Denn da hielten auch im landeNoch die guten Zwerglein Haus;Kleingestalt, doch hochbegabet,Und so hülfreich überaus!Müller.For then also in the countryThe good Dwarflings still kept house;Small in form, but highly gifted,And so kind and generous!
Denn da hielten auch im landeNoch die guten Zwerglein Haus;Kleingestalt, doch hochbegabet,Und so hülfreich überaus!Müller.
For then also in the countryThe good Dwarflings still kept house;Small in form, but highly gifted,And so kind and generous!
We now arrive at Switzerland, a country with which are usually associated ideas of sublime and romantic scenery, simple manners, and honest hearts. The character of the Swiss Dwarfs will be found to correspond with these ideas. For, like the face of Nature, these personifications of natural powers seem to become more gentle and mild as they approach the sun and the south.
The Dwarfs, or little Hill- or Earth-men[298]of Switzerland, are described as of a lively, joyous disposition, fond of strolling through the valleys, and viewing and partaking in the labours of agriculture. Kind and generous, they are represented as driving home stray lambs, and leaving brushwood and berries in the way of poor children. Their principal occupation is keeping cattle—not goats, sheep, or cows, but the chamois, from whose milk they make excellent and well-flavoured cheese. This cheese, when given by the Dwarfs to any one, has the property of growing again when it has been cut or bitten. But should the hungry owner be improvident enough to eat up the whole of it and leave nothing from it to sprout from, he of course has seen the end of his cheese.
The Kobolds are also to be met with in Switzerland. In the Vaudois, they call them Servants,[299]and believe that they live in remote dwellings and lonely shiels.[300]The most celebrated of them in those parts is Jean de la Boliéta, or, as he is called in German, Napf-Hans,i. e.Jack-of-the-Bowl, because it was the custom to lay for him every evening on the roof of the cow-house a bowl of fresh sweet cream, of which he was sure to give a good account. He used to lead the cows to feed in the most dangerous places, and yet none of them ever sustained the slightest injury. He always went along the same steep path on which no one ever saw even a single stone lying, though the whole side of the mountain was strewn as thickly as possible with boulders. It is still called Boliéta's Path.[301]
Rationalising theory has been at work with the Swiss Dwarfs also. It is supposed, that the early inhabitants of the Swiss mountains, when driven back by later tribes of immigrants, retired to the high lands and took refuge in the clefts and caverns of the mountains, whence they gradually showed themselves to the new settlers—approached them, assisted them, and were finally, as a species of Genii, raised to the region of the wonderful.
For our knowledge of the Dwarf Mythology of Switzerland, we are chiefly indebted to professor Wyss, of Bern, who has put some of the legends in a poetical dress, and given others in the notes to his Idylls as he styles them.[302]These legends were related by the peasants to Mr. Wyss or his friends, on their excursions through the mountains; and he declares that he has very rarely permitted himself to add to, or subtract from, the peasants' narrative. He adds, that the belief in these beings is strong in the minds of the people, not merely in the mountain districts, but also at the foot of Belp mountain, Belp, Gelterfingen, and other places about Bern.[303]
As a specimen of Mr. Wyss's manner of narrating these legends, we give here a faithful translation of his first Idyll.[304]
GERTRUDE.
Quick, daughter, quick! spin off what's on your rock.'Tis Saturday night, and with the week you knowOur work must end; we shall the more enjoyTo-morrow's rest when all's done out of hand.[305]Quick, daughter, quick! spin off what's on your rock.
Quick, daughter, quick! spin off what's on your rock.'Tis Saturday night, and with the week you knowOur work must end; we shall the more enjoyTo-morrow's rest when all's done out of hand.[305]Quick, daughter, quick! spin off what's on your rock.
ROSY.
True, mother, but every minute sleepFalls on my eyes as heavy as lead, and IMust yawn do what I will; and then God knowsI can't help nodding though 'twere for my life;Or ... oh! it might be of some use if youWould once more, dearest mother, tell aboutThe wonderful, good-natured little Dwarfs,What they here round the country used to do,And how they showed their kindness to the hinds.
True, mother, but every minute sleepFalls on my eyes as heavy as lead, and IMust yawn do what I will; and then God knowsI can't help nodding though 'twere for my life;Or ... oh! it might be of some use if youWould once more, dearest mother, tell aboutThe wonderful, good-natured little Dwarfs,What they here round the country used to do,And how they showed their kindness to the hinds.
GERTRUDE.
See now! what industry!—your work itselfShould keep you waking. I have told you o'erA thousand times the stories, and we lose,If you grow wearied of them, store of joyReserved for winter-nights; besides, methinks,The evening's now too short for chat like this.
See now! what industry!—your work itselfShould keep you waking. I have told you o'erA thousand times the stories, and we lose,If you grow wearied of them, store of joyReserved for winter-nights; besides, methinks,The evening's now too short for chat like this.
ROSY.
