‘There was a story respecting the son of the farmer of Braich y Dinas, which used to be told by the late respected Mr. Ellis Owen, of Cefn y Meusyđ, somewhat in the same way as that about the Ystrad youth, as told by Glasynys; that is to say, the young man enticed one of the damsels of the fair family to come down from Moel Hebog, and then he carried her by force into the house, and afterwards persuaded her to become his wife on the same conditions as the heir of Ystrad did. But I have heard an old lady called Mrs. Roberts, who had been brought up at Isaỻt, and who was older than Mr. Owen, relating it differently. This old woman believed in the truth of the story, as “she remembered some of the family, whatever anybody may say.” She used to spin her yarn somewhat as follows:—In old times—but, for the matter of that, when she was a young woman—there were a great many of the fair family living in certain caves in the Foel from Cwm Stráỻyn[5] down to the upper part of Pennant. This Tylwyth was much handsomer than any seen in any other part of the country. In point of stature they were much bigger than the ordinary ones, fair of complexion beyond everybody, with hair that was as light as flax, and eyes that were of a clear blue colour. They showed themselves in one spot or another, engaged in playing, singing, and jollity every light night. The sound of their singing used to draw the lads and the young women to look at them; and, should they be of clear complexion, the fairies would chat with them; but they would let no person of a dark hue come near them: they moved away from such a one. Now the young man of Braich y Dinas was a handsome, vigorous, and lively stripling of fair, clear, and attractive complexion. He was very fond of looking at the fair family, and had a chat with some of them often, but chiefly with one of the damsels, who surpassed all the rest in beauty and good sense. The result of frequently meeting was that they fell in love with one another, but she would not marry him. She promised, however, to go to service to him, and agreed to meet him at Pant y—I have forgotten the rest of the name—the day after, as it would not do for her to go with him while the others happened to be looking on. So he went up the next day to the Foel, and the damsel met him according to her promise, and went with him home, where she took to the duties of a dairymaid. Soon everything began to prosper under her hand; the butter and the cheese were daily growing in quantity. Long and importunately did the youth try to get her to marry him. She promised to do so provided he could find out her name. Mrs. Roberts did not know by what manœuvre he succeeded in discovering it, but it was done, and he came into the house one night and called to “Sibi,” and when she heard her name she fainted away. When, however, she recovered her consciousness, she consented to marry on the condition that he was not to touch her with iron, and that there was not to be a bolt of iron on the door, or a lock either. It was agreed, and they were married; they lived together comfortably many years, and had children born to them. The end came thus: he had gone one day to cut a bundle of rushes for thatching, and planted the reaping-hook in the bundle to go home. As he drew towards the haggard, Sibi ran out to meet him, and he wantonly threw the bundle of rushes towards her, when she, to prevent its hitting her, tried to stop it with her hand, which touched the reaping-hook. She vanished on the spot out of sight behind the bundle of rushes, and nothing more was seen or heard of her.’
Mr. Ellis Owen, alluded to above, was a highly respected gentleman, well known in North Wales for his literary and antiquarian tastes. He was born in 1789 at Cefn y Meusyđ near Tremadoc, where he continued to live till the day of his death, which was January 27, 1868. His literary remains, preceded by a short biography, were published in 1877 by Mr. Robert Isaac Jones of Tremadoc; but it contains no fairy tales so far as I have been able to find.
A tale which partially reminds one of that given by Dewi Glan Ffrydlas respecting the Corwrion midwife, referred to at p. 63 above, was published by Mr. W. Jones in the fourth volume of the Brython, p. 251: freely rendered into English, it runs thus:—
‘Once on a time, when a midwife from Nanhwynan had newly got to the Hafođyđ Brithion to pursue her calling, a gentleman came to the door on a fine grey steed and bade her come with him at once. Such was the authority with which he spoke, that the poor midwife durst not refuse to go, however much it was her duty to stay where she was. So she mounted behind him, and off they went, like the flight of a swallow, through Cwmỻan, over the Bwlch, down Nant yr Aran, and over the Gader to Cwm Hafod Ruffyđ, before the poor woman had time even to say Oh! When they reached there, she saw before her a magnificent mansion, splendidly lit up with such lamps as she had never seen before. They entered the court, and a crowd of servants in expensive liveries came to meet them, and she was at once led through the great hall into a bed-chamber, the like of which she had never seen. There the mistress of the house, to whom she had been fetched, was awaiting her. The midwife got through her duties successfully, and stayed there until the lady had completely recovered, nor had she spent any part of her life so merrily, for there nought but festivity went on day and night: dancing, singing, and endless rejoicing reigned there. But merry as it was, she found that she must go, and the nobleman gave her a large purse, with the order not to open it until she had got into her own house. Then he bade one of his servants escort her the same way that she had come. When she reached home she opened the purse, and, to her great joy, it was full of money: she lived happily on those earnings to the end of her life.’
