The oldest account we have met with of Welsh Fairies is in the Itinerary of Giraldus Cambrensis, who, in the year 1188, accompanied Archbishop Baldwin in his tour through Wales, undertaken for the purpose of exciting the zeal of the people to take part in the crusade then in contemplation.

Giraldus, who was an attentive observer of nature and of mankind, has in this work given many beautiful descriptions of scenery, and valuable traits of manners. He is liberal of legends of saints, but such was the taste of his age. Among his narratives, however, he gives the two following, which show that there was a belief in South Wales in beings similar to the Fairies and Hobgoblins of England.

Tale of Elidurus.

A short time before our days, a circumstance worthy of note occurred in these parts, which Elidurus, a priest, most strenuously affirmed had befallen himself. When he was a youth of twelve years,—since, as Solomon says, "The root of learning is bitter, although the fruit is sweet,"—and was following his literary pursuits, in order to avoid the discipline and frequent stripes inflicted on him by his preceptor, he ran away, and concealed himself under the hollow bank of a river; and, after fasting in that situation for two days, two little men of pygmy stature appeared to him, saying, "If you will come with us, we will lead you into a country full of delights and sports." Assenting, and rising up, he followed his guides through a path, at first subterraneous and dark, into a most beautiful country, adorned with rivers and meadows, woods and plains, but obscure, and not illuminated with the full light of the sun. All the days were cloudy, and the nights extremely dark, on account of the absence of the moon and stars. The boy was brought before the king, and introduced to him in the presence of the court; when, having examined him for a long time, he delivered him to his son, who was then a boy. These men were of the smallest stature, but very well proportioned for their size. They were all fair-haired, with luxuriant hair falling over their shoulders, like that of women. They had horses proportioned to themselves, of the size of greyhounds. They neither ate flesh nor fish, but lived on milk diet, made up into messes with saffron. They never took an oath, for they detested nothing so much as lies. As often as they returned from our upper hemisphere, they reprobated our ambition, infidelities, and inconstancies. They had no religious worship, being only, as it seems, strict lovers and reverers of truth.

The boy frequently returned to our hemisphere, sometimes by the way he had first gone, sometimes by another; at first in company with others, and afterwards alone, and confided his secret only to his mother, declaring to her the manners, nature, and state of that people. Being desired by her to bring a present of gold, with which that region abounded, he stole, while at play with the king's son, the golden ball with which he used to divert himself, and brought it to his mother in great haste; and when he reached the door of his father's house, but not unpursued, and was entering it in a great hurry, his foot stumbled on the threshold, and, falling down into the room where his mother was sitting, the two Pygmies seized the ball, which had dropped from his hand, and departed, spitting at and deriding the boy. On recovering from his fall, confounded with shame, and execrating the evil counsel of his mother, he returned by the usual track to the subterraneous road, but found no appearance of any passage, though he searched for it on the banks of the river for nearly the space of a year. Having been brought back by his friends and mother, and restored to his right way of thinking and his literary pursuits, he attained in process of time the rank of priesthood. Whenever David the Second, bishop of St. David's, talked to him in his advanced state of life concerning this event, he could never relate the particulars without shedding tears.

He had also a knowledge of the language of that nation, and used to recite words of it he had readily acquired in his younger days. These words, which the bishop often repeated to me, were very conformable to the Greek idiom. When they asked for water, they said, Udor udorum, which signifies "Bring water;" for Udor, in their language, as well as in the Greek, signifies water; and Dwr also, in the British language, signifies water. When they want salt, they say, Halgein udorum, "Bring salt." Salt is called ??? in Greek, and Halen in British; for that language, from the length of time which the Britons (then called Trojans, and afterwards Britons from Brito, their leader) remained in Greece after the destruction of Troy, became, in many instances, similar to the Greek.[459]

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"If," says the learned archdeacon, "a scrupulous inquirer should ask my opinion of the relation here inserted, I answer, with Augustine, 'admiranda fore divina miracula non disputatione discutienda;' nor do I, by denial, place bounds to the Divine power; nor, by affirming insolently, extend that power which cannot be extended. But on such occasions I always call to mind that saying of Hieronymus: "Multa," says he, 'incredibilia reperies et non verisimilia, quÆ nihilominus tamen vera sunt.' These, and any such that might occur, I should place, according to Augustine's opinion, among those things which are neither to be strongly affirmed nor denied."

