Welsh Folk Lore

E >> Elias Owen >> Welsh Folk Lore

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27

In Scotland there were at least two species of elves, the _Brownies_ and
the _Fairies_. The Brownies were so called from their tawny colour, and
the Fairies from their fairness. The _Portuni_ of Gervase appear to have
corresponded in character to the Brownies, who were said to have employed
themselves in the night in the discharge of laborious undertakings
acceptable to the family to whose service they had devoted themselves.
The Fairies proper of Scotland strongly resembled the Fairies of Wales.

The term _Brownie_, or swarthy elve, suggests a connection between them
and the _Gwylliaid Cochion_, or Red Fairies of Wales.

FAIRY LADIES MARRYING MORTALS.

In the mythology of the Greeks, and other nations, gods and goddesses are
spoken of as falling in love with human beings, and many an ancient
genealogy began with a celestial ancestor. Much the same thing is said
of the Fairies. Tradition speaks of them as being enamoured of the
inhabitants of this earth, and content, for awhile, to be wedded to
mortals. And there are families in Wales who are said to have Fairy
blood coursing through their veins, but they are, or were, not so highly
esteemed as were the offspring of the gods among the Greeks. The famous
physicians of Myddfai, who owed their talent and supposed supernatural
knowledge to their Fairy origin, are, however, an exception; for their
renown, notwithstanding their parentage, was always great, and increased
in greatness, as the rolling years removed them from their traditionary
parent, the Fairy lady of the Van Pool.

The _Pellings_ are said to have sprung from a Fairy Mother, and the
author of _Observations on the Snowdon Mountains_ states that the best
blood in his veins is fairy blood. There are in some parts of Wales
reputed descendants on the female side of the _Gwylliaid Cochion_ race;
and there are other families among us whom the aged of fifty years ago,
with an ominous shake of the head, would say were of Fairy extraction.
We are not, therefore, in Wales void of families of doubtful parentage or
origin.

All the current tales of men marrying Fairy ladies belong to a class of
stories called, technically, Taboo stories. In these tales the lady
marries her lover conditionally, and when this condition is broken she
deserts husband and children, and hies back to Fairy land.

This kind of tale is current among many people. Max Muller in _Chips
from a German Workshop_, vol. ii, pp. 104-6, records one of these ancient
stories, which is found in the Brahma_n_a of the Ya_g_ur-veda. Omitting
a few particulars, the story is as follows:--

"Urvasi, a kind of Fairy, fell in love with Pururavas, the son of Ida,
and when she met him she said, 'Embrace me three times a day, but never
against my will, and let me never see you without your royal garments,
for this is the manner of women.' In this manner she lived with him a
long time, and she was with child. Then her former friends, the
Gandharvas, said: 'This Urvasi has now dwelt a long time among mortals;
let us see that she come back.' Now, there was a ewe, with two lambs,
tied to the couch of Urvasi and Pururavas, and the Gandharvas stole one
of them. Urvasi said: 'They take away my darling, as if I had lived in a
land where there is no hero and no man.' They stole the second, and she
upbraided her husband again. Then Pururavas looked and said: 'How can
that be a land without heroes and men where I am?' And naked, he sprang
up; he thought it too long to put on his dress. Then the Gandharvas sent
a flash of lightning, and Urvasi saw her husband naked as by daylight.
Then she vanished; 'I come back,' she said, and went.

Pururavas bewailed his love in bitter grief. But whilst walking along
the border of a lake full of lotus flowers the Fairies were playing there
in the water, in the shape of birds, and Urvasi discovered him and
said:--

'That is the man with whom I dwelt so long.' Then her friends said: 'Let
us appear to him.' She agreed, and they appeared before him. Then the
king recognised her, and said:--

'Lo! my wife, stay, thou cruel in mind! Let us now exchange some words!
Our secrets, if they are not told now, will not bring us back on any
later day.'

She replied: 'What shall I do with thy speech? I am gone like the first
of the dawns. Pururavas, go home again, I am hard to be caught, like the
wind.'"

The Fairy wife by and by relents, and her mortal lover became, by a
certain sacrifice, one of the Gandharvas.

This ancient Hindu Fairy tale resembles in many particulars similar tales
found in Celtic Folk-Lore, and possibly, the original story, in its main
features, existed before the Aryan family had separated. The very words,
"I am hard to be caught," appear in one of the Welsh legends, which shall
be hereafter given:--

Nid hawdd fy nala,
I am hard to be caught.

