Transcribed from the 1912 J. M. Dent and Sons edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org
THE ITINERARY OF ARCHBISHOP BALDWIN THROUGH WALES
by
Giraldus Cambrensis
INTRODUCTION
GERALD THE WELSHMAN—Giraldus Cambrensis—was born, probably in 1147, at
Manorbier Castle in the county of Pembroke. His father was a Norman
noble, William de Barri, who took his name from the little island of
Barry off the coast of Glamorgan. His mother, Angharad, was the daughter
of Gerald de Windsor {0a} by his wife, the famous Princess Nesta, the
“Helen of Wales,” and the daughter of Rhys ap Tewdwr Mawr, the last
independent Prince of South Wales.
Gerald was therefore born to romance and adventure. He was reared in the
traditions of the House of Dinevor. He heard the brilliant and pitiful
stories of Rhys ap Tewdwr, who, after having lost and won South Wales,
died on the stricken field fighting against the Normans, an old man of
over fourscore years; and of his gallant son, Prince Rhys, who, after
wrenching his patrimony from the invaders, died of a broken heart a few
months after his wife, the Princess Gwenllian, had fallen in a skirmish
at Kidwelly. No doubt he heard, though he makes but sparing allusion to
them, of the loves and adventures of his grandmother, the Princess Nesta,
the daughter and sister of a prince, the wife of an adventurer, the
concubine of a king, and the paramour of every daring lover—a Welshwoman
whose passions embroiled all Wales, and England too, in war, and the
mother of heroes—Fitz-Geralds, Fitz-Stephens, and Fitz-Henries, and
others—who, regardless of their mother’s eccentricity in the choice of
their fathers, united like brothers in the most adventurous undertaking
of that age, the Conquest of Ireland.
Though his mother was half Saxon and his father probably fully Norman,
Gerald, with a true instinct, described himself as a “Welshman.” His
frank vanity, so naïve as to be void of offence, his easy acceptance of
everything which Providence had bestowed on him, his incorrigible belief
that all the world took as much interest in himself and all that appealed
to him as he did himself, the readiness with which he adapted himself to
all sorts of men and of circumstances, his credulity in matters of faith
and his shrewd common sense in things of the world, his wit and lively
fancy, his eloquence of tongue and pen, his acute rather than accurate
observation, his scholarship elegant rather than profound, are all
characteristic of a certain lovable type of South Walian. He was not
blind to the defects of his countrymen any more than to others of his
contemporaries, but the Welsh he chastised as one who loved them. His
praise followed ever close upon the heels of his criticism. There was
none of the rancour in his references to Wales which defaces his account
of contemporary Ireland. He was acquainted with Welsh, though he does
not seem to have preached it, and another archdeacon acted as the
interpreter of Archbishop Baldwin’s Crusade sermon in Anglesea. But he
could appreciate the charm of the _Cynghanedd_, the alliterative
assonance which is still the most distinctive feature of Welsh poetry.
He cannot conceal his sympathy with the imperishable determination of his
countrymen to keep alive the language which is their _differentia_ among
the nations of the world. It is manifest in the story which he relates
at the end of his “Description of Wales.” Henry II. asked an old
Welshman of Pencader in Carmarthenshire if the Welsh could resist his
might. “This nation, O King,” was the reply, “may often be weakened and
in great part destroyed by the power of yourself and of others, but many
a time, as it deserves, it will rise triumphant. But never will it be
destroyed by the wrath of man, unless the wrath of God be added. Nor do
I think that any other nation than this of Wales, or any other tongue,
whatever may hereafter come to pass, shall on the day of the great
reckoning before the Most High Judge, answer for this corner of the
earth.” Prone to discuss with his “Britannic frankness” the faults of
his countrymen, he cannot bear that any one else should do so. In the
“Description of Wales” he breaks off in the middle of a most unflattering
passage concerning the character of the Welsh people to lecture Gildas
for having abused his own countrymen. In the preface to his “Instruction
of Princes,” he makes a bitter reference to the prejudice of the English
Court against everything Welsh—“Can any good thing come from Wales?” His
fierce Welshmanship is perhaps responsible for the unsympathetic
treatment which he has usually received at the hands of English
historians. Even to one of the writers of Dr. Traill’s “Social England,”
Gerald was little more than “a strong and passionate Welshman.”
Sometimes it was his pleasure to pose as a citizen of the world. He
loved Paris, the centre of learning, where he studied as a youth, and
where he lectured in his early manhood. He paid four long visits to
Rome. He was Court chaplain to Henry II. He accompanied the king on his
expeditions to France, and Prince John to Ireland. He retired, when old
age grew upon him, to the scholarly seclusion of Lincoln, far from his
native land. He was the friend and companion of princes and kings, of
scholars and prelates everywhere in England, in France, and in Italy.
And yet there was no place in the world so dear to him as Manorbier. Who
can read his vivid description of the old castle by the sea—its ramparts
blown upon by the winds that swept over the Irish Sea, its fishponds, its
garden, and its lofty nut trees—without feeling that here, after all, was
the home of Gerald de Barri? “As Demetia,” he said in his “Itinerary,”
“with its seven cantreds is the fairest of all the lands of Wales, as
Pembroke is the fairest part of Demetia, and this spot the fairest of
Pembroke, it follows that Manorbier is the sweetest spot in Wales.” He
has left us a charming account of his boyhood, playing with his brothers
on the sands, they building castles and he cathedrals, he earning the
title of “boy bishop” by preaching while they engaged in boyish sport.
On his last recorded visit to Wales, a broken man, hunted like a criminal
by the king, and deserted by the ingrate canons of St. David’s, he
retired for a brief respite from strife to the sweet peace of Manorbier.
It is not known where he died, but it is permissible to hope that he
breathed his last in the old home which he never forgot or ceased to
love.
He mentions that the Welsh loved high descent and carried their pedigree
about with them. In this respect also Gerald was Welsh to the core. He
is never more pleased than when he alludes to his relationship with the
Princes of Wales, or the Geraldines, or Cadwallon ap Madoc of Powis. He
hints, not obscurely, that the real reason why he was passed over for the
Bishopric of St. David’s in 1186 was that Henry II. feared his _natio et
cognatio_, his nation and his family. He becomes almost dithyrambic in
extolling the deeds of his kinsmen in Ireland. “Who are they who
penetrated into the fastnesses of the enemy? The Geraldines. Who are
they who hold the country in submission? The Geraldines. Who are they
whom the foemen dread? The Geraldines. Who are they whom envy would
disparage? The Geraldines. Yet fight on, my gallant kinsmen,
“Felices facti si quid mea carmina possuit.”
Gerald was satisfied, not only with his birthplace and lineage, but with
everything that was his. He makes complacent references to his good
looks, which he had inherited from Princess Nesta. “Is it possible so
fair a youth can die?” asked Bishop, afterwards Archbishop, Baldwin, when
he saw him in his student days. {0b} Even in his letters to Pope
Innocent he could not refrain from repeating a compliment paid to him on
his good looks by Matilda of St. Valery, the wife of his neighbour at
Brecon, William de Braose. He praises his own unparalleled generosity in
entertaining the poor, the doctors, and the townsfolk of Oxford to
banquets on three successive days when he read his “Topography of
Ireland” before that university. As for his learning he records that
when his tutors at Paris wished to point out a model scholar they
mentioned Giraldus Cambrensis. He is confident that though his works,
being all written in Latin, have not attained any great contemporary
popularity, they will make his name and fame secure for ever. The most
precious gift he could give to Pope Innocent III., when he was anxious to
win his favour, was six volumes of his own works; and when good old
Archbishop Baldwin came to preach the Crusade in Wales, Gerald could
think of no better present to help beguile the tedium of the journey than
his own “Topography of Ireland.” He is equally pleased with his own
eloquence. When the archbishop had preached, with no effect, for an
hour, and exclaimed what a hardhearted people it was, Gerald moved them
almost instantly to tears. He records also that John Spang, the Lord
Rhys’s fool, said to his master at Cardigan, after Gerald had been
preaching the Crusade, “You owe a great debt, O Rhys, to your kinsman,
the archdeacon, who has taken a hundred or so of your men to serve the
Lord; for if he had only spoken in Welsh, you would not have had a soul
left.” His works are full of appreciations of Gerald’s reforming zeal,
his administrative energy, his unostentatious and scholarly life.
Professor Freeman in his “Norman Conquest” described Gerald as “the
father of comparative philology,” and in the preface to his edition of
the last volume of Gerald’s works in the Rolls Series, he calls him “one
of the most learned men of a learned age,” “the universal scholar.” His
range of subjects is indeed marvellous even for an age when to be a
“universal scholar” was not so hopeless of attainment as it has since
become. Professor Brewer, his earliest editor in the Rolls Series, is
struck by the same characteristic. “Geography, history, ethics,
divinity, canon law, biography, natural history, epistolary
correspondence, and poetry employed his pen by turns, and in all these
departments of literature he has left memorials of his ability.” Without
being Ciceronian, his Latin was far better than that of his
contemporaries. He was steeped in the classics, and he had, as Professor
Freeman remarks, “mastered more languages than most men of his time, and
had looked at them with an approach to a scientific view which still
fewer men of his time shared with him.” He quotes Welsh, English, Irish,
French, German, Hebrew, Latin, and Greek, and with four or five of these
languages at least he had an intimate, scholarly acquaintance. His
judgment of men and things may not always have been sound, but he was a
shrewd observer of contemporary events. “The cleverest critic of the
life of his time” is the verdict of Mr. Reginald Poole. {0c} He changed
his opinions often: he was never ashamed of being inconsistent. In early
life he was, perhaps naturally, an admirer of the Angevin dynasty; he
lived to draw the most terrible picture extant of their lives and
characters. During his lifetime he never ceased to inveigh against
Archbishop Hubert Walter; after his death he repented and recanted. His
invective was sometimes coarse, and his abuse was always virulent. He
was not over-scrupulous in his methods of controversy; but no one can
rise from a reading of his works without a feeling of liking for the
vivacious, cultured, impulsive, humorous, irrepressible Welshman.
Certainly no Welshman can regard the man who wrote so lovingly of his
native land, and who championed her cause so valiantly, except with real
gratitude and affection.
But though it is as a writer of books that Gerald has become famous, he
was a man of action, who would have left, had Fate been kinder, an
enduring mark on the history of his own time, and would certainly have
changed the whole current of Welsh religious life. As a descendant of
the Welsh princes, he took himself seriously as a Welsh patriot.
Destined almost from his cradle, both by the bent of his mind and the
inclination of his father, to don “the habit of religion,” he could not
join Prince Rhys or Prince Llewelyn in their struggle for the political
independence of Wales. His ambition was to become Bishop of St. David’s,
and then to restore the Welsh Church to her old position of independence
of the metropolitan authority of Canterbury. He detested the practice of
promoting Normans to Welsh sees, and of excluding Welshmen from high
positions in their own country. “Because I am a Welshman, am I to be
debarred from all preferment in Wales?” he indignantly writes to the
Pope. Circumstances at first seemed to favour his ambition. His uncle,
David Fitz-Gerald, sat in the seat of St. David’s. When the young
scholar returned from Paris in 1172, he found the path of promotion easy.
After the manner of that age—which Gerald lived to denounce—he soon
became a pluralist. He held the livings of Llanwnda, Tenby, and Angle,
and afterwards the prebend of Mathry, in Pembrokeshire, and the living of
Chesterton in Oxfordshire. He was also prebendary of Hereford, canon of
St. David’s, and in 1175, when only twenty-eight years of age, he became
Archdeacon of Brecon. In the following year Bishop David died, and
Gerald, together with the other archdeacons of the diocese, was nominated
by the chapter for the king’s choice. But the chapter had been
premature, urged, no doubt, by the impetuous young Archdeacon of Brecon.
They had not waited for the king’s consent to the nomination. The king
saw that his settled policy in Wales would be overturned if Gerald became
Bishop of St. David’s. Gerald’s cousin, the Lord Rhys, had been
appointed the king’s justiciar in South Wales. The power of the Lord
Marches was to be kept in check by a quasi-alliance between the Welsh
prince and his over-lord. The election of Gerald to the greatest see in
Wales would upset the balance of power. David Fitz-Gerald, good easy man
(_vir suâ sorte contentus_ is Gerald’s description of him), the king
could tolerate, but he could not contemplate without uneasiness the
combination of spiritual and political power in South Wales in the hands
of two able, ambitious, and energetic kinsmen, such as he knew Gerald and
the Lord Rhys to be. Gerald had made no secret of his admiration for the
martyred St. Thomas à Becket. He fashioned himself upon him as Becket
did on Anselm. The part which Becket played in England he would like to
play in Wales. But the sovereign who had destroyed Becket was not to be
frightened by the canons of St. David’s and the Archdeacon of Brecon. He
summoned the chapter to Westminster, and compelled them in his presence
to elect Peter de Leia, the Prior of Wenlock, who erected for himself an
imperishable monument in the noble cathedral which looks as if it had
sprung up from the rocks which guard the city of Dewi Sant from the
inrush of the western sea.
It is needless to recount the many activities in which Gerald engaged
during the next twenty-two years. They have been recounted with humorous
and affectionate appreciation by Dr. Henry Owen in his monograph on
“Gerald the Welshman,” a little masterpiece of biography which deserves
to be better known. {0d} In 1183 Gerald was employed by the astute king
to settle terms between him and the rebellious Lord Rhys. Nominally as a
reward for his successful diplomacy, but probably in order to keep so
dangerous a character away from the turbulent land of Wales, Gerald was
in the following year made a Court chaplain. In 1185 he was commissioned
by the king to accompany Prince John, then a lad of eighteen, who had
lately been created “Lord of Ireland,” to the city of Dublin. There he
abode for two years, collecting materials for his two first books, the
“Topography” and the “Conquest of Ireland.” In 1188 he accompanied
Archbishop Baldwin through Wales to preach the Third Crusade—not the
first or the last inconsistency of which the champion of the independence
of the Welsh Church was guilty. His “Itinerary through Wales” is the
record of the expedition. King Richard offered him the Bishopric of
Bangor, and John, in his brother’s absence, offered him that of Llandaff.
But his heart was set on St. David’s. In 1198 his great chance came to
him. At last, after twenty-two years of misrule, Peter de Leia was dead,
and Gerald seemed certain of attaining his heart’s desire. Once again
the chapter nominated Gerald; once more the royal authority was exerted,
this time by Archbishop Hubert, the justiciar in the king’s absence, to
defeat the ambitious Welshman. The chapter decided to send a deputation
to King Richard in Normandy. The deputation arrived at Chinon to find
Coeur-de-Lion dead; but John was anxious to make friends everywhere, in
order to secure himself on his uncertain throne. He received the
deputation graciously, he spoke in praise of Gerald, and he agreed to
accept the nomination. But after his return to England John changed his
mind. He found that no danger threatened him in his island kingdom, and
he saw the wisdom of the justiciar’s policy. Gerald hurried to see him,
but John point blank refused publicly to ratify his consent to the
nomination which he had already given in private. Then commenced the
historic fight for St. David’s which, in view of the still active “Church
question” in Wales, is even now invested with a living interest and
significance. Gerald contended that the Welsh Church was independent of
Canterbury, and that it was only recently, since the Norman Conquest,
that she had been deprived of her freedom. His opponents relied on
political, rather than historical, considerations to defeat this bold
claim. King Henry, when a deputation from the chapter in 1175 appeared
before the great council in London and had urged the metropolitan claims
of St. David’s upon the Cardinal Legate, exclaimed that he had no
intention of giving this head to rebellion in Wales. Archbishop Hubert,
more of a statesman than an ecclesiastic, based his opposition on similar
grounds. He explained his reasons bluntly to the Pope. “Unless the
barbarity of this fierce and lawless people can be restrained by
ecclesiastical censures through the see of Canterbury, to which province
they are subject by law, they will be for ever rising in arms against the
king, to the disquiet of the whole realm of England.” Gerald’s answer to
this was complete, except from the point of view of political expediency.
“What can be more unjust than that this people of ancient faith, because
they answer force by force in defence of their lives, their lands, and
their liberties, should be forthwith separated from the body corporate of
Christendom, and delivered over to Satan?”
The story of the long fight between Gerald on the one hand and the whole
forces of secular and ecclesiastical authority on the other cannot be
told here. Three times did he visit Rome to prosecute his appeal—alone
against the world. He had to journey through districts disturbed by
wars, infested with the king’s men or the king’s enemies, all of whom
regarded Gerald with hostility. He was taken and thrown into prison as
King John’s subject in one town, he was detained by importunate creditors
in another, and at Rome he was betrayed by a countryman whom he had
befriended. He himself has told us
Of the most disastrous chances
Of moving accidents by flood and field,
which made a journey from St. David’s to Rome a more perilous adventure
in those unquiet days than an expedition “through darkest Africa” is in
ours. At last the very Chapter of St. David’s, for whose ancient rights
he was contending, basely deserted him. “The laity of Wales stood by
me,” so he wrote in later days, “but of the clergy whose battle I was
fighting scarce one.” Pope Innocent III. was far too wary a politician
to favour the claims of a small and distracted nation, already
half-subjugated, against the king of a rich and powerful country. He
flattered our poor Gerald, he delighted in his company, he accepted, and
perhaps even read, his books. But in the end, after five years’
incessant fighting, the decision went against him, and the English king’s
nominee has ever since sat on the throne of St. David’s. “Many and great
wars,” said Gwenwynwyn, the Prince of Powis, “have we Welshmen waged with
England, but none so great and fierce as his who fought the king and the
archbishop, and withstood the might of the whole clergy and people of
England, for the honour of Wales.”
Short was the memory and scant the gratitude of his countrymen. When in
1214 another vacancy occurred at a time when King John was at variance
with his barons and his prelates, the Chapter of St. David’s nominated,
not Gerald, their old champion, but Iorwerth, the Abbot of Talley, from
whose reforming zeal they had nothing to fear. This last prick of
Fortune’s sword pierced Gerald to the quick. He had for years been
gradually withdrawing from an active life. He had resigned his
archdeaconry and his prebend stall, he had made a fourth pilgrimage, this
time for his soul’s sake, to Rome, he had retired to a quiet pursuit of
letters probably at Lincoln, and henceforward, till his death about the
year 1223, he devoted himself to revising and embellishing his old works,
and completing his literary labours. By his fight for St. David’s he had
endeared himself to the laity of his country for all time. The saying of
Llewelyn the Great was prophetic. “So long as Wales shall stand by the
writings of the chroniclers and by the songs of the bards shall his noble
deed be praised throughout all time.” The prophecy has not yet been
verified. Welsh chroniclers have made but scanty references to Gerald;
no bard has ever yet sung an _Awdl_ or a _Pryddest_ in honour of him who
fought for the “honour of Wales.” His countrymen have forgotten Gerald
the Welshman. It has been left to Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Foster,
Professor Brewer, Dimmock, and Professor Freeman to edit his works. Only
two of his countrymen have attempted to rescue one of the greatest of
Welshmen from an undeserved oblivion. In 1585, when the Renaissance of
Letters had begun to rouse the dormant powers of the Cymry, Dr. David
Powel edited in Latin a garbled version of the “Itinerary” and
“Description of Wales,” and gave a short and inaccurate account of
Gerald’s life. In 1889 Dr. Henry Owen published, “at his own proper
charges,” the first adequate account by a Welshman of the life and
labours of Giraldus Cambrensis. When his monument is erected in the
cathedral which was built by his hated rival, the epitaph which he
composed for himself may well be inscribed upon it—
Cambria Giraldus genuit, sic Cambria mentem
Erudiit, cineres cui lapis iste tegit.
