XI.

XI.Mr. Craigfryn Hughes, the author of a Welsh novelette32with its scene laid in Glamorgan, having induced me to take a copy, I read it and found it full of local colouring. Then I ventured to sound the author on the question of fairy tales, and the reader will be able to judge how hearty the response has been. Before reproducing the tale which Mr. Hughes has sent me, I will briefly put into English his account of himself and his authorities. Mr. Hughes lives at the Quakers’ Yard in the neighbourhood of Pontypriđ, in Glamorganshire. His father was not a believer33intales about fairies or the like, and he learned all he knows of the traditions about them in his father’s absence, from his grandmother and other old people. The old lady’s name was Rachel Hughes. She was born at Pandy Pont y Cymmer, near Pontypool, orPont ap Hywelas Mr. Hughes analyses the name, in the year 1773, and she had a vivid recollection of Edmund Jones of the Tranch, of whom more anon, coming from time to time to preach to the Independents there. She came, however, to live in the parish of Ỻanfabon, near the Quakers’ Yard, when she was only twelve years of age; and there she continued to live to the day of her death, which took place in 1864, so that she was about ninety-one years of age at the time. Mr. Hughes adds that he remembers many of the old inhabitants besides his grandmother, who were perfectly familiar with the story he has put on record; but only two of them were alive when he wrote to me in 1881, and these were both over ninety years old, with their minds overtaken by the childishness of age; but it was only a short time since the death of another, who was, as he says, a walking library of tales about corpse candles, ghosts, andBendith y Mamau34, or ‘The Mothers’ Blessing,’ as the fairies are usually called in Glamorgan. Mr. Hughes’ father tried to prevent his children being taught any tales about ghosts, corpsecandles, or fairies; but the grandmother found opportunities of telling them plenty, and Mr. Hughes vividly describes the effect on his mind when he was a boy, how frightened he used to feel, how he pulled the clothes over his head in bed, and how he half suffocated himself thereby under the effects of the fear with which the tales used to fill him. Then, as to the locality, he makes the following remarks:—‘There are few people who have not heard something or other about the old graveyard of the Quakers, which was made by Lydia Phil, a lady who lived at a neighbouring farm house, called Cefn y Fforest. This old graveyard lies in the eastern corner of the parish of Merthyr Tydfil, on land called Pantannas, as to the meaning of which there is much controversy. Some will have it that it is properly Pant yr Aros, or the Hollow of the Staying, because travellers were sometimes stopped there overnight by the swelling of the neighbouring river; others treat it as Pant yr Hanes, the Hollow of the Legend, in allusion to the following story. But before the graveyard was made, the spot was called Rhyd y Grug, or the Ford of the Heather, which grows thereabouts in abundance. In front of the old graveyard towards the south the rivers Taff and Bargoed, which some would make into Byrgoed or Short-Wood, meet with each other, and thence rush in one over terrible cliffs of rock, in the recesses of which lie hugecerwynior cauldron-like pools, called respectively the Gerwyn Fach, the Gerwyn Fawr, and the Gerwyn Ganol, where many a drowning has taken place. As one walks up over Tarren y Crynwyr, “the Quakers’ Rift,” until Pantannas is reached, and proceeds northwards for about a mile and a half, one arrives at a farm house called Pen Craig Daf35, “the Top of theTaff Rock.” The path between the two houses leads through fertile fields, in which may be seen, if one has eyes to observe, small rings which are greener than the rest of the ground. They are, in fact, green even as compared with the greenness around them—these are the rings in whichBendith y Mamauused to meet to sing and dance all night. If a man happened to get inside one of these circles when the fairies were there, he could not be got out in a hurry, as they would charm him and lead him into some of their caves, where they would keep him for ages, unawares to him, listening to their music. The rings vary greatly in size, but in point of form they are all round or oval. I have heard my grandmother,’ says Mr. Hughes, ‘reciting and singing several of the songs which the fairies sang in these rings. One of them began thus:—Canu, canu, drwy y nos,Dawnsio, dawnsio, ar Waen y RhosY’ ngoleuni’r ỻeuad dlos:Hapus ydym ni!Pawb ohonom syđ yn ỻonHeb un gofid dan ei fron:Canu, dawnsio, ar y ton36—Dedwyđ ydym ni!Singing, singing, through the night,Dancing, dancing with our might,Where the moon the moor doth light,Happy ever we!One and all of merry mien,Without sorrow are we seen,Singing, dancing on the green,Gladsome ever we!Here follows, in Mr. Hughes’ own Welsh, a remarkable story of revenge exacted by the fairies:—Yn un o’r canrifoeđ a aethant heibio, preswyliai amaethwr yn nhyđyn Pantannas, a’r amser hwnnw yroeđ bendith y mamau yn ymwelwyr aml ag amryw gaeau perthynol iđo ef, a theimlai yntau gryn gasineb yn ei fynwes at yr ‘atras fwstrog, leisiog, a chynỻwynig,’ fel y galwai hwynt, a mynych yr hiraethai am aỻu dyfod o hyd i ryw lwybr er cael eu gwared ođiyno. O’r diweđ hysbyswyd ef gan hen reibwraig, fod y fforđ i gael eu gwared yn đigon hawđ, ac ond iđo ef rođi godro un hwyr a boreu iđi hi, yr hysbysai y fforđ iđo gyrraeđ yr hyn a fawr đymunai. Bođlonođ i’w thelerau a derbyniođ yntau y cyfarwyđyd, yr hyn ydoeđ fel y canlyn:—Ei fod i aredig yr hoỻ gaeau i ba rai yr oeđ eu hoff ymgyrchfan, ac ond iđynt hwy unwaith goỻi y ton glas, y digient, ac na đeuent byth mwy i’w boeni drwy eu hymweliadau a’r ỻe.Dilynođ yr amaethwr ei chyfarwyđyd i’r ỻythyren, a choronwyd ei waith a ỻwyđiant. Nid oeđ yr un o honynt i’w weled ođeutu y caeau yn awr; ac yn ỻe sain eu caniadau soniarus, a glywid bob amser yn dyrchu o Waen y Rhos, nid oeđ dim ond y distawrwyđ trylwyraf yn teyrnasu o gylch eu hen a’u hoff ymgyrchfan.Hauođ yr amaethwr wenith, &c., yn y caeau, ac yr oeđ y gwanwyn gwyrđlas wedi gwthio y gauaf ođiar ei seđ, ac ymđangosai y maesyđ yn arđerchog yn eu ỻifrai gwyrđleision a gwanwynol.Ond un prydnawn, ar ol i’r haul ymgilio i yst feỻoeđ y gorỻewin, tra yr oeđ amaethwr Pantannas yn dychwelyd tua ei gartref cyfarfyđwyd ag ef gan fod bychan ar ffurf dyn, yn gwisgo hugan goch; a phan đaeth gyferbyn ag ef dadweiniođ ei gleđ bychan, gan gyfeirio ei flaen at yr amaethwr, a dywedyd,Dial a đaw,Y mae gerỻaw.Ceisiođ yr amaethwr chwerthin, ond yr oeđ rhywbeth yn edrychiad sarrug a ỻym y gwr bychan ag a barođ iđo deimlo yn hynod o annymunol.Ychydig o nosweithiau yn điweđarach, pan oeđ y teulu ar ymneiỻduo i’w gorphwysleoeđ, dychrynwyd hwy yn fawr iawn gan drwst, fel pe byđai y ty yn syrthio i lawr bendramwnwgl, ac yn union ar ol i’r twrf beidio, clywent y geiriau bygythiol a ganlyn—a dim yn rhagor—yn cael eu parablu yn uchel,Daw dial.Pan oeđ yr yd wedi cael ei fedi ac yn barod i gael ei gywain i’r ysgubor, yn sydyn ryw noswaith ỻosgwyd ef fel nad oeđ yr un dywysen na gweỻtyn i’w gael yn un man o’r caeau, ac nis gaỻasai neb fod wedi gosod yr yd ar dan ond Bendith y Mamau.Fel ag y mae yn naturiol i ni feđwl teimlođ yr amaethwr yn fawr oherwyđ y tro, ac edifarhaođ yn ei galon đarfod iđo erioed wrando a gwneuthur yn ol cyfarwyđyd yr hen reibwraig, ac feỻy đwyn arno đigofaint a chasineb Bendith y Mamau.Drannoeth i’r noswaith y ỻosgwyd yr yd fel yr oeđ yn arolygu y difrod achoswyd gan y tan, wele’r gwr bychan ag ydoeđ wedi ei gyfarfod ychydig o điwrnodau yn flaenorol yn ei gyfarfod eilwaith a chyda threm herfeiđiol pwyntiođ ei gleđyf ato gan đywedyd,Nid yw ond dechreu.Trođ gwyneb yr amaethwr cyn wynned a’r marmor, a safođ gan alw y gwr bychan yn ol, ond bu y còr yn hynod o wydn ac anewyỻysgar i droi ato, ond ar ol hir erfyn arno trođ yn ei ol gan ofyn yn sarrug beth yr oeđ yr amaethwr yn ei geisio, yr hwn a hysbysođ iđo ei fod yn berffaith fođlon i adael y caeau ỻe yr oeđ eu hoff ymgyrchfan i dyfu yn don eilwaith, a rhođi caniatad iđynt i đyfod iđynt pryd y dewisent, ond yn unig iđynt beidio dial eu ỻid yn mheỻach arno ef.‘Na,’ oeđ yr atebiad penderfynol, ‘y mae gair y brenin wedi ei roi y byđ iđo ymđial arnat hyd eithaf ei aỻu acnid oes dim un gaỻu ar wyneb y greadigaeth a bair iđo gael ei dynnu yn ol.’Dechreuođ yr amaethwr wylo ar hyn, ond yn mhen ychydig hysbysođ y gwr bychan y byđai iđo ef siarad a’i bennaeth ar y mater, ac y cawsai efe wybod y canlyniad ond iđo đyfod i’w gyfarfod ef yn y fan honno amser machludiad haul drennyđ.Ađawođ yr amaethwr đyfod i’w gyfarfod, a phan đaeth yr amser apwyntiedig o amgylch iđo i gyfarfod a’r bychan cafođ ef yno yn ei aros, ac hysbysođ iđo fod y pennaeth wedi ystyried ei gais yn đifrifol, ond gan fod ei air bob amser yn anghyfnewidiol y buasai y dialeđ bygythiedig yn rhwym o gymeryd ỻe ar y teulu, ond ar gyfrif ei edifeirwch ef na chawsai đigwyđ yn ei amser ef nac eiđo ei blant.Llonyđođ hynny gryn lawer ar feđwl terfysglyd yr amaethwr, a dechreuođ Bendith y Mamau dalu eu hymweliadau a’r ỻe eilwaith a mynych y clywid sain eu cerđoriaeth felusber yn codi o’r caeau amgylchynol yn ystod y nos.Pasiođ canrif heibio heb i’r dialeđ bygythiedig gael ei gyflawni, ac er fod teulu Pantannas yn cael eu hadgofio yn awr ac eilwaith, y buasai yn sicr o đigwyđ hwyr neu hwyrach, eto wrth hir glywed y waeđ,Daw dial,ymgynefinasant a hi nes eu bod yn barod i gredu na fuasai dim yn dyfod o’r bygythiad byth.Yr oeđ etifeđ Pantannas yn caru a merch i dirfeđiannyđ cymydogaethol a breswyliai mewn tyđyn o’r enw Pen Craig Daf. Yr oeđ priodas y par dedwyđ i gymeryd ỻe yn mhen ychydig wythnosau ac ymđangosai rhieni y cwpl ieuanc yn hynod o fođlon i’r ymuniad teuluol ag oeđ ar gymeryd ỻe.Yr oeđ yn amser y Nadolig—a thalođ y đarpar wraig ieuanc ymweliad a theulu ei darpar wr, ac yr oeđ yno wleđ o wyđ rostiedig yn baratoedig gogyfer a’r achlysur.Eisteđai y cwmni ođeutu y tan i adrođ rhyw chwedlau difyrrus er mwyn pasio yr amser, pryd y cawsant eu dychrynu yn fawr gan lais treiđgar yn dyrchafu megis o wely yr afon yn gwaeđiDaeth amser ymdïal.Aethant oỻ aỻan i wrando a glywent y ỻeferyđ eilwaith, ond nid oeđ dim i’w glywed ond brochus drwst y dwfr wrth raiadru dros glogwyni aruthrol y cerwyni. Ond ni chawsant aros i wrando yn hir iawn cyn iđynt glywed yr un ỻeferyđ eilwaith yn dyrchafu i fyny yn uwch na swn y dwfr pan yn bwrlymu dros ysgwyđau y graig, ac yn gwaeđi,Daeth yr amser.Nis gaỻent đyfalu beth yr oeđ yn ei arwyđo, a chymaint ydoeđ eu braw a’u syndod fel nad aỻent lefaru yr un gair a’u gilyđ. Yn mhen ennyd dychwelasant i’r ty a chyn iđynt eisteđ credent yn đios fod yr adeilad yn cael ei ysgwyd iđ ei sylfeini gan ryw dwrf y tu aỻan. Pan yr oeđ yr oỻ wedi cael eu parlysio gan fraw, wele fenyw fechan yn gwneuthur ei hymđangosiad ar y bwrđ o’u blaen, yr hwn oeđ yn sefyỻ yn agos i’r ffenestr.