Complete Works of Thomas Love Peacock

by Thomas Love Peacock

  Gwythno was a Bardd Braint, or Bard of Presidency, and as such he had full power in his own person, without the intervention of a Bardic Congress, to make his Awenydd or disciple, Taliesin, an Ovydd or Ovate, which he did accordingly. Angharad, under the old king’s instructions, prepared the green robe of the young aspirant’s investiture. He afterwards acquired the white robe amongst the Druids of Eryri.

  In all Bardic learning, Gwythno was profound. All that he knew he taught to Taliesin. The youth drew in the draughts of inspiration among the mountain forests and the mountain streams, and grew up under the roof of Elphin, in the perfection of genius and beauty.

  CHAPTER VII

  THE HUNTINGS OF MAELGON

  One ill is ever clinging;

  One treads upon its heels:

  A third in distance springing,

  Its fearful front reveals.

  GWYTHNO slept, not with his fathers, for they were under the sea, but as near to them as was found convenient, within the sound of the breakers that rolled over their ancient dwellings. Elphin was now king of Caredigion, and was lord of a large but thinly-peopled tract of rock, mountain, forest, and bog. He held his sovereignty, however, not, as Gwythno had done during the days of the glory of Gwaelod, by that most indisputable sort of right which consists in might, but by the more precarious tenure of the absence of inclination in any of his brother kings to take away any thing he had.

  Uther Pendragon, like Gwythno, went the way of all flesh, and Arthur reigned in Caer Lleon, as king of the kings of Britain. Maelgon Gwyneth was then king of that part of North Wales which bordered on the kingdom of Caredigion.

  Maelgon was a mighty hunter, and roused the echoes of the mountains with horn and with hound. He went forth to the chace as to war, provisioned for day and weeks, and supported by bard and butler, and all the apparel of princely festivity. He pitched his tents in the forest of Snowdon, by the shore of lake or torrent; and, after hunting all the day, he feasted half the night. The light of his torches gleamed on the foam of the cataracts, and the sound of harp and song was mingled with their midnight roar.

  When not thus employed, he was either feasting in his castle of Diganwy, on the Conwy, or fighting with any of the neighbouring kings, who had any thing which he wanted, and which he thought himself strong enough to take from them.

  Once, towards the close of autumn, he carried the tumult of the chace into the recesses of Meirion. The consonance, or dissonance, of men and dogs, outpealed the noise of the torrents among the rocks and woods of the Mawddach. Elphin and Teithrin were gone after the sheep or goats in the mountains; Taliesin was absent on the borders of his favourite lake; Angharad and Melanghel were alone. The careful mother, alarmed at the unusual din, and knowing, by rumour, of what materials the Nimrods of Britain were made, fled, with her daughter and handmaids, to the refuge of a deeply-secluded cavern, which they had long before noted as a safe retreat from peril. As they ascended the hills that led to the cavern, they looked back, at intervals, through the openings of the woods, to the growing tumult on the opposite side of the valley. The wild goats were first seen, flying in all directions, taking prodigious leaps from crag to crag, now and then facing about, and rearing themselves on their hind legs, as if in act to butt, and immediately thinking better of it, and springing away on all fours among the trees. Next, the more rare spectacle of a noble stag presented itself on the summit of a projecting rock, pausing a moment to snuff the air, then bounding down the most practicable slope to the valley. Next, on the summit which the stag had just deserted, appeared a solitary huntsman, sitting on a prancing horse, and waking a hundred echoes with the blast of his horn. Next rushed into view the main body of the royal company, and the two-legged and four-legged avalanche came thundering down on the track of the flying prey: not without imminent hazard of broken necks; though the mountain-bred horses, which possessed by nature almost the surefootedness of mules, had finished their education under the first professors of the age.

