British Goblins: Welsh Folk-lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends and Traditions — Book 1 Chapter 6 Parts 8-13
VIII.
Ignorance of what transpired in the fairy circle is not an invariable feature of legends like those we have been observing.
In the story of Tudur of Llangollen, preserved by several old Welsh writers, the hero's experiences are given with much liveliness of detail.
The scene of this tale is a hollow near Llangollen, on the mountain side half-way up to the ruins of Dinas Bran Castle, which hollow is to this day called Nant yr Ellyllon.
It obtained its name, according to tradition, in this wise: A young man, called Tudur ap Einion Gloff, used in old times to pasture his master's sheep in that hollow.
One summer's night, when Tudur was preparing to return to the lowlands with his woolly charge, there suddenly appeared, perched upon a stone near him, 'a little man in moss breeches with a fiddle under his arm.
He was the tiniest wee specimen of humanity imaginable.
His coat was made of birch leaves, and he wore upon his head a helmet which consisted of a gorse flower, while his feet were encased in pumps made of beetle's wings.
He ran his fingers over his instrument, and the music made Tudur's hair stand on end.
"Nos da'ch', nos da'ch'," said the little man, which means "Good-night, good-night to you," in English.
"Ac i chwithau," replied Tudur; which again, in English, means "The same to you."
Then continued the little man, "You are fond of dancing, Tudur; and if you but tarry awhile you shall behold some of the best dancers in Wales, and I am the musician."
Quoth Tudur, "Then where is your harp?
A Welshman even cannot dance without a harp."
"Oh," said the little man, "I can discourse better dance music upon my fiddle."
"Is it a fiddle you call that stringed wooden spoon in your hand?"
asked Tudur, for he had never seen such an instrument before.
And now Tudur beheld through the dusk hundreds of pretty little sprites converging towards the spot where they stood, from all parts of the mountain.
Some were dressed in white, and some in blue, and some in pink, and some carried glow-worms in their hands for torches.
And so lightly did they tread that not a blade nor a flower was crushed beneath their weight, and every one made a curtsey or a bow to Tudur as they passed, and Tudur doffed his cap and moved to them in return.
Presently the little minstrel drew his bow across the strings of his instrument, and the music produced was so enchanting that Tudur stood transfixed to the spot.'
At the sound of the sweet melody, the Tylwyth Teg ranged themselves in groups, and began to dance.
Now of all the dancing Tudur had ever seen, none was to be compared to that he saw at this moment going on.
He could not help keeping time with his hands and feet to the merry music, but he dared not join in the dance, 'for he thought within himself that to dance on a mountain at night in strange company, to perhaps the devil's fiddle, might not be the most direct route to heaven.'
But at last he found there was no resisting this bewitching strain, joined to the sight of the capering Ellyllon.
'"Now for it, then," screamed Tudur, as he pitched his cap into the air under the excitement of delight.
"Play away, old devil; brimstone and water, if you like!"
No sooner were the words uttered than everything underwent a change.
The gorse-blossom cap vanished from the minstrel's head, and a pair of goat's horns branched out instead.
His face turned as black as soot; a long tail grew out of his leafy coat, while cloven feet replaced the beetle-wing pumps.
Tudur's heart was heavy, but his heels were light.
Horror was in his bosom, but the impetus of motion was in his feet.
The fairies changed into a variety of forms.
Some became goats, and some became dogs, some assumed the shape of foxes, and others that of cats.
It was the strangest crew that ever surrounded a human being.
The dance became at last so furious that Tudur could not distinctly make out the forms of the dancers.
They reeled around him with such rapidity that they almost resembled a wheel of fire.
Still Tudur danced on.
He could not stop, the devil's fiddle was too much for him, as the figure with the goat's horns kept pouring it out with unceasing vigour, and Tudur kept reeling around in spite of himself.
Next day Tudur's master ascended the mountain in search of the lost shepherd and his sheep.
