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Title: The Fairy Mythology

Author: Thomas Keightley

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FAIRY
MYTHOLOGY ***

THE FAIRY MYTHOLOGY,

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE

Romance and Superstition of Various Countries;

BY

THOMAS KEIGHTLEY,

Author of the Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy; Histories of Greece,
Rome, England, and India, The Crusaders, &c., &c.

Another sort there be, that will
Be talking of the Fairies still;
Nor never can they have their fill,
As they were wedded to them
Drayton.

A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND GREATLY ENLARGED

LONDON:
GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK ST., COVENT GARDEN,
AND NEW YORK.
1892.

LONDON:
REPRINTED FROM STEREOTYPE PLATES BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.

STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.

TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

FRANCIS EARL OF ELLESMERE,

IN TESTIMONY OF
ESTEEM AND RESPECT FOR PUBLIC AND PRIVATE VIRTUE,
LITERARY TASTE, TALENT, AND ACQUIREMENTS,
AND PATRONAGE OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS.

This Volume is Inscribed

BY

THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE.
A preface is to a book what a prologue is to a play—a usual, often agreeable,
but by no means necessary precursor. It may therefore be altered or omitted at
pleasure. I have at times exercised this right, and this is the third I have written
for the present work.
In the first, after briefly stating what had given occasion to it, I gave the germs
of the theory which I afterwards developed in the Tales and Popular Fictions.
The second contained the following paragraph:—
"I never heard of any one who read it that was not pleased with it. It was
translated into German as soon as it appeared, and was very favourably
received. Goethe thought well of it. Dr. Jacob Grimm—perhaps the first
authority on these matters in Europe—wrote me a letter commending it, and
assuring me that even to him it offered something new; and I was one
Christmas most agreeably surprised by the receipt of a letter from Vienna,
from the celebrated orientalist, Jos Von Hammer, informing me that it had
been the companion of a journey he had lately made to his native province of
Styria, and had afforded much pleasure and information to himself and to
some ladies of high rank and cultivated minds in that country. The initials at
the end of the preface, he said, led him to suppose it was a work of mine. So
far for the Continent. In this country, when I mention the name of Robert
Southey as that of one who has more than once expressed his decided
approbation of this performance, I am sure I shall have said quite enough to
satisfy any one that the work is not devoid of merit."
I could now add many names of distinguished persons who have been pleased
with this work and its pendent, the Tales and Popular Fictions. I shall only
mention that of the late Mr. Douce, who, very shortly before his death, on the
occasion of the publication of this last work, called on me to assure me that "it
was many, many years indeed, since he had read a book which had yielded
him so much delight."
The contents of the work which gave such pleasure to this learned antiquary
are as follows:—

I. Introduction—Similarity of Arts and Customs—Similarity of
Names—Origin of the Work—Imitation—Casual Coincidence
—Milton—Dante. II. The Thousand and One Nights—
Bedoween Audience around a Story-teller—Cleomades and
Claremond—Enchanted Horses—Peter of Provence and the
fair Maguelone. III. The Pleasant Nights—The Dancing Water,
the Singing Apple, and the Beautiful Green Bird—The Three
Little Birds—Lactantius—Ulysses and Sindbad. IV. The Shâh-
Nâmeh—Roostem and Soohrâb—Conloch and Cuchullin—
Macpherson's Ossian—Irish Antiquities. V. The Pentamerone
—Tale of the Serpent—Hindoo Legend. VI. Jack the Giant-
killer—The Brave Tailoring—Thor's Journey to Utgard—
Ameen of Isfahan and the Ghool—The Lion and the Goat—
The Lion and the Ass. VII. Whittington and his Cat—Danish
Legends—Italian Stories—Persian Legend. VIII. The Edda—
Sigurd and Brynhilda—Völund—Helgi—Holger Danske—
Ogier le Danois—Toko—William Tell. IX. Peruonto—Peter
the Fool—Emelyan the Fool—Conclusion. Appendix.

Never, I am convinced, did any one enter on a literary career with more
reluctance than I did when I found it to be my only resource—fortune being
gone, ill health and delicacy of constitution excluding me from the learned
professions, want of interest from every thing else. As I journeyed to the
metropolis, I might have sung with the page whom Don Quixote met going a-
soldiering:

A la guerra me lleva—mi necesidad,
Si tuviera dineros—no fuera en verdad

for of all arts and professions in this country, that of literature is the least
respected and the worst remunerated. There is something actually degrading in
the expression "an author by trade," which I have seen used even of Southey,
and that by one who did not mean to disparage him in the slightest degree. My
advice to those who may read these pages is to shun literature, if not already
blest with competence.
One of my earliest literary friends in London was T. Crofton Croker, who was
then engaged in collecting materials for the Fairy Legends of the South of
Ireland. He of course applied to his friends for aid and information; and I,

having most leisure, and, I may add, most knowledge, was able to give him the
greatest amount of assistance. My inquiries on the subject led to the writing of
the present work, which was succeeded by the Mythology of Ancient Greece
and Italy, and the Tales and Popular Fictions; so that, in effect, if Mr. Croker
had not planned the Fairy Legends, these works, be their value what it may,
would in all probability never have been written.
Writing and reading about Fairies some may deem to be the mark of a trifling
turn of mind. On this subject I have given my ideas in the Conclusion; here I
will only remind such critics, that as soon as this work was completed, I
commenced, and wrote in the space of a few weeks, my Outlines of History;
and whatever the faults of that work may be, no one has ever reckoned among
them want of vigour in either thought or expression. It was also necessary, in
order to write this work and its pendent, to be able to read, perhaps, as many as
eighteen or twenty different languages, dialects, and modes of orthography,
and to employ different styles both in prose and verse. At all events, even if it
were trifling, dulce est desipere in loco; and I shall never forget the happy
hours it caused me, especially those spent over the black-letter pages of the
French romances of chivalry, in the old reading-room of the British Museum.
Many years have elapsed since this work was first published. In that period
much new matter has appeared in various works, especially in the valuable
Deutsche Mythologie of Dr. Grimm. Hence it will be found to be greatly
enlarged, particularly in the sections of England and France. I have also
inserted much which want of space obliged me to omit in the former edition.
In its present form, I am presumptuous enough to expect that it may live for
many years, and be an authority on the subject of popular lore. The active
industry of the Grimms, of Thiele, and others, had collected the popular
traditions of various countries. I came then and gathered in the harvest, leaving
little, I apprehend, but gleanings for future writers on this subject. The legends
will probably fade fast away from the popular memory; it is not likely that any
one will relate those which I have given over again; and it therefore seems
more probable that this volume may in future be reprinted, with notes and
additions. For human nature will ever remain unchanged; the love of gain and
of material enjoyments, omnipotent as it appears to be at present, will never
totally extinguish the higher and purer aspirations of mind; and there will
always be those, however limited in number, who will desire to know how the
former dwellers of earth thought, felt, and acted. For these mythology, as
connected with religion and history, will always have attractions.

October, 1850.
Whatever errors have been discovered are corrected in this impression.
January, 1870.
T. K.

CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION. Page
Origin of the Belief in Fairies 1
Origin of the Word Fairy 4

ORIENTAL ROMANCE.
Persian Romance 14
The Peri-Wife 20
Arabian Romance 24

MIDDLE-AGE ROMANCE.

FAIRY-LAND 44

SPENSER'S FAERIE QUEENE 55

EDDAS AND SAGAS 60
The Alfar 64
The Duergar 66
Loki and the Dwarf 68
Thorston and the Dwarf 70
The Dwarf-Sword Tirfing 72

SCANDINAVIA.
Elves 78
Sir Olof in the Elve-Dance 82
The Elf-Woman and Sir Olof 84
The Young Swain and the Elves 86
Svend Faelling and the Elle-Maid 88
The Elle-Maids 89
Maid Væ 89
The Elle-Maid near Ebeltoft 90
Hans Puntleder 91
Dwarfs or Trolls 94
Sir Thynnè 97

Proud Margaret 103
The Troll Wife 108
The Altar-Cup in Aagerup 109
Origin of Tiis Lake 111
A Farmer tricks a Troll 113
Skotte in the Fire 113
The Legend of Bodedys 115
Kallundborg Church 116
The Hill-Man invited to the Christening 118
The Troll turned Cat 120
Kirsten's Hill 121
The Troll-Labour 122
The Hill-Smith 123
The Girl at the Troll-Dance 125
The Changeling 125
The Tile-Stove jumping over the Brook 127
Departure of the Trolls From Vendsyssel 127
Svend Faelling 128
The Dwarfs' Banquet 130
Nisses 139
The Nis Removing 140
The Penitent Nis 141
The Nis and the Boy 142
The Nis Stealing Corn 143
The Nis and the Mare 144
The Nis Riding 145
The Nisses in Vosborg 146
Necks, Mermen, and Mermaids 147
The Power of the Harp 150
Duke Magnus and the Mermaid 154

NORTHERN ISLANDS.
Iceland 157
Feroes 162
Shetland 164
Gioga's Son 167
The Mermaid Wife 169
Orkneys 171

Isle of Rügen 174
Adventures of John Dietrich 178
The Little Glass Shoe 194
The Wonderful Plough 197
The Lost Bell 200
The Black Dwarfs of Granitz 204

GERMANY.
Dwarfs 216
The Hill-Man at the Dance 217
The Dwarf's Feast 218
The Friendly Dwarfs 220
Wedding-Feast of the Little People 220
Smith Riechert 221
Dwarfs stealing Corn 222
Journey of Dwarfs over the Mountain 223
The Dwarfs borrowing Bread 226
The Changeling 227
The Dwarf-Husband 232
Inge of Rantum 232
The Wild-Women 234
The Oldenburg Horn 237
Kobolds 239
Hinzelmann 240
Hödeken 255
King Goldemar 256
The Heinzelmänchen 257
Nixes 258
The Peasant and the Waterman 259
The Water-Smith 260
The Working Waterman 261
The Nix-Labour 261

SWITZERLAND.
Dwarfs 264
Gertrude and Rosy 266
The Chamois-Hunter 271
The Dwarfs on the Tree 273

Curiosity punished 273
The Rejected Gift 275
The Wonderful Little Pouch 276
Aid and Punishment 277
The Dwarf in search of Lodging 278

GREAT BRITAIN.
England.
The Green Children 281
The Fairy-Banquet 283
The Fairy-Horn 284
The Portunes 285
The Grant 286
The Luck of Eden Hall 292
The Fairy-Fair 294
The Fairies' Caldron 295
The Cauld Lad of Hilton 296
The Pixy-Labour 301
Pixy-Vengeance 303
Pixy-Gratitude 304
The Fairy-Thieves 305
The Boggart 307
Addlers and Menters 308
The Fary-Nurseling 310
The Fary-Labour 311
Ainsel 313
Puck 314
Scottish Lowlands.
The Fairies' Nurse 353
The Fairy-Rade 354
The Changeling 355
Departure of the Fairies 356
The Brownie 357

CELTS AND CYMRY.
Ireland.
Clever Tom and the Leprechaun 373
The Leprechaun in the Garden 376

The Three Leprechauns 379
The Little Shoe 382
Scottish Highlands.
The Fairy's Inquiry 385
The Young Man in the Shian 386
The two Fiddlers 387
The Fairy-Labour 388
The Fairy borrowing Oatmeal 389
The Fairy-Gift 390
The Stolen Ox 390
The Stolen Lady 391
The Changeling 393
The Wounded Seal 394
The Brownies 395
The Urisk 396
Isle of Man.
The Fairy-Chapman 398
The Fairy-Banquet 399
The Fairies' Christening 400
The Fairy-Whipping 400
The Fairy-Hunt 401
The Fiddler and the Fairy 402
The Phynnodderee 402
Wales.
Tale of Elidurus 404
The Tylwyth Têg 408
The Spirit of the Van 409
Rhys at the Fairy-Dance 415
Gitto Bach 416
The Fairies banished 417
Brittany.
Lai D'Ywenec 422
Lord Nann and the Korrigan 433
The Dance and Song of the Korred 438

SOUTHERN EUROPE.
Greece 443
Italy 447

Spain 456
The Daughter of Peter do Cabinam 456
Origin of the House of Haro 458
La Infantina 459
Pepito el Corcovado 461
France.
Legend of Melusina 480

EASTERN EUROPE.
Finns 487
Slaves 490
Vilas 492
Deer and Vila 493

AFRICANS, JEWS,
Africans 495
Jews 497
The Broken Oaths 498
The Moohel 506
The Mazik-Ass 510

APPENDIX 513

INDEX 557

THE FAIRY MYTHOLOGY

INTRODUCTION.
In oldè dayès of the King Artoúr,
Of which that Bretons spoken gret honoúr,
All was this lond fulfilled of faërie;
The elf-qrene with hir jolie companie
Danced full oft in many a grenè mede.
Chaucer.

ORIGIN OF THE BELIEF IN FAIRIES.
According to a well-known law of our nature, effects suggest causes; and
another law, perhaps equally general, impels us to ascribe to the actual and
efficient cause the attribute of intelligence. The mind of the deepest
philosopher is thus acted upon equally with that of the peasant or the savage;
the only difference lies in the nature of the intelligent cause at which they
respectively stop. The one pursues the chain of cause and effect, and traces out
its various links till he arrives at the great intelligent cause of all, however he
may designate him; the other, when unusual phenomena excite his attention,
ascribes their production to the immediate agency of some of the inferior
beings recognised by his legendary creed.
The action of this latter principle must forcibly strike the minds of those who
disdain not to bestow a portion of their attention on the popular legends and
traditions of different countries. Every extraordinary appearance is found to
have its extraordinary cause assigned; a cause always connected with the
history or religion, ancient or modern, of the country, and not unfrequently
varying with a change of faith.[1]
The noises and eruptions of Ætna and Stromboli were, in ancient times,
ascribed to Typhon or Vulcan, and at this day the popular belief connects them
with the infernal regions. The sounds resembling the clanking of chains,
hammering of iron, and blowing of bellows, once to be heard in the island of
Barrie, were made by the fiends whom Merlin had set to work to frame the
wall of brass to surround Caermarthen.[2] The marks which natural causes have
impressed on the solid and unyielding granite rock were produced, according
to the popular creed, by the contact of the hero, the saint, or the god: masses of
stone, resembling domestic implements in form, were the toys, or the
corresponding implements of the heroes and giants of old. Grecian
imagination ascribed to the galaxy or milky way an origin in the teeming
breast of the queen of heaven: marks appeared in the petals of flowers on the
occasion of a youth's or a hero's untimely death: the rose derived its present
hue from the blood of Venus, as she hurried barefoot through the woods and
lawns; while the professors of Islâm, less fancifully, refer the origin of this
flower to the moisture that exuded from the sacred person of their prophet.

Under a purer form of religion, the cruciform stripes which mark the back and
shoulders of the patient ass first appeared, according to the popular tradition,
when the Son of God condescended to enter the Holy City, mounted on that
animal; and a fish only to be found in the sea[3] stills bears the impress of the
finger and thumb of the apostle, who drew him out of the waters of Lake
Tiberias to take the tribute-money that lay in his mouth. The repetition of the
voice among the hills is, in Norway and Sweden, ascribed to the Dwarfs
mocking the human speaker, while the more elegant fancy of Greece gave
birth to Echo, a nymph who pined for love, and who still fondly repeats the
accents that she hears. The magic scenery occasionally presented on the waters
of the Straits of Messina is produced by the power of the Fata Morgana; the
gossamers that float through the haze of an autumnal morning, are woven by
the ingenious dwarfs; the verdant circlets in the mead are traced beneath the
light steps of the dancing elves; and St. Cuthbert forges and fashions the beads
that bear his name, and lie scattered along the shore of Lindisfarne.[4]
In accordance with these laws, we find in most countries a popular belief in
different classes of beings distinct from men, and from the higher orders of
divinities. These beings are usually believed to inhabit, in the caverns of earth,
or the depths of the waters, a region of their own. They generally excel
mankind in power and in knowledge, and like them are subject to the
inevitable laws of death, though after a more prolonged period of existence.
How these classes were first called into existence it is not easy to say; but if, as
some assert, all the ancient systems of heathen religion were devised by
philosophers for the instruction of rude tribes by appeals to their senses, we
might suppose that the minds which peopled the skies with their thousands and
tens of thousands of divinities gave birth also to the inhabitants of the field and
flood, and that the numerous tales of their exploits and adventures are the
production of poetic fiction or rude invention. It may further be observed, that
not unfrequently a change of religious faith has invested with dark and
malignant attributes beings once the objects of love, confidence, and
veneration.[5]
It is not our intention in the following pages to treat of the awful or lovely
deities of Olympus, Valhalla, or Merû. Our subject is less aspiring; and we
confine ourselves to those beings who are our fellow-inhabitants of earth,
whose manners we aim to describe, and whose deeds we propose to record.
We write of Fairies, Fays, Elves, aut alio quo nomine gaudent.

ORIGIN OF THE WORD FAIRY.
Like every other word in extensive use, whose derivation is not historically
certain, the word Fairy has obtained various and opposite etymons. Meyric
Casaubon, and those who like him deduce everything from a classic source,
however unlikely, derive Fairy from Φηρ, a Homeric name of the Centaurs;[6]
or think that fée, whence Fairy, is the last syllable of nympha. Sir W. Ouseley
derives it from the Hebrew ‫( פאר‬peër), to adorn; Skinner, from the Anglo-
Saxon a an, to fare, to go; others from Feres, companions, or think that Fairy-
folk is quasi Fair-folk. Finally, it has been queried if it be not Celtic.[7]
But no theory is so plausible, or is supported by such names, as that which
deduces the English Fairy from the Persian Peri. It is said that the Paynim foe,
whom the warriors of the Cross encountered in Palestine, spoke only Arabic;
the alphabet of which language, it is well known, possesses no p, and therefore
organically substitutes an f in such foreign words as contain the former letter;
consequently Peri became, in the mouth of an Arab, Feri, whence the crusaders
and pilgrims, who carried back to Europe the marvellous tales of Asia,
introduced into the West the Arabo-Persian word Fairy. It is further added, that
the Morgain or Morgana, so celebrated in old romance, is Merjan Peri, equally
celebrated all over the East.
All that is wanting to this so very plausible theory is something like proof, and
some slight agreement with the ordinary rules of etymology. Had Feërie, or
Fairy, originally signified the individual in the French and English, the only
languages in which the word occurs, we might feel disposed to acquiesce in it.
But they do not: and even if they did, how should we deduce from them the
Italian Fata, and the Spanish Fada or Hada, (words which unquestionably
stand for the same imaginary being,) unless on the principle by which Menage
must have deduced Lutin from Lemur—the first letter being the same in both?
As to the fair Merjan Peri (D'Herbelot calls her Merjan Banou[8]), we fancy a
little too much importance has been attached to her. Her name, as far as we can
learn, only occurs in the Cahermân Nâmeh, a Turkish romance, though
perhaps translated from the Persian.

The foregoing etymologies, it is to be observed, are all the conjectures of
English scholars; for the English is the only language in which the name of the
individual, Fairy, has the canine letter to afford any foundation for them.
Leaving, then, these sports of fancy, we will discuss the true origin of the
words used in the Romanic languages to express the being which we name
Fairy of Romance. These are Faée, Fée, French; Fada, Provençal (whence
Hada, Spanish); and Fata, Italian.
The root is evidently, we think, the Latin fatum. In the fourth century of our
æra we find this word made plural, and even feminine, and used as the
equivalent of Parcæ. On the reverse of a gold medal of the Emperor Diocletian
are three female figures, with the legend Fatis victricibus; a cippus, found at
Valencia in Spain, has on one of its sides Fatis Q. Fabius ex voto, and on the
other, three female figures, with the attributes of the Mœræ or Parcæ.[9] In this
last place the gender is uncertain, but the figures would lead us to suppose it
feminine. On the other hand, Ausonius[10] has tres Charites, tria Fata; and
Procopius[11] names a building at the Roman Forum τα τρια φατα, adding
ουτω γαρ ῥωμαιοι τας μοιρας νενομικασι καλειν. The Fatæ or Fata, then, being
persons, and their name coinciding so exactly with the modern terms, and it
being observed that the Mœræ were, at the birth of Meleager, just as the Fées
were at that of Ogier le Danois, and other heroes of romance and tale, their
identity has been at once asserted, and this is now, we believe, the most
prevalent theory. To this it may be added, that in Gervase of Tilbury, and other
writers of the thirteenth century, the Fada or Fée seems to be regarded as a
being different from human kind.[12]
On the other hand, in a passage presently to be quoted from a celebrated old
romance, we shall meet a definition of the word Fée, which expressly asserts
that such a being was nothing more than a woman skilled in magic; and such,
on examination, we shall find to have been all the Fées of the romances of
chivalry and of the popular tales; in effect, that fée is a participle, and the
words dame or femme is to be understood.

In the middle ages there was in use a Latin verb, fatare,[13] derived from fatum
or fata, and signifying to enchant. This verb was adopted by the Italian,
Provençal[14] and Spanish languages; in French it became, according to the
analogy of that tongue, faer, féer. Of this verb the past participle faé, fé; hence
in the romances we continually meet with les chevaliers faés, les dames faées,

Oberon la faé, le cheval étoit faé, la clef était fée, and such like. We have
further, we think, demonstrated[15] that it was the practice of the Latin
language to elide accented syllables, especially in the past participle of verbs
of the first conjugation, and that this practice had been transmitted to the
Italian, whence fatato-a would form fato-a, and una donna fatata might thus
become una fata. Whether the same was the case in the Provençal we cannot
affirm, as our knowledge of that dialect is very slight; but, judging from
analogy, we would say it was, for in Spanish Hadada and Hada are
synonymous. In the Neapolitan Pentamerone Fata and Maga are the same, and
a Fata sends the heroine of it to a sister of hers, pure fatata.
Ariosto says of Medea—

E perchè per virtù d' erbe e d'incanti
Delle Fate una ed immortal fatta era.
I Cinque Canti, ii. 106.

The same poet, however, elsewhere says—

Queste che or Fate e dagli antichi foro
Già dette Ninfe e Dee con più bel nome.—Ibid. i. 9.

and,

Nascemmo ad un punto che d'ogni altro male
Siamo capaci fuorchè della morte.—Orl. Fur. xliii. 48.

which last, however, is not decisive. Bojardo also calls the water-nymphs Fate;
and our old translators of the Classics named them fairies. From all this can
only, we apprehend, be collected, that the ideas of the Italian poets, and others,
were somewhat vague on the subject.
From the verb faer, féer, to enchant, illude, the French made a substantive
faerie, féerie,[16] illusion, enchantment, the meaning of which was afterwards
extended, particularly after it had been adopted into the English language.
We find the word Faerie, in fact, to be employed in four different senses,
which we will now arrange and exemplify.
1. Illusion, enchantment.

Plusieurs parlent de Guenart,
Du Loup, de l'Asne, de Renart,
De faeries et de songes,
De phantosmes et de mensonges.
Gul. Giar. ap. Ducange.

Where we must observe, as Sir Walter Scott seems not to have been aware of
it, that the four last substantives bear the same relation to each other as those in
the two first verses do.

Me bifel a ferly
Of faërie, me thought.
Vision of Piers Plowman, v. 11.

Maius that sit with so benigne a chere,
Hire to behold it seemed faërie.
Chaucer, Marchante's Tale.

It (the horse of brass) was of faërie, as the peple semed,
Diversè folk diversëly han demed.—Squier's Tale.

The Emperor said on high,
Certes it is a faërie,
Or elles a vanité.—Emare.

With phantasme and faërie,
Thus she bleredè his eye.—Libeaus Disconus.

The God of her has made an end,
And fro this worldès faërie
Hath taken her into companie.—Gower, Constance.

Mr. Ritson professes not to understand the meaning of faerie in this last
passage. Mr. Ritson should, as Sir Hugh Evans says, have 'prayed his pible
petter;' where, among other things that might have been of service to him, he
would have learned that 'man walketh in a vain shew,' that 'all is vanity,' and
that 'the fashion of this world passeth away;' and then he would have found no
difficulty in comprehending the pious language of 'moral Gower,' in his
allusion to the transitory and deceptive vanities of the world.

2. From the sense of illusion simply, the transition was easy to that of the land
of illusions, the abode of the Faés, who produced them; and Faerie next came
to signify the country of the Fays. Analogy also was here aiding; for as a
Nonnerie was a place inhabited by Nonnes, a Jewerie a place inhabited by
Jews, so a Faerie was naturally a place inhabited by Fays. Its termination, too,
corresponded with a usual one in the names of countries: Tartarie, for instance,
and 'the regne of Feminie.'

Here beside an elfish knight
Hath taken my lord in fight,
And hath him led with him away
Into the Faërie, sir, parmafay.—Sir Guy.

La puissance qu'il avoit sur toutes faeries du monde.
Huon de
Bordeau
x.

En effect, s'il me falloit retourner en faerie, je ne sçauroye ou prendre
mon chemin.—Ogier le Dannoys.

That Gawain with his oldè curtesie,
Though he were come agen out of faërie.
Squier's Tale.

He (Arthur) is a king y-crowned in Faërie,
With sceptre and pall, and with his regalty
Shallè resort, as lord and sovereigne,
Out of Faerie, and reignè in Bretaine,
And repair again the ouldè Roundè Table.
Lydgate, Fall of Princes, bk. viii. c. 24.

3. From the country the appellation passed to the inhabitants in their collective
capacity, and the Faerie now signified the people of Fairy-land.[17]

Of the fourth kind of Spritis called the Phairie.
K. James, Demonologie, 1. 3.

Full often time he, Pluto, and his quene

Proserpina, and alle hir faërie,
Disporten hem, and maken melodie
About that well.—Marchante's Tale.

The feasts that underground the Faërie did him make,
And there how he enjoyed the Lady of the Lake.
Drayton, Poly-Olb., Song IV.
4. Lastly, the word came to signify the individual denizen of Fairy-land, and
was equally applied to the full-sized fairy knights and ladies of romance, and
to the pygmy elves that haunt the woods and dells. At what precise period it
got this its last, and subsequently most usual sense, we are unable to say
positively; but it was probably posterior to Chaucer, in whom it never occurs,
and certainly anterior to Spenser, to whom, however, it seems chiefly indebted
for its future general currency.[18] It was employed during the sixteenth
century[19] for the Fays of romance, and also, especially by translators, for the
Elves, as corresponding to the Latin Nympha.

They believed that king Arthur was not dead, but carried awaie
by the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should
remaine for a time, and then returne again and reign in as great
authority as ever.

Hollingshed, bk. v. c. 14. Printed 1577.

Semicaper Pan
Nunc tenet, at quodam tenuerunt tempore nymphæ.
Ovid, Met. xiv. 520.

The halfe-goate Pan that howre
Possessed it, but heretofore it was the Faries' bower. Golding, 1567.

Hæc nemora indigenæ fauni nymphæque tenebant,
Gensque virum truncis et duro robore nata.
Virgil, Æneis, viii. 314.

With nymphis and faunis apoun every side,
Qwhilk Farefolkis or than Elfis clepen we.

Gawin
Do
wgl
as.

The woods (quoth he) sometime both fauns and nymphs, and gods of ground,
And Fairy-queens did keep, and under them a nation rough.
Phaer,
156
2.

Inter Hamadryadas celeberrima Nonacrinas
Naïas una fuit.—Ovid, Met. l. i. 690.

Of all the nymphes of Nonacris and Fairie ferre and neere,
In beautie and in personage this ladie had no peere.
Goldin
g
.

Pan ibi dum teneris jactat sua carmina nymphis.
Ov. Ib. xi. 153.

There Pan among the Fairie-elves, that daunced round togither.
Goldin
g
.

Solaque Naïadum celeri non nota Dianæ.—Ov. Ib. iv. 304.

Of all the water-fayries, she alonely was unknowne
To swift Diana.—Golding.

Nymphis latura coronas.—Ov. Ib. ix. 337.

Was to the fairies of the lake fresh garlands for to bear.
Goldin
g
.

Thus we have endeavoured to trace out the origin, and mark the progress of the
word Fairy, through its varying significations, and trust that the subject will
now appear placed in a clear and intelligible light.
After the appearance of the Faerie Queene, all distinctions were confounded,
the name and attributes of the real Fays or Fairies of romance were completely
transferred to the little beings who, according to the popular belief, made 'the
green sour ringlets whereof the ewe not bites.' The change thus operated by the
poets established itself firmly among the people; a strong proof, if this idea be
correct, of the power of the poetry of a nation in altering the phraseology of
even the lowest classes[20] of its society.
Shakspeare must be regarded as a principal agent in this revolution; yet even
he uses Fairy once in the proper sense of Fay; a sense it seems to have nearly
lost, till it was again brought into use by the translators of the French Contes
des Fées in the last century.

To this great Fairy I'll commend thy acts.
Antony and Cleopatra, act iv. sc. 8.

And Milton speaks

Of Faery damsels met in forests wide
By knights of Logres or of Lyones,
Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellinore.

Yet he elsewhere mentions the

Faery elves,
Whose midnight revels by a forest side
Or fountain some belated peasant sees.

Finally, Randolph, in his Amyntas, employs it, for perhaps the last time, in its
second sense, Fairy-land:

I do think
There will be of Jocastus' brood in Fairy.
Act i. sc. 3.

We must not here omit to mention that the Germans, along with the French
romances, early adopted the name of the Fées. They called them Feen and
Feinen.[21] In the Tristram of Gottfried von Strazburg we are told that Duke
Gylan had a syren-like little dog,

Dez wart dem Herzoge gesandt 'Twas sent unto the duke, pardé,
Uz Avalun, der Feinen land, From Avalun, the Fays' countrie,
Von einer Gottinne.—V. 1673. By a gentle goddess.

In the old German romance of Isotte and Blanscheflur, the hunter who sees
Isotte asleep says, I doubt

Dez sie menschlich sei, If she human be,
Sie ist schöner denn eine Feine, She is fairer than a Fay.
Von Fleische noch von Beine Of flesh or bone, I say,
Kunte nit gewerden Never could have birth
So schönes auf der erden. A thing so fair on earth.

Our subject naturally divides itself into two principal branches, corresponding
to the different classes of beings to which the name Fairy has been applied.
The first, beings of the human race, but endowed with powers beyond those
usually allotted to men, whom we shall term Fays, or Fairies of romance. The
second, those little beings of the popular creeds, whose descent we propose to
trace from the cunning and ingenious Duergar or dwarfs of northern
mythology, and whom we shall denominate Elves or popular Fairies.
It cannot be expected that our classifications should vie in accuracy and
determinateness with those of natural science. The human imagination, of
which these beings are the offspring, works not, at least that we can discover,
like nature, by fixed and invariable laws; and it would be hard indeed to exact
from the Fairy historian the rigid distinction of classes and orders which we
expect from the botanist or chemist. The various species so run into and are
confounded with one another; the actions and attributes of one kind are so
frequently ascribed to another, that scarcely have we begun to erect our
system, when we find the foundation crumbling under our feet. Indeed it could
not well be otherwise, when we recollect that all these beings once formed
parts of ancient and exploded systems of religion, and that it is chiefly in the
traditions of the peasantry that their memorial has been preserved.

We will now proceed to consider the Fairies of romance; and as they are
indebted, though not for their name, yet perhaps for some of their attributes, to
the Peries of Persia, we will commence with that country. We will thence
pursue our course through Arabia, till we arrive at the middle-age romance of
Europe, and the gorgeous realms of Fairy-land; and thence, casting a glance at
the Faerie Queene, advance to the mountains and forests of the North, there to
trace the origin of the light-hearted, night-tripping elves.

ORIENTAL ROMANCE.[22]

Sad
ee.

All human beings must in beauty yield
To you; a Peri I have ne'er beheld.

PERSIAN ROMANCE.
The pure and simple religion of ancient Persia, originating, it is said, with a
pastoral and hunting race among the lofty hills of Aderbijân, or, as others
think, in the elevated plains of Bactria, in a region where light appears in all its
splendour, took as its fundamental principle the opposition between light and
darkness, and viewed that opposition as a conflict. Light was happiness; and
the people of Irân, the land of light, were the favourites of Heaven; while those
of Turân, the gloomy region beyond the mountains to the north, were its
enemies. In the realms of supernal light sits enthroned Ormuzd, the first-born
of beings; around him are the six Amshaspands, the twenty-eight Izeds, and
the countless myriads of Ferohers.[23] In the opposite kingdom of darkness
Aherman is supreme, and his throne is encompassed by the six Arch-Deevs,
and the numerous hosts of inferior Deevs. Between these rival powers
ceaseless warfare prevails; but at the end the prince of darkness will be
subdued, and peace and happiness prevail beneath the righteous sway of
Ormuzd.

From this sublime system of religion probably arose the Peri-[24] or Fairy-
system of modern Persia; and thus what was once taught by sages, and
believed by monarchs, has shared the fate of everything human, and has sunk
from its pristine rank to become the material and the machinery of poets and
romancers. The wars waged by the fanatical successors of the Prophet, in
which literature was confounded with idolatry, have deprived us of the means
of judging of this system in its perfect form; and in what has been written
respecting the Peries and their country since Persia has received the law of
Mohammed, the admixture of the tenets and ideas of Islam is evidently
perceptible. If, however, Orientalists be right in their interpretation of the name
of Artaxerxes' queen, Parisatis, as Pari-zadeh[25] (Peri-born), the Peri must be
coeval with the religion of Zoroaster.
The Peries and Deevs of the modern Persians answer to the good and evil Jinn
of the Arabs, of whose origin and nature we shall presently give an account.
The same Suleymans ruled over them as over the Jinn, and both alike were
punished for disobedience. It is difficult to say which is the original; but when
we recollect in how much higher a state of culture the Persians were than the

Arabs, and how well this view accords with their ancient system of religion,
we shall feel inclined to believe that the Arabs were the borrowers, and that by
mingling with the Persian system ideas derived from the Jews, that one was
formed by them which is now the common property of all Moslems.
In like manner we regard the mountains of Kâf, the abode alike of Jinn and of
Peries and Deevs, as having belonged originally to Persian geography. The
fullest account of it appears in the Persian romance of Hatim Taï,[26] the hero
of which often visited its regions. From this it would seem that this mountain-
range was regarded as, like that of the ancient Greek cosmology, surrounding
the flat circular earth like a ring, or rather like the bulwarks of a ship, outside
of which flowed the ocean; while some Arab authorities make it to lie beyond,
and to enclose the ocean as well as the earth.[27] It is said to be composed of
green chrysolite, the reflection of which gives its greenish tint to the sky.
According to some, its height is two thousand English miles.
Jinnestân is the common appellation of the whole of this ideal region. Its
respective empires were divided into many kingdoms, containing numerous
provinces and cities. Thus in the Peri-realms we meet with the luxuriant
province of Shad-u-kâm (Pleasure and Delight), with its magnificent capital
Juherabâd (Jewel-city), whose two kings solicited the aid of Cahermân against
the Deevs,[28] and also the stately Amberabâd (Amber-city), and others equally
splendid. The metropolis of the Deev-empire is named Ahermanabâd
(Aherman's city); and imagination has lavished its stores in the description of
the enchanted castle, palace, and gallery of the Deev monarch, Arzshenk.
The Deevs and Peries wage incessant war with each other. Like mankind, they
are subject to death, but after a much longer period of existence; and, though
far superior to man in power, they partake of his sentiments and passions.
We are told that when the Deevs in their wars make prisoners of the Peries,
they shut them up in iron cages, and hang them from the tops of the highest
trees, exposed to every gaze and to every chilling blast. Here their companions
visit them, and bring them the choicest odours to feed on; for the ethereal Peri
lives on perfume, which has moreover the property of repelling the cruel
Deevs, whose malignant nature is impatient of fragrance.[29]
When the Peries are unable to withstand their foes, they solicit the aid of some
mortal hero. Enchanted arms and talismans enable him to cope with the
gigantic Deevs, and he is conveyed to Jinnestân on the back of some strange

and wonderful animal. His adventures in that country usually furnish a wide
field for poetry and romance to expatiate in.
The most celebrated adventurer in Jinnestân was Tahmuras, surnamed Deev-
bend (Deev-binder),[30] one of the ancient kings of Persia. The Peries sent him
a splendid embassy, and the Deevs, who dreaded him, despatched another.
Tahmuras, in doubt how to act, consults the wonderful bird Seemurgh,[31] who
speaks all languages, and whose knowledge embraces futurity. She advises
him to aid the Peries, warns him of the dangers he has to encounter, and
discloses his proper line of action. She further offers to convey him to
Jinnestân, and plucks some feathers from her breast, with which the Persian
monarch adorns his helmet.
Mounted on the Seemurgh, and bracing on his arm the potent buckler of Jân-
ibn-Jân,[32] Tahmuras crosses the abyss impassable to unaided mortality. The
vizier Imlân, who had headed the Deev embassy, deserting his original friends,
had gone over to Tahmuras, and through the magic arts of the Deev, and his
own daring valour, the Persian hero defeats the Deev-king Arzshenk. He next
vanquishes a Deev still more fierce, named Demrush, who dwelt in a gloomy
cavern, surrounded by piles of wealth plundered from the neighbouring realms
of Persia and India. Here Tahmuras finds a fair captive, the Peri Merjân,[33]
whom Demrush had carried off, and whom her brothers, Dâl Peri and Milân
Shâh Peri, had long sought in vain. He chains the Deev in the centre of the
mountain, and at the suit of Merjân hastens to attack another powerful Deev
named Houndkonz; but here, alas! fortune deserts him, and, maugre his
talismans and enchanted arms, the gallant Tahmuras falls beneath his foe.

The great Deev-bend, or conqueror of Deevs, of the Shâh-Nâmeh[34] is the
illustrious Roostem. In the third of his Seven Tables or adventures, on his way
to relieve the Shâh Ky-Caoos, whom the artifice of a Deev had led to
Mazenderân, where he was in danger of perishing, he encounters in the dark of
the night a Deev named Asdeev, who stole on him in a dragon's form as he
slept. Twice the hero's steed, Reksh, awoke him, but each time the Deev
vanished, and Roostem was near slaying his good steed for giving him a false
alarm. The third time he saw the Deev and slew him after a fearful combat. He
then pursued his way to the cleft in the mountain in which abode the great
Deev Sefeed, or White Deev. The seventh Table brought him to where lay an
army of the Deev Sefeed's Deevs, commanded by Arzshenk, whose head he
struck off, and put his troops to flight. At length he reached the gloomy cavern

of the Deev Sefeed himself, whom he found asleep, and scorning the
advantage he awoke him, and after a terrific combat deprived him also of life.
Many years after, when Ky-Khosroo sat on the throne, a wild ass of huge size,
his skin like the sun, and a black stripe along his back, appeared among the
royal herds and destroyed the horses. It was supposed to be the Deev Akvân,
who was known to haunt an adjacent spring. Roostem went in quest of him; on
the fourth day he found him and cast his noose at him, but the Deev vanished.
He re-appeared; the hero shot at him, but he became again invisible. Roostem
then let Reksh graze, and laid him to sleep by the fount. As he slept, Akvân
came and flew up into the air with him; and when he awoke, he gave him his
choice of being let fall on the mountains or the sea. Roostem secretly chose the
latter, and to obtain it he pretended to have heard that he who was drowned
never entered paradise. Akvân thereupon let him fall into the sea, from which
he escaped, and returning to the fount, he there met and slew the Deev.
Roostem's last encounter with Deevs was with Akvân's son, Berkhyas, and his
army, when he went to deliver Peshen from the dry well in which he was
confined by Afrasiâb. He slew him and two-thirds of his troops. Berkhyas is
described as being a mountain in size, his face black, his body covered with
hair, his neck like that of a dragon, two boar's tusks from his mouth, his eyes
wells of blood, his hair bristling like needles, his height 140 ells, his breadth
17, pigeons nestling in his snaky locks. Akvân had had a head like an elephant.
In the Hindoo-Persian Bahar Danush (Garden of Knowledge) of Ynâyet-ûllah,
written in India a.d. 1650,[35] we find the following tale of the Peries, which
has a surprising resemblance to European legends hereafter to be noticed.[36]

The Peri-Wife.

The son of a merchant in a city of Hindostan, having been driven from his
father's house on account of his undutiful conduct, assumed the garb of a
Kalenderee or wandering Derweesh, and left his native town. On the first day
of his travels, being overcome with fatigue before he reached any place of rest,
he went off the high road and sat down at the foot of a tree by a piece of water:
while he sat there, he saw at sunset four doves alight from a tree on the edge of
the pond, and resuming their natural form (for they were Peries) take off their
clothes and amuse themselves by bathing in the water. He immediately
advanced softly, took up their garments, without being seen, and concealed
them in the hollow of a tree, behind which he placed himself. The Peries when

they came out of the water and missed their clothes were distressed beyond
measure. They ran about on all sides looking for them, but in vain. At length,
finding the young man and judging that he had possessed himself of them,
they implored him to restore them. He would only consent on one condition,
which was that one of them should become his wife. The Peries asserted that
such a union was impossible between them whose bodies were formed of fire
and a mortal who was composed of clay and water; but he persisted, and
selected the one which was the youngest and handsomest. They were at last
obliged to consent, and having endeavoured to console their sister, who shed
copious floods of tears at the idea of parting with them and spending her days
with one of the sons of Adam; and having received their garments, they took
leave of her and flew away.
The young merchant then led home his fair bride and clad her magnificently;
but he took care to bury her Peri-raiment in a secret place, that she might not
be able to leave him. He made every effort to gain her affections, and at length
succeeded in his object "she placed her foot in the path of regard, and her head
on the carpet of affection." She bore him children, and gradually began to take
pleasure in the society of his female relatives and neighbours. All doubts of her
affection now vanished from his mind, and he became assured of her love and
attachment.
At the end of ten years the merchant became embarrassed in his circumstances,
and he found it necessary to undertake a long voyage. He committed the Peri
to the care of an aged matron in whom he had the greatest confidence, and to
whom he revealed the secret of her real nature, and showed the spot where he
had concealed her raiment. He then "placed the foot of departure in the stirrup
of travel," and set out on his journey. The Peri was now overwhelmed with
sorrow for his absence, or for some more secret cause, and continually uttered
expressions of regret. The old woman sought to console her, assuring her that
"the dark night of absence would soon come to an end, and the bright dawn of
interview gleam from the horizon of divine bounty." One day when the Peri
had bathed, and was drying her amber-scented tresses with a corner of her veil,
the old woman burst out into expressions of admiration at her dazzling beauty.
"Ah, nurse," replied she, "though you think my present charms great, yet had
you seen me in my native raiment, you would have witnessed what beauty and
grace the Divine Creator has bestowed upon Peries; for know that we are
among the most finished portraits on the tablets of existence. If then thou
desirest to behold the skill of the divine artist, and admire the wonders of

creation, bring the robes which my husband has kept concealed, that I may
wear them for an instant, and show thee my native beauty, the like of which no
human eye, but my lord's, hath gazed upon."
The simple woman assented, and fetched the robes and presented them to the
Peri. She put them on, and then, like a bird escaped from the cage, spread her
wings, and, crying Farewell, soared to the sky and was seen no more. When
the merchant returned from his voyage "and found no signs of the rose of
enjoyment on the tree of hope, but the lamp of bliss extinguished in the
chamber of felicity, he became as one Peri-stricken,[37] a recluse in the cell of
madness. Banished from the path of understanding, he remained lost to all the
bounties of fortune and the useful purposes of life."

The Peri has been styled "the fairest creation of poetical imagination." No
description can equal the beauty of the female Peri,[38] and the highest
compliment a Persian poet can pay a lady is to liken her to one of these lovely
aerial beings.[39] Thus Sâdee, in the lines prefixed to this section, declares that
only the beauty of a Peri can be compared with that of the fair one he
addresses; and more lately, Aboo Taleeb Khân says to Lady Elgin, as he is
translated by M. von Hammer,[40]

The sun, the moon, the Peries, and mankind,
Compared with you, do far remain behind;
For sun and moon have never form so mild,
The Peries have, but roam in deserts wild.

Sir W. Ouseley is at a loss what to compare them to. They do not, he thinks,
resemble the Angels, the Cherubim and Seraphim of the Hebrews, the
Dæmons of the Platonists, or the Genii of the Romans; neither do they accord
with the Houri of the Arabs. Still less do they agree with the Fairies of
Shakspeare; for though fond of fragrance, and living on that sweet essential
food, we never find them employed in

Killing cankers in the musk-rose buds,

or obliged

To serve the fairy queen
To dew her orbs upon the green.

Neither is their stature ever represented so diminutive as to make key-holes
pervious to their flight, or the bells of flowers their habitations. But Milton's
sublime idea of a 'faery vision,' he thinks, corresponds more nearly with what
the Persian poets have conceived of the Peries.

Their port was more than human, as they stood;
I took it for a faery vision
Of some gay creatures of the element
That in the colours of the rainbow live
And play i' the plighted clouds. I was awestruck,
And as I pass'd I worshipp'd.—Comus.

"I can venture to affirm," concludes Sir William gallantly, "that he will
entertain a pretty just idea of a Persian Peri, who shall fix his eyes on the
charms of a beloved and beautiful mistress."
If poetic imagination exhausted itself in portraying the beauty of the Peries, it
was no less strenuous in heaping attributes of deformity on the Deevs. They
may well vie in ugliness with the devils of our forefathers. "At Lahore, in the
Mogul's palace," says William Finch, "are pictures of Dews, or Dives,
intermixed in most ugly shapes, with long horns, staring eyes, shaggy hair,
great fangs, ugly paws, long tails, with such horrible difformity and deformity,
that I wonder the poor women are not frightened therewith."[41]
Such then is the Peri-system of the Mohammedan Persians, in which the
influence of Islâm is clearly perceptible, the very names of their fabled country
and its kings being Arabic. Had we it as it was before the Arabs forced their
law on Persia, we should doubtless find it more consistent in all its parts, more
light, fanciful, and etherial.