And by that time perhaps some competent scholar will have translated some
at least of Gerald’s works into the language best understood by the
people of Wales.
It would be impossible to exaggerate the enormous services which three
great Welshmen of the twelfth century rendered to England and to the
world—such services as we may securely hope will be emulated by Welshmen
of the next generation, now that we have lived to witness what Mr.
Theodore Watts-Dunton has called “the great recrudescence of Cymric
energy.” {0e} The romantic literature of England owes its origin to
Geoffrey of Monmouth; {0f} Sir Galahad, the stainless knight, the mirror
of Christian chivalry, as well as the nobler portions of the Arthurian
romance, were the creation of Walter Map, the friend and “gossip” of
Gerald; {0g} and John Richard Green has truly called Gerald himself “the
father of popular literature.” {0h} He began to write when he was only
twenty; he continued to write till he was past the allotted span of life.
He is the most “modern” as well as the most voluminous of all the
mediæval writers. Of all English writers, Miss Kate Norgate {0i} has
perhaps most justly estimated the real place of Gerald in English
letters. “Gerald’s wide range of subjects,” she says, “is only less
remarkable than the ease and freedom with which he treats them. Whatever
he touches—history, archæology, geography, natural science, politics, the
social life and thought of the day, the physical peculiarities of Ireland
and the manners and customs of its people, the picturesque scenery and
traditions of his own native land, the scandals of the court and the
cloister, the petty struggle for the primacy of Wales, and the great
tragedy of the fall of the Angevin Empire—is all alike dealt with in the
bold, dashing, offhand style of a modern newspaper or magazine article.
His first important work, the ‘Topography of Ireland,’ is, with due
allowance for the difference between the tastes of the twelfth century
and those of the nineteenth, just such a series of sketches as a special
correspondent in our own day might send from some newly-colonised island
in the Pacific to satisfy or whet the curiosity of his readers at home.”
The description aptly applies to all that Gerald wrote. If not a
historian, he was at least a great journalist. His descriptions of
Ireland have been subjected to much hostile criticism from the day they
were written to our own times. They were assailed at the time, as Gerald
himself tells us, for their unconventionality, for their departure from
established custom, for the freedom and colloquialism of their style, for
the audacity of their stories, and for the writer’s daring in venturing
to treat the manners and customs of a barbarous country as worthy the
attention of the learned and the labours of the historian. Irish
scholars, from the days of Dr. John Lynch, who published his “Cambrensis
Eversus” in 1622, have unanimously denounced the work of the sensational
journalist, born out of due time. His Irish books are confessedly
partisan; the “Conquest of Ireland” was expressly designed as an eulogy
of “the men of St. David’s,” the writer’s own kinsmen. But in spite of
partisanship and prejudice, they must be regarded as a serious and
valuable addition to our knowledge of the state of Ireland at the latter
end of the twelfth century. Indeed, Professor Brewer does not hesitate
to say that “to his industry we are exclusively indebted for all that is
known of the state of Ireland during the whole of the Middle Ages,” and
as to the “Topography,” Gerald “must take rank with the first who
descried the value and in some respects the limits of descriptive
geography.”
When he came to deal with the affairs of state on a larger stage, his
methods were still that of the modern journalist. He was always an
impressionist, a writer of personal sketches. His character sketches of
the Plantagenet princes—of King Henry with his large round head and fat
round belly, his fierce eyes, his tigerish temper, his learning, his
licentiousness, his duplicity, and of Eleanor of Aquitaine, his vixenish
and revengeful wife, the murderess of “Fair Rosamond” (who must have been
known to Gerald, being the daughter of Walter of Clifford-on-the-Wye),
and of the fierce brood that they reared—are of extraordinary interest.
His impressions of the men and events of his time, his fund of anecdotes
and _bon mots_, his references to trivial matters, which more dignified
writers would never deign to mention, his sprightly and sometimes
malicious gossip, invest his period with a reality which the greatest of
fiction-writers has failed to rival. Gerald lived in the days of
chivalry, days which have been crowned with a halo of deathless romance
by the author of “Ivanhoe” and the “Talisman.” He knew and was intimate
with all the great actors of the time. He had lived in the Paris of St.
Louis and Philip Augustus, and was never tired of exalting the House of
Capet over the tyrannical and bloodthirsty House of Anjou. He had no
love of England, for her Plantagenet kings or her Saxon serfs. During
the French invasion in the time of King John his sympathies were openly
with the Dauphin as against the “brood of vipers,” who were equally alien
to English soil. For the Saxon, indeed, he felt the twofold hatred of
Welshman and Norman. One of his opponents is denounced to the Pope as an
“untriwe Sax,” and the Saxons are described as the slaves of the Normans,
the mere hewers of wood and drawers of water for their conquerors. He
met Innocent III., the greatest of Popes, in familiar converse, he jested
and gossiped with him in slippered ease, he made him laugh at his endless
stories of the glory of Wales, the iniquities of the Angevins, and the
bad Latin of Archbishop Walter. He knew Richard Cœur-de-Lion, the flower
of chivalry, and saw him as he was and “not through a glass darkly.” He
knew John, the cleverest and basest of his house. He knew and loved
Stephen Langton, the precursor of a long line of statesmen who have made
English liberty broad—based upon the people’s will. He was a friend of
St. Hugh of Lincoln, the sweetest and purest spirit in the Anglican
Church of the Middle Ages, the one man who could disarm the wrath of the
fierce king with a smile; and he was the friend and patron of Robert
Grosstete, afterwards the great Bishop of Lincoln. He lived much in
company with Ranulph de Glanville, the first English jurist, and he has
“Boswellised” some of his conversations with him. He was intimate with
Archbishop Baldwin, the saintly prelate who laid down his life in the
Third Crusade on the burning plains of Palestine, heart-broken at the
unbridled wickedness of the soldiers of the Cross. He was the near
kinsman and confidant of the Cambro-Normans, who, landing in Leinster in
1165, effected what may be described as the first conquest of Ireland.
There was scarcely a man of note in his day whom he had not seen and
conversed with, or of whom he does not relate some piquant story. He had
travelled much, and had observed closely. Probably the most valuable of
all his works, from the strictly historical point of view, are the
“Itinerary” and “Description of Wales,” which are reprinted in the
present volume. {0j} Here he is impartial in his evidence, and judicial
in his decisions. If he errs at all, it is not through racial prejudice.
“I am sprung,” he once told the Pope in a letter, “from the princes of
Wales and from the barons of the Marches, and when I see injustice in
either race, I hate it.”
The text is that of Sir Richard Colt Hoare, who published an English
translation, chiefly from the texts of Camden and Wharton, in 1806. The
valuable historical notes have been curtailed, as being too elaborate for
such a volume as this, and a few notes have been added by the present
editor. These will be found within brackets. Hoare’s translation, and
also translations (edited by Mr. Foster) of the Irish books have been
published in Bohn’s Antiquarian Library.
The first of the seven volumes of the Latin text of Gerald, published in
the Rolls Series, appeared in 1861. The first four volumes were edited
by Professor Brewer; the next two by Mr. Dimmock; and the seventh by
Professor Freeman.
W. LLEWELYN WILLIAMS.
_January_ 1908.
* * * * *
The following is a list of the more important of the works of Gerald:—
Topographia Hibernica, Expugnatio Hibernica, Itinerarium Kambriæ,
Descriptio Kambriæ, Gemma Ecclesiastica, Libellus Invectionum, De Rebus
a se Gestis, Dialogus de jure et statu Menevensis Ecclesiæ, De
Instructione Principum, De Legendis Sanctorum, Symbolum Electorum.
FIRST PREFACE
TO STEPHEN LANGTON, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
AS the times are affected by the changes of circumstances, so are the
minds of men influenced by different manners and customs. The satirist
[Persius] exclaims,
“Mille hominum species et mentis discolor usus;
Velle suum cuique est, nec voto vivitur uno.”
“Nature is ever various in her name;
Each has a different will, and few the same.”
The comic poet also says, “_Quot capita tot sententiæ_, _suus cuique mos
est_.” “As many men, so many minds, each has his way.” Young soldiers
exult in war, and pleaders delight in the gown; others aspire after
riches, and think them the supreme good. Some approve Galen, some
Justinian. Those who are desirous of honours follow the court, and from
their ambitious pursuits meet with more mortification than satisfaction.
Some, indeed, but very few, take pleasure in the liberal arts, amongst
whom we cannot but admire logicians, who, when they have made only a
trifling progress, are as much enchanted with the images of Dialectics,
as if they were listening to the songs of the Syrens.
But among so many species of men, where are to be found divine poets?
Where the noble assertors of morals? Where the masters of the Latin
tongue? Who in the present times displays lettered eloquence, either in
history or poetry? Who, I say, in our own age, either builds a system of
ethics, or consigns illustrious actions to immortality? Literary fame,
which used to be placed in the highest rank, is now, because of the
depravity of the times, tending to ruin and degraded to the lowest, so
that persons attached to study are at present not only not imitated nor
venerated, but even detested. “Happy indeed would be the arts,” observes
Fabius, “if artists alone judged of the arts;” but, as Sydonius says, “it
is a fixed principle in the human mind, that they who are ignorant of the
arts despise the artist.”
But to revert to our subject. Which, I ask, have rendered more service
to the world, the arms of Marius or the verses of Virgil? The sword of
Marius has rusted, while the fame of him who wrote the Æneid is immortal;
and although in his time letters were honoured by lettered persons, yet
from his own pen we find,
“— — tantum
Carmina nostra valent tela inter Martia, quantum
Chaonias dicunt, aquila veniente, columbas.”
Who would hesitate in deciding which are more profitable, the works of
St. Jerom, or the riches of Crœsus? but where now shine the gold and
silver of Crœsus? whilst the world is instructed by the example and
enlightened by the learning of the poor cœnobite. Yet even he, through
envy, suffered stripes and contumely at Rome, although his character was
so illustrious; and at length being driven beyond the seas, found a
refuge for his studies in the solitude of Bethlehem. Thus it appears,
that gold and arms may support us in this life, but avail nothing after
death; and that letters through envy profit nothing in this world, but,
like a testament, acquire an immortal value from the seal of death.
According to the poet,
“Pascitur in vivis livor, post fata quiescit;
Cum suus ex merito quemque tuetur honor.”
And also
“Denique si quis adhuc prætendit nubila, livor
Occidet, et meriti post me referentur honores.”
Those who by artifice endeavour to acquire or preserve the reputation of
abilities or ingenuity, while they abound in the words of others, have
little cause to boast of their own inventions. For the composers of that
polished language, in which such various cases as occur in the great body
of law are treated with such an appropriate elegance of style, must ever
stand forward in the first ranks of praise. I should indeed have said,
that the authors of refined language, not the hearers only, the
inventors, not the reciters, are most worthy of commendation. You will
find, however, that the practices of the court and of the schools are
extremely similar; as well in the subtleties they employ to lead you
forward, as in the steadiness with which they generally maintain their
own positions. Yet it is certain that the knowledge of logic (the
_acumen_, if I may so express it, of all other sciences as well as arts)
is very useful, when restricted within proper bounds; whilst the court
(_i.e._ courtly language), excepting to sycophants or ambitious men, is
by no means necessary. For if you are successful at court, ambition
never wholly quits its hold till satiated, and allures and draws you
still closer; but if your labour is thrown away, you still continue the
pursuit, and, together with your substance, lose your time, the greatest
and most irretrievable of all losses. There is likewise some resemblance
between the court and the game of dice, as the poet observes:—
“Sic ne perdiderit non cessat perdere lusor,
Dum revocat cupidas alea blanda manus;”
which, by substituting the word _curia_ for _alea_, may be applied to the
court. This further proof of their resemblance may be added; that as the
chances of the dice and court are not productive of any real delight, so
they are equally distributed to the worthy and the unworthy.
Since, therefore, among so many species of men, each follows his own
inclination, and each is actuated by different desires, a regard for
posterity has induced me to choose the study of composition; and, as this
life is temporary and mutable, it is grateful to live in the memory of
future ages, and to be immortalized by fame; for to toil after that which
produces envy in life, but glory after death, is a sure indication of an
elevated mind. Poets and authors indeed aspire after immortality, but do
not reject any present advantages that may offer.
I formerly completed with vain and fruitless labour the Topography of
Ireland for its companion, the king Henry the Second, and Vaticinal
History, for Richard of Poitiou, his son, and, I wish I were not
compelled to add, his successor in vice; princes little skilled in
letters, and much engaged in business. To you, illustrious Stephen,
archbishop of Canterbury, equally commendable for your learning and
religion, I now dedicate the account of our meritorious journey through
the rugged provinces of Cambria, written in a scholastic style, and
divided into two parts. For as virtue loves itself, and detests what is
contrary to it, so I hope you will consider whatever I may have written
in commendation of your late venerable and eminent predecessor, with no
less affection than if it related to yourself. To you also, when
completed, I destine my treatise on the Instruction of a Prince, if,
amidst your religious and worldly occupations, you can find leisure for
the perusal of it. For I purpose to submit these and other fruits of my
diligence to be tasted by you at your discretion, each in its proper
order; hoping that, if my larger undertakings do not excite your
interest, my smaller works may at least merit your approbation,
conciliate your favour, and call forth my gratitude towards you; who,
unmindful of worldly affections, do not partially distribute your
bounties to your family and friends, but to letters and merit; you, who,
in the midst of such great and unceasing contests between the crown and
the priesthood, stand forth almost singly the firm and faithful friend of
the British church; you, who, almost the only one duly elected, fulfil
the scriptural designation of the episcopal character. It is not,
however, by bearing a cap, by placing a cushion, by shielding off the
rain, or by wiping the dust, even if there should be none, in the midst
of a herd of flatterers, that I attempt to conciliate your favour, but by
my writings. To you, therefore, rare, noble, and illustrious man, on
whom nature and art have showered down whatever becomes your supereminent
situation, I dedicate my works; but if I fail in this mode of
conciliating your favour, and if your prayers and avocations should not
allow you sufficient time to read them, I shall consider the honour of
letters as vanished, and in hope of its revival I shall inscribe my
writings to posterity.
SECOND PREFACE
TO THE SAME PRELATE
SINCE those things, which are known to have been done through a laudable
devotion, are not unworthily extolled with due praises; and since the
mind, when relaxed, loses its energy, and the torpor of sloth enervates
the understanding, as iron acquires rust for want of use, and stagnant
waters become foul; lest my pen should be injured by the rust of
idleness, I have thought good to commit to writing the devout visitation
which Baldwin, archbishop of Canterbury, made throughout Wales; and to
hand down, as it were in a mirror, through you, O illustrious Stephen, to
posterity, the difficult places through which we passed, the names of
springs and torrents, the witty sayings, the toils and incidents of the
journey, the memorable events of ancient and modern times, and the
natural history and description of the country; lest my study should
perish through idleness, or the praise of these things be lost by
silence.
CONTENTS
BOOK I
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Journey through Hereford and Radnor 11
II. Journey through Hay and Brecheinia 18
III. Ewyas and Llanthoni 34
IV. The Journey by Coed Grono and Abergevenni 44
V. Of the Progress by the Castle of Usk and the 50
Town of Caerleon
VI. Newport and Caerdyf 56
VII. The See of Landaf and Monastery of Margan, and 61
the Remarkable Things in those Parts
VIII. Passage of the Rivers Avon and Neth—and of 65
Abertawe and Goer
IX. Passage over the Rivers Lochor and Wendraeth; 71
and of Cydweli
X. Tywy River—Caermardyn—Monastery of Albelande 73
XI. Of Haverford and Ros 76
XII. Of Penbroch 82
XIII. Of the Progress by Camros and Niwegal 91
BOOK II
I. Of the See of Saint David’s 95
II. Of the Journey by Cemmeis—the Monastery of St. 102
Dogmael
III. Of the River Teivi—Cardigan, and Emelyn 105
IV. Of the Journey by Pont Stephen, the Abbey of 109
Stratflur, Landewi Brevi, and Lhanpadarn Vawr
V. Of the River Devi, and the Land of the Sons of 113
Conan
VI. Passage of traeth mawr and traeth bachan, and 115
of nevyn, carnarvon, and bangor
VII. The island of mona 118
VIII. Passage of the river conwy in a boat, and of 125
dinas emrys
IX. Of the mountains of eryri 127
X. Of the passage by deganwy and ruthlan, and the 128
see of lanelwy, and of coleshulle
XI. Of the passage of the river dee, and of 131
chester
XII. Of the journey by the white monastery, 133
oswaldestree, powys, and shrewsbury
XIII. Of the journey by wenloch, brumfeld, the 137
castle of ludlow, and leominster, to hereford
XIV. A description of baldwin, archbishop of 139
canterbury
THE ITINERARY THROUGH WALES
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
JOURNEY THROUGH HEREFORD AND RADNOR
IN the year 1188 from the incarnation of our Lord, Urban the Third {11}
being the head of the apostolic see; Frederick, emperor of Germany and
king of the Romans; Isaac, emperor of Constantinople; Philip, the son of
Louis, reigning in France; Henry the Second in England; William in
Sicily; Bela in Hungary; and Guy in Palestine: in that very year, when
Saladin, prince of the Egyptians and Damascenes, by a signal victory
gained possession of the kingdom of Jerusalem; Baldwin, archbishop of
Canterbury, a venerable man, distinguished for his learning and sanctity,
journeying from England for the service of the holy cross, entered Wales
near the borders of Herefordshire.
The archbishop proceeded to Radnor, {12a} on Ash Wednesday (_Caput
Jejunii_), accompanied by Ranulph de Glanville, privy counsellor and
justiciary of the whole kingdom, and there met Rhys, {12b} son of
Gruffydd, prince of South Wales, and many other noble personages of those
parts; where a sermon being preached by the archbishop, upon the subject
of the Crusades, and explained to the Welsh by an interpreter, the author
of this Itinerary, impelled by the urgent importunity and promises of the
king, and the persuasions of the archbishop and the justiciary, arose the
first, and falling down at the feet of the holy man, devoutly took the
sign of the cross. His example was instantly followed by Peter, bishop
of St. David’s, {12c} a monk of the abbey of Cluny, and then by Eineon,
son of Eineon Clyd, {12d} prince of Elvenia, and many other persons.
