This Welsh tale is from the The Physicians of Myddfai which was based on the oral records of the traditional healers and herbalists in Wales. The original tale (recorded in early 1800’s) explained a magical and profound origin to the great Welsh healing physicians who were tasked with creating the book.
Cover art is public domain: unknown artist and all other art is by Ary Scheffer
The son grew up to manhood, and was generally sent by his mother to look after the cattle on the mountain. One day in his wanderings along the margin of the lake, to his great astonishment, he beheld, sitting on the unruffled surface of the water, a Lady — one of the most beautiful creatures that mortal eyes ever beheld. Her hair flowed gracefully in ringlets over her shoulders, the tresses of which she arranged with a comb, whilst the glassy surface of her watery couch served for the purpose of a mirror, reflecting back her own image. Suddenly she beheld the young man standing on the brink of the lake, with his eyes riveted on her, and unconsciously offering to herself the provision of barley bread and cheese with which he had been provided when he left his home.
Bewildered by a feeling of love and admiration for the object before him, he continued to hold out his hand towards the lady, who imperceptibly glided near to him, but gently refused the offer of his provisions. He attempted to touch her, but she eluded his grasp, saying:
Cras dy fara! Nid hawdd fy nala.
Hard baked is thy bread! Tis not easy to catch me.
And immediately dived under the water and disappeared, leaving the love-stricken youth to return home, a prey to disappointment and regret that he had been unable to make further acquaintance with one, in comparison with whom all the fair maidens of Llanddeusant and Myddvai whom he had ever seen were as nothing.
On his return home the young man communicated to his mother the extraordinary vision he had beheld. She advised him to take some unbaked dough, or “toes,” the next time in his pocket, as there must have been some spell connected with the hard baked bread, or “Bara cras,” which prevented his catching the lady.
Next morning, before the sun had gilded with its rays the peaks of the Vans, the young man was at the lake, not for the purpose of looking after his mother’s cattle, but seeking for the same enchanting vision he had witnessed the day before. But all in vain did he anxiously strain his eyes and glance over the surface of the lake, as only the ripples occasioned by a stiff breeze met his view, and a cloud hung heavily on the summit of the Van, which imparted an additional gloom to his already distracted mind.
Hours passed on. The wind was hushed, and the clouds which had enveloped the mountain had vanished into thin air before the powerful beams of the sun, when the youth was startled by seeing some of his mother’s cattle on the precipitous side of the slope, nearly on the opposite side of the lake. His duty impelled him to attempt to rescue them from their perilous position, for which purpose he was hastening away, when, to his inexpressible delight, the object of his search again appeared to him as before, and seemed much more beautiful than when he first beheld her. His hand was again held out to her, full of unbaked bread, which he offered with an urgent proffer of his heart also, and vows of eternal attachment. All of which were refused by her, saying:
Llaith dy fara! Ti ni fynna.
Unbaked is thy bread! I will not have thee.
But the smiles that played upon her features as the lady vanished beneath the waters raised within the young man a hope that forbade him to despair at her refusal, and the recollection of which cheered him on his way home. His aged parent was made acquainted with his ill-success, and she suggested that his bread should next time be but slightly baked, as most likely to please the mysterious being of whom he had become enamoured.
Impelled by an irresistible feeling, the youth left his mother’s house early next morning, and with rapid steps passed over the mountain. He was soon near the margin of the lake, and with all the impatience of an ardent lover did he wait with a feverish anxiety for the re-appearance of the mysterious lady.
The sheep and goats browsed on the precipitous sides of the Van. The cattle strayed amongst the rocks and large stones, some of which were occasionally loosened from their beds and suddenly rolled down into the lake. Rain and sunshine alike came and passed away, but all were unheeded by the youth, so wrapped up was he in looking for the appearance of the lady.
