the man was still a good husband and lover. He kept up the habit which
he had learned from a sailor friend. Every night, when far from home
and out on the sea, he and his mates used to drink this toast;
"Sweethearts and wives: may every sweetheart become a wife and every
wife remain a sweetheart, and every husband continue a lover."
So he proved that though a husband he was still a lover, by always
doing what she asked him and more. When the children were born and
grew up, their father told them about their mother's likes and
dislikes, her tastes and her wishes, and warned them always to be
careful. So it was altogether a very happy family.
One day, the wife and mother said to her husband, that she had a great
longing for apples. She would like to taste some like those which he
long ago gave her. At once, the good man dropped what he was doing and
hurried off to his neighbor, who had first presented him with a
trayful of these apples.
The farmer not only got the fruit, but he also determined that he
would plant a tree and thus have apples for his wife, whenever she
wanted them. So he bought a fine young sapling, to set in his orchard,
for the children to play under and to keep his pantry full of the fine
red-cheeked fruit. At this his wife was delighted.
So happy enough--in fact, too merry to think of anything else, they,
both husband and wife, proceeded to set the sapling in the ground. She
held the tree, while he dug down to make the hole deep enough to make
sure of its growing.
But farmers are sometimes very superstitious. They even believe in
luck, though not in Puck. Some of them have faith in what the almanac,
and the patent medicine may say, and in planting potatoes according to
the moon, but they scout the idea of there being any fairies.
With the farmer, this had become a fixed state of mind and now it
brought him to grief, as we shall see. For though he remembered what
his wife liked and disliked, and recalled what her father had told
him, he had forgotten that she was a fairy.
With this farmer and other Welsh mortals, it had become a habit, when
planting a young tree, to throw the last shovelful of earth over the
left shoulder. This was for good luck. The farmer was afraid to break
such a good custom, as he thought it to be.
So merrily he went to work, forgetting everything in his adherence to
habit. He became so absorbed in his job, that he did not look where
his spadeful went, and it struck his dear wife full in the breast.
At that moment, she cried out bitterly, not in pain, but in sorrow.
Then she started to run towards the lake. At the shore, she called
out, "Good-by, dear, dear husband." Then, leaping into the water, she
was never seen again and all his tears and those of the children never
brought her back.
IX
THE TOUCH OF IRON
Ages ago, before the Cymry rowed in their coracles across the sea,
there was a race of men already in the Land of Honey, as Great Britain
was then called.
These ancient people, who lived in caves, did not know how to build
houses or to plow the ground. They had no idea that they could get
their food out of the earth. As for making bread and pies, cookies and
goodies, from what grew from the soil, they never heard of such a
thing. They were not acquainted with the use of fire for melting
copper, nor did they know how to get iron out of the ore, to make
knives and spears, arrow heads and swords, and armor and helmets.
All they could do was to mold clay, so as to make things to cook with
and hold milk, or water. When they baked this soft stuff in the fire,
they found they had pots, pans and dishes as hard as stone, though
these were easily broken.
To hunt the deer, or fight the wolves and bears, they fashioned clubs
of wood. For javelins and arrows, they took hard stone like flint and
chipped it to points and sharpened it with edges. This was the time
which men now call the Stone Age. When the men went to war, their
weapons were wholly of wood or stone.
They had not yet learned to weave the wool of the sheep into warm
clothing, but they wore the skins of animals. Each one of the caves,
in which they lived, was a general boarding house, for dogs and pigs,
as well as people.
When a young man of one tribe wanted a wife, he sallied out secretly
into another neighborhood. There he lay in wait for a girl to come
along. He then ran away with her, and back to his own daddy's cave.
By and by, when the Cymry came into the land, they had iron tools and
better weapons of war. Then there were many and long battles and the
aborigines were beaten many times.
So the cave people hated everything made of iron. Anyone of the cave
people, girls or boys, who had picked up iron ornaments, and were
found wearing or using iron tools, or buying anything of iron from the
cave people's enemies, was looked upon as a rascal, or a villain, or
even as a traitor and was driven out of the tribe.
However, some of the daughters of the cave men were so pretty and had
such rosy cheeks, and lovely bodies, and beautiful, long hair, that
quite often the Cymric youth fell in love with them.
