When we inquired after the fairy-system of Spain, we were told that there was no such thing, for that the Inquisition had long since eradicated all such ideas. Most certainly we would not willingly be regarded as partisans of the Holy Office, yet still we must express our doubt of the truth of this charge. In SeÑor Llorente's work, as far as we can recollect, there is no account of prosecutions for Duende-heresy; and even to the Holy Office we should give its due. Still, with all our diligence, our collection of Iberian fairy-lore is extremely scanty.

Our earliest authority for Spain, as for other countries, is the celebrated marshall of Champagne, Gervase of Tilbury, who thus relates:—

The Daughter of Peter De Cabinam.

In the bishoprick of Gerunda (i. e. Gerona), and the province of Catalonia, stands a mountain which the natives call Convagum. It is very steep, and on its summit is a lake of dark water, so deep that it cannot be fathomed. The abode of the Demons is in this lake; and if a stone, or anything else, be thrown into it, there rises from it an awful tempest.

Not far from this mountain, in a village named Junchera, lived a man named Peter de Cabinam, who being one day annoyed by the crying of his little girl, wished in his anger that the Demons might fetch her away. The child instantly vanished—snatched away by invisible hands—and was seen no more. Time passed on; and it was seven years after this event, when a man belonging to the village, as he was one day rambling about the foot of the mountain, met a man weeping bitterly, and bewailing his hard fate. On inquiry, he said that he had now been seven years in the mountain under the power of the Demons, who employed him as a beast of burden. He added, that there was also a girl in the mountain, the daughter of Peter de Cabinam of Junchera, a servant like himself; but that they were tired of her, and would restore her to her father if he came to claim her. When this information came to Peter de Cabinam, he forthwith ascended the mountain, and going to the edge of the lake, he besought the Demons to give him back his child. Like a sudden gust of wind she came, tall in stature, but wasted and dirty, her eyes rolling wildly, and her speech inarticulate. The father, not knowing what to do with her, applied to the Bishop of Gerunda, who took this opportunity of edifying his people by exhibiting the girl to them, and warning them against the danger of wishing that the Demons had their children. Some time after the man also was released, and from him the people learned that at the bottom of the lake there was a large palace, with a wide gate, to which palace the Demons repaired from all parts of the world, and which no one could enter but themselves, and those they brought thither.[519]

Origin of the House of Haro.

As Don Diego Lopez, lord of Biscay, was one day lying in wait for the wild boar, he heard the voice of a woman who was singing. On looking around, he beheld on the summit of a rock a damsel, exceedingly beautiful, and richly attired. Smitten with her charms, he proffered her his hand. In reply, she assured him that she was of high descent, but frankly accepted his proffered hand; making, however, one condition—he was never to pronounce a holy name. Tradition says that the fair bride had only one defect, which was, that one of her feet was like that of a goat. Diego Lopez, however, loved her well, and she bore him two children, a daughter, and a son named Iniguez Guerra.

Now it happened one day, as they were sitting at dinner, that the lord of Biscay threw a bone to the dogs, and a mastiff and a spaniel quarrelled about it, and the spaniel griped the mastiff by the throat, and throttled him. "Holy Mary!" exclaimed Don Diego, "who ever saw the like?" Instantly the lady caught hold of the hands of her children; Diego seized and held the boy, but the mother glided through the air with the daughter, and sought again the mountains whence she had come. Diego remained alone with his son; and some years after, when he invaded the lands of the Moors, he was made captive by them, and led to Toledo. Iniguez Guerra, who was now grown up, was greatly grieved at the captivity of his father, and the men of the land told him that his only hope was to find his mother, and obtain her aid. Iniguez made no delay; he rode alone to the well-known mountains, and when he reached them, behold! his fairy-mother stood there before him on the summit of a rock. "Come unto me," said she, "for well do I know thy errand." And she called to her Pardalo, the horse that ran without a rider in the mountains, and she put a bridle into his mouth, and bade Iniguez mount him, and told him that he must not give him either food or water, or unsaddle or unbridle him, or put shoes upon his feet, and that in one day the demon-steed would carry him to Toledo. And Iniguez obeyed the injunctions of his mother, and succeeded in liberating his father; but his mother never returned.[520]

In the large collection of Spanish ballads named El Romancero Castellano, the only one that treats of fairy-lore is the following, which tells of the enchantment of the King of Castille's daughter by seven fairies,[521] for a period of seven years. It is of the same character as the fairy-tales of France and Italy.

