Bladud of Bath: The Archaeology of a Legend Author(s): John Clark Reviewed work(s): Source: Folklore, Vol.

105 (1994), pp. 39-50 Published by: Taylor & Francis, Ltd. on behalf of Folklore Enterprises, Ltd. Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1260628 . Accessed: 29/11/2011 20:52
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Folklore 105 (1994):39-50

RESEARCH ARTICLE

Bladud of Bath: The Archaeology of a Legend

JohnClark
Monumental Evidence
In a brief paper on "Bladud: the Flying King of Bath" in a recent volume of Folklore,A.T. Fear presented the attractive hypothesis that the origins of the tale of an ill-fated experiment in aviation made by Bladud (legendary British king and founder of Bath) lay in a misinterpretation of Bath's Gorgoneion, the sculpture of a winged face which combines male Celtic characteristics with the classical Medusa's head (Fear 1992). This once adorned the facade of the temple of the goddess Sulis Minerva in Roman Aquae Sulis and is now to be seen in the Roman Baths Museum. Leslie Grinsell has drawn our attention to the cross-fertilisation of folklore and archaeology, in his studies of the traditions that have arisen around or in explanation of monuments which today we would seek to elucidate through the science of archaeology (Grinsell 1975; 1976; 1977), and Hilda Ellis Davidson has noted the way in which concrete objects or structures serve as pegs on which traditional stories hang (Davidson 1978, 4-9). "You can see it there still" is the apt title of the chapter in her book on British Dragons in which Jacqueline Simpson discusses the manner in which storytellers attach a tale of a local dragon to an obvious piece of concrete evidence-a feature of the landscape, a monument, a relic or an image-or even to a place-name, "a memento which helps to preserve [the legend] through following generations" (Simpson 1980, 80-90).1 Similar instances of a story substantiated (literally) by the local environment can be found passim in Albion, Jennifer Westwood's delightful compilation of British local legends (Westwood 1985). The stories discussed by Simpson and Westwood, however, illustrate the obvious corollary to the storyteller's reliance on the "relic" to confirm a tale. Rather than merely serving as evidence of the truth of a traditional story, the concrete object might become (in Simpson's words) "a stimulus for the first invention of the legend [and] a focal point for its development" (Simpson 1980, 82). This "back-formation" of a legend-or a new episode within a pre-existing (and the possibly even authentic) historical tale-by misunderstanding of an unusual object, monument or structure is clearly a widespread phenomenon, though specific cases are difficult to prove. In a classic study of medieval religious art in France, Emile Male noted that the emblems assigned to saints by medieval artists sometimes gave rise to new legends (Male 1958, 286-91; 1984, 285-90). Thus the GoldenLegend,the compendium of saintly miracles compiled by Jacob of Voragine at the end of the thirteenth century, contained stories apparently inspired by a misunderstanding of symbolic attributes or scenes: St George in allegorical combat with a monster representing evil became a literal dragonslayer; the mariners' St Erasmus (Elmo) with his ship's capstan wound with a cable became, to inland dwellers, a martyr whose entrails were drawn from his body by a windlass. (One suspects that it was a touch of intellectual snobbery which led Male to assign the misunderstanding of such symbolism to "childlike peasant souls [who] took the scene as literal fact." It was after all educated churchmen who recorded the stories and spread them abroad!) Simpson has presented several instances of apparently similar phenomena among her British dragon legends. For example, the effigy of Walter de Teyes in the church of Nunnington, Yorkshire, with a small lion at his feet, was identified locally as Sir Peter Loschy with the dog which played a major role in his battle against a dragon (Simpson 1980, 63). It is clear that relics, monuments and images, as well as serving to validate existing traditions, can, through misunderstanding, inspire new ones. That the Bath Gorgoneion,with its wings, could have provided some local storyteller with the idea of Bladud's flight is not implausible. There is a chronological problem in the way of this hypothesis, as I show below; yet the process it embodies may account for a further episode in Bladud's fictional biography to which we shall turn later.

Geoffreyof Monmouth and the Bath Gorgoneion of Britain(HistoriaRegumBritanniae), probably comIt was in Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings

pleted in 1138, that the story of Bladud and his experimental flight and accidental death was first recorded. Geoffrey claimed that his History was a translation from a certain "very ancient book in the British language." His claim is not convincing. His obvious sources included earlier historians such as Bede, Gildas and the ninth-century author of the Historia Brittonum, Welsh genealogies, legendary material and perhaps local lore, with considerable

40 inspiration from classical Latin literature (Tatlock 1950; Wright 1985, xvii-xix). These he integrated with great ingenuity and imagination and little concern for historical truth into an apparently cohesive whole. In the seemingly authoritative history of preRoman Britain that Geoffrey presented to a startled readership in 1138, King Bladud was the ninth ruler of Britain in succession to the Trojan.Brutus who gave his name to the land. Since Bladud's brief biography is central to this discussion, I quote it here (in a reasonably literal translation from Geoffrey's Latin). Then his [Rud Hud Hudibras's]son Bladud succeeded him and ruled the kingdom for twenty years. He built the city of Kaer Badum, which is now called Bath (Bado), and made there hot baths convenient for the use of mankind.He set over them the authorityof Minerva,in whose temple he placed inextinguishable fires, which never crumbledinto ashes; for whenever they began die down they were turned into stone balls. (At that time Elijahprayed that no rain should fall on the earth, and no rain fell for three years and six months.) He [Bladud] was a man of great ingenuity, and taught nigromancy throughout the kingdom of Britain. He never rested from performing wonders until, making himself wings, he attempted to fly through the upper sky, and fell onto the Temple of Apollo in Trinovantum[London],being smashed into many pieces (Thorpe1966, 80-1; Wright 1985, 18). No single source for this tale is known. Fear has proposed that indirect inspiration for its last sentence lay in the winged Gorgoneionof Bath. Now there are certainly instances in his History where Geoffrey's inspiration (or that of an unknown informant) seems to have been "archaeology"-the interpretation (or misinterpretation) of a relic or a monument. Such perhaps accounts for the high status as royal and ecclesiastical centre that he assigned to Caerleon, a place represented in his own time only by the ruins of a Roman fortress (Tatlock 1950, 69-71), or his story of the bronze statue of a man on horseback erected on the west gate of London which formed the extraordinary sepulchral monument (reminiscent of a Roman triumphal arch) of King Cadwallo (Clark 1978; 1980). However, a reconsideration of the published archaeological evidence suggests that the link by which knowledge of the Gorgoneioncould have been transmitted and developed into the story of a flying man was more tenuous than Fear supposes. Quite rightly Fear noted that in the absence of detailed contemporary records of the context in which the Roman sculptures, among them the Gorgoneion, were discovered in 1790 during the building of the grand new Pump Room, we cannot properly apply the methods of modern archaeology to reconstruct the circumstances or date of their deposition. Nevertheless, we are justified in considering probabilities.

