“Dear Countrymen, whate’er is left to us Of ancient heritage— Of manners, speech, of humours, polity, The limited horizon of our stage— Of love, hope, fear, All this I fain would fix upon the page: That so the coming age, Lost in the Empire’s mass, Yet haply longing for their fathers, here May see, as in a glass, What they held dear— May say, “’Twas thus and thus They lived;” and as the time-flood onward rolls, Secure an anchor for their Celtic souls.” (Preface to The Doctor and other Poems, by the Rev. T. E. Brown).
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[549] Decorative floral chapter header CHAPTER XVIII.
Guernsey Songs and Ballads. “Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago.” —Wordsworth. “FÈre les lais, por remembrance.” —Marie of France. I have added this chapter to Sir Edgar MacCulloch’s book, as I thought it a good opportunity of preserving a few of the old ballads and songs which, for generations, amused and interested our forefathers, and which now, alas, are all too surely going or gone from among us,—swept away by the irrepressible tide of vulgarity and so-called “Progress,” by which everything of ours that was beautiful, picturesque, or individual, has been destroyed. As descendants of the Celtic trouvÈres, menestriers, and jongleurs, as well as of the Norse Skalds, the bards from whose early songs and chants, the literature of Europe has sprung, we, Normans, should specially treasure the old poems which have been handed down for so many successive generations, and which, in the rapid extinction of the old language in which Wace, Taillefer, Walter Map, and Chrestien de Troyes sang, are doomed to oblivion. In most places the old ballads can be divided into two classes—the Religious and the Secular. The first of these classes, except in the form of the metrical version of the Psalms by Ronsard, does not seem to have existed over here. I can find no trace of any NoËls, or of any Easter songs. The Secular songs may be divided into the Historical and the Social. The Historical deserve precedence. The Ballade des Aragousais of which a translation has already been given, and of which I append the original, is by far the oldest and most interesting. Then comes a ballad descriptive of the Destruction of the Spanish Armada in 1588, which I found in a manuscript book compiled by a Job Mauger in 1722. In it he has copied the Dedicace des Eglises, and such poems which apparently were current in his day, and which he deemed worthy of preservation. Of his collection this is the most distinctive, and I have included it in this chapter, although it is evidently defective in parts, as these old ballads, handed down orally from generation to generation, are so apt to be. The Complaint of the dispossessed Roman Catholic Clergy, written in March, 1552, and copied into the Registers of St. Saviour’s parish in 1696 by Henry Blondel, is already in print, being included in Gustave Dupont’s Histoire du Cotentin et de ses Iles, Tome III., p. 311-313. Job Mauger’s MSS. also comprise a long and monotonous ballad of twenty verses describing the destruction by lightning of the Tower of Castle Cornet in 1688, and various poems, conspicuous more by the loyalty of their sentiments than by the merits of their versification, on contemporary events in England, such as—“La mort du Roy Guillaume III.,” written in 1702; “Cantique Spirituel À la mÉmoire de la Royne Marie IIme., et sur l’oiseau qu’on voit sur son MausolÉe;” “Sur la mort de son Altesse Royale Guillaume, Duc de Glocestre, decedÉ au ChÂteau de Windsor le 30me Juillet, 1700;” and “Vive le Roy George,” written in 1721. He also copies a “Chanson Nouvelle de l’Esclavage de Barbarie,” doggerel verses “composÉe par dix pauvres hommes, esclaves en Barbarie, oÙ ils sont,” viz.: “Edouard Falla, Edouard Mauger, Phelipe le Marquand, Richard Viel, et ses camarades, Pierre le Gros et Jean Aspuine,” written in the reign of William III. In the year 1736 the bells of the church of S. Peter Port, being no longer fit for service, were taken down for the purpose of being melted and re-cast. This circumstance gave rise to a piece of poetry composed by the Rev. Elie Dufresne, Rector of the Town parish, of which many manuscript copies are in existence. But by far the most popular and widely known of all our local ballads is “Les vers de Catherine Deslandes,” by an unknown author, descriptive of the trial and execution for infanticide, of an unhappy woman called Catherine Deslandes in 1748. These verses have been repeatedly copied and printed, and are to be found in almost every old farm-house. The Secular ballads were undoubtedly all, or nearly all, importations from the mainland. Of these I have made a selection, and have striven to record those which do not appear to have been already printed, or which, like “La Claire Fontaine,” vary considerably from the continental models. Thus “Malbrouck,” which is one of the most widely known of all our old ballads, appears in every French “Recueil de Chansons,” and the verses of “Le Juif Errant” and “GeneviÈve de Brabant” of which copies are also found in all our old farm houses, have also been repeatedly printed on the Continent, so are not included here. Yvon de Galles. “Surprise de l’Ile de Guernesey l’an 1370, sous le RÈgne d’Edouard III., Roy d’Angleterre, et de Charles V., Roy de France.” Note. This poem is copied from a version compiled by Mr. MÉtivier, and said by him to be the revised text of seven mutilated manuscript copies. I have also included most of his notes. “Or, grands et petits entendez Sur nombre de gent ramassÉe, Qui va sillant [266] la mer salÉe, Du Roy de France la mesgnÉe, [267]Par Yvon de Galles guidÉe, Si mauvaisement mis À mort. [268] Par un Mardy s’est comparÉe La gendarmerie et l’armÉe, Faite de grands Aragousais [269]Gens enragÉs À l’abordÉe. Dans le Vazon fut addressÉe Cette pilleuse [270] marinÉe Pensant nous mettre tous À mort. Un Jean L’Estocq si se leva, Plus matin qu’À l’accoÛtumÉe; Et À sa bergerie alla, Sur l’ajournant [271] À la brunÉe. Telle compagnie a trouvÉe Sur le grand Marais arrÊtÉe, Ce qui grandement l’Étonna. Vit un cheval sur son chemin, Faisant marche de haquenÉe, [272]Qui, pour vray, Étoit un guildin, [273]Qui lors Échappoit de l’armÉe. Toute l’isle en a chevauchÉe, Criant À la dÉsespÉrÉe, Sus! aux armes, en un moment!” “Et vous trouvez sur les Vazons! [274]L’armÉe est dessus arrÊtÉe; Diligentez-vous, bons garÇons, Ou toute la terre est gÂtÉe! Mettez tout au fil de l’ÉpÉe, Hasardez-vous, À bonne heurÉe, Ou vous mourrez griÈve mort!” Yvon de Galles, vrai guerrier, Était conducteur de la guerre, Homme grand’ment adventurier, Dessus une terre ÉtrangiÈre, Ne se donnant garde en arriÈre, Il reÇut la rouge jarr’tiÈre Qui n’Étoit ni soye, ni velours. C’est qu’il fut frappÉ d’un garÇon D’une alebarde [275] meurtriÈre, Il se nommoit Richard Simon Sur le moulin, en la CarriÈre, Tant qu’il eut la cuisse hachÉe Aussi la main dextre tranchÉe Par ce glorieux compagnon. Sur le mont de St. Pierre Port Fut la dure guerre livrÉe; Cinq cents et un fur’ mis À mort, C’Étoit pitiÉ, cette journÉe D’ouÏr les pleurs de l’assemblÉe Des dames de St. Pierre Port. Thoumin le Lorreur, [278] tout le jor Fut, de vrai, notre capitaine; Rouf Hollande [279] fut le plus fort, Il eut l’honneur de la quintaine, [280]Sa vie, hÉlas! fut hasardÉe, Car, sa jambe Étant fracassÉe, Force lui fut de souffrir mort. Frappant À travers et À tors, Le sang courait dans les vallÉes, On marchait dessus les corps morts Qui chÉaient [281] au fil des ÉpÉes. Une meurtriÈre [282] fut lancÉe, Qui, À grand’ force dÉbandÉe, Aux Aragousais fit grand tort. Quatre-vingt bons marchands anglais ArrivÈrent sur l’avesprÉe; [283]A notre secours accouraient, Mais l’armÉe Étant fort lassÉe, Leva le siÈge, tout de voir, [284]Ne sachant quel remÈde avoir, Sinon crier À Dieu mercy. Furent contraints de s’enfuir Prenant leur chemin gaburon, [285]Par les Bordages sont allÉs, Pour passer dedans ils se rue’; Mais les Anglais sans retenue, Remplissent de corps morts la rue, Sur cette troupe de bedots. [286] Par force espreindrent les chÂtiaus, [287]La mer Étant fort retirÉe, On les tuait À grands monceaux, Taillant tout au fil de l’ÉpÉe; La mer Étoit ensanglantÉe De cette troupe ainsi navrÉe, De lez la chair et les corps morts. Ces navires et ces bateaux Ceignirent l’isle par derriÈre; Bons paysans leur firent grands tosts, [288]Vers le chÂteau de la CorbiÈre, [289]Vindrent par le Bec-À-la-ChiÈvre, [290]Pour À l’armÉe faire estÈre, [291]Avec le reste des lourdauds. RembarquÈrent leurs matelots, [292]Puis soudain mirent À la vÈle, Tous marris comme lionceaux D’avoir perdu telle bredelle. [293]Commandant de remettre À terre Dans le havre de St. Samson. À l’AbbÉ St. Michel s’en vont, Dont Brecard Étoit commissaire; Il les reÇut, À grand coeur-jouaie Donnant prÉsents et fort grand chÈre Donnant or À la gente amÉe, [296]Qui Était dame dans l’armÉe NommÉe Princesse Alinor. Car Yvon l’avoit ÉpousÉe En France au pays de Gravelle, Dont il fut riche À grands monceis [297]Des biens de la grand’ mariÉe. L’abbÉ fit grand joie À l’armÉe D’or et d’argent et de monnoye Qu’il leur donna bien largement. Yvon, l’ennemy, s’en alla Sur une montagne voisine Du pauvre ChÂteau St. Michel, LÀ oÙ Yvon faisait ses mines. [298]FrÈre Brecart, [299] par courtoisie S’adresse au chÂteau par envie De faire crÔitre ses trÉsors. Mais Aymon [300] Rose, retranchÉ Au puissant Chasteau de l’Archange Dit qu’il serait avant tranchÉ. Que de se rendre À gent estrange; Mais si ses gens se veulent rendre A Brecart, pour leur terre vendre, Par compos, [301] il estoit d’accord. Le pauvre peuple se rendit A cet AbbÉ pour leur grand perte Qu’il avoit pour eux accordÉ Aux ennemis par ses finesses Dont assoujettirent leurs terres La plupart À payer deux gerbes Nommez aujourd’hui les champarts. [302] Quand Yvon fut bien soudoyÉ S’est rembarquÉ dans ses navires Dans le Coquet s’en est allÉ Se refournir de nouveaux vivres, En passant par devant Belle Isle Mit le feu dans trente navires N’ayant que les garÇons À bord. Le vent du sud Étant venu Sillant la cÔte de Bretagne Un navire Anglois est venu Dont ils eurrent bien de la hoigne [303]Saillit soixante hommes ensemble À bord Yvon, sans plus attendre Qui les liÈrent tous À bord. Puis violÈrent Alinor, En la prÉsence de son homme Lui Étant liÉ au grand mÂt Les amenÈrent À Hantonne [304]Yvon Étant un mauvais homme Eut sur sa tÊte une couronne Savoir ung mourion tout chaud. Puis pendirent toutes ces gens Portez À chartez [305] couple À couple Et Alinor eut un prÉsent Pour gueuser une belle poche Et avec peines et travaux Cherchant son pain de porte en porte AprÈs plaisir eurent grands maux. Les dix-neuf autres vaisseaux Voulez-vous ouÏyr leur destinÉe Ils se dissout de grands chÂteaux De tourments bien agittÉe Or voilÀ donc leur destinÉe C’est qu’ils burent la mer salÉe Brisant dessus les Hanouets. Au matin coume des porceaux Estoient au plein cette journÉe OÙ ils avaient fait leurs grands maux En Guernesey la bienheureuse Ils estoient lÀ en grands monceaux Dessus les sablons de Rocquaine AprÈs plaisir eurent grands maux. Fin.