ARABIAN ROMANCE.
The Prophet is the centre round which every thing connected with Arabia
revolves. The period preceding his birth is regarded and designated as the
times of ignorance, and our knowledge of the ancient Arabian mythology
comprises little more than he has been pleased to transmit to us. The Arabs,
however, appear at no period of their history to have been a people addicted to
fanciful invention. Their minds are acute and logical, and their poetry is that of
the heart rather than of the fancy. They dwell with fondness on the joys and
pains of love, and with enthusiasm describe the courage and daring deeds of
warriors, or in moving strains pour forth the plaintive elegy; but for the
description of gorgeous palaces and fragrant gardens, or for the wonders of
magic, they are indebted chiefly to their Persian neighbours.[42]
What classes of beings the popular creed may have recognised before the
establishment of Islâm we have no means of ascertaining.[43] The Suspended
Poems, and Antar, give us little or no information; we only know that the tales
of Persia were current among them, and were listened to with such avidity as
to rouse the indignation of the Prophet. We must, therefore, quit the tents of
the Bedoween, and the valleys of 'Araby the Blest,' and accompany the
khaleefehs to their magnificent capital on the Tigris, whence emanated all that
has thrown such a halo of splendour around the genius and language of Arabia.
It is in this seat of empire that we must look to meet with the origin of the
marvels of Arabian literature.
Transplanted to a rich and fertile soil, the sons of the desert speedily
abandoned their former simple mode of life; and the court of Bagdad equalled
or surpassed in magnificence any thing that the East has ever witnessed.
Genius, whatever its direction, was encouraged and rewarded, and the
musician and the story-teller shared with the astronomer and historian the
favour of the munificent khaleefehs. The tales which had amused the leisure of
the Shahpoors and Yezdejirds were not disdained by the Haroons and
Almansoors. The expert narrators altered them so as to accord with the new
faith. And it was thus, probably, that the delightful Thousand and One
Nights[44] were gradually produced and modified.

As the Genii or Jinn[45] are prominent actors in these tales, where they take the
place of the Persian Peries and Deevs, we will here give some account of
them.
According to Arabian writers, there is a species of beings named Jinn or Jân
(Jinnee m., Jinniyeh f. sing.), which were created and occupied the earth
several thousand years before Adam. A tradition from the Prophet says that
they were formed of "smokeless fire," i.e. the fire of the wind Simoom. They
were governed by a succession of forty, or, as others say, seventy-two
monarchs, named Suleyman, the last of whom, called Jân-ibn-Jân, built the
Pyramids of Egypt. Prophets were sent from time to time to instruct and
admonish them; but on their continued disobedience, an army of angels
appeared, who drove them from the earth to the regions of the islands, making
many prisoners, and slaughtering many more. Among the prisoners, was a
young Jinnee, named 'Azâzeel, or El-Hârith (afterwards called Iblees, from his
despair), who grew up among the angels, and became at last their chief. When
Adam was created, God commanded the angels to worship him; and they all
obeyed except Iblees, who, for his disobedience, was turned into a Sheytân or
Devil, and he became the father of the Sheytâns.[46]
The Jinn are not immortal; they are to survive mankind, but to die before the
general resurrection. Even at present many of them are slain by other Jinn, or
by men; but chiefly by shooting-stars hurled at them from Heaven. The fire of
which they were created, circulates in their veins instead of blood, and when
they receive a mortal wound, it bursts forth and consumes them to ashes. They
eat and drink, and propagate their species. Sometimes they unite with human
beings, and the offspring partakes of the nature of both parents. Some of the
Jinn are obedient to the will of God, and believers in the Prophet, answering to
the Peries of the Persians; others are like the Deevs, disobedient and
malignant. Both kinds are divided into communities, and ruled over by
princes. They have the power to make themselves visible and invisible at
pleasure. They can assume the form of various animals, especially those of
serpents, cats, and dogs. When they appear in the human form, that of the good
Jinnee is usually of great beauty; that of the evil one, of hideous deformity, and
sometimes of gigantic size.
When the Zôba'ah, a whirlwind that raises the sand in the form of a pillar of
tremendous height, is seen sweeping over the desert, the Arabs, who believe it
to be caused by the flight of an evil Jinnee, cry, Iron! Iron! (Hadeed! Hadeed!)

or Iron! thou unlucky one! (Hadeed! yâ meshoom!) of which metal the Jinn are
believed to have a great dread. Or else they cry, God is most great! (Allâhu
akbar!) They do the same when they see a water-spout at sea; for they assign
the same cause to its origin.[47]
The chief abode of the Jinn of both kinds is the Mountains of Kâf, already
described. But they also are dispersed through the earth, and they occasionally
take up their residence in baths, wells, latrinæ, ovens, and ruined houses.[48]
They also frequent the sea and rivers, cross-roads, and market-places. They
ascend at times to the confines of the lowest heaven, and by listening there to
the conversation of the angels, they obtain some knowledge of futurity, which
they impart to those men who, by means of talismans or magic arts, have been
able to reduce them to obedience.[49]

The following are anecdotes of the Jinn, given by historians of eminence.[50]
It is related, says El-Kasweenee, by a certain narrator of traditions, that he
descended into a valley with his sheep, and a wolf carried off a ewe from
among them; and he arose and raised his voice, and cried, "O inhabitant of the
valley!" whereupon he heard a voice saying, "O wolf, restore him his sheep!"
and the wolf came with the ewe and left her, and departed.
Ben Shohnah relates, that in the year 456 of the Hejra, in the reign of Kaiem,
the twenty-sixth khaleefeh of the house of Abbas, a report was raised in
Bagdad, which immediately spread throughout the whole province of Irak, that
some Turks being out hunting saw in the desert a black tent, beneath which
there was a number of people of both sexes, who were beating their cheeks,
and uttering loud cries, as is the custom in the East when any one is dead.
Amidst their cries they heard these words—The great king of the Jinn is dead,
woe to this country! and then there came out a great troop of women, followed
by a number of other rabble, who proceeded to a neighbouring cemetery, still
beating themselves in token of grief and mourning.
The celebrated historian Ebn Athir relates, that when he was at Mosul on the
Tigris, in the year 600 of the Hejra, there was in that country an epidemic
disease of the throat; and it was said that a woman, of the race of the Jinn,
having lost her son, all those who did not condole with her on account of his
death were attacked with that disease; so that to be cured of it men and women
assembled, and with all their strength cried out, O mother of Ankood, excuse
us! Ankood is dead, and we did not mind it!

MIDDLE-AGE ROMANCE.
Ecco quei che le carte empion di sogni,
Lancilotto, Tristano e gli altri erranti,
Onde conven che il volgo errante agogni.
Petrarca.

Few will now endeavour to trace romantic and marvellous fiction to any
individual source. An extensive survey of the regions of fancy and their
productions will incline us rather to consider the mental powers of man as
having an uniform operation under every sky, and under every form of
political existence, and to acknowledge that identity of invention is not more
to be wondered at than identity of action. It is strange how limited the powers
of the imagination are. Without due consideration of the subject, it might be
imagined that her stores of materials and powers of combination are
boundless; yet reflection, however slight, will convince us that here also 'there
is nothing new,' and charges of plagiarism will in the majority of cases be
justly suspected to be devoid of foundation. The finest poetical expressions
and similes of occidental literature meet us when we turn our attention to the
East, and a striking analogy pervades the tales and fictions of every region.
The reason is, the materials presented to the inventive faculties are scanty. The
power of combination is therefore limited to a narrow compass, and similar
combinations must hence frequently occur.
Yet still there is a high degree of probability in the supposition of the luxuriant
fictions of the East having through Spain and Syria operated on European
fancy. The poetry and romance of the middle ages are notoriously richer in
detail, and more gorgeous in invention, than the more correct and chaste
strains of Greece and Latium; the island of Calypso, for example, is in beauty
and variety left far behind by the retreats of the fairies of romance. Whence
arises this difference? No doubt

When ancient chivalry display'd
The pomp of her heroic games,
And crested knights and tissued dames
Assembled at the clarion's call,

In some proud castle's high-arch'd hall,
that a degree of pomp and splendour met the eye of the minstrel and romancer
on which the bards of the simple republics of ancient times had never gazed,
and this might account for the difference between the poetry of ancient and of
middle-age Europe. Yet, notwithstanding, we discover such an Orientalism in
the latter as would induce us to acquiesce in the hypothesis of the fictions and
the manner of the East having been early transmitted to the West; and it is
highly probable that along with more splendid habits of life entered a more
lavish use of the gorgeous stores laid open to the plastic powers of fiction. The
tales of Arabia were undoubtedly known in Europe from a very early period.
The romance of Cleomades and Claremonde, which was written in the
thirteenth century,[51] not merely resembles, but actually is the story of the
Enchanted Horse in the Thousand and One Nights. Another tale in the same
collection, The two Sisters who envied their younger Sister, may be found in
Straparola, and is also a popular story in Germany; and in the Pentamerone
and other collections of tales published long before the appearance of M.
Galland's translation of the Eastern ones, numerous traces of an oriental origin
may be discerned. The principal routes they came by may also be easily
shown. The necessities of commerce and the pilgrimage to Mecca occasioned
a constant intercourse between the Moors of Spain and their fellow-sectaries of
the East; and the Venetians, who were the owners of Candia, carried on an
extensive trade with Syria and Egypt. It is worthy of notice, that the Notti
Piacevoli of Straparola were first published in Venice, and that Basile, the
author of the Pentamerone, spent his youth in Candia, and was afterwards a
long time at Venice. Lastly, pilgrims were notorious narrators of marvels, and
each, as he visited the Holy Land, was anxious to store his memory with those
riches, the diffusal of which procured him attention and hospitality at home.
We think, therefore, that European romance may be indebted, though not for
the name, yet for some of the attributes and exploits of its fairies to Asia. This
is more especially the case with the romances composed or turned into prose in
the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries; for in the earlier ones the
Fairy Mythology is much more sparingly introduced.
But beside the classic and oriental prototypes of its fairies, romance may have
had an additional one in the original mythology of the Celtic tribes, of which a
being very nearly allied to the fay of romance appears to have formed a part.
Such were the damoiselles who bestowed their favours upon Lanval and

Graelent. This subject shall, however, be more fully considered under the head
of Brittany.
Romances of chivalry, it is well known, may be divided into three principal
classes; those of Arthur and his Round Table, of Charlemagne and his
Paladins, and those of Amadis and Palmerin, and their descendants and
kindred. In the first, with the exception of Isaie le Triste, which appears to be a
work of the fifteenth century, the fairies appear but seldom; the second exhibits
them in all their brilliancy and power; in the third, which all belong to the
literature of Spain, the name at least does not occur, but the enchantress
Urganda la Desconecida seems equal in power to La Dame du Lac, in the
romance of Lancelot du Lac.[52]

Among the incidents of the fine old romance just alluded to,[53] is narrated the
death of King Ban, occasioned by grief at the sight of his castle taken and in
flames through the treachery of his seneschal. His afflicted queen had left her
new-born infant on the margin of a lake, while she went to soothe the last
moments of the expiring monarch. On her return, she finds her babe in the
arms of a beautiful lady. She entreats her pathetically to restore the orphan
babe; but, without heeding her entreaties, or even uttering a single word, she
moves to the edge of the lake, into which she plunges and disappears with the
child. The lady was the celebrated Dame du Lac: the child was Lancelot,
afterwards styled Du Lac. The name of the lady was Vivienne, and she had
dwelt "en la marche de la petite Bretaigne." Merlin the demon-born, the
renowned enchanter, became enamoured of her, and taught her a portion of his
art; and the ill-return she made is well known in the annals of female treachery.
[54]
In consequence of the knowledge thus acquired she became a fairy; for the
author informs us that "the damsel who carried Lancelot to the lake was a fay,
and in those times all those women were called fays who had to do with
enchantments and charms—and there were many of them then, principally in
Great Britain—and knew the power and virtues of words, of stones, and of
herbs, by which they were kept in youth and in beauty, and in great riches, as
they devised."[55]
The lake was a feerie, an illusion raised by the art which the devil had taught
Merlin, and Merlin the lady. The romance says: "The lady who reared him
conversed only in the forest, and dwelt on the summit of a hill, which was
much lower than that on which King Ban had died. In this place, where it
seemed that the wood was large and deep, the lady had many fair houses, and

very rich; and in the plain beneath there was a gentle little river well-stored
with fish; and this place was so secret and so concealed, that right difficult was
it for any one to find, for the semblance of the said lake covered it so that it
could not be perceived."[56]
When her young protégé had gone through his course of knightly education,
she took him to King Arthur's court, and presented him there; and his
subsequent history is well known.
In the romance of Maugis d'Aygremont et de Vivian son Frère, when Tapinel
and the female slave had stolen the two children of Duke Bevis of Aygremont,
the former sold to the wife of Sorgalant the child which he had taken, whose
name was Esclarmonde, and who was about fifteen years of age, and was "plus
belle et plus blanche qu'une fée." The slave having laid herself to rest under a
white-thorn (aube-spine), was devoured by a lion and a leopard, who killed
one another in their dispute for the infant. "And the babe lay under the thorn,
and cried loudly, during which it came to pass that Oriande la Fée, who abode
at Rosefleur with four other fays, came straight to this thorn; for every time
she passed by there she used to repose under that white-thorn. She got down,
and hearing the child cry, she came that way and looked at him, and said, 'By
the god in whom we believe, this child here is lying badly (mal gist), and this
shall be his name;' and from that time he was always called Maugis."
Oriande la Fée brought the child home with her and her damsels; and having
examined him, and found, by a precious ring that was in his ear, that he was of
noble lineage, "she prayed our Lord that he would be pleased of his grace to
make known his origin (nation)." When she had finished her prayer, she sent
for her nephew Espiet, "who was a dwarf, and was not more than three feet
high, and had his hair yellow as fine gold, and looked like a child of seven
years, but he was more than a hundred; and he was one of the falsest knaves in
the world, and knew every kind of enchantment." Espiet informed her whose
child he was; and Oriande, having prayed to our Lord to preserve the child,
took him with her to her castle of Rosefleur, where she had him baptised and
named Maugis. She and her damsels reared him with great tenderness; and
when he was old enough she put him under the care of her brother Baudris,
"who knew all the arts of magic and necromancy, and was of the age of a
hundred years;" and he taught what he knew to Maugis.
When Maugis was grown a man, the Fay Oriande clad him in arms, and he
became her ami; and she loved him "de si grand amour qu'elle doute fort qu'il

ne se departe d'avecques elle."
Maugis shortly afterwards achieved the adventure of gaining the enchanted
horse Bayard, in the isle of Boucaut. Of Bayard it is said, when Maugis spoke
to him, "Bayard estoit feyé, si entendoit aussi bien Maugis comme s'il (Bayard)
eust parlé." On his return from the island, Maugis conquers and slays the
Saracen admiral Anthenor, who had come to win the lands and castle of
Oriande, and gains the sword Flamberge (Floberge), which, together with
Bayard, he afterwards gave to his cousin Renaud.
In Perceforest, Sebille la Dame du Lac, whose castle was surrounded by a river
on which lay so dense a fog that no one could see across the water, though not
called so, was evidently a fay. The fortnight that Alexander the Great and
Floridas abode with her, to be cured of their wounds, seemed to them but as
one night. During that night, "la dame demoura enceinte du roy dung filz, dont
de ce lignage yssit le roi Artus."[57]

In the same romance[58] we are told that "en lysle de Zellande jadis fut
demourante une faee qui estoit appellee Morgane." This Morgane was very
intimate with "ung esperit (named Zephir) qui repairoit es lieux acquatiques,
mais jamais nestoit veu que de nuyt." Zephir had been in the habit of repairing
to Morgane la Faee from her youth up, "car elle estoit malicieuse et subtille et
tousjours avoit moult desire a aucunement sçavoir des enchantemens et des
conjurations." He had committed to her charge the young Passelyon and his
cousin Bennucq, to be brought up, and Passelyon was detected in an intrigue
with the young Morgane, daughter of the fay. The various adventures of this
amorous youth form one of the most interesting portions of the romance.

In Tristan de Leonois,[59] king Meliadus, the father of Tristan, is drawn to a
chase par mal engin et negromance of a fairy who was in love with him, and
carries him off, and from whose thraldom he was only released by the power
of the great enchanter Merlin.

In Parthenopex of Blois,[60] the beautiful fairy Melior, whose magic bark
carries the knight to her secret island, is daughter to the emperor of Greece.
In no romance whatever is the fairy machinery more pleasingly displayed than
in Sir Launfal, a metrical romance, composed[61] by Thomas Chestre, in the
reign of Henry VI.

Before, however, we give the analysis of this poem, which will be followed by
that of another, and by our own imitations of this kind of verse, we will take
leave to offer some observations on a subject that seems to us to be in general
but little understood, namely, the structure of our old English verse, and the
proper mode of reading it.
Our forefathers, like their Gotho-German kindred, regulated their verse by the
number of accents, not of syllables. The foot, therefore, as we term it, might
consist of one, two, three, or even four syllables, provided it had only one
strongly marked accent. Further, the accent of a word might be varied, chiefly
by throwing it on the last syllable, as natúre for náture, honoúr for hónour, etc.
(the Italians, by the way, throw it back when two accents come into collision,
as, Il Pástor Fido[62]); they also sounded what the French call the feminine e
of their words, as, In oldè dayès of the King Artoúr; and so well known seems
this practice to have been, that the copyists did not always write this e, relying
on the skill of the reader to supply it.[63] There was only one restriction,
namely, that it was never to come before a vowel, unless where there was a
pause. In this way the poetry of the middle ages was just as regular as that of
the present day; and Chaucer, when properly read, is fully as harmonious as
Pope. But the editors of our ancient poems, with the exception of Tyrwhitt,
seem to have been ignorant or regardless of this principle; and in the
Canterbury Tales alone is the verse properly arranged.
We will now proceed to the analysis of the romance of Sir Launfal.
Sir Launfal was one of the knights of Arthur, who loved him well, and made
him his steward. But when Arthur married the beautiful but frail Gwennere,
daughter of Ryon, king of Ireland, Launfal and other virtuous knights
manifested their dissatisfaction when she came to court. The queen was aware
of this, and, at the first entertainment given by the king,

The queen yaf (gave) giftès for the nones,
Gold and silver, precious stones,
Her courtesy to kythe (show):
Everiche knight she yaf broche other (or) ring,
But Sir Launfal she yaf no thing,
That grieved him many a sythe (time).

Launfal, under the feigned pretext of the illness of his father, takes leave of the
king, and retires to Karlyoun, where he lives in great poverty. Having obtained

the loan of a horse, one holyday, he rode into a fair forest, where, overcome by
the heat, he lay down under the shade of a tree, and meditated on his wretched
state. In this situation he is attracted by the approach of two fair damsels
splendidly arrayed.

Their faces were white as snow on down,
Their rode[64] was red, their eyne were brown;
I saw never none swiche.
That one bare of gold a basín,
That other a towel white and fine,
Of silk that was good and riche;
Their kerchevès were welè skire (clear)
Araid (striped) with richè goldè wire—
Launfal began to siche—
They comè to him over the hoth (heath),
He was curteís, and against them goeth,
And greet them mildeliche.

They greet him courteously in return, and invite him to visit their mistress,
whose pavilion is at hand. Sir Launfal complies with the invitation, and they
proceed to where the pavilion lies. Nothing could exceed this pavilion in
magnificence. It was surmounted by an erne or eagle, adorned with precious
stones so rich, that the poet declares, and we believe, that neither Alexander
nor Arthur possessed "none swiche jewel."

He foundè in the paviloun
The kingès daughter of Oliroun,
Dame Tryamour that hight;
Her father was king of Faërie,
Of occientè[65] fer and nigh,
A man of mickle might.

The beauty of dame Tryamour was beyond conception.

For heat her cloathès down she dede
Almostè to her girdle stede (place),
Than lay she uncover't;
She was as white as lily in May,
Or snow that snoweth in winter's day:
He seigh (saw) never none so pert (lively).

The redè rose, when she is new,
Against her rode was naught of hew
I dare well say in cert;
Her hairè shone as goldè wire:
May no man redè her attire,
Ne naught well think in hert (heart).

This lovely dame bestows her heart on Sir Launfal, on condition of his fidelity.
As marks of her affection, she gives him a never-failing purse and many other
valuable presents, and dismisses him next morning with the assurance, that
whenever he wished to see her, his wish would be gratified on withdrawing
into a private room, where she would instantly be with him. This information is
accompanied with a charge of profound secrecy on the subject of their loves.
The knight returns to court, and astonishes every one by his riches and his
munificence. He continues happy in the love of the fair Tryamour, until an
untoward adventure interrupts his bliss. One day the queen beholds him
dancing, with other knights, before her tower, and, inspired with a sudden
affection, makes amorous advances to the knight. These passages of love are
received on his part with an indignant repulse, accompanied by a declaration
more enthusiastic than politic or courteous, that his heart was given to a dame,
the foulest of whose maidens surpassed the queen in beauty. The offence thus
given naturally effected an entire conversion in the queen's sentiments; and,

when Arthur returned from hunting, like Potiphar's wife, she charges Launfal
with attempting her honour. The charge is credited, and the unhappy knight
condemned to be burned alive, unless he shall, against a certain day, produce
that peerless beauty. The fatal day arrives; the queen is urgent for the execution
of the sentence, when ten fair damsels, splendidly arrayed, and mounted on
white palfreys, are descried advancing toward the palace. They announce the
approach of their mistress, who soon appears, and by her beauty justifies the
assertion of her knight. Sir Launfal is instantly set at liberty, and, vaulting on
the courser his mistress had bestowed on him, and which was held at hand by
his squire, he follows her out of the town.

The lady rode down Cardevile,
Fer into a jolif ile,
Oliroun that hight;[66]
Every year upon a certain day,
Men may heare Launfales steedè neighe,
And him see with sight.
He that will there axsy (ask) justes
To keep his armès fro the rustes,
In turnement other (or) fight,
Dar (need) he never further gon;
There he may find justès anon,
With Sir Launfal the knight.
Thus Launful, withouten fable,
That noble knight of the roundè table,
Was taken into the faërie;
Since saw him in this land no man,
Ne no more of him tell I ne can,
For soothè, without lie.[67]

No romance is of more importance to the present subject than the charming
Huon de Bordeaux.[68] Generally known, as the story should be, through
Wieland's poem and Mr. Sotheby's translation, we trust that we shall be
excused for giving some passages from the original French romance, as Le
petit roy Oberon appears to form a kind of connecting link between the fairies
of romance and the Elves or Dwarfs of the Teutonic nations. When we come to
Germany it will be our endeavour to show how the older part of Huon de
Bordeaux has been taken from the story of Otnit in the Heldenbuch, where the
dwarf king Elberich performs nearly the same services to Otnit that Oberon

does to Huon, and that, in fact, the name Oberon is only Elberich slightly
altered.[69]
Huon, our readers must know, encounters in Syria an old follower of his family
named Gerasmes; and when consulting with him on the way to Babylon he is
informed by him that there are two roads to that city, the one long and safe, the
other short and dangerous, leading through a wood, "which is sixteen leagues
long, but is so full of Fairie and strange things that few people pass there
without being lost or stopt, because therewithin dwelleth a king, Oberon the
Fay. He is but three feet in height; he is all humpy; but he hath an angelic face;
there is no mortal man who should see him who would not take pleasure in
looking at him, he hath so fair a face. Now you will hardly have entered the
wood, if you are minded to pass that way, when he will find how to speak to
you, but of a surety if you speak to him, you are lost for evermore, without ever
returning; nor will it lie in you, for if you pass through the wood, whether
straightforwards or across it, you will always find him before you, and it will
be impossible for you to escape at all without speaking to him, for his words
are so pleasant to hear, that there is no living man who can escape him. And if
so be that he should see that you are nowise inclined to speak to him, he will be
passing wroth with you. For before you have left the wood he will cause it so to
rain on you, to blow, to hail, and to make such right marvellous storms, thunder
and lightning, that you will think the world is going to end. Then you will think
that you see a great flowing river before you, wondrously black and deep; but
know, sire, that right easily will you be able to go through it without wetting
the feet of your horse, for it is nothing but a phantom and enchantments that the
dwarf will make for you, because he wishes to have you with him, and if it so
be that you keep firm to your resolve, not to speak to him, you will be surely
able to escape," etc.[70]
Huon for some time followed the sage advice of Gerasmes, and avoided
Oberon le fayé. The storms of rain and thunder came on as predicted, the magic
horn set them all dancing, and at last the knight determined to await and accost
the dwarf.
"The Dwarf Fay came riding through the wood, and was clad in a robe so
exceeding fine and rich, that it would be a marvel to relate it for the great and
marvellous riches that were upon it; for so much was there of precious stones,
that the great lustre that they cast was like unto the sun when he shineth full
clear. And therewithal he bare a right fair bow in his fist, so rich that no one
could value it, so fine it was; and the arrow that he bare was of such sort and

manner, that there was no beast in the world that he wished to have, that it did
not stop at that arrow. He had at his neck a rich horn, which was hung by two
rich strings of fine gold."[71]
This horn was wrought by four Fairies, who had endowed it with its marvellous
properties.
Oberon, on bringing Huon to speech, informed him that he was the son of
Julius Cæsar, and the lady of the Hidden Island, afterwards called Cephalonia.
This lady's first love had been Florimont of Albania, a charming young prince,
but being obliged to part from him, she married, and had a son named
Neptanebus, afterwards King of Egypt, who begot Alexander the Great, who
afterwards put him to death. Seven hundred years later, Cæsar, on his way to
Thessaly, was entertained in Cephalonia by the lady of the isle, and he loved
her, for she told him he would defeat Pompey, and he became the father of
Oberon. Many a noble prince and noble fairy were at the birth, but one Fairy
was unhappily not invited, and the gift she gave was that he should not grow
after his third year, but repenting, she gave him to be the most beautiful of
nature's works. Other Fairies gave him the gift of penetrating the thoughts of
men, and of transporting himself and others from place to place by a wish; and
the faculty, by like easy means, of raising and removing castles, palaces,
gardens, banquets, and such like. He further informed the knight, that he was
king and lord of Mommur; and that when he should leave this world his seat
was prepared in Paradise—for Oberon, like his prototype Elberich, was a
veritable Christian.
When after a variety of adventures Oberon comes to Bordeaux to the aid of
Huon, and effects a reconciliation between him and Charlemagne, he tells
Huon that the time is at hand that he should leave this world and take the seat
prepared for him in Paradise, "en faerie ne veux plus demeurer." He directs him
to appear before him within four years in his city of Mommur, where he will
crown him as his successor.
Here the story properly ends, but an addition of considerable magnitude has
been made by a later hand, in which the story is carried on.
Many are the perils which Huon encounters before the period appointed by
Oberon arrives. At length, however, he and the fair Esclairmonde (the Rezia of
Wieland) come to Mommur. Here, in despite of Arthur (who, with his sister
Morgue la faée and a large train, arrives at court, and sets himself in opposition

to the will of the monarch, but is reduced to order by Oberon's threat of turning
him into a Luyton de Mer[72]), Huon is crowned king of all Faerie "tant du pais
des Luytons comme des autres choses secretes reservées dire aux hommes."
Arthur gets the kingdom of Bouquant, and that which Sybilla held of Oberon,
and all the Faeries that were in the plains of Tartary. The good king Oberon
then gave Huon his last instructions, recommending his officers and servants to
him, and charging him to build an abbey before the city, in the mead which the
dwarf had loved, and there to bury him. Then, falling asleep in death, a glorious
troop of angels, scattering odours as they flew, conveyed his soul to Paradise.
Isaie le Triste is probably one of the latest romances, certainly posterior to
Huon de Bordeaux, for the witty but deformed dwarf Tronc, who is so
important a personage in it, is, we are told, Oberon, whom Destiny compelled
to spend a certain period in that form. And we shall, as we have promised,
prove Oberon to be the handsome dwarf-king Elberich. In Isaie the Faery ladies
approach to the Fées of Perrault, and Madame D'Aulnoy. Here, as at the birth
of Oberon and of Ogier le Danois, they interest themselves for the new-born
child, and bestow their gifts upon it. The description in this romance of the
manner in which the old hermit sees them occupied about the infant Isaie is
very pleasing. It was most probably Fairies of this kind, and not the diminutive
Elves, that Milton had in view when writing these lines:

Good luck betide thee, son, for, at thy birth,
The Faery ladies danced upon the hearth.
Thy drowsy nurse hath sworn she did them spy
Come tripping to the room where thou didst lie,
And, sweetly singing round about thy bed,
Strew all their blessings on thy sleeping head.

The description of the Vergier des Fées in Isaie le Triste, and of the beautiful
valley in which it was situated, may rival in richness and luxuriancy similar
descriptions in Spenser and the Italian poets.[73]
We have now, we trust, abundantly proved our position of the Fairies of
romance being, at least at the commencement, only 'human mortals,' endowed
with superhuman powers, though we may perceive that, as the knowledge of
Oriental fiction increased, the Fairies began more and more to assume the
character of a distinct species. Our position will acquire additional strength
when in the course of our inquiry we arrive at France and Italy.

Closely connected with the Fairies is the place of their abode, the region to
which they convey the mortals whom they love, 'the happy lond of Faery.'

FAIRY LAND.
There, renewed the vital spring,
Again he reigns a mighty king
And many a fair and fragrant clime,
Blooming in immortal prime,
By gales of Eden ever fanned,
Owns the monarch's high command.
T. Warton.

Among all nations the mixture of joy and pain, of exquisite delight and intense
misery in the present state, has led the imagination to the conception of regions
of unmixed bliss destined for the repose of the good after the toils of this life,
and of climes where happiness prevails, the abode of beings superior to man.
The imagination of the Hindoo paints his Swergas as 'profuse of bliss,' and all
the joys of sense are collected into the Paradise of the Mussulman. The Persian
lavished the riches of his fancy in raising the Cities of Jewels and of Amber
that adorn the realms of Jinnestân; the romancer erected castles and palaces
filled with knights and ladies in Avalon and in the land of Faerie; while the
Hellenic bards, unused to pomp and glare, filled the Elysian Fields and the
Island of the Blest with tepid gales and brilliant flowers. We shall quote
without apology two beautiful passages from Homer and Pindar, that our
readers may at one view satisfy themselves of the essential difference between
classic and romantic imagination.
In Homer, Proteus tells Menelaus that, because he had had the honour of being
the son-in-law of Zeus, he should not die in "horse-feeding Argos."

But thee the ever-living gods will send
Unto the Elysian plain and distant bounds
Of Earth, where dwelleth fair-hair'd Rhadamanthus.
There life is easiest unto men; no snow,
Or wintry storm, or rain, at any time,
Is there; but evermore the Ocean sends
Soft-breathing airs of Zephyr to refresh
The habitants.—Od. iv. 563.

This passage is finely imitated by Pindar, and connected with that noble tone of
pensive morality, so akin to the Oriental spirit, and by which the 'Dircæan
Swan' is distinguished from all his fellows.

They speed their way
To Kronos' palace, where around
The Island of the Blest, the airs
Of Ocean breathe, and golden flowers
Blaze; some on land
From shining trees, and other kinds
The water feeds. Of these
Garlands and bracelets round their arms they bind,

Beneath the righteous sway
Of Rhadamanthus.—Ol. ii. 126.

Lucretius has transferred these fortunate fields to the superior regions, to form
the abode of his fainéans, gods; and Virgil has placed them, with additional
poetic splendour, in the bosom of the earth.
Widely different from these calm and peaceful abodes of parted warriors are
the Faeries of the minstrels and romancers. In their eyes, and in those of their
auditors, nothing was beautiful or good divested of the pomp and pride of
chivalry; and chivalry has, accordingly, entered deeply into the composition of
their pictures of these ideal realms.
The Feeries of romance may be divided into three kinds: Avalon, placed in the
ocean, like the Island of the Blest; those that, like the palace of Pari Banou, are
within the earth; and, lastly, those that, like Oberon's domains, are situate 'in
wilderness among the holtis hairy.'

Of the castle and isle of Avalon,[74] the abode of Arthur and Oberon, and
Morgue la faye, the fullest description is to be seen in the romance of Ogier le
Danois, from which, as we know no sure quarter but the work itself to refer to
for the part connected with the present subject, we will make some extracts.[75]
At the birth of Ogier several Fairies attended, who bestowed on him various
gifts. Among them was Morgue la Faye, who gave him that he should be her
lover and friend. Accordingly, when Ogier had long distinguished himself in
love and war, and had attained his hundredth year, the affectionate Morgue

thought it was time to withdraw him from the toils and dangers of mortal life,
and transport him to the joys and the repose of the castle of Avalon. In
pursuance of this design, Ogier and king Caraheu are attacked by a storm on
their return from Jerusalem, and their vessels separated. The bark on which
Ogier was "floated along the sea till it came near the castle of loadstone, which
is called the castle of Avalon, which is not far on this side of the terrestrial
paradise, whither were rapt in a flame of fire Enock and Helias; and where was
Morgue la Faye, who at his birth had endowed him with great gifts, noble and
virtuous."[76]
The vessel is wrecked against the rock; the provisions are divided among the
crew, and it is agreed that every man, as his stock failed, should be thrown into
the sea. Ogier's stock holds out longest, and he remains alone. He is nearly
reduced to despair, when a voice from heaven cries to him: "God commandeth
thee that, as soon as it is night, thou go unto a castle that thou wilt see shining,
and pass from bark to bark till thou be in an isle which thou wilt find. And
when thou wilt be in that isle thou wilt find a little path, and of what thou
mayest see within be not dismayed at anything. And then Ogier looked, but he
saw nothing."[77]
When night came, Ogier recommended himself to God, and seeing the castle of
loadstone all resplendent with light, he went from one to the other of the
vessels that were wrecked there, and so got into the island where it was. On
arriving at the gate he found it guarded by two fierce lions. He slew them and
entered; and making his way into a hall, found a horse sitting at a table richly
supplied. The courteous animal treats him with the utmost respect, and the
starving hero makes a hearty supper. The horse then prevails on him to get on
his back, and carries him into a splendid chamber, where Ogier sleeps that
night. The name of this horse is Papillon, "who was a Luiton, and had been a
great prince, but king Arthur conquered him, so he was condemned to be three
hundred years a horse without speaking one single word, but after the three
hundred years he was to have the crown of joy which they wore in Faerie."[78]
Next morning he cannot find Papillon, but on opening a door he meets a huge
serpent, whom he also slays, and follows a little path which leads him into an
orchard "tant bel et tant plaisant, que cestoit ung petit paradis a veoir." He
plucks an apple from one of the trees and eats it, but is immediately afflicted by
such violent sickness as to be put in fear of speedy death. He prepares himself
for his fate, regretting "le bon pays de France, le roi Charlemaigne ... et

principallement la bonne royne dangleterre, sa bonne espouse et vraie amie, ma
dame Clarice, qui tant estoit belle et noble." While in this dolorous state,
happening to turn to the east, he perceived "une moult belle dame, toute vestue
de blanc, si bien et si richement aornee que cestoit ung grant triumphe que de la
veoir."
Ogier, thinking it is the Virgin Mary, commences an Ave; but the lady tells him
she is Morgue la Faye, who at his birth had kissed him, and retained him for
her loyal amoureux, though forgotten by him. She places then on his finger a
ring, which removes all infirmity, and Ogier, a hundred years old, returns to the
vigour and beauty of thirty. She now leads him to the castle of Avalon, where
were her brother king Arthur, and Auberon, and Mallonbron, "ung luiton de
mer."
"And when Morgue drew near to the said castle of Avalon, the Fays came to
meet Ogier, singing the most melodiously that ever could be heard, so he
entered into the hall to solace himself completely. There he saw several Fay
ladies adorned and all crowned with crowns most sumptuously made, and very
rich, and evermore they sung, danced, and led a right joyous life, without
thinking of any evil thing whatever, but of taking their mundane pleasures."[79]
Morgue here introduces the knight to Arthur, and she places on his head a
crown rich and splendid beyond estimation, but which has the Lethean quality,
that whoso wears it,

Forthwith his former state and being forgets,
Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain;

for Ogier instantly forgot country and friends. He had no thought whatever "ni
de la dame Clarice, qui tant estoit belle et noble," nor of Guyon his brother, nor
of his nephew Gauthier, "ne de creature vivante." His days now rolled on in
never-ceasing pleasure. "Such joyous pastime did the Fay ladies make for him,
that there is no creature in this world who could imagine or think it, for to hear
them sing so sweetly it seemed to him actually that he was in Paradise; so the
time passed from day to day, from week to week, in such sort that a year did
not last a month to him."[80]
But Avalon was still on earth, and therefore its bliss was not unmixed. One day
Arthur took Ogier aside, and informed him that Capalus, king of the Luitons,
incessantly attacked the castle of Faerie with design to eject king Arthur from
its dominion, and was accustomed to penetrate to the basse court, calling on

Arthur to come out and engage him. Ogier asked permission to encounter this
formidable personage, which Arthur willingly granted. No sooner, however, did
Capalus see Ogier than he surrendered to him; and the knight had the
satisfaction of leading him into the castle, and reconciling him to its
inhabitants.
Two hundred years passed away in these delights, and seemed to Ogier but
twenty: Charlemagne and all his lineage had failed, and even the race of Ogier
was extinct, when the Paynims invaded France and Italy in vast numbers; and
Morgue no longer thought herself justified in withholding Ogier from the
defence of the faith. Accordingly, she one day took the Lethean crown from off
his head: immediately all his old ideas rushed on his mind, and inflamed him
with an ardent desire to revisit his country. The Fairy gave him a brand which
was to be preserved from burning, for so long as it was unconsumed, so long
should his life extend. She adds to her gift the horse Papillon and his comrade
Benoist. "And when they were both mounted, all the ladies of the castle came
to take leave of Ogier, by the command of king Arthur and of Morgue la Faye,
and they sounded an aubade of instruments, the most melodious thing to hear
that ever was listened to; then, when the aubade was finished, they sung with
the voice so melodiously, that it was a thing so melodious that it seemed
actually to Ogier that he was in Paradise. Again, when that was over, they sung
with the instruments in such sweet concordance that it seemed rather to be a
thing divine than mortal."[81] The knight then took leave of all, and a cloud,
enveloping him and his companion, raised them, and set them down by a fair
fountain near Montpellier. Ogier displays his ancient prowess, routs the
infidels, and on the death of the king is on the point of espousing the queen,
when Morgue appears and takes him back to Avalon. Since then Ogier has
never reappeared in this world.
Nowhere is a Faerie of the second kind so fully and circumstantially described
as in the beautiful romance of Orfeo and Heurodis. There are, indeed, copious
extracts from this poem in Sir Walter Scott's Essay on the Fairies of Popular
Superstition; and we have no excuse to offer for repeating what is to be found
in a work so universally diffused as the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, but
that it is of absolute necessity for our purpose, and that romantic poetry is
rarely unwelcome.
Orfeo and Heurodis were king and queen of Winchester. The queen happening
one day to sleep under an ymp[82] tree in the palace orchard, surrounded by her
attendants, had a dream, which she thus relates to the king:

As I lay this undertide (afternoon)
To sleep under the orchard-side,
There came to me two faire knightes
Well arrayed allè rightes,
And bade me come without lettíng
To speakè with their lord the king;
And I answér'd with wordès bolde
That I ne durstè ne I nolde:
Fast again they can (did) drive,
Then came their kingè all so blive (quick)
With a thousand knights and mo,
And with ladies fifty also,
And riden all on snow-white steedes,
And also whitè were their weedes.
I sey (saw) never sith I was borne
So fairè knightès me by forne.
The kingè had a crown on his head,
It was not silver ne gold red;
All it was of precious stone,
As bright as sun forsooth it shone.
All so soon he to me came,
Wold I, nold I he me name (took),
And madè me with him ride
On a white palfrey by his side,
And brought me in to his palís,
Right well ydight over all ywis.
He shewed me castels and toures,
Meadows, rivers, fields and flowres,
And his forests everiche one,
And sith he brought me again home.

The fairy-king orders her, under a dreadful penalty, to await him next morning
under the ymp tree. Her husband and ten hundred knights stand in arms round
the tree to protect her,

And yet amiddès them full right
The queenè was away y-twight (snatched);
With Faëry forth y-nome (taken);
Men wist never where she was become.

Orfeo in despair abandons his throne, and retires to the wilderness, where he
solaces himself with his harp, charming with his melody the wild beasts, the
inhabitants of the spot. Often while here,

He mightè see him besides
Oft in hot undertides
The king of Faëry with his rout
Come to hunt him all about,
With dim cry and blowíng,
And houndes also with him barkíng.
Ac (yet) no beastè they no nome,
Ne never he nist whither they be come;
And other while he might them see
As a great hostè by him te.[83]
Well atourned ten hundred knightes
Each well y-armed to his rightes,
Of countenancè stout and fierce,
With many displayéd bannérs,
And each his sword y-drawè hold;
Ac never he nistè whither they wold.
And otherwhile he seigh (saw) other thing,
Knightès and levedis (ladies) come dauncíng
In quaint attirè guisëly,
Quiet pace and softëly.
Tabours and trumpès gede (went) him by,
And allè manere minstracy.
And on a day he seigh him beside
Sixty levedis on horse ride,
Gentil and jolif as brid on ris (bird on branch),
Nought o (one) man amonges hem ther nis,
And each a faucoun on hond bare,
And riden on hauken by o rivér.
Of game they found well good haunt,
Mallardes, heron, and cormeraunt.
The fowlès of the water ariseth,
Each faucoun them well deviseth,
Each faucoun his preyè slough[84] (slew).

Among the ladies he recognises his lost queen, and he determines to follow
them, and attempt her rescue.

In at a roche (rock) the levedis rideth,
And he after and nought abideth.
When he was in the roche y-go
Well three milès other (or) mo,
He came into a fair countráy
As bright soonne summers day,
Smooth and plain and allè grene,
Hill ne dale nas none y-seen.
Amiddle the lond a castel he seigh,
Rich and real and wonder high.
Allè the utmostè wall
Was clear and shinè of cristal.
An hundred towers there were about,
Deguiselich and batailed stout.
The buttras come out of the ditch,
Of redè gold y-arched rich.
The bousour was anowed all
Of each manere diverse animal.
Within there werè widè wones
All of precious stones.
The worstè pillar to behold
Was all of burnished gold.
All that lond was ever light,
For when it should be therk (dark) and night,
The richè stonès lightè gonne (yield[85])
Bright as doth at nonne the sonne,
No man may tell ne think in thought
The richè work that there was wrought.

Orfeo makes his way into this palace, and so charms the king with his
minstrelsy, that he gives him back his wife. They return to Winchester, and
there reign, in peace and happiness.
Another instance of this kind of Feerie may be seen in Thomas the Rymer, but,
restricted by our limits, we must omit it, and pass to the last kind.

Sir Thopas was written to ridicule the romancers; its incidents must therefore
accord with theirs, and the Feerie in it in fact resembles those in Huon de
Bordeaux. It has the farther merit of having suggested incidents to Spenser, and
perhaps of having given the idea of a queen regnante of Fairy Land. Sir Thopas
is chaste as Graelent.

Full many a maidè bright in bour
They mourned for him par amour;
When hem were bete to slepe;
But he was chaste and no lechour,
And sweet as is the bramble flour
That bereth the red hepe.

He was therefore a suitable object for the love of a gentle elf-queen. So Sir
Thopas one day "pricketh through a faire forest" till he is weary, and he then
lies down to sleep on the grass, where he dreams of an elf-queen, and awakes,
declaring

An elf-queen wol I love, ywis.
All other women I forsake,
And to an elf-queen I me take
By dale and eke by down.

He determines to set out in quest of her.

Into his sadel he clombe anon,
And pricked over style and stone,
An elf-quene for to espie;
Till he so long had ridden and gone,
That he found in a privee wone
The countree of Faerie,[86]

Wherein he soughtè north and south,
And oft he spied with his mouth
In many a forest wilde;
For in that countree n'as there none
That to him dorst ride or gon,
Neither wif ne childe.

The "gret giaunt" Sire Oliphaunt, however, informs him that

Here is the quene of Faërie,
With harpe and pipe and simphonie,
Dwelling in this place.

Owing to the fastidiousness of "mine hoste," we are unable to learn how Sir
Thopas fared with the elf-queen, and we have probably lost a copious
description of Fairy Land.
From the glimmering of the morning star of English poetry, the transition is
natural to its meridian splendour, the reign of Elizabeth, and we will now make
a few remarks on the poem of Spenser.

SPENSER'S FAERIE QUEENE.
A braver lady never tript on land,
Except the ever-living Faerie Queene,
Whose virtues by her swain so written been
That time shall call her high enhanced story,
In his rare song, the Muse's chiefest glory.
Brown
.

