Chapter V: Part 5

Buc'hoz (Pierre Joseph): 'L'Art de connaître et de désigner le pouls par les notes de la Musique, de guérir par son moyen la mélancolie, et le Tarentisme qui est une espèce de mélancolie; accompagné de 198 observations, tirées tant de l'histoire que des annales de la médicine qui constatent l'éfficacité de la musique, non seulement sur le corps mais sur l'âme, dans l'état de santé, ainsi que dans celui de maladie. Ouvrage curieux, utile et intéressant; propre à inspirer le goût de cet art, qui est pour nous un vrai présent des cieux;' Paris, 1806.--A treatise with a similar title, by F. N. Marquet, appeared at Nancy in the year 1747.

Lichtenthal (Peter): 'Der musikalische Arzt; oder, Abhandlung von dem Einflusse der Musik auf den menschlichen Körper, und von ihrer Anwendung in gewissen Krankheiten,' (The Musical Physician; or, a Treatise on the influence of music upon the human body, and on its application in certain illnesses. Vienna, 1807.)--An Italian translation of this work appeared in Milan in the year 1811.

Schneider (Peter Joseph): 'System einer medizinischen Musik; ein unentbehrliches Handbuch für Medizin-Beflissene, Vorsteher der Irren-Heilanstalten, praktische Aerzte, und unmusikalische Lehrer verschiedener Disciplinen,' (A System of Medical Music; an indispensable guide for Students of Medicine, Principals of Lunatic Asylums, Practical Physicians, and unmusical teachers of different methods. Bonn, 1835.) This comprehensive work, in two volumes, contains much information on the subject in question, interspersed with many remarks and citations which have little or no bearing on music considered medically. The last seventy-two pages of the second volume contain a sort of autobiography of the author.

To musicians, the most useful books among this class of literature are those which give good advice concerning the preservation of health.

F. W. Hunnius, a Doctor of Medicine in Weimar, wrote a book entitled 'Der Arzt für Schauspieler und Sänger' (The Physician for Actors and Singers. Weimar, 1798,) which, no doubt, has been useful to many. Another German publication of the kind, in which especial attention is given to the practice of musical instruments in so far as it affects the health, bears the title 'Aerztlicher Rathgeber für Musiktreibende' (Medical Adviser for those who cultivate Music) by Karl Sundelin, Berlin, 1832. The author, a Doctor of Medicine in Berlin, wrote his book with the assistance of his brother, who was a professional musician in the orchestra of the King of Prussia. This treatise is so noteworthy that the following account of it will, it is hoped, be of interest to the reflecting musician. Its table of contents is:--

"I. Of Singing. On the means of facilitating the practice of singing. Dietary and general rules for male singers, and for female singers. Of the different human voices.

II. Of the Clavier-Instruments, or Keyed-Instruments. The Pianoforte. The Organ. The Harmonica with a key-board.

III. Of the Stringed Instruments. The Violin and the Viola (or Tenor). The Violoncello. The Double Bass. The Guitar. The Harp.

IV. Of the Wind Instruments. Means for facilitating the practice and dietary rules for players on wind instruments. The Flageolet and the Czakan. The Flute. The Oboe and the English Horn. The Clarionet and the Basset Horn. The Bassoon and the Contra-Fagotto. The Horn. The Trumpet. The Trombone. The Serpent. General dietary and medical rules for those who cultivate music. Of the disturbances and injuries to the nervous system through disadvantageous influences by the practice of music. Care and treatment of particular diseased parts and structures. Of the chest and the lungs. The especial attention and care required by the organs of the voice. Of the diseases to which the mouth is subjected. The Teeth. The Lips. Of the Fingers. The Eyes and the Face. Prescriptions for some of the medicaments alluded to in the preceding dissertation."

The author is of opinion that the practice of music may be in many ways injurious to bodily health. However, he remarks, that since music is capable of expressing emotions which cannot be expressed by words or pictures, it relieves the heart of anything which is oppressive and distressing, and thus through the mind generally acts beneficially upon the body. He asserts that music has healed many a sufferer whose life was embittered by the fetters of melancholia, or the tortures of hypochondria. To persons suffering from indigestion and its harassing effects, he recommends a daily practice on some instrument which requires a rather fatiguing exertion of the body; such as the organ, on which hands and feet are occupied. His remarks on singing are judicious; but many of them would naturally suggest themselves to any thinking musician. No doubt, moderation in eating and drinking is recommendable, and the singer has to take care not to catch a cold; but it may be useful to him to be told by a medical man what kind of food is most conducive to the preservation of his voice, and how he can best protect himself against the injurious effects of sudden changes from heat and cold, to which professional singers are often exposed.

