Wild Wales Part 79

Dafydd remained confined till the fall of Glendower, shortly after which event he followed Henry the Fifth to France, where he achieved that glory which will for ever bloom, dying covered with wounds in the field of Agincourt after saving the life of the king, to whom in the dreadest and most critical moment of the fight he stuck closer than a brother, not from any abstract feeling of loyalty, but from the consideration that King Henry the Fifth was the son of King Henry the Fourth, who was the son of the man who received and comforted him in his house, after his own countrymen had hunted him from house and land.

Connected with Machynlleth is a name not so widely celebrated as those of Glendower and Dafydd Gam, but well known to and cherished by the lovers of Welsh song. It is that of Lawdden, a Welsh bard in holy orders, who officiated as priest at Machynlleth from 1440 to 1460. But though Machynlleth was his place of residence for many years, it was not the place of his birth, Llychwr in Carmarthenshire being the spot where he first saw the light. He was an excellent poet, and displayed in his compositions such elegance of language, and such a knowledge of prosody, that it was customary long after his death, when any master-piece of vocal song or eloquence was produced, to say that it bore the traces of Lawdden's hatchet. At the request of Griffith ap Nicholas, a powerful chieftain of South Wales, and a great patron of the muse, he drew up a statute relating to poets and poetry, and at the great Eisteddfod, or poetical congress, held at Carmarthen, in the year 1450, under the auspices of Griffith, which was attended by the most celebrated bards of the north and south, he officiated as judge in conjunction with the chieftain upon the compositions of the bards who competed for the prize, a little silver chair. Not without reason, therefore, do the inhabitants of Machynlleth consider the residence of such a man within their walls, though at a far, bygone period, as conferring a l.u.s.tre on their town, and Lewis Meredith has probability on his side when, in his pretty poem on Glen Dyfi, he says:-

"Whilst fair Machynlleth decks thy quiet plain Conjoined with it shall Lawdden's name remain."

CHAPTER Lx.x.x

The Old Ostler-Directions-Church of England Man-The Deep Dingle-The Two Women-The Cutty Pipe-Waen y Bwlch-The Deaf and Dumb-The Glazed Hat.

I rose on the morning of the 2nd of November intending to proceed to the Devil's Bridge, where I proposed halting a day or two in order that I might have an opportunity of surveying the far-famed scenery of that locality. After paying my bill, I went into the yard to my friend the old ostler, to make inquiries with respect to the road.

"What kind of road," said I, "is it to the Devil's Bridge?"

"There are two roads, sir, to the Pont y Gwr Drwg; which do you mean to take?"

"Why do you call the Devil's Bridge the Pont y Gwr Drwg, or the bridge of the evil man?"

"That we may not bring a certain gentleman upon us, sir, who doesn't like to have his name taken in vain."

"Is there much difference between the roads?"

"A great deal, sir; one is over the hills, and the other round by the valleys."

"Which is the shortest?"

"O that over the hills, sir; it is about twenty miles from here to the Pont y Gwr Drwg over the hills, but more than twice that by the valleys."

"Well, I suppose you would advise me to go by the hills."

"Certainly, sir. That is, if you wish to break your neck, or to sink in a bog, or to lose your way, or perhaps, if night comes on, to meet the Gwr Drwg himself taking a stroll. But to talk soberly. The way over the hills is an awful road, and indeed for the greater part is no road at all."

"Well, I shall go by it. Can't you give me some directions?"

"I'll do my best, sir; but I tell you again that the road is a horrible one, and very hard to find."

He then went with me to the gate of the inn, where he began to give me directions, pointing to the south, and mentioning some names of places through which I must pa.s.s, amongst which were Waen y Bwlch and Long Bones; at length he mentioned Pont Erwyd, and said, "If you can but get there you are all right, for from thence there is a very fair road to the bridge of the evil man. Though I dare say if you get to Pont Erwyd-and I wish you may get there-you will have had enough of it, and will stay there for the night, more especially as there is a good inn."

Leaving Machynlleth, I ascended a steep hill which rises to the south of it. From the top of this hill there is a fine view of the town, the river and the whole valley of Dyfi. After stopping for a few minutes to enjoy the prospect I went on. The road at first was exceedingly good, though up and down, and making frequent turnings. The scenery was beautiful to a degree, lofty hills were on either side clothed most luxuriantly with trees of various kinds, but princ.i.p.ally oaks. "This is really very pleasant," said I, "but I suppose it is too good to last long." However, I went on for a considerable way, the road neither deteriorating nor the scenery decreasing in beauty; "surely I can't be in the right road," said I; "I wish I had an opportunity of asking."

Presently seeing an old man working with a spade in a field near a gate, I stopped and said in Welsh, "Am I in the road to the Pont y Gwr Drwg?"

The old man looked at me for a moment, then shouldering his spade he came up to the gate, and said in English, "In truth, sir, you are."

"I was told that the road thither was a very bad one," said I, "but this is quite the contrary."

"This road does not go much farther, sir," said he; "it was made to accommodate grand folks who live about here."

"You speak very good English," said I; "where did you get it?"

He looked pleased, and said that in his youth he had lived some years in England.

"Can you read?" said I.

"O yes," said he, "both Welsh and English."

"What have you read in Welsh?" said I.

"The Bible and Twm O'r Nant."

"What pieces of Twm O'r Nant have you read?"

"I have read two of his interludes and his life."

"And which do you like best-his life or his interludes."

"O, I like his life best."

"And what part of his life do you like best?"

"O, I like that part best where he gets the ship into the water at Abermarlais."

"You have a good judgment," said I; "his life is better than his interludes, and the best part of his life is where he describes his getting the ship into the water. But do the Methodists about here in general read Twm O'r Nant?"

"I don't know," said he; "I am no Methodist."

"Do you belong to the Church?"

"I do."

"And why do you belong to the Church?"

"Because I believe it is the best religion to get to heaven by."

"I am much of your opinion," said I. "Are there many Church-people about here?"

"Not many," said he, "but more than when I was young."

"How old are you?"

"Sixty-nine."

"You are not very old," said I.

"Ain't I? I only want one year of fulfilling my proper time on earth."

"You take things very easily," said I.