John Clark During the course of modern archaeological excavations on the site one slab from the same temple pediment was found in situ in the ground adjacent to the disturbance caused by the 1790 works. On the basis of the stratigraphy of the surrounding area the excavators have reconstructed the following sequence of events (Cunliffe and Davenport 1985, 72). At a time very late in the Roman period the temple faqade had collapsed or was dismantled, and the slabs from the pediment were laid in the ground forming a pavement. This event took place at the very end of the excavators' "Phase 5," the last phase of recognisably "Romano-British" activity on the site, which could have ended by the traditional date of A.D. 410 or "could well have continued well into the fifth century or even perhaps into the early sixth" (ibid, 75). The pavement was itself eventually hidden from sight by collapsed masonry from the demolition of the adjacent Roman reservoir, at a date which is even more uncertain, but for which the excavators' "best guess" was the sixth or seventh century (ibid, 185). Fear's suggestion that the Gorgoneionhad received separate treatment and either remained on the pediment or was placed in a visible position elsewhere is special pleading. The traces of wear and weathering on all the stones are very similar, suggesting that they all had a similar history. On the assumption that (like the one found in situ) the sculptured slabs would all have been laid face down to form a level surface, the probability is surely that the last people to look on the face of the Gorgon were the workmen engaged in laying the pavement. And this event took place when Bath was still essentially "Romano-British" in character (whatever that might mean in the fifth century). Knowledge of the stone might then have been transmitted in one of two forms: the basic "there was once a great stone head of a man with wings in his hair," or the developed "the baths were built by a man with wings, and you could once see a great stone image of him here." The former could have been transmuted into the latter during transmission, or been integrated into a coherent narrative by an inventive storyteller. We must then envisage the circulation of the story in oral tradition for some 700 years until Geoffrey of Monmouth made use of it, tradition surviving the near total collapse of the culture in which it had originated, the influx of many new people of a different race and culture, and translation into a new language-and all this in the absence of the one piece of concrete evidence, the sculpture, to which the teller could refer in corroboration of his story. No storyteller could have called on Jacqueline Simpson's telling phrase: "You can see it there still." In spite of all that has said or written about the durability of popular tradition, I do not find this sequence of events convincing. Fear implies that there had been continuity of local tradition; he suggests that Geoffrey's account of

Bladud of Bath: The Archaeologyof a Legend ancient Bath with its hot springs, baths and temple of Minerva proves that "the name of the Roman goddess Minerva was remembered" as its patroness. Unfortunately, as Fear notes, Geoffrey's knowledge of Minerva and her temple was derived from the classical writer Solinus.2 It is quite clear, on comparing the two accounts, that Geoffrey used no other source, oral or written, and Tatlock's comment (Tatlock 1950, 360 n. 75) that he could find no indication that Geoffrey had ever read Solinus is surely belied by the almost wordfor-word correspondence between the two accounts. Solinus, writing at the beginning of the third century A.D., recorded that somewhere in Britain (not specifically located) there were hot springs "luxuriously fitted out for the use of mankind"; these were under the protection of Minerva, with a temple in which perpetual fires burned with a fuel that turned not to ashes but to "stone lumps." Geoffrey's text closely follows that of Solinus. His sole major change was to attribute to Bladud the building of the baths and the temple rather than, like Solinus, simply recording their existence. Slight differences in the wording"inextinguibilesignes" for "perpetuiignes" for example deliberate paraphrase, a half-hearted -suggest to avoid an obvious adherence to his original. attempt Geoffrey did after all claim to be translating into Latin from "a certain very ancient book written in the British language" (Thorpe 1966, 51); too close a resemblance to the Latin words of Solinus might raise doubts in the mind of a reader who recognised the origin! But Geoffrey's identification of Solinus's springs with those of Bath, while no doubt correct, is nevertheless a novelty; Solinus had not named Aquae Sulis nor given any hint in what part of Britain the hot springs were to be found. No doubt some well-read inhabitant of Bath could, even before Geoffrey's time, have made the same identification and associated with Minerva's shrine the Roman ruins that were still visible; for Roman walls at the spring survived not only into the eighth century to fire the imagination of an Anglo-Saxon poet, as Fear reminds us, but as late as the end of the eleventh century, when they formed the basis of new construction work around what was to become the King's Bath (Cunliffe and Davenport 1985, 79-80). But such historical speculation does not in itself mean that the goddess was "remembered" locally. Nor is there anything to show that Geoffrey did not, quite independently, come to the same conclusion about the identity of Solinus's temple as modern archaeologists (Cunliffe 1969, 7). The corollary, that Minerva was assimilated to the Celtic goddess Sulis, eponym of Roman Aquae Sulis, is confirmed by inscriptions from the Roman temple site. Archaeologists have not been slow to identify the mysterious fuel of Minerva's altar fires as coal from the coalfields of Somerset (Haverfield 1906, 221).