There's only one thing I desire to hearAgain, and sure, dear mother, never yetHave you explained how 'twas the little menLived in the hills, and how, all through the year,They sported round the country here, and gaveMarks of their kindness. For you'll ne'er persuadeMe to believe that barely, one by one,They wandered in the valleys, and appearedUnto the people, and bestowed their gifts:So, come now, tell at once, how 'twas the DwarfsLived all together in society.
There's only one thing I desire to hearAgain, and sure, dear mother, never yetHave you explained how 'twas the little menLived in the hills, and how, all through the year,They sported round the country here, and gaveMarks of their kindness. For you'll ne'er persuadeMe to believe that barely, one by one,They wandered in the valleys, and appearedUnto the people, and bestowed their gifts:So, come now, tell at once, how 'twas the DwarfsLived all together in society.
GERTRUDE.
'Tis plain, however, of itself, and wellWise folks can see, that such an active raceWould never with their hands before them sit.Ah! a right merry lively thing, and fullOf roguish tricks, the little Hill-man is,And quickly too he gets into a rage,If you behave not toward him mannerly,And be not frank and delicate in your acts.But, above all things, they delight to dwell,Quiet and peaceful, in the secret cleftsOf hills and mountains, evermore concealed.All through the winter, when with icy rindThe frost doth cover o'er the earth, the wiseAnd prudent little people keep them warmBy their fine fires, many a fathom downWithin the inmost rocks. Pure native gold,And the rock-crystals shaped like towers, clear,Transparent, gleam with colours thousandfoldThrough the fair palace, and the Little-folk,So happy and so gay, amuse themselvesSometimes with singing—Oh, so sweet! 'twould charmThe heart of any one who heard it sound.Sometimes with dancing, when they jump and springLike the young skipping kids in the Alp-grass.Then when the spring is come, and in the fieldsThe flowers are blooming, with sweet May's approach,They bolts and bars take from their doors and gates,That early ere the hind or hunter stirs,In the cool morning, they may sport and play;Or ramble in the evening, when the moonLights up the plains. Seldom hath mortal manBeheld them with his eyes; but should one chanceTo see them, it betokens sufferingAnd a bad year, if bent in woe they glideThrough woods and thickets; but the sight proclaimsJoy and good luck, when social, in a ring,On the green meads and fields, their hair adornedWith flowers, they shout and whirl their merry rounds.Abundance then they joyously announceFor barn, for cellar, and for granary,And a blest year to men, to herds, and game.Thus they do constantly foreshow what willBefall to-morrow and hereafter; nowSighing, and still, by their lamenting tones,A furious tempest; and again, with sweetAnd smiling lips, and shouting, clear bright skies.[306]Chief to the poor and good, they love to showKindness and favour, often bringing homeAt night the straying lambs, and oftener stillIn springtime nicely spreading, in the wood,Brushwood, in noble bundles, in the wayOf needy children gone to fetch home fuel.Many a good little girl, who well obeyedHer mother,—or, mayhap, a little boy,—Has, with surprise, found lying on the hillsBright dazzling bowls of milk, and baskets too,Nice little baskets, full of berries, leftBy the kind hands of the wood-roaming Dwarfs.Now be attentive while I tell you oneOut of a hundred and a hundred stories;'Tis one, however, that concerns us moreThan all the rest, because it was my ownGreat-great-grandfather that the thing befell,In the old time, in years long since agone.Where from the lofty rocks the boundary runsDown to the vale, Barthel, of herdsmen firstIn all the country round, was ploughing upA spacious field, where he designed to tryThe seed of corn; but with anxietyHis heart was filled, lest by any chanceHis venture should miscarry, for his sheepIn the contagion he had lost, now poorAnd without skill, he ventures on the plough.Deliberate and still, at the plough-tail,In furrows he cuts up the grassy soil,While with the goad his little boy drives onThe panting ox. When, lo! along the tallRocky hill-side, a smoke ascends in cloudsLike snow-flakes, soaring from the summit upInto the sky. At this the hungry boyBegan to think of food, for the poor childHad tasted nothing all the live-long dayFor lunch, and, looking up, he thus began:"Ah! there the little Dwarf-folk are so gayAt their grand cooking, roasting, boiling now,For a fine banquet, while with hunger IAm dying. Had we here one little dishOf the nice savoury food, were it but asA sign that there's a blessing on our work!"'Twas thus the boy spake, and his father ploughedSilently on, bent forwards o'er his work.They turn the plough; when huzza! lo! beholdA miracle! there gleamed right from the midstOf the dark furrow, toward them, a brightLustre, and there so charming! lay a plateHeaped up with roast meat; by the plate, a loafOf bread upon the outspread table-cloth,At the disposal of the honest pair.Hurra! long live the friendly, generous Dwarfs!Barthel had now enough—so had the boy—And laughing gratefully and loud, they praiseAnd thank the givers; then, with strength restored,They quick return unto their idle plough.But when again their day's task they resume,To break more of the field, encouraged nowTo hope for a good crop, since the kind DwarfsHad given them the sign of luck they asked—Hush! bread and plate, and crums, and knife and fork,Were vanished clean; only—just for a signFor ever of the truth—lay on the ridgeThe white, nice-woven, pretty table-cloth.
