Volume 8 / Act 1 — CELTIC LITERATURE (continued 2)
Reading edition
A characteristic expression of the homelier moral humor of the Welsh is to be had in the 'Canwyll y Cymry' (Candle of Wales), by Rhys Pritchard, the famous Elizabethan vicar of Llandovery, which for two centuries was the most popular book in Wales after the Bible. Its simple rhymed didactics do not often rise into poetry; but they are full of human feeling, expressed in a terse and proverbial way, with distinct individuality. The book easily leads one on to the very remarkable band of hymn writers, from Anne Griffiths to Williams Pantycelyn, who have flourished in Welsh. These, and some score beside, really rank by their imaginative fervor and inspiration as true poets. In quite another vein, but probably a very ancient and traditional one in Welsh, we have the homely interludes of Twm O'r Nant, who was born about 1750, of whose life George Borrow gives a very vigorous account in 'Wild Wales.' A greater than Twm O'r Nant, and born a generation earlier, Gronney Owen, a man of the finest poetic genius, ought to have a special interest for American readers because he was practically exiled from his beloved Anglesea by the ungrateful church he served; and died, poor and broken-hearted, in New Brunswick about the year 1780. His 'Cywydd y Faru' (Ode to the Day of Judgment), his touching lines to his little daughter Elin, or his Hogarthian lines upon the London garret in which he lived for a time, may be cited as showing the various sides of his poetry, of which unluckily there are no adequate translations yet forthcoming.
In prose we must not omit to mention the 'Bardd Cwsg' (The Sleeping Bard) of Elis Wynne,—a very imaginative and idiomatic prose epic-in-little, describing the bard's vision of a curiously Welsh Inferno. Wynne's prose style is remarkably fine and pure, modeled on the best Biblical standard of a Welsh without English admixture. Welsh prose has been admirably handled too by some of the divines who have flourished within the past two centuries, and who have not confined their eloquence to the pulpit. Even when the State church had no sympathy with the Welsh people and their language, many of its individual members did much to keep the spirit of literature alive; while the nonconformist ministers of Wales have always been vigorously and eminently devoted to the same cause.
Under happier conditions to-day, the latest expression of this vital persistence of the Welsh in the quest of spiritual ideals is the movement that has carried the new national university to completion, and rallied the younger generation under the banner of "Cymru Fydd" (Young Wales). The songs of Ceiriog Hughes, the poems of Islwyn, the works of scholars like Professor John Rhys, Canon Silvain Evans, and Mr. Gwenogfvyn Evans; the ardent writing and editing of Mr. Owen M. Edwards in his innumerable magazines and other adventures; and the novels of Daniel Owen,—these may be named as among the influences that count most to the Wales of the nineteenth century's end.
Note.—For citations from Welsh literature see articles on Aneurin, Mabinogion, and Taliesin. The Breton branch of Celtic literature will be treated under the heading 'Villemarqué,' the celebrated collector of 'Barzaz-Breiz.'
IV—CORNISH
The literature of a single county of England is not likely to be very extensive, and when that literature and its language died for good and all, a century ago, it becomes still more limited. Until the reign of Henry VIII., though for some time English had been very generally spoken throughout the county, the old Celtic Cornish, holding a middle position, philologically as well as geographically, between Welsh and Breton, was the mother tongue of at any rate the peasantry as far east as the Tamar. The great ecclesiastical revolution of that period helped to destroy it. Neither prayer-book nor Bible was translated into it; and though the ardently Catholic Cornish at first would have none of the former, saying that it was "but like a Christmas game," they were overruled by the forcible argument of "apostolick blows and knocks," and had to submit. Then the language receded rapidly. By the time of the Great Rebellion Truro was its eastern limit; early in the eighteenth century only the two western claw-like promontories retained it; and though Dolly Pentreath, who died in 1778, was not really the last person who spoke it, it was dead before the present century was born. A few traditional sentences, the numerals up to twenty, and some stray words lingered on until our own day,—twenty years ago the present writer took down a fair collection from the mouths of ancient mariners in Mount's Bay,—and a few words are still mixed with the local dialect of English. But as a language Cornish is dead, though its ghost still haunts its old dwelling in the names of villages, houses, woods, valleys, wells, and rocks, from Tamar to Penwith.
As may be expected, a great proportion of the literature is in verse, and most of that is in dramatic form. So little is there that an exhaustive list of what survives is quite possible. It is as follows:—
1. The Poem of the Passion. A versified account of the Passion of our Lord, recounting the events from Palm Sunday to Easter, with the addition of many legendary incidents from the Gospel of Nicodemus and other similar sources. The earliest MS. (in the British Museum) is of the fifteenth century, which is probably the date of its composition. It has been twice printed, once by Davies Gilbert, with a translation by John Keigwin in 1826, and by Dr. Whitley Stokes in 1862.
