Fairy language

elvsh.

What language do fairies speak?  If we were to ask  J. R. R. Tolkien and his many admirers, we would of course be advised ‘Elvish’- the languages of Quenya and Sildarin that Tolkien forged out of Finnish and Welsh.  These languages are fascinating intellectual feats, but they are modern, academic inventions; they do not reflect our predecessors’ views on the matter.  What does folklore have to tell us about elvish speech?

Local dialect

The normal rule is that fairies will speak the same language as their human neighbours. Reverend Kirk states this explicitly in The Secret Commonwealth (section 5).

“Their Apparell and Speech is like that of the People and Countrey under which they live: … They speak but litle, and that by way of whistling, clear, not rough. The verie Divels conjured in any Countrey, do answer in the Language of the Place; yet sometimes the Subterraneans speak more distinctly than at other times.”

John Rhys relayed a story of a mermaid from North Wales in which the reporter observed sceptically “we do not know what language is used by sea maidens … but this one, this time at any rate, it is said, spoke very good Welsh” (Brython, vol.1, p.82).

This situation is to be expected, in that communication would otherwise be very difficult- if not impossible- and interaction very much reduced.  Most of our fairy tales are founded upon intercourse between humans and fairies, so that mutual intelligibility is vital.  The ability to converse means that humans may overhear or engage in conversations (Wentz Fairy faith pp.96, 101, 10, 110, 140 & 155) and also may hear or even participate in songs (Wentz pp.92, 98 & 112). It follows then that the fairies speak the local language or, even dialect.  They speak Gaelic in the Highlands, Welsh in Wales and English in England- and going further an Exmoor fairy sounds just like a Somerset peasant (Ruth Tongue, County Folklore, vol.VIII, p.117).

Tone of voice

Given a widespread belief that some fairies at least were of smaller stature than the human population, they have voices to match.   Kirk has already implied this, but other sources are clearer on the point.  At Gors Goch, Cardiganshire, little beings came to a farm house at night asking for shelter in “thin, silvery voices ” (Wentz p.155).  The pixies encountered on Selena Moor, near St Buryan, were said to have squeaked with little voices (Briggs, Dictionary, p.142).

Jabbering talk

Much of British fairy-lore depends upon the ability of humans and supernaturals to have contact and to form relationships.  Nevertheless, the fairies’ speech is sometimes said to be incomprehensible or, even, not to resemble human speech at all.  Wirt Sikes in British goblins recorded that Thomas William of Hafodafel, Blaenau Gwent, met a fairy procession and “heard them talking together in a noisy, jabbering way; but no-one could distinguish the words.”  Other witnesses from Wales state the same: “they did not understand a word that was said; not a syllable did they comprehend…” whilst in another couple of encounters we are assured “it was not Welsh and she did not think it was English” (John Rhys, Celtic folklore, pp.272, 277 & 279).

John Aubrey told a tale of his former schoolmaster, Mr Hart, who in 1633 came across a “faiery dance” (a green circle on the grass of the Wiltshire downs) and saw there sprites who were “making all manner of odd noyses.”  They objected to his intrusion and swarmed at him, “making a quick humming noyse all the time.”  Lastly, a nineteenth century account from Ilkley of fairies surprised bathing tells that they were “making a chatter and jabber thoroughly unintelligible.”  The noise, it was said, was “not unlike a disturbed nest of young partridges” (Briggs, Tradition, pp.133-4).  These latter descriptions bring to mind small, insect-like beings, perhaps.

Elidyr’s story

Finally, we must note the very curious tale told of Elidyr by Gerald of Wales.  Elidyr, as a boy, was one day escorted into an underground realm and subsequently spent much time there with the fairies. Years later, as a priest, he told his tale and, in particular, that:

“He had made himself acquainted with the language of that nation, the words of which, in his younger days, he used to recite, which, as the bishop often had informed me, were very conformable to the Greek idiom. When they asked for water, they said Ydor ydorum, which meant bring water, for ydor in their language, as well as in the Greek, signifies water, from whence vessels for water are called ydrie; and dwr also, in the British language, signifies water. When they wanted salt they said, Halgein ydorum, ‘bring salt’: salt is called als in Greek, and halen in British, for that language, from the length of time which the Britons (then called Trojans, and afterwards Britons, from Brito, their leader) remained in Greece after the destruction of Troy, became, in many instances, similar to the Greek.

