The Grave of Gelert

O where doth faithful Gelert roam,

The flower of all his race,

So true, so brave, - a lamb at home,

A lion in the chase?

Y Ddraig Goch in a Beddgelert garden

 Late in the seventh century, a holy man came to the valley where the two rivers meet, to a spot that contained a small religious settlement established during the previous century. Why he specifically came here to preach, we do not know. Where he originated, and how he came to be a holy man, we likewise do not know... but we know that he certainly did come here, to the place under the shadow of Moel Hebog 'the hill of the hawk', the place where the rivers Colwyn and Glaslyn collide in bubbling, churning greeting.

  His name was Celert.

  We know that, prior to his arrival in the valley,  he supposedly spent time living in a cave outside the settlement of Llandysul (named after an earlier Celtic holy man), and that a spring near that settlement bears his name. We know that he came to the valley to evangelize, and may have been martyred here. We also know that a church is dedicated to him at Llangeler.

  Other than that, we know very little, and that is quite normal. Of the many Celtic saints whose names dot the village landscapes of Cornwall and Wales, the large majority have bequeathed to us little more than biographical scraps. However, he has a namesake... an evocative strand of recent folklore, a story of kings and assumptions and faithful companions, and this namesake is... a wolfhound.

19th century depiction of Gelert

  The community first appears in the historical record in c.1220, in the Speculum Ecclesiae authored by the travelling priest-historian Gerald of Wales: 'a religious house of clerics at the foot of the mountain of Eryri, commonly called the Mountain of Snows...'

St Mary's Church, the site of the Priory
(C)James Limwood

Gerald went on to describe the residents as 'celibates or culdees', the latter term describing the early Celtic monks who had already been here for six centuries. At around this time, under the aegis of the Welsh king Llewelyn (Fawr) ap Iorwerth, the community joined the Augustinian order, and the King granted land on Anglesey and Pennant to provide for them. This may have been inspired by the recent arrival of the Cistercian monks at Aberconwy, who were building what would become one of the most important abbeys in Wales. This new Priory at Beddgelert, built with millstone possibly from Anglesey,  hosted events of royal diplomacy , with the Welsh kings signing covenants and charters within its precincts. One of these charters, dated to 1258, gives for the first time the name of the community: 'Bekelert', which over time has morphed into Beddgelert - the Grave of Gelert.

A view downriver

  The Priory was never very lucky. During the Anglo-Welsh wars of the 1280's, the building experienced a fire which, fortunately, caused little damage and was soon repaired. A further conflagration occurred in 1432, and the Priory eventually became a holding of the more powerful Bisham Abbey in Berkshire.

A popular view in the village

 In all this time, Beddgelert remained a remote hamlet. The Dissolution of the Monasteries saw the end of monastic life in the valley, and the remnants of the Priory that survived were incorporated into the fabric of St Mary's Church.

  The settlement continued its sleepy ways for more than two centuries, a quiet backwater nestling below the lofty crags and frowning ridges of Eryri. Then, late in the eighteenth century, new thinking began to import new possibilities.

Sir William Watkins Wynn
painted by Hugh Hamilton, 1772

  It was the time of Regency, a period where the dry, logical reasoning of the Age of Enlightenment was being challenged by the emerging Age of Sensibility, the springhead of the Romantic movement. Travellers and writers such as William Gilpin were extolling the virtues of aesthetic ideas such as the 'sublime' and the 'picturesque'. The valley with the two rivers was a perfect example of these concepts in reality, and consequently Beddgelert began to rise in popularity with Regency visitors. Among the earliest of these visitors was Sir William Watkins Wynn, an influential baronet and significant patron of the arts, who rocked up to the area with a large entourage in 1771, the year of his second marriage. This may well have been the catalyst for Beddgelert's subsequent rise as a tourist destination.

 One artistic member of the baronet's coterie was the painter Paul Sandby, a pioneer in watercolours who set his art to recording some of the 'sublime' and 'picturesque' views of the area. 

'Snowdon and the Vale of Llanberis', Paul Sandby 1771

  Others of an artistic bent followed in subsequent decades, including JMW Turner in 1798, who painted views of Yr Wyddfa and landscapes in the vicinity, and the poet Wordsworth stayed there during his 1791 tour of the area, which he wrote about in Book 13 of his long poem 'The Prelude'.

'Snowdon from Beddgelert', JMW Turner, 1798

  In 1802 a gentleman named Thomas Jones, whose wife owned much land in the valley, cashed in on the increasing influx of visitors by building the Beddgelert Hotel, which became the Royal & Goat Hotel six decades later following a visit from Prince Arthur of Connaught, third son of Queen Victoria. There is also a rumour that Victoria herself visited, but this is probably as spurious as the legend of Gelert the Wolfhound (which had yet to achieve its modern popularity).

