Chapter II · The Fairies’ Revenge (continued 2)

Here I would introduce two other Merionethshire tales, which I have received from Mr. E. S. Roberts, master of the Ỻandysilio School, near Ỻangoỻen. He has learnt them from one Abel Evans, who lives at present in the parish of Ỻandysilio: he is a native of the parish of Ỻandriỻo on the slopes of the Berwyn, and of a glen in the same, known as Cwm Pennant, so called from its being drained by the Pennant on its way to join the Dee. Now Cwm Pennant was the resort of fairies, or of a certain family of them, and the occurrence, related in the following tale, must have taken place no less than seventy years ago: it was well known to the late Mrs. Ellen Edwards of Ỻandriỻo:—

Ryw điwrnod aeth dau gyfaiỻ i hela dwfrgwn ar hyd lannau afon Pennant, a thra yn cyfeirio eu camrau tuagat yr afon gwelsant ryw greadur bychan ỻiwgoch yn rhedeg yn gyflym iawn ar draws un o’r dolyđ yn nghyfeiriad yr afon. Ymaeth a nhw ar ei ol. Gwelsant ei fod wedi myned ođitan wraiđ coeden yn ochr yr afon i ymguđio. Yr oeđ y đau đyn yn međwl mae dwfrgi ydoeđ, ond ar yr un pryd yn methu a deaỻ paham yr ymđanghosai i’w ỻygaid yn ỻiwgoch. Yr oeđynt yn dymuno ei đal yn fyw, ac ymaith yr aeth un o honynt i ffarmdy gerỻaw i ofyn am sach, yr hon a gafwyd, er mwyn rhoi y creadur ynđi. Yr oeđ yno đau dwỻ o tan wraiđ y pren, a thra daliai un y sach yn agored ar un twỻ yr oeđ y ỻaỻ yn hwthio ffon i’r twỻ araỻ, ac yn y man aeth y creadur i’r sach. Yr oeđ y đau đyn yn međwl eu bod wedi dal dwfrgi, yr hyn a ystyrient yn orchest nid bychan. Cychwynasant gartref yn ỻawen ond cyn eu myned hyd ỻed cae, ỻefarođ ỻetywr y sach mewn ton drist gan đywedyd—‘Y mae fy mam yn galw am danaf, O, mae fy mam yn galw am danaf,’ yr hyn a rođođ fraw mawr i’r đau heliwr, ac yn y man taflasant y sach i lawr, a mawr oeđ eu rhyfeđod a’u dychryn pan welsant đyn bach mewn gwisg goch yn rhedeg o’r sach tuagat yr afon. Fe a điflannođ o’i golwg yn mysg y drysni ar fin yr afon. Yr oeđ y đau wedi eu brawychu yn đirfawr ac yn teimlo mae doethach oeđ myned gartref yn hytrach nag ymyrraeth yn mheỻach a’r Tylwyth Teg.

The other story, which I now reproduce, was obtained by Mr. Roberts from the same Abel Evans. He learnt it from Mrs. Ellen Edwards, and it refers to a point in her lifetime, which Abel Evans fixes at ninety years ago. Mr. Roberts has not succeeded in recovering the name of the cottager of whom it speaks; but he lived on the side of the Berwyn, above Cwm Pennant, where till lately a cottage used to stand, near which the fairies had one of their resorts:—

Yr oeđ perchen y bwthyn wedi amaethu rhyw ran fychan o’r mynyđ ger ỻaw y ty er mwyn plannu pytatws ynđo. Feỻy y gwnaeth. Mewn coeden yn agos i’r fan canfyđođ nyth bran. Fe feđyliođ mae doeth fuasai iđo đryỻio y nyth cyn amlhau o’r brain. Fe a esgynnođ y goeden ac a đryỻiođ y nyth, ac wedi disgyn i lawr canfyđođ gylch glas (fairy ring) ođiamgylch y pren, ac ar y cylch fe welođ hanner coron er ei fawr lawenyđ. Wrth fyned heibio yr un fan y boreu canlynol fe gafođ hanner coron yn yr un man ag y cafođ y dyđ o’r blaen. Hynna fu am amryw đyđiau. Un diwrnod dywedođ wrth gyfaiỻ am ei hap đa a đangosođ y fan a’r ỻe y cawsai yr hanner coron bob boreu. Wel y boreu canlynol nid oeđ yno na hanner coron na dim araỻ iđo, oherwyđ yr oeđ wedi torri rheolau y Tylwythion trwy wneud eu haelioni yn hysbys. Y mae y Tylwythion o’r farn na đylai y ỻaw aswy wybod yr hyn a wna y ỻaw đehau.

‘The occupier of the cottage had tilled a small portion of the mountain side near his home in order to plant potatoes, which he did. He observed that there was a rook’s nest on a tree which was not far from this spot, and it struck him that it would be prudent to break the nest before the rooks multiplied. So he climbed the tree and broke the nest, and, after coming down, he noticed a green circle (a fairy ring) round the tree, and on this circle he espied, to his great joy, half a crown. As he went by the same spot the following morning, he found another half a crown in the same place as before. So it happened for several days; but one day he told a friend of his good luck, and showed him the spot where he found half a crown every morning. Now the next morning there was for him neither half a crown nor anything else, because he had broken the rule of the fair folks by making their liberality known, they being of opinion that the left hand should not know what the right hand does.’

So runs this short tale, which the old lady, Mrs. Edwards, and the people of the neighbourhood explained as an instance of the gratitude of the fairies to a man who had rendered them a service, which in this case was supposed to have consisted in ridding them of the rooks, that disturbed their merry-makings in the green ring beneath the branches of the tree.

VII.

Dere di velen Einion,

Cyrn Cyveiliorn—braith y Ỻyn,

A’r voel Dodin,

Codwch, dewch adre.

Come yellow Anvil, stray horns,

Speckled one of the lake,

And of the hornless Dodin,

And no sooner were these words of power uttered than the original lake cow and all her progeny, to the third and fourth generations, were in full flight towards the heights of Ỻyn Barfog, as if pursued by the evil one. Self-interest quickly roused the farmer, who followed in pursuit, till breathless and panting he gained an eminence overlooking the lake, but with no better success than to behold the green attired dame leisurely descending mid-lake, accompanied by the fugitive cows and their calves formed in a circle around her, they tossing their tails, she waving her hands in scorn as much as to say, “You may catch us, my friend, if you can,” as they disappeared beneath the dark waters of the lake, leaving only the yellow water-lily to mark the spot where they vanished, and to perpetuate the memory of this strange event. Meanwhile the farmer looked with rueful countenance upon the spot where the Elfin herd disappeared, and had ample leisure to deplore the effects of his greediness, as with them also departed the prosperity which had hitherto attended him, and he became impoverished to a degree below his original circumstances; and, in his altered circumstances, few felt pity for one who in the noontide flow of prosperity had shown himself so far forgetful of favours received, as to purpose slaying his benefactor.’

Mr. Pughe did a very good thing in saving this legend from oblivion, but it would be very interesting to know how much of it is still current among the inhabitants of the retired district around Ỻyn Barfog, and how the story would look when stripped of the florid language in which Mr. Pughe thought proper to clothe it. Lastly, let me add a reference to the Iolo Manuscripts, pp. 85, 475, where a short story is given concerning a certain Milkwhite Sweet-milk Cow (y Fuwch Laethwen Lefrith) whose milk was so abundant and possessed of such virtues as almost to rival the Holy Grail. Like the Holy Grail also this cow wandered everywhere spreading plenty, until she chanced to come to the Vale of Towy, where the foolish inhabitants wished to kill and eat her: the result was that she vanished in their hands and has never since been heard of.

VIII.

The shepherds of Ardudwy are familiar, according to Hywel, with a variant of the story in which a man married a fairy on condition that he did not touch her with iron. They lived on the Moelfre and dwelt happily together for years, until one fine summer day, when the husband was engaged in shearing his sheep, he put the gweỻe, ‘shears,’ in his wife’s hand: she then instantly disappeared. The earlier portions of this story are unknown to me, but they are not hard to guess.

