Snowdon—Caernarvon—Maxen Wledig—Moel y Cynghorion—The Wyddfa—Snow of
Snowdon—Rare Plant.
On the third morning after our arrival at Bangor we set out for Snowdon.
Snowdon or Eryri is no single hill, but a mountainous region, the
loftiest part of which, called Y Wyddfa, nearly four thousand feet above
the level of the sea, is generally considered to be the highest point of
Southern Britain. The name Snowdon was bestowed upon this region by the
early English on account of its snowy appearance in winter; Eryri by the
Britons, because in the old time it abounded with eagles, Eryri {172b} in
the ancient British language signifying an eyrie or breeding place of
eagles.
Snowdon is interesting on various accounts. It is interesting for its
picturesque beauty. Perhaps in the whole world there is no region more
picturesquely beautiful than Snowdon, a region of mountains, lakes,
cataracts, and groves, in which Nature shows herself in her most grand
and beautiful forms.
It is interesting from its connection with history: it was to Snowdon
that Vortigern retired from the fury of his own subjects, caused by the
favour which he showed to the detested Saxons. It was there that he
called to his counsels Merlin, said to be begotten on a hag by an
incubus, but who was in reality the son of a Roman consul by a British
woman. It was in Snowdon that he built the castle, which he fondly
deemed would prove impregnable, but which his enemies destroyed by
flinging wildfire over its walls; and it was in a wind-beaten valley of
Snowdon, near the sea, that his dead body decked in green armour had a
mound of earth and stones raised over it. It was on the heights of
Snowdon that the brave but unfortunate Llywelin ap Griffith made his last
stand for Cambrian independence; and it was to Snowdon that that very
remarkable man, Owen Glendower, retired with his irregular bands before
Harry the Fourth and his numerous and disciplined armies, soon, however,
to emerge from its defiles and follow the foe, retreating less from the
Welsh arrows from the crags, than from the cold, rain, and starvation of
the Welsh hills.
But it is from its connection with romance that Snowdon derives its chief
interest. Who when he thinks of Snowdon does not associate it with the
heroes of romance, Arthur and his knights? whose fictitious adventures,
the splendid dreams of Welsh and Breton minstrels, many of the scenes of
which are the valleys and passes of Snowdon, are the origin of romance,
before which what is classic has for more than half a century been
waning, and is perhaps eventually destined to disappear. Yes, to romance
Snowdon is indebted for its interest and consequently for its celebrity;
but for romance Snowdon would assuredly not be what it at present is, one
of the very celebrated hills of the world, and to the poets of modern
Europe almost what Parnassus was to those of old.
To the Welsh, besides being the hill of the Awen or Muse, it has always
been the hill of hills, the loftiest of all mountains, the one whose snow
is the coldest, to climb to whose peak is the most difficult of all
feats, and the one whose fall will be the most astounding catastrophe of
the last day.
To view this mountain I and my little family set off in a calèche on the
third morning after our arrival at Bangor.
Our first stage was to Caernarvon. As I subsequently made a journey to
Caernarvon on foot, I shall say nothing about the road till I give an
account of that expedition, save that it lies for the most part in the
neighbourhood of the sea. We reached Caernarvon, which is distant ten
miles from Bangor, about eleven o’clock, and put up at an inn to refresh
ourselves and the horses. It is a beautiful little town situated on the
southern side of the Menai Strait at nearly its western extremity. It is
called Caernarvon, because it is opposite Mona or Anglesey: Caernarvon
signifying the town or castle opposite Mona. Its principal feature is
its grand old castle, fronting the north, and partly surrounded by the
sea. This castle was built by Edward the First after the fall of his
brave adversary Llewelyn, and in it was born his son Edward whom, when an
infant, he induced the Welsh chieftains to accept as their prince without
seeing, by saying that the person whom he proposed to be their sovereign
was one who was not only born in Wales, but could not speak a word of the
English language. The town of Caernarvon, however, existed long before
Edward’s time, and was probably originally a Roman station. According to
Welsh tradition it was built by Maxen Wledig or Maxentius, in honour of
his wife Ellen, who was born in the neighbourhood. Maxentius, who was a
Briton by birth, and partly by origin, contested unsuccessfully the
purple with Gratian and Valentinian, and to support his claim led over to
the Continent an immense army of Britons, who never returned, but on the
fall of their leader settled down in that part of Gaul generally termed
Armorica, which means a maritime region, but which the Welsh call Llydaw,
or Lithuania, which was the name, or something like the name, which the
region bore when Maxen’s army took possession of it, owing, doubtless, to
its having been the quarters of a legion composed of barbarians from the
country of Leth or Lithuania.