'Tis plain, however, of itself, and wellWise folks can see, that such an active raceWould never with their hands before them sit.Ah! a right merry lively thing, and fullOf roguish tricks, the little Hill-man is,And quickly too he gets into a rage,If you behave not toward him mannerly,And be not frank and delicate in your acts.But, above all things, they delight to dwell,Quiet and peaceful, in the secret cleftsOf hills and mountains, evermore concealed.All through the winter, when with icy rindThe frost doth cover o'er the earth, the wiseAnd prudent little people keep them warmBy their fine fires, many a fathom downWithin the inmost rocks. Pure native gold,And the rock-crystals shaped like towers, clear,Transparent, gleam with colours thousandfoldThrough the fair palace, and the Little-folk,So happy and so gay, amuse themselvesSometimes with singing—Oh, so sweet! 'twould charmThe heart of any one who heard it sound.Sometimes with dancing, when they jump and springLike the young skipping kids in the Alp-grass.Then when the spring is come, and in the fieldsThe flowers are blooming, with sweet May's approach,They bolts and bars take from their doors and gates,That early ere the hind or hunter stirs,In the cool morning, they may sport and play;Or ramble in the evening, when the moonLights up the plains. Seldom hath mortal manBeheld them with his eyes; but should one chanceTo see them, it betokens sufferingAnd a bad year, if bent in woe they glideThrough woods and thickets; but the sight proclaimsJoy and good luck, when social, in a ring,On the green meads and fields, their hair adornedWith flowers, they shout and whirl their merry rounds.Abundance then they joyously announceFor barn, for cellar, and for granary,And a blest year to men, to herds, and game.Thus they do constantly foreshow what willBefall to-morrow and hereafter; nowSighing, and still, by their lamenting tones,A furious tempest; and again, with sweetAnd smiling lips, and shouting, clear bright skies.[306]Chief to the poor and good, they love to showKindness and favour, often bringing homeAt night the straying lambs, and oftener stillIn springtime nicely spreading, in the wood,Brushwood, in noble bundles, in the wayOf needy children gone to fetch home fuel.Many a good little girl, who well obeyedHer mother,—or, mayhap, a little boy,—Has, with surprise, found lying on the hillsBright dazzling bowls of milk, and baskets too,Nice little baskets, full of berries, leftBy the kind hands of the wood-roaming Dwarfs.Now be attentive while I tell you oneOut of a hundred and a hundred stories;'Tis one, however, that concerns us moreThan all the rest, because it was my ownGreat-great-grandfather that the thing befell,In the old time, in years long since agone.Where from the lofty rocks the boundary runsDown to the vale, Barthel, of herdsmen firstIn all the country round, was ploughing upA spacious field, where he designed to tryThe seed of corn; but with anxietyHis heart was filled, lest by any chanceHis venture should miscarry, for his sheepIn the contagion he had lost, now poorAnd without skill, he ventures on the plough.Deliberate and still, at the plough-tail,In furrows he cuts up the grassy soil,While with the goad his little boy drives onThe panting ox. When, lo! along the tallRocky hill-side, a smoke ascends in cloudsLike snow-flakes, soaring from the summit upInto the sky. At this the hungry boyBegan to think of food, for the poor childHad tasted nothing all the live-long dayFor lunch, and, looking up, he thus began:"Ah! there the little Dwarf-folk are so gayAt their grand cooking, roasting, boiling now,For a fine banquet, while with hunger IAm dying. Had we here one little dishOf the nice savoury food, were it but asA sign that there's a blessing on our work!"'Twas thus the boy spake, and his father ploughedSilently on, bent forwards o'er his work.They turn the plough; when huzza! lo! beholdA miracle! there gleamed right from the midstOf the dark furrow, toward them, a brightLustre, and there so charming! lay a plateHeaped up with roast meat; by the plate, a loafOf bread upon the outspread table-cloth,At the disposal of the honest pair.Hurra! long live the friendly, generous Dwarfs!Barthel had now enough—so had the boy—And laughing gratefully and loud, they praiseAnd thank the givers; then, with strength restored,They quick return unto their idle plough.But when again their day's task they resume,To break more of the field, encouraged nowTo hope for a good crop, since the kind DwarfsHad given them the sign of luck they asked—Hush! bread and plate, and crums, and knife and fork,Were vanished clean; only—just for a signFor ever of the truth—lay on the ridgeThe white, nice-woven, pretty table-cloth.
ROSY.
O mother! mother! what? the glittering plateAnd real? and the cloth with their own handsSpun by the generous Dwarfs? No, I can ne'erBelieve it!—Was the thread then, real drawnAnd twisted thread, set in it evenly?And was there too a flower, a pretty figure,Nicely wrought in with warp and crossing woof?Did there a handsome border go all round.Enclosing all the figures?—Sure your great-Great-grandfather, if really he wasThe owner of the curious little cloth,He would have left it carefully untoHis son and grandson for a legacy,That, for a lasting witness of the mealGiven by the Dwarfs, it might to distant years,The praise and wonder of our vale remain.