‘Beth yr wyt yn ei geisio yma, y peth bychan hagr?’ holai un o’r gwyđfodolion.‘Nid oes gennyf unrhyw neges a thi, y gwr hir dafod,’ oeđ atebiad y fenyw fechan. ‘Ond yr wyf wedi cael fy anfon yma i adrođ rhyw bethau ag syđ ar đigwyđ i’r teulu hwn, a theulu araỻ o’r gymydogaeth ag a đichon fod o đyđordeb iđynt, ond gan i mi đerbyn y fath sarhad ođiar law y gwr du ag syđ yn eisteđ yn y cornel, ni fyđ i mi godi y ỻen ag oeđ yn cuđio y dyfodol aỻan o’u golwg.’‘Atolwg os oes yn dy feđiant ryw wybodaeth parth dyfodol rhai o honom ag a fyđai yn đyđorol i ni gael ei glywed, dwg hi aỻan,’ ebai un araỻ o’r gwyđfodolion.‘Na wnaf, ond yn unig hysbysu, fod calon gwyryf fel ỻong ar y traeth yn methu cyrraeđ y porthlad oherwyđ digalondid ypilot.’A chyda ei bod yn ỻefaru y gair diweđaf diflannođ o’u gwyđ, na wyđai neb i ba le na pha fođ!Drwy ystod ci hymweliad hi, peidiođ y waeđ a godasai o’r afon, ond yn fuan ar ol iđi điflannu, dechreuođ eilwaith a chyhoeđiDaeth amser dial,ac ni pheidiođ am hir amser. Yr oeđ y cynuỻiad wedi cael eu međiannu a gormod o fraw i fedru ỻefaru yr un gair, ac yr oeđ ỻen o bruđder yn daenedig dros wyneb pob un o honynt. Daeth amser iđynt i ymwahanu, ac aeth Rhyđerch y mab i hebrwng Gwerfyl ei gariadferch tua Phen Craig Daf, o ba siwrnai ni đychwelođ byth.Cyn ymadael a’i fun dywedir iđynt dyngu bythol ffyđlondeb i’w gilyđ, pe heb weled y naiỻ y ỻaỻ byth ond hynny, ac nad oeđ dim a aỻai beri iđynt anghofio eu gilyđ.Mae yn debygol i’r ỻanc Rhyđerch pan yn dychwelyd gartref gael ei hun ođifewn i un o gylchoeđ Bendith y Mamau, ac yna iđynt ei hud-đenu i mewn i un o’u hogofau yn Nharren y Cigfrain, ac yno y bu.Y mae yn ỻawn bryd i ni droi ein gwynebau yn ol tua Phantannas a Phen Craig Daf. Yr oeđ rhieni y bachgen anffodus yn mron gwaỻgofi. Nid oeđ ganđynt yr un drychfeđwl i ba le i fyned i chwilio am dano, ac er chwilio yn mhob man a phob ỻe methwyd yn glir a dyfod o hyd iđo, na chael gair o’i hanes.Ychydig i fyny yn y cwm mewn ogof danđaearol trigfannai hen feudwy oedrannus, yr hwn hefyd a ystyrrid yn đewin, o’r enw Gweiryđ. Aethant yn mhen ychydig wythnosau i ofyn iđo ef, a fedrai rođi iđynt ryw wybodaeth parthed i’w mab coỻedig—ond i ychydig bwrpas. Ni wnaeth yr hyn a adrođođ hwnnw wrthynt ond dyfnhau y clwyf a rhoi golwg fwy anobeithiol fyth ar yr amgylchiad. Ar ol iđynt ei hysbysu ynghylch ymđangosiad y fenyw fechan ynghyd a’r ỻais wylofus a glywsent yn dyrchafu o’r afon y nos yr aeth ar goỻ, hysbysođ efe iđynt mai y farn fygythiedig ar y teulu gan Fendith y Mamau oeđ wedi gođiweđid y ỻanc, ac nad oeđ o un diben iđynt feđwl cael ei weled byth mwyach! Ond feaỻai y gwnelai ei ymđangosiad yn mhen oesau, ond đim yn eu hamser hwy.Pasiai yr amser heibio, a chwyđođ yr wythnosau i fisoeđ, a’r misoeđ i flynyđoeđ, a chasglwyd tad a mam Rhyđerch at eu tadau. Yr oeđ y ỻe o hyd yn parhau yr un, ond y preswylwyr yn newid yn barhaus, ac yr oeđ yr adgofion am ei goỻedigaeth yn darfod yn gyflym, ond er hynny yr oeđ un yn disgwyl ei đychweliad yn ol yn barhaus, ac yn gobeithio megis yn erbyn gobaith am gael ei weled eilwaith. Bob boreu gyda bod dorau y wawr yn ymagor dros gaerog fynyđoeđ y dwyrain gwelid hi bob tywyđ yn rhedeg i ben bryn bychan, a chyda ỻygaid yn orlawn o đagrau hiraethlon syỻai i bob cyfeiriad i edrych a ganfyđai ryw argoel fod ei hanwylyd yn dychwelyd; ond i đim pwrpas. Canol dyđ gwelid hi eilwaith yn yr un man, a phan ymgoỻai yr haul fel pelen eiriasgoch o dân dros y terfyngylch, yr oeđ hi yno.Edrychai nes yn agos bod yn đaỻ, ac wylai ei henaid aỻan o đyđ i đyđ ar ol anwylđyn ei chalon. O’r diweđ aeth y rhai syđ yn edrych drwy y ffenestri i omeđ eu gwasanaeth iđi, ac yr oeđ y pren almon yn coroni eiphen a’i flagur gwyryfol, ond parhai hi i edrych, ond nid oeđ neb yn dod. Yn ỻawn o đyđiau ac yn aeđfed i’r beđ rhođwyd terfyn ar ei hoỻ obeithion a’i disgwyliadau gan angeu, a chludwyd ei gweđiỻion marwol i fynwent hen Gapel y Fan.Pasiai blynyđoeđ heibio fel mwg, ac oesau fel cysgodion y boreu, ac nid oeđ neb yn fyw ag oeđ yn cofio Rhyđerch, ond adrođid ei goỻiad disymwyth yn aml. Dylasem fynegu na welwyd yr un o Fendith y Mamau ođeutu y gymydogaeth wedi ei goỻiad, a pheidiođ sain eu cerđoriaeth o’r nos honno aỻan.Yr oeđ Rhyđerch wedi cael ei hud-đenu i fyned gyda Bendith y Mamau—ac aethant ag ef i ffwrđ i’w hogof. Ar ol iđo aros yno dros ychydig o điwrnodau fel y tybiai, gofynnođ am ganiatad i đychwelyd, yr hyn a rwyđ ganiatawyd iđo gan y brenin. Daeth aỻan o’r ogof, ac yr oeđ yn ganol dyđ braf, a’r haul yn ỻewyrchu ođiar fynwes ffurfafen đigwmwl. Cerđođ yn mlaen o Darren y Cigfrain hyd nes iđo đyfod i olwg Capel y Fan, ond gymaint oeđ ei syndod pan y gwelođ nad oeđ yr un capel yno! Pa le yr oeđ wedi bod, a pha faint o amser? Gyda theimladau cymysgedig cyfeiriođ ei gamrau tua Phen Craig Daf, cartref-le ei anwylyd, ond nid oeđ hi yno, ac nid oeđ yn adwaen yr un dyn ag oeđ yno chwaith. Ni fedrai gael gair o hanes ei gariad a chymerođ y rhai a breswylient yno mai gwaỻgofđyn ydoeđ.Prysurođ eilwaith tua Phantannas, ac yr oeđ ei syndod yn fwy fyth yno! Nid oeđ yn adwaen yr un o honynt, ac ni wyđent hwythau đim am dano yntau. O’r diweđ daeth gwr y ty i fewn, ac yr oeđ hwnnw yn cofio clywed ei dad cu yn adrođ am lanc ag oeđ wedi myned yn đisymwyth i goỻ er ys peth cannoeđ o flynyđoeđ yn ol, ond na wyđai neb i ba le. Rywfođ neu gilyđ tarawođ gwr y tŷ ei ffon yn erbyn Rhyđerch, pa un a điflannođmewn cawod o lwch, ac ni chlywyd air o son beth đaeth o hono mwyach.‘In one of the centuries gone by, there lived a husbandman on the farm of Pantannas; and at that time the fairies used to pay frequent visits to several of the fields which belonged to him. He cherished in his bosom a considerable hatred for the “noisy, boisterous, and pernicious tribe,” as he called them, and often did he long to be able to discover some way to rid the place of them. At last he was told by an old witch that the way to get rid of them was easy enough, and that she would tell him how to attain what he so greatly wished, if he gave her one evening’s milking37on his farm, and one morning’s. He agreed to her conditions, and from her he received advice, which was to the effect that he was to plough all the fields where they had their favourite resorts, and that, if they found the green sward gone, they would take offence, and never return to trouble him with their visits to the spot.‘The husbandman followed the advice to the letter, and his work was crowned with success. Not a single one of them was now to be seen about the fields, and, instead of the sound of their sweet music, which used to be always heard rising from the Coarse Meadow Land, the most complete silence now reigned over their favourite resort.‘He sowed his land with wheat and other grain; the verdant spring had now thrust winter off its throne, and the fields appeared splendid in their vernal and green livery.‘But one evening, when the sun had retired to the chambers of the west, and when the farmer of Pantannaswas returning home, he was met by a diminutive being in the shape of a man, with a red coat on. When he had come right up to him, he unsheathed his little sword, and, directing the point towards the farmer, he said:—Vengeance cometh,Fast it approacheth.‘The farmer tried to laugh, but there was something in the surly and stern looks of the little fellow which made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable.‘A few nights afterwards, as the family were retiring to rest, they were very greatly frightened by a noise, as though the house was falling to pieces; and, immediately after the noise, they heard a voice uttering loudly the threatening words—and nothing more:—Vengeance cometh.‘When, however, the corn was reaped and ready to be carried to the barn, it was, all of a sudden, burnt up one night, so that neither an ear nor a straw of it could be found anywhere in the fields; and now nobody could have set the corn on fire but the fairies.‘As one may naturally suppose, the farmer felt very much on account of this event, and he regretted in his heart having done according to the witch’s direction, and having thereby brought upon him the anger and hatred of the fairies.‘The day after the night of the burning of the corn, as he was surveying the destruction caused by the fire, behold the little fellow, who had met him a few days before, met him again, and, with a challenging glance, he pointed his sword towards him, saying:—It but beginneth.The farmer’s face turned as white as marble, and he stood calling the little fellow to come back; but thedwarf proved very unyielding and reluctant to turn to him; but, after long entreaty, he turned back, asking the farmer, in a surly tone, what he wanted, when he was told by the latter that he was quite willing to allow the fields, in which their favourite resorts had been, to grow again into a green sward, and to let them frequent them as often as they wished, provided they would no further wreak their anger on him.