Wales

by William Watkin Davies

This early Celtic Christianity was, in many respects, an exceedingly beautiful thing. Never has the world beheld more perfect missionaries than the spiritual and tender-hearted preachers who took the Gospel across stormy seas, amid countless perils, to Britain, Ireland, Scotland, parts of Germany, and even distant Iceland. To Christians of the West, Iona ought surely to be a spot scarcely less sacred than Rome itself. But little priestly pomp pertained to these early preachers; gentleness, simplicity, and faith were their most pronounced qualities. Their meekness overcame every obstacle, from the ferocity of wild beasts to the more dangerous ferocity of savage men. They knew little or nothing about rules and discipline, and there is hardly a trace of Latin order and love of law perceptible in their genius. As saints they were superb; but their churchmanship was indifferent. It was the Roman and the Teuton who built the splendid edifice of the mediæval Catholic Church. The Christian communities of the Celts were too mystical and too spiritual to attempt to compress the Almighty into human formulas; they could produce holy men, and they could produce heretics, but defenders of the Faith they could not produce. To appreciate the immense difference it is only necessary to contrast the generous and genial character of Columba with that of the hard, grasping, and narrow Augustine! From the year 664, when the famous Synod of Whitby met, the Celtic Church in Wales and the Roman Church in England each went its own way, until the sword of the Norman accomplished that which the eloquence of Augustine had failed to do, and the two Churches were merged into one. It is unfortunate that our knowledge of the famous Celtic Christians of the fifth century is so scanty. It was eminently an age of saints—Dewi, Cybi, Padarn, Illtud, Dyfrig, Cadog—and a host of others whose names have been perpetuated in hundreds of churches up and down the countryside. In the Celtic schools, too, were found scholars who represented the very flower of the culture of the period, far finer than anything that the England of the day could show.

When we turn from the political annals of Wales to such topics as legal and social institutions we find that materials for forming a conception of what life was then like are fairly abundant. By far the most important source is the so-called Laws of Howel Dda. Historians have now long been convinced of the importance of the study of legal institutions, and of the assistance which such study affords to the student of ordinary social history. There have been illustrious pioneers in the field, like Maine, Seebohm, Maitland, Pollock, and Vinogradoff. Codes of law, from India to Ireland, have been carefully analysed and compared, and from them decayed and vanished civilizations have been reconstructed.

We find that, from the sixth century to the tenth, most of the rulers of western Europe were busy codifying the laws of the people over whom they ruled. For the greater part their work consisted of codifying in the strict sense of the word; that is to say, the collecting together of existing customs, and the setting of them forth clearly and dogmatically, with but a small infusion of new matter. Law was deemed to be something already in existence, something to be ascertained rather than something to be created. This theory is the foundation upon which the whole subsequent legal development of England was based. Judges exist to ascertain the law; and it is only indirectly, and often by means of convenient fictions, that they make new law. It is in this sense that the pre-Norman rulers of France, England, and Wales are law-makers. In Wales the work of codification was performed by Howel Dda, a prince who ruled in Dyfed, as we have already seen, during the troubled period of Danish invaders. The fashion of code-making had already been set. The first conspicuous example of it was the codification of the Frankish laws by Charlemagne. But long before his time there had been Anglo-Saxon codes. Thus in 596 Æthelbert had codified the laws of Kent. Sometime between 688 and 725 Ine had codified those of the West Saxons. Then came the last and the greatest of the English pre-Norman codifiers, King Cnut. As to how far foreign influences played a part in the formation of these English and Welsh codes, scholars are divided in opinion. The great Corpus Juris of Justinian had been given to the world before the earliest of the British or English codes; and long before Justinian's day there prevailed, throughout the Roman Empire, an admirably ordered system of jurisprudence. This system must have prevailed in Britain during the period of Roman occupation; and it could not possibly have failed to influence for all time the minds of the people by familiarising them with certain legal conceptions. Furthermore ecclesiastical influences were powerful. The Church had its Canon Law, the peculiar Law of a society far more civilized than the world around it; and consciously or unconsciously the princes who designed the secular codes must have learned much from it.