Eineon rising up, said to Rhys, whose daughter he had married, “My father
and lord! with your permission I hasten to revenge the injury offered to
the great father of all.” Rhys himself was so fully determined upon the
holy peregrination, as soon as the archbishop should enter his
territories on his return, that for nearly fifteen days he was employed
with great solicitude in making the necessary preparations for so distant
a journey; till his wife, and, according to the common vicious licence of
the country, his relation in the fourth degree, Guendolena, (Gwenllian),
daughter of Madoc, prince of Powys, by female artifices diverted him
wholly from his noble purpose; since, as Solomon says, “A man’s heart
deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps.” As Rhys before his
departure was conversing with his friends concerning the things he had
heard, a distinguished young man of his family, by name Gruffydd, and who
afterwards took the cross, is said thus to have answered: “What man of
spirit can refuse to undertake this journey, since, amongst all
imaginable inconveniences, nothing worse can happen to any one than to
return.”
On the arrival of Rhys in his own territory, certain canons of Saint
David’s, through a zeal for their church, having previously secured the
interest of some of the prince’s courtiers, waited on Rhys, and
endeavoured by every possible suggestion to induce him not to permit the
archbishop to proceed into the interior parts of Wales, and particularly
to the metropolitan see of Saint David’s (a thing hitherto unheard of),
at the same time asserting that if he should continue his intended
journey, the church would in future experience great prejudice, and with
difficulty would recover its ancient dignity and honour. Although these
pleas were most strenuously urged, the natural kindness and civility of
the prince would not suffer them to prevail, lest by prohibiting the
archbishop’s progress, he might appear to wound his feelings.
Early on the following morning, after the celebration of mass, and the
return of Ranulph de Glanville to England, we came to Cruker Castle, {13}
two miles distant from Radnor, where a strong and valiant youth named
Hector, conversing with the archbishop about taking the cross, said, “If
I had the means of getting provisions for one day, and of keeping fast on
the next, I would comply with your advice;” on the following day,
however, he took the cross. The same evening, Malgo, son of Cadwallon,
prince of Melenia, after a short but efficacious exhortation from the
archbishop, and not without the tears and lamentations of his friends,
was marked with the sign of the cross.
But here it is proper to mention what happened during the reign of king
Henry the First to the lord of the castle of Radnor, in the adjoining
territory of Builth, {14a} who had entered the church of Saint Avan
(which is called in the British language Llan Avan), {14b} and, without
sufficient caution or reverence, had passed the night there with his
hounds. Arising early in the morning, according to the custom of
hunters, he found his hounds mad, and himself struck blind. After a
long, dark, and tedious existence, he was conveyed to Jerusalem, happily
taking care that his inward sight should not in a similar manner be
extinguished; and there being accoutred, and led to the field of battle
on horseback, he made a spirited attack upon the enemies of the faith,
and, being mortally wounded, closed his life with honour.
Another circumstance which happened in these our days, in the province of
Warthrenion, {14c} distant from hence only a few furlongs, is not
unworthy of notice. Eineon, lord of that district, and son-in-law to
prince Rhys, who was much addicted to the chase, having on a certain day
forced the wild beasts from their coverts, one of his attendants killed a
hind with an arrow, as she was springing forth from the wood, which,
contrary to the nature of her sex, was found to bear horns of twelve
years’ growth, and was much fatter than a stag, in the haunches as well
as in every other part. On account of the singularity of this
circumstance, the head and horns of this strange animal were destined as
a present to king Henry the Second. This event is the more remarkable,
as the man who shot the hind suddenly lost the use of his right eye, and
being at the same time seized with a paralytic complaint, remained in a
weak and impotent state until the time of his death.
In this same province of Warthrenion, and in the church of Saint
Germanus, {15a} there is a staff of Saint Cyric, {15b} covered on all
sides with gold and silver, and resembling in its upper part the form of
a cross; its efficacy has been proved in many cases, but particularly in
the removal of glandular and strumous swellings; insomuch that all
persons afflicted with these complaints, on a devout application to the
staff, with the oblation of one penny, are restored to health. But it
happened in these our days, that a strumous patient on presenting one
halfpenny to the staff, the humour subsided only in the middle; but when
the oblation was completed by the other halfpenny, an entire cure was
accomplished. Another person also coming to the staff with the promise
of a penny, was cured; but not fulfilling his engagement on the day
appointed, he relapsed into his former disorder; in order, however, to
obtain pardon for his offence, he tripled the offering by presenting
three-pence, and thus obtained a complete cure.
At Elevein, in the church of Glascum, {16a} is a portable bell, endowed
with great virtues, called Bangu, {16b} and said to have belonged to
Saint David. A certain woman secretly conveyed this bell to her husband,
who was confined in the castle of Raidergwy, {16c} near Warthrenion,
(which Rhys, son of Gruffydd, had lately built) for the purpose of his
deliverance. The keepers of the castle not only refused to liberate him
for this consideration, but seized and detained the bell; and in the same
night, by divine vengeance, the whole town, except the wall on which the
bell hung, was consumed by fire.
The church of Luel, {16d} in the neighbourhood of Brecheinoc
(_Brechinia_), was burned, also in our time, by the enemy, and everything
destroyed, except one small box, in which the consecrated host was
deposited.
It came to pass also in the province of Elvenia, which is separated from
Hay by the river Wye, in the night in which king Henry I. expired, that
two pools {17} of no small extent, the one natural, the other artificial,
suddenly burst their bounds; the latter, by its precipitate course down
the declivities, emptied itself; but the former, with its fish and
contents, obtained a permanent situation in a valley about two miles
distant. In Normandy, a few days before the death of Henry II., the fish
of a certain pool near Seez, five miles from the castle of Exme, fought
during the night so furiously with each other, both in the water and out
of it, that the neighbouring people were attracted by the noise to the
spot; and so desperate was the conflict, that scarcely a fish was found
alive in the morning; thus, by a wonderful and unheard-of prognostic,
foretelling the death of one by that of many.
But the borders of Wales sufficiently remember and abhor the great and
enormous excesses which, from ambitious usurpation of territory, have
arisen amongst brothers and relations in the districts of Melenyth,
Elvein, and Warthrenion, situated between the Wye and the Severn.
CHAPTER II
JOURNEY THROUGH HAY AND BRECHEINIA
HAVING crossed the river Wye, we proceeded towards Brecheinoc, and on
preaching a sermon at Hay, {18a} we observed some amongst the multitude,
who were to be signed with the cross (leaving their garments in the hands
of their friends or wives, who endeavoured to keep them back), fly for
refuge to the archbishop in the castle. Early in the morning we began
our journey to Aberhodni, and the word of the Lord being preached at
Landeu, {18b} we there spent the night. The castle and chief town of the
province, situated where the river Hodni joins the river Usk, is called
Aberhodni; {18c} and every place where one river falls into another is
called Aber in the British tongue. Landeu signifies the church of God.
The archdeacon of that place (Giraldus) presented to the archbishop his
work on the Topography of Ireland, which he graciously received, and
either read or heard a part of it read attentively every day during his
journey; and on his return to England completed the perusal of it.
I have determined not to omit mentioning those occurrences worthy of note
which happened in these parts in our days. It came to pass before that
great war, in which nearly all this province was destroyed by the sons of
Jestin, {19a} that the large lake, and the river Leveni, {19b} which
flows from it into the Wye, opposite Glasbyry, {19c} were tinged with a
deep green colour. The old people of the country were consulted, and
answered, that a short time before the great desolation {19d} caused by
Howel, son of Meredyth, the water had been coloured in a similar manner.
About the same time, a chaplain, whose name was Hugo, being engaged to
officiate at the chapel of Saint Nicholas, in the castle of Aberhodni,
saw in a dream a venerable man standing near him, and saying, “Tell thy
lord William de Braose, {19e} who has the audacity to retain the property
granted to the chapel of Saint Nicholas for charitable uses, these words:
‘The public treasury takes away that which Christ does not receive; and
thou wilt then give to an impious soldier, what thou wilt not give to a
priest.’” This vision having been repeated three times, he went to the
archdeacon of the place, at Landeu, and related to him what had happened.
The archdeacon immediately knew them to be the words of Augustine; and
shewing him that part of his writings where they were found, explained to
him the case to which they applied. He reproaches persons who held back
tithes and other ecclesiastical dues; and what he there threatens,
certainly in a short time befell this withholder of them: for in our time
we have duly and undoubtedly seen, that princes who have usurped
ecclesiastical benefices (and particularly king Henry the Second, who
laboured under this vice more than others), have profusely squandered the
treasures of the church, and given away to hired soldiers what in justice
should have been given only to priests.
Yet something is to be said in favour of the aforesaid William de Braose,
although he greatly offended in this particular (since nothing human is
perfect, and to have knowledge of all things, and in no point to err, is
an attribute of God, not of man); for he always placed the name of the
Lord before his sentences, saying, “Let this be done in the name of the
Lord; let that be done by God’s will; if it shall please God, or if God
grant leave; it shall be so by the grace of God.” We learn from Saint
Paul, that everything ought thus to be committed and referred to the will
of God. On taking leave of his brethren, he says, “I will return to you
again, if God permit;” and Saint James uses this expression, “If the Lord
will, and we live,” in order to show that all things ought to be
submitted to the divine disposal. The letters also which William de
Braose, as a rich and powerful man, was accustomed to send to different
parts, were loaded, or rather honoured, with words expressive of the
divine indulgence to a degree not only tiresome to his scribe, but even
to his auditors; for as a reward to each of his scribes for concluding
his letters with the words, “by divine assistance,” he gave annually a
piece of gold, in addition to their stipend. When on a journey he saw a
church or a cross, although in the midst of conversation either with his
inferiors or superiors, from an excess of devotion, he immediately began
to pray, and when he had finished his prayers, resumed his conversation.
On meeting boys in the way, he invited them by a previous salutation to
salute him, that the blessings of these innocents, thus extorted, might
be returned to him. His wife, Matilda de Saint Valery, observed all
these things: a prudent and chaste woman; a woman placed with propriety
at the head of her house, equally attentive to the economical disposal of
her property within doors, as to the augmentation of it without; both of
whom, I hope, by their devotion obtained temporal happiness and grace, as
well as the glory of eternity.
It happened also that the hand of a boy, who was endeavouring to take
some young pigeons from a nest, in the church of Saint David of Llanvaes,
{21} adhered to the stone on which he leaned, through the miraculous
vengeance, perhaps, of that saint, in favour of the birds who had taken
refuge in his church; and when the boy, attended by his friends and
parents, had for three successive days and nights offered up his prayers
and supplications before the holy altar of the church, his hand was, on
the third day, liberated by the same divine power which had so
miraculously fastened it. We saw this same boy at Newbury, in England,
now advanced in years, presenting himself before David the Second, {22a}
bishop of Saint David’s, and certifying to him the truth of this
relation, because it had happened in his diocese. The stone is preserved
in the church to this day among the relics, and the marks of the five
fingers appear impressed on the flint as though it were in wax.
A small miracle happened at St. Edmundsbury to a poor woman, who often
visited the shrine of the saint, under the mask of devotion; not with the
design of giving, but of taking something away, namely, the silver and
gold offerings, which, by a curious kind of theft, she licked up by
kissing, and carried away in her mouth. But in one of these attempts her
tongue and lips adhered to the altar, when by divine interposition she
was detected, and openly disgorged the secret theft. Many persons, both
Jews and Christians, expressing their astonishment, flocked to the place,
where for the greater part of the day she remained motionless, that no
possible doubt might be entertained of the miracle.
In the north of England beyond the Humber, in the church of Hovedene,
{22b} the concubine of the rector incautiously sat down on the tomb of
St. Osana, sister of king Osred, {22c} which projected like a wooden
seat; on wishing to retire, she could not be removed, until the people
came to her assistance; her clothes were rent, her body was laid bare,
and severely afflicted with many strokes of discipline, even till the
blood flowed; nor did she regain her liberty, until by many tears and
sincere repentance she had showed evident signs of compunction.
What miraculous power hath not in our days been displayed by the psalter
of Quindreda, sister of St. Kenelm, {23a} by whose instigation he was
killed? On the vigil of the saint, when, according to custom, great
multitudes of women resorted to the feast at Winchelcumbe, {23b} the
under butler of that convent committed fornication with one of them
within the precincts of the monastery. This same man on the following
day had the audacity to carry the psalter in the procession of the relics
of the saints; and on his return to the choir, after the solemnity, the
psalter stuck to his hands. Astonished and greatly confounded, and at
length calling to his mind his crime on the preceding day, he made
confession, and underwent penance; and being assisted by the prayers of
the brotherhood, and having shown signs of sincere contrition, he was at
length liberated from the miraculous bond. That book was held in great
veneration; because, when the body of St. Kenelm was carried forth, and
the multitude cried out, “He is the martyr of God! truly he is the martyr
of God!” Quindreda, conscious and guilty of the murder of her brother,
answered, “He is as truly the martyr of God as it is true that my eyes be
on that psalter;” for, as she was reading the psalter, both her eyes were
miraculously torn from her head, and fell on the book, where the marks of
the blood yet remain.
Moreover I must not be silent concerning the collar (_torques_) which
they call St. Canauc’s; {24} for it is most like to gold in weight,
nature, and colour; it is in four pieces wrought round, joined together
artificially, and clefted as it were in the middle, with a dog’s head,
the teeth standing outward; it is esteemed by the inhabitants so powerful
a relic, that no man dares swear falsely when it is laid before him: it
bears the marks of some severe blows, as if made with an iron hammer; for
a certain man, as it is said, endeavouring to break the collar for the
sake of the gold, experienced the divine vengeance, was deprived of his
eyesight, and lingered the remainder of his days in darkness.
A similar circumstance concerning the horn of St. Patrick (not golden
indeed, but of brass [probably bronze], which lately was brought into
these parts from Ireland) excites our admiration. The miraculous power
of this relic first appeared with a terrible example in that country,
through the foolish and absurd blowing of Bernard, a priest, as is set
forth in our Topography of Ireland. Both the laity and clergy in
Ireland, Scotland, and Wales held in such great veneration portable
bells, and staves crooked at the top, and covered with gold, silver, or
brass, and similar relics of the saints, that they were much more afraid
of swearing falsely by them than by the gospels; because, from some
hidden and miraculous power with which they are gifted, and the vengeance
of the saint to whom they are particularly pleasing, their despisers and
transgressors are severely punished. The most remarkable circumstance
attending this horn is, that whoever places the wider end of it to his
ear will hear a sweet sound and melody united, such as ariseth from a
harp gently touched.
In our days a strange occurrence happened in the same district. A wild
sow, which by chance had been suckled by a bitch famous for her nose,
became, on growing up, so wonderfully active in the pursuit of wild
animals, that in the faculty of scent she was greatly superior to dogs,
who are assisted by natural instinct, as well as by human art; an
argument that man (as well as every other animal) contracts the nature of
the female who nurses him. Another prodigious event came to pass nearly
at the same time. A soldier, whose name was Gilbert Hagernel, after an
illness of nearly three years, and the severe pains as of a woman in
labour, in the presence of many people, voided a calf. A portent of some
new and unusual event, or rather the punishment attendant on some
atrocious crime. It appears also from the ancient and authentic records
of those parts, that during the time St. Elwitus {25a} led the life of a
hermit at Llanhamelach, {25b} the mare that used to carry his provisions
to him was covered by a stag, and produced an animal of wonderful speed,
resembling a horse before and a stag behind.
Bernard de Newmarch {26a} was the first of the Normans who acquired by
conquest from the Welsh this province, which was divided into three
cantreds. {26b} He married the daughter of Nest, daughter of Gruffydd,
son of Llewelyn, who, by his tyranny, for a long time had oppressed
Wales; his wife took her mother’s name of Nest, which the English
transmuted into Anne; by whom he had children, one of whom, named Mahel,
a distinguished soldier, was thus unjustly deprived of his paternal
inheritance. His mother, in violation of the marriage contract, held an
adulterous intercourse with a certain knight; on the discovery of which,
the son met the knight returning in the night from his mother, and having
inflicted on him a severe corporal punishment, and mutilated him, sent
him away with great disgrace. The mother, alarmed at the confusion which
this event caused, and agitated with grief, breathed nothing but revenge.
She therefore went to king Henry I., and declared with assertions more
vindictive than true, and corroborated by an oath, that her son Mahel was
not the son of Bernard, but of another person with whom she had been
secretly connected. Henry, on account of this oath, or rather perjury,
and swayed more by his inclination than by reason, gave away her eldest
daughter, whom she owned as the legitimate child of Bernard, in marriage
to Milo Fitz-Walter, {27} constable of Gloucester, with the honour of
Brecheinoc as a portion; and he was afterwards created earl of Hereford
by the empress Matilda, daughter of the said king. By this wife he had
five celebrated warriors; Roger, Walter, Henry, William, and Mahel; all
of whom, by divine vengeance, or by fatal misfortunes, came to untimely
ends; and yet each of them, except William, succeeded to the paternal
inheritance, but left no issue. Thus this woman (not deviating from the
nature of her sex), in order to satiate her anger and revenge, with the
heavy loss of modesty, and with the disgrace of infamy, by the same act
deprived her son of his patrimony, and herself of honour. Nor is it
wonderful if a woman follows her innate bad disposition: for it is
written in Ecclesiastes, “I have found one good man out of a thousand,
but not one good woman;” and in Ecclesiasticus, “There is no head above
the head of a serpent; and there is no wrath above the wrath of a woman;”
and again, “Small is the wickedness of man compared to the wickedness of
woman.” And in the same manner, as we may gather grapes off thorns, or
figs off thistles, Tully, describing the nature of women, says, “Men,
perhaps, for the sake of some advantage will commit one crime; but woman,
to gratify one inclination, will not scruple to perpetrate all sorts of
wickedness.” Thus Juvenal, speaking of women, say,
“— Nihil est audacior illis
Deprensis, iram atque animos a crimine sumunt.
— Mulier sævissima tunc est
Cum stimulos animo pudor admovet.
— colllige, quod vindicta
Nemo magis gaudet quam fœmina.”
But of the five above-mentioned brothers and sons of earl Milo, the
youngest but one, and the last in the inheritance, was the most
remarkable for his inhumanity; he persecuted David II., bishop of St.
David’s, to such a degree, by attacking his possessions, lands, and
vassals, that he was compelled to retire as an exile from the district of
Brecheinoc into England, or to some other parts of his diocese.
