Chapter 110

Arrival at Chepstow—Stirring Lyric—Conclusion.

I passed through Caer Went, once an important Roman station, and for a long time after the departure of the Romans a celebrated British city, now a poor desolate place consisting of a few old-fashioned houses and a strange-looking dilapidated church. No Welsh is spoken at Caer Went, nor to the east of it, nor indeed for two or three miles before you reach it from the west.

The country between it and Chepstow, from which it is distant about four miles, is delightfully green, but somewhat tame.

Chepstow stands on the lower part of a hill, near to where the beautiful Wye joins the noble Severn. The British name of the place is Aber Wye or the disemboguement of the Wye. The Saxons gave it the name of Chepstow, which in their language signifies a place where a market is held, because even in the time of the Britons it was the site of a great cheap or market. After the Norman Conquest it became the property of De Clare, one of William’s followers, who built near it an enormous castle, which enjoyed considerable celebrity during several centuries from having been the birthplace of Strongbow, the conqueror of Ireland, but which is at present chiefly illustrious from the mention which is made of it in one of the most stirring lyrics of modern times, a piece by Walter Scott, called the “Norman Horseshoe,” commemorative of an expedition made by a De Clare, of Chepstow, with the view of insulting with the print of his courser’s shoe the green meads of Glamorgan, and which commences thus:—

“Red glows the forge”—

I went to the principal inn, where I engaged a private room and ordered the best dinner which the people could provide. Then leaving my satchel behind me I went to the castle, amongst the ruins of which I groped and wandered for nearly an hour, occasionally repeating verses of the Norman Horseshoe. I then went to the Wye and drank of the waters at its mouth, even as some time before I had drunk of the waters at its source. Then returning to my inn I got my dinner, after which I called for a bottle of port, and placing my feet against the sides of the grate I passed my time drinking wine and singing Welsh songs till ten o’clock at night, when I paid my reckoning, amounting to something considerable. Then shouldering my satchel I proceeded to the railroad station, where I purchased a first-class ticket, and ensconcing myself in a comfortable carriage, was soon on the way to London, where I arrived at about four o’clock in the morning, having had during the whole of my journey a most uproarious set of neighbours a few carriages behind me, namely, some hundred and fifty of Napier’s tars returning from their expedition to the Baltic.

CUMRO AND CUMRAEG.

The original home of the Cumro was Southern Hindustan, the extreme point of which, Cape Comorin, derived from him its name. It may be here asked what is the exact meaning of the word Cumro? The true meaning of the word is a youth. It is connected with a Sanscrit word, signifying a youth, and likewise a prince. It is surprising how similar in meaning the names of several nations are: Cumro, a youth; Gael, a hero; {24} Roman, one who is comely, a husband; {25} Frank or Frenchman, a free, brave fellow; Dane, an honest man; Turk, a handsome lad; Arab, a sprightly fellow. Lastly, Romany Chal, the name by which the Gypsy styles himself, signifying not an Egyptian, but a lad of Rome. {26}

The language of the Cumro is called after him Cumraeg. Of Cumric there are three dialects, the speech of Cumru or Wales; that of Armorica or, as the Welsh call it, Llydaw, and the Cornish, which is no longer spoken, and only exists in books and in the names of places. The Cumric bears considerable affinity to the Gaelic, or the language of the Gael, of which there are also three dialects, the Irish, the speech of the Scottish Highlanders, and the Manx, which last is rapidly becoming extinct. The Cumric and Gaelic have not only a great many thousand words in common, but also a remarkable grammatical feature, the mutation and dropping of certain initial consonants under certain circumstances, which feature is peculiar to the Celtic languages. The number of Sanscritic words which the Cumric and Gaelic possess is considerable. Of the two the Gaelic possesses the most, and those have generally more of the Sanscritic character, than the words of the same class which are to be found in the Welsh. The Welsh, however, frequently possesses the primary word when the Irish does not. Of this the following is an instance. One of the numerous Irish words for a mountain is codadh. This word is almost identical with the Sanscrit kuta, which also signifies a mountain; but kuta and codadh are only secondary words. The Sanscrit possesses the radical of kuta, and that is kuda, to heap up, but the Irish does not possess the radical of codadh. The Welsh, without possessing any word for a hill at all like codadh, has the primary or radical word; that word is codi, to rise or raise, almost identical in sound and sense with the Sanscrit kuda. Till a house is raised there is no house, and there is no hill till the Nara or Omnipotent says _Arise_.