Many of the cave men's daughters were captured and became wives of the
Cymry and mothers of children. In course of ages, their descendants
helped to make the bright, witty, song-loving Welsh people.
Now the fairies usually like things that are old, and they are very
slow to alter the ancient customs, to which they have been used; for,
in the fairy world, there is no measure of time, nor any clocks,
watches, or bells to strike the hours, and no almanacs or calendars.
The fairies cannot understand why ladies change the fashions so often,
and the men their ways of doing things. They wonder why beards are
fashionable at one time; then, moustaches long or short, at another;
or smooth faces when razors are cheap. Most fairies like to keep on
doing the same thing in the old way. They enjoy being like the
mountains, which stand; or the sea, that rolls; or the sun, that rises
and sets every day and forever. They never get tired of repeating
to-morrow what they did yesterday. They are very different from the
people that are always wanting something else, and even cry if they
cannot have it.
That is the reason why the fairies did not like iron, or to see men
wearing iron hats and clothes, called helmets and armor, when they
went to war. They no more wanted to be touched by iron than by filth,
or foul disease. They hated knives, stirrups, scythes, swords, pots,
pans, kettles, or this metal in any form, whether sheet, barbed wire,
lump or pig iron.
Now there was a long, pretty stretch of water, near which lived a
handsome lad, who loved nothing better than to go out on moonlight
nights and see the fairies dance, or listen to their music. This youth
fell in love with one of these fairies, whose beauty was great beyond
description. At last, unable to control his passion, he rushed into
the midst of the fairy company, seized the beautiful one, and rushed
back to his home, with his prize in his arms. This was in true
cave-man fashion. When the other fairies hurried to rescue her, they
found the man's house shut. They dared not touch the door, for it was
covered over with iron studs and bands, and bolted with the metal
which they most abhorred.
The young man immediately began to make love to the fairy maid, hoping
to win her to be his wife. For a long time she refused, and moped all
day and night. While weeping many salt water tears, she declared that
she was too homesick to live.
Nevertheless the lover persevered. Finding herself locked in with iron
bars, while gratings, bolts and creaking hinges were all about her,
and unable to return to her people, the fairy first thought out a plan
of possible escape. Then she agreed to become the man's wife. She
resolved, at least, that, without touching it, she should oil all the
iron work, and stop the noise.
She was a smart fairy, and was sure she could outwit the man, even if
he were so strong, and had every sort of iron everywhere in order to
keep her as it were in a prison. So, pretending she loved him dearly,
she said: "I will not be your wife, but, if you can find out my name,
I shall gladly become your servant."
"Easily won," thought the lover to himself. Yet the game was a harder
one to play than he supposed. It was like playing Blind Man's Buff, or
Hunt the Slipper. Although he made guesses of every name he could
think of, he was never "hot" and got no nearer to the thing sought
than if his eyes were bandaged. All the time, he was deeper and deeper
in love with the lovely fairy maid.
But one night, on returning home, he saw in a turf bog, a group of
fairies sitting on a log. At once, he thought, they might be talking
about their lost sister. So he crept up quite near them, and soon
found that he had guessed right. After a long discussion, finding
themselves still at a loss, as to how to recover her, he heard one of
them sigh and say, "Oh, Siwsi, my sister, how can you live with a
mortal?"
"Enough," said the young man to himself. "I've got it." Then, crawling
away noiselessly, he ran back all the way to his house, and unlocked
the door. Once inside the room, he called out his servant's
name--"Siwsi! Siwsi!"
Astonished at hearing her name, she cried out, "What mortal has
betrayed me? For, surely no fairy would tell on me? Alas, my fate, my
fate!"
But in her own mind, the struggle and the fear were over. She had
bravely striven to keep her fairyhood, and in the battle of wits, had
lost.
She would not be wife, but what a wise, superb and faithful servant
she made!
Everything prospered under her hand. The house and the farm became
models. Not twice, but three times a day, the cows, milked by her,
yielded milk unusually rich in cream. In the market, her butter
excelled, in quality and price, all others.
Meanwhile, the passion of the lover abated not one jot, or for an
instant. His perseverance finally won. She agreed to become his wife;
but only on one condition.
"You must never strike me with iron," she said. "If you do, I'll feel
free to leave you, and go back to my relatives in the fairy family."
