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[Illustration: HELGA IN THE FAIRY KING'S PARADISE. p. 154.]




    Fairy Circles

    TALES AND LEGENDS
    OF
    Giants, Dwarfs, Fairies, Water-Sprites, and Hobgoblins


    FROM THE GERMAN OF VILLAMARIA

    WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS

    London:
    MARCUS WARD & CO., 67 & 68, CHANDOS STREET
    AND ROYAL ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST
    1877




    CONTENTS.


                                             PAGE
    BARBAROSSA'S YOUTHFUL DREAM                 7
    KING LAURIN                                32
    THE DWARF OF VENICE                        54
    RHINE GOLD                                100
    THE FRIENDSHIP OF THE DWARFS--
         PART I. THE DYING DWARF-QUEEN        115
        PART II. THE FRIENDS IN THE ROCK      124
    THE FLOWER OF ICELAND                     142
    THE SEA-FAIRY                             172
    THE FAITHFUL GOBLIN                       201
    THE FALLEN BELL                           223
    THE LAST HOME OF THE GIANTS               249




    Illustrations.


                                                                    PAGE
    HELGA IN THE FAIRY KING'S PARADISE (p. 155)          _Frontispiece._
    FREDERICK TAKES LEAVE OF GELA                                      7
    BARBAROSSA IN THE HOLY LAND                                       21
    BARBAROSSA AND GELA IN THE KYFFHAeUSER                             27
    VRENELI IN KING LAURIN'S ROSE-GARDEN                              32
    KING LAURIN IN VRENELI'S COTTAGE                                  43
    THE DWARF OF VENICE TAKES HIS DEPARTURE FOR HIS NATIVE LAND       54
    HANS SEES KING LAURIN'S KINGDOM IN THE MAGIC MIRROR               63
    HANS RECEIVES A HEARTY WELCOME FROM AN OLD FRIEND                 92
    HACO THROWS THE TREASURE OF THE NIBELUNGEN INTO THE RHINE        100
    CHARLEMAGNE MEETS WITH KRIEMHILD                                 109
    THE COUNTESS MATILDA RESTORES THE DWARF-QUEEN TO HEALTH          115
    ECKBERT'S WILD RIDE ON KUNO'S HORSE                              124
    KUNO LISTENS TO THE WISE MAN'S TALK                              134
    HELGA AT HER MOTHER'S FEET                                       142
    "IN HELGA'S HEART MEMORY CEASED TO THRILL"                       155
    THE OLD MAN BESIDE THE CORPSE OF ANTONIO                         172
    ANTONIO IN THE CRYSTAL CASTLE                                    178
    ANTONIO LAYS THE DEAD MAIDEN IN HER LAST RESTING-PLACE           189
    FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH PUCK                                     201
    "GERO CAUGHT PUCK SUDDENLY AND SET HIM BEFORE HIM ON HIS
      SADDLE"                                                        212
    THE STORM HURLS THE BELL INTO THE STREAM                         223
    THE WATER-ELF AND THE LITTLE SOUL ON THE RAFT OF WATER-LILIES    238
    ASLOG RETURNS TO HER FATHER                                      249
    GURU AWAKES THE ROCK TO LIFE                                     269




FAIRY CIRCLES.




Barbarossa's Youthful Dream.

[Illustration: FREDERICK TAKES LEAVE OF GELA.]


More than a thousand years have rolled away since a castle looked down
cheerfully from a height amid the Franconian plains into the
well-watered Kinzig Valley, with its pleasant villages and towns.

It belonged to the powerful Swabian duke Frederick of Hohenstaufen,
whose young and valiant son loved this the best of all his father's
proud castles, and often left his uncle's splendid palace to hunt in
its forests, or to look down from its lofty oriel window on the
blooming plain below.

His father and uncle indeed missed him sadly. His clear blue eye, and
the cheerful expression of his noble countenance, seemed to the two
grave and war-weary men so gladdening to look upon, that they were
always unwilling to let him leave them.

But the young Frederick used to beg them so earnestly to grant him the
freedom of the forest for just this once, that father and uncle
smilingly granted him permission, though "this once" was often
repeated.

So it happened the autumn of that year when Bernard of Clairvaux
passed through Germany, calling prince and people in words of burning
eloquence to aid in the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre.

"Just this once!" said young Frederick again; and King Conrad and Duke
Frederick granted him permission.