Royal Goat Hotel, then

...and now

  It is uncertain when the legend of Gelert the wolfhound was first whispered in the valley, and the theme of a faithful pet is familiar in global mythology, but we know who popularized it; step forward David Pritchard, first tenant manager of the Hotel. Pritchard was apparently the man who created the monument known as 'Gelert's Grave' in a field south of the church and old priory site. At around the same time, the legend was starting to inspire poetry, such as William Robert Spencer's 'Beth-Gêlert', written in 1800.

Illustration to Spencer's poem

  So what is the story of the faithful Gelert?

Sculpture of Gelert in a local garden

  During the thirteenth century, around the time that the Priory was being established, King Llewelyn Fawr, ruler of Wales, had a hunting lodge in the vicinity. The King was a keen hunter with his own pack, and spent much time unleashing them on the surrounding countryside in search of quarry. 

  One morning, Llewelyn strode out and sounded his horn, calling his pack to him, and all came running up save one... his favourite of the pack, a gift from his father-in-law King John of England, the wolfhound Gelert. With regret, the King decided to continue the hunt without him.

  Upon his return, Llewelyn approached the hunting lodge to see Gelert emerge, running up to his master joyfully... but Llewelyn immediately noticed, with a pervading sense of dread, that the dog's muzzle was streaked with blood.

  The King ran into the lodge, seeking his year-old baby son*, who had been left sleeping in the nursery. He found a scene of devastation, the contents of the chamber scattered, the crib overturned, and blood splashed across the walls. His immediate conclusion was that the hound had killed and eaten his son and, in an explosion of anguish and fury, Llewelyn drew his sword and, turning to the animal, ran the blade into his heart.

  Gelert's dying howl filled the room as he collapsed, and was answered by the howl of an infant. Llewelyn dropped the sword and leapt for the source of the sound. Flinging aside the overturned cradle, he observed the baby, unharmed, and next to the boy's tiny  wriggling form, hitherto concealed from view, lay the torn body of an enormous wolf.

  Llewelyn instantly discerned what had happened. The wolf had skulked into the lodge while the hounds were out with their master, and had approached the helpless infant when Gelert appeared and attacked. The battle had wrought destruction on the nursery, the crib being knocked over and caging the baby from view, the wolf finally having its throat ripped by the teeth of the determined defender. Panting, and blooded from his exertions, Gelert had then heard the sounds of the hunt returning, and rushed out to greet his master...

  Overwhelmed with grief and remorse, Llewellyn carried the body of Gelert to a neighbouring field where he buried the animal, raising a cairn above the grave, to stand as a monument to courage and fidelity, and maybe a warning against impulsiveness, anger and the fallibilty of kings.

...and the Grave of Gelert remains there still.

The Grave of Gelert

One wonders how long this tale was around before it was popularized, as the story of the hound Gelert could certainly contain echoes of a folk memory, of a holy man named Celert who was martyred for his faith, perhaps at this very spot. Alas, we will never know how much it may be a parable of a saint's life and death, as any possible link between the events of the 8th century and the sudden popularity of the folklore have been consumed by the passage of a millenium between them.

The legend, in English and Cymraeg

  Gelert's Grave is easy enough to find , across the field to the rear of the church, a field that once would have contained monastic buildings. The rocks were probably on the site before it became a canine monument, and the railings and inscribed slates all add to the solemn impression of a genuine monument, for the gratification of tourists and folklorists. King Llewellyn did not set it up; it's current condition owes more to the canny David Pritchard in his successful attempts to capitalize on the Regency craze for travel, sentimentality and romantic inspiration.

Consolidated ruins near the Grave

  A few metres from the Grave stands another picturesque ruin, the consolidated remains of an 18th-century farmhouse. Of course, in the legend this is the wreck of Llewelyn Fawr's hunting lodge. Take a peek through the doorway, and in a wonderful gesture you will be greeted by Gelert himself. The buffed, shining areas on his head and back betray where countless visitors have patted or stroked him, and indeed the act of doing so does stir the sentimental in one's soul.

Gelert greets his public

  Beddgelert today is still an very popular destination for the explorers of Eryri, and the heady blend of scenery, history and folklore combines today to make this beautiful village one of the most evocative spots in these lofty, mist-spotted, timeless mountains. The rivers collide, gurgle and rush towards their destinations but the visitor should not follow their example, and should instead rest awhile, contemplating the echoes of history and legend, of saints and lords, of triumph and tragedy - and how the swirls and eddies of culture, and the search for meaning in a shadowed past, have led to one of the country's most attractive villages playing host to the magnetic draw of a fictional canine...

And, till great Snowdon's rocks grow old,

And cease the storm to brave,

The consecrated spot shall hold

The name of "Gêlert's Grave."

     W R Spencer, 'Beth-Gêlert', 1800

* The baby was probably supposed to be Dafydd ap Llewelyn, son of the King and his wife Joan, Lady of Wales. The royal sprog's parents featured in my recent article 'The Lost Ladies of Llanfaes'.