"Death shall have no dominion over you": St Winifred of Holywell
Early Saints of the British Isles #1
Welcome to the next installment in my series on early medieval British saints. You can read the introduction to the series here, and a historical overview and summary of the sacramental medieval mindset here. This essay will look at the life of St Winifred, a Welsh martyr from the seventh-century who has been venerated for over 1300 years. St Winifred is the patron saint of North Wales and patroness against unwanted advances. She is recognised as a saint in the Roman Catholic Church, the Eastern Orthodox Church, and the Anglican Communion, and her feast day is celebrated on November 3rd. For most saints, their stories culminate in their martyrdom, but St Winifred’s really begins there, when she is raised from the dead after being slain by a lustful and unwanted suitor…
Introduction
St Winifred, or St Gwenfrewi1 as she is known in Welsh, was born in North Wales sometime in the first half of the seventh century. In the preceding 150 years, much of Britain had been taken over by the pagan Anglo-Saxons, who had begun arriving in Britain from around 450. The existing Romano-British population, who were largely Christian, perished or were subjugated by the warlike Saxons. Those that remained fled to the mountainous, remote areas on the fringes of Britain; Wales, Cornwall and Scotland, where, isolated from the rest of European Christendom, they continued to practice their faith. If you want to know more about the history of the early medieval period, you can read about it in my last essay.
It was in this environment that St Winifred was born in the early part of the seventh century. There is physical evidence of her veneration dating back as far as the eighth-century2, but the earliest written records of her life are two twelfth-century accounts written in Latin, which broadly agree on the details of her life, death, resurrection and later life. The longer and more detailed of the two accounts, the Vita et translatio S. Wenefredae, was written around 1140 by Robert Pennant, Prior of Shrewsbury. The second, the Vita S. Wenefrede, is shorter and less detailed, but largely identical to Prior Robert’s account.3 It has been dated to the twelfth-century and is by an anonymous author. A modern English translation of both Lives is available, and is well worth reading.4 I have based the following retelling of Winifred’s story on these accounts, and all quotes are from the modern English translation mentioned above. I haven’t footnoted each individual quotation because it breaks up the flow of the text, but they are all direct quotes from one of the two twelfth-century sources, primarily Prior Robert’s.
Act I: Birth & Early Life
Winifred was of noble birth, a descendant of the early Welsh kings of Powys, and the only daughter of Teuyth, Lord of the townships of Abeluyc (Trefynnon, later named Holywell). When Winifred was a child, her father welcomed Beuno, a man of noted holiness and one of North Wales’ most revered saints.5 A man of noble birth, St Beuno gave up his wealth and land and became a monk, “living the life of a perfect man in Christ”. Initially he led a solitary life as a hermit before founding a small monastery at Clynnog Fawr, a hamlet on the North Wales coast. St Beuno seems to have had some trouble with the local princes of Clynnog Fawr, so, guided by the Holy Spirit he sought refuge with Teuyth, who gifted him a piece of land. On this land he built a chapel, where he celebrated the Eucharist, referred to by Prior Robert as “the divine mysteries” and preached to the people. Winifred’s parents placed her under the teaching of St Beuno, “admonishing her to pay attention wisely to all of them, and to receive with an open heart what was being said by him”. Winifred was a devoted disciple of St Beuno, and “through the mercy of God inwardly inspiring her, increased daily in goodness and advanced in wisdom, her soul fervently inflamed by the Holy Spirit”. Although the only child of her parents, and therefore their only “hope of increasing their offspring and the succession of their posterity”, at a young age she “determined to renounce utterly every man, and she intended to long for the embraces of God alone”.6
Afraid that this would displease her parents, she initially kept her desire a secret, but eventually confided in St Beuno, her father confessor, and asked for his help in gaining the consent of her parents. St Beuno, “moved by her piety and rejoicing that now the divine seed was sprouting in her” spoke to her parents, who, “because the fullness of divine nectar had imbued their spirits” readily agreed to Winifred’s request and divided what would been Winifred’s inheritance “in various ways to the poor, administering aid to the widows and orphans, and being carefully attentive to the servant of God”. Winifred “with a full heart she hastened on the path of God’s commandments…for love of Him to Whom she had devoted herself, she admitted nothing earthly into herself”. Although still young, Winifred was “mature in morals and venerable at heart" and “whatever of consummate virtue it is fitting for a man to have was found abundantly enough in her, and the fullness of divine grace had poured the whole sufficiently into her.” With her parents blessing she continued under the tutelage of St Beuno and began to prepare for tonsure.
