CHAPTER VI.

Fairies.

“Come, frolick youth, and follow me My frantique boy, and I’ll show thee The country of the Fayries.”

--_Drayton’s “Muses Elizium, 1630.”_

“O l’heureux temps que celui de ces fables, Des bon démons, des esprits familiers, Des forfadets, aux mortels secourables! On écoutait tous ces faits admirables Dans son château, près d’un large foyer: Le père et l’oncle, et la mère et la fille, Et les voisins, et toute la famille, Ouvraient l’oreille à Monsieur l’aumonier, Qui leur ferait des contes de sorcier. On a banni les démons et les fées; Sous la raison les grâces étouffées, Livrent nos cœurs à l’insipidité; Le raisonner tristement s’accrédite; On court hélas! après la vérité, Ah! croyez-moi, l’erreur a son mérite.”

--_Voltaire._

“Fairy elves Whose midnight frolics by a forest side Or fountain, some belated peasant sees.”

--_Milton._

POPULAR NOTIONS ABOUT FAIRIES.

It is not very easy to ascertain precisely what the popular idea of a fairy is. The belief in them seems to have died out, or, perhaps, to speak more correctly, they are no longer looked upon as beings that have any existence in the present day. That such a race did once exist, that they possessed supernatural powers, that they sometimes entered into communication with mankind, is still believed, but all that is related of them is told as events that happened long before the memory of man, and it is curious to see how a known historical fact--the invasion of the island by Yvon de Galles in the fourteenth century,--has, in the lapse of ages, assumed the form of a myth, and how his Spanish troops have been converted into denizens of fairyland. Perhaps, as has been suggested by some writers who have made popular antiquities their peculiar study, all fairy mythology may be referred to a confused tradition of a primæval race of men, who were gradually driven out by the encroachments of more advanced civilization. According to this theory the inferior race retired before their conquerors into the most remote parts of the woods and hills, where they constructed for themselves rude dwellings, partly underground and covered with turf, such as may still be found in Lapland and Finland, or made use of the natural fissures in the rocks for their habitations, thus giving rise to the idea that fairies and dwarfs inhabit hills and the innermost recesses of the mountains. In the superior cunning which an oppressed race frequently possesses may have originated the opinion generally entertained of the great intelligence of the fairy people--and, as it is not to be supposed that a constant warfare was going on between the races, it is far from improbable that some of the stories which turn on the kindly intercourse of fairies with mortals, may have arisen in the recollection of neighbourly acts. The popular belief that flint arrow-heads are their work--the names given in these islands--“_rouets des faïkiaux_,” or fairies’ spindles, to a sort of small perforated disc or flattened bead of stone which is occasionally dug up, and “_pipes des faïkiaux_” to the tiny pipes which date from the first introduction of tobacco,--their connection in the minds of the peasantry with the remains commonly called druidical, and, indeed, with any antiquity for which they cannot readily account, are all more or less confirmatory of the theory above alluded to. Some years ago a grave, walled up on the inside with stones, and containing a skeleton and the remains of some arms, was discovered on a hillside near L’Erée. The country people without hesitation pronounced it to be “_Le Tombé du Rouai des Fâïes_.”

One well-preserved cromlech in the same neighbourhood is called “Le Creux des Fâïes” and the local name of cromlechs, in general “pouquelâie,” may have some reference to that famous fairy Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, the west country Pixie, or Pisky, and the mischievous Irish goblin Phooka.

According to the best accounts the fairies are a very small people, and always extremely well dressed. The inhabitants of Sark attribute to them the peculiarity of carrying their heads under their arms. They are fond of sporting among the green branches of the trees, and on the borders of running streams. They are supposed to live underground in ant hills, and to have a particular affection for upright stones, around which they assemble, or which they use as marks in some of their games, and the removal of which they are apt to resent by causing injury to the persons or property of those who are bold enough to brave their displeasure in this respect. Some are domestic, living invisibly about the hearth-stone or oven, but willing to make themselves useful by finishing the work which the housewife had not been able to complete during the day. They expected, however, as a reward for their kind offices that a bowl of milk porridge should be set on the floor for them when the family retired to rest. On one occasion a fairy was heard complaining that the porridge was too hot and scalded her. The sensible advice was given--to wait until it cooled.

The few stories about fairies that I have been able to collect are given in these pages, and are very much the same as those related in other countries. Of the more elaborate fairy tale--that which recounts the adventures of a life-time, and in which a supernatural being--commonly called a fairy, but who has little or nothing in common with the fays who dance on the green sward by the light of the moon--is the directing influence either for good or bad,--I have been able to discover only the very slightest trace.

That such tales did once exist, and that they were related by nurses to amuse their young charges, is, I think, sufficiently proved by allusions sometimes made to Chendrouine, as our old acquaintance Cendrillon or Cinderella is called, and by the fact that a friend of mine remembers an old servant telling him the story of “Pel de Cat,” evidently the same as the English story of “Cat-skin,” which however appears in the French collections of fairy tales by the name of “Peau d’Ane.” All that my friend could recall to mind were the words in which the heroine of the tale is welcomed into a house where she seeks for shelter, and which have a rhythmical cadence that smacks strongly of antiquity:--

_“Entre, paure Pel-de-Cat, mànge, et bés, et séque té.”_

(Enter, poor Cat-skin, eat, drink, and dry yourself).[96]

But the best informed among the peasantry do not hesitate in expressing their belief that the fairies were a race who lived long before the ancestors of the present occupants of the land had effected a settlement in the island; that the cromlechs were erected by them for dwelling places, and that the remains of pottery which have been from time to time discovered in these primæval structures plainly prove their derivation.