L’ArmÉe d’Espagne, Defaitte en L’an 1588. Puissant Roy d’Espagne, Combien riche tu es Pour l’entreprise vaine Que tu fis sur les Anglois, Ton entreprise vaine, Fut bientÔt rebroussÉe. [306] Vindrent sur l’Angleterre, Au beau mois de Juillet, Pour voir la bienheureuse Ma Dame Elizabeth, Mais ce fut À leur honte Que sentir grand reveil. La grande ArmÉe Angloise Commence a s’apprÊter, Tous leurs soldats embarquÉs La poudre et les bullets, C’est pour joÜer au quille [307]Avec les PortuguÉes. Qui eust vue l’armÉe, D’Elizabeth s’en va De voir les grands bigots [308]Et flÂquÉes [309] sur leurs mÂts Des tambours et trompettes ApprÊtÉs au combat. La puissante avans garde A l’ancre n’Étoit pas Comme fut “La Revanche” Qui sortoit de Plymouth, Sillant sur sa plumas. [311] Tous les plus grands navires Qui furent haut et bas De toute l’Angleterre Vindrent vers l’Amiral Luy supplier la grÂce D’aller sur les guayhards (sic). L’Amiral d’Angleterre [312]Leur rÉpond d’un voix quas [313]Enfans, donnez vous garde Ne vous hasardez pas, Car l’armÉe est puissante Et nos vaisseaux sont trop ras. [314] Ces gens de grand courage, Disoient À l’Amiral Seigneur, gardez la terre, Nous allons avec Dras [315]Nous aurons la vengeance De l’armÉe des Pillards. La “Revanche” d’Angleterre Sous ses voiles s’en va, Chargeans ses coulverines Et tirans ses coutelas, Au grand tyran s’entraÎne Et luy couppa ses mats. Quand le Duc de Mydine, Sit ses grands arbres bas, Dit À sa compagnie Enfans—ne tirez pas, Mais rondez les navires, Ou vous mourrez tous plats. [316] Sept navires de guerre, LiÈrent au grand “Arc” Abordent cette vermine Sur le “Satanas” Pour porter pillage Avec le Seigneur Dras. Un noble gentil homme Grand Seigneur des Estats S’en va rompant les coffres Et bahuts [317] hauts et bas, OÙ il trouva des lettres D’un fort merveilleux cas. [318] Le grand Dauphin de Naples [319]De Ça ne ryoit pas, Le Flamen se presente Sur un de ses boulevards De cette nef horrible, [320]Du grand “St. Matthias.” S’informe par enquÊte Des gens d’armes en bas Touchant une lettre Quy portoit de grand mal En contre l’Angleterre Et tout le sang Royal. Le peuple luy dÉclaroit Seigneur ne fÂchez pas Que l’adresse de Ça C’est au Prince FarnÉse [321]De par le Roy d’Espagne Qui de Ça chargera. Demande au grand de Naples Ce qu’il disoit de cela Encontre sa maÎtresse Quoi penser en tel cas. En disant deux ou trois paroles, Le grand Prince le tua. Puis luy fendit le ventre, Jusqu’À l’estomac, Son pauvre coeur luy tira Qui soudain luy trancha Devant la compagnie Qui beaucoup soupira. Lors l’Amiral d’Espagne Soudain apparreilla Avec sa compagnie A vau la mer s’en va Mettant basse enseigne Par grand deuil s’en va. Sortant vers Irlande Sous tout leur appareil Le vent leur prend su-est Qui les mis sur la terre D’Irlande et y reste. Les prudens Irlandois A leurs secours venoient En plaignant leurs misÈres Aux maisons les portaient Faisant au grands d’Espagne Plus qu’ils ne mÉritoient. Le gÉnÉral d’Espagne Ses mourtres fits dresser, Appeller ses gens d’armes Et tous ses centeniers, Fit en grand’ diligence Sa grande troupe marcher. Au peuple d’Irlande, Rendit tous ses bienfaits, Mit par toute la terre Gens d’armes en harnois, [323]Tuant homme et femme Sans merci ni dÉlai. Tous les Irlandois s’adressoient Au Comte de Tyrone Qui tenoit pour la Reine Contre la nation, Luy priant donner aide Contre les Castillons. Le Comte met en ordre Ses princes et barons, Tous au fil de l’ÉpÉe [324]Leur ordonner la fronde, [325]La douleur redoublÉe Qui les dÉconfit tous. Lors voilÀ la ruine Des meurtriers Espagnols Qui faisoient tant de mines Dans de bien grands flibots, [326]Pensant prendre Angleterre Comme de fols idiots. À Dieu soit la louange Qui de son bras tout fort, De tous leurs grands vaisseaux De nous pris la revanche Nous pensant dÉtruire Et dÉmembrer nos corps. Les braves gens d’Espagne Partant de leurs maisons Pensant en Angleterre Sarcler [327] tous les chardons, Mais leurs gens et leurs moufles [328]N’Étoient pas assez bons. Quand on va par les villes Pour vendre les moutons, Chacun se donne À croire Que les viandes vaudront Mais c’est bien le contraire La plupart en donneront. [329] Fin. [306] Rebrousser—Retourner sur ses pas. Secular Poems. Belle Rose au Rosier Blanc. J’ai cueilli la belle rose Qui pendait au rosier blanc, Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc! Je la cueillis feuille À feuille Et la mis dans mon tablier blanc Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc. Je l’ai portÉe chez mon pÈre Entre Paris et Rouen Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc. Las!—je n’ai trouvÉ personne Que le rossignol chantant Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc. Qui me dit dans son langage Mariez vous À quinze ans Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc! HÉlas comment me marÎrai-je? Moi qui suis baisse [330] pour un an, Belle Rose, Belle Rose au rosier blanc! Combien gagnez vous, la belle? Combien gagnez vous par an? Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc! Je gagne bien cent pistoles Cent pistoles en argent blanc Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc. Venez avec moi, ma belle, Vous en aurez bien autant Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc. Je ne vais avec personne Si l’on ne m’Épouse avant Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc. Si l’on ne me mÈne À l’Église Par devant tous mes parents Belle Rose Belle Rose au rosier blanc! [331]
À la Claire Fontaine. À la claire fontaine Dondaine, ma dondaine Les mains me suis lavÉ Dondaine ma lou-lou-la Les mains me suis lavÉ, Dondaine m’a dondÉ. A la feuille d’un chÊne Dondaine, ma dondaine Je les ai essuyÉes Dondaine ma lou-lou-la Je les ai essuyÉes Dondaine m’a dondÉ. À la plus haute branche Dondaine, ma dondaine Un rossignol chantait Dondaine ma lou-lou-la Un rossignol chantait Dondaine m’a dondÉ. Chante, rossignol, chante Dondaine, ma dondaine, Toi qui as le coeur gai Dondaine ma lou-lou-la Toi qui as le coeur gai Dondaine m’a dondÉ. Le mien n’est pas de mÈme Dondaine, ma dondaine, Il est bien affligÉ Dondaine ma lou-lou-la Il est bien affligÉ Dondaine m’a dondÉ. Pierre, mon ami Pierre, Dondaine, ma dondaine, À la guerre est allÉ Dondaine ma lou-lou-la A la guerre est allÉ Dondaine m’a dondÉ. Pour un bouton de rose Dondaine, ma dondaine Que je lui refusai Dondaine ma lou-lou-la Que je lui refusai Dondaine m’a dondÉ. Je voudrais que la rose Dondaine, ma dondaine Fut encore au rosier Dondaine ma lou-lou-la Fut encore au rosier Dondaine m’a dondÉ. Et que mon ami Pierre Dondaine, ma dondaine Fut ici À m’aimer Dondaine ma lou-lou-la Fut ici À m’aimer Dondaine m’a, dondÉ. Qui Veut OuÏr. Qui veut ouÏr, qui veut savoir} bis. Comment les maris aiment?} Ils aiment si brutalement Ils sont de si brutales gens, Qu’on les entend toujours disant (ParlÉ) “Ah Madame allez gardez Le mÉnage et les enfants!” Fal-la-la. Qui veut ouÏr, qui veut savoir} bis. Comment les filles aiment?} Elles aiment si discrÈtement Elles sont de si discrÈtes gens, Qu’on les entend toujours disant (ParlÉ) “Ah Monsieur ne parlez pas si haut Car Maman nous entendra.” Fal-la-la. Qui veut ouÏr, qui veut savoir} bis. Comment les veuves aiment?} Elles aiment si sensiblement Elles sont de si sensibles gens, Qu’on les entend toujours disant (ParlÉ) “Ah! le beau jeune homme! Comme il ressemble À feu mon mari.” Fal-la-la. Qui veut ouÏr, qui veut savoir} bis. Comment les soldats aiment?} Ils aiment si cavaliÈrement Ils sont de si cavaliers gens Qu’on les entend toujours disant (ParlÉ) “Ah! Madame m’aimez vous? Ne m’aimez vous pas? dictes moi, Car il me faut rejoindre mon rÉgiment.” Fal-la-la. Qui veut ouÏr, qui veut savoir} bis. Comment les FranÇais aiment?} Ils aiment si frivolement Ils sont de si frivoles gens, Qu’on les entend toujours disant (ParlÉ) “Ah! Madame depuis que je vous ai vue Je ne songe qu’a vous!” Fal-la-la. Qui veut ouÏr, qui veut savoir} bis. Comment les Anglais aiment?} Ils aiment si stupidement Ils sont si stupides gens Qu’on les entend toujours disant (ParlÉ) “TantÔt la chasse, tantÔt la Gazette, tantÔt l’amour!” Fal-la-la. Qui veut ouÏr, qui veut savoir} bis. Comment les Guernesiais aiment?} Ils aiment si prudemment, Ils sont de si prudents gens Qu’on les entends toujours disant (ParlÉ) “Mademoiselle a-t’elle de l’argent!” Fal-la-la. I have to thank Mr. J. T. R. de Havilland, of Havilland Hall, for kindly supplying me with a copy of this song. Marguerite s’est Assise. Marguerite s’est assise—Tra-la-la. À l’ombre d’un rocher À son plaisir Écoute—Tra-la-la Les mariniers chanter, Tra-la-la. Tra-la-la. Elle fit un’ rencontre—Tra-la-la De trente matelots Le plus jeune des trente—Tra-la-la. Il se mit À chanter. Tra-la-la. Tra-la-la. Qu’avez vous la belle—Tra-la-la. Qu’avez vous a pleurer? Je pleure mon anneau d’or—Tra-la-la. Qui dans la mer est tombÉ Tra-la-la. Tra-la-la. Que donnerez-vous la belle—Tra-la-la À qui le pÊcherait? Un baiser sur la bouche—Tra-la-la. Ou deux s’il fallait Tra-la-la. Tra-la-la. Le galant se dÉpouille—Tra-la-la. Dans la mer a plongÉ La premiÈre fois qu’il plonge—Tra-la-la Il n’en a rien apportÉ Tra-la-la. Tra-la-la. La seconde fois qu’il plonge—Tra-la-la Les cloches vont ric-tin-tÉ La troisiÈme fois qu’il plonge—Tra-la-la. Le galant s’est noyÉ! Tra-la-la. Tra-la-la. Nous l’ferons enterrer—Tra-la-la Et puis dessus sa tombe Un rosmarin planter—Tra-la-la. Sur ce pauvre jeune homme! Tra-la-la. Tra-la-la. Nous dirons À sa mÈre—Tra-la-la Qu’il s’est embarquÉ Sur un vaisseau de guerre—Tra-la-la. Qui de loin est allÉ! Tra-la-la. Tra-la-la. La MeuniÈre. Je vais Épouser la MeuniÈre Dont on voit le moulin lÀ bas Mais j’aime une pauvre bergÈre Comprenez-vous mon embarras, Ma Fanchette est si jolie Mais la MeuniÈre a du bien S’il faut faire une folie Que cela ne soit pas pour rien. Bah! j’Épouserai la MeuniÈre Qui me fait toujours les yeux doux En me disant “Beau petit Pierre Mais quand donc nous marierons nous?” Un instant—n’allons pas si vite, Suis je bien certain d’Être heureux Avec la femme du moulin Dont je ne suis pas amoureux? Il s’agit de mariage C’est hÉlas! pour plus d’un jour, Oui! mais pour vivre en mÉnage C’est bien maigre de l’amour! Bah! j’Épouserai la MeuniÈre Qui me fait toujours les yeux doux En me disant “Beau petit Pierre Mais quand donc nous marierons nous?” Cependant mon coeur s’inquiÈte Et me dit que c’est mal À moi De trahir la pauvre Fanchette À qui j’avais donnÉ ma foi Elle est si tendre et si bonne Comme son coeur va souffrir. HÉlas! si je l’abandonne Elle est capable d’en mourir Ma foi! tant pis pour la MeuniÈre, Je ne serai pas son Époux Qu’elle dise “Beau petit Pierre! Petit Pierre n’est pas pour vous?” Le Glaneur. Sur nos grands blÈs dÉjÀ le soleil brille Quels lourds Épis—en fÛt il de pareils! Va! travaillons, vite, en main la faucille Mais suivrez vous, suivrez vous mes conseils. Enfant, de chaque gerbe Que mÛrit le Seigneur Laissez tomber dans l’herbe Quelques Épis pour le glÂneur Pensez au pauvre glÂneur} bis Faites le bien—vous porterez bonheur.} Notre ministre dit que le bien qu’on donne Est le meilleur qu’on pense rÉcolter Il dÉpose lorsqu’il disait aux hommes. Donner aux pauvres, À Dieu n’est que prÊter. Chorus.—Enfant, etc. Aux pauvres iÇi le peu qu’on abandonne Dieu pour beaucoup ailleurs le comptera Des grains donnÉs, la moisson sera bonne Pour nous au Ciel, Dieu les centuplera. Chorus.