bretagne par Paul\nSebillot. Paris, 1881.\n\n---- _Trad. et Super._ Traditions et Superstitions de la Haute Bretagne\npar Paul Sebillot. 2 vols. Paris, 1882.\n\nSHORTLAND. Traditions and Superstitions of the New Zealanders: with\nillustrations of their manners and customs. By Edward Shortland, M.A.\n2nd edition. London, 1856.\n\nSIKES. British Goblins: Welsh Folk-Lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends and\nTraditions. By Wirt Sikes. London, 1880.\n\nSIMROCK. Handbuch der Deutschen Mythologie mit Einschluss der\nnordischen. Von Karl Simrock. 3te Auflage. Bonn, 1869.\n\nSIR G. GREY. Polynesian Mythology, and Ancient Traditional History of\nthe New Zealand Race, as furnished by their Priests and Chiefs. By Sir\nGeorge Grey. London, 1855.\n\nSPITTA BEY. Contes Arabes Modernes recueillis et traduits par Guillaume\nSpitta-Bey. Leide, 1883.\n\nSTEERE. Swahili Tales, as told by natives of Zanzibar. With an English\ntranslation. By Edward Steere, LL.D. London, 1870.\n\nSTEPHENS. The Literature of the Kymry: being a critical essay on the\nhistory of the Language and Literature of Wales during the twelfth and\ntwo succeeding centuries. By Thomas Stephens. 2nd edition. London, 1876.\n\nSTERNBERG. The Dialect and Folk-Lore of Northamptonshire. By Thomas\nSternberg. London, 1851.\n\n\nTAYLOR. Te Ika a Maui; or New Zealand and its Inhabitants. By the Rev.\nRichard Taylor, M.A., F.G.S. 2nd edition. London, 1870.\n\nTEMPLE, _Legends of the Panjab._ The Legends of the Panjab. By Captain\nR. C. Temple. 2 vols. Bombay, N.D. [Preface to vol. i. dated May 1884.]\nStill proceeding.\n\nTETTAU. See Von Tettau.\n\nTHEAL. Kaffir Folk-Lore; a Selection from the Traditional Tales current\namongst the people living on the eastern border of the Cape Colony. By\nGeorge M'Call Theal. London, N.D. [Preface dated Jan. 1882.]\n\nTHOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. The Romance and Prophecies of Thomas of\nErceldoune, printed from five manuscripts. Edited, with introduction and\nnotes, by James A. H. Murray, LL.D. London 1875 (Early Eng. Text Soc.).\n\nTHORBURN. Bannu; or, Our Afghan Frontier. By S. S. Thorburn. London,\n1876.\n\nTHORPE. Northern Mythology, comprising the principal popular traditions\nand superstitions of Scandinavia, North Germany, and the Netherlands.\nCompiled by Benjamin Thorpe. 3 vols. London, 1851-52.\n\n---- _Yule-Tide Stories._ Yule-Tide Stories. A collection of Scandinavian\nand North German Popular Tales and Traditions. Edited by Benjamin\nThorpe. London, 1853.\n\n_Tradition._ See _La Tradition_.\n\n_Trad. Pop. Revue des._ See _Revue des Trad. Pop_.\n\nTRAIN. An Historical and Statistical Account of the Isle of Man, from\nthe earliest times to the present date. By Joseph Train, F.S.A. Scot. 2\nvols. Douglas, 1845.\n\n_Trans. Aberd. Eistedd._ Eisteddfod Genedlaethol y Cymry. Cofnodion a\nChyfansoddiadau Buddugol Eisteddfod Aberdar, 1885. Transactions of the\nNational Eisteddfod of Wales, Aberdare, 1885. Caerdydd, 1887.\n\nTYLOR. Primitive Culture: Researches into the development of Mythology,\nPhilosophy, Religion, Art, and Custom. By Edward B. Tylor. 