2. The Ordinalia. Three connected dramas, known collectively under this title. The first recounts the Creation and the history of the world as far as Noah's Flood. The second act of this gives the story of Moses and of David and the Building of Solomon's Temple, ending with the curiously incongruous episode of the martyrdom of St. Maximilla, as a Christian, by the bishop placed in charge of the Temple of Solomon. The second play represents the life of our Lord from the Temptation to the Crucifixion, and this goes on without a break into the third play, which gives the story of the Resurrection and Ascension, and the legend of the death of Pilate. The connecting link between the three is the legend of the wood of the cross. This well-known story, most of which is interwoven with the whole trilogy, is as follows:—Seth was sent by his dying father to beg the promised Oil of Mercy to save him; the angel who guarded Paradise gave him three seeds, or, according to the play, apple-pips; and when he returned and found his father already dead, he placed them in Adam's mouth and buried him on Mount Moriah. In process of time the three seeds grew into three trees, and from them Abraham gathered the wood for the sacrifice of Isaac, and Moses got his rod wherewith he smote the sea and the rock. Later the three trees, to symbolize the Trinity, grew into one tree, and David sat under it to bewail his sin. But Solomon cut it down to make a beam for the Temple, and since it would in no wise fit into any place, he cast it out and set it as a bridge over Cedron. Later on he buried it, and from the place where it lay there sprang the healing spring of Bethesda, to the surface of which it miraculously floated up, and the Jews found it and made of it the Cross of Calvary.
These plays were probably written in the fifteenth century, perhaps by one of the priests of Glazeney College near Falmouth, and were acted with others that are now lost in the places called Planan-Guare (the Plain of the Play), of which several still remain. The 'Ordinalia' were published with a translation by Edwin Norris in 1859.
3. The Creation of the World, with Noah's Flood, was a modernized version of the first act of the first of the 'Ordinalia' trilogy. It was written by William Jordan of Helston in 1611; but the author has borrowed whole passages of considerable length from the older play. The language represents a later period of Cornish, and occasionally several lines of English are introduced. Perhaps by a natural Celtic antipathy to the Saxon, these are generally put into the mouths of Lucifer and his angels, who furnish a good deal of the comic part of the piece. This play was published by Davies Gilbert in 1827, and by Dr. Whitley Stokes in 1864.
4. The Life of St. Meriasek. This play, written in 1504, is perhaps the most interesting of the batch. The story at least of the others contains nothing very new to most people, but St. Meriasek or Meriadoc (to give him his Breton name), the patron of Camborne, is not a well-known character, and his life, full as it is of allusions and incidents of a misty period of Cornish history, is most curious and interesting. It is not perhaps simplified by being mixed up in the wildest manner with the legend of Constantine and St. Sylvester, and the scenes shift about from Cornwall or Brittany to Rome, and from the fourth to the Heaven-knows-what century, with bewildering frequency. There are also certain other legends interwoven with the story, and it seems probable that at least three plays have been, as Dr. Whitley Stokes expresses it, "unskillfully pieced together." Yet there are many passages of considerable literary merit. The only existing MS. of this play is in the Hengwrt collection at Peniarth, and it was edited and translated by Dr. Stokes in 1872.
5. There were probably many other plays which have perished, but one other there certainly was, of which a fragment exists. What it was called or what it was about no one knows, but an actor in it, setting about to learn his own part in it, wrote that short piece of thirty-six lines on the back of a title-deed of some land in the parish of St. Stephen, near Bodmin. The deed drifted eventually into the British Museum, and the present writer discovered the Cornish verses on it, not wholly by accident, about nineteen years ago. The writing belongs to the latter part of the fourteenth century, and is therefore the earliest literary fragment of the language.
6. The rest of the literature of the Cornish language consists of a few songs, epigrams, mottoes, proverbs, and the like, a short dissertation on the language, and the tale of 'John of Chy-an-Hur,' a widely known folk-tale. These are mostly in the latest form of Cornish, and are contained in the MS. collection of William Gwavas in the British Museum and in that of Dr. Borlase, until lately in the possession of his descendants. Most of them have been printed by Davies Gilbert (with the play of the 'Creation'), by William Pryce in the 'Archæologia Cornu-Britannica' in 1790, by Mr. W. C. Borlase in the Transactions of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, and in a fragmentary way in a few other places. They are mostly translations or adaptations from the English, but a few, such as the rather doggerel 'Pilchard Fishing Song,' are originals. Lastly, in the Church of St. Paul, near Penzance, there is the one solitary epitaph in the language; written while it was still just alive, and perhaps the last composition in it.
