Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/243

 236 The opening of the Eisteddfod is usually preceded by some mysterious ceremonies called the Gorsedd, for which a pedigree is claimed dating from 1000 years before the Christian era, and which can be conducted only by those who are initiated into the sacred rites (or mummeries, as many may be disposed to call them).

The place for holding the Gorsedd is usually an open space, in the centre of which is a huge stone, the “Maen Llog,” surrounded by a circle, thirty feet in diameter, of twelve other stones, supposed to represent the signs of the Zodiac. On the outside of the eastern portion of the circle three other stones are placed, in such a position as regards the Gorsedd stone, that lines drawn from it to them will indicate the rising of the sun in the summer and winter solstices, and the equinoxes respectively. The form which these lines, or pencils of light as they are termed, would assume in the mystic symbol of the bards and druids, and when written down appear thus, is in fact the druidic expression for the Creator of all things. To this Gorsedd stone a solemn procession is formed, which is at least curious and picturesque, owing to the peculiar dresses assumed by the different orders. The colour of the bards is blue, to symbolise the blue sky, and supposed to indicate peace and tranquillity; the druids are dressed in white, significant of great purity; and the ovates or candidates for the higher orders are (rather unfortunately) habited in green, to represent the grass of the field, which is typical of growth and progress.

Another singular custom is the carrying of a sword by a bard, who holds it by the point, to show that he is a man of peace, and would rather turn the weapon against himself in preference to any others.

On arriving at the circle, a prayer, said to have been composed 1300 years ago, is recited to the following effect:—

May Heaven grant strength,

And to strength add understanding,

And to understanding, knowledge,

And to knowledge, what is just,

And to what is just, love,

And to love, the love of all things,

And in the love of all things, the love of God.

As soon as the prayer is finished, the Gorsedd is declared to be opened, and the business of conferring degrees on the bards and ovates is proceeded with. Of the three orders the ovate is the lowest.

Under the old druidic dispensation, he was required to devote twenty years of his life (rather a long period of incubation) before he could qualify as a bard, to gain which honour he had to study the laws and maxims of the institution, generally in verse, besides using his brains to compose fresh ones. At the expiration of his time he became a bard, which gave him the privilege of holding or presiding at Gorsedds, as well as instructing disciples, which was usually done in a series of pithy truisms called triads. Although they are full, even to repletion, of wisdom, they are characterised a good deal by repetition, and were sometimes not a little obscure to ordinary mortals who had not the advantage of studying them for twenty years; as for instance, “the three dignities of poetry are the praise of goodness, the memory of what is remarkable, and the invigoration of the affections.” And again, “three things to be chiefly considered in poetical illustration—what shall be obviously, what shall be instantly admired, and what shall be eminently characteristic.” Some of these “proverbial philosophies” are rather graceful, as “the three primary requisites of poetical genius:—an eye that can see nature, a heart that can feel nature, and a resolution that dares follow nature.” Literature, however, was not the only thing that the bards had to look after, for morals also came within their scope, as we find that the three ultimate objects of bardism were “to reform morals, secure peace, and follow everything that is good,”—a delightfully comprehensive view of the whole duty of man, which was still further carried out by “the three things forbidden to bards—immorality, satire, and bearing of arms.” The only thing that one wonders at is, that so many people could be found to undertake such heavy responsibilities. I fancy, though, that some of these laws must be obsolete, for I know at least two bards who are enthusiastic members of a rifle corps. In former times, it was considered rather a good thing to be a bard; for we read in one of the laws of Howell Dda (the Welsh Coke upon Littleton), that whoever injured a bard, even slightly, had to pay a fine of six cows and 120 pence, while a murderer of one was mulcted in 126 cows. Bards also had the privilege of passing in safety through a hostile country, of maintenance wherever they went, and, what was more valuable to a Welshman than anything else, according to Giraldus, their word was to be taken before that of any other person. Nevertheless, it is to be feared that the bards were not the perfect characters they ought to have been; for it is recorded that Gryffydd ap Cynan, one of the kings of Wales, in order to restrain their inordinate vanity, enacted, “That if a minstrel offended in certain points, any man whatsoever might arrest and inflict discretional punishment on him—seize whatever property he had about his person.” The highest order of all was that of the Druids, who united in their sacred persons the office of priest and judge, and traversed the whole country trying causes and instructing the people. Though the worship of the Druids is generally looked upon as a mixture of the savage and the impious, it is probable that they were clever observant men, well versed in many of the phenomena of natural philosophy, by which they maintained their power over the people. But Druidism as a system does not appear—according to the statements of some of the literati cymreigidd—to have been of that heathenish nature with which it is popularly invested—at least, so I understood a speech made at an Eisteddfod at Llangollen, in which the hearers were informed that bardism was as ancient as Noah, or even Adam, and when the dispersion of nations took place, the Cymri were the only ones who, without revelations, kept the true religion undefiled; so that when the Messiah came, they saw that He answered the types they had of Him, and accepted the Gospel