—Enfant, etc. Les Trois Tambours. Trois jeunes tambours, revenant de la guerre, Le plus jeune des trois avait un bouquet de roses Au ron-ron-ron-te-tan-plan. La fille du roi Étant par sa fenÊtre “Ah! jeune tambour, veux tu me donner tes roses?” Au ron-ron-ron-te-tan-plan. “Mes roses sont pour mon mariage La fille du roi, veux tu Être ma femme?” Au ron-ron-ron-te-tan-plan. “VÀ jeune tambour, demander À mon pÈre” “Sire le Roi, veux tu me donner ta fille?” Au ron-ron-ron-te-tan-plan. “Ah! jeune tambour dis moi qu’est tes richesses?” “Mes richesses sont mes caisses [332] et mes balletes, [333]” Au ron-ron-ron-te-tan-plan. “VÀ! jeune tambour, demain je te ferai pendre” “Six cent mille canons dans ce cas vont me dÉfendre” Au ron-ron-ron-te-tan plan. “Ah! jeune tambour, dis moi qui est ton pÈre?” “Mon pÈre il est le roi—le roi d’Angleterre!” Au ron-ron-ron-te-tan-plan. “Ah! jeune tambour, voudrais tu bien ma fille?” “Ah! je m’en moque de vous et de votre fille, Dans mon pays y’ en a de bien plus gentilles.” Au ron-ron-ron-te-tan-plan. Si j’avais le Chapeau. Si j’avais le chapeau Que ma mie m’avait donnÉ Mon chapeau est bel et beau Chorus: Adieu ma mignonne Adieu donc mes amours Si j’avais la casaque [334]Que ma mie m’avait donnÉ Ma casaque est zic et zac Mon chapeau est bel et beau. Chorus.—Adieu, etc. Si j’avais le corselet Que ma mie m’avait donnÉ Mon corselet est fort bien fait Ma casaque est zic et zac, Mon chapeau est bel et beau Chorus.—Adieu, etc. Si j’avais la cravate Que ma mie m’avait donnÉe Ma cravate est ric et rac Mon corselet est fort bien fait Ma casaque est zic et zac Mon chapeau est bel et beau. Chorus.—Adieu, etc. Si j’avais la culotte Que ma mie m’avait donnÉe Mes culottes dÉbotes [335] et botes, Ma cravate est ric et rac, Mon corselet est fort bien fait Ma casaque est zic et zac, Mon chapeau est bel et beau. Chorus.—Adieu, etc. Si j’avais les blancs bas Que ma mie m’avait donnÉs Mes blancs bas sont de damas, Mes culottes dÉbotes et botes, Ma cravate est ric et rac Mon corselet est fort bien fait, Ma casaque est zic et zac, Mon chapeau est bel est beau. Chorus.—Adieu, etc. Si j’avais les souliers Que ma mie m’avait donnÉs Mes souliers sont de cuir doux, Mes blancs bas sont de damas, Mes culottes dÉbotes et botes, Ma cravate est ric et rac, Mon corselet est fort bien fait, Ma casaque est zic et zac, Et mon chapeau est bel et beau. Chorus.—Adieu, etc.
Venez Peuples FidÈles. Venez peuple fidÈle pour entendre chanter Un jeune militaire qui revient de la guerre, Qui revient de la guerre, muni de son congÉ En entrant dans son isle sa soeur l’a rencontrÉ. La soeur avec tendresse, de la joie qu’elle avait Vint embrasser son frÈre, et lui donner des baisers Le frÈre avec tendresse dit À sa chÈre soeur Ne m’y fais pas connaÎtre, garde cela dans ton coeur. Et le jeun’ militaire tout de suite est allÉ. Chercher son pÈre et mÈre, en gardant son secret, Bonjour Monsieur et Dame aurez vous chambre À louer A un jeune militaire de la guerre retournÉ. Ah oui! notre bon jeune homme, nous avons logement, Sur le lit de notre fils, nous te ferons coucher Les affaires de la guerre, tu nous raconteras Le soir À la table, aprÈs avoir soupÉ. Il donne À la dame son argent À garder, Tenez ma trÈs-chÈre dame, gardez moi cet argent, C’est pour soulager les peines de mes parents, Et la mÉchante femme de lÀ s’en est allÉe. Trouver son mari, lui dire, “C’est une fortune Faut le tuer de suite, nous aurons son argent.” Les deux mÉchants armÉs des gros couteaux Ont trainÉ dans la cave son corps tout sanglant. Le lendemain matin la pauvre fille arrive, Ah! bon jour pÈre et mÈre, je voudrais bien parler A ce beau jeune militaire, Que je vous ai amenÉ. La mÉchante mÈre, lui rÉpond hardiment, Mais que dis tu ma fille? Est ce de nos parents? Ah! oui, ma trÈs chÈre mÈre, c’est mon frÈre arrivÉ, Il revint de la guerre, mon coeur en est content. La cruelle mÈre, si tÔt elle Écria J’ai ÉgorgÉ ton frÈre, hÉlas! n’en parle pas. Mais la fille tout de suite les fÎt Être emmenÉs Devant les justiciers, hÉlas! pour Être jugÉs. Les justiciers s’empressent de juger le procÈs Et les condamnent, tous les deux d’Être brulÉs Oh vous pÈres et mÈres oyez ces malheurs Que les biens de ce monde ne vous tiennent point au coeurs. Par la barbarie et l’ambition d’argent, Ces deux dans les flammes passent leurs derniers moments. [336] Jean, Gros Jean. Jean, gros Jean, marie sa fille, Grosse et grasse et bien habile, A un marchand de sabots, Radinguette et radingot Chorus: A un marchand de sabots Radinguette et radingot. Pour dÎner ils eurent des peis Entre quatre ils n’eurent que treis Ah! dÉvinez si c’est trop Radinguette et radingot. Chorus.—A un, etc. Pour souper ils eurent des prunes Entre quatre ils n’en eurent qu’une Et la quervaie d’un escargot Radinguette et radingot. Chorus.—A un, etc. Ils firent faire une couachette De deux secs buts de bÛchette Et l’oreiller d’un fagot Radinguette et radingot Chorus.—A un, etc. Ils firent faire des courtines Creyant que c’Était mousseline Mais c’Était Calaminco Radinguette et radingot. I have concluded this chapter of Guernsey songs with this one, though it is of an entirely different style and class to any of the others, but the tune to which it is set, is said to be the national air of Guernsey. When the Duke of Gloucester landed here on the 18th of September, 1817, this song, as the Guernsey National Air was struck up by the band which came to meet him; the militiamen, knowing the song, all burst out laughing, much to the astonishment of the Duke and his suite! Musical score Jean, gros Jean, ma-rie sa fille, Grosse et grasse et bien ha-bile, À un marchand de sa-bots, Radinguette et ra-din-got; À un marchand de sa-bots, Ra-dinguette et ra-din-got. Decorative floral chapter footer
Decorative floral chapter header The Clameur de Haro. It has been suggested that the Clameur de Haro should be included among the civic customs peculiar to the Channel Islands. (See p.p. 59-77), so, as Sir Edgar MacCulloch had not mentioned it in his MSS. I have ventured to include a short description of it in the Appendix. The “Clameur de Haro,” abolished in Normandy, A.D., 1583, is, perhaps, the most ancient and curious legal survival in the Channel Islands. Should a Channel Islander consider his estate to be injured, or his rights to be infringed, by the action of another, in the presence of two witnesses he kneels on the ground and says:— “Haro! Haro! Haro! À l’aide mon Prince! on me fait tort!” and he then repeats the Lord’s Prayer in French. This formula, which is tantamount to an injunction to stay proceedings, causes all obnoxious practices to be suspended until the case has been tried in Court, when the party who is found to be in the wrong is condemned to a fine and a “Regard de ChÂteau,” which, in former times, meant a night’s imprisonment. All “Clameurs,” according to an ordonnance of October 1st, 1599, have to be registered at the Greffe within twenty-four hours, on penalty of being “convict en sa clameur,” and, should no proceedings be taken within a year of the clameur, it is considered to have lapsed. An order of Queen Elizabeth relative to Guernsey, given at Richmond, October 9th, 1580, decides that “yt shall not be lawfull to appeale in anie cause criminell, or of correction, nor from the execution of anie order taken in their Courte of Chief Pleas, nor in cries of Haro.”[338] One of the most important occasions on which this prerogative was used happened in the year 1850, when it was in contemplation to demolish the ancient fortifications of Castle Cornet, but the late Mr. Martin F. Tupper, who was then on a visit to Guernsey, had recourse to this form of appeal, and saved the oldest parts of the fortress from demolition. An extraordinary instance of a “Clameur” took place in the Church of Sark on the 14th of December, 1755. A great dispute had arisen between Dame Elizabeth Etienne, widow of Mr. Daniel Le Pelley, Seigneur of Sark, and the ecclesiastical authorities of Guernsey, as to in whose gift was the living of the Church of Sark. She appointed a Mr. Jean FÉvot to the Church, and when Mr. Pierre Levrier, who had been appointed by the Dean of Guernsey to this post, arrived in Sark to perform the service, he found Mr. FÉvot in the pulpit. He then and there, in the words of various scandalized eye-witnesses, “interjetta une Clameur de Haro, environ les deux heures d’aprÈs-midi, dans le tems qu’il avoit commencÉ À lire le service Divin.”[339] This of course led to many disputes, and for over a year Dame Le Pelley locked up the Church of Sark, and allowed no one to enter it. Finally, after much litigation, and threats of major excommunication from the Guernsey Ecclesiastical Court, the Bishop of Winchester intervened, Pierre Levrier was forcibly ejected from the island, and, in 1757, Mr. Cayeux Deschamps was given the living. Four cases of “Clameurs” were registered between the years 1880-90, and an instance occurred as recently as 1902. There has been much controversy as to the origin of the word “Haro.” Terrien, (CoutÛme de Normandie, Edition 1684, p. 104), ascribes it to Rollo, Duke of Normandy, Ha-Ro, and says “La seule prononciation de son nom, mÊme aprÈs tant de siÈcles a cette vertu, qu’elle engage ceux contre lesquels on s’en sert À cesser leurs entreprises et atenter rien au-de-lÀ.” Laurence Carey, in his essay on the Laws and Customs of the Island, and all the other old writers say likewise, but modern philologists, such as Le HÉricher and George MÉtivier have disputed this theory, and have resolved the word “Haro” into a “cri de charge,” which has survived as such in the English “Hurrah.” Froissart employs it frequently as the sound of combat: “Le Haro commenÇa À monter,” and, in the description of the battle of Bouvines, won from the Germans and English in 1214, by Guillaume Guiart, who died in 1306 we find:— “La vois de nuls n’i est oÏe Fors des heraux qui harou crient, Et par le champ se crucefient Harou, dient-ils, quel mortaille! Quelle occision! quelle bataille!” [340] Decorative floral chapter footer
Decorative floral chapter header APPENDIX A. Ghosts. Referred to on page 288. The Ghost of Mr. Blondel. At “Les Mourains” we have seen that the ghost was “laid” by the means of the clergy of the parish, (see page 288) and it is evident by the following stories that the laying of spirits frequently formed part of the duties of the clergy in Guernsey in the last century. The house Colonel Le Pelley now inhabits at St. Peter-in-the-Wood, was formerly owned by an old Mr. Blondel, who, on his death bed, gave instructions to Mr. Thomas Brock (then Rector of the parish and grandfather of the present Rector, Mr. H. Walter Brock), to toll the big bell to announce his decease. This was not done, but Mr. Blondel’s spirit determined to show that promises to the dying were not to be trifled with! All the parish of St. Pierre-du-Bois were ready to affirm that the ghost was to be seen climbing up the Church tower; and in the Rectory kitchen the china on the dresser would make a clattering noise and finally be swept by the unseen hands on to the floor. Life at the Rectory became so unendurable under these circumstances that Mr. Brock finally decided to “lay” the ghost, and confine it to its own house. So he went to “Prospect Place,” as the house is now called, with twelve others of the local clergy. They shut every door and window, and blocked up every crevice, key-hole, etc., through which the spirit might pass. They then prayed in every room, after which having driven the spirit out of each room in succession, they locked it up in a cupboard, with either the key of the Church door or a specially-made silver key (Miss Le Pelley could not find out which, some say one, and some another), but the ghost has not troubled the Brock family since. The old servants now living in the house firmly believe that the ghost still inhabits the cupboard, and affirm that its groans can still be heard.