OF CAERLEON-UPON-USK
“Caerleon, now step in with stately style,
No feeble phrase may serve to set thee forth;
Thy famous town was spoke of many a myle,
Thou hast been great, though now but little worth:
Thy noble bounds hath reacht beyond them all,
In thee hath been King Arthur’s golden hall,
In thee the wise and worthies did repose.”--_Old Poet._
“Slow sets the summer sun,
Slow fall the mists, and, closing, droop the flowers,
Faint in the gloaming dies the vesper bell,
And dreamland sleeps round golden Carduel.”--_Lytton._
“When Arthur first in court began,
And was approvèd King,
By force of armes great victoreys wanne,
And conquest home did bring.”--_Percy Reliques._
“Old Caerleon-upon-Usk” is the enchanted capital of the kingdom called
Romance. Its domes of fretted gold, its countless pinnacles, its
seventy churches, its gorgeous palace, and its giant tower--
“From whose high crest, they say,
Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset,
And white sails flying on the yellow sea,”
by the wonder-working art of poets and old-time chroniclers have a
reality for us to-day, though they may never have been visible. But the
city of the Hero-King is a city seen through a veil. The glittering
spires show through the mists of time; in a half-shadow we discern
the lofty turrets, and mark the lanceolate windows with their shining
diamond-panes; a dreamy brightness reveals the gilded roofs and the
“magic casements” where Guinevere and her maidens stood and watched
the tourneying knights, and glanced their loves and hopes upon the
combatants. The name of Arthur conjures up the scene, and fancy
releases the city from its spell of slumber and ruin and fashions it
again in splendour. It is said that this city of Legions was once the
rival of Rome in grandeur. When the all-conquering king had subdued
thirty kingdoms, he could find no more suitable place than Caerleon for
holding a magnificent court to place the crown upon his head, and to
invite the kings and dukes under his subjection to the ceremony. When
he had communicated his designs to the familiar friends, he pitched
upon Caerleon as a proper place for his purpose; for, besides its
great wealth above the other cities, its situation was most pleasant
and fit for so great a solemnity. For on one side it was washed by
that noble river (the Usk), so that the kings and princes from the
countries beyond the seas might have the convenience of sailing up to
it. On the other side was the beauty of meadows and groves, and the
magnificence of the royal palaces. Besides, there was a college of two
hundred philosophers, who, being learned in astronomy and the other
arts, were diligent in observing the courses of the arts, and gave
King Arthur the predictions of the events that would happen at that
time. So runs Geoffrey’s chronicle, and he reports that at the festival
there were present numerous kings, princes, prelates, and consuls, all
named; and no prince of any consideration on this side Spain forbore
attending. The ceremony of the coronation, as described by Geoffrey,
was a stupendous event. The archbishops, headed by Dubritius, were
conducted to the royal palace to place the crown upon the monarch’s
head. Arthur was invested with his imperial habiliments, and conducted
in great pomp to the Metropolitan Church, supported by the bishops and
four kings, who bore golden swords before him. The queen, “dressed out
in her richest ornaments,” and attended by bishops and four queens,
bearing before her four white doves, joined the procession; and the
people of Caerleon in their tens of thousands “made all imaginable
demonstrations of joy.” Then transporting music was played, both in
the churches and the streets all day, and was so beautiful that the
knights knew not which of the many orchestras to prefer. After the
service the king and queen retired to their separate palaces, “for the
Britons still observed the ancient custom of Troy, by which men and
women used to celebrate their festivals apart.” One thousand young
noblemen, clothed in ermine, served the banquet at the king’s table;
and in the queen’s palace innumerable servitors, dressed with a variety
of ornaments, performed their offices. The knights, in best apparel,
were in full attendance, and the ladies, celebrated for their wit,
encouraged them in their tourneys. No man, says Geoffrey, was worthy
of a woman’s love until he had given proof of his valour in three
separate battles; “thus was the valour of the men an encouragement for
the women’s chastity, and the love of the women a spur to the soldiers’
bravery.” The victors in the jousts at Caerleon that day were rewarded
by Arthur in person, and the capital was a blaze of splendour and a
scene of unequalled exploits.[18]
We get further pictures of Caerleon from other of the early historians.
