Fairies notoriously possess great fondness for music. They may be seen in meadows dancing at night by moonlight; and people often find in the morning the traces in the dew, called Fairy Rings. In European countries their favourite musical instruments evidently are the harp and the fiddle. They also often excel as vocalists, and we find them reputed as enchanting singers in almost every part of the world.
Their music resembles, as might be expected, the old tunes of the country-people in the district which they inhabit. The following air of the Irish fairies is copied from T. Crofton Croker's 'Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland:'—
[Listen]
This air, which, of course, is said to be of high antiquity, is commonly sung by every skilful narrator of a certain Irish fairy tale to which it belongs, to enhance the effect of the story.
The fairies of New Zealand are described as a very numerous people, merry, and always singing like crickets. In appearance they are quite different from the Maories, the natives of New Zealand; they rather resemble Europeans, their hair and complexion being remarkably fair.
One day, when Te Kanawa, a chief of one of the Maori tribes, happened to fall in with a troop of fairies on a hill in the Waikato district, he heard them distinctly singing some mysterious verses, which he afterwards repeated to his friends, and which are still preserved in the poetry of the New Zealanders.
Te Kanawa had died before any Europeans arrived in New Zealand, but the details of his encounter with the fairies are not forgotten by the people. They say that he had gone out with his dogs to catch Kiwis,[64] when night came on and he found himself right at the top of Pukemore, a high hill. There it was where the fairies approached the brave chief, and frightened him almost to death. He lighted a fire, and therewith scared them a little. Whenever the fire blazed up brightly, off went the fairies and hid themselves, peeping out from behind stumps of trees; and when it burnt low, back they came close to it, merrily singing and dancing.
The sudden thought struck the trembling chief that he might perhaps induce the fairies to go away if he gave them the jewels he had about him; so he took off a beautiful little figure carved in green jasper, which he wore as a neck ornament; then he pulled out his jasper ear-drop finely carved, and also his earring made of the tooth of a tiger-shark. Fearing lest the fairies should touch him, he took a stick, and, fixing it into the ground, hung the precious presents upon it. Directly after the fairies had ended their song they examined the trinkets; and they took the shadow from them, which they handed about from one to another through the whole party. Suddenly they all vanished carrying with them the shadows of the jewels, but leaving behind the jewels themselves.
The verses which Te Kanawa heard the fairies sing are, as has been already said, still known, and the Maories cite them in proof that everything happened to their brave chief, Te Kanawa, as it is related.[65]
The fairies in the Highlands of Scotland generally have their habitations in rugged precipices and rocky caverns, found in districts especially remarkable for wildness of scenery. Their favourite amusements are music and dancing, and their reels are said to last sometimes for a whole year and even longer, without intermission.
A peasant from the neighbourhood of Cairngorm, in Strathspey, who with his wife and children had settled in the forest of Glenavon, happened to send his two sons late one evening into the wood to look after some sheep which had strayed. The lads, traversing the wood in all directions, came upon a habitation of fairies from which emanated the sweetest music that one can possibly imagine,—or rather, much sweeter music than anyone can possibly imagine. The younger brother, completely fascinated by its charms, at one leap entered the abode of the fairies, from which, alas! he could not return. The elder brother, compelled to give him up as lost, ran home to his parents to tell them what had occurred.
Now, there lived in the neighbourhood a "wise man," whom they thought best to consult in the matter. This man taught the elder brother some mysterious words of disenchantment, and told him to repair to the same place where the lad had been drawn into the cliff, and to pronounce solemnly the words; but this must be done exactly a year after the occurrence of the event. The elder brother most earnestly attended to the injunction. When the year had elapsed, he stood before the cave of the fairies on the same day and precisely at the same hour at which his brother had left him. The music was still going on, and by means of the mysterious words he actually succeeded in liberating his brother, who was still dancing. The daring little boy fully believed that he had been dancing with the fairies for only half-an-hour; for, he said, he had been dancing all the while, and the first reel was not yet over. But, when he arrived at home again, his parents observed at once how much his arms, legs, and his whole body had grown during the year.