During the sixteenth century the study of classical literature, which opened a
new field to imagination, and gave it a new impulse, was eagerly and
vigorously pursued. A classic ardour was widely and extensively diffused. The
compositions of that age incessantly imitate and allude to the beauties and
incidents of the writings of ancient Greece and Rome.
Yet amid this diffusion of classic taste and knowledge, romance had by no
means lost its influence. The black-letter pages of Lancelot du Lac, Perceforest,
Mort d'Arthur, and the other romances of chivalry, were still listened to with
solemn attention, when on winter-evenings the family of the good old knight or
baron 'crowded round the ample fire,' to hear them made vocal, and probably
no small degree of credence was given to the wonders they recorded. The
passion for allegory, too, remained unabated. Fine moral webs were woven
from the fragile threads of the Innamorato and the Furioso; and even Tasso was
obliged, in compliance with the reigning taste, to extract an allegory from his
divine poem; which Fairfax, when translating the Jerusalem, was careful to
preserve. Spenser, therefore, when desirous of consecrating his genius to the
celebration of the glories of the maiden reign, and the valiant warriors and
grave statesmen who adorned it, had his materials ready prepared. Fairy-land,
as described by the romancers, gave him a scene; the knights and dames with
whom it was peopled, actors; and its court, its manners, and usages, a facility
of transferring thither whatever real events might suit his design.
It is not easy to say positively to what romance the poet was chiefly indebted
for his Faery-land. We might, perhaps, venture to conjecture that his principal
authority was Huon de Bordeaux, which had been translated some time before
by Lord Berners, and from which it is most likely that Shakespeare took his

Oberon, who was thus removed from the realms of romance, and brought back
among his real kindred, the dwarfs or elves. Spenser, it is evident, was
acquainted with this romance, for he says of Sir Guyon,

He was an elfin born of noble state
And mickle worship in his native land;
Well could he tourney and in lists debate,
And knighthood took of good Sir Huon's hand,
When with King Oberon he came to Fairy-land.
B. ii. c. 1. st. vi.

And here, if such a thing were to be heeded, the poet commits an anachronism
in making Sir Huon, who slew the son of Charlemagne, a contemporary of
Arthur.
Where "this delightful land of Faery" lies, it were as idle to seek as for
Oberon's realm of Mommur, the island of Calypso, or the kingdom of Lilliput.
Though it shadow forth England, it is distinct from it; for Cleopolis excels
Troynovant in greatness and splendour, and Elfin, the first Fairy king, ruled
over India and America. To the curious the poet says,

Of Faery-lond yet if he more inquire,
By certain signes here sett in sondrie place,
He may it fynd, ne let him then admyre,
But yield his sence to be too blunt and bace,
That no'te without an hound fine footing trace.

The idea of making a queen sole regnante of Fairy-land was the necessary
result of the plan of making "the fayrest princesse under sky" view her "owne
realmes in lond of faery." Yet there may have been sage authority for this
settlement of the fairy throne. Some old romancers may have spoken only of a
queen; and the gallant Sir Thopas does not seem to apprehend that he is in
pursuit of the wedded wife of another. This doughty champion's dream was
evidently the original of Arthur's.

Forwearied with my sportes, I did alight
From loftie steede, and downe to sleepe me layd;
The verdant grass my couch did goodly dight,
And pillow was my helmett fayre displayd;
Whiles every sence the humour sweet embayd,

Me seemed by my side a royall mayd
Her dainty limbes full softly down did lay,
So faire a creature yet saw never sunny day.

Most goodly glee and lovely blandishment
She to me made, and badd me love her deare,
For dearly, sure, her love was to me bent,
As, when iust time expired, should appeare:
But whether dreames delude, or true it were,
Was never hart so ravisht with delight,
Ne living man such wordes did never heare
As she to me delivered all that night,
And at her parting said, she queen of Faries hight.

From that day forth I cast in carefull mynd
To seek her out with labor and long tyne,
And never vow to rest till her I fynd—
Nyne months I seek in vain, yet n'ill that vow unbynd,
B. i. c. 9. st. xiii., xiv., xv.

The names given by Spenser to these beings are Fays (Feés), Farys or Fairies,
Elfes and Elfins, of which last words the former had been already employed by
Chaucer, and in one passage it is difficult to say what class of beings is
intended. Spenser's account of the origin of his Fairies is evidently mere
invention, as nothing in the least resembling it is to be found in any preceding
writer. It bears, indeed, some slight and distant analogy to that of the origin of
the inhabitants of Jinnestân, as narrated by the Orientals. According to the
usual practice of Spenser, it is mixed up with the fables of antiquity.

Prometheus did create
A man of many parts from beasts deryved;

That man so made he called Elfe, to weet,
Quick,[87] the first author of all Elfin kynd,
Who, wandring through the world with wearie feet,

Did in the gardins of Adonis fynd
A goodly creature, whom he deemed in mynd
To be no earthly wight, but either spright
Or angell, the authour of all woman-kynd;
Therefore a Fay he her according hight,
Of whom all Faryes spring, and fetch their lignage right.

Of these a mighty people shortly grew,
And puissant kings, which all the world warrayd,
And to themselves all nations did subdue.
B. ii. c. 9. st. lxx., lxxi., lxxii.
Sir Walter Scott remarks with justice (though his memory played him
somewhat false on the occasion), that "the stealing of the Red Cross Knight
while a child, is the only incident in the poem which approaches to the popular
character of the Fairy." It is not exactly the only incident; but the only other,
that of Arthegal, is a precisely parallel one:—

He wonneth in the land of Fayëree,
Yet is no Fary born, ne sib at all
To Elfes, but sprung of seed terrestriall,
And whyleome by false Faries stolne away,
Whyles yet in infant cradle he did crall:
Ne other to himself is knowne this day,
But that he by an Elfe was gotten of a Fay.
B. iii. c. 3. st. xxvi.

Sir Walter has been duly animadverted on for this dangerous error by the
erudite Mr. Todd. It would be as little becoming as politic in us, treading, as we
do, on ground where error ever hovers around us, to make any remark.
Freedom from misconception and mistake, unfortunately, forms no privilege of
our nature.
We must here observe, that Spenser was extremely injudicious in his selection
of the circumstances by which he endeavoured to confound the two classes of
Fairies. It was quite incongruous to style the progeny of the subjects of
Gloriane a "base elfin brood," or themselves "false Fairies," especially when
we recollect that such a being as Belphœbe whose

whole creation did her show

Pure and unspotted from all loathly crime,
That is ingenerate in fleshly slime,
was born of a Fairie.
Our poet seems to have forgotten himself also in the Legend of Sir Calidore;
for though the knight is a Faerie himself, and though such we are to suppose
were all the native inhabitants of Faerie-land, yet to the "gentle flood" that
tumbled down from Mount Acidale,

ne mote the ruder clown
Thereto approach ne filth mote therein drown;
But Nymphs and Faeries on the banks did sit
In the woods shade which did the waters crown.
B. vi. c. 10. st. vii.

And a little farther, when Calidore gazes on the "hundred naked maidens lily
white," that danced around the Graces, he wist not

Whether it were the train of beauty's queen,
Or Nymphs or Faeries, or enchanted show,
With which his eyes mote have deluded been.—St. xvii.

The popular Elves, who dance their circlets on the green, were evidently here
in Spenser's mind.[88]
It is now, we think, if not certain, at least highly probable, that the Fairy-land
and the Fairies of Spenser are those of romance, to which the term Fairy
properly belongs, and that it is without just reason that the title of his poem has
been styled a misnomer.[89] After the appearance of his Faerie Queene, all
distinction between the different species was rapidly lost, and Fairies became
the established name of the popular Elves.
Here, then, we will take our leave of the potent ladies of romance, and join the
Elves of the popular creed, tracing their descent from the Duergar of northern
mythology, till we meet them enlivening the cottage fireside with the tales of
their pranks and gambols.

EDDAS AND SAGAS.
En sång om strålende Valhalla,
Om Gudar och Gudinnar alla.
Tegner.

A song of Vallhall's bright abodes,
Of all the goddesses and gods.

The ancient religion of Scandinavia, and probably of the whole Gotho-German
race, consisted, like all other systems devised by man, in personifications of the
various powers of nature and faculties of mind. Of this system in its fulness and
perfection we possess no record. It is only from the poems of the elder or poetic
Edda,[90] from the narratives of the later or prose Edda and the various Sagas or
histories written in the Icelandic language,[91] that we can obtain any
knowledge of it.
The poetic or Sæmund's Edda was, as is generally believed, collected about the
end of the eleventh or beginning of the twelfth century by an Icelander named
Sæmund, and styled Hinns Fròda, or The Wise. It consists of a number of
mythological and historical songs, the production of the ancient Scalds or
poets, all, or the greater part, composed before the introduction of Christianity
into the north. The measure of these venerable songs is alliterative rime, and
they present not unfrequently poetic beauties of a high and striking character.
[92]

The prose Edda is supposed to have been compiled in the thirteenth century by
Snorro Sturleson, the celebrated historian of Norway. It is a history of the gods
and their actions formed from the songs of the poetic Edda, and from other
ancient poems, several stanzas of which are incorporated in it. Beside the
preface and conclusion, it consists of two principal parts, the first consisting of
the Gylfa-ginning (Gylfa's Deception), or Hárs Lygi (Hár's i. e. Odin's Fiction),
and the Braga-rædur (Braga's Narrative), each of which is divided into several
Dæmi-sagas or Illustrative Stories; and the second named the Kenningar or list
of poetic names and periphrases.[93]

The Gylfa-ginning narrates that Gylfa king of Sweden, struck with the wisdom
and power of the Æser,[94] as Odin and his followers were called, journeyed in
the likeness of an old man, and under the assumed name of Ganglar, to Asgard
their chief residence, to inquire into and fathom their wisdom. Aware of his
design, the Æser by their magic art caused to arise before him a lofty and
splendid palace, roofed with golden shields. At the gate he found a man who
was throwing up and catching swords, seven of which were in the air at one
time. This man inquires the name of the stranger, whom he leads into the
palace, where Ganglar sees a number of persons drinking and playing, and
three thrones, each set higher than the other. On the thrones sat Har (High),
Jafnhar (Equal-high), and Thridi (Third). Ganglar asks if there is any one there
wise and learned. Har replies that he will not depart in safety if he knows more
than they.[95] Ganglar then commences his interrogations, which embrace a
variety of recondite subjects, and extend from the creation to the end of all
things. To each he receives a satisfactory reply. At the last reply Ganglar hears
a loud rush and noise: the magic illusion suddenly vanishes, and he finds
himself alone on an extensive plain.
The Braga-rædur is the discourse of Braga to Ægir, the god of the sea, at the
banquet of the Immortals. This part contains many tales of gods and heroes old,
whose adventures had been sung by Skalds, of high renown and lofty genius.
Though both the Eddas were compiled by Christians, there appears to be very
little reason for suspecting the compilers of having falsified or interpolated the
mythology of their forefathers. Sæmund's Edda may be regarded as an
Anthology of ancient Scandinavian poetry; and the author of the prose Edda
(who it is plain did not always understand the true meaning of the tales he
related) wrote it as a northern Pantheon and Gradus ad Parnassum, to supply
poets with incidents, ornaments, and epithets. Fortunately they did so, or
impenetrable darkness had involved the ancient religion of the Gothic stock!
Beside the Eddas, much information is to be derived from the various Sagas or
northern histories. These Sagas, at times transmitting true historical events, at
other times containing the wildest fictions of romance, preserve much valuable
mythic lore, and the Ynglinga, Volsunga, Hervarar, and other Sagas, will
furnish many important traits of northern mythology.
It is not intended here to attempt sounding the depths of Eddaic mythology, a
subject so obscure, and concerning which so many and various opinions occur
in the works of those who have occupied themselves with it. Suffice it to

observe that it goes back to the most remote ages, and that two essential parts
of it are the Alfar (Alfs or Elves) and the Duergar (Dwarfs), two classes of
beings whose names continue to the present day in all the languages of the
nations descended from the Gotho-German race.

"Our heathen forefathers," says Thorlacius,[96] "believed, like the
Pythagoreans, and the farther back in antiquity the more firmly, that the whole
world was filled with spirits of various kinds, to whom they ascribed in general
the same nature and properties as the Greeks did to their Dæmons. These were
divided into the Celestial and the Terrestrial, from their places of abode. The
former were, according to the ideas of those times, of a good and elevated
nature, and of a friendly disposition toward men, whence they also received the
name of White or Light Alfs or Spirits. The latter, on the contrary, who were
classified after their abodes in air, sea, and earth, were not regarded in so
favourable a light. It was believed that they, particularly the land ones, the
δαιμονες επιχθονιοι of the Greeks, constantly and on all occasions sought to
torment or injure mankind, and that they had their dwelling partly on the earth
in great thick woods, whence came the name Skovtrolde[97] (Wood Trolls), or in
other desert and lonely places, partly in and under the ground, or in rocks and
hills; these last were called Bjerg-Trolde (Hill Trolls): to the first, on account of
their different nature, was given the name of Dverge (Dwarfs), and Alve,
whence the word Ellefolk, which is still in the Danish language. These
Dæmons, particularly the underground ones, were called Svartálfar, that is
Black Spirits, and inasmuch as they did mischief, Trolls."
This very nearly coincides with what is to be found in the Edda, except that
there would appear to be some foundation for a distinction between the Dwarfs
and the Dark Alfs.[98]

THE ALFAR.
Ther ro meth Alfum.
Brynhildar Quida.

Those are with the Alfs.

In the prose Edda, Ganglar inquires what other cities beside that in which the
Nornir dwelt were by the Urdar fount, under the Ash Yggdrasil.[99] Hár replies,
"There are many fair cities there. There is the city which is called Alf-heim,
where dwelleth the people that is called Liosálfar (Light Alfs). But the
Döckálfar (Dark Alfs) dwell below under ground, and are unlike them in
appearance, and still more unlike in actions. The Liosálfar are whiter than the
sun in appearance, but the Döckálfar are blacker than pitch."[100]
The Nornir, the Parcæ, or Destinies of Scandinavian mythology, are closely
connected with the Alfar.
"Many fair cities are there in Heaven," says Hár, "and the divine protection is
over all. There standeth a city under the ash near the spring, and out of its halls
came three maids, who are thus named, Udr, Verthandi, Skulld (Past, Present,
Future). These maids shape the life of man. We call them Nornir. But there are
many Nornir; those who come to each child that is born, to shape its life, are of
the race of the gods; but others are of the race of the Alfs; and the third of the
race of dwarfs. As is here expressed,

Sundry children deem I
The Nornir to be—the same
Race they have not.
Some are of Æser-kin,
Some are of Alf-kin,
Some are the daughters of Dualin." (i.e. of the Dwarfs.)

"Then," said Ganglar, "if the Nornir direct the future destiny of men, they shape
it very unequally. Some have a good life and rich, but some have little wealth
and praise, some long life, some short." "The good Nornir, and well

descended," says Hár, "shape a good life; but as to those who meet with
misfortune, it is caused by the malignant Nornir."
These Nornir bear a remarkable resemblance to the classical Parcæ and to the
fairies of romance. They are all alike represented as assisting at the birth of
eminent personages, as bestowing gifts either good or evil, and as foretelling
the future fortune of the being that has just entered on existence.[101] This
attribute of the fairies may have been derived from either the north or the south,
but certainly these did not borrow from each other.
Of the origin of the word Alf nothing satisfactory is to be found. Some think it
is akin to the Latin albus, white; others, to alpes, Alps, mountains. There is also
supposed to be some mysterious connexion between it and the word Elf, or Elv,
signifying water in the northern languages; an analogy which has been thought
to correspond with that between the Latin Nympha and Lympha. Both
relations, however, are perhaps rather fanciful than just. Of the derivation of
Alf, as just observed, we know nothing certain,[102] and the original meaning of
Nympha would appear to be a new-married woman,[103] and thence a
marriageable young woman; and it was applied to the supposed inhabitants of
the mountains, seas, and streams, on the same principle that the northern
nations gave them the appellation of men and women, that is, from their
imagined resemblance to the human form.
Whatever its origin, the word Alf has continued till the present day in all the
Teutonic languages. The Danes have Elv, pl. Elve; the Swedes, Elf pl. Elfvar m.
Elfvor f.; and the words Elf-dans and Elf-blæst, together with Olof and other
proper names, are derived from them. The Germans call the nightmare Alp; and
in their old poems we meet with Elbe and Elbinne, and Elbisch occurs in them
in the bad sense of elvish of Chaucer and our old romancers; and a number of
proper names, such as Alprecht, Alphart, Alpinc, Alpwin,[104] were formed
from it, undoubtedly before it got its present ill sense.[105] In the Anglo-Saxon,
Æl , or Æl en, with its feminine and plural, frequently occurs. The Oreas,
Naias, and Hamodryas of the Greeks and Romans are rendered in an Anglo-
Saxon glossary by un -æl en, ǽ-æl en, and el -æl en.[106] Æl is a
component part of the proper names Ælfred and Ælfric; and the author of the
poem of Judith says that his heroine was Æl - eine (Elf-sheen), bright or fair as
an elf. But of the character and acts of the elfs no traditions have been
preserved in Anglo-Saxon literature. In the English language, Elf, Elves, and

their derivatives are to be found in every period, from its first formation down
to this present time.

THE DUERGAR.
By ek fur jörth nethan,
A ek, undir stein, stath.
Alvis-Mal.

I dwell the earth beneath,
I possess, under the stone, my seat.

These diminutive beings, dwelling in rocks and hills, and distinguished for
their skill in metallurgy, seem to be peculiar to the Gotho-German mythology.
[107]
Perhaps the most probable account of them is, that they are
personifications of the subterraneous powers of nature; for it may be again
observed, that all the parts of every ancient mythology are but personified
powers, attributes, and moral qualities. The Edda thus describes their origin:—
"Then the gods sat on their seats, and held a council, and called to mind how
the Duergar had become animated in the clay below in the earth, like maggots
in flesh. The Duergar had been first created, and had taken life in Ymir's[108]
flesh, and were maggots in it, and by the will of the gods they became partakers
of human knowledge, and had the likeness of men, and yet they abode in the
ground and in stones. Modsogner was the first of them, and then Dyrin."
The Duergar are described as being of low stature, with short legs and long
arms, reaching almost down to the ground when they stand erect.[109] They are
skilful and expert workmen in gold, silver, iron, and the other metals. They
form many wonderful and extraordinary things for the Æser, and for mortal
heroes, and the arms and armour that come from their forges are not to be
paralleled. Yet the gift must be spontaneously bestowed, for misfortune attends
those extorted from them by violence.[110]
In illustration of their character we bring forward the following narratives from
the Edda and Sagas. The homely garb in which they are habited, will not, it is
hoped, be displeasing to readers of taste. We give as exact a copy as we are
able of the originals in all their rudeness. The tales are old, their date unknown,
and they therefore demand respect. Yet it is difficult to suppress a smile at

finding such familiar, nay almost vulgar terms[111] applied to the great supernal
powers of nature, as occur in the following tale from the Edda.

Loki and the Dwarf.

Loki, the son of Laufeiar, had out of mischief cut off all the hair of Sif. When
Thor found this out he seized Loki, and would have broken every bone in his
body, only that he swore to get the Suartalfar to make for Sif hair of gold,
which would grow like any other hair.
Loki then went to the Dwarfs that are called the sons of Ivallda. They first
made the hair, which as soon as it was put on the head grew like natural hair;
then the ship Skidbladni,[112] which always had the wind with it, wherever it
would sail; and, thirdly, the spear Gugner, which always hit in battle.
Then Loki laid his head against the dwarf Brock, that his brother Eitri could not
forge three such valuable things as these were. They went to the forge; Eitri set
the swine-skin (bellows) to the fire, and bid his brother Brock to blow, and not
to quit the fire till he should have taken out the things he had put into it.
And when he was gone out of the forge, and that Brock was blowing, there
came a fly and settled upon his hand, and bit him; but he blew without stopping
till the smith took the work out of the fire; and it was a boar, and its bristles
were of gold.
He then put gold into the fire, and bid him not to stop blowing till he came
back. He went away, and then the fly came and settled on his neck, and bit him
more severely than before; but he blew on till the smith came back and took out
of the fire the gold-ring which is called Drupner.[113]
Then he put iron into the fire, and bid him blow, and said that if he stopped
blowing all the work would be lost. The fly now settled between his eyes, and
bit so hard that the blood ran into his eyes, so that he could not see; so when the
bellows were down he caught at the fly in all haste, and tore off its wings; but
then came the smith, and said that all that was in the fire had nearly been
spoiled. He then took out of the fire the hammer Miölner,[114] gave all the
things to his brother Brock, and bade him go with them to Asgard and settle the
wager.

Loki also produced his jewels, and they took Odin, Thor, and Frey, for judges.
Then Loki gave to Odin the spear Gugner, and to Thor the hair that Sif was to
have, and to Frey Skidbladni, and told their virtues as they have been already
related. Brock took out his jewels, and gave to Odin the ring, and said that
every ninth night there would drop from it eight other rings as valuable as
itself. To Frey he gave the boar, and said that he would run through air and
water, by night and by day, better than any horse, and that never was there
night so dark that the way by which he went would not be light from his hide.
He gave the hammer to Thor, and said that it would never fail to hit a Troll, and
that at whatever he threw it it would never miss it; and that he could never fling
it so far that it would not of itself return to his hand; and when he chose, it
would become so small that he might put it into his pocket. But the fault of the
hammer was that its handle was too short.
Their judgment was, that the hammer was the best, and that the Dwarf had won
the wager. Then Loki prayed hard not to lose his head, but the Dwarf said that
could not be. "Catch me then," said Loki; and when he went to catch him he
was far away, for Loki had shoes with which he could run through air and
water. Then the Dwarf prayed Thor to catch him, and Thor did so. The Dwarf
now went to cut off his head, but Loki said he was to have the head only, and
not the neck. Then the Dwarf took a knife and a thong, and went to sew up his
mouth; but the knife was bad, so the Dwarf wished that his brother's awl were
there; and as soon as he wished it it was there, and he sewed his lips together.
[115]

Northern mythologists thus explain this very ancient fable. Sif is the earth, and
the wife of Thor, the heaven or atmosphere; her hair is the trees, bushes, and
plants, that adorn the surface of the earth. Loki is the Fire-God, that delights in
mischief, bene servit, male imperat. When by immoderate heat he has burned
off the hair of Sif, her husband compels him so by temperate heat to warm the
moisture of the earth, that its former products may spring up more beautiful
than ever. The boar is given to Freyr, to whom and his sister Freya, as the gods
of animal and vegetable fecundity, the northern people offered that animal, as
the Italian people did, to the earth. Loki's bringing the gifts from the under-
ground people seems to indicate a belief that metals were prepared by
subterranean fire, and perhaps the forging of Thor's hammer, the mythic
emblem of thunder, by a terrestrial demon, on a subterranean anvil, may
suggest that the natural cause of thunder is to be sought in the earth.

Thorston and the Dwarf.

When spring came, Thorston made ready his ship, and put twenty-four men on
board of her. When they came to Vinland, they ran her into a harbour, and
every day he went on shore to amuse himself.
He came one day to an open part of the wood, where he saw a great rock, and
out a little way from it a Dwarf, who was horridly ugly, and was looking up
over his head with his mouth wide open; and it appeared to Thorston that it ran
from ear to ear, and that the lower jaw came down to his knees. Thorston asked
him, why he was acting so foolishly. "Do not be surprised, my good lad,"
replied the Dwarf; "do you not see that great dragon that is flying up there? He
has taken off my son, and I believe that it is Odin himself that has sent the
monster to do it. But I shall burst and die if I lose my son." Then Thorston shot
at the dragon, and hit him under one of the wings, so that he fell dead to the
earth; but Thorston caught the Dwarf's child in the air, and brought him to his
father.
The Dwarf was exceeding glad, and was more rejoiced than any one could tell;
and he said, "A great benefit have I to reward you for, who are the deliverer of
my son; and now choose your recompense in gold and silver." "Cure your son,"
said Thorston, "but I am not used to take rewards for my services." "It were not
becoming," said the Dwarf, "if I did not reward you; and let not my shirt of
sheeps'-wool, which I will give you, appear a contemptible gift, for you will
never be tired when swimming, or get a wound, if you wear it next your skin."
Thorston took the shirt and put it on, and it fitted him well, though it had
appeared too short for the Dwarf. The Dwarf now took a gold ring out of his
purse and gave it to Thorston, and bid him to take good care of it, telling him
that he never should want for money while he kept that ring. He next took a
black stone and gave it to Thorston, and said, "If you hide this stone in the
palm of your hand no one will see you. I have not many more things to offer
you, or that would be of any value to you; I will, however, give you a fire-stone
for your amusement."
He then took the stone out of his purse, and with a steel point. The stone was
triangular, white on one side and red on the other, and a yellow border ran
round it. The Dwarf then said, "If you prick the stone with the point in the
white side, there will come on such a hail-storm that no one will be able to look
at it; but if you want to stop this shower, you have only to prick on the yellow

part, and there will come so much sunshine that the whole will melt away. But
if you should like to prick the red side, then there will come out of it such fire,
with sparks and crackling, that no one will be able to look at it. You may also
get whatever you will by means of this point and stone, and they will come of
themselves back to your hand when you call them. I can now give you no more
such gifts."
Thorston then thanked the Dwarf for his presents, and returned to his men, and
it was better for him to have made this voyage than to have stayed at home.[116]

The Dwarf-Sword Tirfing.

Suaforlami, the second in descent from Odin, was king over Gardarike
(Russia). One day he rode a-hunting, and sought long after a hart, but could not
find one the whole day. When the sun was setting he found himself immersed
so deep in the forest that he knew not where he was. There lay a hill on his
right hand, and before it he saw two Dwarfs; he drew his sword against them,
and cut off their retreat by getting between them and the rock. They proffered
him ransom for their lives, and he asked them then their names, and one of
them was called Dyren, and the other Dualin. He knew then that they were the
most ingenious and expert of all the Dwarfs, and he therefore imposed on them
that they should forge him a sword, the best that they could form; its hilt should
be of gold, and its belt of the same metal. He moreover enjoined, that the sword
should never miss a blow, and should never rust; and should cut through iron
and stone, as through a garment; and should be always victorious in war and in
single combat for him who bare it. These were the conditions on which he gave
them their lives.
On the appointed day he returned, and the Dwarfs came forth and delivered
him the sword; and when Dualin stood in the door he said, "This sword shall be
the bane of a man every time it is drawn; and with it shall be done three of the
greatest atrocities. It shall also be thy bane." Then Suaforlami struck at the
Dwarf so, that the blade of the sword penetrated into the solid rock. Thus
Suaforlami became possessed of this sword, and he called it Tirfing, and he
bare it in war and in single combat, and he slew with it the Giant Thiasse, and
took his daughter Fridur.

Suaforlami was shortly after slain by the Berserker[117] Andgrim, who then
became master of the sword. When the twelve sons of Andgrim were to fight

with Hialmar and Oddur for Ingaborg, the beautiful daughter of King Inges,
Angantyr bore the dangerous Tirfing; but all the brethren were slain in the
combat, and were buried with their arms.
Angantyr left an only daughter, Hervor, who, when she grew up, dressed
herself in man's attire, and took the name of Hervardar, and joined a party of
Vikinger, or Pirates. Knowing that Tirfing lay buried with her father, she
determined to awaken the dead, and obtain the charmed blade; and perhaps
nothing in northern poetry equals in interest and sublimity the description of
her landing alone in the evening on the island of Sams, where her father and
uncles lay in their sepulchral mounds, and at night ascending to the tombs, that
were enveloped in flame,[118] and by force of entreaty obtaining from the
reluctant Angantyr the formidable Tirfing.
Hervor proceeded to the court of King Gudmund, and there one day, as she was
playing at tables with the king, one of the servants chanced to take up and draw
Tirfing, which shone like a sunbeam. But Tirfing was never to see the light but
for the bane of man, and Hervor, by a sudden impulse, sprang from her seat,
snatched the sword and struck off the head of the unfortunate man. Hervor,
after this, returned to the house of her grandfather, Jarl Biartmar, where she
resumed her female attire, and was married to Haufud, the son of King
Gudmund. She bare him two sons, Angantyr and Heidreker; the former of a
mild and gentle disposition, the latter violent and fierce. Haufud would not
permit Heidreker to remain at his court; and as he was departing, his mother,
with other gifts, presented him Tirfing. His brother accompanied him out of the
castle. Before they parted, Heidreker drew out his sword to look at and admire
it; but scarcely did the rays of light fall on the magic blade, when the Berserker
rage came on its owner, and he slew his gentle brother.
After this he joined a body of Vikinger, and became so distinguished, that King
Harold, for the aid he lent him, gave him his daughter Helga in marriage. But it
was the destiny of Tirfing to commit crime, and Harold fell by the hand of his
son-in-law. Heidreker was afterwards in Russia, and the son of the king was his
foster-son. One day, as they were out hunting, Heidreker and his foster-son
happened to be separated from the rest of the party, when a wild boar appeared
before them; Heidreker ran at him with his spear, but the beast caught it in his
mouth and broke it across. He then alighted and drew Tirfing, and killed the
boar; but on looking around, he could see no one but his foster-son, and Tirfing
could only be appeased with warm human blood, and he slew the unfortunate
youth. Finally, King Heidreker was murdered in his bed by his Scottish slaves,

who carried off Tirfing; but his son Angantyr, who succeeded him, discovered
and put them to death, and recovered the magic blade. In battle against the
Huns he afterwards made great slaughter; but among the slain was found his
own brother Laudur. And so ends the history of the Dwarf-sword Tirfing.[119]

Like Alf, the word Duergr has retained its place in the Teutonic languages.
Dverg[120] is the term still used in the north; the Germans have Zwerg, and we
Dwarf,[121] which, however, is never synonymous with Fairy, as Elf is. Ihre
rejects all the etymons proposed for it, such, for example, as that of Gudmund
Andreæ, θεοι εργον; and with abundant reason.
Some have thought that by the Dwarfs were to be understood the Finns, the
original inhabitants of the country, who were driven to the mountains by the
Scandinavians, and who probably excelled the new-comers in the art of
working their mines and manufacturing their produce. Thorlacius, on the
contrary, thinks that it was Odin and his followers, who came from the country
of the Chalybes, that brought the metallurgic arts into Scandinavia.
Perhaps the simplest account of the origin of the Dwarfs is, that when, in the
spirit of all ancient religions, the subterranean powers of nature were to be
personified, the authors of the system, from observing that people of small
stature usually excel in craft and ingenuity, took occasion to represent the
beings who formed crystals and purified metals within the bowels of the earth
as of diminutive size, which also corresponded better with the power assigned
them of slipping through the fissures and interstices of rocks and stones.
Similar observations led to the representation of the wild and awful powers of
brute nature under the form of huge giants.

SCANDINAVIA.
De vare syv og hundrede Trolde,
De vare baade grumme og lede,
De vilde gjöre Bonden et Gjæsterie,
Med hannem baade drikke og æde.
Eline af Villenszov.

There were seven and a hundred Trolls,
They were both ugly and grim,
A visit they would the farmer make,
Both eat and drink with him.

Under the name of Scandinavia are included the kingdoms of Sweden,
Denmark, and Norway, which once had a common religion and a common
language. Their religion is still one, and their languages differ but little; we
therefore feel that we may safely treat of their Fairy Mythology together.
Our principal authorities are the collection of Danish popular traditions,
published by Mr. Thiele,[122] the select Danish ballads of Nyerup and Rahbek,
[123]
and the Swedish ballads of Geijer and Afzelius.[124] As most of the
principal Danish ballads treating of Elves, etc., have been already translated by
Dr. Jamieson, we will not insert them here; but translate, instead, the
corresponding Swedish ones, which are in general of greater simplicity, and
often contain additional traits of popular belief. As we prefer fidelity to polish,
the reader must not be offended at antique modes of expression and imperfect
rimes. Our rimes we can, however, safely say shall be at least as perfect as
those of our originals.
These ballads, none of which are later than the fifteenth century, are written in
a strain of the most artless simplicity; not the slightest attempt at ornament is to
be discerned in them; the same ideas and expressions continually recur; and the
rimes are the most careless imaginable, often a mere assonnance in vowels or
consonants; sometimes not possessing even that slight similarity of sound.
Every Visa or ballad has its single or double Omquæd[125] or burden, which,
like a running accompaniment in music, frequently falls in with the most happy
effect; sometimes recalling former joys or sorrows; sometimes, by the

continual mention of some attribute of one of the seasons, especially the
summer, keeping up in the mind of the reader or hearers the forms of external
nature.
It is singular to observe the strong resemblance between the Scandinavian
ballads and those of England and Scotland, not merely in manner but in
subject. The Scottish ballad first mentioned below is an instance; it is to be met
with in England, in the Feroes, in Denmark, and in Sweden, with very slight
differences. Geijer observes, that the two last stanzas of 'William and
Margaret,' in Percy's Reliques, are nearly word for word the same as the two
last in the Swedish ballad of 'Rosa Lilla,'[126] and in the corresponding Danish
one. This might perhaps lead to the supposition of many of these ballads having
come down from the time when the connexion was so intimate between this
country and Scandinavia.
We will divide the Scandinavian objects of popular belief into four classes:—1.
The Elves; 2. The Dwarfs, or Trolls, as they are usually called; 3. The Nisses;
and 4. The Necks, Mermen, and Mermaids.[127]

ELVES.
Säg, kännar du Elfvornas glada slägt?
De bygga ved flodernas rand;
De spinna af månsken sin högtidsdrägt,
Med liljehvit spelande hand.
Stagnelius.

Say, knowest thou the Elves' gay and joyous race?
The banks of streams are their home;
They spin of the moonshine their holiday-dress,
With their lily-white hands frolicsome.

The Alfar still live in the memory and traditions of the peasantry of
Scandinavia. They also, to a certain extent, retain their distinction into White
and Black. The former, or the Good Elves, dwell in the air, dance on the grass,
or sit in the leaves of trees; the latter, or Evil Elves, are regarded as an
underground people, who frequently inflict sickness or injury on mankind; for
which there is a particular kind of doctors called Kloka män,[128] to be met with
in all parts of the country.
The Elves are believed to have their kings, and to celebrate their weddings and
banquets, just the same as the dwellers above ground. There is an interesting
intermediate class of them in popular tradition called the Hill-people (Högfolk),
who are believed to dwell in caves and small hills: when they show themselves
they have a handsome human form. The common people seem to connect with
them a deep feeling of melancholy, as if bewailing a half-quenched hope of
redemption.[129]
There are only a few old persons now who can tell any thing more about them
than of the sweet singing that may occasionally on summer nights be heard out
of their hills, when one stands still and listens, or, as it is expressed in the
ballads, "lays his ear to the Elve-hill" (lägger sitt öra till Elfvehögg): but no
one must be so cruel as, by the slightest word, to destroy their hopes of
salvation, for then the spritely music will be turned into weeping and
lamentation.[130]

The Norwegians call the Elves Huldrafolk, and their music Huldraslaat: it is in
the minor key, and of a dull and mournful sound. The mountaineers sometimes
play it, and pretend they have learned it by listening to the underground people
among the hills and rocks. There is also a tune called the Elf-king's tune, which
several of the good fiddlers know right well, but never venture to play, for as
soon as it begins both old and young, and even inanimate objects, are impelled
to dance, and the player cannot stop unless he can play the air backwards, or
that some one comes behind him and cuts the strings of his fiddle.[131]
The little underground Elves, who are believed to dwell under the houses of
mankind, are described as sportive and mischievous, and as imitating all the
actions of men. They are said to love cleanliness about the house and place, and
to reward such servants as are neat and cleanly.
There was one time, it is said, a servant girl, who was for her cleanly, tidy
habits, greatly beloved by the Elves, particularly as she was careful to carry
away all dirt and foul water to a distance from the house, and they once invited
her to a wedding. Every thing was conducted in the greatest order, and they
made her a present of some chips, which she took good-humouredly and put
into her pocket. But when the bride-pair was coming there was a straw
unluckily lying in the way, the bridegroom got cleverly over it, but the poor
bride fell on her face. At the sight of this the girl could not restrain herself, but
burst out a-laughing, and that instant the whole vanished from her sight. Next
day, to her utter amazement, she found that what she had taken to be nothing
but chips, were so many pieces of pure gold.[132]
A dairy-maid at a place called Skibshuset (the Ship-house), in Odense, was not
so fortunate. A colony of Elves had taken up their abode under the floor of the
cowhouse, or it is more likely, were there before it was made a cowhouse.
However, the dirt and filth that the cattle made annoyed them beyond measure,
and they gave the dairy-maid to understand that if she did not remove the cows,
she would have reason to repent it. She gave little heed to their representations;
and it was not very long till they set her up on top of the hay-rick, and killed all
the cows. It is said that they were seen on the same night removing in a great
hurry from the cowhouse down to the meadow, and that they went in little
coaches; and their king was in the first coach, which was far more stately and
magnificent than the rest. They have ever since lived in the meadow.[133]
The Elves are extremely fond of dancing in the meadows, where they form
those circles of a livelier green which from them are called Elf-dance (Elfdans).

When the country people see in the morning stripes along the dewy grass in the
woods and meadows, they say the Elves have been dancing there. If any one
should at midnight get within their circle, they become visible to him, and they
may then illude him. It is not every one that can see the Elves; and one person
may see them dancing while another perceives nothing. Sunday children, as
they are called, i. e. those born on Sunday, are remarkable for possessing this
property of seeing Elves and similar beings. The Elves, however, have the
power to bestow this gift on whomsoever they please. People also used to
speak of Elf-books which they gave to those whom they loved, and which
enabled them to foretell future events.
The Elves often sit in little stones that are of a circular form, and are called Elf-
mills (Elf-quärnor); the sound of their voice is said to be sweet and soft like the
air.[134]
The Danish peasantry give the following account of their Ellefolk or Elve-
people.
The Elle-people live in the Elle-moors. The appearance of the man is that of an
old man with a low-crowned hat on his head; the Elle-woman is young and of a
fair and attractive countenance, but behind she is hollow like a dough-trough.
Young men should be especially on their guard against her, for it is very
difficult to resist her; and she has, moreover, a stringed instrument, which,
when she plays on it, quite ravishes their hearts. The man may be often seen
near the Elle-moors, bathing himself in the sunbeams, but if any one comes too
near him, he opens his mouth wide and breathes upon them, and his breath
produces sickness and pestilence. But the women are most frequently to be
seen by moonshine; then they dance their rounds in the high grass so lightly
and so gracefully, that they seldom meet a denial when they offer their hand to
a rash young man. It is also necessary to watch cattle, that they may not graze
in any place where the Elle-people have been; for if any animal come to a place
where the Elle-people have spit, or done what is worse, it is attacked by some
grievous disease which can only be cured by giving it to eat a handful of St.
John's wort, which had been pulled at twelve o'clock on St. John's night. It
might also happen that they might sustain some injury by mixing with the Elle-
people's cattle, which are very large, and of a blue colour, and which may
sometimes be seen in the fields licking up the dew, on which they live. But the
farmer has an easy remedy against this evil; for he has only to go to the Elle-
hill when he is turning out his cattle and to say, "Thou little Troll! may I graze

my cows on thy hill?" And if he is not prohibited, he may set his mind at rest.
[135]

The following ballads and tales will fully justify what has been said respecting
the tone of melancholy connected with the subject of the Elves.[136]

Sir Olof in the Elve-Dance.

Sir Olof he rode out at early day,
And so came he unto an Elve-dance gay.
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

The Elve-father reached out his white hand free,
"Come, come, Sir Olof, tread the dance with me."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"O nought I will, and nought I may,
To-morrow will be my wedding-day."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

And the Elve-mother reached out her white hand free,
"Come, come, Sir Olof, tread the dance with me."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"O nought I will, and nought I may,
To-morrow will be my wedding-day."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

And the Elve-sister reached out her white hand free,
"Come, come, Sir Olof, tread the dance with me."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"O nought I will, and nought I may,
To-morrow will be my wedding-day."

The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

And the bride she spake with her bride-maids so,
"What may it mean that the bells thus go?"
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"'Tis the custom of this our isle," they replied;
"Each young swain ringeth home his bride."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"And the truth from you to conceal I fear,
Sir Olof is dead, and lies on his bier."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

And on the morrow, ere light was the day,
In Sir Olof's house three corpses lay.
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

It was Sir Olof, his bonny bride,
And eke his mother, of sorrow she died.
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.[137]

The Elf-woman and Sir Olof.

Sir Olof rideth out ere dawn,
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
Bright day him came on.
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

Sir Olof rides by Borgya,
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
Meets a dance of Elves so gay.

Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

There danceth Elf and Elve-maid,
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
Elve-king's daughter, with her flying hair.
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

Elve-king's daughter reacheth her hand free,
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
"Come here, Sir Olof, tread the dance with me."
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

"Nought I tread the dance with thee,"
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
"My bride hath that forbidden me."
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

"Nought I will and nought I may,"
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
"To-morrow is my wedding-day."
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

"Wilt thou not tread the dance with me?"
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
"An evil shall I fix on thee."
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

Sir Olof turned his horse therefrom,
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
Sickness and plague follow him home.
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

Sir Olof to his mother's rode,

Breaketh day, falleth rime;
Out before him his mother stood.
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

"Welcome, welcome, my dear son,"
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
"Why is thy rosy cheek so wan?"
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

"My colt was swift and I tardy,"
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
"I knocked against a green oak-tree."
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

"My dear sister, prepare my bed,"
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
"My dear brother, take my horse to the mead."
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

"My dear mother, brush my hair,"
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
"My dear father, make me a bier."
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

"My dear son, that do not say,"
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
To-morrow is thy wedding-day."
Sir Olof cometh home,
When the wood it is leaf-green.

"Be it when it will betide,"
Breaketh day, falleth rime;
"I ne'er shall come unto my bride."
Sir Olof cometh home,

When the wood it is leaf-green.[138]

The Young Swain and the Elves.

I was a handsome young swain,
And to the court should ride.
I rode out in the evening-hour;
In the rosy grove I to sleep me laid.
Since I her first saw.

I laid me under a lind so green,
My eyes they sunk in sleep;
There came two maidens going along,
They fain would with me speak.
Since I her first saw.

The one she tapped me on my cheek,
The other whispered in my ear:
"Stand up, handsome young swain,
If thou list of love to hear."
Since I her first saw.

They led then forth a maiden,
Whose hair like gold did shine:
"Stand up, handsome young swain,
If thou to joy incline."
Since I her first saw.

The third began a song to sing,
With good will she did so;
Thereat stood the rapid stream,
Which before was wont to flow.
Since I her first saw.

Thereat stood the rapid stream,
Which before was wont to flow;
And the hind all with her hair so brown,
Forgot whither she should go.
Since I her first saw.

I got me up from off the ground,
And leaned my sword upon;
The Elve-women danced in and out,
All had they the Elve fashión.
Since I her first saw.

Had not fortune been to me so good,
That the cock his wings clapped then,
I had slept within the hill that night,
All with the Elve-womén.
Since I her first saw.[139]

Svend Faelling and the Elle-Maid.

Svend Fælling was, while a little boy, at service in Sjeller-wood-house in
Framley; and it one time happened that he had to ride of a message to Ristrup.
It was evening before he got near home, and as he came by the hill of Borum
Es, he saw the Elle-maids, who were dancing without ceasing round and round
his horse. Then one of the Elle-maids stept up to him, and reached him a
drinking cup, bidding him at the same time to drink. Svend took the cup, but as
he was dubious of the nature of the contents, he flung it out over his shoulder,
where it fell on the horse's back, and singed off all the hair. While he had the
horn fast in his hand, he gave his horse the spurs and rode off full speed. The
Elle-maid pursued him till he came to Trigebrand's mill, and rode through the
running water, over which she could not follow him. She then earnestly
conjured Svend to give her back the horn, promising him in exchange twelve
men's strength. On this condition he gave back the horn, and got what she had
promised him; but it very frequently put him to great inconvenience, for he
found that along with it he had gotten an appetite for twelve.[140]

The Elle-Maids.

There lived a man in Aasum, near Odense, who, as he was coming home one
night from Seden, passed by a hill that was standing on red pillars, and
underneath there was dancing and great festivity. He hurried on past the hill as
fast as he could, never venturing to cast his eyes that way. But as he went
along, two fair maidens came to meet him, with beautiful hair floating over
their shoulders, and one of them held a cup in her hand, which she reached out

to him that he might drink of it. The other then asked him if he would come
again, at which he laughed, and answered, Yes. But when he got home he
became strangely affected in his mind, was never at ease in himself, and was
continually saying that he had promised to go back. And when they watched
him closely to prevent his doing so, he at last lost his senses, and died shortly
after.[141]

Maid Vae.

There was once a wedding and a great entertainment at Œsterhæsinge. The
party did not break up till morning, and the guests took their departure with a
great deal of noise and bustle. While they were putting their horses to their
carriages, previous to setting out home, they stood talking about their
respective bridal-presents. And while they were talking loudly, and with the
utmost earnestness, there came from a neighbouring moor a maiden clad in
green, with plaited rushes on her head; she went up to the man who was
loudest, and bragging most of his present, and said to him: "What wilt thou
give to maid Væ?" The man, who was elevated with all the ale and brandy he
had been drinking, snatched up a whip, and replied: "Ten cuts of my whip;" and
that very moment he dropt down dead on the ground.[142]

The Elle-Maid near Ebeltoft.