41

The Second Head

However, Fear's basic hypothesis is persuasive, and I wish to enter my own special plea: that there was another Gorgoneion at Bath which was probably visible during the Middle Ages. In 1542 John Leland visited Bath and saw embedded in the city walls, along with other Roman stonework, "an antique hed of a man made al flat and having great lokkes of here as I have in a coine of C. Antius" (Toulmin Smith 1964, 1:140). This was clearly the same carving that William Camden saw about fifty years later, in the wall between the South Gate and the West Gate, and described as "Medusaes head with haires all Snakes" (Camden 1610,236). Unfortunately the Medusa's head does not seem to be among the devices recorded on coins of the Roman Republican moneyer Caius Antius Restio (c. 46 B.C.),though very fine examples appear on several issues by his contemporary Lucius Plautius Plancus-full-frontal images like the Bath Gorgoneion (Sydenham 1952, 162 [C. Antius Restio] and 160, Plate 26 no. 959B [L. Plautius Plancus]).3 What Camden and Leland saw must have been a Gorgoneion, and one which Leland at least could interpret as a male head. A later commentator, the author of A Fool's Bolt Soon Shott at Stonage (c. 1666) which is discussed below, described it as "that Image of the Sun, like the face of a man ... affixed to the city walls" (Legg 1986, 25). The same image was described and illustrated by Thomas Guidott in A Discourse of Bathe, published in 1676: "A great face, or a Giant's Head, with hair" (Guidott 1676, 72 and Plate, Fig. 1). The illustration, like the others of Roman sculptures in Guidott's book, owes more to the preconceptions of the engraver than to an accurate depiction of the original, and shows a large round face surrounded by flames. Guidott failed to recognise that this was identical with Camden's "Medusaes head," and of the supposed latter commented "I cannot, on the best enquiry I can make, find it out." None of these authors refers to wings and none appear in the very poor illustration in Guidott's book, but they are frequent in classical images of the type and may well have been visible on the original. The sculptures and inscribed slabs recorded by Leland and others, which seem not to have survived the final demolition of the town walls in the mideighteenth century (Haverfield 1906, 286), were probably used in medieval patchings of the crumbling Roman defences. There is no indication when the earliest repairs of this type were carried out; excavations on the line of the wall on the north of the city in 1980 revealed a complex history, with repairs or developments to the outer defences from Saxon times (perhaps the late ninth century) onwards (O'Leary 1981, 1-30 esp. 22-3). King Stephen's forces "strengthened the wall and mounds impregnably by every

42
device for resistance" in 1138, when Bath served as a strong point in his campaign against Bristol (ibid, 18, quoting from the contemporary Gesta Stephani). Repairs are recorded in the early thirteenth century, the stonework was being robbed in the 1270s and in 1369 "murage" (a local toll on goods to meet expenditure on town defences) was levied (Turner 1970, 190-1). The tempting coincidence in date between the works carried out for King Stephen in 1138 and the completion of Geoffrey's History is unfortunately not significant. Any "archaeological" discoveries or reuse of Roman masonry in the new works would surely have come too late to inspire an episode in the earlier part of Geoffrey's book. The first appearance of the Gorgoneion in the wall cannot be dated; yet, if not already set into the wall, it may have been visible elsewhere in Geoffrey of Monmouth's own time. We do not know that Geoffrey visited Bath and had the opportunity either to see for himself a Gorgoneion and the remains of the Roman temple or to hear a local tradition. The existence of a pre-Galfridian tradition is a possibility; yet the extent to which Geoffrey drew on oral traditions is easily exaggerated. In 1950 the American scholar J.S.P. Tatlock sounded a note of caution: "For all his long notoriety as an inventor, scholars have been prone to believe that at this or that special point he may embalm tradition" (Tatlock 1950, 263 n. 24). The warning implicit in his words must be applied, not only to supposed "authentic" traditions of historical events or personages, but to factitious traditions like that of Bladud and his flight. One should not underestimate Geoffrey's own fertile imagination and his willingness to speculate about the origins and significance of a strange structure or artefact he had seen or had heard described. If there were a second winged Gorgon's head visible in Bath in the twelfth century then Geoffrey himself would be a prime candidate as the man responsible for elaborating from it the story of a flying man.

JohnClark
the role of these kings as the founders and often eponyms of towns seems unlikely to have been derived from authentic local oral tradition. Thus, for example, "Ebraucus" (Thorpe 1966, 79) would make better sense as the name of the founder of York to a literate and Latinate scholar who knew the name Eburacumfor the town than it would to a vernacularspeaking inhabitant of contemporary Euerwic who would probably derive it from Eofer-wic,"boar-town" (Smith 1937, 279). In the case of Gloucester, Geoffrey provided not one but two eponyms: the Roman Emperor Claudius and his (illegitimate) son, Duke Gloius (Thorpe 1966, 121; Wright 1985, 44). One or other of these may already have been known in Gloucester, but Geoffrey's comment that "some say" ("quidam vero dicunt") that the town takes its name from Gloius should not mislead us into believing that this was oral tradition. Geoffrey found the suggestion in the ninth-century southern Welsh Historia Brittonum, one of his most important written sources, in which Gloius or Glovi, founder of Gloucester, is identified as the great-grandfather of the notorious King Vortigern (Faral 1969, 3:35; Morris 1980, 33). There need have been no previous connection in local tradition between Bath and an individual named Bladud. Geoffrey's notoriously freewheeling approach to history could supply all that was necessary. Having chosen, from whatever source, the name Bladud for one of his British kings he needed to provide for him a plausible and impressive series of achievements. Bladud's father Rud Hud Hudibras was a great founder of towns, having built Canterbury, Winchester and Shaftesbury; his grandfather Leil had built Carlisle; his great-great-grandfather Ebraucus had founded York, Dumbarton and Edinburgh. What more likely than that Bladud also was a builder? The assonance of the names might have drawn Geoffrey's attention to Bath, about which, thanks to Solinus, he had an interesting tale to relate. For the city, rather than the later medieval Latin Bathonia or the Batha or Bada of Domesday Book, he adopted a Latin form Bado/Badonis, in which the Latin "d" represents the voiced fricative (usually written as the character 8, "eth") of Old English and of Geoffrey's own time, as in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle's(a't) Ba5um of 906 and Badeof 1130 (Earle and Plummer 1899, 1:94 and 260). Geoffrey may have had an ulterior motive in choosing, or coining, this particular form; it provided an elegant solution of the problem of where to locate Mons Badonis("The Hill of Bado(n)"), according to earlier writers the site of King Arthur's famous victory over the Saxons (discussed for example by Tatlock 1950, 47; Jackson and 4-5). Geoff1959,.2-3 rey's localisation of this battle at Bath (Thorpe 1966, 216-17) is one that in spite of lack of trustworthy evidence has convinced a number of modern commentators (for example Burkitt 1990; and see Chambers 1927, 197-201 for this and other candidates).