2 vols.\nLondon, 1871.\n\n\nVERNALEKEN. In the Land of Marvels. Folk-Tales from Austria and Bohemia\nby Theodor Vernaleken. London, 1889.\n\n_Volkskunde._ See _Zeits. f. Volkskunde_.\n\nVON ALPENBURG. Mythen und Sagen Tirols. Gesammelt und herausgegeben von\nJohann Nepomuk Ritter von Alpenburg. Zuerich, 1857.\n\nVON HAHN. Griechische und albanesiche Maerchen. Gesammelt uebersetzt und\nerlaeutert von J. G. von Hahn. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1864.\n\nVON TETTAU. Die Volkssagen Ostpreussens, Litthauens und Westpreussens.\nGesammelt von W. J. A. von Tettau und J. D. H. Temme. Berlin, 1837.\n\nVON WLISLOCKI. Maerchen und Sagen der Transsilvanischen Zigeuner\nGesammelt und uebersetzt von Dr. Heinrich von Wlislocki. Berlin, 1886.\n\n\nWALDAU. Boehmisches Maerchenbuch. Deutsch von Alfred Waldau. Prag, 1860.\n\nWALDRON. A Description of the Isle of Man by George Waldron, Gent.\nEdited by William Harrison, Esq. Douglas, 1865.\n\nWEBSTER. Basque Legends: collected chiefly in the Labourd by Rev.\nWentworth Webster, M.A. 2nd edition. London, 1879.\n\nWENZIG. Westslawischer Maerchenschatz. Deutsch bearbeitet von Joseph\nWenzig. Neue Ausgabe. Leipzig, 1886.\n\nWHITE. The Ancient History of the Maori, his Mythology and Traditions by\nJohn White. 4 vols. Wellington, 1887-89, still proceeding.\n\n_Wide Awake Stories._ Wide Awake Stories. A collection of tales told by\nlittle children, between sunset and sunrise, in the Panjab and Kashmir.\nBy F. A. Steel and R. C. Temple. Bombay, 1884.\n\nWILDE. See Lady Wilde.\n\nWIRT SIKES. See Sikes.\n\nWLISLOCKI. See Von Wlislocki.\n\nWRATISLAW. Sixty Folk-Tales from exclusively Slavonic sources.\nTranslated, with brief introductions and notes, by A. H. Wratislaw, M.A.\nLondon, 1889.\n\nWRIGHT, _Middle Ages._ Essays on subjects connected with the Literature,\nPopular Superstitions and History of England in the Middle Ages. By\nThomas Wright, M.A., F.S.A. 2 vols. London, 1846.\n\n\n_Y Brython._ Y Brython: Cylchgrawn Llenyddol Cymru; dan olygiad y Parch.\nD. Silvan Evans. 5 vols. Tremadog, 1858-63.\n\n_Y Cymmrodor._ Y Cymmrodor, embodying the Transactions of the\nCymmrodorion Society of London. 10 vols. London, 1877-90, still\nproceeding.\n\n_Y Llyvyr Coch._ Y Llyvyr Coch o Hergest. Y gyvrol I. The Text of the\nMabinogion and other Welsh Tales from the Red Book of Hergest edited by\nJohn Rhys, M.A. and J. Gwenogvryn Evans. Oxford, 1887.\n\n     The Mabinogion, from the Welsh of the Llyfr Coch o Hergest (The\n     Red Book of Hergest) in the Library of Jesus College, Oxford.\n     Translated, with notes, by Lady Charlotte Guest. London, 1877.\n\n\n_Zeits. f. Volksk._ Zeitschrift fuer Volkskunde in Sage und Maer, Schwank\nund Streich, Lied, Raetsel und Sprichwoerter, Sitte und Brauch\nherausgegeben von Dr. Edmund Veckenstedt. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1889-90,\nstill proceeding.