Concerning Ỻyn Irđyn, between the western slopes of the Ỻawỻech, Hywel has a story the like of which I am not acquainted with: walking near that lake you shun the shore and keep to the grass in order to avoid the fairies, for if you take hold of the grass no fairy can touch you, or dare under any circumstances injure a blade of grass.

Lastly, Hywel speaks of several caves containing treasure, as for instance a telyn aur, or golden harp, hidden away in a cave beneath Casteỻ Carn Dochan in the parish of Ỻanuwchỻyn. Lewis Morris, in his Celtic Remains, p. 100, calls it Casteỻ Corndochen, and describes it as seated on the top of a steep rock at the bottom of a deep valley: it appears to have consisted of a wall surrounding three turrets, and the mortar seems composed of cockle-shells: see also the Archæologia Cambrensis for 1850, p. 204. Hywel speaks also of a cave beneath Casteỻ Dinas Brân, near Ỻangoỻen, as containing much treasure, which will only be disclosed to a boy followed by a white dog with ỻygaid arian, ‘silver eyes,’ explained to mean light eyes: every such dog is said to see the wind. So runs this story, but it requires more exegesis than I can supply. One may compare it at a distance with Myrđin’s arrangement that the treasure buried by him at Dinas Emrys should only be found by a youth with yellow hair and blue eyes, and with the belief that the cave treasures of the Snowdon district belong to the Gwyđyl or Goidels, and that Goidels will eventually find them: see chapter viii.

The next three stories are from Mr. Owen Edwards’ Cymru for 1897, pp. 188–9, where he has published them from a collection made for a literary competition or local Eisteđfod by his friend J. H. Roberts, who died in early manhood. The first is a blurred version of the story of the Lake Lady and her dowry of cattle, but enough of the story remains to show that, had we got it in its original form, it would be found to differ somewhat on several points from all the other versions extant. I summarize the Welsh as follows:—In ages gone by, as the shepherd of Hafod y Garreg was looking after his sheep on the shores of the Arennig Lake, he came across a young calf, plump, sleek, and strong, in the rushes. He could not guess whence the beast could have come, as no cattle were allowed to approach the lake at that time of the year. He took it home, however, and it was reared until it was a bull, remarkable for his fine appearance. In time his offspring were the only cattle on the farm, and never before had there been such beasts at Hafod y Garreg. They were the wonder and admiration of the whole country. But one summer afternoon in June, the shepherd saw a little fat old man playing on a pipe, and then he heard him call the cows by their names—

Mulican, Molican, Malen, Mair,

Dowch adre’r awrhon ar fy ngair.

Mulican, Molican, Malen and Mair,

Come now home at my word.

He then beheld the whole herd running to the little man and going into the lake. Nothing more was heard of them, and it was everybody’s opinion that they were the Tylwyth Teg’s cattle.

The next is a quasi fairy tale, the outcome of which recalls the adventure of the farmer of Drws y Coed on his return from Beđgelert Fair, p. 99 above. It is told of a young harpist who was making his way across country from his home at Yspyty Ifan to the neighbourhood of Bala, that while crossing the mountain he happened in the mist to lose his road and fall into the Gors Fawr, ‘the big bog.’ There he wallowed for hours, quite unable to extricate himself in spite of all his efforts. But when he was going to give up in despair, he beheld close to him, reaching him her hand, a little woman who was wondrous fair beyond all his conception of beauty, and with her help he got out of the Gors. The damsel gave him a jolly sweet kiss that flashed electricity through his whole nature: he was at once over head and ears in love. She led him to the hut of her father and mother: there he had every welcome, and he spent the night singing and dancing with Olwen, for that was her name. Now, though the harpist was a mere stripling, he thought of wedding at once—he was never before in such a heaven of delight. But next morning he was waked, not by a kiss from Olwen, but by the Plas Drain shepherd’s dog licking his lips: he found himself sleeping against the wall of a sheepfold (corlan), with his harp in a clump of rushes at his feet, without any trace to be found of the family with whom he had spent such a happy night.

The next story recalls Glasynys’ Einion Las, as given at pp. 111–5 above: its peculiarity is the part played by the well introduced. The scene was a turbary near the river called Afon Mynach, so named from Cwm Tir Mynach, behind the hills immediately north of Bala:—Ages ago, as a number of people were cutting turf in a place which was then moorland, and which is now enclosed ground forming part of a farm called Nant Hir, one of them happened to wash his face in a well belonging to the fairies. At dinner-time in the middle of the day they sat down in a circle, while the youth who had washed his face went to fetch the food, but suddenly both he and the box of food were lost. They knew not what to do, they suspected that it was the doing of the fairies; but the wise man (gwr hyspys) came to the neighbourhood and told them, that, if they would only go to the spot on the night of full moon in June, they would behold him dancing with the fairies. They did as they were told, and found the moor covered with thousands of little agile creatures who sang and danced with all their might, and they saw the missing man among them. They rushed at him, and with a great deal of trouble they got him out. But oftentimes was Einion missed again, until at the time of full moon in another June he returned home with a wondrously fair wife, whose history or pedigree no one knew. Everybody believed her to be one of the Tylwyth Teg.

IX.

There is a kind of fairy tale of which I think I have hitherto not given the reader a specimen: a good instance is given in the third volume of the Brython, at p. 459, by a contributor who calls himself Idnerth ab Gwgan, who, I learn from the Rev. Chancellor Silvan Evans, the editor, was no other than the Rev. Benjamin Williams, best known to Welsh antiquaries by his bardic name of Gwynionyđ. The preface to the tale is also interesting, so I am tempted to render the whole into English, as follows:—

A tale like this is to be found related of Idwal of Nantclwyd, in Cymru Fu, p. 85. I said ‘a tale like this,’ but, on reconsidering the matter, I should think it is the very same tale passed through the hands of Glasynys or some one of his imitators. Another of this kind will be found in the Brython, ii. 170, and several similar ones also in Wirt Sikes’ book, pp. 65–90, either given at length, or merely referred to. There is one kind of variant which deserves special notice, as making the music to which the sojourner in Faery listens for scores of years to be that of a bird singing on a tree. A story of the sort is located by Howells, in his Cambrian Superstitions, pp. 127–8, at Pant Shon Shencin, near Pencader, in Cardiganshire. This latter kind of story leads easily up to another development, namely, to substituting for the bird’s warble the song and felicity of heaven, and for the simple shepherd a pious monk. In this form it is located at a place called Ỻwyn y Nef, or ‘Heaven’s Grove,’ near Celynnog Fawr, in Carnarvonshire. It is given by Glasynys in Cymru Fu, pp. 183–4, where it was copied from the Brython, iii. 111, in which he had previously published it. Several versions of it in rhyme came down from the eighteenth century, and Silvan Evans has brought together twenty-six stanzas in point in St. David’s College Magazine for 1881, pp. 191–200, where he has put into a few paragraphs all that is known about the song of the Hen Wr o’r Coed, or the Old Man of the Wood, in his usually clear and lucid style.

A tale from the other end of the tract of country once occupied by a sprinkling, perhaps, of Celts among a population of Picts, makes the man, and not the fairies, supply the music. I owe it to the kindness of the Rev. Andrew Clark, Fellow of Lincoln College, Oxford, who heard it from the late sexton of the parish of Dollar, in the county of Clackmannan. The sexton died some twelve years ago, aged seventy: he had learnt the tale from his father. The following are Mr. Clark’s words:—

‘Glendevon is a parish and village in the Ochils in County Perth, about five miles from Dollar as you come up Glen Queich and down by Gloomhill. Glen Queich is a narrowish glen between two grassy hills—at the top of the glen is a round hill of no great height, but very neat shape, the grass of which is always short and trim, and the ferns on the shoulder of a very marked green. This, as you come up the glen, seems entirely to block the way. It is called the “Maiden Castle.” Only when you come quite close do you see the path winding round the foot of it. A little further on is a fine spring bordered with flat stones, in the middle of a neat, turfy spot, called the “Maiden’s Well.” This road, till the new toll-road was made on the other side of the hills, was the thoroughfare between Dollar and Glendevon.’