Doubt has been thrown upon the truth of the tradition which tells of the making of the laws of Howel Dda; but here historical scepticism seems to have overrun its legitimate limits. As we have already seen, codification was the fashion of the times; and there is no inherent improbability in Howel's having done precisely what all his royal contemporaries were doing. A century ago Welsh historians were credulous almost to the point of imbecility. They belonged to the pre-critical days of historical writing, above which only a towering genius like Gibbon could rise. Then arose the great reaction, and it became the fashion to doubt almost everything, and especially anything that was picturesque and intimate in the records of the past. Even the existence of such undoubtedly historical characters as Saint David and King Arthur was disbelieved by these over-zealous critics. At last, however, the pendulum, after swinging so violently from one side to the other, is beginning to right itself; and the result is that we are coming to accept as true, or at least as possibly true, much that had been rejected and derided by the last generation of scholars.

The story goes that Howel, a somewhat feeble prince reigning with his brothers in Dyfed, and sorely distressed by the invasions of the Danes, began to turn his mind to the peaceful pursuit of the jurist. He summoned four men from each cantref in his dominions to meet at the Tŷ Gwyn (White House) on the river Taf in Carmarthenshire. There, as the fruit of their deliberations, was drawn up what is known in Welsh as "Hên Lyfr y Tygwyn" (The old Book of the White House). The manuscript itself as written by Archdeacon Blegwryd has not come down to us. For our knowledge of its contents we are dependent upon copies of a much later date, agreeing in substance though differing in many details; and containing, no doubt, the accretions of later times. The "Old Book" is divisible into three parts—the Venedotian Code, the Demetian Code, and the Gwentian Code—each part representing the customary law which prevailed in a particular part of Wales. It is probable that the laws were originally written in Latin, for the Archdeacon was the most famous scholar of his day in all Wales. The tradition that the new code was taken to Rome, and submitted to the Pope for his approval, can scarcely be true, as the chronological difficulties in the way of its acceptance are well-nigh insuperable. Howel probably did pay a visit to Rome; but the visit must have been anterior to the historic meeting at the Tygwyn. The society which we see depicted in the codes is still tribal, that is to say its whole foundation, the status of individuals as well as all the rights of property, was based upon blood relationship. The feudal system, in the perfected form which we associate with the Normans in the early Middle Ages, did not exist in Wales; but some of the principles of feudalism were undoubtedly there. Perhaps the most important characteristic of the feudal system is the supremacy of the monarch, and the dependence upon him of a long chain of persons, all differing in status, and each dependent upon the one above him. This we find in Wales. There were princes reigning in the various divisions of the country, each of them, to all intents and purposes, independent of all the others. But they all acknowledged the overlordship of the King of Gwynedd; while he, in turn, acknowledged the overlordship of the King of England. Much as this state of things conflicts with modern political notions, there was nothing curious about it in times when every crowned head in Europe acknowledged the spiritual headship of the Pope and the secular headship of the Emperor.