A hearty laugh from the happy lover greeted this remark, made by the
lovely creature, once his servant, but now his betrothed. He thought
that the condition was very easy to obey.
So they were married, and no couple in all the land seemed to be
happier. Once, twice, the cradle was filled. It rocked with new
treasures that had life, and were more dear than farm, or home, or
wealth in barns or cattle, cheese and butter. A boy and a girl were
theirs. Then the mother's care was unremitting, day and night.
Even though the happy father grew richer every year, and bought farm
after farm, until he owned five thousand acres, he valued, more than
these possessions, his lovely wife and his beautiful children.
Yet this very delight and affection made him less vigilant; yes, even
less careful concerning the promise he had once given to his fairy
wife, who still held to the ancient ideas of the Fairy Family in
regard to iron.
One of his finest mares had given birth to a filly, which, when the
day of the great fair came, he determined to sell at a high price.
So with a halter on his arm, he went out to catch her.
But she was a lively creature, so frisky that it was much like his
first attempt to win his fairy bride. It almost looked as if she were
a cave girl running away from a lover, who had a lasso in his hand.
The lively and frolicsome beast scampered here and there, grazing as
she stopped, as if she were determined to put off her capture as long
as possible.
So, calling to his wife, the two of them together, tried their skill
to catch the filly. This time, leaving the halter in the house, the
man took bit and bridle, and the two managed to get the pretty
creature into a corner; but, when they had almost captured her, away
she dashed again.
By this time, the man was so vexed that he lost his temper; and he who
does that, usually loses the game, while he who controls the wrath
within, wins. Mad as a flaming fire, he lost his brains also and threw
bit and bridle and the whole harness after the fleet animal.
Alas! alas! the wife had started to run after the filly and the iron
bit struck her on the cheek. It did not hurt, but he had broken his
vow.
Now came the surprise of his life. It was as if, at one moment, a
flash of lightning had made all things bright; and then in another
second was inky darkness. He saw this lovely wife, one moment active
and fleet as a deer. In another, in the twinkling of an eye, nothing
was there. She had vanished. After this, there was a lonely home,
empty of its light and cheer.
But by living with human beings, a new idea and form of life had
transformed this fairy, and a new spell was laid on her. Mother-love
had been awakened in her heart. Henceforth, though the law of the
fairy world would not allow her to touch again the realm of earth,
she, having once been wife and parent, could not forget the babies
born of her body. So, making a sod raft, a floating island, she came
up at night, and often, while these three mortals lived, this fairy
mother would spend hours tenderly talking to her husband and her two
children, who were now big boy and girl, as they stood on the lake
shore.
On his part, the father did not think it "an ideal arrangement," as
some modern married folks do, to be thus separated, wife and husband,
one from the other; but by her coming as near as could be allowed, she
showed her undying love. Even to-day, good people sometimes see a
little island floating on the lake, and this, they point out as the
place where the fairy mother was wont to come and hold converse with
her dear ones. When they merrily eat the pink delicacy, called
"floating island," moving it about with a spoon on its yellow lake of
eggs and cream, they call this "the Fairy Mother's rocking chair."
X
THE MAIDEN OF THE GREEN FOREST
Many a palace lies under the waves that wash Cymric land, for the sea
has swallowed up more than one village, and even cities.
When Welsh fairies yield to their mortal lovers and consent to become
their wives, it is always on some condition or promise. Sometimes
there are several of these, which the fairy ladies compel their mortal
lovers to pledge them, before they agree to become wives. In fact, the
fairies in Cymric land are among the most exacting of any known.
A prince named Benlli, of the Powys region, found this out to his
grief, for he had always supposed that wives could be had simply for
the asking. All that a man need say, to the girl to whom he took a
fancy, was this: "Come along with me, and be my bride," and then she
would say, "Thank you, I'll come," and the two would trot off
together. This was the man's notion.
Now Benlli was a wicked old fellow. He was already married, but
wrinkles had gathered on his wife's face. She had a faded, washed-out
look, and her hair was thinning out. She would never be young again,
and he was tired of her, and wanted a mate with fresh rosy cheeks, and
long, thick hair. He was quite ready to fall in love with such a
maiden, whenever his eyes should light upon her.