The Welsh is one of the most copious languages of the world, as it contains at least eighty thousand words. It has seven vowels; w in Welsh being pronounced like oo, and y like u and i. Its most remarkable feature is the mutation of initial consonants, to explain which properly would require more space than I can afford. {27} The nouns are of two numbers, the singular and plural, and a few have a dual number. The genders are three, the Masculine, the Feminine and the Neuter. There are twelve plural terminations of nouns, of which the most common is au. Some substantives are what the grammarians call aggregate plurals, {28} “which are not used in the plural without the addition of diminutive terminations, for example adar, birds, aderyn, a bird; gwenyn, bees, gwenynen, a single bee.” There are different kinds of adjectives; some have a plural, some have none; some have a feminine form, others have not; the most common plural termination is ion. It is said by some that the verb has properly no present tense, the future being used instead. The verbs present many difficulties, and there are many defective and irregular ones. In the irregularities of its verbs the Welsh language very much resembles the Irish.

The numerals require some particular notice: forty, sixty and eighty are expressed by deugain, trigain, and pedwarugain, literally, two twenties, three twenties, and four twenties; whilst fifty, seventy, and ninety are expressed by words corresponding with ten after two twenties, ten after three twenties, and ten after four twenties. Whether the Welsh had ever a less clumsy way of expressing the above numbers is unknown—something similar is observable in French, and the same practice prevails in the modern Gaelic; in the ancient Gaelic, however, there are such numerals as ceathrachad, seasgad, and naochad, which correspond with quadraginta, sexaginta, and nonaginta. The numerals dau, tri, and pedwar, or two, three, and four, have feminine forms, becoming when preceding feminine nouns, dwy, tair, and pedair. In Gaelic no numeral has a feminine form; certain numerals, however, have an influence over nouns which others have not, and before cead, a hundred, and mile, a thousand, do, two, is changed into da, for it is not customary to say do chead, two hundred, and do mhile, two thousand, but da chead and da mhile. {29} With respect to pedwar, the Welsh for four, I have to observe that it bears no similitude to the word for the same number in Gaelic; the word for four in Gaelic is ceathair, and the difference between ceathair and pedwar is great indeed. Ceathair is what may be called a Sanscritic numeral; and it is pleasant to trace it in various shapes, through various languages, up to the grand speech of India: Irish, ceathair; Latin, quatuor; Greek, téssares; Russian, chetúri; Persian, chahar; Sanscrit, chatur. As to pedwar, it bears some resemblance to the English four, the German vier, is almost identical with the Wallachian patrou, and is very much like the Homeric word πίσυρες, but beyond Wallachia and Greece we find nothing like it, bearing the same meaning, though it is right to mention that the Sanscrit word páda signifies a _quarter_, as well as a foot. It is curious that the Irish word for five, cuig, is in like manner quite as perplexing as the Welsh word for four. The Irish word for five is not a Sanscritic word, pump, the Welsh word for five, is. Pantschan is the Sanscrit word for five, and pump is linked to pantschan by the Æolick pémpe, the Greek pénte and pémptos, the Russian piat and the Persian Pantsch; but what is cuig connected with? Why it is connected with the Latin quinque, and perhaps with the Arabic khamsa; but higher up than Arabia we find nothing like it; or if one thinks one recognises it, it is under such a disguise that one is rather timorous about swearing to it—and now nothing more on the subject of numerals.

I have said that the Welsh is exceedingly copious. Its copiousness, however, does not proceed, like that of the English, from borrowing from other languages. It has certainly words in common with other tongues, but no tongue, at any rate in Europe, can prove that it has a better claim than the Welsh to any word which it has in common with that language. No language has a better supply of simple words for the narration of events than the Welsh, and simple words are the proper garb of narration; and no language abounds more with terms calculated to express the abstrusest ideas of the meta-physician. Whoever doubts its capability for the purpose of narration, let him peruse the Welsh Historical Triads, in which are told the most remarkable events which befell the early Cumry; and whosoever doubts its power for the purpose of abstruse reasoning, let him study a work called Rhetorick, by Master William Salisbury, written about the year 1570, and I think he will admit that there is no hyperbole, or, as a Welshman would call it, _gorwireb_, in what I have said with respect to the capabilities of the Welsh language.