[341] [341] From Miss E. Le Pelley. The Old House at St. George. Judith Ozanne, an old woman, who is servant at the Le Pelleys’, tells the following story. Her uncle, an old Mr. Ozanne, remembered the last Mr. Guille who inhabited the original “St. George,” the old house which has been replaced by the modern building which is now known as “St. George.” This Mr. Guille left instructions that the old house was never to be pulled down, as a spirit had been shut up in one of the cupboards; but his son found the old house quite unsuitable for his bride to live in, so he pulled it down, and built the present house, and the consequence was that the poor homeless spirit was forced to wander about the garden. Judith’s uncle saw him often on moonlight nights, wandering among the trees around the pond. All the family saw him too, and decided that something had to be done. So they had a “conjuration” as they call a laying of the spirit, and tried to induce it to enter an underground cellar, and shut it down by means of a trap door. But Mr. Ozanne would never say whether or no they were successful. Judith Ozanne finishes the story by saying, “And I should like to know what would happen to Mr. Blondel’s spirit if this house were burnt down?”[342] Many of the old Guernsey “haunted houses” had their ghosts locked up in cupboards. Mrs. Le Poidevin, who in her youth had been an “ironer,” and had gone round from house to house ironing after the weekly washing at home had taken place, related that the famous haunted house at the Tour Beauregard was also in possession of a ghost locked up in a cupboard, a cupboard whose doors, in spite of many efforts, would not open, and from which the most fearful groans and dismal wailings were heard to arise. Mrs. Le Poidevin also used to go as ironer to the old house at the top of Smith Street, now pulled down, belonging, to the de Jersey family. In this house also was a ghost locked up in a cupboard, and Mrs. de Jersey, a very strong minded old lady,—in defiance of superstition—insisted on having this cupboard door forced open, and the ghost escaped! After that the house was rendered almost uninhabitable by the frightful noises that were heard all over it. No one could get any sleep, and not a servant could be found to stay in the house. So finally Mrs. de Jersey decided to have the clergy called in, and one of the maids described to Mrs. Le Poidevin the ceremonies that ensued. She said that every outer door was locked, all the crevices between the window sashes were wedged up, and every keyhole was plugged up. Then the minister of St. James’ and some of the other clergy prayed in every room, and she thought they read something about “casting out devils.” Finally the ghost was locked up with the key of the Church door.[343] The Ghosts of La Petite Porte. La Petite Porte is the sandy bay immediately underneath Jerbourg. Tradition derives its name “the little door” from an incident which is said to have occurred in 1338. In those days the French had made one of their periodical inroads on the island, and were in possession of its principal fortresses. Eighty-seven men of St. Martin’s parish, headed by l’honorable “Capitaine Jean de la Marche,”[344] attempted to dislodge them, but were defeated at Mare-Madoc, in the Hubits, and fled down to La Petite Porte, where they embarked for Jersey, and founded a colony at St. Ouen’s. An old Jersey manuscript goes on to say that Charles II., during his sojourn in Jersey, was so touched by the recital of the bravery and fidelity of these men, that he granted to the “South” Regiment of Militia, the old “Regiment Bleu,” a special “aiguillette d’argent.” Later authorities disprove this, on the grounds that there were not, at this epoch, either regiments or uniforms, and that the “royal blue facings and silver lace” quoted as “being borne at present by the South Regiment of Militia” did not exist two centuries ago! But among the old country people, to the present day, the bay known as “Moulin Huet” is invariably called “Vier Port” (old harbour), and if one mentions “Moulin Huet Bay” they will tell you that the name “Moulin Huet” only applies to the old mill, (now destroyed, and the site turned into a picnic house), and that it was “Les Anglais” who transferred the name of the mill to the bay just below, so that “La Petite Porte,” being just the other side of the bay, might easily have been originally “Petit Port”—(Little Harbour.) Bounded by the “Tas de Pois,” the most magnificent rocks in the Channel Islands, it is noted for its beauty, and, from its long expanse of sand, is the best place for sand-eeling. But about the beginning of last century no sand-eelers dared approach this spot by night. Screams, shrieks, and groans were heard there, night after night, and finally it was shunned after dark by the whole island. There was no difficulty in the people’s minds in accounting for these sounds. Two such awful tragedies were connected with this bay and its environs that it was an “embarras de richesse” to decide which of the ghosts of the two men who had been murdered in this vicinity it could be! The first of these stories has already been published in a little book, now out of print, called Anglo-Norman Legends or Tales of the Channel Islands, N.D., under the title of “John Andrew Gordier,” and has also been taken as the foundation of “Rachel Mauger, a Guernsey Tragedy,” published some years ago in Clarke’s Guernsey Magazine, where also, in the number for May, 1883, the same story is given in a condensed form, as taken from a newspaper cutting, and is preceded by the following note, signed “J. Y. “The following striking narrative, relating to the origin of a drama celebrated in its day (the tragedy of “Julia”), became known to the writer through an old newspaper cutting preserved in a family scrap book. The newspaper of which we speak must be at least fifty years old (in 1883), and it related events which were then long past.” A book called The Locket, by Mrs. Alfred Marks is based on the same tradition. Though these events must have happened nearly two hundred years ago, there are still some recollections of them lingering in the minds of the very old people, who preface them by saying “J’ai ouÏ dire À ma gran’mÈre!” The story runs thus:—About the end of the seventeenth century there was an extremely beautiful girl, living at the Varclin, in St. Martin’s parish, called Rachel Mauger. The Maugers were of a good old Guernsey family, and were, in those days, extremely well-to-do. She was engaged to John Andrew Gordier, a native of Jersey, though of French extraction. One day he sent her word that he was going to sail over from Jersey to see her, and intended landing at La Petite Porte, which was the nearest place to her house. She started to go to meet him. But he never appeared, and she had to return home, fearing that some accident had happened to him. What really had happened was this: There was a wealthy merchant, in St. Peter Port, named Gaillard, who had long wished to marry Rachel; he had formerly been her father’s clerk, so they had been much thrown together, but she did not reciprocate his affection. The day Mr. Gordier sailed over to Guernsey, Gaillard was down in the bay of La Petite Porte, having previously been refused admission to the Mauger’s house, on the ground that Mr. Gordier was expected, and they were all busy preparing for his reception. Brooding over his wrongs, he looked up, and saw his rival just on the point of landing. Mad with jealousy he waited behind the rocks till he saw him preparing to ascend the winding path which leads to the top of the cliff, then he rushed out, and stabbed him twice in the back with the knife he always carried, and, doubling him up, thrust the body into a cave close by with a particularly small entrance. The cave is still pointed out, and is on the western side of the bay, just below the path, leading from La Petite Porte to Moulin Huet. Before leaving the body, Gaillard searched it, and abstracted a peculiarly-shaped locket from one of the pockets, which Gordier was bringing as a present to his fiancÉe. Of course the disappearance of Gordier led to a search, and his body being finally discovered in this cave by some boys, his murder was made manifest. His mother finally resolved to come over and visit her intended daughter-in-law, whom she found in a most depressed and excitable condition, and evidently dying of a broken heart. United to the shock of her lover’s death, she had been exposed to the incessant persecution of her relations, who were determined that she should marry Gaillard, and had insisted that she should accept the locket that he had stolen from Gordier’s corpse, and, with a refinement of malice, had pressed on her. So unstrung was the unfortunate Rachel that she did nothing but sink into one fainting fit after another on seeing Mrs. Gordier, and when the latter, struck with horror on seeing this jewel on her watch-chain, asked her how she had come into possession of a locket which had, she knew, been made specially for her in Jersey by her son’s orders, the unhappy girl turned deadly pale, and, murmuring the word “clerc,” fell in a dead faint to the ground. The final shock, and sudden conviction that they had been harbouring her lover’s murderer, being too much for her in her enfeebled condition, she died in a few moments. Mrs. Gordier misinterpreted the poor girl’s grief, and, thinking it proceeded from a guilty conscience, intimated that it evidently shewed that Rachel was an accomplice in the murder. Naturally the Maugers were most indignant at such an unworthy aspersion on their daughter, and, after a violent scene, asked her to prove her statements. She replied that the jewel their daughter was then wearing was one which was purchased by her son before leaving Jersey, and she proved the fact by touching a secret spring and shewing his portrait concealed in the locket. The Maugers, knowing that Gaillard had been the donor of this jewel, and connecting “clerc,” the last word Rachel’s lips had uttered, with him, as being her father’s clerk, immediately sent for him. On being confronted with the jewel, and asked to explain how it came into his possession, he replied that he had purchased it from a Jew, named Levi, who had for years paid periodical visits to the island as a pedlar. So Levi was then considered to be undoubtedly guilty, and was taken into custody, but then, remorse, the fear of public shame, and also the conviction that, Rachel being dead nothing made life worth living, so wrought on the miserable Gaillard, that the morning of the day on which Levi was to be brought before the Royal Court, he was found dead, stabbed by his own hand. A letter was found on the table in his room confessing his guilt and reading thus: “None but those who have experienced the furious impulse of ungovernable love will pardon the crime which I have committed, in order to obtain the incomparable object by whom my passions were inflamed. But, Thou, O Father of Mercies! who implanted in my soul these strong desires, wilt forgive one rash attempt to accomplish my determined purpose, in opposition, as it should seem, to thy Almighty Providence.”[345] Le Seigneur de DamÈque. This second story is not at all well known, except among some of the very old people at St. Martin’s. I will not mention the names of the murderers, as descendants of the family still survive, and are among the most respected of the country people. At the end of the eighteenth century many French noblemen fled over here, to escape the terrors of the French revolution. Among them was a Seigneur de DamÈque. (I have no idea whether or not whether this is the correct spelling of his name, but it represents the pronunciation of the people). He came out to St. Martin’s parish, and took a house at Le Hurel, just above Le Vallon. He was very proud and reserved, made no friends, and was always seen going for long solitary walks, or pacing down “Les Olivettes,” (the old name for what is now known as “the water lane”) or underneath “Les Rochers,” the cliffs on which the Manor House of Blanchelande now stands, and resting by the “douÏt” where the pond at Le Vallon now is, but which, in those days, was public property. He was always very richly dressed, and was supposed to have hidden hoards of wealth, as well as to carry large sums of money on his person. There were two or three brothers who lived together in a house near Le Varclin, who, tempted by his supposed riches, and thinking that his isolation would prevent his disappearance being noticed or enquiries being made, decided on following him on one of his solitary rambles and on murdering him. These brothers had always borne a bad reputation; they gambled and drank, and were the “vauriens” of an otherwise respectable family. So, one evening, they followed him, as, passing above La Petite Porte, he entered into the narrow lane, overgrown with trees and thorn bushes, which leads to Jerbourg Point. There they closed upon him, and, being two or three to one, murdered him, and, after having robbed the body of his watch, rings, etc., buried the corpse under some of the heaps of stones which lie on the waste lands at the top of the cliff. Some wonder was caused at Le Hurel when he failed to appear, but the rumour was started that he had been seen sailing away in a little fishing boat he used to hire for the season, from Bec du Nez, and which the murderers had had the forethought to scuttle and sink. The country people thought he had returned to his native land, and all interest in the matter dropped. Haunted Lane near Jerbourg.
