WISE MEN, WITCHES, AND FAMILY CURSES
"Wizards that peep and that mutter."
When reading a provincial daily paper a few days ago, I came across the
following paragraph:
"Although the school-master has been abroad in Wales for quite a long
time, the belief in witchcraft still lingers here and there, and cropped
up yesterday in an assault case at Aberavon, where one woman accused
another of 'marking her house with a criss-cross to bewitch her.'"
It seems curious to read these words in the twentieth century, and it is
hard to realise that a very few generations ago the woman who had put
the "criss-cross" on her neighbour's house would have stood a very good
chance of losing her life by being ducked by the mob for a witch, if
indeed legal proceedings had not been taken against her.
As late as the year 1664 the great judge, Sir Matthew Hale, presided at
the trial which resulted in the condemnation and hanging of two poor
women as witches, and the last execution of the kind took place in 1682
when three other wretched women were executed at Exeter for the same
offence, on their own confession. And the statute against witchcraft
passed under James the First was not repealed until the reign of George
the Second, though by that time it was indeed practically a dead letter.
Mental progress and education have since done their part in abolishing
that panic fear of witchcraft which, supported by a bad law, caused the
persecution and death of so many innocent persons for more than a
century; but that belief--genuine if surreptitious--in the powers of
"wise" men and women still lingers in the minds of the people in the
West Country, one need only live in Wales for a few years to find out.
Nor must one feel too scornful of such "superstition" when one
recollects how palmists, clairvoyants, and crystal-gazers flourish in
London and every other city on the payments of hundreds of well-educated
and enlightened people. "Oh, a pack of silly women with more money than
sense," you may exclaim. To which I reply, "Not at all," if the
testimony of a most respectable fortune-teller who was once well known
to me can be believed. According to her, quite a number of her clients
belonged to the sterner (and we presume) more sensible sex, and my own
observation has also led me to conclude that men on the whole are quite
as much tempted to peer into futurity as women are, only naturally they
think it their duty to pretend indifference on such matters! Still,
however that may be, the Bond Street fortune-teller, with whom one makes
a solemn appointment, and who never "looks at a hand" under a guinea, is
nevertheless but a witch, belonging to the same ancient guild as the
unkempt old woman who lives in a hovel on the sea-shore near a certain
little town in Cardiganshire. This particular old woman has quite a
local reputation as a witch--even attaining to the fame of having her
portrait on a postcard--and is much resorted to by summer visitors who
wish to have their fortunes told.
But Cardiganshire, especially the Northern part, has always been a
stronghold of belief in witches and wise men, and their supposed powers
of putting a "curse" on the persons or property of those who annoyed
them. There is a story told of an old woman who had the reputation of
being a witch in a lonely district of the wild hills of North
Cardiganshire. She was on the road one day, when the doctor came riding
along in great haste, whom she tried to detain. But he, either not
understanding what she wanted, or unwilling to stop, urged his horse
forward, somewhat roughly bidding the old crone begone. Shrieking after
him, she told him to beware, "as she would lay a curse upon his horse,"
which threat he soon forgot, and after visiting his patient returned
home in safety. That night, however, Dr. G. was roused from his sleep by
the groom, who asked him to come out at once to the horse, as it seemed
to be very ill. To make the story short, the poor animal died in a few
hours' time, nor could its owner ever determine the nature of its
extraordinary attack, as it was apparently perfectly well when stabled
for the night. But the coincidence between the horse's death and the
witch's words was certainly striking.
I am reminded of another and quite modern instance of a Welsh witch's
curse, though to avoid localisation I will not say exactly where she
lived in the Principality. Her father was cowman at a house called
Fairview, inhabited by a family called Trower. Mr. Trower possessed a
rather savage bull, which one day broke loose, charged all who tried to
catch him, and finally, sad to relate, gored and killed the poor cowman.
He had lived in a cottage on the estate, and nothing could exceed the
kindness and sympathy shown by the Trower family to his daughter in her
bereavement. We will call her Patty Jones. After a decent interval had
elapsed, Mr. Trower gave the woman notice to quit, as the cottage was
wanted for somebody else. Although every indulgence regarding the notice
was given, and continual consideration shown, Patty, being a woman of
violent and ungrateful temper, took the matter very badly. She refused
to go, and was eventually evicted, and her goods sold. It is said that
meeting Mr. Trower on the road one day, she took the occasion to call
down the wrath of Heaven upon him and his family, and made no secret
afterwards of having "put a curse" upon her benefactors, for such
indeed the Trowers had shown themselves. Whether it is ever really given
to any human being so to blast the lives of fellow-creatures or not, one
cannot tell. But it is certain that this particular family thereafter
appeared for some years to be singled out by fate for more than their
fair share of ill-luck, though, to avoid recognition, further details
must not be given here.
