Part 28
One of the miracles alleged of St. David is, that at the anti-Pelagian synod he restored a child to life, ordered it to spread a napkin under his feet, and made an oration; that a snow white dove descended from heaven and sat on his shoulders; and that the ground whereon he stood rose under him till it became a hill, “on the top of which hill a church was afterwards built, which remains to this day.” He assembled a provincial synod to confirm the decrees of Brevy; and wrote the proceedings of both synods for preservation in his own church, and to be sent to the other churches of the province; but they were lost by age, negligence, and the incursions of pirates, who almost every summer came in long boats from the Orkneys, and wasted the coasts of Cambria. He invited St. Kined to this synod, who answered that he had grown crooked, distorted, and too weak for the journey; whereupon ensued “a double miracle,” for “St. Kined having been restored to health and straightness by the prayers of St. David, by his own prayers he was reduced again to his former infirmity and crookedness.” After this synod he journeyed to the monastery of Glastonbury, which he had built there and consecrated, with intent to repair it, and consecrate it again; whereupon “our Lord appearing to him in his sleep, and forbidding him to profane the sacred ceremony before performed, he, in testimony, with his finger pierced a hole in the bishop’s hand, which remained open to the view of all men till the end of the next day’s mass.” Before his death “the angel of the lord appeared to him, and said to him, Prepare thyself.” Again: “When the hour of his departure was come, our Lord Jesus Christ vouchsafed his presence, to the infinite consolation of our holy father, who at the sight of him exulted.” More to the same purpose is alleged by the catholic writers respecting him. Such as, that at his death “being associated to a troop of angels, he with them mounted up to heaven,” and that the event was known “by an angel divulging it.” This is Cressy’s account.
According to another biographer of St. David, he was uncle to the famous prince Arthur, or, strictly speaking, half uncle, if St. David’s illegitimacy be authentic. The same author relates of him, that on his way from building the church of Glastonbury he went to Bath, cured an infection of the waters, and by his prayers and benediction gave them the perpetual heat they still retain. On the same authority, St. David’s posthumous virtue, in the reign of king Stephen, occasioned the brook above the church-yard of St. David’s church to run wine, by miracle: the well near it, called Pisteldewy or the conduit of David, sent forth milk instead of water. Also a boy, that endeavoured to take pigeons from a nest in St. David’s church at Lhannons, had his fingers miraculously fastened to the stone, till by his friends’ watching, fasting, and praying before the altar three days and nights, the stone fell from his hand. “Manie thousands of other miracles have been wrought by the meritts of this holy man, which for brevities sake we omitt. I only desire all true hearted Welchmen allwaies to honour this their great patrone and protector, and supplicate the divine goodnes to reduce his sometimes beloved countrey out of the blindnes of _Protestancie_, groveling in which it languisheth. Not only in Wales, but all England over is most famous in memorie of St. David. But in these our unhappie daies the greatest part of his solemnitie consisteth in wearing of a greene leeke, and it is a sufficient theme for a zealous Welchman to ground a quarrell against him, that doeth not honour his capp with the like ornament that day.” So saith Porter.
This legend has been the theme of successive writers, with more or less of variation, and much of addition.
_Inscription for a monument in the Vale of Ewias._
Here was it, stranger, that the _Patron Saint_ Of _Cambria_ past his age of penitence, A solitary man; and here he made His hermitage, the roots his food, his drink Of Hodney’s mountain stream. Perchance thy youth Has read, with eager wonder, how the knight Of Wales, in Ormandine’s enchanted bower Slept the long sleep: and if that in thy veins Flow the pure blood of Britain, sure that blood Hath flowed with quicker impulse at the tale Of DAVID’S deeds, when thro’ the press of war His gallant comrades followed his _green crest_ To conquest. Stranger! Hatterill’s mountain heights And this fair vale of Ewias, and the stream Of Hodney, to thine after-thoughts will rise More grateful, thus associate with the name Of David, and the deeds of other days.
MR. SOUTHEY.