‘ “No,” was the determined reply, “the word of the king has been given, that he will avenge himself on thee to the utmost of his power; and there is no power on the face of creation that will cause it to be withdrawn.”‘The farmer began to weep at this, and, after a while, the little fellow said that he would speak to his lord on the matter, and that he would let him know the result, if he would come there to meet him at the hour of sunset on the third day after.‘The farmer promised to meet him; and, when the time appointed for meeting the little man came, he found him awaiting him, and he was told by him that his lord had seriously considered his request, but that, as the king’s word was ever immutable, the threatened vengeance was to take effect on the family. On account, however, of his repentance, it would not be allowed to happen in his time or that of his children.‘That calmed the disturbed mind of the farmer a good deal. The fairies began again to pay frequent visits to the place, and their melodious singing was again heard at night in the fields around.‘A century passed by without seeing the threatened vengeance carried into effect; and, though the Pantannas family were reminded now and again that it was certainsooner or later to come, nevertheless, by long hearing the voice that said—Vengeance cometh,they became so accustomed to it, that they were ready to believe that nothing would ever come of the threat.‘The heir of Pantannas was paying his addresses to the daughter of a neighbouring landowner who lived at the farm house called Pen Craig Daf, and the wedding of the happy pair was to take place in a few weeks, and the parents on both sides appeared exceedingly content with the union that was about to take place between the two families.‘It was Christmas time, and the intended wife paid a visit to the family of her would-be husband. There they had a feast of roast goose prepared for the occasion.‘The company sat round the fire to relate amusing tales to pass the time, when they were greatly frightened by a piercing voice, rising, as it were, from the bed of the river38, and shrieking:—The time for revenge is come.‘They all went out to listen if they could hear the voice a second time, but nothing was to be heard save the angry noise of the water as it cascaded over the dread cliffs of thekerwyni; they had not long, however, to wait till they heard again the same voice rising above the noise of the waters, as they boiled over the shoulders of the rock, and crying:—The time is come.‘They could not guess what it meant, and so great was their fright and astonishment, that no one could utter a word to another. Shortly they returned to thehouse, when they believed that beyond doubt the building was being shaken to its foundations by some noise outside. When all were thus paralysed by fear, behold a little woman made her appearance on the table, which stood near the window.‘ “What dost thou, ugly little thing, want here?”asked one of those present.‘ “I have nothing to do with thee, O man of the meddling tongue,” said the little woman, “but I have been sent here to recount some things that are about to happen to this family and another family in the neighbourhood, things that might be of interest to them; but, as I have received such an insult from the black fellow that sits in the corner, the veil that hides them from their sight shall not be lifted by me.”‘ “Pray,” said another of those present, “if thou hast in thy possession any knowledge with regard to the future of any one of us that would interest us to hear, bring it forth.”‘ “No, I will but merely tell you that a certain maiden’s heart is like a ship on the coast, unable to reach the harbour because the pilot has lost heart.”‘As soon as she had cried out the last word, she vanished, no one knew whither or how.‘During her visit, the cry rising from the river had stopped, but soon afterwards it began again to proclaim:—The time of vengeance is come;nor did it cease for a long while. The company had been possessed by too much terror for one to be able to address another, and a sheet of gloom had, as it were, been spread over the face of each. The time for parting came, and Rhyđerch the heir went to escort Gwerfyl, his lady-love, home towards Pen Craig Daf, a journey from which he never returned.‘Before bidding one another “Good-bye,” they are said to have sworn to each other eternal fidelity, even though they should never see one another from that moment forth, and that nothing should make the one forget the other.‘It is thought probable that the young man Rhyđerch, on his way back towards home, got into one of the rings of the fairies, that they allured him into one of their caves in the Ravens’ Rift, and that there he remained.‘It is high time for us now to turn back towards Pantannas and Pen Craig Daf. The parents of the unlucky youth were almost beside themselves: they had no idea where to go to look for him, and, though they searched every spot in the place, they failed completely to find him or any clue to his history.‘A little higher up the country, there dwelt, in a cave underground, an aged hermit called Gweiryđ, who was regarded also as a sorcerer. They went a few weeks afterwards to ask him whether he could give them any information about their lost son; but it was of little avail. What that man told them did but deepen the wound and give the event a still more hopeless aspect. When they had told him of the appearance of the little woman, and the doleful cry heard rising from the river on the night when their son was lost, he informed them that it was the judgement threatened to the family by the fairies that had overtaken the youth, and that it was useless for them to think of ever seeing him again: possibly he might make his appearance after generations had gone by, but not in their lifetime.‘Time rolled on, weeks grew into months, and months into years, until Rhyđerch’s father andmother were gathered to their ancestors. The place continued the same, but the inhabitants constantly changed, so that the memory of Rhyđerch’s disappearance was fast dying away. Nevertheless there was one who expected his return all the while, and hoped, as it were against hope, to see him once more. Every morn, as the gates of the dawn opened beyond the castellated heights of the east, she might be seen, in all weathers, hastening to the top of a small hill, and, with eyes full of the tears of longing, gazing in every direction to see if she could behold any sign of her beloved’s return; but in vain. At noon, she might be seen on the same spot again; she was also there at the hour when the sun was wont to hide himself, like a red-hot ball of fire, below the horizon. She gazed until she was nearly blind, and she wept forth her soul from day to day for the darling of her heart. At last they that looked out at the windows began to refuse their service, and the almond tree commenced to crown her head with its virgin bloom. She continued to gaze, but he came not. Full of days, and ripe for the grave, death put an end to all her hopes and all her expectations. Her mortal remains were buried in the graveyard of the old Chapel of the Fan39.‘Years passed away like smoke, and generations like the shadows of the morning, and there was no longer anybody alive who remembered Rhyđerch, but the tale of his sudden missing was frequently in people’s mouths. And we ought to have said that after the event no one of the fairies was seen about the neighbourhood, and the sound of their music ceased from that night.‘Rhyđerch had been allured by them, and they took him away into their cave. When he had stayed there only a few days, as he thought, he asked for permission to return, which was readily granted him by the king. He issued from the cave when it was a fine noon, with the sun beaming from the bosom of a cloudless firmament. He walked on from the Ravens’ Rift until he came near the site of the Fan Chapel; but what was his astonishment to find no chapel there! Where, he wondered, had he been, and how long away? So with mixed feelings he directed his steps towards Pen Craig Daf, the home of his beloved one, but she was not there nor any one whom he knew either. He could get no word of the history of his sweetheart, and those who dwelt in the place took him for a madman.‘He hastened then to Pantannas, where his astonishment was still greater. He knew nobody there, and nobody knew anything about him. At last the man of the house came in, and he remembered hearing his grandfather relating how a youth had suddenly disappeared, nobody knew whither, some hundreds of years previously. Somehow or other the man of the house chanced to knock his walking-stick against Rhyđerch, when the latter vanished in a shower of dust. Nothing more was ever heard of him.’Before leaving Glamorgan, I may add that Mr. Sikes associates fairy ladies with Crymlyn Lake, between Briton Ferry and Swansea; but, as frequently happens with him, he does not deign to tell us whence he got the legend. ‘It is also believed,’ he says at p. 35, ‘that a large town lies swallowed up there, and that theGwrageđ Annwnhave turned the submerged walls to use as the superstructure of their fairy palaces. Some claim to have seen the towers of beautiful castles lifting their battlements beneath the surface of the darkwaters, and fairy bells are at times heard ringing from those towers.’ So much by the way: we shall return to Crymlyn in chapter vii.