O mother! mother! what? the glittering plateAnd real? and the cloth with their own handsSpun by the generous Dwarfs? No, I can ne'erBelieve it!—Was the thread then, real drawnAnd twisted thread, set in it evenly?And was there too a flower, a pretty figure,Nicely wrought in with warp and crossing woof?Did there a handsome border go all round.Enclosing all the figures?—Sure your great-Great-grandfather, if really he wasThe owner of the curious little cloth,He would have left it carefully untoHis son and grandson for a legacy,That, for a lasting witness of the mealGiven by the Dwarfs, it might to distant years,The praise and wonder of our vale remain.
GERTRUDE.
Odds me! how wise the child is! what a lossAnd pity 'tis that in old times the folkWere not so thoughtful and so over-knowing!Ah! our poor simple fathers should rise upOut of their graves, and come to get adviceAnd comfort from the brooders that are now,—As if they knew not what was right and fit!Have but a little patience, girl, and spinWhat's on your rock; to-morrow when 'tis dayI'll let you see the Dwarfs' flowered table-cloth,Which, in the chest laid safe, inheritedFrom mother down to daughter, I have longKept treasured under lock and key, for fearSome little girl, like some one that you know,Might out of curiosity, and notAcquainted with its worth, set it astray.
Odds me! how wise the child is! what a lossAnd pity 'tis that in old times the folkWere not so thoughtful and so over-knowing!Ah! our poor simple fathers should rise upOut of their graves, and come to get adviceAnd comfort from the brooders that are now,—As if they knew not what was right and fit!Have but a little patience, girl, and spinWhat's on your rock; to-morrow when 'tis dayI'll let you see the Dwarfs' flowered table-cloth,Which, in the chest laid safe, inheritedFrom mother down to daughter, I have longKept treasured under lock and key, for fearSome little girl, like some one that you know,Might out of curiosity, and notAcquainted with its worth, set it astray.
ROSY.
Ah, that is kind, dear mother; and see nowHow broad awake I am, and how so smartI'm finishing my work since you relateThese pretty tales; but I will call you upOut of your bed to-morrow in the morningSo early! Oh, I wish now it were dayAlready, for I'm sure I shall not getOne wink of sleep for thinking of the cloth.[307]
Ah, that is kind, dear mother; and see nowHow broad awake I am, and how so smartI'm finishing my work since you relateThese pretty tales; but I will call you upOut of your bed to-morrow in the morningSo early! Oh, I wish now it were dayAlready, for I'm sure I shall not getOne wink of sleep for thinking of the cloth.[307]
A chamois-hunter set out early one morning, and ascended the mountains. He had arrived at a great height, and was in view of some chamois, when, just as he was laying his bolt on his crossbow, and was about to shoot, a terrible cry from a cleft of the rock interrupted his purpose. Turning round he saw a hideous Dwarf, with a battle-axe in his hand raised to slay him. "Why," cried he, in a rage, "hast thou so long been destroying my chamois, and leavest not with me my flock? But now thou shalt pay for it with thy blood." The poor hunter turned pale at the stranger's words. In his terror he was near falling from the cliff.At length, however, he recovered himself, and begged forgiveness of the Dwarf, pleaded his ignorance that the chamois belonged to him, declaring at the same time that he had no other means of support than what he derived from hunting. The Dwarf was pacified, laid down his axe, and said to him, "'Tis well; never be seen here again, and I promise thee that every seventh day thou shalt find, early in the morning, a dead chamois hanging before thy cottage; but beware and keep from the others." The Dwarf then vanished, and the hunter returned thoughtfully home, little pleased with the prospect of the inactive live he was now to lead.
On the seventh morning he found, according to the Dwarf's promise, a fat chamois hanging in the branches of a tree before his cottage, of which he ate with great satisfaction. The next week it was the same, and so it continued for some months. But at last he grew weary of this idle life, and preferred, come what might, returning to the chase, and catching chamois for himself, to having his food provided for him without the remembrance of his toils to sweeten the repast. His determination made, he once more ascended the mountains. Almost the first object that met his view was a fine buck. The hunter levelled his bow and took aim at the prey; and as the Dwarf did not appear, he was just pulling the trigger, when the Dwarf stole behind him, took him by the ankle, and tumbled him down the precipice.