Pianoforte playing our medical adviser considers rather hurtful to health. The exertion of the hands and arms, while the position of the body remains nearly immovable, causes a stronger flow of blood to the chest than is natural. The pressure of the points of the fingers, where the nerves are especially sensitive, is apt to be injurious to the nervous system. This is still more the case in practising on instruments on which the strings are pressed down with the points of the fingers, as for instance on the violin; and also, though in a less degree, on instruments the strings of which are twanged with the fingers, as they are on the harp. The practice, however, causes the skin at the finger-ends to harden, and the touch becomes consequently less sensitive. Decidedly hurtful to the nerves is the sensation produced by the friction of the moistened fingers in playing the glass-harmonica and similar instruments. Among the wind instruments blown by being placed to the mouth, those which require a sudden and prolonged retardation of the breath, or a forcible compression of the air in the lungs, are especially liable, by constant practice, to prove injurious to health. The author has much to say on this subject, and he particularly warns against too continuous playing on the oboe, trumpet, horn, trombone, and serpent. As regards the clarionet, its practice, he says, is likely to be injurious on account of the quantity of air which it requires. The player is often compelled to take a deeper inspiration than is natural, and constantly to pay regard to being provided with a supply of air compressed in his lungs. Furthermore, considering that musical performances very frequently take place in artificial light, the eyesight of the musician is apt to be disadvantageously affected. In this respect also the playing on some instruments is more injurious than on others. The Double Bass player, for instance, is compelled, from the size of his instrument, to have the musical notation placed at a greater distance before him than is naturally convenient for his sight, which renders it necessary for him to exert his eyes in an extraordinary degree. Thus much from Sundelin's 'Medical Adviser,' to which the following remarks may be added.

The musical instruments used by our forefathers, two or three centuries ago, were softer and more soothing in quality of sound than our present ones; at any rate, this was the case with the stringed instruments, and the wind instruments of the flute kind. Certain wind instruments of the trumpet kind had a very harsh sound; but these were intended especially to be played in the open air. Of the stringed instruments principally favoured in family circles--such as the lute, cither, clavichord, virginal, harpsichord, etc.,--almost all possessed a less exciting quality of sound than our present substitutes for them. The same was the case with the music composed for the instruments; it did not possess the passionate modulations which characterize much of our music of the present day. It was, therefore, evidently more conducive to social comfort, and consequently to health, than is our modern music, notwithstanding the progress which has been made in the cultivation of the art. Martin Luther said to an old hypochondriac schoolmaster who complained to him of his miserable feelings: "Take to the Clavichord!" Everyone acquainted with the character of the clavichord will probably admit that Luther's advice was judicious. The soft and unpretending sound of the clavichord is so expressive that the instrument may be said to respond to the sufferer as a sympathizing friend; while its successor, the loud and brilliant pianoforte, is apt to convey the impression of being cold and heartless, unless it is touched by a master-hand. Thus also the "trembling lute," and some other antiquated instruments appear to be remarkably suitable for consoling and calming the anxious heart.

The glass-harmonica is evidently hurtful to the health of the performer. We have seen that Sundelin attributes its injurious effect to the friction of the fingers upon the bowls, which revolve on a spindle. But it is a well-ascertained fact that the fascinating sound of this instrument exercises a distressing influence also upon persons who do not play it, but who often listen to it. Likewise, certain wind instruments of a so-called reedy quality of sound, as, for instance, the harmonium, are probably injurious rather than beneficial to the health of the players. Sounds of this nature are generally very pleasant when heard for a short time, but soon become harassing. They might be compared with confectionery, a little of which may be very palatable and innocuous, but which if made a meal of would probably produce sickness.

The effect of music upon animals is a subject for investigation so closely connected with an inquiry into the influence of music upon the human body, that some notice of it must not be omitted here. The investigation requires far more discernment than would appear at a first glance. Many of the anecdotes recorded respecting the effect of music upon animals are not properly authenticated; or rather, they are misrepresentations of facts not clearly understood by the observers. Nor is it surprising that this should be the case, considering how difficult it is to appreciate rightly the mental capacities even of our domestic animals, which we have constant opportunity of watching. Nothing is more common, even with intelligent observers, than to attribute to a dog certain motives for certain actions, which may possibly be the real motives, but which may also only appear to be the real ones. Acute and thoroughly unbiassed investigators, such as was for instance Gilbert White of Selborne, about a hundred years ago, are rare. At all events, many of the anecdotes given in works on Natural History, as illustrating the power of music upon animals, have evidently been copied by one author from another without any one of them having taken the trouble to ascertain by careful observation whether they are well founded. With quadrupeds it is probably generally more the rhythmical effect of the music than the tones which pleases them; while birds appear to be pleased by the tones rather than by the rhythm. All this requires more exact investigation than it has hitherto received; and surely it deserves the consideration of a Darwin.