And the scene is similar; in both cases the Fairy ladies are discovered
in a lake. The immortal weds the mortal, conditionally, and for awhile
the union seems to be a happy one. But, unwittingly, when engaged in an
undertaking suggested by, or in agreement with the wife's wishes, the
prohibited thing is done, and the lady vanishes away.

Such are the chief features of these mythical marriages. I will now
record like tales that have found a home in several parts of Wales.

WELSH LEGENDS OF FAIRY LADIES MARRYING MEN.

1. _The Pentrevoelas Legend_.

I am indebted to the Rev. Owen Jones, Vicar of Pentrevoelas, a mountain
parish in West Denbighshire, for the following tale, which was written in
Welsh by a native of those parts, and appeared in competition for a prize
on the Folk-Lore of that parish.

The son of Hafodgarreg was shepherding his father's flock on the hills,
and whilst thus engaged, he, one misty morning, came suddenly upon a
lovely girl, seated on the sheltered side of a peat-stack. The maiden
appeared to be in great distress, and she was crying bitterly. The young
man went up to her, and spoke kindly to her, and his attention and
sympathy were not without effect on the comely stranger. So beautiful
was the young woman, that from expressions of sympathy the smitten youth
proceeded to words of love, and his advances were not repelled. But
whilst the lovers were holding sweet conversation, there appeared on the
scene a venerable and aged man, who, addressing the female as her father,
bade her follow him. She immediately obeyed, and both departed leaving
the young man alone. He lingered about the place until the evening,
wishing and hoping that she might return, but she came not. Early the
next day, he was at the spot where he first felt what love was. All day
long he loitered about the place, vainly hoping that the beautiful girl
would pay another visit to the mountain, but he was doomed to
disappointment, and night again drove him homewards. Thus daily went he
to the place where he had met his beloved, but she was not there, and,
love-sick and lonely, he returned to Hafodgarreg. Such devotion deserved
its reward. It would seem that the young lady loved the young man quite
as much as he loved her. And in the land of allurement and illusion (yn
nhir hud a lledrith) she planned a visit to the earth, and met her lover,
but she was soon missed by her father, and he, suspecting her love for
this young man, again came upon them, and found them conversing lovingly
together. Much talk took place between the sire and his daughter, and
the shepherd, waxing bold, begged and begged her father to give him his
daughter in marriage. The sire, perceiving that the man was in earnest,
turned to his daughter, and asked her whether it were her wish to marry a
man of the earth? She said it was. Then the father told the shepherd he
should have his daughter to wife, and that she should stay with him,
until he should strike her with _iron_, and that, as a marriage portion,
he would give her a bag filled with bright money. The young couple were
duly married, and the promised dowry was received. For many years they
lived lovingly and happily together, and children were born to them. One
day this man and his wife went together to the hill to catch a couple of
ponies, to carry them to the Festival of the Saint of Capel Garmon. The
ponies were very wild, and could not be caught. The man, irritated,
pursued the nimble creatures. His wife was by his side, and now he
thought he had them in his power, but just at the moment he was about to
grasp their manes, off they wildly galloped, and the man, in anger,
finding that they had again eluded him, threw the bridle after them, and,
sad to say, the bit struck the wife, and as this was of _iron_ they both
knew that their marriage contract was broken. Hardly had they had time
to realise the dire accident, ere the aged father of the bride appeared,
accompanied by a host of Fairies, and there and then departed with his
daughter to the land whence she came, and that, too, without even
allowing her to bid farewell to her children. The money, though, and the
children were left behind, and these were the only memorials of the
lovely wife and the kindest of mothers, that remained to remind the
shepherd of the treasure he had lost in the person of his Fairy spouse.

Such is the Pentrevoelas Legend. The writer had evidently not seen the
version of this story in the _Cambro-Briton_, nor had he read Williams's
tale of a like occurrence, recorded in _Observations on the Snowdon
Mountains_. The account, therefore, is all the more valuable, as being
an independent production.