At the sale of her goods a man named Morgan happened to buy Patty
Jones's cow. Whereupon she told him she would "put a curse" on the
animal, so that "he would never get any good from her." Sure enough,
soon afterwards the cow sickened with a mysterious complaint, which
defied the skill of the local "cow-doctor." So Morgan, advised by his
neighbours, went to seek counsel of a "white witch," who gave him a
charm which she said would cure the cow. "And now," she added, "wouldn't
you like me to put a curse on that woman? Because I can if you wish it."
But Morgan magnanimously replied, "Oh, no. _I do not wish_ her any harm
whatever," and departed with his charm and cured his cow. It would be
interesting to know the nature of this "charm," whether it was a written
form of incantation, or something of the nature of a medicine. Mr.
Henderson, whose interesting book on folk-lore I have already quoted,
tells us of a piece of silver at Lockerby in Dumfries-shire, called the
Lockerby Penny, which was used against madness in cattle. It was put
into a cleft stick, and the water of a well stirred round with it, after
which the water was bottled off and given to any animal so afflicted. In
other districts certain pebbles and stones are supposed to have the same
magic property.
Some Welsh witches are said to treat their patients with sulphur, a
remedy which I think savours more of "black magic" than "white."
It seems that a favourite trick of North Cardiganshire witches was to
"put a spell" on the pigs of any neighbour who annoyed them, making the
poor animals _pranking_ mad (as my informant expressed it). And nothing
would cure this madness till the witch had been fetched, and (doubtless
for a consideration) consented to remove the spell.
However, belief in the powers of "wise" men and women is now chiefly
confined to their abilities as healers, and in this capacity they are
still resorted to in the more remote districts of Cardiganshire. The
cure--whatever the malady--appears to be always the same, and is called
"measuring the wool." The witch takes two pieces of yarn--scarlet for
choice--of exactly the same length. One of these is bound round the
wrist or leg of the patient; the other is worn in the same way by the
healer. The patient goes home, and after a few days the witch measures
her own piece of yarn. If it has shrunk from the original length, well
and good; the yarn continues to grow shorter (so it is said) and the
patient recovers. But if on the contrary the yarn grows perceptibly
slacker, the patient gets worse and will surely die. The person who told
me about the bewitched pigs had also much to say regarding this practice
of "measuring the yarn." She declared that quite lately a friend of
hers, a young man, who was very ill with "decline" and for whom ordinary
doctors could do nothing, went at last to consult a "wise woman" in the
parish of Eglwysfach[17] in North Cardiganshire. She measured the yarn
for him, and he immediately began to recover and is now well and working
at the business which ill-health had forced him to leave. In this case
faith must have been a strong factor towards recovery. But
"I cannot tell how the truth may be;
I say the tale as 'twas said to me."
[Footnote 17: "Eglwysfach" is the real name, and in "Welsh Folk-lore"
Mr. Owen relates a case of "measuring the yarn" in the same village,
where the custom seems to have been long prevalent and firmly believed
in. His account of the charming for a case of "Clefyd y Galon" (or
heart-sickness) is worth quoting. The patient was bidden to roll his
sleeves up above the elbow, then "Mr. Jenkins (a respectable farmer and
deacon amongst the Wesleyans) took a yarn thread and placing one end on
the elbow measured to the tip of Felix's (the patient) middle finger,
then he tells his patient to take hold of the yarn at one end, the other
end resting the while on the elbow, and he was to take fast hold of it,
and stretch it. This he did and the yarn lengthened, and this was a sign
he was actually sick of heart-disease. Then the charmer tied the yarn
around the patient's left arm above the elbow, and there it was left,
and in the next visit measured again, and he was pronounced cured."]
Only a year ago, in my own district, I heard of a young girl being taken
to the local "wise man" to have "her wool measured," but in her case the
charm does not seem to have worked well, as though she did not die, she
is still ailing. Another wizard, who died only last year, was an old man
who lived at Trawscoed in Cardiganshire. He also worked cures with
scarlet worsted, and enjoyed a great local reputation.