The freshness of the early morning had disappeared before the sultry rays of the noon-day sun, which in its turn was fast verging towards the west as the evening was dying away and making room for the shades of night, and hope had well nigh abated of beholding once more the Lady of the Lake. The young man cast a sad and last farewell look over the waters, and to his astonishment beheld several cows walking along its surface. The sight of these animals caused hope to revive that they would be followed by another object far more pleasing, nor was he disappointed, for the maiden re-appeared, and to his enraptured sight, even lovelier than ever. She approached the land, and he rushed to meet her in the water. A smile encouraged him to seize her hand. Neither did she refuse the moderately baked bread he offered her, and after some persuasion she consented to become his bride, on condition that they should only live together until she received from him three blows without a cause:
Tri ergyd diachos. Three causeless blows.
And if he ever should happen to strike her three such blows, she would leave him for ever. To such conditions he readily consented, and would have consented to any other stipulation had it been proposed, as he was only intent on securing such a lovely creature for his wife.
Thus the Lady of the Lake engaged to become the young man’s wife, and having loosed her hand for a moment, she darted away and dived into the lake. His chagrin and grief were such that he determined to cast himself headlong into the deepest water, so as to end his life in the element that had contained in its unfathomed depths the only one for whom he cared to live on earth. As he was on the point of committing this rash act, there emerged out of the lake two most beautiful ladies accompanied by a hoary-headed man of noble mien and extraordinary stature, but having otherwise all the force and strength of youth. This man addressed the almost bewildered youth in accents calculated to soothe his troubled mind, saying that as he proposed to marry one of his daughters, he consented to the union, provided the young man could distinguish which of the two ladies before him was the object of his affections. This was no easy task, as the maidens were such perfect counterparts of each other that it seemed quite impossible for him to choose his bride, and if perchance he fixed upon the wrong one, all would be for ever lost.
Whilst the young man narrowly scanned the two ladies, he could not perceive the least difference between them, and was almost giving up the task in despair, when one of them thrust her foot a slight degree forward. The motion, simple as it was, did not escape the observation of the youth, and he discovered a trifling variation in the mode with which their sandals were tied. This at once put an end to the dilemma, for he who had on previous occasions been so taken up with the general appearance of the Lady of the Lake had also noticed the beauty of her feet and ankles, and on now recognising the peculiarity of her shoe-tie, he boldly took hold of her hand.
“Thou hast chosen rightly,” said her father. “Be to her a kind and faithful husband, and I will give her, as a dowry, as many sheep, cattle, goats, and horses as she can count of each, without heaving or drawing in her breath. But remember that if you prove unkind to her at any time, and strike her three times without a cause, she shall return to me and shall bring all her stock back with her.”
Such was the verbal marriage settlement, to which the young man gladly assented, and his bride was desired to count the number of sheep she was to have. She immediately adopted the mode of counting by fives, thus: one, two, three, four, five — one, two, three, four, five — as many times as possible in rapid succession, till her breath was exhausted. The same process of reckoning had to determine the number of goats, cattle, and horses respectively, and in an instant the full number of each came out of the lake when called upon by the father.
The young couple were then married, by what ceremony was not stated, and afterwards went to reside at a farm called Esgair Llaethdy, somewhat more than a mile from the village of Myddvai, where they lived in prosperity and happiness for several years, and became the parents of three sons, who were beautiful children.
Once upon a time there was a christening to take place in the neighbourhood, to which the parents were specially invited. When the day arrived the wife appeared very reluctant to attend the christening, alleging that the distance was too great for her to walk. Her husband told her to fetch one of the horses which were grazing in an adjoining field. “I will,” said she, “if you will bring me my gloves which I left in our house.” He went to the house and returned with the gloves, and finding that she had not gone for the horse, jocularly slapped her shoulder with one of them, saying “go! go!” — whereupon she reminded him of the understanding upon which she had consented to marry him, that he was not to strike her without a cause, and warned him to be more cautious for the future.
On another occasion when they were together at a wedding, in the midst of the mirth and hilarity of the assembled guests who had gathered together from all the surrounding country, she burst into tears and sobbed most piteously. Her husband touched her on her shoulder and enquired the cause of her weeping. She said that “now people are entering into trouble, and your troubles are likely to commence, as you have the second time stricken me without a cause.”
