R. Rice Davies

TRADITIONS OF LLYN SAVATHAN; OR LLANGORSE, OR TALYLLYN LAKE. CHAPTER I. TRADITIONS OF GIRALDUS .

“Not a tree,
A llyn, a leaf, a blossom, but contains
A folio volume. We may read, and read,
And read again, and still find something new.”

Respecting Llyn Savathan, which also bears the several names of Lake Brecheinoc, Brecinaumere, Llangorse, and Talyllyn Pool, Giraldus relates that in the reign of Henry I., Gruffydd, son of Rhys ap Theodor, held under the king one comot, namely, the fourth part of the cantref of Caoc, in the cantref Mawr. When Gruffydd, on his return from the king’s court, passed near this lake, which at this cold season of the year was covered with wild fowl of various sorts, being accompanied by Milo, Earl of Hereford and Lord of Brecon, and Payn FitzJohn, Lord of Ewyas, who at that time were secretaries and privy counsellors to the King, Earl Milo, wishing to draw 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 replied, “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; and at length rising up, and signing his face and forehead with the figure of the cross, 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 Cambria, I command these birds, in Thy name, to declare it.” And immediately, beating the waters with their wings, the birds began to cry aloud and proclaim him. The spectators were astonished and confounded; and Earl Milo, with FitzJohn, hastily returned to court, and related this singular occurrence to Henry, who is said to have replied, “By the death of Christ, 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.”

CHAPTER II.
THE LAST WARNING.

Long previous to the time to which the tradition of Giraldus relates, the place occupied by Llyn Savathan formed a beautiful and picturesque valley, through which the waters of the Llewenny meandered and flowed gently along in their progress towards the Wye. On the left bank of the Llynfi, and within half a mile of its channel, there stood the church of Llangasty, which was dedicated to Saint Gasty, an eminent British saint who flourished in the fifth century, and was murdered on the Van Mountain, in the parish of Merthyr Cynog. On the other side of the Llynfi, and nearly opposite the church, there stood a magnificent palace, belonging to and occupied by a tyrannical prince, who neither feared God nor regarded man, who scorned religion, and loathed everything which was pure and good and beautiful; a prince who, by the magnitude of his extortions and the relentlessness with which he pursued his unfortunate vassals, became the object of hate and intense aversion to all who had dealings or came in contact with him. Moreover, as he grew older, his extortions became more burdensome, while his tyranny increased in its fury, notwithstanding the warnings he received from those who desired the perpetuation of his reign. To all those warnings he turned a deaf ear, while he punished with the utmost rigour those who sought to thwart him in his infamous practices.

It was a cold December morning, when Father Olyver, of Llangasty, repaired to the palace in order to condole with the prince on the death of a son. On entering the reception-room, and finding the prince alone, he thus addressed him—

“My heart grieves and is sad, my prince, at the loss you have sustained. Another prop of your house has been taken away, and oh, reflect, I pray, on your present mode of life; consider your ways and be wise.”

“Cease thy babbling, Father Olyver,” replied the prince. “ D— it, man, all must die. The death of another son, thou senseless priest, only diminishes my responsibility as a father, and now I shall have more to leave to the survivors.”

“Pray, don’t speak thus, my lord, of your child. The fruit of your loins should ever be regarded with affection.”

“I loved the boy when living, Father Olyver. But now, man, he has ceased to live; the spirit, the soul, has gone; a clod of earth only remains.”

“Be it so, my lord. Yet I must own that I look on his untimely end as a terrible warning to you. The event tells you to set your house in order, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.”

“All right, Father Olyver. I suppose, when He comes, I must go like the rest, in spite of the saints and mother Church.”

“But are you prepared, my prince, when the voice calls?”

“Of course I am, father. Let his majesty come whenever he pleases, I’ll accompany him.”“Are you ready, my dear prince, to appear, without fear, before your God when He calls you hence?”

“There are beautiful maidens, too, father, before whom I must and delight to appear, after my evening’s carousals! Ah! ah! ah! I’ll be bound that even you, Father Olyver, with your sanctimonious jib, are not indifferent to the smiles of a pretty wench, and you won’t turn away when you happen to have a glimpse of a fine ankle. Human nature is human nature all the world over. I warrant priests of mother Church don’t always keep it in subjection. Oh! Oh!”

“This is not the time, nor is it a fitting occasion, my lord, to indulge in such language,” replied the priest. “For one day, at least, especially in the presence of the dead, I beseech you to cease speaking thus.”

“Why should I, man, refrain from telling the truth even now? Bedad, I’ve hit the right nail on the head this time at any rate.”

