The Cambrian Sketch-Book Part 16

"Not a tree, A llyn, a leaf, a blossom, but contains A folio volume. We may read, and read, And read again, and still find something new."

Respecting Llyn Savathan, which also bears the several names of Lake Brecheinoc, Brecinaumere, Llangorse, and Talyllyn Pool, Giraldus relates that in the reign of Henry I., Gruffydd, son of Rhys ap Theodor, held under the king one comot, namely, the fourth part of the cantref of Caoc, in the cantref Mawr. When Gruffydd, on his return from the king's court, pa.s.sed near this lake, which at this cold season of the year was covered with wild fowl of various sorts, being accompanied by Milo, Earl of Hereford and Lord of Brecon, and Payn FitzJohn, Lord of Ewyas, who at that time were secretaries and privy counsellors to the King, Earl Milo, wishing to draw from Gruffydd some discourse concerning his innate n.o.bility, rather jocularly than seriously thus addressed him: "It is an ancient saying in Wales, that if the natural prince of the country, coming to this lake, shall order the birds to sing, they will immediately obey him." To which Gruffydd replied, "Do you, therefore, who now hold the dominion of this land, first give the command." But he and Payn, having in vain commanded, and Gruffydd perceiving that it was necessary for him to do so in his turn, dismounted from his horse, and falling on his knees towards the east, as if he had been about to engage in battle, prostrate on the ground, with his eyes and hands uplifted to heaven, poured forth devout prayers to the Lord; and at length rising up, and signing his face and forehead with the figure of the cross, thus openly spake, "Almighty G.o.d, and Lord Jesus Christ, who knowest all things, declare here, this day, Thy power. If Thou hast caused me to descend lineally from the natural princes of Cambria, I command these birds, in Thy name, to declare it." And immediately, beating the waters with their wings, the birds began to cry aloud and proclaim him. The spectators were astonished and confounded; and Earl Milo, with FitzJohn, hastily returned to court, and related this singular occurrence to Henry, who is said to have replied, "By the death of Christ, it is not a matter of so much wonder; for although by our great authority we commit acts of violence and wrong against these people, yet they are known to be the rightful inheritors of this land."

CHAPTER II.

_THE LAST WARNING_.

Long previous to the time to which the tradition of Giraldus relates, the place occupied by Llyn Savathan formed a beautiful and picturesque valley, through which the waters of the Llewenny meandered and flowed gently along in their progress towards the Wye. On the left bank of the Llynfi, and within half a mile of its channel, there stood the church of Llangasty, which was dedicated to Saint Gasty, an eminent British saint who flourished in the fifth century, and was murdered on the Van Mountain, in the parish of Merthyr Cynog. On the other side of the Llynfi, and nearly opposite the church, there stood a magnificent palace, belonging to and occupied by a tyrannical prince, who neither feared G.o.d nor regarded man, who scorned religion, and loathed everything which was pure and good and beautiful; a prince who, by the magnitude of his extortions and the relentlessness with which he pursued his unfortunate va.s.sals, became the object of hate and intense aversion to all who had dealings or came in contact with him. Moreover, as he grew older, his extortions became more burdensome, while his tyranny increased in its fury, notwithstanding the warnings he received from those who desired the perpetuation of his reign. To all those warnings he turned a deaf ear, while he punished with the utmost rigour those who sought to thwart him in his infamous practices.

It was a cold December morning, when Father Olyver, of Llangasty, repaired to the palace in order to condole with the prince on the death of a son. On entering the reception-room, and finding the prince alone, he thus addressed him-

"My heart grieves and is sad, my prince, at the loss you have sustained.

Another prop of your house has been taken away, and oh, reflect, I pray, on your present mode of life; consider your ways and be wise."

"Cease thy babbling, Father Olyver," replied the prince. " D- it, man, all must die. The death of another son, thou senseless priest, only diminishes my responsibility as a father, and now I shall have more to leave to the survivors."

"Pray, don't speak thus, my lord, of your child. The fruit of your loins should ever be regarded with affection."

"I loved the boy when living, Father Olyver. But now, man, he has ceased to live; the spirit, the soul, has gone; a clod of earth only remains."

"Be it so, my lord. Yet I must own that I look on his untimely end as a terrible warning to you. The event tells you to set your house in order, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh."

"All right, Father Olyver. I suppose, when He comes, I must go like the rest, in spite of the saints and mother Church."

"But are you prepared, my prince, when the voice calls?"

"Of course I am, father. Let his majesty come whenever he pleases, I'll accompany him."

"Are you ready, my dear prince, to appear, without fear, before your G.o.d when He calls you hence?"

"There are beautiful maidens, too, father, before whom I must and delight to appear, after my evening's carousals! Ah! ah! ah! I'll be bound that even you, Father Olyver, with your sanctimonious jib, are not indifferent to the smiles of a pretty wench, and you won't turn away when you happen to have a glimpse of a fine ankle. Human nature is human nature all the world over. I warrant priests of mother Church don't always keep it in subjection. Oh! Oh!"