He found the sheep all right at the foot of the Fron, but fancy his astonishment when, ascending higher, he saw Tudur spinning like mad in the middle of the basin now known as Nant yr Ellyllon.'
Some pious words of the master broke the charm, and restored Tudur to his home in Llangollen, where he told his adventures with great gusto for many years afterwards.
[42] FOOTNOTE:
[42] Rev. T.
R.
Lloyd (Estyn), in 'The Principality.'
IX.
Polly Williams, a good dame who was born in Trefethin parish, and lived at the Ship Inn, at Pontypool, Monmouthshire, was wont to relate that, when a child, she danced with the Tylwyth Teg.
The first time was one day while coming home from school.
She saw the fairies dancing in a pleasant, dry place, under a crab-tree, and, thinking they were children like herself, went to them, when they induced her to dance with them.
She brought them into an empty barn and they danced there together.
After that, during three or four years, she often met and danced with them, when going to or coming from school.
She never could hear the sound of their feet, and having come to know that they were fairies, took off her ffollachau (clogs), so that she, too, might make no noise, fearful that the clattering of her clog-shodden feet was displeasing to them.
They were all dressed in blue and green aprons, and, though they were so small, she could see by their mature faces that they were no children.
Once when she came home barefoot, after dancing with the fairies, she was chided for going to school in that condition; but she held her tongue about the fairies, for fear of trouble, and never told of them till after she grew up.
She gave over going with them to dance, however, after three or four years, and this displeased them.
They tried to coax her back to them, and, as she would not come, hurt her by dislocating 'one of her walking members,'[43] which, as a euphemism for legs, surpasses anything charged against American prudery.
FOOTNOTE:
[43] Jones, 'Apparitions.'
X.
Contrasting strongly with this matter-of-fact account of a modern witness is the glowing description of fairy life contained in the legend of the Fairies of Frennifawr.
About ten miles south of Cardigan is the Pembrokeshire mountain called Frennifawr, which is the scene of this tale: A shepherd's lad was tending his sheep on the small mountains called Frennifach one fine morning in June.
Looking to the top of Frennifawr to note what way the fog hung--for if the fog on that mountain hangs on the Pembrokeshire side, there will be fair weather, if on the Cardigan side, storm--he saw the Tylwyth Teg, in appearance like tiny soldiers, dancing in a ring.
He set out for the scene of revelry, and soon drew near the ring where, in a gay company of males and females, they were footing it to the music of the harp.
Never had he seen such handsome people, nor any so enchantingly cheerful.
They beckoned him with laughing faces to join them as they leaned backward almost falling, whirling round and round with joined hands.
Those who were dancing never swerved from the perfect circle;
but some were clambering over the old cromlech, and others chasing each other with surprising swiftness and the greatest glee.
Still others rode about on small white horses of the most beautiful form;
these riders were little ladies, and their dresses were indescribably elegant, surpassing the sun in radiance, and varied in colour, some being of bright whiteness, others the most vivid scarlet.
The males wore red tripled caps, and the ladies a light fantastic headdress which waved in the wind.
All this was in silence, for the shepherd could not hear the harps, though he saw them.
But now he drew nearer to the circle, and finally ventured to put his foot in the magic ring.
The instant he did this, his ears were charmed with strains of the most melodious music he had ever heard.
Moved with the transports this seductive harmony produced in him, he stepped fully into the ring.
He was no sooner in than he found himself in a palace glittering with gold and pearls.
Every form of beauty surrounded him, and every variety of pleasure was offered him.
He was made free to range whither he would, and his every movement was waited on by young women of the most matchless loveliness.
And no tongue can tell the joys of feasting that were his!
Instead of the tatws-a-llaeth (potatoes and buttermilk) to which he had hitherto been accustomed, here were birds and meats of every choice description, served on plates of silver.
Instead of home-brewed cwrw, the only bacchic beverage he had ever tasted in real life, here were red and yellow wines of wondrous enjoyableness, brought in golden goblets richly inlaid with gems.
The waiters were the most beautiful virgins, and everything was in abundance.
