Legendy Angielskie !, Szkoła
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A LEGEND OF MANABOZHO
Manabozho made the land. The occasion of his doing so was this.
One day he went out hunting with two wolves. After the first day's
hunt one of the wolves left him and went to the left, but the other
continuing with Manabozho he adopted him for his son. The lakes were
in those days peopled by spirits with whom Manabozho and his son went
to war. They destroyed all the spirits in one lake, and then went on
hunting. They were not, however, very successful, for every deer the
wolf chased fled to another of the lakes and escaped from them. It
chanced that one day Manabozho started a deer, and the wolf gave
chase. The animal fled to the lake, which was covered with ice, and
the wolf pursued it. At the moment when the wolf had come up to the
prey the ice broke, and both fell in, when the spirits, catching them,
at once devoured them.
Manabozho went up and down the lake-shore weeping and lamenting. While
he was thus distressed he heard a voice proceeding from the depths of
the lake.
"Manabozho," cried the voice, "why do you weep?"
Manabozho answered--
"Have I not cause to do so? I have lost my son, who has sunk in the
waters of the lake."
"You will never see him more," replied the voice; "the spirits have
eaten him."
Then Manabozho wept the more when he heard this sad news.
"Would," said he, "I might meet those who have thus cruelly treated me
in eating my son. They should feel the power of Manabozho, who would
be revenged."
The voice informed him that he might meet the spirits by repairing to
a certain place, to which the spirits would come to sun themselves.
Manabozho went there accordingly, and, concealing himself, saw the
spirits, who appeared in all manner of forms, as snakes, bears, and
other things. Manabozho, however, did not escape the notice of one of
the two chiefs of the spirits, and one of the band who wore the shape
of a very large snake was sent by them to examine what the strange
object was.
Manabozho saw the spirit coming, and assumed the appearance of a
stump. The snake coming up wrapped itself around the trunk and
squeezed it with all its strength, so that Manabozho was on the point
of crying out when the snake uncoiled itself. The relief was, however,
only for a moment. Again the snake wound itself around him and gave
him this time even a more severe hug than before. Manabozho
restrained himself and did not suffer a cry to escape him, and the
snake, now satisfied that the stump was what it appeared to be, glided
off to its companions. The chiefs of the spirits were not, however,
satisfied, so they sent a bear to try what he could make of the stump.
The bear came up to Manabozho and hugged, and bit, and clawed him till
he could hardly forbear screaming with the pain it caused him. The
thought of his son and of the vengeance he wished to take on the
spirits, however, restrained him, and the bear at last retreated to
its fellows.
"It is nothing," it said; "it is really a stump."
Then the spirits were reassured, and, having sunned themselves, lay
down and went to sleep. Seeing this, Manabozho assumed his natural
shape, and stealing upon them with his bow and arrows, slew the chiefs
of the spirits. In doing this he awoke the others, who, seeing their
chiefs dead, turned upon Manabozho, who fled. Then the spirits pursued
him in the shape of a vast flood of water. Hearing it behind him the
fugitive ran as fast as he could to the hills, but each one became
gradually submerged, so that Manabozho was at last driven to the top
of the highest mountain. Here the waters still surrounding him and
gathering in height, Manabozho climbed the highest pine-tree he could
find. The waters still rose. Then Manabozho prayed that the tree would
grow, and it did so. Still the waters rose. Manabozho prayed again
that the tree would grow, and it did so, but not so much as before.
Still the waters rose, and Manabozho was up to his chin in the flood,
when he prayed again, and the tree grew, but less than on either of
the former occasions. Manabozho looked round on the waters, and saw
many animals swimming about seeking land. Amongst them he saw a
beaver, an otter, and a musk-rat. Then he cried to them, saying--
"My brothers, come to me. We must have some earth, or we shall all
die."
So they came to him and consulted as to what had best be done, and it
was agreed that they should dive down and see if they could not bring
up some of the earth from below.
The beaver dived first, but was drowned before he reached the bottom.
Then the otter went. He came within sight of the earth, but then his
senses failed him before he could get a bite of it. The musk-rat
followed. He sank to the bottom, and bit the earth. Then he lost his
senses and came floating up to the top of the water. Manabozho awaited
the reappearance of the three, and as they came up to the surface he
drew them to him. He examined their claws, but found nothing. Then he
looked in their mouths and found the beaver's and the otter's empty.
In the musk-rat's, however, he found a little earth. This Manabozho
took in his hands and rubbed till it was a fine dust. Then he dried it
in the sun, and, when it was quite light, he blew it all round him
over the water, and the dry land appeared.
Thus Manabozho made the land.
HOW BALA LAKE BEGAN
There is a Welsh couplet, still well known in the neighbourhood of
beautiful Bala Lake in Merionethshire, which, translated into English,
runs:
"_Bala old the lake has had, and Bala new_
_The lake will have, and Llanfor, too._"
For there is an ages-old belief in the countryside that Bala will
continue to grow bigger until it has swallowed up the village of
Llanfor, now about a couple of miles from the water's edge.
According to the old story the site of the original town is near the
middle of the present lake, at a spot opposite Llangower. There, years
and years ago, a peaceful community lived a happy, prosperous life in
their houses clustering around a well called Ffynnon Gwyer, or Gower's
Well.
Only one very important thing had these long-ago people to remember, and
that was to cover up their well every night, otherwise, as they knew
from their fathers and grandfathers before them, the spirit of the well
would grow angry with them and wreak some dire punishment upon them.
But one night, after some special festivities, the guardian of the well
forgot his task. Too late this omission was discovered, for as soon as
the last inhabitant was in bed, the well began to gush forth water.
Soon the whole village was in a state of alarm. The quickly rising
waters began to flow into the cottages, and young and old rushed to
Ffynnon Gower, which they realised was the cause of their distress.