Giraldus Cambriensis recorded in the twelfth century that at Caerleon
might be seen many vestiges of its former glory, “immense palaces
ornamented with gilded roofs, in imitation of Roman magnificence, a
tower of prodigious size, and relics of temples.” Three centuries
before Cæsar’s invasion, Belin Mawr laid the city’s foundations; and in
the sixth century--
“Cymri’s dragon, from the Roman’s hold,
Spread with calm wing o’er Carduel’s domes of gold.”
In the “Mabinogion” we also get a casual glimpse of King Arthur’s
royal state at Caerleon: “Arthur was accustomed to hold his court
at Caerleon-upon-Usk. And there he held it seven Easters and
five Christmases. And once upon a time he held his court there at
Whitsuntide. For Caerleon was the place most easy of access in his
dominions, both by sea and land. And there were assembled nine crowned
kings, who were his tributaries, and likewise earls and barons. For
they were his invited guests at all the high festivals, unless they
were prevented by any great hindrance. And when he was at Caerleon
holding his court, thirteen churches were set apart for mass.” But
the scene at the coronation of Arthur was never excelled; and if
Geoffrey of Monmouth could be believed, such a noble assembly, such
a display of magnificence, such prodigality of sport and hospitality
were never before or afterward seen in Britain; and the historian
adds that at that time King Arthur’s country had arrived at “such a
pitch of grandeur, that in abundance of riches, luxury, ornaments, and
politeness of inhabitants it far surpassed all other countries.”
But what is Caerleon now? Late on an August afternoon, when the sky
was stricken with the first shadowy pallor of evening, a white, sandy,
deserted lane led me past a few scattered houses and a small church
to the riverside. The tide was out and the waters had shrunk almost
into silence. An old tower, thickly overgrown with trailing weeds,
stands on the bank, and tells of other times. The fields stretching
away from the right bank of the Usk are irregularly divided by the
remnant of an old Roman wall, rising about twelve feet, and supposed
to have been originally four miles long, connecting Caerleon with
the outposts. Antiquaries differ in opinion as to whence the stone
was obtained; those marvel-working Romans who came over with Julius
Frontinus in the first century, and made Caerleon the head-quarters of
the second Augustan Legion, left the secret buried in the monument they
raised. The wall passes by, and beyond, the Priory and the Round Table
Field, where a deep indentation probably marks the site of a Roman
amphitheatre. This supposition derives circumstantial confirmation from
the fact that a contiguous field has borne from time out of record the
name of the Bearhouse Field--the site of the house in which wild beasts
were kept for gladiatorial contests. But legend floats about the scene
and fantastically shapes itself into a marvellous tale, that here King
Arthur with his knights sits entranced in a subterranean chamber, and
there will remain until Britain in her hour of peril calls him forth to
new and greater conquests. The Welsh bards have sung how--
“He first ordained the circled board;
The knights whose martial deeds far-famed that Table Round,
Which truest in their loves, which most in arms renowned,
The laws which long upheld that Order, they report:
The Pentecosts prepar’d at Caerleon in her Court,
That Table’s ancient seat.”
While we wander about the green hillocks which compose that mysterious
circle our minds can feel the inspiration of the scene and sport with
the phantoms of the unreal world. It is on such occasions that we feel
the touch of other times and seem to hear the echo of voices stilled.
The flame of romance kindles a thousand images; half the present fades
away, and in its place appears what has vanished or has never been.
The long procession of the dead troops by, and the tale of bygone
days is recalled. Here, once, were the sounds of tumult; the king’s
pavilion was set, and the tourney was “let cry.” Then were heard
the clatter of the steeds, the rush to arms, the clang of sword and
spear, the shattering of hauberk and shield; then through the streets
resounded the trumpet-call to arms and the proclamation of the king;
then gathered and dispersed the noble order of knights and the flower
of chivalry, setting forth upon noble quests or returning to relate
their deeds to Arthur and to lay their spoils at the feet of Guinevere.
Along these lanes rode Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad, Sir Gawain, and
Sir Kaye. Here came kings from north, south, and west to do homage to
Arthur. Here,
“Among the myriad-room’d
And many-corridor’d perplexities
Of Arthur’s palace,”
the drama of pain and shame was acted by the queen and Arthur’s
greatest knight, a man “not after Arthur’s heart.” Here, where the bee
hums and the moth alights, were knightly jousts and stubborn contests.