“For the present, however, I shall regard your charge of me and my orders in silence. I have come here to perform the last rites of the Church over the dead. The day to me is one of unusual solemnity. I loved your son as if he had been my own child. He was a good and pious youth, notwithstanding the evil influences by which he was surrounded. But he is gone, and the place that knew him shall know him no more. And now, my lord, what hour have you fixed for carrying his remains to that silent bourne from whence no traveller ever comes back?”

“We propose to bury at five; and after the funeral I have, Father Olyver, a grand banquet in my palace, and we anticipate a merry meeting.”

“And cannot you, my lord, give up folly and pleasure for a single day? Can’t you devote one evening to pursuits which harmonize with the solemnity of the day? You have received from time to time, and year after year, the most terrible warnings, yet you heed them not. You hear the sound of the trumpet, to which you have paid no attention. If you continue to live as you have lived, my dear prince—if you resolve, come what will, to steel your heart, and defy the Almighty,—the day is not far distant when the wrath of an angry God will descend upon you and yours, and on that day—rather on that dark and dismal night—the sword of His justice will descend, and the innocent and the guilty shall perish together. I now leave you, my prince, but in a few hours we shall meet again at the grave of departed virtue, and something tells me that when we then part it will be a parting for ever.”

At the time appointed the funeral cortÈge arrived at Llangasty. The young prince was buried with extraordinary pomp. When the service was concluded, Father Olyver went up and pressed the hand of the prince, and bidding him good-bye, whispered in his ear, “Remember, my lord, the warning voice: it has spoken once, twice, ay, thrice; the next time it will speak in thunder and lightning, when the earth shall move and reel like a drunken man. So now, farewell. I fear we shall never meet again.”

The good priest then turned away from prince and people. He re-entered the church for evening song, while the prince and the mourners returned to the palace to make merry and be glad. Before they arrived home, the day had disappeared, and the night had come. Darkness had settled down upon the earth. When they entered the palace, they little dreamt of being on the very brink of a precipice over which they would be hurled by the fiat of the Eternal.

CHAPTER III.
THE FATAL BANQUET; OR, VENGEANCE AT HAND.

The palace of the Prince of Llynfi was characterized by drunkenness and vice, dissipation and sensuality, intemperance and debauchery. Virtue had no lodgment there. Righteousness had no habitation there. Justice, religion, and truth were wholly absent from the palace of the prince. He and his family gave themselves up to pleasure, to riotous living, and to revellings; and from day to day, week to week, and month to month, they lived as if there was no God—no hereafter—no judgment to come! Moreover, they had so sunk in sin and iniquity, that they were quite insensible to those feelings which are common and general, and indeed universal, in the lowest state of humanity. Flower after flower of the family circle had withered and died, or had been plucked from the tree of life by the will of the Almighty, yet from the heart of the survivors there never escaped a sigh; never a tear was shed; their hearts had become a flinty rock, and were as insensible of impression as the Parian marble. Thus they lived: thus, too, they died; for at last they were cut down as cumberers of the ground.

Before the untimely death of the son, the prince had arranged for a grand banquet to take place on the very day his mortal remains were consigned to the tomb. During the progress of preparation for the funeral, preparations were also being made for the expected banquet. On their return from the church, many of the guests had already arrived and many more soon followed. By nine o’clock the palace was filled with a splendid array of the licentious male and female inhabitants of the villages in the surrounding country. According to old traditions, two renowned minstrels from a distance had been summoned to cheer them in their revels; and riot and disorder, such as had never before been witnessed even in that palace, resounded among the hills. The party had been many hours assembled: it was midnight. In the midst of their revellings there was suddenly heard a crash of thunder, which shook the palace to its foundation; and this was immediately followed by louder and louder peals, which boomed through the valley as the noise of a thousand pieces of artillery. The prince and his riotous companions were awe-struck, and presently they heard a voice saying in deep, solemn tones, “Vengeance is at hand!” In a moment the two minstrels arose, and beholding in the air a mysterious hand beckoning to them, they fled after it as it retreated. The hand moved faster and faster, and as it moved they increased their speed. After they had gone a considerable distance the earth heaved violently, and appeared to totter on its foundations. For a moment they turned round to see the distance they had come. They saw the ground divide in twain, and up through this large chasm they beheld the waters rushing forth like the ocean when convulsed, and mingling with the roaring sound of the waters were the dying shrieks of the revellers. Pausing for another moment in their flight, the minstrels observed, with great terror, a wide expanse of boiling and agitated waters where the palace and village had stood, engulfing the palace and its wicked and impious inmates far below its bosom. Since then, Llyn Savathan has ever been regarded as an unhallowed spot; the great wickedness of the prince and his followers having drawn upon them the just judgment of the Eternal.