Not less remarkable is the following adventure of a village-clergyman told in the Highlands of Scotland.
A parson who enjoyed the reputation of being a very pious man, was returning home to his village one night, after having administered spiritual consolation to a dying member of his flock. The night was far advanced and he had to pass through a good deal of "uncanny" land; however, he, knowing himself to be a conscientious minister of the gospel, did not fear any spirit. On his reaching the end of the lake which stretches for some distance along the side of the road to the village, he was greatly surprised by suddenly hearing strains of music more melodious than he ever before had heard in his life. Overcome with delight, the pious minister could not refrain from sitting down to listen to the melodious sounds; besides he was very anxious to find out, if possible, the nature and source of the charming music. He had not sat listening many minutes when he could clearly perceive the gradual approach of the music; he also observed a light in the direction from whence the music proceeded, gliding across the lake towards him. Instead of taking to his heels, as any faithless wight would have done, the pious pastor, quite fearless, determined to await the issue of the singular phenomenon. As the light and music drew near, he could at length distinguish an object resembling a human being walking on the surface of the water, attended by a group of diminutive musicians, some of them bearing lights, and others, instruments of music, on which they continued to perform those melodious strains which first attracted his attention. The leader of the band dismissed his attendants, landed on the beach, and afforded the minister the amplest opportunity of examining his appearance.
He was a little primitive-looking, grey-headed man, clad in the most grotesque habit ever seen; indeed, his whole appearance was such as to lead the venerable pastor all at once to suspect his real character. He walked up to the parson, saluted him very gracefully, apologizing for the intrusion. The parson politely returned his compliment, and without further explanation invited him to sit down beside him. The invitation was complied with; upon which the minister proposed the following question:—
"Who art thou, stranger, and from whence?"
To this question, the fairy, with downcast eye, replied that he was one of those beings sometimes called 'Doane Shee,' or 'Men of Peace,' or 'Good Men,' though the reverse of this title was perhaps a more befitting appellation for them. Originally angelic in his nature and attributes, and once a sharer in the indescribable joys of the regions of light, he was seduced by Satan to join him in mad conspiracy; and as a punishment for his transgression he was cast down from those regions of bliss, and was now doomed, along with millions of fellow-sufferers, to wander through seas and mountains until the coming of the great day. What their fate would be thereafter, they could not divine.[66]
An almost incredible incident is recorded in Denmark as having occurred to a youth not far from the town of Apenrade in Slesvig. The youth had sat down on a hill, called Hanbierre, and had fallen asleep. Near that hill is a grove of alders,—just the kind of place which one might expect the elves to frequent. The youth did not awaken until midnight. Presently he heard all around him most ravishing music; and looking about in astonishment, he saw two beautiful girls who were singing and dancing in the moonlight. After a little while they came near to him, and spoke to him. But he, knowing that it is dangerous to converse with elves, remained silent. They asked him many questions to induce him to speak; and when he still persisted in not answering them, they threatened him, singing—"Hearken, O youth! Wilt thou not speak to us to-night before the cock crow, thy silver-shafted knife shall surely lay thy heart to rest!"—Again they sang strains most sweet and ravishing. He could no longer resist, and was just on the point of speaking to them, when, fortunately for him, the cock crowed, and they vanished.
From this event the hill is called Hanbierre, or Hahnenberg, which means 'Cock's Hill.'
A short extract from a discussion on Spirits, written about three hundred years ago by an English inquirer into their nature and propensities, may find a place here. This description occurs in a work by Thomas Nash, Gentleman, entitled 'Pierce Penilesse his Supplication to the Deuill; Describing the ouer-spreading of Vice, and the suppression of Vertue; Pleasantly interlac'd with variable delights; and pathetically intermixt with conceipted reproofes. London, 1592.' It does not clearly appear whether the author's remarks are intended to refer especially to the Spirits of England; but this probably is the case. True, he describes them as more ill-tempered than those on the Continent are generally said to be; but this may perhaps be merely owing to the gloominess of the English climate. Howbeit, these troublesome Spirits are most likely not so bad as we find them here depicted; for, is it not a well-known fact, also mentioned by Thomas Nash, Gentleman, that they love music?