The Origins of Bladud

There is no evidence for the existence of a story about the foundation of Bath before the time of Geoffrey, and it seems unlikely that he found the name Bladud locally. According to Geoffrey's History, Bladud of Bath shared his name with one of the twenty sons of his great-great-grandfather Ebraucus and in variant form a later king Bledudo (Thorpe 1966, 79 and 105). For the names of his pre-Roman kings Geoffrey plundered many sources, chiefly it seems Welsh genealogies and passing references in other Welsh written sources (Piggott 1941; Tatlock 1950, 163 and n. 254 citing Hutson 1940). From these came names such as Bladud, usually without context and without circumstance; the activities of their owners in Geoffrey's history were largely of his own invention. Even

Bladudof Bath:TheArchaeology a Legend of

To Latin Bado Geoffey added a "British" or Welsh form Kaer Badum. Though he did not claim that Bladud derived the name of the new city Kaer Badum from his own name the thought must have been in Geoffrey's mind. As an etymologist Geoffrey was never troubled by a superfluity of consonants, as is evident in his efforts elsewhere to make convincing the derivation of the name of London from that of King Lud (Thorpe 1966, 74 and 106). Perhaps in this case he was deterred by the obvious Englishness of the name "Bath," which would be as evident to English-speakers in the twelfth century as it is to us today; however, by placing the foundation of Kaer Badum more than a thousand years before the coming of the Anglo-Saxons he effectively countered any claim the English might make to have originated the name! Geoffrey's Welsh Kaer Badum is clearly derived from the English name of the town; it would be an obvious form to any Welsh-speaker familiar with the English name and need not have been coined by Geoffrey himself-though it is apparently not recorded anywhere earlier (Tatlock 1950, 47). One conclusion can surely be drawn from this usage for the town of Latin and Welsh names derived from English: that Geoffrey and his contemporaries were unaware of the original Romano-British placename Aquae Sulis, and with it the presiding goddess Sulis, had been forgotten.

43
and the real-life adventure of the eleventh-century monk Eilmer of Malmesbury, who broke both his legs in his attempt at flight. To these can be added the classical Daedalus and Icarus, and the Germanic Volund/Weland. Edmond Faral (Faral 1969, 2:106) also drew attention to the case of the prophet Elijah (II Kings 2:11), who flew to heaven in a fiery chariot; Faral noted that Elijah (as we have seen in Geoffrey's text) was an exact contemporary of Bladud. To these sources we can now add the suggestion that a Gorgoneion,either that on the temple pediment or that later to be seen embedded in the town walls, was interpreted as the head of a flying man. In view of the uncertainty of the fate of either sculpture, we cannot know whether this misinterpretation was made (if made at all) by early post-Roman settlers of the area, by citizens of Bath contemporary with Geoffrey, or by our author himself. It seems unlikely that the flying man was given the name Bladud by any other than Geoffrey. Two points may be noted, however. Firstly, though the hot baths were already famous and a contemporary of Geoffrey reported that "sick persons from all over England resort thither to bathe in the healing waters, and the fit also to see these wonderful burstings out of warm water and to bathe in them" (Cunliffe and Davenport 1985, 80), a stone sculptured head, or a story inspired by one, would surely be only of local interest. For Geoffrey to have known of it he must have visited Bath or at least have had a local informant. There is no independent evidence for this; yet since we know so little of Geoffrey's life that a fleeting or extended visit to Bath can by no means be ruled out. And if the archaeologists are right in their interpretation, building works on what was to be the King's Bath may have been under way in Geoffrey's own lifetime, no doubt encouraging an interest in the history of this extraordinary site which Geoffrey's story seems purpose-made to exploit (ibid, 79-80). Secondly, and perhaps telling against any direct link between the flying man and Bath, Bladud's flight was not, according to Geoffrey, a local event. It is not clear where his flight started, but it was at the Temple of Apollo in Trinovantum(London) that it reached its fatal conclusion. That Geoffrey should associate a flying man, even indirectly, with a city where there existed at one time what could be interpreted as evidence for just such a figure may be a coincidence. That instead he was aware of that evidence and incorporated it into his tale corresponds admirably with the impression one has of his methods of working: his brilliance in combining a variety of disparate pieces of information from a range of incongruous sources into what is at first sight a plausible historical narrative. The role of the Bath Gorgoneion in the origination of Geoffrey's tale of Bladud cannot by its very nature be proven; it

Bladud the Inventor

If the origin of Bladud and his role in founding Bath was literary invention, the rest of his story can be interpreted in the same way. Solinus no doubt understood that the hot springs were a natural phenomenon-he had just mentioned Britain's great rivers. Though Geoffrey credited Bladud with the creation of "hot baths" rather than "hot springs" he may have intended to imply that the constant supply of hot water was itself artificial; it was certainly so understood by some later commentators and improvers. Layamon, for example, in the first version in English of Geoffrey's work (written in around 1200) was to assert that it was Bladud's invention, "a stone engine (ane staen-cunne)/As huge as a wooden beam, which he laid in a running stream," which made the water hot (Allen 1993, 38 11.1422-4; Brook and Leslie 1963, 1:72).4 If so Bladud must have been a magician or scientist (the distinction is not one Geoffrey would have made) with great engineering skills. The description of this "ingeniosus"man who taught necromancy throughout Britain follows naturally, as does the culmination of his life in a scientific experiment that went sadly wrong-pride literally before a fall. There are of course several models for the story of the man who made himself wings and tried to fly. Fear mentions the apocryphal story of Simon Magus