A farmer's boy was keeping cows not far from Ebeltoft. There came to him a
very fair and pretty girl, and she asked him if he was hungry or thirsty. But
when he perceived that she guarded with the greatest solicitude against his
getting a sight of her back, he immediately suspected that she must be an Elle-
maid, for the Elle-people are hollow behind. He accordingly would give no
heed to her, and endeavoured to get away from her; but when she perceived
this, she offered him her breast that he should suck her. And so great was the
enchantment that accompanied this action, that he was unable to resist it. But
when he had done as she desired him, he had no longer any command of
himself, so that she had now no difficulty in enticing him with her.
He was three days away, during which time his father and mother went home,
and were in great affliction, for they were well assured that he must have been
enticed away. But on the fourth day his father saw him a long way off coming
home, and he desired his wife to set a pan of meat on the fire as quick as
possible. The son then came in at the door, and sat down at the table without

saying a word. The father, too, remained quite silent, as if every thing was as it
ought to be. His mother then set the meat before him, and his father bid him
eat, but he let the food lie untouched, and said that he knew now where he
could get much better food. The father then became highly enraged, took a
good large switch, and once more ordered him to take his food. The boy was
then obliged to eat, and as soon as he had tasted the flesh he ate it up greedily,
and instantly fell into a deep sleep. He slept for as many days as the
enchantment had lasted, but he never after recovered the use of his reason.[143]

Hans Puntleder.

There are three hills on the lands of Bubbelgaard in Funen, which are to this
day called the Dance-hills, from the following occurrence. A lad named Hans
was at service in Bubbelgaard, and as he was coming one evening past the
hills, he saw one of them raised on red pillars, and great dancing and much
merriment underneath. He was so enchanted with the beauty and magnificence
of what he saw, that he could not restrain his curiosity, but was in a strange and
wonderful manner attracted nearer and nearer, till at last the fairest of all the
fair maidens that were there came up to him and gave him a kiss. From that
moment he lost all command of himself, and became so violent, that he used to
tear to pieces all the clothes that were put on him, so that at last they were
obliged to make him a dress of sole-leather, which he could not pull off him;
and ever after he went by the name of Hans Puntleder, i. e. Sole-leather.[144]

According to Danish tradition, the Elle-kings, under the denomination of
Promontory-kings, (Klintekonger), keep watch and ward over the country.
Whenever war, or any other misfortune, threatens to come on the land, there
may be seen, on the promontory, complete armies, drawn up in array to defend
the country.
One of these kings resides at Möen, on the spot which still bears the name of
King's-hill (Kongsbjerg). His queen is the most beautiful of beings, and she
dwells at the Queen's Chair (Dronningstolen). This king is a great friend of the
king of Stevns, and they are both at enmity with Grap, the promontory-king of

Rügen, who must keep at a distance, and look out over the sea to watch their
approach.
Another tradition, however, says, that there is but one king, who rules over the
headlands of Möen, Stevns, and Rügen. He has a magnificent chariot, which is
drawn by four black horses. In this he drives over the sea, from one
promontory to another. At such times the sea grows black, and is in great
commotion, and the loud snorting and neighing of his horses may be distinctly
heard.[145]
It was once believed that no mortal monarch dare come to Stevns; for the Elle-
king would not permit him to cross the stream that bounds it. But Christian IV.
passed it without opposition, and since his time several Danish monarchs have
been there.
At Skjelskör, in Zealand, reigns another of these jealous promontorial
sovereigns, named king Tolv (Twelve). He will not suffer a mortal prince to
pass the bridge of Kjelskör. Wo, too, betide the watchman who should venture
to cry twelve o'clock in the village, he might chance to find himself transported
to the village of Borre or to the Windmills.
Old people that have eyes for such things, declare they frequently see Kong
Tolv rolling himself on the grass in the sunshine. On New-year's night he takes
from one smith's forge or another nine new shoes for his horses; they must be
always left ready for him, and with them the necessary complement of nails.

The Elle-king of Bornholm[146] lets himself be occasionally heard with fife and
drum, especially when war is at hand; he may then be seen in the fields with his
soldiers. This king will not suffer an earthly monarch to pass more than three
nights on his isle.
In the popular creed there is some strange connexion between the Elves and the
trees. They not only frequent them, but they make an interchange of form with
them. In the church-yard of Store Heddinge,[147] in Zealand, there are the
remains of an oak wood. These, say the common people, are the Elle-king's
soldiers; by day they are trees, by night valiant warriors. In the wood of
Rugaard, in the same island, is a tree which by night becomes a whole Elle-
people, and goes about all alive. It has no leaves upon it, yet it would be very
unsafe to go to break or fell it, for the underground-people frequently hold their
meetings under its branches. There is, in another place, an elder-tree growing in

a farm-yard, which frequently takes a walk in the twilight about the yard, and
peeps in through the window at the children when they are alone.
It was, perhaps, these elder-trees that gave origin to the notion. In Danish Hyld
or Hyl—a word not far removed from Elle—is Elder, and the peasantry believe
that in or under the elder-tree dwells a being called Hyldemoer (Elder-mother),
or Hyldequinde (Elder-woman), with her ministrant spirits.[148] A Danish
peasant, if he wanted to take any part of an elder-tree, used previously to say,
three times—"O, Hyldemoer, Hyldemoer! let me take some of thy elder, and I
will let thee take something of mine in return." If this was omitted he would be
severely punished. They tell of a man who cut down an elder-tree, but he soon
after died suddenly. It is, moreover, not prudent to have any furniture made of
elder-wood. A child was once put to lie in a cradle made of this wood, but
Hyldemoer came and pulled it by the legs, and gave it no rest till it was put to
sleep elsewhere. Old David Monrad relates, that a shepherd, one night, heard
his three children crying, and when he inquired the cause, they said some one
had been sucking them. Their breasts were found to be swelled, and they were
removed to another room, where they were quiet. The reason is said to have
been that that room was floored with elder.
The linden or lime tree is the favourite haunt of the Elves and cognate beings;
and it is not safe to be near it after sunset.[149]

DWARFS OR TROLLS
Ther bygde folk i the bärg,
Quinnor och män, för mycken duerf.
Hist. Alex. Mac. Suedice.

Within the hills folk did won,
Women and men, dwarfs many a one.

The more usual appellation of the Dwarfs is Troll or Trold,[150] a word
originally significant of any evil spirit,[151] giant monster, magician,[152] or evil
person; but now in a good measure divested of its ill senses, for the Trolls are
not in general regarded as noxious or malignant beings.
The Trolls are represented as dwelling inside of hills, mounds, and hillocks—
whence they are also called Hill-people (Bjergfolk)—sometimes in single
families, sometimes in societies. In the ballads they are described as having
kings over them, but never so in the popular legend. Their character seems
gradually to have sunk down to the level of the peasantry, in proportion as the
belief in them was consigned to the same class. They are regarded as extremely
rich for when, on great occasions of festivity, they have their hills raised up on
red pillars, people that have chanced to be passing by have seen them shoving
large chests full of money to and fro, and opening and clapping down the lids
of them. Their hill-dwellings are very magnificent inside. "They live," said one
of Mr. Arndt's guides, "in fine houses of gold and crystal. My father saw them
once in the night, when the hill was open on St. John's night. They were
dancing and drinking, and it seemed to him as if they were making signs to him
to go to them, but his horse snorted, and carried him away, whether he would or
no. There is a great number of them in the Guldberg (Goldhill), and they have
brought into it all the gold and silver that people buried in the great Russian
war."[153]
They are obliging and neighbourly; freely lending and borrowing, and elsewise
keeping up a friendly intercourse with mankind. But they have a sad propensity
to thieving, not only stealing provisions, but even women and children.

They marry, have children, bake and brew, just as the peasant himself does. A
farmer one day met a hill-man and his wife, and a whole squad of stumpy little
children, in his fields;[154] and people used often to see the children of the man
who lived in the hill of Kund, in Jutland, climbing up the hill, and rolling down
after one another, with shouts of laughter.
The Trolls have a great dislike to noise, probably from a recollection of the
time when Thor used to be flinging his hammer after them; so that the hanging
of bells in the churches has driven them almost all out of the country. The
people of Ebeltoft were once sadly plagued by them, as they plundered their
pantries in a most unconscionable manner; so they consulted a very wise and
pious man; and his advice was, that they should hang a bell in the steeple of the
church. They did so, and they were soon eased of the Trolls.[155]
These beings have some very extraordinary and useful properties; they can, for
instance, go about invisibly,[156] or turn themselves into any shape; they can
foresee future events; they can confer prosperity, or the contrary, on a family;
they can bestow bodily strength on any one; and, in short, perform numerous
feats beyond the power of man.
Of personal beauty they have not much to boast: the Ebeltoft Dwarfs,
mentioned above, were often seen, and they had immoderate humps on their
backs, and long crooked noses. They were dressed in gray jackets,[157] and they
wore pointed red caps. Old people in Zealand say, that when the Trolls were in
the country, they used to go from their hill to the village of Gudmandstrup
through the Stone-meadow, and that people, when passing that way, used to
meet great tall men in long black clothes. Some have foolishly spoken to them,
and wished them good evening, but they never got any other answer than that
the Trolls hurried past them, saying, Mi! mi! mi! mi!
Thanks to the industry of Mr. Thiele, who has been indefatigable in collecting
the traditions of his native country, we are furnished with ample accounts of the
Trolls; and the following legends will fully illustrate what we have written
concerning them.[158]
We commence with the Swedish ballads of the Hill-kings, as in dignity and
antiquity they take precedence of the legends.

Sir Thynne.

And it was the knight Sir Thynnè,
He was a knight so grave;
Whether he were on foot or on horse,
He was a knight so brave.[159]

And it was the knight Sir Thynnè
Went the hart and the hind to shoot,
So he saw Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter,
At the green linden's foot.

And it was Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter,
Unto her handmaid she cried,
"Go fetch my gold harp hither to me,
Sir Thynnè I'll draw to my side."

The first stroke on her gold harp she struck,
So sweetly she made it ring,
The wild beasts in the wood and field
They forgot whither they would spring.

The next stroke on her gold harp she struck,
So sweetly she made it ring,
The little gray hawk that sat on the bough,
He spread out both his wings.

The third stroke on her gold harp she struck,
So sweetly she made it ring,
The little fish that went in the stream,
He forgot whither he would swim.

Then flowered the mead, then leafed all,
'Twas caused by the runic lay;[160]
Sir Thynnè he struck his spurs in his horse,
He no longer could hold him away.

And it was the knight Sir Thynnè,
From his horse he springs hastily,

So goeth he to Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter,
All under the green linden tree.

"Here you sit, my maiden fair,
A rose all lilies above;
See you can never a mortal man
Who will not seek your love."

"Be silent, be silent, now Sir Thynnè,
With your proffers of love, I pray;
For I am betrothed unto a hill-king,
A king all the Dwarfs obey.

"My true love he sitteth the hill within,
And at gold tables plays merrily;
My father he setteth his champions in ring,
And in iron arrayeth them he.

"My mother she sitteth the hill within,
And gold in the chest doth lay;
And I stole out for a little while,
Upon my gold harp to play."

And it was the knight Sir Thynnè,
He patted her cheek rosie:
"Why wilt thou not give a kinder reply,
Thou dearest of maidens, to me?"

"I can give you no kinder reply:
I may not myself that allow;
I am betrothed to a hill-king,
And to him I must keep my vow."

And it was Thora, the little Dwarf's wife,
She at the hill-door looked out,
And there she saw how the knight Sir Thynnè,
Lay at the green linden's foot.

And it was Thora, the little Dwarf's wife,
She was vext and angry, God wot:
"What hast thou here in the grove to do?
Little business, I trow, thou hast got.

"'Twere better for thee in the hill to be,
And gold in the chest to lay,
Than here to sit in the rosy grove,[161]
And on thy gold harp to play.

"And 'twere better for thee in the hill to be,
And thy bride-dress finish sewíng,
Than sit under the lind, and with runic lay
A Christian man's heart to thee win."

And it was Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter,
She goeth in at the hill-door:
And after her goeth the knight Sir Thynnè,
Clothed in scarlet and fur.

And it was Thora, the little Dwarf's wife,
Forth a red-gold chair she drew:
Then she cast Sir Thynnè into a sleep
Until that the cock he crew.

And it was Thora, the little Dwarf's wife,
The five rune-books she took out;
So she loosed him fully out of the runes,
Her daughter had bound him about.

"And hear thou me, Sir Thynnè,
From the runes thou now art free;
This to thee I will soothly say,
My daughter shall never win thee.

"And I was born of Christian kind,
And to the hill stolen in;
My sister dwelleth in Iseland,[162]

And wears a gold crown so fine.

"And there she wears her crown of gold,
And beareth of queen the name;
Her daughter was stolen away from her,
Thereof there goeth great fame.

"Her daughter was stolen away from her,
And to Berner-land brought in;
And there now dwelleth the maiden free,
She is called Lady Hermolin.

"And never can she into the dance go,
But seven women follow her;
And never can she on the gold-harp play,
If the queen herself is not there.

"The king he hath a sister's son,
He hopeth the crown to possess,
For him they intend the maiden free,
For her little happiness.

"And this for my honour will I do,
And out of good-will moreover,
To thee will I give the maiden free,
And part her from that lover."

Then she gave unto him a dress so new,
With gold and pearls bedight;
Every seam on the dress it was
With precious stones all bright.

Then she gave unto him a horse so good,
And therewith a new sell;
"And never shalt thou the way inquire,
Thy horse will find it well."

And it was Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter,

She would show her good-will to the knight;
So she gave unto him a spear so new,
And therewith a good sword so bright.

"And never shalt thou fight a fight,
Where thou shalt not the victory gain;
And never shalt thou sail on a sea
Where thou shalt not the land attain."

And it was Thora, the little Dwarf's wife,
She wine in a glass for him poured:
"Ride away, ride away, now Sir Thynnè,
Before the return of my lord."

And it was the knight Sir Thynnè,
He rideth under the green hill side,
There then met him the hill-kings two.
As slow to the hill they ride.

"Well met! Good day, now Sir Thynnè!
Thy horse can well with thee pace;
Whither directed is thy course?
Since thou'rt bound to a distant place."

"Travel shall I and woo;
Plight me shall I a flower;
Try shall I my sword so good,
To my weal or my woe in the stour."

"Ride in peace, ride in peace, away, Sir Thynnè,
From us thou hast nought to fear;
They are coming, the champions from Iseland,
Who with thee long to break a spear."

And it was the knight Sir Thynnè,
He rideth under the green hill side;
There met him seven Bernisk champions,
They bid him to halt and abide.

"And whether shall we fight to-day,
For the red gold and the silvér;
Or shall we fight together to-day,
For both our true loves fair?"

And it was the king's sister's son,
He was of mood so hastý;
"Of silver and gold I have enow,
If thou wilt credit me."

"But hast thou not a fair true love,
Who is called Lady Hermolin?
For her it is we shall fight to-day,
If she shall be mine or thine."

The first charge they together rode,
They were two champions so tall;
He cut at the king's sister's son,
That his head to the ground did fall.

Back then rode the champions six,
And dressed themselves in fur;
Then went into the lofty hall,
The aged king before.

And it was then the aged king,
He tore his gray hairs in woe.
"Ye must avenge my sister's son's death;
I will sables and martins bestow."[163]

Back then rode the champions six,
They thought the reward to gain,
But they remained halt and limbless;
By loss one doth wit obtain.

And he slew wolves and bears,
All before the high chambér;
Then taketh he out the maiden free

Who so long had languished there.

And now hath Lady Hermolin
Escaped from all harm;
Now sleeps she sweet full many a sleep,
On brave Sir Thynnè's arm.

And now has brave Sir Thynnè
Escaped all sorrow and tine;
Now sleeps he sweet full many a sleep,
Beside Lady Hermolin.

Most thanketh he Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter
Who him with the runes had bound,
For were he not come inside of the hill,
The lady he never had found.[164]

Proud Margaret.

Proud Margaret's[165] father of wealth had store,
Time with me goes slow.—
And he was a king seven kingdoms o'er,
But that grief is heavy I know.[166]

To her came wooing good earls two,
Time with me goes slow.—
But neither of them would she hearken unto,
But that grief is heavy I know.

To her came wooing princes five,
Time with me goes slow.—
Yet not one of them would the maiden have,
But that grief is heavy I know.

To her came wooing kings then seven,
Time with me goes slow.—
But unto none her hand has she given,

But that grief is heavy I know.

And the hill-king asked his mother to read,
Time with me goes slow.—
How to win proud Margaret he might speed,
But that grief is heavy I know.

"And say how much thou wilt give unto me,"
Time with me goes slow.—
"That herself may into the hill come to thee?"
But that grief is heavy I know.

"Thee will I give the ruddiest gold,"
Time with me goes slow.—
"And thy chests full of money as they can hold,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

One Sunday morning it fell out so,
Time with me goes slow.—
Proud Margaret unto the church should go,
But that grief is heavy I know.

And all as she goes, and all as she stays,
Time with me goes slow.—
All the nearer she comes where the high hill lay,
But that grief is heavy I know.

So she goeth around the hill compassing,
Time with me goes slow.—
So there openeth a door, and thereat goes she in,
But that grief is heavy I know.

Proud Margaret stept in at the door of the hill,
Time with me goes slow.—
And the hill-king salutes her with eyes joyfúl,
But that grief is heavy I know.

So he took the maiden upon his knee,

Time with me goes slow.—
And took the gold rings and therewith her wed he,
But that grief is heavy I know.

So he took the maiden his arms between,
Time with me goes slow.—
He gave her a gold crown and the name of queen,
But that grief is heavy I know.

So she was in the hill for eight round years,
Time with me goes slow.—
There bare she two sons and a daughter so fair,
But that grief is heavy I know.

When she had been full eight years there,
Time with me goes slow.—
She wished to go home to her mother so dear,
But that grief is heavy I know.

And the hill-king spake to his footpages twain,
Time with me goes slow.—
"Put ye the gray paeers now unto the wain,"[167]
But that grief is heavy I know.

And Margaret out at the hill-door stept,
Time with me goes slow.—
And her little children they thereat wept,
But that grief is heavy I know.

And the hill-king her in his arms has ta'en.
Time with me goes slow.—
So he lifteth her into the gilded wain,
But that grief is heavy I know.

"And hear now thou footpage what I unto thee say,"
Time with me goes slow.—
"Thou now shalt drive her to her mother's straightway,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

Proud Margaret stept in o'er the door-sill,
Time with me goes slow.—
And her mother saluteth her with eyes joyfúl,
But that grief is heavy I know.

"And where hast thou so long stayed?"
Time with me goes slow.—
"I have been in the flowery meads,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

"What veil is that thou wearest on thy hair?"
Time with me goes slow.—
"Such as women and mothers use to wear,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

"Well may I wear a veil on my head,"
Time with me goes slow.—
"Me hath the hill-king both wooed and wed,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

"In the hill have I been these eight round years,"
Time with me goes slow.—
"There have I two sons and a daughter so fair,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

"There have I two sons and a daughter so fair,"
Time with me goes slow.—
"The loveliest maiden the world doth bear,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

"And hear thou, proud Margaret, what I say unto thee,"
Time with me goes slow.—
"Can I go with thee home thy children to see?"
But that grief is heavy I know.

And the hill-king stept now in at the door,
Time with me goes slow.—
And Margaret thereat fell down on the floor,

But that grief is heavy I know.

"And stayest thou now here complaining of me,"
Time with me goes slow.—
"Camest thou not of thyself into the hill to me?"
But that grief is heavy I know.

"And stayest thou now here and thy fate dost deplore?"
Time with me goes slow.—
"Camest thou not of thyself in at my door?"
But that grief is heavy I know.

The hill-king struck her on the cheek rosie,
Time with me goes slow.—
"And pack to the hill to thy children wee,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

The hill-king struck her with a twisted root,
Time with me goes slow.—
"And pack to the hill without any dispute,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

And the hill-king her in his arms has ta'en,
Time with me goes slow.—
And lifted her into the gilded wain,
But that grief is heavy I know.

"And hear thou my footpage what I unto thee say,"
Time with me goes slow.—
"Thou now shalt drive her to my dwelling straightway,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

Proud Margaret stept in at the hill door,
Time with me goes slow.—
And her little children rejoiced therefòre,
But that grief is heavy I know.

"It is not worth while rejoicing for me,"

Time with me goes slow.—
"Christ grant that I never a mother had been,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

The one brought out a gilded chair,
Time with me goes slow.—
"O rest you, my sorrow-bound mother, there,"
But that grief is heavy I know.

The one brought out a filled up horn,
Time with me goes slow.—
The other put therein a gilded corn,
But that grief is heavy I know.

The first drink she drank out of the horn,
Time with me goes slow.—
She forgot straightway both heaven and earth,
But that grief is heavy I know.

The second drink she drank out of the horn,
Time with me goes slow.—
She forgot straightway both God and his word,
But that grief is heavy I know.

The third drink she drank out of the horn,
Time with me goes slow.—
She forgot straightway both sister and brother,
But that grief is heavy I know.

She forgot straightway both sister and brother,
Time with me goes slow.—
But she never forgot her sorrow-bound mother,
But that grief is heavy I know.[168]

The Troll Wife.

The grandfather of Reor, who dwelt at Fuglekärr (i.e. Bird-marsh), in the
parish of Svartsborg (Black-castle), lived close to a hill, and one time, in the

broad daylight, he saw sitting there on a stone a comely maiden. He wished
to intercept her, and for this purpose he threw steel between her and the hill;
whereupon her father laughed within the hill, and opening the hill-door
asked him if he would have his daughter. He replied in the affirmative and
as she was stark naked he took some of his own clothes and covered her
with them, and he afterwards had her christened. As he was going away, her
father said to him, "When you are going to have your wedding (bröllup)
you must provide twelve barrels of beer and bake a heap of bread and the
flesh of four oxen, and drive to the barrow or hill where I keep, and when
the bridal gifts are to be bestowed, depend on it I will give mine." This also
came to pass; for when others were giving he raised the cover of the cart
and cast into it so large a bag of money that the body of it nearly broke,
saying at the same time:—"This is my gift!" He said, moreover, "When you
want to have your wife's portion (hemmagifta),[169] you must drive to the
hill with four horses, and get your share. When he came there afterwards at
his desire he got copper-pots, the one larger than the other till the largest pot
of all was filled with the smaller ones. He also gave him other things,[170]
which were helmets, of that colour and fashion which are large and thick,
and which are still remaining in the country, being preserved at the
parsonage of Tanum. This man Reor's father surnamed I Foglekärsten, had a
number of children by this wife of his, whom he fetched out of the hill,
among whom was the aforesaid Reor. Olaf Stenson also in Stora Rijk, who
died last year, was Reor's sister's son.[171]

The Altar-Cup in Aagerup.

Between the villages of Marup and Aagerup in Zealand, there is said to
have lain a great castle, the ruins of which are still to be seen near the
strand. Tradition relates that a great treasure is concealed among them, and
that a dragon there watches over three kings' ransoms.[172] Here, too, people
frequently happen to get a sight of the underground folk, especially about
festival-times, for then they have dancing and great jollity going on down
on the strand.
One Christmas-eve, a farmer's servant in the village of Aagerup went to his
master and asked him if he might take a horse and ride down to look at the
Troll-meeting. The farmer not only gave him leave but desired him to take

the best horse in the stable; so he mounted and rode away down to the
strand. When he was come to the place he stopped his horse, and stood for
some time looking at the company who were assembled in great numbers.
And while he was wondering to see how well and how gaily the little
dwarfs danced, up came a Troll to him, and invited him to dismount, and
take a share in their dancing and merriment. Another Troll came jumping
up, took his horse by the bridle, and held him while the man got off, and
went down and danced away merrily with them the whole night long.
When it was drawing near day he returned them his very best thanks for his
entertainment, and mounted his horse to return home to Aagerup. They now
gave him an invitation to come again on New-year's night, as they were
then to have great festivity; and a maiden who held a gold cup in her hand
invited him to drink the stirrup-cup. He took the cup; but, as he had some
suspicion of them, he, while he made as if he was raising the cup to his
mouth, threw the drink out over his shoulder, so that it fell on the horse's
back, and it immediately singed off all the hair. He then clapped spurs to his
horse's sides, and rode away with the cup in his hand over a ploughed field.
The Trolls instantly gave chase all in a body; but being hard set to get over
the deep furrows, they shouted out, without ceasing,

"Ride on the lay,
And not on the clay."[173]

He, however, never minded them, but kept to the ploughed field. However,
when he drew near the village he was forced to ride out on the level road,
and the Trolls now gained on him every minute. In his distress he prayed
unto God, and he made a vow that if he should be delivered he would
bestow the cup on the church.
He was now riding along just by the wall of the church-yard, and he hastily
flung the cup over it, that it at least might be secure. He then pushed on at
full speed, and at last got into the village; and just as they were on the point
of catching hold of the horse, he sprung in through the farmer's gate, and
the man clapt to the wicket after him. He was now safe; but the Trolls were
so enraged, that, taking up a huge great stone, they flung it with such force
against the gate, that it knocked four planks out of it.

There are no traces now remaining of that house, but the stone is still lying
in the middle of the village of Aagerup. The cup was presented to the
church, and the man got in return the best farm-house on the lands of
Eriksholm.[174]

Origin of Tiis Lake.

A Troll had once taken up his abode near the village of Kund, in the high
bank on which the church now stands; but when the people about there had
become pious, and went constantly to church, the Troll was dreadfully
annoyed by their almost incessant ringing of bells in the steeple of the
church. He was at last obliged, in consequence of it, to take his departure;
for nothing has more contributed to the emigration of the Troll-folk out of
the country than the increasing piety of the people, and their taking to bell-
ringing. The Troll of Kund accordingly quitted the country, and went over
to Funen, where he lived for some time in peace and quiet.
Now it chanced that a man who had lately settled in the town of Kund,
coming to Funen on business, met on the road with this same Troll: "Where
do you live?" said the Troll to him. Now there was nothing whatever about
the Troll unlike a man, so he answered him, as was the truth, "I am from the
town of Kund." "So?" said the Troll. "I don't know you, then! And yet I
think I know every man in Kund. Will you, however," continued he, "just be
so kind to take a letter from me back with you to Kund?" The man said, of
course, he had no objection. The Troll then thrust the letter into his pocket,
and charged him strictly not to take it out till he came to Kund church, and
then to throw it over the churchyard wall, and the person for whom it was
intended would get it.
The Troll then went away in great haste, and with him the letter went
entirely out of the man's mind. But when he was come back to Zealand he
sat down by the meadow where Tiis Lake now is, and suddenly recollected
the Troll's letter. He felt a great desire to look at it at least. So he took it out
of his pocket, and sat a while with it in his hands, when suddenly there
began to dribble a little water out of the seal. The letter now unfolded itself,
and the water came out faster and faster, and it was with the utmost
difficulty that the poor man was enabled to save his life; for the malicious
Troll had enclosed an entire lake in the letter. The Troll, it is plain, had

thought to avenge himself on Kund church by destroying it in this manner;
but God ordered it so that the lake chanced to run out in the great meadow
where it now flows.[175]

A Farmer tricks a Troll.

A farmer, on whose ground there was a little hill, resolved not to let it lie
idle, so he began at one end to plough it up. The hill-man, who lived in it,
came to him and asked him how he dared to plough on the roof of his
house. The farmer assured him that he did not know that it was the roof of
his house, but at the same time represented to him that it was at present
equally unprofitable to them both to let such a piece of land lie idle. He
therefore took the opportunity of proposing to him that he should plough,
sow, and reap it every year on these terms: that they should take it year and
year about, and the hill-man to have one year what grew over the ground,
and the farmer what grew in the ground; and the next year the farmer to
have what was over, and the hill-man what was under.
The agreement was made accordingly; but the crafty farmer took care to
sow carrots and corn year and year about, and he gave the hill-man the tops
of the carrots and the roots of the corn for his share, with which he was well
content. They thus lived for a long time on extremely good terms with each
other.[176]

Skotte in the Fire.

Near Gudmanstrup, in the district of Odd, is a hill called Hjulehöi (Hollow-
hill). The hill-folk that dwell in this mount are well known in all the villages
round, and no one ever omits making a cross on his beer-barrels, for the
Trolls are in the habit of slipping down from Hjulehöi to steal beer.
One evening late a farmer was passing by the hill, and he saw that it was
raised up on red pillars, and that underneath there was music and dancing
and a splendid Troll banquet. The man stood a long time gazing on their
festivity; but while he was standing there, deeply absorbed in admiration of
what he saw, all of a sudden the dancing stopped, and the music ceased, and
he heard a Troll cry out, in a tone of the utmost anguish, "Skotte is fallen

into the fire! Come and help him up!" The hill then sank, and all the
merriment was at an end.
Meanwhile the farmer's wife was at home all alone, and while she was
sitting and spinning her tow, she never noticed a Troll who had crept
through the window into the next room, and was at the beer-barrel drawing
off the liquor into his copper kettle. The room-door was standing open, and
the Troll kept a steady eye on the woman. The husband now came into the
house full of wonder at what he had seen and heard. "Hark ye, dame," he
began, "listen now till I tell you what has happened to me!" The Troll
redoubled his attention. "As I came just now by Hjulehöi," continued he, "I
saw a great Troll-banquet there, but while they were in the very middle of
their glee they shouted out within in the hill, 'Skotte is fallen into the fire;
come and help him up!'"
At hearing this, the Troll, who was standing beside the beer-barrel, was so
frightened, that he let the tap run and the kettle of beer fall on the ground,
and tumbled himself out of the window as quickly as might be. The people
of the house hearing all this noise instantly guessed what had been going on
inside; and when they went in they saw the beer all running about, and
found the copper kettle lying on the floor. This they seized, and kept in lieu
of the beer that had been spilled; and the same kettle is said to have been a
long time to be seen in the villages round about there.[177]

The Legend of Bodedys.

There is a hill called Bodedys close to the road in the neighbourhood of
Lynge, that is near Soröe. Not far from it lived an old farmer, whose only
son was used to take long journeys on business. His father had for a long
time heard no tidings of him, and the old man became convinced that his
son was dead. This caused him much affliction, as was natural for an old
man like him, and thus some time passed over.
One evening as he was coming with a loaded cart by Bodedys, the hill
opened, and the Troll came out and desired him to drive his cart into it. The
poor man was, to be sure, greatly amazed at this, but well knowing how
little it would avail him to refuse to comply with the Troll's request, he
turned about his horses, and drove his cart straight into the hill. The Troll

now began to deal with him for his goods, and finally bought and paid him
honestly for his entire cargo. When he had finished the unloading of his
vehicle, and was about to drive again out of the hill, the Troll said to him,
"If you will now only keep a silent tongue in your head about all that has
happened to you, I shall from this time out have an eye to your interest; and
if you come here again to-morrow morning, it may be you shall get your
son." The farmer did not well know at first what to say to all this; but as he
was, however, of opinion that the Troll was able to perform what he had
promised, he was greatly rejoiced, and failed not to come at the appointed
time to Bodedys.
He sat there waiting a long time, and at last he fell asleep, and when he
awoke from his slumber, behold! there was his son lying by his side. Both
father and son found it difficult to explain how this had come to pass. The
son related how he had been thrown into prison, and had there suffered
great hardship and distress; but that one night, while he was lying asleep in
his cell, there came a man to him, who said, "Do you still love your father?"
And when he had answered that he surely did, his chains fell off and the
wall burst open. While he was telling this he chanced to put his hand up to
his neck, and he found that he had brought a piece of the iron chain away
with him. They both were for some time mute through excess of wonder;
and they then arose and went straightway to Lynge, where they hung up the
piece of the chain in the church, as a memorial of the wonderful event that
had occurred.[178]

Kallundborg Church.

When Esbern Snare was about building a church in Kallundborg, he saw
clearly that his means were not fully adequate to the task. But a Troll came
to him and offered his services; and Esbern Snare made an agreement with
him on these conditions, that he should be able to tell the Troll's name when
the church was finished; or in case he could not, that he should give him his
heart and his eyes.
The work now went on rapidly, and the Troll set the church on stone pillars;
but when all was nearly done, and there was only half a pillar wanting in
the church, Esbern began to get frightened, for the name of the Troll was
yet unknown to him.

One day he was going about the fields all alone, and in great anxiety on
account of the perilous state he was in; when, tired, and depressed, by
reason of his exceeding grief and affliction, he laid him down on Ulshöi
bank to rest himself a while. While he was lying there, he heard a Troll-
woman within the hill saying these words:—

"Lie still, baby mine!
To-morrow cometh Fin,
Father thine,
And giveth thee Esbern Snare's eyes and heart to play with."[179]

When Esbern heard this, he recovered his spirits, and went back to the
church. The Troll was just then coming with the half-pillar that was wanting
for the church; but when Esbern saw him, he hailed him by his name, and
called him "Fin." The Troll was so enraged at this, that he went off with the
half-pillar through the air, and this is the reason that the church has but three
pillars and a half.[180]

The same is told of a far greater than Esbern Snare. As St. Olaf, the royal
apostle of the North, was one day going over hill and dale, thinking how he
could contrive to build a splendid church without distressing his people by
taxation, he was met by a man of a strange appearance, who asking him
what he was thinking about, Olaf told him, and the Troll, or rather Giant
(Jätte), for such he was, undertook to do it within a certain time, stipulating,
for his reward, the sun and moon, or else St. Olaf himself. Olaf agreed, but
gave such a plan for the church as it seemed to be impossible ever could be
executed. It was to be so large that seven priests could preach in it at the
same time without disturbing each other; the columns and other ornaments
both within and without should be of hard flintstone, and so forth. It soon,
however, was finished, all but the roof and pinnacle. Olaf, now grown
uneasy, rambled once more over hill and dale, when he chanced to hear a
child crying within a hill, and a giantess, its mother, saying to it, "Hush,
hush! Thy father, Wind-and-Weather, will come home in the morning, and

bring with him the sun and moon, or else St. Olaf himself." Olaf was
overjoyed, for the power of evil beings ceases when their name is known.
He returned home, where he saw every thing completed—pinnacle and all.
He immediately cried out, "Wind-and-Weather, you've set the pinnacle
crooked!"[181] Instantly the Giant fell with a great crash from the ridge of
the roof, and broke into a thousand pieces, which were all flintstone.[182]

The Hill-Man invited to the Christening.

The hill-people are excessively frightened during thunder. When, therefore,
they see bad weather coming on, they lose no time in getting to the shelter
of their hills. This terror is also the cause of their not being able to endure
the beating of a drum, as they take it to be the rolling of thunder. It is
therefore a good receipt for banishing them to beat a drum every day in the
neighbourhood of their hills; for they immediately pack up and depart to
some more quiet residence.
A farmer lived once in great friendship and unanimity with a hill-man,
whose hill was on his lands. One time when his wife was lying-in, it gave
him some degree of perplexity to think that he could not well avoid inviting
the hill-man to the christening, which might not improbably bring him into
bad repute with the priest and the other people of the village. He was going
about pondering deeply, but in vain, how he might get out of this dilemma,
when it came into his head to ask the advice of the boy that kept his pigs,
who was a great head-piece, and had often helped him before. The pig-boy
instantly undertook to arrange the matter with the hill-man in such a manner
that he should not only stay away without being offended, but moreover
give a good christening-present.
Accordingly, when it was night he took a sack on his shoulder, went to the
hill-man's hill, knocked, and was admitted. He delivered his message,
giving his master's compliments, and requesting the honour of his company
at the christening. The hill-man thanked him, and said, "I think it is but right
that I should give you a christening-gift." With these words he opened his
money-chests, bidding the boy to hold up his sack while he poured money
into it. "Is there enough now?" said he, when he had put a good quantity
into it. "Many give more, few give less," replied the boy.

The hill-man then fell again to filling the sack, and again asked, "Is there
enough now?" The boy lifted up the sack a little off the ground to try if he
was able to carry any more, and then answered, "It is about what most
people give." Upon this the hill-man emptied the whole chest into the bag,
and once more asked, "Is there enough now?" The guardian of the pigs saw
that there was as much in it now as ever he was able to carry, so he made
answer, "No one gives more, most people give less."
"Come, now," said the hill-man, "let us hear who else is to be at the
christening?" "Ah," said the boy, "we are to have a great parcel of strangers
and great people. First and foremost, we are to have three priests and a
bishop!" "Hem!" muttered the hill-man; "however, these gentlemen usually
look only after the eating and drinking: they will never take any notice of
me. Well, who else?" "Then we have asked St. Peter and St. Paul." "Hem!
hem! however, there will be a by-place for me behind the stove. Well, and
then?" "Then our Lady herself is coming!" "Hem! hem! hem! however,
guests of such high rank come late and go away early. But tell me, my lad,
what sort of music is it you are to have?" "Music!" said the boy, "why, we
are to have drums." "Drums!" repeated he, quite terrified; "no, no, thank
you, I shall stay at home in that case. Give my best respects to your master,
and I thank him for the invitation, but I cannot come. I did but once go out
to take a little walk, and some people beginning to beat a drum, I hurried
home, and was just got to my door when they flung the drum-stick after me
and broke one of my shins. I have been lame of that leg ever since, and I
shall take good care in future to avoid that sort of music." So saying, he
helped the boy to put the sack on his back, once more charging him to give
his best respects to the farmer.[183]

The Troll turned Cat.

About a quarter of a mile from Soröe lies Pedersborg, and a little farther on
is the town of Lyng. Just between these towns is a hill called Bröndhöi
(Spring-hill), said to be inhabited by the Troll-people.
There goes a story that there was once among these Troll-people of
Bröndhöi an old crossgrained curmudgeon of a Troll, whom the rest nick-
named Knurremurre (Rumble-grumble), because he was evermore the cause
of noise and uproar within the hill. This Knurremurre having discovered

what he thought to be too great a degree of intimacy between his young
wife and a young Troll of the society, took this in such ill part, that he
vowed vengeance, swearing he would have the life of the young one. The
latter, accordingly, thought it would be his best course to be off out of the
hill till better times; so, turning himself into a noble tortoiseshell tom-cat,
he one fine morning quitted his old residence, and journeyed down to the
neighbouring town of Lyng, where he established himself in the house of an
honest poor man named Plat.
Here he lived for a long time comfortable and easy, with nothing to annoy
him, and was as happy as any tom-cat or Troll crossed in love well could
be. He got every day plenty of milk and good groute[184] to eat, and lay the
whole day long at his ease in a warm arm-chair behind the stove.
Plat happened one evening to come home rather late, and as he entered the
room the cat was sitting in his usual place, scraping meal-groute out of a
pot, and licking the pot itself carefully. "Harkye, dame," said Plat, as he
came in at the door, "till I tell you what happened to me on the road. Just as
I was coming past Bröndhöi, there came out a Troll, and he called out to
me, and said,

"Harkye Plat,
Tell your cat,
That Knurremurre is dead."[185]

The moment the cat heard these words, he tumbled the pot down on the
floor, sprang out of the chair, and stood up on his hind-legs. Then, as he
hurried out of the door, he cried out with exultation, "What! is Knurremurre
dead? Then I may go home as fast as I please." And so saying he scampered
off to the hill, to the amazement of honest Plat; and it is likely lost no time
in making his advances to the young widow.[186]

Kirsten's-Hill.

There is a hill on the lands of Skjelverod, near Ringsted, called Kirsten's-
hill (Kirstens Bjerg). In it there lived a Hill-troll whose name was Skynd,
who had from time to time stolen no less than three wives from a man in the
village of Englerup.

It was late one evening when this man was riding home from Ringsted, and
his way lay by the hill. When he came there he saw a great crowd of Hill-
folk who were dancing round it, and had great merriment among them. But
on looking a little closer, what should he recognise but all his three wives
among them! Now as Kirsten, the second of them, had been his favourite,
and dearer to him than either of the others, he called out to her, and named
her name. Troll Skynd then came up to the man, and asked him why he
presumed to call Kirsten. The man told him briefly how she had been his
favourite and best beloved wife, and entreated of him, with many tears and
much lamentation, to let him have her home with him again. The Troll
consented at last to grant the husband's request, with, however, the
condition, that he should never hurry (skynde) her.
For a long time the husband strictly kept the condition; but one day, when
the woman was above in the loft, getting something, and it happened that
she delayed a long time, he called out, Make haste, Kirsten, make haste,
(Skynde dig Kirsten); and scarcely had he spoken the words, when the
woman was gone, compelled to return to the hill, which has ever since been
called Kirsten's Bjerg.[187]

The Troll-Labour.

"In the year 1660, when I and my wife had gone to my farm (fäboderne),
which is three quarters of a mile from Ragunda parsonage, and we were
sitting there and talking a while, late in the evening, there came a little man
in at the door, who begged of my wife to go and aid his wife, who was just
then in the pains of labour. The fellow was of small size, of a dark
complexion, and dressed in old grey clothes. My wife and I sat a while, and
wondered at the man; for we were aware that he was a Troll, and we had
heard tell that such like, called by the peasantry Vettar (spirits), always used
to keep in the farmhouses, when people left them in harvest-time. But when
he had urged his request four or five times, and we thought on what evil the
country folk say that they have at times suffered from the Vettar, when they
have chanced to swear at them, or with uncivil words bid them go to hell, I
took the resolution to read some prayers over my wife, and to bless her, and
bid her in God's name go with him. She took in haste some old linen with
her, and went along with him, and I remained sitting there. When she

returned, she told me, that when she went with the man out at the gate, it
seemed to her as if she was carried for a time along in the wind, and so she
came to a room, on one side of which was a little dark chamber, in which
his wife lay in bed in great agony. My wife went up to her, and, after a little
while, aided her till she brought forth the child after the same manner as
other human beings. The man then offered her food, and when she refused
it, he thanked her, and accompanied her out, and then she was carried along,
in the same way in the wind, and after a while came again to the gate, just at
ten o'clock. Meanwhile, a quantity of old pieces and clippings of silver were
laid on a shelf, in the sitting-room, and my wife found them next day, when
she was putting the room in order. It is to be supposed that they were laid
there by the Vettr. That it in truth so happened, I witness, by inscribing my
name. Ragunda, the 12th of April, 1671.
"Pet. Rahm."
[188]

The Hill-Smith.

Biörn Martinsson went out shooting, one day, with a gamekeeper, on the
wooded hill of Ormkulla. They there found a hill-smith (bergsmed) lying
fast asleep. Biörn directed the gamekeeper to secure him, but he refused,
saying "Pray to God to protect you! The hill-smith will fling you down to
the bottom of the hill." He was, however, bold and determined, and he went
up and seized the sleeping hill-smith, who gave a cry, and implored him to
let him go, as he had a wife and seven little children. He said he would also
do any iron work that should be required; it would only be necessary to
leave iron and steel on the side of the hill, and the work would be found
lying finished in the same place. Biörn asked him for whom he worked; he
replied, "For my companions." When Biörn would not let him go, he said,
"If I had my mist-cap (uddehat) you should not carry me away. But if you
do not let me go, not one of your posterity will attain to the importance
which you possess, but continually decline;" which certainly came to pass.
Biörn would not, however, let him go, but brought him captive to Bahus.
On the third day, however, he effected his escape out of the place in which
he was confined.[189]

The following legend is related in Denmark:—
On the lands of Nyegaard lie three large hills, one of which is the abode of a
Troll, who is by trade a blacksmith. If any one is passing that hill by night,
he will see the fire issuing from the top, and going in again at the side.
Should you wish to have any piece of iron-work executed in a masterly
manner, you have only to go to the hill, and saying aloud what you want to
have made, leave there the iron and a silver shilling. On revisiting the hill
next morning, you will find the shilling gone, and the required piece of
work lying there finished, and ready for use.[190]

The Girl at the Troll-Dance.

A girl, belonging to a village in the isle of Funen, went out, one evening,
into the fields, and as she was passing by a small hill, she saw that it was
raised upon red pillars, and a Troll-banquet going on beneath it. She was
invited in, and such was the gaiety and festivity that prevailed, that she
never perceived the flight of time. At length, however, she took her
departure, after having spent, as she thought, a few hours among the joyous
hill-people. But when she came to the village she no longer found it the
place she had left. All was changed; and when she entered the house in
which she had lived with her family, she learned that her father and mother
had long been dead, and the house had come into the hands of strangers.
She now perceived that for every hour that she had been among the Trolls, a
year had elapsed in the external world. The effect on her mind was such that
she lost her reason, which she never after recovered.[191]

The Changeling.

There lived once, near Tiis lake, two lonely people, who were sadly plagued
with a changeling, given them by the underground-people instead of their
own child, which had not been baptised in time. This changeling behaved in
a very strange and uncommon manner, for when there was no one in the
place, he was in great spirits, ran up the walls like a cat, sat under the roof,

and shouted and bawled away lustily; but sat dozing at the end of the table
when any one was in the room with him. He was able to eat as much as any
four, and never cared what it was that was set before him; but though he
regarded not the quality of his food, in quantity he was never satisfied, and
gave excessive annoyance to every one in the house.
When they had tried for a long time in vain how they could best get rid of
him, since there was no living in the house with him, a smart girl pledged
herself that she would banish him from the house. She accordingly, while
he was out in the fields, took a pig and killed it, and put it, hide, hair, and
all, into a black pudding, and set it before him when he came home. He
began, as was his custom, to gobble it up, but when he had eaten for some
time, he began to relax a little in his efforts, and at last he sat quite still,
with his knife in his hand, looking at the pudding.
At length, after sitting for some time in this manner, he began—"A pudding
with hide!—and a pudding with hair! a pudding with eyes!—and a pudding
with legs in it! Well, three times have I seen a young wood by Tiis lake, but
never yet did I see such a pudding! The devil himself may stay here now for
me!" So saying, he ran off with himself, and never more came back again.
[192]

Another changeling was got rid of in the following manner. The mother,
suspecting it to be such from its refusing food, and being so ill-thriven,
heated the oven as hot as possible. The maid, as instructed, asked her why
she did it. "To burn my child in it to death," was the reply. When the
question had been put and answered three times, she placed the child on the
peel, and was shoving it into the oven, when the Troll-woman came in a
great fright with the real child, and took away her own, saying. "There's
your child for you. I have treated it better than you treated mine," and in
truth it was fat and hearty.