By the time we are dealing with the country enclosed by the sea, the estuaries of the Dee and Severn, and by Offa's Dyke, had come to be known as Cymru, the name which it has borne among Welshmen ever since. The land was divided into districts called cantrefs and cymwds, the boundaries of which had long been fixed. Of these two divisions the cymwd is by far the more important; for it was the real unit of organization and local government. The cantref was probably an area over which an Arglwydd (Lord) ruled. This Lord was appointed by the King. Occasionally we find several cantrefs ruled by the same Lord, who then assumes the more high-sounding title of Tywysog (Prince); and sometimes even Brenin (King). Within the cantref would be two or more cymwds, in each of which would be certain officials appointed by the lord of the cantref. These officials were in charge of the various governmental functions; and the most important of them were the Maer (Mayor), and the Canghellor (Chancellor). In each cymwd also there was a court of law, over which a judge presided. To avoid confusion it must be borne in mind that these territorial divisions, and these officials, were governmental, and that side by side with them other divisions, based upon kindred, existed. Thus the Laws speak not only of the Lord of a cantref, but also of a Pencenedl. The Lord was an officer appointed by the King, while the Pencenedl was the head of his own tribe or clan, and owed his appointment to no one. When we turn to consider the ranks into which the people were divided, we find that status counts for everything. The main division was that between tribesmen and non-tribesmen, between Cymry and men of alien birth. The tribesmen themselves were divided as follows: (1) Men of royal or princely caste. (2) Men of noble birth. (3) Ordinary free tribesmen. (4) Unfree persons corresponding to the villeins of English law. (5) Slaves in the strict sense of the term. The alien, however high his birth in his own land, could never find a way into the ranks of the Cymry except by long residence, or sometimes by inter-marriage stretching over several generations. The kindred (cenedl) was a self-governing unit, having at its head a Pencenedl, a personage who, as we have seen, was born and not made. Below was an aggregate of families each under its own head of the household (Penteulu) who bore a strong resemblance to the paterfamilias of Roman law. The cenedl, or kindred, consisted of all descendants from a common ancestor down to the ninth generation.

Each kindred group had a certain holding of land. This holding was called a Gwely. It was the common possession of the whole tribe, who held it jointly as far as the great-grandchildren of the common ancestor, after the death of whom a complicated system of division would again begin. On his coming of age every member of the tribe was allotted a portion of the land to till; and he also became the possessor of certain rights in the common or waste land of the tribe, as well as the possessor of a certain number of cattle. Needless to say, since the land belonged to the tribe, it could not be alienated by individuals. But side by side with tribal property went private property even in land; and all such property could be alienated freely.

The position of women, on the whole, appears to have been a favourable one. Up to the age of twelve the young girl lived with her parents, but after that she was deemed of age, and became entitled to a share of the property of her kindred. She was then free to bestow herself in marriage. A marriage was usually made by solemn plight of faith, together with a religious ceremony; but any proof of an intention to live together was considered sufficient. And just as the making of a marriage was a very simple matter, so also was the dissolution of one. Husband and wife could separate at any moment, and the subsequent marriage of either operated as a divorce. The wife brought certain dower to her husband, and the rules affecting such dower are laid down with meticulous care in the Laws of Howel.

The law relating to crime in Wales was very similar to the law prevailing in England at about the same date. There were three main divisions or classifications, dealing respectively with murder, assault, and arson. By murder was meant the killing of a free fellow-Welshman; to kill an alien was certainly not thought to be a crime, and it well might be a meritorious action. The killing of a slave belonging to another man was an offence like any other damaging of property. Before the kings had gained sufficient strength to be able to make the avenging of murder a public concern regulated by royal justice, the family of the murdered man was considered responsible for avenging his death; and such a blood-feud might last many years, and result in innumerable deaths. When the blood-feud had been superseded by a proper administration of justice, murder became punishable by a fine, the fine varying according to the position and quality of the murdered man. In the Welsh laws this blood-money is called galanas. Thus the price of the life of a Penteulu was fixed at a hundred and eighty-nine cows, that of an ordinary freeman at sixty-three cows, that of a slave at four cows. The price of a woman's life was half that of a man's. The whole of the murderer's family was responsible for paying the price of his murder; and if payment was not made, the murderer's life was forfeit. The murder of a near kinsman was regarded as much more heinous than the murder of a stranger, and in this case the murderer was cast out of his tribe for ever.

Just as every man's life had its price, so every man's honour had likewise its price; and an insult (saraad) was a punishable offence. Here again the price varied according to the station of the insulted man. In those times, when villages were built entirely of wood and other highly inflammable material, it was natural that special laws should be enacted to deal with the use and abuse of fire. Fire seems to have been regarded very much as we regard a dangerous animal—we may keep it if we so desire, but if we do so it is at our peril, and we become responsible for any damage it may cause by its escape.