Part 12

The story of the two Hunchbacks is widely diffused. It is told in Ireland as well as in Germany and Italy; moreover it is said to be also current in Spain. There are, of course, many varieties of it in these countries. Compare, for instance, the Irish narrative of Lusmore, in 'Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, by T. Crofton Croker,' with the one given here, which has been obtained from the country people in Rhenish Prussia.

On St. Matthew's day, in the year 1549, a poor hump-backed musician was returning late at night to Aachen[76] from a village where he had been playing at a wedding. Being in a half drowsy state, he took but little heed of time or place, and so he passed the Minster without concerning himself about anything particularly, just as the large clock in the tower boomed midnight. The sound startled him, especially as at the same time there arose in the air a strange whirring like the unearthly sound of owls and bats on the wing. It now occurred to him that this was the night of quarter-day, and he quickened his steps to escape the terrors of the ghost's hour and of apparitions. Nervously he turned into the Schmiedstrasse (Smith-street) as the nearest way to his home, which was in the Jakobstrasse (James-street). But on reaching the Fish Market,--what did he see! All the stalls glistened with innumerable lights, and about them were seated a large party of richly-dressed ladies, feasting on dainty viands served in golden and silver dishes, and drinking sparkling wine from crystal goblets. The musician, much frightened, endeavoured to hide himself in a corner; for, he had not the least doubt that he saw an assemblage of witches. But it was too late; one of the ladies nearest him had already observed him, and she conducted him to the table.

"Don't be frightened!" said the lady to the musician, who stood before her with chattering teeth and trembling knees: "Don't be frightened; but, play us some merry tunes, and thou shalt be paid for it."

The poor hunchback had no choice but to take up his violin, and to amuse the strange company as long as they pleased. Having quickly set aside the stalls with everything upon them, the witches--among whom the poor hunchback thought he recognised several ladies of high position from the town--whirled round in pairs to the sound of his fiddle. But the strangest thing was that the longer the fellow continued to play, the finer and fuller his performance appeared to him; so that he really thought he must be either dreaming, or there must be a whole band of violins and flutes placed behind him which joined in his performance.

Now the Minster clock struck a quarter to one; all the dancers instantaneously stopped, visibly exhausted, and everything was reinstated in its former order. Hesitating, the musician looked on, uncertain whether he ought to stay any longer, or whether he might go; when the lady who had engaged his services came up to him and said: 'Brave musician! thou hast done thy work to our content, and shalt now receive thy recompense."

While saying the words she pulled off his jacket, and, before he was aware of it, she had slipped behind him, and at one grasp relieved him of his hump. Who so happy as the disburthened fiddler? In thankfulness he was just going to throw himself on his knees before his benefactress,--when the clock struck One, and in a moment, ladies, lights, and dishes were gone, and the musician found himself at dark night standing alone in the middle of the Fish Market. Bewildered, he put his hand to his back, doubting lest the adventure had been merely a confused dream. But, no; it was reality! The hump was gone, and the happy fellow rejoiced in feeling as upright as man can be. Moreover, his joy was still increased when he took up his jacket, which lay before him on the ground. Perceiving it to be unaccountably heavy, and thrusting his hands into the pockets to ascertain the cause, he found that both pockets were filled with money. Doubly happy, he hastened home, and in thankfulness he made the next morning an offering of his fiddle to his Patron Saint, under whose image in the church he hung it as a glorious relic to be venerated by his children and his children's children for ever.

Now, the marvellous affair created, as may easily be understood, an immense sensation in the town. People went to the church to look at the fiddle; and whenever the lucky musician showed himself in public, a knot of curious idlers hovered around him, anxious to get a peep at his back. Moreover, his good fortune, as may likewise be easily understood, aroused the envy of his rivals in his profession.

The most envious of these professional brothers possessed himself a tolerably respectable hump, which annoyed him all the more, since he was not less vain than envious. His estimation of his personal appearance was, however, exceeded by that of his musical accomplishments.

"How surprised they will be!" said he to himself: "If that wretched scraper could please them, I am sure I have only to treat them with a few of my inimitable flourishes, and I shall be a straight man and a man of property in no time!"

It was at midnight of St. Gerhard's day when the vain virtuoso repaired to the Fish Market. The old clock of the Minster had already boomed the last stroke announcing the twelfth hour, when he arrived at the place. He actually found there a large party of ladies, just as he expected, and they invited him to play. Confidently he stepped forward, and having bowed with a smile which he was wont to assume whenever he appeared before the public, he threw his fiddlestick across the strings and extemporized a few rapid passages up and down, to show at once his superior skill. But, how wretchedly provoking! Never in his life had he produced such miserable tones; they sounded so execrably thin and poor, as if the strings had been stretched over a piece of solid wood instead of a violin. Enraged, he renewed his exertions, but only to render the matter worse; for, now he produced a noise so horribly ear-piercing that he thought there must be standing behind him a whole chorus of whistling and screeching sneerers accompanying his performance.