That the fairy race possessed supernatural strength and knowledge there can be no doubt, or how could they have moved such enormous blocks of stone? Whether their strength and extraordinary science was a gift from Heaven, or whether they acquired these endowments by having entered into a league with the powers of darkness, is a very doubtful and disputed question. Some say they were a highly religious people, and that they possessed the gift of working miracles. Others shake their heads and say that their knowledge, though perhaps greater, was of the same nature as that possessed in later times by wizards and witches, who, as everybody knows, derive their power from the wicked one.[97]

Some fifty or sixty years since, it was still firmly believed in the country that the fairies assisted the industrious, and that, if a stocking or other piece of knitting was placed at night on the hearth or at the mouth of the oven with a bowl of pap, in the morning the work would be found completed and the pap eaten. Should idleness, however, have prompted the knitter to seek the assistance of the invisible people, not only did the work remain undone and the pap uneaten, but the insult put upon them was severely revenged by blows inflicted on the offending parties during their sleep.[98]

It is asserted by some old people in the neighbourhood of L’Erée that, in days gone by, if a bowl of milk porridge was taken in the evening to the “Creux des Fâïes,” and left there with a piece of knitting that it was desired to have speedily finished, and a fitting supply of worsted and knitting needles, the bowl would be found next morning emptied of its contents, and the work completed in a superior manner.[99]

[96] EDITOR’S NOTES.--(In St. Martin’s there still lingers a version of the English Tom Thumb, the “Thaumlin” or “Little Thumb” of the Northerners, who was a dwarf of Scandinavian descent. I was told the following story in 1896, but the old woman who told me owned that she had forgotten many of the details.)

“LE GRAND BIMERLUE.”

Once upon a time a woman had a very tiny little son, who was always called P’tit Jean. He was so small that she was continually losing him. One day he strayed into a field, and was terrified at seeing a large bull rushing towards him, having broken loose from his leash. Hoping for shelter, he ran and hid under a cabbage leaf, but in vain, for the bull ate up the cabbage leaf, and swallowed “P’tit Jean” as well. Soon his mother was heard calling “_P’tit Jean! P’tit Jean! je tràche mon P’tit Jean_.” (“P’tit Jean! P’tit Jean! I am looking for my P’tit Jean,”) so, as well as he could, he answered “_Je suis dans le ventre du Grand Bimerlue_.” (“I am in the stomach of the ‘Grand Bimerlue.’”) Astonished and frightened at hearing these unusual sounds coming from the bull, the woman rushed in and implored her husband to kill “Le Grand Bimerlue,” as she was sure he must be bewitched. This was accordingly done, and they cut up the carcase for eating, but the entrails were thrown into the nearest ditch. An old woman was passing by and saw them lying there, so picked them up and put them in her basket, saying--

“_Y en a des biaux boudins pour mon diner._”

(“Here are some fine black puddings for my dinner.”)

All the time the boy was calling--

_“Trot, trot le vier,_ _Trot, trot la vieille,_ _Je suis dans l’ventre_ _Du Grand Bimerlue.”_

“(Trot, trot old man, Trot, trot old woman, I am in the stomach Of the Grand Bimerlue).”

Hearing these sounds issuing from her basket she hurried home and cut open the stomach of the bull, from whence emerged “P’tit Jean” none the worse for his adventure. He ran home to his mother, who had begun to think that she would never see him again.--_From Mrs. Charles Marquand._

[97] From Mrs. Savidan.

[98] From Miss E. Chepmell, of St. Sampson’s.

[99] From Mrs. Murton.

THE INVASION OF GUERNSEY BY THE FAIRIES.

“Welcome lady! to the cell, Where the blameless Pixies dwell, But thou sweet nymph! proclaimed our faery queen With what obeisance meet Thy presence shall we greet.”

--_Coleridge._

“In olde dayes of the King Artour Of which that Bretons speken gret honour, All was this lond fulfilled of faerie; The Elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie, Danced ful oft in many a grene mede, This was the old opinion as I rede; I speke of many hundred yeres ago; But now can no man see non elves mo.”

--_Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales.”_

At a very remote period there lived in the neighbourhood of Vazon a girl of extraordinary beauty. One morning, as was her usual custom, she left her cottage at an early hour to attend to her cows, when, on entering the meadow, she was astonished to find asleep on the grass, under the shelter of a hedge, a young man of very small stature, but finely proportioned, and remarkably handsome. He was habited in a rich suit of grass-green, and by his side lay his bow and arrows. Wondering who the stranger could be, and fascinated by his beauty and splendid appearance, the maiden stood in silent admiration, until he awoke and addressed her. Her person and manners seem to have had as much influence on the youth as his appearance had produced on the damsel. He informed her that he was a fairy from England, and made her an offer of his hand. She immediately consented to unite her destiny with his, and followed him to the sea-shore, where a barque was waiting, which conveyed the happy pair to fairyland.