In conclusion, attention may be drawn to a curious fact which is perhaps more interesting to musical antiquarians than to medical men. It is well known that the barbers in England, about three centuries ago, generally had some musical instruments in their shops for the amusement of their customers. In Germany it is still not unusual to meet with a musical barber. In former times the barbers were also surgeons and physicians to some extent. It would be interesting to trace the origin of their habit of cultivating the art of music. It is probably of high antiquity. May it not date from a remote period in which the physicians of European nations resorted to music and incantations like the medicine-men of uncivilized tribes of whom an account has been given in the beginning of this essay?

[43] 'Illustrations of the Manners, Customs and Condition of the North American Indians, by G. Catlin.' London, 1848; Volume I., p. 40.

[44] 'Four Years in British Columbia and Vancouver Island, by R. C. Mayne.' London, 1862; p. 261.

[45] 'Narrative of the United States Exploring Expedition during the years 1838-42, by Charles Wilkes.' London, 1845; Vol. IV., p. 399.

[46] 'Missionary Labours in British Guiana,' by the Rev. J. H. Bernau; London, 1847. p. 55.

[47] 'Two Thousand Miles' Ride through the Argentine Provinces,' by William MacCann; London, 1853. Vol. I., p. 111.

[48] _Machi_ is evidently identical with _Manchi_.

[49] 'The Geographical, Natural, and Civic History of Chili,' by the Abbé Don J. Ignatius Molina; London, 1809. Vol. II., p. 105.

[50] 'The Araucanians,' by E. R. Smith; London, 1855; p. 235.

[51] 'A Description of Patagonia and the adjoining parts of South America,' by Thomas Faulkner; Hereford, 1774; p. 115.

[52] 'Journal of a Residence among the Negroes in the West Indies,' by M. G. Lewis; London, 1845; p. 158.

[53] The word _Obeah_ is probably identical with _Piaie_, mentioned above, page 89.

[54] 'History of Loango,' by the Abbé Proyard; Paris, 1776. 'A General Collection of Voyages and Travels,' by John Pinkerton; London, 1808; Vol. XIV., p. 572.

[55] 'Reisen in Süd-Africa,' von Ladislaus Magyar; Pest, 1859; Vol. I., p. 26.

[56] 'The Kafirs of Natal and the Zulu Country,' by J. Shooter; London, 1857; p. 173.

[57] 'Outlines of a Grammar, Vocabulary, and Phraseology of the Aboriginal Language of South Australia.' By G. C. Teichelmann and C. W. Schürmann. Adelaide, 1840; part II.

[58] 'An Historical Journal of the Transactions at Port Jackson and Norfolk Islands.' By John Hunter. London, 1793; p. 476.

[59] 'Nineteen Years in Polynesia.' By the Rev. G. Turner. London, 1861.

[60] Dried dung, which constitutes the chief, and indeed in many places the sole fuel in Tartary, is called _argols_.

[61] 'Travels in Tartary, Thibet, and China, during the years 1844-46,' by M. Huc; Vol. I., p. 76.

[62] 'Travels in South-eastern Asia,' by H. Malcom; Boston, 1839; Vol. II., p. 197.

[63] 'Six Months in British Burmah,' by C. F. Winter; London, 1858; p. 161.

[64] 'Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung;' Leipzig, 1841, No. 17.

[65] 'Travels and Observations relating to Barbary,' by Thomas Shaw. 'A General Collection of Voyages and Travels,' by J. Pinkerton; London, 1808; Vol. XV., p. 635.

[66] 'A Voyage to Abyssinia, etc.' By Henry Salt. London, 1814; p. 33.

POPULAR STORIES WITH MUSICAL TRADITIONS.

The intelligent reader need hardly be reminded that an insight into the peculiar notions respecting the beauty and power of music current among different nations may be of valuable assistance in the study of national music, inasmuch as it tends to throw light upon questions which appear obscure and inexplicable.