But there was one man to whom M. de DamÈque’s disappearance meant much. In Paris he had left a dear friend, a Dr. Le Harrier. These two men wrote to each other regularly, and when M. de DamÈque’s letters suddenly ceased, letters came to Le Hurel from this doctor, asking for explanations—letters which were never answered. Among M. de DamÈque’s jewellery was a beautiful and most uncommon watch, with either his coronet and monogram or his coronet and arms displayed on the case. One day, some years after his disappearance, Dr. Le Harrier, walking through the streets of Paris, saw this unmistakable watch hanging in a jeweller’s shop. He went in and asked the man how it had got into his possession, and the man told him it had been brought by some men from Guernsey, who had been trying to sell it in England, Holland, and Belgium, and finally had left it with him to dispose of. Dr. Le Harrier bought the watch, and, taking the men’s address, started at once for Guernsey. When he arrived he made enquiries, and, finding that these men bore a bad reputation, took some constables with him and went to the house. There they found them sodden with drink, and, haunted by fear and remorse when they saw the watch, they sank down on their knees and confessed everything, and were led off then and there to prison. The next thing to be done was to disinter the bones of the murdered man and give them Christian burial. Heavily handcuffed the brothers were taken to the spot, accompanied by various members of the clergy, a doctor, who had to certify that every bone was there, (this is a point much dwelt upon by every teller of the story), Dr. Le Harrier, and all the people of St. Martin’s. Then the bones, being found, were placed in a coffin, and reverently buried in St. Martin’s churchyard. After the last spadeful of earth had been put in the grave, and while handcuffed prisoners and all the bystanders were still present, an old St. Martin’s man, named Pierre Jehan, got up and made the following speech, which I have written down word for word as the people still tell it. “Autrefois quand on enterrait des dÉpouilles mortelles on y envoyait des rameaux et des bouquets de fleurs. Aujourd’hui on ne voit rien de tout Ça.” “Autrefois on aurait donnÉ un quartier de froment en fonds d’hÉritage pour porter le nom de ——. Aujourd’hui on en donnera quatre pour ne le pas porter.” (“Formerly when burying a corpse one sent branches of trees and bouquets of flowers. To-day there is nothing of that.” “Formerly one would have given a quarter of wheat rent to bear the name of ——. To-day one would give four not to bear it.”) The shock and the shame were such that the brothers were seized by what the people call “a stroke,” and to the relief of their relations died in prison before being brought for trial. That the ghosts of these two murdered men should revisit the scenes of the crime was only to be expected, but finally, when La Petite Porte was shut to sand-eelers by reason of “ces cris terribles,” some of the neighbours and fishermen began to wonder whether nothing could be done to lay these unquiet spirits and free the bay from its supernatural visitants. There was a man called Pierre Thoume, who lived at Les Blanches, most popular in the parish, being ready to go everywhere and join in everything, though he was emphatically a “bon ChrÉtien.” He was a distant relative of the murderers of M. de DamÈque, and, having heard these noises at various times, it was borne in upon him that perhaps if he could find out what the ghost wanted, he could fulfil its wishes, and so let it rest in peace. He even prayed for guidance, and more and more he felt it to be his duty to go and meet the ghost face to face. At first some other men said they would join him, but when the appointed night came their spirits failed them, and no one arrived at the rendezvous. Undaunted, and armed only with his Bible, Mr. Thoume sallied forth alone at midnight. I think it is difficult to realise what moral and physical courage it must have involved to go forth alone to encounter the supernatural, fully persuaded of its unearthly character. Early in the morning he returned to his home, looking very white, and with a curiously set expression on his face. His wife and daughters, who had waited up for him, rushed at him to know what had happened, but he said, “You must never ask me what has happened, what I have seen, what I have done. I have sworn to keep it a secret, and as a secret it will die with me, but this I can tell you, you may go to La Petite Porte at any hour of the day or night, and never again shall any ghost haunt it, or noise or scream be heard.” And to this day the noises have utterly ceased. Pierre Thoume kept his vow, though his family, friends, and neighbours, implored him time after time, even on his death bed, to tell them what he had seen. His invariable reply was, “I have given my word, and I will not break it.”[346] Les CÂches. There are two houses called Les CÂches in St. Martin’s parish, situated one behind the other in the district so called, between the blacksmith’s forge at St. Martin’s and the Forest Road. Tradition says that they all formed part of one property, which extended as far as St. Martin’s Church, and was a nunnery, the nuns having a private lane of their own by which they could go to the church without the fear of meeting any men en route. There is a pond situated to the left of a long avenue which now leads to the front door of one of the houses, and for years it was believed that on a certain night of the year, a woman’s figure, dressed in grey, is seen walking up and down the avenue, weeping and wringing her hands, and then rushing to the pond. The story the people tell to account for this appearance is, that one of the nuns was discovered at the dead of night trying to drown her child and herself in the pond. They were rescued, but only for a worse fate, for the unfortunate woman and child were bricked up in a cupboard which is now situated in one of the outhouses, but is supposed to have been the old refectory. The people also tell in confirmation of this story that the night the ghost is seen this cupboard door flies open of itself though it is quite impossible to force it open at any other time. It is possible that if this was an ecclesiastical establishment, it was one of those alien priories of which Sir Edgar MacCulloch says:— “After the loss of Normandy the inconvenience of having so many valuable possessions in the hands of the enemy, led to the suppression of these priories, and in these islands, whenever there was war between England and France, alien ecclesiastics were compelled to leave.” So probably the old conventual buildings, if there were any, were allowed to fall into ruins, and the land passed into the hands of the Patrys, and thence, through the marriage of Marguerite Patrys and Pierre Bonamy, into the possession of the Bonamys, who owned it for many centuries. There is an old document which tells the story of how the Bonamys first came to Guernsey. “On their return from the Holy Land, whither they had accompanied the King of France, two brothers were driven by a violent storm, and thrown into a little bay, where their bark went to pieces. In gratitude for their preservation they made a vow to remain where Providence had placed them. One, a priest, founded a church, and the other married and founded the Bonamy family.” In 1495, John Bonamy, son of Pierre and Marguerite Patrys, was “Procureur du Roi” in Guernsey, and his old MS. memorandum book still survives, in which he describes a pilgrimage to Rome he made in 1504, through France and Italy. The following extracts relative to building Les CÂches have been deciphered from the old crabbed manuscript by Colonel J. H. Carteret Carey:— 1468.—Mo des gans quy mont aydy a caryer la pere … et des grant roquez … de le Cluse Luet—premez Gylome robert j jor &c. 1498.—Mo que je marchande de Colas Fyquet por ma meson, le but deverz le nort … par la some de viij escus.… Il comencest le xviijeme jor du moys de Maye—le Mardyt. 1504.—Mo que Gylome le Corvar et Colin Savage comancer acovyr ma grange landeman du jor Saint Appolyne. Acevest le jor Saint Aubin lan vc quatre, which may be translated:— (1468.—Memo of the people who helped me to quarry the stone … and the big rocks … of “l’Ecluse Luet” [the Ecluse was the mill-dam in connection with the old watermill which gave its name to Moulin Huet Bay. It was situated in the hollow at the bottom of the water-lane of “Les Olivettes,” just above the old Mill House] first William Robert, one day, &c.) (1498.—Memo. That I bargain with Colas Fyquet about my house, the end (to be) towards the north … for the sum of eight escus. They began the 18th of May—on Tuesday.) (1504.—Memo. That William Le Corvar (&) Colin Savage, began to cover my barn the day following the day of Saint Appolyne [Feb. 9,] finished the day of St. Aubin [March 1,] 1504.) In the parish of St. Martin’s they still tell a story of the old days when the Bonamys yet occupied Les CÂches. Years and years ago, there was an old Helier Bonamy,[347] who lived at the CÂches. He was one of the richest men in Guernsey, and kept, as well as cows and horses, a large flock of sheep, there being much demand for wool in those days on account of the quantity of jerseys, stockings, &c., knitted over here. One night he and his daughter went to a ball in the town. Tradition even goes so far as to say that Miss Bonamy was dressed in white brocade. Before starting, Helier Bonamy summoned his herdsmen, and told them to keep a sharp look out after his sheep, for that there were many lawless men about. Helier and his daughter[348] walked home that night earlier than was expected. As they turned into the avenue, between high hedges and forest trees, they heard the bleatings of sheep in pain. “Écoute donc, ce sont mes berbis” (Listen, those are my sheep), said Helier, and drew his daughter under the hedge to listen. Peeping through the bushes they saw his herdsman and farm labourers calling each other by name, drinking, talking and laughing, and, while cutting the throats of the defenceless sheep, chanting in chorus:— “Rasons! rasons! les berbis Du grand Bonamy, S’il Était ichin d’vÀnt, Nou l’i en feraÏt autant!” (Shear! shear! the sheep, Of the great Bonamy, Were he here before us, We would do as much to him). They crept up the avenue unobserved to the house, for Helier was afraid to confront all these men who had evidently been drinking heavily, alone and unarmed. The next day his herdsman came to him with a long face, and said that robbers had broken into the sheepfold in the night and killed all the sheep, and brought up the other men as witnesses. Mr. Bonamy said nothing, except that he would like all these men to accompany him down to the Court to there testify to the robbery. This they did, and when they got there and told their story, Mr. Bonamy and his daughter then turned round and denounced them. They were taken into custody, and hanged shortly afterwards at St. Andrew’s.