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\n  Actaeon, 71\n\n  Afghan legend, 183\n\n  Alsatian tales, 213, 216\n\n  American Indians, Tales of North, 268, 271, 314, 315\n\n  Ananci tale, 294\n\n  Animism, 25\n\n  Annamite tales, 200, 323\n\n  Arabian Nights Entertainments, 50, 69, 79, 84, 255, 260, 267\n\n  Arab tales (_see_ Arabian Nights Entertainments), 202, 300, 316, 319\n\n  Ardshi-Bordshi, 81\n\n  Arthur, King, 205, 207, 211, 212, 234\n\n  Art of Story-telling, 1, 5, 20.\n    In Western Highlands, 5;\n    Brittany, 7;\n    Portugal, Brazil, Gascony, Wales, England, 8;\n    France, Sicily, 9;\n    Panjab, 11;\n    Cashmere, New Zealand, Polynesia, Greenland, 12;\n    among the Malagasy, Ahts, Indian tribes of Guiana, 13;\n    in India, 14;\n    among the Algonkins, ancient Germans, Anglo-Saxons, ancient Welsh, 15;\n    Arabs, Guslars, 16;\n    Swahilis, 17;\n    Eskimo, 12, 19\n\n  Ascension Day, 90\n\n  Aubrey, John, 148, 244\n\n\n  Bahar Danush, 260\n\n  Ballafletcher, Cup of, 156\n\n  Bantik. _See_ Celebes\n\n  Bards, Welsh, 15\n\n  Baptism, superstitions concerning, 94, 101\n\n  Barrows, haunted, 141, 142, 146, 231\n\n  Basque tale, 293\n\n  Berchta, Dame, 70, 90\n\n  Blanik mountain, 184, 219, 220\n\n  Blood relationship among savages, 47\n\n  Bohemian tales, 56, 119, 175, 184, 219, 245, 251, 260, 294\n\n  Bona Dea, 84, 87\n\n  Bornoese tales, 300, 311, 324\n\n  Breton tales, 61, 62, 63, 65, 66, 67, 116, 138, 174, 190, 192, 293\n\n  Briar Rose, 247\n\n  Buddhist influence on tales, 295, _et seqq._\n\n  Bulgarian tales. _See_ Slavonic\n\n  Burmese tale, 267, 297\n\n  Burton, Sir Richard F. (_see_ Arabian Nights Entertainments), 16\n\n\n  Cabalists, the, a mediaeval sect, 341\n\n  Carinthian tales, 173, 240\n\n  Cashmere, tales from. _See_ Indian\n\n  Celebes Islands, tale from, 267, 297\n\n  Changelings, 93, _et seqq._\n\n  Chinese superstitions, 97, 98\n\n  Chinese tales, 177, 178, 299, 300\n\n  Christening. _See_ Baptism\n\n  Christmas, 141, 142, 157, 159\n\n  Coals turned to gold, 49\n\n  Cologne, Three Kings of, 149, 150\n\n  Coptic tale, 181\n\n  Corpus Christi Day, 89\n\n  Corsican tale, 274\n\n  Cosquin, Emmanuel, 267, 297\n\n  Coventry, _See_ Godiva\n\n  Cretan tales, _See_ Greek\n\n  Cyclades, tale from, _See_ Greek\n\n\n  Danish superstitions, 96, 99, 231\n\n  Danish tales, 40, 44, 50, 56, 67, 103, 114, 130, 131, 140, 141, 144,\n    151, 185, 213, 294\n\n  Dardistan, tale from, 49\n\n  Davies, Rev. Edward, 136\n\n  Dean, Forest of, _See_ Forest\n\n  Death, savage belief on, 27\n\n  Derceto, a Phoenician goddess, 324\n\n  Devil, the, 42, 47, 69, 263, 280\n\n  Diana, 71\n\n  Diedrich, 213, 233\n\n  Dobocz, the robber chief, 218, 233\n\n  Dracs of the Rhone, 65, 100\n\n  Duffus, story of Lord, 148\n\n  Dyak, _See_ Bornoese\n\n\n  Edenhall, _See_ Luck\n\n  Edgehill, Battle of, 235\n\n  Edric the Wild, 302, 338, 340\n\n  Eggshells, changelings detected by, 153, _et seqq._, 125\n\n  Elidorus, tale of, 135\n\n  English superstitions, 96, 100, 205\n\n  English tales, 59, 61, 63, 64, 66, 68, 69, 106, 116, 124, 126, 139, 145,\n    146, 147, 178, 189, 211, 234, 244\n\n  Epimenides, tale of, 183\n\n  Eskimo tales, 137, 262\n\n  Esthonian tales, 201, 273, 280\n\n  Etiquette of various nations, 309, 321\n\n  Ezra, 182\n\n\n  