The following popular stories, like those which have previously been given in this work, are told exactly as they are heard from the mouth of the people. It is necessary that this should be mentioned by way of introduction to the stories, because the degree of interest which they may possess depends almost entirely upon the faithfulness with which they are recorded. For the same reason it must be stated that, although additions have been carefully avoided, it is otherwise with omissions, since it appeared desirable to abridge several of the stories by excluding passages which do not touch upon the subject of music. Should the reader find among the stories an old acquaintance with a somewhat different face than is familiar to him, he will, it is hoped, bear in mind that, just as there are varieties of a popular tune to be found in different districts of a country, so there are also different readings of a popular tale. Even the degree of education attained by the narrator, his personal character, and his peculiar views, will tend in some measure to modify the features of a story, although nothing extraneous may have been admitted into the incidents recorded.

THE ROYAL MUSIC-MASTER.

The modern Greeks have a long story, said to have been derived from Asia Minor, the substance of which is as follows:--

A mighty king in a distant land had a son who was an excellent flute player, but a bashful youth, and a woman-hater. The king, considering it all-important that his dynasty should be preserved, sends the young prince in a ship to a foreign court, to find, if possible, among the princesses a wife to his liking. The ship is wrecked, and all on board are drowned except the prince, who is thrown by the waves upon the shore of a beautiful island. Having dried himself, he meets a poor fisherman, with whom he changes clothes. Hiding his luxuriant hair under a bladder-cap, he sets out to the residence of the king of the island, into whose service he is taken by the master of the horse as a stable-boy. His chief occupation now is to fetch water for the horses from a spring in the garden of the palace. In the evening, when he is alone in the garden, he plays upon his flute so enchantingly that even the nightingales become silent in admiration. The King's daughter hears him, comes down into the garden, and, with the consent of her father, makes him her music-master. When he perceives that she really loves him, he loves her too, discloses to her that he is a King's son, and soon makes her his queen in his own dominions.[67]

THE HANDSOME MINSTREL.

The following story is told in Germany:--

A handsome minstrel plays under a window of the King's palace upon a golden instrument. His music is so alluring that the King, yielding to the entreaties of his daughter, invites the handsome minstrel to come up to him in his palace. The King's daughter soon learns to play on the instrument, and longs to possess a similar one. All the goldsmiths of the kingdom are applied to; but not one of them is able to construct such an artistic work. Thereupon the King's daughter becomes greatly dejected; and when the handsome minstrel learns the cause of her sadness he tells her that if she will marry him she shall have the golden instrument. But she rejects the offer with scorn.

Some days afterwards the handsome minstrel appears again under the window, playing on an instrument still more precious, and producing sounds most ravishing. The King's daughter is enchanted beyond measure; but the goldsmiths of the kingdom are still less capable of constructing such a wonderful work of art.

Then the handsome minstrel offers to give her both instruments if she will marry him. She cannot resist, and says, "Yes!" After the celebration of the wedding the handsome minstrel conducts his bride to his house, deep in the forest. The house is so small and poor, that the King's daughter, when she sees it, is overwhelmed with pride and remorse, and faints away. When she recovers she finds herself lying on a magnificent bed, and the handsome minstrel is a King.

THE DAISY LADY.

Among the Fairy Tales of the Hindus we meet with a story entitled 'Brave Seventee Bai,' which seems to contain the original key-note of the German 'Trusty Ferdinand.'[68] Seventee Bai (_i.e._ "The Daisy Lady") is the daughter of a Rajah. Bent upon roving about in the world, she assumes the dress and manners of a youth. Her rambles lead her into the garden of a beautiful enchantress whose name is Hera Bai (_i.e._ "The Diamond's Daughter.") This beautiful enchantress is described as being a child of the Great Cobra, a serpent which plays an important part in many of the Hindu traditions. Here are to be found some striking coincidences between the superstitions respecting serpents popular among the country people in Germany and in Hindustan.

Well, Hera Bai, the beautiful enchantress, falls in love with Seventee Bai, who successfully maintains her disguise as a youth, but who cannot be prevailed upon to remain in the garden, averring that an important mission must be accomplished before the marriage takes place. The enchantress, finding persuasion unavailing, gives Seventee Bai a small golden flute. "Take this flute," she says; "whenever you wish to see me, or are in need of my aid, go into the jungle and play upon it, and before the sound ceases I will be there; but do not play it in the towns, nor yet amid a crowd." Seventee Bai puts the golden flute into the folds of her dress and proceeds on her wanderings. Sometime afterwards, when she is in need of assistance, she goes into the jungle, draws out of her dress the golden flute and plays. The beautiful enchantress appears, swinging in a silver tree, just as she appeared in the garden.