The Tile-Stove jumping over the Brook.

Near Hellested, in Zealand, lived a man, who from time to time remarked
that he was continually plundered. All his suspicions fell on the Troll-folk,
who lived in the neighbouring hill of Ildshöi (Fire-hill), and once hid
himself to try and get a sight of the thief. He had waited there but a very
short time when he saw, as he thought, his tile-stove jumping across the
brook. The good farmer was all astonishment at this strange sight, and he
shouted out "Hurra! there's a jump for a tile-stove!" At this exclamation the
Troll, who was wading through the water with the stove on his head, was so
frightened that he threw it down, and ran off as hard as he could to Ildshöi.
But in the place where the stove fell, the ground got the shape of it, and the
place is called Krogbek (Hook-brook), and it was this that gave rise to the
common saying, "That was a jump for a tile-stove!" "Det var et Spring af en
Leerovn!"[193]

Departure of the Trolls from Vendsyssel.

One evening, after sunset, there came a strange man to the ferry of Sund.
He engaged all the ferry-boats there to go backwards and forwards the
whole night long between that place and Vendsyssel, without the people's
knowing what lading they had. He told them that they should take their
freight on board half a mile to the east of Sund, near the alehouse at the
bridge of Lange.
At the appointed time the man was at that place, and the ferrymen, though
unable to see anything, perceived very clearly that the boats sunk deeper
and deeper, so that they easily concluded that they had gotten a very heavy
freight on board. The ferry-boats passed in this manner to and fro the whole
night long; and though they got every trip a fresh cargo, the strange man
never left them, but staid to have everything regulated by his directions.
When morning was breaking they received the payment they had agreed
for, and they then ventured to inquire what it was they had been bringing
over, but on that head their employer would give them no satisfaction.
But there happened to be among the ferrymen a smart fellow who knew
more about these matters than the others. He jumped on shore, took the clay
from under his right foot, and put it into his cap, and when he had set it on
his head he perceived that all the sand-hills east of Aalborg were completely

covered with little Troll-people, who had all pointed red caps on their
heads. Ever since that time there have been no Dwarfs seen in Vendsyssel.
[194]

Svend Faelling.

Svend Fælling was a valiant champion. He was born in Fælling, and was a
long time at service in Aakjær house, Aarhuus, and as the roads were at that
time greatly infested by Trolls and underground-people, who bore great
enmity to all Christians, Svend undertook the office of letter-carrier.
As he was one time going along the road, he saw approaching him the Troll
of Jels-hill, on the lands of Holm. The Troll came up to him, begging him to
stand his friend in a combat with the Troll of Borum-es-hill. When Svend
Fælling had promised to do so, saying that he thought himself strong and
active enough for the encounter, the Troll reached him a heavy iron bar, and
bade him show his strength on that. But not all Svend's efforts availed to lift
it: whereupon the Troll handed him a horn, telling him to drink out of it. No
sooner had he drunk a little out of it than his strength increased. He was
now able to lift the bar, which, when he had drunk again, became still
lighter; but when again renewing his draught he emptied the horn, he was
able to swing the bar with ease, and he then learned from the Troll that he
had now gotten the strength of twelve men. He then promised to prepare
himself for combat with the Troll of Bergmond. As a token he was told that
he should meet on the road a black ox and a red ox, and that he should fall
with all his might on the black ox, and drive him from the red one.
This all came to pass just as he was told, and he found, after his work was
done, that the black ox was the Troll from Borum-es-hill, and the red ox
was the Troll himself of Jels-hill, who, as a reward for the assistance he had
given him, allowed him to retain for his own use the twelve men's strength
with which he had endowed him. This grant was, however, on this condition
—that if ever he should reveal the secret of his strength, he should be
punished by getting the appetite of twelve.
The fame of the prodigious strength of Svend soon spread through the
country, as he distinguished himself by various exploits, such, for instance,
as throwing a dairy-maid, who had offended him, up on the gable of the

house, and similar feats. So when this report came to the ears of his master,
he had Svend called before him, and inquired of him whence his great
strength came. Svend recollected the words of his friend the Troll, so he
told him if he would promise him as much food as would satisfy twelve
men, he would tell him. The master promised, and Svend told his story; but
the word of the Troll was accomplished, for from that day forth Svend ate
and drank as much as any twelve.[195]

The Dwarfs' Banquet.

A NORWEGIAN TALE.[196]

There lived in Norway, not far from the city of Drontheim, a powerful man,
who was blessed with all the goods of fortune. A part of the surrounding
country was his property; numerous herds fed on his pastures, and a great
retinue and a crowd of servants adorned his mansion. He had an only
daughter, called Aslog,[197] the fame of whose beauty spread far and wide.
The greatest men of the country sought her, but all were alike unsuccessful
in their suit, and he who had come full of confidence and joy, rode away
home silent and melancholy. Her father, who thought his daughter delayed
her choice only to select, forbore to interfere, and exulted in her prudence.
But when, at length, the richest and noblest had tried their fortune with as
little success as the rest, he grew angry, and called his daughter, and said to
her, "Hitherto I have left you to your free choice, but since I see that you
reject all without any distinction, and the very best of your suitors seem not
good enough for you, I will keep measures no longer with you. What! shall
my family be extinct, and my inheritance pass away into the hands of
strangers? I will break your stubborn spirit. I give you now till the festival
of the great Winter-night; make your choice by that time, or prepare to
accept him whom I shall fix on."
Aslog loved a youth called Orm, handsome as he was brave and noble. She
loved him with her whole soul, and she would sooner die than bestow her
hand on another. But Orm was poor, and poverty compelled him to serve in
the mansion of her father. Aslog's partiality for him was kept a secret; for
her father's pride of power and wealth was such that he would never have
given his consent to an union with so humble a man.

When Aslog saw the darkness of his countenance, and heard his angry
words, she turned pale as death, for she knew his temper, and doubted not
but that he would put his threats into execution. Without uttering a word in
reply, she retired to her silent chamber, and thought deeply but in vain how
to avert the dark storm that hung over her. The great festival approached
nearer and nearer, and her anguish increased every day.
At last the lovers resolved on flight. "I know," says Orm, "a secure place
where we may remain undiscovered until we find an opportunity of quitting
the country." At night, when all were asleep, Orm led the trembling Aslog
over the snow and ice-fields away to the mountains. The moon and the stars
sparkling still brighter in the cold winter's night lighted them on their way.
They had under their arms a few articles of dress and some skins of
animals, which were all they could carry. They ascended the mountains the
whole night long till they reached a lonely spot inclosed with lofty rocks.
Here Orm conducted the weary Aslog into a cave, the low and narrow
entrance to which was hardly perceptible, but it soon enlarged to a great
hall, reaching deep into the mountain. He kindled a fire, and they now,
reposing on their skins, sat in the deepest solitude far away from all the
world.
Orm was the first who had discovered this cave, which is shown to this very
day, and as no one knew any thing of it, they were safe from the pursuit of
Aslog's father. They passed the whole winter in this retirement. Orm used to
go a hunting, and Aslog stayed at home in the cave, minded the fire, and
prepared the necessary food. Frequently did she mount the points of the
rocks, but her eyes wandered as far as they could reach only over glittering
snow-fields.
The spring now came on—the woods were green—the meads put on their
various colours, and Aslog could but rarely and with circumspection
venture to leave the cave. One evening Orm came in with the intelligence
that he had recognised her father's servants in the distance, and that he
could hardly have been unobserved by them, whose eyes were as good as
his own. "They will surround this place," continued he, "and never rest till
they have found us; we must quit our retreat, then, without a moment's
delay."

They accordingly descended on the other side of the mountain, and reached
the strand, where they fortunately found a boat. Orm shoved off, and the
boat drove into the open sea. They had escaped their pursuers, but they
were now exposed to dangers of another kind: whither should they turn
themselves? They could not venture to land, for Aslog's father was lord of
the whole coast, and they would infallibly fall into his hands. Nothing then
remained for them but to commit their bark to the wind and waves. They
drove along the entire night. At break of day the coast had disappeared, and
they saw nothing but the sky above, the sea beneath, and the waves that
rose and fell. They had not brought one morsel of food with them, and thirst
and hunger began now to torment them. Three days did they toss about in
this state of misery, and Aslog, faint and exhausted, saw nothing but certain
death before her.
At length, on the evening of the third day, they discovered an island of
tolerable magnitude, and surrounded by a number of smaller ones. Orm
immediately steered for it, but just as he came near it there suddenly rose a
violent wind, and the sea rolled every moment higher and higher against
him. He turned about with a view of approaching it on another side, but
with no better success; his vessel, as oft as it approached the island, was
driven back as if by an invisible power. "Lord God!" cried he, and blessed
himself and looked on poor Aslog, who seemed to be dying of weakness
before his eyes. But scarcely had the exclamation passed his lips when the
storm ceased, the waves subsided, and the vessel came to the shore, without
encountering any hindrance. Orm jumped out on the beach; some mussels
that he found on the strand strengthened and revived the exhausted Aslog,
so that she was soon able to leave the boat.
The island was overgrown with low dwarf shrubs, and seemed to be
uninhabited; but when they had gotten about to the middle of it, they
discovered a house reaching but a little above the ground, and appearing to
be half under the surface of the earth. In the hope of meeting human beings
and assistance, the wanderers approached it. They listened if they could
hear any noise, but the most perfect silence reigned there. Orm at length
opened the door, and with his companion walked in; but what was their
surprise, to find everything regulated and arranged as if for inhabitants, yet
not a single living creature visible. The fire was burning on the hearth, in
the middle of the room, and a pot with fish hung on it apparently only

waiting for some one to take it up and eat it. The beds were made and ready
to receive their wearied tenants. Orm and Aslog stood for some time
dubious, and looked on with a certain degree of awe, but at last, overcome
by hunger, they took up the food and ate. When they had satisfied their
appetites, and still in the last beams of the setting sun, which now streamed
over the island far and wide, discovered no human being, they gave way to
weariness, and laid themselves in the beds to which they had been so long
strangers.
They had expected to be awakened in the night by the owners of the house
on their return home, but their expectation was not fulfilled; they slept
undisturbed till the morning sun shone in upon them. No one appeared on
any of the following days, and it seemed as if some invisible power had
made ready the house for their reception. They spent the whole summer in
perfect happiness—they were, to be sure, solitary, yet they did not miss
mankind. The wild birds' eggs, and the fish they caught, yielded them
provisions in abundance.
When autumn came, Aslog brought forth a son. In the midst of their joy at
his appearance, they were surprised by a wonderful apparition. The door
opened on a sudden, and an old woman stepped in. She had on her a
handsome blue dress: there was something proud, but at the same time
something strange and surprising in her appearance.
"Do not be afraid," said she, "at my unexpected appearance—I am the
owner of this house, and I thank you for the clean and neat state in which
you have kept it, and for the good order in which I find everything with
you. I would willingly have come sooner, but I had no power to do so till
this little heathen (pointing to the new born-babe) was come to the light.
Now I have free access. Only fetch no priest from the main-land to christen
it, or I must depart again. If you will in this matter comply with my wishes,
you may not only continue to live here, but all the good that ever you can
wish for I will do you. Whatever you take in hand shall prosper; good luck
shall follow you wherever you go. But break this condition, and depend
upon it that misfortune after misfortune will come on you, and even on this
child will I avenge myself. If you want anything, or are in danger, you have
only to pronounce my name three times and I will appear and lend you
assistance. I am of the race of the old Giants, and my name is Guru. But

beware of uttering in my presence the name of him whom no Giant may
hear of, and never venture to make the sign of the cross, or to cut it on beam
or board in the house. You may dwell in this house the whole year long,
only be so good as to give it up to me on Yule evening, when the sun is at
the lowest, as then we celebrate our great festival, and then only are we
permitted to be merry. At least, if you should not be willing to go out of the
house, keep yourselves up in the loft as quiet as possible the whole day
long, and as you value your lives do not look down into the room until
midnight is past. After that you may take possession of everything again."
When the old woman had thus spoken she vanished, and Aslog and Orm,
now at ease respecting their situation, lived without any disturbance
contented and happy. Orm never made a cast of his net without getting a
plentiful draught; he never shot an arrow from his bow that it was not sure
to hit; in short, whatever they took in hand, were it ever so trifling,
evidently prospered.
When Christmas came, they cleaned up the house in the best manner, set
everything in order, kindled a fire on the hearth, and as the twilight
approached, they went up to the loft, where they remained quite still and
quiet. At length it grew dark; they thought they heard a sound of whizzing
and snorting in the air, such as the swans use to make in the winter time.
There was a hole in the roof over the fireplace which might be opened and
shut either to let in the light from above, or to afford a free passage for the
smoke. Orm lifted up the lid, which was covered with a skin, and put out
his head. But what a wonderful sight then presented itself to his eyes! The
little islands around were all lit up with countless blue lights, which moved
about without ceasing, jumped up and down, then skipped down to the
shore, assembled together, and came nearer and nearer to the large island
where Orm and Aslog lived. At last they reached it and arranged themselves
in a circle around a large stone not far from the shore, and which Orm well
knew. But what was his surprise, when he saw that the stone had now
completely assumed the form of a man, though of a monstrous and gigantic
one! He could clearly perceive that the little blue lights were borne by
Dwarfs, whose pale clay-coloured faces, with their huge noses and red eyes,
disfigured too by birds' bills and owls' eyes, were supported by misshapen
bodies; and they tottered and wabbled about here and there, so that they
seemed to be at the same time merry and in pain. Suddenly, the circle

opened; the little ones retired on each side, and Guru, who was now much
enlarged and of as immense a size as the stone, advanced with gigantic
steps. She threw both her arms round the stone image, which immediately
began to receive life and motion. As soon as the first symptom of motion
showed itself, the little ones began, with wonderful capers and grimaces, a
song, or to speak more properly, a howl, with which the whole island
resounded and seemed to tremble at the noise. Orm, quite terrified, drew in
his head, and he and Aslog remained in the dark, so still, that they hardly
ventured to draw their breath.
The procession moved on toward the house, as might be clearly perceived
by the nearer approach of the shouting and crying. They were now all come
in, and, light and active, the Dwarfs jumped about on the benches; and
heavy and loud sounded at intervals the steps of the giants. Orm and his
wife heard them covering the table, and the clattering of the plates, and the
shouts of joy with which they celebrated their banquet. When it was over
and it drew near to midnight, they began to dance to that ravishing fairy-air
which charms the mind into such sweet confusion, and which some have
heard in the rocky glens, and learned by listening to the underground
musicians. As soon as Aslog caught the sound of this air, she felt an
irresistible longing to see the dance. Nor was Orm able to keep her back.
"Let me look," said she, "or my heart will burst." She took her child and
placed herself at the extreme end of the loft, whence, without being
observed, she could see all that passed. Long did she gaze, without taking
off her eyes for an instant, on the dance, on the bold and wonderful springs
of the little creatures who seemed to float in the air, and not so much as to
touch the ground, while the ravishing melody of the elves filled her whole
soul. The child meanwhile, which lay in her arms, grew sleepy and drew its
breath heavily, and without ever thinking on the promise she had given the
old woman, she made, as is usual, the sign of the cross over the mouth of
the child, and said, "Christ bless you, my babe!"
The instant she had spoken the word there was raised a horrible piercing
cry. The spirits tumbled heads over heels out at the door with terrible
crushing and crowding, their lights went out, and in a few minutes the
whole house was clear of them, and left desolate. Orm and Aslog frightened
to death, hid themselves in the most retired nook in the house. They did not
venture to stir till daybreak, and not till the sun shone through the hole in

the roof down on the fire-place did they feel courage enough to descend
from the loft.
The table remained still covered as the underground-people had left it; all
their vessels, which were of silver, and manufactured in the most beautiful
manner, were upon it. In the middle of the room, there stood upon the
ground a huge copper vessel half full of sweet mead, and by the side of it, a
drinking-horn of pure gold. In the corner lay against the wall a stringed
instrument, not unlike a dulcimer, which, as people believe, the Giantesses
used to play on. They gazed on what was before them, full of admiration,
but without venturing to lay their hands on anything: but great and fearful
was their amazement, when, on turning about, they saw sitting at the table
an immense figure, which Orm instantly recognised as the Giant whom
Guru had animated by her embrace. He was now a cold and hard stone.
While they were standing gazing on it, Guru herself entered the room in her
giant-form. She wept so bitterly, that her tears trickled down on the ground.
It was long ere her sobbing permitted her to utter a single word: at last she
spoke:—
"Great affliction have you brought on me, and henceforth I must weep
while I live; yet as I know that you have not done this with evil intentions, I
forgive you, though it were a trifle for me to crush the whole house like an
egg-shell over your heads."
"Alas!" cried she, "my husband, whom I love more than myself, there he
sits, petrified for ever; never again will he open his eyes! Three hundred
years lived I with my father on the island of Kunnan, happy in the
innocence of youth, as the fairest among the Giant-maidens. Mighty heroes
sued for my hand; the sea around that island is still filled with the rocky
fragments which they hurled against each other in their combats. Andfind
won the victory, and I plighted myself to him. But ere I was married came
the detestable Odin into the country, who overcame my father, and drove us
all from the island. My father and sisters fled to the mountains, and since
that time my eyes have beheld them no more. Andfind and I saved
ourselves on this island, where we for a long time lived in peace and quiet,
and thought it would never be interrupted. But destiny, which no one
escapes, had determined it otherwise. Oluf[198] came from Britain. They
called him the Holy, and Andfind instantly found that his voyage would be

inauspicious to the giants. When he heard how Oluf's ship rushed through
the waves, he went down to the strand and blew the sea against him with all
his strength. The waves swelled up like mountains. But Oluf was still more
mighty than he; his ship flew unchecked through the billows like an arrow
from a bow: He steered direct for our island. When the ship was so near that
Andfind thought he could reach it with his hands, he grasped at the forepart
with his right hand, and was about to drag it down to the bottom, as he had
often done with other ships. But Oluf, the terrible Oluf, stepped forward,
and crossing his hands over each other, he cried with a loud voice, 'Stand
there as a stone, till the last day,' and in the same instant my unhappy
husband became a mass of rock. The ship sailed on unimpeded, and ran
direct against the mountain, which it cut through, and separated from it the
little island which lies out yonder.[199]
"Ever since my happiness has been annihilated, and lonely and melancholy
have I passed my life. On Yule-eve alone can petrified Giants receive back
their life for the space of seven hours, if one of their race embraces them,
and is, at the same time, willing to sacrifice a hundred years of their own
life. But seldom does a Giant do that. I loved my husband too well not to
bring him back cheerfully to life every time that I could do it, even at the
highest price, and never would I reckon how often I had done it, that I
might not know when the time came when I myself should share his fate,
and at the moment that I threw my arms around him become one with him.
But alas! even this comfort is taken from me; I can never more by any
embrace awake him, since he has heard the name which I dare not utter; and
never again will he see the light until the dawn of the last day shall bring it.
"I now go hence! You will never again behold me! All that is here in the
house I give you! My dulcimer alone will I keep! But let no one venture to
fix his habitation on the little islands that lie around here! There dwell the
little underground ones whom you saw at the festival, and I will protect
them as long as I live!"
With these words Guru vanished. The next spring Orm took the golden horn
and the silver ware to Drontheim, where no one knew him. The value of
these precious metals was so great, that he was able to purchase everything
requisite for a wealthy man. He laded his ship with his purchases, and
returned back to the island, where he spent many years in unalloyed

happiness, and Aslog's father was soon reconciled to his wealthy son-in-
law.
The stone image remained sitting in the house; no human power was able to
move it. So hard was the stone, that hammer and axe flew in pieces without
making the slightest impression upon it. The Giant sat there till a holy man
same to the island, who with one single word removed him back to his
former station, where he stands to this hour. The copper vessel, which the
underground people left behind them, was preserved as a memorial upon
the island, which bears the name of House Island to the present day.

NISSES.[200]
Og Trolde, Hexer, Nisser i hver Vraae.
Finn Magnusen

And Witches, Trolls, and Nisses in each nook.

The Nis is the same being that is called Kobold in Germany, Brownie in
Scotland, and whom we shall meet in various other places under different
appellations. He is in Denmark and Norway also called Nisse god-dreng
(Nissè good lad), and in Sweden Tomtgubbe (Old Man of the House), or
briefly Tomte.
He is evidently of the Dwarf family, as he resembles them in appearance,
and, like them, has the command of money, and the same dislike to noise
and tumult. He is of the size of a year-old child, but has the face of an old
man. His usual dress is grey, with a pointed red cap; but on Michaelmas-day
he wears a round hat like those of the peasants.
No farm-house goes on well unless there is a Nis in it, and well is it for the
maids and the men when they are in favour with him. They may go to their
beds and give themselves no trouble about their work, and yet in the
morning the maids will find the kitchen swept up, and water brought in, and
the men will find the horses in the stable well cleaned and curried, and
perhaps a supply of corn cribbed for them from the neighbours' barns. But
he punishes them for any irregularity that takes place.
The Nisses of Norway, we are told, are fond of the moon-light, and in the
winter time they may be seen jumping over the yard, or driving in sledges.
They are also skilled in music and dancing, and will, it is said, give
instructions on the fiddle for a grey sheep, like the Swedish Strömkarl.[201]
Every church, too, has its Nis, who looks to order, and chastises those who
misbehave themselves. He is called the Kirkegrim.

The Nis Removing.[202]

It is very difficult, they say, to get rid of a Nis when one wishes it. A man
who lived in a house in which a Nis carried his pranks to great lengths
resolved to quit the tenement, and leave him there alone. Several cart-loads
of furniture and other articles were already gone, and the man was come to
take away the last, which consisted chiefly of empty tubs, barrels, and
things of that sort. The load was now all ready, and the man had just bidden
farewell to his house and to the Nis, hoping for comfort in his new
habitation, when happening, from some cause or other, to go to the back of
the cart, there he saw the Nis sitting in one of the tubs in the cart, plainly
with the intention of going along with him wherever he went. The good
man was surprised and disconcerted beyond measure at seeing that all his
labour was to no purpose; but the Nis began to laugh heartily, popped his
head up out of the tub, and cried to the bewildered farmer, "Ha! we're
moving to-day, you see."[203]

The Penitent Nis.

It is related of a Nis, who had established himself in a house in Jutland, that
he used every evening, after the maid was gone to bed, to go into the
kitchen to take his groute, which they used to leave for him in a wooden
bowl.
One evening he sat down as usual to eat his supper with a good appetite,
drew over the bowl to him, and was just beginning, as he thought, to make a
comfortable meal, when he found that the maid had forgotten to put any
butter into it for him. At this he fell into a furious rage, got up in the height
of his passion, and went out into the cow-house, and twisted the neck of the
best cow that was in it. But as he felt himself still very hungry, he stole back
again to the kitchen to take some of the groute, such as it was, and when he
had eaten a little of it he perceived that there was butter in it, but that it had
sunk to the bottom under the groute. He was now so vexed at his injustice
toward the maid, that, to make good the damage he had done, he went back
to the cow-house and set a chest full of money by the side of the dead cow,
where the family found it nest morning, and by means of it got into
flourishing circumstances.

The Nis and the Boy.

There was a Nis in a house in Jutland; he every evening got his groute at the
regular time, and he, in return, used to help both the men and the maids, and
looked to the interest of the master of the house in every respect.
There came one time an arch mischievous boy to live at service in this
house, and his great delight was, whenever he got an opportunity, to give
the Nis all the annoyance in his power. One evening, late, when everything
was quiet in the place, the Nis took his little wooden dish, and was just
going to eat his supper, when he perceived that the boy had put the butter at
the bottom, and concealed it, in hopes that he might eat the groute first, and
then find the butter when all the groute was gone. He accordingly set about
thinking how he might repay the boy in kind; so, after pondering a little, he
went up to the loft, where the man and the boy were lying asleep in the
same bed. When he had taken the bed-clothes off them, and saw the little
boy by the side of the tall man, he said, "Short and long don't match;" and
with this word he took the boy by the legs and dragged him down to the
man's legs. He then went up to the head of the bed, and "Short and long
don't match," said he again, and then he dragged the boy up once more.
When, do what he would, he could not succeed in making the boy as long
as the man, he still persisted in dragging him up and down in the bed, and
continued at this work the whole night long, till it was broad daylight.
By this time he was well tired, so he crept up on the window-stool, and sat
with his legs hanging down into the yard. But the house-dog—for all dogs
have a great enmity to the Nis—as soon as he saw him, began to bark at
him, which afforded such amusement to Nis, as the dog could not get up to
him, that he put down first one leg and then the other to him, and teazed
him, and kept saying, "Look at my little leg! look at my little leg!" In the
meantime the boy had wakened, and had stolen up close behind him, and
while Nis was least thinking of it, and was going on with his "Look at my
little leg!" the boy tumbled him down into the yard to the dog, crying out at
the same time, "Look at the whole of him now!"

The Nis Stealing Corn.

There lived a man at Thyrsting, in Jutland, who had a Nis in his barn. This
Nis used to attend to the cattle, and at night he would steal fodder for them
from the neighbours, so that this farmer had the best fed and most thriving
cattle in the country.
One time the boy went along with the Nis to Fugleriis to steal corn. The Nis
took as much as he thought he could well carry, but the boy was more
covetous, and said, "Oh, take more; sure we can rest now and then?"
"Rest!" said the Nis; "rest! and what is rest?" "Do what I tell you," replied
the boy; "take more, and we shall find rest when we get out of this."—The
Nis then took more, and they went away with it. But when they were come
to the lands of Thyrsting, the Nis grew tired, and then the boy said to him,
"Here now is rest;" and they both sat down on the side of a little hill. "If I
had known," said the Nis, as they were sitting there, "if I had known that
rest was so good, I'd have carried off all that was in the barn."
It happened some time after that the boy and the Nis were no longer friends,
and as the Nis was sitting one day in the granary-window, with his legs
hanging out into the yard, the boy ran at him and tumbled him back into the
granary. But the Nis took his satisfaction of him that very same night; for
when the boy was gone to bed, he stole down to where he was lying, and
carried him naked as he was out into the yard, and then laid two pieces of
wood across the well, and put him lying on them, expecting that, when he
awoke, he would fall from the fright down into the well and be drowned.
But he was disappointed, for the boy came off without injury.

The Nis and the Mare.

There was a man who lived in the town of Tirup, who had a very handsome
white mare. This mare had for many years gone, like an heirloom, from
father to son, because there was a Nis attached to her, which brought luck to
the place.
This Nis was so fond of the mare, that he could hardly endure to let them
put her to any kind of work, and he used to come himself every night and
feed her of the best; and as for this purpose he usually brought a superfluity
of corn, both threshed and in the straw, from the neighbours' barns, all the

rest of the cattle enjoyed the advantage of it, and they were all kept in
exceeding good case.
It happened at last that the farm-house passed into the hands of a new
owner, who refused to put any faith in what they told him about the mare,
so the luck speedily left the place, and went after the mare to his poor
neighbour who had bought her; and within five days after his purchase, the
poor farmer who had bought the mare began to find his circumstances
gradually improving, while the income of the other, day after day, fell away
and diminished at such a rate, that he was hard set to make both ends meet.
If now the man who had gotten the mare had only known how to be quiet,
and enjoy the good times that were come upon him, he and his children, and
his children's children after him, would have been in flourishing
circumstances till this very day. But when he saw the quantity of corn that
came every night to his barn, he could not resist his desire to get a sight of
the Nis. So he concealed himself one evening, at nightfall, in the stable; and
as soon as it was midnight, he saw how the Nis came from his neighbour's
barn and brought a sackful of corn with him. It was now unavoidable that
the Nis should get a sight of the man who was watching; so he, with evident
marks of grief, gave the mare her food for the last time, cleaned, and
dressed her to the best of his abilities, and when he had done, turned round
to where the man was lying and bid him farewell.
From that day forward the circumstances of both the neighbours were on an
equality, for each now kept his own.

The Nis Riding.

There was a Nis in a farm-house, who was for ever tormenting the maids,
and playing all manner of roguish tricks on them, and they in return were
continually planning how to be even with him. There came one time to the
farm-house a Juttish drover and put up there for the night. Among his cattle,
there was one very large Juttish ox; and when Nis saw him in the stable he
took a prodigious fancy to get up and ride on his back. He accordingly
mounted the ox, and immediately began to torment the beast in such a
manner that he broke loose from his halter and ran out into the yard with the
Nis on his back. Poor Nis was now terrified in earnest, and began to shout

and bawl most lustily. His cries awakened the maids, but instead of coming
to his assistance they laughed at him till they were ready to break their
hearts. And when the ox ran against a piece of timber, so that the
unfortunate Nis had his hood all torn by it, the maids shouted out and called
him "Lame leg, Lame leg," and he made off with himself in most miserable
plight. But the Nis did not forget it to the maids; for the following Sunday
when they were going to the dance, he contrived, unknown to them, to smut
their faces all over, so that when they got up to dance, every one that was
there burst out a laughing at them.

The Nisses in Vosborg.

There was once an exceeding great number of Nisses in Jutland. Those in
Vosborg in particular were treated with so much liberality, that they were
careful and solicitous beyond measure for their master's interest. They got
every evening in their sweet-groute a large lump of butter, and in return for
this, they once showed great zeal and gratitude.
One very severe winter, a lonely house in which there were six calves was
so completely covered by the snow, that for the space of fourteen days no
one could get into it. When the snow was gone, the people naturally thought
that the calves were all dead of hunger; but far from it, they found them all
in excellent condition; the place cleaned up, and the cribs full of beautiful
corn, so that it was quite evident the Nisses had attended to them.
But the Nis, though thus grateful when well treated, is sure to avenge
himself when any one does anything to annoy and vex him. As a Nis was
one day amusing himself by running on the loft over the cow-house, one of
the boards gave way and his leg went through. The boy happened to be in
the cow-house when this happened, and when he saw the Nis's leg hanging
down, he took up a dung fork, and gave him with it a smart rap on the leg.
At noon, when the people were sitting round the table in the hall, the boy
sat continually laughing to himself. The bailiff asked him what he was
laughing at; and the boy replied, "Oh! a got such a blow at Nis to-day, and a
gave him such a hell of a rap with my fork, when he put his leg down
through the loft." "No," cried Nis, outside of the window, "it was not one,
but three blows you gave me, for there were three prongs on the fork; but I
shall pay you for it, my lad."

Next night, while the boy was lying fast asleep, Nis came and took him up
and brought him out into the yard, then flung him over the house, and was
so expeditious in getting to the other side of the house, that he caught him
before he came to the ground, and instantly pitched him over again, and
kept going on with this sport till the boy had been eight times backwards
and forwards over the roof, and the ninth time he let him fall into a great
pool of water, and then set up such a shout of laughter at him, that it
wakened up all the people that were in the place.

In Sweden the Tomte is sometimes seen at noon, in summer, slowly and
stealthily dragging a straw or an ear of corn. A farmer, seeing him thus
engaged, laughed, and said, "What difference does it make if you bring
away that or nothing?" The Tomte in displeasure left his farm, and went to
that of his neighbour; and with him went all prosperity from him who had
made light of him, and passed over to the other farmer. Any one who treated
the industrious Tomte with respect, and set store by the smallest straw,
became rich, and neatness and regularity prevailed in his household.[204]

NECKS, MERMEN, AND MERMAIDS.
Ei Necken mer i flodens vågor quäder,
Och ingen Hafsfru bleker sina kläder
Paa böljans rygg i milda solars glans.
Stagnelius.

The Neck no more upon the river sings,
And no Mermaid to bleach her linen flings
Upon the waves in the mild solar ray.

It is a prevalent opinion in the North that all the various beings of the
popular creed were once worsted in a conflict with superior powers, and
condemned to remain till doomsday in certain assigned abodes. The
Dwarfs, or Hill (Berg) trolls, were appointed the hills; the Elves the groves
and leafy trees; the Hill-people (Högfolk[205]) the caves and caverns; the
Mermen, Mermaids, and Necks, the sea, lakes, and rivers; the River-man
(Strömkarl) the small waterfalls. Both the Catholic and Protestant clergy
have endeavoured to excite an aversion to these beings, but in vain. They
are regarded as possessing considerable power over man and nature, and it
is believed that though now unhappy, they will be eventually saved, or faa
förlossning (get salvation), as it is expressed.

The Neck (in Danish Nökke[206]) is the river-spirit. The ideas respecting
him are various. Sometimes he is represented as sitting, of summer nights,
on the surface of the water, like a pretty little boy, with golden hair hanging
in ringlets, and a red cap on his head; sometimes as above the water, like a
handsome young man, but beneath like a horse;[207] at other times, as an old
man with a long beard, out of which he wrings the water as he sits on the
cliffs. In this last form, Odin, according to the Icelandic sagas, has
sometimes revealed himself.
The Neck is very severe against any haughty maiden who makes an ill
return to the love of her wooer; but should he himself fall in love with a
maid of human kind, he is the most polite and attentive suitor in the world.

Though he is thus severe only against those who deserve it, yet country
people when they are upon the water use certain precautions against his
power. Metals, particularly steel, are believed "to bind the Neck," (binda
Necken); and when going on the open sea, they usually put a knife in the
bottom of the boat, or set a nail in a reed. In Norway the following charm is
considered effectual against the Neck:—

Nyk, nyk, naal i vatn!
Jomfru Maria kastet staal i vatn!
Du sök, äk flyt!

Neck, neck, nail in water!
The virgin Mary casteth steel in water!
Do you sink, I flit!

The Neck is a great musician. He sits on the water and plays on his gold
harp, the harmony of which operates on all nature. To learn music of him, a
person must present him with a black lamb, and also promise him
resurrection and redemption.
The following story is told in all parts of Sweden:—
"Two boys were one time playing near a river that ran by their father's
house. The Neck rose and sat on the surface of the water, and played on his
harp; but one of the children said to him, 'What is the use, Neck, of your
sitting there and playing? you will never be saved.' The Neck then began to
weep bitterly, flung away his harp, and sank down to the bottom. The
children went home, and told the whole story to their father, who was the
parish priest. He said they were wrong to say so to the Neck, and desired
them to go immediately back to the river, and console him with the promise
of salvation. They did so: and when they came down to the river the Neck
was sitting on the water, weeping and lamenting. They then said to him,
'Neck, do not grieve so; our father says that your Redeemer liveth also.' The
Neck then took his harp and played most sweetly, until long after the sun
was gone down."
This legend is also found in Denmark, but in a less agreeable form. A
clergyman, it is said, was journeying one night to Roeskilde in Zealand. His
way led by a hill in which there was music and dancing and great

merriment going forward. Some dwarfs jumped suddenly out of it, stopped
the carriage, and asked him whither he was going. He replied to the synod
of the church. They asked him if he thought they could be saved. To that, he
replied, he could not give an immediate answer. They then begged that he
would give them a reply by next year. When he next passed, and they made
the same demand, he replied, "No, you are all damned." Scarcely had he
spoken the word, when the whole hill appeared in flames.
In another form of this legend, a priest says to the Neck, "Sooner will this
cane which I hold in my hand grow green flowers than thou shalt attain
salvation." The Neck in grief flung away his harp and wept, and the priest
rode on. But soon his cane began to put forth leaves and blossoms, and he
then went back to communicate the glad tidings to the Neck who now
joyously played on all the entire night.[208]

The Power of the Harp.

Little Kerstin she weeps in her bower all the day;
Sir Peter in his courtyard is playing so gay.
My heart's own dear!
Tell me wherefore you grieve?

"Grieve you for saddle, or grieve you for steed?
Or grieve you for that I have you wed?"
My heart's, &c.

"And grieve do I not for saddle or for steed:
And grieve do I not for that I have you wed.
My heart's, &c.

"Much more do I grieve for my fair gold hair,
Which in the blue waves shall be stained to-day.
My heart's, &c.

"Much more do I grieve for Ringfalla flood,
In which have been drowned my two sisters proud.
My heart's, &c.

"It was laid out for me in my infancy,
That my wedding-day should prove heavy to me."
My heart's, &c.

"And I shall make them the horse round shoe,
He shall not stumble on his four gold shoes.
My heart's, &c.

"Twelve of my courtiers shall before thee ride,
Twelve of my courtiers upon each side."
My heart's, &c.

But when they were come to Ringfalla wood,
There sported a hart with gilded horns proud.
My heart's, &c.

And all the courtiers after the hart are gone;
Little Kerstin, she must proceed alone.
My heart's, &c.

And when on Ringfalla bridge she goes,
Her steed he stumbled on his four gold shoes.
My heart's, &c.

Four gold shoes, and thirty gold nails,
And the maiden into the swift stream falls.
My heart's, &c.

Sir Peter he spake to his footpage so—
"Thou must for my gold harp instantly go."
My heart's, &c.

The first stroke on his gold harp he gave
The foul ugly Neck sat and laughed on the wave.
My heart's, &c.

The second time the gold harp he swept,
The foul ugly Neck on the wave sat and wept.

My heart's, &c.

The third stroke on the gold harp rang,
Little Kerstin reached up her snow-white arm.
My heart's, &c.[209]

He played the bark from off the high trees;
He played Little Kerstin back on his knees.
My heart's, &c.

And the Neck he out of the waves came there,
And a proud maiden on each arm he bare.
My heart's own dear!
Tell me wherefore you grieve?[210]

The Strömkarl, called in Norway Grim or Fosse-Grim[211] (Waterfall-
Grim) is a musical genius like the Neck. Like him too, when properly
propitiated, he communicates his art. The sacrifice also is a black lamb,[212]
which the offerer must present with averted head, and on Thursday evening.
If it is poor the pupil gets no further than to the tuning of the instruments; if
it is fat the Strömkarl seizes the votary by the right hand, and swings it
backwards and forwards till the blood runs out at the finger-ends. The
aspirant is then enabled to play in such a masterly manner that the trees
dance and waterfalls stop at his music.[213]
The Havmand, or Merman, is described as of a handsome form, with green
or black hair and beard. He dwells either in the bottom of the sea, or in the
cliffs and hills near the sea shore, and is regarded as rather a good and
beneficent kind of being.[214]
The Havfrue, or Mermaid, is represented in the popular tradition sometimes
as a good, at other times as an evil and treacherous being. She is beautiful in
her appearance. Fishermen sometimes see her in the bright summer's sun,
when a thin mist hangs over the sea, sitting on the surface of the water, and
combing her long golden hair with a golden comb, or driving up her snow-
white cattle to feed on the strands and small islands. At other times she
comes as a beautiful maiden, chilled and shivering with the cold of the
night, to the fires the fishers have kindled, hoping by this means to entice

them to her love.[215] Her appearance prognosticates both storm and ill
success in their fishing. People that are drowned, and whose bodies are not
found, are believed to be taken into the dwellings of the Mermaids. These
beings are also supposed to have the power of foretelling future events. A
Mermaid, we are told, prophesied the birth of Christian IV. of Denmark, and

En Havfrue op af Vandet steg,
Og spaade Herr Sinklar ilde.
Sinclar's Visa.

A mermaid from the water rose,
And spaed Sir Sinclar ill.

Fortune-telling has been in all countries a gift of the sea-people. We need
hardly mention the prophecies of Nereus and Proteus.
A girl one time fell into the power of a Havfrue and passed fifteen years in
her submarine abode without ever seeing the sun. At length her brother
went down in quest of her, and succeeded in bringing her back to the upper
world. The Havfrue waited for seven years expecting her return, but when
she did not come back, she struck the water with her staff and made it boil
up and cried—

Hade jag trott att du varit så falsk,
Så skulle jag kreckt dig din tiufvehals!

Had I but known thee so false to be,
Thy thieving neck I'd have cracked for thee.[216]

Duke Magnus and the Mermaid.

Duke Magnus looked out through the castle windów,
How the stream ran so rapidly;
And there he saw how upon the stream sat
A woman most fair and lovelie,
Duke Magnus, Duke Magnus, plight thee to me,
I pray you still so freely;
Say me not nay, but yes, yes!

"O, to you I will give a travelling ship,
The best that a knight would guide;
It goeth as well on water as on firm land,
And through the fields all so wide.
Duke Magnus, &c.

"O, to you will I give a courser gray,
The best that a knight would ride;
He goeth as well on water as on firm land,
And through the groves all so wide."
Duke Magnus, &c.

"O, how should I plight me to you?
I never any quiet get;
I serve the king and my native land,
But with woman I match me not yet."
Duke Magnus, &c.

"To you will I give as much of gold
As for more than your life will endure;
And of pearls and precious stones handfùls;
And all shall be so pure."
Duke Magnus, &c.

"O gladly would I plight me to thee,
If thou wert of Christian kind;
But now thou art a vile sea-troll,
My love thou canst never win."
Duke Magnus, &c.

"Duke Magnus, Duke Magnus, bethink thee well,
And answer not so haughtily;
For if thou wilt not plight thee to me,
Thou shalt ever crazy be."
Duke Magnus, &c.

"I am a king's son so good,
How can I let you gain me?

You dwell not on land, but in the flood,
Which would not with me agree."
Duke Magnus, Duke Magnus, plight thee to me,
I offer you still so freely;
Say me not nay, but yes, yes![217]

NORTHERN ISLANDS.
Här Necken sin Harpa i Glasborgen slår,
Och Hafsfruar kamma sitt grönskande hår,
Och bleka den skinande drägten.
Stagnelius.

The Neck here his harp in the glass-castle plays,
And Mermaidens comb out their green hair
always,
And bleach here their shining white clothes.

Under the title of Northern Islands we include all those lying in the ocean to
the north of Scotland, to wit Iceland, the Feroes, Shetland, and the Orkneys.
These islands were all peopled from Norway and Denmark during the ninth
century. Till that time many of them, particularly Iceland and the Feroes,
though, perhaps, occasionally visited by stray Vikings, or by ships driven
out of their course by tempests, had lain waste and desert from the creation,
the abode alone of wild beasts and birds.
But at that period the proud nobles of Norway and Denmark, who scorned
to be the vassals of Harold Fairhair and Gorm the Old, the founders of the
Norwegian and Danish monarchies, set forth in quest of new settlements,
where, at a distance from these haughty potentates, they might live in the
full enjoyment of their beloved independence. Followed by numerous
vassals, they embarked on the wide Atlantic. A portion fixed themselves on
the distant shores of Iceland; others took possession of the vacant Feroes;
and more dispossessed the Peti and Papæ, the ancient inhabitants of
Shetland and the Orkneys, and seized on their country.
As the Scandinavians were at that time still worshipers of Thor and Odin,
the belief in Alfs and Dwarfs accompanied them to their new abodes, and
there, as elsewhere, survived the introduction of Christianity. We now
proceed to examine the vestiges of the old religion still to be traced.

ICELAND.
Hvad mon da ei
Og her lyksalig leves kan? Jeg troer
Det mueligt, som för i Heden-Old
For raske Skander mueligt det var,
Paa denne kolde Öe.
Islandske Landlevnet.

What! cannot one
Here, too, live happy? I believe it now
As possible, as in the heathen age,
For the bold Scandinavians it was,
On this cold isle.

It is in vain that we look into the works of travellers for information on the
subject of popular belief in Iceland. Their attention was too much occupied
by Geysers, volcanoes, agriculture, and religion, to allow them to devote
any part of it to this, in their eyes, unimportant subject. So that, were it not
for some short but curious notices given by natives of the island, we should
be quite ignorant of the fate of the subordinate classes of the old religion in
Iceland.
Torfæus, who wrote in the latter end of the seventeenth century, gives, in his
preface to his edition of Hrolf Krakas Saga, the opinion of a venerable
Icelandic pastor, named Einar Gudmund, respecting the Dwarfs. This
opinion Torfæus heard when a boy from the lips of the old man.
"I believe, and am fully persuaded," said he, "that this people are the
creatures of God, consisting of a body and a rational spirit; that they are of
both sexes; marry, and have children; and that all human acts take place
among them as with us: that they are possessed of cattle, and of many other
kinds of property; have poverty and riches, weeping and laughter, sleep and
wake, and have all other affections belonging to human nature; and that
they enjoy a longer or a shorter term of life according to the will and

pleasure of God. Their power of having children," he adds, "appears from
this, that some of their women have had children by men, and were very
anxious to have their offspring dipped in the sacred font, and initiated into
Christianity; but they, in general, sought in vain. Thorkatla Mari, the wife of
Kari, was pregnant by a Hill-man, but she did not bring the child Aresus
into the world, as appears from the poems made on this fatal occasion.
"There was formerly on the lands of Haga a nobleman named Sigvard
Fostre, who had to do with a Hill-woman. He promised her faithfully that
he would take care to have the child received into the bosom of the church.
In due time the woman came with her child and laid it on the churchyard
wall, and along with it a gilded cup and a holy robe (presents she intended
making to the church for the baptism of her child), and then retired a little
way. The pastor inquired who acknowledged himself the father of the child.
Sigvard, perhaps, out of shame, did not venture to acknowledge himself.
The clerk now asked him if it should be baptised or not. Sigvard said 'No,'
lest by assenting he should be proved to be the father. The infant then was
left where it was, untouched and unbaptised. The mother, filled with rage,
snatched up her babe and the cup, but left the vestment, the remains of
which may still be seen in Haga. That woman foretold and inflicted a
singular disease on Sigvard and his posterity till the ninth generation, and
several of his descendants are to this day afflicted with it. Andrew
Gudmund (from which I am the seventh in descent) had an affair of the
same kind. He also refused to have the child baptised, and he and his
posterity have suffered a remarkable disease, of which very many of them
have died; but some, by the interposition of good men, have escaped the
deserved punishment."
The fullest account we have of the Icelandic Elves or Dwarfs is contained in
the following passage of the Ecclesiastical History of Iceland of the learned
Finnus Johannæus.
"As we have not as yet," says he, "spoken a single word about the very
ancient, and I know not whether more ridiculous or perverse, persuasion of
our forefathers about semigods, this seems the proper place for saying a few
words about this so celebrated figment, as it was chiefly in this period it
attained its acmè, and it was believed as a true and necessary article of faith,
that there are genii or semigods, called in our language Alfa and Alfa-folk.