  The stag swam the river, and stood at bay before the dwelling of Elphin, where he was in due time despatched by the conjoint valour of dog and man. The royal train burst into the solitary dwelling, where, finding nothing worthy of much note, excepting a large store of salt salmon and mead, they proceeded to broil and tap, and made fearful havoc among the family’s winter provision. Elphin and Teithrin, returning to their expected dinner, stood aghast on the threshold of their plundered sanctuary. Maelgon condescended to ask them who they were; and, learning Elphin’s name and quality, felt himself bound to return his involuntary hospitality by inviting him to Diganwy. So strong was his sense of justice on this head, that, on Elphin’s declining the invitation, which Maelgon ascribed to modesty, he desired two of his grooms to take him up and carry him off.

  So Elphin was impressed into royal favor, and was feasted munificently in the castle of Diganwy. Teithrin brought home the ladies from the cavern, and, during the absence of Elphin, looked after the sheep and goats, and did his master’s business as well as his own.

  One evening, when the royal “nowle” was “tottie of the must,” while the bards of Maelgon were singing the praises of their master, and of all and every thing that belonged to him, as the most eximious and transcendent persons and things of the superficial garniture of the earth, Maelgon said to Elphin, “ My bards say that I am the best and bravest of kings, that my queen is the most beautiful and chaste of women, and that they themselves, by virtue of belonging to me, are the best and wisest of bards. Now what say you, on these heads?”

  This was a perplexing question to Elphin, who, nevertheless, answered: “That you are the best and bravest of kings I do not in the least doubt; yet I cannot think that any woman surpasses my own wife in beauty and chastity; or that any bard equals my bard in genius and wisdom.”

  “Hear you him, Rhûn?” said Maelgon.

  “I hear,” said Rhûn, “and mark.”

  Rhûn was the son of Maelgon, and a worthy heir apparent of his illustrious sire. Rhûn set out the next morning on an embassy very similar to Tarquin’s, accompanied by only one attendant. They lost their way and each other, among the forests of Meirion. The attendant, after riding about some time in great trepidation, thought he heard the sound of a harp, mixed with the roar of the torrents, and following its indications, came at length within sight of an oak-fringed precipice, on the summit of which stood Taliesin, playing and singing to the winds and waters. The attendant could not approach him without dismounting; therefore, tying his horse to a branch, he ascended the rock, and, addressing the young bard, inquired his way to the dwelling of Elphin. Taliesin, in return, inquired his business there; and, partly by examination, partly by divination, ascertained his master’s name, and the purport of his visit.

  Taliesin deposited his harp in a dry cavern of the rock, and undertook to be the stranger’s guide. The attendant remounted his horse, and Taliesin preceded him on foot. But the way by which he led him grew more and more rugged, till the stranger called out, “Whither lead you, my friend? My horse can no longer keep his footing.” “There is no other way,” said Taliesin. “But give him to my management, and do you follow on foot.” The attendant consented. Taliesin mounted the horse, and presently struck into a more practicable track; and immediately giving the horse the reins, he disappeared among the woods, leaving the unfortunate equerry to follow as he might, with no better guide than the uncertain recollection of the sound of his horse’s heels.

  Taliesin reached home before the arrival of Rhûn, and warned Angharad of the mischief that was designed her.

  Rhûn, arriving at his destination, found only a handmaid dressed as Angharad, and another officiating as her attendant. The fictitious princess gave him a supper, and everything else he asked for; and, at parting in the morning, a lock of her hair, and a ring, which Angharad had placed on her finger.

  After riding a short distance on his return, Rhûn met his unlucky attendant, torn, tired, and half-starved, and cursing some villain wh
o had stolen his horse. Rhûn was too happy in his own success to have a grain of sympathy for his miserable follower, whom he left to find his horse and his way, or either, or neither, as he might, and returned alone to Diganwy.

  Maelgon exultingly laid before Elphin the proofs of his wife’s infidelity. Elphin examined the lock of hair, and listened to the narration of Rhûn. He divined at once the trick that had been put upon the prince; but he contented himself with saying, “I do not believe that Rhûn has received the favors of Angharad; and I still think that no wife in Britain, not even the queen of Maelgon Gwyneth, is more chaste or more beautiful than mine.”