Again, on another occasion the beautiful lady immediately comes at the sound of the flute, inquiring, "Husband, what can I do for you?"[69]

In the Scandinavian Fairy Tales, collected by Asbjörnsen and Moe, we have a story entitled 'East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon,' in which a young country lass is taken into the cave of a shaggy White Bear, who afterwards turns out to be a lovely prince. When the White Bear has carried the lass to his home, which gleams with silver and gold, he gives her a silver bell and politely tells her that whenever she wants anything she has only to ring the bell, and her wishes shall be at once fulfilled.[70]

How effectively the magic flute and magic bells have been introduced into Mozart's opera 'Il Flauto Magico' is well known to lovers of good music,--or, which is the same, to admirers of Mozart.

THE INVISIBLE FLUTE-PLAYER.

A strange story is told by the peasants in Holstein of an invisible flute-player, who is said to have haunted, about fifty years ago, a farm-house situated near the river Elbe. Some of the children of the farmer who owned the house are still alive.

The mysterious affair commenced in a cabbage garden behind the house. There the people often heard flute-playing, but no one could make out whence it came. Gradually the invisible flutist intruded into the house. More and more frequently he came, until at last he took up his abode in the house altogether. Sometimes he played his flute in the sitting-room; sometimes in one of the bedrooms; at other times in the cellar, or in the garret. Occasionally also he paid a visit to a neighbouring house. The people on the farm became quite used to him; and when the children, or the servant lads and lasses, were disposed to enjoy a little dancing, they would just name a certain tune, or sing a bar or two of it, and ask him to play it; and directly they heard the desired tune. When the milkmaid was occupied in the dairy, she sometimes took an apple in her hand, for fun, and said: "Now, my boy, play me a nice air, and thou shalt have an apple!" In a moment the apple vanished out of her hand, and the music commenced.

In the course of time, however, the invisible flutist became very intrusive, and at last he proved quite a nuisance. One night he would amuse himself by breaking all the windows in the house; another night he had his gambols in the kitchen, turning everything topsy-turvy; and at mid-day, when the family had sat down to dinner, it sometimes happened that the large dish of stew before them, from which all were eating, was emptied in an instant by invisible hands. They would then jump up and run about the room, beating the air with their spoons. When they thought they had at last driven the fellow into a corner of the room, suddenly they heard him spitefully playing his flute in another corner.

In short, the annoyance became quite unbearable. There was no peace in the house. The farmer everywhere expressed the wish that he could find somebody who had the power to expel the invisible flute-player; he did not mind the expense. At last there came a clever man from the neighbouring town, who offered to settle the matter; he only wanted to know beforehand whether he should show and banish the flutist in his real figure, or in the figure of a poodle.

The farmer said: "I would rather not see him at all! Here are ten Thalers; all I want is to get rid of him, and to have peace in my own house."

By means of queer rhymes, and smoke, the clever man from town actually succeeded in driving out the troublesome guest, and no mysterious flute-playing has been heard since on the farm.[71]

THE BANISHED MUSICIAN.

At the bottom of the lake called "Das Langholter Meer," in the vicinity of the river Weser, south of Bremen, lives, according to popular tradition, a skilful musician who was banished there by a Pastor; but, the reason why he was banished to this place,--and indeed, why he was banished at all,--is not exactly known.

One day, in the winter, when the lake was all frozen over, two young lads happened to be keeping sheep in the neighbourhood; and when they saw the smooth ice, the tallest said to the other: "Come, let us not stand shivering here; let us go on the lake, and the musician shall play to us."

Having said this, he went to the ice; his companion followed him, and they amused themselves for a while with sliding. It then occurred to them again that there was a musician at the bottom of the lake, and they called out in high glee: "If thou art still there below, old fellow, just strike up a tune, and we will dance to it."

But, how terrified they were when suddenly there arose from the bottom of the lake music such as they never had heard in all their life. It was the most ravishing music in the world!--Of course, they thought no longer of dancing, but left the lake as quickly as they could slide.[72]

THE WALRIDERSKE.

According to a tradition current in Northern Germany, especially near Holland, the Walriderske is a kind of a witch. Assuming the figure of some rough-haired animal, she visits the sleeper in the night, and presses herself upon his chest so as to prevent his moving any part of his body, scarcely permitting him to breathe. She creeps up to the sleeper from below, gradually crawling over his whole body. First he feels a pressure on his feet; then on his stomach; and at last on his chest. Meanwhile the tortured victim is unable to move even a finger. All he can do is to sigh and groan in almost intolerable anguish.