As to its sounds—I have to observe that at the will of a master it can be sublimely sonorous, terribly sharp, diabolically guttural and sibilant, and sweet and harmonious to a remarkable degree. What more sublimely sonorous than certain hymns of Taliesin; more sharp and clashing than certain lines of Gwalchmai and Dafydd Benfras, describing battles; more diabolically grating than the Drunkard’s Choke-pear by Rhys Goch, and more sweet than the lines of poor Gronwy Owen to the Muse? Ah, those lines of his to the Muse are sweeter even than the verses of Horace, of which they profess to be an imitation. What lines in Horace’s ode can vie in sweetness with

“Tydi roit â diwair wén Lais eos i lysowen!”

“Thou couldst endow, with thy dear smile, With voice of lark the lizard vile!”

Eos signifies a nightingale, and Lysowen an eel. Perhaps in no language but the Welsh, could an eel be mentioned in lofty poetry: Lysowen is perfect music.

Having stated that there are Welsh and Sanscrit words which correspond, more or less, in sound and meaning, I here place side by side a small number of such words, in order that the reader may compare them.

WELSH SANSCRIT

Aber, a meeting of waters, an Ap, ápah, water; apagá, a river; outflowing; Avon, a river; Aw, a Persian, ab, water; Wallachian, flowing apa

Anal, breath Anila, air

Arian, silver Ara, brass; Gypsy, harko, copper Aur, gold {30}

Athu, to go At’ha; Russian, iti

Bôd, being, existence Bhavat, bhúta

Brenin, a king Bharanda, a lord; Russian barín

Caer, a wall, a city Griha, géha, a house; Hindustani, ghar; Gypsy, kair, kaer

Cain, fine, bright Kánta, pleasing, beautiful; Kana, to shine

Canu, to sing Gána, singing

Cathyl, a hymn Khéli a song; Gypsy, gillie

Coed, a wood, trees Kut’ha, kuti, a tree

Cumro, a Welshman Kumára, a youth, a prince

Daear, daeren, the earth Dhará, fem. dharaní

Dant, a tooth Danta

Dawn, a gift Dána

Derw, an oak Dáru, timber

Dewr, bold, brave Dhíra

Drwg, bad Durgati, hell; Durgá, the goddess of destruction

Duw, God Déva, a god

Dwfr, dwfyr, water Tívara, the ocean (Tiber, Tevere)

Dwr, water Uda; Greek, υδωρ; Sanscrit, dhlíra, the ocean; Persian, deria, dooria, the sea; Gypsy, dooria

En, a being, a soul, that which An, to breathe, to live; ána, lives breath; Irish, an, a man, fire

Gair, a word Gir, gira, speech

Gwr, a man Víra, a hero, strong, fire; Lat. Gwres, heat vir, a man; Dutch, vuur, fire; Turkish, er, a man; Heb., ur, fire

Geneth, girl Kaní

Geni, to be born Jana

Gwybod, to know Vid

Hocedu, to cheat Kúhaka, deceit

Huan, the sun Ina

Ieuanc,young Youvan

Ir, fresh, juicy Irá, water Irdra, juiciness

Llances, a girl Lagnika

Lleidyr, a thief Lata

Maen, a stone Mani, a gem

Mam, mother Ma

Marw, to die Mára, death

Mawr, great Mahá

Medd, mead Mad’hu, honey

Meddwi, to intoxicate Mad, to intoxicate; Máda, intoxication; Mada, pleasure; Madya, wine; Matta, intoxicated; Gypsy, matto, drunk; Gr. yέθυ, wine, μεδύω, to be drunk

Medr, a measure Mátra

Nâd, a cry Nad, to speak; Náda, sound

Nant, ravine, rivulet Nadí, a river

Neath, Nedd, name of a river; Nícha, low, deep; níchagá, a nedd, a dingle, what is low, deep river, that which descends; (Nith, Nithsdale) nítha, water

Nêf, heaven Nabhas; Russian, nabeçá, the heavens; Lat., nubes, a cloud

Neidiaw, to leap; Nata, to dance; Náta, dancing

Nêr, the Almighty, the Lord, the Nara, that which animates every Creator thing, the spirit of God {31}

Nerth, strength, power Nara, man, the spirit of God; Gr. άνήρ, a man, νευρον strength; Persian, nar, a male; Arabic, nãr, fire