Meanwhile, Mahel, being hospitably entertained by Walter de Clifford,
{28a} in the castle of Brendlais, {28b} the house was by accident burned
down, and he received a mortal blow by a stone falling from the principal
tower on his head: upon which he instantly dispatched messengers to recal
the bishop, and exclaimed with a lamentable voice, “O, my father and high
priest, your saint has taken most cruel vengeance of me, not waiting the
conversion of a sinner, but hastening his death and overthrow.” Having
often repeated similar expressions, and bitterly lamented his situation,
he thus ended his tyranny and life together; the first year of his
government not having elapsed.
A powerful and noble personage, by name Brachanus, was in ancient times
the ruler of the province of Brecheinoc, and from him it derived this
name. The British histories testify that he had four-and-twenty
daughters, all of whom, dedicated from their youth to religious
observances, happily ended their lives in sanctity. There are many
churches in Wales distinguished by their names, one of which, situated on
the summit of a hill, near Brecheinoc, and not far from the castle of
Aberhodni, is called the church of St. Almedda, {29a} after the name of
the holy virgin, who, refusing there the hand of an earthly spouse,
married the Eternal King, and triumphed in a happy martyrdom; to whose
honour a solemn feast is annually held in the beginning of August, and
attended by a large concourse of people from a considerable distance,
when those persons who labour under various diseases, through the merits
of the Blessed Virgin, received their wished-for health. The
circumstances which occur at every anniversary appear to me remarkable.
You may see men or girls, now in the church, now in the churchyard, now
in the dance, which is led round the churchyard with a song, on a sudden
falling on the ground as in a trance, then jumping up as in a frenzy, and
representing with their hands and feet, before the people, whatever work
they have unlawfully done on feast days; you may see one man put his hand
to the plough, and another, as it were, goad on the oxen, mitigating
their sense of labour, by the usual rude song: {29b} one man imitating
the profession of a shoemaker; another, that of a tanner. Now you may
see a girl with a distaff, drawing out the thread, and winding it again
on the spindle; another walking, and arranging the threads for the web;
another, as it were, throwing the shuttle, and seeming to weave. On
being brought into the church, and led up to the altar with their
oblations, you will be astonished to see them suddenly awakened, and
coming to themselves. Thus, by the divine mercy, which rejoices in the
conversion, not in the death, of sinners, many persons from the
conviction of their senses, are on these feast days corrected and mended.
This country sufficiently abounds with grain, and if there is any
deficiency, it is amply supplied from the neighbouring parts of England;
it is well stored with pastures, woods, and wild and domestic animals.
River-fish are plentiful, supplied by the Usk on one side, and by the Wye
on the other; each of them produces salmon and trout; but the Wye abounds
most with the former, the Usk with the latter. The salmon of the Wye are
in season during the winter, those of the Usk in summer; but the Wye
alone produces the fish called umber, {30a} the praise of which is
celebrated in the works of Ambrosius, as being found in great numbers in
the rivers near Milan; “What,” says he, “is more beautiful to behold,
more agreeable to smell, or more pleasant to taste?” The famous lake of
Brecheinoc supplies the courntry with pike, perch, excellent trout,
tench, and eels. A circumstance concerning this lake, which happened a
short time before our days, must not be passed over in silence. “In the
reign of king Henry I., Gruffydd, {30b} son of Rhys ap Tewdwr, held under
the king one comot, namely, the fourth part of the cantred of Caoc, {31}
in the cantref Mawr, which, in title and dignity, was esteemed by the
Welsh equal to the southern part of Wales, called Deheubarth, that is,
the right-hand side of Wales. When Gruffydd, on his return from the
king’s court, passed near this lake, which at that cold season of the
year was covered with water-fowl of various sorts, being accompanied by
Milo, earl of Hereford, and lord of Brecheinoc, and Payn Fitz-John, lord
of Ewyas, who were at that time secretaries and privy counsellors to the
king; earl Milo, wishing to draw forth from Gruffydd some discourse
concerning his innate nobility, rather jocularly than seriously thus
addressed him: “It is an ancient saying in Wales, that if the natural
prince of the country, coming to this lake, shall order the birds to
sing, they will immediately obey him.” To which Gruffydd, richer in mind
than in gold, (for though his inheritance was diminished, his ambition
and dignity still remained), answered, “Do you therefore, who now hold
the dominion of this land, first give the command;” but he and Payn
having in vain commanded, and Gruffydd, perceiving that it was necessary
for him to do so in his turn, dismounted from his horse, and falling on
his knees towards the east, as if he had been about to engage in battle,
prostrate on the ground, with his eyes and hands uplifted to heaven,
poured forth devout prayers to the Lord: at length, rising up, and
signing his face and forehead with the figure of the cross, he thus
openly spake: “Almighty God, and Lord Jesus Christ, who knowest all
things, declare here this day thy power. If thou hast caused me to
descend lineally from the natural princes of Wales, I command these birds
in thy name to declare it;” and immediately the birds, beating the water
with their wings, began to cry aloud, and proclaim him. The spectators
were astonished and confounded; and earl Milo hastily returning with Payn
Fitz-John to court, related this singular occurrence to the king, who is
said to have replied, “By the death of Christ (an oath he was accustomed
to use), it is not a matter of so much wonder; for although by our great
authority we commit acts of violence and wrong against these people, yet
they are known to be the rightful inheritors of this land.”
The lake also {32} (according to the testimony of the inhabitants) is
celebrated for its miracles; for, as we have before observed, it
sometimes assumed a greenish hue, so in our days it has appeared to be
tinged with red, not universally, but as if blood flowed partially
through certain veins and small channels. Moreover it is sometimes seen
by the inhabitants covered and adorned with buildings, pastures, gardens,
and orchards. In the winter, when it is frozen over, and the surface of
the water is converted into a shell of ice, it emits a horrible sound
resembling the moans of many animals collected together; but this,
perhaps, may be occasioned by the sudden bursting of the shell, and the
gradual ebullition of the air through imperceptible channels. This
country is well sheltered on every side (except the northern) by high
mountains; on the western by those of cantref Bychan; {33a} on the
southern, by that range, of which the principal is Cadair Arthur, {33b}
or the chair of Arthur, so called from two peaks rising up in the form of
a chair, and which, from its lofty situation, is vulgarly ascribed to
Arthur, the most distinguished king of the Britons. A spring of water
rises on the summit of this mountain, deep, but of a square shape, like a
well, and although no stream runs from it, trout are said to be sometimes
found in it.
Being thus sheltered on the south by high mountains, the cooler breezes
protect this district from the heat of the sun, and, by their natural
salubrity, render the climate most temperate. Towards the east are the
mountains of Talgarth and Ewyas. {34a} The natives of these parts,
actuated by continual enmities and implacable hatred, are perpetually
engaged in bloody contests. But we leave to others to describe the great
and enormous excesses, which in our time have been here committed, with
regard to marriages, divorces, and many other circumstances of cruelty
and oppression.
CHAPTER III
EWYAS AND LLANTHONI
IN the deep vale of Ewyas, {34b} which is about an arrow-shot broad,
encircled on all sides by lofty mountains, stands the church of Saint
John the Baptist, covered with lead, and built of wrought stone; and,
considering the nature of the place, not unhandsomely constructed, on the
very spot where the humble chapel of David, the archbishop, had formerly
stood decorated only with moss and ivy. A situation truly calculated for
religion, and more adapted to canonical discipline, than all the
monasteries of the British isle. It was founded by two hermits, in
honour of the retired life, far removed from the bustle of mankind, in a
solitary vale watered by the river Hodeni. From Hodeni it was called
Lanhodeni, for Lan signifies an ecclesiastical place. This derivation
may appear far-fetched, for the name of the place, in Welsh, is
Nanthodeni. Nant signifies a running stream, from whence this place is
still called by the inhabitants Landewi Nanthodeni, {35} or the church of
Saint David upon the river Hodeni. The English therefore corruptly call
it Lanthoni, whereas it should either be called Nanthodeni, that is, the
brook of the Hodeni, or Lanhodeni, the church upon the Hodeni. Owing to
its mountainous situation, the rains are frequent, the winds boisterous,
and the clouds in winter almost continual. The air, though heavy, is
healthy; and diseases are so rare, that the brotherhood, when worn out by
long toil and affliction during their residence with the daughter,
retiring to this asylum, and to their mother’s {36a} lap, soon regain
their long-wished-for health. For as my Topographical History of Ireland
testifies, in proportion as we proceed to the eastward, the face of the
sky is more pure and subtile, and the air more piercing and inclement;
but as we draw nearer to the westward, the air becomes more cloudy, but
at the same time is more temperate and healthy. Here the monks, sitting
in their cloisters, enjoying the fresh air, when they happen to look up
towards the horizon, behold the tops of the mountains, as it were,
touching the heavens, and herds of wild deer feeding on their summits:
the body of the sun does not become visible above the heights of the
mountains, even in a clear atmosphere, till about the hour of prime, or a
little before. A place truly fitted for contemplation, a happy and
delightful spot, fully competent, from its first establishment, to supply
all its own wants, had not the extravagance of English luxury, the pride
of a sumptuous table, the increasing growth of intemperance and
ingratitude, added to the negligence of its patrons and prelates, reduced
it from freedom to servility; and if the step-daughter, no less enviously
than odiously, had not supplanted her mother.
It seems worthy of remark, that all the priors who were hostile to this
establishment, died by divine visitation. William, {36b} who first
despoiled the place of its herds and storehouses, being deposed by the
fraternity, forfeited his right of sepulture amongst the priors. Clement
seemed to like this place of study and prayer, yet, after the example of
Heli the priest, as he neither reproved nor restrained his brethren from
plunder and other offences, he died by a paralytic stroke. And Roger,
who was more an enemy to this place than either of his predecessors, and
openly carried away every thing which they had left behind, wholly
robbing the church of its books, ornaments, and privileges, was also
struck with a paralytic affection long before his death, resigned his
honours, and lingered out the remainder of his days in sickness.
In the reign of king Henry I., when the mother church was as celebrated
for her affluence as for her sanctity (two qualities which are seldom
found thus united), the daughter not yet being in existence (and I
sincerely wish she never had been produced), the fame of so much religion
attracted hither Roger, bishop of Salisbury, who was at that time prime
minister; for it is virtue to love virtue, even in another man, and a
great proof of innate goodness to show a detestation of those vices which
hitherto have not been avoided. When he had reflected with admiration on
the nature of the place, the solitary life of the fraternity, living in
canonical obedience, and serving God without a murmur or complaint, he
returned to the king, and related to him what he thought most worthy of
remark; and after spending the greater part of the day in the praises of
this place, he finished his panegyric with these words: “Why should I say
more? the whole treasure of the king and his kingdom would not be
sufficient to build such a cloister.” Having held the minds of the king
and the court for a long time in suspense by this assertion, he at length
explained the enigma, by saying that he alluded to the cloister of
mountains, by which this church is on every side surrounded. But
William, a knight, who first discovered this place, and his companion
Ervistus, a priest, having heard, perhaps, as it is written in the
Fathers, according to the opinion of Jerome, “that the church of Christ
decreased in virtues as it increased in riches,” were accustomed often
devoutly to solicit the Lord that this place might never attain great
possessions. They were exceedingly concerned when this religious
foundation began to be enriched by its first lord and patron, Hugh de
Lacy, {38} and by the lands and ecclesiastical benefices conferred upon
it by the bounty of others of the faithful: from their predilection to
poverty, they rejected many offers of manors and churches; and being
situated in a wild spot, they would not suffer the thick and wooded parts
of the valley to be cultivated and levelled, lest they should be tempted
to recede from their heremitical mode of life.
But whilst the establishment of the mother church increased daily in
riches and endowments, availing herself of the hostile state of the
country, a rival daughter sprang up at Gloucester, under the protection
of Milo, earl of Hereford; as if by divine providence, and through the
merits of the saints and prayers of those holy men (of whom two lie
buried before the high altar), it were destined that the daughter church
should be founded in superfluities, whilst the mother continued in that
laudable state of mediocrity which she had always affected and coveted.
Let the active therefore reside there, the contemplative here; there the
pursuit of terrestrial riches, here the love of celestial delights; there
let them enjoy the concourse of men, here the presence of angels; there
let the powerful of this world be entertained, here let the poor of
Christ be relieved; there, I say, let human actions and declamations be
heard, but here let reading and prayers be heard only in whispers; there
let opulence, the parent and nurse of vice, increase with cares, here let
the virtuous and golden mean be all-sufficient. In both places the
canonical discipline instituted by Augustine, which is now distinguished
above all other orders, is observed; for the Benedictines, when their
wealth was increased by the fervour of charity, and multiplied by the
bounty of the faithful, under the pretext of a bad dispensation,
corrupted by gluttony and indulgence an order which in its original state
of poverty was held in high estimation. The Cistercian order, derived
from the former, at first deserved praise and commendation from its
adhering voluntarily to the original vows of poverty and sanctity: until
ambition, the blind mother of mischief, unable to fix bounds to
prosperity, was introduced; for as Seneca says, “Too great happiness
makes men greedy, nor are their desires ever so temperate, as to
terminate in what is acquired:” a step is made from great things to
greater, and men having attained what they did not expect, form the most
unbounded hopes; to which the poet Ovid thus alludes.
“Luxuriant animi rebus plerumque secundis,
Nec facile est æqua commoda mente pati;”
And again:
“Creverunt opes et opum furiosa cupido,
Et cum possideant plurima, plura petunt.”
And also the poet Horace:
“—scilicet improbæ
Crescunt divitiæ, tamen
Curtæ nescio quid semper abest rei.
Crescentem sequitur cura pecuniam
Majorumque fames.”
To which purpose the poet Lucan says:
“—O vitæ tuta facultas
Pauperis, angustique lares, o munera nondum
Intellecta Deûm!”
And Petronius:
“Non bibit inter aquas nec poma fugacia carpit
Tantalus infelix, quem sua vota premunt.
Divitis hic magni facies erit, omnia late
Qui tenet, et sicco concoquit ore famem.”
The mountains are full of herds and horses, the woods well stored with
swine and goats, the pastures with sheep, the plains with cattle, the
arable fields with ploughs; and although these things in very deed are in
great abundance, yet each of them, from the insatiable nature of the
mind, seems too narrow and scanty. Therefore lands are seized, landmarks
removed, boundaries invaded, and the markets in consequence abound with
merchandise, the courts of justice with law-suits, and the senate with
complaints. Concerning such things, we read in Isaiah, “Woe unto them
that join house to house, that lay field to field, till there be no
place, that they be placed alone in the midst of the earth.”
If therefore, the prophet inveighs so much against those who proceed to
the boundaries, what would he say to those who go far beyond them? From
these and other causes, the true colour of religion was so converted into
the dye of falsehood, that manners internally black assumed a fair
exterior:
“Qui color albus erat, nunc est contrarius albo.”
So that the scripture seems to be fulfilled concerning these men, “Beware
of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they
are ravenous wolves.” But I am inclined to think this avidity does not
proceed from any bad intention. For the monks of this Order (although
themselves most abstemious) incessantly exercise, more than any others,
the acts of charity and beneficence towards the poor and strangers; and
because they do not live as others upon fixed incomes, but depend only on
their labour and forethought for subsistence, they are anxious to obtain
lands, farms, and pastures, which may enable them to perform these acts
of hospitality. However, to repress and remove from this sacred Order
the detestable stigma of ambition, I wish they would sometimes call to
mind what is written in Ecclesiasticus, “Whoso bringeth an offering of
the goods of the poor, doth as one that killeth the son before his
father’s eyes;” and also the sentiment of Gregory, “A good use does not
justify things badly acquired;” and also that of Ambrose, “He who
wrongfully receives, that he may well dispense, is rather burthened than
assisted.” Such men seem to say with the Apostle, “Let us do evil that
good may come.” For it is written, “Mercy ought to be of such a nature
as may be received, not rejected, which may purge away sins, not make a
man guilty before the Lord, arising from your own just labours, not those
of other men.” Hear what Solomon says; “Honour the Lord from your just
labours.” What shall they say who have seized upon other men’s
possessions, and exercised charity? “O Lord! in thy name we have done
charitable deeds, we have fed the poor, clothed the naked, and hospitably
received the stranger:” to whom the Lord will answer; “Ye speak of what
ye have given away, but speak not of the rapine ye have committed; ye
relate concerning those ye have fed, and remember not those ye have
killed.” I have judged it proper to insert in this place an instance of
an answer which Richard, king of the English, made to Fulke, {41} a good
and holy man, by whom God in these our days has wrought many signs in the
kingdom of France. This man had among other things said to the king;
“You have three daughters, namely, Pride, Luxury, and Avarice; and as
long as they shall remain with you, you can never expect to be in favour
with God.” To which the king, after a short pause, replied: “I have
already given away those daughters in marriage: Pride to the Templars,
Luxury to the Black Monks, and Avarice to the White.” It is a remarkable
circumstance, or rather a miracle, concerning Lanthoni, that, although it
is on every side surrounded by lofty mountains, not stony or rocky, but
of a soft nature, and covered with grass, Parian stones are frequently
found there, and are called free-stones, from the facility with which
they admit of being cut and polished; and with these the church is
beautifully built. It is also wonderful, that when, after a diligent
search, all the stones have been removed from the mountains, and no more
can be found, upon another search, a few days afterwards, they reappear
in greater quantities to those who seek them. With respect to the two
Orders, the Cluniac and the Cistercian, this may be relied upon; although
the latter are possessed of fine buildings, with ample revenues and
estates, they will soon be reduced to poverty and destruction. To the
former, on the contrary, you would allot a barren desert and a solitary
wood; yet in a few years you will find them in possession of sumptuous
churches and houses, and encircled with an extensive property. The
difference of manners (as it appears to me) causes this contrast. For as
without meaning offence to either party, I shall speak the truth, the one
feels the benefits of sobriety, parsimony, and prudence, whilst the other
suffers from the bad effects of gluttony and intemperance: the one, like
bees, collect their stores into a heap, and unanimously agree in the
disposal of one well-regulated purse; the others pillage and divert to
improper uses the largesses which have been collected by divine
assistance, and by the bounties of the faithful; and whilst each
individual consults solely his own interest, the welfare of the community
suffers; since, as Sallust observes, “Small things increase by concord,
and the greatest are wasted by discord.” Besides, sooner than lessen the
number of one of the thirteen or fourteen dishes which they claim by
right of custom, or even in a time of scarcity or famine recede in the
smallest degree from their accustomed good fare, they would suffer the
richest lands and the best buildings of the monastery to become a prey to
usury, and the numerous poor to perish before their gates.