Fairy Births and Human Midwives, 37, _et seqq._, 59, _et seqq._\n\n  Fairyland, 43, 47, 161, 196, 222\n\n  Fairy Tales, definition of, 3;\n    divisions of, 22;\n    principles of explanation of, 32\n\n  Feather-robe, 258, 267, 268, 298, 300, 301\n\n  Females, kinship through, _See_ Kinship\n\n  Finnish tales, 259, 329\n\n  Fire, superstitions respecting, 96, 97\n\n  Forest of Dean, 78\n\n  Folktale (_See_ Art of Story-telling), connection with folk-song, 14;\n    how to be reported, 21\n\n  Frazer J. G., 31, 249, 252\n\n  Frederick Barbarossa, 172, 213\n\n  French superstitions, 96\n\n  French tales (_See_ Breton), 42, 47, 65, 114, 119, 272, 293, 324, 342\n\n  Frog, Fairy as, _See_ Toad.\n\n\n  Gaelic tales, _See_ Scottish\n\n  Gerald, Earl, 210, 233\n\n  German superstitions, 95, 96, 99, 108, 140, 143, 279, 281\n\n  German tales (_See_ Alsatian, Pomeranian, Ruegen, Swabian, Transylvanian),\n    48, 103, 113, 114, 118, 124, 126, 130, 137, 138, 139, 140, 142, 143,\n    149, 152, 172, 177, 185, 188, 192, 212, 214, 215, 216, 217, 238, 240,\n    241, 242, 243, 244, 259, 281, 327\n\n  Gervase of Tilbury, 65, 100, 145, 212, 234, 272, 284\n\n  Giraldus Cambrensis, 135\n\n  Gloucestershire (_See_ Forest of Dean, St. Briavels), 145\n\n  Godiva, legend of Lady, 71, _et seqq._\n\n  Gold Coast, custom at, 86\n\n  Gold Coast, tales of, 313, 324\n\n  Gold, fairy, turns to dross, 50\n\n  Grateful animals, _See_ Buddhist\n\n  Gratitude, fairy, 48, 218, 312, 316\n\n  Greek superstitions, 99, 100\n\n  Greek tales, 55, 82, 242, 267, 269, 290, 317\n\n  Grey, Sir George, 12, 285\n\n  Grimm, 120, 140, 212, 213, 216, 233\n\n  Guiana, tales from, 261, 289, 297, 299, 324\n\n  Guernsey, tales from, 62, 66, 114\n\n\n  Hades, food of, must not be eaten, 43, 44, 45, 47\n\n  Harold II., King, 72, 205\n\n  Hasan of Bassorah, tale of, 255, 291\n\n  Hebrew tale, 41, 55\n\n  Helpful beasts, _See_ Buddhist\n\n  Herla, King, tale of, 178, 234\n\n  Hero, the Hidden, the Sleeping, 205 _et seqq._, 228, 235\n\n  Hertha, a German goddess, 71, 89, 90\n\n  Hindoo customs, tales, _See_ Indian\n\n  Highland tales, _See_ Scottish\n\n  Holle, Dame, 215, 236\n\n\n  Icelandic tales, 113, 193\n\n  Imagination among savages, 2, 33\n\n  Im Thurn, Everard, 13, 230\n\n  Indian customs, 84\n\n  Indian tales, 82, 227, 268, 296, 317, 318, 338\n\n  Iolo Morganwg, 207\n\n  Irish superstitions, 96, 121, 123, 210, 211\n\n  Irish tales, 50, 52, 63, 107, 116, 118, 122, 128, 196, 198, 202, 210,\n    211, 259, 314, 324, 338\n\n  Iron, dislike of supernatural beings to, 50, 97, 126, 164, 306\n\n  Irving, Washington, 177, 181\n\n  Italian superstitions, 99\n\n  Italian tales (_see_ Corsican, Sicilian, Tirolese), 199, 293\n\n\n  Japanese tales, 174, 178, 194, 273, 301\n\n  Jewish tales, _See_ Hebrew\n\n  Jeremiah the prophet, 181 [TN: out of alphabetical order]\n\n\n  Kaffir tale, 328\n\n  Kan Puedaei, 42\n\n  Katha-sarit-sagara, 318\n\n  Keats, 313\n\n  Kinship through females, 228, _et seqq._\n\n  Kirk Malew, Cup of, 155\n\n  Koran, _See_ Mohammed\n\n  Kurdish tale, 262, 292\n\n  Kurroglu, the robber-poet, 80\n\n  