With this ending of the story one should contrast Dewi Glan Ffrydlas’ tale to which I have already alluded; and I may here refer to Mr. Sikes’ British Goblins, pp. 86–8, for a tale differing from both Dewi’s and Jones’, in that the fairies are there made to appear as devils to the nurse, who had accidentally used a certain ointment which she was not to place near her own eyes. Instead of being rewarded for her services she was only too glad to be deposited anyhow near her home. ‘But,’ as the story goes on to relate, ‘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 the man’s 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.’ Such is the end of this tale given by Mr. Sikes.
‘But the fair family did not,’ Mr. William Jones goes on to say, ‘always give mortals the means of good living: sometimes they made no little fun of them. Once on a time the Drws y Coed man was going home from Beđgelert Fair, rather merry than sad, along the old road over the Gader, when he saw, on coming near the top of the Gader, a fine, handsome house near the road, in which there was a rare merrymaking. He knew perfectly well that there was no such a building anywhere on his way, and it made him think that he had lost his way and gone astray; so he resolved to turn into the house to ask for lodgings, which were given him. At once, when he entered, he took it to be a nuptial feast (neithior) by reason of the jollity, the singing, and the dancing. The house was full of young men, young women, and children, all merry, and exerting themselves to the utmost. The company began to disappear one by one, and he asked if he might go to bed, whereupon he was led to a splendid chamber, where there was a bed of the softest down with snow-white clothes on it. He stripped at once, went into it, and slept quietly enough till the morning. The first thing to come to his mind when he lay half asleep, half awake, was the jollity of the night before, and the fact of his sleeping in a splendid chamber in the strange house. He opened his eyes to survey his bedroom, but it was too wide: he was sleeping on the bare swamp, with a clump of rushes as his pillow, and the blue sky as his coverlet.’
Mr. Jones mentions that, within his memory, there were still people in his neighbourhood who believed that the fairies stole unbaptized children and placed their own in their stead: he gives the following story about the farmer’s wife of Dyffryn Mymbyr, near Capel Curig, and her infant:—
Yr oeđ y wraig hon wedi rhođi genedigaeth i blentyn iach a heinif yn nechreu y cynheuaf ryw haf blin a thymhestlog: ac o herwyđ fod y tyđyn getyn o fforđ ođiwrth lan na chapel, a’r hin mor hynod o lawiog, esgeuluswyd bedyđio y plentyn yn yr amser arferol, sef cyn ei fod yn wyth niwrnod oed. Ryw điwrnod teg yn nghanol y cynheuaf blin aeth y wraig aỻan i’r maes gyda’r rhelyw o’r teulu i geisio achub y cynheuaf, a gadawođ y baban yn cysgu yn ei gryd o dan ofal ei nain, yr hon oeđ hen a methiantus, ac yn anaỻuog i fyned lawer o gwmpas. Syrthiođ yr hen wreigan i gysgu, a thra yr oeđ hi feỻy, daeth y Tylwyth i fewn, a chymerasant y baban o’r cryd, a dodasant un araỻ yn ei le. Yn mhen ennyd dechreuođ hwn erain a chwyno nes deffro y nain, ac aeth at y cryd, ỻe y gwelođ gleiriach hen eiđil crebachlyd yn ymstwyrian yn flin. ‘O’r wchw!’ ebai hi, ‘y mae yr hen Dylwyth wedi bod yma;’ ac yn đioed chwythođ yn y corn i alw y fam, yr hon a đaeth yno yn điatreg; a phan glywođ y crio yn y cryd, rhedođ ato, a chodođ y bychan i fynu heb sylwi arno, a hi a’i cofleidiođ, a’i suođ ac a’i swcrođ at ei bronnau, ond nid oeđ dim yn tycio, parhau i nadu yn đidor yr oeđ nes bron a hoỻti ei chalon; ac ni wyđai pa beth i wneud i’w đistewi. O’r diweđ hi a edrychođ arno, a gwelođ nad oeđ yn debyg i’w mhebyn hi, ac aeth yn loes i’w chalon: edrychođ arno drachefn, ond po fwyaf yr edrychai arno, hyỻaf yn y byd oeđ hi