~St. David’s Day.~
_Wearing the Leek._
Mr. Brady, in the “Clavis Calendaria,” affirms that the custom of wearing the leek on St. David’s day is derived from St. David; who, according to him, caused the Britons under king Cadwallader to distinguish themselves from their enemies during a great battle, wherein they conquered the Saxons by virtue of his prayers and that regulation. Unfortunately he lays no ground for this positive statement, and the same misfortune attends almost every representation in his book, which would really be useful if he had pointed to his sources of information. A work professing to state facts without referring to authorities has no claim to confidence, whoever may be its author.
For any thing in the shape of ancient and authentic statement to the contrary, the institution of wearing the leek on St. David’s day by the saint himself, may rest on a Jeffrey of Monmouth authority, or on legends of no higher estimation with the historian, than “The famous History of the Seven Champions of Christendom,” by Richard Johnson.
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Shakspeare, whose genius appropriated every thing that his extraordinary faculty of observation marked for its own, introduces this custom of the Welch wearing leeks upon St. David’s day into his play of King Henry V.
_Enter Pistol to King Henry._
_Pistol._ _Qui va là?_
_K. Henry._ A friend.
_P._ What’s thy name?
_K. H._ Harry _le Roy_.
_P._ Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?
_K. H._ No, I am a Welchman.
_P._ Knowest thou Fluellen?
_K. H._ Yes.
_P._ Tell him, I’ll knock his _leek_ about his pate
Upon _St. David’s day_.
_K. H._ Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock _that_ about yours.
It is again referred to in a dialogue between Henry V. and Fluellen.
_Fluellen._ Your grandfather of famous memory, an’t please your majesty, and your great-uncle, Edward, the black prince, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France.
_K. Henry._ They did, Fluellen.
_F._ Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is remembered of it, the Welchmen did goot service in a garden where _leeks_ did grow, wearing _leeks_ in their Monmouth caps; which, your majesty knows, is an honourable padge of the service: and, I do believe, your majesty takes no scorn to wear the _leek_ upon _Saint Tavy’s day_.
_K. H._ _I wear it_ for a memorable honour: _for I am a Welch_, you know, good countryman.
This allusion by Fluellen to the Welch having worn the leek in a battle under the black prince, is not, perhaps, as some writers suppose, wholly decisive of its having originated in the fields of Cressy or Poictiers; but it shows that when Shakspeare wrote, Welchmen wore leeks. In the same play, the well-remembered Fluellen’s enforcement of Pistol to eat the _leek_ he had ridiculed, further establishes the wearing it as a usage. Fluellen wears his leek in the battle of Agincourt, which it will be recollected takes place in this play, and is there mentioned, as well as in the chronicles, to have been “fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus,” in the month of October. The scene between Fluellen and Pistol takes place the day after this battle.
_Enter Fluellen and Gower._
_Gower._ Why wear you your _leek_ to-day? _St. David’s day_ is past.
_Fluellen._ There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things.--The rascally, scald, peggarly, pragging knave, Pistol, a fellow look you now of no merits, he is come to me with pread and salt yesterday, look you, and pid me eat my _leek_, it was in a place where I could not preed no contentions with him, but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then--(_Enter Pistol_)--Got pless you, ancient Pistol! you scurvy knave, Got pless you!
_P._ Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of _leek_.
_G._ I peseech you heartily scurvy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this _leek_.
_P._ Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats.
_F._ There is one goat for you. (_strikes him._) Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it?
_P._ Base Trojan, thou shalt die.
_F._ I desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals; come there is sauce for it.--(_strikes him._) If you can mock a _leek_, you can eat a _leek_.
By beating and taunt, Fluellen forces Pistol to eat the leek, and on its being wholly swallowed, Fluellen exhorts him “when you take occasions to see _leeks_ hereafter, I pray you, mock at them, that is all!” Having thus accomplished his purpose, Fluellen leaves Pistol to digestion, and the consolation of Gower, who calls him “counterfeit cowardly knave: will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable aspect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words?”
Here we have Gower speaking of the custom of the Welch wearing leeks as “an ancient tradition,” and as “a memorable trophy of predeceased valour.” Thoroughly versed in the history of the few reigns preceding the period wherein he lived, it is not likely that Shakspeare would make a character in the time of Henry V. refer to an occurrence under the black prince, little more than half a century before the battle of Agincourt, as an affair of “ancient tradition.” Its origin may be fairly referred to a very early period.