[349] There are several stories illustrating the re-appearance of people whose dying wishes had been disregarded by their survivors, and also of people wishing to tell their heirs where their treasure had been hid. At the King’s Mills, a Mrs. Marquand died, and left instructions with her husband that her clothes were to be given to her sister Judith. After her death the widower did not do it, so every night her ghost came and knocked at her husband’s door. One night she rapped so loudly that all the neighbours opened their windows, and heard her say:— “Jean, combien de temps que tu me feras donc souffrir, donne donc mes hardes À ma soeur Judi.” (John, how much longer wilt thou make me suffer, give then my clothes to my sister Judy). He gave the clothes the next day, and the spirit returned no more.[350] Almost the same story is told of a Mrs. Guille, who gave orders that after her death a certain amount of clothes were to be bought and yearly distributed amongst the poor. This her husband neglected to comply with, so Mrs. Guille visited him one night, and told him that she would do so every night until the clothes were given. Mr. Guille hurriedly bought and distributed the clothes, and continued to do so yearly until he died.[351] Miss Le Pelley also contributes the following ghost stories which are told at St. Pierre-du-Bois:— “About the beginning of the century a man went to GaspÉ (which the narrator said was Newfoundland, but is really on the mainland). While there, his father died suddenly, and the son came back to Guernsey to work the farm. One night his father appeared to him and told him that he would find “une petite houlette” (a little mug) on the barn wall, with something of value in it. Next morning the son went to look, and found a mug full of five franc pieces.” “A widow in Little Sark had sold her sheep advantageously and hidden the money in the “poÛtre” (the large central rafter which runs along the ceiling of the kitchen). Quite suddenly she died. Whenever her son walked about in Little Sark he met his mother, which made him feel very frightened, so one day he made his brother come with him, and together they met her, and plucked up courage enough to say:—‘In the name of the Great God what ails you,’ so then, having been spoken to first, she could tell them where her hoard of treasure was, and then disappeared, and was never seen again.” The whole country-side is full of shreds of ghost stories and beliefs; many of these were probably due to, and encouraged by, the smugglers of olden days. For instance a funeral procession was supposed to issue from an old lane south of Le Hurel—now blocked up—and no St. Martin’s man or woman would dare pass the place at night. But smugglers, creeping along between the overhanging hedges, with kegs and bundles on their shoulders, would have had just the same effect, especially to people who would have been far too frightened at an unexpected nocturnal appearance to stop and investigate the matter. At the corner between Les Maindonneaux and the Hermitage, a tall figure was said to appear, and hover round the spot. When the road was widened and the wall round the Hermitage was built, a stone coffin was found full of very large bones. These bones were taken to the churchyard, and the burial service read over them, and since then no ghost has been seen. Then, a little further on, around the pond of Sausmarez Manor, was seen an old man, dressed in a long grey coat, and a grey felt plumed hat. This is supposed by the people to be old Mr. Matthew de Sausmarez—“Le Grand Matthieu” as he is called,—but why he is supposed to return is unknown. Even now-a-days, in quite modern most unghostly-looking houses, you hear tales of little old women, former inhabitants, being seen. In another house, where a suicide is known to have occurred, soft finger knocks are heard against the walls of one of the rooms, as of some one shut up in the room and seeking release; the door is opened, and nothing is to be seen. And in St. Martin’s the ghost of a woman, who only died a few years ago, is said to haunt the garden of the house in which she lived. Her daughter saw the appearance and was picked up in a dead faint from fright, but then the woman was supposed by all the neighbours to have been a witch, and, of course, as they say, the spirit of “une sorciÈre” could not rest quiet in consecrated ground. I will close this chapter on ghosts with a story which is firmly believed and told by many of the country people. For obvious reasons I suppress all names. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, a very rich widower had a house in Smith Street. His first wife had left many small children, to whom in her lifetime she had been devoted, and spent many hours of her day in the nursery. The widower, after a short interval, married again, a young, pretty, and frivolous girl, who utterly neglected her step-children. Then the spirit of his first wife came back for a short time every morning, and washed and dressed them, the curtains of their beds were found pushed back in the mornings, and her silk dress was heard rustling up the stairs, and the children used to say “Mamma dressed us.”[352] A man residing on the north-west coast had a brother who was drowned whilst out fishing. This man, wishing to do his best for his brother’s family, was sore perplexed some years afterwards, as the family ran great risk of losing their property, owing to the absence of a title deed which he knew to have existed, but which unfortunately had not been registered. One day, when out fishing, he was greatly surprised to see his brother’s boat coming full sail close to him and just rounding to, with his brother at the tiller, and exclaimed:—“La! te v’lo et ta femme qu’est r’mariaÏe!” (Lo! there you are and your wife married again!) The answer he received was:—“Le papier que tu trache est dans un taÏ endret sus la poutre,” (the paper you are looking for is in such a room, on the beam). Immediately everything disappeared. Arrived ashore, he searched in the place indicated and found the missing document.[353] Decorative floral chapter footer
Decorative floral chapter header APPENDIX B. Witchcraft. Referred to on page 386. Marie Pipet. There are many stories still told and firmly believed by the country people, of Marie Pipet, who was a noted “sorciÈre“ of the early part of the nineteenth century. She came of a race of witches and wizards, thus described in Redstone’s Guernsey and Jersey Guide, by Louisa Lane Clarke, (Second Edition, 1844), p. 86. “On the road past St. Andrew’s Church, one of the lanes to the right leads to the village called “Le Hurel,”[354] a collection of mere huts; rude, dirty looking cottages, but remarkable from the people who tenant it. They are a kind of half gipsy, half beggar race, bearing the name of Pipet; and kept totally distinct from every other family, because no person would intermarry with them upon any consideration. Their appearance and features are quite unlike the rest of the Guernsey peasantry, who are extremely good-looking, clean, and active; whereas those Pipets may be found basking in the sun, with anything but a prepossessing exterior. The country people consider them as wizards and witches, and, at certain times of the year, about Christmas, when they are privileged to go round and beg for their NoËl, or “irviÈres” (New Year’s gifts), no one likes to send them away empty handed for fear of the consequences to themselves, their cattle, or their children.” Even to this day the country people have a great dread of “Les Pipiaux.”[355] My father’s old nurse, Margaret Mauger, told me that the cook at old Mr. Fred Mansell’s, of the Vauxbelets, (about the year 1850), was a great friend of hers, and told her that one day Marie Pipet came into the Vauxbelets kitchen, and demanded some favour which was refused. “Tu t’en repentiras,” she said, and went out of the door and sat on the adjoining hedge to await developments. Meanwhile the sirloin which was being cooked for Mr. Mansell’s dinner refused to be cooked! For hours she turned it round and round on the jack in front of the fire. The heat had apparently no effect on it, and it was as raw as when she first put it there. Finally, in despair, the cook went to her master, and told him what had happened. So he sent for Marie Pipet, and told her if she did not disenchant his dinner she would spend the night in gaol, (he was a Jurat of the Royal Court). With a curtsey she replied that if he would go into his kitchen he would find his sirloin ready for eating, and, at that moment, the cook declared, it suddenly turned brown! There are many stories told of Marie Pipet in St. Pierre-du-Bois. One old woman, Judith Ozanne, told Miss Le Pelley that Marie Pipet, “la sorciÈre,” once asked her grandmother, old Mrs. Ozanne, for some milk. This was refused her, so she prevented the cows from eating, and they were all pining away. So then her grandfather took his pitchfork, and, going straight to the witch, compelled her, under the fear of corporal punishment, to undo the spell. Judith Ozanne also tells the following story of Marie Pipet, which she affirms is true. One day Marie took her corn to the Grands Moulins (the King’s Mills) to be ground. The two young men who were in charge of the mill said “Oh dear no, they were not going to grind her corn,” and so she returned home, but the mill-stones turned round and round and round so quickly that no corn would grind, and nothing would stop them, so they had to call back Marie Pipet and promise to grind her corn for her, and, as soon as her corn was put in, the millstones worked as usual. Mr. MÉtivier gives a story of Marie Pipet which was current in his day, in his Souvenirs Historiques de Guernesey. “The incomparable Marie, so dreaded by the millers of the King’s Mills, because she often amused herself by unhinging our mills, rests in peace on the good side (au bon cÔtÉ) of the Castel churchyard.[356] It is firmly believed, and frequently told, how she, and other members of her family, could metamorphose themselves as “cahouettes”—red-legged choughs. One day, in the form of one of these birds, she was discovered in a cow stable, and run through the thigh by the proprietor of the stable, with his pitchfork. The bird managed to escape, but the woman Marie Pipet was obliged to keep her bed for six months with a terrible and mysterious wound in her leg, by which of course the metamorphosis was proved.”[357] Possibly a bird of such evil omen, having red legs, accounts for the fact that to this day our country people tell you that all witches who go to dance at the Catioroc wear red stockings.[358] All witches are supposed to be endowed with the faculty of keeping the person they have bewitched walking—walking, for hours perhaps, in a circle, to which they cannot find a clue. Marie Pipet, one day being offended with a man, made him walk backwards and forwards one whole night between the Vauxbelets and St. Andrew’s Church.[359] [354] Hure, Hurel, and Huret, all frequently met with as place-names in Guernsey, mean “rocky ground.”