The first of these Orders, at a time when there was a deficiency in
grain, with a laudable charity, not only gave away their flocks and
herds, but resigned to the poor one of the two dishes with which they
were always contented. But in these our days, in order to remove this
stain, it is ordained by the Cistercians, “That in future neither farms
nor pastures shall be purchased; and that they shall be satisfied with
those alone which have been freely and unconditionally bestowed upon
them.” This Order, therefore, being satisfied more than any other with
humble mediocrity, and, if not wholly, yet in a great degree checking
their ambition; and though placed in a worldly situation, yet avoiding,
as much as possible, its contagion; neither notorious for gluttony or
drunkenness, for luxury or lust; is fearful and ashamed of incurring
public scandal, as will be more fully explained in the book we mean (by
the grace of God) to write concerning the ecclesiastical Orders.
In these temperate regions I have obtained (according to the usual
expression) a place of dignity, but no great omen of future pomp or
riches; and possessing a small residence {44a} near the castle of
Brecheinoc, well adapted to literary pursuits, and to the contemplation
of eternity, I envy not the riches of Croesus; happy and contented with
that mediocrity, which I prize far beyond all the perishable and
transitory things of this world. But let us return to our subject.
CHAPTER IV
THE JOURNEY BY COED GRONO AND ABERGEVENNI
FROM thence {44b} we proceeded through the narrow, woody tract called the
bad pass of Coed Grono, leaving the noble monastery of Lanthoni, inclosed
by its mountains, on our left. The castle of Abergevenni is so called
from its situation at the confluence of the river Gevenni with the Usk.
It happened a short time after the death of king Henry I., that Richard
de Clare, a nobleman of high birth, and lord of Cardiganshire, passed
this way on his journey from England into Wales, accompanied by Brian de
Wallingford, lord of this province, and many men-at-arms. At the passage
of Coed Grono, {45} and at the entrance into the wood, he dismissed him
and his attendants, though much against their will, and proceeded on his
journey unarmed; from too great a presumption of security, preceded only
by a minstrel and a singer, one accompanying the other on the fiddle.
The Welsh awaiting his arrival, with Iorwerth, brother of Morgan of
Caerleon, at their head, and others of his family, rushed upon him
unawares from the thickets, and killed him and many of his followers.
Thus it appears how incautious and neglectful of itself is too great
presumption; for fear teaches foresight and caution in prosperity, but
audacity is precipitate, and inconsiderate rashness will not await the
advice of the leader.
A sermon having been delivered at Abergevenni, {46} and many persons
converted to the cross, a certain nobleman of those parts, named
Arthenus, came to the archbishop, who was proceeding towards the castle
of Usk, and humbly begged pardon for having neglected to meet him sooner.
Being questioned whether he would take the cross, he replied, “That ought
not be done without the advice of his friends.” The archbishop then
asked him, “Are you not going to consult your wife?” To which he
modestly answered, with a downcast look, “When the work of a man is to be
undertaken, the counsel of a woman ought not to be asked;” and instantly
received the cross from the archbishop.
We leave to others the relation of those frequent and cruel excesses
which in our times have arisen amongst the inhabitants of these parts,
against the governors of castles, and the vindictive retaliations of the
governors against the natives. But king Henry II. was the true author,
and Ranulf Poer, sheriff of Hereford, the instrument, of the enormous
cruelties and slaughter perpetrated here in our days, which I thought
better to omit, lest bad men should be induced to follow the example; for
although temporary advantage may seem to arise from a base cause, yet, by
the balance of a righteous judge, the punishment of wickedness may be
deferred, though not totally avoided, according to the words of the
poet,—
“Non habet eventus sordida præda bonos.”
For after seven years of peace and tranquillity, the sons and grandsons
of the deceased, having attained the age of manhood, took advantage of
the absence of the lord of the castle (Abergevenni), and, burning with
revenge, concealed themselves, with no inconsiderable force during the
night, within the woody foss of the castle. One of them, name Sisillus
(Sitsylt) son of Eudaf, on the preceding day said rather jocularly to the
constable, “Here will we enter this night,” pointing out to him a certain
angle in the wall where it seemed the lowest; but since
“—Ridendo dicere verum
Quis vetat?”
and
“—fas est et ab hoste doceri,”
the constable and his household watched all night under arms, till at
length, worn out by fatigue, they all retired to rest on the appearance
of daylight, upon which the enemy attacked the walls with
scaling-ladders, at the very place that had been pointed out. The
constable and his wife were taken prisoners, with many others, a few
persons only escaping, who had sheltered themselves in the principal
tower. With the exception of this stronghold, the enemy violently seized
and burned everything; and thus, by the righteous judgment of God, the
crime was punished in the very place where it had been committed. A
short time after the taking of this fortress, when the aforesaid sheriff
was building a castle at Landinegat, {48} near Monmouth, with the
assistance of the army he had brought from Hereford, he was attacked at
break of day, when
“Tythoni croceum linquens Aurora cubile”
was only beginning to divest herself of the shades of night, by the young
men from Gwent and the adjacent parts, with the descendants of those who
had been slain. Through aware of this premeditated attack, and prepared
and drawn up in battle array, they were nevertheless repulsed within
their intrenchments, and the sheriff, together with nine of the chief men
of Hereford, and many others, were pierced to death with lances. It is
remarkable that, although Ranulf, besides many other mortal wounds, had
the veins and arteries of his neck and his windpipe separated with a
sword, he made signs for a priest, and from the merit of his past life,
and the honour and veneration he had shewn to those chosen into the
sacred order of Christ, he was confessed, and received extreme unction
before he died. And, indeed, many events concur to prove that, as those
who respect the priesthood, in their latter days enjoy the satisfaction
of friendly intercourse, so do their revilers and accusers often die
without that consolation. William de Braose, who was not the author of
the crime we have preferred passing over in silence, but the executioner,
or, rather, not the preventer of its execution, while the murderous bands
were fulfilling the orders they had received, was precipitated into a
deep foss, and being taken by the enemy, was drawn forth, and only by a
sudden effort of his own troops, and by divine mercy, escaped uninjured.
Hence it is evident that he who offends in a less degree, and unwillingly
permits a thing to be done, is more mildly punished than he who adds
counsel and authority to his act. Thus, in the sufferings of Christ,
Judas was punished with hanging, the Jews with destruction and
banishment, and Pilate with exile. But the end of the king, who assented
to and ordered this treachery, sufficiently manifested in what manner, on
account of this and many other enormities he had committed (as in the
book “De Instructione Principis,” by God’s guidance, we shall set forth),
he began with accumulated ignominy, sorrow, and confusion, to suffer
punishment in this world. {49a}
It seems worthy of remark, that the people of what is called Venta {49b}
are more accustomed to war, more famous for valour, and more expert in
archery, than those of any other part of Wales. The following examples
prove the truth of this assertion. In the last capture of the aforesaid
castle, which happened in our days, two soldiers passing over a bridge to
take refuge in a tower built on a mound of earth, the Welsh, taking them
in the rear, penetrated with their arrows the oaken portal of the tower,
which was four fingers thick; in memory of which circumstance, the arrows
were preserved in the gate. William de Braose also testifies that one of
his soldiers, in a conflict with the Welsh, was wounded by an arrow,
which passed through his thigh and the armour with which it was cased on
both sides, and, through that part of the saddle which is called the
_alva_, mortally wounded the horse. Another soldier had his hip, equally
sheathed in armour, penetrated by an arrow quite to the saddle, and on
turning his horse round, received a similar wound on the opposite hip,
which fixed him on both sides of his seat. What more could be expected
from a balista? Yet the bows used by this people are not made of horn,
ivory, or yew, but of wild elm; unpolished, rude, and uncouth, but stout;
not calculated to shoot an arrow to a great distance, but to inflict very
severe wounds in close fight.
But let us again return to our Itinerary.
CHAPTER V
OF THE PROGRESS BY THE CASTLE OF USK AND THE TOWN OF CAERLEON
AT the castle of Usk, a multitude of persons influenced by the
archbishop’s sermon, and by the exhortations of the good and worthy
William bishop of Landaf, {50a} who faithfully accompanied us through his
diocese, were signed with the cross; Alexander archdeacon of Bangor {50b}
acting as interpreter to the Welsh. It is remarkable that many of the
most notorious murderers, thieves, and robbers of the neighbourhood were
here converted, to the astonishment of the spectators. Passing from
thence through Caerleon and leaving far on our left hand the castle of
Monmouth, and the noble forest of Dean, situated on the other side of the
Wye and on this side the Severn, and which amply supplies Gloucester with
iron and venison, we spent the night at Newport, having crossed the river
Usk three times. {50c} Caerleon means the city of Legions, Caer, in the
British language, signifying a city or camp, for there the Roman legions,
sent into this island, were accustomed to winter, and from this
circumstance it was styled the city of legions. This city was of
undoubted antiquity, and handsomely built of masonry, with courses of
bricks, by the Romans. Many vestiges of its former splendour may yet be
seen; immense palaces, formerly ornamented with gilded roofs, in
imitation of Roman magnificence, inasmuch as they were first raised by
the Roman princes, and embellished with splendid buildings; a tower of
prodigious size, remarkable hot baths, relics of temples, and theatres,
all inclosed within fine walls, parts of which remain standing. You will
find on all sides, both within and without the circuit of the walls,
subterraneous buildings, aqueducts, underground passages; and what I
think worthy of notice, stoves contrived with wonderful art, to transmit
the heat insensibly through narrow tubes passing up the side walls.
Julius and Aaron, after suffering martyrdom, were buried in this city,
and had each a church dedicated to him. After Albanus and Amphibalus,
they were esteemed the chief protomartyrs of Britannia Major. In ancient
times there were three fine churches in this city: one dedicated to
Julius the martyr, graced with a choir of nuns; another to Aaron, his
associate, and ennobled with an order of canons; and the third
distinguished as the metropolitan of Wales. Amphibalus, the instructor
of Albanus in the true faith, was born in this place. This city is well
situated on the river Usk, navigable to the sea, and adorned with woods
and meadows. The Roman ambassadors here received their audience at the
court of the great king Arthur; and here also, the archbishop Dubricius
ceded his honours to David of Menevia, the metropolitan see being
translated from this place to Menevia, according to the prophecy of
Merlin Ambrosius. “Menevia pallio urbis Legionum induetur.” “Menevia
shall be invested with the pall of the city of Legions.”
Not far hence is a rocky eminence, impending over the Severn, called by
the English Gouldcliffe {51} or golden rock, because from the reflections
of the sun’s rays it assumes a bright golden colour:
“Nec mihi de facili fieri persuasio posset,
Quod frustra tantum dederit natura nito rem
Saxis, quodque suo fuerit flos hic sine fructu.”
Nor can I be easily persuaded that nature hath given such splendour to
the rocks in vain, and that this flower should be without fruit, if any
one would take the pains to penetrate deeply into the bowels of the
earth; if any one, I say, would extract honey from the rock, and oil from
the stone. Indeed many riches of nature lie concealed through
inattention, which the diligence of posterity will bring to light; for,
as necessity first taught the ancients to discover the conveniences of
life, so industry, and a greater acuteness of intellect, have laid open
many things to the moderns; as the poet says, assigning two causes for
these discoveries,
“—labor omnia vincit
Improbus, et duris urgens in rebus egestas.”
It is worthy of observation, that there lived in the neighbourhood of
this City of Legions, in our time, a Welshman named Melerius, who, under
the following circumstances, acquired the knowledge of future and occult
events. Having, on a certain night, namely that of Palm Sunday, met a
damsel whom he had long loved, in a pleasant and convenient place, while
he was indulging in her embraces, suddenly, instead of a beautiful girl,
he found in his arms a hairy, rough, and hideous creature, the sight of
which deprived him of his senses, and he became mad. After remaining
many years in this condition, he was restored to health in the church of
St. David’s, through the merits of its saints. But having always an
extraordinary familiarity with unclean spirits, by seeing them, knowing
them, talking with them, and calling each by his proper name, he was
enabled, through their assistance, to foretel future events. He was,
indeed, often deceived (as they are) with respect to circumstances at a
great distance of time or place, but was less mistaken in affairs which
were likely to happen nearer, or within the space of a year. The spirits
appeared to him, usually on foot, equipped as hunters, with horns
suspended from their necks, and truly as hunters, not of animals, but of
souls. He particularly met them near monasteries and monastic cells; for
where rebellion exists, there is the greatest need of armies and
strength. He knew when any one spoke falsely in his presence, for he saw
the devil, as it were, leaping and exulting upon the tongue of the liar.
If he looked on a book faultily or falsely written, or containing a false
passage, although wholly illiterate, he would point out the place with
his finger. Being questioned how he could gain such knowledge, he said
that he was directed by the demon’s finger to the place. In the same
manner, entering into the dormitory of a monastery, he indicated the bed
of any monk not sincerely devoted to religion. He said, that the spirit
of gluttony and surfeit was in every respect sordid; but that the spirit
of luxury and lust was more beautiful than others in appearance, though
in fact most foul. If the evil spirits oppressed him too much, the
Gospel of St. John was placed on his bosom, when, like birds, they
immediately vanished; but when that book was removed, and the History of
the Britons, by Geoffrey Arthur, {53} was substituted in its place, they
instantly reappeared in greater numbers, and remained a longer time than
usual on his body and on the book.
It is worthy of remark, that Barnabas placed the Gospel of St. Matthew
upon sick persons, and they were healed; from which, as well as from the
foregoing circumstance, it appears how great a dignity and reverence is
due to the sacred books of the gospel, and with what danger and risk of
damnation every one who swears falsely by them, deviates from the paths
of truth. The fall of Enoch, abbot of Strata Marcella, {54} too well
known in Wales, was revealed to many the day after it happened, by
Melerius, who, being asked how he knew this circumstance, said, that a
demon came to him disguised as a hunter, and, exulting in the prospect of
such a victory, foretold the ruin of the abbot, and explained in what
manner he would make him run away with a nun from the monastery. The end
in view was probably the humiliation and correction of the abbot, as was
proved from his shortly returning home so humbled and amended, that he
scarcely could be said to have erred. Seneca says, “He falls not badly,
who rises stronger from his fall.” Peter was more strenuous after his
denial of Christ, and Paul after being stoned; since, where sin abounds,
there will grace also superabound. Mary Magdalen was strengthened after
her frailty. He secretly revealed to Canon, the good and religious abbot
of Alba-domus, his opinion of a certain woman whom he had seen; upon
which the holy man confessed, with tears in his eyes, his predilection
for her, and received from three priests the discipline of incontinence.
For as that long and experienced subtle enemy, by arguing from certain
conjectural signs, may foretell future by past events, so by insidious
treachery and contrivance, added to exterior appearances, he may
sometimes be able to discover the interior workings of the mind.
At the same time there was in Lower Gwent a demon incubus, who, from his
love for a certain young woman, and frequenting the place where she
lived, often conversed with men, and frequently discovered hidden things
and future events. Melerius being interrogated concerning him, said he
knew him well, and mentioned his name. He affirmed that unclean spirits
conversed with mankind before war, or any great internal disturbance,
which was shortly afterwards proved, by the destruction of the province
by Howel, son of Iorwerth of Caerleon. At the same time, when king Henry
II., having taken the king of Scotland prisoner, had restored peace to
his kingdom, Howel, fearful of the royal revenge for the war he had
waged, was relieved from his difficulties by these comfortable words of
Melerius: “Fear not,” says he, “Howel, the wrath of the king, since he
must go into other parts. An important city which he possesses beyond
sea is now besieged by the king of France, on which account he will
postpone every other business, and hasten thither with all possible
expedition.” Three days afterwards, Howel received advice that this
event had really come to pass, owing to the siege of the city of Rouen.
He forewarned also Howel of the betraying of his castle at Usk, a long
time before it happened, and informed him that he should be wounded, but
not mortally; and that he should escape alive from the town. In this
alone he was deceived, for he soon after died of the same wound. Thus
does that archenemy favour his friends for a time, and thus does he at
last reward them.
In all these singular events it appears to me most wonderful that he saw
those spirits so plainly with his carnal eyes, because spirits cannot be
discerned by the eyes of mortals, unless they assume a corporeal
substance; but if in order to be seen they had assumed such a substance,
how could they remain unperceived by other persons who were present?
Perhaps they were seen by such a miraculous vision as when king Balthazar
saw the hand of one writing on the wall, “Mane, Techel, Phares,” that is,
weighed, numbered, divided; who in the same night lost both his kingdom
and his life. But Cambria well knows how in these districts, from a
blind desire of dominion, a total dissolution of the endearing ties of
consanguinity, and a bad and depraved example diffused throughout the
country, good faith has been so shamefully perverted and abused.
CHAPTER VI
NEWPORT AND CAERDYF
AT Newport, where the river Usk, descending from its original source in
Cantref Bachan, falls into the sea, many persons were induced to take the
cross. Having passed the river Remni, we approached the noble castle of
Caerdyf, {56a} situated on the banks of the river Taf. In the
neighbourhood of Newport, which is in the district of Gwentluc, {56b}
there is a small stream called Nant Pencarn, {56c} passable only at
certain fords, not so much owing to the depth of its waters, as from the
hollowness of its channel and muddy bottom. The public road led formerly
to a ford, called Ryd Pencarn, that is, the ford under the head of a
rock, from Rhyd, which in the British language signifies a ford, Pen, the
head, and Cam, a rock; of which place Merlin Sylvester had thus
prophesied: “Whenever you shall see a mighty prince with a freckled face
make an hostile irruption into the southern part of Britain, should he
cross the ford of Pencarn, then know ye, that the force of Cambria shall
be brought low.” Now it came to pass in our times, that king Henry II.
took up arms against Rhys, the son of Gruffydd, and directed his march
through the southern part of Wales towards Caermardyn. On the day he
intended to pass over Nant Pentcarn, the old Britons of the neighbourhood
watched his approach towards the ford with the utmost solicitude;
knowing, since he was both mighty and freckled, that if the passage of
the destined ford was accomplished, the prophecy concerning him would
undoubtedly be fulfilled. When the king had followed the road leading to
a more modern ford of the river (the old one spoken of in the prophecy
having been for a long time in disuse), and was preparing to pass over,
the pipers and trumpeters, called Cornhiriet, from _hir_, long, and
_cornu_, a horn, began to sound their instruments on the opposite bank,
in honour of the king. The king’s horse, startling at the wild, unusual
noise, refused to obey the spur, and enter the water; upon which, the
king, gathering up the reins, hastened, in violent wrath, to the ancient
ford, which he rapidly passed; and the Britons returned to their homes,
alarmed and dismayed at the destruction which seemed to await them. An
extraordinary circumstance occurred likewise at the castle of Caerdyf.