After staying about an hour at Caernarvon we started for Llanberis, a few
miles to the east. Llanberis is a small village situated in a valley,
and takes its name from Peris, a British saint of the sixth century, son
of Helig ab Glanog. The valley extends from west to east, having the
great mountain of Snowdon on its south, and a range of immense hills on
its northern, side. We entered this valley by a pass called Nant y Glo
or the ravine of the coal, and passing a lake on our left, on which I
observed a solitary coracle, with a fisherman in it, were presently at
the village. Here we got down at a small inn, and having engaged a young
lad to serve as guide, I set out with Henrietta to ascend the hill, my
wife remaining behind, not deeming herself sufficiently strong to
encounter the fatigue of the expedition.
Pointing with my finger to the head of Snowdon towering a long way from
us in the direction of the east, I said to Henrietta:—
“Dacw Eryri, yonder is Snowdon. Let us try to get to the top. The Welsh
have a proverb: ‘It is easy to say yonder is Snowdon; but not so easy to
ascend it.’ Therefore I would advise you to brace up your nerves and
sinews for the attempt.”
We then commenced the ascent, arm in arm, followed by the lad, I singing
at the stretch of my voice a celebrated Welsh stanza, in which the
proverb about Snowdon is given, embellished with a fine moral, and which
may thus be rendered:—
“Easy to say, ‘Behold Eryri,’
But difficult to reach its head;
Easy for him whose hopes are cheery
To bid the wretch be comforted.”
We were far from being the only visitors to the hill this day; groups of
people, or single individuals, might be seen going up or descending the
path as far as the eye could reach. The path was remarkably good, and
for some way the ascent was anything but steep. On our left was the vale
of Llanberis, and on our other side a broad hollow, or valley of Snowdon,
beyond which were two huge hills forming part of the body of the grand
mountain, the lowermost of which our guide told me was called Moel Elia,
and the uppermost Moel y Cynghorion. On we went until we had passed both
these hills, and come to the neighbourhood of a great wall of rocks
constituting the upper region of Snowdon, and where the real difficulty
of the ascent commences. Feeling now rather out of breath we sat down on
a little knoll with our faces to the south, having a small lake near us,
on our left hand, which lay dark and deep, just under the great wall.
Here we sat for some time resting and surveying the scene which presented
itself to us, the principal object of which was the north-eastern side of
the mighty Moel y Cynghorion, across the wide hollow or valley, which it
overhangs in the shape of a sheer precipice some five hundred feet in
depth. Struck by the name of Moel y Cynghorion, which in English
signifies the hill of the counsellors, I inquired of our guide why the
hill was so called, but as he could afford me no information on the point
I presumed that it was either called the hill of the counsellors from the
Druids having held high consultation on its top, in time of old, or from
the unfortunate Llewelyn having consulted there with his chieftains,
whilst his army lay encamped in the vale below.
Getting up we set about surmounting what remained of the ascent. The
path was now winding and much more steep than it had hitherto been. I
was at one time apprehensive that my gentle companion would be obliged to
give over the attempt; the gallant girl, however, persevered, and in
little more than twenty minutes from the time when we arose from our
resting-place under the crags, we stood, safe and sound, though panting,
upon the very top of Snowdon—the far-famed Wyddfa.