Others say the Dwarf gave the hunter a small cheese of chamois-milk, which would last him his whole life, but that he one day thoughtlessly ate the whole of it, or, as some will have it, a guest who was ignorant of the quality of it ate up the remainder. Poverty then drove him to return to the chamois-hunting, and he was thrown into a chasm by the Dwarf.[308]
In the summer-time the troop of the Dwarfs came in great numbers down from the hills into the valley, and joined the men that were at work, either assisting them or merely looking on. They especially liked to be with the mowers in the hay-making season, seating themselves, greatly to their satisfaction, on the long thick branch of a maple-tree, among the dense foliage. But one time some mischief-loving people came by night and sawed the branch nearly through. The unsuspecting Dwarfs, as usual, sat down on it in the morning; the branch snapt in two, and the Dwarfs were thrown to the ground. When the people laughed at them they became greatly incensed, and cried out,
O how is heaven so highAnd perfidy so great!Here to-day and never more!
O how is heaven so highAnd perfidy so great!Here to-day and never more!
and they never let themselves again be seen.[309]
It is also related that it was the custom of the Dwarfs to seat themselves on a large piece of rock, and thence to look on the haymakers when at work. But some mischievous people lighted a fire on the rock and made it quite hot, and then swept off all the coals. In the morning the little people, coming to take their usual station, burned themselves in a lamentable manner. Full of anger, they cried out, "O wicked world! O wicked world!" called aloud for vengeance, and disappeared for ever.
In old times men lived in the valley, and around them, in the clefts and holes of the rocks, dwelt the Dwarfs. Theywere kind and friendly to the people, often performing hard and heavy work for them in the night; and when the country-people came early in the morning with their carts and tools, they saw, to their astonishment, that the work was already done, while the Dwarfs hid themselves in the bushes, and laughed aloud at the astonished rustics. Often, too, were the peasants incensed to find their corn, which was scarcely yet ripe, lying cut on the ground; but shortly after there was sure to come on such a hail-storm, that it became obvious that hardly a single stalk could have escaped destruction had it not been cut, and then, from the bottom of their hearts, they thanked the provident Dwarf-people. But at last mankind, through their own folly, deprived themselves of the favour and kindness of the Dwarfs; they fled the country, and since that time no mortal eye has seen them. The cause of their departure was this:
A shepherd had a fine cherry-tree[310]that stood on the mountain. When in the summer the fruit had ripened, it happened that, three times running, the tree was stript, and all the fruit spread out on the benches and hurdles, where the shepherd himself used to spread it out to dry for the winter. The people of the village all said, "It could be none but the good-natured Dwarfs, who come by night tripping along with their feet covered with long mantles, as light as birds, and industriously perform for mankind their daily work. People have often watched them," continued the narrators, "but no one disturbs them; they are left to come and go as they please." This talk only excited the curiosity of the shepherd, and he longed to know why it was that the Dwarfs so carefully concealed their feet, and whether they were differently formed from those of men. Accordingly, next year, when the summer came, and the time when the Dwarfs secretly pulled the cherries, and brought them to the barn, the shepherd took a sack full of ashes, and strewed them about under the cherry-tree. Next morning, at break of day, he hastened to the place: the tree was plucked completely empty, and he saw the marks of several goose-feet impressed on the ashes. The shepherdthen laughed and jested at having discovered the Dwarfs' secret. But soon after the Dwarfs broke and laid waste their houses, and fled down deeper in the mountain to their splendid secret palace, that had long lain empty to receive them. Vexed with mankind, they never more granted them their aid; and the imprudent shepherd who had betrayed them became sickly, and continued so to the end of his life.[311]
A Dwarf came down one night from the chesnut woods on the side of the mountain over the village of Walchwyl, and enquired for the house of a midwife, whom he earnestly pressed to come out and go with him. She consented, and the Dwarf, bearing a light, led the way in silence to the woods. He stopped at last before a cleft in a rock, at which they entered, and the woman suddenly found herself in a magnificent hall. She was thence led through several rich apartments to the chamber of state, where the queen of the Dwarfs, for whom her services were required, was lying. She performed her office, and brought a fair young prince to the light. She was thanked and dismissed, and her former conductor appeared to lead her home. As he was taking leave of her, he filled her apron with something, bidding her on noaccount to look at it till she was in her own house. But the woman could not control her curiosity, and the moment the Dwarf disappeared, she partly opened the apron, and lo! there was nothing in it but some black coals. In a rage, she shook them out on the ground, but she kept two of them in her hands, as a proof of the shabby treatment she had met with from the Dwarfs. On reaching home, she threw them also down on the ground. Her husband cried out with joy and surprise, for they shone like carbuncles. She asserted that the Dwarf had put nothing but coals into her apron; but she ran out to call a neighbour, who knew more of such things than they did, and he on examining them pronounced them to be precious stones of great value. The woman immediately ran back to where she had shaken out the supposed coals, but they were all gone.[312]
At noon one day a young peasant sat by the side of a wood, and, sighing, prayed to God to give him a morsel of food. A Dwarf suddenly emerged from the wood, and told him that his prayer should be fulfilled. He then gave him the pouch that he had on his side, with the assurance that he would always find in it wherewithal to satisfy his thirst and hunger, charging him at the same time not to consume it all and to share with any one who asked him for food. The Dwarf vanished, and the peasant put his hand into the pouch to make trial of it, and there he found a cake of new bread, a cheese, and a bottle of wine, on which he made a hearty meal. Hethen saw that the pouch swelled up as before, and looking in he found that it was again full of bread, cheese, and wine. He now felt sure of his food, and he lived on in an idle luxurious way, without doing any work. One day, as he was gorging himself, there came up to him a feeble old man, who prayed him to give him a morsel to eat. He refused in a brutal, churlish tone, when instantly the bread and choose broke, and scattered out of his hands, and pouch and all vanished.[313]
On the side of Mount Pilatus is a place named the Kastler-Alpe, now covered with stones and rubbish, but which once was verdant and fertile. The cause of the change was as follows.