44 is however an attractive hypothesis that should not be dismissed. The Later Tradition The story of Bladud as related by Geoffrey of Monmouth was skeletal in the extreme; a passing reference in his later poem The Life of Merlin (Vita Merlini) to Bladud's establishment of healing baths adds no flesh, though it provides the name of Bladud's queen, the otherwise unknown "Alaron," and the information that the waters were especially efficacious for female ailments (Faral 1969, 3:333 11.870-4 and 2:382). Yet Geoffrey's History of the Kings of Britain formed the core of the so-called "British History" that was the basis of all histories of pre-Saxon Britain for some 400 years (Kendrick 1950). The story of Bladud can be traced through serious chronicles as well as in the poetic embroideries of such writers as the Norman Wace and the Englishman Layamon. By the end of the sixteenth century the truth of the British History was being seriously questioned, and it passed into the realm of pseudo-history, romantic antiquarian speculation and poetry. This later phase, as it affected the tale of Bladud, is well reflected in an anthology of early accounts of Bladud put together by Howard Levis and privately printed under the title Bladud of Bath, the British King who Tried to Fly (Levis 1973). Levis (apparently a bibliophile and collector) restricted his research to printed books, and excluded those medieval writers whose works were not available to him in early printed editions. He quotes Geoffrey of Monmouth from an edition of 1508; John Hardyng (who wrote in the mid-fifteenth century) from Grafton's edition of 1543; and Layamon's interesting extended version of the story of Bladud not at all. For printed works he does not always indicate the existence of an edition earlier than that from which he quotes-which substantially alters the apparent sequence of the story's development in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. However, most of what follows is based upon works cited by Levis, and though I have attempted to consult the earliest edition of each book to which he refers, I have not substantially supplemented his list. As is to be expected, accounts of Bladud reflect the preconceptions of the writers and the view of the past they could expect their readers to share. In early medieval accounts, Bladud is, as Geoffrey put it, a man of genius (ingeniosus) and a nigromancer; a later twelfth-century Anglo-Norman poet explained further that "Master he was of physic,/Of astronomy and of music" (Bell 1969, 33 11.1195-6). As early as the 1440s, however, John Hardyng, anticipating perhaps the Renaissance tendency to look to the Classical world as the source of all knowledge, despatched Bladud as a young man to Athens to learn wisdom from Greek philosophers, and to bring back four Greek sages to

John Clark found a university at Stamford-an enhancement of the story that was to prove particularly popular with writers in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Levis 1919, 36-40, citing also passages from John Bale [1548] and John Stow [1567]). In the 1740s John Wood, the architect responsible for the building of much of the Bath we see today, wrote a detailed account of the town and encomium on its antiquity and his own contribution to its architectural beauties. In this, under the influence of the contemporary enthusiasm for druids, he identified Bladud as the founder of the order of druids in Britain, and Bath itself as their "Metropolitan Seat" (Wood 1765, 136ff., quoted extensively by Levis 1973, 94-112).5 Wood went further, conflating Bladud with Abaris, a Hyperborean sage who, according to Greek accounts, had travelled from the far North (some said he flew on an arrow) to consult Pythagoras and other Greek philosophers. Wood's idiosyncratic elaboration of the story of Bladud did not alas achieve general acceptance. In the heliocentric atmosphere of the late nineteenth century Bladud was not unexpectedly identified as a Celtic sun-god and the sun-like Gorgoneion found in 1790 as his divine image, in a paper by the Revd Professor Archibald Sayce (1890; cited by Levis 1973, 17-19). It is perhaps not surprising to learn from the Dictionary of National Biography that Sayce was a lifelong friend of Max Muller. The theme has been developed much further in recent years by R.J. Stewart, who has (re)constructed a complete Celtic mythology around the sun-god Bladud, the mother goddess Sulis and her sacred springs (Stewart 1980; 1981). Bladud and the Pigs It is not clear for how long and to what extent the story of Bladud has circulated in local tradition apart from its appearance in literature. The version included in Ruth Tongue's Somerset Folklore(Tongue 1965, 199-200) was recorded from oral tradition in 1912. Yet this account could itself have come directly or indirectly from an earlier written source, in spite of omitting all reference to Bladud's flight and including instead an episode that we have not yet alluded to: that the young Bladud had returned after his education in Athens afflicted with leprosy, that he had been driven from the royal court and reduced to herding pigs, and that it was while watching the pigs wallowing in the hot mud of Bath's springs that he had recognised the healing qualities of the waters. The earliest appearance in print of this episode is generally said (for example by Stewart) to have been in an account written in 1697 by Robert Peirce M.D. of Bath (Stewart 1981, 70; Peirce 1697, 172-4 quoted by Levis 1919, 90-1 from an edition of 1713). This story, which Peirce ascribes to "the received Tradi-

Bladud of Bath: The Archaeologyof a Legend tion" ("believe as much of it as you think fit") sounds very like a piece of "authentic" folklore, and Peirce may indeed have recorded a local tale from oral tradition-he was after all a local man ("Inhabitant in Bath from the Year 1653 to this present Year 1697," as his title page tells us). The full "traditional" story refers to local place-names and features of the landscape; it seems designed in part to explain the names of the village of Swainswick (presumably from "swine"), Swineford (where Bladud and the pigs crossed the Avon) and even Hogs Norton. Its very incongruity with the "received" version of Bladud's career suggests a very different origin: possibly even as a popular tale of a marvellous discovery made by a humble pig-man, who rose to fame thereby. One is reminded of the pigs reputed to have found sites for a number of churches (Westwood 1985, 185-6), the swineherd led by a pig through Peak Cavern, Derbyshire, to discover an Otherworld kingdom (ibid, 204-6), or even the herdsman Eoves whose vision of the Virgin Mary led to the foundation of Evesham Abbey (Locke 1906, 113).6 In 1706 the story of Bladud's own cure by the healing waters was well enough known in Bath, among the civic dignitaries and well-to-do townsfolk and visitors who would attend such an occasion, for it to receive passing allusion in a song to celebrate the opening of the fountain in the then new Pump Room: Great Bladud born a Sov'reign Prince, But from the Court was Banish'dthence, His dire Disease to shun, The Muses do his Fame record, That when the Bath his Health restor'd, Great Bladud did return (Wood 1765, 223-4). There is no mention of the pigs; they may have been thought unsuitable company at such a ceremony! John Wood, who quotes this poem in his Description of Bath, writes of its performance at the opening of the fountain as a "Revival," so perhaps we need to place its origin earlier. The fullest eighteenth-century versions of the story of Bladud seem to be one included by Wood and an elaborate treatment in verse (probably inspired by Wood's account) in Bath, and its Environs,a Descriptive Poem, printed by R. Cruttwell of Bath in 1775 (Crutwell quoted by Levis 1973, 112-21; Wood 1765, 71-6). Wood introduces his own account as a record of the "Tradition" of Bladud; on its historicity he reserves his judgement. It is a fully developed narrative, emphasising the "pigs" episode, incorporating the significant local place-names, and introducing novel characters and events-though some are perhaps not unfamiliar in other circumstances: for example, the cured Bladud, returning incognito to his father's royal court, is recognised by means of a ring he slips into a cup of wine that is passed to the queen, his mother. The story of Bladud and the pigs, then, was popular (if not necessarily taken seriously) in the