[The versions given of these specimens of Cornish literature are founded on those of Dr. Whitley Stokes and Dr. E. Norris. The phraseology has been to some extent altered, but the renderings are almost all the same.]
FROM THE 'POEM OF THE PASSION' [The Death of Our Lord on the Cross]
His pain was strong and sharp, so that he could not live, But must yield up his white soul; ever purely had he lived. And Christ prayed, as thus in many a place we read, "My soul I do commend, O Lord, between thy hands!" For weakly he breathed, being constrained, so that he could not rest; On nothing could he lean his head for the garland that he wore. If he leaned to one side, for his shoulder it grieved him And the tree did yet worse, if he set it backwards. Nor could he lean forward for fear of being choked. Then was it as we read in books as it is written:— "For the birds to make their nests, places are prepared, But for Christ where he may lay his head no place is found." But now must he needs leave his head to hang, For his blood was all gone from him, and he could not live. To the side of the Mother that owned him, his head he would hold, And his soul went from him with chilling shriek and shrill cry. Beside the Cross of Jesus was a man hight Sentury, And when he saw the wondrous things that happened at Christ's death, And how his soul he yielded, against nature, with a cry, He said without scorning, "This truly was God's Son;" And many were there with him that testimony bore. Now was it midday in the land, or later, as is written. Earthquake there was and lightning, and darkness over all; The Temple Veil was rent in twain, and to the ground it fell, And likewise broken were the stones so strong and hard. Graves in many places were opened wide, And the bodies that were in them were raised up, And went straightway to the city—by many were they seen— To bear witness that it was God's Son that was slain. Water, earth, and fire, and wind, sun, moon, and stars likewise, At Christ's suffering death knew sorrow. Nature will cause, I trow, if the good Lord be pained, All his subjects, even saints, to be grieved for his pain.
FROM 'ORIGO MUNDI,' IN THE 'ORDINALIA'
[Seth, being sent to fetch the oil of mercy from Paradise for his dying father, comes to the guardian cherub.]
Cherubin— Seth, what is thine errand, That thou comest so far? Tell me anon. Seth— O Angel, I will tell it thee: My father is old and weary; He wishes no longer to live; And through me he prayed thee To tell the truth Of the oil of mercy promised To him at the last day. Cherubin— Within the gate put thou thy head, And behold it all, nor fear, Whatever thou seest. And look on all sides, Spy out every detail, Search out everything carefully. Seth— Very gladly I will do it; I am glad to have permission To know what is there And tell it to my father.
[And he looks and turns round, saying:
Fair field to behold is this; Hapless he who lost the land. But for the tree I wonder greatly That it should be dry. But I trow that it went dry And all was made bare, for the sin Which my father and mother sinned. Like the prints of their feet, They all became dry as herbs, Alas, when the morsel was eaten. Cherubin— O Seth, thou art come Within the gate of Paradise: Tell me what thou sawest. Seth— All the beauty that I saw Tongue of man can never tell, Of good fruits and beauteous flowers, Of minstrels and sweet song, A fountain bright as silver, And flowing from it four great streams, That there is a desire to gaze upon them. In it there is a tree, High and with many boughs, But they are bare and leafless. Bark there is none around it; From the stem to the head All its branches are bare. And below when I looked, I saw its roots Even into hell descending, In the midst of great darkness; And its branches growing up Even to heaven high in light. And it was wholly without bark, Both the head and the boughs. Cherubin— Look yet again within, And all else thou shalt see Before thou come from it. Seth— I am happy to have leave; I will go to the gate at once, That I may see further good.
[He goes and looks and returns.
Cherubin— Dost thou see more now Than what there was just now? Seth— There is a serpent in the tree: Truly a hideous beast is he. Cherubin— Go yet the third time to it, And look better at the tree. Look what you can see on it Besides roots and branches. Seth— Cherubin, angel of the God of grace, High in the branches of the tree I saw A new-born child, wrapped in swaddling clothes And bound with bands. Cherubin— It was God's son that thou sawest, Like a child in swaddling clothes. He will redeem Adam thy father With his flesh and blood likewise, When the time is come, And thy mother and all good people. He is the oil of mercy Which was promised to thy father. Through his death truly Shall all the world be saved.
