The Dog Ate the Prince’s Son
Beddgelert is a picturesque village in Snowdonia, North Wales. A quick online search will immediately throw up YouTube videos with titles like, Beddgelert: The Most Beautiful Village in Wales. Scrolling photos of the village, it’s easy to see why.
Surrounded by dramatic mountains that scoop skyward from the valley basin, Beddgelert’s quaint cottages, arched bridges, cafes and pubs – each with slate roofs crafted from local materials – sit at the confluence of two rivers, the Glaslyn and the Colwyn.
In terms of folklore, the village is most famously associated with the tragic Welsh legend of Gelert, from which its names derives – Beddgelert meaning “Gelert’s Grave.”
The myth tells of Prince Llywelyn and his faithful hound, Gelert. One day, after returning from a hunt, Llywelyn finds Gelert smeared with blood and his infant son nowhere to be found. Believing the worst, the heartbroken prince kills the dog, only to realise that he had gravely misunderstood what had really transpired.
This recounting of Beddgelert is taken from Peter Berresford Ellis’ Celtic Myths and Legends.
There was once a prince of Gwynedd called Llywelyn who had a favourite hound named Gelert, for he was a brown-coloured beast, for gell means brown or auburn in colour. When Gelert was giving cry and chasing the fox across the mountains, the dog was as brave and magnificent as a lion, but when he was lying in front of the blazing hearth with his lord, he was as mild and gentle as a lamb.
Gelert, as with many creatures in mythological tales, in part embodies the role of the psychopomp, a guide that leads souls through the land of the dead. Places in the living world can also serve as metaphorical equivalents.
In the medieval love story of Tristan and Iseut, for example, Tristan's loyal dog, Husdent, plays a critical role ensuring the lovers’ safety after they flee King Mark’s court and enter the Morrois Forest in Cornwall – a figurative land of the dead. The etymology of 'Morrois' (from the French mort, meaning 'death') reinforces this association with mortality.
At one point, Husdent follows his master off a cliff, injuring his leg but pressing on regardless. Like Gelert in our Welsh tale, Husdent is brave, fiercely loyal, and endowed with a kind of otherworldly intelligence, often outwitting humans
Returning to the story:
Gelert was so tame and gentle that Prince Llywelyn often entrusted the care of his young wife and tiny baby to the hound.
You can often tell a main character by his or her relationship to animals. Husdent’s mythical nature in Tristan and Iseut tells us a great deal about Tristan. Their unique bond suggests Tristan’s connection to the spiritual realm. While King Mark reacts fearfully to Husdent's aggression, Tristan's ability to communicate with the dog elevates him to a higher, spiritual plane. When Husdent’s barking sparks a debate over his fate, it is Tristan’s training – teaching the dog to hunt silently – that hints at Tristan’s connection to something greater, a mystical understanding that only animals and chosen heroes seem to possess.
This kind of intimacy between hero and animal also appears at the start of Ridley Scott’s Gladiator, where the ‘Wolf of Rome’ fights alongside Maximus in the opening battle scene.
The true hero is always kind to animals and earns their loyalty in return.
It happened one day that Prince Llywelyn set out for the hunt and blew his horn to gather his hounds. Now all the hounds answered the horn except Llywelyn’s favourite – Gelert. No one knew where the hound had hidden himself, and so the disgruntled prince set off on the hunt without the swiftest and most tenacious of his hounds. There was bad sport that day.
It is significant that, before the tragedy unfolds, the Prince is without his spiritual guide. Lacking this vital connection, an essential part of what defines the hero, severe consequences become almost inevitable.
When he returned to his castle, the prince saw, Gelert, his hound, bounding joyfully to meet him. As he came nearer, Prince Llywelyn saw that the dog’s muzzle was dripping with blood.
Now a terrible thought came into Llywelyn’s mind, for his wife was visiting her sick mother, and he had left his baby, a son no more than a year old, in his chamber, asking his servants to look in now and then. Gelert was used to playing with the child, for he was usually a docile and gentle animal within the doors of the palace.
Prince Llywelyn let out a cry as he ran to his young son’s nursery. As he passed through the rooms, he saw the trail of blood thick upon the ground. Into the nursery he rushed, crying for his servants and attendants.
There was the child’s cradle overturned, and the covers and floor were drenched in blood.
No anguish could compare with Prince Llywelyn’s despair. He and his servants searched everywhere, but nowhere was any sign of the tiny child. It was clear to him that the hound Gelert had devoured his son and heir.
There was a rage on him as he went back into the courtyard and saw Gelert sitting patiently wagging his tail, as if puzzled at his master’s behaviour.
“Evil monster!” yelled the prince. “You have devoured my son, my baby and my joy!”
Without more ado, he drew his sword and struck the animal, thrusting the point into the hound’s side.
Gelert gave an agonized cry, gazed for a moment into his master’s eyes, and fell dead.
In that moment, as Gelert gave his dying howl, the prince heard a little child’s answering cry.
Prince Llywelyn dashed back into the nursery, where the cry had come from. There, underneath the upturned cradle, where he had been asleep, was the prince’s tiny son. No one had thought of looking under the upturned cot. Moreover, beside the child, who was entirely unhurt, there lay the carcass of a great, gaunt grey wolf. And the wolf was covered with blood and its throat torn out.
Now what had happened became very clear.
A wolf had entered the castle without anyone seeing it, but Gelert had scented out the beast and stayed to protect Prince Llywelyn’s son. He had fought the great beast and slain it before it could harm the little prince.
Now Prince Llywelyn was filled with grief and remorse for what he had done. He had not only killed his favourite hound, but without just cause. The hound had saved the life of his son and trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust. Now Prince Llywelyn realised the true meaning of the old proverb: “The nut cannot be judged by the husk”, for it seems that a bull with long horns, even if he does not butt, will always be accused of butting.
So sadder and wiser, Prince Llywelyn carried his faithful hound to the slopes of Yr Wyddfa and buried him.
Yr Wyddfa is the Welsh name for Mount Snowdon.
Over his grave he raised a cairn. So this is why the place is called Bedd Gelert, or the Grave of Gelert. It is said that the phantom of Gelert still hunts across the mountainside, and you may hear its lonely howl on cold winter’s nights. It is the howl of a trusting, loyal soul betrayed.
Some people will tell you to beware of Gelert’s tomb, especially if there is disloyalty lurking in your heart; the hound will sniff it out and take revenge. Therefore, on certain days, especially after dark, beware as you wander across the slopes, beware of a leaping phantom hound.
Just south of the village lies one of Beddgelert’s most renowned historical sites, a fenced stone monument sheltered by two trees, marking the possible burial place of Gelert, Prince Llywelyn’s loyal hound.