"The spirits of the earth keepe, for the most part, in forrests and woods, and doo hunters much noyance; and sometime in the broad fields, where they lead trauelers out of the right way, or fright men with deformed apparitions, or make run mad through excessiue melancholy, like Aiax Telamonious, and so proue hurtful to themselves, and dangerous to others: of this number the chiefe are Samaab and Achymael, spirits of the east, that haue no power to doo great harm, by reason of the vnconstancie of their affections. The vnder-earth spirits are such as lurk in dens and little cauernes of the earth, and hollow crevices of mountaines, that they may dyue into the bowels of the earth at their pleasures: these dig metals and watch treasures, which they continually transport from place to place that non should haue vse of them: they raise windes that vomit flames, and shake the foundation of buildins; they daunce in rounds in pleasant lawnds, and greene medowes, with noises of musick and minstralsy, and vanish away when any comes nere them: they will take vpon them any similitude but that of a woman, and terrefie men in the likeness of dead mens ghosts in the night time."
The following adventure was first related by a jolly young German, who said he was acquainted with a friend of the very person to whom it occurred.
Once upon a time, a poor musician who lived in the neighbourhood of Hildesheim, an old town in the former kingdom of Hanover, went home late at night from a lonely mill, where he had been playing dance-tunes at a christening festivity. The mill is still extant. Its name is Die Mordmühle (The Murder Mill), probably because something dreadful may have happened there years ago. His way led him past a cliff in which there was a dwarf's hole. When he cast a glance at the hole, he saw, to his amazement, sitting before it a dwarf, not more than three feet high. Scarcely had he recovered from his first fright, when suddenly he felt himself seized by invisible hands and drawn under ground many miles deep into the mountain. All this occurred in a moment's time. Immediately the poor musician found that he had been transported into a beautiful hall, illuminated with many thousand lights of various brilliant colours. The flooring of the hall was of pure silver, and the walls were all of the purest gold: the chandeliers were of emeralds and diamonds.
Presently the dwarfs desired the musician to play his best tunes. While playing, he heard quite unmistakably the little folks dancing to his music; he also heard them coughing, giggling, and laughing; but he did not see any being except the dwarf who had taken him there. After a little while the same dwarf brought in a bottle of exquisitely fine wine, and placed it before the musician. When the poor fiddler had helped himself repeatedly from the bottle, he began to feel more at his ease, and became a little talkative.
"Well, my good master," he said, "I am playing and playing here one tune after another, and hear all kinds of noises; but I see no Christian soul but yourself: could I not have just a look at the gentlefolks whom I have the honour of serving with my music?"
To this sensible request the dwarf replied: "By all means! There is no danger in that. Just take my hat and put it on thy head."
As soon as the musician had placed the dwarf's large round hat on his head, he saw the hall crowded with thousands of little pigmy ladies and gentlemen, very smartly dressed, who were promenading up and down, bowing and curtseying to each other; and with them were some little children, certainly not bigger than a thumb. After having played a country-dance to conclude the ball, the musician was dismissed, but not before the dwarf who had brought him there had filled his pockets with wood shavings, of which a large heap lay stored up just near the entrance of the hall.
"Of what use is that stuff to me!" thought the musician; and the first thing he did, when he found himself again free in the open air, was to empty his pockets and throw all the shavings into the road. Heartily tired he reached his home. On the following morning he put his hand into his coat pocket to ascertain if perchance any of the shavings remained; when, Lo! what should he draw out, but a piece of the purest gold! Directly he set off again to the road where he had disencumbered himself of the shavings the night before. But he could find nothing; all traces of the treasure had disappeared.[67]
A young girl who was in service at a farm-house in the province of Schleswig in Germany, had to work daily so very hard that she became at last quite dissatisfied with her lot.
One morning when her master sent her into the field after the cows, she had to pass a hill in which people had often heard the subterranean little folks singing and dancing. The girl thought to herself how enviably happy those dear dwarfs in the hill must be, who work but leisurely and sing so cheerfully. "Alas!" she exclaimed, "could I but live with them, how gladly would I bid farewell to my present home!"