As he bent in courteous farewell to take his uncle's hand, the king
whispered, "Be ready, my Frederick, to return as soon as my messenger
calls thee. Great things are before us, and I can ill spare thy strong
right arm!" And young Frederick smiled his own cheery smile, and
answered, "I come when my king and lord calls!"

Then he galloped away as if he were bound that day to ride round the
world. His Barbary steed bore him as on wings through the dark
forests of the Spessart, and as the latest sunbeams sank in the waters
of the Kinzig, he mounted the steep path towards the castle, and rode
over the lowered drawbridge into the court.

Was it really the stags and boars in the vast forests, or the treasure
of rare old manuscripts of the castle archives, which drew the young
prince again and again to the small and lonely fortress?

So his father and uncle thought, but they knew not of his deep
unconquerable love for the beautiful Gela, the daughter of a humble
retainer. He had seen her while resting from the chase in the forest
of the Kinzig Valley, and so great had his love for her become that he
was willing to renounce all dreams of future power and greatness to
live in blissful retirement with the beloved one whom he could not
raise to his own rank.

But the lovers had to guard their secret carefully; they dared trust
no confidant, lest their paradise should be laid waste before its
gates had been fully opened to admit them. So they breathed their love
to none but each other.

The prince passed Gela with cold indifference if he met her in the
castle court or at her work about the house, and Gela made lowly
reverence, as if she were the meanest of his maids, to him who counted
it his greatest honour to do her service.

But at evening, when Frederick had roamed the forest since early
morning, his bow on his shoulder and his faithful hounds by his side,
the fair Gela might be seen walking along the high-road with a basket
on her arm, or with a stock of newly-spun yarn, as if she were going
to seek purchasers in the nearest town. But in the forest she would
leave the broad path, and make her way through briars and underwood to
a height on which her young prince awaited her beneath the shelter of
a giant oak.

There they would talk happily and innocently till the last sunbeam was
quenched in the Kinzig stream, and the convent bell resounded through
the arches of the forest; then they would fold their hands in prayer
before saying farewell, in hope of a meeting on the morrow.

So had it been for many a year. Their love remained unbetrayed, their
hope unquenched, their faith unshaken. In the splendid halls of the
palace, amid the proud and lovely ladies who surrounded the young
prince with flattering marks of favour, the longing after the lonely
forest in the Kinzig Valley and the fair and gentle loved one never
died from his heart.

They had met thus one evening with the old, yet ever new tenderness.
Frederick drew Gela's fair head to his breast, and spoke to her of the
near and blissful future, which would be theirs in a few weeks, when
he would be of age, and would be able to lead her openly as his wife
to his castle in the fair land of Bavaria, to the inheritance of his
dead mother. And the oak tree overhead rustled gently, scattering
golden leaves on Gela's beautiful hair, for it was far on in autumn.

When the vesper bell of the forest cloister began to sound, it was
already dark; the moonlight gleamed on the path, and Gela walked with
her lover as far as the high-road, supported by his arm. But there
the moon shone so brightly that they had to part, lest some prying eye
should see them. "Meet me to-morrow, dearest!" said the young prince,
once more kissing her blooming cheek; then Gela tripped lightly down
the high-road towards the valley, while Frederick gazed after her till
she vanished from his sight, when he called his dogs, and turned
towards the castle.

But there the usual stillness and loneliness had given place to bustle
and confusion. The young prince's aged tutor, who was the
father-confessor and confidential friend alike of his father and of
his uncle, had arrived a few hours before, accompanied by a troop of
horsemen. Inquiries after the young prince passed impatiently from
mouth to mouth, for the message was one which called for haste. At
last he came riding over the drawbridge, his handsome face glowing as
in a transformation, for his vision of the forest still hovered before
his mind.

The old chaplain of the brothers of Hohenstaufen had been long and
anxiously awaiting his pupil; now he hastened to meet him as quickly
as his infirmities permitted, and greeted his dear one, who had left
him but a few days before, as if he had not seen him for years.

Then they went together to the room with the oriel window, for there
the young prince liked best to sit, as it afforded a view of Gela's
lattice. They sat long in confidential conversation, and the light
that fell on the pavement for hours after all others in the castle
were asleep told Gela, who stood at the window opposite, that
important and serious matters were being discussed by her dear one and
his aged tutor.