Time passed on, and the disappearance of the maiden was almost forgotten, when, one morning, a man who was going down to Vazon Bay at day-break was surprised to see a numerous host of diminutive men issuing, like a flock of bees, from the Creux des Fâïes, and lurking among the reeds and rushes of Le Grand Marais. He inquired who they were, and what had induced them to visit the Holy Isle. One, who appeared their leader, answered for all, and told the affrighted man, that, charmed with the beauty and grace of the damsel that one of their companions had brought from the island, they were determined also to possess wives from the same country. They then deputed him to be the bearer of a message to the men of Guernsey, summoning them to give up their wives and daughters, and threatening them with their heaviest displeasure in case of a refusal. Such an exorbitant demand was, of course, with one accord refused, and the Guernseymen prepared to defend their families and drive the bold invaders from their shores. But, alas! what can poor mortals avail against supernatural beings! The fairies drove them eastward with great carnage. The last stand was made near Le Mont Arrivel, but, wearied and dispirited, they fell an easy prey to their merciless enemies, who put every soul to the sword. Their blood flowed down to the shore, and tinged the sea to a considerable distance, and the road where this massacre took place still retains the memory of the deed, and is known to this day by the name of La Rouge Rue. Two men only of St. Andrew’s parish are reported to have escaped by hiding in an oven. The fairies then entered into quiet possession of the families and domains of the slain; the widows began to be reconciled to their new masters, the maidens were pleased with their fairy lovers, and the island once more grew prosperous. But this happy state of things could not last for ever. The immutable laws of fairyland will not allow their subjects to sojourn among mortals more than a certain number of years, and at last the dwellers in Sarnia were obliged to bid adieu to the shady valleys, the sunny hills, and flowery plains, which they had delighted to rove amongst and which their skill and industry had materially improved. With heavy hearts they bade adieu to the scene of their fondest recollections, and re-imbarked. But, since then, no Guernsey witch has ever needed a broomstick for her nocturnal journeys, having inherited wings from her fairy ancestors, and the old people endeavour to account for the small stature of many families by relating how the fairies once mingled their race with that of mortals.[100]

[100] Communicated by Miss Lane, to whom the story was related by an old woman of the Castel parish.

THE FAIRIES AND THE NURSE.

The fairies sometimes avail themselves of the services of mankind, and in return are willing to assist and reward them as far as lies in their power, but woe to the unhappy mortal who chances to offend them!--for they are as pitiless as they are powerful.

It is said that one night a woman, who lived in the neighbourhood of Houmet and who gained her livelihood by nursing and attending on the sick, heard herself called from without. She immediately arose, and, looking out, saw a man who was totally unknown to her standing at the door. He accosted her, and, telling her that he required her services for a sick child, bade her follow him. She obeyed, and he led the way to the mouth of the little cavern at Houmet, called Le Creux des Fées. She felt alarmed, but, having proceeded too far to retreat, resolved to put a bold front on the matter, and followed her mysterious guide. As they advanced, she was astonished to find that the cave put on a totally different appearance--the damp rugged walls became smooth, and a bright light disclosed the entrance of a magnificent dwelling.

The poor woman soon comprehended that she had penetrated into fairyland, but, relying on the good intentions of her conductor, she followed him into an apartment where a child was lying ill in a cradle, whom she was desired to attend to and nurse. She entered on her new duties with alacrity, and was plentifully supplied by the fairies with every necessary and even luxury. One day, however, as she was fondling the infant, some of its spittle chanced to touch her eyes. Immediately everything around her put on a different aspect--the brilliant apartment once more became a dismal cavern, and squalor and misery replaced the semblance of riches and abundance. She was too prudent, however, to impart to any of the fairy people the discovery she had made, and, the health of the child being quite restored, solicited her dismissal, which was granted her with many thanks, and a handsome compensation for her trouble.

The Saturday following her return to the light of day, she went into town to make her weekly purchases of provisions and other necessaries, and, stepping into a shop in the Haut Pavé, was astonished to see one of her acquaintances of the Creux des Fâïes busily employed in filling a basket with the various commodities exposed for sale, but evidently unseen by all in the shop but herself. No longer at a loss to know whence the abundance in the fairies’ cavern proceeded, and, indignant at the roguery practised on the unsuspecting shopkeeper, she addressed the pilferer and said “Ah, wicked one! I see thee!”

“You see me--do you?” answered the fairy. “And how--pray?”

“With my eyes to be sure,” replied the woman, off her guard.

“Well then,” replied he, “I will easily put a stop to any future prying into our affairs on your part.”

And, saying this, he spat in her eyes, and she instantly became stone blind![101]

[101] From Miss Lane, as related in the Castel parish.

There is another version of the preceding, called

THE FAIRIES AND THE MIDWIFE.

Late one night an old woman was called up by a man with whom she was unacquainted, and requested to follow as quickly as possible, as his wife was in labour and required her immediate assistance. She obeyed, and was led by her guide into a miserable hovel, where everything appeared wretched, the few articles of furniture falling to pieces, and the household vessels of the coarsest ware, and scarcely one whole. Shortly after her arrival, her patient was safely delivered of a child. When she was about to make use of some water which stood in a pail, to wash the child with, and had already dipped her hand into it, she was earnestly requested not to meddle with that water, but to use some which stood in a jug close by. She chanced, however, to lift her hand, still wet, to her face, and a drop of the water got into one of her eyes. Immediately she saw everything under a different aspect; the house appeared rich and magnificently furnished, and the broken earthenware turned into vessels of gold and silver.