David Powel, who edited this work in 1585, thinks that this legend is written in imitation of the relation of Eros the Armenian, in Plato, or taken from Polo's account of the garden of the Old Man of the Mountain.[460]

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Again Giraldus writes,—"In these parts of Penbroch it has happed, in our times, that unclean spirits have conversed with mankind, not indeed visibly, but sensibly; for they manifested their presence at first in the house of one Stephen Wiriet, and some time after of William Not, by throwing dirt and such things as rather indicate an intention of mockery and injury. In the house of William, the spirit used to make rents and holes in both linen and woollen garments, to the frequent loss of both host and guest, from which injury no care and no bolts could protect them. In the house of Stephen, which was still more extraordinary, the spirit used to converse with people; and when they taunted him, which they frequently did out of sport, he used to charge them openly with those actions of theirs, from their birth, which they least wished to be heard or known by others. If you ask the cause and reason of this matter, I do not take on me to assign it; only this, that it, as is said, used to be the sign of a sudden change, either from poverty to riches, or rather from riches to desolation and poverty, as it was found to be a little after with both of these. But this I think worthy of remark, that places cannot be freed from illusions of this kind by the sprinkling of holy water, not merely of the ordinary, but even of the great kind; nor by the aid of any ecclesiastical sacrament. Nay, the priests themselves, when coming in with devotion, and fortified as well with the cross as with holy water, were forthwith among the first defiled by the dirt thrown at them. From which it would appear that both sacramentals and sacraments defend from hurtful, not harmless things, and from injury, not from illusion."[461]

The Tylwyth Teg.

In the mountains near Brecknock, says Davies,[462] there is a small lake, to which tradition assigns some of the properties of the fabled Avernus. I recollect a Mabinogi, or mythologic tale, respecting this piece of water, which runs thus:—

In ancient times a door in a rock near this lake was found open upon a certain day every year. I think it was May-day. Those who had the curiosity and resolution to enter were conducted by a secret passage, which terminated in a small island in the centre of the lake. Here the visitors were surprised with the prospect of a most enchanting garden stored with the choicest fruits and flowers, and inhabited by the Tylwyth TÊg, or Fair Family, a kind of Fairies, whose beauty could be equalled only by the courtesy and affability which they exhibited to those who pleased them. They gathered fruit and flowers for each of their guests, entertained them with the most exquisite music, disclosed to them many secrets of futurity, and invited them to stay as long as they should find their situation agreeable. But the island was secret, and nothing of its produce must be carried away. The whole of this scene was invisible to those who stood without the margin of the lake. Only an indistinct mass was seen in the middle; and it was observed that no bird would fly over the water, and that a soft strain of music at times breathed with rapturous sweetness in the breeze of the morning.

It happened upon one of these annual visits that a sacrilegious wretch, when he was about to leave the garden, put a flower, with which he had been presented, in his pocket; but the theft boded him no good. As soon as he had touched unhallowed ground the flower vanished and he lost his senses. Of this injury the Fair Family took no notice at the time. They dismissed their guests with their accustomed courtesy, and the door was closed as usual. But their resentment ran high. For though, as the tale goes, the Tylwyth TÊg and their garden undoubtedly occupy the spot to this day, though the birds still keep at a respectful distance from the lake, and some broken strains of music are still heard at times, yet the door which led to the island has never re-opened, and from the date of this sacrilegious act the Cymry have been unfortunate.