—MÉtivier’s Dictionnaire. The Wizard of Sark. About the end of the eighteenth century there lived in Sark a very notorious wizard called Pierre de Carteret. An old Sark woman called Betsy Hamon, now Mrs. de Garis, has given Miss Le Pelley, whose servant she is, the following particulars concerning him:— Pierre de Carteret, called “le vieux diable,” lived in Sark. He always worked at night, and when the fishermen passed by his house at night they heard him talking to the little devils who worked for him. They could not understand, for it was the devil’s language they talked. He built a boat in a barn in one morning, and the Sark people were amazed to see it launched in the Creux harbour. This was Black Art, for the boat was too large to go out of the door, and also his house was not quite close to the sea. He was very rich, partly owing to his having no expenses, as he had no workmen to pay, everything being done for him by these little devils, and partly from his first wife, whom he courted in France. Pierre went over to France alone, in a small open boat. The girl he married, who was herself a lady, thought he was of gentle blood. After he married her he was most cruel, and spoilt all her furniture. For instance, her parlour was mirrored from ceiling to floor, and he brought her horses up into the room, and the poor things became excited when they saw other horses, and kicked the looking-glasses and broke all the other furniture. This wife died of a broken heart, and for his second wife Pierre married a Sark girl, little more than a child. If Pierre wanted his hedges repaired he simply gave the order to his little helpers, and the next morning they were done. Pierre’s daughter—“la petite Betsy”—used to feed the cow at night in the churchyard, and she was seen returning home at daybreak with the cow, looking thoroughly well fed. Consequently nobody would buy butter or milk from him. When Pierre had nothing else to give his workers to do they used to forge money, and their hammers could be heard by the passers by.[360] Old Mrs. Le Messurier, in Sark, also confirmed a great many of these details in 1896. She said he, Pierre de Carteret, was well known to be a famous sorcerer. He had pictures of the Devil on his walls, and little images of Satan were found in his house after his death, and promptly burnt by the incomers. He could build a boat, alter a loft, or build a wall in a single night, because he had “des esprits malins” to help him. He was an excessively bad man and used to smuggle ball and ammunition to France, to help the French against the English in the war. The English found him out and came over with bayonets to take him, but he hid down his well, and could not be found. Out at St. Pierre-du-Bois they still tell the tale of a Frenchman, who was a “sorcier,” and in league with the Devil. One day he entered a farm kitchen, where he found all the young people playing a game, in which they used a number of doubles, placed in a jam pot, for counters. He said “I can turn all those doubles into mice.” They did not believe him, so he took the pot, shook it, and turned it upside down on the table. Then he turned to one of the girls standing by and said “Now, take up that pot.” She did so, and numbers of mice ran out of it, all over the table, with their tails cocked up! Of the same man another story is told. One morning he wanted some of his neighbours to play cards with him, but they said they could not spare the time, for they must weed their parsnips. He replied—“If you will come, your parsnips shall be weeded by dinner time.” So they played, but one man looked up, and saw through the window numbers and numbers of little demons weeding very quickly, and by mid-day the work was done.[361] Mr. J. Linwood Pitts has also collected two stories bearing on the subject of the transformation of witches, both of which were related to him in perfect good faith by reliable witnesses. Many years ago a Guernsey gentleman went over to Sark. While sitting on the cliffs above the Havre Gosselin he noticed a flock of birds, principally wild duck, circling round and round. He fired off his musket, but did not succeed in hitting any of them, or even, much to his astonishment, in frightening them away. He thought there must be something mysterious about them, as wild duck are generally such shy birds, so he consulted a noted wizard, who told him that if he loaded his musket with a piece of silver having a cross on it it would take effect on any transformed witch. So he went over to Sark again with this silver bullet, and on returning to the Havre Gosselin again saw the birds. He picked out one, which seemed the finest of the flock, and apparently their leader. On firing at it he succeeded in winging it, though it disappeared, and he thought it had escaped. That evening, on the return boat to Guernsey, a girl on board, who used to pay almost daily visits to Sark, and about whom there were many mysterious reports, appeared with a bad wound in her hand, about which she would vouchsafe no explanation, but looking very white and frightened. The man identified her in his own mind as the mysterious bird, but did not speak about the affair till long after. The Witch of Alderney. A very respectable Alderney man used to tell old Mr. Barbenson, Wesleyan minister, about a noted Alderney witch. He declared that one night, passing by her cottage, he looked in, and saw a blue flame blazing up, and the witch dancing in the middle of it, surrounded by little devils, also dancing. “But how do you know that they were devils?” Mr. Barbenson asked:—“Because they were just like the pictures of Apollyon in my old Pilgrim’s Progress” was the reply. Another day, he said that, coming home from milking, he saw two large black birds revolving over his head. They both sank, almost at his feet, behind a small furze bush. Suddenly this woman rose up from behind the same bush, and ran away. He said the bush was made too small to hide the woman, and that it was quite impossible that she could have been concealed there. The man vouched for the truth of these stories. Mr. Pitts has also kindly allowed me to include the following extract from an old MS. which was communicated to him by Mr. E. P. Le Feuvre, a gentleman of Jersey extraction, residing in London, and connected with some of our Guernsey families. He also gave me the details of a remarkable local witch story, which he had found in a curious old MS. in the library of Dr. Witham, of Gordon Square, London. This MS., which is in two volumes folio, is entitled ‘Icones SacrÆ GallicanÆ et AnglicanÆ,’ and contains seventy biographies of ministers and clergymen. Among them is a sketch of the life of the Rev. Daniel Fautrat, of Guernsey, who was minister of the CÂtel parish; then of Torteval; and who afterwards, in 1633 (in the reign of Charles I.), succeeded Mr. de la Marche, at St. Peter-Port. This MS. is by a John Quick (born 1636—died 1706). There were two Fautrats, Helier and Daniel, father and son, and the biographer somewhat confuses them.[362] This story of the witch—who was burnt alive in the Bordage during Daniel Fautrat’s ministry at the Town Church—is a very curious one, and is a decided acquisition to the witch-lore of the island. It is as follows:— The Witch and the Raven. “After Monsieur [Daniel] Ffautrat had spent some years at Torteval and St. Andrew’s [Guernsey] he was, upon the death of Monsr. de la Marche, called to succeed him in ye Pastorall charge of St. Peters Port, [in 1634, in the reign of Charles I.] which is ye Towne of this Island, a fair Markett Towne and priviledged with ye Sessions of ye whole Island, where all caisses Civill and Criminall are finally tryed and determined in ye Playderoye,[363] by ye Bayliffe and Jurates. “During his ministry in this Towne, and about ye year 1640 [Charles I.] there happened a most remarkable event. Divines do say that it is a very rare thing for witches under Gospell Light to repent; and some have given this reason of their assertion—because they have committed that unpardonable sin against ye Holy Ghost. I cannot tell, but that this following story seems to confirm it. “There was a certain woman of this Island, above four-score years of age, who had been imprisoned, indicted and found guilty upon full evidence, of that abominable sin of witchcraft, and for it was condemned to death. She gave out confidently that she should not dye. However, she is carried from prison to ye appointed place of Execution to be burnt alive. “All the way, as she was going thither, a great Black Raven was seen hovering, and heard croaking after a dolefull manner over her head, till she came to ye stake. And now, while they be fastening ye chain, she begs of one of the Bystanders to give her a clew of thread, which having received, she fastens one end of it to her girdle, and taking ye other end, she flings it with her hand up into ye aire. The Raven, stooping down, catcheth at it with his Beak, and, mounting, carrys with him ye old witch from ye bottom of ye vale up into ye air. A young man of that Island, seeing her flying, being on ye top of ye hill, flings his Halbard so exactly betwixt her and ye raven, that it cuts ye thread asunder, and ye old witch is taken by him, but with many fearfull imprecations upon him, she vomityng out whole cartloads of curses against him. “However, she is once again carryed down to ye stake, and there accordingly executed, being burnt to ashes. But this poor officious wardour, whose name was Gosslin—ye holy wise providence of God so permitting it—felt a short time after, ye bitter consequences of her rage and dying curses; for he grew sick of an incurable disease, lying under most exquisite torments, of which he could never be relieved by any means or medicines, till having languished some years he was at last released from his sufferings by death.” “A girl was very ill, and the doctor did not know what was the matter with her, and, though he tried many remedies, none succeeded. One day a friend from the Vale, their native parish, called, and told the girl’s mother privately that the girl was bewitched, and that it was Mrs. —— who had done it, but that he could, with certain herbs, boiled in a particular manner, cause the witch to die, and then the girl would be well. The herbs were boiled, and a few days afterwards the witch died. During the funeral the girl jumped joyfully out of bed, quite well. This occurred within the last twenty years.” “One day, two boys, well on in their teens were chaffing an old witch, when suddenly she got very angry, threw dust in the air, and gabbled some words very quickly. The boys went home and found they were covered with vermin. They were near neighbours. One of the boys was so angry that he took his gun and went to the old witch and said, “Now, take away the vermin, or I shoot you,” and he levelled his gun at her. They parleyed a little, but the boy was so determined that the witch suddenly took fright, threw dust in the air, repeated some words, and the vermin disappeared. The other boy was covered for three days.”[364] The following story illustrating the widespread belief in these special powers of witches and wizards was told me by Mrs. Le Patourel, of St. Martin’s, who was told the story by the heroine, and who vouched for its authenticity. Mrs. Le Patourel’s mother-in-law was a Miss Mauger, of Saints, very handsome and very well-to-do. In fact, she and her sister went to school in England, which was considered very grand in those days. On her return from school she, her sister, and a friend, all went together to one of the country dances then frequently held in the various parishes. They all “held their heads very high,” dressed very well, and would only dance with those whom they considered the “best” partners. They were dressed on this occasion in silk dresses with large white lace collars and ruffles. At the beginning of the dance, as they were all sitting in a row together, some man came up and asked each of them in turn to dance, but they all considered him unworthy of the honour, and each refused to dance with him. As the last refused he turned on his heel muttering that they would repent their rudeness. A minute or two later one of the girls leaned forward and cried to her sister, “Oh, Marie, what have you got there?” and pointed to an insect crawling on her lace. Covered with confusion the girl killed it, only to see swarms more crawling after it. The other two girls then discovered to their horror that they were likewise covered with swarms of vermin, and covered with shame and confusion they all had hurriedly to leave the dance. For three days they all remained in this condition, and then the vermin disappeared as suddenly as they came. “The shame of it I can never forget,” Mrs. Le Patourel says was the way her informant always ended the story. “But,” said Mrs. Le Patourel, “that is nothing to what people can do who use the bad books.”