XI.

Mr. Craigfryn Hughes, the author of a Welsh novelette32with its scene laid in Glamorgan, having induced me to take a copy, I read it and found it full of local colouring. Then I ventured to sound the author on the question of fairy tales, and the reader will be able to judge how hearty the response has been. Before reproducing the tale which Mr. Hughes has sent me, I will briefly put into English his account of himself and his authorities. Mr. Hughes lives at the Quakers’ Yard in the neighbourhood of Pontypriđ, in Glamorganshire. His father was not a believer33intales about fairies or the like, and he learned all he knows of the traditions about them in his father’s absence, from his grandmother and other old people. The old lady’s name was Rachel Hughes. She was born at Pandy Pont y Cymmer, near Pontypool, orPont ap Hywelas Mr. Hughes analyses the name, in the year 1773, and she had a vivid recollection of Edmund Jones of the Tranch, of whom more anon, coming from time to time to preach to the Independents there. She came, however, to live in the parish of Ỻanfabon, near the Quakers’ Yard, when she was only twelve years of age; and there she continued to live to the day of her death, which took place in 1864, so that she was about ninety-one years of age at the time. Mr. Hughes adds that he remembers many of the old inhabitants besides his grandmother, who were perfectly familiar with the story he has put on record; but only two of them were alive when he wrote to me in 1881, and these were both over ninety years old, with their minds overtaken by the childishness of age; but it was only a short time since the death of another, who was, as he says, a walking library of tales about corpse candles, ghosts, andBendith y Mamau34, or ‘The Mothers’ Blessing,’ as the fairies are usually called in Glamorgan. Mr. Hughes’ father tried to prevent his children being taught any tales about ghosts, corpsecandles, or fairies; but the grandmother found opportunities of telling them plenty, and Mr. Hughes vividly describes the effect on his mind when he was a boy, how frightened he used to feel, how he pulled the clothes over his head in bed, and how he half suffocated himself thereby under the effects of the fear with which the tales used to fill him. Then, as to the locality, he makes the following remarks:—‘There are few people who have not heard something or other about the old graveyard of the Quakers, which was made by Lydia Phil, a lady who lived at a neighbouring farm house, called Cefn y Fforest. This old graveyard lies in the eastern corner of the parish of Merthyr Tydfil, on land called Pantannas, as to the meaning of which there is much controversy. Some will have it that it is properly Pant yr Aros, or the Hollow of the Staying, because travellers were sometimes stopped there overnight by the swelling of the neighbouring river; others treat it as Pant yr Hanes, the Hollow of the Legend, in allusion to the following story. But before the graveyard was made, the spot was called Rhyd y Grug, or the Ford of the Heather, which grows thereabouts in abundance. In front of the old graveyard towards the south the rivers Taff and Bargoed, which some would make into Byrgoed or Short-Wood, meet with each other, and thence rush in one over terrible cliffs of rock, in the recesses of which lie hugecerwynior cauldron-like pools, called respectively the Gerwyn Fach, the Gerwyn Fawr, and the Gerwyn Ganol, where many a drowning has taken place. As one walks up over Tarren y Crynwyr, “the Quakers’ Rift,” until Pantannas is reached, and proceeds northwards for about a mile and a half, one arrives at a farm house called Pen Craig Daf35, “the Top of theTaff Rock.” The path between the two houses leads through fertile fields, in which may be seen, if one has eyes to observe, small rings which are greener than the rest of the ground. They are, in fact, green even as compared with the greenness around them—these are the rings in whichBendith y Mamauused to meet to sing and dance all night. If a man happened to get inside one of these circles when the fairies were there, he could not be got out in a hurry, as they would charm him and lead him into some of their caves, where they would keep him for ages, unawares to him, listening to their music. The rings vary greatly in size, but in point of form they are all round or oval. I have heard my grandmother,’ says Mr. Hughes, ‘reciting and singing several of the songs which the fairies sang in these rings. One of them began thus:—Canu, canu, drwy y nos,Dawnsio, dawnsio, ar Waen y RhosY’ ngoleuni’r ỻeuad dlos:Hapus ydym ni!Pawb ohonom syđ yn ỻonHeb un gofid dan ei fron:Canu, dawnsio, ar y ton36—Dedwyđ ydym ni!Singing, singing, through the night,Dancing, dancing with our might,Where the moon the moor doth light,Happy ever we!One and all of merry mien,Without sorrow are we seen,Singing, dancing on the green,Gladsome ever we!Here follows, in Mr. Hughes’ own Welsh, a remarkable story of revenge exacted by the fairies:—Yn un o’r canrifoeđ a aethant heibio, preswyliai amaethwr yn nhyđyn Pantannas, a’r amser hwnnw yroeđ bendith y mamau yn ymwelwyr aml ag amryw gaeau perthynol iđo ef, a theimlai yntau gryn gasineb yn ei fynwes at yr ‘atras fwstrog, leisiog, a chynỻwynig,’ fel y galwai hwynt, a mynych yr hiraethai am aỻu dyfod o hyd i ryw lwybr er cael eu gwared ođiyno. O’r diweđ hysbyswyd ef gan hen reibwraig, fod y fforđ i gael eu gwared yn đigon hawđ, ac ond iđo ef rođi godro un hwyr a boreu iđi hi, yr hysbysai y fforđ iđo gyrraeđ yr hyn a fawr đymunai. Bođlonođ i’w thelerau a derbyniođ yntau y cyfarwyđyd, yr hyn ydoeđ fel y canlyn:—Ei fod i aredig yr hoỻ gaeau i ba rai yr oeđ eu hoff ymgyrchfan, ac ond iđynt hwy unwaith goỻi y ton glas, y digient, ac na đeuent byth mwy i’w boeni drwy eu hymweliadau a’r ỻe.Dilynođ yr amaethwr ei chyfarwyđyd i’r ỻythyren, a choronwyd ei waith a ỻwyđiant. Nid oeđ yr un o honynt i’w weled ođeutu y caeau yn awr; ac yn ỻe sain eu caniadau soniarus, a glywid bob amser yn dyrchu o Waen y Rhos, nid oeđ dim ond y distawrwyđ trylwyraf yn teyrnasu o gylch eu hen a’u hoff ymgyrchfan.Hauođ yr amaethwr wenith, &c., yn y caeau, ac yr oeđ y gwanwyn gwyrđlas wedi gwthio y gauaf ođiar ei seđ, ac ymđangosai y maesyđ yn arđerchog yn eu ỻifrai gwyrđleision a gwanwynol.Ond un prydnawn, ar ol i’r haul ymgilio i yst feỻoeđ y gorỻewin, tra yr oeđ amaethwr Pantannas yn dychwelyd tua ei gartref cyfarfyđwyd ag ef gan fod bychan ar ffurf dyn, yn gwisgo hugan goch; a phan đaeth gyferbyn ag ef dadweiniođ ei gleđ bychan, gan gyfeirio ei flaen at yr amaethwr, a dywedyd,Dial a đaw,Y mae gerỻaw.Ceisiođ yr amaethwr chwerthin, ond yr oeđ rhywbeth yn edrychiad sarrug a ỻym y gwr bychan ag a barođ iđo deimlo yn hynod o annymunol.Ychydig o nosweithiau yn điweđarach, pan oeđ y teulu ar ymneiỻduo i’w gorphwysleoeđ, dychrynwyd hwy yn fawr iawn gan drwst, fel pe byđai y ty yn syrthio i lawr bendramwnwgl, ac yn union ar ol i’r twrf beidio, clywent y geiriau bygythiol a ganlyn—a dim yn rhagor—yn cael eu parablu yn uchel,Daw dial.Pan oeđ yr yd wedi cael ei fedi ac yn barod i gael ei gywain i’r ysgubor, yn sydyn ryw noswaith ỻosgwyd ef fel nad oeđ yr un dywysen na gweỻtyn i’w gael yn un man o’r caeau, ac nis gaỻasai neb fod wedi gosod yr yd ar dan ond Bendith y Mamau.Fel ag y mae yn naturiol i ni feđwl teimlođ yr amaethwr yn fawr oherwyđ y tro, ac edifarhaođ yn ei galon đarfod iđo erioed wrando a gwneuthur yn ol cyfarwyđyd yr hen reibwraig, ac feỻy đwyn arno đigofaint a chasineb Bendith y Mamau.Drannoeth i’r noswaith y ỻosgwyd yr yd fel yr oeđ yn arolygu y difrod achoswyd gan y tan, wele’r gwr bychan ag ydoeđ wedi ei gyfarfod ychydig o điwrnodau yn flaenorol yn ei gyfarfod eilwaith a chyda threm herfeiđiol pwyntiođ ei gleđyf ato gan đywedyd,Nid yw ond dechreu.Trođ gwyneb yr amaethwr cyn wynned a’r marmor, a safođ gan alw y gwr bychan yn ol, ond bu y còr yn hynod o wydn ac anewyỻysgar i droi ato, ond ar ol hir erfyn arno trođ yn ei ol gan ofyn yn sarrug beth yr oeđ yr amaethwr yn ei geisio, yr hwn a hysbysođ iđo ei fod yn berffaith fođlon i adael y caeau ỻe yr oeđ eu hoff ymgyrchfan i dyfu yn don eilwaith, a rhođi caniatad iđynt i đyfod iđynt pryd y dewisent, ond yn unig iđynt beidio dial eu ỻid yn mheỻach arno ef.‘Na,’ oeđ yr atebiad penderfynol, ‘y mae gair y brenin wedi ei roi y byđ iđo ymđial arnat hyd eithaf ei aỻu acnid oes dim un gaỻu ar wyneb y greadigaeth a bair iđo gael ei dynnu yn ol.’Dechreuođ yr amaethwr wylo ar hyn, ond yn mhen ychydig hysbysođ y gwr bychan y byđai iđo ef siarad a’i bennaeth ar y mater, ac y cawsai efe wybod y canlyniad ond iđo đyfod i’w gyfarfod ef yn y fan honno amser machludiad haul drennyđ.Ađawođ yr amaethwr đyfod i’w gyfarfod, a phan đaeth yr amser apwyntiedig o amgylch iđo i gyfarfod a’r bychan cafođ ef yno yn ei aros, ac hysbysođ iđo fod y pennaeth wedi ystyried ei gais yn đifrifol, ond gan fod ei air bob amser yn anghyfnewidiol y buasai y dialeđ bygythiedig yn rhwym o gymeryd ỻe ar y teulu, ond ar gyfrif ei edifeirwch ef na chawsai đigwyđ yn ei amser ef nac eiđo ei blant.Llonyđođ hynny gryn lawer ar feđwl terfysglyd yr amaethwr, a dechreuođ Bendith y Mamau dalu eu hymweliadau a’r ỻe eilwaith a mynych y clywid sain eu cerđoriaeth felusber yn codi o’r caeau amgylchynol yn ystod y nos.Pasiođ canrif heibio heb i’r dialeđ bygythiedig gael ei gyflawni, ac er fod teulu Pantannas yn cael eu hadgofio yn awr ac eilwaith, y buasai yn sicr o đigwyđ hwyr neu hwyrach, eto wrth hir glywed y waeđ,Daw dial,ymgynefinasant a hi nes eu bod yn barod i gredu na fuasai dim yn dyfod o’r bygythiad byth.Yr oeđ etifeđ Pantannas yn caru a merch i dirfeđiannyđ cymydogaethol a breswyliai mewn tyđyn o’r enw Pen Craig Daf. Yr oeđ priodas y par dedwyđ i gymeryd ỻe yn mhen ychydig wythnosau ac ymđangosai rhieni y cwpl ieuanc yn hynod o fođlon i’r ymuniad teuluol ag oeđ ar gymeryd ỻe.Yr oeđ yn amser y Nadolig—a thalođ y đarpar wraig ieuanc ymweliad a theulu ei darpar wr, ac yr oeđ yno wleđ o wyđ rostiedig yn baratoedig gogyfer a’r achlysur.Eisteđai y cwmni ođeutu y tan i adrođ rhyw chwedlau difyrrus er mwyn pasio yr amser, pryd y cawsant eu dychrynu yn fawr gan lais treiđgar yn dyrchafu megis o wely yr afon yn gwaeđiDaeth amser ymdïal.Aethant oỻ aỻan i wrando a glywent y ỻeferyđ eilwaith, ond nid oeđ dim i’w glywed ond brochus drwst y dwfr wrth raiadru dros glogwyni aruthrol y cerwyni. Ond ni chawsant aros i wrando yn hir iawn cyn iđynt glywed yr un ỻeferyđ eilwaith yn dyrchafu i fyny yn uwch na swn y dwfr pan yn bwrlymu dros ysgwyđau y graig, ac yn gwaeđi,Daeth yr amser.Nis gaỻent đyfalu beth yr oeđ yn ei arwyđo, a chymaint ydoeđ eu braw a’u syndod fel nad aỻent lefaru yr un gair a’u gilyđ. Yn mhen ennyd dychwelasant i’r ty a chyn iđynt eisteđ credent yn đios fod yr adeilad yn cael ei ysgwyd iđ ei sylfeini gan ryw dwrf y tu aỻan. Pan yr oeđ yr oỻ wedi cael eu parlysio gan fraw, wele fenyw fechan yn gwneuthur ei hymđangosiad ar y bwrđ o’u blaen, yr hwn oeđ yn sefyỻ yn agos i’r ffenestr.‘Beth yr wyt yn ei geisio yma, y peth bychan hagr?’ holai un o’r gwyđfodolion.‘Nid oes gennyf unrhyw neges a thi, y gwr hir dafod,’ oeđ atebiad y fenyw fechan. ‘Ond yr wyf wedi cael fy anfon yma i adrođ rhyw bethau ag syđ ar đigwyđ i’r teulu hwn, a theulu araỻ o’r gymydogaeth ag a đichon fod o đyđordeb iđynt, ond gan i mi đerbyn y fath sarhad ođiar law y gwr du ag syđ yn eisteđ yn y cornel, ni fyđ i mi godi y ỻen ag oeđ yn cuđio y dyfodol aỻan o’u golwg.’‘Atolwg os oes yn dy feđiant ryw wybodaeth parth dyfodol rhai o honom ag a fyđai yn đyđorol i ni gael ei glywed, dwg hi aỻan,’ ebai un araỻ o’r gwyđfodolion.‘Na wnaf, ond yn unig hysbysu, fod calon gwyryf fel ỻong ar y traeth yn methu cyrraeđ y porthlad oherwyđ digalondid ypilot.’A chyda ei bod yn ỻefaru y gair diweđaf diflannođ o’u gwyđ, na wyđai neb i ba le na pha fođ!Drwy ystod ci hymweliad hi, peidiođ y waeđ a godasai o’r afon, ond yn fuan ar ol iđi điflannu, dechreuođ eilwaith a chyhoeđiDaeth amser dial,ac ni pheidiođ am hir amser. Yr oeđ y cynuỻiad wedi cael eu međiannu a gormod o fraw i fedru ỻefaru yr un gair, ac yr oeđ ỻen o bruđder yn daenedig dros wyneb pob un o honynt. Daeth amser iđynt i ymwahanu, ac aeth Rhyđerch y mab i hebrwng Gwerfyl ei gariadferch tua Phen Craig Daf, o ba siwrnai ni đychwelođ byth.Cyn ymadael a’i fun dywedir iđynt dyngu bythol ffyđlondeb i’w gilyđ, pe heb weled y naiỻ y ỻaỻ byth ond hynny, ac nad oeđ dim a aỻai beri iđynt anghofio eu gilyđ.Mae yn debygol i’r ỻanc Rhyđerch pan yn dychwelyd gartref gael ei hun ođifewn i un o gylchoeđ Bendith y Mamau, ac yna iđynt ei hud-đenu i mewn i un o’u hogofau yn Nharren y Cigfrain, ac yno y bu.Y mae yn ỻawn bryd i ni droi ein gwynebau yn ol tua Phantannas a Phen Craig Daf. Yr oeđ rhieni y bachgen anffodus yn mron gwaỻgofi. Nid oeđ ganđynt yr un drychfeđwl i ba le i fyned i chwilio am dano, ac er chwilio yn mhob man a phob ỻe methwyd yn glir a dyfod o hyd iđo, na chael gair o’i hanes.Ychydig i fyny yn y cwm mewn ogof danđaearol trigfannai hen feudwy oedrannus, yr hwn hefyd a ystyrrid yn đewin, o’r enw Gweiryđ. Aethant yn mhen ychydig wythnosau i ofyn iđo ef, a fedrai rođi iđynt ryw wybodaeth parthed i’w mab coỻedig—ond i ychydig bwrpas. Ni wnaeth yr hyn a adrođođ hwnnw wrthynt ond dyfnhau y clwyf a rhoi golwg fwy anobeithiol fyth ar yr amgylchiad. Ar ol iđynt ei hysbysu ynghylch ymđangosiad y fenyw fechan ynghyd a’r ỻais wylofus a glywsent yn dyrchafu o’r afon y nos yr aeth ar goỻ, hysbysođ efe iđynt mai y farn fygythiedig ar y teulu gan Fendith y Mamau oeđ wedi gođiweđid y ỻanc, ac nad oeđ o un diben iđynt feđwl cael ei weled byth mwyach! Ond feaỻai y gwnelai ei ymđangosiad yn mhen oesau, ond đim yn eu hamser hwy.Pasiai yr amser heibio, a chwyđođ yr wythnosau i fisoeđ, a’r misoeđ i flynyđoeđ, a chasglwyd tad a mam Rhyđerch at eu tadau. Yr oeđ y ỻe o hyd yn parhau yr un, ond y preswylwyr yn newid yn barhaus, ac yr oeđ yr adgofion am ei goỻedigaeth yn darfod yn gyflym, ond er hynny yr oeđ un yn disgwyl ei đychweliad yn ol yn barhaus, ac yn gobeithio megis yn erbyn gobaith am gael ei weled eilwaith. Bob boreu gyda bod dorau y wawr yn ymagor dros gaerog fynyđoeđ y dwyrain gwelid hi bob tywyđ yn rhedeg i ben bryn bychan, a chyda ỻygaid yn orlawn o đagrau hiraethlon syỻai i bob cyfeiriad i edrych a ganfyđai ryw argoel fod ei hanwylyd yn dychwelyd; ond i đim pwrpas. Canol dyđ gwelid hi eilwaith yn yr un man, a phan ymgoỻai yr haul fel pelen eiriasgoch o dân dros y terfyngylch, yr oeđ hi yno.Edrychai nes yn agos bod yn đaỻ, ac wylai ei henaid aỻan o đyđ i đyđ ar ol anwylđyn ei chalon. O’r diweđ aeth y rhai syđ yn edrych drwy y ffenestri i omeđ eu gwasanaeth iđi, ac yr oeđ y pren almon yn coroni eiphen a’i flagur gwyryfol, ond parhai hi i edrych, ond nid oeđ neb yn dod. Yn ỻawn o đyđiau ac yn aeđfed i’r beđ rhođwyd terfyn ar ei hoỻ obeithion a’i disgwyliadau gan angeu, a chludwyd ei gweđiỻion marwol i fynwent hen Gapel y Fan.Pasiai blynyđoeđ heibio fel mwg, ac oesau fel cysgodion y boreu, ac nid oeđ neb yn fyw ag oeđ yn cofio Rhyđerch, ond adrođid ei goỻiad disymwyth yn aml. Dylasem fynegu na welwyd yr un o Fendith y Mamau ođeutu y gymydogaeth wedi ei goỻiad, a pheidiođ sain eu cerđoriaeth o’r nos honno aỻan.Yr oeđ Rhyđerch wedi cael ei hud-đenu i fyned gyda Bendith y Mamau—ac aethant ag ef i ffwrđ i’w hogof. Ar ol iđo aros yno dros ychydig o điwrnodau fel y tybiai, gofynnođ am ganiatad i đychwelyd, yr hyn a rwyđ ganiatawyd iđo gan y brenin. Daeth aỻan o’r ogof, ac yr oeđ yn ganol dyđ braf, a’r haul yn ỻewyrchu ođiar fynwes ffurfafen đigwmwl. Cerđođ yn mlaen o Darren y Cigfrain hyd nes iđo đyfod i olwg Capel y Fan, ond gymaint oeđ ei syndod pan y gwelođ nad oeđ yr un capel yno! Pa le yr oeđ wedi bod, a pha faint o amser? Gyda theimladau cymysgedig cyfeiriođ ei gamrau tua Phen Craig Daf, cartref-le ei anwylyd, ond nid oeđ hi yno, ac nid oeđ yn adwaen yr un dyn ag oeđ yno chwaith. Ni fedrai gael gair o hanes ei gariad a chymerođ y rhai a breswylient yno mai gwaỻgofđyn ydoeđ.Prysurođ eilwaith tua Phantannas, ac yr oeđ ei syndod yn fwy fyth yno! Nid oeđ yn adwaen yr un o honynt, ac ni wyđent hwythau đim am dano yntau. O’r diweđ daeth gwr y ty i fewn, ac yr oeđ hwnnw yn cofio clywed ei dad cu yn adrođ am lanc ag oeđ wedi myned yn đisymwyth i goỻ er ys peth cannoeđ o flynyđoeđ yn ol, ond na wyđai neb i ba le. Rywfođ neu gilyđ tarawođ gwr y tŷ ei ffon yn erbyn Rhyđerch, pa un a điflannođmewn cawod o lwch, ac ni chlywyd air o son beth đaeth o hono mwyach.