It is remarkable that so many languages should correspond in one word, als in Greek, halen in British, and halgein in the Irish tongue, the g being inserted; sal in Latin, because, as Priscian says, ‘the s is placed in some words instead of an aspirate,’ as als in Greek is called sal in Latin, emi – semi, epta – septem – sel in French – the A being changed into E – salt in English, by the addition of T to the Latin; sout, in the Teutonic language: there are therefore seven or eight languages agreeing in this one word. If a scrupulous inquirer should ask my opinion of the relation here inserted, I answer with Augustine, ‘that the divine miracles are to be admired, not discussed.’ Nor do I, by denial, place bounds to the divine power, nor, by assent, insolently extend what cannot be extended. But I always call to mind the saying of St. Jerome; ‘You will find,’ says he, ‘many things incredible and improbable, which nevertheless are true; for nature cannot in any respect prevail against the lord of nature.’ These things, therefore, and similar contingencies, I should place, according to the opinion of Augustine, among those particulars which are neither to be affirmed, nor too positively denied.”

From all that we can tell, the clerk in question appears to be concocting his elvish tongue out of elements of Welsh and Irish, with perhaps some awareness of Latin and Greek in the background.  It is not, therefore, to be relied upon very much as an account of traditional beliefs.  A better summary may be to say that, in general, fairies were regarded in many respects as being identical or similar to humans (not just in speech, but also in form, diet, dress and conduct).  Sometimes, however, their otherworldly aspect dominated, and their speech was as alien as their magical abilities.

Further reading

An expanded version of this posting is found in my book British fairies (2017).  I have a general interest in languages and linguistics, more details about which can be found on my website.

See too my later posts on fairy names and on more modern evidence from song as well as speech for for the fairy language.

 

15 thoughts on “Fairy language

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  2. Fairy language

    Until recently, I would have agreed 100% with everything you have written. Certainly, when they have ‘spoken’ to me while conscious, it has been less than a handful of words, and all of them English. Asleep, communication flows freely. I am aware of being spoken to and easily understanding what is being said. I naturally assumed it was English, as, on that one occasion when I saw ‘her ladyship’ standing on the side lines in her humanoid green outfit, she seemed to use perfect colloquial English with that bluntness so typical of the Fae, “Are you going to have sex with her?”. The spell of her shape shifting rival was broken (she presented herself as a seal, no less, and I was enthralled) and my ardour duly quenched …

    But, mirabile dictu! Just the mention of this recollection (no doubt prompted by ‘her ladyship’) has given me an idea which simply goes to explain how blind I have been. And the more I think about it, the more it becomes disturbingly clear …

    Most of my communications take place via dreams. I have absolutely no control over what I dream about nor do I have ‘lucid dreaming’ superpowers. My dreams are about anything and everything. Seldom are they remembered. If the Fae wish to make contact, they insert themselves into the dream and allow me to know that it is ‘they’.

    A few days ago, I was having a very unmemorable dream which would have been totally lost to my wakeful self were it not for the unusual choice of expression, It seemed that I was conversing with an unseen being who used a very unusual turn of phrase to ask a very intimate question, “Are you going to PENIS her?”.

    My gut feeling was that it was a lesser member of ‘her ladyship’s’ troupe asking me my intentions towards her leader. Being not so high-born, perhaps she didn’t have quite the linguistic competence of her boss. And this could be so. Was it ‘her ladyship’ asking me about my intentions towards her rival? Again, it could have been. All things are possible. But since I have not given her rival a second thought in that department (seals are not my thing!), it seems strange that she would feel the need to ask me that question in such a crude way when she had previously used such correct English. Nor is she afraid to reveal herself if she so wishes.

    So, we come to ‘the shape shifting rival’ being the one to be asking the question about my intentions towards ‘her ladyship’. A veiled way, if you like, of asking, ‘”Is there a chance for me?”. We are both well-disposed towards each other, of that there is no doubt, but a promise is a promise … and I could well imagine her not wanting to risk the wrath of ‘her ladyship’ by allowing me to see her in some form or other as previously. I always took her to be a Water Fairy, because of the shape she chose and the presence of water where I first met them all – ‘her ladyship’ being land-based as signified by her green garb.

    We often say that Faes are individuals within their races, and it would seem likely that the different races have differing abilities, some excelling in one type of art more than another – hence the choice of language.

    For what it’s worth, I took comfort from that linguistic faux pas. Things have been quiet recently with not a lot to go on that ‘they are around’. With these words, I felt I had more tangible evidence that ‘somebody’ was around, even if it was not ‘she who must be obeyed …!’.

    Phil

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