There they saw a great stream of water gushing upward. In their anger
they called upon the negligent guardian, but he, seeing the harm that
had come of his forgetfulness, had fled, though it is said he did not
escape the angry waters, for they overtook him and drowned him
miserably.
A frenzied effort was made to cover up the well and stop the unwelcome
flow, but it was useless, and the people of old Bala had to escape as
best they could to higher ground. When morning broke they looked out to
where their homes had been and saw, instead of their fields and houses,
a great lake three miles long and a mile wide.
To-day the lake is five miles long; and they say that on clear days,
when its surface is absolutely calm, you may see at the bottom, off
Llangower, the ruins and chimneys of the old town that was overwhelmed
so long ago.
And, as the old couplet tells, they say too that the spirit of Gower's
Well is not yet appeased. On stormy days water appears to ooze up
through the ground at new Bala, which is built at the lower end of the
lake, and some day they believe that too will be swamped and the waters
will cover the valley as far down as Llanfor.
Llyn Tegid is the old name for Bala Lake; it means the lake of
beauty, and Bala well deserves that title. Its shores are verdant and
beautifully wooded, commanding in many places magnificent distant views
of the mountains which encircle it only a few miles away. Its waters
teem with fish; trout up to fourteen pounds and pike twice as big have
been caught there--but the flyfisher must not expect always such giants.
There is salmon-fishing to be had in the Treweryn river in September.
In the neighbourhood are places of wonderful beauty. Dolgelly,
nestling beneath great Cader Idris, is easily accessible, as also is
that charming seaside town of Barmouth. Bwlch-y-Groes, one of the finest
mountain passes in the Principality, is only ten miles away, and an easy
excursion takes one across another very beautiful pass to Lake Vyrnwy,
which gives to Liverpool its splendid water supply, and provides anglers
with magnificent baskets of Loch Leven trout.
All around is a paradise for artists and fishermen, and a country rich
in mountain streams, wild woods, and wide, far views unbeaten in any
part of Wales.
THE LOST CHILD OF ST. ALLEN
They never talk of fairies in Cornwall; what "foreigners" call fairies the Cornish call "piskies," or "small people." And all about the Duchy piskies still abound for those who are fitted to see them. The old folk will still tell you many strange stories of the piskies. One of the best known is that of the lost child of St. Allen. St. Allen is a parish on the high ground about four miles from Truro, and there, in the little hamlet of Treonike, or, as it is now called, Trefronick, on a lovely spring evening years and years ago, a small village boy wandered out to pick flowers in a little copse not far from his parents' cottage.
His mother, looking from the kitchen door, saw him happily engaged in his innocent amusement, then turned to make ready the supper for her good man, whom she saw trudging home in the distance across the fields. When, a few minutes later, she went to call her boy in to his evening meal, he had vanished.
At first it was thought that the child had merely wandered further into the wood, but after a while, when he did not return, his parents grew alarmed and went in search of him. Yet no sign of the boy was discovered.
For two days the villagers sought high and low for the missing child, and then, on the morning of the third day, to the delight of the distracted parents, their boy was found sleeping peacefully upon a bed of fern within a few yards of the place where his mother had last seen him. He was perfectly well, quite happy, and entirely ignorant of the length of time that had elapsed. And he had a wonderful story to tell.
While picking the flowers, he said, he had heard a bird singing in more beautiful tones than any he had heard before. Going into the wood to see what strange songster this was, the sound changed to mostwonderful music which compelled him to follow it. Thus lured onward he came at length to the edge of an enchanted lake, and he noticed that night had fallen but that the sky was ablaze with huge stars. Then more stars rose up all around him, and, looking, he saw that each was in reality a pisky. These small people formed themselves into a procession, singing strange fascinating songs the while, and under the leadership of one who was more brilliant and more beautiful than the rest they led the boy through their dwelling place. This, he said, was like a palace. Crystal pillars supported arches hung with jewels which glistened with every colour of the rainbow. Far more wonderful, the child said, were the crystals than any he had seen in a Cornish mine.
The piskies were very kind to him, and seemed to enjoy his wonder and astonishment at their gorgeous cave. They gave him a fairy meal of the purest honey spread on dainty little cakes, and when at last he grew tired numbers of the small folk fell to work to build him a bed of fern. Then, crowding around him, they sang him to sleep with a strange soothing lullaby, which for the rest of his life he was always just on the point of remembering, but which as certainly escaped him. He remembered nothing more until he was awakened and taken home to his parents.
The wise folk of St. Allen maintained that only a child of the finest character ever received such honour from the small people, and that the fact that they had shown him the secrets of their hidden dwelling augured that for ever afterwards they would keep him under their especial care. And so it was; the boy lived to a ripe old age and prospered amazingly. He never knew illness or misfortune, and died at last in his sleep; and those that were near him say that as he breathed his last a strange music filled the room. Some say that the piskies still haunt the woods and fields around Trefronick, but that they only show themselves to children and grown-ups of simple, trusting nature. Anyhow, those that wish to try to see them may reach the place where the lost child was spirited away in an hour and a half's walk from Truro, Cornwall's cathedral city, which is at the head of one of the most beautiful rivers in the world.
The trip from Truro down the Truro river and the Fal to Falmouth at any time of the year is a pleasurable experience that can never be forgotten. Truro is an ideal centre for South Cornwall. Wild sea coast and moorland, and woods and sheltered creeks, are all close at hand, yet the city itself has the cloistered calm peculiar to all our cathedral towns.
The tourist neglects Truro too much, for as a lover of the Duchy once said: "It is the most convenient town in Cornwall; it seems to be within an hour and a half's journey of any part of the county."