"Authors vary respecting their essence and origin. Some hold that they have
been created by God immediately and without the intervention of parents,
like some kinds of spirits: others maintain that they are sprung from Adam,
but before the creation of Eve:[218] lastly, some refer them to another race of
men, or to a stock of præ-Adamites. Some bestow on them not merely a
human body, but an immortal soul: others assign them merely mortal breath
(spiritum) instead of a soul, whence a certain blockhead,[219] in an essay
written by him respecting them, calls them our half-kin (half-kyn).
"According to the old wives' tales that are related about this race of genii
who inhabit Iceland and its vicinity, they have a political form of
government modelled after the same pattern as that which the inhabitants
themselves are under. Two viceroys rule over them, who in turn every
second year, attended by some of the subjects, sail to Norway, to present
themselves before the monarch of the whole race, who resides there, and to
give him a true report concerning the fidelity, good conduct, and obedience
of the subjects; and those who accompany them are to accuse the
government or viceroys if they have transgressed the bounds of justice or of
good morals. If these are convicted of crime or injustice, they are forthwith
stript of their office, and others are appointed in their place.
"This nation is reported to cultivate justice and equity above all other
virtues, and hence, though they are very potent, especially with words and
imprecations, they very rarely, unless provoked or injured, do any mischief
to man; but when irritated they avenge themselves on their enemies with
dreadful curses and punishments.
"The new-born infants of Christians are, before baptism, believed to be
exposed to great peril of being stolen by them, and their own, which they
foresee likely to be feeble in mind, in body, in beauty, or other gifts, being
substituted for them. These supposititious children of the semigods are
called Umskiptingar; whence nurses and midwives were strictly enjoined to
watch constantly, and to hold the infant firmly in their arms, till it had had
the benefit of baptism, lest they should furnish any opportunity for such a
change. Hence it comes, that the vulgar use to call fools, deformed people,
and those who act rudely and uncivilly, Umskiptinga eins og hann sie ko
minnaf Alfum, i.e. changelings, and come of the Alfs.

"They use rocks, hills, and even the seas, for their habitations, which
withinside are neat, and all their domestic utensils extremely clean and
orderly. They sometimes invite men home, and take especial delight in the
converse of Christians, some of whom have had intercourse with their
daughters or sisters, who are no less wanton than beautiful, and have had
children by them, who must by all means be washed in holy water, that they
may receive an immortal soul, and one that can be saved. Nay, they have
not been ashamed to feign that certain women of them have been joined in
lawful marriage with men, and continued for a long time with them, happily
at first, but, for the most part, with an ill or tragical conclusion.
"Their cattle, if not very numerous, are at least very profitable. They are
invisible as their owners are, unless when it pleases them to appear, which
usually takes place when the weather is serene and the sun shining very
bright; for as they do not see the sun within their dwellings, they frequently
walk out in the sunshine that they may be cheered by his radiance.[220]
Hence, even the coffins of dead kings and nobles, such as are the oblong
stones which are to be seen here and there, in wildernesses and rough
places, always lie in the open air and exposed to the sun.
"They change their abodes and habitations occasionally like mankind; this
they do on new-year's night; whence certain dreamers and mountebanks
used on that night to watch in the roads, that, by the means of various forms
of conjurations appointed for that purpose, they might extort from them as
they passed along the knowledge of future events.[221] But people in
general, who were not acquainted with such things, especially the heads of
families, used on this evening strictly to charge their children and servants
to be sure to be serious and modest in their actions and language, lest their
invisible guests, and mayhap future neighbours, should be aggrieved or any
way offended. Hence, when going to bed they did not shut the outer doors
of their houses, nor even the door of the sitting-room, but having kindled a
light, and laid out a table, they desired the invisible personages who had
arrived, or were to arrive, to partake, if it was their pleasure, of the food that
was laid out for them; and hoped that if it pleased them to dwell within the
limits of their lands, they would live safe and sound, and be propitious to
them. As this superstitious belief is extremely ancient, so it long continued

in full vigour, and was held by some even within the memory of our
fathers."[222]
The Icelandic Neck, Kelpie, or Water-Spirit, is called Nickur, Ninnir, and
Hnikur, one of the Eddaic names of Odin. He appears always in the form of
a fine apple-grey horse on the sea-shore; but he may be distinguished from
ordinary horses by the circumstance of his hoofs being reversed. If any one
is so foolish as to mount him, he gallops off, and plunges into the sea with
his burden. He can, however, be caught in a particular manner, tamed, and
made to work.[223]

The Icelanders have the same notions respecting the seals which we shall
find in the Feroes and Shetland. It is a common opinion with them that King
Pharaoh and his army were changed into these animals.

FEROES.

Sjûrur touk teâ besta svör
Sum Dvörgurin heji smuja.
Qvörfins Thaattur.

Sigurd took the very best sword
That the Dwarfs had ever smithed.

The people of the Feroes believe in the same classes of beings as the
inhabitants of the countries whence their ancestors came.
They call the Trolls Underground-people, Hollow-men, Foddenskkmænd,
and Huldefolk. These Trolls used frequently to carry people into their hills,
and detain them there. Among several other instances, Debes[224] gives the
following one of this practice:
"Whilst Mr. Taale was priest in Osteröe, it happened that one of his hearers
was carried away and returned again. At last the said young man being to be
married, and every thing prepared, and the priest being arrived the Saturday
before at the parish, the bridegroom was carried away; wherefore they sent
folks to look after him, but he could not be found. The priest desired his
friends to have good courage, and that he would come again; which he did
at last, and related that the spirit that led him away was in the shape of a
most beautiful woman, and very richly dressed, who desired him to forsake
her whom he was now to marry, and consider how ugly his mistress was in
comparison of her, and what fine apparel she had. He said also that he saw
the men that sought after him, and that they went close by him but could not
see him, and that he heard their calling, and yet could not answer them; but
that when he would not be persuaded he was again left at liberty."

The people of the Feroes call the Nisses or Brownies Niägruisar, and
describe them as little creatures with red caps on their heads, that bring luck
to any place where they take up their abode.

It is the belief of the people of these islands that every ninth-night the seals
put off their skins and assume the human form, and dance and sport about
on the land. After some time, they resume their skins and return to the
water. The following adventure, it is said, once occurred:[225]
"A man happening to pass by where a female seal was disporting herself in
the form of a woman, found her skin, and took and hid it. When she could
not find her skin to creep into, she was forced to remain in the human form;
and as she was fair to look upon, that same man took her to wife, had
children by her, and lived right happily with her. After a long time, the wife
found the skin that had been stolen, and could not resist the temptation to
creep into it, and so she became a seal again, and returned to the sea."

The Neck called Nikar is also an object of popular faith in the Feroes. He
inhabits the streams and lakes, and takes a delight in drowning people.

SHETLAND.
Well, since we are welcome to Yule,
Up wi't Lightfoot, link it awa', boys!
Send for a fiddler, play up Foula reel,
The Shaalds will pay for a', boys.
Shetland Song.

Dr. Hibbert's valuable work on the Shetland Islands[226] fortunately enables
us to give a tolerably complete account of the fairy system of these islands.
The Shetlanders, he informs us, believe in two kinds of Trows, as they call
the Scandinavian Trolls, those of the land and those of the sea.
The former, whom, like the Scots, they also term the guid folk and guid
neighbours, they conceive to inhabit the interior of green hills. Persons who
have been brought into their habitations have been dazzled with the
splendour of what they saw there. All the interior walls are adorned with
gold and silver, and the domestic utensils resemble the strange things that
are found sometimes lying on the hills. These persons have always entered
the hill on one side and gone out at the other.
They marry and have children, like their northern kindred. A woman of the
island of Yell, who died not long since, at the advanced age of more than a
hundred years, said, that she once met some fairy children, accompanied by
a little dog, playing like other boys and girls, on the top of a hill. Another
time she happened one night to raise herself up in the bed, when she saw a
little boy with a white nightcap on his head, sitting at the fire. She asked
him who he was. "I am Trippa's son," said he. When she heard this, she
instantly sained, i. e. blessed herself, and Trippa's son vanished.
Saining is the grand protection against them; a Shetlander always sains
himself when passing by their hills.
The Trows are of a diminutive stature, and they are usually dressed in gay
green garments. When travelling from one place to another they may be

seen mounted on bulrushes, and riding through the air. If a person should
happen to meet them when on these journeys, he should, if he has not a
bible in his pocket, draw a circle round him on the ground, and in God's
name forbid their approach. They then generally disappear.[227]
They are fond of music and dancing, and it is their dancing that forms the
fairy rings. A Shetlander lying awake in bed before day one morning, heard
the noise of a party of Trows passing by his door. They were preceded by a
piper, who was playing away lustily. The man happened to have a good ear
for music, so he picked up the tune he heard played, and used often after to
repeat it for his friends under the name of the Fairy-tune.
The Trows are not free from disease, but they are possessed of infallible
remedies, which they sometimes bestow on their favourites. A man in the
island of Unst had an earthen pot that contained an ointment of marvellous
power. This he said he got from the hills, and, like the widow's cruise, its
contents never failed.
They have all the picking and stealing propensities of the Scandinavian
Trolls. The dairy-maid sometimes detects a Trow-woman secretly milking
the cows in the byre. She sains herself, and the thief takes to flight so
precipitately as to leave behind her a copper pan of a form never seen
before.
When they want beef or mutton on any festal occasion, they betake
themselves to the Shetlanders' scatholds or town-mails, and with elf-arrows
bring down their game. On these occasions they delude the eyes of the
owner with the appearance of something exactly resembling the animal
whom they have carried off, and by its apparent violent death by some
accident. It is on this account that the flesh of such animals as have met a
sudden or violent death is regarded as improper food.
A Shetlander, who is probably still alive, affirmed that he was once taken
into a hill by the Trows. Here one of the first objects that met his view was
one of his own cows, that was brought in to furnish materials for a banquet.
He regarded himself as being in rather a ticklish situation if it were not for
the protection of the Trow-women, by whose favour he had been admitted
within the hill. On returning home, he learned, to his great surprise, that at

the very moment he saw the cow brought into the hill, others had seen her
falling over the rocks.
Lying-in-women and "unchristened bairns" they regard as lawful prize. The
former they employ as wet-nurses, the latter they of course rear up as their
own. Nothing will induce parents to show any attention to a child that they
suspect of being a changeling. But there are persons who undertake to enter
the hills and regain the lost child.
A tailor, not long since, related the following story. He was employed to
work at a farm-house where there was a child that was an idiot, and who
was supposed to have been left there by the Trows instead of some proper
child, whom they had taken into the hills. One night, after he had retired to
his bed, leaving the idiot asleep by the fire, he was suddenly waked out of
his sleep by the sound of music, and on looking about him he saw the whole
room full of fairies, who were dancing away their rounds most joyously.
Suddenly the idiot jumped up and joined in the dance, and showed such a
degree of acquaintance with the various steps and movements as plainly
testified that it must have been a long time since he first went under the
hands of the dancing-master. The tailor looked on for some time with
admiration, but at last he grew alarmed and sained himself. On hearing this,
the Trows all fled in the utmost disorder, but one of them, a woman, was so
incensed at this interruption of their revels, that as she went out she touched
the big toe of the tailor, and he lost the power of ever after moving it.[228]
In these cases of paralysis they believe that the Trows have taken away the
sound member and left a log behind. They even sometimes sear the part,
and from the want of sensation in it boast of the correctness of this opinion.
[229]

With respect to the Sea-Trows, it is the belief of the Shetlanders that they
inhabit a region of their own at the bottom of the sea.[230] They here respire
a peculiar atmosphere, and live in habitations constructed of the choicest
submarine productions. When they visit the upper world on occasions of

business or curiosity, they are obliged to enter the skin of some animal
capable of respiring in the water. One of the shapes they assume is that of
what is commonly called a merman or mermaid, human from the waist
upwards, terminating below in the tail of a fish. But their most favourite
vehicle is the skin of the larger seal or Haaf fish, for as this animal is
amphibious they can land on some rock, and there cast off their sea-dress
and assume their own shape, and amuse themselves as they will in the
upper world. They must, however, take especial care of their skins, as each
has but one, and if that should be lost, the owner can never re-descend, but
must become an inhabitant of the supramarine world.
The following Shetland tales will illustrate this:—

Gioga's Son.

A boat's-crew landed one time upon one of the stacks[231] with the intention
of attacking the seals. They had considerable success; stunned several of
them, and while they lay stupefied, stripped them of their skins, with the fat
attached to them. They left the naked carcases lying on the rocks, and were
about to get into their boat with their spoils and return to Papa Stour,
whence they had come. But just as they were embarking, there rose such a
tremendous swell that they saw there was not a moment to be lost, and
every one flew as quickly as he could to get on board the boat. They were
all successful but one man, who had imprudently loitered behind. His
companions were very unwilling to leave him on the skerries, perhaps to
perish, but the surge increased so fast, that after many unsuccessful attempts
to bring the boat in close to the stacks, they were obliged to depart, and
leave the unfortunate man to his fate.
A dark stormy night came on, the sea dashed most furiously against the
rocks, and the poor deserted Shetlander saw no prospect before him but that
of dying of the cold and hunger, or of being washed into the sea by the
breakers, which now threatened every moment to run over the stack.
At length he perceived several of the seals, who had escaped from the
boatmen, approaching the skerry. When they landed they stripped off their
seal-skin dresses and appeared in their proper forms of Sea-Trows. Their
first object was to endeavour to recover their friends, who lay stunned and

skinless. When they had succeeded in bringing them to themselves, they
also resumed their proper form, and appeared in the shape of the sub-marine
people. But in mournful tones, wildly accompanied by the raging storm,
they lamented the loss of their sea-vestures, the want of which would for
ever prevent them from returning to their native abodes beneath the deep
waters of the Atlantic. Most of all did they lament for Ollavitinus, the son of
Gioga, who, stripped of his seal-skin, must abide for ever in the upper
world.
Their song was at length broken off by their perceiving the unfortunate
boatman, who, with shivering limbs and despairing looks, was gazing on
the furious waves that now dashed over the stack. Gioga, when she saw
him, instantly conceived the design of rendering the perilous situation of the
man of advantage to her son. She went up to him, and mildly addressed
him, proposing to carry him on her back through the sea to Papa Stour, on
condition of his getting her the seal-skin of her son.
The bargain was soon made, and Gioga equipped herself in her phocine
garb; but when the Shetlander gazed on the stormy sea he was to ride
through, his courage nearly failed him, and he begged of the old lady to
have the kindness to allow him to cut a few holes in her shoulders and
flanks, that he might obtain a better fastening for his hands between the skin
and the flesh.
This, too, her maternal tenderness induced Gioga to consent to. The man,
having prepared everything, now mounted, and she plunged into the waves
with him, gallantly ploughed the deep, and landed him safe and sound at
Acres Gio, in Papa Stour. He thence set out for Skeo, at Hamna Voe, where
the skin was, and honourably fulfilled his agreement by restoring to Gioga
the means of bringing back her son to his dear native land.

The Mermaid Wife.

On a fine summer's evening, an inhabitant of Unst happened to be walking
along the sandy margin of a voe.[232] The moon was risen, and by her light
he discerned at some distance before him a number of the sea-people, who
were dancing with great vigour on the smooth sand. Near them he saw lying
on the ground several seal-skins.

As the man approached the dancers, all gave over their merriment, and flew
like lightning to secure their garments; then clothing themselves, plunged in
the form of seals into the sea. But the Shetlander, on coming up to the spot
where they had been, and casting his eyes down on the ground, saw that
they had left one skin behind them, which was lying just at his feet. He
snatched it up, carried it swiftly away, and placed it in security.
On returning to the shore, he met the fairest maiden that eye ever gazed
upon: she was walking backwards and forwards, lamenting in most piteous
tones the loss of her seal-skin robe, without which she never could hope to
rejoin her family and friends below the waters, but must remain an
unwilling inhabitant of the region enlightened by the sun.
The man approached and endeavoured to console her, but she would not be
comforted. She implored him in the most moving accents to restore her
dress; but the view of her lovely face, more beautiful in tears, had steeled
his heart. He represented to her the impossibility of her return, and that her
friends would soon give her up; and finally, made an offer to her of his
heart, hand, and fortune.
The sea-maiden, finding she had no alternative, at length consented to
become his wife. They were married, and lived together for many years,
during which time they had several children, who retained no vestiges of
their marine origin, saving a thin web between their fingers, and a bend of
their hands, resembling that of the fore paws of a seal; distinctions which
characterise the descendants of the family to the present day.
The Shetlander's love for his beautiful wife was unbounded, but she made
but a cold return to his affection. Often would she steal out alone and hasten
down to the lonely strand, and there at a given signal, a seal of large size
would make his appearance, and they would converse for hours together in
an unknown language; and she would return home from this meeting
pensive and melancholy.
Thus glided away years, and her hopes of leaving the upper world had
nearly vanished, when it chanced one day, that one of the children, playing
behind a stack of corn, found a seal-skin. Delighted with his prize, he ran
with breathless eagerness to display it before his mother. Her eyes glistened
with delight at the view of it; for in it she saw her own dress, the loss of

which had cost her so many tears. She now regarded herself as completely
emancipated from thraldom; and in idea she was already with her friends
beneath the waves. One thing alone was a drawback on her raptures. She
loved her children, and she was now about to leave them for ever. Yet they
weighed not against the pleasures she had in prospect: so after kissing and
embracing them several times, she took up the skin, went out, and
proceeded down to the beach.
In a few minutes after the husband came in, and the children told him what
had occurred. The truth instantly flashed across his mind, and he hurried
down to the shore with all the speed that love and anxiety could give. But
he only arrived in time to see his wife take the form of a seal, and from the
ledge of a rock plunge into the sea.
The large seal, with whom she used to hold her conversations, immediately
joined her, and congratulated her on her escape, and they quitted the shore
together. But ere she went she turned round to her husband, who stood in
mute despair on the rock, and whose misery excited feelings of compassion
in her breast. "Farewell," said she to him, "and may all good fortune attend
you. I loved you well while I was with you, but I always loved my first
husband better."[233]

The water-spirit is in Shetland called Shoopiltee; he appears in the form of a
pretty little horse, and endeavours to entice persons to ride on him, and then
gallops with them into the sea.

ORKNEYS.
Harold was born where restless seas
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades.
Scott.

Of the Orcadian Fairies we have very little information. Brand[234] merely
tells us, they were, in his time, frequently seen in several of the isles
dancing and making merry; so that we may fairly conclude they differed
little from their Scottish and Shetland neighbours. One thing he adds, which
is of some importance, that they were frequently seen in armour.
Brownie seems to have been the principal Orkney Fairy, where he
possessed a degree of importance rather beyond what was allotted to him in
the neighbouring realm of Scotland.
"Not above forty or fifty years ago," says Brand, "almost every family had a
Brownie, or evil spirit, so called, which served them, to whom they gave a
sacrifice for its service; as, when they churned their milk, they took a part
thereof and sprinkled every corner of the house with it for Brownie's use;
likewise, when they brewed, they had a stone which they called Brownie's
stone, wherein there was a little hole, into which they poured some wort for
a sacrifice to Brownie. My informer, a minister of the country, told me that
he had conversed with an old man, who, when young, used to brew and
sometimes read upon his bible; to whom an old woman in the house said
that Brownie was displeased with that book he read upon, which, if he
continued to do, they would get no more service of Brownie. But he being
better instructed from that book which was Brownie's eyesore, and the
object of his wrath, when he brewed, he would not suffer any sacrifice to be
given to Brownie; whereupon, the first and second brewings were spilt and
for no use, though the wort wrought well, yet in a little time it left off
working and grew cold; but of the third browst or brewing, he had ale very
good, though he would not give any sacrifice to Brownie, with whom
afterwards they were no more troubled. I had also from the same informer,
that a lady in Unst, now deceased, told him that when she first took up

house, she refused to give a sacrifice to Brownie, upon which, the first and
second brewings misgave, but the third was good; and Brownie, not being
regarded and rewarded as formerly he had been, abandoned his wonted
service: which cleareth the Scripture, 'Resist the devil and he will flee from
you.' They also had stacks of corn which they called Brownie's stacks,
which, though they were not bound with straw ropes, or any way fenced as
other stacks use to be, yet the greatest storm of wind was not able to blow
anything off them."
A very important personage once, we are told, inhabited the Orkneys in the
character of Brownie.
"Luridan," says Reginald Scot, "a familiar of this kind, did for many years
inhabit the island of Pomonia, the largest of the Orkades in Scotland,
supplying the place of manservant and maid-servant with wonderful
diligence to those families whom he did haunt, sweeping their rooms and
washing their dishes, and making their fires before any were up in the
morning. This Luridan affirmed, that he was the genius Astral of that island;
that his place or residence in the days of Solomon and David was at
Jerusalem; that then he was called by the Jews Belelah; after that, he
remained long in the dominion of Wales, instructing their bards in British
poesy and prophecies, being called Wrthin, Wadd, Elgin; 'and now,' said he,
'I have removed hither, and, alas! my continuance is but short, for in
seventy years I must resign my place to Balkin, lord of the Northern
Mountains.'
"Many wonderful and incredible things did he also relate of this Balkin,
affirming that he was shaped like a satyr, and fed upon the air, having wife
and children to the number of twelve thousand, which were the brood of the
Northern Fairies, inhabiting Southerland and Catenes, with the adjacent
islands. And that these were the companies of spirits that hold continual
wars with the fiery spirits in the mountain Heckla, that vomits fire in
Islandia. That their speech was ancient Irish, and their dwelling the caverns
of the rocks and mountains, which relation is recorded in the antiquities of
Pomonia."[235]
Concerning Luridan, we are farther informed from the Book of Vanagastus,
the Norwegian, that it is his nature to be always at enmity with fire; that he

wages war with the fiery spirits of Hecla; and that in this contest they do
often anticipate and destroy one another, killing and crushing when they
meet in mighty and violent troops in the air upon the sea. And at such times,
many of the fiery spirits are destroyed when the enemy hath brought them
off the mountains to fight upon the water. On the contrary, when the battle
is upon the mountain itself, the spirits of the air are often worsted, and then
great moanings and doleful noises are heard in Iceland, and Russia, and
Norway, for many days after.[236]

The Water-spirit called Tangie, from Tang, the sea-weed with which he is
covered, appears sometimes as a little horse, other times as a man.

ISLE OF RÜGEN.
Des Tagscheins Blendung drückt,
Nur Finsterniss beglückt;
Drum hausen wir so gern
Tief in des Erdballs Kern.
Matthisson.

Day's dazzling light annoys
Us, darkness only joys;
We therefore love to dwell
Deep underneath earth's shell.

We now return to the Baltic, to the Isle of Rügen, once a chief seat of the
Vendish religion; but its priests were massacred by the Scandinavians, and
all traces of their system effaced. Its fairy mythology now agrees with that
of its Gothic neighbours, and Mr. Arndt,[237] a native of the island, has
enabled us to give the following tolerably full account of it:—
The inhabitants of Rügen believe in three kinds of Dwarfs, or underground
people, the White, the Brown, and the Black; so named from the colour of
their several habiliments.[238]
The White are the most delicate and beautiful of all, and are of an innocent
and gentle disposition. During the winter, when the face of nature is cold,
raw, and cheerless, they remain still and quiet in their hills, solely engaged
in the fashioning of the finest works in silver and gold, of too delicate a
texture for mortal eyes to discern. Thus they pass the winter; but no sooner
does the spring return than they abandon their recesses, and live through all
the summer above ground, in sunshine and starlight, in uninterrupted
revelry and enjoyment. The moment the trees and flowers begin to sprout
and bud in the early days of spring, they emerge from their hills, and get
among the stalks and branches, and thence to the blossoms and flowers,
where they sit and gaze around them. In the night, when mortals sleep, the
White Dwarfs come forth, and dance their joyous roundels in the green

grass, about the hills, and brooks, and springs, making the sweetest and
most delicate music, bewildering travellers, who hear and wonder at the
strains of the invisible musicians. They may, if they will, go out by day, but
never in company; these daylight rambles being allowed them only when
alone and under some assumed form. They therefore frequently fly about in
the shape of party-coloured little birds, or butterflies, or snow-white doves,
showing kindness and benevolence to the good who merit their favour.
The Brown Dwarfs, the next in order, are less than eighteen inches high.
They wear little brown coats and jackets, and a brown cap on their head,
with a little silver bell in it. Some of them wear black shoes with red strings
in them; in general, however, they wear fine glass ones; at their dances none
of them wear any other. They are very handsome in their persons, with clear
light-coloured eyes, and small and most beautiful hands and feet. They are
on the whole of a cheerful, good-natured disposition, mingled with some
roguish traits. Like the White Dwarfs, they are great artists in gold and
silver, working so curiously as to astonish those who happen to see their
performances. At night they come out of their hills and dance by the light of
the moon and stars. They also glide invisibly into people's houses, their
caps rendering them imperceptible by all who have not similar caps. They
are said to play all kinds of tricks, to change the children in the cradles, and
take them away. This charge is perhaps unfounded, but certainly, children
who fall into their hands must serve them for fifty years. They possess an
unlimited power of transformation, and can pass through the smallest
keyholes. Frequently they bring with them presents for children, or lay gold
rings and ducats, and the like, in their way, and often are invisibly present,
and save them from the perils of fire and water. They plague and annoy lazy
men-servants and untidy maids with frightful dreams; oppress them as the
nightmare; bite them as fleas; and scratch and tear them like cats and dogs;
and often in the night frighten, in the shape of owls, thieves and lovers, or,
like Will-'o-the-wisps, lead them astray into bogs and marshes, and perhaps
up to those who are in pursuit of them.
The Black Dwarfs wear black jackets and caps, are not handsome like the
others, but on the contrary are horridly ugly, with weeping eyes, like
blacksmiths and colliers. They are most expert workmen, especially in steel,
to which they can give a degree at once of hardness and flexibility which no
human smith can imitate; for the swords they make will bend like rushes,

and are as hard as diamonds. In old times arms and armour made by them
were in great request: shirts of mail manufactured by them were as fine as
cobwebs, and yet no bullet would penetrate them, and no helm or corslet
could resist the swords they fashioned; but all these things are now gone out
of use.
These Dwarfs are of a malicious, ill disposition, and delight in doing
mischief to mankind; they are unsocial, and there are seldom more than two
or three of them seen together; they keep mostly in their hills, and seldom
come out in the daytime, nor do they ever go far from home. People say that
in the summer they are fond of sitting under the elder trees, the smell of
which is very grateful to them, and that any one that wants anything of them
must go there and call them. Some say they have no music and dancing,
only howling and whimpering; and that when a screaming is heard in the
woods and marshes, like that of crying children, and a mewing and
screeching like that of a multitude of cats or owls, the sounds proceed from
their midnight assemblies, and are made by the vociferous Dwarfs.
The principal residence of the two first classes of the underground-people in
Rügen is what are called the Nine-hills, near Rambin. These hills lie on the
west point of the island, about a quarter of a mile from the village of
Rambin in the open country. They are small mounds, or Giants' graves
(Hünengräber), as such are called, and are the subject of many a tale and
legend among the people. The account of their origin is as follows:—
"A long, long time ago there lived in Rügen a mighty Giant named
Balderich. He was vexed that the country was an island, and that he had
always to wade through the sea when he wanted to go to Pomerania and the
main land. He accordingly got an immense apron made, and he tied it round
his waist and filled it with earth, for he wanted to make a dam of earth for
himself from the island to the main-land. As he was going with his load
over Rodenkirchen, a hole tore in the apron, and the clay that fell out
formed the Nine-hills. He stopped the hole and went on; but when he he had
gotten to Gustau, another hole tore in the apron, and thirteen little hills fell
out. He proceeded to the sea with what he had now remaining, and pouring
the earth into the waters, formed the hook of Prosnitz, and the pretty little
peninsula of Drigge. But there still remained a small space between Rügen

and Pomerania, which so incensed the Giant that he fell down in a fit and
died, from which unfortunate accident his dam was never finished."[239]
A Giant-maiden commenced a similar operation on the Pomeranian side "in
order," said she, "that I may be able to go over the bit of water without
wetting my little slippers." So she filled her apron with sand and hurried
down to the sea-side. But there was a hole in the apron and just behind
Sagard a part of the sand ran out and formed a little hill named
Dubbleworth. "Ah!" said she, "now my mother will scold me." She stopped
the hole with her hand and ran on as fast as she could. But her mother
looked over the wood and cried, "You nasty child, what are you about?
Come here and you shall get a good whipping." The daughter in a fright let
go the apron, and all the sand ran out and formed the barren hills near
Litzow.[240]
The Dwarfs took up their abode in the Nine-hills. The White ones own two
of them, and the Brown ones seven, for there are no Black ones there. These
dwell chiefly on the coast-hills, along the shore between the Ahlbeck and
Mönchgut, where they hold their assemblies, and plunder the ships that are
wrecked on the coast.

The Neck is called in Rügen Nickel. Some fishers once launched their boat
on a lonely lake. Next day when they came they saw it in a high beech-tree.
"Who the devil has put the boat in the tree?" cried one. A voice replied, but
they saw no one, "'Twas no devil at all, but I and my brother Nickel."[241]

The following stories Mr. Arndt, who, as we have observed, is a native of
Rügen, says he heard in his boyhood from Hinrich Vieck, the Statthalter or
Bailiff of Grabitz, who abounded in these legends; "so that it is, properly

speaking," says he, "Hinrich Vieck, and not I, that relates." we therefore see
no reason to doubt of their genuineness, though they may be a little
embellished.[242]

Adventures of John Dietrich.

There once lived in Rambin an honest, industrious man, named James
Dietrich. He had several children, all of a good disposition, especially the
youngest, whose name was John. John Dietrich was a handsome, smart boy,
diligent at school, and obedient at home. His great passion was for hearing
stories, and whenever he met any one who was well stored, he never let
them go till he had heard them all.
When John was about eight years old he was sent to spend a summer with
his uncle, a farmer in Rodenkirchen. Here John had to keep cows with other
boys, and they used to drive them to graze about the Nine-hills. There was
an old cowherd, one Klas (i. e. Nick) Starkwolt, who used frequently to join
the boys, and then they would sit down together and tell stories. Klas
abounded in these, and he became John Dietrich's dearest friend. In
particular, he knew a number of stories of the Nine-hills and the
undergroundpeople in the old times, when the Giants disappeared from the
country, and the little ones came into the hills. These tales John swallowed
so eagerly that he thought of nothing else, and was for ever talking of
golden cups, and crowns, and glass shoes, and pockets full of ducats, and
gold rings, and diamond coronets, and snow-white brides, and such like.
Old Klas used often to shake his head at him and say, "John! John! what are
you about? The spade and sithe will be your sceptre and crown, and your
bride will wear a garland of rosemary and a gown of striped drill." Still
John almost longed to get into the Nine-hills; for Klas had told him that any
one who by luck or cunning should get the cap of one of the little ones
might go down with safety, and, instead of their making a servant of him, he
would be their master. The person whose cap he got would be his servant,
and obey all his commands.[243]
St. John's day, when the days are longest and the nights shortest, was now
come. Old and young kept the holiday, had all sorts of plays, and told all
kinds of stories. John could now no longer contain himself, but the day after

the festival he slipt away to the Nine-hills, and when it grew dark laid
himself down on the top of the highest of them, where Klas had told him
the undergroundpeople had their principal dance-place. John lay quite still
from ten till twelve at night. At last it struck twelve. Immediately there was
a ringing and a singing in the hills, and then a whispering and a lisping and
a whiz and a buzz all about him; for the little people were now some
whirling round and round in the dance, and others sporting and tumbling
about in the moonshine, and playing a thousand merry pranks and tricks. He
felt a secret dread come over him at this whispering and buzzing, for he
could see nothing of them, as the caps they wore made them invisible; but
he lay quite still, with his face in the grass and his eyes fast shut, snoring a
little, just as if he was asleep. Yet now and then he ventured to open his eyes
a little and peep out, but not the slightest trace of them could he see, though
it was bright moonlight.
It was not long before three of the underground-people came jumping up to
where he was lying; but they took no heed of him, and flung their brown
caps up into the air, and caught them from one another. At length one
snatched the cap out of the hand of another and flung it away. It flew direct,
and fell upon John's head. The moment he felt it he caught hold of it, and,
standing up, bid farewell to sleep. He swung his cap about for joy, and
made the little silver bell of it tingle, and then set it upon his head, and—O
wonderful!—that instant he saw the countless and merry swarm of the little
people.
The three little men came slily up to him, and thought by their nimbleness
to get back the cap; but he held his prize fast, and they saw clearly that
nothing was to be done in this way with him; for in size and strength John
was a giant in comparison of these little fellows, who hardly came up to his
knee. The owner of the cap now came up very humbly to the finder, and
begged, in as supplicating a tone as if his life depended upon it, that he
would give him back his cap. But "No," said John, "you sly little rogue,
you'll get the cap no more. That's not the sort of thing that one gives away
for buttered cake: I should be in a nice way with you if I had not something
of yours; but now you have no power over me, but must do what I please.
And I will go down with you, and see how you live below, and you shall be
my servant.—Nay, no grumbling, you know you must. I know that just as
well as you do, for Klas Starkwolt told it to me often and often."

The little man looked as if he had not heard or understood one word of all
this; he began all his crying and whining over again, and wept, and
screamed, and howled most piteously for his little cap. But John cut the
matter short by saying to him, "Have done; you are my servant, and I intend
to take a trip with you." So he gave up, especially as the others told him that
there was no remedy.
John now flung away his old hat, and put on the cap, and set it firm on his
head, lest it should slip off or fly away, for all his power lay in the cap. He
lost no time in trying its virtues, and commanded his new servant to fetch
him food and drink. And the servant ran away like the wind, and in a second
was there again with bottles of wine, and bread, and rich fruits. So John ate
and drank, and looked on at the sports and the dancing of the little ones, and
it pleased him right well, and he behaved himself stoutly and wisely, as if
he was a born master.
When the cock had now crowed for the third time, and the little larks had
made their first twirl in the sky, and the infant light appeared in solitary
white streaks in the east, then it went hush, hush, hush, through the bushes,
and flowers, and stalks; and the hills rang again, and opened up, and the
little men went down. John gave close attention to everything, and found
that it was exactly as he had been told. And behold! on the top of the hill,
where they had just been dancing, and where all was full of grass and
flowers, as people see it by day, there rose of a sudden, when the retreat was
sounded, a bright glass point. Whoever wanted to go in stepped upon this; it
opened, and he glided gently in, the glass closing again after him; and when
they had all entered it vanished, and there was no farther trace of it to be
seen. Those who descended through the glass point sank quite gently into a
wide silver tun, which held them all, and could have easily harboured a
thousand such little people. John and his man went down into such a one
along with several others, all of whom screamed out and prayed him not to
tread on them, for if his weight came on them they were dead men. He was,
however, careful, and acted in a very friendly way toward them. Several
tuns of this kind went up and down after each other, until all were in. They
hung by long silver chains, which were drawn and held below.
In his descent John was amazed at the wonderful brilliancy of the walls
between which the tun glided down. They were all, as it were, beset with

pearls and diamonds, glittering and sparkling brightly, and below him he
heard the most beautiful music tinkling at a distance, so that he did not
know what was become of him, and from excess of pleasure he fell fast
asleep.
He slept a long time, and when he awoke he found himself in the most
beautiful bed that could be, such as he had never seen the like of in his
father's house, and it was in the prettiest little chamber in the world, and his
servant was beside him with a fan to keep away the flies and gnats. He had
hardly opened his eyes when his little servant brought him a basin and
towel, and held him the nicest new clothes of brown silk to put on, most
beautifully made; with these was a pair of new black shoes with red
ribbons, such as John had never beheld in Rambin or in Rodenkirchen
either. There were also there several pairs of beautiful shining glass shoes,
such as are only used on great occasions. John was, we may well suppose,
delighted to have such clothes to wear, and he put them upon him joyfully.
His servant then flew like lightning and returned with a fine breakfast of
wine and milk, and beautiful white bread and fruits, and such other things
as little boys are fond of. He now perceived, every moment, more and more,
that Klas Starkwolt, the old cowherd, knew what he was talking about, for
the splendour and magnificence he saw here surpassed anything he had ever
dreamt of. His servant, too, was the most obedient one possible: a nod or a
sign was enough for him, for he was as wise as a bee, as all these little
people are by nature.
John's bed-chamber was all covered with emeralds and other precious
stones, and in the ceiling was a diamond as big as a nine-pin bowl, that gave
light to the whole chamber. In this place they have neither sun, nor moon,
nor stars to give them light; neither do they use lamps or candles of any
kind; but they live in the midst of precious stones, and have the purest of
gold and silver in abundance, and the skill to make it light both by day and
by night, though, indeed, properly speaking, as there is no sun here, there is
no distinction of day and night, and they reckon only by weeks. They set the
brightest and clearest precious stones in their dwellings, and in the ways
and passages leading under the ground, and in the places where they have
their large halls, and their dances and feasts, where they sparkle so as to
make it eternal day.

When John had finished his breakfast, his servant opened a little door in the
wall, where was a closet with the most beautiful silver and gold cups and
dishes and other vessels, and baskets filled with ducats, and boxes of jewels
and precious stones. There were also charming pictures, and the most
delightful story-books he had seen in the whole course of his life.
John spent the morning looking at these things; and, when it was mid-day, a
bell rang, and his servant said, "Will you dine alone, sir, or with the large
company?"—"With the large company, to be sure," replied John. So his
servant led him out. John, however, saw nothing but solitary halls, lighted
up with precious stones, and here and there little men and women, who
appeared to him to glide out of the clefts and fissures of the rocks.
Wondering what it was the bells rang for, he said to his servant, "But where
is the company?" And scarcely had he spoken when the hall they were in
opened out to a great extent, and a canopy set with diamonds and precious
stones was drawn over it. At the same moment he saw an immense throng
of nicely-dressed little men and women pouring in through several open
doors: the floor opened in several places, and tables, covered with the most
beautiful ware, and the most luscious meats, and fruits, and wines, placed
themselves beside each other, and the chairs arranged themselves along the
tables, and then the men and women took their seats.
The principal persons now came forward, bowed to John, and led him to
their table, where they placed him among their most beautiful maidens,—a
distinction which pleased John well. The party, too, was very merry, for the
underground people are extremely lively and cheerful, and can never stay
long quiet. Then the most charming music sounded over their heads; and
beautiful birds, flying about, sung most sweetly; and these were not real
birds but artificial ones, which the little men make so ingeniously that they
can fly about and sing like natural ones.
The servants, of both sexes, who waited at table, and handed about the gold
cups, and the silver and crystal baskets with fruit, were children belonging
to this world, whom some casualty or other had thrown among the
undergroundpeople, and who, having come down without securing any
pledge, were fallen into the power of the little ones. These were differently
clad from them. The boys and girls were dressed in snow-white coats and

jackets, and wore glass shoes, so fine that their steps could never be heard,
with blue caps on their heads, and silver belts round their waists.
John at first pitied them, seeing how they were forced to run about and wait
on the little people; but as they looked cheerful and happy, and were
handsomely dressed, and had such rosy cheeks, he said to himself, "After
all, they are not so badly off, and I was myself much worse when I had to
be running after the cows and bullocks. To be sure, I am now a master here,
and they are servants; but there is no help for it: why were they so foolish as
to let themselves be taken and not get some pledge beforehand? At any rate,
the time must come when they shall be set at liberty, and they will certainly
not be longer than fifty years here." With these thoughts he consoled
himself, and sported and played away with his little play-fellows, and ate,
and drank, and made his servant and the others tell him stories, for he
would know every thing exactly.
They sat at table about two hours; the principal person then rang a little bell,
and the tables and chairs all vanished in a whiff, leaving the company all on
their feet. The birds now struck up a most lively air, and the little people
danced their rounds most merrily. When they were done, the joyous sets
jumped, and leaped, and whirled themselves round and round, as if the
world was grown dizzy. And the pretty little girls that sat next John caught
hold of him and whirled him about; and, without making any resistance, he
danced round and round with them for two good hours. Every afternoon
while he remained there, he used to dance thus merrily with them; and, to
the last hour of his life, he used to speak of it with the greatest glee. His
language was—that the joys of heaven, and the songs and music of the
angels, which the righteous hoped to enjoy there, might be excessively
beautiful, but that he could conceive nothing to equal the music and the
dancing under the earth, the beautiful and lively little men, the wonderful
birds in the branches, and the tinkling silver bells on their caps. "No one,"
said he, "who has not seen and heard it, can form any idea whatever of it."
When the music and dancing were over, it might be about four o'clock. The
little people then disappeared, and went each about their work or their
pleasure. After supper they sported and danced in the same way; and at
midnight, especially on starlight nights, they slipped out of their hills to
dance in the open air. John used then, like a good boy, to say his prayers and

go to sleep, a duty he never neglected either in the evening or in the
morning.
For the first week that John was in the glass-hill, he only went from his
chamber to the great hall and back again. After the first week, however, he
began to walk about, making his servant show and explain everything to
him. He found that there were in that place the most beautiful walks, in
which he might ramble along for miles, in all directions, without ever
finding an end of them, so immensely large was the hill that the little people
lived in, and yet outwardly it seemed but a little hill, with a few bushes and
trees growing on it.
It was extraordinary that, between the meads and fields, which were thick
sown with hills, and lakes, and islands, and ornamented with trees and
flowers in the greatest variety, there ran, as it were, small lanes, through
which, as through crystal rocks, one was obliged to pass to come to any
new place; and the single meads and fields were often a mile long, and the
flowers were so brilliant and so fragrant, and the song of the numerous
birds so sweet, that John had never seen anything on earth at all like it.
There was a breeze, and yet one did not feel the wind; it was quite clear and
bright, and yet there was no heat; the waves were dashing, still there was no
danger; and the most beautiful little barks and canoes came, like white
swans, when one wanted to cross the water, and went backwards and
forwards of themselves. Whence all this came no one knew, nor could his
servant tell anything about it; but one thing John saw plainly, which was,
that the large carbuncles and diamonds that were set in the roof and walls
gave light instead of the sun, moon, and stars.
These lovely meads and plains were, for the most part, quite lonesome. Few
of the undergroundpeople were to be seen upon them, and those that were,
just glided across them, as if in the greatest hurry. It very rarely happened
that any of them danced out here in the open air; sometimes about three of
them did so; at the most half a dozen: John never saw a greater number
together. The meads were never cheerful, except when the corps of servants,
of whom there might be some hundreds, were let out to wait. This, however,
happened but twice a-week, for they were mostly kept employed in the
great hall and adjoining apartments, or at school.

For John soon found they had schools there also; he had been there about
ten months, when one day he saw something snow-white gliding into a
rock, and disappearing. "What!" said he to his servant, "are there some of
you too that wear white, like the servants?" He was informed that there
were; but they were few in number, and never appeared at the large tables
or the dances, except once a year, on the birthday of the great Hill-king,
who dwelt many thousand miles below in the great deep. These were the
oldest men among them, some of them many thousand years old, who knew
all things, and could tell of the beginning of the world, and were called the
Wise. They lived all alone, and only left their chambers to instruct the
underground children and the attendants of both sexes, for whom there was
a great school.
John was greatly pleased with this intelligence, and he determined to take
advantage of it: so next morning he made his servant conduct him to the
school, and was so well pleased with it that he never missed a day going
there. They were taught there reading, writing, and accounts, to compose
and relate histories and stories, and many elegant kinds of work; so that
many came out of the hills, both men and women, very prudent and
knowing people, in consequence of what they were taught there. The
biggest, and those of best capacity, received instruction in natural science
and astronomy, and in poetry and riddle-making, arts highly esteemed by
the little people. John was very diligent, and soon became extremely clever
at painting and drawing; he wrought, too, most ingeniously in gold, and
silver, and stones, and in verse and riddle-making he had no fellow.
John had spent many a happy year here without ever thinking of the upper
world, or of those he had left behind, so pleasantly passed the time—so
many an agreeable play-fellow he had among the children.
Of all his playfellows there was none of whom he was so fond as of a little
fair-haired girl, named Elizabeth Krabbin. She was from his own village,
and was the daughter of Frederick Krabbe, the minister of Rambin. She was
but four years old when she was taken away, and John had often heard tell
of her. She was not, however, stolen by the little people, but came into their
power in this manner. One day in summer, she, with other children, ran out
into the fields: in their rambles they went to the Nine-hills, where little
Elizabeth fell asleep, and was forgotten by the rest. At night, when she

awoke, she found herself under the ground among the little people. It was
not merely because she was from his own village that John was so fond of
Elizabeth, but she was a most beautiful child, with clear blue eyes and
ringlets of fair hair, and a most angelic smile.
Time flew away unperceived: John was now eighteen, and Elizabeth
sixteen. Their childish fondness had become love, and the little people were
pleased to see it, thinking that by means of her they might get John to
renounce his power, and become their servant; for they were fond of him,
and would willingly have had him to wait upon them; for the love of
dominion is their vice. But they were mistaken. John had learned too much
from his servant to be caught in that way.
John's chief delight was in walking about alone with Elizabeth; for he now
knew every place so well that he could dispense with the attendance of his
servant. In these rambles he was always gay and lively, but his companion
was frequently sad and melancholy, thinking on the land above, where men
lived, and where the sun, moon, and stars, shine. Now it happened in one of
their walks, that as they talked of their love, and it was after midnight, they
passed under the place where the tops of the glass-hills used to open and let
the undergroundpeople in and out. As they went along they heard of a
sudden the crowing of several cocks above. At this sound, which she had
not heard for twelve years, little Elizabeth felt her heart so affected that she
could contain herself no longer, but throwing her arms about John's neck,
she bathed his cheeks with her tears. At length she spake—
"Dearest John," said she, "everything down here is very beautiful, and the
little people are kind, and do nothing to injure me, but still I have always
been uneasy, nor ever felt any pleasure till I began to love you; and yet that
is not pure pleasure, for this is not a right way of living, such as it should be
for human beings. Every night I dream of my dear father and mother, and of
our church-yard, where the people stand so piously at the church-door
waiting for my father, and I could weep tears of blood that I cannot go into
the church with them, and worship God as a human being should; for this is
no Christian life we lead down here, but a delusive half heathen one. And
only think, dear John, that we can never marry, as there is no priest to join
us. Do, then, plan some way for us to leave this place; for I cannot tell you
how I long to get once more to my father, and among pious Christians."