‘In one of the centuries gone by, there lived a husbandman on the farm of Pantannas; and at that time the fairies used to pay frequent visits to several of the fields which belonged to him. He cherished in his bosom a considerable hatred for the “noisy, boisterous, and pernicious tribe,” as he called them, and often did he long to be able to discover some way to rid the place of them. At last he was told by an old witch that the way to get rid of them was easy enough, and that she would tell him how to attain what he so greatly wished, if he gave her one evening’s milking37on his farm, and one morning’s. He agreed to her conditions, and from her he received advice, which was to the effect that he was to plough all the fields where they had their favourite resorts, and that, if they found the green sward gone, they would take offence, and never return to trouble him with their visits to the spot.‘The husbandman followed the advice to the letter, and his work was crowned with success. Not a single one of them was now to be seen about the fields, and, instead of the sound of their sweet music, which used to be always heard rising from the Coarse Meadow Land, the most complete silence now reigned over their favourite resort.‘He sowed his land with wheat and other grain; the verdant spring had now thrust winter off its throne, and the fields appeared splendid in their vernal and green livery.‘But one evening, when the sun had retired to the chambers of the west, and when the farmer of Pantannaswas returning home, he was met by a diminutive being in the shape of a man, with a red coat on. When he had come right up to him, he unsheathed his little sword, and, directing the point towards the farmer, he said:—Vengeance cometh,Fast it approacheth.‘The farmer tried to laugh, but there was something in the surly and stern looks of the little fellow which made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable.‘A few nights afterwards, as the family were retiring to rest, they were very greatly frightened by a noise, as though the house was falling to pieces; and, immediately after the noise, they heard a voice uttering loudly the threatening words—and nothing more:—Vengeance cometh.‘When, however, the corn was reaped and ready to be carried to the barn, it was, all of a sudden, burnt up one night, so that neither an ear nor a straw of it could be found anywhere in the fields; and now nobody could have set the corn on fire but the fairies.‘As one may naturally suppose, the farmer felt very much on account of this event, and he regretted in his heart having done according to the witch’s direction, and having thereby brought upon him the anger and hatred of the fairies.‘The day after the night of the burning of the corn, as he was surveying the destruction caused by the fire, behold the little fellow, who had met him a few days before, met him again, and, with a challenging glance, he pointed his sword towards him, saying:—It but beginneth.The farmer’s face turned as white as marble, and he stood calling the little fellow to come back; but thedwarf proved very unyielding and reluctant to turn to him; but, after long entreaty, he turned back, asking the farmer, in a surly tone, what he wanted, when he was told by the latter that he was quite willing to allow the fields, in which their favourite resorts had been, to grow again into a green sward, and to let them frequent them as often as they wished, provided they would no further wreak their anger on him.‘ “No,” was the determined reply, “the word of the king has been given, that he will avenge himself on thee to the utmost of his power; and there is no power on the face of creation that will cause it to be withdrawn.”‘The farmer began to weep at this, and, after a while, the little fellow said that he would speak to his lord on the matter, and that he would let him know the result, if he would come there to meet him at the hour of sunset on the third day after.‘The farmer promised to meet him; and, when the time appointed for meeting the little man came, he found him awaiting him, and he was told by him that his lord had seriously considered his request, but that, as the king’s word was ever immutable, the threatened vengeance was to take effect on the family. On account, however, of his repentance, it would not be allowed to happen in his time or that of his children.‘That calmed the disturbed mind of the farmer a good deal. The fairies began again to pay frequent visits to the place, and their melodious singing was again heard at night in the fields around.‘A century passed by without seeing the threatened vengeance carried into effect; and, though the Pantannas family were reminded now and again that it was certainsooner or later to come, nevertheless, by long hearing the voice that said—Vengeance cometh,they became so accustomed to it, that they were ready to believe that nothing would ever come of the threat.‘The heir of Pantannas was paying his addresses to the daughter of a neighbouring landowner who lived at the farm house called Pen Craig Daf, and the wedding of the happy pair was to take place in a few weeks, and the parents on both sides appeared exceedingly content with the union that was about to take place between the two families.‘It was Christmas time, and the intended wife paid a visit to the family of her would-be husband. There they had a feast of roast goose prepared for the occasion.‘The company sat round the fire to relate amusing tales to pass the time, when they were greatly frightened by a piercing voice, rising, as it were, from the bed of the river38, and shrieking:—The time for revenge is come.‘They all went out to listen if they could hear the voice a second time, but nothing was to be heard save the angry noise of the water as it cascaded over the dread cliffs of thekerwyni; they had not long, however, to wait till they heard again the same voice rising above the noise of the waters, as they boiled over the shoulders of the rock, and crying:—The time is come.‘They could not guess what it meant, and so great was their fright and astonishment, that no one could utter a word to another. Shortly they returned to thehouse, when they believed that beyond doubt the building was being shaken to its foundations by some noise outside. When all were thus paralysed by fear, behold a little woman made her appearance on the table, which stood near the window.‘ “What dost thou, ugly little thing, want here?”asked one of those present.‘ “I have nothing to do with thee, O man of the meddling tongue,” said the little woman, “but I have been sent here to recount some things that are about to happen to this family and another family in the neighbourhood, things that might be of interest to them; but, as I have received such an insult from the black fellow that sits in the corner, the veil that hides them from their sight shall not be lifted by me.”‘ “Pray,” said another of those present, “if thou hast in thy possession any knowledge with regard to the future of any one of us that would interest us to hear, bring it forth.”‘ “No, I will but merely tell you that a certain maiden’s heart is like a ship on the coast, unable to reach the harbour because the pilot has lost heart.”‘As soon as she had cried out the last word, she vanished, no one knew whither or how.‘During her visit, the cry rising from the river had stopped, but soon afterwards it began again to proclaim:—The time of vengeance is come;nor did it cease for a long while. The company had been possessed by too much terror for one to be able to address another, and a sheet of gloom had, as it were, been spread over the face of each. The time for parting came, and Rhyđerch the heir went to escort Gwerfyl, his lady-love, home towards Pen Craig Daf, a journey from which he never returned.‘Before bidding one another “Good-bye,” they are said to have sworn to each other eternal fidelity, even though they should never see one another from that moment forth, and that nothing should make the one forget the other.‘It is thought probable that the young man Rhyđerch, on his way back towards home, got into one of the rings of the fairies, that they allured him into one of their caves in the Ravens’ Rift, and that there he remained.‘It is high time for us now to turn back towards Pantannas and Pen Craig Daf. The parents of the unlucky youth were almost beside themselves: they had no idea where to go to look for him, and, though they searched every spot in the place, they failed completely to find him or any clue to his history.‘A little higher up the country, there dwelt, in a cave underground, an aged hermit called Gweiryđ, who was regarded also as a sorcerer. They went a few weeks afterwards to ask him whether he could give them any information about their lost son; but it was of little avail. What that man told them did but deepen the wound and give the event a still more hopeless aspect. When they had told him of the appearance of the little woman, and the doleful cry heard rising from the river on the night when their son was lost, he informed them that it was the judgement threatened to the family by the fairies that had overtaken the youth, and that it was useless for them to think of ever seeing him again: possibly he might make his appearance after generations had gone by, but not in their lifetime.‘Time rolled on, weeks grew into months, and months into years, until Rhyđerch’s father andmother were gathered to their ancestors. The place continued the same, but the inhabitants constantly changed, so that the memory of Rhyđerch’s disappearance was fast dying away. Nevertheless there was one who expected his return all the while, and hoped, as it were against hope, to see him once more. Every morn, as the gates of the dawn opened beyond the castellated heights of the east, she might be seen, in all weathers, hastening to the top of a small hill, and, with eyes full of the tears of longing, gazing in every direction to see if she could behold any sign of her beloved’s return; but in vain. At noon, she might be seen on the same spot again; she was also there at the hour when the sun was wont to hide himself, like a red-hot ball of fire, below the horizon. She gazed until she was nearly blind, and she wept forth her soul from day to day for the darling of her heart. At last they that looked out at the windows began to refuse their service, and the almond tree commenced to crown her head with its virgin bloom. She continued to gaze, but he came not. Full of days, and ripe for the grave, death put an end to all her hopes and all her expectations. Her mortal remains were buried in the graveyard of the old Chapel of the Fan39.‘Years passed away like smoke, and generations like the shadows of the morning, and there was no longer anybody alive who remembered Rhyđerch, but the tale of his sudden missing was frequently in people’s mouths. And we ought to have said that after the event no one of the fairies was seen about the neighbourhood, and the sound of their music ceased from that night.‘Rhyđerch had been allured by them, and they took him away into their cave. When he had stayed there only a few days, as he thought, he asked for permission to return, which was readily granted him by the king. He issued from the cave when it was a fine noon, with the sun beaming from the bosom of a cloudless firmament. He walked on from the Ravens’ Rift until he came near the site of the Fan Chapel; but what was his astonishment to find no chapel there! Where, he wondered, had he been, and how long away? So with mixed feelings he directed his steps towards Pen Craig Daf, the home of his beloved one, but she was not there nor any one whom he knew either. He could get no word of the history of his sweetheart, and those who dwelt in the place took him for a madman.‘He hastened then to Pantannas, where his astonishment was still greater. He knew nobody there, and nobody knew anything about him. At last the man of the house came in, and he remembered hearing his grandfather relating how a youth had suddenly disappeared, nobody knew whither, some hundreds of years previously. Somehow or other the man of the house chanced to knock his walking-stick against Rhyđerch, when the latter vanished in a shower of dust. Nothing more was ever heard of him.’Before leaving Glamorgan, I may add that Mr. Sikes associates fairy ladies with Crymlyn Lake, between Briton Ferry and Swansea; but, as frequently happens with him, he does not deign to tell us whence he got the legend. ‘It is also believed,’ he says at p. 35, ‘that a large town lies swallowed up there, and that theGwrageđ Annwnhave turned the submerged walls to use as the superstructure of their fairy palaces. Some claim to have seen the towers of beautiful castles lifting their battlements beneath the surface of the darkwaters, and fairy bells are at times heard ringing from those towers.’ So much by the way: we shall return to Crymlyn in chapter vii.