The use of scarlet wool as a charm is of great antiquity, and is
supposed to be originally derived from the practices of the magicians of
Babylon. And according to Theocritus, the Greek maidens used it as a
charm to bring back faithless lovers. Mr. Elworthy, in his book on the
"Evil Eye," refers to the ancient use made of coloured yarn in
incantations, quoting from Petronius: "She then took from her bosom a
web of twisted threads of various colours, and bound it on my neck."
In South Wales, as in many other districts, witches were supposed to
have the power of transforming themselves into hares. Especially, as I
have said before, was this superstition rife in North Cardiganshire, and
there to this day, any hare that has white about it is called "a witch
hare," and it is held very unlucky to kill it, while until quite lately
incidents such as the following were freely repeated and firmly believed
among the shepherds, small farmers, and miners who composed the scanty
population of those lonely hills.
One day, the story goes, a funeral party was proceeding from the
deceased's house towards the churchyard, when suddenly a hare was seen
running just ahead of the procession. Nobody took much notice of it at
first, thinking it had merely been disturbed from its form, and would
probably soon disappear on one side of the road or the other. There was
neither hedge nor fence to prevent its doing so, for the road was only a
mountain track, which the hare might have left at any moment to seek
cover among the heather and fern of the hill-side. But this it did not
do; to the astonishment of all, the animal, apparently not a whit
frightened by the people behind, held steadily on its way. Sometimes, of
course, owing to its swiftness, it would be lost to view for a few
moments, but always a turn of the way would bring it in sight again, and
so it led the procession to the burial-ground. Then on a sudden it
vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared. For no man could say what
direction it took; only that at one moment it was there in plain view of
all, and at the next it was gone. And after that, nobody present doubted
that the creature was no hare, but a witch in that shape, who, scenting
the approach of Death, had added her noisome presence to the crowd of
mourners, until their arrival on consecrated ground had forced her to
fly.
There is a tale belonging to the same district--roughly speaking--of
which I have unfortunately only heard the vague outlines, but the
incident is worth relating even without details, as it seems
extraordinary in whatever way it is explained.
On a certain day, not very many years ago, a hare was hunted somewhere
in the hill-country bordering the shires of Montgomery and Cardigan.
From all accounts, never was better sport seen; the animal was game to
the last, and by many a twist and turn managed to cheat its pursuers. At
last, however, it appeared exhausted; the hounds closed in, and the
hunters, immediately behind, saw them hurl themselves upon their quarry.
The huntsman hastened forward, and every one pressed round to see the
gallant animal which had given such a splendid run. But where was the
hare? Whimpers and yelps of disappointment from the hounds proclaimed
that their prey had escaped, but the question was, how? No hare that
ever lived could have eluded the hounds as they fairly threw themselves
upon her, but still the fact remained, "Puss" had disappeared, vanishing
somehow in the very onslaught of tearing, eager hounds, and before the
eyes of several spectators. Of course the story in the country has ever
been that a "witch hare" was hunted that day, and "every one knows" that
nothing but a silver bullet can destroy a witch.
The belief that only a silver bullet can harm a witch is illustrated in
my next story. It was related to me by the Rector of a certain parish in
Pembrokeshire, who said that though the people it concerned had been
dead some years, the incident was still repeated with conviction by the
country-folk of the district.
There was an old woman living in the village of Llaw----n who was
supposed to be a witch and to have the power of changing herself into a
hare. It was asserted that she had often been seen in this guise, and
several persons tried on various occasions to shoot the uncanny beast.
But no shot would touch it. However, "John the Smith" was a cunning man,
and one day he loaded his gun with a silver sixpence in lieu of shot,
and went out to look for the "witch hare." Presently he came across it
in a field, and then--Bang! went his gun. Instantly the poor animal made
off, but the sixpence had evidently found its mark, for as the hare ran
it trailed a hind leg behind it. Still, lame as it was, it managed to
elude the smith, and, turning in the direction of the village,
disappeared. But that evening John went to the house of 'Liza the Witch,
and, knocking at the door, cried, "How be'st thou, 'Liza?"
"John, John, thou very well knowest how I be," was the reply. Nor would
she allow him to enter. Then John the Smith went home well satisfied
that he had done what no one else had been able to do, and had wounded
the "witch hare."