The apparition sometimes resembles a poodle, sometimes a cat, and at other times a strange-looking unknown beast particularly repulsive. Its colour is most commonly black; there are, however, also brown, and even white ones. Not unfrequently the sleeper feels the pressure without seeing the figure. In short, this unwelcome visitor is as bad as the worst nightmare, if not worse.

But, occasionally the Walriderske appears in the shape of a beautiful girl, and sings more charmingly than can be described. Indeed, from the oldest traditions still extant may be gathered that the Walriderskes ought to be regarded as superhuman beings; for, although they occasionally appear in human shape, and are in many ways like human beings, they live subject to other laws, and are endued with powers other than ours. It admits of no doubt that in the traditions respecting them much is to be found which has been derived from the pagan mythology of our ancestors relating to the Walküren, who rode or sailed in the clouds. The Walriderskes are frequently described as floating through the air and singing most sweetly. In Ostfriesland, England is the home assigned to these charming singers. They come from far over the sea to seek their sacrifice. Their boat is a sieve, such as the peasants in Ostfriesland use for straining milk, and which is called _Tähmse_. Their oars are human shoulder-blades.

A peasant of Barssel once, while on a moonlight night he was mowing his corn, towards midnight, became tired and threw himself down under a sheaf to sleep. He had not lain long when he heard at a distance a melodious song, which gradually came nearer and nearer until it was above the field where he lay. He looked up and saw sailing in the air a Walriderske who had come over from England. She descended, hid her _Tähmse_ and oars under a sheaf, and went away in the direction towards Barssel. The peasant lost no time in appropriating to himself the things which the Walriderske had hidden. Towards morning she returned; and when she missed her _Tähmse_ and oars, she began to sing so dolefully that the peasant felt sorry for her, and gave her back the things.

In the following night, when curiosity led him to go again to the place where this had happened, he found there, to his surprise, a large piece of the finest linen, evidently a present of the Walriderske. He took it home, and had it made into shirts. He wore the shirts without experiencing any harm; although his neighbours had warned him that he exposed himself to great danger by keeping the linen.[73]

THE JEW IN THE THICKET.

Many popular tales could be noticed of instrumental performers who possess the power of making everyone dance. Not only men, but animals, and sometimes even inanimate objects are compelled to wheel around. Take for instance the following German tale, known as 'The Jew in the Thicket.'

Once upon a time there lived in a small village a poor peasant lad whose name was Heinrich, but whom his neighbours used to call Honest Heinrich, because he was as honest as he was poor. Whether he was so poor because he was so honest, or whatever else was the cause of his poverty, would now be useless to speculate upon. Enough that he found it expedient to improve his circumstances; and for this purpose he set out on a journey into the world, with only a few copper coins in his pocket.

After a while, his way led him to a lonely place near some hills. He thought he was quite alone, when unexpectedly a little grey man, very old-looking, accosted him and solicited alms. "Give me whatever thou hast in coppers," said the grey man, "and thou shalt have no cause to repent thy generosity; thou seest, I am old and infirm; but thou art young and robust, and wilt easily make thy way in the world."

When Honest Heinrich heard the grey man speak thus, it went to his heart, and he put his hand into his pocket, took out the copper coins,--which, in fact, constituted all the property he possessed in the world,--and gave them to the old beggar. Then cheerfully whistling he resumed his journey.

"Hallo! just wait a bit, my lad!" cried the grey man: "I know thou art an honest fellow, and deservest a helping hand to push thee on in the world; so thou mayst have three wishes, and they shall be granted to thee."

Then Honest Heinrich saw at once that he had to do with an Onnerersk, as the little folks are called who dwell under ground in golden halls deep in the mountains; so, having bethought himself for a moment, he touched his cap and said:

"Well sir, let me have a fiddle which when I play upon it makes everyone dance. And let me have a blow-pipe with which I am sure to hit everything I want to shoot. And my third wish shall be, if you please, that whenever I ask a favour of anybody, it will not be refused me."

All these wishes were readily conceded to Honest Heinrich, and it may easily be imagined what great advantages he now possessed in his endeavours to make his fortune in the world. The third wish especially proved invaluable to him. Neither was the fiddle to be despised; nay, it actually saved him from the gallows! and how this happened to come to pass, shall now be related.

