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 some time 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.
CUMRO AND CUMRAEG.
The original home of the Cumro was Southern Hindustan, the extreme point
of which, Cape Comorin, derived from him its name. It may be here asked
what is the exact meaning of the word Cumro? The true meaning of the
word is a youth. It is connected with a Sanscrit word, signifying a
youth, and likewise a prince. It is surprising how similar in meaning
the names of several nations are: Cumro, a youth; Gael, a hero; {24}
Roman, one who is comely, a husband; {25} Frank or Frenchman, a free,
brave fellow; Dane, an honest man; Turk, a handsome lad; Arab, a
sprightly fellow. Lastly, Romany Chal, the name by which the Gypsy
styles himself, signifying not an Egyptian, but a lad of Rome. {26}
The language of the Cumro is called after him Cumraeg. Of Cumric there
are three dialects, the speech of Cumru or Wales; that of Armorica or, as
the Welsh call it, Llydaw, and the Cornish, which is no longer spoken,
and only exists in books and in the names of places. The Cumric bears
considerable affinity to the Gaelic, or the language of the Gael, of
which there are also three dialects, the Irish, the speech of the
Scottish Highlanders, and the Manx, which last is rapidly becoming
extinct. The Cumric and Gaelic have not only a great many thousand words
in common, but also a remarkable grammatical feature, the mutation and
dropping of certain initial consonants under certain circumstances, which
feature is peculiar to the Celtic languages. The number of Sanscritic
words which the Cumric and Gaelic possess is considerable. Of the two
the Gaelic possesses the most, and those have generally more of the
Sanscritic character, than the words of the same class which are to be
found in the Welsh. The Welsh, however, frequently possesses the primary
word when the Irish does not. Of this the following is an instance. One
of the numerous Irish words for a mountain is codadh. This word is
almost identical with the Sanscrit kuta, which also signifies a mountain;
but kuta and codadh are only secondary words. The Sanscrit possesses the
radical of kuta, and that is kuda, to heap up, but the Irish does not
possess the radical of codadh. The Welsh, without possessing any word
for a hill at all like codadh, has the primary or radical word; that word
is codi, to rise or raise, almost identical in sound and sense with the
Sanscrit kuda. Till a house is raised there is no house, and there is no
hill till the Nara or Omnipotent says _Arise_.
The Welsh is one of the most copious languages of the world, as it
contains at least eighty thousand words. It has seven vowels; w in Welsh
being pronounced like oo, and y like u and i. Its most remarkable
feature is the mutation of initial consonants, to explain which properly
would require more space than I can afford. {27} The nouns are of two
numbers, the singular and plural, and a few have a dual number. The
genders are three, the Masculine, the Feminine and the Neuter. There are
twelve plural terminations of nouns, of which the most common is au.
Some substantives are what the grammarians call aggregate plurals, {28}
“which are not used in the plural without the addition of diminutive
terminations, for example adar, birds, aderyn, a bird; gwenyn, bees,
gwenynen, a single bee.” There are different kinds of adjectives; some
have a plural, some have none; some have a feminine form, others have
not; the most common plural termination is ion. It is said by some that
the verb has properly no present tense, the future being used instead.
The verbs present many difficulties, and there are many defective and
irregular ones. In the irregularities of its verbs the Welsh language
very much resembles the Irish.
The numerals require some particular notice: forty, sixty and eighty are
expressed by deugain, trigain, and pedwarugain, literally, two twenties,
three twenties, and four twenties; whilst fifty, seventy, and ninety are
expressed by words corresponding with ten after two twenties, ten after
three twenties, and ten after four twenties. Whether the Welsh had ever
a less clumsy way of expressing the above numbers is unknown—something
similar is observable in French, and the same practice prevails in the
modern Gaelic; in the ancient Gaelic, however, there are such numerals as
ceathrachad, seasgad, and naochad, which correspond with quadraginta,
sexaginta, and nonaginta. The numerals dau, tri, and pedwar, or two,
three, and four, have feminine forms, becoming when preceding feminine
nouns, dwy, tair, and pedair. In Gaelic no numeral has a feminine form;
certain numerals, however, have an influence over nouns which others have
not, and before cead, a hundred, and mile, a thousand, do, two, is
changed into da, for it is not customary to say do chead, two hundred,
and do mhile, two thousand, but da chead and da mhile. {29} With respect
to pedwar, the Welsh for four, I have to observe that it bears no
similitude to the word for the same number in Gaelic; the word for four
in Gaelic is ceathair, and the difference between ceathair and pedwar is
great indeed. Ceathair is what may be called a Sanscritic numeral; and
it is pleasant to trace it in various shapes, through various languages,
up to the grand speech of India: Irish, ceathair; Latin, quatuor; Greek,
téssares; Russian, chetúri; Persian, chahar; Sanscrit, chatur. As to
pedwar, it bears some resemblance to the English four, the German vier,
is almost identical with the Wallachian patrou, and is very much like the
Homeric word πίσυρες, but beyond Wallachia and Greece we find nothing
like it, bearing the same meaning, though it is right to mention that the
Sanscrit word páda signifies a _quarter_, as well as a foot. It is
curious that the Irish word for five, cuig, is in like manner quite as
perplexing as the Welsh word for four. The Irish word for five is not a
Sanscritic word, pump, the Welsh word for five, is. Pantschan is the
Sanscrit word for five, and pump is linked to pantschan by the Æolick
pémpe, the Greek pénte and pémptos, the Russian piat and the Persian
Pantsch; but what is cuig connected with? Why it is connected with the
Latin quinque, and perhaps with the Arabic khamsa; but higher up than
Arabia we find nothing like it; or if one thinks one recognises it, it is
under such a disguise that one is rather timorous about swearing to
it—and now nothing more on the subject of numerals.