William earl of Gloucester, son of earl Robert, {57} who, besides that
castle, possessed by hereditary right all the province of Gwladvorgan,
{58a} that is, the land of Morgan, had a dispute with one of his
dependants, whose name was Ivor the Little, being a man of short stature,
but of great courage. This man was, after the manner of the Welsh, owner
of a tract of mountainous and woody country, of the whole, or a part of
which, the earl endeavoured to deprive him. At that time the castle of
Caerdyf was surrounded with high walls, guarded by one hundred and twenty
men-at-arms, a numerous body of archers, and a strong watch. The city
also contained many stipendiary soldiers; yet, in defiance of all these
precautions of security, Ivor, in the dead of night, secretly scaled the
walls, and, seizing the count and countess, with their only son, carried
them off into the woods, and did not release them until he had recovered
everything that had been unjustly taken from him, and received a
compensation of additional property; for, as the poet observes,
“Spectandum est semper ne magna injuria fiat
Fortibus et miseris; tollas licet omne quod usquam est
Argenti atque auri, spoliatis arma supersunt.”
In this same town of Caerdyf, king Henry II., on his return from Ireland,
the first Sunday after Easter, passed the night. In the morning, having
heard mass, he remained at his devotions till every one had quitted the
chapel of St. Piranus. {58b} As he mounted his horse at the door, a man
of a fair complexion, with a round tonsure and meagre countenance, tall,
and about forty years of age, habited in a white robe falling down to his
naked feet, thus addressed him in the Teutonic tongue: “God hold the,
cuing,” which signifies, “May God protect you, king;” and proceeded, in
the same language, “Christ and his Holy Mother, John the Baptist, and the
Apostle Peter salute thee, and command thee strictly to prohibit
throughout thy whole dominions every kind of buying or selling on
Sundays, and not to suffer any work to be done on those days, except such
as relates to the preparation of daily food; that due attention may be
paid to the performance of the divine offices. If thou dost this, all
thy undertakings shall be successful, and thou shalt lead a happy life.”
The king, in French, desired Philip de Mercros, {59} who held the reins
of his horse, to ask the rustic if he had dreamt this? and when the
soldier explained to him the king’s question in English, he replied in
the same language he had before used, “Whether I have dreamt it or not,
observe what day this is (addressing himself to the king, not to the
interpreter), and unless thou shalt do so, and quickly amend thy life,
before the expiration of one year, thou shalt hear such things concerning
what thou lovest best in this world, and shalt thereby be so much
troubled, that thy disquietude shall continue to thy life’s end.” The
king, spurring his horse, proceeded a little way towards the gate, when,
stopping suddenly, he ordered his attendants to call the good man back.
The soldier, and a young man named William, the only persons who remained
with the king, accordingly called him, and sought him in vain in the
chapel, and in all the inns of the city. The king, vexed that he had not
spoken more to him, waited alone a long time, while other persons went in
search of him; and when he could not be found, pursued his journey over
the bridge of Remni to Newport. The fatal prediction came to pass within
the year, as the man had threatened; for the king’s three sons, Henry,
the eldest, and his brothers, Richard of Poitou, and Geoffrey, count of
Britany, in the following Lent, deserted to Louis king of France, which
caused the king greater uneasiness than he had ever before experienced;
and which, by the conduct of some one of his sons, was continued till the
time of his decease. This monarch, through divine mercy (for God is more
desirous of the conversion than the destruction of a sinner), received
many other admonitions and reproofs about this time, and shortly before
his death; all of which, being utterly incorrigible, he obstinately and
obdurately despised, as will be more fully set forth (by the favour of
God) in my book, “de Principis Instructione.”
Not far from Caerdyf is a small island situated near the shore of the
Severn, called Barri, from St. Baroc {60} who formerly lived there, and
whose remains are deposited in a chapel overgrown with ivy, having been
transferred to a coffin. From hence a noble family, of the maritime
parts of South Wales, who owned this island and the adjoining estates,
received the name of de Barri. It is remarkable that, in a rock near the
entrance of the island, there is a small cavity, to which, if the ear is
applied, a noise is heard like that of smiths at work, the blowing of
bellows, strokes of hammers, grinding of tools, and roaring of furnaces;
and it might easily be imagined that such noises, which are continued at
the ebb and flow of the tides, were occasioned by the influx of the sea
under the cavities of the rocks.
CHAPTER VII
THE SEE OF LANDAF AND MONASTERY OF MARGAN, AND THE REMARKABLE THINGS IN
THOSE PARTS
ON the following morning, the business of the cross being publicly
proclaimed at Landaf, the English standing on one side, and the Welsh on
the other, many persons of each nation took the cross, and we remained
there that night with William bishop of that place, {61a} a discreet and
good man. The word Landaf {61b} signifies the church situated upon the
river Taf, and is now called the church of St. Teileau, formerly bishop
of that see. The archbishop having celebrated mass early in the morning,
before the high altar of the cathedral, we immediately pursued our
journey by the little cell of Ewenith {61c} to the noble Cistercian
monastery of Margan. {62} This monastery, under the direction of Conan,
a learned and prudent abbot, was at this time more celebrated for its
charitable deeds than any other of that order in Wales. On this account,
it is an undoubted fact, that, as a reward for that abundant charity
which the monastery had always, in times of need, exercised towards
strangers and poor persons, in a season of approaching famine, their corn
and provisions were perceptibly, by divine assistance, increased, like
the widow’s cruise of oil by the means of the prophet Elijah. About the
time of its foundation, a young man of those parts, by birth a Welshman,
having claimed and endeavoured to apply to his own use certain lands
which had been given to the monastery, by the instigation of the devil
set on fire the best barn belonging to the monks, which was filled with
corn; but, immediately becoming mad, he ran about the country in a
distracted state, nor ceased raving until he was seized by his parents
and bound. Having burst his bonds, and tired out his keepers, he came
the next morning to the gate of the monastery, incessantly howling out
that he was inwardly burnt by the influence of the monks, and thus in a
few days expired, uttering the most miserable complaints. It happened
also, that a young man was struck by another in the guests’ hall; but on
the following day, by divine vengeance, the aggressor was, in the
presence of the fraternity, killed by an enemy, and his lifeless body was
laid out in the same spot in the hall where the sacred house had been
violated. In our time too, in a period of scarcity, while great
multitudes of poor were daily crowding before the gates for relief, by
the unanimous consent of the brethren, a ship was sent to Bristol to
purchase corn for charitable purposes. The vessel, delayed by contrary
winds, and not returning (but rather affording an opportunity for the
miracle), on the very day when there would have been a total deficiency
of corn, both for the poor and the convent, a field near the monastery
was found suddenly to ripen, more than a month before the usual time of
harvest: thus, divine Providence supplied the brotherhood and the
numerous poor with sufficient nourishment until autumn. By these and
other signs of virtues, the place accepted by God began to be generally
esteemed and venerated.
It came to pass also in our days, during the period when the four sons of
Caradoc son of Iestin, and nephews of prince Rhys by his sister, namely,
Morgan, Meredyth, Owen, and Cadwallon, bore rule for their father in
those parts, that Cadwallon, through inveterate malice, slew his brother
Owen. But divine vengeance soon overtook him; for on his making a
hostile attack on a certain castle, he was crushed to pieces by the
sudden fall of its walls: and thus, in the presence of a numerous body of
his own and his brother’s forces, suffered the punishment which his
barbarous and unnatural conduct had so justly merited.
Another circumstance which happened here deserves notice. A greyhound
belonging to the aforesaid Owen, large, beautiful, and curiously spotted
with a variety of colours, received seven wounds from arrows and lances,
in the defence of his master, and on his part did much injury to the
enemy and assassins. When his wounds were healed, he was sent to king
Henry II. by William earl of Gloucester, in testimony of so great and
extraordinary a deed. A dog, of all animals, is most attached to man,
and most easily distinguishes him; sometimes, when deprived of his
master, he refuses to live, and in his master’s defence is bold enough to
brave death; ready, therefore, to die, either with or for his master. I
do not think it superfluous to insert here an example which Suetonius
gives in his book on the nature of animals, and which Ambrosius also
relates in his Exameron. “A man, accompanied by a dog, was killed in a
remote part of the city of Antioch, by a soldier, for the sake of
plunder. The murderer, concealed by the darkness of the morning, escaped
into another part of the city; the corpse lay unburied; a large concourse
of people assembled; and the dog, with bitter howlings, lamented his
master’s fate. The murderer, by chance, passed that way, and, in order
to prove his innocence, mingled with the crowd of spectators, and, as if
moved by compassion, approached the body of the deceased. The dog,
suspending for a while his moans, assumed the arms of revenge; rushed
upon the man, and seized him, howling at the same time in so dolorous a
manner, that all present shed tears. It was considered as a proof
against the murderer, that the dog seized him from amongst so many, and
would not let him go; and especially, as neither the crime of hatred,
envy, or injury, could possibly, in this case, be urged against the dog.
On account, therefore, of such a strong suspicion of murder (which the
soldier constantly denied), it was determined that the truth of the
matter should be tried by combat. The parties being assembled in a
field, with a crowd of people around, the dog on one side, and the
soldier, armed with a stick of a cubit’s length, on the other, the
murderer was at length overcome by the victorious dog, and suffered an
ignominious death on the common gallows.”
Pliny and Solinus relate that a certain king, who was very fond of dogs,
and addicted to hunting, was taken and imprisoned by his enemies, and in
a most wonderful manner liberated, without any assistance from his
friends, by a pack of dogs, who had spontaneously sequestered themselves
in the mountainous and woody regions, and from thence committed many
atrocious acts of depredation on the neighbouring herds and flocks. I
shall take this opportunity of mentioning what from experience and ocular
testimony I have observed respecting the nature of dogs. A dog is in
general sagacious, but particularly with respect to his master; for when
he has for some time lost him in a crowd, he depends more upon his nose
than upon his eyes; and, in endeavouring to find him, he first looks
about, and then applies his nose, for greater certainty, to his clothes,
as if nature had placed all the powers of infallibility in that feature.
The tongue of a dog possesses a medicinal quality; the wolf’s, on the
contrary, a poisonous: the dog heals his wounds by licking them, the
wolf, by a similar practice, infects them; and the dog, if he has
received a wound in his neck or head, or any part of his body where he
cannot apply his tongue, ingeniously makes use of his hinder foot as a
conveyance of the healing qualities to the parts affected.
CHAPTER VIII
PASSAGE OF THE RIVERS AVON AND NETH—AND OF ABERTAWE AND GOER
CONTINUING our journey, {65} not far from Margan, where the alternate
vicissitudes of a sandy shore and the tide commence, we forded over the
river Avon, having been considerably delayed by the ebbing of the sea;
and under the guidance of Morgan, eldest son of Caradoc, proceeded along
the sea-shore towards the river Neth, which, on account of its
quicksands, is the most dangerous and inaccessible river in South Wales.
A pack-horse belonging to the author, which had proceeded by the lower
way near the sea, although in the midst of many others, was the only one
which sunk down into the abyss, but he was at last, with great
difficulty, extricated, and not without some damage done to the baggage
and books. Yet, although we had Morgan, the prince of that country, as
our conductor, we did not reach the river without great peril, and some
severe falls; for the alarm occasioned by this unusual kind of road, made
us hasten our steps over the quicksands, in opposition to the advice of
our guide, and fear quickened our pace; whereas, through these difficult
passages, as we there learned, the mode of proceeding should be with
moderate speed. But as the fords of that river experience a change by
every monthly tide, and cannot be found after violent rains and floods,
we did not attempt the ford, but passed the river in a boat, leaving the
monastery of Neth {66} on our right hand, approaching again to the
district of St. David’s, and leaving the diocese of Landaf (which we had
entered at Abergevenny) behind us.
It happened in our days that David II., bishop of St. David’s, passing
this way, and finding the ford agitated by a recent storm, a chaplain of
those parts, named Rotherch Falcus, being conversant in the proper method
of crossing these rivers, undertook, at the desire of the bishop, the
dangerous task of trying the ford. Having mounted a large and powerful
horse, which had been selected from the whole train for this purpose, he
immediately crossed the ford, and fled with great rapidity to the
neighbouring woods, nor could he be induced to return until the
suspension which he had lately incurred was removed, and a full promise
of security and indemnity obtained; the horse was then restored to one
party, and his service to the other.
Entering the province called Goer, {67a} we spent the night at the castle
of Sweynsei, {67b} which in Welsh is called Abertawe, or the fall of the
river Tawe into the sea. The next morning, the people being assembled
after mass, and many having been induced to take the cross, an aged man
of that district, named Cador, thus addressed the archbishop: “My lord,
if I now enjoyed my former strength, and the vigour of youth, no alms
should ransom me, no desire of inactivity restrain me, from engaging in
the laudable undertaking you preach; but since my weak age and the
injuries of time deprive me of this desirable benefit (for approaching
years bring with them many comforts, which those that are passed take
away), if I cannot, owing to the infirmity of my body, attain a full
merit, yet suffer me, by giving a tenth of all I possess, to attain a
half.” Then falling down at the feet of the archbishop, he deposited in
his hands, for the service of the cross, the tenth of his estate, weeping
bitterly, and intreating from him the remission of one half of the
enjoined penance. After a short time he returned, and thus continued:
“My lord, if the will directs the action, and is itself, for the most
part, considered as the act, and as I have a full and firm inclination to
undertake this journey, I request a remission of the remaining part of
the penance, and in addition to my former gift, I will equal the sum from
the residue of my tenths.” The archbishop, smiling at his devout
ingenuity, embraced him with admiration.
On the same night, two monks, who waited in the archbishop’s chamber,
conversing about the occurrences of their journey, and the dangers of the
road, one of them said (alluding to the wildness of the country), “This
is a hard province;” the other (alluding to the quicksands), wittily
replied, “Yet yesterday it was found too soft.”
A short time before our days, a circumstance worthy of note occurred in
these parts, which Elidorus, a priest, most strenuously affirmed had
befallen himself. When a youth of twelve years, and learning his
letters, since, as Solomon says, “The root of learning is bitter,
although the fruit is sweet,” in order to avoid the discipline and
frequent stripes inflicted on him by his preceptor, he ran away, and
concealed himself under the hollow bank of a river. After fasting in
that situation for two days, two little men of pigmy stature appeared to
him, saying, “If you will come with us, we will lead you into a country
full of delights and sports.” Assenting and rising up, he followed his
guides through a path, at first subterraneous and dark, into a most
beautiful country, adorned with rivers and meadows, woods and plains, but
obscure, and not illuminated with the full light of the sun. All the
days were cloudy, and the nights extremely dark, on account of the
absence of the moon and stars. The boy was brought before the king, and
introduced to him in the presence of the court; who, having examined him
for a long time, delivered him to his son, who was then a boy. These men
were of the smallest stature, but very well proportioned in their make;
they were all of a fair complexion, with luxuriant hair falling over
their shoulders like that of women. They had horses and greyhounds
adapted to their size. They neither ate flesh nor fish, but lived on
milk diet, made up into messes with saffron. They never took an oath,
for they detested nothing so much as lies. As often as they returned
from our upper hemisphere, they reprobated our ambition, infidelities,
and inconstancies; they had no form of public worship, being strict
lovers and reverers, as it seemed, of truth.
The boy frequently returned to our hemisphere, sometimes by the way he
had first gone, sometimes by another: at first in company with other
persons, and afterwards alone, and made himself known only to his mother,
declaring to her the manners, nature, and state of that people. Being
desired by her to bring a present of gold, with which that region
abounded, he stole, while at play with the king’s son, the golden ball
with which he used to divert himself, and brought it to his mother in
great haste; and when he reached the door of his father’s house, but not
unpursued, and was entering it in a great hurry, his foot stumbled on the
threshold, and falling down into the room where his mother was sitting,
the two pigmies seized the ball which had dropped from his hand, and
departed, shewing the boy every mark of contempt and derision. On
recovering from his fall, confounded with shame, and execrating the evil
counsel of his mother, he returned by the usual track to the
subterraneous road, but found no appearance of any passage, though he
searched for it on the banks of the river for nearly the space of a year.
But since those calamities are often alleviated by time, which reason
cannot mitigate, and length of time alone blunts the edge of our
afflictions, and puts an end to many evils, the youth having been brought
back by his friends and mother, and restored to his right way of
thinking, and to his learning, in process of time attained the rank of
priesthood. Whenever David II., bishop of St. David’s, talked to him in
his advanced state of life concerning this event, he could never relate
the particulars without shedding tears. He had made himself acquainted
with the language of that nation, the words of which, in his younger
days, he used to recite, which, as the bishop often had informed me, were
very conformable to the Greek idiom. When they asked for water, they
said Ydor ydorum, which meant bring water, for Ydor in their language, as
well as in the Greek, signifies water, from whence vessels for water are
called ὑδζιαι; and Dûr also, in the British language, signifies water.
When they wanted salt they said, Halgein ydorum, bring salt: salt is
called ἁλ in Greek, and Halen in British, for that language, from the
length of time which the Britons (then called Trojans, and afterwards
Britons, from Brito, their leader) remained in Greece after the
destruction of Troy, became, in many instances, similar to the Greek.
It is remarkable that so many languages should correspond in one word, ἁλ
in Greek, Halen in British, and Halgein in the Irish tongue, the g being
inserted; Sal in Latin, because, as Priscian says, “the s is placed in
some words instead of an aspirate,” as ἁλς in Greek is called Sal in
Latin, ἑμι—semi—ἑπτα—septem—Sel in French—the _a_ being changed into
_e_—Salt in English, by the addition of _t_ to the Latin; Sout, in the
Teutonic language: there are therefore seven or eight languages agreeing
in this one word. If a scrupulous inquirer should ask my opinion of the
relation here inserted, I answer with Augustine, “that the divine
miracles are to be admired, not discussed.” Nor do I, by denial, place
bounds to the divine power, nor, by assent, insolently extend what cannot
be extended. But I always call to mind the saying of St. Jerome; “You
will find,” says he, “many things incredible and improbable, which
nevertheless are true; for nature cannot in any respect prevail against
the lord of nature.” These things, therefore, and similar contingencies,
I should place, according to the opinion of Augustine, among those
particulars which are neither to be affirmed, nor too positively denied.
CHAPTER IX
PASSAGE OVER THE RIVERS LOCHOR AND WENDRAETH; AND OF CYDWELI
THENCE we proceeded towards the river Lochor, {71a} through the plains in
which Howel, son of Meredyth of Brecheinoc, after the decease of king
Henry I., gained a signal victory over the English. Having first crossed
the river Lochor, and afterwards the water called Wendraeth, {71b} we
arrived at the castle of Cydweli. {71c} In this district, after the
death of king Henry, whilst Gruffydd son of Rhys, the prince of South
Wales, was engaged in soliciting assistance from North Wales, his wife
Gwenliana (like the queen of the Amazons, and a second Penthesilea) led
an army into these parts; but she was defeated by Maurice de Londres,
lord of that country, and Geoffrey, the bishop’s constable. {72} Morgan,
one of her sons, whom she had arrogantly brought with her in that
expedition, was slain, and the other, Malgo, taken prisoner; and she,
with many of her followers, was put to death. During the reign of king
Henry I., when Wales enjoyed a state of tranquillity, the above-mentioned
Maurice had a forest in that neighbourhood, well stocked with wild
animals, and especially deer, and was extremely tenacious of his venison.