  Hereupon Maelgon waxed wroth. Elphin, in a point which much concerned him, held a belief of his own, different from that which his superiors in worldly power required him to hold. Therefore Maelgon acted as the possessors of worldly power usually act in similar cases: he locked Elphin up within four stone walls, with an intimation that he should keep him there till he pronounced a more orthodox opinion on the question in dispute.

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE LOVE OF MELANGHEL

  Grasp the bold thyrsus; seek the field’s array;

  And do things worthy of ethereal day;

  Not without toil to earthborn man befalls

  To tread the floors of Jove’s immortal halls:

  Never to him, who not by deeds has striven,

  Will the bright Hours roll back the gates of heaven.

  Iris to Bacchus, in the 13th Book

  of the Dionysiaca of Nonnus.

  THE HOUSEHOLD of Elphin was sufficiently improsperous during the absence of its chief. The havoc which Maelgon’s visitation had made in their winter provision, it required the utmost exertions of their collective energies to repair. Even the young princess Melanghel sallied forth, in the garb of a huntress, to strike the deer or the wild goat among the wintry forests, on the summits of the bleak crags, or in the vallies of the flooded streams.

  Taliesin, on these occasions, laid aside his harp, and the robe of his order, and accompanied the princess with his hunting spear, and more succinctly apparelled.

  Their retinue, it may be supposed, was neither very numerous nor royal, nor their dogs very thoroughbred. It sometimes happened that the deer went one way, the dogs another; the attendants, losing sight of both, went a third, leaving Taliesin, who never lost sight of Melanghel, alone with her among the hills.

  One day, the ardor of the chace having carried them far beyond their ordinary bounds, they stood alone together on Craig Aderyn, the Rock of Birds, which overlooks the river Dysyni. This rock takes its name from the flocks of birds which have made it their dwelling, and which make the air resonant with their multitudinous notes. Around, before, and above them, rose mountain beyond mountain, soaring above the leafless forests, to lose their heads in mist; beneath them lay the silent river; and along the opening of its narrow valley, they looked to the not-distant sea.

  “Prince Llywarch,” said Taliesin, “is a bard and a warrior: he is the son of an illustrious line. Taliesin is neither prince nor warrior: he is the unknown child of the waters.”

  “Why think you of Llywarch?” said Melanghel, to whom the name of the prince was known only from Taliesin, who knew it only from fame.

  “Because,” said Taliesin, “there is that in my soul which tells me that I shall have no rival among the bards of Britain: but, if its princes and warriors seek the love of Melanghel, I shall know that I am but a bard, and not as Llywarch.”

  “You would be Prince Taliesin,” said Melanghel, smiling, “to make me your princess. Am I not a princess already? and such an one as is not on earth, for the land of my inheritance is under the sea, under those very waves that now roll within our view; and, in truth, you are as well qualified for a prince as I am for a princess, and have about as valuable a dominion in the mists and the clouds as I have under the waters.”

  Her eyes sparkled with affectionate playfulness, while her long black hair floated loosely in the breeze that pressed the folds of her drapery against the matchless symmetry of her form.

  “Oh, maid!” said Taliesin, “what shall I do to win your love?”

  “Restore me my father,” said Melanghel, with a seriousness as winning as her playfulness had been fascinating.

  “That will I do,” said Taliesin, “for his own sake. What shall I do for yours?”

  “Nothing more,” said Melanghel, and she held out her hand to the youthful bard. Taliesin seized it with rapture, and pressed it to his lips; then, still grasping her hand, throwing his left arm round her, he pressed his lips to hers.

  Melanghel started from him, blushing, and looked at him a moment with something like severity; but he blushed as much as she did, and seemed even more alarmed at her displeasure than she was at his momentary audacity. She reassured him with a smile; and, pointing her spear in the direction of her distant home, she bounded before him down the rock.