Canu, canu, drwy y nos,Dawnsio, dawnsio, ar Waen y RhosY’ ngoleuni’r ỻeuad dlos:Hapus ydym ni!Pawb ohonom syđ yn ỻonHeb un gofid dan ei fron:Canu, dawnsio, ar y ton36—Dedwyđ ydym ni!Singing, singing, through the night,Dancing, dancing with our might,Where the moon the moor doth light,Happy ever we!One and all of merry mien,Without sorrow are we seen,Singing, dancing on the green,Gladsome ever we!

Canu, canu, drwy y nos,Dawnsio, dawnsio, ar Waen y RhosY’ ngoleuni’r ỻeuad dlos:Hapus ydym ni!

Canu, canu, drwy y nos,

Dawnsio, dawnsio, ar Waen y Rhos

Y’ ngoleuni’r ỻeuad dlos:

Hapus ydym ni!

Pawb ohonom syđ yn ỻonHeb un gofid dan ei fron:Canu, dawnsio, ar y ton36—Dedwyđ ydym ni!

Pawb ohonom syđ yn ỻon

Heb un gofid dan ei fron:

Canu, dawnsio, ar y ton36—

Dedwyđ ydym ni!

Singing, singing, through the night,Dancing, dancing with our might,Where the moon the moor doth light,Happy ever we!

Singing, singing, through the night,

Dancing, dancing with our might,

Where the moon the moor doth light,

Happy ever we!

One and all of merry mien,Without sorrow are we seen,Singing, dancing on the green,Gladsome ever we!

One and all of merry mien,

Without sorrow are we seen,

Singing, dancing on the green,

Gladsome ever we!

Here follows, in Mr. Hughes’ own Welsh, a remarkable story of revenge exacted by the fairies:—

Yn un o’r canrifoeđ a aethant heibio, preswyliai amaethwr yn nhyđyn Pantannas, a’r amser hwnnw yroeđ bendith y mamau yn ymwelwyr aml ag amryw gaeau perthynol iđo ef, a theimlai yntau gryn gasineb yn ei fynwes at yr ‘atras fwstrog, leisiog, a chynỻwynig,’ fel y galwai hwynt, a mynych yr hiraethai am aỻu dyfod o hyd i ryw lwybr er cael eu gwared ođiyno. O’r diweđ hysbyswyd ef gan hen reibwraig, fod y fforđ i gael eu gwared yn đigon hawđ, ac ond iđo ef rođi godro un hwyr a boreu iđi hi, yr hysbysai y fforđ iđo gyrraeđ yr hyn a fawr đymunai. Bođlonođ i’w thelerau a derbyniođ yntau y cyfarwyđyd, yr hyn ydoeđ fel y canlyn:—Ei fod i aredig yr hoỻ gaeau i ba rai yr oeđ eu hoff ymgyrchfan, ac ond iđynt hwy unwaith goỻi y ton glas, y digient, ac na đeuent byth mwy i’w boeni drwy eu hymweliadau a’r ỻe.

Dilynođ yr amaethwr ei chyfarwyđyd i’r ỻythyren, a choronwyd ei waith a ỻwyđiant. Nid oeđ yr un o honynt i’w weled ođeutu y caeau yn awr; ac yn ỻe sain eu caniadau soniarus, a glywid bob amser yn dyrchu o Waen y Rhos, nid oeđ dim ond y distawrwyđ trylwyraf yn teyrnasu o gylch eu hen a’u hoff ymgyrchfan.

Hauođ yr amaethwr wenith, &c., yn y caeau, ac yr oeđ y gwanwyn gwyrđlas wedi gwthio y gauaf ođiar ei seđ, ac ymđangosai y maesyđ yn arđerchog yn eu ỻifrai gwyrđleision a gwanwynol.

Ond un prydnawn, ar ol i’r haul ymgilio i yst feỻoeđ y gorỻewin, tra yr oeđ amaethwr Pantannas yn dychwelyd tua ei gartref cyfarfyđwyd ag ef gan fod bychan ar ffurf dyn, yn gwisgo hugan goch; a phan đaeth gyferbyn ag ef dadweiniođ ei gleđ bychan, gan gyfeirio ei flaen at yr amaethwr, a dywedyd,

Dial a đaw,Y mae gerỻaw.

Dial a đaw,

Y mae gerỻaw.

Ceisiođ yr amaethwr chwerthin, ond yr oeđ rhywbeth yn edrychiad sarrug a ỻym y gwr bychan ag a barođ iđo deimlo yn hynod o annymunol.

Ychydig o nosweithiau yn điweđarach, pan oeđ y teulu ar ymneiỻduo i’w gorphwysleoeđ, dychrynwyd hwy yn fawr iawn gan drwst, fel pe byđai y ty yn syrthio i lawr bendramwnwgl, ac yn union ar ol i’r twrf beidio, clywent y geiriau bygythiol a ganlyn—a dim yn rhagor—yn cael eu parablu yn uchel,

Daw dial.

Pan oeđ yr yd wedi cael ei fedi ac yn barod i gael ei gywain i’r ysgubor, yn sydyn ryw noswaith ỻosgwyd ef fel nad oeđ yr un dywysen na gweỻtyn i’w gael yn un man o’r caeau, ac nis gaỻasai neb fod wedi gosod yr yd ar dan ond Bendith y Mamau.

Fel ag y mae yn naturiol i ni feđwl teimlođ yr amaethwr yn fawr oherwyđ y tro, ac edifarhaođ yn ei galon đarfod iđo erioed wrando a gwneuthur yn ol cyfarwyđyd yr hen reibwraig, ac feỻy đwyn arno đigofaint a chasineb Bendith y Mamau.

Drannoeth i’r noswaith y ỻosgwyd yr yd fel yr oeđ yn arolygu y difrod achoswyd gan y tan, wele’r gwr bychan ag ydoeđ wedi ei gyfarfod ychydig o điwrnodau yn flaenorol yn ei gyfarfod eilwaith a chyda threm herfeiđiol pwyntiođ ei gleđyf ato gan đywedyd,

Nid yw ond dechreu.