A fragmentary variant of the preceding legend was given me by Mr. Lloyd,
late schoolmaster of Llanfihangel-Glyn-Myfyr, a native of South Wales,
who heard the tale in the parish of Llanfihangel. Although but a
fragment, it may not be altogether useless, and I will give it as I
received it:--

Shon Rolant, Hafod y Dre, Pentrevoelas, when going home from Llanrwst
market, fortunately caught a Fairy-maid, whom he took home with him. She
was a most handsome woman, but rather short and slight in person. She
was admired by everybody on account of her great beauty. Shon Rolant
fell desperately in love with her, and would have married her, but this
she would not allow. He, however, continued pressing her to become his
wife, and, by and by, she consented to do so, provided he could find out
her name. As Shon was again going home from the market about a month
later, he heard some one saying, near the place where he had seized the
Fairy-maid, "Where is little Penloi gone? Where is little Penloi gone?"
Shon at once thought that some one was searching for the Fairy he had
captured, and when he reached home, he addressed the Fairy by the name he
had heard, and Penloi consented to become his wife. She, however,
expressed displeasure at marrying a dead man, as the Fairies call us.
She informed her lover that she was not to be touched with _iron_, or she
would disappear at once. Shon took great care not to touch her with
_iron_. However, one day, when he was on horseback talking to his
beloved Penloi, who stood at the horse's head, the horse suddenly threw
up its head, and the curb, which was of _iron_, came in contact with
Penloi, who immediately vanished out of sight.

The next legend is taken from Williams's _Observations on the Snowdon
Mountains_. His work was published in 1802. He, himself, was born in
Anglesey, in 1738, and migrated to Carnarvonshire about the year 1760.
It was in this latter county that he became a learned antiquary, and a
careful recorder of events that came under his notice. His
"Observations" throw considerable light upon the life, the customs, and
the traditions of the inhabitants of the hill parts and secluded glens of
Carnarvonshire. I have thought fit to make these few remarks about the
author I quote from, so as to enable the reader to give to him that
credence which he is entitled to. Williams entitles the following story,
"A Fairy Tale," but I will for the sake of reference call it "The Ystrad
Legend."

2. _The Ystrad Legend_.

"In a meadow belonging to Ystrad, bounded by the river which falls from
Cwellyn Lake, they say the Fairies used to assemble, and dance on fair
moon-light-nights. One evening a young man, who was the heir and
occupier of this farm, hid himself in a thicket close to the spot where
they used to gambol; presently they appeared, and when in their merry
mood, out he bounced from his covert and seized one of their females; the
rest of the company dispersed themselves, and disappeared in an instant.
Disregarding her struggles and screams, he hauled her to his home, where
he treated her so very kindly that she became content to live with him as
his maid servant; but he could not prevail upon her to tell him her name.
Some time after, happening again to see the Fairies upon the same spot,
he heard one of them saying, 'The last time we met here, our sister
_Penelope_ was snatched away from us by one of the mortals!' Rejoiced at
knowing the name of his _Incognita_, he returned home; and as she was
very beautiful, and extremely active, he proposed to marry her, which she
would not for a long time consent to; at last, however, she complied, but
on this condition, 'That if ever he should strike her with iron, she
would leave him, and never return to him again.' They lived happily for
many years together, and he had by her a son, and a daughter; and by her
industry and prudent management as a house-wife he became one of the
richest men in the country. He farmed, besides his own freehold, all the
lands on the north side of Nant-y-Bettws to the top of Snowdon, and all
Cwmbrwynog in Llanberis; an extent of about five thousand acres or
upwards.

Unfortunately, one day Penelope followed her husband into the field to
catch a horse; and he, being in a rage at the animal as he ran away from
him, threw at him the bridle that was in his hand, which unluckily fell
on poor Penelope. She disappeared in an instant, and he never saw her
afterwards, but heard her voice in the window of his room one night
after, requesting him to take care of the children, in these words:--

Rhag bod anwyd ar fy mab,
Yn rhodd rhowch arno gob ei dad,
Rhag bod anwyd ar liw'r cann,
Rhoddwch arni bais ei mam.

That is--

Oh! lest my son should suffer cold,
Him in his father's coat infold,
Lest cold should seize my darling fair,
For her, her mother's robe prepare.

These children and their descendants, they say, were called _Pellings_; a
word corrupted from their mother's name, Penelope."

Williams proceeds thus with reference to the descendants of this union:--

"The late Thomas Rowlands, Esq., of Caerau, in Anglesey, the father of
the late Lady Bulkeley, was a descendant of this lady, if it be true that
the name _Pellings_ came from her; and there are still living several
opulent and respectable people who are known to have sprung from the
_Pellings_. The best blood in my own veins is this Fairy's."