John, too, had not been unaffected by the crowing of the cocks, and he felt
what he had never felt here before, a longing after the land where the sun
shines, and he replied,
"Dear Elizabeth, all you say is true, and I now feel that it is a sin for
Christians to stay here; and it seems to me as if our Lord said to us in that
cry of the cocks, 'Come up, ye Christian children, out of those abodes of
illusion and magic; come to the light of the stars, and act as children of
light.' I now feel that it was a great sin for me to come down here, but I trust
I shall be forgiven on account of my youth; for I was a child and knew not
what I did. But now I will not stay a day longer. They cannot keep me here."
At these last words, Elizabeth turned pale, for she recollected that she was a
servant, and must serve her fifty years. "And what will it avail me," cried
she, "that I shall continue young and be but as of twenty years when I go
out, for my father and mother will be dead, and all my companions will be
old and gray; and you, dearest John, will be old and gray also," cried she,
throwing herself on his bosom.
John was thunderstruck at this, for it had never before occurred to him; he,
however, comforted her as well as he could, and declared he would never
leave the place without her. He spent the whole night in forming various
plans; at last he fixed on one, and in the morning he despatched his servant
to summon to his apartment six of the principal of the little people. When
they came, John thus mildly addressed them:
"My friends, you know how I came here, not as a prisoner or servant, but as
a lord and master over one of you, and consequently, over all. You have
now for the ten years I have been with you treated me with respect and
attention, and for that I am your debtor. But you are still more my debtors,
for I might have given you every sort of annoyance and vexation, and you
must have submitted to it. I have, however, not done so, but have behaved
as your equal, and have sported and played with you rather than ruled over
you. I now have one request to make. There is a girl among your servants
whom I love, Elizabeth Krabbin, of Rambin, where I was born. Give her to
me, and let us depart. For I will return to where the sun shines and the
plough goes through the land. I ask to take nothing with me but her, and the
ornaments and furniture of my chamber."

He spoke in a determined tone, and they hesitated and cast their eyes to the
ground; at last the oldest of them replied:
"Sir, you ask what we cannot grant. It is a fixed law, that no servant shall
leave this place before the appointed time. Were we to break through this
law, our whole subterranean empire would fall. Anything else you desire,
for we love and respect you, but we cannot give up Elizabeth."
"You can and you shall give her up," cried John in a rage; "go think of it till
to-morrow. Return here at this hour. I will show you whether or not I can
triumph over your hypocritical and cunning stratagems."
The six retired. Next morning, on their return, John addressed them in the
kindest manner, but to no purpose; they persisted in their refusal. He gave
them till the next day, threatening them severely in case of their still
proving refractory.
Next day, when the six little people appeared before him, John looked at
them sternly, and made no return to their salutations, but said to them
shortly, "Yes, or No?" And they answered with one voice, "No." He then
ordered his servant to summon twenty-four more of the principal persons
with their wives and children. When they came, they were in all five
hundred, men, women, and children. John ordered them forthwith to go and
fetch pickaxes, spades, and bars, which they did in a second.
He now led them out to a rock in one of the fields, and ordered them to fall
to work at blasting, hewing, and dragging stones. They toiled patiently, and
made as if it were only sport to them. From morning till night their task-
master made them labour without ceasing, standing over them constantly, to
prevent their resting. Still their obstinacy was inflexible; and at the end of
some weeks his pity for them was so great, that he was obliged to give over.
He now thought of a new species of punishment for them. He ordered them
to appear before him next morning, each provided with a new whip. They
obeyed, and John commanded them to strip and lash one another till the
blood should run down on the ground, and he stood looking on as grim and
cruel as an eastern tyrant. Still the little people cut and slashed themselves,
and mocked at John, and refused to comply with his wishes. This he did for
three or four days.

Several other courses did he try, but all in vain; his temper was too gentle to
struggle with their obstinacy, and he began now to despair of ever
accomplishing his dearest wish. He began even to hate the little people
whom he was before so fond of; he kept away from their banquets and
dances, and associated alone with Elizabeth, and ate and drank quite
solitary in his chamber. In short, he became almost a perfect hermit, and
sank into moodiness and melancholy.
While in this temper, as he was taking a solitary walk in the evening, and, to
divert his melancholy, was flinging the stones that lay in his path against
each other, he happened to break a tolerably large one, and out of it jumped
a toad. The moment John saw the ugly animal, he caught him up in ecstasy,
and put him into his pocket and ran home, crying, "Now I have her! I have
my Elizabeth! Now you shall get it, you little mischievous rascals!" And on
getting home he put the toad into a costly silver casket, as if it was the
greatest treasure.
To account for John's joy you must know that Klas Starkwolt had often told
him that the underground people could not endure any ill smell, and that the
sight or even the smell of a toad made them faint and suffer the most
dreadful tortures, and that by means of stench and these odious ugly
animals, one could compel them to anything. Hence there are no bad smells
to be found in the whole glass empire, and a toad is a thing unheard of
there; this toad must therefore have been inclosed in the stone from the
creation, as it were for the sake of John and Elizabeth.
Resolved to try the effect of his toad, John took the casket under his arm
and went out, and on the way he met two of the little people in a lonesome
place. The moment he approached them they fell to the ground, and
whimpered and howled most lamentably, as long as he was near them.
Satisfied now of his power, he next morning summoned the fifty principal
persons, with their wives and children, to his apartment. When they came,
he addressed them, reminding them once again of his kindness and
gentleness toward them, and of the good terms on which they had hitherto
lived. He reproached them with their ingratitude in refusing him the only
favour he had ever asked of them, but firmly declared he would not give
way to their obstinacy. "Wherefore," said he, "for the last time, think for a

minute, and if you then say No, you shall feel that pain which is to you and
your children the most terrible of all pains."
They did not take long to deliberate, but unanimously replied "No;" and
they thought to themselves what new scheme has the youth hit on, with
which he thinks to frighten wise ones like us, and they smiled as they said
No. Their smiling enraged John above all, and he ran back a few hundred
paces, to where he had laid the casket with the toad, under a bush.
He was hardly come within a hundred paces of them when they all fell to
the ground as if struck with a thunderbolt, and began to howl and whimper,
and to writhe, as if suffering the most excruciating pain. They stretched out
their hands, and cried, "Have mercy! have mercy! we feel you have a toad,
and there is no escape for us. Take the odious beast away, and we will do all
you require." He let them kick a few seconds longer, and then took the toad
away. They then stood up and felt no more pain. John let all depart but the
six chief persons, to whom he said:—
"This night between twelve and one Elizabeth and I will depart. Load then
for me three waggons, with gold, and silver, and precious stones. I might,
you know, take all that is in the hill, and you deserve it, but I will be
merciful. Farther, you must put all the furniture of my chamber in two
waggons, and get ready for me the handsomest travelling-carriage that is in
the hill, with six black horses. Moreover, you must set at liberty all the
servants who have been so long here that on earth they would be twenty
years old and upwards, and you must give them as much silver and gold as
will make them rich for life, and make a law that no one shall be detained
here longer than his twentieth year."
The six took the oath, and went away quite melancholy, and John buried his
toad deep in the ground. The little people laboured hard and prepared
everything. At midnight everything was out of the hill, and John and
Elizabeth got into the silver tun, and were drawn up.
It was then one o'clock, and it was midsummer, the very time that twelve
years before John had gone down into the hill. Music sounded around them,
and they saw the glass hill open, and the rays of the light of heaven shine on
them after so many years; and when they got out they saw the first streaks
of dawn already in the east. Crowds of the undergroundpeople were around

them busied about the waggons. John bid them a last farewell, waved his
brown cap three times in the air, and then flung it among them. And at the
same moment he ceased to see them; he beheld nothing but a green hill, and
the well-known bushes and fields, and heard the church clock of Rambin
strike two. When all was still, save a few larks, who were tuning their
morning songs, they all fell on their knees and worshiped God, resolving
henceforth to lead a pious and a Christian life.
When the sun rose, John arranged the procession, and they set out for
Rambin. Every well-known object that they saw awaked pleasing
recollections in the bosom of John and his bride; and as they passed by
Rodenkirchen, John recognised, among the people that gazed at and
followed them, his old friend Klas Starkwolt, the cowherd, and his dog
Speed. It was about four in the morning when they entered Rambin, and
they halted in the middle of the village, about twenty paces from the house
where John was born. The whole village poured out to gaze on these Asiatic
princes, for such the old sexton, who had in his youth been at Moscow and
Constantinople, said they were. There John saw his father and mother, and
his brother Andrew, and his sister Trine. The old minister, Krabbe, stood
there too, in his black slippers and white night cap, gaping and staring with
the rest.
John discovered himself to his parents, and Elizabeth to hers, and the
wedding-day was soon fixed, and such a wedding was never seen before or
since in the island of Rügen; for John sent to Stralsund and Greifswald for
whole boatloads of wine, and sugar, and coffee, and whole herds of oxen,
sheep, and pigs were driven to the wedding. The quantity of harts, and roes,
and hares that were shot on the occasion, it were vain to attempt to tell, or
to count the fish that was caught. There was not a musician in Rügen and
Pomerania that was not engaged, for John was immensely rich, and he
wished to display his wealth.
John did not neglect his old friend Klas Starkwolt, the cowherd. He gave
him enough to make him comfortable the rest of his days, and insisted on
his coming and staying with him as often and as long as he wished.
After his marriage, John made a progress through the country with his
beautiful Elizabeth, and they purchased towns, and villages, and lands, until

he became master of nearly half Rügen, and a very considerable count in
the country. His father, old James Dietrich, was made a nobleman, and his
brothers and sisters gentlemen and ladies—for what cannot money do?
John and his wife spent their days in doing acts of piety and charity. They
built several churches, and they had the blessing of every one that knew
them, and died universally lamented. It was Count John Dietrich that built
and richly endowed the present church of Rambin. He built it on the site of
his father's house, and presented to it several of the cups and plates made by
the underground people, and his own and Elizabeth's glass shoes, in
memory of what had befallen them in their youth. But they were all taken
away in the time of the great Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, when the
Russians came on the island, and the Cossacks plundered even the
churches, and took away everything.

The Little Glass Shoe.

A peasant, named John Wilde, who lived in Rodenkirchen, found one time a
glass shoe on one of the hills where the little people used to dance. He
clapped it instantly into his pocket and ran away with it, keeping his hand as
close on his pocket as if he had a dove in it; for he knew that he had found a
treasure which the underground people must redeem at any price.
Others say that John Wilde lay in ambush one night for the underground
people, and gained an opportunity of pulling off one of their shoes, by
stretching himself there with a brandy-bottle beside him, and acting like one
that was dead drunk; for he was a very cunning man, not over scrupulous in
his morals, and had taken in many a one by his craftiness, and, on this
account, his name was in no good repute among his neighbours, who, to say
the truth, were willing to have as little to do with him as possible. Many
hold, too, that he was acquainted with forbidden arts, and used to carry on
an intercourse with the fiends and old women that raised storms, and such
like.
However, be this as it may, when John had gotten the shoe, he lost no time
in letting the folk that dwell under the ground know that he had it. So at
midnight he went to the Nine-hills, and cried with all his might, "John
Wilde, of Rodenkirchen, has got a beautiful glass shoe. Who will buy it?

Who will buy it?" For he knew that the little one who had lost the shoe must
go barefoot till he got it again, and that is no trifle, for the little people have
generally to walk upon very hard and stony ground.
John's advertisement was speedily attended to. The little fellow who had
lost the shoe made no delay in setting about redeeming it. The first free day
he got, that he might come out into the daylight, he came as a respectable
merchant, and knocked at John Wilde's door, and asked if John had not a
glass shoe to sell? "For," says he, "they are an article now in great demand,
and are sought for in every market." John replied that it was true he had a
very little little, nice, pretty little glass shoe, but it was so small that even a
Dwarf's foot would be squeezed in it; and that God Almighty must make
people on purpose for it before it could be of any use; but that, for all that, it
was an extraordinary shoe, and a valuable shoe, and a dear shoe, and it was
not every merchant that could afford to pay for it.
The merchant asked to see it, and when he had examined it, "Glass shoes,"
said he, "are not by any means such rare articles, my good friend, as you
think here in Rodenkirchen, because you do not happen to go much into the
world. However," said he, after hemming a little, "I will give you a good
price for it, because I happen to have the very fellow of it." And he bid the
countryman a thousand dollars for it.
"A thousand dollars are money, my father used to say when he drove fat
oxen to market," replied John Wilde, in a mocking tone; "but it will not
leave my hands for that shabby price; and, for my own part, it may
ornament the foot of my daughter's doll. Harkye, friend: I have heard a sort
of little song sung about the glass shoe, and it is not for a parcel of dirt that
it will go out of my hands. Tell me now, my good fellow, should you
happen to know the knack of it, that in every furrow I make when I am
ploughing I should find a ducat? If not, the shoe is still mine, and you may
inquire for glass shoes at those other markets."
The merchant made still a great many attempts, and twisted and turned in
every direction to get the shoe; but when he found the farmer inflexible, he
agreed to what John desired, and swore to the performance of it. Cunning
John believed him, and gave him up the glass shoe, for he knew right well

with whom he had to do. So the business being ended, away went the
merchant with his glass shoe.
Without a moment's delay, John repaired to his stable, got ready his horses
and his plough, and drove out to the field. He selected a piece of ground
where he would have the shortest turns possible, and began to plough.
Hardly had the plough turned up the first sod, when up sprang a ducat out
of the ground, and it was the same with every fresh furrow he made. There
was now no end of his ploughing, and John Wilde soon bought eight new
horses, and put them into the stable to the eight he already had—and their
mangers were never without plenty of oats in them—that he might be able
every two hours to yoke two fresh horses, and so be enabled to drive them
the faster.
John was now insatiable in ploughing; every morning he was out before
sunrise, and many a time he ploughed on till after midnight. Summer and
winter it was plough, plough with him evermore, except when the ground
was frozen as hard as a stone. But he always ploughed by himself, and
never suffered any one to go out with him, or to come to him when he was
at work, for John understood too well the nature of his crop to let people see
what it was he ploughed so constantly for.
But it fared far worse with himself than with his horses, who ate good oats
and were regularly changed and relieved, while he grew pale and meagre by
reason of his continual working and toiling. His wife and children had no
longer any comfort of him; he never went to the alehouse or the club; he
withdrew himself from every one, and scarcely ever spoke a single word,
but went about silent and wrapped up in his own thoughts. All the day long
he toiled for his ducats, and at night he had to count them and to plan and
meditate how he might find out a still swifter kind of plough.
His wife and the neighbours lamented over his strange conduct, his dullness
and melancholy, and began to think that he was grown foolish. Everybody
pitied his wife and children, for they imagined that the numerous horses that
he kept in his stable, and the preposterous mode of agriculture that he
pursued, with his unnecessary and superfluous ploughing, must soon leave
him without house or land.

But their anticipations were not fulfilled. True it is, the poor man never
enjoyed a happy or contented hour since he began to plough the ducats up
out of the ground. The old saying held good in his case, that he who gives
himself up to the pursuit of gold is half way in the claws of the evil one.
Flesh and blood cannot bear perpetual labour, and John Wilde did not long
hold out against this running through the furrows day and night. He got
through the first spring, but one day in the second, he dropped down at the
tail of the plough like an exhausted November fly. Out of the pure thirst
after gold he was wasted away and dried up to nothing; whereas he had
been a very strong and hearty man the day the shoe of the little underground
man fell into his hands.
His wife, however, found after him a considerable treasure, two great nailed
up chests full of good new ducats, and his sons purchased large estates for
themselves, and became lords and noblemen. But what good did all that do
poor John Wilde?

The Wonderful Plough.

There was once a farmer who was master of one of the little black ones, that
are the blacksmiths and armourers; and he got him in a very curious way.
On the road leading to this farmer's ground there stood a stone cross, and
every morning as he went to his work he used to stop and kneel down
before this cross, and pray for some minutes.
On one of these occasions he noticed on the cross a pretty bright insect, of
such a brilliant hue that he could not recollect having ever before seen the
like with an insect. He wondered greatly at this, yet still he did not disturb
it; but the insect did not remain long quiet, but ran without ceasing
backwards and forwards on the cross, as if it was in pain, and wanted to get
away. Next morning the farmer again saw the very same insect, and again it
was running to and fro, in the same state of uneasiness. The farmer began
now to have some suspicions about it, and thought to himself, "Would this
now be one of the little black enchanters? For certain, all is not right with
that insect; it runs about just like one that had an evil conscience, as one
that would, yet cannot, go away:" and a variety of thoughts and conjectures
passed through his mind; and he called to mind what he had often heard
from his father, and other old people, that when the under groundpeople

chance to touch anything holy, they are held fast and cannot quit the spot,
and are therefore extremely careful to avoid all such things. But he also
thought it may as well be something else; and you would perhaps be
committing a sin in disturbing and taking away the little animal; so he let it
stay as it was.
But when he had found it twice more in the same place, and still running
about with the same marks of uneasiness, he said, "No, it is not all right
with it. So now, in the name of God!" and he made a grasp at the insect, that
resisted and clung fast to the stone; but he held it tight, and tore it away by
main force, and lo! then he found he had, by the top of the head, a little ugly
black chap, about six inches long, screeching and kicking at a most furious
rate.
The farmer was greatly astounded at this sudden transformation; still he
held his prize fast and kept calling to him, while he administered to him a
few smart slaps on the buttocks: "Be quiet, be quiet, my little man! if crying
was to do the business, we might look for heroes in swaddling clothes. We'll
just take you with us a bit, and see what you are good for."
The little fellow trembled and shook in every limb, and then began to
whimper most piteously, and to beg hard of the farmer to let him go. But
"No, my lad," replied the farmer, "I will not let you go till you tell me who
you are, and how you came here, and what trade you know, that enables you
to earn your bread in the world." At this the little man grinned and shook his
head, but said not a word in reply, only begged and prayed the more to get
loose; and the farmer found that he must now begin to entreat him if he
would coax any information out of him. But it was all to no purpose. He
then adopted the contrary method, and whipped and slashed him till the
blood run down, but just to as little purpose; the little black thing remained
as dumb as the grave, for this species is the most malicious and obstinate of
all the underground race.
The farmer now got angry, and he said, "Do but be quiet, my child; I should
be a fool to put myself into a passion with such a little brat. Never fear, I
shall soon make you tame enough."
So saying, he ran home with him, and clapped him into a black, sooty, iron
pot, and put the iron lid upon it, and laid on the top of the lid a great heavy

stone, and set the pot in a dark cold room, and as he was going out he said
to him, "Stay there, now, and freeze till you are black! I'll engage that at last
you will answer me civilly."
Twice a-week the farmer went regularly into the room and asked his little
black captive if he would answer him now; but the little one still obstinately
persisted in his silence. The farmer had now, without success, pursued this
course for six weeks, at the end of which time his prisoner at last gave up.
One day as the farmer was opening the room door, he, of his own accord,
called out to him to come and take him out of his dirty stinking dungeon,
promising that he would now cheerfully do all that was wanted of him.
The farmer first ordered him to give him his history. The black one replied,
"My dear friend you know it just as well as I, or else you never had had me
here. You see I happened by chance to come too near the cross, a thing we
little people may not do, and there I was held fast and obliged instantly to
let my body become visible; so, then, that people might not recognise me, I
turned myself into an insect. But you found me out. For when we get
fastened to holy or consecrated things, we never can get away from them
unless a man takes us off. That, however, does not happen without plague
and annoyance to us, though, indeed, to say the truth, the staying fastened
there is not over pleasant. And so I struggled against you, too, for we have a
natural aversion to let ourselves be taken into a man's hand." "Ho, ho! is
that the tune with you?" cried the farmer: "you have a natural aversion, have
you? Believe me, my sooty friend, I have just the same for you; and so you
shall be away without a moment's delay, and we will lose no time in making
our bargain with each other. But you must first make me some present."
"What you will, you have only to ask," said the little one: "silver and gold,
and precious stones, and costly furniture—all shall be thine in less than an
instant."—"Silver and gold, and precious stones, and all such glittering fine
things will I none," said the farmer; "they have turned the heart and broken
the neck of many a one before now, and few are they whose lives they make
happy. I know that you are handy smiths, and have many a strange thing
with you that other smiths know nothing about. So come, now, swear to me
that you will make me an iron plough, such that the smallest foal may be
able to draw it without being tired, and then run off with you as fast as your
legs can carry you." So the black swore, and the farmer then cried out,

"Now, in the name of God; there, you are at liberty," and the little one
vanished like lightning.
Next morning, before the sun was up, there stood in the farmer's yard a new
iron plough, and he yoked his dog Water to it, and though it was of the size
of an ordinary plough, Water drew it with ease through the heaviest clay-
land, and it tore up prodigious furrows. The farmer used this plough for
many years, and the smallest foal or the leanest little horse could draw it
through the ground, to the amazement of every one who beheld it, without
turning a single hair. And this plough made a rich man of the farmer, for it
cost him no horse-flesh, and he led a cheerful and contented life by means
of it. Hereby we may see that moderation holds out the longest, and that it is
not good to covet too much.

The Lost Bell

A shepherd's boy belonging to Patzig, about half a mile from Bergen, where
there are great numbers of the underground people in the hills, found one
morning a little silver bell on the green heath, among the Giants'-graves,
and fastened it on him. It happened to be the bell belonging to the cap of
one of the little Brown ones, who had lost it while he was dancing, and did
not immediately miss it, or observe that it was no longer tinkling in his cap.
He had gone down into the hill without his bell, and having discovered his
loss, was filled with melancholy. For the worst thing that can befall the
underground people is to lose their cap, then their shoes; but even to lose
the bell from their caps, or the buckle from their belts, is no trifle to them.
Whoever loses his bell must pass some sleepless nights, for not a wink of
sleep can he get till he has recovered it.
The little fellow was in the greatest trouble, and searched and looked about
everywhere; but how could he learn who had the bell? For only on a very
few days in the year may they come up to the daylight; nor can they then
appear in their true form. He had turned himself into every form of birds,
beasts, and men; and he had sung and rung, and groaned and moaned, and
lamented and inquired about his bell, but not the slightest tidings, or trace of
tidings, had he been able to get. For what was worst of all, the shepherd's
boy had left Patzig the very day he found the little bell, and was now
keeping sheep at Unruh, near Gingst: so it was not till many a day after, and

then by mere chance, that the little underground fellow recovered his bell,
and with it his peace of mind.
He had thought it not unlikely that a raven, or a crow, or a jackdaw, or a
magpie, had found his bell, and from his thievish disposition, which is
caught with anything bright and shining, had carried it into his nest; with
this thought he had turned himself into a beautiful little bird, and searched
all the nests in the island, and had sung before all kinds of birds, to see if
they had found what he had lost, and could restore him his sleep; but
nothing had he been able to learn from the birds. As he now, one evening,
was flying over the waters of Ralov and the fields of Unruh, the shepherd's
boy, whose name was Fritz Schlagenteufel (Smite-devil), happened to be
keeping his sheep there at the very time. Several of the sheep had bells
about their necks, and they tinkled merrily, when the boy's dog set them
trotting. The little bird, who was flying over them thought of his bell, and
sung, in a melancholy tone,

Little bell, little bell,
Little ram as well,
You, too, little sheep,
If you've my Tingletoo,
No sheep's so rich as you
My rest you keep.

The boy looked up and listened to this strange song which came out of the
sky, and saw the pretty bird, which seemed to him still more strange:
—"Odds bodikins!" said he to himself, "if one but had that bird that's
singing up there, so plain that one of us would hardly match him! What can
he mean by that wonderful song? The whole of it is, it must be a feathered
witch. My rams have only pinchbeck bells, he calls them rich cattle; but I
have a silver bell, and he sings nothing about me." And with these words he
began to fumble in his pocket, took out his bell, and rang it.
The bird in the air instantly saw what it was, and was rejoiced beyond
measure. He vanished in a second—flew behind the nearest bush—alighted
and drew off his speckled feather-dress, and turned himself into an old
woman dressed in tattered clothes. The old dame, well supplied with sighs
and groans, tottered across the field to the shepherd's boy, who was still

ringing his bell, and wondering what was become of the beautiful bird. She
cleared her throat, and coughing up from the bottom of her chest, bid him a
kind good evening, and asked him which was the way to Bergen.
Pretending then that she had just seen the little bell, she exclaimed, "Good
Lord! what a charming pretty little bell! Well! in all my life I never beheld
anything more beautiful Harkye, my son, will you sell me that bell? And
what may be the price of it? I have a little grandson at home, and such a
nice plaything as it would make for him!" "No," replied the boy, quite short,
"the bell is not for sale. It is a bell, that there is not such another bell in the
whole world. I have only to give it a little tinkle, and my sheep run of
themselves wherever I would have them go. And what a delightful sound it
has! Only listen, mother!" said he, ringing it: "is there any weariness in the
world that can hold out against this bell? I can ring with it away the longest
time, so that it will be gone in a second."
The old woman thought to herself, "We will see if he can hold out against
bright shining money." And she took out no less than three silver dollars,
and offered them to him: but he still replied, "No, I will not sell my bell."
She then offered him five dollars. "The bell is still mine," said he. She
stretched out her hand full of ducats: he replied, this third time, "Gold is dirt
and does not ring." The old dame then shifted her ground, and turned the
discourse another way. She grew mysterious, and began to entice him by
talking of secret arts, and of charms by which his cattle might be made to
thrive prodigiously, relating to him all kinds of wonders of them. It was
then the young shepherd began to long, and he now lent a willing ear to her
tales.
The end of the matter was, that she said to him, "Harkye, my child! give me
the bell and see! here is a white stick for you," said she, taking out a little
white stick which had Adam and Eve very ingeniously cut on it, as they
were feeding the herds of Paradise, with the fattest sheep and lambs dancing
before them; and there was the shepherd David too, as he stood with his
sling against the giant Goliath. "I will give you," said the old woman, "this
stick for the bell, and as long as you drive the cattle with it they will be sure
to thrive. With this you will become a rich shepherd: your wethers will
always be fat a month sooner than the wethers of other shepherds, and
every one of your sheep will have two pounds of wool more than others,
and yet no one will be ever able to see it on them."

The old woman handed him the stick. So mysterious was her gesture, and
so strange and bewitching her smile, that the lad was at once in her power.
He grasped eagerly at the stick, gave her his hand, and cried, "Done! Strike
hands! The bell for the stick!" And cheerfully the old woman struck hands,
and took the bell, and went like a light breeze over the field and the heath.
He saw her vanish, and she seemed to float away before his eyes like a mist,
and to go off with a slight whiz and whistle that made the shepherd's hair
stand on end.
The underground one, however, who, in the shape of an old woman, had
wheedled him out of his bell, had not deceived him. For the under
groundpeople dare not lie, but must ever keep their word; a breach of it
being followed by their sudden change into the shape of toads, snakes,
dunghill-beetles, wolves and apes; forms in which they wander about,
objects of fear and aversion for a long course of years before they are freed.
They, therefore, have naturally a great dread of lying. Fritz Schlagenteufel
gave close attention and made trial of his new shepherd's-staff, and he soon
found that the old woman had told him the truth, for his flocks, and his
work, and all the labour of his hands prospered with him and had wonderful
luck, so that there was not a sheep-owner or head shepherd but was desirous
of having Fritz Schlagenteufel in his employment.
It was not long, however, that he remained an underling. Before he was
eighteen years of age, he had gotten his own flocks, and in the course of a
few years was the richest sheep-master in the whole island of Rügen; until
at last, he was able to purchase a knight's estate for himself, and that estate
was Grabitz, close by Rambin, which now belongs to the lords of Sunde.
My father[244] knew him there, and how from a shepherd's boy he was
become a nobleman, and he always conducted himself like a prudent,
honest and pious man, who had a good word from every one. He brought up
his sons like gentlemen, and his daughters like ladies, some of whom are
still alive and accounted people of great consequence. And well may people
who hear such stories wish that they had met with such an adventure, and
had found a little silver bell which the underground people had lost.

The Black Dwarfs of Granitz.

Not far from the Ahlbeck lies a little mansion called Granitz, just under the
great wood on the sea-coast called the wood of Granitz. In this little seat
lived, not many years ago, a nobleman named Von Scheele. Toward the
close of his life he sank into a state of melancholy, though hitherto a very
cheerful and social man, and a great sportsman. People said that the old
man took to his lonesome way of living from the loss of his three beautiful
daughters, who were called the three fair-haired maidens, and who grew up
here in the solitude of the woods, among the herds and the birds, and who
had all three gone off in the same night and never returned. The old man
took this greatly to heart, and withdrew himself from the world, and all
cheerful society. He had great intercourse with the little black people, and
he was many a night out of the house, and no one knew where he had been;
but when he came home in the gray of the morning, he would whisper his
housekeeper, and say to her, "Ha, ha! I was at a grand table last night."
This old gentleman used to relate to his friends, and confirm it with many a
stout trooper's and sportsman's oath, that the underground people swarmed
among the fir-trees of Granitz, about the Ahlbeck, and along the whole
shore. He used often, also, to show to those whom he took to walk there, a
great number of little foot-prints, like those of very small children, in the
sand, and he has suddenly called out to his companions, "Hush! Listen how
they are, buzzing and whispering!"
Going once with some friends along the sea-shore, he all of a sudden stood
still, as if in amazement, pointed to the sea, and cried out, "My soul! there
they are again at full work, and there are several thousands of them
employed about a few sunken casks of wine that they are rolling to the
shore; oh! what a jovial carouse there will be to-night!" He then told his
companions that he could see them both by day and by night, and that they
did nothing to him; nay, they were his most particular friends, and one of
them had once saved his house from being burnt by waking him in the night
out of a profound sleep, when a firebrand, that had fallen out on the floor,
was just on the point of setting fire to some wood and straw that lay there.
He said that almost every day some of them were to be seen on the sea-
shore, but that during high storms, when the sea was uncommonly rough,
almost all of them were there looking after amber and shipwrecks, and for
certain no ship ever went to pieces but they got the best part of the cargo,
and hid it safe under the ground. And how grand a thing, he added, it is to

live under the sand-hills with them, and how beautiful their crystal palaces
are, no one can have any conception who has not been there.

GERMANY.
Von wilden getwergen han ich gehöret sagen
Si sin in holren bergen; unt daz si ze scherme tragen
Einez heizet tarnkappen, von wunderlicher art—
Swerz hat an sime libe, der sol vil wohl sin bewart
Vor slegen unt vor stichen. Nibelungen, Lied st. 342.

Of wild dwarfs I oft have heard men declare
They dwell in hollow mountains; and for defence they
wear
A thing called a Tarn-cloke, of wonderful nature—
Who has it on his body will ever be secure
'Gainst cutting and 'gainst thrusting.

The religion of the ancient Germans, probably the same with that of the
Scandinavians, contained, like it, Alfs, Dwarfs, and Giants. The Alfs have
fallen from the popular creed,[245] but the Dwarfs still retain their former
dominion. Unlike those of the North, they have put off their heathen
character, and, with their human neighbours, have embraced a purer faith.
With the creed they seem to have adopted the spirit of their new religion
also. In most of the traditions respecting them we recognise benevolence as
one of the principal traits of their character.
The oldest monuments of German popular belief are the poems of the
Heldenbuch (Hero-book) and the spirit-stirring Nibelungen Lied.[246] In
these poems the Dwarfs are actors of importance.
In this last-named celebrated poem the Dwarf Albrich appears as the
guardian of the celebrated Hoard which Sifrit (Siegfried) won from the
Nibelungen. The Dwarf is twice vanquished by the hero who gains his Tarn-
kappe, or Mantle of Invisibility.[247]
In the Heldenbuch we meet with the Dwarf-king Laurin, whose garden
Dietrich of Bern and his warriors broke into and laid waste. To repel the

invader the Dwarf appears in magnificent array: twenty-three stanzas are
occupied with the description of his banner, helmet, shield, and other
accoutrements. A furious combat ensues, in which the Dwarf has long the
advantage, as his magic ring and girdle endow him with the strength of
twenty-four men, and his Hel Keplein[248] (Tarnkappe) renders him
invisible at pleasure. At length, by the advice of Hildebrand, Dietrich strikes
off the Dwarf's finger, breaks his girdle, and pulls off his Hel Keplein, and
thus succeeds in vanquishing his enemy. Laurin is afterwards reconciled to
the heroes, and prevails on them to enter the mountain in which he dwelt,
and partake of a banquet. Having them now in his power, he treacherously
makes them all his prisoners. His queen, however, Ditlaub's sister, whom he
had stolen away from under a linden, releases them: their liberation is
followed by a terrific engagement between them and Laurin, backed by a
numerous host of Dwarfs. Laurin is again overcome; he loses his queen; his
hill is plundered of its treasures, and himself led to Bern, and there reduced
to the extremity of earning his bread by becoming a buffoon.

In the poem named Hürnen Sifrit[249] the Dwarf Eugel[250] renders the hero
good service in his combat with the enchanted Dragon who had carried off
the fair Chrimhild from Worms, and enclosed her in the Drachenstein.
When Sifrit is treacherously attacked by the Giant Kuperan, the ally of the
Dragon, the Dwarf flings his Nebelkappe over him to protect him.

But the most celebrated of Dwarfs is Elberich,[251] who aided the emperor
Otnit or Ortnit to gain the daughter of the Paynim Soldan of Syria.
Otnit ruled over Lombardy, and had subdued all the neighbouring nations.
His subjects wishing him to marry, he held a council to consider the affair.
No maiden mentioned was deemed noble enough to share his bed. At last
his uncle Elias, king of the "wild Russians," says:—

"I know of a maiden, noble and high-born,
Her no man yet hath wooed, his life who hath not lorn.

"She shineth like the roses, and the gold ruddý,
She fair is in her person, thou must credit me;
She shines o'er other women, as bright roses do,
So fair a child was never; they say she good is too."
The monarch's imagination is inflamed, and, regardless of the
remonstrances of his council, he determines to brave all dangers, to sail
with a powerful army to Syria, where the maiden dwelt, and to win her or to
die. He regulates his kingdom, and says to his uncle:—

As soon as May appeareth, with her days so clear,
Then pray thou of thy friends all, their warriors to cheer,
To hold themselves all ready; go things as they may,
We will, with the birds' singing, sail o'er the sea away.

The queen now endeavours to dissuade her son, but finding her efforts vain,
resolves to aid him as far as she can. She gives him a ring, and desires him
to ride toward Rome till he comes to where a linden stands before a hill,
from which runs a brook, and there he will meet with an adventure. She
farther tells him to keep the ring uncovered, and the stone of it will direct
him.
Obeying his directions, Otnit rides alone from his palace at Garda,
continually looking at his ring:

Unto a heath he came then, close by the Garda lake,
Where everywhere the flowers and clover out did break;
The birds were gaily singing, their notes did loudly ring,
He all the night had waked, he was weary with riding.

The sun over the mountains and through the welkin shone,
Then looked he full oft on the gold and on the stone;
Then saw he o'er the meadow, down trodden the green grass,
And a pathway narrow, where small feet used to pass.

Then followed he downwards, the rocky wall boldlý,
Till he had found the fountain, and the green linden-tree,
And saw the heath wide spreading, and the linden branching high.

It had upon its boughs full many a guest worthy.

The birds were loudly singing, each other rivalling,
"I have the right way ridden," spake Otnit the king;
Then much his heart rejoiced, when he saw the linden spread;
He sprang down from his courser, he held him by the head.

And when the Lombarder had looked on the linden
He began to laugh loud; now list what he said then:
"There never yet from tree came so sweet breathing a wind."
Then saw he how an infant was laid beneath the lind,

Who had himself full firmly rolled in the grass;
Then little the Lombarder knew who he was:
He bore upon his body so rich and noble a dress,
No king's child upon earth e'er did the like possess.

His dress was rich adorned with gold and precious stone;
When he beneath the linden the child found all alone:
"Where now is thy mother?" king Otnit he cries;
"Thy body unprotected beneath this tree here lies."
This child was Elberich, whom the ring rendered visible. After a hard
struggle, Otnit overcomes him. As a ransom, Elberich promises him a
magnificent suit of armour—

"I'll give thee for my ransom the very best harnéss
That either young or old in the world doth possess.

"Full eighty thousand marks the harness is worth well,
A sword too I will give thee, with the shirt of mail,
That every corselet cuts through as if steel it were not;
There ne'er was helm so strong yet could injure it a jot.

"I ween in the whole world no better sword there be,
I brought it from a mountain is called Almari;
It is with gold adorned, and clearer is than glass;
I wrought it in a mountain is called Göickelsass.

"The sword I will name to thee, it is bright of hue,
Whate'er thou with it strikest no gap will ensue,
It is Rossè called, I tell to thee its name;
Wherever swords are drawing it never will thee shame.

"With all the other harness I give thee leg armoúr,
In which there no ring is, my own hand wrought it sure;
And when thou hast the harness thou must it precious hold,
There's nothing false within it, it all is of pure gold.

"With all the armour rich I give thee a helmét,
Upon an emperor's head none a better e'er saw yet;
Full happy is the man who doth this helmet bear,
His head is recognised, a mile off though he were.

"And with the helmet bright I will give to thee a shield,
So strong and so good too, if to me thanks thou'lt yield;
It never yet was cut through by any sword so keen,
No sort of weapon ever may that buckler win."
Elberich persuades the king to lend him his ring; when he gets it he
becomes invisible, and amuses himself by telling him of the whipping he
will get from his mother for having lost it. At last when Otnit is on the point
of going away, Elberich returns the ring, and, to his no small surprise,
informs him that he is his father, promising him, at the same time, if he is
kind to his mother, to stand his friend, and assist him to gain the heathen
maid.
When May arrives Otnit sails from Messina with his troops. As they
approach Sunders,[252] they are a little in dread of the quantity of shipping
they see in the port, and the king regrets and bewails having proceeded
without his dwarf-sire. But Elberich has, unseen, been sitting on the mast.
He appears, and gives his advice, accompanied by a stone, which, by being
put into the mouth, endows its possessor with the gift of all languages. On
the heathens coming alongside the vessel, Otnit assumes the character of a
merchant, and is admitted to enter the port. He forthwith proposes to
murder the inhabitants in the night, an act of treachery which is prevented
by the strong and indignant rebukes of the Dwarf.

Elberich sets off to Muntabur,[253] the royal residence, to demand the
princess. The Soldan, enraged at the insolence of the invisible envoy, in
vain orders his men to put him to death; the "little man" returns unscathed
to Otnit, and bids him prepare for war. By the aid of Elberich, Otnit wins,
after great slaughter on both sides, the city of Sunders. He then, under the
Dwarf's advice, follows up his conquest by marching for Muntabur, the
capital. Elberich, still invisible, except to the possessor of the ring, offers to
act as guide.

"Give me now the horse here they lead by the hand,
And I will guide thine army unto the heathens' land;
If any one should ask thee, who on the horse doth ride?
Thou shalt say nothing else, but—an angel is thy guide."

The army, on seeing the horse and banner advancing as it were of
themselves, blessed themselves, and asked Otnit why he did not likewise.

"It is God's messenger!" Otnit then cried:
"Who unto Muntabur will be our trusty guide;
Him ye should believe in, who like Christians debate,
Who in the fight them spare not, he leads to heaven straight."

Thus encouraged, the troops cheerfully follow the invisible standard-bearer,
and soon appear before Muntabur, where Elberich delivers the banner to
king Elias, and directs them to encamp. He meanwhile enters the city, flings
down the artillery from the walls, and when the Soldan again refuses to give
his daughter, plucks out some of his majesty's beard[254] and hair, in the
midst of his courtiers and guards, who in vain cut and thrust at the viewless
tormentor. A furious battle ensues. The queen and princess resort to prayers
to their gods Apollo and Mahomet for the safety of the Soldan The princess
is thus described:

Her mouth flamed like a rose, and like the ruby stone,
And equal to the full moon her lovely eyes they shone.

With roses she bedecked had well her head,
And with pearls precious,—no one comforted the maid:
She was of exact stature, slender in the waist,

And turned like a taper was her body chaste.

Her hands and her arms, you nought in them could blame,
Her nails they so clear were, people saw themselves in them;
And her hair ribbons were of silk costly,
Which she left down hanging, the maiden fair and free.

She set upon her head high a crown of gold red,—
Elberich the little, he grieved for the maid;—
In front of the crown lay a carbuncle stone,
That in the royal palace like a taper shone.
Elberich endeavours to persuade her to become a Christian, and espouse
Otnit; and to convince her of the incapacity of her gods, he tumbles their
images into the fosse. Overcome by his representations and her father's
danger, the princess, with her mother's consent, agrees to wed the monarch
whom Elberich points out to her in the battle, and she gives her ring to be
conveyed to him. The Dwarf, unperceived, leads her out of the city, and
delivers her to her future husband, strictly forbidding all intercourse
between them, previous to the maiden's baptism.[255] When the old heathen
misses his daughter he orders out his troops to recover her. Elberich hastens
to king Elias, and brings up the Christians. A battle ensues: the latter are
victorious, and the princess is brought to Sunders;—ere they embark
Elberich and Elias baptise her, and ere they reached Messina "the noble
maiden was a wife."
As yet not intimately acquainted with Christianity, the young empress asks
Otnit about his god, giving him to understand that she knew his deity, who
had come to her father's to demand her for him. Otnit corrects her mistake,
telling her that the envoy was Elberich, whom she then desires to see. At the
request of Otnit the Dwarf reveals himself to the queen and court.

Long time he refused,—he showed him then a stone,
That like unto the sun, with the gold shone;
Ruby and carbuncle was the crown so rich,
Which upon his head bare the little Elberich.

The Dwarf let the people all see him then,

They began to look upon him, both women and men;
Many a fair woman with rosy mouth then said,
"I ween a fairer person no eye hath e'er survey'd."

Then Elberich the little a harp laid hold upon;
Full rapidly he touched the strings every one
In so sweet a measure that the hall did resound;
All that him beheld then, they felt a joy profound.

After giving Otnit abundance of riches, and counselling him to remunerate
those who had lost their relatives in his expedition, Elberich takes leave of
the king. He then vanishes, and appears no more.
Otnit is the most pleasing poem in the Heldenbuch. Nothing can be more
amiable than the character of the Dwarf, who is evidently the model of
Oberon. We say this, because the probability is much greater that a French
writer should have taken a Dwarf from a German poet, than that the reverse
should have occurred. The connexion between the two works appears
indubitable.

An attempt has already been made to trace the origin of Dwarfs, and the
historical theory respecting those of the North rejected. A similar theory has
been given of those of Germany, as being a people subdued between the
fifth and tenth centuries by a nation of greater power and size. The
vanquished fled to the mountains, and concealed themselves in caverns,
only occasionally venturing to appear; and hence, according to this theory,
the origin of Dwarf stories. As we regard them as an integrant part of
Gotho-German religion, we must reject this hypothesis in the case of
Germany also.