Years passed on, and their children had grown up and were particularly clever young men. In the midst of so many worldly blessings at home the husband almost forgot that there remained only one causeless blow to be given to destroy the whole of his prosperity. Still he was watchful lest any trivial occurrence should take place which his wife must regard as a breach of their marriage contract. She told him, as her affection for him was unabated, to be careful that he would not through some inadvertence give the last and only blow, which by an unalterable destiny over which she had no control would separate them for ever.
It however so happened that one day they were together at a funeral, where, in the midst of the mourning and grief at the house of the deceased, she appeared in the highest and gayest spirits, and indulged in immoderate fits of laughter, which so shocked her husband that he touched her, saying “Hush! Hush! Don’t laugh.” She said that she laughed “because people when they die go out of trouble,” and, rising up, she went out of the house, saying: “The last blow has been struck, our marriage contract is broken and at an end! Farewell!” Then she started off towards Esgair Llaethdy, where she called her cattle and other stock together, each by name. The cattle she called thus:
Mu wlfrech, Moelfrech, Mu olfrech, Gwynfrech, Pedair cae tono-frech, Yr hen wynebwen A’r las Geigen, Gyda’r Tarw Gwyn O lys y Brenin; A’r llo da bach, Sydd ar y bach, Dere dithau, yn iach adre!
Brindled cow, white speckled,
Spotted cow, bold freckled,
The four field sward mottled,
The old white-faced,
And the grey Geingon,
With the white Bull
From the court of the King;
And the little black calf
Though suspended on the hook,
Come thou also, quite well home!
They all immediately obeyed the summons of their mistress. The little black calf, although it had been slaughtered, became alive again and walked off with the rest of the stock at the command of the Lady. This happened in the spring of the year, and there were four oxen ploughing in one of the fields. To these she cried:
Pedwar eidion glas Sydd ar y maes, Deuwch chwithau Yn iach adre!
The four grey oxen
That are on the field,
Come you also,
Quite well home!
Away the whole of the live stock went with the Lady across Myddvai Mountain, towards the lake from whence they came, a distance of above six miles, where they disappeared beneath its waters, leaving no trace behind except a well marked furrow which was made by the plough the oxen drew after them into the lake, and which remains to this day as a testimony to the truth of this story.
What became of the affrighted ploughman — whether he was left on the field when the oxen set off, or whether he followed them to the lake — has not been handed down by tradition. Neither has the fate of the disconsolate and half-ruined husband been kept in remembrance. But of the sons it is stated that they often wandered about the lake and its vicinity, hoping that their mother might be permitted to visit the face of the earth once more, as they had been apprised of her mysterious origin, her first appearance to their father, and the untoward circumstances which so unhappily deprived them of her maternal care.
In one of their rambles, at a place near Dol Howel, at the Mountain Gate, still called “Llidiad y Meddygon” — the Physicians’ Gate — the mother appeared suddenly and accosted her eldest son, whose name was Rhiwallon, and told him that his mission on earth was to be a benefactor to mankind by relieving them from pain and misery, through healing all manner of their diseases. For which purpose she furnished him with a bag full of medical prescriptions and instructions for the preservation of health. That by strict attention thereto, he and his family would become for many generations the most skilful physicians in the country. Then, promising to meet him when her counsel was most needed, she vanished. But on several occasions she met her sons near the banks of the lake, and once she even accompanied them on their return home as far as a place still called “Pant y Meddygon” — the Dingle of the Physicians — where she pointed out to them the various plants and herbs which grew in the dingle, and revealed to them their medicinal qualities and virtues. The knowledge she imparted to them, together with their unrivalled skill, soon caused them to attain such celebrity that none had ever possessed before them. And in order that their knowledge should not be lost, they wisely committed the same to writing, for the benefit of mankind throughout all ages.
And so ends the story of the Physicians of Myddvai, which has been handed down from one generation to another, thus:
Yr hen wr llwyd o’r cornel, Gan ei dad a glywodd chwedel, A chan ei dad fe glywodd yntau, Ac ar ei ol mi gofiais innau.
The grey old man in the corner,
Of his father heard a story,
Which from his father he had heard,
And after them I have remembered.