Her words were heard by one of the dwarfs, a young lad who had just been seriously contemplating how very advisable it would be for him to look out for a wife. So, when the girl returned from the field, he presented himself to her, and soon persuaded her to marry him. They are said to have lived very happily together in the hill for many years. They had also about half-a-dozen children; funnily-small dear little creatures these must have been, to be sure.
The dwarfs in that district possessed in former times a peculiar kind of cradle song, of which some fragments have been caught by the listening peasants, and are still preserved.
The music which the dwarfs produce is, as might be expected, remarkably soft and soothing. Loud and noisy music is not at all to the taste of the little folks. A peasant who one day had been to town to purchase rice, raisins, and other luxuries for the wedding festival of his daughter, which was to take place on the following morning, fell in with one of the dwarfs near an old grave-yard situated close to the road. In the course of conversation which they had together, the dwarf expressed a wish that he might be permitted to witness the festivity, and promised to bring with him for a wedding present a lump of gold as large as a man's head.
The delighted peasant said he should be most happy to welcome the generous guest; indeed, he should consider it quite an honour.
"A propos!" remarked the dwarf, just as they shook hands at parting, "What kind of music do you have to-morrow?"
Whereupon the rejoicing peasant rather boastingly replied: "First-rate music! We shall have trumpets and kettle-drums!"
Then the dwarf begged to be excused attending; for (he said) trumpets and kettle-drums he could not endure.[68]
There is in Scotland a family of hereditary bagpipers whose name is Macruimean (or M'Crimmon). Now, it is well known how it came to pass that the famous bagpiper, Macruimean, got his fine music. He was ploughing one day near a haunted hill, when one of the "Little Folks," a tiny green man, came up and invited him into the mountain. After they had entered a cave, the tiny green man gave Macruimean an exquisitely fine bagpipe, and told him that so long as any part of the instrument remained, either with him or with his offspring they would continue to be the best bagpipers in Scotland. When the lucky Macruimean had arrived with his bagpipe at his house, he found to his surprise that he could play upon it beautifully any tune which occurred to his mind. Indeed, his performance was so powerful and impressive that it astonished every one; and the people in the Highlands have still the saying, Co ard ri Piob mhoir Mic-Chruimean,—("As loud as Macruimean's pipes.")
There is also still in the Highlands a cave called Uamh na'm Piobairean—i.e., "The Piper's Cave," into which the famous Macruimean with his children used to repair to practise the bagpipe. This cave is on the top of a brae, or rising ground, eight miles north from Dunvegan Castle. Even his daughters, people say, would occasionally steal to the cave, if they could lay hold on their father's favourite set of pipes, and indulge in a vigorous practice for an hour or so. Moreover, at what time the Macruimean family was first established as the hereditary bagpipers of the Lairds of MacLeod, no one can say now; for it was so very long ago.[69]
As regards giants, there are now-a-days only very few remaining in European countries. Formerly, it would appear, they were abundant, and many traces of their habitations and doings are still pointed out by the people. However, respecting the capacity of the giants for music, but little is recorded. Jacob Grimm alludes to the charming musical powers of Gygur, a Scandinavian giantess and sorceress, and he thinks it likely that an old German name for the violin, which is Geige, was derived from Gygur.[70] If this be so, the French Gigue and the English Jig may be supposed likewise to have their origin from the name of that mysterious monster. There was evidently in olden time a whole Gygur family; but it is very doubtful whether any of its members are still extant. If there are yet any to be found, it must be up in the North, perhaps in Norway, Sweden, or Iceland; at any rate, the people in these countries still speak occasionally of their old giants, or trolls as they are also called.
This story is current in Iceland. It was told to a German traveller in that out-of-the-way part of the world by a poor joiner,—evidently a true-born Icelander, well versed in the folk-lore of his country, but a somewhat prosy narrator. The story is here given in a condensed form. True, there is not much said in it about music; but its chief incidents are brought about by the agency of magic songs. The singing of the swans lulls the king's son into a death-like slumber, and it is by means of music that the sweet foster-sister of Linus, when she finds him reposing on the couch,—but all this the reader will see in the story itself, and to tell it first in a preamble, and then a second time, would be even worse than the prolixity of the honest Icelandic joiner. So let us proceed to the story.