A contributor to a periodical work[14] rejects the notion, that wearing _leeks_ on St. David’s day originated at the battle between the Welch and the Saxons in the sixth century; and thinks it more probable that _leeks_ were a _druidic_ symbol employed in honour of the British _Ceudven_ or Ceres. In which hypothesis, he thinks, there is nothing strained or far-fetched, presuming that the Druids were a branch of the Phœnician priesthood. Both were addicted to oak worship; and during the funereal rites of Adonis at Byblos, _leeks_ and onions were exhibited in “pots with other vegetables, and called the gardens of that deity.” The _leek_ was worshipped at _Ascalon_, (whence the modern term of _Scallions_,) as it was in Egypt. _Leeks_ and onions were also deposited in the sacred chests of the mysteries both of Isis and Ceres, the _Ceudven_ of the Druids; _leeks_ are among the Egyptian hieroglyphics; sometimes a _leek_ is on the head of Osiris; and at other times grasped in an extended hand; and thence, perhaps, the Italian proverb, “_Porro che nasce nella mano_,” _a leek that grows in the hand_, for a virtue. _Porrus_, a _leek_, is derived by Bryant from the Egyptian god Pi-orus, who is the same as the _Beal Peor_ of the Phœnicians, and the _Bel_ or _Bellinis_ of the Druids. These accordances are worth an ancient Briton’s consideration.
Ridicule of national peculiarities was formerly a pleasantry that the English freely indulged in. They seemed to think that different soil was good ground for a laugh at a person, and that it justified coarse and insolent remarks. In an old satirical tract there is the following sneer at the Welch:
“A WELCHMAN, Is the Oyster that the Pearl is in, for a man may be pickt out of him. He hath the abilities of the mind in _potentiâ_, and _actu_ nothing but boldnesse. His Clothes are in fashion before his Bodie; and he accounts boldnesse the chiefest vertue. Above all men he loves a Herrald, and speakes pedigrees naturally. He accompts none well descended that call him not Cosen, and prefers _Owen Glendower_ before any of the nine worthies. The first note of his familiaritie is the confession of his valour; and so he prevents quarrels. Hee voucheth Welch a pure, an unconquered language; and courts Ladies with the storie of their Chronicle. To conclude, he is pretious in his own conceit, and upon St. David’s day without comparison.”[15]
Not quite so flouting is a poetical satire called,
_The Welchman’s Song in praise of Wales._
I’s come not here to tauke of Prut, From whence the Welse dos take hur root; Nor tell long pedegree of Prince Camber, Whose linage would fill full a chamber; Nor sing the deeds of ould Saint _Davie_, The Ursip of which would fill a navie, But hark you me now, for a liddell tales Sall make a great deal to the creddit of Wales, For hur will tudge your eares, With the praise of hur thirteen seers; And make you as glad and merry, As fourteen pot of perry.
There are four other stanzas; one of them mentions the _leek_:
But all this while was never think A word in praise of our Welse drink: Yet for aull that is a cup of bragat Aull England seer may cast his cap at. And what you say to ale of Webley, Toudge him as well, you’ll praise him trebly As well as metheglin, or syder, or meath, Sall sake it your dagger quite out o’ the seath. And oat cake of Guarthenion, With a goodly _leek_ or onion, To give as sweet a rellis As e’er did Harper Ellis.[16]
In “Time’s Telescope,” an annual volume already mentioned for its pleasant varieties and agreeable information, there is a citation of flouting lines from “Poor Robin’s Almanac,” of 1757, under the month of _March_:
The _first of this month_ some do keep, For honest Taff to wear his _leek_; Who patron was, they say, of Wales, And since that time, cuts-plutter-a nails, Along the street this day doth strut With hur green _leek_ stuck in hur hat, And if hur meet a shentleman Salutes in Welch; and if hur can Discourse in Welch, then hur shall be Amongst the green-horned Taffy’s free.
