Читать книгу Excursions in North Wales - John Hicklin - Страница 7

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Distance from	Miles.
Port Penrhyn	5
Llanvair Vechan	2
Conway	9
Penmaen Mawr	3
Llandegai	3½
London	245

Aber, or, as it is called by way of distinction, Aber-gwyngregyn, the Stream of the White Shells, is a small neat village, situated on the Holyhead and Chester road, near the Lavan Sands, at the extremity of a luxuriant vale watered by the river Gwyngregyn, which runs into the Irish sea; it commands a fine view of the entrance into the Menai, with the islands of Anglesea and Priestholme, and the vast expanse of water which rolls beneath the ragged Ormesheads. The pleasantness of its situation, and the salubrity of its air, render this place exceedingly attractive during the summer season, and the beach, at high water, is very convenient for sea bathing.

The church is an ancient structure, with a square tower; the living being in the gift of Sir R. W. Bulkeley.

The Bulkeley Arms is an excellent inn, where post-chaises and cars may be had.

This is considered a very convenient station for such persons as wish to examine Penmaen-mawr, and the adjacent country, either as naturalists or artists. From this place also persons frequently cross the Menai straits immediately into Anglesea, in a direction towards Beaumaris. The distance is somewhat more than six miles. When the tide is out, the Lavan Sands are dry for four miles, in the same direction, over which the passenger has to walk within a short distance of the opposite shore, where the ferry-boat plies. In fogs, the passage over these sands has been found very dangerous, and many have been lost in making the hazardous enterprise at such times. As a very salutary precaution, the bell of Aber church, which was presented for the purpose by the late Lord Bulkeley, in 1817, is rung in foggy weather, with a view to direct those persons whose business compels them to make the experiment. It would be dangerous for a stranger to undertake the journey without a guide, as the sands frequently shift: however, since the erection of the Menai bridge, this route is seldom taken.

The village is situated at the mouth of the deep glen, which runs in a straight line a mile and a half between the mountains, and is bounded on one side by a magnificent rock, called Maes-y-Gaer. At the extremity of this glen, a mountain presents a concave front, down the centre of which a vast cataract precipitates itself in a double fall, upwards of sixty feet in height, presenting in its rushing torrent over the scattered fragments of rock a grand and picturesque appearance.

At the entrance of the glen, close to the village, is an extensive artificial mount, flat at the top, and near sixty feet in diameter, widening towards the base. It was once the site of castle belonging to the renowned prince, Llewelyn the Great, foundations are yet to be seen round the summit; and in digging, traces of buildings have been discovered. This spot is famous as the scene of the reputed amour of William de Breos, an English baron, with the wife of the Welsh hero, and of the tragical occurrence which followed its detection. This transaction, which has given rise to a popular legend, is well told in Miss Costello’s “Pictorial Tour,” published in 1845:—

Llywelyn had been induced by the artful promises of the smooth traitor, king John, to accept the hand of his daughter, the princess Joan; but his having thus allied himself did not prevent the aggressions of his father-in-law, and John having cruelly murdered twenty-eight hostages, sons of the highest Welsh nobility, Llywelyn’s indignation overcame all other considerations, and he attacked John in all his castles between the Dee and Conway, and, for that time freed North Wales from the English yoke.

There are many stories told of the princess Joan, or Joanna, somewhat contradictory, but generally received: she was, of course, not popular with the Welsh, and the court bard, in singing the praise of the prince, even goes so far as to speak of a female favourite of Llywelyn’s, instead of naming his wife: perhaps he wrote his ode at the time when she was in disgrace, in consequence of misconduct attributed to her. It is related that Llywelyn, at the battle of Montgomery, took prisoner William de Breos, one of the knights of the English court, and while he remained his captive treated him well, and rather as a friend than enemy. This kindness was repaid by De Breos with treachery, for he ventured to form an attachment to the princess Joan, perhaps to renew one already begun before her marriage with the Welsh prince. He was liberated, and returned to his own country; but scarcely was he gone than evil whispers were breathed into the ear of Llywelyn, and vengeance entirely possessed his mind: he, however, dissembled his feelings, and, still feigning the same friendship, he invited De Breos to come to his palace at Aber as a guest. The lover of the princess Joan readily accepted the invitation, hoping once more to behold his mistress; but he knew not the fate which hung over him, or he would not have entered the portal of the man he had injured so gaily as he did.

The next morning the princess Joan walked forth early, in a musing mood: she was young, beautiful, she had been admired and caressed in her father’s court, was there the theme of minstrels and the lady of many a tournament—to what avail? her hand without her heart had been bestowed on a brave but uneducated prince, whom she could regard as little less than savage, who had no ideas in common with her, to whom all the refinements of the Norman court were unknown, and whose uncouth people, and warlike habits, and rugged pomp, were all distasteful to her. Perhaps she sighed as she thought of the days when the handsome young De Breos broke a lance in her honour, and she rejoiced, yet regretted, that the dangerous knight, the admired and gallant William, was again beneath her husband’s roof. In this state of mind she was met by the bard, an artful retainer of Llywelyn, who hated all of English blood, and whose lays were never awakened but in honour of his chief, but who contrived to deceive her into a belief that he both pitied and was attached to her. Observing her pensive air, and guessing at its cause, he entered into conversation with her, and having ‘beguiled her of her tears’ by his melody, he at length ventured on these dangerous words.—

“Diccyn, doccyn, gwraig Llywelyn,

Beth a roit ti am weled Gwilym?”

“Tell me, wife of Llywelyn, what would you give for sight of your William?”

The princess, thrown off her guard, and confiding in harper’s faith, imprudently exclaimed:—

“Cymru, Lloegr, a Llywelyn,

Y rown i gyd am weled Gwilym!”

“Wales, and England, and Llywelyn—all would I give to behold my William!”

The harper smiled bitterly, and, taking her arm, pointed slowly with his finger in the direction of a neighbouring hill, where, at a place called Wern Grogedig, grew a lofty tree, from the branches of which a form was hanging, which she too well recognised as that of the unfortunate William de Breos.

In a dismal cave beneath that spot was buried “the young, the beautiful, the brave;” and the princess Joan dared not shed a tear to his memory. Tradition points out the place, which is called Cae Gwilym Dhu.

Notwithstanding this tragical episode, the princess and her husband managed to live well together afterwards; whether she convinced him of his error, and he repented his hasty vengeance, or whether he thought it bettor policy to appear satisfied; at all events, Joan frequently interfered between her husband and father to prevent bloodshed, and sometimes succeeded. On one occasion she did so with some effect, at a time when the Welsh prince was encamped on a mountain above Ogwen lake, called Carnedd Llywelyn from that circumstance; when he saw from the heights his country in ruins, and Bangor in flames. Davydd, the son of the princess, was Llywelyn’s favourite son. Joan died in 1237, and was buried in a monastery of Dominican friars at Llanvaes, near Beaumaris; Llywelyn erected over her a splendid monument, which existed till Henry the Eighth gave the monastery to one of his courtiers to pillage, and the chapel became a barn. The coffin, which was all that remained of the tomb, like that of Llywelyn himself, was thrown into a little brook, and for two hundred and fifty years was used as a watering trough for cattle. It is now preserved at Baron Hill, near Beaumaris.