There was once a king and a queen who had a son whose name was Linus. Every one in the whole kingdom admired the young prince for his fine person and his many accomplishments.
Now it happened that when Linus, the king's son, had attained the age of twenty years, he suddenly disappeared, and no one could say what had become of him.
Not far from the king's palace lived with her parents in a little hut a young girl who was the prince's foster-sister; and he had always been extremely fond of her. No wonder that he liked her so much, for she was as beautiful as she was amiable.
"Mother," said the girl, "pray, now let me go, that I may seek for him until I find him again!"
When the mother heard her speaking thus, she became convinced that all dissuasion would be useless, and she permitted her daughter to go. However, she gave her a magic ball of thread, and taught her how to throw it before her as a guide to the hidden abode of the king's son; for the old lady was not altogether inexperienced in the mysteries of sorcery. The girl took the ball of thread and let it run before her; and it rolled and rolled many miles over mountains and through valleys, until it suddenly stopped near a precipitous cliff.
"Here he must be!" ejaculated the girl, and anxiously looked about whether there was not somewhere an entrance into the cliff. But all she could find, after a careful search was a narrow crevice, somewhat hidden by a projecting rock, scarcely wide enough for her to squeeze herself through. When she had succeeded in entering the cliff, she found herself in a large cavern, the walls of which were smoothly planed, and suspended on them were all kinds of odd implements. Surveying the cavern with a curiosity not unmixed with fear, she discovered on one side a short passage leading into another cavern not quite so large as the first, but handsomer in appearance. Having entered the second cavern, she observed a splendid bed standing in the middle of the room. Trembling with hope and fear, she drew nearer to the bed, and lo! there she found him lying asleep, the beloved Linus, the king's son!
Her first thought was to awaken him as quickly as possible, that he might fly with her out of the mountain. But all her exertions to arouse him had no effect, although she tried various means which ought, it might be supposed, certainly to have awakened him. While considering what she should do, she was suddenly terrified by a rumbling sound like that of distant thunder, which gradually became louder and louder, until it appeared to be quite near the entrance to the cavern. She had just time to hide herself behind some furniture in the corner, when the cliff opened widely, and in came a giantess, seated on a chariot of ivory, inlaid with gold, and having a golden whip in her hand.
As soon as the giantess, who was also a great sorceress, had entered the cavern, the opening in the cliff closed again. Presently she went to the bed on which the king's son was reposing, and summoning two swans from the end of the cavern, she recited the spell:—
"Sing, sing ye my swans,
To awake Linus, the king's son!"
Immediately the swans began to sing a song, charming beyond all description; and as they sang the youth awoke. Then the horrid giantess sat down by the side of the king's son, and told him how very fond she was of him; and that she should never be happy until he was her husband. But, Linus, the king's son, smiled without answering her; and, turning his head aside, he thought of his foster-sister in the little hut not far from his father's palace. How little did he suspect that the dear girl was near to him, hidden in the cavern!
However, the giantess perceiving that she was talking in vain, at last determined to await a more propitious time. So she again called her swans, and recited the spell:—
"Sing, sing ye my swans,
To charm the king's son to sleep!"
Immediately the swans sang a song inexpressibly soothing, and the king's son fell asleep again. Thinking the youth safely secured, the giantess took up her golden whip, and seating herself in the chariot of ivory, inlaid with gold, she recited the spell:—
"Run, run my precious chariot,
And carry me to the Lifsteinn!"
As soon as she had said these words the cliff opened, and the chariot flew off like a flash of lightning. Now, when the watchful girl heard the thundering sound gradually diminishing into a feeble murmur, she knew that she might venture out of her hiding-place. The first thing she did was to command the swans:—
"Sing, sing ye my swans,
To awake Linus, the king's son!"