The following is the legend, as told by the ‘Bethrel’:—‘A piper, carrying his pipes, was coming from Glendevon to Dollar in the grey of the evening. He crossed the Garchel (a little stream running into the Queich burn), and looked at the “Maiden Castle,” and saw only the grey hillside and heard only the wind soughing through the bent. He had got beyond it when he heard a burst of lively music: he turned round, and instead of the dark knoll saw a great castle, with lights blazing from the windows, and heard the noise of dancing issuing from the open door. He went back incautiously, and a procession issuing forth at that moment, he was caught and taken into a great hall ablaze with lights, and people dancing on the floor. He had to pipe to them for a day or two, but he got anxious, because he knew his people would be wondering why he did not come back in the morning as he had promised. The fairies seemed to sympathize with his anxiety, and promised to let him go if he played a favourite tune of his, which they seemed fond of, to their satisfaction. He played his very best, the dance went fast and furious, and at its close he was greeted with loud applause. On his release he found himself alone, in the grey of the evening, beside the dark hillock, and no sound was heard save the purr of the burn and the soughing of the wind through the bent. Instead of completing his journey to Dollar, he walked hastily back to Glendevon to relieve his folk’s anxiety. He entered his father’s house and found no kent face there. On his protesting that he had gone only a day or two before, and waxing loud in his bewildered talk, a grey old man was roused from a doze behind the fire; and told how he had heard when a boy from his father that a piper had gone away to Dollar on a quiet evening, and had never been heard or seen since, nor any trace of him found. He had been in the “castle” for a hundred years.’

The term Plant Rhys Đwfn has already been brought before the reader: it means ‘the Children of Rhys Đwfn,’ and Rhys Đwfn means literally Rhys the Deep, but the adjective in Welsh connotes depth of character in the sense of shrewdness or cunning. Nay, even the English deep is often borrowed for use in the same sense, as when one colloquially says un dîp iawn yw e, ‘he is a very calculating or cunning fellow.’ The following account of Rhys and his progeny is given by Gwynionyđ in the first volume of the Brython, p. 130, which deserves being cited at length:—‘There is a tale current in Dyfed, that there is, or rather that there has been, a country between Cemmes, the northern Hundred of Pembrokeshire, and Aberdaron in Ỻeyn. The chief patriarch of the inhabitants was Rhys Đwfn, and his descendants used to be called after him the Children of Rhys Đwfn. They were, it is said, a handsome race enough, but remarkably small in size. It is stated that certain herbs of a strange nature grew in their land, so that they were able to keep their country from being seen by even the most sharp sighted of invaders. There is no account that these remarkable herbs grew in any other part of the world excepting on a small spot, about a square yard in area, in a certain part of Cemmes. If it chanced that a man stood alone on it, he beheld the whole of the territory of Plant Rhys Đwfn; but the moment he moved he would lose sight of it altogether, and it would have been utterly vain for him to look for his footprints. In another story, as will be seen presently, the requisite platform was a turf from St. David’s churchyard. The Rhysians had not much land—they lived in towns. So they were wont in former times to come to market to Cardigan, and to raise the prices of things terribly. They were seen of no one coming or going, but only seen there in the market. When prices happened to be high, and the corn all sold, however much there might have been there in the morning, the poor used to say to one another on the way home, “Oh! they were there to-day,” meaning Plant Rhys Đwfn. So they were dear friends in the estimation of Siôn Phil Hywel, the farmer; but not so high in the opinion of Dafyđ, the labourer. It is said, however, that they were very honest and resolute men. A certain Gruffyđ ab Einon was wont to sell them more corn than anybody else, and so he was a great friend of theirs. He was honoured by them beyond all his contemporaries by being led on a visit to their home. As they were great traders like the Phœnicians of old, they had treasures from all countries under the sun. Gruffyđ, after feasting his eyes to satiety on their wonders, was led back by them loaded with presents. But before taking leave of them, he asked them how they succeeded in keeping themselves safe from invaders, as one of their number might become unfaithful, and go beyond the virtue of the herbs that formed their safety. “Oh!” replied the little old man of shrewd looks, “just as Ireland has been blessed with a soil on which venomous reptiles cannot live, so with our land: no traitor can live here. Look at the sand on the sea-shore: perfect unity prevails there, and so among us. Rhys, the father of our race, bade us, even to the most distant descendant, honour our parents and ancestors; love our own wives without looking at those of our neighbours; and do our best for our children and grandchildren. And he said that if we did so, no one of us would ever prove unfaithful to another, or become what you call a traitor. The latter is a wholly imaginary character among us; strange pictures are drawn of him with his feet like those of an ass, with a nest of snakes in his bosom, with a head like the devil’s, with hands somewhat like a man’s, while one of them holds a large knife, and the family lies dead around the figure. Good-bye!” When Gruffyđ looked about him he lost sight of the country of Plant Rhys, and found himself near his home. He became very wealthy after this, and continued to be a great friend of Plant Rhys as long as he lived. After Gruffyđ’s death they came to market again, but such was the greed of the farmers, like Gruffyđ before them, for riches, and so unreasonable were the prices they asked for their corn, that the Rhysians took offence and came no more to Cardigan to market. The old people used to think that they now went to Fishguard market, as very strange people were wont to be seen there.’ On the other hand, some Fishguard people were lately of opinion that it was at Haverfordwest the fairies did their marketing: I refer to a letter of Mr. Ferrar Fenton’s, in the Pembroke County Guardian of October 31, 1896, in which he mentions a conversation he had with a Fishguard woman as to the existence of fairies: ‘There are fairies,’ she asserted, ‘for they came to Ha’rfordwest market to buy things, so there must be.’

With this should be compared pp. 9–10 of Wirt Sikes’ British Goblins, where mention is made of sailors on the coast of Pembrokeshire and Carmarthenshire, ‘who still talk of the green meadows of enchantment lying in the Irish Channel to the west of Pembrokeshire,’ and of men who had landed on them, or seen them suddenly vanishing. The author then proceeds to abstract from Howells’ Cambrian Superstitions, p. 119, the following paragraph:—‘The fairies inhabiting these islands are said to have regularly attended the markets at Milford Haven and Laugharne. They made their purchases without speaking, laid down their money and departed, always leaving the exact sum required, which they seemed to know without asking the price of anything. Sometimes they were invisible; but they were often seen by sharp-eyed persons. There was always one special butcher at Milford Haven upon whom the fairies bestowed their patronage instead of distributing their favours indiscriminately. The Milford Haven folk could see the green Fairy Islands distinctly, lying out a short distance from land; and the general belief was that they were densely peopled with fairies. It was also said that the latter went to and fro between the islands and the shore, through a subterranean gallery under the bottom of the sea.’

As Cardigan the next to them that went,

Came with a Mermayd sitting on a Rock.

‘A few rockmen are said to have been working, about eighty years ago, in a quarry near Porth y Rhaw, when the day was calm and clear, with nature, as it were, feasting, the flowers shedding sweet scent around, and the hot sunshine beaming into the jagged rocks. Though an occasional wave rose to strike the romantic cliffs, the sea was like a placid lake, with its light coverlet of blue attractive enough to entice one of the ladies of Rhys Đwfn forth from the town seen by Daniel Huws off Trefin as he was journeying between Fishguard and St. David’s in the year 1858, to make her way to the top of a stone and to sit on it to disentangle her flowing silvery hair. Whilst she was cleaning herself, the rockmen went down, and when they got near her they perceived that, from her waist upwards, she was like the lasses of Wales, but that, from her waist downwards, she had the body of a fish. And, when they began to talk to her, they found she spoke Welsh, though she only uttered the following few words to them: “Reaping in Pembrokeshire and weeding in Carmarthenshire.” Off she then went to walk in the depth of the sea towards her home. Another tale is repeated about a mermaid, said to have been caught by men below the land of Ỻanwnda, near the spot, if not on the spot, where the French made their landing afterwards, and three miles to the west of Fishguard. It then goes on to say that they carried her to their home, and kept her in a secure place for some time; before long, she begged to be allowed to return to the brine land, and gave the people of the house three bits of advice; but I only remember one of them,’ he writes, ‘and this is it: “Skim the surface of the pottage before adding sweet milk to it: it will be whiter and sweeter, and less of it will do.” I was told that this family follow the three advices to this day.’ A somewhat similar advice to that about the pottage is said to have been given by a mermaid, under similar circumstances, to a Manxman.