La Infantine.

Pepito el Corcovado.

Pepito el Corcovado,[525] a gay lively little hunchback, used to gain his living by his voice and his guitar; for he was a general favourite, and was in constant request at weddings and other festivities. He was going home one night from one of these festive occasions, being under engagement for another in the morning, and, as it was in the celebrated Sierra Morena, he contrived to lose his way. After trying in vain to find it, he wrapped his cloak about him, and lay down for the night at the foot of a cork-tree. He had hardly, however, gone to sleep, when he was awakened by the sound of a number of little voices singing to an old air with which he was well acquainted,

over and over again. Deeming this to be imperfect, he struck in, adding,

The little folk were quite delighted, and for hours the mountain rang with

They finally crowded round Pepito, and bade him ask what he would for having completed their song so beautifully. After a little consideration, he begged to have his hump removed. So said so done, he was in an instant one of the straightest men in all Spain. On his return home, every one was amazed at the transformation. The story soon got wind, and another hunchback, named Cirillo, but unlike Pepito, as crooked in temper as in person, having learned from him where the scene of his adventure lay, resolved to proceed thither and try his luck. He accordingly reached the spot, sat under the cork-tree, and saw and heard all that Pepito had heard and seen. He resolved also to add to the song, and he struck in with "Y Domingo siete" (and Sunday seven); but whether it was the breach of rhythm, or the mention of the Lord's Day that gave offence, he was instantly assailed with a shower of blows or pinches, and to make his calamity the greater, Pepito's hump was added to his own.[526]

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We thus may see that there are beings in Spain also answering to the various classes of Fairies. But none of these have obtained the same degree of reputation as the House-spirit, whose Spanish name is Duende or Trasgo. In Torquemada's Spanish Mandeville, as the old English version of it is named, there is a section devoted to the Duende, in which some of his feats, such as pelting people with stones, clay, and such like, are noticed, and in the last century the learned Father Feijoo wrote an essay on Duendes,[527] i.e. on House-spirits; for he says little of the proper Spanish Duende, and his examples are HÖdiken and the Kobolds, of which he had read in Agricola and other writers. On the whole, perhaps, the best account of the Duende will be found in Calderon's spritely comedy, named La Dama Duende.

In this piece, when Cosme, who pretends that he had seen the Duende when he put out his candle, is asked by his master what he was like, he replies:

This cucurucho was a long conical hat without a brim worn by the clergy in general, and not by the Capuchins alone. A little before, Cosme, when seeking to avert the appearance of the Duende, recites the following lines, which have the appearance of being formed from some popular charm against the House-spirit:

In De Solis' very amusing comedy of Un Bobo hace Ciento, DoÑa Ana makes the following extremely pretty application of the popular idea of the Duende:

In another of his plays (El Amor al Uso), a lady says:

The lines from Calderon prefixed to this section of our work, show that money given by the Duende was as unsubstantial as fairy-money in general. This is confirmed by Don Quixote, who tells his rather covetous squire, that "los tesoros de los caballeros andantes son, como los de los Duendes, aparentes y falsos."

The Spaniards seem also to agree with the people of other countries in regarding the Fairies as being fallen angels. One of their most celebrated poets thus expresses himself:

Some Spanish etymologists say that Duende is a contraction of DueÑo de casa; others, that it comes from the Arabic DÛar, (dwelling) the term used for the Arab camps on the north-coast of Africa. To us it appears more probable that the Visigoths brought their ancient popular creed with them to Spain[528] also, and that as Duerg became Drac in Provence, it was converted into Duende in Spain.[529] It is further not quite impossible that Duerg may be also the original of Trasgo, a word for which we believe no etymon has been proposed.

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