Immediately the swans began to sing most charmingly, and the beloved Linus awoke. Oh! how unspeakably happy he was when he beheld his dear foster-sister standing before him! For a time the cavern was to them a paradise;—but soon the anxious question arose how to escape from the clutches of the giantess.
Then the quick-witted girl suggested a plan which Linus hopefully adopted; and having summoned the swans to lull the youth to sleep again, she withdrew into her hiding-place; for the increasing rumbling of the chariot warned her of the approaching danger.
The giantess had not long returned to the cavern when she determined on making another attempt to gain the affection of the king's son. So she commanded the swans to sing him awake. The prince arose, appeared much more compliant than before, and expressed his willingness to marry her on the following day, if it were not otherwise destined.
Then the enamoured giantess, in answer to his inquiries, revealed to him various secrets as to her magic powers; and when he asked her to tell him candidly whither she went so often in her chariot, she replied:—
"Ah, my dear boy, there is no cause for jealousy! The fact is, I have a brother who is a great giant, and we both, my brother and I, have but one life, and that is bound up in a Lifsteinn ('Stone of Life'). Now, you must know, the Lifsteinn is very brittle, and if it should be broken our death would be certain. Daily I visit my brother, who lives far off in a valley near a deep spring under three high trees. We then fetch up our Lifsteinn, which lies in the deep spring, and carefully examine it; for, nothing affords us greater satisfaction than to find our Lifsteinn uninjured."
This valuable information was listened to with breathless attention by the young girl in her hiding-place; and when the giantess, having previously ordered the swans to sing the king's son to sleep, had taken her departure in the chariot, the girl lost no time in hastening from the cavern; and, rolling the ball of thread before her, she followed it over mountains and through valleys until she had reached the deep spring under the three high trees. The great giant, whose mere breathing made all the leaves of the trees tremble, was just placing the Lifsteinn in the lap of the giantess,—when the courageous girl sprang out from behind the trees, and snatching it up threw it on the ground and shattered it to fragments. In a moment both the giant and the giantess fell down dead.
Now the girl ascended the ivory-golden chariot, took up the golden whip, and smacking it, recited the spell—
"Run, run my precious chariot,
And take me to Linus the king's son!"
When the chariot had entered the cavern, she at once commanded the swans to awaken the king's son; and this they did in strains of music so melodiously beautiful that no mortal had ever heard the like. Linus and his dear foster-sister, having provided themselves with as many jewels and as much gold and silver from the cavern as they could carry, took their seats in the chariot and commanded it to take them straight to the king's palace. Oh! how they all rejoiced throughout the whole kingdom! There was no end of festivities!
But the most glorious festival was that when they celebrated the marriage of Linus, the king's son, with his sweet foster-sister. On that day the old king, in his happiness, resigned the crown in favour of his dear son. Of course, king Linus and his beloved queen were quite happy then and ever after.[71]
The Necks, or water-spirits, are renowned for their love and talent for music. There exist, people say, various kinds of these interesting creatures. The Swedes relate wonderful stories respecting the marvellous harp-playing of a Neck called Strömkarl, who generally prefers the vicinity of water-mills and cascades for his abode. In olden times, before the introduction of Christianity into Sweden, the people used to sacrifice a black lamb to the Strömkarl, who, in return, taught them his charming music. Also the Norwegians sacrificed formerly to a similar Neck, called Fossegrim. He taught his enchanting harp-playing to anyone who on a Thursday evening would throw a young white ram into a river flowing northwards, meanwhile averting his face.[72]
The Neck, or Nicker, has become quite a stranger in England. Some Englishmen, however, take care to preserve his name, applying it to a spirit of another element than water, and everyone knows at once whom they mean when they speak of "Old Nick."
It is said that there are still to be found in Sweden minstrels who have learnt their music from the Necks. A certain farm in Smaland, called Neckaryd, has, according to popular tradition, derived its name from having been inhabited in olden time by a family of minstrels whose name was Neckar, and who learnt their music from a Neck. The last survivors of this remarkable family are still remembered by the people. They were four brothers who used to play at weddings and on other festive occasions. Their grandfather is said to have first played the following Necken-Polska, which is still a favourite national dance in Sweden.