Next morning the people flocked out of the castle chapel, where the
old priest who had arrived the evening before had spoken to them in
eloquent words, and claimed the arm and heart of young and old for the
approaching crusade to the Holy Land. And not in vain. Men and youths
were ready to venture wealth and life, and the aged were with
difficulty persuaded to remain at home to till the ground and protect
the women and the little ones.

All returned home to arrange their business hastily, and make needful
preparations. One alone remained in the sacred place. It was Gela,
who, when all had left the chapel, rose from her seat and threw
herself prostrate before the altar, there to pour forth all the
anguish of broken hopes, of parting, and of lonely sorrow that
oppressed her heart.

She lay thus, her hands clasped, and her face uplifted in an agony of
grief. There were light footsteps behind her, but Gela, lost in sorrow
and prayer, heeded them not. A hand was laid on her shoulder; she
looked up and saw the face of him on whose account she suffered.

"Gela," said the young prince tenderly and low, as if in reverence to
the holy place--"Gela, we must part! We must wait a while for the
fulfilment of yesterday's beautiful dream! I can scarcely bear it, and
yet I cannot refuse, either as prince and knight, or as son and
subject."

"No," said Gela calmly; "thou must obey, my Frederick, even though our
hearts will bleed."

"And thou wilt be true to me, Gela, and wait patiently till I come
back, and not give thy heart to another?" asked the prince, and his
voice was full of pain.

"Frederick," said Gela, laying her hand on his shoulder, "bid me give
my life; if it were necessary to thy happiness, I would give it
gladly. Thine will I be through all the sorrow of separation; and if I
die, my soul will leave heaven at thy call."

Frederick drew her to his heart. "I go content, my Gela; danger and
death cannot harm me, for I am sheltered by thy love! Farewell till we
meet again in joy!"

He hastened away to hide the tears that started to his eyes, and Gela
sank again on the altar steps and bent her head in silent prayer.

She did not perceive the footsteps that once more broke the stillness
of the place, and she only looked up when a second time a hand was
laid on her shoulder. It was not into Frederick's youthful face that
she looked this time, but into the grave countenance of the aged
priest who had come to call her darling and the people of the
surrounding country to the Holy War.

She shuddered as she thought that he had perhaps been a listener to
their conversation, and had thus discovered the carefully guarded
secret.

"Be not afraid, my daughter," said the old man gently; "I have been an
unwilling witness of your meeting, but your words have fallen into the
ear and heart of a man whose calling makes him the guardian of many a
secret."

Gela breathed more freely.

"Thou art of pure heart, my daughter," continued the old man mildly;
"who could chide thee for giving thy love to a youth to whom God has
given a power to charm that wins the affection of almost every heart?
But, my daughter, if thou love him thou must renounce him."

Gela looked up in terror at the priest.

"Yes, renounce him!" he repeated gravely, nodding his white head as he
spoke.

"I cannot, reverend father!" faltered the maiden with trembling lips.

"Canst thou not?" asked the old man still more earnestly; "canst thou
not give up thine own happiness for his sake, and yet thou art ready
to give thy life if his happiness should demand it?"

"Oh, reverend father," Gela faltered, raising her hands to him
entreatingly, "look not so stern! You know not what it is to renounce
him, and with him all that I call happiness. But if his welfare
demands it, my heart shall break without a murmur."

A gentle radiance beamed from the old priest's eyes.

"Thou hast well spoken, my daughter," he said gently. "Frederick loves
thee now with the force of his unestranged affection, and is ready to
sacrifice rank and worldly prospects for thy sake; but he is a man and
a prince, and, above all, of the house of Hohenstaufen, in whose soul
lies a longing after great and praiseworthy deeds, though these
aspirations are lulled to slumber by his love for thee. But when he
comes to years of manhood, he will be unhappy that thou hast kept him
from the tasks incumbent on one of his noble race. And then, my
daughter, not he alone, but all Germany will blame thee, for every
far-seeing eye recognises already in this heroic youth the future
leader who is destined to bring this divided realm to unity and
greatness. Canst thou think of the future of thy lover, and of us all,
and yet act but for thine own happiness?"

Gela raised herself as out of a dream.

"No, my father," she said in a firm voice, though the light of her
eyes seemed quenched as she gazed at the priest; "no, I renounce him.
But if he should ever think with bitterness of Gela, I ask of you that
you will tell him of this hour, and why I have renounced him; because
I loved his happiness more than myself. May this sacrifice not be in
vain!"