Act II: St Winifred’s Death & Resurrection
For this next section of the story I have adapted and synthesised the two twelfth-century accounts. Most of the dialogue is lifted almost verbatim, as are many of the details. I am not much of a fiction writer, but I had a strong feeling that this section ought to be dramatised, so I hope you enjoy.
The fire crackled merrily on the hearth. Winifred, whose body had been wracked by feverish chills for several days, was glad of its warmth. Her parents had bidden her remain behind so that she could rest and regain her strength, but she longed to be with them celebrating the divine mysteries.
The latch on the door turned and a young man entered the room. Startled, Winifred rose to greet him, recognising by his dress that he was of royal birth. Bowing her head, she spoke humbly, “My lord, what is your purpose?”
Glancing about impatiently, the youth, who was indeed of royal birth, by name Caradoc son of King Alan, responded, “Lady, where is your father? I wish very much to speak with him about a matter of great import to us both.”
“My lord, he is even now at the church yonder, celebrating the divine mysteries. If you require an audience with him then I beg you to wait here a little while for his return.” Something in the young man’s manner gave her pause, why she knew not.
Hearing this, Caradoc did not answer immediately, but paced impatiently around the room, glancing across at Winifred as he did so. After a few moments he spoke, “Lady, I shall patiently await his arrival if you, meanwhile, become my friend and submit to my desire. You know that I am a son of a king, full of riches and many honours; I shall enrich you abundantly if you agree to my request.”
Moving closer to her, and laying his hand on her arm, he continued. “O dearest maiden, agree to my plans and grant me the intimacy of lovers, for I desire you passionately.”
“My lord what utterance is this?” Winifred replied, realising the wretched man was inflamed by lust, “Shall a man so highborn as you condescend to a maiden common as I? Sir, I cannot do this, for I am betrothed to another man, whom I soon must marry.”
Caradoc’s face clouded with anger, and he seized her other arm in a vice like grip. “Cease talking this nonsense at once and agree to sleep with me. I am mortally tormented by desire for you and will have you as my wife, whether you will or no.”
His eyes flashed frantically as he spoke, and Winifred, perceiving that his mind was overwhelmed with passion, and that he was made more insane by her parents absence, resolved to remove herself from his grasp by any pretext, before he overpowered her with violence. Uttering a silent prayer to her heavenly betrothed, she spoke:
“My lord, I beg you will forgive me. I am chagrined because you found me unkempt and unadorned. Since you, born of royal stock, will soon be a king, God willing, I do not doubt that I should be richly filled with worldly happiness joined in marriage to you. However, be patient a little while until my father arrives, and I, meanwhile, will go into my bedroom, so that, wearing the proper clothes, I can more suitably embrace you.”
The prince, relaxing his grip on her arm, relented a little; “If there is no tarrying, it will not seem too much for me to wait for you a little while. Go now, but on your return you will be subject to my will.” He stood by to let her pass, and she entered her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Without lingering, Winifred went out through the door of her room on the other side, and ran swiftly down the valley towards the church, where the divine mysteries were still being celebrated. If I can only reach the church, she thought, I will be protected and defended. Even if my attacker does not fear God, he will surely hesitate to attack me before a crowd of people. She ran as fast as she could, stumbling a little over the uneven hillocks of grass. Her breath caught, ragged, in her throat as she forced her stiff limbs to obey her will. Behind her she heard a howl of rage, and wounded pride, as Caradoc realised she had outwitted him. It is not much further. I am almost at the threshold, she thought, hearing the hooves of his horse behind her. Caradoc, spurring his horse on, overtook her when she was but a few paces from the door of the church. Barring her way, he drew his sword, and looking at her with a savage expression, spoke bitterly: “Once I loved you and wanted to embrace you. Now you flee one who comes to you and despise one who seeks you. Then, know for certain that either you will be united voluntarily to me right away, or you will end your life without delay when your head has been cut off by this sword.”