[365] She thinks it is the French people who have brought these evil arts to Guernsey, and in proof of her theory told me this story which happened to one of her own friends, “who has told it to me many a time.” A Guernsey farmer living in St. Saviour’s parish had a French manservant, who slept on the premises. Suspicion being aroused by his haggard looks he was watched, and seen to leave the house every night and not come back till the morning. When asked where he had been and what he had been doing he returned evasive answers. So one night his master determined to follow him. He tracked him across some fields till he reached the Catioroc, and there he saw him lie down in the middle of a field, and then, in a few moments, a clear, bluish flame, like the flame of a candle, was seen issuing out of his mouth, and wandering off like a will-o’-the-wisp across the fields. When the astonished farmer went up to the body he found it lying rigid and lifeless, and no amount of shaking or calling could make any impression on it. After some time the flame was seen returning, and settled on the man’s mouth, and there disappeared, and shortly after the man sat up, looking dazed and tired, and absolutely declined to answer any of the questions with which his master greeted him. On pp. 305 to 351 (ante) are given various trials for witchcraft, which took place in Guernsey during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but Sir Edgar MacCulloch has not included the following, which I have found cited in an old MS. book compiled by Eleazar Le Marchant and Pierre Careye between the years 1728 and 1743. “Le 26me Juillet 1594, pardevant Louis de Vick, baillif, et Messrs. Nicholas Martin, sen., Guillaume de Beauvoir, AndrÉ Henry, Jean Andros, Jean de Sausmarez, Pierre de Beauvoir, Pierre Careye, William le Marchant, Nicholas Martin, jun., and FranÇois Allez, jurez. “Marie Martin, alias Salmon, fille Osmond, deubment atteinte et convaincue d’avoir usÉ d’Art de Sorcelerie, dont elle a empoisonnÉ, tourmentÉ et fait mourir jouxte sa propre et volontaire confession, Anne Careye[366], fem?e de John de Vick, la fem?e de Pierre Vodin, l’enfant de son oncle, Thomas Breton, l’enfant de John Briart, et deux enfants À Collas Nouell, et plusieurs bestes et autres maux, par elle commis par le dit art de Sorcelerie, comme apparoist par les procÉdures et enquestes sur ce passÉes. Est ajugÉe d’Être aujourd’huy brulÉe tant que son corps soit reduit en cendres, et ses biens, meubles, et hÉritages confisquÉes À la MajestÉ de la Royne, et est com?andÉ aux officiers de sa MajestÉ de voir la ditte execution Être faitte, ainsi qu’ils en voudront rÉpondre: et est aprÈs avoir en sur ceu l’advis et opinion de Henri de Beauvoir et John Effart, jurez.” There are many other instances, which, did space permit, I could mention, of belief in witches and wizards, extending even down to the present day. Animals dying from no visible cause, bread turned sour and uneatable, wounds mysteriously inflicted and incurable by physicians, but at once healed by crossing running water, a woman sent mad by smelling a harmless-looking bouquet of flowers, and so on. Many involving the names of persons still living. For underneath the veneer of civilisation and education found in the island are the same old beliefs and superstitions, as deeply cherished and ingrained as they were in the days of Queen Elizabeth—“Plus Ça change, plus c’est la mÊme chose.” In conclusion, I will give a few extracts respecting witchcraft from Elie Brevint’s note book. Elie Brevint was born in 1586, became minister of Sark in 1612, and died in 1674. “Quelques uns tesmoignent avoir veu une nuÉe se lever d’Erm, et de lÀ s’en aller sur le dongeon du Chasteau Cornet, oÙ un certain Maugier depuis bruslÉ pour sortilÉges estoit lors prisonnier, et ladite nuÉe s’estre dissipÉe et esvanouie sur le dit Chasteau, et que les bateaux pescheurs sur lesquels elle avoit passÉ avoyent cuide renversÉs.…” “Histoire d’un juge, qui ne croyoit point qu’il y eust de sorciers; il advint qu’il luy mourut soudain plusieurs vaches et brebis. Pourtant depuis cette perte, laquelle il imputoit À belles personnes, il fist rigoureuse justice de sorciers.…” “On dit que quelqu’un va À la graine de FeugÈre[367] quand par un livre de magie, ou par quelque autre voye il a communication avec le Diable, qui luy baille des poudres pour attenter et commettre diverses meschancetÉs, comme ouvrir serrures, violer femme et fille, &c., et faut bailler À ce m?re pour ces drogues une beste vive, comme chien ou chat, autrement il poursuit N. pour le faire mourir.” Decorative floral chapter footer
Decorative floral chapter header APPENDIX C. Charms and Spells. Referred to on page 421. A very old lady remembers, when a child, seeing some small bits of stick, shaped like slate-pencils, which old women wore sewn up in their stays as charms against witchcraft, on the homoeopathic principle, for they called them “Des Bouais de Helier Mouton,” Helier Mouton being himself a noted sorcerer. When I mentioned this to Sir Edgar he told me that a hundred years ago a man named Colin Haussin was put in the stocks for witchcraft and using “des petits bouais.” The following charms, etc., were collected for me in 1896-7, as still current in the parish of St. Pierre-du-Bois, by Miss E. Le Pelley. St. Thomas’ Day. If a girl wishes to know whom she will marry, on the eve of St. Thomas’ Day she puts her shoes in the form of a T under her bed, and says, in getting in:— “Saint Thomas, Saint Thomas, Le plus court, le plus bas, Fais moi voir en m’endormant Celui qui sera mon amant, Et le pays, et la contrÉe. OÙ il fait sa demeurÉe, Et le mÉtier qu’il sait faire. Devant moi qu’il vienne faire. Qu’il soit beau ou qu’il soit laid Tel qu’il sera je l’aimerai. Saint Thomas, fait moi la grÂce Que je le voie, que je l’embrasse.” “Ainsi soit il.” Midsummer Eve. A girl makes a dumb cake and puts it on a gridiron over the fire, and watches it in silence between twelve and one o’clock at night, during which time the girl’s future husband arrives and turns the cake. The narrator tried this, and when the cake was cooked on one side she heard someone walking clumsily upstairs. She was so frightened that she threw the cake away and got into her mother’s bed and held tight on to her! Years afterwards she married and often recognised her husband’s step as the one she heard that Midsummer Eve. She very much repented having done it, for she said it gives the poor man so much suffering being under the charm. Another charm for Midsummer Eve is this:—If a girl wishes to know the profession of her future husband she must melt some lead in an iron spoon between twelve and one o’clock at night, and pour it in a tumbler of cold water, and then watch the shapes it takes, such as a sword would denote that he would be a soldier, an anchor a sailor, etc., etc. Should she wish to know whether she is to be married or not, she must kill two pigeons, take out their hearts and roast them on skewers, also between twelve and one o’clock. If she is to be married she will see her intended, if she is not to be, some men will bring in a coffin. There must be perfect silence the whole time. It once happened that, as a girl was doing it, a coffin appeared. She screamed aloud, and the men came up to her and began to put her in the coffin. But fortunately for her she fainted, and was quiet, and the men with the coffin could go away as they came. Another charm against witchcraft is “vif argent” or quicksilver, but camphor, white salt, or heather, are all good. The charm must be put in a small cotton or linen bag, two inches long by one and a half inch wide, and attached by a ribbon round the neck, so that the charm rests above the heart. Red salt is used by witches in their incantations. The following written charm was lent me to copy by Mr. Guille, one of the founders of the Guille-AllÈs Library. It is in the form of a letter, and he told me, when he was a boy, a copy existed in almost all the old Guernsey farm houses.[368] I have transcribed it verbatim, with all its faults of spelling, punctuation, etc. L’Ettre Miraculeuse. “TrouvÉ depuis peut par un Etudians au pied d’un Crusifix Miraculeux de la Ville d’Arrase Ecritte en Lettres d’Or de la propre main de notre Sauveur et Redempteur Jesus Christ. Jesus—Marie. Les Dimanches vous ne ferez aucune oeuvre n’y travail sur peine d’Être maudits de Moy. Vous yrez À l’Eglise et priez Dieu qu’il vous fasse Misericorde et qu’il vous pardonne vos pÊchÉs. Je vous ai donnÉ six jours de la semaine pour travaille, et au septiÈme me servir et vous Reposer ayant entendu le Service divin. Vous ferez la charitÉ et vous donnerez de vos biens aux pauvres et vos champs seront fertille et vous serez remplis de Benediction. Au contraire si vous ne croyez À la presente l’Ettre Malediction viendra sur vous et sur vos Enfants, et vos Bestiaux seront maudits, je vous envoierez Guerre, Peste, et Famine et Douleur, et l’Angoisse de Coeur, et pour Marque de ma juste colÈre et dure Vengeance vous voirez signes prodigieux dans les Astres et Elements avec grands tremblements de Terre. Vous jeunerez cinq Vendredis en l’honneur des Cinq Plaies qui iai souffert pour vous sauver sur l’Arbre de la Croix. Vous donnerez cette l’Ettre sans aucun interÊt que celuy de ma Gloire. Ceux qui murmuront sur cette L’Ettre seront aussy maudits et confis; qui la tiendra dans la maison sans la publier sera aussy maudits au Jour Terrible Epouvantable du Jugement. Mais s’y vous gardez mes comandements et pareillement ceux de ma Sainte Eglise faisant une veritable penitence vous aurez la Vie Eternelle. Celuy qui la lira ou publiera ycelle est Écrite de Ma SacrÉ Main et dictes de Ma SacrÉe Bouche. S’il a com?is autant de PÊchÉs qu’il y a de Jours en l’an ils luy seront PardonnÉs Étant veritablement constrit, se confaisant, et satisfaisant au prochain. Sy on luy a fait tort. Sy vous ne croyez Pieusement en Ycelle Lettre je vous envoirez des Bestes Monstreuses qui dÈvoreront vous et votres Enfants. Bienheureux sera celuy qui prendra une copie de cette L’Ettre, qui la portera sur Soi, qui la lira, ou fera lire ou la gardera en sa Maison. Jamais aucun Feu Malin, on autre feu ni foudre ne la touchera. Et toutes Feme enceinte qui sur Elle qui la lira ou fera lire en Bonne intention etant en Travail d’Enfans sera incontinent heureusement dÉlivrÉ. Gardez mes comandements et ceux de Ma Sainte Église Catolique, et vous serez bien heureux. Avec Aprobation et Permission de Superieur de la Ville d’Arrase. Nous Vicaire Generale certifions avoir lut la presente Copie et nous n’avons rien vus qu’il ne soit Utile et Capable de faire rÉussir le PÊcheur dans la Voie du Salut.” “À Nicholas Guille.” I will conclude by giving an instance of “Folk Medicine” which was sent me the other day by one of the most prominent of our local physicians. “As you are interested in Guernsey Folk-Lore I send you the following:— A patient of mine at St. Pierre-du-Bois suffered from an affection of the brain which has led to total loss of sight. It was supposed by the wise people around her that she was suffering from “Mal Volant,” so a black fowl was waved three times round her head on three successive days, to the accompaniment of a prayer (? incantation). On the ninth day the fowl ought to have died and the woman recovered.—As this did not happen they concluded that their diagnosis was wrong! E. Laurie Robinson Melrose, Guernsey, December 11th, 1902.”
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