"This is not the time, nor is it a fitting occasion, my lord, to indulge in such language," replied the priest. "For one day, at least, especially in the presence of the dead, I beseech you to cease speaking thus."

"Why should I, man, refrain from telling the truth even now? Bedad, I've hit the right nail on the head this time at any rate."

"For the present, however, I shall regard your charge of me and my orders in silence. I have come here to perform the last rites of the Church over the dead. The day to me is one of unusual solemnity. I loved your son as if he had been my own child. He was a good and pious youth, notwithstanding the evil influences by which he was surrounded. But he is gone, and the place that knew him shall know him no more. And now, my lord, what hour have you fixed for carrying his remains to that silent bourne from whence no traveller ever comes back?"

"We propose to bury at five; and after the funeral I have, Father Olyver, a grand banquet in my palace, and we antic.i.p.ate a merry meeting."

"And cannot you, my lord, give up folly and pleasure for a single day?

Can't you devote one evening to pursuits which harmonize with the solemnity of the day? You have received from time to time, and year after year, the most terrible warnings, yet you heed them not. You hear the sound of the trumpet, to which you have paid no attention. If you continue to live as you have lived, my dear prince-if you resolve, come what will, to steel your heart, and defy the Almighty,-the day is not far distant when the wrath of an angry G.o.d will descend upon you and yours, and on that day-rather on that dark and dismal night-the sword of His justice will descend, and the innocent and the guilty shall perish together. I now leave you, my prince, but in a few hours we shall meet again at the grave of departed virtue, and something tells me that when we then part it will be a parting for ever."

At the time appointed the funeral cortege arrived at Llangasty. The young prince was buried with extraordinary pomp. When the service was concluded, Father Olyver went up and pressed the hand of the prince, and bidding him good-bye, whispered in his ear, "Remember, my lord, the warning voice: it has spoken once, twice, ay, thrice; the next time it will speak in thunder and lightning, when the earth shall move and reel like a drunken man. So now, farewell. I fear we shall never meet again."

The good priest then turned away from prince and people. He re-entered the church for evening song, while the prince and the mourners returned to the palace to make merry and be glad. Before they arrived home, the day had disappeared, and the night had come. Darkness had settled down upon the earth. When they entered the palace, they little dreamt of being on the very brink of a precipice over which they would be hurled by the fiat of the Eternal.

CHAPTER III.

_THE FATAL BANQUET_; _OR_, _VENGEANCE AT HAND_.

The palace of the Prince of Llynfi was characterized by drunkenness and vice, dissipation and sensuality, intemperance and debauchery. Virtue had no lodgment there. Righteousness had no habitation there. Justice, religion, and truth were wholly absent from the palace of the prince. He and his family gave themselves up to pleasure, to riotous living, and to revellings; and from day to day, week to week, and month to month, they lived as if there was no G.o.d-no hereafter-no judgment to come! Moreover, they had so sunk in sin and iniquity, that they were quite insensible to those feelings which are common and general, and indeed universal, in the lowest state of humanity. Flower after flower of the family circle had withered and died, or had been plucked from the tree of life by the will of the Almighty, yet from the heart of the survivors there never escaped a sigh; never a tear was shed; their hearts had become a flinty rock, and were as insensible of impression as the Parian marble. Thus they lived: thus, too, they died; for at last they were cut down as c.u.mberers of the ground.

Before the untimely death of the son, the prince had arranged for a grand banquet to take place on the very day his mortal remains were consigned to the tomb. During the progress of preparation for the funeral, preparations were also being made for the expected banquet. On their return from the church, many of the guests had already arrived and many more soon followed. By nine o'clock the palace was filled with a splendid array of the licentious male and female inhabitants of the villages in the surrounding country. According to old traditions, two renowned minstrels from a distance had been summoned to cheer them in their revels; and riot and disorder, such as had never before been witnessed even in that palace, resounded among the hills. The party had been many hours a.s.sembled: it was midnight. In the midst of their revellings there was suddenly heard a crash of thunder, which shook the palace to its foundation; and this was immediately followed by louder and louder peals, which boomed through the valley as the noise of a thousand pieces of artillery. The prince and his riotous companions were awe-struck, and presently they heard a voice saying in deep, solemn tones, "Vengeance is at hand!" In a moment the two minstrels arose, and beholding in the air a mysterious hand beckoning to them, they fled after it as it retreated. The hand moved faster and faster, and as it moved they increased their speed. After they had gone a considerable distance the earth heaved violently, and appeared to totter on its foundations.

For a moment they turned round to see the distance they had come. They saw the ground divide in twain, and up through this large chasm they beheld the waters rushing forth like the ocean when convulsed, and mingling with the roaring sound of the waters were the dying shrieks of the revellers. Pausing for another moment in their flight, the minstrels observed, with great terror, a wide expanse of boiling and agitated waters where the palace and village had stood, engulfing the palace and its wicked and impious inmates far below its bosom. Since then, Llyn Savathan has ever been regarded as an unhallowed spot; the great wickedness of the prince and his followers having drawn upon them the just judgment of the Eternal.