She was, however, too prudent to express her surprise, and, when her services were no longer required, left the place.

Some time afterwards she met the man in town and accosted him. “What,” said he, “You see me! How is this?” Taken unawares, she mentioned what she had done in the cottage, and which of her eyes was endowed with the faculty of beholding him: he immediately spat in it, and destroyed her sight for ever.[102]

[102] From Miss E. Chepmell.

See Sir Walter Scott’s _Lady of the Lake_. Note M:--Many of the German popular tales collected by the Brothers Grimm turn on the circumstance of a midwife being called to assist an Undine, or Fairy.

See also Keightley’s _Fairy Mythology_, Vol. 2, p. 182. _Notes and Queries_, 2nd Series, IX. 259.

Mrs. Bray’s _Traditions of Devonshire_.

EDITOR’S NOTES.--In _Traditions et Superstitions de La Haute Bretagne_, by Sebillot, almost the same story is told, Tome 1., p. 109. See also Tome 2., p. 89. “Un jour, une sage-femme alla accoucher une fée; elle oublia de se laver la main, et se toucha un œil; ainsi depuis ce temps elle reconnaissait les déguisements des fées. Un jour que le mari de la fée était à voler du grain, elle le vit et cria ‘au voleur.’ Il lui demanda de quel œil elle le voyait, et aussitôt qu’il le sut, il le lui arracha.”

THE BROKEN KETTLE.

Two men were at work in a field near L’Erée, when suddenly their plough stopped, nor would their united strength, joined to that of the oxen, succeed in moving it. As they looked about them, wondering what could be the reason of this stoppage, they observed in one of the neighbouring furrows an iron kettle, such as was formerly used for baking bread and cake on the hearth. On approaching it they noticed that it contained a bit which had been broken out of the side, and a couple of nails. On stooping to lift it, they heard a voice desiring them to get it mended, and when done to replace it on the same spot where they had found it. They complied with the request, went to the nearest smith, and on their return to the field with the kettle, which they replaced as directed, continued their work, the plough moving as readily as before. They had completed several furrows when a second time the plough remained stationary. On this occasion they observed a bundle neatly tied up lying near them, and, on opening it, found it to contain a newly-baked cake, quite warm, and a bottle of cider. At the same time they were again addressed by their invisible friend, who bade them eat and drink without fear, thanked them for the readiness with which they had attended to his wishes, and assured them that a kind action never goes without its reward.[103]

[103] From Miss Lane.

See _Notes and Queries_, 2nd Series, Vol. IX., 259.

FAIRY NEIGHBOURS.

The fairies are reported to have regarded some households with particular favour, and to have lived on very neighbourly terms with them, borrowing or lending as occasion might require.

The families of De Garis and Dumont are among those who are said to have been in their good graces, and it was to a De Garis the following incident happened.

To the south of the Church of St. Pierre du Bois there lies a little dell, through which runs a small stream of water known by the singular name of “Le Douït d’Israël.” This valley is said to have been in former days a favourite resort of the fairy folk, and tradition affirms that a very kindly feeling existed between them and the mortal inhabitants of the land. A cottage is still pointed out, not far from the estate called “Le Colombier,” which is said to have been the abode of a countryman and his wife with whom the fairies were in constant communication. Frequently, at night, the elves would come and request the loan of a cart until the morning, and their request was always complied with willingly, for it was always accompanied with the following promise:--

_“Garis, Garis,_ _Prête mé ten quériot,_ _Pour que j’allons à St. Malo,_ _Queurre des roques et des galots,_ _Rindelles, roulettes, ou roulons,_ _S’il en mànque j’en mettrons.”_

(“Garis, Garis, Lend your cart now, I pray, To go to Saint Malo, To fetch stones away. Should tires for the wheels Or any thing lack, We’ll make it all right Before we come back.”)

Permission to take the cart was never refused, for it was always returned in perfect order, and, if any injury was done to the metal-work during the nocturnal journey, it was found the next day carefully repaired with pure silver. But what use was made of it is unknown. Some pretend that a sound of wheels was sometimes heard in the dead of night rolling over the cliffs at Pleinmont, where no horse could have found a footing.[104]

[104] From John de Garis, Esq., and Mrs. Savidan.

“LE PETIT COLIN.”

Fairies have sometimes been known to enter into the service of mankind, but by what motives they were actuated in so doing is not clear. A certain “Mess”[105] Dumaresq, of “Les Grands Moulins,” once engaged as a farm servant a boy who offered himself. No one knew whence he came, nor did he appear to have any relations. He was extremely lively, active, and attentive to his duties, but so small that he acquired and was known by no other name than that of “P’tit Colin.” One morning as Dumaresq was returning from St. Saviour’s, he was astonished, on passing the haunted hill known as “La Roque où le Coq Chante,” to hear himself called by name. He stopped his horse and looked round, but could see no one. Thinking that his imagination must have deceived him, he began to move on, but was again arrested by the voice. A second time he stopped and looked round, but with no more success than the first. Beginning to feel alarmed, he pushed his horse forward, but was a third time stopped by the voice. He now summoned up all his courage and asked who it was that called, and what was required of him. The voice immediately answered,--

“Go home directly and tell P’tit Colin that Grand Colin is dead.”