His wife (for women are often very expert in deceiving men) made use of
this curious stratagem. Her husband possessed, on the side of the wood
next the sea, some extensive pastures, and large flocks of sheep. Having
made all the shepherds and chief people in her house accomplices and
favourers of her design, and taking advantage of the simple courtesy of
her husband, she thus addressed him: “It is wonderful that being lord
over beasts, you have ceased to exercise dominion over them; and by not
making use of your deer, do not now rule over them, but are subservient
to them; and behold how great an abuse arises from too much patience; for
they attack our sheep with such an unheard-of rage, and unusual voracity,
that from many they are become few; from being innumerable, only
numerous.” To make her story more probable, she caused some wool to be
inserted between the intestines of two stags which had been embowelled;
and her husband, thus artfully deceived, sacrificed his deer to the
rapacity of his dogs.
CHAPTER X
TYWY RIVER—CAERMARDYN—MONASTERY OF ALBELANDE
HAVING crossed the river Tywy in a boat, we proceeded towards Caermardyn,
leaving Lanstephan and Talachar {73a} on the sea-coast to our left.
After the death of king Henry II., Rhys, the son of Gruffydd, took these
two castles by assault; then, having laid waste, by fire and sword, the
provinces of Penbroch and Ros, he besieged Caermardyn, but failed in his
attempt. Caermardyn {73b} signifies the city of Merlin, because,
according to the British History, he was there said to have been begotten
of an incubus.
This ancient city is situated on the banks of the noble river Tywy,
surrounded by woods and pastures, and was strongly inclosed with walls of
brick, part of which are still standing; having Cantref Mawr, the great
cantred, or hundred, on the eastern side, a safe refuge, in times of
danger, to the inhabitants of South Wales, on account of its thick woods;
where is also the castle of Dinevor, {73c} built on a lofty summit above
the Tywy, the royal seat of the princes of South Wales. In ancient
times, there were three regal palaces in Wales: Dinevor in South Wales,
Aberfrau in North Wales, situated in Anglesea, and Pengwern in Powys, now
called Shrewsbury (Slopesburia); Pengwern signifies the head of a grove
of alders. Recalling to mind those poetical passages:
“Dolus an virtus quis in hoste requirat?”
and
“Et si non recte possis quocunque modo rem,”
my pen shrinks with abhorrence from the relation of the enormous
vengeance exercised by the court against its vassals, within the comot of
Caeo, in the Cantref Mawr. Near Dinevor, on the other side of the river
Tywy, in the Cantref Bychan, or the little cantred, there is a spring
which, like the tide, ebbs and flows twice in twenty-four hours. {74a}
Not far to the north of Caermardyn, namely at Pencadair, {74b} that is,
the head of the chair, when Rhys, the son of Gruffydd, was more by
stratagem than force compelled to surrender, and was carried away into
England, king Henry II. despatched a knight, born in Britany, on whose
wisdom and fidelity he could rely, under the conduct of Guaidanus, dean
of Cantref Mawr, to explore the situation of Dinevor castle, and the
strength of the country. The priest, being desired to take the knight by
the easiest and best road to the castle, led him purposely aside by the
most difficult and inaccessible paths, and wherever they passed through
woods, the priest, to the general surprise of all present, fed upon
grass, asserting that, in times of need, the inhabitants of that country
were accustomed to live upon herbs and roots. The knight returning to
the king, and relating what had happened, affirmed that the country was
uninhabitable, vile, and inaccessible, and only affording food to a
beastly nation, living like brutes. At length the king released Rhys,
having first bound him to fealty by solemn oaths and the delivery of
hostages.
On our journey from Caermardyn towards the Cistercian monastery called
Alba Domus, {75a} the archbishop was informed of the murder of a young
Welshman, who was devoutly hastening to meet him; when turning out of the
road, he ordered the corpse to be covered with the cloak of his almoner,
and with a pious supplication commended the soul of the murdered youth to
heaven. Twelve archers of the adjacent castle of St. Clare, {75b} who
had assassinated the young man, were on the following day signed with the
cross at Alba Domus, as a punishment for their crime. Having traversed
three rivers, the Taf, then the Cleddeu, under Lanwadein, {76a} and
afterwards another branch of the same river, we at length arrived at
Haverford. This province, from its situation between two rivers, has
acquired the name of Daugleddeu, {76b} being enclosed and terminated, as
it were, by two swords, for cleddue, in the British language, signifies a
sword.
CHAPTER XI
OF HAVERFORD AND ROS
A SERMON having been delivered at Haverford {76c} by the archbishop, and
the word of God preached to the people by the archdeacon, whose name
appears on the title-page of this work, many soldiers and plebeians were
induced to take the cross. It appeared wonderful and miraculous, that,
although the archdeacon addressed them both in the Latin and French
tongues, those persons who understood neither of those languages were
equally affected, and flocked in great numbers to the cross.
An old woman of those parts, who for three preceding years had been
blind, having heard of the archbishop’s arrival, sent her son to the
place where the sermon was to be preached, that he might bring back to
her some particle, if only of the fringe of his garment. The young man
being prevented by the crowd from approaching the archbishop, waited till
the assembly was dispersed, and then carried a piece of the earth on
which the preacher had stood. The mother received the gift with great
joy, and falling immediately on her knees, applied the turf to her mouth
and eyes; and thus, through the merits of the holy man, and her own faith
and devotion, recovered the blessing of sight, which she had entirely
lost.
The inhabitants of this province derived their origin from Flanders, and
were sent by king Henry I. to inhabit these districts; a people brave and
robust, ever most hostile to the Welsh; a people, I say, well versed in
commerce and woollen manufactories; a people anxious to seek gain by sea
or land, in defiance of fatigue and danger; a hardy race, equally fitted
for the plough or the sword; a people brave and happy, if Wales (as it
ought to have been) had been dear to its sovereign, and had not so
frequently experienced the vindictive resentment and ill-treatment of its
governors.
A circumstance happened in the castle of Haverford during our time, which
ought not to be omitted. A famous robber was fettered and confined in
one of its towers, and was often visited by three boys, the son of the
earl of Clare, and two others, one of whom was son of the lord of the
castle, and the other his grandson, sent thither for their education, and
who applied to him for arrows, with which he used to supply them. One
day, at the request of the children, the robber, being brought from his
dungeon, took advantage of the absence of the gaoler, closed the door,
and shut himself up with the boys. A great clamour instantly arose, as
well from the boys within, as from the people without; nor did he cease,
with an uplifted axe, to threaten the lives of the children, until
indemnity and security were assured to him in the most ample manner. A
similar accident happened at Chateau-roux in France. The lord of that
place maintained in the castle a man whose eyes he had formerly put out,
but who, by long habit, recollected the ways of the castle, and the steps
leading to the towers. Seizing an opportunity of revenge, and meditating
the destruction of the youth, he fastened the inward doors of the castle,
and took the only son and heir of the governor of the castle to the
summit of a high tower, from whence he was seen with the utmost concern
by the people beneath. The father of the boy hastened thither, and,
struck with terror, attempted by every possible means to procure the
ransom of his son, but received for answer, that this could not be
effected, but by the same mutilation of those lower parts, which he had
likewise inflicted on him. The father, having in vain entreated mercy,
at length assented, and caused a violent blow to be struck on his body;
and the people around him cried out lamentably, as if he had suffered
mutilation. The blind man asked him where he felt the greatest pain?
when he replied in his reins, he declared it was false and prepared to
precipitate the boy. A second blow was given, and the lord of the castle
asserting that the greatest pains were at his heart, the blind man
expressing his disbelief, again carried the boy to the summit of the
tower. The third time, however, the father, to save his son, really
mutilated himself; and when he exclaimed that the greatest pain was in
his teeth; “It is true,” said he, “as a man who has had experience should
be believed, and thou hast in part revenged my injuries. I shall meet
death with more satisfaction, and thou shalt neither beget any other son,
nor receive comfort from this.” Then, precipitating himself and the boy
from the summit of the tower, their limbs were broken, and both instantly
expired. The knight ordered a monastery to be built on the spot for the
soul of the boy, which is still extant, and called De Doloribus.
It appears remarkable to me that the entire inheritance should devolve on
Richard, son of Tankard, governor of the aforesaid castle of Haverford,
being the youngest son, and having many brothers of distinguished
character who died before him. In like manner the dominion of South
Wales descended to Rhys son of Gruffyd, owing to the death of several of
his brothers. During the childhood of Richard, a holy man, named
Caradoc, led a pious and recluse life at St. Ismael, in the province of
Ros, {79a} to whom the boy was often sent by his parents with provisions,
and he so ingratiated himself in the eyes of the good man, that he very
often promised him, together with his blessing, the portion of all his
brothers, and the paternal inheritance. It happened that Richard, being
overtaken by a violent storm of rain, turned aside to the hermit’s cell;
and being unable to get his hounds near him, either by calling, coaxing,
or by offering them food, the holy man smiled; and making a gentle motion
with his hand, brought them all to him immediately. In process of time,
when Caradoc {79b} had happily completed the course of his existence,
Tankard, father of Richard, violently detained his body, which by his
last will he had bequeathed to the church of St. David; but being
suddenly seized with a severe illness, he revoked his command. When this
had happened to him a second and a third time, and the corpse at last was
suffered to be conveyed away, and was proceeding over the sands of
Niwegal towards St. David’s, a prodigious fall of rain inundated the
whole country; but the conductors of the sacred burthen, on coming forth
from their shelter, found the silken pall, with which the bier was
covered, dry and uninjured by the storm; and thus the miraculous body of
Caradoc was brought into the church of St. Andrew and St. David, and with
due solemnity deposited in the left aisle, near the altar of the holy
proto-martyr Stephen.
It is worthy of remark, that these people (the Flemings), from the
inspection of the right shoulders of rams, which have been stripped of
their flesh, and not roasted, but boiled, can discover future events, or
those which have passed and remained long unknown. {80} They know, also,
what is transpiring at a distant place, by a wonderful art, and a
prophetic kind of spirit. They declare, also, by means of signs, the
undoubted symptoms of approaching peace and war, murders and fires,
domestic adulteries, the state of the king, his life and death. It
happened in our time, that a man of those parts, whose name was William
Mangunel, a person of high rank, and excelling all others in the
aforesaid art, had a wife big with child by her own husband’s grandson.
Well aware of the fact, he ordered a ram from his own flock to be sent to
his wife, as a present from her neighbour, which was carried to the cook,
and dressed. At dinner, the husband purposely gave the shoulder-bone of
the ram, properly cleaned, to his wife, who was also well skilled in this
art, for her examination; when, having for a short time examined the
secret marks, she smiled, and threw the oracle down on the table. Her
husband, dissembling, earnestly demanded the cause of her smiling, and
the explanation of the matter. Overcome by his entreaties, she answered:
“The man to whose fold this ram belongs, has an adulterous wife, at this
time pregnant by the commission of incest with his own grandson.” The
husband, with a sorrowful and dejected countenance, replied: “You
deliver, indeed, an oracle supported by too much truth, which I have so
much more reason to lament, as the ignominy you have published redounds
to my own injury.” The woman, thus detected, and unable to dissemble her
confusion, betrayed the inward feelings of her mind by external signs;
shame and sorrow urging her by turns, and manifesting themselves, now by
blushes, now by paleness, and lastly (according to the custom of women),
by tears. The shoulder of a goat was also once brought to a certain
person, instead of a ram’s—both being alike, when cleaned; who, observing
for a short time the lines and marks, exclaimed, “Unhappy cattle, that
never was multiplied! unhappy, likewise, the owner of the cattle, who
never had more than three or four in one flock!” Many persons, a year
and a half before the event, foresaw, by the means of shoulder-bones, the
destruction of their country, after the decease of king Henry I., and,
selling all their possessions, left their homes, and escaped the
impending ruin.
It happened also in Flanders, from whence this people came, that a
certain man sent a similar bone to a neighbour for his inspection; and
the person who carried it, on passing over a ditch, broke wind, and
wished it in the nostrils of the man on whose account he was thus
troubled. The person to whom the bone was taken, on examination, said,
“May you have in your own nose, that which you wished to be in mine.” In
our time, a soothsayer, on the inspection of a bone, discovered not only
a theft, and the manner of it, but the thief himself, and all the
attendant circumstances; he heard also the striking of a bell, and the
sound of a trumpet, as if those things which were past were still
performing. It is wonderful, therefore, that these bones, like all
unlawful conjurations, should represent, by a counterfeit similitude to
the eyes and ears, things which are passed, as well as those which are
now going on.
CHAPTER XII
OF PENBROCH
THE province of Penbroch adjoins the southern part of the territory of
Ros, and is separated from it by an arm of the sea. Its principal city,
and the metropolis of Demetia, is situated on an oblong rocky eminence,
extending with two branches from Milford Haven, from whence it derived
the name of Penbroch, which signifies the head of the æstuary. Arnulph
de Montgomery, {82a} in the reign of king Henry I., erected here a
slender fortress with stakes and turf, which, on returning to England, he
consigned to the care of Giraldus de Windesor, {82b} his constable and
lieutenant-general, a worthy and discreet man. Immediately on the death
of Rhys son of Tewdwr, who a short time before had been slain by the
treachery of his own troops at Brecheinoc, leaving his son, Gruffydd, a
child, the inhabitants of South Wales besieged the castle. One night,
when fifteen soldiers had deserted, and endeavoured to escape from the
castle in a small boat, on the following morning Giraldus invested their
armour bearers with the arms and estates of their masters, and decorated
them with the military order. The garrison being, from the length of the
siege, reduced to the utmost want of provisions, the constable, with
great prudence and flattering hopes of success, caused four hogs, which
yet remained, to be cut into small pieces and thrown down to the enemy
from the fortifications. The next day, having again recourse to a more
refined stratagem, he contrived that a letter, sealed with his own
signet, should be found before the house of Wilfred, {83} bishop of St.
David’s, who was then by chance in that neighbourhood, as if accidentally
dropped, stating that there would be no necessity of soliciting the
assistance of earl Arnulph for the next four months to come. The
contents of these letters being made known to the army, the troops
abandoned the siege of the castle, and retired to their own homes.
Giraldus, in order to make himself and his dependants more secure,
married Nest, the sister of Gruffydd, prince of South Wales, by whom he
had an illustrious progeny of both sexes; and by whose means both the
maritime parts of South Wales were retained by the English, and the walls
of Ireland afterwards stormed, as our Vaticinal History declares.
In our time, a person residing at the castle of Penbroch, found a brood
of young weasels concealed within a fleece in his dwelling house, which
he carefully removed and hid. The mother, irritated at the loss of her
young, which she had searched for in vain, went to a vessel of milk that
had been set aside for the use of the master’s son, and raising herself
up, polluted it with her deadly poison; thus revenging, as it were, the
loss of her young, by the destruction of the child. The man, observing
what passed, carried the fleece back to its former place; when the
weasel, agitated by maternal solicitude, between hope and fear, on
finding again her young, began to testify her joy by her cries and
actions, and returning quickly to the vessel, overthrew it; thus, in
gratitude for the recovery of her own offspring, saving that of her host
from danger.
In another place, an animal of the same species had brought out her young
into a plain for the enjoyment of the sun and air; when an insidious kite
carried off one of them. Concealing herself with the remainder behind
some shrubs, grief suggested to her a stratagem of exquisite revenge; she
extended herself on a heap of earth, as if dead, within sight of the
plunderer, and (as success always increases avidity) the bird immediately
seized her and flew away, but soon fell down dead by the bite of the
poisonous animal.
The castle called Maenor Pyrr, {84} that is, the mansion of Pyrrus, who
also possessed the island of Chaldey, which the Welsh call Inys Pyrr, or
the island of Pyrrus, is distant about three miles from Penbroch. It is
excellently well defended by turrets and bulwarks, and is situated on the
summit of a hill extending on the western side towards the sea-port,
having on the northern and southern sides a fine fish-pond under its
walls, as conspicuous for its grand appearance, as for the depth of its
waters, and a beautiful orchard on the same side, inclosed on one part by
a vineyard, and on the other by a wood, remarkable for the projection of
its rocks, and the height of its hazel trees. On the right hand of the
promontory, between the castle and the church, near the site of a very
large lake and mill, a rivulet of never-failing water flows through a
valley, rendered sandy by the violence of the winds. Towards the west,
the Severn sea, bending its course to Ireland, enters a hollow bay at
some distance from the castle; and the southern rocks, if extended a
little further towards the north, would render it a most excellent
harbour for shipping. From this point of sight, you will see almost all
the ships from Great Britain, which the east wind drives upon the Irish
coast, daringly brave the inconstant waves and raging sea. This country
is well supplied with corn, sea-fish, and imported wines; and what is
preferable to every other advantage, from its vicinity to Ireland, it is
tempered by a salubrious air. Demetia, therefore, with its seven
cantreds, is the most beautiful, as well as the most powerful district of
Wales; Penbroch, the finest part of the province of Demetia; and the
place I have just described, the most delightful part of Penbroch. It is
evident, therefore, that Maenor Pirr is the pleasantest spot in Wales;
and the author may be pardoned for having thus extolled his native soil,
his genial territory, with a profusion of praise and admiration.
In this part of Penbroch, unclean spirits have conversed, nor visibly,
but sensibly, with mankind; first in the house of Stephen Wiriet, {86a}
and afterwards in the house of William Not; {86b} manifesting their
presence by throwing dirt at them, and more with a view of mockery than
of injury. In the house of William, they cut holes in the linen and
woollen garments, much to the loss of the owner of the house and his
guests; nor could any precaution, or even bolts, secure them from these
inconveniences. In the house of Stephen, the spirit in a more
extraordinary manner 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 or heard by others. I do not
presume to assign the cause of this event, except that it is said to be
the presage of a sudden change from poverty to riches, or rather from
affluence to poverty and distress; as it was found to be the case in both
these instances. And it appears to me very extraordinary that these
places could not be purified from such illusions, either by the
sprinkling of holy water, or the assistance of any other religious
ceremony; for the priests themselves, though protected by the crucifix,
or the holy water, on devoutly entering the house, were equally subject
to the same insults. From whence it appears that things pertaining to
the sacraments, as well as the sacraments themselves, defend us from
hurtful, but not from harmless things; from annoyances, but not from
illusions. It is worthy of note, that in our time, a woman in Poitou was
possessed by a demon, who, through her mouth, artfully and acutely
disputed with the learned. He sometimes upbraided people with their
secret actions, and those things which they wished not to hear; but when
either the books of the gospel, or the relics of saints, were placed upon
the mouth of the possessed, he fled to the lower part of her throat; and
when they were removed thither, he descended into her belly. His
appearance was indicated by certain inflations and convulsions of the
parts which he possessed, and when the relics were again placed in the
lower parts, he directly returned to the upper. At length, when they
brought the body of Christ, and gave it to the patient, the demon
answered, “Ye fools, you are doing nothing, for what you give her is not
the food of the body, but of the soul; and my power is confined to the
body, not to the soul.” But when those persons whom he had upbraided
with their more serious actions, had confessed, and returned from
penance, he reproached them no more. “I have known, indeed,” says he, “I
have known but now I know not, (he spake this as it were a reproach to
others), and I hold my tongue, for what I know, I know not.” From which
it appears, that after confession and penance, the demons either do not
know the sins of men, or do not know them to their injury and disgrace;
because, as Augustine says, “If man conceals, God discovers; if man
discovers, God conceals.”