Steel grappled with steel, and the hard ground trembled under the shock
of mounted warriors. Here, where the grass grows long and the daisy and
primrose brighten out among the green, were mailed men and mirthful
maidens; here they feasted and sang and dedicated their days to love
and chivalry. But the wind roves over the open plain; and scarcely a
stone, a tottering arch, or a fallen tower, has escaped the iconoclasm
of time’s remorseless hand. The massive walls which defied the siege of
the all-conquering Roman have been thrown down, and the regal palaces
which never yielded to the pagan have sunk and disappeared in the
dust. Their very foundations cannot be traced. But beneath the ruins
sleeps romance, and in the pervading silence is closed the last song of
ancient chivalry. The dust of the heroes is scattered, and
“The attributes of those high days
Now only live in minstrel-lays.”
Everything is past but the names of men and places--names that we have
and ideals that we make. A ford with Arthur’s name, a stone associated
with his deeds, a city where his temples were reared! Tranquilly flows
the river and washes the unfrequented banks; and Caerleon-upon-Usk,
like a wave that has been spent and dies upon the shore, has ebbed into
the quietude of tideless time and has been lost. Yet, to him who goes
with open mind and simple faith, Caerleon is even now a wonderland, and
fragments of its marvellous story are scattered on the roadside, in
the undulating meadows, and along the banks of the wide brown river.
Everywhere we find remnants of a remarkable past; and though the city
has dwindled to a hamlet and is sequestered from the busy toiling
world, it seems like the city of fable which slept until the promised
prince came and released it from the fetters of enchantment. So may
Caerleon one day be awakened.
The healing sun-god, Belenus (from whose name our modern Billingsgate
is derived), was the Celtic Apollo, and to him is ascribed the
foundation of Caerleon. Others, with better reason, ascribe it to
Lleon, an ancient British king. The Romans, about the year 70 A.D.,
made it one of their chief stations in Britannia Secunda, and the
city in their time is reputed to have been nine miles in area. Akeman
Street went from it to Cirencester, and the maritime Julian Way passed
through it from Bath to Neath, while the mountain Julian Way connected
it with Abergavenny. Fragments of a Roman fortress 12 feet thick and
1,800 yards in circuit have been found, and the Roman amphitheatre, 16
feet high and 222 feet by 192 feet in extent, is popularly known as
the festival scene of King Arthur and his knights. Some of the Roman
bricks and tiles are to be found in the modern structures, and part of
the old Roman wall twelve feet high is still visible. In the days of
Hadrian the best part of the city was Caerleon _ultra pontem_--that
part lying beyond the wooden movable bridge, which is now replaced
by one of stone.[19] The local museum is crowded with memorials
of antiquity--tesselated pavements, Roman stones and inscriptions,
baths, altars, sculpture, Roman lamps (found in a road cutting), glass
vessels, bronze ornaments, harness buckles, keys, coins, and stone
facings of the rooms in the Castle Villa. Most curious and valuable
of all, perhaps, is a boundary stone showing that the sea-walls were
the work of the third-century Romans and made by their soldiery. But
the sea has receded from Caerleon and is now quite two miles away, and
Newport has arisen where once the ships of Caerleon sailed. All the
Roman temples which King Arthur found in the city he is said to have
converted into Christian churches, St. Dubric, the most famous of the
ecclesiastics of antiquity, being appointed the archbishop. On the
other hand, the archbishopric is said to date from 182, and to have
lasted until 521. But the remarkable and significant fact is that while
relics in abundance of the early Romans can be found, nothing has been
preserved of the later British or Saxon times, and not a trace can be
discovered of the surpassing glory of the Arthurian capital. Tradition
avers that for four hundred years before the Christian era Caerleon was
a royal residence and the burial place of British kings; but tradition
dispenses with proofs.
King Arthur’s ninth great battle against the Saxons took place at
Caerleon, and he had previously encountered them at the most celebrated
of the city’s outposts, Caerwent. The latter place has a history
little inferior to that of Caerleon itself, and has strong claims to
consideration both as a Roman settlement and as a reputed Arthurian
stronghold. It is uninviting in aspect to-day, but the fragments of
stately piles and the innumerable coins and medals that have been
unearthed attest its former consequence. Caerwent is situated on the
Via Julia, or military road, and Leland bore witness to the many
evidences of its ancient importance, with its massive walls and gates.