I have said that the Welsh is exceedingly copious. Its copiousness,
however, does not proceed, like that of the English, from borrowing from
other languages. It has certainly words in common with other tongues,
but no tongue, at any rate in Europe, can prove that it has a better
claim than the Welsh to any word which it has in common with that
language. No language has a better supply of simple words for the
narration of events than the Welsh, and simple words are the proper garb
of narration; and no language abounds more with terms calculated to
express the abstrusest ideas of the meta-physician. Whoever doubts its
capability for the purpose of narration, let him peruse the Welsh
Historical Triads, in which are told the most remarkable events which
befell the early Cumry; and whosoever doubts its power for the purpose of
abstruse reasoning, let him study a work called Rhetorick, by Master
William Salisbury, written about the year 1570, and I think he will admit
that there is no hyperbole, or, as a Welshman would call it, _gorwireb_,
in what I have said with respect to the capabilities of the Welsh
language.
As to its sounds—I have to observe that at the will of a master it can be
sublimely sonorous, terribly sharp, diabolically guttural and sibilant,
and sweet and harmonious to a remarkable degree. What more sublimely
sonorous than certain hymns of Taliesin; more sharp and clashing than
certain lines of Gwalchmai and Dafydd Benfras, describing battles; more
diabolically grating than the Drunkard’s Choke-pear by Rhys Goch, and
more sweet than the lines of poor Gronwy Owen to the Muse? Ah, those
lines of his to the Muse are sweeter even than the verses of Horace, of
which they profess to be an imitation. What lines in Horace’s ode can
vie in sweetness with
“Tydi roit â diwair wén
Lais eos i lysowen!”
“Thou couldst endow, with thy dear smile,
With voice of lark the lizard vile!”
Eos signifies a nightingale, and Lysowen an eel. Perhaps in no language
but the Welsh, could an eel be mentioned in lofty poetry: Lysowen is
perfect music.
Having stated that there are Welsh and Sanscrit words which correspond,
more or less, in sound and meaning, I here place side by side a small
number of such words, in order that the reader may compare them.
WELSH SANSCRIT
Aber, a meeting of waters, an Ap, ápah, water; apagá, a river;
outflowing; Avon, a river; Aw, a Persian, ab, water; Wallachian,
flowing apa
Anal, breath Anila, air
Arian, silver Ara, brass; Gypsy, harko, copper
Aur, gold {30}
Athu, to go At’ha; Russian, iti
Bôd, being, existence Bhavat, bhúta
Brenin, a king Bharanda, a lord; Russian barín
Caer, a wall, a city Griha, géha, a house; Hindustani,
ghar; Gypsy, kair, kaer
Cain, fine, bright Kánta, pleasing, beautiful; Kana,
to shine
Canu, to sing Gána, singing
Cathyl, a hymn Khéli a song; Gypsy, gillie
Coed, a wood, trees Kut’ha, kuti, a tree
Cumro, a Welshman Kumára, a youth, a prince
Daear, daeren, the earth Dhará, fem. dharaní
Dant, a tooth Danta
Dawn, a gift Dána
Derw, an oak Dáru, timber
Dewr, bold, brave Dhíra
Drwg, bad Durgati, hell; Durgá, the goddess
of destruction
Duw, God Déva, a god
Dwfr, dwfyr, water Tívara, the ocean (Tiber, Tevere)
Dwr, water Uda; Greek, υδωρ; Sanscrit,
dhlíra, the ocean; Persian,
deria, dooria, the sea; Gypsy,
dooria
En, a being, a soul, that which An, to breathe, to live; ána,
lives breath; Irish, an, a man, fire
Gair, a word Gir, gira, speech
Gwr, a man Víra, a hero, strong, fire; Lat.