Some time after this, an adventurous person attempted to draw off the water, in order to discover its contents, when a terrific form arose from the midst of the lake, commanding him to desist, or otherwise he would drown the country.

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These Tylwyth TÊg are, as we see, regarded as Fairies, but we think improperly; for diminutive size is an attribute of the Fairies in all parts of the British Isles, and Mr. Owen (in his Welsh Dictionary, s. v.) expressly says that such is not the case with these beings.

The Spirit of the Van.

Among the mountains of Carmarthen, lies a beautiful and romantic piece of water, named The Van Pools. Tradition relates, that after midnight, on New Tear's Eve, there appears on this lake a being named The Spirit of the Van. She is dressed in a white robe, bound by a golden girdle; her hair is long and golden, her face is pale and melancholy; she sits in a golden boat, and manages a golden oar.

Many years ago there lived in the vicinity of this lake a young farmer, who having heard much of the beauty of this spirit, conceived a most ardent desire to behold her, and be satisfied of the truth. On the last night of the year, he therefore went to the edge of the lake, which lay calm and bright beneath the rays of the full moon, and waited anxiously for the first hour of the New Year. It came, and then he beheld the object of his wishes gracefully guiding her golden gondola to and fro over the lake. The moon at length sank behind the mountains, the stars grew dim at the approach of dawn, and the fair spirit was on the point of vanishing, when, unable to restrain himself, he called aloud to her to stay and be his wife; but with a faint cry she faded from his view. Night after night he now might be seen pacing the shores of the lake, but all in vain. His farm was neglected, his person wasted away, and gloom and melancholy were impressed on his features. At length he confided his secret to one of the mountain-sages, whose counsel was—a Welsh one, by the way—to assail the fair spirit with gifts of cheese and bread! The counsel was followed; and on Midsummer Eve the enamoured swain went down to the lake, and let fall into it a large cheese and a loaf of bread. But all was vain; no spirit rose. Still he fancied that the spot where he had last seen her shone with more than wonted brightness, and that a musical sound vibrated among the rocks. Encouraged by these signs, he night after night threw in loaves and cheeses, but still no spirit came. At length New Year's Eve returned. He dressed himself in his best, took his largest cheese and seven of his whitest loaves, and repaired to the lake. At the turn of midnight, he dropped them slowly one by one into the water, and then remained in silent expectation. The moon was hid behind a cloud, but by the faint light she gave, he saw the magic skiff appear, and direct its course for where he stood. Its owner stepped ashore, and hearkened to the young man's vows, and consented to become his wife. She brought with her as her dower flocks and herds, and other rural wealth. One charge she gave him, never to strike her, for the third time he should do so she would vanish.

They married, and were happy. After three or four years they were invited to a christening, and to the surprise of all present, in the midst of the ceremony, the spirit burst into tears. Her husband gave an angry glance, and asked her why she thus made a fool of herself? She replied, "The poor babe is entering in a world of sin and sorrow, and misery lies before it; why should I rejoice?" He gave her a push. She warned him that he had struck her once. Again they were, after some time, invited to attend the funeral of that very child. The spirit now laughed, and danced, and sang. Her husband's wrath was excited, and he asked her why she thus made a fool of herself? "The babe," she said, "has left a world of sin and sorrow, and escaped the misery that was before it, and is gone to be good and happy for ever and ever. Why, then, should I weep?" He gave her a push from him, and again she warned him. Still they lived happily as before. At length they were invited to a wedding, where the bride was young and fair, the husband a withered old miser. In the midst of the festivity, the spirit burst into a copious flood of tears, and to her husband's angry demand of why she thus made a fool of herself, she replied in the hearing of all, "Because summer and winter cannot agree. Youth is wedded to age for paltry gold. I see misery here, and tenfold misery hereafter, to be the lot of both. It is the devil's compact." Forgetful of her warnings, the husband now thrust her from him with real anger. She looked at him tenderly and reproachfully, and said, "You have struck me for the third and last time. Farewell!"