[Listen]
In some districts of Sweden this tune is played with C-natural, instead of C-sharp, in the first bar. The former is the older form, and may therefore be regarded as exhibiting more accurately the tune as originally derived from the Neck, than the present notation with C-sharp, which is, however, now almost universally adopted. Another tune, which is likewise said to have been caught from hearing it played by a Neck, and which is certainly a very old favourite of the people, is as follows:—
[Listen]
This tune exhibits less the characteristics of the old Swedish dance-tunes than the former, which, like most of them, is in the Minor Key.
The musical performances of the Neck are not any longer confined to secular music. The country people, in some parts of Sweden, assert that they have heard him occasionally playing sacred tunes on his golden harp. Thus we are told of a Neck near the Hornborga bridge, who used to play and to sing with a sweet voice: "I know, I know, I know that my Redeemer liveth!"
Some boys who happened to hear him, called out to him: "What good is it for you to be thus singing and playing? you will never enjoy eternal happiness!"
Then the poor Neck began to cry bitterly, and hid himself beneath the water.
A clergyman in Sweden, riding one evening over a bridge, heard most delightful sounds of some stringed instrument. He looked about, and saw on the surface of the water a youth wearing a little red cap, and with golden hair, long and wavy, which streamed over his shoulders. In his hand he held a golden harp. The clergyman knew at once that this must be a Neck; he, therefore, in his zeal, called out to him:—
"How canst thou play so cheerfully on thy harp? As likely is this dry staff, which I am carrying in my hand, to bud and blossom, as that thou shouldst inherit eternal life!"
The unhappy Neck sorrowfully threw his golden harp into the stream, and sat down on the water weeping most piteously.
The clergyman spurred his horse and continued on his way. But he had not proceeded far, when to his great surprise he saw that his old walking-staff began to put forth leaves; and soon there appeared between them flowers more beautiful than he had ever seen. This he understood to be a sign from Heaven that he should teach the consoling doctrine of reconciliation in a more liberal spirit than he had hitherto done. So he hastened directly back to the Neck, who was still sitting on the water sorrowfully complaining; and showing him the green staff, he said:—
"Dost thou see now my old staff is budding and blossoming, like a young plant in a garden of roses? thus also blossoms hope in the hearts of all created beings, for their Redeemer liveth!"
Consoled, the Neck took up again his golden harp, and heavenly sounds of joy resounded far over the water the whole night long, and many people heard them along the banks of the stream.
Like the Siren, so does the female Neck enchant youths with sweet music, and draw them down into the water. Thus also Hylas, a king's son, is commemorated in Greek Mythology as having been drawn into the water by nymphs enamoured of the beautiful youth.
The Irish relate a somewhat similar story of a famous bagpiper, whose name was Maurice Connor, and who had the reputation of being the best piper in the whole province of Munster. One day, when he played on the sea coast, at a lonely place in the county of Kerry, a beautiful lady with green hair came up from the sea, singing and dancing most charmingly; and when she invited him to go with her, and to marry her, he could not resist. Thus Maurice Connor became the husband of the green-haired lady deep in the sea. The union evidently proved happy. For several years afterwards the sea-faring people often heard, on a still night, the sounds of a bagpipe off the coast, and some say they are quite sure that it was Maurice Connor's music which they heard.[73]
The Water Lily (Nymphæa) is by the Germanic nations regarded as the flower of the Nixes, or Water Nymphs. These charming beings, it is said, are so fond of music and dancing that they occasionally come up from the water to the villages lying near their abode, especially at the celebration of a wake, to join in the festivity. But, if they tarry too long at these visits, and fail to return home before the crowing of the cock, they must forfeit their life, and on the glassy surface of the water, into which they have again descended, may be seen a tinge of blood.
One evening in the autumn, after the vintage was finished, the young folks of Jupille, in Belgium, were cheerfully dancing on the village-green, when three beautiful maidens suddenly approached from the banks of the Meuse, and joined the merrymakers. They were dressed in dazzling white garments; and on their blond, wavy hair, they wore wreaths of water-lilies just unfolded. Whether they walked or merely floated over the earth nobody could tell; but certainly never had the youths of Jupille had such aërial partners.