Wondering what could be the meaning of this, he made the best of his way home, and, on his arrival, sent for Le Petit Colin, to whom he communicated what had befallen him. The boy replied, “What! Is Le Grand Colin dead? Then I must leave you,” and immediately turned round to depart.

“Stop,” said Mess Dumaresq, “I must pay you your wages.”

“Wages!” said Colin, with a laugh, “I am far richer now than you. Goodbye.”

Saying this he left the room and was never afterwards seen or heard of.

This story is still related by Dumaresq’s descendants.[106]

[105] “Mess” is the Guernsey colloquial for “Monsieur,” as applied to one of the farmer class.

[106] From Miss Lane and John de Garis, Esq.

Mr. Métivier also gives a version of this in an article in one of the French papers, and some notes as to the origin of the legend.

Ce fut à son retour de St. Pierre-Port, où il avait un tant soit peu trop levé le coude, un Samedi, qu’au moment où il passait “La Roche au Coq,” vers minuit, un de nos terriens entendit ces paroles:

“Jean Dumaresq! Va dire au P’tit Colin que l’Grànd Colin est mort!”

Or ce Colin, en haut-tudesque _Cole-wire_, est un _troll_ ou _guenon_, un gobelin, qui, sous la forme de singe, ou de chat, était persécuté par un maître rébarbatif. Dans la légende norse, le fermier se nomme Platt; et lorsqu’il revient chez lui, ayant pris, sinon du vin, de la cervoise, il dit à sa ménagère: “Écoute ce qui m’est arrivé ce soir! Comme je passais Brand Hoy, la Hougue-aux-Balais, la voix d’un troll m’a crié ces mots:

“Écoute, Platt! Dis à ton chat ‘Que le vieux Sure-Mûre, (Rouâne et grond), Est mort!’”

Aussitôt, notre chat fait une cabriole, et se dressant sur ses pieds de derrière, crie à son tour: “En ce cas-là, il faut que je décampe.””

See _Lay of the Last Minstrel_, Note S, and a paper on Popular Superstitions, etc., in the _Saturday Magazine_, Vol 10. p. 44. In Brand’s _Antiquities_, Vol. 3. p. 44, the following similar story is communicated by T. Quiller Couch, as relating to a Cornish pixy. “A farmer, who formerly lived on an estate in this neighbourhood, called Langreek, was returning one evening from a distant part of the farm, and, in crossing a field, saw, to his surprise, sitting on a stone in the middle of it, a miserable looking creature, human in appearance, though dwarfish in size, and apparently starving with cold and hunger. Pitying its condition, and perhaps aware that it was of elfish origin, and that good luck would amply repay him for his kind treatment of it, he took it home, placed it by the warm hearth on a stool, fed it with milk, and shewed it great kindness. Though at first lumpish and only half sensible, the poor bantling soon revived, and, though it never spoke, became lively and playful, and a general favourite in the family. After the lapse of three or four days, whilst it was at play, a shrill voice in the farm-yard or ‘town place’ was heard to call three times ‘Colman Gray!’ at which the little fellow sprang up, and, gaining voice, cried--‘Ho! Ho! Ho! My daddy is come!’ flew through the key hole, and was never afterwards heard of. A field on the estate is called “Colman Gray” to this day.”

THE FAIRY BAKERS.

Le Grand Colin and Le Petit Colin, whose names have already been mentioned in connection with La Longue Roque and La Roque où le Coq Chante, appear to have belonged to that race of household spirits who used to take up their abode on or near the hearth, and who, although rarely making themselves visible to the human inhabitants of the house, were willing, so long as no attempt was made to pry into their secrets, to render occasional acts of kindness to those under whose roof they dwelt, especially if they were honest and industrious.

A man and his wife occupied a small cottage at St. Brioc. The man gained his living as many along the western coasts of the island do. When the weather was favourable he went out fishing. After gales of wind he was up with the first dawn of day to secure his share of the sea-weed which the waves had cast up on the shore, or perchance a spar or cordage detached from some unfortunate ship that had gone down in the storm. At other times he cultivated his own small plot of ground, or hired himself out as a day labourer to some of the neighbouring farmers who were in want of assistance. In short he was never idle.

They lived in a typical old Guernsey country farm-house, with old walls of grey granite, a thatched roof, small diamond-paned windows, and arched doorways, with its half-door or “hecq.” Inside they are all built much on the same pattern. The front door opens into an entrance hall, on one side of which is the “living” room of the house,--parlour and kitchen in one,--with a huge chimney, sometimes adorned with quaint old carvings, as at “Les Fontaines,” in the Castel parish, a low hearth stone, a smouldering vraic fire, and “trepied.” Still inside its enclosure are stone seats, a large bread oven built in the thickness of the wall, and a hook whereon to hang the “crâset” lamp.