TREFFYNNON; OR, LEGENDS OF SAINT WINIFRED.

"The lifeless tears she shed into a fountain turn, And, that for her alone the water should not mourn, The pure vermilion blood that issued from her veins Unto this very day the pearly gravel stains, As erst the white and red were mixed in her cheek.

And that one part of her might be the other like, Her hair was turned to moss, whose sweetness doth declare, In liveliness of youth the natural sweets she bare."

MICHAEL DRAYTON.

When but a mere youth, I had a strong and extreme longing to visit Holywell, or Treffynnon, which according to my youthful fancy was the most wonderful place under the sun. This desire had its origin in the following circ.u.mstances.

About three miles from my paternal abode there was situate a small village, which had risen into fame and notoriety by reason of its annual May fair. At this fair an immense number of people congregated. Young men and maidens were there. Farmers' sons and daughters flocked in great numbers; and this being the annual hiring fair, hundreds of men and women servants went to find either new masters or fresh mistresses. Then from the neighbouring towns and villages, people came for the purpose of providing fun, amus.e.m.e.nt, and entertainment for the holiday seekers.

Shows innumerable were there; Mr. Cheap Jack vending his wares, with which he combined interesting stories and flashes of wit, had thousands of willing and enchanted listeners, and a goodly number of ready purchasers. On the roadside from one end of the village to the other was a continuous row of stalls, laden with every conceivable variety of articles. All these marvellous things filled my boyish fancy with amazement and wonder.

But what struck me most, was a person who had a stall situate near the bridge, on which were placed in rows several thousands of small wooden boxes, which in circ.u.mference were about the size of a crown piece, and three quarters of an inch deep. These boxes he arranged with great deliberation and care, and when he completed his work, not a single box could be seen out of its proper place.

This person was fantastically dressed. He wore a three-cornered hat, the brim of which was tipped with gold. He had pink velvet breeches, with a waistcoat of similar material; red stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. His frock coat, made of good West of England broadcloth, had, in consequence of many years' wear, become a dark blood colour. In his hat were placed two rows of feathers, arranged in the form of the Prince of Wales' plume. He was certainly a most singular looking figure, and from the hour when he commenced to expatiate on the virtues of his wares until the dusk of the evening, attracted an immense audience.

When his preparations were finished, he took in his left hand one of the little boxes, from which he removed the lid, or cover, and commenced to address the crowd in the following fashion. "This box, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "contains wonderful ointment. It will cure the itch, the st.i.tch, and nettle-rash. It is a sure remedy for all diseases of the skin. It will, when applied, remove warts from the fingers, corns from the toes, and bunions from the feet. It is an effectual cure for cuts, bruises, and for every kind of wounds. Time, ladies and gentlemen, would fail me to speak of its wonderful properties, and the history of cases it has cured would fill a dozen large volumes. Every man should therefore possess half a dozen boxes of this valuable salve. They should be placed in the n.o.bleman's palace, in every farm house, in every poor man's cottage. The use of this wonderful ointment will save you many a long doctor's bill, and, between you and me, doctors are doing their best to stop its sale, because one box of this salve is worth a hundred visits of the physician. People have paid lots of money to doctors without getting any benefit; they then came to me, and by using one box only, were made perfectly whole. This ointment is the grandest discovery of the age. It was found out, not by man's skill, oh, no; but an angel came from distant worlds and directed my sainted mother how to make it. The secret is with me, and it must remain with me; for were it known, its efficacy would disappear.

"You, ladies and gentlemen, would doubtless like to know the several const.i.tuent parts of this justly renowned ointment, but as I have already said, I dare not reveal the secret. The spirit of one who when on this earth was as pure as she was comely and beautiful, told the secret to my sainted mother. I refer to Saint Winifred, who was murdered twelve hundred years ago. From the spot on which she was beheaded, her head rolled down the declivity, and did not stop until it reached the altar of the church, and immediately there sprang up a spring of water, which in volume is unequalled in the world. The wonderful salve is not called after the saint, this her spirit forbade, but Eli Treffynnon, or Holywell salve. As I make it myself, I can offer to sell it at twopence per box, though doctors charge sixpence for a far inferior article. Twopence per box being the price, for which I charge no more nor will I take less.

Who will buy? who will buy? Now is your time, for I shall not visit these parts for twelve months."

The people then rushed to the vendor of Eli Treffynnon, and in less than an hour he had disposed of more than a thousand boxes of the ointment.

"A wonderful man that, is he not?" said I to my companion.

"Yes, truly."

_Myself_. Can you tell me where Treffynnon is?

"Not exactly," replied my companion; "but it is in the north."

_Myself_. In the north of England or Scotland, which?

"Oh, no, in neither; but in North Wales."