Welsh Fairy Tales , livre ebook

Pub One Info - Elliot Griffis William

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81 pages

English

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Long, long ago, there was a good saint named David, who taught the early Cymric or Welsh people better manners and many good things to eat and ways of enjoying themselves.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819909767
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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I
W ELSH RABBIT ANDHUNTED HARES
Long, long ago, there was a good saint named David,who taught the early Cymric or Welsh people better manners and manygood things to eat and ways of enjoying themselves.
Now the Welsh folks in speaking of their goodteacher pronounced his name Tafid and affectionately Taffy, andthis came to be the usual name for a person born in Wales. In ournurseries we all learned that "Taffy was a Welshman," but it wastheir enemies who made a bad rhyme about Taffy.
Wherever there were cows or goats, people could getmilk. So they always had what was necessary for a good meal,whether it were breakfast, dinner or supper. Milk, cream, curds,whey and cheese enriched the family table. Were not theseenough?
But Saint David taught the people how to make astill more delicious food out of cheese, and that this could bedone without taking the life of any creature.
Saint David showed the girls how to take cheese,slice and toast it over the coals, or melt it in a skillet and pourit hot over toast or biscuit. This gave the cheese a new andsweeter flavor. When spread on bread, either plain, or browned overthe fire, the result, in combination, was a delicacy fit for aking, and equal to anything known.
The fame of this new addition to the British bill offare spread near and far. The English people, who had always beenfond of rabbit pie, and still eat thousands of Molly Cotton Tailsevery day, named it "Welsh Rabbit," and thought it one of the bestthings to eat. In fact, there are many people, who do not easilysee a joke, who misunderstand the fun, or who suppose the name tobe either slang, or vulgar, or a mistake, and who call it"rarebit." It is like "Cape Cod turkey" (codfish), or "Bombayducks" (dried fish), or "Irish plums" (potatoes) and such funnycookery with fancy names.
Now up to this time, the rabbits and hares had beenso hunted with the aid of dogs, that there was hardly a chance ofany of them surviving the cruel slaughter.
In the year 604, the Prince of Powys was outhunting. The dogs started a hare, and pursued it into a densethicket. When the hunter with the horn came up, a strange sight methis eyes. There he saw a lovely maiden. She was kneeling on theground and devoutly praying. Though surprised at this, the princewas anxious to secure his game. He hissed on the hounds and orderedthe horn to be blown, for the dogs to charge on their prey,expecting them to bring him the game at once. Instead of this,though they were trained dogs and would fight even a wolf, theyslunk away howling, and frightened, as if in pain, while the hornstuck fast to the lips of the blower and he was silent. Meanwhile,the hare nestled under the maiden's dress and seemed not in theleast disturbed.
Amazed at this, the prince turned to the fair ladyand asked: "Who are you?"
She answered, "My mother named me Monacella. I havefled from Ireland, where my father wished to marry me to one of hischief men, whom I did not love. Under God's guidance, I came tothis secret desert place, where I have lived for fifteen years,without seeing the face of man."
To this, the prince in admiration replied: "O mostworthy Melangell [which is the way the Welsh pronounceMonacella] , because, on account of thy merits, it haspleased God to shelter and save this little, wild hare, I, on mypart, herewith present thee with this land, to be for the serviceof God and an asylum for all men and women, who seek thyprotection. So long as they do not pollute this sanctuary, letnone, not even prince or chieftain, drag them forth."
The beautiful saint passed the rest of her life inthis place. At night, she slept on the bare rock. Many were thewonders wrought for those who with pure hearts sought her refuge.The little wild hares were under her special protection, and theyare still called "Melangell's Lambs."
II
T HE MIGHTYMONSTER AFANG
After the Cymric folk, that is, the people we callWelsh, had come up from Cornwall into their new land, they began tocut down the trees, to build towns, and to have fields and gardens.Soon they made the landscape smile with pleasant homes, rich farmsand playing children.
They trained vines and made flowers grow. The youngfolks made pets of the wild animals' cubs, which their fathers andbig brothers brought home from hunting. Old men took rushes andreeds and wove them into cages for song birds to live in.
While they were draining the swamps and bogs, theydrove out the monsters, that had made their lair in these wetplaces. These terrible creatures liked to poison people with theirbad breath, and even ate up very little boys and girls, when theystrayed away from home.