Apropos of this belief in a witch's powers of self-transformation, a
rather curious incident came under my notice in my own neighbourhood
some few months ago. Two gentlemen were partridge-shooting, and in the
course of their walk the path they followed should have led them through
the garden of a somewhat lonely cottage inhabited by an old woman. This
woman was known to be very unpopular with her neighbours, in
consequence, it was supposed, of a quarrelsome disposition. When the
shooters reached this cottage, they found, to their surprise, that the
gate by which they usually passed through the premises was fastened with
a padlock. A shout produced the old woman from the house, who hastened
to let them through, apologising profusely for the padlock, but saying
she had been obliged to lock her gate, because "the boys were so bad to
her. Look," she added, pointing to the end wall of her cottage, "that is
what they did to me last night." And there, nailed to the wall, was a
black rabbit. One of the gentlemen, to cheer her, said jokingly, "Oh,
that's nothing. A black rabbit! Isn't that lucky?" "No," was the answer,
"not lucky; very bad luck, and they knew that very well."
To any one conversant with Cardiganshire superstitions, there is no
doubt that the nailing up of the black rabbit was intended to signify
that the inhabitant of the house was a witch. True, the animal should
have been a hare, but the Ground Game Act having caused hares to become
almost extinct in this district, the perpetrators of the insult took the
best substitute they could find in the shape of the black rabbit, well
knowing that its sinister significance would not be lost on the poor old
woman.
To return for a moment to the Pembrokeshire village we have already
mentioned, Llaw----n, where there is a beautiful ruin of a castle, most
picturesquely situated on the edge of a wooded cliff overhanging the
river Cleddau. In olden times this castle was a place of great
importance as a Palace of the Bishops of St. David's, some of whom, it
is said, preferred its strong, well-fortified walls to their splendid
palace in the episcopal city. And in Llaw----n Castle there was once
imprisoned a celebrated witch, Tanglost ferch Glyn, against whom the
reigning prelate, Bishop John Morgan, had taken proceedings for some
rather serious offence, and whom he pronounced "accursed," or, in other
words, excommunicated. After escaping once from custody, and being
rearrested, Tanglost made submission, and (we presume) did penance, and
was at length released, though banished from the diocese of St. David's.
Thereupon she betook herself to Bristol, where, engaging the services of
another witch, one Margaret Hackett, she endeavoured to "distrew" her
enemy the Bishop by witchcraft. After a time, Tanglost ventured to
return to Pembrokeshire, and at a certain house[18] (still well known
and inhabited), "in a chambre called Paradise Chambre," made, with
Hackett's help, two waxen images for injuring the Bishop. Two images not
being powerful enough to do the work, Tanglost and her coadjutor called
in the aid of a third party, "which they thought hadde more counynge and
experience than they had, and made the IIIrd ymage to distrew the
Bishop." However, not only did the prelate continue to live and
flourish, but, as was inevitable, knowledge of these sinister designs
reached his ears, and Tanglost, with her two assistants, was summoned to
appear for judgment before the Prior of Monckton, who held jurisdiction
in her neighbourhood. Escaping for the moment, she again fled to
Bristol, but was there reached by the long arm of the Church, and
arrested on a charge of heresy. Four Doctors of Divinity considered her
case, and handed her over to the Bishop for punishment, which would
probably have meant being burnt as a witch in the market-place, if Fate
had not again interfered through the efforts of her friends, who caused
Tanglost to be arrested on an accusation of debt, bailed her
successfully out of prison, and rescued her from the Bishop's
emissaries. Then a bill in Chancery was filed against her, praying that
the Mayor and Sheriffs of the city of Bristol should be ordered to
arrest her, and bring her before the King in Chancery. But to make a
long story short, Tanglost, who seems to have been a woman of infinite
resource, managed once more to evade this fresh danger, and it is to be
supposed eventually died in her bed, in spite of her unlawful traffic
with witchcraft. Her persecutor, Bishop John Morgan, held the See of St.
David's from 1496 to 1505, and reference to the Chancery proceedings
against Tanglost are to be found at the Record Office under "Early
Chancery Proceedings."