45 eighteenth century, and was already well known in Bath at the beginning of the century. Is there evidence for its earlier circulation?

The King's Bath Inscription In 1673 Henry Chapman of Bath ("a Native of the Place") wrote a short pamphlet in praise of the city and its healing waters: ThermaeRedivivae:The City of Bath Described.... At the end he included a lighthearted Appendix on Bladud and the pigs-"and for Caution, would not have you trye your faith too much on it, although (I assure you) it is Parti-par-pale, as our West-Countrey House-wives Orders [sic] their Puddings, with Vatt and Lean" (Chapman 1673, 1617).7 It takes the form of a short poem in heavily humorous "Zummerzet" dialect, of which the first few lines are surely more than sufficient sample: Lud Hudibras a Meazel Voule, did zend his Zun a graezing, Who vortuend hither vor to cum, and geed his Pigs sum Peazun: Poor Bladud he was Mangergrown, his Dad, which zum call Vather, Zet Bladud Pig, and Pig Bladud, and zo they ved together. Chapman attributed the verse to "Tom Coriat of Odcombe." If indeed it was the work of Thomas Coryate (1577-1617), Somersetshire wit, wanderer and travel journalist, we would certainly need to push knowledge of the story right back to the beginning of the seventeenth century. However, the poem has no place in the corpus of Coryate's known works (Dictionary of National Biography;Green 1886, 47). Moreover, internal evidence suggests it was written some considerable time after his death: for it places the events "Thwo thowsand and vive hundred Years, and Thirty-vive to that" before the present day. This is the exact figure that appeared on a wooden tablet erected on the wall of the King's Bath in 1672 to commemorate the supposed discovery and founding of the baths in 863 B.C.-for the date see for example Richard Grafton's Chronicleat Large, first printed in 1569 ([Grafton] 1809, 1:35). Chapman tells us the poet was inspired by "the great Table hung up against the Wall in the King's Bath," and indeed, the poem ends with an appeal to this very same tablet as a guarantee of its truth: Chee cud zay more, but cham aveard, Voke will account this Vable, O Invidles! if ye woon not me, yet chee pray believe
the Table.

The text of the 1672 tablet is included in a drawing of the King's Bath made in 1675 by Thomas Johnson (reproduced by Cunliffe and Davenport 1985, Plate LXIX); it read as follows:

46
BLADUD,SON TO LUDHUDEBRAS, THE EIGHTKINGOF THE BRITAINS FROMBRUTE, GREATPHILOSOPHER A AND MATHEMATICIAN: BREDAT ATHENS, AND RECORDED THE FIRST DISCOVERER, AND FOUNDEROF THESEBATHES, EIGHT HUNDREDSIXTY AND THREE YEARES BEFORE THATIS TWOTHOWSAND CHRIST, FIVEHUNDREDTHIRTY FIVEYEARS SINCE ANNO DOMINI1672 This tablet was replaced in 1699 by a version in stone which still survives, bearing very similar wording, but with an adjusted figure of "two thousand five hundred sixty two years to the present year" (illustrated by Stewart 1981, 73). Clearly, as the reference to 2535 years shows, it was the 1672 version of the tablet to which the "Zummerzet" poem related. Given that Chapman's booklet was published only a year after the tablet was erected, there seems little doubt that he himself was the author of this piece of doggerel. It is an obvious piece of "fakelore" addressed to visitors to Bath, to whom Bladud was, and continued to be, a familiar figure. As well as the commemorative tablet, his effigy presided over their recreations in the King's Bath-the small seated figure of Bladud in his niche can be seen in Johnson's drawing of 1675. We have seen how he was celebrated in song at the opening of the Pump Room fountain in 1706; and in May 1766 handbills were distributed at the Pump Room conveying King Bladud's compliments to William Pitt (the Elder), who was taking the waters (Mitchell and Penrose 1983, 105-6). Yet the "dialect" poem surely demonstrates a contemporary assumption that the story of Bladud and his pigs was known and popular among ordinary "Zummerzet" folk-and could be treated as a joke by those proud of their "superior" learning. John Wood notes that the wooden tablet erected at the King's Bath in 1672 carried an abridged version of an earlier inscription which had been set up in order: to inform the Publick by what Accident the Hot Springs, and their Healing Virtues, first Came to the knowledge of Mankind.But the Story thus exhibited to publickView appearingto some of the last Century as a legendary Tale, the Inscriptionwas therefore abridged, and, in respect to Time brought down to the Year 1672 (Wood 1765, 7-8). That the "Accident" by which the springs were discovered was that which involved Bladud's pigs becomes clear a little later in Wood's book. Having recounted, as we have seen, the "Tradition" of Bladud's illness and discovery, he comments how strongly it had once been believed in by the "Aboriginal Inhabitants" of Bath: But soon after the Restorationof King Charles the Second the Zeal for Bladud began to cease; for the famous John Earl of Rochester coming to Bath, the