The land there was formerly occupied by a farmer, a churlish, unfeeling man, who, though wealthy, let his only sister struggle with the greatest poverty in the valley beneath. The poor woman at length having fallen sick, and seeing no other resource, resolved to apply to her hardhearted brother for the means of employing a doctor. She sent her daughter to him; but all the prayers and tears of the poor girl failed to move him, and he told her he would, sooner than give her anything, see the Alpe covered with stones and rubbish. She departed, and as she went along a Dwarf suddenly appeared to her. She would have fled, but he gently detained her, and telling her he had heard all that had passed, gave her a parcel of herbs, which he assured her would cure her mother, and a little cheese, which he said would last them a long time.
On trial, the herbs quickly produced the promised effect; and when they went to cut the cheese they found the knife would not penetrate it, and no wonder, for it was pure gold. There also came a sudden storm on the mountain, and the Kastler-Alpe was reduced to its present condition.[314]
One night, during a tremendous storm of wind and rain, a Dwarf came travelling through a little village, and went from cottage to cottage, dripping with rain, knocking at the doors for admission. None, however, took pity on him, or would open the door to receive him: on the contrary, the inhabitants even mocked at his distress.
At the very end of the village there dwelt two honest poor people, a man and his wife. Tired and faint, the Dwarf crept on his staff up to their house, and tapped modestly three times at the little window. Immediately the old shepherd opened the door for him, and cheerfully offered him the little that the house afforded. The old woman produced some bread, milk, and cheese: the Dwarf sipped a few drops of the milk, and ate some crums of the bread and cheese. "I am not used," said he, laughing, "to eat such coarse food: but I thank you from my heart, and God reward you for it: now that I am rested, I will proceed on farther." "God forbid!" cried the good woman; "you surely don't think of going out in the night and in the storm! It were better for you to take a bed here, and set out in the daylight." But the Dwarf shook his head, and with a smile replied, "You little know what business I have to do this night on the top of the mountain. I have to provide for you too; and to-morrow you shall see that I am not ungrateful for the kindness you have shown to me." So saying, the Dwarf departed, and the worthy old couple went to rest.
But at break of day they were awaked by storm and tempest; the lightnings flashed along the red sky, and torrents of water poured down the hills and through the valley. A huge rock now tumbled from the top of the mountain, and rolled down toward the village, carrying along with it, in its course, trees, stones, and earth. Men and cattle, every thing in the village that had breath in it, were buried beneathit. The waves had now reached the cottage of the two old people, and in terror and dismay they stood out before their door. They then beheld approaching in the middle of the stream a large piece of rock, and on it, jumping merrily, the Dwarf, as if he was riding and steering it with a great trunk of a pine till he brought it before the house, where it stemmed the water and kept it from the cottage, so that both it and the good owners escaped. The Dwarf then swelled and grew higher and higher till he became a monstrous Giant, and vanished in the air, while the old people were praying to God and thanking him for their deliverance.[315]
In old wives daies that in old time did live,To whose odde tales much credit men did give,Great store of goblins, fairies, bugs, nightmares,Urchins and elves to many a house repaires.Old Poem.
In old wives daies that in old time did live,To whose odde tales much credit men did give,Great store of goblins, fairies, bugs, nightmares,Urchins and elves to many a house repaires.Old Poem.
We use the term Great Britain in a very limited sense, as merely inclusive of those parts of the island whose inhabitants are of Gotho-German origin—England and the Lowlands of Scotland.
We have already seen[316]that the Anglo-Saxon conquerors of Britain had in their language the terms from which are derived Elf and Dwarf, and the inference is natural that their ideas respecting these beings corresponded with those of the Scandinavians and Germans. The same may be said of the Picts, who, akin to the Scandinavians, early seized on the Scottish Lowlands. We therefore close our survey of the Fairy Mythology of the Gotho-German race with Great Britain.
Merry elves, their morrice pacing,To aërial minstrelsy,Emerald rings on brown heath tracing,Trip it deft and merrily.Scott.
Merry elves, their morrice pacing,To aërial minstrelsy,Emerald rings on brown heath tracing,Trip it deft and merrily.Scott.
The Fairy Mythology of England divides itself into two branches, that of the people and that of the poets. Under the former head will be comprised the few scattered traditionswhich we have been able to collect respecting a system, the belief in which is usually thought to be nearly extinct; the latter will contain a selection of passages, treating of fairies and their exploits, from our principal poets.