Kyffhaeuser, 172, 214, 215, 229\n\n\n  Lady Wilde, _See_ Wilde\n\n  Lapp superstitions, 108\n\n  Lapp tales, 38, 57, 173, 329\n\n  Liebrecht, Felix, 79;\n    his Ghost Theory, 337\n\n  Lithuanian superstitions, 96\n\n  Lithuanian tales, 104, 120, 220, 221\n\n  Li Ki, a Chinese classic, 321\n\n  Loo Choo Islands, tale from, 318\n\n  Longfellow, 187\n\n  Luck of Edenhall, 153\n\n  Luther on Changelings, 109, 124\n\n  Luxemburg, 240, 253, 324\n\n  Luzel, F. M., 7, 190\n\n\n  Mabinogion, 188\n\n  MacRitchie, David, his Finn Theory, 349, _et seqq._\n\n  Mahabharata, 317\n\n  Magyar tale, 260\n\n  Malagasy tale, 287\n\n  Malory, Sir Thomas, 205\n\n  Manx superstitions, 108, 210\n\n  Manx tales, 41, 106, 117, 155\n\n  Maori customs, 290\n\n  Maori tales, 45, 274, 285, 288, 289, 317, 319\n\n  Map, Walter, 178, 234, 302, 338, 340, 341\n\n  Marko, Prince, _or_ King, tale of, 218\n\n  Marquis of the Sun, tale of, 264, 291, 293\n\n  Marriage settlements, Indian, 321, 322\n\n  Maundeville, Sir John, 111, 239\n\n  Meddygon Myddfai, 325\n\n  Melusina, 240, 253, 272, 273, 321, 324, 327\n\n  Merlin, 209\n\n  Messia, the Sicilian story-teller, 9\n\n  Metamorphosis, 26, 31\n\n  Midsummer Day, _See_ St. John's Day\n\n  Midwives, adventures of, _See_ Fairy Births\n\n  Minstrel in Middle Ages, 15\n\n  Mohammed, 182, 224\n\n  Mohel, adventure of a, 41, 55\n\n  Moravian tale, 274\n\n  Morgan the Fay, 43, 204\n\n  Morris, William, 239, 260, 261\n\n  Mother-right, _See_ Kinship\n\n  Myddfai, Physicians of, _See_ Meddygon\n\n\n  Names, Savage feeling about, 309\n\n  Napoleon I., 206\n\n  Nereids, 55, 99, 242, 267, 317, 325\n\n  Netherlands, tale from, 188\n\n  New Guinea, tale from, 322\n\n  New Year's Eve and Night, 69, 248\n\n  New Zealand, _See_ Maori\n\n  Nightmare, the, 278, _et seqq._\n\n  Norwegian tales. _See_ Scandinavian\n\n\n  Odin, _See_ Woden\n\n  Ogier the Dane, _See_ Olger\n\n  Ointment, Magical, 59, _et seqq._\n\n  Oisin, 196, 198\n\n  Oldenburg Horn, 149\n\n  Olger the Dane, 43, 204, 213\n\n  Omens, 30\n\n  Osburg, foundress of nunnery at Coventry, 90\n\n  Ossian, _See_ Oisin\n\n  Ovid, 71\n\n  Owen Glendower, 209\n\n  Owen Lawgoch, 209\n\n\n  Parsees, _See_ Sad Dar\n\n  Peeping Tom, _See_ Godiva\n\n  Peleus, _See_ Thetis\n\n  Perrault, 247\n\n  Pitre, Dr., 9, 53, 192\n\n  Pliny, 86, 183\n\n  Pomeranian tales, 48, 51, 141, 217, 237, 242, 243, 251, 262, 281\n\n  Polynesian tales, 44, 45, 267, 319, 324\n\n  Portuguese superstition, 206\n\n  Portuguese tale, 181\n\n  Princess, the Enchanted, 237, _et seqq._, 262\n\n  Proserpine, 43, 48\n\n\n  Revenge, Fairy, 52, 59, _et seqq._, 65, _et seqq._\n\n  Rhys, Professor, 37, 64, 66, 110, 163, 164, 188, 231, 325, 330\n\n  Rip van Winkle, 177\n\n  Robberies from Fairyland, 135, _et seqq._\n\n  Roger of Wendover, _See_ Godiva\n\n  Roman superstition, 96\n\n  Russian tales, 119, 259, 265, 294, 298, 344\n\n  Ruegen, Island of, tales from, 71, 89, 127, 152, 236\n\n\n  Sad Dar, a sacred book of Parsees, 96\n\n  Samoyede tale, 268\n\n  Savage ideas, 22;\n    evidence of, 32\n\n  Savages, imagination among, 2\n\n  Saxo Grammaticus, 44\n\n  