Winifred turned her eyes toward the church to see if anyone might come to her aid. Seeing that no help was forthcoming, she turned to Caradoc and answered him: “Joined in matrimony to the son of the eternal king and judge of all men, I can accept no other. And lest I detain you longer, I shall admit no one except him while I live, for this could not happen without affront to him. Therefore, draw your sword, put forth your strength, readily use any ferocity you please. Be certain that neither your terrors nor enticements nor promises nor threats can tear me away from the sweetness of that love to whose embraces I am already bound and to whose devotion I am joined.”
On hearing her defiance, he was seized with fury. Bitterly he saw that her resolve would not weaken and that while she lived he could have no peace. He raised his sword arm, and swung it. Swoosh went the steel through the cold morning air. Winifred fell to the ground, her head severed from her body. Where her head touched the earth, a clear spring burst forth and began to flow vigorously, even as her head tumbled down the slope and into the door of the church, amongst the feet of those still celebrating the divine mysteries.
Seized with fear, Winifred’s parents ran to the door of the church, and seeing her lifeless body, they fell weeping to the ground, consumed by sorrow and anguish. Indeed, all those present were filled with fear, and with pity for the grief of her parents. Hearing the commotion of all the people lamenting the maiden’s death, St Beuno left the altar and approached the door. Seeing Winifred so cruelly slain, he was deeply distressed. “Who has committed this abominable sin?” demanded the holy man, looking at Caradoc leaning arrogantly on his sword next to the mutilated body. “I confess, it was I”, boasted Caradoc, “I am a king’s son, and you are powerless to condemn me old man”.
Holding the severed dead of the maiden in his hands, St Beuno looked at the proud young man and addressed him: “O wicked one, with a murderous crime defiling the nature of your youthful beauty and the lineage of your royal dignity, why does it not grieve you to have admitted so great a crime? You have confounded the peace and polluted the church by your sacrilege, and impiously provoked God, and yet you are not sorry. Since you have not spared the church nor shown respect for the Lord’s day, I beseech my God that you now receive fitting recompense for what you have shamefully committed.”
As soon as St Beuno finished speaking Caradoc fell to the ground, dead. Then a strange and wondrous thing happened in the sight of all standing there. The body of the dead youth melted and disappeared, as if swallowed up by the gaping earth itself, and sunk with his soul into the abyss. But St Beuno, kissing the head of the maiden which he held in his hands, was troubled and continued to weep. Arranging the head with the rest of the body, he breathed into the nostrils and covered it with his cloak. Then he bade the parents, who had not ceased weeping for their daughter, to cease from their sorrow. Returning to the altar, he continued to celebrate Mass, and when this was finished he returned to the lifeless body. Raising his hands to heaven, the blessed man earnestly implored God to return life to Winifred’s body, so that the enemy might not gloat over it. When he had finished praying, Winifred arose as if from sleep, filling those standing by with astonishment and joy. She appeared quite unchanged, apart from the appearance of a thin white line, like a thread, that ran around her neck where her head had been severed. Her life restored, she sat with St Beuno upon a rock in the middle of the gushing spring that had appeared where her head had rested on the ground.7 St Beuno, speaking prophetically, told her that: “Whoever shall at any time, in whatsoever sorrow or suffering, implore your aid for deliverance from sickness or misfortune, shall at the first, or the second, or certainly the third petition, obtain his wish, and rejoice in the attainment of what he asked for.”
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