A rack hangs from the low oak ceiling, diversified by its huge centre beam or “poûtre.” On this is kept the bacon, and the grease for the “soupe à la graisse,” or “de cabôche.” A “jonquière,” which is an oblong wooden frame about three feet from the ground, is placed in a corner near the fire and if possible near a window, and is used as a sofa by the family. Formerly it was stuffed with rushes, whence its name. Peastraw or dried fern, covered with green baize, now take their place, and it is frequently called the “green bed.” A long table and forms, with an eight-day clock by Naftel, Lenfestey, or Blondel, and an old carved chest, which contained the bride’s dower of linen in bygone times, is the ordinary furniture of the rooms, whose principal ornament consists of some of the beautiful china brought by sailor sons from the far East or Holland. The floors boast for carpet nothing but earth covered with clean sand, daily renewed.

On the other side of the passage is the best bedroom, with its four poster, and some still have on their mantel-pieces the old tinder boxes, with their flint and steel, and separate compartments for the burnt rag or tinder. Beyond are the winding stone steps, built in a curve beyond the straight wall of the house, and above are more bedrooms, or, in smaller houses, simply a “ch’nas” or loft.

His wife also was never idle. She was one of the shrewd, industrious, and frugal race, who were content with a diet of bacon and cabbage, barley-bread and cider, and who are, alas, disappearing fast. Night after night, when her husband had returned home, and, tired out with the fatigues of the day, had gone to rest and was sound asleep, she would sit up till a late hour on the “jonquière” and ply her spinning wheel by the dim light of the “crâset.”

While thus occupied, she, one night, heard a knock at the door, and a voice enquiring whether the oven was hot, and whether a batch of dough might be baked in it. A voice from within then enquired who it was that stood without, and, on the answer being given that it was Le Petit Colin, permission was immediately granted, and the door opened to admit him. She then heard the noise of the dough being placed in the oven, and a conversation between the two, by which she learned that the inmate of the house was called Le Grand Colin. After the usual time the bread was drawn, and the mysterious visitor departed, leaving behind him, on the table, a nicely baked cake, with an intimation that it was in return for the use of the oven.

This was repeated frequently and at regular intervals, and the woman at last mentioned the circumstance to her husband. The fairer sex is frequently accused of an inclination to pry into secrets and taunted with the evils which too often result from inordinate curiosity, but in this instance it was the husband who was to blame. He was seized with a violent desire to penetrate the mystery, notwithstanding the earnest entreaties of his wife--who had a shrewd suspicion of the real state of the case--that he should leave well alone. His will prevailed, and it was settled that on the night when the invisible baker was expected, the husband should take his wife’s place on the “jonquière,” disguised in her clothes, and that she should go to bed. Knowing that her husband could not spin, the careful housewife thought it prudent not to put the usual supply of flax or wool on the distaff, lest the good man, in turning the wheel, should spoil it. He had not been long at his post and pretending to spin, when the expected visitor came. He could see nothing, but he heard one of the two say to the other:--

_“File, filiocque,_ _Rien en brocque,_ _Barbe à cé ser_ _Pas l’autre ser.”_

(“There’s flax on the distaff, But nothing is spun; To night there’s a beard, T’other night there was none.”)

Upon which both were heard to quit the house as if in anger, and were never again known to revisit it.[107]

[107] From William Le Poidevin, confirmed by Mrs. Savidan.

EDITOR’S NOTES.

Compare in Amélie Bosquet’s book _La Normandie Romanesque et Merveilleuse_, p. 130-131, _Le Lutin ou le Fé Amoureux_ and Webster’s _Basque Legends_, p. 55-56.

Paul Sébillot also gives a somewhat similar story, in _Traditions et Superstitions de La Haute Bretagne_, Tome 1., p. 116-117. “Il y avait à la Ville-Douélan, en la paroisse du Gouray, une bonne femme qui tous les soirs mettait son souper à chauffer dans le foyer; mais pendant qu’elle était occupée à filer, les fées descendaient par la cheminée et mangeaient son souper. Elle s’en plaignit à son mari, qui était journalier et ne rentrait que pour se coucher. Il lui dit de le laisser un soir tout seul à la maison. Il s’habilla en femme et prit une quenouille comme une fileuse, mais il ne filait point. Quand les fées arrivèrent, elles s’arrêtèrent surprises dans le foyer et dirent, ‘Vous ne filez ni ne volez, vous n’êtes pas la bonne femme des autres soirs.’ L’homme ne répondit rien; mais il prit une trique et se mit à frapper sur les fées, qui, depuis ce temps-là, ne revinrent plus jamais.”

THE CHANGELING.

In times long past a young couple occupied a cottage in the neighbourhood of L’Erée. They were in the second year of their marriage, and little more than a fortnight had elapsed since the wife had presented her husband with his first-born son. The happy father, who, like most of the inhabitants of the coast, filled up the time in which he was not otherwise occupied, in collecting sea-weed or fishing, returned one morning from the beach with a basketful of limpets. There are various ways of cooking this shell-fish, which, from the earliest times, appears to have formed a considerable article of food among the poorer inhabitants of the sea-shore, and one of the ways of dressing them is by placing them on the hot embers, where they are soon baked or fried in their own cup-shaped shells. Cooked in this manner they form an appetizing relish to the “dorâïe,” or slice of bread-and-butter, which forms the ordinary mid-day meal of the labouring man.

