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.
I.
In those rare cases where it is not dancing which holds the victim of
Tylwyth Teg in its fatal fascination, the seducer is music. There is a
class of stories still common in Wales, in which is preserved a
wondrously beautiful survival of the primitive mythology. In the vast
middle ground between our own commonplace times and the pre-historic
ages we encounter more than once the lovely legend of the Birds of
Rhiannon, which sang so sweetly that the warrior knights stood
listening entranced for eighty years. This legend appears in the
Mabinogi of 'Branwen, daughter of Llyr,' and, as we read it there, is
a medieval tale; but the medieval authors of the Mabinogion as we know
them were working over old materials--telling again the old tales
which had come down through unnumbered centuries from father to son by
tradition. Cambrian poets of an earlier age often allude to the birds
of Rhiannon; they are mentioned in the Triads. In the Mabinogi, the
period the warriors listened is seven years. Seven men only had
escaped from a certain battle with the Irish, and they were bidden by
their dying chief to cut off his head and bear it to London and bury
it with the face towards France. Various were the adventures they
encountered while obeying this injunction. At Harlech they stopped to
rest, and sat down to eat and drink. 'And there came three birds, and
began singing unto them a certain song, and all the songs they had
ever heard were unpleasant compared thereto; and the birds seemed to
them to be at a great distance from them over the sea, yet they
appeared as distinct as if they were close by; and at this repast they
continued seven years.'[47] This enchanting fancy reappears in the
local story of Shon ap Shenkin, which was related to me by a farmer's
wife near the reputed scene of the legend. Pant Shon Shenkin has
already been mentioned as a famous centre for Carmarthenshire fairies.
The story of Taffy ap Sion and this of Shon ap Shenkin were probably
one and the same at some period in their career, although they are now
distinct. Shon ap Shenkin was a young man who lived hard by Pant Shon
Shenkin. As he was going afield early one fine summer's morning he
heard a little bird singing, in a most enchanting strain, on a tree
close by his path. Allured by the melody he sat down under the tree
until the music ceased, when he arose and looked about him. What was
his surprise at observing that the tree, which was green and full of
life when he sat down, was now withered and barkless! Filled with
astonishment he returned to the farm-house which he had left, as he
supposed, a few minutes before; but it also was changed, grown older,
and covered with ivy. In the doorway stood an old man whom he had
never before seen; he at once asked the old man what he wanted there.
'What do I want here?' ejaculated the old man, reddening angrily;
'that's a pretty question! Who are you that dare to insult me in my
own house?' 'In your own house? How is this? where's my father and
mother, whom I left here a few minutes since, whilst I have been
listening to the charming music under yon tree, which, when I rose,
was withered and leafless?' 'Under the tree!--music! what's your
name?' 'Shon ap Shenkin.' 'Alas, poor Shon, and is this indeed you!'
cried the old man. 'I often heard my grandfather, your father, speak
of you, and long did he bewail your absence. Fruitless inquiries were
made for you; but old Catti Maddock of Brechfa said you were under the
power of the fairies, and would not be released until the last sap of
that sycamore tree would be dried up. Embrace me, my dear uncle, for
you are my uncle--embrace your nephew.' With this the old man extended
his arms, but before the two men could embrace, poor Shon ap Shenkin
crumbled into dust on the doorstep.
[Illustration: SHON AP SHENKIN RETURNS HOME.]
FOOTNOTE:
[47] Lady Charlotte Guest's 'Mabinogion,' 381.
II.
The harp is played by Welsh fairies to an extent unknown in those
parts of the world where the harp is less popular among the people.
When any instrument is distinctly heard in fairy cymmoedd it is
usually the harp. Sometimes it is a fiddle, but then on close
examination it will be discovered that it is a captured mortal who is
playing it; the Tylwyth Teg prefer the harp. They play the bugle on
specially grand occasions, and there is a case or two on record where
the drone of the bagpipes was heard; but it is not doubted that the
player was some stray fairy from Scotland or elsewhere over the
border. On the top of Craig-y-Ddinas thousands of white fairies dance
to the music of many harps. In the dingle called Cwm Pergwm, in the
Vale of Neath, the Tylwyth Teg make music behind the waterfall, and
when they go off over the mountains the sounds of their harps are
heard dying away as they recede. The story which presents the Cambrian
equivalent of the Magic Flute substitutes a harp for the (to
Welshmen) less familiar instrument. As told to me this story runs
somewhat thus: A company of fairies which frequented Cader Idris were
in the habit of going about from cottage to cottage in that part of
Wales, in pursuit of information concerning the degree of benevolence
possessed by the cottagers. Those who gave these fairies an ungracious
welcome were subject to bad luck during the rest of their lives, but
those who were good to the little folk became the recipients of their
favour. Old Morgan ap Rhys sat one night in his own chimney corner
making himself comfortable with his pipe and his pint of cwrw da. The
good ale having melted his soul a trifle, he was in a more jolly mood
than was natural to him, when there came a little rap at the door,
which reached his ear dully through the smoke of his pipe and the
noise of his own voice--for in his merriment Morgan was singing a
roystering song, though he could not sing any better than a haw--which
is Welsh for a donkey. But Morgan did not take the trouble to get up
at sound of the rap; his manners were not the most refined; he thought
it was quite enough for a man on hospitable purposes bent to bawl
forth in ringing Welsh, 'Gwaed dyn a'i gilydd! Why don't you come in
when you've got as far as the door?' The welcome was not very polite,
but it was sufficient. The door opened, and three travellers entered,
looking worn and weary. Now these were the fairies from Cader Idris,
disguised in this manner for purposes of observation, and Morgan never
suspected they were other than they appeared. 'Good sir,' said one of
the travellers, 'we are worn and weary, but all we seek is a bite of
food to put in our wallet, and then we will go on our way.' 'Waw,
lads! is that all you want? Well, there, look you, is the loaf and the
cheese, and the knife lies by them, and you may cut what you like, and
fill your bellies as well as your wallet, for never shall it be said
that Morgan ap Rhys denied bread and cheese to a fellow creature.' The
travellers proceeded to help themselves, while Morgan continued to
drink and smoke, and to sing after his fashion, which was a very rough
fashion indeed. As they were about to go, the fairy travellers turned
to Morgan and said, 'Since you have been so generous we will show that
we are grateful. It is in our power to grant you any one wish you may
have; therefore tell us what that wish may be.'