This tale was chronicled in the last century, but it is not known whether
every particular incident connected therewith was recorded by Williams.
_Glasynys_, the Rev. Owen Wynne Jones, a clergyman, relates a tale in the
_Brython_, which he regards as the same tale as that given by Williams,
and he says that he heard it scores of times when he was a lad.
_Glasynys_ was born in the parish of Rhostryfan, Carnarvonshire, in 1827,
and as his birth place is not far distant from the scene of this legend,
he might have heard a different version of Williams's tale, and that too
of equal value with Williams's. Possibly, there were not more than from
forty to fifty years between the time when the older writer heard the
tale and the time when it was heard by the younger man. An octogenarian,
or even a younger person, could have conversed with both Williams and
_Glasynys_. _Glasynys's_ tale appears in Professor Rhys's _Welsh Fairy
Tales_, _Cymmrodor_, vol. iv., p. 188. It originally appeared in the
_Brython_ for 1863, p. 193. It is as follows:--

"One fine sunny morning, as the young heir of Ystrad was busied with his
sheep on the side of Moel Eilio, he met a very pretty girl, and when he
got home he told the folks there of it. A few days afterwards he met her
again, and this happened several times, when he mentioned it to his
father, who advised him to seize her when he next met her. The next time
he met her he proceeded to do so, but before he could take her away, a
little fat old man came to them and begged him to give her back to him,
to which the youth would not listen. The little man uttered terrible
threats, but he would not yield, so an agreement was made between them
that he was to have her to wife until he touched her skin with iron, and
great was the joy both of the son and his parents in consequence. They
lived together for many years, but once on a time, on the evening of
Bettws Fair, the wife's horse got restive, and somehow, as the husband
was attending to the horse, the stirrups touched the skin of her bare
leg, and that very night she was taken away from him. She had three or
four children, and more than one of their descendants, as _Glasynys_
maintains, were known to him at the time he wrote in 1863."

3. _The Llanfrothen Legend_.

I am indebted to the Rev. R. Jones, Rector of Llanycil, Bala, for the
following legend. I may state that Mr. Jones is a native of Llanfrothen,
Merionethshire, a parish in close proximity to the scene of the story.
Mr. Jones's informant was his mother, a lady whose mind was well stored
with tales of by-gone times, and my friend and informant inherits his
mother's retentive memory, as well as her love of ancient lore.

A certain man fell in love with a beautiful Fairy lady, and he wished to
marry her. She consented to do so, but warned him that if he ever
touched her with iron she would leave him immediately. This stipulation
weighed but lightly on the lover. They were married, and for many years
they lived most happily together, and several children were born to them.
A sad mishap, however, one day overtook them. They were together,
crossing Traethmawr, Penrhyndeudraeth, on horseback, when the man's horse
became restive, and jerked his head towards the woman, and the bit of the
bridle touched the left arm of the Fairy wife. She at once told her
husband that they must part for ever. He was greatly distressed, and
implored her not to leave him. She said she could not stay. Then the
man, appealing to a mother's love for her children, begged that she would
for the sake of their offspring continue to dwell with him and them, and,
said he, what will become of our children without their mother? Her
answer was:--

Gadewch iddynt fod yn bennau cochion a thrwynau hirion.

Let them be redheaded and longnosed.

Having uttered these words, she disappeared and was never seen
afterwards.

No Welsh Taboo story can be complete without the pretty tale of the Van
Lake Legend, or, as it is called, "The Myddfai Legend." Because of its
intrinsic beauty and worth, and for the sake of comparison with the
preceding stories, I will relate this legend. There are several versions
extant. Mr. Wirt Sikes, in his _British Goblins_, has one, the
_Cambro-Briton_ has one, but the best is that recorded by Professor Rhys,
in the _Cymmrodor_, vol. iv., p. 163, in his _Welsh Fairy Tales_. There
are other readings of the legend to be met with. I will first of all
give an epitome of the Professor's version.

4. _The Myddvai Legend_.

A widow, who had an only son, was obliged, in consequence of the large
flocks she possessed, to send, under the care of her son, a portion of
her cattle to graze on the Black Mountain near a small lake called
Llyn-y-Van-Bach.