The priest laid his hand, trembling with emotion, on her beautiful
head. "Peace be with thee, my daughter!"

       *       *       *       *       *

On a dewy May morning, two years after that farewell scene in the
castle chapel, young Frederick rode over the drawbridge of the
fortress on the height beside the Kinzig Valley.

The sun of Syria had dyed his white skin with a deeper hue, the toils
of war and grief at dispelled illusions had drawn a slight furrow in
the smooth brow, but on his flowing beard and hair lay the same golden
splendour, and his blue eyes beamed brightly as of yore.

The castle servants flocked to greet their beloved young master, who
had meantime, through his father's death, become Duke of Swabia and
their feudal lord. His princely mouth spoke many a gracious word, and
his winning smile hovered among them like a sunbeam. His eye passed
quickly from line to line, till it rested inquiringly on the features
of an old bent man. It was Gela's father. Then he sprang from his
horse, and ascended the stair to his favourite room.

The butler placed a goblet of the richest wine on the table, a drink
of honour which he kept carefully in the driest corner of the cellar
for the greatest occasions; and Dame Barbara, the housekeeper, brought
in proudly the delicious pastry which she had prepared for this
festive day; but the young duke gave no heed to these attentions. He
stood in the oriel window, and looked down at a little lattice in the
buildings that surrounded the castle court. There, in a green
window-box, gillyflower and rosemary used to bloom, and behind them he
often had watched a face bent over the spinning-wheel--a face that he
had not found surpassed by any even among the Flowers of the East.

But now all was changed. No blossom sent forth fragrance; the green
box hung empty and half-broken; the clear lattice panes were blinded,
and no dear face looked through to him in love.

A pang of dread presentiment pierced his heart.

"Who dwells in that room with the blinded window?" he asked as calmly
as he could of Dame Barbara, who was rattling her keys to call her
young lord's attention to herself and her masterpiece of culinary
skill.

The old woman drew near, and looked at the desolate window to which
the duke's finger pointed.

"Alas! my lord duke," said the loquacious old woman, "Gela used to
live there, the good child; but she became a nun two years ago last
autumn, and entered the convent of St. Clarissa, in the heart of the
forest."

Frederick stood for a moment motionless, then he beckoned silently to
the door, for his first sound must have been a cry of pain.

Barbara went, but her master sank into the window-seat, his gaze fixed
on the deserted lattice.

There was a gentle knocking at the door, but the duke heard it not for
the painful beating of his heart. Then the door opened, and on the
threshold stood the old man on whom the prince's inquiring glance had
rested on his arrival. He approached the window with a low reverence,
and waited patiently till his young master raised his head. When at
last he looked up, the old man started to see the beloved face that
used to beam like the sunlight now covered as with the shadow of
death.

"My lord duke," said the old man, when Frederick signed to him to
speak, "I had an only child. I know not if your grace has ever noticed
her. When the men went from the country round to the Holy War, she
entered the forest cloister, because she thought she could there pray
undisturbed for the safety and victory of our soldiers. Before she
went she made me promise to give this letter into your hands as soon
as you returned."

Then he drew from his doublet a strip of parchment carefully sewed in
purple silk, and handed it to the duke.

And again Frederick spoke not, but silently took the missive, for his
heart was full to overflowing.

The old man withdrew in silence. When Frederick found himself alone,
he cut the silken covering with his hunting-knife, and drew out a
piece of parchment; and when it was unfolded, he saw the childish
handwriting which he himself had taught Gela in their happy hours in
the forest, and with which she now bade him the last farewell, for she
could not break her promise to the aged monk.

While Frederick, two years before, hastened to his uncle's palace, the
holy man had gone on to other parts of the country to call on the
people to join the Holy War, and from this errand death had called
him.

The sun was already far past the meridian, but yet no sound had broken
the stillness of the room where Frederick sat. The butler's drink of
honour was untasted; Dame Barbara's masterpiece remained untouched.

At last the young duke rose, left the room, and descended the winding
stair into the court; but when his steed was brought, the attendant
esquire thought that this could scarcely be the same young and joyous
prince who, a few hours before, had ridden across the bridge. He
sprang into the saddle, cast a last glance on the desolate window, and
then turned without a word of farewell to take the road which, but a
short time before, he had galloped over with hopeful heart. It was the
same road which Gela had so often followed with him to the little hill
in the forest, and when he came to the narrow path, he led his
obedient horse to one side, fastened the bridle round the trunk of a
tree, and then walked slowly along the mossy path.