A good fire of furze and sea-weed was flaming on the hearth when the man entered his cottage, and, having raked the hot embers together, he proceeded to arrange the limpets on the ashes, and then left them to cook while he went out to finish digging a piece of ground. The wife in the meanwhile was occupied in some domestic work, but casting a look from time to time on her new-born babe, which was sleeping quietly in its cradle. Suddenly she was startled by hearing an unknown voice, which seemed to proceed from the child. She turned quickly round, and was much surprised to see the infant sitting up, and looking with the greatest interest at the fire-place, and to hear it exclaim in tones of astonishment:--

_“Je n’sis de chut an, ni d’antan,_ _Ni du temps du Rouey Jehan,_ _Mais de tous mes jours, et de tous mes ans,_ _Je n’ai vu autant de pots bouaillants.”_

(“I’m not of this year, nor the year before, Nor yet of the time of King John of yore, But in all my days and years, I ween, So many pots boiling I never have seen.”)

She had heard old wives tell how the fairies sometimes took advantage of the absence of the mother or nurse, to steal away a sleeping child, and to substitute one of their own bantlings in its place, and how the only way to cause them to make restitution was to throw the changeling on the hearth, when the fairy mother, unable to withstand the piteous cries of her offspring, was sure to appear, and bring back the stolen infant with her.

She lost no time therefore in catching up the fairy imp, who, knowing the fate that awaited him, set up a fearful yell. Immediately, the fairy mother, without stopping to lift the latch, leaped over the “hecq” or half-door, and, restoring to the trembling housewife her babe uninjured, snatched up her own squalling brat, and departed by the same way she had come.[108]

[108] From Mrs. Savidan. (Also see Page 225).

BUILDING OF THE CASTEL CHURCH.

The parish of Notre Dame du Castel, or, as it is now the fashion to call it, St. Mary de Castro, is the largest in the island, but the church is situated at one extremity of the parish, close on the bounds of St. Andrew’s, to the great inconvenience of many of the parishioners. It is true that in former days they had some relief in the Chapels of Ste. Anne, St. George, and St. Germain, but chapels are not parish churches, and many, while trudging through the miry roads in winter, or toiling up the dusty hill in summer, when some of the great festivals required them to present themselves at the mother church, have inquired how it came to pass that so inconvenient a site had been chosen. The old people, depositaries of the ancient traditions of the place, will answer that originally the foundations were laid in a field called “Les Tuzés,” but this was haunted ground, and a favourite resort of the fairies, and that, these little ladies, unwilling to yield up their rights without a struggle, in the course of a single night transported all the tools, stones, etc., in their cambric aprons, to the spot where the Church of St. Mary now stands. Thrice did this happen before the builders gave up their intention of erecting the sacred edifice on the site first chosen.[109]

[109] From Rachel Duport.

Similar stories are told of the Forest Church, of St. Martin’s and the Vale Churches, of St. Brelade’s in Jersey, and many others.

See Chambers’ _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_, p. 335, and _Notes and Queries_, 2nd Series, IV., 144.

THE GUERNSEY LILY.

There is another story told of the fairy man who first came to Guernsey and carried away the beautiful Michelle de Garis[110] to be his wife. Though, vanquished by his courtliness and grace, she was persuaded to fly with him back to fairy land, she could not quite forget the father, mother, and brothers, whom she had left behind her in their cottage down by Vazon Bay. So she begged him to let her leave them some slight token by which to remember her. He thought for a few moments, and then gave her a bulb, which he told her to plant in the sand above the bay. He then whispered to the mother where to go to find a souvenir of her missing daughter, and, when she went, weeping, to the search, she found this bulb, burst into flower, a strange odourless beautiful blossom, decked with fairy gold, and without a soul--for what is the scent but the soul of a flower--a fit emblem of a denizen of fairyland. From that time the flower has been carefully cultivated in this island, the “Amaryllis Sarniensis,” as it is called, nor will it flourish, however great the care, in any of the other islands; it pines and degenerates when removed from the soil where it was first planted by the elfin lover.[111]

[110] In those days Guernsey girls were not called Lavinia, Maud, Gladys, and all the ridiculous names with which modern parents disfigure the old Norman surnames, but they were called Michelle, Peronelle,--the diminutive feminine of Pierre, equivalent to the English form Petronilla,--Renouvette, (feminine of Ranulf or Ralph), Oriane, Carterette, Jaqueline, Colette or Colinette, and many other soft graceful old French names.

[111] From Miss Lane.

EDITOR’S NOTES.

“LE GIBET DES FAÏES.”

This fairy-story is not included by Sir Edgar MacCulloch, but was communicated to me by the late Miss Annie Chepmell, who most kindly lent me her own manuscript book, in which she wrote down the legends she had herself collected among the country people. I give it in her own words.