One day the son perceived, to his great astonishment, a most beautiful
creature with flowing hair sitting on the unruffled surface of the lake
combing her tresses, the water serving as a mirror. Suddenly she beheld
the young man standing on the brink of the lake with his eyes rivetted on
her, and unconsciously offering to herself the provision of barley bread
and cheese with which he had been provided when he left his home.

Bewildered by a feeling of love and admiration for the object before him,
he continued to hold out his hand towards the lady, who imperceptibly
glided near to him, but gently refused the offer of his provisions. He
attempted to touch her, but she eluded his grasp, saying

Cras dy fara;
Nid hawdd fy nala.

Hard baked is thy bread;
It is not easy to catch me.

She immediately dived under the water and disappeared, leaving the
love-stricken youth to return home a prey to disappointment and regret
that he had been unable to make further acquaintance with the lovely
maiden with whom he had desperately fallen in love.

On his return home he communicated to his mother the extraordinary
vision. She advised him to take some unbaked dough the next time in his
pocket, as there must have been some spell connected with the hard baked
bread, or "Bara Cras," which prevented his catching the lady.

Next morning, before the sun was up, the young man was at the lake, not
for the purpose of looking after the cattle, but that he might again
witness the enchanting vision of the previous day. In vain did he glance
over the surface of the lake; nothing met his view, save the ripples
occasioned by a stiff breeze, and a dark cloud hung heavily on the summit
of the Van.

Hours passed on, the wind was hushed, the overhanging clouds had
vanished, when the youth was startled by seeing some of his mother's
cattle on the precipitous side of the acclivity, nearly on the opposite
side of the lake. As he was hastening away to rescue them from their
perilous position, the object of his search again appeared to him, and
seemed much more beautiful than when he first beheld her. His hand was
again held out to her, full of unbaked bread, which he offered to her
with an urgent proffer of his heart also, and vows of eternal attachment,
all of which were refused by her, saying

Llaith dy fara!
Ti ni fynna.

Unbaked is thy bread!
I will not have thee.

But the smiles that played upon her features as the lady vanished beneath
the waters forbade him to despair, and cheered him on his way home. His
aged parent was acquainted with his ill success, and she suggested that
his bread should the next time be but slightly baked, as most likely to
please the mysterious being.

Impelled by love, the youth left his mother's home early next morning.
He was soon near the margin of the lake impatiently awaiting the
reappearance of the lady. The sheep and goats browsed on the precipitous
sides of the Van, the cattle strayed amongst the rocks, rain and sunshine
came and passed away, unheeded by the youth who was wrapped up in looking
for the appearance of her who had stolen his heart. The sun was verging
towards the west, and the young man casting a sad look over the waters
ere departing homewards was astonished to see several cows walking along
its surface, and, what was more pleasing to his sight, the maiden
reappeared, even lovelier than ever. She approached the land and he
rushed to meet her in the water. A smile encouraged him to seize her
hand, and she accepted the moderately baked bread he offered her, and
after some persuasion she consented to become his wife, on condition that
they should live together until she received from him three blows without
a cause,

Tri ergyd diachos,

Three causeless blows,

when, should he ever happen to strike her three such blows, she would
leave him for ever. These conditions were readily and joyfully accepted.

Thus the Lady of the Lake became engaged to the young man, and having
loosed her hand for a moment she darted away and dived into the lake.
The grief of the lover at this disappearance of his affianced was such
that he determined to cast himself headlong into its unfathomed depths,
and thus end his life. As he was on the point of committing this rash
act, there emerged out of the lake two most beautiful ladies, accompanied
by a hoary-headed man of noble mien and extraordinary stature, but having
otherwise all the force and strength of youth. This man addressed the
youth, saying that, as he proposed to marry one of his daughters, he
consented to the union, provided the young man could distinguish which of
the two ladies before him was the object of his affections. This was no
easy task, as the maidens were perfect counterparts of each other.

Whilst the young man narrowly scanned the two ladies and failed to
perceive the least difference betwixt the two, one of them thrust her
foot a slight degree forward. The motion, simple as it was, did not
escape the observation of the youth, and he discovered a trifling
variation in the mode in which their sandals were tied. This at once put
an end to the dilemma, for he had on previous occasions noticed the
peculiarity of her shoe-tie, and he boldly took hold of her hand.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27