'Ho, ho!' said Morgan, 'is that the case? Ah, I see you are making
sport of me. Wela, wela, the wish of my heart is to have a harp that
will play under my fingers no matter how ill I strike it; a harp that
will play lively tunes, look you; no melancholy music for me!' He had
hardly spoken, when to his astonishment, there on the hearth before
him stood a splendid harp, and he was alone. 'Waw!' cried Morgan,
'they're gone already.' Then looking behind him he saw they had not
taken the bread and cheese they had cut off, after all. ''Twas the
fairies, perhaps,' he muttered, but sat serenely quaffing his beer,
and staring at the harp. There was a sound of footsteps behind him,
and his wife came in from out doors with some friends. Morgan feeling
very jolly, thought he would raise a little laughter among them by
displaying his want of skill upon the harp. So he commenced to
play--oh, what a mad and capering tune it was! 'Waw!' said Morgan,
'but this is a harp. Holo! what ails you all?' For as fast as he
played his neighbours danced, every man, woman, and child of them all
footing it like mad creatures. Some of them bounded up against the
roof of the cottage till their heads cracked again; others spun round
and round, knocking over the furniture; and, as Morgan went on
thoughtlessly playing, they began to pray to him to stop before they
should be jolted to pieces. But Morgan found the scene too amusing to
want to stop; besides, he was enamoured of his own suddenly developed
skill as a musician; and he twanged the strings and laughed till his
sides ached and the tears rolled down his cheeks, at the antics of his
friends. Tired out at last he stopped, and the dancers fell exhausted
on the floor, the chairs, the tables, declaring the diawl himself was
in the harp. 'I know a tune worth two of that,' quoth Morgan, picking
up the harp again; but at sight of this motion all the company rushed
from the house and escaped, leaving Morgan rolling merrily in his
chair. Whenever Morgan got a little tipsy after that, he would get the
harp and set everybody round him to dancing; and the consequence was
he got a bad name, and no one would go near him. But all their
precautions did not prevent the neighbours from being caught now and
then, when Morgan took his revenge by making them dance till their
legs were broken, or some other damage was done them. Even lame people
and invalids were compelled to dance whenever they heard the music of
this diabolical telyn. In short, Morgan so abused his fairy gift that
one night the good people came and took it away from him, and he never
saw it more. The consequence was he became morose, and drank himself
to death--a warning to all who accept from the fairies favours they do
not deserve.
III.
The music of the Tylwyth Teg has been variously described by people
who claim to have heard it; but as a rule with much vagueness, as of a
sweet intangible harmony, recalling the experience of Caliban:
The isle is full of noises;
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears.[48]
One Morgan Gwilym, who saw the fairies by Cylepsta Waterfall, and
heard their music dying away, was only able to recall the last strain,
which he said sounded something like this:
[Music]
Edmund Daniel, of the Arail, 'an honest man and a constant speaker of
truth,' told the Prophet Jones that he often saw the fairies after
sunset crossing the Cefn Bach from the Valley of the Church towards
Hafodafel, leaping and striking in the air, and making a serpentine
path through the air, in this form:
[Illustration: {WAVY HORIZONTAL LINE.}]
The fairies were seen and heard by many persons in that neighbourhood,
and sometimes by several persons together. They appeared more often by
night than by day, and in the morning and evening more often than
about noon. Many heard their music, and said of it that it was low and
pleasant; but that it had this peculiarity: no one could ever learn
the tune. In more favoured parts of the Principality, the words of the
song were distinctly heard, and under the name of the 'Can y Tylwyth
Teg' are preserved as follows:
Dowch, dowch, gyfeillion man,
O blith marwolion byd,
Dowch, dowch, a dowch yn lan.
Partowch partowch eich pibau can,
Gan ddawnsio dowch i gyd,
Mae yn hyfryd heno i hwn.