  This was the kiss of Taliesin to the daughter of Elphin, which is celebrated in an inedited triad, as one of “the Three Chaste Kisses of the island of Britain.”

  CHAPTER IX

  THE EDUCATION OF TALIESIN

  THE THREE OBJECTS of intellect: the true, the beautiful, and the beneficial.

  Three things that will always swallow, and never be satisfied: the sea; a burial ground; and a king. — Triads of Wisdom

  THE HALL of Maelgon Gwyneth was ringing with music and revelry, when Taliesin stood on the floor, with his harp, in the midst of the assembly, and, without introduction or preface, struck a few chords, that, as if by magic, suspended all other sounds, and fixed the attention of all in silent expectation. He then sang as follows:

  CANU Y MEDD

  THE MEAD SONG OF TALIESIN

  The King of kings upholds the heaven,

  And parts from earth the billowy sea:

  By Him all earthly joys are given;

  He loves the just, and guards the free.

  Round the wide hall, for thine and thee,

  With purest draughts the mead-horns foam,

  Maelgon of Gwyneth! Can it be

  That here a prince bewails his home?

  The bee tastes not the sparkling draught

  Which mortals from his toils obtain;

  That sends, in festal circles quaffed,

  Sweet tumult through the heart and brain.

  The timid, while the horn they drain,

  Grow bold; the happy more rejoice;

  The mourner ceases to complain;

  The gifted bard exalts his voice.

  To royal Elphin life I owe,

  Nurture and name, the harp, and mead:

  Full, pure, and sparkling be their flow,

  The horns to Maelgon’s lips decreed:

  For him may horn to horn succeed,

  Till, glowing with their generous fire,

  He bid the captive chief be freed,

  Whom at his hands my songs require.

  Elphin has given me store of mead,

  Mead, ale, and wine, and fish, and corn;

  A happy home; a splendid steed,

  Which stately trappings well adorn.

  Tomorrow be the auspicious morn

  That home the expected chief shall lead;

  So may King Maelgon drain the horn

  In thrice three million feasts of mead.

  “I give you,” said Maelgon, “all the rights of hospitality, and as many horns as you please of the mead you so well and justly extol. If you be Elphin’s bard, it must be confessed he spoke truth with respect to you, for you are a much better bard than any of mine, as they are all free to confess: I give them that liberty.”

  The bards availed themselves of the royal indulgence, and confessed their own inferiority to Taliesin, as the king had commanded them to do. Whether they were all as well convinced of it as they professed to be, may be left to the decision of that very large class of literary gentlemen who are in the habit of favoring the reading public with their undisguised opinions.

>   “But,” said Maelgon, “your hero of Caredigion indulged himself in a very unjustifiable bravado with respect to his queen; for he said she was as beautiful and as chaste as mine. Now Rhûn has proved the contrary, with small trouble, and brought away trophies of his triumph; yet still Elphin persists in his first assertion, wherein he grossly disparages the queen of Gwyneth; and for this I hold him in bondage, and will do, till he make recantation.”

  “That he will never do,” said Taliesin, “Your son received only the favors of a handmaid, who was willing, by strategem, to preserve her lady from violence. The real Angharad was concealed in a cavern.”

  Taliesin explained the adventure of Rhûn, and pronounced an eulogium on Angharad, which put the king and prince into a towering passion.

  Rhûn secretly determined to set forth on a second quest; and Maelgon swore by his mead-horn he would keep Elphin till doomsday. Taliesin struck his harp again, and, in a tone of deep but subdued feeling, he poured forth the

  SONG OF THE WIND

  The winds that wander far and free,

  Bring whispers from the shores and they sweep

  Voices of feast and revelry;

  Murmurs of forests and the deep;

  Low sounds of torrents from the steep

  Descending on the flooded vale;

  And tumults from the leaguered keep,