After Honest Heinrich had proceeded on his way a mile or two, he came beside a thicket of thorns, in the middle of which sat a lovely little bird that sang even more beautifully than it was beautiful to look at. And near the thicket stood a Jew counting a bag of money, which was not exactly his own, for he had taken it from somewhere, so to say, without asking permission. Now, the Jew was in an awkward fix, for he could not move from the spot where he stood, because the lovely little bird had enchanted him with his melodious music. He had, however, a particular reason for moving on as quickly as possible, since it was not at all unlikely that somebody might follow him, overtake him, and say, "you are wanted; just come back with me to town!" Therefore, when he saw Honest Heinrich carrying a blow-pipe, he called out to him:

"A good piece of money I would gladly part with if thou couldst procure for me that charming bird."

Then Honest Heinrich took his blow-pipe, aimed, and hit the little bird: he only said "There!" and the charming little songster fell down into the thicket. Directly the Jew worked himself among the thorn bushes to take the bird out; meanwhile he made all kinds of excuses for not giving the piece of money which he had promised.

"O ho!" said Honest Heinrich, "that matter we shall easily settle!" Presently he took up his fiddle to try its effect upon the Jew. One stroke of the bow, and the Jew began to wabble;--another stroke, and he lifted up his right leg;--a third stroke, and the dancing began in earnest.

"O dear me!" cried the Jew, "leave off that confounded fiddling! The thorns hurt me dreadfully! Upon my honour, I shall be a dead man before I am safely out of the thicket!" But, Honest Heinrich was becoming warm with trying his newly-acquired instrument; so he only replied: "Never mind the thorns; all right!" and struck up a quicker tune. "O torture!" cried the perspiring dancer, "I am a ruined man! Here,--here is my whole bag of money,--all genuine coins,--take it,--only cease that fiddling!"

Honest Heinrich made what musicians call a brilliant cadence, which caused the Jew to throw a few somersaults, and then gave the finishing stroke, or in other words, the concluding chord. The Jew crept out of the thicket, handed over the bag to the fiddler, and made off as rapidly as he could into the wide world.

Honest Heinrich, on the other hand, took the direction towards the town with the intention of restoring the bag of money to its rightful owner. He was soon met by a man dressed in an unpretending kind of uniform, who, seeing the bag, in a friendly and almost playful way, gave Honest Heinrich a little tap on his shoulder, and said: "You are wanted; you must come with me to town." Then Honest Heinrich was taken to prison; and when the judge asked him about the bag of money, and he replied, "A Jew gave it me," the judge smiled and said, "A Jew? you will never make me believe that!" In short, Honest Heinrich was found guilty of robbery, and the judge sentenced him to be hanged.

There prevailed a strange taste in the town where this occurred. Whenever an execution took place, the people had a kind of festival. Days, nay, even weeks, before the interesting event, the wretched culprit was considered almost as a martyr. Whatever he said was carefully recorded, and made publicly known. Men of rank felt honoured when he shook hands with them; and when the awful hour for his execution had arrived, and he stood under the gallows, he would address the throng of people assembled as spectators. The women, of course, relished the exciting scene even more than the men, and cried with all their heart. Now, as Honest Heinrich was innocent, he did not like to have any fuss made about him; so, when he stood under the gallows, he only asked that he might be permitted to play a "Last Farewell" upon his dear fiddle. The judge said he would not deny the last request of a dying sinner. "Pray, your worship!" cried the Jew, who had mingled with the spectators, and who rejoiced in his heart at the turn which the money affair had taken, "Pray, your worship, do not allow him his fiddle; his music will do us mischief!" But the judge took no notice of the Jew, and said, "Play, my lad, but make it short; we have not much time to lose."

Then Honest Heinrich took his fiddle and played. One stroke with the bow, and all the people began to wabble. Another stroke, and every one lifted up his right leg. A third stroke, and the dancing began in earnest. The judge, the clergyman, the doctor, the hangman, the Jew, women with their babies in their arms, ladies with their smelling-bottles in their hands; in short, every one present, old and young, danced with the utmost exertion. Even the very dogs which had followed their masters, raised themselves upon their hind-legs and danced, profusely perspiring like all the people.

"Hold! stop! hold!" cried the exhausted judge, "Thy life is spared; only put aside that dreadful fiddle!"