Highly exasperated, he tucked his violin under his arm, and walked up to the dancing witches. Then boldly addressing one of the richly-attired ladies, in whom he believed he recognised the wife of the burgomaster of the town, he said:--

"Ah, Madam! I wonder what your husband, our respected burgomaster would say if he knew of your night-excursions on the broom-stick! But that is your own affair. All I care for is my due reward, if you please."

With these words he threw off his jacket and turned round. The lady quickly uncovered a silver dish, from which she took the hump of the former musician, and before the vain virtuoso was aware of it, she had pressed it on his back beside the other hump.

The clock had struck One, and the witches were already on their broom-sticks riding through the air homewards, when the musician recovered from his shock. He slowly put his hand to his back, hoping that perchance he might only have had a bad dream. But no! it was all right,--or rather all wrong. There remained now nothing for him to do but to take up his jacket and make the best of his way home. But the jacket felt so unusually heavy;--could there, perhaps, be gold in it to make up in some measure for the cruel infliction? Eagerly he rummaged the pockets; but what should he find? A few heavy stones and rubbish.[77]

THE PARSON'S ADVICE.

This tale of the Manx people is almost literally copied from 'The History and Description of the Isle of Man, by George Waldron, London, 1744.'

"A man, one day, was led by invisible musicians for several miles together; and not being able to resist the harmony, followed till it conducted him to a large common, where a great number of people were sitting round a table, and eating and drinking in a very jovial manner. Among them were some faces which he thought he had formerly seen; but he forbore taking any notice, or they to him; till, the little people offering him drink, one of them whose features seemed not unknown to him, plucked him by the coat, and forbade him, whatever he did, to taste anything he saw before him. 'For, if you do,' added he, 'you will be as I am, and return no more to your family.'

The poor man was much affrighted, but resolved to obey the injunction. Accordingly, a large silver cup, filled with some sort of liquor, being put into his hand, he found an opportunity to throw what it contained on the ground. Soon after, the music ceasing, all the company disappeared, leaving the cup in his hand; and he returned home, though much wearied and fatigued. He went the next day and communicated to the minister of the parish all that had happened, and asked his advice how he should dispose of the cup: To which the parson replied, he could not do better than devote it to the service of the church. And this very cup, they say, is that which is now used for the consecrated wine in Kirk Merlugh."

RELICS OF THE GOBLINS.

The old tradition embodied in the preceding story from the Isle of Man, is also current,--with various modifications,--in the north of Germany, in Denmark, and in Sweden. Afzelius, in his interesting account of Swedish popular superstitions, mentions some curious notions on this subject. The country people in Sweden still preserve an old belief that if a person drinks of the contents of a beaker, offered to him by the goblins inhabiting the mountains, he loses all recollection of the past, and must become one of them. Several cups are said to have been purloined from these mysterious beings by persons who stealthily avoided partaking of the proffered liquor. Some are still shown in churches, to which they were presented by the purloiners; and it is asserted that these oddly-shaped vessels were formerly used in the Communion Service.

The goblins in Sweden have their principal meetings at midnight before Christmas, and their amusements consist chiefly in music and dancing. They generally assemble in those isolated spots among the mountains where are found large stones resting on pillars, around which they delight to dance. It is considered decidedly dangerous to encounter them at their pastimes on Christmas Eve.

Many years ago,--some say it was so far back as in the year 1490,--a farmer's wife in Sweden, whose name was Cissela Ulftand, distinctly heard, on Christmas Eve, the wild music of the goblins who had assembled not far from her house. The farm in which the good woman lived is called Ljungby, and the group of curiously-placed stones around which the goblins had congregated is well known to many people; indeed, almost everyone in Sweden knows the Magle-Stone.

Well, when Mistress Ulftand heard the music, she spoke to one of her farm-servants, a strong and daring young fellow, and induced him to saddle a horse and to ride in the direction of the Magle-Stone, that he might learn something about the mysterious people, and tell her afterwards all he had seen. The lad rather liked the adventure; he lost no time in mounting his horse, and was soon galloping towards the scene of the music and rejoicing. In approaching the Magle-Stone, he somewhat slackened his speed; however, he drew quite near to the dancers.

After he had been gazing a little while at the strange party, a handsome damsel came up to him and handed him a drinking-horn and a pipe, with the request that he would first drink the health of the King and then blow the pipe. The lad accepted both, the drinking-horn and the pipe; but, as soon as he had them in his hands, he poured out the contents of the horn, and spurring his horse he gallopped off over hedges and ditches straight homewards. The whole company of goblins followed him in the wildest uproar, threatening and imploring him to restore to them their property; but the fellow proved too quick for them, and succeeded in safely reaching the farm, where he delivered up the trophies of his daring enterprise to his mistress. The goblins now promised all manner of good luck to the farmer's wife and her family, if she would return to them the two articles; but she kept them, and they are still preserved in Ljungby as a testimony to the truth of this wonderful narrative.