After dancing, all the company sat down in a circle, and the three maidens began to sing with voices so lovely that everyone listened with fixed attention, unconscious how fast the time was passing. However, as soon as the clock struck twelve, the three maidens whispered some words to each other, greeted all around, and vanished out of sight.
On the following evening, just as the moon had arisen, they came again. The youths directly hastened forward to invite them to dance. As the air was sultry, one of them drew off her gloves, and her partner took care of them for her. This evening, the dancing was carried on with even greater spirit than before, and they were still engaged in it when the clock struck twelve. Startled by the sound, the three maidens ceased dancing, and one of them asked hurriedly: "Where are my gloves?"
But the youth wished to retain the gloves as a token of love, and the maiden was compelled to leave them and to hasten away with her companions. The youth followed the three maidens quickly; for he wished above all things to know where his beautiful partner lived. He pursued them further and further, until they reached the river Meuse. The three maidens threw themselves into the stream and vanished.
When, on the following morning the love-sick youth returned to the river where he had lost sight of his partner, he found the water at that place blood-red; and the three maidens have never appeared again.[74]
As regards the 'Will-o'-the-Wisp,' or 'Jack-in-a-Lanthorn,' there are various opinions prevailing in folk-lore. The Germanic races generally regard these fiery phenomena as wandering souls which, for some culpable cause, have not become partakers of the heavenly rest. Among these are especially classed the souls of covetous husbandmen, who in tilling their fields encroached upon the property of their neighbours; and also the souls of unbaptized children. A Dutch parson, happening to go home to his village late one evening, fell in with three Will-o'-the-Wisps. Remembering them to be the souls of unbaptized children, he solemnly stretched out his hand, and pronounced the words of baptism over them. But, what was the consequence? A thousand and more of these apparitions suddenly made their appearance, evidently all wanting to be baptized. They frightened the good man so terribly, that he took to his heels, and made for home as fast as he could.[75]
On the ridge of the high Rhön, near Bischofsheim, where there are now two morasses, known as the red and the black morass, there stood formerly two villages, which sunk into the earth on account of the dissolute life led by the inhabitants. There appear on those morasses at night maidens in the shape of dazzling apparitions of light. They float and flutter over the site of their former home; but they are now less frequently seen than in the olden time. A good many years ago, two or three of these fiery maidens came occasionally to the village of Wüstersachsen, and mingled with the dancers at wakes. They sang with inexpressible sweetness; but they never remained beyond midnight. When their allowed time had elapsed, there always came flying a white dove, which they followed. Then they went to the mountain, singing, and soon vanished out of sight of the people who followed, watching them with curiosity.[76]
Ancient myths and miracles have always been favourite subjects for operas, and the lover of music does not need to be told that several of our dramatic composers have admirably succeeded in producing music of the fairies and of other aërial conceptions of the fancy. It is, however, not only in their great operatic works, but even in ballads with the accompaniment of the pianoforte, that we meet with exquisitely enchanting strains of fairy music. Take, for instance, Franz Schubert's 'Erl-King,' or Carl Lœwe's 'Herr Oluf.' Nor have some composers been less happy in music of this description entirely instrumental. Mendelssohn's overture to 'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' his first orchestral work of importance, and perhaps his best, seems to depict the fairies dancing in a ring on a moonlight night. But, probably no composer has written instrumental pieces which might be classed with the fairy music, so beautifully as has Beethoven. The Largo assai in his pianoforte Trio in D major, Op. 70, is a remarkable instance. Beethoven does not head this movement with words intimating that he intends to tell a fairy-tale in tones. Very possibly he did not even think of the fairies when he composed that wonderful music. Be this as it may, its tremulous chords with their tenderly-vibrating passages, descending the scale pianissimo, occasionally swelling to loudness and then subduing again into their former soft Æolian murmur—and, above all, its mysterious and unhomely modulations—convey an impression more analogous to the effect produced by some of our best fairy-tales than is the case with many musical compositions which avowedly were suggested by such stories.