Scandinavian tales (_see_ Icelandic,\n    Danish), 38, 115, 142, 150, 155, 217, 258, 281, 294, 318\n\n  Scottish superstitions, 94, 95, 96, 127, 133\n\n  Scottish tales, 55, 61, 98, 105, 111, 112, 118, 120, 121, 122, 125, 127,\n    130, 131, 132, 144, 148, 165, 166, 167, 180, 186, 241, 266, 293, 312\n\n  Sebastian, Don, 206\n\n  Sebillot, Paul, 67\n\n  Seven Sleepers, the, 182\n\n  Siberian tales, 42, 169\n\n  Sicilian superstitions, 100, 111\n\n  Sicilian tales, 53, 192, 212, 299\n\n  Siegfried, _or_ Sigurd, 212, 247\n\n  Sikes, Wirt, 64, 123, 137, 165, 278\n\n  Simrock, Karl, 101, 116\n\n  Slavonic superstitions, 206, 279\n\n  Slavonic tales (_see_ Bohemian, Russian, Lithuanian), 218, 266, 267,\n    298, 312\n\n  Southam, procession at, 85\n\n  Southey, 187\n\n  Spanish superstitions, 100, 205\n\n  Spanish tales, 187, 226, 264, 294, 315, 325, 339\n\n  Spirits, doctrine of, 25, 42\n\n  St. Augustine, 100, 235\n\n  St. Briavels, custom at, 78, 87\n\n  Stephens, Professor Dr. Geo., 150\n\n  St. John's Day, 214, 236, 238, 248\n\n  Story-telling, Art of, _See_ Art\n\n  Stoymir, the Knight, 220, 233\n\n  Swabian tales, 39, 52, 147, 244, 245, 253\n\n  Swan-maidens, 202, 255, _et seqq._, 283, _et seqq._, 337\n\n  Swedish tales, _See_ Scandinavian\n\n  Swiss tale, 49\n\n\n  Taboo, 270, 302, 304, 305, 306, 309, 311, 312, 318, 320, 337\n\n  Tacitus, 15, 71, 89\n\n  Tam Lin, ballad of, 242\n\n  Tawhaki and Tango-tango, tale of, 285, _et seqq._\n\n  Thetis, 242, 317, 329\n\n  Thomas of Erceldoune, 43, 102, 103\n\n  Time, supernatural lapse of, 161, _et seqq._, 196, _et seqq._, 222,\n    _et seqq._\n\n  Tini-rau, tale of, 286, _et seqq._\n\n  Tir na n 'Og, _See_ Oisin\n\n  Tirolese tales, 70, 184, 274, 293, 315, 325, 329, 348\n\n  Toad or frog, fairy as (_see_ Princess), 51, 52, 53, 338\n\n  Totemism, 27, 324, 331, 346\n\n  Tradition, definition of, 34\n\n  Traditions, variable value of, 4, 24\n\n  Transformations, doctrine of, 26, 31\n\n  Transylvanian tales, 52, 176, 189, 246, 258, 347\n\n\n  Ulrich von Rosenberg, 220, 233\n\n\n  Van Pool, Lady of the, 274, 325, 330\n\n  Vikramaditya, 81\n\n  Vitra, 38\n\n\n  Waeinaemoeinen, 45\n\n  Waldron, Geo., 41, 108, 156\n\n  Wastin of Wastiniog, tale of, 302\n\n  Welsh superstitions, 110, 126, 207, 209\n\n  Welsh tales, 37, 62, 63, 103, 113, 115, 122, 123, 126, 128, 135, 136,\n    162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 187, 188, 207, 209, 225, 269, 274,\n    294, 301, 302, 304, 305, 317, 325, 327, 330\n\n  Wenzel, King, 184, 219\n\n  Western Highlands, story-telling in, 5\n\n  Weyland Smith, 318\n\n  Wilde, Lady, 102, 128\n\n  Wild Edric, _See_ Edric\n\n  Wild Hunt, the, 233, 234, 236\n\n  William of Newbury, 146\n\n  Witchcraft, 29\n\n  Witches, 99, 143, 173, 336, 348\n\n  Woden, 212, 233, 247, 339\n\n\n  Yatsh, _or_ demon, wedding, 49\n\n  York, custom at, 90\n\n  Yorkshire, 189, 211\n\n\n  Zoroaster, 96\n\n\nUNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON.","title":"The science of fairy tales : $b an inquiry into fairy mythology","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":129476}