Siôn: Williams bach, ma’n rhaid i bod nhw’i gâl: yr w i’n cofio yn amser Bone fod marchnad Aberteifi yn ỻawn o lafir yn y bore—digon yno am fis—ond cin pen hanner awr yr ôđ y cwbwl wedi darfod. Nid ôđ possib i gweld nhwi: mâ gida nhwi faint a fynnon nhwi o arian.

Williams: Siwt na fyse dynion yn i gweld nhwi ynte, Siôn?

Siôn: O mâ gida nhwi đynion fel ninne yn pryni drostyn nhwi; ag y mâ nhwi fel yr hen siówmin yna yn geỻi gneid pob tric.

John: ‘My dear Williams, it must be that they exist: I remember Cardigan market, in the time of Bonaparte, full of corn in the morning—enough for a month—but in less than half an hour it was all gone. It was impossible to see them: they have as much money as they like.’

Williams: ‘How is it, then, that men did not see them, John?’

John: ‘Oh, they have men like us to do the buying for them; and they can, like those old showmen, do every kind of trick.’

At this kind of display of simplicity on the part of his brother, Thomas used to smile and say: ‘My brother John believes such things as those;’ for he had no belief in them himself. Still it is from his mouth that Mr. Williams published the tales in the Brython, which have been reproduced here, that of ‘Pergrin and the Mermaid,’ and all about the ‘Heir of Ỻech y Derwyđ,’ not to mention the ethical element in the account of Rhys Đwfn’s country and its people, the product probably of his mind. Thomas Evans, or as he was really called, Tommos Ifan, was given rather to grappling with the question of the origin of such beliefs; so one day he called Mr. Williams out, and led him to a spot about four hundred yards from Bol y Fron, where the latter then lived: he pointed to the setting sun, and asked Mr. Williams what he thought of the glorious sunset before them. ‘It is all produced,’ he then observed, ‘by the reflection of the sun’s rays on the mist: one might think,’ he went on to say, ‘that there was there a paradise of a country full of fields, forests, and everything that is desirable.’ And before they had moved away the grand scene had disappeared, when Thomas suggested that the idea of the existence of the country of Rhys Đwfn’s Children arose from the contemplation of that phenomenon. One may say that Thomas Evans was probably far ahead of the Welsh historians who try to extract history from the story of Cantre’r Gwaelod, ‘the Bottom Hundred,’ beneath the waves of Cardigan Bay; but what was seen was probably an instance of the mirage to be mentioned presently. Lastly, besides Mr. Williams’ contributions to the Brython, and a small volume of poetry, entitled Briaỻen glan Ceri, some tales of his were published by Ỻaỻawg in Bygones some years ago, and he had the prize at the Cardigan Eisteđfod of 1866 for the best collection in Welsh of the folklore of Dyfed: his recollection was that it contained in all thirty-six tales of all kinds; but since the manuscript, as the property of the Committee of that Eisteđfod, was sold, he could not now consult it: in fact he is not certain as to who the owner of it may now be, though he has an idea that it is either the Rev. Rees Williams, vicar of Whitchurch, near Solva, Pembrokeshire, or R. D. Jenkins, Esq., of Cilbronnau, Cardiganshire. Whoever the owner may be, he would probably be only too glad to have it published, and I mention this merely to call attention to it. The Eisteđfod is to be commended for encouraging local research, and sometimes even for burying the results in obscurity, but not always.

X.

Before leaving Dyfed I wish to revert to the extract from Mr. Sikes, p. 161 above. He had been helped partly by the article on Gavran, in the Cambrian Biography, by William Owen, better known since as William Owen Pughe and Dr. Pughe, and partly by a note of Southey’s on the following words in his Madoc (London, 1815), i. III:—

Where are the sons of Gavran? where his tribe,

The faithful? following their beloved Chief,

They the Green Islands of the Ocean sought;

Nor human tongue hath told, nor human ear,

Since from the silver shores they went their way,

Hath heard their fortunes.

The Gavran story, I may premise, is based on one of the Welsh Triads—i. 34, ii. 41, iii. 80—and Southey cites the article in the Cambrian Biography; but he goes on to give the following statements without indicating on what sources he was drawing—the reader has, however, been made acquainted already with the virtue of a blade of grass, by the brief mention of Ỻyn Irđyn above, p. 148:—

‘Of these Islands, or Green Spots of the Floods, there are some singular superstitions. They are the abode of the Tylwyth Teg, or the fair family, the souls of the virtuous Druids, who, not having been Christians, cannot enter the Christian heaven, but enjoy this heaven of their own. They however discover a love of mischief, neither becoming happy spirits, nor consistent with their original character; for they love to visit the earth, and, seizing a man, inquire whether he will travel above wind, mid wind, or below wind; above wind is a giddy and terrible passage, below wind is through bush and brake, the middle is a safe course. But the spell of security is, to catch hold of the grass, for these Beings have not power to destroy a blade of grass. In their better moods they come over and carry the Welsh in their boats. He who visits these Islands imagines on his return that he has been absent only a few hours, when, in truth, whole centuries have passed away. If you take a turf from St. David’s churchyard, and stand upon it on the sea shore, you behold these Islands. A man once, who thus obtained sight of them, immediately put to sea to find them; but they disappeared, and his search was in vain. He returned, looked at them again from the enchanted turf, again set sail, and failed again. The third time he took the turf into his vessel, and stood upon it till he reached them.’

A correspondent signing himself ‘the Antient Mariner,’ and writing, in the Pembroke County Guardian, from Newport, Pembrokeshire, Oct. 26, 1896, cites Southey’s notes, and adds to them the statement, that some fifty years ago there was a tradition amongst the inhabitants of Trevine (Trefin) in his county, that these Islands could be seen from Ỻan Non, or Eglwys Non, in that neighbourhood. To return to Madoc, Southey adds to the note already quoted a reference to the inhabitants of Arran More, on the coast of Galway, to the effect that they think that they can on a clear day see Hy-Breasail, the Enchanted Island supposed to be the Paradise of the Pagan Irish: compare the Phantom City seen in the same sea from the coast of Clare. Then he asks a question suggestive of the explanation, that all this is due to ‘that very extraordinary phenomenon, known in Sicily by the name of Morgaine le Fay’s works.’ In connexion with this question of mirage I venture to quote again from the Pembroke County Guardian. Mr. Ferrar Fenton, already mentioned, writes in the issue of Nov. 1, 1896, giving a report which he had received one summer morning from Captain John Evans, since deceased. It is to the effect ‘that once when trending up the Channel, and passing Grasholm Island, in what he had always known as deep water, he was surprised to see to windward of him a large tract of land covered with a beautiful green meadow. It was not, however, above water, but just a few feet below, say two or three, so that the grass waved and swam about as the ripple flowed over it, in a most delightful way to the eye, so that as watched it made one feel quite drowsy. You know, he continued, I have heard old people say there is a floating island off there, that sometimes rises to the surface, or nearly, and then sinks down again fathoms deep, so that no one sees it for years, and when nobody expects it comes up again for a while. How it may be, I do not know, but that is what they say.’

Lastly, Mr. E. Perkins, of Penysgwarne, near Fishguard, wrote on Nov. 2, 1896, as follows, of a changing view to be had from the top of the Garn, which means the Garn Fawr, one of the most interesting prehistoric sites in the county, and one I have had the pleasure of visiting more than once in the company of Henry Owen and Edward Laws, the historians of Pembrokeshire:—

‘May not the fairy islands referred to by Professor Rhys have originated from mirages? During the glorious weather we enjoyed last summer, I went up one particularly fine evening to the top of the Garn behind Penysgwarne to view the sunset. It would have been worth a thousand miles’ travel to go to see such a scene as I saw that evening. It was about half an hour before sunset—the bay was calm and smooth as the finest mirror. The rays of the sun made

A golden path across the sea,

and a picture indescribable. As the sun neared the horizon the rays broadened until the sheen resembled a gigantic golden plate prepared to hold the brighter sun. No sooner had the sun set than I saw a striking mirage. To the right I saw a stretch of country similar to a landscape in this country. A farmhouse and out-buildings were seen, I will not say quite as distinct as I can see the upper part of St. David’s parish from this Garn, but much more detailed. We could see fences, roads, and gateways leading to the farmyard, but in the haze it looked more like a panoramic view than a veritable landscape. Similar mirages may possibly have caused our old tadau to think these were the abode of the fairies.’