There was but one restriction on his freedom: he must not drink, on any consideration, from a certain well in the garden, in which swam fishes of every colour, including the colour of gold.
Each day new joys were provided for his amusement, new scenes of beauty were unfolded to him, new faces presented themselves, more lovely if possible than those he had before encountered.
Everything was done to charm him; but one day all his happiness fled in an instant.
Possessing every joy that mortal could desire, he wanted the one thing forbidden--like Eve in the garden, like Fatima in the castle;
curiosity undid him.
He plunged his hand into the well: the fishes all disappeared instantly.
He put the water to his mouth: a confused shriek ran through the garden.
He drank: the palace and all vanished from his sight, and he stood shivering in the night air, alone on the mountain, in the very place where he had first entered the ring.
[44] [Illustration: THE FATAL DRAUGHT.
] FOOTNOTE:
[44] 'Cambrian Superstitions,' 148. (This is a small collection of Welsh stories printed at Tipton in 1831, and now rare; its author was W.
Howells, a lad of nineteen, and his work was drawn out by a small prize offered by Archdeacon Beynon through a Carmarthen newspaper in 1830. Its English requires rehandling, but its material is of value.
) XI.
Comment on the resemblances borne by these tales to the more famous legends of other lands, is perhaps unnecessary; they will occur to every reader who is at all familiar with the subject of folk-lore.
To those who are not, it is sufficient to say that these resemblances exist, and afford still further testimony to the common origin of such tales in a remote past.
The legend last given embodies the curiosity feature which is familiar through the story of Bluebeard, but has its root in the story of Psyche.
She was forbidden to look upon her husband Eros, the god of love; she disobeyed the injunction, and the beautiful palace in which she had dwelt with him vanished in an instant, leaving her alone in a desolate spot.
Ages older than the Psyche story, however, is the legend embodying the original Aryan myth.
The drop of oil which falls upon the shoulder of the sleeping prince and wakes him, revealing Psyche's curiosity and destroying her happiness, is paralleled among the Welsh by the magic ointment in the legend of the Fiend Master.
This legend, it may be premised, is also familiar to both France and Germany, where its details differ but little from those here given: A respectable young Welshwoman of the working class, who lived with her parents, went one day to a hiring fair.
Here she 'was addressed by a very noble-looking gentleman all in black, who asked her if she would be a nursemaid, and undertake the management of his children.
She replied that she had no objection;
when he promised her immense wages, and said he would take her home behind him, but that she must, before they started, consent to be blindfolded.
This done, she mounted behind him on a coal-black steed, and away they rode at a great rate.
At length they dismounted, when her new master took her by the hand and led her on, still blindfolded, for a considerable distance.
The handkerchief was then removed, when she beheld more grandeur than she had ever seen before; a beautiful palace lighted up by more lights than she could count, and a number of little children as beautiful as angels; also many noble-looking ladies and gentlemen.
The children her master put under her charge, and gave her a box containing ointment, which she was to put on their eyes.
At the same time he gave her strict orders always to wash her hands immediately after using the ointment, and be particularly careful never to let a bit of it touch her own eyes.
These injunctions she strictly followed, and was for some time very happy; yet she sometimes thought it odd that they should always live by candle-light; and she wondered, too, that grand and beautiful as the palace was, such fine ladies and gentlemen as were there should never wish to leave it.
But so it was; no one ever went out but her master.
One morning, while putting the ointment on the eyes of the children, her own eye itched, and forgetting the orders of her master she touched one corner of it with her finger which was covered with ointment.
Immediately, with the vision of that corner of her eye, she saw herself surrounded by fearful flames; the ladies and gentlemen looked like devils, and the children appeared like the most hideous imps of hell.
Though with the other parts of her eyes she beheld all grand and beautiful as before, she could not help feeling much frightened at all this; but having great presence of mind she let no one see her alarm.
However, she took the first opportunity of asking her master's leave to go and see her friends.
He said he would take her, but she must again consent to be blindfolded.