“For a long time the fairies alone had possession of L’Ancresse, the cromlechs, hougues, and caves. But evil men rose up, and ambition and the lust of knowledge led them to cross the sea, and there to learn the mighty art of magic. They returned and quickly spread the sin of witchcraft in the island, so quickly that the harmless fairies had no time to accustom themselves to the miseries which were caused thereby, and which they had no power to remedy. Their hearts fairly broke to see their happy haunts invaded by witches and wizards, their fairy rings trampled down by the heavy feet of ‘sorcières,’ and scorched by the hoofs of their demon partners every Friday night; and their human friends and pet animals pining beneath charms and spells. Unable to bear these sorrows, the poor fairies met on their beloved L’Ancresse, and finding, after much consultation, that they could do nothing against the disturbers of their happiness, they sadly resolved to get rid of their past by drinking of the fountain of forgetfulness. There is, or rather was,--for the ruthless quarries have much diminished its size--a huge pile of rocks rising from the sea at the eastern extremity of L’Ancresse Bay. At the very top of this granite castle rises a little fountain, cool in the hottest summer, unfrozen in the keenest frost. Its waters have the properties of Lethe--those who drink of them forgetting the past. In a sad procession the fairy tribe moved across the bay, and, after having scaled the steep rocks, clustered round the fountain which was to give them the bliss of unconsciousness. But for them the fountain had no virtue; they drank, and still the past came back, with all its joys and sorrows. In despair at finding even oblivion denied to them, they hastily determined to get rid of life itself. Rushing down the rocks they hurried across the Common to where stood three tall upright stones, with a third resting upon them--a monument of far-off Druid times--and there they hung themselves with blades of grass. So ended the kindly race in Guernsey, the fairy fountain and the upright stones their only monuments.”

“There are still a few lingering remnants of fairy lore to be found among the old country people. Old Miss Fallaize, aged eighty, remembers how, in her youth, eatables and drinkables were left outside the door with any unfinished work, and how in the morning the food was gone--but she could not quite remember whether the work was done. But old Mr. Tourtel, over eighty, who was brought up as a boy at an old house at the Mont Durand, now pulled down, said that it was well known that the fairies lived in a ‘vôte’ (a Guernsey word for the French ‘voute,’ a vaulted cave), above La Petite Porte. They were a little people, but very strong, and would mend your cart wheels or spokes for you if you would put out some food for them.”

Also the woman living in the house called “St. Magloire” opposite the site of his old chapel, said she supposed “Monsieur Magloire” was the first _man_ who came to these islands, and when I asked her who were living here when he came, she said “Oh, ‘little people,’ who lived in the cromlechs.”

Mermaids.

“I’ll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall.”

--_Shakespeare._

“Thou rememb’rest Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song.”

--_Shakespeare._

A belief in the existence of mermaids is not quite extinct, although no tales relating to them appear to have been preserved among the people. An old man, living in the parish of the Forest, of the name of Matthieu Tostevin, whose word might be implicitly relied on, affirmed to Mr. Denys Corbet, the master of the parochial school, that on one occasion, being on the cliffs over-looking Petit-Bôt Bay, he saw a company of six mermaids, or, as he termed them “_seirênes_,” disporting themselves on the sands below. He described them as usually depicted, half woman, half fish. He hastened down to the beach as fast as he could, to get a nearer sight of them, but, on his approaching them, they took to the sea, and were immediately out of sight.

It was doubtless a flock of seals which he saw, for, although these animals are no longer found in numbers on our coasts, a stray one is occasionally, though very rarely, to be seen. They are known to exist on the opposite shores of Brittany and Normandy, and the few specimens that have been taken in our seas are of the same variety as those found on the French coast. It is not improbable that they may have been more common in former days; and it is possible that “Le Creux du Chien,” a large cavern at the foot of the cliffs to the eastward of Petit-Bôt Bay, may have been so named from being the resort of one of these amphibians.[112]

[112] From Mr. Denys Corbet.

EDITOR’S NOTE.--In Sark as well as in Guernsey they still believe in sirens, and an old man there, who had been a fisherman in his youth, told me of these women who used to sit on the rocks and sing before a storm. In Sark they are considered young and beautiful, but Guernsey fishermen talk of _old_ women who sit on the rocks and sing, and the ships are brought closer to the rocks by the curiosity of those on board to hear this mysterious music, and then the storm comes, and the ships go to pieces on the rocks, and the sirens,--whether young or old,--carry down the sailors to the bottom of the sea, and eat them. So the tradition goes.

Referring to the legend of the Changeling, as related on pages 219-220, Paul Sébillot also tells a story very similar to this. Tome I. p. 118-119.

Un jour une femme dit à sa voisine,--“Ma pauvre commère, je crains que mon gars a été changé par les Margots … j’voudrais bien savoir c’qui faut faire.”

“ … Vous prendrez d’s œufs; vous leur casserez le petit bout, et puis d’cela vous mettrez des petits brochiaux d’bois dedans; vous allumerez un bon feu; vous les mettrez autour, debout; et vous mènerez le petit faitiau à se chauffer aussi.”

La femme fit tout cela, et quand le petit faiteau vit les œufs bouillir et les petits bois sauter dedans, il s’écria:

“Voilà que j’ai bientôt cent ans; Mais jamais de ma vie durant Je n’ai vu tant de p’tits pots bouillants.”

La femme vit tout de suite que son enfant avait été changé … et elle s’écria:

--“Vilain petit sorcier, je vas te tuer!”

Mais la fée qui était dans le grenier lui cria--

“N’tue pas le mien, j’ne tuerai l’tien; N’tien pas l’mien, j’te ren’rai l’tien.”

See also Amélie Bosquet, p. 116, etc.