Noddwr, a protector Nátha

Nôs, night Nisá

Pair, a cauldron Pit’hara

Pêd, a foot; pedair, four Pad, a foot; páda, a quarter

Pridd, earth Prithiví, the earth

Prif, principal, prime Prabhu, a lord, a ruler

Rhên, the Lord Rájan, a king

Rhian, a lady Hindustani, rani

Rhôd, a wheel Ratha, a car

Swm, being together Sam

Swynwr, a wizard, sorcerer Sanvanana, a witch; Hindustani, syani

Tâd, father Táta

Tân, fire Dahana

Tant, a string Tantu

Tanu, to expand Tana

Toriad, a breaking, cutting Dári, cutting

Uchafedd, height Uchch’ya

Ych, ox Ukshan

In the above list of Cumric and Sanscrit words there are certainly some remarkable instances of correspondence in sound and sense, the most interesting of which is that afforded by Nêr, the Cumric word for the Lord, and Nara, the Sanscrit word for the Spirit of God. From comparing the words in that list one might feel disposed to rush to the conclusion that the Cumric sprang from the Sanscrit, the sacred language of sunny Hindustan. But to do so would be unwise, for deeper study would show that if the Welsh has some hundreds of words in common with the Sanscrit, it has thousands upon thousands which are not to be found in that tongue, after making all possible allowance for change and modification. No subject connected with what is called philosophy is more mortifying to proud human reason than the investigation of languages, for in what do the researches of the most unwearied philologist terminate but a chaos of doubt and perplexity, else why such exclamations as these? Why is the Wallachian word for water Sanscrit? for what is the difference between apa and ap? Wallachian is formed from Latin and Sclavonian; why then is not the word for water either woda or aqua, or a modification of either? Why is the Arabic word for the sea Irish, for what is the difference between bahar, the Arabic word for sea, and beathra, an old Irish word for water, pronounced barra, whence the river Barrow? How is it that one of the names of the Ganges is Welsh; for what is the difference between Dhur, a name of that river, and dwr, the common Welsh word for water? How is it that aequor, a Latin word for the sea, so much resembles Ægir, the name of the Norse God of the sea? and how is it that Asaer, the appellative of the Northern Gods, is so like Asura, the family name of certain Hindu demons? Why does the scanty Gailk, the language of the Isle of Man, possess more Sanscrit words than the mighty Arabic, the richest of all tongues; and why has the Welsh only four words for a hill, and its sister language the Irish fifty-five? How is it that the names of so many streams in various countries, for example Donau, Dwina, Don, and Tyne, so much resemble Dhuni, a Sanscrit word for a river? How is it that the Sanscrit devila stands for what is wise and virtuous, and the English devil for all that is desperate and wicked? How is it that Alp and Apennine, Celtic words for a hill, so much resemble ap and apah, Sanscrit words for water? Why does the Sanscrit kalya mean to-morrow as well as yesterday, and the Gypsy merripen life as well as death? How is it that ur, a Gaelic word for fire, is so like urá the Basque word for water, and Ure the name of an English stream? Why does nerón, the Modern Greek word for water, so little resemble the ancient Greek υδωρ and so much resemble the Sanscrit níra? and how is it that nára, which like níra signifies water, so much resembles nara, the word for man and the Divinity? How is it that Nereus, the name of an ancient Greek water god, and Nar, the Arabic word for fire, are so very like Nêr, the Welsh word for the Creator? How is it that a certain Scottish river bears the name of the wife of Oceanus, for what is Teith but Teithys? How indeed! and why indeed! to these and a thousand similar questions. Ah man, man! human reason will never answer them, and you may run wild about them, unless, dropping your pride, you are content to turn for a solution of your doubts to a certain old volume, once considered a book of divine revelation, but now a collection of old wives’ tales, the Bible.

* * * * *

THE END

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_Printed by Hazell_, _Watson & Viney_, _Ld._, _London and Aylesbury_.

Footnotes:

{0} Unfortunately none of the illustrations can be included as the Project Gutenberg transcriber lives in a country where they are still in copyright, Archibald Standish Hartrick having died in 1950.—DP.

{1} That vira at one time meant man in general, as well as fire, there can be no doubt. It is singular how this word or something strikingly like it, occurs in various European languages, sometimes as man, sometimes as fire. Vir in Latin signifies man, but vuur in Dutch signifies fire. In like manner fear in Irish signifies a man, but fire in English signifies the consuming, or, as the Hindus would call it, the producing element.