So saying, she left the place. He rushed out after her, and just reached his home in time to see her speeding to the lake, followed by all her flocks and herds. He pursued her, but in vain; his eyes never more beheld her.[463]

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As far as we have been able to learn, the belief in Fairies is confined in Wales to the southern counties of Glamorgan, Carmarthen, and Pembroke, the parts into which the Saxons had penetrated farthest, and where they of course had exercised most influence. In these counties the popular belief in these beings is by no means yet extinct, and their attributes in the creed of the Welsh peasants are similar to those of their British and Irish kindred.

The usual name given to the fairies in these parts of Wales, is Y Dynon Bach TÊg, i. e. The Little Fair People. Ellyll, in the plural Ellyllon, also signifies an Elf, from which word, indeed, it may have been derived. The bells of the Digitalis or fox-glove are called Menyg Ellylon, or the Elves'-gloves; in Ireland, also, they are connected with the fairies. The toadstools or poisonous mushrooms are named Bwyd Ellyllon, or Elves'-food. Perhaps, however, it is not the large ugly toadstools that are so named, but those pretty small delicate fungi, with their conical heads, which are named Fairy-mushrooms in Ireland, where they grow so plentifully. Finally, there was formerly in the park of Sir Robert Vaughan a celebrated old oak-tree, named Crwben-yr-Ellyll, or The Elf's Hollow-tree. The popular belief respecting these Ellyllon is, that they are the souls of the ancient Druids, who, being too good for relegation to Hell, and too evil for re-admittance to Heaven, are permitted to wander among men upon earth till the last day, when they also will enter on a higher state of being.[464]

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The legends of which we will now proceed to give a specimen, were collected and published in the latter half of the eighteenth century, by a Welsh clergyman, who seems to have entertained no doubt whatever of the truth of the adventures contained in them.[465]

The two daughters of a respectable farmer in the parish of Bedwellty were one day out hay-making with their man and maid servant and a couple of their neighbours, when on a hill, about quarter of a mile distant, they saw a large flock of sheep. Soon after, they saw them going up to a place half a mile off, and then going out of their sight as if they vanished in the air. About half-an-hour before sunset, they saw them again, but not all alike; for some saw them like sheep, some like greyhounds, some like swine, and some like naked infants. They appeared in the shade of the mountain between them and the sun, and the first sight was as if they rose out of the earth. "This was a notable appearance of the fairies, seen by credible witnesses. The sons of infidelity are very unreasonable not to believe the testimonies of so many witnesses of the being of spirits."

E. T. going home by night over Bedwellty Mountains, saw the fairies on each side of him. Some of them were dancing. He also heard the sound of a bugle-horn, as if people were hunting. He began to grow afraid, but recollecting to have heard that if, on seeing the fairies, you draw out your knife, they will vanish, he did so, and saw them no more. "This the old gentleman sincerely related to me. He was a sober man, and of the strictest veracity."

A young man having gone early one morning to a barn to feed oxen, when he had done, lay down on the hay to rest. As he lay he heard the sound of music approaching the barn, and presently came in a large company, wearing striped clothes (some more gay than others), and commenced dancing to their music. He lay quite still, thinking to escape their notice; but a woman, better dressed than the others, came up to him with a striped cushion, with a tassel at each corner, and put it under his head. Some time after, a cock was heard to crow, which seemed either to surprise or displease them, and they hastily drew the cushion from under his head, and went away.

P. W., "an honest virtuous woman," related that one time, when she was a little girl on her way to school, she saw the fairies dancing under a crab-tree. As they appeared to be children of her own size, and had small pleasant music, she went and joined in their exercise, and then took them to dance in an empty barn. This she continued to do for three or four years. As she never could hear the sound of their feet, she always took off her shoes, supposing noise to be displeasing to them. They were of small stature, looked rather old, and wore blue and green aprons. Her grandfather, who kept school in the parish-church, used, when going home from it late in the evening, to see the fairies dancing under an oak, within two or three fields of the church.