Accordingly a handkerchief was put over her eyes; she was again mounted behind her master, and was soon put down in the neighbourhood of her own house.
It will be believed that she remained quietly there, and took good care not to return to her place; but very many years afterwards, being at a fair, she saw a man stealing something from a stall, and with one corner of her eye beheld her old master pushing his elbow.
Unthinkingly she said, "How are you master?
how are the children?"
He said, "How did you see me?"
She answered, "With the corner of my left eye."
From that moment she was blind of her left eye, and lived many years with only her right.'
[45] An older legend preserving this mythical detail is the story of Taliesin.
Gwion Bach's eyes are opened by a drop from Caridwen's caldron falling upon his finger, which he puts in his mouth.
FOOTNOTE:
[45] 'Camb.
Sup.
,' 349. XII.
A Carmarthenshire tradition names among those who lived for a period among the Tylwyth Teg no less a person than the translator into Welsh of Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress.'
He was called Iago ap Dewi, and lived in the parish of Llanllawddog, Carmarthenshire, in a cottage situated in the wood of Llangwyly.
He was absent from the neighbourhood for a long period, and the universal belief among the peasantry was that Iago 'got out of bed one night to gaze on the starry sky, as he was accustomed (astrology being one of his favourite studies), and whilst thus occupied the fairies (who were accustomed to resort in a neighbouring wood), passing by, carried him away, and he dwelt with them seven years.
Upon his return he was questioned by many as to where he had been, but always avoided giving them a reply.'
XIII.
The wide field of interest opened up in tales of this class is a fascinating one to the students of fairy mythology.
The whole world seems to be the scene of such tales, and collectors of folk-lore in many lands have laid claim to the discovery of 'the original' on which the story of Rip van Winkle is based.
It is an honour to American genius, to which I cannot forbear a passing allusion, that of all these legends, none has achieved so wide a fame as that which Washington Irving has given to our literature, and Joseph Jefferson to our stage.
It is more than probable that Irving drew his inspiration from Grimm, and that the Catskills are indebted to the Hartz Mountains of Germany for their romantic fame.
But the legends are endless in which occur this unsuspected lapse of time among supernatural beings, and the wandering back to the old home to find all changed.
In Greece, it is Epimenides, the poet, who, while searching for a lost sheep, wanders into a cave where he slumbers forty-seven years.
The Gaelic and Teutonic legends are well known.
But our wonder at the vitality of this myth is greatest when we find it in both China and Japan.
In the Japanese account a young man fishing in his boat on the ocean is invited by the goddess of the sea to her home beneath the waves.
After three days he desires to see his old mother and father.
On parting she gives him a golden casket and a key, but begs him never to open it.
At the village where he lived he finds that all is changed, and he can get no trace of his parents until an aged woman recollects having heard of their names.
He finds their graves a hundred years old.
Thinking that three days could not have made such a change, and that he was under a spell, he opens the casket.
A white vapour rises, and under its influence the young man falls to the ground.
His hair turns grey, his form loses its youth, and in a few moments he dies of old age.
The Chinese legend relates how two friends wandering amongst the ravines of their native mountains in search of herbs for medicinal purposes, come to a fairy bridge where two maidens of more than earthly beauty are on guard.
They invite them to the fairy land which lies on the other side of the bridge, and the invitation being accepted, they become enamoured of the maidens, and pass what to them seems a short though blissful period of existence with the fairy folk.
At length they desire to revisit their earthly homes and are allowed to return, when they find that seven generations have lived and died during their apparently short absence, they themselves having become centenarians.
[46] In China, as elsewhere, the legend takes divers forms.
FOOTNOTE:
[46] Dennys, 'Folk-Lore of China,' 98. CHAPTER VII.
Fairy Music--Birds of Enchantment--The Legend of Shon ap Shenkin--Harp-Music in Welsh Fairy Tales--Legend of the Magic Harp--Songs and Tunes of the Tylwyth Teg--The Legend of Iolo ap Hugh--Mystic Origin of an old Welsh Air.