Rhiwallon and his sons became Physicians to Rhys Gryg, Lord of Llandovery and Dynevor Castles, who gave them rank, lands, and privileges at Myddvai for their maintenance in the practice of their art and science, and the healing and benefit of those who should seek their help, thus affording to those who could not afford to pay the best medical advice and treatment gratuitously. Such a truly royal foundation could not fail to produce corresponding effects. So the fame of the Physicians of Myddvai was soon established over the whole country, and continued for centuries among their descendants.
The celebrated Welsh Bard, Dafydd ap Gwilym was buried at the Abbey of Tal-y-llychau in Caermarthenshire about the year 1368, says in one of his poems as quoted in Dr. Davies’ Dictionary:
Meddyg ni wnai modd y gwnaeth Myddvai, o chai ddyn meddlaeth.
A Physician he would not make as Myddvai made, if he had a mead-fostered man.
Of the above lands bestowed upon the Meddygon, there are two farms in Myddvai parish still called “Llwyn Ifan Feddyg,” the Grove of Evan the Physician, and “Llwyn Meredydd Feddyg,” the Grove of Meredith the Physician. Esgair Llaethdy, mentioned in the foregoing legend, was formerly in the possession of the above descendants, and so was Ty Newydd, near Myddvai, which was purchased by Mr. Holford of Cilgwyn from the Rev. Charles Lloyd, Vicar of Llandefalle, Breconshire, who married a daughter of one of the Meddygon, and had the living of Llandefalle from a Mr. Vaughan, who presented him to the same out of gratitude because Mr. Lloyd’s wife’s father had cured him of a disease in the eye. As Mr. Lloyd succeeded to the above living in 1748 and died in 1800, it is probable that the skilful oculist was John Jones, who is mentioned in the following inscription on a tombstone at present fixed against the west end of Myddvai Church:
HERE lieth the body of Mr. David Jones, of Mothvey, Surgeon, who was an honest, charitable, and skilful man. He died September 14th, Anno Dom 1719, aged 61.
JOHN JONES, Surgeon. Eldest son of the said David Jones, departed this life the 25th of November, 1789, in the 44th year of his age, and also lies interred hereunder.
These appear to have been the last of the Physicians who practised at Myddvai. John Jones resided for some time at Llandovery, and was a very eminent surgeon. One of his descendants named John Lewis lived at Cwmbran, Myddvai, at which place his great grandson Mr. John Jones now resides.
Dr. Morgan Owen, Bishop of Llandaff, who died at Glasallt, parish of Myddvai, in 1646, was a descendant of the Meddygon, and an inheritor of much of their landed property in that parish, the bulk of which he bequeathed to his nephew, Morgan Owen, who died in 1667 and was succeeded by his son, Henry Owen. At the decease of the last of whose descendants, Robert Lewis Esq., the estates became through the will of one of the family the property of the late D. A. S. Davies Esq., M.P. for Caermarthenshire.
Bishop Owen bequeathed to another nephew, Morgan ap Rees, son of Rees ap John, a descendant of the Meddygon, the farm of Rhyblid and some other property. Morgan ap Rees’s son, Samuel Rice, resided at Loughor in Gower, Glamorganshire, and had a son, Morgan Rice, who was a merchant in London and became Lord of the Manor of Tooting Graveney, and High Sheriff in the year 1772, and Deputy Lieutenant of the County of Surrey, 1776. He resided at Hill House, which he built. At his death the whole of his property passed to his only child, John Rice Esq., whose eldest son, the Rev. John Morgan Rice, inherited the greater portion of his estates. The head of the family is now the Rev. Horatio Morgan Rice, Rector of South Hill with Callington, Cornwall, and J.P. for the County, who inherited with other property a small estate at Loughor.
Amongst other families who claimed descent from the Physicians were the Bowens of Cwmydw, Myddvai, and Jones of Dollgarreg and Penrhock in the same parish. The latter are represented by Charles Bishop of Dollgarreg Esq., Clerk of the Peace for Caermarthenshire, and Thomas Bishop of Brecon Esq.
Rees Williams of Myddvai is recorded as one of the Meddygon. His great grandson was the late Rice Williams M.D. of Aberystwyth, who died May 16th, 1842, aged 86, and appears to have been the last, although not the least eminent, of the Physicians descended from the mysterious Lady of Llyn y Van.