JohnClark
Story of Bladud and his Pigs became a Subjectfor his Wit, and this proved the cause of strikingit out of the Inscription placed against one of the Walls of the King's Bath ... the AboriginalInhabitantsof the City [became]extremely cautious of repeatingafterwards what had been so solemnly handed down to them;so that the Traditionis in a mannerlost at Bath. (Wood 1765, 76). The story of the pigs then was not only wellknown but received "official" recognition by its inclusion on the pre-1672 King's Bath tablet; the implied civic disapproval after 1672 seems to have had little effect on the popularity of the story, and Wood's pessimism about the loss of the "Tradition" was ill-founded-it is still quoted, if only as a "legend," in the current tourist literature. The Fool's Bolt Further evidence for the pre-1672 knowledge of Bladud and his pigs is unexpectedly contained in an essay published by Thomas Hearne in Peter Langtoft's Chroniclein 1725 (and reprinted in Legg 1986, 17-51). taken from an anonymous manuscript at that time in the possession of James West of Balliol College, Oxford. In it the author set out to show that Stonehenge was built by a race of British giants, the Cangi, and their leader, named Stanenges, to commemorate their victory over the Belgae under King Divitiacus and the sacrifice to the goddess Anaraith of their prisoners of war. There is no internal evidence for the date of the original manuscript-apart from a reference to Inigo Jones's Ston-Heng Restored,published in 1655. However, another manuscript in the same hand published alongside it described the discovery of two hoards of Roman coins "in that most critical year of our Lord 1666" at Lydeard St Lawrence and Stogumber in western Somerset. It is likely then that the anonymous author of both papers was active in Somerset in or around 1666, and he has been identified on good evidence as Robert Gay, rector of Nettlecombe (near Williton) from 1631 until his death in 1672 (Legg 1986, 7-12). It is not at all clear how seriously Revd Gay meant his work to be taken; some have seen it all as a glorious hoax. What is important to us is that it was written in Somerset at a date before 1672, when Gay died, and that it contains direct reference to the story of Bladud and the pigs. Gay's approach to Stonehenge was to interpret (in an extremely free manner) the names of villages, places and natural features around the site-the giant Cangi are represented in nearby Cannings Hundred, for example. Because his technique was novel ("this nominall picklock is of my invention") he undertook to demonstrate its effectiveness on a better-known site first. Imagine, he writes, if Bath had been completely

Entitled A Fool's Bolt Soon Shott at Stonage,it was

Bladudof Bath:TheArchaeology a Legend of

destroyed by the Saxons, its baths had grown cold "and their healthful waters spread death"-thus proving his knowledge of Geoffrey of Monmouth by direct quotation from Geoffrey's "Prophecies of Merlin" (Thorpe 1966, 177). We would, he claims, be able to reconstruct much of the history of Bath just from local place-names: as first, the traditionof the mannerof finding out the vertue of the Bath-water being this. Bladud, alias Bluda, the son and heir of Rudhudibres, beeing smitten with a leprosie, was, Nebuchadnezar like, driven out from amongst men, and became a swineherd near Bathe,which was then a bogg or quagmire of hot water, in which his swine often wallowed, and one of them, being a Scabbilonian, was therebycured, whereupon Bladonmaking triallof it was also cured, whereupon he built a Temple, and consecratedit to the sun, as God of the heat of the bath-water,and Heath, which he recovered by the same, and his father dying, Bladon ruled there in his place (Legg 1986, 23). Though, as we have seen, Gay knew the works of Geoffrey of Monmouth, he does not give us the standard Galfridian account of Bladud. Gone are the necromancy and the attempted flight, gone even Minerva and her everlasting altar-fires. Instead we have a fully-fledged version of what seems to have become the preferred local story, with leprosy, pigs and hot mud. Gay calls this tale a "tradition"; if he was, as it seems, the first to write it down in a form that has come through to us he gives us no clue as to how it reached him. It is perfectly possible that Gay, writing in about 1666, was aware of an actual local tradition, which was recorded on the King's Bath tablet before 1672, by Henry Chapman in 1673, by Robert Peirce in 1697 and by the composer of the 1706 celebratory song. Of these, it is clear that the pre-1672 tablet must have played an important role in publicising the tale and lending it authority. There is no indication whether it circulated among the rural population as well as the townsfolk of Bath, nor among what ranks of society it was known-our informants are of course all of the professional classes. Bladud at the Gate So far there is no hint how or when the "leper and the pigs" story originated, nor whether it was from the start attached to Bladud or to some otherwise anonymous local hero. Yet there is one more surprise in store for readers of A Fool's Bolt. Among the pieces of evidence the author adduces for the truth of the Bladud story is the following: That this Bladud was a king, but reduced into some miserable condition on the North side of Bathe, as may be collectedby his pictureover the North gate of Bathe (Legg 1986, 24).

47
There was indeed a "picture" of a king, identified as Bladud, over Bath's North Gate. John Wood wrote that the gate was "from the remotest Ages, adorned with a Statue of King Bladud" (Wood 1765, 322). More recent accounts suggest that the original statue was of Edward III (Cunliffe and Davenport 1985, 84) -like that which ornamented the fourteenth-century South Gate (Wedlake 1966, 89). However, by the seventeenth century it, or a replacement, certainly seems to have been considered locally to represent Bladud. Wood tells us that the statue that existed at the beginning of the eighteenth century, "the Workmanship of some Ordinary Country Stonecutter," was in such poor condition and unsuitable style that the Deputy Town Clerk, John Froud, led a public campaign among the local people ("the aboriginal Families of Bath") for its replacement, writing a poem in support of the cause wherein Bladud lamented: My Brows with Cobwebs wreath'd instead of Bays, No Robes of State my naked Limbs adorn; Unflourish'd,unregardedand forlorn, I stand expos'd to be the Vulgar Scorn (Wood 1765, 323-4). This was presumably the statue Robert Gay knew, and which is embodied in his description of a king "reduced into some miserable condition on the North side of Bathe." Perhaps it had a more significant effect on the legend. Can we perhaps infer that it had grown so dilapidated as to suggest a man suffering from some ghastly disfiguring skin disease-thus corroborating, or even inspiring, the story of Bladud's illness? Could Bladud's leprosy have been in origin no more than a local joke? Such a suggestion is not without precedent. Jennifer Westwood has commented on the origin of stories "not as naive explanations but as simple jeux d'esprit invented by storytellers" (Westwood 1985, x) and Jacqueline Simpson has also noted that not all storytellers need have had serious intent: Even when a story happens to be being used as a poker-facedleg-pull, as practised by locals on "foreigners,"or by older boys on younger ones, an appeal to concrete evidence will serve the purposes of the leg-puller just as well as those of the convinced believer (Simpson 1980, 81). That such a piece of invention might lie behind the story of Bladud's illness is something we cannot prove-and it leaves the pigs out of account. It would however make an admirably symmetrical case, if two major aspects of Bladud's story, his wings and his leprosy, could each be shown to have arisen from the misinterpretation, at two different times, of prominent sculptural images thought to represent him! Conclusion Studies such as those carried out by Hilda Ellis