To return to Mr. Sikes, the rest of his account of the Pembrokeshire fairies and their green islands, of their Milford butcher, and of the subterranean gallery leading into their home, comes, as already indicated, for the most part from Howells. But it does not appear on what authority Southey himself made departed druids of the fairies. One would be glad to be reassured on this last point, as such a hypothesis would fit in well enough with what we are told of the sacrosanct character of the inhabitants of the isles on the coast of Britain in ancient times. Take, for instance, the brief account given by Plutarch of one of the isles explored by a certain Demetrius in the service of the Emperor of Rome: see chapter viii.

XI.

Canu, canu, drwy y nos,

Dawnsio, dawnsio, ar Waen y Rhos

Y’ ngoleuni’r ỻeuad dlos:

Hapus ydym ni!

Pawb ohonom syđ yn ỻon

Heb un gofid dan ei fron:

Dedwyđ ydym ni!

Singing, singing, through the night,

Dancing, dancing with our might,

Where the moon the moor doth light,

Happy ever we!

One and all of merry mien,

Without sorrow are we seen,

Singing, dancing on the green,

Gladsome ever we!

Here follows, in Mr. Hughes’ own Welsh, a remarkable story of revenge exacted by the fairies:—

Yn un o’r canrifoeđ a aethant heibio, preswyliai amaethwr yn nhyđyn Pantannas, a’r amser hwnnw yr oeđ bendith y mamau yn ymwelwyr aml ag amryw gaeau perthynol iđo ef, a theimlai yntau gryn gasineb yn ei fynwes at yr ‘atras fwstrog, leisiog, a chynỻwynig,’ fel y galwai hwynt, a mynych yr hiraethai am aỻu dyfod o hyd i ryw lwybr er cael eu gwared ođiyno. O’r diweđ hysbyswyd ef gan hen reibwraig, fod y fforđ i gael eu gwared yn đigon hawđ, ac ond iđo ef rođi godro un hwyr a boreu iđi hi, yr hysbysai y fforđ iđo gyrraeđ yr hyn a fawr đymunai. Bođlonođ i’w thelerau a derbyniođ yntau y cyfarwyđyd, yr hyn ydoeđ fel y canlyn:—Ei fod i aredig yr hoỻ gaeau i ba rai yr oeđ eu hoff ymgyrchfan, ac ond iđynt hwy unwaith goỻi y ton glas, y digient, ac na đeuent byth mwy i’w boeni drwy eu hymweliadau a’r ỻe.

Dilynođ yr amaethwr ei chyfarwyđyd i’r ỻythyren, a choronwyd ei waith a ỻwyđiant. Nid oeđ yr un o honynt i’w weled ođeutu y caeau yn awr; ac yn ỻe sain eu caniadau soniarus, a glywid bob amser yn dyrchu o Waen y Rhos, nid oeđ dim ond y distawrwyđ trylwyraf yn teyrnasu o gylch eu hen a’u hoff ymgyrchfan.

Hauođ yr amaethwr wenith, &c., yn y caeau, ac yr oeđ y gwanwyn gwyrđlas wedi gwthio y gauaf ođiar ei seđ, ac ymđangosai y maesyđ yn arđerchog yn eu ỻifrai gwyrđleision a gwanwynol.

Ond un prydnawn, ar ol i’r haul ymgilio i yst feỻoeđ y gorỻewin, tra yr oeđ amaethwr Pantannas yn dychwelyd tua ei gartref cyfarfyđwyd ag ef gan fod bychan ar ffurf dyn, yn gwisgo hugan goch; a phan đaeth gyferbyn ag ef dadweiniođ ei gleđ bychan, gan gyfeirio ei flaen at yr amaethwr, a dywedyd,

Dial a đaw,

Y mae gerỻaw.

Ceisiođ yr amaethwr chwerthin, ond yr oeđ rhywbeth yn edrychiad sarrug a ỻym y gwr bychan ag a barođ iđo deimlo yn hynod o annymunol.

Ychydig o nosweithiau yn điweđarach, pan oeđ y teulu ar ymneiỻduo i’w gorphwysleoeđ, dychrynwyd hwy yn fawr iawn gan drwst, fel pe byđai y ty yn syrthio i lawr bendramwnwgl, ac yn union ar ol i’r twrf beidio, clywent y geiriau bygythiol a ganlyn—a dim yn rhagor—yn cael eu parablu yn uchel,

Daw dial.

Pan oeđ yr yd wedi cael ei fedi ac yn barod i gael ei gywain i’r ysgubor, yn sydyn ryw noswaith ỻosgwyd ef fel nad oeđ yr un dywysen na gweỻtyn i’w gael yn un man o’r caeau, ac nis gaỻasai neb fod wedi gosod yr yd ar dan ond Bendith y Mamau.

Fel ag y mae yn naturiol i ni feđwl teimlođ yr amaethwr yn fawr oherwyđ y tro, ac edifarhaođ yn ei galon đarfod iđo erioed wrando a gwneuthur yn ol cyfarwyđyd yr hen reibwraig, ac feỻy đwyn arno đigofaint a chasineb Bendith y Mamau.

Drannoeth i’r noswaith y ỻosgwyd yr yd fel yr oeđ yn arolygu y difrod achoswyd gan y tan, wele’r gwr bychan ag ydoeđ wedi ei gyfarfod ychydig o điwrnodau yn flaenorol yn ei gyfarfod eilwaith a chyda threm herfeiđiol pwyntiođ ei gleđyf ato gan đywedyd,

Nid yw ond dechreu.

Trođ gwyneb yr amaethwr cyn wynned a’r marmor, a safođ gan alw y gwr bychan yn ol, ond bu y còr yn hynod o wydn ac anewyỻysgar i droi ato, ond ar ol hir erfyn arno trođ yn ei ol gan ofyn yn sarrug beth yr oeđ yr amaethwr yn ei geisio, yr hwn a hysbysođ iđo ei fod yn berffaith fođlon i adael y caeau ỻe yr oeđ eu hoff ymgyrchfan i dyfu yn don eilwaith, a rhođi caniatad iđynt i đyfod iđynt pryd y dewisent, ond yn unig iđynt beidio dial eu ỻid yn mheỻach arno ef.

‘Na,’ oeđ yr atebiad penderfynol, ‘y mae gair y brenin wedi ei roi y byđ iđo ymđial arnat hyd eithaf ei aỻu ac nid oes dim un gaỻu ar wyneb y greadigaeth a bair iđo gael ei dynnu yn ol.’

Dechreuođ yr amaethwr wylo ar hyn, ond yn mhen ychydig hysbysođ y gwr bychan y byđai iđo ef siarad a’i bennaeth ar y mater, ac y cawsai efe wybod y canlyniad ond iđo đyfod i’w gyfarfod ef yn y fan honno amser machludiad haul drennyđ.

Ađawođ yr amaethwr đyfod i’w gyfarfod, a phan đaeth yr amser apwyntiedig o amgylch iđo i gyfarfod a’r bychan cafođ ef yno yn ei aros, ac hysbysođ iđo fod y pennaeth wedi ystyried ei gais yn đifrifol, ond gan fod ei air bob amser yn anghyfnewidiol y buasai y dialeđ bygythiedig yn rhwym o gymeryd ỻe ar y teulu, ond ar gyfrif ei edifeirwch ef na chawsai đigwyđ yn ei amser ef nac eiđo ei blant.

Llonyđođ hynny gryn lawer ar feđwl terfysglyd yr amaethwr, a dechreuođ Bendith y Mamau dalu eu hymweliadau a’r ỻe eilwaith a mynych y clywid sain eu cerđoriaeth felusber yn codi o’r caeau amgylchynol yn ystod y nos.

