Arrival at Chepstow—Stirring Lyric—Conclusion.
I passed through Caer Went, once an important Roman station, and for a
long time after the departure of the Romans a celebrated British city,
now a poor desolate place consisting of a few old-fashioned houses and a
strange-looking dilapidated church. No Welsh is spoken at Caer Went, nor
to the east of it, nor indeed for two or three miles before you reach it
from the west.
The country between it and Chepstow, from which it is distant about four
miles, is delightfully green, but somewhat tame.
Chepstow stands on the lower part of a hill, near to where the beautiful
Wye joins the noble Severn. The British name of the place is Aber Wye or
the disemboguement of the Wye. The Saxons gave it the name of Chepstow,
which in their language signifies a place where a market is held, because
even in the time of the Britons it was the site of a great cheap or
market. After the Norman Conquest it became the property of De Clare,
one of William’s followers, who built near it an enormous castle, which
enjoyed considerable celebrity during several centuries from having been
the birthplace of Strongbow, the conqueror of Ireland, but which is at
present chiefly illustrious from the mention which is made of it in one
of the most stirring lyrics of modern times, a piece by Walter Scott,
called the “Norman Horseshoe,” commemorative of an expedition made by a
De Clare of Chepstow with the view of insulting with the print of his
courser’s shoe the green meads of Glamorgan, and which commences thus:—
“Red glows the forge”—
I went to the principal inn, where I engaged a private room and ordered
the best dinner which the people could provide. Then leaving my satchel
behind me I went to the castle, amongst the ruins of which I groped and
wandered for nearly an hour, occasionally repeating verses of the “Norman
Horseshoe.” I then went to the Wye and drank of the waters at its mouth,
even as sometime before I had drunk of the waters at its source. Then
returning to my inn I got my dinner, after which I called for a bottle of
port, and placing my feet against the sides of the grate I passed my time
drinking wine and singing Welsh songs till ten o’clock at night, when I
paid my reckoning, amounting to something considerable. Then shouldering
my satchel I proceeded to the railroad station, where I purchased a
first-class ticket, and ensconcing myself in a comfortable carriage was
soon on the way to London, where I arrived at about four o’clock in the
morning, having had during the whole of my journey a most uproarious set
of neighbours a few carriages behind me, namely some hundred and fifty of
Napier’s tars returning from their expedition to the Baltic.
* * * * *
THE END
* * * * *
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
Footnotes
{0} “The old land of my father is dear unto me.”
{169} One or two of the characters and incidents in this Saga are
mentioned in the _Romany Rye_. London, 1857, vol. i. p. 240; vol. i. p.
150.
A partial translation of the _Saga_, made by myself, has been many years
in existence. It forms part of a mountain of unpublished translations
from the Northern languages. In my younger days no London publisher, or
indeed magazine editor, would look at anything from the Norse, Danish,
etc.
{172a} All these three names are very common in Norfolk, the population
of which is of Norse origin. Skarphethin is at present pronounced
Sharpin, Helgi Heely. Skarphethin, interpreted, is a keen pirate.
{172b} Eryri likewise signifies an excrescence or scrofulous eruption.
It is possible that many will be disposed to maintain that in the case of
Snowdon the word is intended to express a rugged excrescence or eruption
on the surface of the earth.
{177} It will not be amiss to observe that the original term is gwyddfa;
but gwyddfa being a feminine noun or compound commencing with g, which is
a mutable consonant, loses the initial letter before y the definite
article—you say Gwyddfa a tumulus, but not y gwyddfa _the_ tumulus.
{349} _Essay on the Origin of the English Stage_, by Bishop Percy.
London, 1793.
{371} The above account is chiefly taken from the curious Welsh book
called “Drych y prif Oesoedd.”
{397} Spirits.
{398} Eel.
{400} For an account of this worm, which has various denominations, see
article Fasciola Hepatica in any encyclopædia.
{402} As the umbrella is rather a hackneyed subject two or three things
will of course be found in the above eulogium on an umbrella which have
been said by other folks on that subject; the writer, however, flatters
himself that in his eulogium on an umbrella two or three things will also
be found which have never been said by any one else about an umbrella.
{506} Bitter root.
{524} Amongst others a kind of novel called _The Adventures of Twm Shon
Catty_, _a Wild Wag of Wales_. It possesses considerable literary merit,
the language being pure, and many of the descriptions graphic. By far
the greater part of it, however, would serve for the life of any young
Welsh peasant, quite as well as for that of Twm Shone Catti. Its grand
fault is endeavouring to invest Twm Shone with a character of honesty,
and to make his exploits appear rather those of a wild young waggish
fellow than of a robber. This was committing a great mistake. When
people take up the lives of bad characters the more rogueries and
villanies they find, the better are they pleased, and they are very much
disappointed and consider themselves defrauded by any attempt to
apologise for the actions of the heroes. If the thieves should chance to
have reformed, the respectable readers wish to hear nothing of their
reformation till just at the close of the book, when they are very happy
to have done with them for ever.
{527} Skazka O Klimkie. Moscow, 1829.
{529} Hanes Crefydd Yn Nghymru.
{538} The good gentlewoman was probably thinking of the celebrated king
Brian Boromhe slain at the battle of Clontarf.
{570} Fox’s Court—perhaps London.
{579} Drych y Prif Oesoedd, p. 100.
{583} Y Greal, p. 279.
{587} Hanes Crefydd Yn NGhymru.
{591} Fear caoch: vir cæcus.
{599} Curses of this description, or evil prayers as they are called,
are very common in the Irish language, and are frequently turned to
terrible account by that most singular class or sect the Irish
mendicants. Several cases have occurred corresponding in many respects
with the one detailed above.