48 Davidson on the story of Lady Godiva of Coventry and more recently by Jennifer Fellows on Sir Bevis of Southampton have revealed the importance of civic imagery and pageantry in ensuring the survival of knowledge of "traditional" local heroes or founders of towns (Davidson 1978,80-94; Fellows 1986). Typically such a figure was adopted by the town authorities, from a literary source or from oral tradition, as an emblem of urban self-confidence and local pride. This symbolism might be embodied in pageantry or take concrete form like the statues of Bladud. Thus Grim, eponymous hero of Grimsby, appeared on that town's thirteenth-century seal (Pedrick 1904, 68-9); painted panels depicting Sir Bevis and the giant Ascupart adorned Southampton's Bargate perhaps as early as 1522 (Rance 1986); and statues of King Lud and his sons stood on London's Ludgate from 1598, if not before (Kingsford 1908, 1:38). It is not clear exactly how Bladud came to assume his role as civic patron of Bath, but, whatever its origin, the function of the story is obvious. Like many so-called "historical" folktales and legends it explains the origin of a place-name or a custom, a natural feature, a strange structure or artefact. The inspiration of the tale of Bladud is Bath itself, its hot springs and their healing qualities, the obvious remains of great Roman buildings, even the city's name. The primary narrative, as it appears in the writings of Geoffrey of Monmouth, addresses the questions "what?" and "who?" From Solinus is derived the association of the ruins with the temple of Minerva-rightly, as it happens, though the correctness of Geoffrey's hypothesis is irrelevant to the early development of the story. Bladud himself is co-opted as founding father of the baths, and in this role seems likely to have been an invention of Geoffrey's own. Geoffrey's text can be seen as antiquarian hypothesis or (in modern terms) archaeological reconstruction-either on his own part or reporting the conclusions of anonymous predecessors. The possibility that a sculpture viewed as a man with wings may also have entered into the picture suits this "archaeological" interpretation of Geoffrey's methodology. The question "how?" seems not to have been addressed until much later. Some romantic (but rationalising) sixteenth-century writers took "how?" to relate to the scientific methods used by Bladud to create a supply of constant hot mineral water. More down-to-earth is the story of the pigs which helped Bladud discover natural hot springs and their healing qualities. So far this story, apparently a local Somerset development, cannot be traced any earlier than the mid-seventeenth century, when it seems already to have been well known and accepted locally as historical truth. Its origin remains uncertain. We cannot know the part played by oral tradition in the early development of the Bladud story; our records are literary, and reflect a history of literary

John Clark transmission and antiquarian speculation. We can only note the folkloric appearance of the "pigs" episode. Bladud's heyday seems to be the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In spite of the dismissal by "orthodox" historians of the whole "British History" of which Bladud formed a part, his local fame remained undiminished, supported by civic statues and inscribed tablets, while the increasing popularity of Bath as a resort (encouraged by local publicists like Chapman, Guidott, Peirce, and Wood) placed his name before a much wider audience. Neither in its origin nor in its development does the Bladud story demonstrate the existence of a particularly early local oral tradition; nor a fortiori does it embody the last surviving traces of an archetypal Celtic myth. It cannot be too strongly emphasised that, as far as oral traditions and Celtic myths are concerned, the works of Geoffrey of Monmouth, master fabricator, are not a safe guide to either. Museum of London London Wall, London EC2Y 5HN, UK Notes 1Iam grateful to Dr Simpson and to the EditorialBoard of Folklore a number of referencesrelevant to this and for the following paragraphs. 2C. Julius Solinus (fl. A.D. 200+), Collectanea Rerum Memorabilium. Solinus'saccountof the wonders of Britainis quoted in translationby Rivet and Smith and the Latintext of his description of Bath is to be found in Faral and in Haverfield (Faral1969, 2:104-5 n. 1; Haverfield 1906, 221; Rivet and Smith 1979, 86-6). 3I am grateful to my colleague Jenny Hall for this reference. 4Far more elaborate,if obscure, is the account given by a sixteenth-centuryauthor of Bladud's engineering and chemical techniques, involving "two Tunnes of burning brasse" and two of glass, filled with seven salts, sulphur and "wilde fire"-quoted by Levis from the Mirourfor (Levis 1973, 48 and 58-9). Magistrates 5Fora more recent identificationof Bladud as a druid, see Lewis Spence's The Mysteriesof Britain(Spence 1979,
111).
61 am gratefulto BruceWatsonfor drawing my attention to the Evesham story. 7Leviscites it from a later edition, wherein Chapman's pamphlet is somewhat confusingly appended to a series of papers by Thomas Guidott (Levis 1919, 93, citing Guidott 1725).

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Cosmos
Journal of the Traditional Cosmology Society
Cosmos, edited by Emily Lyle, School of Scottish Studies, University of Edinburgh, is the journal of the Traditional Cosmology Society which is concerned with exploring myth, religion and cosmology across cultural and disciplinary boundaries, and with increasing our understanding of world views in the past and present. Cosmos has traditionally been a Yearbook, but with Volume 10 (1994) it combines with the society's other publication, Shadow, to become a twiceyearly journal incorporating scholarly articles, short essays and book reviews. For details of the society's activities and current subscription rates, please write to: Mrs Mary Brockington, Secretary, Traditional Cosmology Society, 3 Eskvale Court, Penicuik, Midlothian, Scotland EH26 8HT. For institutional subscriptions to Cosmos, contact: Hisarlik Press, 4 Catisfield Road, Enfield Lock, Middlesex EN3 6BD.