The learned writer gives finally a letter to himself, from a "pious young gentleman" of Denbighshire, dated March 24, 1772, in which he informs him, that about fifteen years before, as himself, his sister, and two other little girls were playing at noon of a summer's day in a field, they saw a company of dancers, about seventy yards from them. Owing to the rapidity of their whirling motions, they could not count them, but guessed them at fifteen or sixteen. They were in red, like soldiers, with red handkerchiefs spotted with yellow, on their heads. As they were gazing and wondering at them, one of the dancers came running towards them. The children, in a fright, made for an adjacent stile. The girls got over, but the boy was near being caught, and on looking back when over, he saw the red man stretching his arms after him over the stile, which it would seem he had not the power to cross. When they came to the house, which was close at hand, they gave the alarm, and people went out to search the fields, but could see nothing. The little man was very grim-looking, with a copper-coloured face. His running-pace was rather slow, but he took great strides for one of his size.

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The following legends were collected in 1827, in the Vale of Neath, in Glamorganshire, by a lady with whom we became acquainted when travelling through North Wales, in the preceding autumn.[466]

An old woman assured our fair friend, that she one time, many years before, saw the fairies to the number of some hundreds. They were very small, were mounted on little white horses, not bigger than dogs, and rode four a-breast. It was almost dusk at the time, and they were not a quarter of a mile from her. Another old woman said that her father had often seen the fairies riding in the air on little white horses, but he never saw them come down on the ground. He also used to hear their music in the air. She had heard, too, of a man who had been five-and-twenty years with the fairies, and thought he had been away only five minutes.

Rhys at the Fairy-Dance.

Rhys and Llewellyn, two farmer's servants, who had been all day carrying lime for their master, were driving in the twilight their mountain ponies before them, returning home from their work. On reaching a little plain, Rhys called to his companion to stop and listen to the music, saying it was a tune to which he had danced a hundred times, and must go and have a dance now. He bade him go on with the horses, and he would soon overtake him. Llewellyn could hear nothing, and began to remonstrate; but away sprang Rhys, and he called after him in vain. He went home, put up the ponies, ate his supper, and went to bed, thinking that Rhys had only made a pretext for going to the ale-house. But when morning came, and still no sign of Rhys, he told his master what had occurred. Search was then made everywhere, but no Rhys could be found. Suspicion now fell upon Llewellyn of having murdered him, and he was thrown into prison, though there was no evidence against him. A farmer, however, skilled in fairy-matters, having an idea of how things might have been, proposed that himself and some others should accompany Llewellyn to the place where he parted with Rhys. On coming to it, they found it green as the mountain ash. "Hush!" cried Llewellyn, "I hear music, I hear sweet harps." We all listened, says the narrator, for I was one of them, but could hear nothing. "Put your foot on mine, David," said he to me (his own foot was at the time on the outward edge of the fairy-ring). I did so, and so did we all, one after another, and then we heard the sound of many harps, and saw within a circle, about twenty feet across, great numbers of little people, of the size of children of three or four years old, dancing round and round. Among them we saw Rhys, and Llewellyn catching him by the smock-frock, as he came by him, pulled him out of the circle. "Where are the horses? where are the horses?" cried he. "Horses, indeed!" said Llewellyn. Rhys urged him to go home, and let him finish his dance, in which he averred he had not been engaged more than five minutes. It was by main force they took him from the place. He still asserted he had been only five minutes away, and could give no account of the people he had been with. He became melancholy, took to his bed, and soon after died. "The morning after," says the narrator, "we went to look at the place, and we found the edge of the ring quite red, as if trodden down, and I could see the marks of little heels, about the size of my thumb-nail."

Gitto Bach.