The lines that immediately succeed the above, and follow below, are a versified record of public violence to the Welch character, which Englishmen in this day will read with surprise:
But it would make a stranger laugh To see th’ English hang poor Taff; A pair of breeches and a coat, Hat, shoes and stockings, and what not; All stuffed with hay to represent The Cambrian hero thereby meant; With sword sometimes three inches broad, And other armour made of wood, They drag hur to some publick tree, And hang hur up in effigy.
These barbarous practices of more barbarous times have disappeared as knowledge has advanced.
* * * * *
St. David’s day in London is the Anniversary of “the most Honourable and Loyal Society of Ancient Britons,” established in 1714; they celebrate it with festivity in behalf of the Welch charity-school in Grays-inn-road, which was instituted in 1718 for boarding, clothing, and educating 80 boys and 25 girls, born of Welch parents, in or within ten miles of the metropolis, and not having a parochial settlement within those limits. This institution has the king for patron as prince of Wales, and is supported by voluntary contributions. The “Ancient Britons,” according to annual custom, go in procession to the royal residence on St. David’s day, and receive the royal bounty. The society are in carriages, and each wears an artificial representation of the _leek_ in his hat, composed of ribbands and silver foil. They have been sometimes accompanied by horsemen decorated in the same way, and are usually preceded by marshals, also on horseback, wearing _leeks_ of larger dimension in their hats, and ornamented with silk scarfs. In this state they proceed from the school-house to some adjacent church, and hear a discourse delivered on the occasion, by a prelate or other dignified clergyman. The day is concluded by an elegant dinner under the regulation of stewards, when a collection is made for the institution, and a handsome sum is generally contributed.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Leek. _Allium Porrum._ Dedicated to _St. David_.
[13] Butler’s Saints.
[14] “Gazette of Fashion,” March 9, 1822.
[15] “A wife, now the widdow of sir Thomas Overburye, being a most exquisite and singular poem of the choice of a wife, whereunto are added many _witty characters_,” &c. London, printed for Lawrence Lisle, 4to. 1614.
[16] “An Antidote against Melancholy,” 4to 1661.
~March 2.~
_St. Ceada_, or _Chad_. _Martyrs under the Lombards_, 6th Cent. _St. Simplicius_, Pope A. D. 483. _St. Marnan_, A. D. 620. _St. Charles the Good_, Earl of Flanders, A. D. 1124. _St. Joavan_, or _Joevin_.
_St. Chad_, A. D. 673.
His name is in the calendar of the church of England. He was founder of the see, and bishop of Lichfield. According to Bede, joyful melody as of persons sweetly singing descended from heaven into his oratory for half an hour, and then mounted again to heaven. This was to presage his death, and accordingly he died, attended by his brother’s soul and musical angels.
_St. Chad’s Well_
Is near Battle-bridge. The miraculous water is aperient, and was some years ago quaffed by the bilious and other invalids, who flocked thither in crowds, to drink at the cost of sixpence, what people of these latter days by “the ingenious chemists’ art,” can make as effectual as St. Chad’s virtues “at the small price of one halfpenny.”