It is even affirmed that Caerwent was originally the capital of the
Silures, but that afterwards it was a “dependence” on Caerleon, with
which it communicated by a subterranean passage. The entrance to that
passage was from a lane which still retains the name of Arthur.
Some fifty years ago a stranger went to Caerleon, and without giving
his name or stating his errand, took up his abode at the Hanbury Arms,
one of the oldest hostelries in the kingdom. The Hanbury Arms is a
white, quaintly-built house, facing the Usk, and originally stood at
a point in the road commanding three approaches to the city. But the
change of time has given a new entrance to Caerleon, and travellers
will now find the Hanbury Arms on the remote side. Its low-browed
windows, with the stone mullions of unusual thickness, and the square
hooded dripstones above, indicate that the house dates from the
fourteenth or fifteenth century. To this place the stranger made his
way, his advent being almost unnoticed and his purpose unknown. A
local chronicler wrote: “Quiet and unobtrusive to a degree, he soon
attracted attention from his very reserved and seclusive habits. Day
after day passed, and his figure was seldom seen. Frequently he would
leave the house early in the morning, and go no one knew whither,
and on his return retire to his room until next morning. It was soon
recognised that the stranger was fond of long walks, and there was not
a hill in the neighbourhood up whose sides he did not climb. For a
time no companion or friend seemed to notice him, but occasionally a
letter arriving at the post office was delivered to him. At first the
name attracted no attention, but at length ‘Alfred Tennyson,’ inscribed
on successive missives, seemed to have a special interest for the
local postmaster. He repeated the name until its familiarity led him
to suspect that the stranger was no other than the Poet Laureate, and
this ultimately proved correct. On the fact becoming generally known
that Tennyson was staying at Caerleon, visitors frequently called upon
him, but he endeavoured to maintain his seclusion to the last.... In
1859 the result of Tennyson’s sojourn at ‘Caerwysg’ was seen, when
he produced to the world his _Idylls of the King_. Some few of the
inhabitants still remember the poet.” Tennyson’s half-dozen allusions
to Caerleon are slight, but they do not lack distinctness; the most
striking are those semi-descriptive references in _Geraint and Enid_,
and in _Balin and Balan_, neither of which could have been so written
had not the poet visited the spot.
The Caerleon of fancy, not of reality, is described at much greater
length and with much higher charm by Lytton. If Tennyson was content
with a sweeping reference to the palace and its chambers, Lytton could
only be satisfied with a detailed account of the High Council Hall
in which was set the king’s ivory throne, and around which gathered
“the Deathless Twelve of the Heroic King,” the Knights of the Round
Table. He tells how the dragon of the Cymri “spread with calm wing o’er
Carduel’s domes of gold,” and how the city lay in a vale, sheltered by
the dark forests which mantled the environing hills, while his picture
of the daily customs of the people of the city was revealed in the
words:--
“Some plied in lusty race the glist’ning oar;
Some noiseless snared the silver-scaléd prey;
Some wreathed the dance along the level shore;
And each was happy in his chosen way.”
But this was purely the city of vision. The faint light which history
throws upon the dark period of the British occupation shows us
that Caerleon was continually given over to warfare of the wildest
character. It is associated also in the Fabliaux with the darkest
event in Arthur’s personal history--an event in which Mordred
eventually acted as Nemesis.
Were all the romances written which have Caerleon as their background
of scenery, the long stories of the ill-fated brethren Balin and
Balan, of Geraint and Enid, of many a knightly quest and adventure,
and of many a great undertaking by the “fair beginners of a nobler
time,” would have to be related anew. The half-historic, half-fabulous
histories of Dubritius the archbishop, of Taliesin the chief of bards,
of Talhairan, the father of poetry--all men of Caerleon--would likewise
have to be recounted, but the complete narratives must be sought in
the chronicles, the triads, and the “Mabinogion.” Yet some of the
dust under which lies the golden-domed city, and some of the ruins
beneath which sleeps slain romance, mingle with the dust and ruins of
history; and a little of that history may be deciphered still in the
Isca Silurum of the Romans, where Caractacus held his court, where the
Præter deposited the eagles, where justice was dealt out in the name
of Cæsar, where Saxons and Britons met in one of their last deadly
struggles, and where the dragon of the Cymry ultimately prevailed, and
Arthur Pendragon rose and had his name set “high on all the hills and
in the signs of heaven.”