Gitto Bach,[467] who was a fine boy, used often to ramble to the top of the mountain to look after his father's sheep. On his return, he would show his brothers and sisters pieces of remarkably white paper, like crown-pieces, with letters stamped upon them, which he said were given him by the little children with whom he used to play on the mountain. One day he did not return, and during two whole years no account could be got of him, and the other children were beginning to go up the mountain, and bring back some of those white crown-pieces. At length, one morning, as their mother opened the door, she saw Gitto sitting on the threshold, with a bundle under his arm. He was dressed, and looked exactly as when she last had seen him. To her inquiry of where he had been for so long a time, he replied that it was only the day before he had left her; and he bade her look at the pretty clothes the little children on the mountain had given him for dancing with them to the music of their harps. The dress in the bundle was of very white paper, without seam or sewing. The prudent mother committed it to the flames.

"This," said the narrator, "made me more anxious than ever to see the fairies," and his wish was gratified by a gipsy, who directed him to find a four-leaved clover, and put it with nine grains of wheat on the leaf of a book which she gave him. She then desired him to meet her next night by moonlight on the top of Craig y Dinis. She there washed his eyes with the contents of a phial which she had, and he instantly saw thousands of fairies, all in white, dancing to the sounds of numerous harps. They then placed themselves on the edge of the hill, and sitting down and putting their hands round their knees, they tumbled down one after another, rolling head-over-heels till they disappeared in the valley.

Another old man, who was present at the preceding narration, averred that he had often seen the fairies at waterfalls; particularly at that of Sewyd yr Rhyd in Cwm Pergwm, Vale of Neath, where a road runs between the fall and the rock. As he stood behind the fall, they appeared in all the colours of the rainbow, and their music mingled with the noise of the water. They then retired into a cavern, which they had made in the rock, and, after enjoying themselves there, ascended the rock, and went off through the mountains, the sounds of their harps dying away as they receded.

The Fairies Banished.

One of those old farm-houses, where the kitchen and cow-house are on the same floor, with only a low partition between them, was haunted by the fairies. If the family were at their meals in the kitchen, they were racketing in the cow-house, and if the people were engaged about the cows, the fairies were making a riot in the kitchen. One day, when a parcel of reapers were at their harvest-dinner in the kitchen, the elves, who were laughing and dancing above, threw down such a quantity of dust and dirt as quite spoiled the dinner. While the mistress of the house was in perplexity about it, there came in an old woman, who, on hearing the case, said she could provide a remedy. She then told her in a whisper to ask six of the reapers to dinner next day in the hearing of the fairies, and only to make as much pudding as could be boiled in an egg-shell. She did as directed, and when the fairies saw that a dinner for six men was put down to boil in an egg-shell, there was great stir and noise in the cow-house, and at length one angry voice was heard to say, "We have lived long in this world; we were born just after the earth was made, and before the acorn was planted, and yet we never saw a harvest-dinner dressed in an egg-shell! There must be something wrong in this house, and we will stop here no longer." They went away and never returned.

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The fairies are said to take away children, and leave changelings.[468] They also give pieces of money, one of which is found every day in the same place as long as the finder keeps his good fortune a secret. One peculiarity of the Cambrian fairies is, that every Friday night they comb the goats' beards "to make them decent for Sunday."

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We hear not of Brownies or Kobolds in the Welsh houses now, but Puck used to haunt Wales as well as Ireland. His Welsh name, Pwcca, is the same as his Irish one. In Brecon there is Cwm Pwcca, or Puck's Glen, and though an iron-foundry has in a great measure scared him from it, yet he occasionally makes his appearance. As a man was returning one night from his work, he saw a light before him, and thought he discerned some one that carried it. Supposing it to be one of his fellow-workmen with a lanthorn, he quickened his pace to come up with him, wondering all the while how so short a man as he appeared to be could get over the ground so fast. He also fancied he was not going the right way, but still thought that he who had the light must know best. At last, he came up with him, and found himself on the very edge of one of the precipices of Cwm Pwcca, down which another step would have carried him. The Pwcca, for it was he, sprang over the glen, turned round, held the light above his head, and then with a loud laugh put it out and vanished.

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