The drinking-horn is of a metallic composition, the nature of which has not been exactly ascertained; its ornaments are, however, of brass. The pipe is made of the bone of a horse. Moreover, the possession of these relics, we are told, has been the cause of a series of disasters to the owners of the farm. The lad who brought them to the house died three days after the daring enterprise, and the day following, the horse suddenly fell down and expired. The farm-house has twice burnt down, and the descendants of the farmer's wife have experienced all kinds of misfortunes, which to enumerate would be not less laborious than painful. It is only surprising that they should still keep the unlucky horn and pipe.

THE GOLDEN HARVEST.

This is a genuine Dutch story. A long time may have elapsed since the hero of the event recorded was gathered to his fathers. Howbeit, his name lives, and his deeds will perhaps be longer retained by the people in pleasant remembrance than the deeds of some heroes who have made more noise in the world.

An old village crowder, whose name was Kartof, and who lived in Niederbrakel, happened once, late in the night, to traverse a little wood on his way home from Opbrakel, where he had been playing at a dance during the wake. He had his pockets full of coppers, and felt altogether mighty comfortable and jolly; for the young folks in Opbrakel had treated him well, and the liquor was genuine Old Hollands. But, there is nothing complete in this world, as the saying is, and as old Kartof was presently to experience to his dismay, when he put his hand into his pocket for his match-box. Had he not just filled his old clay pipe in the pleasant expectation, amounting to a certainty, that he should indulge in a comfortable smoke all the way home? And did he not feel, with a certain pride, that he deserved a good smoke after all his exertions with the fiddlestick? But what use was it to rummage his pockets for the match-box! It certainly was not there, and must have been lost or left behind somewhere.

"The deuce!" muttered old Kartof, "If I had only a bit of fire now to light my pipe, I should not care for anything else in the world, I am sure!"

Scarcely had he said these words, when he espied a light gleaming through the bushes. He went towards it, but it was much further off than it at first appeared to him; indeed, he had to go more than a hundred yards into the brush-wood before he came up to it. He now saw that it was a large fagot burning, around which a party of men and women, joined hand in hand, were dancing in a circle. "How odd!" thought old Kartof; but being a man accustomed to genteel society, he was at no loss how to address them politely; so, taking off his hat, he said:--

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Excuse me. I hope I am not intruding too much if I ask the favour of your permission to help myself to a little fire to light my pipe."

He had not even quite finished his speech, when several of the dancers stepped forward and handed him glowing embers in abundance. Now, when approaching him they perceived that he carried a violin under his arm, they importuned him to play for them to dance, intimating that he should be well rewarded for his services. "Why not?" said old Kartof: "It is only about midnight, and I can sleep to-morrow in the day-time; it will not be the first time that I have gone to bed in the morning."

While talking in this way, he tuned his instrument; and soon he struck up his best tunes, one after the other. But, though he played ever so much, he could never play enough, the dancers were so insatiable! Whenever his arm sank down from sheer fatigue, they threw a golden ducat into the sound-hole of his violin, which pleased him immensely, and always animated him to renew his exertions, especially also as they did not neglect to refresh him occasionally with a remarkably fine-flavoured Schiedam, from a bottle so oddly-shaped that he had never seen anything like it, so funny it was. He could not help smiling whenever he looked at the bottle.

Gradually his violin became heavier--of course, that was from the golden ducats which the dancers continually threw into it. But also his arm became heavier, and at last old Kartof felt altogether too heavy, sank softly down, and fell asleep.

How long he lay in this state no one knows, nor is ever likely to know. But, thus much is certain, when old Kartof awoke the day was already far advanced, and the sun shone brightly upon his face. He rubbed his eyes and looked about, doubtful whether he was a man of property or whether he had only dreamt of golden ducats. There was the violin lying in the grass near his feet. He hastily took it up;--it felt as light as usual. He shook it;--no rattling of ducats. He held it before his face and peeped into the sound holes;--to be sure, there was something in it, yellow and glittering like gold. He shook it out on the grass;--what should it be?--a score or two of decayed yellow birch-leaves.

Disappointed, old Kartof rose to his feet to look around whether he could not find the place where the fire had been.

Yes, there it was! Some embers were still glimmering in the ashes. This appeared to him more odd than anything else he had experienced. But old Kartof, after all, took the matter quietly enough. He lighted his pipe, and taking up his violin set out on his way home, resolving as he went never to go to that confounded place again after twelve o'clock at midnight.[78]

GIPSIES.