Pasiođ canrif heibio heb i’r dialeđ bygythiedig gael ei gyflawni, ac er fod teulu Pantannas yn cael eu hadgofio yn awr ac eilwaith, y buasai yn sicr o đigwyđ hwyr neu hwyrach, eto wrth hir glywed y waeđ,

Daw dial,

ymgynefinasant a hi nes eu bod yn barod i gredu na fuasai dim yn dyfod o’r bygythiad byth.

Yr oeđ etifeđ Pantannas yn caru a merch i dirfeđiannyđ cymydogaethol a breswyliai mewn tyđyn o’r enw Pen Craig Daf. Yr oeđ priodas y par dedwyđ i gymeryd ỻe yn mhen ychydig wythnosau ac ymđangosai rhieni y cwpl ieuanc yn hynod o fođlon i’r ymuniad teuluol ag oeđ ar gymeryd ỻe.

Yr oeđ yn amser y Nadolig—a thalođ y đarpar wraig ieuanc ymweliad a theulu ei darpar wr, ac yr oeđ yno wleđ o wyđ rostiedig yn baratoedig gogyfer a’r achlysur.

Eisteđai y cwmni ođeutu y tan i adrođ rhyw chwedlau difyrrus er mwyn pasio yr amser, pryd y cawsant eu dychrynu yn fawr gan lais treiđgar yn dyrchafu megis o wely yr afon yn gwaeđi

Daeth amser ymdïal.

Aethant oỻ aỻan i wrando a glywent y ỻeferyđ eilwaith, ond nid oeđ dim i’w glywed ond brochus drwst y dwfr wrth raiadru dros glogwyni aruthrol y cerwyni. Ond ni chawsant aros i wrando yn hir iawn cyn iđynt glywed yr un ỻeferyđ eilwaith yn dyrchafu i fyny yn uwch na swn y dwfr pan yn bwrlymu dros ysgwyđau y graig, ac yn gwaeđi,

Daeth yr amser.

Nis gaỻent đyfalu beth yr oeđ yn ei arwyđo, a chymaint ydoeđ eu braw a’u syndod fel nad aỻent lefaru yr un gair a’u gilyđ. Yn mhen ennyd dychwelasant i’r ty a chyn iđynt eisteđ credent yn đios fod yr adeilad yn cael ei ysgwyd iđ ei sylfeini gan ryw dwrf y tu aỻan. Pan yr oeđ yr oỻ wedi cael eu parlysio gan fraw, wele fenyw fechan yn gwneuthur ei hymđangosiad ar y bwrđ o’u blaen, yr hwn oeđ yn sefyỻ yn agos i’r ffenestr.

‘Beth yr wyt yn ei geisio yma, y peth bychan hagr?’ holai un o’r gwyđfodolion.

‘Nid oes gennyf unrhyw neges a thi, y gwr hir dafod,’ oeđ atebiad y fenyw fechan. ‘Ond yr wyf wedi cael fy anfon yma i adrođ rhyw bethau ag syđ ar đigwyđ i’r teulu hwn, a theulu araỻ o’r gymydogaeth ag a đichon fod o đyđordeb iđynt, ond gan i mi đerbyn y fath sarhad ođiar law y gwr du ag syđ yn eisteđ yn y cornel, ni fyđ i mi godi y ỻen ag oeđ yn cuđio y dyfodol aỻan o’u golwg.’

‘Atolwg os oes yn dy feđiant ryw wybodaeth parth dyfodol rhai o honom ag a fyđai yn đyđorol i ni gael ei glywed, dwg hi aỻan,’ ebai un araỻ o’r gwyđfodolion.

‘Na wnaf, ond yn unig hysbysu, fod calon gwyryf fel ỻong ar y traeth yn methu cyrraeđ y porthlad oherwyđ digalondid y pilot.’

A chyda ei bod yn ỻefaru y gair diweđaf diflannođ o’u gwyđ, na wyđai neb i ba le na pha fođ!

Drwy ystod ci hymweliad hi, peidiođ y waeđ a godasai o’r afon, ond yn fuan ar ol iđi điflannu, dechreuođ eilwaith a chyhoeđi

Daeth amser dial,

ac ni pheidiođ am hir amser. Yr oeđ y cynuỻiad wedi cael eu međiannu a gormod o fraw i fedru ỻefaru yr un gair, ac yr oeđ ỻen o bruđder yn daenedig dros wyneb pob un o honynt. Daeth amser iđynt i ymwahanu, ac aeth Rhyđerch y mab i hebrwng Gwerfyl ei gariadferch tua Phen Craig Daf, o ba siwrnai ni đychwelođ byth.

Cyn ymadael a’i fun dywedir iđynt dyngu bythol ffyđlondeb i’w gilyđ, pe heb weled y naiỻ y ỻaỻ byth ond hynny, ac nad oeđ dim a aỻai beri iđynt anghofio eu gilyđ.

Mae yn debygol i’r ỻanc Rhyđerch pan yn dychwelyd gartref gael ei hun ođifewn i un o gylchoeđ Bendith y Mamau, ac yna iđynt ei hud-đenu i mewn i un o’u hogofau yn Nharren y Cigfrain, ac yno y bu.

Y mae yn ỻawn bryd i ni droi ein gwynebau yn ol tua Phantannas a Phen Craig Daf. Yr oeđ rhieni y bachgen anffodus yn mron gwaỻgofi. Nid oeđ ganđynt yr un drychfeđwl i ba le i fyned i chwilio am dano, ac er chwilio yn mhob man a phob ỻe methwyd yn glir a dyfod o hyd iđo, na chael gair o’i hanes.

Ychydig i fyny yn y cwm mewn ogof danđaearol trigfannai hen feudwy oedrannus, yr hwn hefyd a ystyrrid yn đewin, o’r enw Gweiryđ. Aethant yn mhen ychydig wythnosau i ofyn iđo ef, a fedrai rođi iđynt ryw wybodaeth parthed i’w mab coỻedig—ond i ychydig bwrpas. Ni wnaeth yr hyn a adrođođ hwnnw wrthynt ond dyfnhau y clwyf a rhoi golwg fwy anobeithiol fyth ar yr amgylchiad. Ar ol iđynt ei hysbysu ynghylch ymđangosiad y fenyw fechan ynghyd a’r ỻais wylofus a glywsent yn dyrchafu o’r afon y nos yr aeth ar goỻ, hysbysođ efe iđynt mai y farn fygythiedig ar y teulu gan Fendith y Mamau oeđ wedi gođiweđid y ỻanc, ac nad oeđ o un diben iđynt feđwl cael ei weled byth mwyach! Ond feaỻai y gwnelai ei ymđangosiad yn mhen oesau, ond đim yn eu hamser hwy.

Pasiai yr amser heibio, a chwyđođ yr wythnosau i fisoeđ, a’r misoeđ i flynyđoeđ, a chasglwyd tad a mam Rhyđerch at eu tadau. Yr oeđ y ỻe o hyd yn parhau yr un, ond y preswylwyr yn newid yn barhaus, ac yr oeđ yr adgofion am ei goỻedigaeth yn darfod yn gyflym, ond er hynny yr oeđ un yn disgwyl ei đychweliad yn ol yn barhaus, ac yn gobeithio megis yn erbyn gobaith am gael ei weled eilwaith. Bob boreu gyda bod dorau y wawr yn ymagor dros gaerog fynyđoeđ y dwyrain gwelid hi bob tywyđ yn rhedeg i ben bryn bychan, a chyda ỻygaid yn orlawn o đagrau hiraethlon syỻai i bob cyfeiriad i edrych a ganfyđai ryw argoel fod ei hanwylyd yn dychwelyd; ond i đim pwrpas. Canol dyđ gwelid hi eilwaith yn yr un man, a phan ymgoỻai yr haul fel pelen eiriasgoch o dân dros y terfyngylch, yr oeđ hi yno.

Edrychai nes yn agos bod yn đaỻ, ac wylai ei henaid aỻan o đyđ i đyđ ar ol anwylđyn ei chalon. O’r diweđ aeth y rhai syđ yn edrych drwy y ffenestri i omeđ eu gwasanaeth iđi, ac yr oeđ y pren almon yn coroni ei phen a’i flagur gwyryfol, ond parhai hi i edrych, ond nid oeđ neb yn dod. Yn ỻawn o đyđiau ac yn aeđfed i’r beđ rhođwyd terfyn ar ei hoỻ obeithion a’i disgwyliadau gan angeu, a chludwyd ei gweđiỻion marwol i fynwent hen Gapel y Fan.