The Fairies of England are evidently the Dwarfs of Germany and the North, though they do not appear to have been ever so denominated.[317]Their appellation was Elves, subsequently Fairies; but there would seem to have been formerly other terms expressive of them, of which hardly a vestige is now remaining in the English language.
They were, like their northern kindred, divided into two classes—the rural Elves, inhabiting the woods, fields, mountains, and caverns; and the domestic or house-spirits, usually called Hobgoblins and Robin Goodfellows. But the Thames, the Avon, and the other English streams, never seem to have been the abode of a Neck or Kelpie.
The following curious instances of English superstition, occur in the twelfth century.
"Another wonderful thing," says Ralph of Coggeshall,[318]"happened in Suffolk, at St. Mary's of the Wolf-pits. A boy and his sister were found by the inhabitants of that place near the mouth of a pit which is there, who had the form of all their limbs like to those of other men, but they differed in the colour of their skin from all the people of our habitable world; for the whole surface of their skin was tinged of a green colour. No one could understand their speech. When they were brought as curiosities to the house of a certain knight, Sir Richard de Calne, at Wikes, they weptbitterly. Bread and other victuals were set before them, but they would touch none of them, though they were tormented by great hunger, as the girl afterwards acknowledged. At length, when some beans just cut, with their stalks, were brought into the house, they made signs, with great avidity, that they should be given to them. When they were brought, they opened the stalks instead of the pods, thinking the beans were in the hollow of them; but not finding them there, they began to weep anew. When those who were present saw this, they opened the pods, and showed them the naked beans. They fed on these with great delight, and for a long time tasted no other food. The boy, however, was always languid and depressed, and he died within a short time. The girl enjoyed continual good health; and becoming accustomed to various kinds of food, lost completely that green colour, and gradually recovered the sanguine habit of her entire body. She was afterwards regenerated by the laver of holy baptism, and lived for many years in the service of that knight (as I have frequently heard from him and his family), and was rather loose and wanton in her conduct. Being frequently asked about the people of her country, she asserted that the inhabitants, and all they had in that country, were of a green colour; and that they saw no sun, but enjoyed a degree of light like what is after sunset. Being asked how she came into this country with the aforesaid boy, she replied, that as they were following their flocks, they came to a certain cavern, on entering which they heard a delightful sound of bells; ravished by whose sweetness, they went for a long time wandering on through the cavern, until they came to its mouth. When they came out of it, they were struck senseless by the excessive light of the sun, and the unusual temperature of the air; and they thus lay for a long time. Being terrified by the noise of those who came on them, they wished to fly, but they could not find the entrance of the cavern before they were caught."
This story is also told by William of Newbridge,[319]who places it in the reign of King Stephen. He says he longhesitated to believe it, but he was at length overcome by the weight of evidence. According to him, the place where the children appeared was about four or five miles from Bury St. Edmund's: they came in harvest-time out of the Wolf-pits; they both lost their green hue, and were baptised, and learned English. The boy, who was the younger, died; but the girl married a man at Lenna, and lived many years. They said their country was called St. Martin's Land, as that saint was chiefly worshiped there; that the people were Christians, and had churches; that the sun did not rise there, but that there was a bright country which could be seen from theirs, being divided from it by a very broad river.
In the next chapter of his history, William of Newbridge relates as follows:—
"In the province of the Deiri (Yorkshire), not far from my birth-place, a wonderful thing occurred, which I have known from my boyhood. There is a town a few miles distant from the Eastern Sea, near which are those celebrated waters commonly called Gipse.... A peasant of this town went once to see a friend who lived in the next town, and it was late at night when he was coming back, not very sober; when lo! from the adjoining barrow, which I have often seen, and which is not much over a quarter of a mile from the town, he heard the voices of people singing, and, as it were, joyfully feasting. He wondered who they could be that were breaking in that place, by their merriment, the silence of the dead night, and he wished to examine into the matter more closely. Seeing a door open in the side of the barrow, he went up to it, and looked in; and there he beheld a large and luminous house, full of people, women as well as men, who were reclining as at a solemn banquet. One of the attendants, seeing him standing at the door, offered him a cup. He took it, but would not drink; and pouring out the contents, kept the vessel. A great tumult arose at the banqueton account of his taking away the cup, and all the guests pursued him; but he escaped by the fleetness of the beast he rode, and got into the town with his booty. Finally, this vessel of unknown material, of unusual colour, and of extraordinary form, was presented to Henry the Elder, king of the English, as a valuable gift, and was then given to the queen's brother David, king of the Scots, and was kept for several years in the treasury of Scotland; and a few years ago (as I have heard from good authority), it was given by William, king of the Scots, to Henry the Second, who wished to see it."
The scene of this legend, we may observe, is the very country in which the Danes settled; and it is exactly the same as some of the legends current at the present day among the Danish peasantry.[320]It is really extraordinary to observe the manner in which popular traditions and superstitions will thus exist for centuries.
