And, when the year and day had past,
The dame within the cauldron cast
The consummating chaplet wild,
While Gwion held the hideous child.
But from the cauldron rose a smoke
That filled with darkness all the air:
When through its folds the torchlight broke,
Nor Gwion, nor the boy, was there.
The fire was dead, the cauldron cold,
And in it lay, in sleep uprolled.
Fair as the morning-star, a child,
That woke, and stretched its arms, and smiled.
What chanced her labours to destroy,
She never knew; and sought in vain
If ‘twere her own misshapen boy,
Or little Gwion, born again:
And vexed with doubt, the babe she rolled
In cloth of purple and of gold,
And in a coracle consigned
Its fortunes to the sea and wind.
The summer night was still and bright,
The summer moon was large and clear,
The frail bark, on the springtide’s height,
Was floated into Elphin’s weir:
The baby in his arms he raised:
His lovely spouse stood by, and gazed,
And, blessing it with gentle vow,
Cried “TALIESIN!” “Radiant brow!”
And I am he: and well I know
Ceridwen’s power protects me still;
And hence o’er hill and vale I go,
And sing, unharmed, whate”er I will.
She has for me Time’s veil withdrawn:
The images of things long gone,
The shadows of the coming days,
Are present to my visioned gaze.
And I have heard the words of power,
By Ceirion’s solitary lake,
That bid, at midnight’s thrilling hour,
Eryri’s hundred echoes wake.
I to Diganwy’s towers have sped,
And now Caer Lleon’s halls I tread,
Demanding justice, now, as then,
From Maelgon, most unjust of men.
The audience shouted with delight at the song of Taliesin, and King Arthur, as President of the Bardic Congress, conferred on him, at once, the highest honours of the sitting.
Where Taliesin picked up the story which he told of himself, why he told it, and what he meant by it, are questions not easily answered. Certain it is, that he told this story to his contemporaries, and that none of them contradicted it. It may, therefore, be presumed that they believed it; as any one who pleases is most heartily welcome to do now.
Besides the single songs, there were songs in dialogue, approaching very nearly to the character of dramatic poetry; and pennillion, or unconnected stanzas, sung in series by different singers, the stanzas being complete in themselves, simple as Greek epigrams, and presenting in succession moral precepts, pictures of natural scenery, images of war or of festival, the lamentations of absence or captivity, and the complaints or triumphs of love. This pennillion-singing long survived among the Welsh peasantry almost every other vestige of bardic customs, and may still be heard among them on the few occasions on which rack-renting, tax-collecting, common-enclosing, methodist-preaching, and similar developments of the light of the age, have left them either the means or inclination of making merry.
CHAPTER XVI
THE JUDGMENTS OF ARTHUR
THREE THINGS TO which success cannot fail where they shall justly be: discretion, exertion, and hope. — Triads of Wisdom.
KING Arthur had not long returned to his hall, when Queen Gwenyvar arrived, escorted by the Abbot of Avallon and Seithenyn ap Seithyn Saidi, who had brought his golden goblet, to gain a new harvest of glory from the cellars of Caer Lleon.
Seithenyn assured King Arthur, in the name of King Melvas, and on the word of a king, backed by that of his butler, which, truth being in wine, is good warranty even for a king, that the queen returned as pure as on the day King Melvas had carried her off.
“None here will doubt that;” said Gwenvach, the wife of Modred. Gwenyvar was not pleased with the compliment, and, almost before she had saluted King Arthur, she turned suddenly round, and slapped Gwenvach on the face, with a force that brought more crimson in one cheek than blushing had ever done into both. This slap is recorded in the Bardic Triads as one of the Three Fatal Slaps of the Island of Britain. A terrible effect is ascribed to this small cause; for it is said to have been the basis of that enmity between Arthur and Modred, which terminated in the battle of Camlan, wherein all the flower of Britain perished on both sides: a catastrophe more calamitous than any that ever before or since happened in Christendom, not even excepting that of the battle of Roncesvalles; for, in the battle of Camlan, the Britons exhausted their own strength, and could no longer resist the progress of the Saxon supremacy. This, however, was a later result, and comes not within the scope of the present veridicous narrative.