One day, he went out hunting in the Green Forest. While waiting for a
wild boar to rush out, there rode past him a young woman whose beauty
was dazzling. He instantly fell in love with her.
The next day, while on horseback, at the same opening in the forest,
the same maiden reappeared; but it was only for a moment, and then she
vanished.
Again, on the third day, the prince rode out to the appointed place,
and again the vision of beauty was there. He rode up to her and begged
her to come and live with him at his palace.
"I will come and be your wedded wife on three conditions: You must put
away the wife you now have; you must permit me to leave you, one night
in every seven, without following after or spying upon me; and you
must not ask me where I go or what I do. Swear to me that you will do
these three things. Then, if you keep your promises unbroken, my
beauty shall never change, no, not until the tall vegetable flag-reeds
wave and the long green rushes grow in your hall."
The Prince of Powys was quite ready to swear this oath and he solemnly
promised to observe the three conditions. So the Maid of the Green
Forest went to live with him.
"But what of his old wife?" one asks.
Ah! he had no trouble from that quarter, for when the newly-wedded
couple arrived at the castle, she had already disappeared.
Happy, indeed, were the long bright days, which the prince and his new
bride spent together, whether in the castle, or out doors, riding on
horseback, or in hunting the deer. Every day, her beauty seemed
diviner, and she more lovely. He lavished various gifts upon her,
among others that of a diadem of beryl and sapphire. Then he put on
her finger a diamond ring worth what was a very great sum--a king's
ransom. In the Middle Ages, monarchs as well as nobles were taken
prisoners in battle and large amounts of money had to be paid to get
them back again. So a king's ransom is what Benlli paid for his wife's
diamond ring. He loved her so dearly that he never suspected for a
moment that he would ever have any trouble in keeping his three
promises.
But without variety, life has no spice, and monotony wearies the soul.
After nine years had passed, and his wife absented herself every
Friday night, he began to wonder why it could be. His curiosity, to
know the reason for her going away, so increased that it so wore on
him that he became both miserable in himself and irritable toward
others. Everybody in the castle noticed the change in their master,
and grieved over it.
One night, he invited a learned monk from the white monastery, not far
away, to come and take dinner with him. The table in the great
banqueting hall was spread with the most delicious viands, the lights
were magnificent, and the music gay.
But Wyland, the monk, was a man of magic and could see through things.
He noticed that some secret grief was preying upon the Prince's mind.
He discerned that, amidst all this splendor, he, Benlli, the lord of
the castle, was the most miserable person within its walls. So Wyland
went home, resolved to call again and find out what was the trouble.
When they met, some days later, Wyland's greeting was this:
"Christ save thee, Benlli! What secret sorrow clouds thy brow? Why so
gloomy?"
Benlli at once burst out with the story of how he met the Maid of the
Green Forest, and how she became his wife on three conditions.
"Think of it," said Benlli, groaning aloud. "When the owls cry and the
crickets chirp, my wife leaves my bed, and until the daystar appears,
I lie alone, torn with curiosity, to know where she is, and what she
is doing. I fall again into heavy sleep, and do not awake until
sunrise, when I find her by my side again. It is all such a mystery,
that the secret lies heavy on my soul. Despite all my wealth, and my
strong castle, with feasting and music by night and hunting by day, I
am the most miserable man in Cymric land. No beggar is more wretched
than I."
Wyland, the monk, listened and his eyes glittered. There came into his
head the idea of enriching the monastery. He saw his chance, and
improved it at once. He could make money by solving the secret for a
troubled soul.
"Prince Benlli," said he, "if you will bestow upon the monks of the
White Minster, one tenth of all the flocks that feed within your
domain, and one tenth of all that flows into the vaults of your
palace, and hand over the Maiden of the Green Forest to me, I shall
warrant that your soul will be at peace and your troubles end."
To all this, Prince Benlli agreed, making solemn promise. Then the
monk Wyland took his book, leather bound, and kept shut by means of
metal clasps, and hid himself in the cranny of a rock near the Giant's
Cave, from which there was entrance down into Fairyland.
He had not long to wait, for soon, with a crown on her head, a lady,
royally arrayed, passed by out of the silvery moonlight into the dark
cave. It was none other than the Maiden of the Green Forest.