yn ei weled; anfonođ am ei gwr o’r cae, a gyrrođ ef i ymholi am wr cyfarwyđ yn rhywle er mwyn cael ei gynghor; ac ar ol hir holi dywedođ rhywun wrtho fod person Trawsfynyđ yn gyfarwyđ yn nghyfrinion yr ysprydion; ac efe a aeth ato, ac archođ hwnnw iđo gymeryd rhaw a’i gorchuđio a halen, a thori ỻun croes yn yr halen; yna ei chymeryd i’r ystafeỻ ỻe yr oeđ mab y Tylwyth, ac ar ol agor y ffenestr, ei rhođi ar y tan hyd nes y ỻosgai yr halen; a hwy a wnaethant feỻy, a phan aeth yr halen yn eiriasboeth fe aeth yr erthyl croes ymaith yn anweledig iđynt hwy, ac ar drothwy y drws hwy a gawsant y baban araỻ yn iach a dianaf.
‘This woman had given birth to a healthy and vigorous child at the beginning of the harvest, one wretched and inclement summer. As the homestead was a considerable distance from church or chapel, and the weather so very rainy, it was neglected to baptize the child at the usual[6] time, that is to say, before it was eight days old. One fine day, in the middle of this wretched harvest, the mother went to the field with the rest of the family to try to save the harvest, and left her baby sleeping in its cradle in its grandmother’s charge, who was so aged and decrepit as to be unable to go much about. The old woman fell asleep, and, while she was in that state, the Tylwyth Teg came in and took away the baby, placing another in its stead. Very shortly the latter began to whine and groan, so that the grandmother awoke: she went to the cradle, where she saw a slender, wizened old man moving restlessly and peevishly about. “Alas! alas!” said she, “the old Tylwyth have been here”; and she at once blew in the horn to call the mother home, who came without delay. As she heard the crying in the cradle, she ran towards it, and lifted the little one without looking at him; she hugged him, put him to her breast, and sang lullaby to him, but nothing was of any avail, as he continued, without stopping, to scream enough to break her heart; and she knew not what to do to calm him. At last she looked at him: she saw that he was not like her dear little boy, and her heart was pierced with agony. She looked at him again, and the more she examined him the uglier he seemed to her. She sent for her husband home from the field, and told him to search for a skilled man somewhere or other; and, after a long search, he was told by somebody that the parson of Trawsfynyđ was skilled in the secrets of the spirits; so he went to him. The latter bade him take a shovel and cover it with salt, and make the figure of the cross in the salt; then to take it to the chamber where the fairy child was, and, after taking care to open the window, to place the shovel on the fire until the salt was burnt. This was done, and when the salt had got white hot, the peevish abortion went away, seen of no one, and they found the other baby whole and unscathed at the doorstep.’ Fire was also made use of in Scotland in order to detect a changeling and force him to quit: see the British Association’s Report, 1896, p. 650, where Mr. Gomme refers to Mr. Gregor’s Folk-lore of the North-east of Scotland, pp. 8–9.
In answer to a question of mine with regard to gossamer, which is called in North Wales edafeđ gwawn, ‘gwawn yarn,’ Mr. Jones told me in a letter, dated April, 1881, that it used to be called Rhaffau’r Tylwyth Teg, that is to say, the Ropes of the Fair Family, which were associated with the diminutive, mischievous, and wanton kind of fairies who dwelt in marshy and rushy places, or among the fern and the heather. It used to be said that, if a man should lie down and fall asleep in any such a spot, the fairies would come and bind him with their ropes so that he could not move, and that they would then cover him with a sheet made of their ropes, which would make him invisible. This was illustrated by him by the following tale he had heard from his mother:—