Trođ gwyneb yr amaethwr cyn wynned a’r marmor, a safođ gan alw y gwr bychan yn ol, ond bu y còr yn hynod o wydn ac anewyỻysgar i droi ato, ond ar ol hir erfyn arno trođ yn ei ol gan ofyn yn sarrug beth yr oeđ yr amaethwr yn ei geisio, yr hwn a hysbysođ iđo ei fod yn berffaith fođlon i adael y caeau ỻe yr oeđ eu hoff ymgyrchfan i dyfu yn don eilwaith, a rhođi caniatad iđynt i đyfod iđynt pryd y dewisent, ond yn unig iđynt beidio dial eu ỻid yn mheỻach arno ef.

‘Na,’ oeđ yr atebiad penderfynol, ‘y mae gair y brenin wedi ei roi y byđ iđo ymđial arnat hyd eithaf ei aỻu acnid oes dim un gaỻu ar wyneb y greadigaeth a bair iđo gael ei dynnu yn ol.’

Dechreuođ yr amaethwr wylo ar hyn, ond yn mhen ychydig hysbysođ y gwr bychan y byđai iđo ef siarad a’i bennaeth ar y mater, ac y cawsai efe wybod y canlyniad ond iđo đyfod i’w gyfarfod ef yn y fan honno amser machludiad haul drennyđ.

Ađawođ yr amaethwr đyfod i’w gyfarfod, a phan đaeth yr amser apwyntiedig o amgylch iđo i gyfarfod a’r bychan cafođ ef yno yn ei aros, ac hysbysođ iđo fod y pennaeth wedi ystyried ei gais yn đifrifol, ond gan fod ei air bob amser yn anghyfnewidiol y buasai y dialeđ bygythiedig yn rhwym o gymeryd ỻe ar y teulu, ond ar gyfrif ei edifeirwch ef na chawsai đigwyđ yn ei amser ef nac eiđo ei blant.

Llonyđođ hynny gryn lawer ar feđwl terfysglyd yr amaethwr, a dechreuođ Bendith y Mamau dalu eu hymweliadau a’r ỻe eilwaith a mynych y clywid sain eu cerđoriaeth felusber yn codi o’r caeau amgylchynol yn ystod y nos.

Pasiođ canrif heibio heb i’r dialeđ bygythiedig gael ei gyflawni, ac er fod teulu Pantannas yn cael eu hadgofio yn awr ac eilwaith, y buasai yn sicr o đigwyđ hwyr neu hwyrach, eto wrth hir glywed y waeđ,

Daw dial,

ymgynefinasant a hi nes eu bod yn barod i gredu na fuasai dim yn dyfod o’r bygythiad byth.

Yr oeđ etifeđ Pantannas yn caru a merch i dirfeđiannyđ cymydogaethol a breswyliai mewn tyđyn o’r enw Pen Craig Daf. Yr oeđ priodas y par dedwyđ i gymeryd ỻe yn mhen ychydig wythnosau ac ymđangosai rhieni y cwpl ieuanc yn hynod o fođlon i’r ymuniad teuluol ag oeđ ar gymeryd ỻe.

Yr oeđ yn amser y Nadolig—a thalođ y đarpar wraig ieuanc ymweliad a theulu ei darpar wr, ac yr oeđ yno wleđ o wyđ rostiedig yn baratoedig gogyfer a’r achlysur.

Eisteđai y cwmni ođeutu y tan i adrođ rhyw chwedlau difyrrus er mwyn pasio yr amser, pryd y cawsant eu dychrynu yn fawr gan lais treiđgar yn dyrchafu megis o wely yr afon yn gwaeđi

Daeth amser ymdïal.

Aethant oỻ aỻan i wrando a glywent y ỻeferyđ eilwaith, ond nid oeđ dim i’w glywed ond brochus drwst y dwfr wrth raiadru dros glogwyni aruthrol y cerwyni. Ond ni chawsant aros i wrando yn hir iawn cyn iđynt glywed yr un ỻeferyđ eilwaith yn dyrchafu i fyny yn uwch na swn y dwfr pan yn bwrlymu dros ysgwyđau y graig, ac yn gwaeđi,

Daeth yr amser.

Nis gaỻent đyfalu beth yr oeđ yn ei arwyđo, a chymaint ydoeđ eu braw a’u syndod fel nad aỻent lefaru yr un gair a’u gilyđ. Yn mhen ennyd dychwelasant i’r ty a chyn iđynt eisteđ credent yn đios fod yr adeilad yn cael ei ysgwyd iđ ei sylfeini gan ryw dwrf y tu aỻan. Pan yr oeđ yr oỻ wedi cael eu parlysio gan fraw, wele fenyw fechan yn gwneuthur ei hymđangosiad ar y bwrđ o’u blaen, yr hwn oeđ yn sefyỻ yn agos i’r ffenestr.

‘Beth yr wyt yn ei geisio yma, y peth bychan hagr?’ holai un o’r gwyđfodolion.

‘Nid oes gennyf unrhyw neges a thi, y gwr hir dafod,’ oeđ atebiad y fenyw fechan. ‘Ond yr wyf wedi cael fy anfon yma i adrođ rhyw bethau ag syđ ar đigwyđ i’r teulu hwn, a theulu araỻ o’r gymydogaeth ag a đichon fod o đyđordeb iđynt, ond gan i mi đerbyn y fath sarhad ođiar law y gwr du ag syđ yn eisteđ yn y cornel, ni fyđ i mi godi y ỻen ag oeđ yn cuđio y dyfodol aỻan o’u golwg.’

‘Atolwg os oes yn dy feđiant ryw wybodaeth parth dyfodol rhai o honom ag a fyđai yn đyđorol i ni gael ei glywed, dwg hi aỻan,’ ebai un araỻ o’r gwyđfodolion.

‘Na wnaf, ond yn unig hysbysu, fod calon gwyryf fel ỻong ar y traeth yn methu cyrraeđ y porthlad oherwyđ digalondid ypilot.’

A chyda ei bod yn ỻefaru y gair diweđaf diflannođ o’u gwyđ, na wyđai neb i ba le na pha fođ!

Drwy ystod ci hymweliad hi, peidiođ y waeđ a godasai o’r afon, ond yn fuan ar ol iđi điflannu, dechreuođ eilwaith a chyhoeđi

Daeth amser dial,

ac ni pheidiođ am hir amser. Yr oeđ y cynuỻiad wedi cael eu međiannu a gormod o fraw i fedru ỻefaru yr un gair, ac yr oeđ ỻen o bruđder yn daenedig dros wyneb pob un o honynt. Daeth amser iđynt i ymwahanu, ac aeth Rhyđerch y mab i hebrwng Gwerfyl ei gariadferch tua Phen Craig Daf, o ba siwrnai ni đychwelođ byth.

Cyn ymadael a’i fun dywedir iđynt dyngu bythol ffyđlondeb i’w gilyđ, pe heb weled y naiỻ y ỻaỻ byth ond hynny, ac nad oeđ dim a aỻai beri iđynt anghofio eu gilyđ.

Mae yn debygol i’r ỻanc Rhyđerch pan yn dychwelyd gartref gael ei hun ođifewn i un o gylchoeđ Bendith y Mamau, ac yna iđynt ei hud-đenu i mewn i un o’u hogofau yn Nharren y Cigfrain, ac yno y bu.

Y mae yn ỻawn bryd i ni droi ein gwynebau yn ol tua Phantannas a Phen Craig Daf. Yr oeđ rhieni y bachgen anffodus yn mron gwaỻgofi. Nid oeđ ganđynt yr un drychfeđwl i ba le i fyned i chwilio am dano, ac er chwilio yn mhob man a phob ỻe methwyd yn glir a dyfod o hyd iđo, na chael gair o’i hanes.

Ychydig i fyny yn y cwm mewn ogof danđaearol trigfannai hen feudwy oedrannus, yr hwn hefyd a ystyrrid yn đewin, o’r enw Gweiryđ. Aethant yn mhen ychydig wythnosau i ofyn iđo ef, a fedrai rođi iđynt ryw wybodaeth parthed i’w mab coỻedig—ond i ychydig bwrpas. Ni wnaeth yr hyn a adrođođ hwnnw wrthynt ond dyfnhau y clwyf a rhoi golwg fwy anobeithiol fyth ar yr amgylchiad. Ar ol iđynt ei hysbysu ynghylch ymđangosiad y fenyw fechan ynghyd a’r ỻais wylofus a glywsent yn dyrchafu o’r afon y nos yr aeth ar goỻ, hysbysođ efe iđynt mai y farn fygythiedig ar y teulu gan Fendith y Mamau oeđ wedi gođiweđid y ỻanc, ac nad oeđ o un diben iđynt feđwl cael ei weled byth mwyach! Ond feaỻai y gwnelai ei ymđangosiad yn mhen oesau, ond đim yn eu hamser hwy.

Pasiai yr amser heibio, a chwyđođ yr wythnosau i fisoeđ, a’r misoeđ i flynyđoeđ, a chasglwyd tad a mam Rhyđerch at eu tadau. Yr oeđ y ỻe o hyd yn parhau yr un, ond y preswylwyr yn newid yn barhaus, ac yr oeđ yr adgofion am ei goỻedigaeth yn darfod yn gyflym, ond er hynny yr oeđ un yn disgwyl ei đychweliad yn ol yn barhaus, ac yn gobeithio megis yn erbyn gobaith am gael ei weled eilwaith. Bob boreu gyda bod dorau y wawr yn ymagor dros gaerog fynyđoeđ y dwyrain gwelid hi bob tywyđ yn rhedeg i ben bryn bychan, a chyda ỻygaid yn orlawn o đagrau hiraethlon syỻai i bob cyfeiriad i edrych a ganfyđai ryw argoel fod ei hanwylyd yn dychwelyd; ond i đim pwrpas. Canol dyđ gwelid hi eilwaith yn yr un man, a phan ymgoỻai yr haul fel pelen eiriasgoch o dân dros y terfyngylch, yr oeđ hi yno.

Edrychai nes yn agos bod yn đaỻ, ac wylai ei henaid aỻan o đyđ i đyđ ar ol anwylđyn ei chalon. O’r diweđ aeth y rhai syđ yn edrych drwy y ffenestri i omeđ eu gwasanaeth iđi, ac yr oeđ y pren almon yn coroni eiphen a’i flagur gwyryfol, ond parhai hi i edrych, ond nid oeđ neb yn dod. Yn ỻawn o đyđiau ac yn aeđfed i’r beđ rhođwyd terfyn ar ei hoỻ obeithion a’i disgwyliadau gan angeu, a chludwyd ei gweđiỻion marwol i fynwent hen Gapel y Fan.

Pasiai blynyđoeđ heibio fel mwg, ac oesau fel cysgodion y boreu, ac nid oeđ neb yn fyw ag oeđ yn cofio Rhyđerch, ond adrođid ei goỻiad disymwyth yn aml. Dylasem fynegu na welwyd yr un o Fendith y Mamau ođeutu y gymydogaeth wedi ei goỻiad, a pheidiođ sain eu cerđoriaeth o’r nos honno aỻan.

Yr oeđ Rhyđerch wedi cael ei hud-đenu i fyned gyda Bendith y Mamau—ac aethant ag ef i ffwrđ i’w hogof. Ar ol iđo aros yno dros ychydig o điwrnodau fel y tybiai, gofynnođ am ganiatad i đychwelyd, yr hyn a rwyđ ganiatawyd iđo gan y brenin. Daeth aỻan o’r ogof, ac yr oeđ yn ganol dyđ braf, a’r haul yn ỻewyrchu ođiar fynwes ffurfafen đigwmwl. Cerđođ yn mlaen o Darren y Cigfrain hyd nes iđo đyfod i olwg Capel y Fan, ond gymaint oeđ ei syndod pan y gwelođ nad oeđ yr un capel yno! Pa le yr oeđ wedi bod, a pha faint o amser? Gyda theimladau cymysgedig cyfeiriođ ei gamrau tua Phen Craig Daf, cartref-le ei anwylyd, ond nid oeđ hi yno, ac nid oeđ yn adwaen yr un dyn ag oeđ yno chwaith. Ni fedrai gael gair o hanes ei gariad a chymerođ y rhai a breswylient yno mai gwaỻgofđyn ydoeđ.