Some people are surprised that lightning often strikes our places of
worship, and damages the crosses and images of him who was crucified,
before the eyes of one who seeth all things, and permits these
circumstances to happen; to whom I shall only answer with Ovid,
“Summa petit livor, perflant altissima venti,
Summa petunt dextra fulmina missa Jovis.”
On the same subject, Peter Abelard, in the presence of Philip king of
France, is said to have answered a Jew, who urged these and similar
things against the faith. “It is true that the lightning descending from
on high, directs itself most commonly to the highest object on earth, and
to those most resembling its own nature; it never, therefore, injures
your synagogues, because no man ever saw or heard of its falling upon a
privy.” An event worthy of note, happened in our time in France. During
a contention between some monks of the Cistercian order, and a certain
knight, about the limits of their fields and lands, a violent tempest, in
one night, utterly destroyed and ruined the cultivated grounds of the
monks, while the adjoining territory of the knight remained undamaged.
On which occasion he insolently inveighed against the fraternity, and
publicly asserted that divine vengeance had thus punished them for
unlawfully keeping possession of his land; to which the abbot wittily
replied, “It is by no means so; but that the knight had more friends in
that riding than the monastery;” and he clearly demonstrated that, on the
other hand, the monks had more enemies in it.
In the province of Penbroch, another instance occurred, about the same
time, of a spirit’s appearing in the house of Elidore de Stakepole, {88}
not only sensibly, but visibly, under the form of a red-haired young man,
who called himself Simon. First seizing the keys from the person to whom
they were entrusted, he impudently assumed the steward’s office, which he
managed so prudently and providently, that all things seemed to abound
under his care, and there was no deficiency in the house. Whatever the
master or mistress secretly thought of having for their daily use or
provision, he procured with wonderful agility, and without any previous
directions, saying, “You wished that to be done, and it shall be done for
you.” He was also well acquainted with their treasures and secret
hoards, and sometimes upbraided them on that account; for as often as
they seemed to act sparingly and avariciously, he used to say, “Why are
you afraid to spend that heap of gold or silver, since your lives are of
so short duration, and the money you so cautiously hoard up will never do
you any service?” He gave the choicest meat and drink to the rustics and
hired servants, saying that “Those persons should be abundantly supplied,
by whose labours they were acquired.” Whatever he determined should be
done, whether pleasing or displeasing to his master or mistress (for, as
we have said before, he knew all their secrets), he completed in his
usual expeditious manner, without their consent. He never went to
church, or uttered one Catholic word. He did not sleep in the house, but
was ready at his office in the morning.
He was at length observed by some of the family to hold his nightly
converse near a mill and a pool of water; upon which discovery he was
summoned the next morning before the master of the house and his lady,
and, receiving his discharge, delivered up the keys, which he had held
for upwards of forty days. Being earnestly interrogated, at his
departure, who he was? he answered, “That he was begotten upon the wife
of a rustic in that parish, by a demon, in the shape of her husband,”
naming the man, and his father-in-law, then dead, and his mother, still
alive; the truth of which the woman, upon examination, openly avowed. A
similar circumstance happened in our time in Denmark. A certain unknown
priest paid court to the archbishop, and, from his obsequious behaviour
and discreet conduct, his general knowledge of letters and quick memory,
soon contracted a great familiarity with him. Conversing one day with
the archbishop about ancient histories and unknown events, on which topic
he most frequently heard him with pleasure, it happened that when the
subject of their discourse was the incarnation of our Lord, he said,
amongst other things, “Before Christ assumed human nature, the demons had
great power over mankind, which, at his coming, was much diminished;
insomuch that they were dispersed on every side, and fled from his
presence. Some precipitated themselves into the sea, others into the
hollow parts of trees, or the clefts of rocks; and I myself leaped into a
well;” on which he blushed for shame, and took his departure. The
archbishop, and those who were with him, being greatly astonished at that
speech, began to ask questions by turns, and form conjectures; and having
waited some time (for he was expected to return soon), the archbishop
ordered some of his attendants to call him, but he was sought for in
vain, and never re-appeared. Soon afterwards, two priests, whom the
archbishop had sent to Rome, returned; and when this event was related to
them, they began to inquire the day and hour on which the circumstance
had happened? On being told it, they declared that on the very same day
and hour he had met them on the Alps, saying, that he had been sent to
the court of Rome, on account of some business of his master’s (meaning
the archbishop), which had lately occurred. And thus it was proved, that
a demon had deluded them under a human form.
I ought not to omit mentioning the falcons of these parts, which are
large, and of a generous kind, and exercise a most severe tyranny over
the river and land birds. King Henry II. remained here some time, making
preparations for his voyage to Ireland; and being desirous of taking the
diversion of hawking, he accidentally saw a noble falcon perched upon a
rock. Going sideways round him, he let loose a fine Norway hawk, which
he carried on his left hand. The falcon, though at first slower in its
flight, soaring up to a great height, burning with resentment, and in his
turn becoming the aggressor, rushed down upon his adversary with the
greatest impetuosity, and by a violent blow struck the hawk dead at the
feet of the king. From that time the king sent every year, about the
breeding season, for the falcons {90} of this country, which are produced
on the sea cliffs; nor can better be found in any part of his dominions.
But let us now return to our Itinerary.
CHAPTER XIII
OF THE PROGRESS BY CAMROS AND NIWEGAL
FROM Haverford we proceeded on our journey to Menevia, distant from
thence about twelve miles, and passed through Camros, {91a} where, in the
reign of king Stephen, the relations and friends of a distinguished young
man, Giraldus, son of William, revenged his death by a too severe
retaliation on the men of Ros. We then passed over Niwegal sands, at
which place (during the winter that king Henry II. spent in Ireland), as
well as in almost all the other western ports, a very remarkable
circumstance occurred. The sandy shores of South Wales, being laid bare
by the extraordinary violence of a storm, the surface of the earth, which
had been covered for many ages, re-appeared, and discovered the trunks of
trees cut off, standing in the very sea itself, the strokes of the
hatchet appearing as if made only yesterday. {91b} The soil was very
black, and the wood like ebony. By a wonderful revolution, the road for
ships became impassable, and looked, not like a shore, but like a grove
cut down, perhaps, at the time of the deluge, or not long after, but
certainly in very remote ages, being by degrees consumed and swallowed up
by the violence and encroachments of the sea. During the same tempest
many sea fish were driven, by the violence of the wind and waves, upon
dry land. We were well lodged at St. David’s by Peter, bishop of the
see, a liberal man, who had hitherto accompanied us during the whole of
our journey.
BOOK II
PREFACE
SINCE, therefore, St. David’s is the head, and in times past was the
metropolitan, city of Wales, though now, alas! retaining more of the
_name_ than of the _omen_, {94} yet I have not forborne to weep over the
obsequies of our ancient and undoubted mother, to follow the mournful
hearse, and to deplore with tearful sighs the ashes of our half-buried
matron. I shall, therefore, endeavour briefly to declare to you in what
manner, from whence, and from what period the pall was first brought to
St. David’s, and how it was taken away; how many prelates were invested
with the pall; and how many were despoiled thereof; together with their
respective names to this present day.
CHAPTER I
OF THE SEE OF SAINT DAVID’S
WE are informed by the British histories, that Dubricius, archbishop of
Caerleon, sensible of the infirmities of age, or rather being desirous of
leading a life of contemplation, resigned his honours to David, who is
said to have been uncle to king Arthur; and by his interest the see was
translated to Menevia, although Caerleon, as we have observed in the
first book, was much better adapted for the episcopal see. For Menevia
is situated in a most remote corner of land upon the Irish ocean, the
soil stony and barren, neither clothed with woods, distinguished by
rivers, nor adorned by meadows, ever exposed to the winds and tempests,
and continually subject to the hostile attacks of the Flemings on one
side, and of the Welsh on the other. For the holy men who settled here,
chose purposely such a retired habitation, that by avoiding the noise of
the world, and preferring an heremitical to a pastoral life, they might
more freely provide for “that part which shall not be taken away;” for
David was remarkable for his sanctity and religion, as the history of his
life will testify. Amongst the many miracles recorded of him, three
appear to me the most worthy of admiration: his origin and conception;
his pre-election thirty years before his birth; and what exceeds all, the
sudden rising of the ground, at Brevy, under his feet while preaching, to
the great astonishment of all the beholders.
Since the time of David, twenty-five archbishops presided over the see of
Menevia, whose names are here subjoined: David, Cenauc, Eliud, who was
also called Teilaus, Ceneu, Morwal, Haerunen, Elwaed, Gurnuen, Lendivord,
Gorwysc, Cogan, Cledauc, Anian, Euloed, Ethelmen, Elauc, Malscoed,
Sadermen, Catellus, Sulhaithnai, Nonis, Etwal, Asser, Arthuael, Sampson.
In the time of Sampson, the pall was translated from Menevia in the
following manner: a disorder called the yellow plague, and by the
physicians the icteric passion, of which the people died in great
numbers, raged throughout Wales, at the time when Sampson held the
archiepiscopal see. Though a holy man, and fearless of death, he was
prevailed upon, by the earnest intreaties of his people, to go on board a
vessel, which was wafted, by a south wind, to Britannia Armorica, {96}
where he and his attendants were safely landed. The see of Dol being at
that time vacant, he was immediately elected bishop. Hence it came to
pass, that on account of the pall which Sampson had brought thither with
him, the succeeding bishops, even to our times, always retained it. But
during the presidency of the archbishop of Tours, this adventitious
dignity ceased; yet our countrymen, through indolence or poverty, or
rather owing to the arrival of the English into the island, and the
frequent hostilities committed against them by the Saxons, lost their
archiepiscopal honours. But until the entire subjugation of Wales by
king Henry I., the Welsh bishops were always consecrated by the bishop of
St. David’s; and he was consecrated by his suffragans, without any
profession or submission being made to any other church.
From the time of Sampson to that of king Henry I., nineteen bishops
presided over this see: Ruelin, Rodherch, Elguin, Lunuerd, Nergu,
Sulhidir, Eneuris, Morgeneu, who was the first bishop of St. David’s who
ate flesh, and was there killed by pirates; and he appeared to a certain
bishop in Ireland on the night of his death, shewing his wounds, and
saying, “Because I ate flesh, I am become flesh.” Nathan, Ievan (who was
bishop only one night), Argustel, Morgenueth, Ervin, Tramerin, Joseph,
Bleithud, Sulghein, Abraham, Wilfred. Since the subjugation of Wales to
the present time, three only have held the see: in the reign of king
Henry I., Bernard; in the reign of king Stephen, David II.; and in the
reign of king Henry II., Peter, a monk of the order of Cluny; who all, by
the king’s mandate, were consecrated at Canterbury; as also Geoffrey,
prior and canon of Lanthoni, who succeeded them in the reign of king
John, and was preferred to this see by the interest of Hubert, archbishop
of Canterbury, and afterwards consecrated by him. We do not hear that
either before or after that subjugation, any archbishop of Canterbury
ever entered the borders of Wales, except Baldwin, a monk of the
Cistercian order, abbot of Ford, and afterwards bishop of Worcester, who
traversed that rough, inaccessible, and remote country with a laudable
devotion for the service of the cross; and as a token of investiture,
celebrated mass in all the cathedral churches. So that till lately the
see of St. David’s owed no subjection to that of Canterbury, as may be
seen in the English History of Bede, who says that “Augustine, bishop of
the Angles, after the conversion of king Ethelfred and the English
people, called together the bishops of Wales on the confines of the West
Saxons, as legate of the apostolic see. When the seven bishops {97}
appeared, Augustine, sitting in his chair, with Roman pride, did not rise
up at their entrance. Observing his haughtiness (after the example of a
holy anchorite of their nation), they immediately returned, and treated
him and his statutes with contempt, publicly proclaiming that they would
not acknowledge him for their archbishop; alleging, that if he now
refused to rise up to us, how much more will he hold us in contempt, if
we submit to be subject to him?” That there were at that time seven
bishops in Wales, and now only four, may be thus accounted for; because
perhaps there were formerly more cathedral churches in Wales than there
are at present, or the extent of Wales might have been greater. Amongst
so many bishops thus deprived of their dignity, Bernard, the first French
[_i.e._ Norman] bishop of St. David’s, alone defended the rights of his
church in a public manner; and after many expensive and vexatious appeals
to the court of Rome, would not have reclaimed them in vain, if false
witnesses had not publicly appeared at the council of Rheims, before pope
Eugenius, and testified that he had made profession and submission to the
see of Canterbury. Supported by three auxiliaries, the favour and
intimacy of king Henry, a time of peace, and consequent plenty, he boldly
hazarded the trial of so great a cause, and so confident was he of his
just right, that he sometimes caused the cross to be carried before him
during his journey through Wales.
Bernard, however commendable in some particulars, was remarkable for his
insufferable pride and ambition. For as soon as he became courtier and a
creature of the king’s, panting after English riches by means of
translation, (a malady under which all the English sent hither seem to
labour), he alienated many of the lands of his church without either
advantage or profit, and disposed of others so indiscreetly and
improvidently, that when ten carucates {98} of land were required for
military purposes, he would, with a liberal hand, give twenty or thirty;
and of the canonical rites and ordinances which he had miserably and
unhappily instituted at St. David’s, he would hardly make use of one, at
most only of two or three. With respect to the two sees of Canterbury
and St. David’s, I will briefly explain my opinion of their present
state. On one side, you will see royal favour, affluence of riches,
numerous and opulent suffragan bishops, great abundance of learned men
and well skilled in the laws; on the other side, a deficiency of all
these things, and a total want of justice; on which account the recovery
of its ancient rights will not easily be effected, but by means of those
great changes and vicissitudes which kingdoms experience from various and
unexpected events.
The spot where the church of St. David’s stands, and was founded in
honour of the apostle St. Andrew, is called the Vale of Roses; which
ought rather to be named the vale of marble, since it abounds with one,
and by no means with the other. The river Alun, a muddy and unproductive
rivulet, {99a} bounding the churchyard on the northern side, flows under
a marble stone, called Lechlavar, which has been polished by continual
treading of passengers, and concerning the name, size, and quality of
which we have treated in our Vaticinal History. {99b} Henry II., on his
return from Ireland, is said to have passed over this stone, before he
devoutly entered the church of St. Andrew and St. David. Having left the
following garrisons in Ireland, namely, Hugh de Lacy (to whom he had
given Meath in fee) in Dublin, with twenty knights; Fitz-Stephen and
Maurice Fitzgerald, with other twenty; Humphrey de Bohun, Robert
Fitz-Bernard, and Hugh de Grainville at Waterford, with forty; and
William Fitz-Adelm and Philip de Braose at Wexford, with twenty; on the
second day of Easter, the king embarked at sunrise on board a vessel in
the outward port of Wexford, and, with a south wind, landed about noon in
the harbour of Menevia. Proceeding towards the shrine of St. David,
habited like a pilgrim, and leaning on a staff, he met at the white gate
a procession of the canons of the church coming forth to receive him with
due honour and reverence. As the procession solemnly moved along, a
Welsh woman threw herself at the king’s feet, and made a complaint
against the bishop of the place, which was explained to the king by an
interpreter. The woman, immediate attention not being paid to her
petition, with violent gesticulation, and a loud and impertinent voice,
exclaimed repeatedly, “Revenge us this day, Lechlavar! revenge us and the
nation in this man!” On being chidden and driven away by those who
understood the British language, she more vehemently and forcibly
vociferated in the like manner, alluding to the vulgar fiction and
proverb of Merlin, “That a king of England, and conqueror of Ireland,
should be wounded in that country by a man with a red hand, and die upon
Lechlavar, on his return through Menevia.” This was the name of that
stone which serves as a bridge over the river Alun, which divides the
cemetery from the northern side of the church. It was a beautiful piece
of marble, polished by the feet of passengers, ten feet in length, six in
breadth, and one in thickness. Lechlavar signifies in the British
language a talking stone. {100} There was an ancient tradition
respecting this stone, that at a time when a corpse was carried over it
for interment, it broke forth into speech, and by the effort cracked in
the middle, which fissure is still visible; and on account of this
barbarous and ancient superstition, the corpses are no longer brought
over it. The king, who had heard the prophecy, approaching the stone,
stopped for a short time at the foot of it, and, looking earnestly at it,
boldly passed over; then, turning round, and looking towards the stone,
thus indignantly inveighed against the prophet: “Who will hereafter give
credit to the lying Merlin?” A person standing by, and observing what
had passed, in order to vindicate the injury done to the prophet,
replied, with a loud voice, “Thou art not that king by whom Ireland is to
be conquered, or of whom Merlin prophesied!” The king then entering the
church founded in honour of St. Andrew and St. David, devoutly offered up
his prayers, and heard mass performed by a chaplain, whom alone, out of
so large a body of priests, Providence seems to have kept fasting till
that hour, for this very purpose. Having supped at St. David’s, the king
departed for the castle of Haverford, distant about twelve miles. It
appears very remarkable to me, that in our days, when David II. presided
over the see, the river should have flowed with wine, and that the
spring, called Pistyll Dewi, or the _Pipe_ of David, from its flowing
through a pipe into the eastern side of the churchyard, should have run
with milk. The birds also of that place, called jackdaws, from being so
long unmolested by the clergy of the church, were grown so tame and
domesticated, as not to be afraid of persons dressed in black. In clear
weather the mountains of Ireland are visible from hence, and the passage
over the Irish sea may be performed in one short day; on which account
William, the son of William the Bastard, and the second of the Norman
kings in England, who was called Rufus, and who had penetrated far into
Wales, on seeing Ireland from these rocks, is reported to have said, “I
will summon hither all the ships of my realm, and with them make a bridge
to attack that country.” Which speech being related to Murchard, prince
of Leinster, he paused awhile, and answered, “Did the king add to this
mighty threat, If God please?” and being informed that he had made no
mention of God in his speech, rejoicing in such a prognostic, he replied,
“Since that man trusts in human, not divine power, I fear not his
coming.”