[Footnote 18: Perhaps this house had an ancient reputation for
possessing an atmosphere suitable for such "works of darkness." For
Giraldus Cambrensis, writing three hundred years before the time of
Tanglost, mentions it as being haunted by an unclean spirit which
"conversed with men, and in reply to their taunts upbraided them openly
with everything they had done from their birth, and which they were not
willing should be known by others ... the priests themselves, though
protected by the crucifix or the holy water, on devoutly entering the
house were equally subject to the same insults...."]
The practice of making waxen images of the person to be injured is of
immemorial antiquity. We read in Professor Maspero's "Dawn of
Civilisation" about the Egyptian magicians that "to compose an
irresistible charm they merely required a little blood from a person, a
few nail-parings, some hair, or a scrap of linen which he had worn, and
which from contact with his skin had become impregnated with his
personality. Portions of these were incorporated with the wax of a doll
which they modelled and clothed to resemble their victim. Thenceforward
all the inflictions to which the image was subjected were experienced
by the original; he was consumed with fever when his effigy was exposed
to the fire, he was wounded when the figure was pierced with a knife.
The Pharaohs themselves had no immunity from these spells." Nor need we
go back as far as the Pharaohs to find witches and wizards making use of
effigies for the undoing of their enemies. According to Mr. Elworthy,
from whose interesting book on the "Evil Eye" I have already quoted,
such images and figures were used in quite modern times by "witches"
among the Somersetshire peasants, and dried pigs' and sheeps' hearts
studded with pins have been found in old cottages in that county
dedicated to the same malevolent purpose. Onions were also sometimes
used in the same way. A lady, who lived many years in a rural parish of
Somerset, also told me only a few months ago that she had there known
several people who were supposed to be witches, and had seen hanging in
their chimneys, dried animals' hearts, stuck full of pins, intended to
injure their own or other people's enemies.
A well-known "white witch" lives and flourishes to-day in the village of
T----n, in South Pembrokeshire. Some most interesting particulars
concerning her were sent me a few weeks ago, by a correspondent in that
county. My friend wrote: "An old man, David Evans, (no relation to the
witch) ... who has worked ... for thirty years, 'failed,' as they say in
Pembrokeshire, some time ago, and has done no work for seventeen weeks.
He has had medical advice and medicine, but with no satisfactory
results.... He took it into his head that he would consult the
'charmer.' I was on my way to visit him and his wife, when I met Mr.
Blank's bailiff, Pike, who told me he had sent him to T----n that very
day, and that I should only find the wife at home.... When I got to the
house I found the old man had returned.... He told me whom he had been
to see, and I naturally wanted to know all about it. The following is
what he told me:
"'When I got to Gwen Davies'[19] house, I told her about myself, and how
long I had been ill, and that I had seen the doctor and had bottles of
physic and was no better. She made me sit down in a chair and she laid
eleven little pieces of straw on the table; then she took a long straw
and waved it several times round my head; having done this she went to
the table and removed one of the little bits of straw to another part of
the table. When this was done she came back to me and repeated the
waving of the long straw, and so on till all the eleven little bits of
straw had been removed from where they had been put at the beginning.'
[Footnote 19: The witch's name and that of her patient are of course
changed.]
"I asked whether the 'charmer' had said anything during this
performance. 'She mumbled something each time she was at the table, but
I could not make out the words.'
"I inquired then, 'What did she say to you when this was over?'
"David Evans replied that she said that he would recover, but that it
would be a long time....
"'What advice did she give you as to what you should eat, drink, and
avoid?'
"'Eat all you can get,' she told him, 'but no doctor's stuff, and no
drink.' My last inquiry was, 'Did you give her anything?'
"'No,' said the old man, 'she would take nothing.' I think I may safely
say this is a properly authenticated narrative."
To this account my friend a few days later added the following
postscript.
"To add something to my last letter. I met our Archdeacon ... on Friday,
and was telling him about the 'White Witch of T----n'; he had heard of
her when he was Vicar of L----n; his account of her proceedings is
slightly different from what I wrote to you;--the little bits of straw
are more than eleven, and she moves them, not on a table, but on two
chairs, transferring them from one to the other; and what the old man
described as 'mumbling' is that she repeats passages from the Bible.
This latter fact connects, in my mind, her 'hanky-panky' with the old
ceremony of 'touching' for the King's Evil."
The slight discrepancy in the details of the witch's proceedings in
nowise detracts from the central, most interesting fact, that such
professional "charmers" should be still resorted to in the rural
districts of Wales by invalids having apparently every faith in their
ability to work cures.