As soon as Honest Heinrich heard the judge's promise of acquittal he ceased playing and came down the steps from the gallows. At the foot of the steps he found the Jew lying prostrate on his back. "Confess directly," said Honest Heinrich, "how you came by the bag of money, or I shall give you a little private performance, with a brilliant cadence at the end, you know!" In a moment the alarmed Jew stood upon his legs again, and exclaimed, "Upon my honour, I stole it!"

Then they hanged the Jew upon the gallows. As for Honest Heinrich, he continued his wanderings in the world, and soon made his fortune. When he had become rich, he went home again to his village, and courted his neighbour's daughter, who had formerly jilted him when he was poor, but who loved him now dearly, not because he was rich (she said) but on account of his former poverty. Soon they married, and were happy ever after.

THE POPE'S WIFE.

There are several modifications current of the story of the Jew in the Thicket just told. A similar story which in olden time was popular in England, is given under the heading 'A Mery Geste of the Frere and the Boye,' in Ritson's Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, London, 1791. Again, a somewhat similar story is current in Greece. A lad has a flute given to him by some superhuman being. He goes to the market-place of the town, where piles of crockery are exhibited for sale. As soon as he begins to play, all the pots, jugs and basins fly about in the air and clash against each other until they are broken to pieces. The personage whom he compels to dance in the thorns is a priest.[74]

Perhaps the most tragic incident of this kind is the sad fate of the Pope's wife, related by the Wallachians. It need scarcely be said that it does not concern the Pope of Rome, who, as everyone knows, has no wife. But in Wallachia the common village priest of the Greek Church is called Pope, and may marry. He generally avails himself of the permission.

As regards Bakâla, whose music, as we shall presently see, killed the Pope's wife, various tricks of his are on record, which clearly show that he was a great fool, somewhat resembling the German Till Eulenspiegel, who had perhaps more happy ideas than many persons who have passed for wise.

Well, Bakâla, one fine day, took it into his head to ascend a high mountain, merely for pleasure, and for the sake of boasting. Arrived at the top of the mountain he was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a well-disposed spirit, who offered him a present from the clouds. The articles from which Bakâla was invited to select a keepsake looked mean and shabby, like those which people generally consign to the lumber-room. Bakâla, however, examined them carefully, and chose an old and dusty bagpipe; for he imagined, as some people are apt to do, that he was madly fond of music. Moreover, the sound of the bagpipe--this Bakâla soon discovered--had the power of making everyone dance.

When Bakâla had come down from the mountain he engaged himself as shepherd to a village Pope in the valley. Every day he led the sheep into the fields, and blowing his bagpipe he made them caper and jump into the air like grasshoppers. And when, one morning, his master had sneaked out before him into the fields, and had hid himself in some bushes of sloes and dog-roses to watch his servant's strange proceedings, Bakâla made the Pope dance as well as his flock.

The Pope was a soft-hearted sort of man. Quietness he loved above all things in the world; for its sake no sacrifice appeared to him too great. As to his wife, she was of a different disposition. To say the truth, she was just the reverse of her husband. She had more courage in her little finger than he had in all his limbs. His _Yes_ was her _No_, and when he called a thing white she was sure to declare that she had long since found it to be very black indeed. Neither would she believe in the power of Bakâla's bagpipe. When the poor Pope, after his return from the sloes and dog-roses, showed her his tattered clothes and scratched limbs, all the sympathy he got from her was, "Tush! tush! nonsense! If I were as soft-hearted as some people are said to be, I might perhaps pity you."

"Well, my dear," replied the cowed husband, "you shall hear him to-night. I want to convince you"----

"Convince me?" cried the Pope's wife: "Fudge! I to be frightened by a bagpipe? Let him come on!"

Then the Pope thought that it was time to withdraw for the sake of quietness. But in the evening he took Bakâla aside, and desired him just to serenade their mistress for a little while under the window.

Before Bakâla commenced playing the Pope sat down on the ground and bound two heavy stones to his feet by way of precaution, while his wife busied herself in the upper story of the house. No sooner had Bakâla begun his performance than she danced so furiously that she made the whole house shake. Bakâla played faster and faster; her stamping grew louder and louder. She danced until she had actually stamped a hole in the floor, through which she descended into the lower story. The Pope peeped into the room; and when he saw what had happened he felt sorry, and he beckoned Bakâla to leave off playing. But, alas! he beckoned too late! The poor lady had danced herself to death.

Now, one might have thought the Pope would have dismissed Bakâla, telling him that his services were not any further required. But this is just precisely what he did not do. On the contrary, he kept Bakâla in his service, and treated him even better than before.[75]

THE TWO HUNCHBACKS.

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.