If any one desire to visit this spot of ancient renown, let him descend from Holborn-bars to the very bottom of Grays-inn-lane. On the left-hand side formerly stood a considerable hill, whereon were wont to climb and browze certain mountain goats of the metropolis, in common language called swine; the hill was the largest heap of cinder-dust in the neighbourhood of London. It was formed by the annual accumulation of some thousands of cart loads, since exported to Russia for making bricks to rebuild Moscow, after the conflagration of that capital on the entrance of Napoleon. Opposite to this unsightly site, and on the right-hand side of the road is an angle-wise faded inscription:
It stands, or rather dejects, over an elderly pair of wooden gates, one whereof opens on a scene which the unaccustomed eye may take for the pleasure-ground of Giant Despair. Trees stand as if made not to vegetate, clipped hedges seem willing to decline, and nameless weeds straggle weakly upon unlimited borders. If you look upwards you perceive painted on an octagon board “Health Restored and Preserved.” Further on towards the left, stands a low, old-fashioned, comfortable-looking, large windowed dwelling; and ten to one, but there also stands, at the open door, an ancient ailing female, in a black bonnet, a clean coloured cotton gown, and a check apron; her silver hair only in part tucked beneath the narrow border of a frilled cap, with a sedate and patient, yet, somewhat inquiring look. This is “the Lady of the _Well_.” She gratuitously informs you, that “the gardens” of “St. Chad’s well” are “for circulation” by paying for the water, of which you may drink as much, or as little, or nothing, as you please, at one guinea per year, 9_s._ 6_d._ quarterly, 4_s._ 6_d._ monthly, or 1_s._ 6_d._ weekly. You qualify for a single visit by paying sixpence, and a large glass tumbler full of warm water is handed to you. As a stranger, you are told, that “St. Chad’s well was famous at one time.” Should you be inquisitive, the dame will instruct you, with an earnest eye, that “people are not what they were,” “things are not as they used to be,” and she “can’t tell what’ll happen next.” Oracles have not ceased. While drinking St. Chad’s water you observe an immense copper into which it is poured, wherein it is heated to due efficacy, and from whence it is drawn by a cock, into the glasses. You also remark, hanging on the wall, a “tribute of gratitude” versified, and inscribed on vellum, beneath a pane of glass stained by the hand of time and let into a black frame: this is an effusion for value received from St. Chad’s invaluable water. But, above all, there is a full-sized portrait in oil, of a stout, comely personage, with a ruddy countenance, in a coat or cloak, supposed scarlet, a laced cravat falling down the breast, and a small red night cap carelessly placed on the head, conveying the idea that it was painted for the likeness of some opulent butcher who flourished in the reign of queen Anne. Ask the dame about it, and she refers you to “Rhone.” This is a tall old man, who would be taller if he were not bent by years. “I am ninety-four,” he will tell you, “this present year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five.” All that he has to communicate concerning the portrait is, “I have heard say it is the portrait of St. Chad.” Should you venture to differ, he adds, “this is the opinion of most people who come here.” You may gather that it is his own undoubted belief. On pacing the garden alleys, and peeping at the places of retirement, you imagine the whole may have been improved and beautified for the last time by some countryman of William III., who came over and died in the same year with that king, and whose works here, in wood and box, have been following him piecemeal ever since.
St. Chad’s well is scarcely known in the neighbourhood, save by its sign-board of invitation and forbidding externals. An old American loyalist, who has lived in Pentonville ever since “the rebellion” forced him to the mother country, enters to “totter not unseen” between the stunted hedgerows; it was the first “place of pleasure” he came to after his arrival, and he goes no where besides,--“every thing else is so altered.” For the same reason, a tall, spare, thin-faced man, with dull grey eyes and underhung chin, from the neighbourhood of Bethnal-green, walks hither for his “Sunday morning’s exercise,” to untruss a theological point with a law clerk, who also attends the place because his father, “when he was ’prentice to Mr. ---- the great law stationer in Chancery-lane in 1776, and sat writing for sixteen hours a day, received great benefit from the waters, which he came to drink fasting, once a week.” Such persons from local attachment, and a few male and female atrabilarians, who without a powerful motive would never breathe the pure morning air, resort to this spot for their health. St. Chad’s well is haunted, not frequented. A few years and it will be with its water as with the water of St. Pancras’ well, which is enclosed in the garden of a private house, near old St. Pancras’ churchyard.
_Holy Wells._
The _holy_ wells of London have all declined in reputation, even to St. Bride’s well, whose fame gave the name of Bridewell to an adjoining hospital and prison, and at last, attached the name to every house of correction throughout the kingdom. The last public use of the water of St. Bride’s well drained it so much, that the inhabitants of St. Bride’s parish could not get their usual supply. This exhaustion was effected by a sudden demand. Several men were engaged in filling thousands of bottles, a day or two before the 19th of July 1821, on which day his majesty, king George IV. was crowned at Westminster; and Mr. Walker of the hotel, No. 10, Bridge-street, Blackfriars, purveyor of water to the coronation, obtained it, by the only means through which the sainted fluid is now attainable, from the cast-iron pump over St. Bride’s well, in Bride-lane.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Dwarf Cerastium. _Cerastium pumilum._ Dedicated to _St. Chad_.
~March 3.~