Gwres, heat vir, a man; Dutch, vuur, fire;
Turkish, er, a man; Heb., ur,
fire
Geneth, girl Kaní
Geni, to be born Jana
Gwybod, to know Vid
Hocedu, to cheat Kúhaka, deceit
Huan, the sun Ina
Ieuanc,young Youvan
Ir, fresh, juicy Irá, water
Irdra, juiciness
Llances, a girl Lagnika
Lleidyr, a thief Lata
Maen, a stone Mani, a gem
Mam, mother Ma
Marw, to die Mára, death
Mawr, great Mahá
Medd, mead Mad’hu, honey
Meddwi, to intoxicate Mad, to intoxicate; Máda,
intoxication; Mada, pleasure;
Madya, wine; Matta, intoxicated;
Gypsy, matto, drunk; Gr. yέθυ,
wine, μεδύω, to be drunk
Medr, a measure Mátra
Nâd, a cry Nad, to speak; Náda, sound
Nant, ravine, rivulet Nadí, a river
Neath, Nedd, name of a river; Nícha, low, deep; níchagá, a
nedd, a dingle, what is low, deep river, that which descends;
(Nith, Nithsdale) nítha, water
Nêf, heaven Nabhas; Russian, nabeçá, the
heavens; Lat., nubes, a cloud
Neidiaw, to leap; Nata, to dance; Náta, dancing
Nêr, the Almighty, the Lord, the Nara, that which animates every
Creator thing, the spirit of God {31}
Nerth, strength, power Nara, man, the spirit of God; Gr.
άνήρ, a man, νευρον strength;
Persian, nar, a male; Arabic,
nãr, fire
Noddwr, a protector Nátha
Nôs, night Nisá
Pair, a cauldron Pit’hara
Pêd, a foot; pedair, four Pad, a foot; páda, a quarter
Pridd, earth Prithiví, the earth
Prif, principal, prime Prabhu, a lord, a ruler
Rhên, the Lord Rájan, a king
Rhian, a lady Hindustani, rani
Rhôd, a wheel Ratha, a car
Swm, being together Sam
Swynwr, a wizard, sorcerer Sanvanana, a witch; Hindustani,
syani
Tâd, father Táta
Tân, fire Dahana
Tant, a string Tantu
Tanu, to expand Tana
Toriad, a breaking, cutting Dári, cutting
Uchafedd, height Uchch’ya
Ych, ox Ukshan
In the above list of Cumric and Sanscrit words there are certainly some
remarkable instances of correspondence in sound and sense, the most
interesting of which is that afforded by Nêr, the Cumric word for the
Lord, and Nara, the Sanscrit word for the Spirit of God. From comparing
the words in that list one might feel disposed to rush to the conclusion
that the Cumric sprang from the Sanscrit, the sacred language of sunny
Hindustan. But to do so would be unwise, for deeper study would show
that if the Welsh has some hundreds of words in common with the Sanscrit,
it has thousands upon thousands which are not to be found in that tongue,
after making all possible allowance for change and modification. No
subject connected with what is called philosophy is more mortifying to
proud human reason than the investigation of languages, for in what do
the researches of the most unwearied philologist terminate but a chaos of
doubt and perplexity, else why such exclamations as these? Why is the
Wallachian word for water Sanscrit? for what is the difference between
apa and ap? Wallachian is formed from Latin and Sclavonian; why then is
not the word for water either woda or aqua, or a modification of either?
Why is the Arabic word for the sea Irish, for what is the difference
between bahar, the Arabic word for sea, and beathra, an old Irish word
for water, pronounced barra, whence the river Barrow? How is it that one
of the names of the Ganges is Welsh; for what is the difference between
Dhur, a name of that river, and dwr, the common Welsh word for water?