Gwenvach having flounced out of the hall, and the tumult occasioned by this little incident having subsided, Queen Gwenyvar took her ancient seat by the side of King Arthur, who proceeded to inquire into the circumstances of her restoration. The Abbot of Avallon began an oration, in praise of his own eloquence, and its miraculous effects on King Melvas; but he was interrupted by Seithenyn, who said, “The abbot’s eloquence was good and well timed; but the chief merit belongs to this young bard, who prompted him with good counsel, and to me, who inspirited him with good liquor. If he had not opened his mouth pretty widely when I handed him this golden goblet, exclaiming GWIN O EUR, he would never have had the heart to open it to any other good purpose. But the most deserving person is this very promising youth, in whom I can see no fault, but that he has not the same keen perception as my friend the abbot has of the excellent relish of wine from gold. To be sure, he plied me very hard with strong drink in the hall of Dinas Vawr, and thereby wormed out of me the secret of Queen Gwenyvar’s captivity; and, afterwards, he pursued us to Avallon, where he persuaded me and the abbot, and the abbot persuaded King Melvas, that it would be better for all parties to restore the queen peaceably: and then he clenched the matter with the very best song I ever heard in my life. And, as my young friend has a boon to ask, I freely give him all my share of the merit, and the abbot’s into the bargain.”
“Allow me, friend GWIN O EUR,” said the abbot, “to dispose of my own share of merit in my own way. But, such as it is, I freely give it to this youth, in whom, as you say, I can see no fault, but that his head is brimfull of Pagan knowledge.”
Arthur paid great honour to Taliesin, and placed him on his left hand at the banquet. He then said to him, “I judge, from your song of this morning, that the boom you require from me concerns Maelgon Gwyneth. What is his transgression, and what is the justice you require?”
Taliesin narrated the adventures of Elphin in such a manner as gave Arthur an insight into his affection for Melanghel; and he supplicated King Arthur to command and enforce the liberation of Elphin from the Stone Tower of Diganwy.
Before King Arthur could signify his assent, Maelgon Gwyneth stalked into the hall, followed by a splendid retinue. He had been alarmed by the absence of Rhûn, had sought him in vain on the banks of Mawddach, had endeavoured to get at the secret by pouncing upon Angharad and Melanghel, and had been baffled in his project by the vigilance of Teithrin ap Tathral. He had, therefore, as a last resort, followed Taliesin to Caer Lleon, conceiving that he might have had some share in the mysterious disappearance of Rhûn.
Arthur informed him that he was in possession of all the circumstances, and that Rhûn, who was in safe custody, would be liberated on the restoration of Elphin.
Maelgon boiled with rage and shame, but had no alternative but submission to the will of Arthur.
King Arthur commanded that all the parties should be brought before him. Caradoc was charged with the execution of this order, and, having received the necessary communications and po
wers from Maelgon and Taliesin, he went first to Diganwy, where he liberated Elphin, and then proceeded to give effect to Teithrin’s declaration, that “no hand but Elphin’s should raise the stone of Rhûn’s captivity.” Rhûn, while his pleasant adventure had all the gloss of novelty upon it, and his old renown as a gay deceiver was consequently in such dim eclipse, was very unwilling to present himself before the ladies of Caer Lleon; but Caradoc was peremptory, and carried off the crest-fallen prince, together with his bard of all work, who was always willing to go to any court, with any character, or none.
Accordingly, after a moderate lapse of time, Caradoc reappeared in the hall of Arthur, with the liberated captives, accompanied by Angharad and Melanghel, and Teithrin ap Tathral.
King Arthur welcomed the new comers with a magnificent festival, at which all the beauties of his court were present, and, addressing himself to Elphin, said, “We are all debtors to this young bard: my queen and myself for her restoration to me; you for your liberation from the Stone Tower of Dignawy. Now, if there be, amongst all these ladies, one whom he would choose for his bride, and in whose eyes he may find favor, I will give the bride a dowry worthy of the noblest princess in Britain.”
Taliesin, thus encouraged, took the hand of Melanghel, who did not attempt to withdraw it, but turned to her father a blushing face, in which he read her satisfaction and her wishes. Elphin immediately said, “I have nothing to give him but my daughter; but her I most cordially give him.”
Taliesin said, “I owe to Elphin more than I can ever repay: life, honour, and happiness.”