One is reluctant to turn into bald English this goblin song, which in
its native Welsh is almost as impressive as 'Fi Fo Fum.' Let it
suffice that the song is an invitation to the little ones among the
dead of earth to come with music and dancing to the delights of the
night revel.
FOOTNOTE:
[48] 'Tempest,' Act III., Sc. 2.
IV.
In the legend of Iolo ap Hugh, than which no story is more widely
known in Wales, the fairy origin of that famous tune 'Ffarwel Ned
Pugh' is shown. It is a legend which suggests the Enchanted Flute
fancy in another form, the instrument here being a fiddle, and the
victim and player one under fairy control. In its introduction of
bread and cheese and candles it smacks heartily of the soil. In North
Wales there is a famous cave which is said to reach from its entrance
on the hillside 'under the Morda, the Ceiriog, and a thousand other
streams, under many a league of mountain, marsh and moor, under the
almost unfathomable wells that, though now choked up, once supplied
Sycharth, the fortress of Glyndwrdwy, all the way to Chirk Castle.'
Tradition said that whoever went within five paces of its mouth would
be drawn into it and lost. That the peasants dwelling near it had a
thorough respect for this tradition, was proved by the fact that all
around the dangerous hole 'the grass grew as thick and as rank as in
the wilds of America or some unapproached ledge of the Alps.' Both men
and animals feared the spot: 'A fox, with a pack of hounds in full cry
at his tail,' once turned short round on approaching it, 'with his
hair all bristled and fretted like frostwork with terror,' and ran
into the middle of the pack, 'as if anything earthly--even an earthly
death--was a relief to his supernatural perturbations.' And the dogs
in pursuit of this fox all declined to seize him, on account of the
phosphoric smell and gleam of his coat. Moreover, 'Elias ap Evan, who
happened one fair night to stagger just upon the rim of the forbidden
space,' was so frightened at what he saw and heard that he arrived at
home perfectly sober, 'the only interval of sobriety, morning, noon,
or night, Elias had been afflicted with for upwards of twenty years.'
Nor ever after that experience--concerning which he was wont to shake
his head solemnly, as if he might tell wondrous tales an' he
dared--could Elias get tipsy, drink he never so faithfully to that
end. As he himself expressed it, 'His shadow walked steadily before
him, that at one time wheeled around him like a pointer over bog and
stone.' One misty Hallow E'en, Iolo ap Hugh, the fiddler, determined
to solve the mysteries of the Ogof, or Cave, provided himself with 'an
immense quantity of bread and cheese and seven pounds of candles,' and
ventured in. He never returned; but long, long afterwards, at the
twilight of another Hallow E'en, an old shepherd was passing that--as
he called it--'Land-Maelstrom of Diaboly,' when he heard a faint burst
of melody dancing up and down the rocks above the cave. As he
listened, the music gradually 'moulded itself in something like a
tune, though it was a tune the shepherd had never heard before.' And
it sounded as if it were being played by some jolting fiend, so rugged
was its rhythm, so repeated its discordant groans. Now there appeared
at the mouth of the Ogof a figure well-known to the shepherd by
remembrance. It was dimly visible; but it was Iolo ap Hugh, one could
see that at once. He was capering madly to the music of his own
fiddle, with a lantern dangling at his breast. 'Suddenly the moon
shone full on the cave's yellow mouth, and the shepherd saw poor Iolo
for a single moment--but it was distinctly and horribly. His face was
pale as marble, and his eyes stared fixedly and deathfully, whilst his
head dangled loose and unjointed on his shoulders. His arms seemed to
keep his fiddlestick in motion without the least sympathy from their
master. The shepherd saw him a moment on the verge of the cave, and
then, still capering and fiddling, vanish like a shadow from his
sight;' but the old man was heard to say he seemed as if he slipped
into the cave in a manner quite different from the step of a living
and a willing man; 'he was dragged inwards like the smoke up the
chimney, or the mist at sunrise.' Years elapsed; 'all hopes and
sorrows connected with poor Iolo had not only passed away, but were
nearly forgotten; the old shepherd had long lived in a parish at a
considerable distance amongst the hills. One cold December Sunday
evening he and his fellow-parishioners were shivering in their seats
as the clerk was beginning to light the church, when a strange burst
of music, starting suddenly from beneath the aisle, threw the whole
congregation into confusion, and then it passed faintly along to the
farther end of the church, and died gradually away till at last it was
impossible to distinguish it from the wind that was careering and
wailing through almost every pillar of the old church.' The shepherd
immediately recognised this to be the tune Iolo had played at the
mouth of the Ogof. The parson of the parish--a connoisseur in
music--took it down from the old man's whistling; and to this day, if
you go to the cave on Hallow eve and put your ear to the aperture, you
may hear the tune 'Ffarwel Ned Pugh' as distinctly as you may hear the
waves roar in a sea-shell. 'And it is said that in certain nights in
leap-year a star stands opposite the farther end of the cave, and
enables you to view all through it and to see Iolo and its other
inmates.'[49]
[Music: FFARWEL NED PUGH.]
FOOTNOTE:
[49] 'Camb. Quarterly,' i., 45.