How is it that aequor, a Latin word for the sea, so much resembles Ægir,
the name of the Norse God of the sea? and how is it that Asaer, the
appellative of the Northern Gods, is so like Asura, the family name of
certain Hindu demons? Why does the scanty Gailk, the language of the
Isle of Man, possess more Sanscrit words than the mighty Arabic, the
richest of all tongues; and why has the Welsh only four words for a hill,
and its sister language the Irish fifty-five? How is it that the names
of so many streams in various countries, for example Donau, Dwina, Don,
and Tyne, so much resemble Dhuni, a Sanscrit word for a river? How is it
that the Sanscrit devila stands for what is wise and virtuous, and the
English devil for all that is desperate and wicked? How is it that Alp
and Apennine, Celtic words for a hill, so much resemble ap and apah,
Sanscrit words for water? Why does the Sanscrit kalya mean to-morrow as
well as yesterday, and the Gypsy merripen life as well as death? How is
it that ur, a Gaelic word for fire, is so like urá the Basque word for
water, and Ure the name of an English stream? Why does nerón, the Modern
Greek word for water, so little resemble the ancient Greek υδωρ and so
much resemble the Sanscrit níra? and how is it that nára, which like níra
signifies water, so much resembles nara, the word for man and the
Divinity? How is it that Nereus, the name of an ancient Greek water god,
and Nar, the Arabic word for fire, are so very like Nêr, the Welsh word
for the Creator? How is it that a certain Scottish river bears the name
of the wife of Oceanus, for what is Teith but Teithys? How indeed! and
why indeed! to these and a thousand similar questions. Ah man, man!
human reason will never answer them, and you may run wild about them,
unless, dropping your pride, you are content to turn for a solution of
your doubts to a certain old volume, once considered a book of divine
revelation, but now a collection of old wives’ tales, the Bible.
* * * * *
THE END
* * * * *
_Printed by Hazell_, _Watson & Viney_, _Ld._, _London and Aylesbury_.
Footnotes:
{0} Unfortunately none of the illustrations can be included as the
Project Gutenberg transcriber lives in a country where they are still in
copyright, Archibald Standish Hartrick having died in 1950.—DP.
{1} That vira at one time meant man in general, as well as fire, there
can be no doubt. It is singular how this word or something strikingly
like it, occurs in various European languages, sometimes as man,
sometimes as fire. Vir in Latin signifies man, but vuur in Dutch
signifies fire. In like manner fear in Irish signifies a man, but fire
in English signifies the consuming, or, as the Hindus would call it, the
producing element.
{2} “Pawb a’i cenfydd, o bydd bai,
A Bawddyn, er na byddai.”—GRONWY OWEN.
{3} One or two of the characters and incidents in this Saga are
mentioned in the Romany Rye. London, 1857, vol. i. p. 240; vol. ii. 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.
{4} 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.
{5} 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.
{6} 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.
{7} Essay on the Origin of the English Stage by Bishop Percy. London,
1793.
{8} The above account is chiefly taken from the curious Welsh book
called “Dych y prif Oesoedd.”
{9} Spirits.
{10} Eel.
{11} For an account of this worm, which has various denominations, see
article “Fasciola Hepatica” in any Encyclopædia.
{12} 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.
{13} Bitter root.
{14} 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 Shon Catti. Its grand
fault is endeavouring to invest Twm Shon 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 villainies they
find, the better they are 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.
{15} Skazka O Klimkie. Moscow, 1829.
{16} Hanes Crefydd Yn Nghymru.
{17} The good gentlewoman was probably thinking of the celebrated king
Brian Boromhe slain at the battle of Clontarf.
{18} Fox’s Court—perhaps London.
{19} Drych y Prif Oesoedd, p. 100.
{20} Y Greal, p. 279.
{21} Hanes Crefydd Yn NGhymru.
{22} Fear caoch: vir cæcus.
{23} 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 connected with these prayers, corresponding
in many respects with the case detailed above.
{24} Sanscrit, Kali, a hero.
{25} Sanscrit, Rama, Ramana, a husband.
{26} Romany chal, son of Rome, lad of Rome. Romany chi, daughter of
Rome, girl of Rome. Chal, chiel, child, the Russian cheloviek, a man,
and the Sanscrit Jana, to be born, are all kindred words.
{27} For a clear and satisfactory account of this system see Owen’s
Welsh Grammar, p. 13.
{28} Owen’s Grammar, p. 40.
{29} Pronounced vile or wile—here the principle of literal mutation is
at work.
{30} Lat. aurum, gold; _ær_is, of brass. Perhaps the true meaning of
ara, aurum, &c., is unrefined metal; if so, we have the root of them all
in our own word ore.
{31} “The Eternal, the divine imperishable spirit pervading the
universe.”—_Wilson’s Sanscrit Dictionary_, p. 453.
The Nara is called by the Tartars soukdoun, and by the Chinese ki:
“Principe qui est dans le ciel, sur la terre, dans l’homme, et dans
toutes les choses matérielles et immatérielles.”—_Dictioinnaire Tartare
Mantchou_, par Amyot. Tome second, p, 124.