It was the Rector of Llaw----n who kindly gave me many particulars of a
very famous "wise man" known as Harries of Caio. These are real names;
Caio is a parish in Carmarthenshire, and my clerical friend had formerly
been Vicar there, though subsequent to Harries' death, which occurred
some years ago. But he is well remembered and talked of in the country,
and if all tales told of him are true he must have possessed
considerable psychic powers, which in these days would by no means be
thought supernatural by enlightened people, but which thirty or forty
years ago would most certainly have impressed and awed an ignorant
peasantry. Harries is described as a fine-looking man with a long beard
and remarkably bushy eyebrows. He would occasionally tramp the country,
carrying an enormous volume of astrological lore under his arm,
leather-bound, with a strong lock attached. This, he said, was to
prevent ignorant people reading the charms contained in the book, and
thereby raising evil spirits.
Although often consulted as a healer it was on his powers as a seer or
prophet that Harries' fame chiefly rested. If any one had a relation ill
or in trouble, he would go to the wizard and ask what his friend's fate
would be. Harries then put himself into a trance, and when he came out
of it would say, "I am sorry for you, but your friend will die," or "he
will recover," as the case might be.
But the most interesting story connected with Harries of Caio, and one
which the Rector of Llaw----n had heard on excellent authority, is as
follows: A certain man in Carmarthenshire started one day to walk over
the hills to Breconshire on some farming business. He did not return
when expected; time went by, and his friends became alarmed and made
inquiries, but to no purpose; nothing could be heard about him. At last
the police were called in, but they were equally unsuccessful, and after
many weeks had passed without news of the missing man, his relations
determined as a last resource to apply to the wizard of Caio. So a
deputation of them went to his house, and having stated the purpose of
their visit were told by Harries that he could give them the information
they sought. "But," he added solemnly and with great feeling, "I am
sorry to tell you that your friend is no longer alive. If you cross the
mountain between Llandovery and Brecon your path will lead you past a
ruined house, and near that house there is a large and solitary tree.
Dig at the foot of that tree and you will find him whom you seek." These
words of gloomy import only crystallised the feelings of vague
foreboding already in the minds of the inquirers, who, after a short
consultation, determined to test the truth of the wizard's information.
A small party was formed, who proceeded, according to the seer's
directions, along the lonely track that led over the mountain to Brecon,
the way by which it was known their friend had intended to travel. After
a while they came to a ruined cottage, with a large tree close
by--landmarks probably known to most of them. Dead leaves covered the
ground beneath the tree, but on raking these aside it was at once seen
that the earth had been lately disturbed, and on digging deep below
Harries' words were sadly verified by the searchers, who did indeed
discover the body of their friend. That a crime had been committed was
abundantly clear, but by whom has remained a mystery to this day, nor
was any ordinary explanation ever sufficient to account for Harries'
extraordinary information on the subject, all inquiry--and also his high
character--precluding the most remote suspicion of his being in any way
connected with such a misdeed.
After Harries' death his "magic books" were sold, and are now in the
possession of the Registrar of the Welsh University College at
Aberystwith.
Mention of Llandovery reminds me of a celebrated "Curse story" connected
with Cardiganshire, but which has been so often the theme of abler pens
than mine that I shall do little more than refer to it here. Briefly it
is this. In the seventeenth century, Maesyfelin Hall, a large house some
few miles from Lampeter, was the centre of hospitality and culture in
Cardiganshire. Judge Marmaduke Lloyd, owner of the house and great
estates, was universally known and respected in South Wales, counting
among his intimate friends the well-known Vicar Pritchard of Llandovery,
whose book, "Canwyll y Cymru" (The Welshman's Candle), is still much
prized for its quaintly pious teaching by all religious Welsh people.
This clergyman had a son, Samuel, who seems to have been a frequent and
welcome visitor at Maesyfelin, until a day came when a terrible tragedy
occurred. The young man's body, bearing evidence that he had been foully
done to death, was found floating in the river Teify, and dark must have
been the suspicions of his grief-stricken parent when he could pen words
such as the following, fraught with deadly enmity towards his former
friends:
"The curse of God on Maesyfelin fall,
On root of every tree, on stone of wall,
Because the flower of fair Llandovery town,
Was headlong cast in Teivi's flood to drown."