{2} “Pawb a’i cenfydd, o bydd bai, A Bawddyn, er na byddai.”—GRONWY OWEN.

{3} One or two of the characters and incidents in this Saga are mentioned in the Romany Rye. London, 1857, vol. i. p. 240; vol. ii. p. 150.

A partial translation of the Saga, made by myself, has been many years in existence. It forms part of a mountain of unpublished translations from the Northern languages. In my younger days no London publisher, or indeed magazine editor, would look at anything from the Norse, Danish, etc.

{4} All these three names are very common in Norfolk, the population of which is of Norse origin. Skarphethin is at present pronounced Sharpin. Helgi Heely. Skarphethin, interpreted, is a keen pirate.

{5} Eryri likewise signifies an excrescence or scrofulous eruption. It is possible that many will be disposed to maintain that in the case of Snowdon the word is intended to express a rugged excrescence or eruption on the surface of the earth.

{6} It will not be amiss to observe that the original term is gwyddfa but gwyddfa; being a feminine noun or compound commencing with g, which is a mutable consonant, loses the initial letter before y the definite article—you say Gwyddfa a tumulus, but not y gwyddfa _the_ tumulus.

{7} Essay on the Origin of the English Stage by Bishop Percy. London, 1793.

{8} The above account is chiefly taken from the curious Welsh book called “Dych y prif Oesoedd.”

{9} Spirits.

{10} Eel.

{11} For an account of this worm, which has various denominations, see article “Fasciola Hepatica” in any Encyclopædia.

{12} As the umbrella is rather a hackneyed subject two or three things will of course be found in the above eulogium on an umbrella which have been said by other folks on that subject; the writer, however, flatters himself that in his eulogium on an umbrella two or three things will also be found which have never been said by any one else about an umbrella.

{13} Bitter root.

{14} Amongst others a kind of novel called “The Adventures of Twm Shon Catty, a Wild Wag of Wales.” It possesses considerable literary merit, the language being pure, and many of the descriptions graphic. By far the greater part of it, however, would serve for the life of any young Welsh peasant, quite as well as for that of Twm Shon Catti. Its grand fault is endeavouring to invest Twm Shon with a character of honesty, and to make his exploits appear rather those of a wild young waggish fellow than of a robber. This was committing a great mistake. When people take up the lives of bad characters the more rogueries and villainies they find, the better they are pleased, and they are very much disappointed and consider themselves defrauded by any attempt to apologise for the actions of the heroes. If the thieves should chance to have reformed, the respectable readers wish to hear nothing of their reformation till just at the close of the book, when they are very happy to have done with them for ever.

{15} Skazka O Klimkie. Moscow, 1829.

{16} Hanes Crefydd Yn Nghymru.

{17} The good gentlewoman was probably thinking of the celebrated king Brian Boromhe slain at the battle of Clontarf.

{18} Fox’s Court—perhaps London.

{19} Drych y Prif Oesoedd, p. 100.

{20} Y Greal, p. 279.

{21} Hanes Crefydd Yn NGhymru.

{22} Fear caoch: vir cæcus.

{23} Curses of this description, or evil prayers as they are called, are very common in the Irish language, and are frequently turned to terrible account by that most singular class or sect, the Irish mendicants. Several cases have occurred connected with these prayers, corresponding in many respects with the case detailed above.

{24} Sanscrit, Kali, a hero.

{25} Sanscrit, Rama, Ramana, a husband.

{26} Romany chal, son of Rome, lad of Rome. Romany chi, daughter of Rome, girl of Rome. Chal, chiel, child, the Russian cheloviek, a man, and the Sanscrit Jana, to be born, are all kindred words.

{27} For a clear and satisfactory account of this system see Owen’s Welsh Grammar, p. 13.

{28} Owen’s Grammar, p. 40.

{29} Pronounced vile or wile—here the principle of literal mutation is at work.

{30} Lat. aurum, gold; _ær_is, of brass. Perhaps the true meaning of ara, aurum, &c., is unrefined metal; if so, we have the root of them all in our own word ore.

{31} “The Eternal, the divine imperishable spirit pervading the universe.”—_Wilson’s Sanscrit Dictionary_, p. 453.

The Nara is called by the Tartars soukdoun, and by the Chinese ki: “Principe qui est dans le ciel, sur la terre, dans l’homme, et dans toutes les choses matérielles et immatérielles.”—_Dictioinnaire Tartare Mantchou_, par Amyot. Tome second, p, 124.