Arthur said, “You have not paid him ill; but you owe nothing to Maelgon and Rhûn, who are your debtors for a lesson of justice, which I hope they will profit by during the rest of their lives. Therefore Maelgon shall defray the charge of your wedding, which shall be the most splendid that has been seen in Caer Lleon.”
Maelgon looked exceedingly grim, and wished himself well back in Diganwy.
There was a very pathetic meeting of recognition between Seithenyn and his daughter; at the end of which he requested her husband’s interest to obtain for him the vacant post of second butler to King Athur. He obtained this honourable office; and he was so zealous in the fulfiment of its duties, that, unless on actual service with a detachment of liquor, he was never a minute absent from the Temple of Diana.
At a subsequent Bardic Congress, Taliesin was unanimously elected Pen Beirdd, or Chief of the Bards of Britain. The kingdom of Caredigion flourished under the protection of Arthur, and, in the ripeness of time, passed into the hands of Avaon, the son of Taliesin and Melanghel.
THE END
Crotchet Castle
Peacock’s sixth novel appeared in 1831. As in the earlier Headlong Hall, the novel assembles a group of eccentrics, each with a single monomaniacal obsession and derives humour and social satire from their various interactions and conversations. The action begins during a house-party in the nouveau riche Mr. Crotchet’s villa on the Thames (up-river from London), then continues during a river and canal journey towards Wales and ends in Mr. Chainmail’s pseudo-medieval dwelling (near Crotchet’s villa), with a parody of the Swing riots of 1830 — a rural uprising in which labourers rioted over the introduction of threshing machines, which they saw as contributing to rural unemployment and deprivation.
The character that most closely approximates to the author’s own voice is the Reverend Doctor Folliott, a vigorous middle-aged clergyman with a love for ancient Greek language and literature, who is greatly suspicious of the reform slogan of the “March of Intellect”, as well as anything done by the “learned friend” (his nickname for Lord Brougham). There are two romantic courtships, between Mr. Chainmail (who is convinced that the world has gone downhill continuously since the twelfth century) and Susannah Touchandgo (the daughter of a disgraced banker) and between Captain Fitzchrome (an attractive gentleman with only a moderate income) and Lady Clarinda Bossnowl (the daughter of an impoverished peer, who is cynically determined to make a financially rewarding marriage).
Title page of the first edition
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER I. THE VILLA.
CHAPTER II. THE MARCH OF MIND.
CHAPTER III. THE ROMAN CAMP.
CHAPTER IV. THE PARTY.
CHAPTER V. CHARACTERS.
CHAPTER VI. THEORIES.
CHAPTER VII. THE SLEEPING VENUS.
CHAPTER VIII. SCIENCE AND CHARITY.
CHAPTER IX. THE VOYAGE.
CHAPTER X. THE VOYAGE, CONTINUED.
CHAPTER XI. CORRESPONDENCE.
CHAPTER XII. THE MOUNTAIN INN.
CHAPTER XIII. THE LAKE — THE RUIN.
CHAPTER XIV. THE DINGLE.
CHAPTER XV. THE FARM.
CHAPTER XVI. THE NEWSPAPER.
CHAPTER XVII. THE INVITATION.
CHAPTER XVIII. CHAINMAIL HALL.
CONCLUSION.
A satirical drawing by William Heath depicting the ‘March of the Intellect’. This was a nineteenth century term for the spread of new ideas about progress, democracy, education and social and political reform – all of which were greatly in flux and hotly debated during the early decades of the 1800s as the Industrial Revolution wrought its massive changes on society. In the novel, this ‘progress’ is viewed with suspicion by the Rev Doctor Folliott, the main mouthpiece for Peacock himself.
During the Swing Riots of 1830, a letter like this one, purporting to be from ‘Captain Swing’, would be sent to farmers, magistrates, parsons and other establishment figures, as labourers prepared to attack and destroy the new threshing machines that were endangering their livelihood
INTRODUCTION.
THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK was born at Weymouth in 1785. His first poem, “The Genius of the Thames,” was in its second edition when he became one of the friends of Shelley. That was in 1812, when Shelley’s age was twenty, Peacock’s twenty-seven. The acquaintance strengthened, until Peacock became the friend in whose judgment Shelley put especial trust. There were many points of agreement. Peacock, at that time, shared, in a more practical way, Shelley’s desire for root and branch reform; both wore poets, although not equally gifted, and both loved Plato and the Greek tragedians. In “Crotchet Castle” Peacock has expressed his own delight in Greek literature through the talk of the Reverend Dr. Folliott.
But Shelley’s friendship for Peacock included a trust in him that was maintained by points of unlikeness. Peacock was shrewd and witty. He delighted in extravagance of a satire which usually said more than it meant, but always rested upon a foundation of good sense. Then also there was a touch of the poet to give grace to the utterances of a clear-headed man of the world. It was Peacock who gave its name to Shelley’s poem of “Alastor, or the Spirit of Solitude,” published in 1816. The “Spirit of Solitude” being treated as a spirit of evil, Peacock suggested calling it “Alastor,” since the Greek ἀλάστωρ means an evil genius.
Peacock’s novels are unlike those of other men: they are the genuine expressions of an original and independent mind. His reading and his thinking ran together; there is free quotation, free play of wit and satire, grace of invention too, but always unconventional. The story is always pleasant, although always secondary to the play of thought for which it gives occasion. He quarrelled with verse, whimsically but in all seriousness, in an article on “The Four Ages of Poetry,” contributed in 1820 to a short-lived journal, “Ollier’s Literary Miscellany.” The four ages were, he said, the iron age, the Bardic; the golden, the Homeric; the silver, the Virgilian; and the brass, in which he himself lived. “A poet in our time,” he said, “is a semi-barbarian in a civilised community . . . The highest inspirations of poetry are resolvable into three ingredients: the rant of unregulated passion, the whining of exaggerated feeling, and the cant of factitious sentiment; and can, therefore, serve only to ripen a splendid lunatic like Alexander, a puling driveller like Werter, or a morbid dreamer like Wordsworth.” In another part of this essa
y he says: “While the historian and the philosopher are advancing in and accelerating the progress of knowledge, the poet is wallowing in the rubbish of departed ignorance, and raking up the ashes of dead savages to find gewgaws and rattles for the grown babies of the age. Mr. Scott digs up the poacher and cattle-stealers of the ancient Border. Lord Byron cruises for thieves and pirates on the shores of the Morea and among the Greek islands. Mr. Southey wades through ponderous volumes of travels and old chronicles, from which he carefully selects all that is false, useless, and absurd, as being essentially poetical; and when he has a commonplace book full of monstrosities, strings them into an epic.” And so forth; Peacock going on to characterise, in further illustration of his argument, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Moore, and Campbell. He did not refer to Shelley; and Shelley read his friend’s whimsical attack on poetry with all good humour, proceeding to reply to it with a “Defence of Poetry,” which would have appeared in the same journal, if the journal had survived. In this novel of “Crotchet Castle” there is the same good-humoured exaggeration in the treatment of “our learned friend” — Lord Brougham — to whom and to whose labours for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge there are repeated allusions. In one case Peacock associates the labours of “our learned friend” for the general instruction of the masses with encouragement of robbery (page 172), and in another with body-snatching, or, worse, — murder for dissection (page 99). “The Lord deliver me from the learned friend!” says Dr. Folliott. Brougham’s elevation to a peerage in November, 1830, as Lord Brougham and Vaux, is referred to on page 177, where he is called Sir Guy do Vaux. It is not to be forgotten, in the reading, that this story was written in 1831, the year before the passing of the Reform Bill. It ends with a scene suggested by the agricultural riots of that time. In the ninth chapter, again, there is a passage dealing with Sir Walter Scott after the fashion of the criticisms in the “Four Ages of Poetry.” But this critical satire gave nobody pain. Always there was a ground-work of good sense, and the broad sweep of the satire was utterly unlike the nibbling censure of the men whose wit is tainted with ill-humour. We may see also that the poet’s nature cannot be expelled. In this volume we should find the touch of a poet’s hand in the tale itself when dealing with the adventures of Mr. Chainmail, while he stays at the Welsh mountain inn, if the story did not again and again break out into actual song, for it includes half-a-dozen little poems.
Complete Works of Thomas Love Peacock Page 64