So all the face of the open country between theforests became very pretty to look at. The whole of Cymric land,which then extended from the northern Grampian Hills to Cornwall,and from the Irish Sea, past their big fort, afterward calledLondon, even to the edge of the German Ocean, became a delightfulplace to live in.
The lowlands and the rivers, in which the tide roseand fell daily, were especially attractive. This was chieflybecause of the many bright flowers growing there; while the yellowgorse and the pink heather made the hills look as lovely as a younggirl's face. Besides this, the Cymric maidens were the prettiestever, and the lads were all brave and healthy; while both of theseknew how to sing often and well.
Now there was a great monster named the Afang, thatlived in a big bog, hidden among the high hills and inside of adark, rough forest.
This ugly creature had an iron-clad back and a longtail that could wrap itself around a mountain. It had four frontlegs, with big knees that were bent up like a grasshopper's, butwere covered with scales like armor. These were as hard as steel,and bulged out at the thighs. Along its back, was a ridge of horns,like spines, and higher than an alligator's. Against such a toughhide, when the hunters shot their darts and hurled their javelins,these weapons fell down to the ground, like harmless pins.
On this monster's head, were big ears, half waybetween those of a jackass and an elephant. Its eyes were as greenas leeks, and were round, but scalloped on the edges, likesquashes, while they were as big as pumpkins.
The Afang's face was much like a monkey's, or agorilla's, with long straggling gray hairs around its cheeks likethose of a walrus. It always looked as if a napkin, as big as abath towel, would be necessary to keep its mouth clean. Yet eventhen, it slobbered a good deal, so that no nice fairy liked to benear the monster.
When the Afang growled, the bushes shook and the oakleaves trembled on the branches, as if a strong wind wasblowing.
But after its dinner, when it had swallowed down aman, or two calves, or four sheep, or a fat heifer, or three goats,its body swelled up like a balloon. Then it usually rolled over,lay along the ground, or in the soft mud, and felt very stupid andsleepy, for a long while.
All around its lair, lay wagon loads of bones of thecreatures, girls, women, men, boys, cows, and occasionally adonkey, which it had devoured.
But when the Afang was ravenously hungry and couldnot get these animals and when fat girls and careless boys werescarce, it would live on birds, beasts and fishes. Although it wasvery fond of cows and sheep, yet the wool and hair of these animalsstuck in its big teeth, it often felt very miserable and itsusually bad temper grew worse.
Then, like a beaver, it would cut down a tree,sharpen it to a point and pick its teeth until its mouth was clean.Yet it seemed all the more hungry and eager for fresh human victimsto eat, especially juicy maidens; just as children like cake morethan bread.
The Cymric men were not surprised at this, for theyknew that girls were very sweet and they almost worshiped women. Sothey learned to guard their daughters and wives. They saw that todo such things as eating up people was in the nature of the beast,which could never be taught good manners.
But what made them mad beyond measure was the trickwhich the monster often played upon them by breaking the riverbanks, and the dykes which with great toil they had built toprotect their crops. Then the waters overflowed all their farms,ruined their gardens and spoiled their cow houses and stables.
This sort of mischief the Afang liked to play,especially about the time when the oat and barley crops were ripeand ready to be gathered to make cakes and flummery; that is souroat-jelly, or pap. So it often happened that the children had to dowithout their cookies and porridge during the winter. Sometimes thefloods rose so high as to wash away the houses and float thecradles. Even those with little babies in them were often seen onthe raging waters, and sent dancing on the waves down the river, tothe sea.
Once in a while, a mother cat and all her kittenswere seen mewing for help, or a lady dog howling piteously. Oftenit happened that both puppies and kittens were drowned.
So, whether for men or mothers, pussies or puppies,the Cymric men thought the time had come to stop this monster'smischief. It was bad enough that people should be eaten up, but tohave all their crops ruined and animals drowned, so that they hadto go hungry all winter, with only a little fried fish, and noturnips, was too much for human patience. There were too manyweeping mothers and sorrowful fathers, and squalling brats andanimals whining for something to eat.
Besides, if all the oats were washed away, how couldtheir wives make flummery, without which, no Cymric man is everhappy? And where would they get seed for another year's sowing? Andif there were no cows, how could the babies or kitties live, or anygrown-up persons get buttermilk?
Someone may ask, why did not some brave man shootthe Afang, with a poisoned arrow, or drive a spear into him underthe arms, where the flesh was tender, or cut off his head with asharp sword?
The trouble was just here. There were plenty ofbrave fellows, r