Pasiai blynyđoeđ heibio fel mwg, ac oesau fel cysgodion y boreu, ac nid oeđ neb yn fyw ag oeđ yn cofio Rhyđerch, ond adrođid ei goỻiad disymwyth yn aml. Dylasem fynegu na welwyd yr un o Fendith y Mamau ođeutu y gymydogaeth wedi ei goỻiad, a pheidiođ sain eu cerđoriaeth o’r nos honno aỻan.

Yr oeđ Rhyđerch wedi cael ei hud-đenu i fyned gyda Bendith y Mamau—ac aethant ag ef i ffwrđ i’w hogof. Ar ol iđo aros yno dros ychydig o điwrnodau fel y tybiai, gofynnođ am ganiatad i đychwelyd, yr hyn a rwyđ ganiatawyd iđo gan y brenin. Daeth aỻan o’r ogof, ac yr oeđ yn ganol dyđ braf, a’r haul yn ỻewyrchu ođiar fynwes ffurfafen đigwmwl. Cerđođ yn mlaen o Darren y Cigfrain hyd nes iđo đyfod i olwg Capel y Fan, ond gymaint oeđ ei syndod pan y gwelođ nad oeđ yr un capel yno! Pa le yr oeđ wedi bod, a pha faint o amser? Gyda theimladau cymysgedig cyfeiriođ ei gamrau tua Phen Craig Daf, cartref-le ei anwylyd, ond nid oeđ hi yno, ac nid oeđ yn adwaen yr un dyn ag oeđ yno chwaith. Ni fedrai gael gair o hanes ei gariad a chymerođ y rhai a breswylient yno mai gwaỻgofđyn ydoeđ.

Prysurođ eilwaith tua Phantannas, ac yr oeđ ei syndod yn fwy fyth yno! Nid oeđ yn adwaen yr un o honynt, ac ni wyđent hwythau đim am dano yntau. O’r diweđ daeth gwr y ty i fewn, ac yr oeđ hwnnw yn cofio clywed ei dad cu yn adrođ am lanc ag oeđ wedi myned yn đisymwyth i goỻ er ys peth cannoeđ o flynyđoeđ yn ol, ond na wyđai neb i ba le. Rywfođ neu gilyđ tarawođ gwr y tŷ ei ffon yn erbyn Rhyđerch, pa un a điflannođ mewn cawod o lwch, ac ni chlywyd air o son beth đaeth o hono mwyach.

‘The husbandman followed the advice to the letter, and his work was crowned with success. Not a single one of them was now to be seen about the fields, and, instead of the sound of their sweet music, which used to be always heard rising from the Coarse Meadow Land, the most complete silence now reigned over their favourite resort.

‘He sowed his land with wheat and other grain; the verdant spring had now thrust winter off its throne, and the fields appeared splendid in their vernal and green livery.

‘But one evening, when the sun had retired to the chambers of the west, and when the farmer of Pantannas was returning home, he was met by a diminutive being in the shape of a man, with a red coat on. When he had come right up to him, he unsheathed his little sword, and, directing the point towards the farmer, he said:—

Vengeance cometh,

Fast it approacheth.

‘The farmer tried to laugh, but there was something in the surly and stern looks of the little fellow which made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable.

‘A few nights afterwards, as the family were retiring to rest, they were very greatly frightened by a noise, as though the house was falling to pieces; and, immediately after the noise, they heard a voice uttering loudly the threatening words—and nothing more:—

Vengeance cometh.

‘When, however, the corn was reaped and ready to be carried to the barn, it was, all of a sudden, burnt up one night, so that neither an ear nor a straw of it could be found anywhere in the fields; and now nobody could have set the corn on fire but the fairies.

‘As one may naturally suppose, the farmer felt very much on account of this event, and he regretted in his heart having done according to the witch’s direction, and having thereby brought upon him the anger and hatred of the fairies.

‘The day after the night of the burning of the corn, as he was surveying the destruction caused by the fire, behold the little fellow, who had met him a few days before, met him again, and, with a challenging glance, he pointed his sword towards him, saying:—

It but beginneth.

The farmer’s face turned as white as marble, and he stood calling the little fellow to come back; but the dwarf proved very unyielding and reluctant to turn to him; but, after long entreaty, he turned back, asking the farmer, in a surly tone, what he wanted, when he was told by the latter that he was quite willing to allow the fields, in which their favourite resorts had been, to grow again into a green sward, and to let them frequent them as often as they wished, provided they would no further wreak their anger on him.

‘ “No,” was the determined reply, “the word of the king has been given, that he will avenge himself on thee to the utmost of his power; and there is no power on the face of creation that will cause it to be withdrawn.”

‘The farmer began to weep at this, and, after a while, the little fellow said that he would speak to his lord on the matter, and that he would let him know the result, if he would come there to meet him at the hour of sunset on the third day after.

‘The farmer promised to meet him; and, when the time appointed for meeting the little man came, he found him awaiting him, and he was told by him that his lord had seriously considered his request, but that, as the king’s word was ever immutable, the threatened vengeance was to take effect on the family. On account, however, of his repentance, it would not be allowed to happen in his time or that of his children.

‘That calmed the disturbed mind of the farmer a good deal. The fairies began again to pay frequent visits to the place, and their melodious singing was again heard at night in the fields around.

‘A century passed by without seeing the threatened vengeance carried into effect; and, though the Pantannas family were reminded now and again that it was certain sooner or later to come, nevertheless, by long hearing the voice that said—

Vengeance cometh,

they became so accustomed to it, that they were ready to believe that nothing would ever come of the threat.

‘The heir of Pantannas was paying his addresses to the daughter of a neighbouring landowner who lived at the farm house called Pen Craig Daf, and the wedding of the happy pair was to take place in a few weeks, and the parents on both sides appeared exceedingly content with the union that was about to take place between the two families.

‘It was Christmas time, and the intended wife paid a visit to the family of her would-be husband. There they had a feast of roast goose prepared for the occasion.

The time for revenge is come.

‘They all went out to listen if they could hear the voice a second time, but nothing was to be heard save the angry noise of the water as it cascaded over the dread cliffs of the kerwyni; they had not long, however, to wait till they heard again the same voice rising above the noise of the waters, as they boiled over the shoulders of the rock, and crying:—

The time is come.

‘They could not guess what it meant, and so great was their fright and astonishment, that no one could utter a word to another. Shortly they returned to the house, when they believed that beyond doubt the building was being shaken to its foundations by some noise outside. When all were thus paralysed by fear, behold a little woman made her appearance on the table, which stood near the window.

‘ “What dost thou, ugly little thing, want here?” asked one of those present.

‘ “I have nothing to do with thee, O man of the meddling tongue,” said the little woman, “but I have been sent here to recount some things that are about to happen to this family and another family in the neighbourhood, things that might be of interest to them; but, as I have received such an insult from the black fellow that sits in the corner, the veil that hides them from their sight shall not be lifted by me.”

‘ “Pray,” said another of those present, “if thou hast in thy possession any knowledge with regard to the future of any one of us that would interest us to hear, bring it forth.”

‘ “No, I will but merely tell you that a certain maiden’s heart is like a ship on the coast, unable to reach the harbour because the pilot has lost heart.”

‘As soon as she had cried out the last word, she vanished, no one knew whither or how.

‘During her visit, the cry rising from the river had stopped, but soon afterwards it began again to proclaim:—

The time of vengeance is come;

nor did it cease for a long while. The company had been possessed by too much terror for one to be able to address another, and a sheet of gloom had, as it were, been spread over the face of each. The time for parting came, and Rhyđerch the heir went to escort Gwerfyl, his lady-love, home towards Pen Craig Daf, a journey from which he never returned.

‘Before bidding one another “Good-bye,” they are said to have sworn to each other eternal fidelity, even though they should never see one another from that moment forth, and that nothing should make the one forget the other.

‘It is thought probable that the young man Rhyđerch, on his way back towards home, got into one of the rings of the fairies, that they allured him into one of their caves in the Ravens’ Rift, and that there he remained.