Now came a battle of magic and spells, as between the monk's own and
those of the Green Forest Maiden. He moved forward to the mouth of the
cave. Then summoning into his presence the spirits of the air and the
cave, he informed them as to Benlli's vow to enrich the monastery, and
to deliver the Green Forest Maiden to himself. Then, calling aloud, he
said:
"Let her forever be, as she now appears, and never leave my side."
"Bring her, before the break of day, to the cross near the town of the
White Minster, and there will I wed her, and swear to make her my
own."
Then, by the power of his magic, he made it impossible for any person
or power to recall or hinder the operation of these words. Leaving the
cave's mouth, in order to be at the cross, before day should dawn, the
first thing he met was a hideous ogress, grinning and rolling her
bleared red eyes at him. On her head seemed what was more like moss,
than hair. She stretched out a long bony finger at him. On it, flashed
the splendid diamond, which Benlli had given his bride, the beautiful
Maid of the Green Forest.
"Take me to thy bosom, monk Wyland," she shrieked, laughing hideously
and showing what looked like green snags in her mouth. "For I am the
wife you are sworn to wed. Thirty years ago, I was Benlli's blooming
bride. When my beauty left me, his love flew out of the window. Now I
am a foul ogress, but magic makes me young again every seventh night.
I promised that my beauty should last until the tall flag reeds and
the long green rushes grow in his hall."
Amazed at her story, Wyland drew in his breath.
"And this promise, I have kept. It is already fulfilled. Your spell
and mine are both completed. Yours brought to him the peace of the
dead. Mine made the river floods rush in. Now, waters lap to and fro
among the reeds and rushes that grow in the banqueting hall, which is
now sunk deep below the earth. With the clash of our spells, no charm
can redress our fate.
"Come then and take me as thy bride, for oath and spell have both
decreed it as thy reward. As Benlli's promise to you is fulfilled, for
the waters flow in the palace vaults, the pike and the dare (fish)
feed there."
So, caught in his own dark, sordid plot, the monk, who played
conjurer, had become the victim of his own craft.
They say that Wyland's Cross still recalls the monk, while fishermen
on the Welsh border, can, on nights with smooth water, see towers and
chimneys far below, sunk deep beneath the waves.
XI
THE TREASURE STONE OF THE FAIRIES
The Gruffyds were one of the largest of the Welsh tribes. To-day, it
is said that in Britain one man in every forty has this, as either his
first, middle, or last name. It means "hero" or "brave man," and as
far back as the ninth century, the word is found in the Book of Saint
Chad.
The monks, who derived nearly every name from the Latin, insisted the
word meant Great Faith.
Another of the most common of Welsh personal names was William; which,
when that of a father's son, was written Williams and was only the
Latin for Gild Helm, or Golden Helmet.
Long ago, when London was a village and Cardiff only a hamlet, there
was a boy of this name, who tended sheep on the hill sides. His father
was a hard working farmer, who every year tried to coax to grow out of
the stony ground some oats, barley, leeks and cabbage. In summer, he
worked hard, from the first croak of the raven to the last hoot of the
owl, to provide food for his wife and baby daughter. When his boy was
born, he took him to the church to be christened Gruffyd, but every
body called him "Gruff." In time several little sisters came to keep
the boy company.
His mother always kept her cottage, which was painted pink, very neat
and pretty, with vines covering the outside, while flowers bloomed
indoors. These were set in pots and on shelves near the latticed
windows. They seemed to grow finely, because so good a woman loved
them. The copper door-sill was kept bright, and the broad borders on
the clay floor, along the walls, were always fresh with whitewash. The
pewter dishes on the sideboard shone as if they were moons, and the
china cats on the mantle piece, in silvery luster, reflected both sun
and candle light. Daddy often declared he could use these polished
metal plates for a mirror, when he shaved his face. Puss, the pet, was
always happy purring away on the hearth, as the kettle boiled to make
the flummery, of sour oat jelly, which, daddy loved so well.
Mother Gruffyd was always so neat, with her black and white striped
apron, her high peaked hat, with its scalloped lace and quilled
fastening around her chin, her little short shawl, with its pointed,
long tips, tied in a bow, and her bright red plaid petticoat folded
back from her frock. Her snowy-white, rolling collar and neck cloth
knotted at the top, and fringed at the ends, added fine touches to her
picturesque costume.