Beside the Dwarfs, we meet in the Nibelungen Lied with beings answering
to the Nixes or Water-spirits. When[256] the Burgundians on their fatal
journey to the court of Ezel (Attila) reached the banks of the Danube, they
found that it could not be crossed without the aid of boats. Hagene then
proceeded along the bank in search of a ferry. Suddenly he heard a plashing
in the water, and on looking more closely he saw some females who were
bathing. He tried to steal on them, but they escaped him and went hovering
over the river. He succeeded, however, in securing their clothes, and in
exchange for them the females, who were Watermaids (Merewiper)
promised to tell him the result of the visit to the court of the Hunnish
monarch. One of them then named Hadeburch assured him of a prosperous
issue, on which he restored the garments. But then another, named Sigelint
told him that Hadeburch had lied for the sake of the clothes; for that in
reality the event of the visit would be most disastrous, as only one of the
party would return alive. She also informed him where the ferry was, and
told him how they might outwit the ferryman and get over.
We cannot refrain from suspecting that in the original legend these were
Valkyrias and not Water-nymphs, for these last would hardly strip to go into
the water, their native element. In the prose introduction to the Eddaic poem
of Völundr we are told that he and his two elder brothers went to Wolfdale
and built themselves a house by the water named Wolfsea or lake, and one
morning early they found on the shore of the lake three women who were
spinning flax: beside them were lying their swan-dresses. They were
"Valkyrias, and king's daughters." The three brothers took them home and
made them their wives, but after seven years they flew away and returned
no more. It is remarkable, that in the poem there is not the slightest allusion
to the swan-dresses, though it relates the coming and the departure of the
maidens. We are then to suppose either that there were other poems on the
subject, or that these dresses were so well known a vehicle that it was
deemed needless to mention them. We are to suppose also that it was by
securing these dresses that the brothers prevented the departure of the
maidens, and that it was by recovering them that they were enabled to effect
their escape. In effect in the German legend of Wielant (Völundr), the hero
sees three doves flying to a spring, and as soon as they touch the ground
they become maidens. He then secures their clothes, and will not return
them till one of them consents to become his wife.[257]

This legend resembles the tale of the Stolen Veil in Musæus, and those of
the Peri-wife and the Mermaid-wife related above.[258] In the Breton tale of
Bisclavaret, or the Warwolf, we learn that no one who became a wolf could
resume his human form, unless he could recover the clothes which he had
put off previous to undergoing the transformation.[259]
Our readers may like to see how the preface to the old editions of the
Heldenbuch accounts for the origin of the Dwarfs.
"God," says it, "gave the Dwarfs being, because the land and the mountains
were altogether waste and uncultivated, and there was much store of silver
and gold, and precious stones and pearls still in the mountains. Wherefore
God made the Dwarfs very artful and wise, that they might know good and
evil right well, and for what everything was good. They knew also for what
stones were good. Some stones give great strength; some make those who
carry them about them invisible, that is called a mist-cloke (nebelkap); and
therefore did God give the Dwarfs skill and wisdom. Therefore they built
handsome hollow hills, and God gave them riches, etc.
"God created the Giants, that they might kill the wild beasts, and the great
dragons (würm), that the Dwarfs might thereby be more secure. But in a
few years the Giants would too much oppress the Dwarfs, and the Giants
became altogether wicked and faithless.
"God then created the Heroes; 'and be it known that the Heroes were for
many years right true and worthy, and they then came to the aid of the
Dwarfs against the faithless Giants;'—God made them strong, and their
thoughts were of manhood, according to honour, and of combats and war."

We will divide the objects of German popular belief at the present day, into
four classes:—1. Dwarfs; 2. Wild-women; 3. Kobolds; 4. Nixes.

DWARFS.
Fort, fort! Mich schau' die Sonne nicht,
Ich darf nicht langer harren;
Mich Elfenkind vor ihren Licht
Sähst du sum Fels erstarren.
La Motte Fouqué.

Away! let not the sun view me,
I dare no longer stay;
An Elfin-child thou wouldst me see,
To stone turn at his ray.

These beings are called Zwerge (Dwarfs), Berg- and Erd-mänlein (Hill and
Ground-mannikins), the Stille Volk (Still-people), and the Kleine Volk
(Little-people).[260] The following account of the Still-people at Plesse will
give the popular idea respecting them.[261]
At Plesse, a castle in the mountains in Hesse, are various springs, wells,
clefts and holes in the rocks, in which, according to popular tradition, the
Dwarfs, called the Still-people, dwell. They are silent and beneficent, and
willingly serve those who have the good fortune to please them. If injured
they vent their anger, not on mankind, but on the cattle, which they plague
and torment. This subterranean race has no proper communication with
mankind, but pass their lives within the earth, where their apartments and
chambers are filled with gold and precious stones. Should occasion require
their visit to the surface of the earth, they accomplish the business in the
night, and not by day. This Hill-people are of flesh and bone, like mankind,
they bear children and die, but in addition to the ordinary faculties of
humanity, they have the power of making themselves invisible, and of
passing through rocks and walls, with the same facility as through the air.
They sometimes appear to men, lead them with them into clifts, and if the
strangers prove agreeable to them, present them with valuable gifts.[262]

The Hill-Man at the Dance.

Old people have positively asserted that some years ago, at the celebration
of a wedding in the village of Glass, a couple of miles from the
Wunderberg, and the same distance from the city of Saltzburg, there came
toward evening a little Hill-man out of the Wunderberg. He desired all the
guests to be merry and cheerful, and begged to be permitted to join in their
dance, which request was not refused. He accordingly danced three dances
with some of the maidens of good repute, and with a gracefulness that
inspired all present with admiration and delight. After the dance he returned
them his thanks, accompanied by a present to each of the bridal party of
three pieces of money of an unknown coin, each of which they estimated to
be worth four creutzers. Moreover, he recommended them to dwell in peace
and concord, to live like Christians, and, by a pious education, to bring up
their children in goodness. He told them to lay up these coins with their
money, and constantly to think of him, and so they would rarely come to
distress; but warned them against becoming proud, and advised them, on
the contrary, to relieve their neighbours with their superfluities.
The Hill-man remained with them till night, and took some meat and drink
from each as they offered it to him, but only very little. He then renewed his
thanks, and concluded by begging of one of the company to put him over
the river Satzach, opposite the mountain. There was at the wedding a
boatman, named John Ständl, who got ready to comply with the dwarf's
request, and they went together to the water's-edge. As they were crossing,
the man asked for his payment, and the Hill-man humbly presented him
threepence. The boatman utterly rejected this paltry payment; but the little
man gave him for answer, that he should not let that annoy him, but keep
the threepence safe, and he would never suffer want, provided he put a
restraint on arrogance. He gave him at the same time, a little stone with
these words: "Hang this on your neck, and you will never be drowned in the
water." And of this he had a proof that very year. Finally, the Hill-man
exhorted him to lead a pious and humble life, and being landed on the
opposite bank, departed speedily from the place.[263]

The Dwarf's Feast.

There appeared in the night to one of the Counts von Hoya, an extremely
small little man. The count was utterly amazed at him, but he bid him not to
be frightened; said he had a request to make of him, and entreated that he
might not be refused. The count gave a willing assent, qualified with the
provision, that the thing requested should be a matter which lay in his
power, and would not be injurious to him or his. The little man then said,
"There will come tomorrow night some people to thy house, and make a
feast, if thou will lend them thy kitchen, and hall for as long as they want
them, and order thy servants to go to sleep, and no one to look at what they
are doing or are about; and also let no one know of it but thyself; only do
this and we shall be grateful to thee for thy courtesy: thou and thy family
will be the better of it; nor will it be in any way hurtful to thee or thine."
The count readily gave his consent, and on the following night there came,
as if they were a travelling party, over the bridge into the house a great
crowd of little people, exactly such as the Hill-mannikins are described to
be. They cooked, cut up wood, and laid out the dishes in the kitchen, and
had every appearance of being about preparing a great entertainment.
When it drew near the morning, and they were about to take their departure,
the little man came again up to the count, and with many thanks, presented
him a sword, a salamander-cloth, and a golden ring, in which there was
inserted a red-lion, with directions for himself and his descendants to keep
these three articles safe; and so long as they kept them together all would be
at unity and well in the county, but as soon as they were separated from
each other it would be a token that there was evil coming on the county: the
red lion too would always become pale when one of the family was to die.
They were long preserved in the family; but in the time when count Jobst
and his brothers were in their minority, and Francis von Halle was governor
of the land, two of the articles, the sword and the salamander-cloth, were
taken away, but the ring remained with the family until they became extinct.
What has become of it since is unknown.[264]

The Friendly Dwarfs.

Close to the little town of Dardesheim, between Halberstadt and Brunswick,
is a spring of the finest water called the Smansborn, and which flows out of
a hill in which in old times the dwarfs dwelt. When the former inhabitants

of the country were in want of a holiday-dress, or, at a family festival, of
any rare utensils, they went and stood before this Dwarf-hill, knocked three
times, and pronounced their petition in a distinct and audible tone, adding,

Before the sun is up to-morrow.
At the hill shall be the things we borrow.[265]

The Dwarfs thought themselves sufficiently compensated if there was only
some of the festive victuals set down before the hill.

Wedding Feast of the Little People.

The little people of the Eilenburg in Saxony had occasion to celebrate a
wedding, and with that intent passed one night through the key-hole and the
window-slits into the castle-hall, and jumped down on the smooth level floor
like peas on a barn floor. The noise awoke the old count, who was sleeping in
the hall in his high four-post bed, and on opening his eyes, he wondered not a
little at the sight of such a number of the little fellows.
One of them appareled as a herald came up to him, and addressing him with
the utmost courtesy and in very polite terms invited him to share in their
festivity. "We, however," added he, "have one request to make, which is, that
you alone should be present, and that none of your people should presume to
look on with you, or to cast so much as one glance." The old count answered in
a friendly tone, "Since you have disturbed my sleep, I will join your company."
A little small woman was now introduced to him; little torch-bearers took their
places; and cricket-music struck up. The count found great difficulty to keep
from losing the little woman in the dance, she jumped away from him so
lightly, and at last whirled him about at such a rate that he could with difficulty
recover his breath.
But in the very middle of their spritely dance, suddenly all became still, the
music ceased, and the whole company hurried to the slits of the doors, mouse-
holes, and everywhere else where there was a corner to slip into. The bride-
pair, the heralds, and dancers, looked upwards to a hole that was in the ceiling
of the hall, and there discovered the face of the old countess, who overflowing
with curiosity, was looking down on the joyous assembly. They then bowed
themselves before the count, and the person who had invited him stept forward
again and thanked him for the hospitality he had shown them: "But," said he,
"since our wedding and our festivity has been thus disturbed by another eye
gazing on it, your race shall henceforward never count more than seven
Eilenburgs." They then pressed out after one another with great speed, and

soon all was silent, and the old count alone in the dark hall. The curse has
lasted till the present time, and one of six living knights of Eilenburg has
always died before the seventh was born.[266]

Smith Riechert.

On the east side of the Dwarf-hill of Dardesheim there is a piece of arable land.
A smith named Riechert had sown this field with peas; but he observed that
when they were just in perfection they were pulled in great quantities. Riechert
built himself a little hut on his ground, there to lie in wait for the thief; and
there he watched day and night. In the daytime he could see no alteration, but
every morning he found that, notwithstanding all his watchfulness, the field
had been plundered during the night. Vexed to the heart at seeing that all his
labour was in vain, he determined to thresh out on the ground what remained
of the peas. So with the daybreak Smith Riechert commenced his work. Hardly
was one half of his peas threshed when he heard a piteous wailing, and on
going to look for the cause, he found on the ground under the peas one of the
dwarfs whose skull he had rapped with his flail, and who was now visible,
having lost his mist-cap with the blow. The Dwarf ran back into the hill as fast
as his legs could carry him.
However, little tiffs like this disturbed but for a very short time the good
understanding of the Dwarf-people and the inhabitants. But the Dwarfs
emigrated at last, because the tricks and scoffs of several of the inhabitants
were become no longer bearable, as well as their ingratitude for several
services they had rendered them. Since that time no one has ever heard or seen
anything of the Dwarfs in the neighbourhood.

Dwarfs Stealing Corn.

'Tis not very long since there were Dwarfs at Jüne near Göttingen, who used to
go into the fields and steal the sheaves of corn. This they were able to do the
more easily by means of a cap they wore, which made them invisible. They did
much injury to one man in particular who had a great deal of corn. At length he
hit on a plan to catch them. At noon one day he put a rope round the field, and
when the Dwarfs went to creep under it, it knocked off their caps. Being now
visible, they were caught. They gave him many fair words, promising if he
would take away the rope to give him a peck (mette) of money if he came to
that same place before sunrise. He agreed, but a friend whom he consulted told

him to go not at sunrise but a little before twelve at night, as it was at that hour
that the day really began. He did as directed, and there he found the Dwarfs,
who did not expect him, with the peck of money. The name of the family that
got it is Mettens.
A farmer in another part of the country being annoyed in a similar manner, was
told to get willow-rods and beat the air with them, and he thus would knock of
some of their caps and discover them. He and his people did so, and they
captured one of the Dwarfs, who told the farmer that if he would let him go, he
would give him a waggon-load of money, but he must come for it before
sunrise. At the same time he informed him where his abode was. The farmer
having enquired when the sun really rose, and being told at twelve o'clock,
yoked his waggon and drove off, but when he came to the Dwarfs' hole, he
heard them shouting and singing within:

It is good that the bumpkin doth not know
That up at twelve the sun doth go.[267]

When he asked for something, they showed him a dead horse, and bade him
take it with him, as they could give him nothing else. He was very angry at
this, but as he wanted food for his dogs, he cut off a large piece and laid it on
his waggon. But when he came home, lo! it was all pure gold. Others then went
to the place, but both hole and horse had vanished.[268]

Journey of the Dwarfs over the Mountain.

On the north side of the Hartz there dwelt several thousand Dwarfs in the clefts
of the rocks, and in the Dwarf-caves that still remain. It was, however, but
rarely that they appeared to the inhabitants in a visible form; they generally
went about among them protected by their mist-caps, unseen and unnoticed.
Many of these Dwarfs were good-natured, and, on particular occasions, very
obliging to the inhabitants, who used, for instance, in case of a wedding or a
christening, to borrow various articles for the table out of the caves of the
Dwarfs, It was, however, highly imprudent to provoke their resentment; as
when injured or offended, they were malicious and wicked, and did every
possible injury to the offender.
A baker, who lived in the valley between Blenkenburg and Quedlinburg, used
to remark that a part of the loaves he baked was always missing, though he

never could find out the thief. This continual secret theft was gradually
reducing him to poverty. At last he began to suspect the Dwarfs of being the
cause of his misfortune. He accordingly got a bunch of little twigs, and beating
the air with them in all directions, at length struck the mist-caps off some
Dwarfs, who could now conceal themselves no longer. There was a great noise
made about it; several other Dwarfs were caught in the act of committing theft,
and at last the whole of the Dwarf-people were forced to quit the country. In
order, in some degree, to indemnify the inhabitants for what had been stolen,
and at the same time to be able to estimate the number of those that departed, a
large cask was set up on what is now called Kirchberg, near the village of
Thele, into which each Dwarf was to cast a piece of money. This cask was
found, after the departure of the Dwarfs, to be quite filled with ancient coins,
so great was their number.
The Dwarf-people went by Warnstadt, a village not far from Quedlinburg, still
going toward the east. Since that time the Dwarfs have disappeared out of this
country; and it is only now and then that a solitary one may be seen.

The Dwarfs on the south side of the Hartz were, in a similar manner, detected
plundering the corn-fields. They also agreed to quit the country, and it was
settled that they should pass over a small bridge near Neuhof, and that each, by
way of transit-duty, should cast a certain portion of his property into a cask to
be set there. The peasants, on their part, covenanted not to appear or look at
them. Some, however, had the curiosity to conceal themselves under the
bridge, that they might at least hear them departing. They succeeded in their
design, and heard during several hours, the trampling of the little men,
sounding exactly as if a large flock of sheep was going over the bridge.

Other accounts of the departure of the Dwarfs relate as follows:—

The Dosenberg is a mountain in Hesse on the Schwalm, in which, not far from
the bank of the stream, are two holes by which the Dwarfs[269] used to go in
and out. One of them came frequently in a friendly way to the grandfather of
Tobi in Singlis, when he was out in his fields. As he was one day cutting his
corn he asked him if he would the next night, for a good sum of money, take a
freight over the river. The farmer agreed, and in the evening the Dwarf brought
him a sack of wheat as an earnest. Four horses were then put to the waggon,
and the farmer drove to the Dosenberg, out of the holes of which the Dwarf
brought heavy, but invisible loads to the waggon, which the farmer then drove
through the water over to the other side. He thus kept going backwards and
forwards from ten at night till four in the morning, by which time the horses
were quite tired. Then said the Dwarf, "It is enough, now you shall see what
you have been carrying!" He bade him look over his right shoulder, and then he
saw the country far and near filled with the Dwarfs. "These thousand years,"
then said the Dwarf, "have we dwelt in the Dosenberg; our time is now up, and
we must go to another land. But the hill is still so full of money that it would
suffice for the whole country." He then loaded Tobi's waggon with money and
departed. The farmer had difficulty in bringing home so heavy a load, but he
became a rich man. His posterity are still wealthy people, but the Dwarfs have
disappeared out of the country for ever.

At Offensen on the Aller in Lower Saxony, lived a great farmer, whose name
was Hövermann. He had a boat on the river; and one day two little people
came to him and asked him to put them over the water. They went twice over
the Aller to a great tract of land that is called the Allerô,[270] which is an
uncultivated plain extending so wide and far that one can hardly see over it.
When the farmer had crossed the second time one of the Dwarfs said to him,
"Will you have now a sum of money or so much a head?" "I'd rather have a
sum of money," said the farmer. One of them took off his hat and put it on the
farmer's head, and said, "You'd have done better to have taken so much a
head." The farmer, who had as yet seen nothing and whose boat had gone as if
there was nothing in it, now beheld the whole Allerô swarming (krimmeln un
wimmeln) with little men. These were the Dwarfs that he had brought over.
From that time forward the Hövermanns had the greatest plenty of money, but

they are all now dead and gone, and the place is sold. But when was this? Oh!
in the old time when the Dwarfs were in the world, but now there's no more of
them, thirty or forty years ago.[271]

The Dwarfs' Borrowing Bread.

Albert Steffel, aged seventy years, who died in the year 1680, and Hans
Kohmann, aged thirty-six, who died in 1679, two honest, veracious men,
frequently declared that as one time Kohmann's grandfather was working in his
ground which lay in the neighbourhood of the place called the Dwarfs' hole,
and his wife had brought out to the field to him for his breakfast some fresh
baked bread, and had laid it, tied up in a napkin, at the end of the field, there
came up soon after a little Dwarf-woman, who spoke to him about his bread,
saying, that her own was in the oven, and that her children were hungry and
could not wait for it, but that if he would give her his, she would be certain to
replace it by noon. The man consented, and at noon she returned, spread out a
very white little cloth, and laid on it a smoking hot loaf, and with many thanks
and entreaties told him he might eat the bread without any apprehension, and
that she would return for the cloth. He did as she desired, and when she
returned she told him that there had been so many forges erected that she was
quite annoyed, and would be obliged to depart and abandon her favourite
dwelling. She also said that the shocking cursing and swearing of the people
drove her away, as also the profanation of Sunday, as the country people,
instead of going to church, used to go look at their fields, which was altogether
sinful.[272]

The Changeling.

It was the belief, in some parts of Germany, that if a child that was not thriving
were taken to a place named Cyriac's Mead, near Neuhausen, and left lying
there and given to drink out of Cyriac's Well, at the end of nine days it would
either die or recover.
The butler and cook of one of the spiritual lords of Germany, without being
married, had a child, which kept crying day and night, and evermore craving
for food and yet it never grew nor throve. It was finally resolved to try on it the
effect of Cyriac's Mead, and the mother set out for that place with the child on
her back, whose weight was so great that she hardly could endure it. As she

was toiling along under her burden, she met a travelling student, who said to
her, "My good woman, what sort of a wild creature is that you are carrying? I
should not wonder if it were to crush in your neck." She replied that it was her
dear child which would not grow nor thrive, and that she was taking it to
Neuhausen to be rocked. "But," said he, "that is not your child; it is the devil.
Fling it into the stream." But she refused, and maintained that it was her child,
and kissed it. Then said he, "Your child is at home in the inner bedroom in a
new cradle behind the ark. Throw, I tell you, this monster into the stream."
With many tears and groans the poor woman at length did as he required and
immediately there was heard under the bridge on which they were standing a
howling and a growling as if wolves and bears were in the place. When the
woman reached home she found her own child healthy and lively and laughing
in its new cradle.

A Hessian legend tells that as a woman was reaping corn at the Dosenberg,[273]
with her little child lying near her on the ground, a Dwarf-woman
(wichtelweib) came and took it and left her own lying in its stead. When the
mother came to look after her dear babe a great ugly jolterhead was there
gaping at her. She cried out and roared Murder! so lustily that the thief came
back with the child. But she did not restore it till the mother had put the
changeling to her breast and given it some ennobling human milk.[274]

There was, it is said, in Prussian Samland, an inn-keeper whom the
underground folk had done many good turns. It grieved him to see what bad
clothes they had, and he desired his wife to leave new little coats for them.
They took the new clothes, but cried out, "Paid off! Paid off!" and went all
away.[275]
Another time they gave great help to a poor smith, and every night they made
bran-new pots, pans, kettles and plates for him. His wife used to leave some

milk for them, on which they fell like wolves, and drained the vessel to the
bottom, and then cleaned it and went to their work. When the smith had grown
rich by means of them, his wife made for each of them a pretty little red coat
and cap, and left them in their way. "Paid off! Paid off!" cried they, slipped on
the new clothes, and went away without working the iron that was left for
them, and never returned.

There was a being named a Scrat or Schrat, Schretel, Schretlein.[276] This name
is used in old German to translate pilosus in the narratives of those who wrote
in Latin, and it seems sometimes to denote a House- sometimes a Wood-spirit.
Terms similar to it are to be found in the cognate languages, and it is perhaps
the origin of Old Scratch, a popular English name of the devil.

There is, chiefly in Southern Germany, a species of beings that greatly
resemble the Dwarfs. They are called Wichtlein (Little Wights), and are about
three quarters of an ell high. Their appearance is that of old men with long
beards. They haunt the mines, and are dressed like miners, with a white hood to
their shirts and leather aprons, and are provided with lanterns, mallets, and
hammers. They amuse themselves with pelting the workmen with small stones,
but do them no injury, except when they are abused and cursed by them.
They show themselves most especially in places where there is an abundance
of ore, and the miners are always glad to see them; they flit about in the pits
and shafts, and appear to work very hard, though they in reality do nothing.
Sometimes they seem as if working a vein, at other times putting the ore into
buckets, at other times working at the windlass, but all is mere show. They
frequently call, and when one comes there is no one to be seen.
At Kuttenburg, in Bohemia, the Wichtlein have been seen in great numbers.
They announce the death of a miner by knocking three times, and when any
misfortune is about to happen they are heard digging, pounding, and imitating

all other kinds of work. At times they make a noise, as if they were smiths
labouring very hard at the anvil, hence the Bohemians call them Haus-
Schmiedlein (Little House-smiths).
In Istria the miners set, every day, in a particular place, a little pot with food in
it for them. They also at certain times in each year buy a little red coat, the size
of a small boy's, and make the Wichtlein a present of it. If they neglect this, the
little people grow very angry.[277]

In Southern Germany they believe in a species of beings somewhat like the
Dwarfs, called Wild, Wood, Timber, and Moss-people. These generally live
together in society, but they sometimes appear singly. They are small in stature,
yet somewhat larger than the Elf, being the size of children of three years, grey
and old-looking, hairy and clad in moss. The women are of a more amiable
temper than the men, which last live further back in the woods; they wear
green clothes faced with red, and cocked-hats. The women come to the wood-
cutters and ask them for something to eat; they also take it away of themselves
out of the pots; but they always make a return in some way or other, often by
giving good advice. Sometimes they help people in their cooking or washing
and haymaking, and they feed the cattle. They are fond of coming where
people are baking, and beg of them to bake for them also a piece of dough the
size of half a mill-stone, and to leave it in a certain place. They sometimes, in
return, bring some of their own baking to the ploughman, which they lay in the
furrow or on the plough, and they are greatly offended if it is rejected. The
wood-woman sometimes comes with a broken wheel-barrow, and begs to have
the wheel repaired, and she pays by the chips which turn into gold, or she gives
to knitters a ball of thread which is never ended. A woman who good-naturedly
gave her breast to a crying Wood-child, was rewarded by its mother by a gift of
the bark on which it was lying. She broke a splinter off it and threw it into her
faggot, and on reaching home she found it was pure gold. Their lives are
attached, like those of the Hamadryads, to the trees, and if any one causes by
friction the inner bark to loosen a Wood-woman dies.
Their great enemy is the Wild-Huntsman, who driving invisibly through the air
pursues and kills them. A peasant one time hearing the usual baying and

cheering in a wood, would join in the cry. Next morning he found hanging at
his stable-door a quarter of a green Moss-woman as his share of the game.
When the woodmen are felling timber they cut three crosses in a spot of the
tree that is to be hewn, and the Moss-women sit in the middle of these and so
are safe from the Wild-Huntsman.[278]

The following account of the popular belief in the parts of Germany adjacent to
Jutland has been given by a late writer.[279]
In Friesland the Dwarfs are named Oennereeske, in some of the islands
Oennerbänske, and in Holstein Unnerorske.[280] The same stories are told of
them as of the Dwarfs and Fairies elsewhere. They take away, and keep for
long periods, girls with whom they have fallen in love; they steal children and
leave changelings in their stead, the remedy against which is to lay a bible
under the child's pillow; they lend and borrow pots, plates, and such like,
sometimes lending money with or even without interest; they aid to build
houses and churches; help the peasant when his cart has stuck in the mire, and
will bring him water and pancakes to refresh him when at work in the fields.

The Dwarf Husband.

A poor girl went out one day and as she was passing by a hill she heard a
Dwarf hammering away inside of it, for they are handy smiths, and singing at
his work. She was so pleased with the song, that she could not refrain from
wishing aloud that she could sing like him, and live like him under the ground.
Scarcely had she expressed the wish when the singing ceased, and a voice
came out of the hill, saying, "Should you like to live with us?" "To be sure I
should," replied the girl, who probably had no very happy life of it above
ground. Instantly the Dwarf came out of the hill and made a declaration of
love, and a proffer of his hand and a share in his subterranean wealth. She
accepted the offer and lived very comfortably with him, as he proved an
excellent little husband.

Inge of Rantum.

The Friesland girls are, however, rather shy of these matches, and if they have
unwarily been drawn into an engagement they try to get out of it if they
possibly can.
A girl named Inge of Rantum had some way or other got into an engagement
with one of the Underground people. The wedding-day was actually fixed, and
she could only be released from her bond on one condition—that of being able,
before it came, to tell the real name of her lover. All her efforts to that effect
were in vain, the dreaded day was fast approaching and she fell into deep
melancholy. On the morning of her wedding-day she went out and strolled in
sorrowful mood through the fields, saying to herself, as she plucked some
flowers, "Far happier are these flowers than I." As she was stooping to gather
them, she thought she heard a noise under the ground. She listened and
recognised it as the voice at her lover, who, in the excess of his joy at the
arrival of his wedding-day, was frolicking and singing, "To-day I must bake
and boil and roast and broil and wash and brew; for this is my wedding-day.
My bride is the fair Inge of Rantum, and my name is Ekke Nekkepem. Hurrah!
Nobody knows that but myself!" "Aye, but I know it too!" said Inge softly to
herself, and she placed her nosegay in her bosom and went home. Toward
evening came the Dwarf to claim his bride. "Many thanks, dear Ekke
Nekkepem," said she, "but if you please I would rather stay where I am." The
smiling face of the bridegroom grew dark as thunder, but he recollected how he
had divulged his secret, and saw that the affair was past remedy.[281]

The Nis of Jutland is called Puk[282] in Friesland. Like him he wears a pointed
red cap, with a long grey or green jacket, and slippers on his feet. His usual
abode is under the roof, and he goes in and out either through a broken
window, which is never mended, or through some other aperture left on
purpose for him. A bowl of groute must be left on the floor for him every
evening, and he is very angry if there should be no butter in it. When well
treated he makes himself very useful by cleaning up the house, and tending the
cattle. He sometimes amuses himself by playing tricks on the servants, tickling,
for example, their noses when they are asleep, or pulling off the bed-clothes.
Stories are told of the Puk, similar to some above related of the Juttish Nis.

THE WILD-WOMEN.
Ein Mägdlein kam im Abendglanz,
Wie ich's noch nie gefunden.
Schreiber.

A maiden came in Evening's glow,
Such as I ne'er have met.

The Wilde Frauen or Wild-women of Germany bear a very strong resemblance
to the Elle-maids of Scandinavia. Like them they are beautiful, have fine
flowing hair, live within hills, and only appear singly or in the society of each
other. They partake of the piety of character we find among the German
Dwarfs.
The celebrated Wunderberg, or Underberg, on the great moor near Salzburg, is
the chief haunt of the Wild-women. The Wunderberg is said to be quite hollow,
and supplied with stately palaces, churches, monasteries, gardens, and springs
of gold and silver. Its inhabitants, beside the Wild-women, are little men, who
have charge of the treasures it contains, and who at midnight repair to Salzburg
to perform their devotions in the cathedral; giants, who used to come to the
church of Grödich and exhort the people to lead a godly and pious life; and the
great emperor Charles V., with golden crown and sceptre, attended by knights
and lords. His grey beard has twice encompassed the table at which he sits, and
when it has the third time grown round it, the end of the world and the
appearance of the Anti-christ will take place.[283]
The following is the only account we have of the Wild-women.
The inhabitants of the village of Grödich and the peasantry of the
neighbourhood assert that frequently, about the year 1753, the Wild-women
used to come out of the Wunderberg to the boys and girls that were keeping the
cattle near the hole within Glanegg, and give them bread to eat.
The Wild-women used frequently to come to where the people were reaping.
They came down early in the morning, and in the evening, when the people left
off work, they went back into the Wunderberg without partaking of the supper.

It happened once near this hill, that a little boy was sitting on a horse which his
father had tethered on the headland of the field. Then came the Wild-women
out of the hill and wanted to take away the boy by force. But the father, who
was well acquainted with the secrets of this hill, and what used to occur there,
without any dread hasted up to the women and took the boy from them, with
these words: "What makes you presume to come so often out of the hill, and
now to take away my child with you? What do you want to do with him?" The
Wild-women answered: "He will be better with us, and have better care taken
of him than at home. We shall be very fond of the boy, and he will meet with
no injury." But the father would not let the boy out of his hands, and the Wild-
women went away weeping bitterly.
One time the Wild-women came out of the Wunderberg, near the place called
the Kugelmill, which is prettily situated on the side of this hill, and took away
a boy who was keeping cattle. This boy, whom every one knew, was seen about
a year after by some wood-cutters, in a green dress, and sitting on a block of
this hill. Next day they took his parents with them, intending to search the hill
for him, but they all went about it to no purpose, for the boy never appeared
any more.
It frequently has happened that a Wild-woman out of the Wunderberg has gone
toward the village of Anif, which is better than a mile from the hill. She used to
make holes and beds for herself in the ground. She had uncommonly long and
beautiful hair, which reached nearly to the soles of her feet. A peasant
belonging to the village often saw this woman going and coming, and he fell
deeply in love with her, especially on account of her beautiful hair. He could
not refrain from going up to her, and he gazed on her with delight; and at last,
in his simplicity, he laid himself, without any repugnance, down by her side.
The second night the Wild-woman asked him if he had not a wife already? The
peasant however denied his wife, and said he had not.
His wife meanwhile was greatly puzzled to think where it was that her husband
went every evening, and slept every night. She therefore watched him and
found him in the field sleeping near the Wild-woman:—"Oh, God preserve thy
beautiful hair!" said she to the Wild-woman; "what are you doing there?"[284]
With these words the peasant's wife retired and left them, and her husband was
greatly frightened at it. But the Wild-woman upbraided him with his false
denial, and said to him, "Had your wife manifested hatred and spite against me,
you would now be unfortunate, and would never leave this place; but since
your wife was not malicious, love her from henceforth, and dwell with her

faithfully, and never venture more to come here, for it is written, 'Let every one
live faithfully with his wedded wife,' though the force of this commandment
will greatly decrease, and with it all the temporal prosperity of married people.
Take this shoefull of money from me: go home, and look no more about you."

As the fair maiden who originally possessed the famed Oldenburg Horn was
probably a Wild-woman, we will place the story of it here.

The Oldenburg Horn.

In the time of count Otto of Oldenburg, who succeeded his father Ulrich in the
year 967, a wonderful transaction occurred. For as he, being a good sportsman,
and one who took great delight in the chase, had set out early one day with his
nobles and attendants, and had hunted in the wood of Bernefeuer, and the count
himself had put up a roe, and followed him alone from the wood of Bernefeuer
to the Osenberg, and with his white horse stood on the top of the hill, and
endeavoured to trace the game, he said to himself, for it was an excessively hot
day, "Oh God! if one had now but a cool drink!"
No sooner had the count spoken the word than the Osenberg opened, and out of
the cleft there came a beautiful maiden, fairly adorned and handsomely
dressed, and with her beautiful hair divided on her shoulders, and a garland on
her head. And she had a rich silver vessel, that was gilded and shaped like a
hunter's horn, well and ingeniously made, granulated, and fairly ornamented. It
was adorned with various kinds of arms that are now but little known, and with
strange unknown inscriptions and ingenious figures, and it was soldered
together and adorned in the same manner as the old antiques, and it was
beautifully and ingeniously wrought. This horn the maiden held in her hand,
and it was full, and she gave it into the hand of the count, and prayed that the
count would drink out of it to refresh himself therewith.
When the count had received and taken this gilded silver horn from the
maiden, and had opened it and looked into it, the drink, or whatever it was that
was in it, when he shook it, did not please him, and he therefore refused to
drink for the maiden. Whereupon the maiden said, "My dear lord, drink of it

upon my faith, for it will do you no harm, but will be of advantage;" adding
farther, that if the count would drink out of it, it would go well with him, count
Otto, and his, and also with the whole house of Oldenburg after him, and that
the whole country would improve and flourish. But if the count would place no
faith in her, and would not drink of it, then for the future, in the succeeding
family of Oldenburg, there would remain no unity. But when the count gave no
heed to what she said, but, as was not without reason, considered with himself
a long time whether he should drink or not, he held the silver gilded horn in his
hand and swung it behind him, and poured it out, and some of its contents
sprinkled the white horse, and where it fell and wetted him the hair all came
off.
When the maiden saw this, she desired to have her horn back again, but the
count made speed down the hill with the horn, which he held in his hand, and
when he looked round he observed that the maiden was gone into the hill
again. And when terror seized on the count on account of this, he laid spurs to
his horse, and at full speed hasted to join his attendants, and informed them of
what had befallen him. He moreover showed them the silver gilded horn, and
took it with him to Oldenburg, and the same horn, as it was obtained in so
wonderful a manner, was preserved as a costly jewel by him, and by all the
succeeding reigning princes of the house of Oldenburg.[285]

KOBOLDS.[286]
Von Kobolt sang die Amme mir
Von Kobolt sing' ich wieder.
Von Halem.

Of Kobold sang my nurse to me;
Of Kobold I too sing.

The Kobold is exactly the same being as the Danish Nis, and Scottish Brownie,
and English Hobgoblin.[287] He performs the very same services for the family
to whom he attaches himself.
When the Kobold is about coming into any place, he first makes trial of the
disposition of the family in this way. He brings chips and saw-dust into the
house, and throws dirt into the milk vessels. If the master of the house takes
care that the chips are not scattered about, and that the dirt is left in the vessels,
and the milk drunk out of them, the Kobold comes and stays in the house as
long as there is one of the family alive.
The change of servants does not affect the Kobold, who still remains. The maid
who is going away must recommend her successor to take care of him, and
treat him well. If she does not so, things go ill with her till she is also obliged
to leave the place.
The history of the celebrated Hinzelmann will give most full and satisfactory
information respecting the nature and properties of Kobolds; for such he was,
though he used constantly to deny it. His history was written at considerable
length by a pious minister, named Feldmann. MM. Grimm gives us the
following abridgement of it.[288]

Hinzelmann.[289]

A wonderful house-spirit haunted for a long time the old castle of
Hudemühlen, situated in the country of Lüneburg, not far from the Aller, and of
which there is nothing remaining but the walls. It was in the year 1584 that he

first notified his presence, by knocking and making various noises. Soon after
he began to converse with the servants in the daylight. They were at first
terrified at hearing a voice and seeing nothing, but by degrees they became
accustomed to it and thought no more of it. At last he became quite
courageous, and began to speak to the master of the house himself, and used, in
the middle of the day and in the evening, to carry on conversations of various
kinds; and at meal-times he discoursed with those who were present, whether
strangers or belonging to the family. When all fear of him was gone he became
quite friendly and intimate: he sang, laughed, and went on with every kind of
sport, so long as no one vexed him: and his voice was on these occasions soft
and tender like that of a boy or maiden. When he was asked whence he came,
and what he had to do in that place, he said he was come from the Bohemian
mountains, and that his companions were in the Bohemian forest—that they
would not tolerate him, and that he was in consequence obliged to retire and
take refuge with good people till his affairs should be in a better condition. He
added that his name was Hinzelmann, but that he was also called Lüring; and
that he had a wife whose name was Hille Bingels. When the time for it was
come he would let himself he seen in his real shape, but that at present it was
not convenient for him to do so. In all other respects he was, he said, as good
and honest a fellow as need be.
The master of the house, when he saw that the spirit attached himself more and
more to him, began to get frightened, and knew not how he should get rid of
him. By the advice of his friends he determined at last to leave his castle for
some time, and set out for Hanover. On the road they observed a white feather
that flew beside the carriage, but no one knew what it signified. When he
arrived at Hanover he missed a valuable gold chain that he wore about his
neck, and his suspicions fell upon the servants of the house. But the innkeeper
took the part of his servants, and demanded satisfaction for the discreditable
charge. The nobleman, who could prove nothing against them, sat in his
chamber in bad spirits, thinking how he should manage to get himself out of
this unpleasant affair, when all of a sudden he heard Hinzelmann's voice beside
him, saying, "Why are you so sad? If there is anything gone wrong with you
tell it to me, and I shall perhaps know how to assist you. If I were to make a
guess, I should say that you are fretting on account of a chain you have lost."
"What are you doing here?" replied the terrified nobleman; "why have you
followed me? Do you know anything about the chain?" "Yes, indeed," said
Hinzelmann, "I have followed you, and I kept you company on the road, and
was always present: did you not see me? why, I was the white feather that flew

beside the carriage. And now I'll tell you where the chain is:—Search under the
pillow of your bed, and there you'll find it." The chain was found where he
said; but the mind of the nobleman became still more uneasy, and he asked him
in an angry tone why he had brought him into a quarrel with the landlord on
account of the chain, since he was the cause of his leaving his own house.
Hinzelmann replied, "Why do you retire from me? I can easily follow you
anywhere, and be where you are. It is much better for you to return to your
own estate, and not be quitting it on my account. You see well that if I wished
it I could take away all you have, but I am not inclined to do so." The
nobleman thought some time of it, and at last came to the resolution of
returning home, and trusting in God not to retreat a step from the spirit.
At home in Hudemühlen, Hinzelmann now showed himself extremely
obliging, and active and industrious at every kind of work. He used to toil
every night in the kitchen; and if the cook, in the evening after supper, left the
plates and dishes lying in a heap without being washed, next morning they
were all nice and clean, shining like looking-glasses, and put up in proper
order. She therefore might depend upon him, and go to bed in the evening after
supper without giving herself any concern about them. In like manner nothing
was ever lost in the kitchen; and if anything was astray Hinzelmann knew
immediately where to find it, in whatever corner it was hid, and gave it into the
hands of the owner. If strangers were expected, the spirit let himself be heard in
a particular manner, and his labours were continued the whole night long: he
scoured the pots and kettles, washed the dishes, cleaned the pails and tubs. The
cook was grateful to him for all this, and not only did what he desired, but
cheerfully got ready his sweet milk for his breakfast. He took also the charge of
superintending the other men and maids. He noticed how they got through their
business; and when they were at work he encouraged them with good words to
be industrious. But if any one was inattentive to what he said, he caught up a
stick and communicated his instructions by laying on heartily with it. He
frequently warned the maids of their mistress's displeasure, and reminded them
of some piece of work which they should set about doing. He was equally busy
in the stable: he attended to the horses, and curried them carefully, so that they
were as smooth in their coats as an eel; they also throve and improved so
much, in next to no time, that everybody wondered at it.
His chamber was in the upper story on the right hand side, and his furniture
consisted of only three articles. Imprimis, of a settle or arm-chair, which he
plaited very neatly for himself of straw of different colours, full of handsome

figures and crosses, which no one looked upon without admiration. Secondly,
of a little round table, which was on his repeated entreaties made and put there.
Thirdly, of a bed and bedstead, which he had also expressed a wish for. There
never was any trace found as if a man had lain in it; there could only be
perceived a very small depression, as if a cat had been there. The servants,
especially the cook, were obliged every day to prepare a dish full of sweet
milk, with crums of wheaten bread, and place it upon his little table; and it was
soon after eaten up clean. He sometimes used to come to the table of the master
of the house, and they were obliged to put a chair and a plate for him at a
particular place. Whoever was helping, put his food on his plate, and if that
was forgotten he fell into a great passion. What was put on his plate vanished,
and a glass full of wine was taken away for some time, and was then set again
in its place empty. But the food was afterwards found lying under the benches,
or in a corner of the room.
In the society of young people Hinzelmann was extremely cheerful. He sang
and made verses: one of his most usual ones was,

If thou here wilt let me stay,
Good luck shalt thou have alway;
But if hence thou wilt me chase,
Luck will ne'er come near the place.

He used also to repeat the songs and sayings of other people by way of
amusement or to attract their attention. The minister Feldmann was once
invited to Hudemühlen, and when he came to the door he heard some one
above in the hall singing, shouting, and making every sort of noise, which
made him think that some strangers had come the evening before, and were
lodged above, and making themselves merry. He therefore said to the steward,
who was standing in the court after having cut up some wood, "John, what
guests have you above there?" The steward answered, "We have no strangers;
it is only our Hinzelmann who is amusing himself; there is not a living soul
else in the hall." When the minister went up into the hall, Hinzelmann sang out
to him

My thumb, my thumb,
And my elbow are two.

The minister wondered at this unusual kind of song, and he said to
Hinzelmann, "What sort of music is that you come to meet me with?" "Why,"
replied Hinzelmann, "it was from yourself I learned the song, for you have
often sung it, and it is only a few days since I heard it from you, when you
were in a certain place at a christening."
Hinzelmann was fond of playing tricks, but he never hurt any one by them. He
used to set servants and workmen by the ears as they sat drinking in the
evening, and took great delight then in looking at the sport. When any one of
them was well warmed with liquor, and let anything fall under the table and
stooped to take it up, Hinzelmann would give him a good box on the ear from
behind, and at the same time pinch his neighbour's leg. Then the two attacked
each other, first with words and then with blows; the rest joined in the scuffle,
and they dealt about their blows, and were repaid in kind; and next morning
black eyes and swelled faces bore testimony of the fray. But Hinzelmann's very
heart was delighted at it, and he used afterwards to tell how it was he that
began it, on purpose to set them fighting. He however always took care so to
order matters that no one should run any risk of his life.
There came one time to Hudemühlen a nobleman who undertook to banish
Hinzelmann. Accordingly, when he remarked that he was in a certain room, of
which all the doors and windows were shut fast, he had this chamber and the
whole house also beset with armed men, and went himself with his drawn
sword into the room, accompanied by some others. They however saw nothing,
so they began to cut and thrust left and right in all directions, thinking that if
Hinzelmann had a body some blow or other must certainly reach him and kill
him; still they could not perceive that their hangers met anything but mere air.
When they thought they must have accomplished their task, and were going
out of the room tired with their long fencing, just as they opened the door, they
saw a figure like that of a black marten, and heard these words, "Ha, ha! how
well you caught me!" But Hinzelmann afterwards expressed himself very
bitterly for this insult, and declared, that he would have easily had an
opportunity of revenging himself, were it not that he wished to spare the two
ladies of the house any uneasiness. When this same nobleman not long after
went into an empty room in the house, he saw a large snake lying coiled up on
an unoccupied bed. It instantly vanished, and he heard the words of the spirit
—"You were near catching me."
Another nobleman had heard a great deal about Hinzelmann, and he was
curious to get some personal knowledge of him. He came accordingly to

Hudemühlen, and his wish was not long ungratified, for the spirit let himself be
heard from a corner of the room where there was a large cupboard, in which
were standing some empty wine-jugs with long necks. As the voice was soft
and delicate, and somewhat hoarse, as if it came out of a hollow vessel, the
nobleman thought it likely that he was sitting in one of these jugs, so he got up
and ran and caught them up, and went to stop them, thinking in this way to
catch the spirit. While he was thus engaged, Hinzelmann began to laugh aloud,
and cried out, "If I had not heard long ago from other people that you were a
fool, I might now have known it of myself, since you thought I was sitting in
an empty jug, and went to cover it up with your hand, as if you had me caught.
I don't think you worth the trouble, or I would have given you, long since, such
a lesson, that you should remember me long enough. But before long you will
get a slight ducking." He then became silent, and did not let himself be heard
any more so long as the nobleman stayed. Whether he fell into the water, as
Hinzelmann threatened him, is not said, but it is probable he did.
There came, too, an exorcist to banish him. When he began his conjuration
with his magic words, Hinzelmann was at first quite quiet, and did not let
himself be heard at all, but when he was going to read the most powerful
sentences against him, he snatched the book out of his hand, tore it to pieces,
so that the leaves flew about the room, caught hold of the exorcist himself, and
squeezed and scratched him till he ran away frightened out of his wits. He
complained greatly of this treatment, and said, "I am a Christian, like any other
man, and I hope to be saved." When he was asked if he knew the Kobolds and
Knocking-spirits (Polter Geister), he answered, "What have these to do with
me? They are the Devil's spectres, and I do not belong to them. No one has any
evil, but rather good, to expect from me. Let me alone and you will have luck
in everything; the cattle will thrive, your substance will increase, and
everything will go on well."
Profligacy and vice were quite displeasing to him; he used frequently to scold
severely one of the family for his stinginess, and told the rest that he could not
endure him on account of it. Another he upbraided with his pride, which he
said he hated from his heart. When some one once said to him that if he would
be a good Christian, he should call upon God, and say Christian prayers, he
began the Lord's Prayer, and went through it till he came to the last petition,
when he murmured "Deliver us from the Evil one" quite low. He also repeated
the Creed, but in a broken and stammering manner, for when he came to the
words, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and