Now he stood beneath the oak. Its leafy roof and the moss at its foot
were green and fresh as ever. Once he was like it in his love and
hope, but all was changed! He sat down at the foot of the tree, and
its rustling brought back to his soul the dream of his now vanished
youth.

Suddenly bells sounded from the forest depths. But he could not, as in
days gone by, fold his hands in pious awe, and pour forth every grief
in a believing prayer. No; at the sound of these bells which now
called Gela, his Gela, to devotion, it seemed to him as if he must
rush to the cloister gate, knock with his sword hilt, and cry, "Come
back, Gela, come back; for thy sacrifice will be in vain!"

He hastened down the hill to his horse, and sprang into the saddle.

"Away, my faithful steed!" he cried aloud. "Show me the way, for love
and grief have bewildered my clear brain. Bear me where knightly duty
and princely honour claim my presence--for I know not where."

And the good beast, as if it understood his master's words, rushed
with him away farther and still farther south through the dim
twilight, and beneath the bright beams of the full moon. Without
weariness, though without rest, it bore him on, and when the morrow's
sun stood in noonday splendour they had reached the goal, and the
young duke stood before the gate of his own Staufenburg.

Gela's sacrifice was not offered in vain. The words the old monk
uttered that morning in the castle chapel were fulfilled. After his
uncle's death, young Frederick of Swabia was raised to the throne of
Germany, and all that the realm and people of Germany had hoped from
him was more than fulfilled.

His strong hand gave unity, strength, and majesty to the divided land,
such as no ruler after him was ever able to bestow; and when the
imperial crown of Rome was also placed upon his head, the proud people
of Italy bowed before Frederick Barbarossa, did him homage, and
acknowledged his power.

The laurels of many a victory rested on the Emperor's brow; his house
was happy, his race flourished, his name lay like a word of blessing
on every lip; and when Gela, still in the bloom of youth, closed her
eyes in death, she knew that she had not in vain renounced Frederick
and happiness.

Beneath the shelter of his favourite castle the Emperor founded a
town, and named it after the unforgotten loved one of his youth,
"Gelashausen;" and when on his travels he came to the forest of the
Kinzig Valley, he led his horse silently aside, fastened the bridle to
a tree stem, and ascended the hill to the majestic oak. There leaning
his head, amid whose gold full many a thread of silver gleamed,
against the trunk, he closed his eyes, and dreamed once more the old
delightful dream.

And the people called that tree ever after "the Emperor's oak."

The sun of Asia Minor once more sent its glowing rays on the head of
the heroic Emperor, though they gleamed back now with a silvery
radiance.

[Illustration: BARBAROSSA IN THE HOLY LAND.]

The cry of distress had risen once again from the Land of Promise, and
drawn the aged monarch from his German home; he placed himself at the
head of his army, and led it with prudence, courage, and military
skill safely through the heat of the Eastern sun, in spite of the
treachery and malice of the foe, in spite of the pangs of hunger and
consuming thirst.

On a warm summer evening the army reached the steep bank of a foaming
mountain torrent. There on the farthest side lay the road that they
must take.

Barbarossa's son Frederick, that "Flower of Chivalry," sprang with a
chosen band from the high rocky bank into the stream and reached the
other side in safety.

The Emperor now prepared to follow. Without heeding the advice of his
attendants, the aged hero, who had never known what fear meant, put
spurs to his steed and plunged with him into the waters of the Seleph.
For a few seconds the golden armour gleamed amid the waves, once or
twice the reverend, hoary head rose above the stream, then the deadly
waters carried horse and rider into their raging depths, and the
beloved hero vanished from the eyes of his sorrowing army. His most
valiant knights indeed and chosen friends plunged after him into the
flood to save their honoured prince or die with him, but the wild
mountain torrent bore them all to death. With bitter lamentations the
army wandered up and down the stream, if perchance they might at least
win the precious corpse from the waters. But night came and threw its
dark veil over the sorrow and mourning of the day.

       *       *       *       *       *

All around were wrapped in slumber, even deeper than was their wont.
The moon stood high in heaven, and beneath its beams the waters of the
Seleph flowed more gently like molten silver. Once more they roused
their angry strength, and from