A Legend of St. George’s Well.

St. Patrick and St. George, in the days when there were “saints errant” as well as “knights errant,” both happened to come to Guernsey, and met on this spot. St. Patrick had just arrived from Jersey, where the inhabitants had pelted him with stones and treated him with such systematic rudeness that the saint, furious, came on to Guernsey, and there he was welcomed with effusion. Meeting St. George, they began to quarrel as to whom the island should in future belong. However, being saints, they decided that it would be more consistent with their profession each to give some special boon to the island, and then go their ways. So St. Patrick filled his wallet with all the noxious things to be found,—toads, snakes, etc.,—and went back to Jersey and there emptied it, freeing Guernsey for ever from all things poisonous, while giving to Jersey a double share. St. George smote the tiny stream at his feet, “the waters to be for the healing of diseases, and a blessing to whoever shall own this spot. He shall never lack for bread, nor shall he ever be childless whilst this well be preserved untainted.” Now, many, many years ago, the Guilles, who still own St. George, inherited it from the De Jerseys, and it so happened that the lord of the estate had an only son who was naturally very dear to him. An old friend of the family brought him a canary bird as a pet, and, as one had never before been seen in Guernsey, it was very precious. One day it flew away from its cage, the door being accidentally left open, and was pursued hotly by the child. It made for the well, and apparently flew in, for the child was bending forward, an act which would inevitably have caused him to fall in, when he was arrested by the neighing of a horse behind him. He looked round and saw the fiery head of St. George’s charger disappearing among the trees. That look saved him, and the bird was seen perched on the cross above the well, singing loudly. Presently it flew back to its little master, who had been saved by St. George from a watery grave, and a picture of the boy with his canary bird is still to be seen among the Guille family portraits.[94]

Maidens at St. George’s Well.

There is a curious property attached to this well, that is that if a maiden visits it, fasting and in silence, on nine successive mornings, carefully depositing a piece of silver in the niche as an offering to the saint, she is assured of matrimony within nine times nine weeks, and, by looking into the well with an earnest desire to behold the image of the intended husband, his face will appear mirrored in the water. And, in former times, when the man was identified, the girl gave his name to the priest, who then summoned him before St. George, and, as destined for each other by Heaven, they were solemnly united. There is still a tradition extant of one of the neighbouring girls of the parish, being forbidden by her father to marry the man on whom her heart was set, on the ground of his poverty, declaring that, having seen his face in the well, he was evidently destined for her by Heaven, and that she would claim him as her fate before the priest. On this her father, fearing the exposure and public censure, gave his consent to the marriage.[95]

There is also a legend told by Mr. Métivier of a country girl stealing out one summer night in the year 1798, to meet her lover near the well, flying home terrified, having seen a troop of bare skeletons grouped round the well, and gazing into the troubled waters.

Connected with the Chapel of St. George was a cemetery, which boasted of many relics, famous for their miracles.

At one time this cemetery was said to be haunted by a beautiful young girl. Every night wailing and crying was heard, and a figure was seen, much mangled, walking about. The cries were supposed to proceed from the tomb of a girl who had disappeared from her home one night in a most mysterious manner, and whose mangled corpse was picked up a few days later near the Hanois rocks, so battered and bruised that it was evidently not a case of suicide. However, in course of time, a grave being opened near hers, some bones were thrown up, and, being handled by an old man who in days gone by had been the murdered girl’s lover, a stream of blood oozed out of the dry bone! and with awful shrieks he owned to having been her murderer, and was executed soon afterwards at the “Champ du Gibet” at St. Andrew’s.

CHAPTER VI.
Fairies.

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:—

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]

The Invasion of Guernsey by the Fairies.

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]

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]

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]

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]

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:—

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]

“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]

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:—