‘It is high time for us now to turn back towards Pantannas and Pen Craig Daf. The parents of the unlucky youth were almost beside themselves: they had no idea where to go to look for him, and, though they searched every spot in the place, they failed completely to find him or any clue to his history.

‘A little higher up the country, there dwelt, in a cave underground, an aged hermit called Gweiryđ, who was regarded also as a sorcerer. They went a few weeks afterwards to ask him whether he could give them any information about their lost son; but it was of little avail. What that man told them did but deepen the wound and give the event a still more hopeless aspect. When they had told him of the appearance of the little woman, and the doleful cry heard rising from the river on the night when their son was lost, he informed them that it was the judgement threatened to the family by the fairies that had overtaken the youth, and that it was useless for them to think of ever seeing him again: possibly he might make his appearance after generations had gone by, but not in their lifetime.

‘Years passed away like smoke, and generations like the shadows of the morning, and there was no longer anybody alive who remembered Rhyđerch, but the tale of his sudden missing was frequently in people’s mouths. And we ought to have said that after the event no one of the fairies was seen about the neighbourhood, and the sound of their music ceased from that night.

‘Rhyđerch had been allured by them, and they took him away into their cave. When he had stayed there only a few days, as he thought, he asked for permission to return, which was readily granted him by the king. He issued from the cave when it was a fine noon, with the sun beaming from the bosom of a cloudless firmament. He walked on from the Ravens’ Rift until he came near the site of the Fan Chapel; but what was his astonishment to find no chapel there! Where, he wondered, had he been, and how long away? So with mixed feelings he directed his steps towards Pen Craig Daf, the home of his beloved one, but she was not there nor any one whom he knew either. He could get no word of the history of his sweetheart, and those who dwelt in the place took him for a madman.

‘He hastened then to Pantannas, where his astonishment was still greater. He knew nobody there, and nobody knew anything about him. At last the man of the house came in, and he remembered hearing his grandfather relating how a youth had suddenly disappeared, nobody knew whither, some hundreds of years previously. Somehow or other the man of the house chanced to knock his walking-stick against Rhyđerch, when the latter vanished in a shower of dust. Nothing more was ever heard of him.’

Before leaving Glamorgan, I may add that Mr. Sikes associates fairy ladies with Crymlyn Lake, between Briton Ferry and Swansea; but, as frequently happens with him, he does not deign to tell us whence he got the legend. ‘It is also believed,’ he says at p. 35, ‘that a large town lies swallowed up there, and that the Gwrageđ Annwn have turned the submerged walls to use as the superstructure of their fairy palaces. Some claim to have seen the towers of beautiful castles lifting their battlements beneath the surface of the dark waters, and fairy bells are at times heard ringing from those towers.’ So much by the way: we shall return to Crymlyn in chapter vii.

XII.

The other day, as I was going to Gwent, I chanced to be in the Golden Valley in Herefordshire, where the names in the churchyards seem largely to imply a Welsh population, though the Welsh language has not been heard there for ages. Among others I noticed Joneses and Williamses in abundance at Abbey Dore, Evanses and Bevans, Morgans, Prossers and Prices, not to mention Sayces—that is to say, Welshmen of English extraction or education—a name which may also be met with in Little England in Pembrokeshire, and probably on other English-Welsh borders. Happening to have to wait for a train at the Abbey Dore station, I got into conversation with the tenants of a cottage hard by, and introduced the subject of the fairies. The old man knew nothing about them, but his wife, Elizabeth Williams, had been a servant girl at a place called Pen Pôch, which she pronounced with the Welsh guttural ch: she said that it is near Ỻandeilo Cressenny in Monmouthshire. It was about forty years ago when she served at Pen Pôch, and her mistress’ name was Evans, who was then about fifty years of age. Now Mrs. Evans was in the habit of impressing on her servant girls’ minds, that, unless they made the house tidy before going to bed, and put everything in its place overnight, the little people—the fairies, she thinks she called them—would leave them no rest in bed at night, but would come and ‘pinch them like.’ If they put everything in its place, and left the house ‘tidy like,’ it would be all right, and ‘nobody would do anything to them like.’ That is all I could get from her without prompting her, which I did at length by suggesting to her that the fairies might leave the tidy servants presents, a shilling ‘on the hearth or the hob like.’ Yes, she thought there was something of that sort, and her way of answering me suggested that this was not the first time she had heard of the shilling. She had never been lucky enough to have had one herself, nor did she know of anybody else that ‘had got it like.’

Williams spoke also of a sister to his mother, who acted as servant to his parents. There were, he said, ten stepping stones between his father’s house and the well, and on every one of these stones his aunt used to find a penny every morning, until she made it known to others, when, of course, the pennies ceased coming. He did not know why the fairies gave money to her, unless it was because she was a most tidy servant.

Another Ỻanover gardener remembered that the fairies used to change children, and that a certain woman called Nani Fach in that neighbourhood was one of their offspring; and he had been told that there were fairy rings in certain fields not far away in Ỻanover parish.

A third gardener, who is sixty-eight years of age, and is likewise in Lady Ỻanover’s employ, had heard it said that servant girls about his home were wont to sweep the floor clean at night, and to throw crumbs of bread about on it before going to bed.

Lastly, Mrs. Gardner of Ty Uchaf Ỻanover, who is ninety years of age, remembers having a field close to Capel Newyđ near Blaen Afon, in Ỻanover Uchaf, pointed out to her as containing fairy rings; and she recollects hearing, when she was a child, that a man had got into one of them. He remained away from home, as they always did, she said, a whole year and a day; but she has forgotten how he was recovered. Then she went on to say that her father had often got up in the night to see that his horses were not taken out and ridden about the fields by Bendith y Mamau; for they were wont to ride people’s horses late at night round the four corners of the fields, and thereby they often broke the horses’ wind. This, she gave me to understand, was believed in the parish of Ỻanover and that part of the country generally. So here we have an instance probably of confounding fairies with witches.

I have not the means at my command of going at length into the folklore of Gwent, so I will merely mention where the reader may find a good deal about it. I have already introduced the name of the credulous old Christian, Edmund Jones of the Tranch: he published at Trefecca in the year 1779 a small volume entitled, A Geographical, Historical, and Religious Account of the Parish of Aberystruth in the County of Monmouth, to which are added Memoirs of several Persons of Note who lived in the said Parish. In 1813, by which time he seems to have left this world for another, where he expected to understand all about the fairies and their mysterious life, a small volume of his was published at Newport, bearing the title, A Relation of Apparitions of Spirits in the County of Monmouth and the Principality of Wales, with other notable Relations from England, together with Observations about them, and Instructions from them, designed to confute and to prevent the Infidelity of denying the Being and Apparition of Spirits, which tends to Irreligion and Atheism. By the late Rev. Edmund Jones, of the Tranch. Naturally those volumes have been laid under contribution by Mr. Sikes, though the tales about apparitions in them are frequently of a ghastly nature, and sometimes loathsome: on the whole, they remind me more than anything else I have ever read of certain Breton tales which breathe fire and brimstone: all such begin to be now out of fashion in Protestant countries. I shall at present only quote a passage of quite a different nature from the earlier volume, p. 72—it is an interesting one, and it runs thus:—‘It was the general opinion in times past, when these things were very frequent, that the fairies knew whatever was spoken in the air without the houses, not so much what was spoken in the houses. I suppose they chiefly knew what was spoken in the air at night. It was also said that they rather appeared to an uneven number of persons, to one, three, five, &c.; and oftener to men than to women. Thomas William Edmund, of Havodavel, an honest pious man, who often saw them, declared that they appeared with one bigger than the rest going before them in the company.’ With the notion that the fairies heard everything uttered out of doors may be compared the faculty attributed to the great magician king, Math ab Mathonwy, of hearing any whisper whatsoever that met the wind: see the Oxford Mabinogion, p. 60, and Guest’s Mabinogion, iii. 219; see also respectively pp. 94, 96, and pp. 308, 310, as to the same faculty belonging to the fairy people of the Corannians, and the strange precautions taken against them by the brothers Ỻûđ and Ỻevelys.

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