Or in the original Welsh:
"Melldith Duw ar Maesyfelin
Ar bob carreg, dan bob gwreiddyn,
Am daflu blodeu tref Llandyfri
Ar ei ben i Deifi i foddi."
Tradition asserts that Samuel Pritchard met his death in some brawl
arising from the discovery of his persistence in some prohibited love
affair; but the whole story rests on the most slender evidence, and
beyond the fact that he lost his life by violence, somewhere between
Lampeter and Llandovery, there is nothing to prove that the family of
Maesyfelin had any share at all in the dark deed. However, not many
generations passed before it seemed as if the Vicar's words had indeed
taken effect, for after Sir Marmaduke's death, the estate of Maesyfelin
was gradually weakened by the extravagance of his descendants, and
finally what was left of the land passed through marriage into the
possession of the Lloyds of Peterwell in the year 1750. Maesyfelin Hall
was left empty, and time and neglect have most literally fulfilled to
the letter the curse pronounced by Vicar Pritchard nearly three hundred
years ago. Not an unusual history, and one that might probably be true
of many an old and extinct family in Great Britain. But in Cardiganshire
the reverses and final extinction of the Lloyds of Maesyfelin were
always ascribed to the effect of the pious Vicar's malison. Oddly
enough, that curse seemed to follow the name of Lloyd, for the family of
Peterwell had no better luck with the Maesyfelin estates than the
original owners. At the death of John Lloyd of Peterwell, his great
property, including Maesyfelin, went to his brother Herbert, who was
made a baronet in 1763, and sat in Parliament for seven years. He was a
man of extravagant tastes and imperious temper, and seems to have ruled
like a dictator in his own neighbourhood. Many and interesting are the
tales still told of him and his ways, and the manner of his death and
burial were as sensational as his career through life might lead one to
expect. But all that is "another story," and here it is sufficient to
say that, Sir Herbert Lloyd dying deeply in debt and without
descendants, his heavily mortgaged lands passed to strangers and were
divided, while his great house of Peterwell, with its "four gilded
domes," became, like Maesyfelin, a ruin, of which only the broken walls
remain to tell of former splendours. And the famous curse, having
fulfilled its end, is now forgotten, or remembered in the district only
as an interesting tradition.
A Scotch friend once told me of a curse that had been laid upon her own
family by three Highlanders. These men were implicated in the '45
Rebellion, and were handed over to the Duke of Cumberland by an ancestor
of my friend, a man whose sympathies were Hanoverian, and the owner of
considerable property. The Highlanders were duly condemned and executed,
but before they died they solemnly cursed their enemy, prophesying that
his descendants in the third generation should not possess an acre of
land. This prophecy was fulfilled to the letter; and my friend tells me
that a relation of hers has talked with a very old woman who came from
the same part of the country, and who spoke of the curse and its origin
as well-known facts.
Connected with this subject of family curses is a story I heard not
long ago, of a certain country house in one of the Eastern Counties. On
the landing of the principal staircase of this house there might be
seen, a few years since, a glass case covered by a curtain, which, if
drawn, revealed the waxen effigy of a child, terribly wasted and
emaciated, lying on her side as if asleep. It was described to me as so
realistic as to be quite horrible, and it is apparent that some very
strong reason must have existed for keeping so unpleasant an object in
such a thoroughfare of the house. Its history is this. Some generations
ago, the wife of the owner of the place died, leaving motherless a
little girl. The father soon married again, giving his child a cruel
stepmother, who, in her husband's absence from home, so ill-treated and
starved the poor little girl that very soon after her father's return
she died. It is said that the facts of his wife's cruelty reached the
father's ears, and in order that he might punish her with perpetual
remorse, he had a wax model made of his child exactly as she appeared in
death, and placed it conspicuously on the staircase landing, where his
wife must see it whenever she went up or down stairs. He further
directed in his will that the model should never be removed from its
place, adding that if it were, _a curse_ should fall on house and
family. So, covered in later years by a curtain, the effigy remained
until a day arrived in quite recent times, when the family then in
possession were giving a dance, and for some reason had the case
containing the wax-work carried downstairs and put in an outhouse. But
mark what happened. That very night occurred a shock of earthquake
violent enough to cause part of the house to fall down! Very likely mere
coincidence; but as it _might_ have been the working of the curse
consequent on the removal of the case, it was thought advisable to
restore the grisly relic to its former position, where, as far as my
informant knew, it may be seen to this day.