There prevails in popular traditions much mystery respecting gipsies. No wonder that this should be the case, since these strange vagabonds are in most countries so very different from the inhabitants in their appearance and habits; and their occupations are often so well calculated to appeal to the imagination of superstitious people, that a gipsy is regarded by them almost as a sorcerer. His better-half not unfrequently pretends to be a soothsayer, and he is often a musician. However different the gipsy hordes which rove about in European countries may be from each other in some respects, they are all fond of music, magic, and mysterious pursuits. Among the gipsy bands in Hungary and Transylvania talented instrumental performers are by no means rare; and in Russia, the gipsy singers of Moscow enjoy a wide reputation for their musical accomplishments. It is told,--not as a myth but as a fact,--that when the celebrated Italian singer Signora Catalani heard in Moscow the most accomplished of the gipsy singing-girls of that town, she was so highly delighted with the performance that she took from her shoulders a splendid Cashmere shawl which the Pope had presented to her in admiration of her own talent, and embracing the dear gipsy girl, she insisted on her accepting the shawl, saying that it was intended for the matchless cantatrice which she now found she could not longer regard herself.

There is a wildness in the gipsy musical performances, which admirably expresses the characteristic features of these vagrants. Indeed theirs is just the sort of music which people ought to make who encamp in the open air, feed upon hedgehogs and whatever they can lay hand on, and profess to be adepts in sorcery and prophecy.

The following event is told by the peasants in the Netherlands as having occurred in Herzeele. A troop of gipsies had arrived in a valley near that place. They stretched a tight rope, on which they danced, springing sometimes into the air so high that all who saw it were greatly astonished. A little boy among the spectators cried: "Oh, if I could but do that!"--

"Nothing is easier," said an old gipsy who stood near him: "Here is a powder; when you have swallowed it, you will be able to dance as well as any of us."

The boy took the powder and swallowed it. In a moment his feet became so light that he found it impossible to keep them on the ground. The slightest movement which he made raised him into the air. He danced upon the ears of the growing corn, on the tops of the trees,--yea, even on the weather-cock of the church-tower. The people of the village thought this suspicious, and shook their heads, especially when they furthermore observed a disinclination in the boy to attend church. They, therefore, consulted with the parson about the boy. The parson sent for him, and got him all right on his legs again by means of exorcism; but it was a hard struggle to banish the potent effects of the gipsy's powder.[79]

The gipsies were formerly supposed to be descendants of the ancient Egyptians. The German peasants call them Taters,[80] a name indicating an Asiatic origin; and it has been ascertained that they migrated from Western India. The roving Nautch-people in Hindustan are similarly musical and mysterious.

THE NAUTCH-PEOPLE.

The Nautch-people in Hindustan are not only singers and dancers who exhibit their skill before those who care to admire and to reward them; but they possess also dangerous charms.

In a popular story of the Hindus, called 'Chandra's Vengeance' we are told of a youth who, on hearing the music of the Nautch-people at a great distance, is irresistibly compelled to traverse the jungle in search of them. When, after twelve days' anxious endeavour to reach them, he discovers their encampment, Moulee, the daughter of the chief Nautch-woman, approaches him singing and dancing, and throws to him the garland of flowers which she wears on her head. He feels spell-bound, and the Nautch-people offer him a drink which, as soon as he has tasted it, makes him totally forget his family and his dear home. So he remains with the Nautch-people, and wanders with them about the country as one of the company.

Again, in a Hindu story called 'Panch-Phul Ranee,' a Rajah, or King, is enchanted by the Nautch-people, so that he finds his happiness in roving with them from place to place, and in beating the drum for the dancers. His enchantment is accomplished in this way: He had set out on a journey, leaving his wife and infant son behind. One day he happened to fall in with a gang of Nautch-people, singing and dancing. He was a remarkably handsome man, and the Nautch-people, on seeing him approach, said to each other "How well he would look beating the drum for the dancers!" The Rajah was hungry and told them that he required some food; whereupon one of the women offered him a little rice, upon which her companions threw a certain powder. He ate it, and the effect was that it made him forget his wife, child, rank, journey, and whatever had happened to him in all his life. He willingly remained with the Nautch-people, and wandered about with them, beating the drum at their performances, full eighteen years. His son, the prince, being now grown up, could no longer be detained from setting out in the world in search of his beloved father. After many fruitless attempts the prince discovered his father among the Nautch people,--a wild, ragged-looking man whose business it was to beat the drum. The joyful prince summoned the wisest doctors in the kingdom to restore the Rajah to his former consciousness; but their exertions did not at first prove at all successful. In vain did they assure the old drummer that he was a Rajah, and that he ought to remember his former greatness and splendour. The old man always answered that he remembered nothing but how to beat the drum; and, to prove his assertion, he treated them on the spot with a tap and roll on his tom-tom. He really believed that he had beaten it all his life.