Gervase of Tilbury, the Imperial Chancellor, gives the following particulars respecting the Fairy Mythology of England in the thirteenth century.
"There is," says he,[321]"in the county of Gloucester, a forest abounding in boars, stags, and every species of game that England produces. In a grovy lawn of this forest there is a little mount, rising in a point to the height of a man, on which knights and other hunters are used to ascend when fatigued with heat and thirst, to seek some relief for their wants. The nature of the place, and of the business, is, however, such, that whoever ascends the mount must leave his companions, and go quite alone.
"When alone, he was to say, as if speaking to some other person, 'I thirst,' and immediately there would appear a cupbearer in an elegant dress, with a cheerful countenance, bearing in his stretched-out hand a large horn, adorned withgold and gems, as was the custom among the most ancient English. In the cup[322]nectar of an unknown but most delicious flavour was presented, and when it was drunk, all heat and weariness fled from the glowing body, so that one would be thought ready to undertake toil instead of having toiled. Moreover, when the nectar was taken, the servant presented a towel to the drinker, to wipe his mouth with, and then having performed his office, he waited neither for a recompense for his services, nor for questions and enquiry.
"This frequent and daily action had for a very long period of old times taken place among the ancient people, till one day a knight of that city, when out hunting, went thither, and having called for a drink and gotten the horn, did not, as was the custom, and as in good manners he should have done, return it to the cup-bearer, but kept it for his own use. But the illustrious Earl of Gloucester, when he learned the truth of the matter, condemned the robber to death, and presented the horn to the most excellent King Henry the Elder, lest he should be thought to have approved of such wickedness, if he had added the rapine of another to the store of his private property."
In another part of this work the Chancellor says,[323]—
"They have in England certain demons, though I know not whether I should call them demons or figures of a secret and unknown generation, which the French call Neptunes, the English Portunes.[324]It is their nature to embrace the simple life of comfortable farmers, and when, on account of their domestic work, they are sitting up at night, when thedoors are shut, they warm themselves at the fire, and take little frogs out of their bosom, roast them on the coals, and eat them. They have the countenance of old men, with wrinkled cheeks, and they are of a very small stature, not being quite half-an-inch high.[325]They wear little patched coats, and if anything is to be carried into the house, or any laborious work to be done, they lend a hand, and finish it sooner than any man could. It is their nature to have the power to serve, but not to injure. They have, however, one little mode of annoying. When in the uncertain shades of night the English are riding any where alone, the Portune sometimes invisibly joins the horseman; and when he has accompanied him a good while, he at last takes the reins, and leads the horse into a neighbouring slough; and when he is fixed and floundering in it, the Portune goes off with a loud laugh, and by sport of this sort he mocks the simplicity of mankind.
"There is," says he, again[326]"in England a certain kind of demon whom in their language they call Grant,[327]like a yearling foal, erect on its hind legs, with sparkling eyes. This kind of demon often appears in the streets in the heat of the day, or about sunset. If there is any danger impending on the following day or night, it runs about the streets provoking the dogs to bark, and, by feigning flight, draws the dogs after it, in the vain hope of catching it. This illusion warns the inhabitants to beware of fire, and the friendly demon, while he terrifies those who see him, puts by his coming the ignorant on their guard."
Thus far the Chancellor of the Holy Roman Empire, and,except in the poets, we have met with no further account of, or allusion to, fairies, until the reign of Elizabeth, when a little work appeared, named, The mad Pranks and merry Jests of Robin Goodfellow,[328]from which Shakespeare seems in a good measure to have derived his Puck.
This work consists of two parts. In the first we are informed that Robin was the offspring of a "proper young wench by a hee-fayrie, a king or something of that kind among them." By the time he was six years old he was so mischievous and unlucky that his mother found it necessary to promise him a whipping. He ran away and engaged with a tailor, from whom also he soon eloped. When tired he sat down and fell asleep, and in his sleep he had a vision of fairies; and when he awoke he found lying beside him a scroll, evidently left by his father, which, in verses written in letters of gold, informed him that he should have any thing he wished for, and have also the power of turning himself "To horse, to hog, to dog, to ape," etc., but he was to harm none but knaves and queans, and was to "love those that honest be, and help them in necessity." He made trials of his power and found that he really possessed it. His first exploit was to turn himself into a horse, to punish a churlish clown, whom he induced to mount him, and gave him a fall that went well nigh to break his neck. The fellow then went to ride him through a great plash of water, "and in the middle of it he found himself with nothing but a pack-saddle between his legs, while Robin went off laughing,Ho, ho, hoh! He next exerted himself in the cause of two young lovers, and secured their happiness.
In the Second Part we find him more in the character of the Nis or Brownie. Coming to a farmer's house, he takes a liking to a "good handsome maid," that was there, and in the night does her work for her, at breaking hemp and flax, bolting meal, etc. Having watched one night and seen him at work, and observed that he was rather bare of clothes, sheprovided him with a waistcoat against the next night. But when he saw it he started and said:—