Prysurođ eilwaith tua Phantannas, ac yr oeđ ei syndod yn fwy fyth yno! Nid oeđ yn adwaen yr un o honynt, ac ni wyđent hwythau đim am dano yntau. O’r diweđ daeth gwr y ty i fewn, ac yr oeđ hwnnw yn cofio clywed ei dad cu yn adrođ am lanc ag oeđ wedi myned yn đisymwyth i goỻ er ys peth cannoeđ o flynyđoeđ yn ol, ond na wyđai neb i ba le. Rywfođ neu gilyđ tarawođ gwr y tŷ ei ffon yn erbyn Rhyđerch, pa un a điflannođmewn cawod o lwch, ac ni chlywyd air o son beth đaeth o hono mwyach.

‘In one of the centuries gone by, there lived a husbandman on the farm of Pantannas; and at that time the fairies used to pay frequent visits to several of the fields which belonged to him. He cherished in his bosom a considerable hatred for the “noisy, boisterous, and pernicious tribe,” as he called them, and often did he long to be able to discover some way to rid the place of them. At last he was told by an old witch that the way to get rid of them was easy enough, and that she would tell him how to attain what he so greatly wished, if he gave her one evening’s milking37on his farm, and one morning’s. He agreed to her conditions, and from her he received advice, which was to the effect that he was to plough all the fields where they had their favourite resorts, and that, if they found the green sward gone, they would take offence, and never return to trouble him with their visits to the spot.

‘The husbandman followed the advice to the letter, and his work was crowned with success. Not a single one of them was now to be seen about the fields, and, instead of the sound of their sweet music, which used to be always heard rising from the Coarse Meadow Land, the most complete silence now reigned over their favourite resort.

‘He sowed his land with wheat and other grain; the verdant spring had now thrust winter off its throne, and the fields appeared splendid in their vernal and green livery.

‘But one evening, when the sun had retired to the chambers of the west, and when the farmer of Pantannaswas returning home, he was met by a diminutive being in the shape of a man, with a red coat on. When he had come right up to him, he unsheathed his little sword, and, directing the point towards the farmer, he said:—

Vengeance cometh,Fast it approacheth.

Vengeance cometh,

Fast it approacheth.

‘The farmer tried to laugh, but there was something in the surly and stern looks of the little fellow which made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable.

‘A few nights afterwards, as the family were retiring to rest, they were very greatly frightened by a noise, as though the house was falling to pieces; and, immediately after the noise, they heard a voice uttering loudly the threatening words—and nothing more:—

Vengeance cometh.

‘When, however, the corn was reaped and ready to be carried to the barn, it was, all of a sudden, burnt up one night, so that neither an ear nor a straw of it could be found anywhere in the fields; and now nobody could have set the corn on fire but the fairies.

‘As one may naturally suppose, the farmer felt very much on account of this event, and he regretted in his heart having done according to the witch’s direction, and having thereby brought upon him the anger and hatred of the fairies.

‘The day after the night of the burning of the corn, as he was surveying the destruction caused by the fire, behold the little fellow, who had met him a few days before, met him again, and, with a challenging glance, he pointed his sword towards him, saying:—

It but beginneth.

The farmer’s face turned as white as marble, and he stood calling the little fellow to come back; but thedwarf proved very unyielding and reluctant to turn to him; but, after long entreaty, he turned back, asking the farmer, in a surly tone, what he wanted, when he was told by the latter that he was quite willing to allow the fields, in which their favourite resorts had been, to grow again into a green sward, and to let them frequent them as often as they wished, provided they would no further wreak their anger on him.

‘ “No,” was the determined reply, “the word of the king has been given, that he will avenge himself on thee to the utmost of his power; and there is no power on the face of creation that will cause it to be withdrawn.”

‘The farmer began to weep at this, and, after a while, the little fellow said that he would speak to his lord on the matter, and that he would let him know the result, if he would come there to meet him at the hour of sunset on the third day after.

‘The farmer promised to meet him; and, when the time appointed for meeting the little man came, he found him awaiting him, and he was told by him that his lord had seriously considered his request, but that, as the king’s word was ever immutable, the threatened vengeance was to take effect on the family. On account, however, of his repentance, it would not be allowed to happen in his time or that of his children.

‘That calmed the disturbed mind of the farmer a good deal. The fairies began again to pay frequent visits to the place, and their melodious singing was again heard at night in the fields around.

‘A century passed by without seeing the threatened vengeance carried into effect; and, though the Pantannas family were reminded now and again that it was certainsooner or later to come, nevertheless, by long hearing the voice that said—

Vengeance cometh,

they became so accustomed to it, that they were ready to believe that nothing would ever come of the threat.

‘The heir of Pantannas was paying his addresses to the daughter of a neighbouring landowner who lived at the farm house called Pen Craig Daf, and the wedding of the happy pair was to take place in a few weeks, and the parents on both sides appeared exceedingly content with the union that was about to take place between the two families.

‘It was Christmas time, and the intended wife paid a visit to the family of her would-be husband. There they had a feast of roast goose prepared for the occasion.

‘The company sat round the fire to relate amusing tales to pass the time, when they were greatly frightened by a piercing voice, rising, as it were, from the bed of the river38, and shrieking:—

The time for revenge is come.

‘They all went out to listen if they could hear the voice a second time, but nothing was to be heard save the angry noise of the water as it cascaded over the dread cliffs of thekerwyni; they had not long, however, to wait till they heard again the same voice rising above the noise of the waters, as they boiled over the shoulders of the rock, and crying:—

The time is come.

‘They could not guess what it meant, and so great was their fright and astonishment, that no one could utter a word to another. Shortly they returned to thehouse, when they believed that beyond doubt the building was being shaken to its foundations by some noise outside. When all were thus paralysed by fear, behold a little woman made her appearance on the table, which stood near the window.

‘ “What dost thou, ugly little thing, want here?”asked one of those present.

‘ “I have nothing to do with thee, O man of the meddling tongue,” said the little woman, “but I have been sent here to recount some things that are about to happen to this family and another family in the neighbourhood, things that might be of interest to them; but, as I have received such an insult from the black fellow that sits in the corner, the veil that hides them from their sight shall not be lifted by me.”

‘ “Pray,” said another of those present, “if thou hast in thy possession any knowledge with regard to the future of any one of us that would interest us to hear, bring it forth.”

‘ “No, I will but merely tell you that a certain maiden’s heart is like a ship on the coast, unable to reach the harbour because the pilot has lost heart.”

‘As soon as she had cried out the last word, she vanished, no one knew whither or how.

‘During her visit, the cry rising from the river had stopped, but soon afterwards it began again to proclaim:—

The time of vengeance is come;

nor did it cease for a long while. The company had been possessed by too much terror for one to be able to address another, and a sheet of gloom had, as it were, been spread over the face of each. The time for parting came, and Rhyđerch the heir went to escort Gwerfyl, his lady-love, home towards Pen Craig Daf, a journey from which he never returned.

‘Before bidding one another “Good-bye,” they are said to have sworn to each other eternal fidelity, even though they should never see one another from that moment forth, and that nothing should make the one forget the other.

‘It is thought probable that the young man Rhyđerch, on his way back towards home, got into one of the rings of the fairies, that they allured him into one of their caves in the Ravens’ Rift, and that there he remained.

‘It is high time for us now to turn back towards Pantannas and Pen Craig Daf. The parents of the unlucky youth were almost beside themselves: they had no idea where to go to look for him, and, though they searched every spot in the place, they failed completely to find him or any clue to his history.

‘A little higher up the country, there dwelt, in a cave underground, an aged hermit called Gweiryđ, who was regarded also as a sorcerer. They went a few weeks afterwards to ask him whether he could give them any information about their lost son; but it was of little avail. What that man told them did but deepen the wound and give the event a still more hopeless aspect. When they had told him of the appearance of the little woman, and the doleful cry heard rising from the river on the night when their son was lost, he informed them that it was the judgement threatened to the family by the fairies that had overtaken the youth, and that it was useless for them to think of ever seeing him again: possibly he might make his appearance after generations had gone by, but not in their lifetime.

‘Time rolled on, weeks grew into months, and months into years, until Rhyđerch’s father andmother were gathered to their ancestors. The place continued the same, but the inhabitants constantly changed, so that the memory of Rhyđerch’s disappearance was fast dying away. Nevertheless there was one who expected his return all the while, and hoped, as it were against hope, to see him once more. Every morn, as the gates of the dawn opened beyond the castellated heights of the east, she might be seen, in all weathers, hastening to the top of a small hill, and, with eyes full of the tears of longing, gazing in every direction to see if she could behold any sign of her beloved’s return; but in vain. At noon, she might be seen on the same spot again; she was also there at the hour when the sun was wont to hide himself, like a red-hot ball of fire, below the horizon. She gazed until she was nearly blind, and she wept forth her soul from day to day for the darling of her heart. At last they that looked out at the windows began to refuse their service, and the almond tree commenced to crown her head with its virgin bloom. She continued to gaze, but he came not. Full of days, and ripe for the grave, death put an end to all her hopes and all her expectations. Her mortal remains were buried in the graveyard of the old Chapel of the Fan39.

‘Years passed away like smoke, and generations like the shadows of the morning, and there was no longer anybody alive who remembered Rhyđerch, but the tale of his sudden missing was frequently in people’s mouths. And we ought to have said that after the event no one of the fairies was seen about the neighbourhood, and the sound of their music ceased from that night.

‘Rhyđerch had been allured by them, and they took him away into their cave. When he had stayed there only a few days, as he thought, he asked for permission to return, which was readily granted him by the king. He issued from the cave when it was a fine noon, with the sun beaming from the bosom of a cloudless firmament. He walked on from the Ravens’ Rift until he came near the site of the Fan Chapel; but what was his astonishment to find no chapel there! Where, he wondered, had he been, and how long away? So with mixed feelings he directed his steps towards Pen Craig Daf, the home of his beloved one, but she was not there nor any one whom he knew either. He could get no word of the history of his sweetheart, and those who dwelt in the place took him for a madman.

‘He hastened then to Pantannas, where his astonishment was still greater. He knew nobody there, and nobody knew anything about him. At last the man of the house came in, and he remembered hearing his grandfather relating how a youth had suddenly disappeared, nobody knew whither, some hundreds of years previously. Somehow or other the man of the house chanced to knock his walking-stick against Rhyđerch, when the latter vanished in a shower of dust. Nothing more was ever heard of him.’

Before leaving Glamorgan, I may add that Mr. Sikes associates fairy ladies with Crymlyn Lake, between Briton Ferry and Swansea; but, as frequently happens with him, he does not deign to tell us whence he got the legend. ‘It is also believed,’ he says at p. 35, ‘that a large town lies swallowed up there, and that theGwrageđ Annwnhave turned the submerged walls to use as the superstructure of their fairy palaces. Some claim to have seen the towers of beautiful castles lifting their battlements beneath the surface of the darkwaters, and fairy bells are at times heard ringing from those towers.’ So much by the way: we shall return to Crymlyn in chapter vii.

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