The Wyddfa is about thirty feet in diameter and is surrounded on three
sides by a low wall. In the middle of it is a rude cabin, in which
refreshments are sold, and in which a person resides throughout the year,
though there are few or no visitors to the hill’s top, except during the
months of summer. Below on all sides are frightful precipices except on
the side of the west. Towards the east it looks perpendicularly into the
dyffrin or vale, nearly a mile below, from which to the gazer it is at
all times an object of admiration, of wonder, and almost of fear.
There we stood on the Wyddfa, in a cold bracing atmosphere, though the
day was almost stiflingly hot in the regions from which we had ascended.
There we stood enjoying a scene inexpressibly grand, comprehending a
considerable part of the mainland of Wales, the whole of Anglesey, a
faint glimpse of part of Cumberland; the Irish Channel, and what might be
either a misty creation or the shadowy outlines of the hills of Ireland.
Peaks and pinnacles and huge moels stood up here and there, about us and
below us, partly in glorious light, partly in deep shade. Manifold were
the objects which we saw from the brow of Snowdon, but of all the objects
which we saw, those which filled us with most delight and admiration,
were numerous lakes and lagoons, which, like sheets of ice or polished
silver, lay reflecting the rays of the sun in the deep valleys at his
feet.
“Here,” said I to Henrietta, “you are on the top crag of Snowdon, which
the Welsh consider, and perhaps with justice to be the most remarkable
crag in the world; which is mentioned in many of their old wild romantic
tales, and some of the noblest of their poems, amongst others in the ‘Day
of Judgment,’ by the illustrious Goronwy Owen, where it is brought
forward in the following manner:
‘Ail i’r ar ael Eryri,
Cyfartal hoewal a hi.’
‘The brow of Snowdon shall be levelled with the ground, and the
eddying waters shall murmur round it.’
“You are now on the top crag of Snowdon, generally termed Y Wyddfa, {177}
which means a conspicuous place or tumulus, and which is generally in
winter covered with snow; about which snow there are in the Welsh
language two curious englynion or stanzas consisting entirely of vowels
with the exception of one consonant namely the letter R.
“‘Oer yw’r Eira ar Eryri,—o’ryw
Ar awyr i rewi;
Oer yw’r ia ar riw ’r ri,
A’r Eira oer yw ’Ryri.
“‘O Ri y’Ryri yw’r oera,—o’r âr,
Ar oror wir arwa;
O’r awyr a yr Eira,
O’i ryw i roi rew a’r ia.
“‘Cold is the snow on Snowdon’s brow,
It makes the air so chill;
For cold, I trow, there is no snow
Like that of Snowdon’s hill.
“‘A hill most chill is Snowdon’s hill,
And wintry is his brow;
From Snowdon’s hill the breezes chill
Can freeze the very snow.’”
Such was the harangue which I uttered on the top of Snowdon; to which
Henrietta listened with attention; three or four English, who stood nigh,
with grinning scorn, and a Welsh gentleman with considerable interest.
The latter coming forward shook me by the hand exclaiming:
“Wyt ti Lydaueg?”
“I am not a Llydauan,” said I; “I wish I was, or anything but what I am,
one of a nation amongst whom any knowledge save what relates to
money-making and over-reaching is looked upon as a disgrace. I am
ashamed to say that I am an Englishman.”
I then returned his shake of the hand; and bidding Henrietta and the
guide follow me went into the cabin, where Henrietta had some excellent
coffee and myself and the guide a bottle of tolerable ale; very much
refreshed we set out on our return.
A little way from the top, on the right-hand side as you descend, there
is a very steep path running down in a zigzag manner to the pass which
leads to Capel Curig. Up this path it is indeed a task of difficulty to
ascend to the Wyddfa, the one by which we mounted being comparatively
easy. On Henrietta’s pointing out to me a plant, which grew on a crag by
the side of this path some way down, I was about to descend in order to
procure it for her, when our guide springing forward darted down the path
with the agility of a young goat, and in less than a minute returned with
it in his hand and presented it gracefully to the dear girl, who on
examining it said it belonged to a species of which she had long been
desirous of possessing a specimen. Nothing material occurred in our
descent to Llanberis, where my wife was anxiously awaiting us. The
ascent and descent occupied four hours. About ten o’clock at night we
again found ourselves at Bangor.