The Levitating Altar of Oystermouth

 

The Levitating Altar of Oystermouth

It’s high summer time in Mumbles. A seagull screels overhead as tourists preen up and down the promenade, showing off summer tans. A builder throws me a compliment, the way you might throw a hungry dog a stick. But I’m not biting. I have other things on my mind.

I am looking for something that doesn’t exist. I am looking for a levitating altar…

The Levitating Altar of Oystermouth, listed as one of the Great Wonders of Britain, appears in the Historica Brittonum, a collection a folk histories and topographies largely assembled in C.829 CE. Twenty six sites are listed, of which the Levitating Altar is the tenth. What follows is a slightly modernised translation of the original Latin text:

“There is another wonder in Guhr (Gower) – an altar, which is in the place called Loyngarth (Oystermouth), which is held up by the will of God... While Saint Iltut was worshipping in the cave, next to the sea, a ship sailed towards him, with two sailors; and the corpse of a holy man was with them in the boat. Above the body was an altar, which was held up by the will of God. Iltut advanced towards the sailors and the corpse of the holy man, and the altar remained inseparably above/before the face of the holy body. The sailors said to Saint Iltut, ‘This man of God has entrusted to us that we might bring his body to you for burial, but you must not reveal to any person his name, lest men swear oaths by him.”[1]

The two sailors returned to the ship and sailed away. Saint Iltut established a church around the grave of the holy man, and around the altar, and it continues all the time to this present day that the altar is held up by the will of God. A certain minor king once tried to test it, using a staff to form a curve around the altar, and he has held the staff by both hands from both sides, and drew it to himself in such a way that the truth of it was proved; and he died one month later. Another man looked under the altar, and became blind, and within a month his life had ended.”

The Irish variants of the Historia have more simply:

“The ninth wonder, an altar which is in Loingraib (Llwyngarth or Oystermouth). It is supported in the air, although the height of a man above the earth.”[2]

I stumble across the myth by chance, in a book titled ‘Myths and Legends of the British Isles’ edited by Richard Barber, which I find in a secondhand bookshop in Yorkshire, of all places.[3] When I get home, I ask around. I ask my friends. I ask in pubs, churches, cafes, everywhere I go. But nobody has heard of the Levitating Altar. Those who display any interest at all clearly think I’m mad. And yet it was there, once, this impenetrable mystery, this artefact of the distant past. It must be there still, somewhere. And I determine to search for it.

I check in guide books, in local libraries. Nothing. I try online. I am excited by a brief reference on the World Fishing Forum:

“The Levitating Altar - Oystermouth, Wales

This wonder describes events at a place called Loyngarth, which is held up by the will of God alone. It talks of a cave near the sea, where Saint Itut was worshipping when he saw two men sailing a ship toward him. It carried the corpse of a holy man, and it was above this body that St Itut saw the levitating altar. The sight prompted St Itut to establish a church at this location. Loyngarth has been identified as Llwyngarth on the Gower, now Ystum-llwynarth or Oystermouth. While neither the cave nor church have been identified, strong contenders include Bob's Cave on Mumbles Head and a chapel which may have been on Knab Rock or nearby.’

After which the original poster adds the note:

‘I can imagine there has been lots of praying here for any fish to come along…’

I find an intriguing online reference to St Iltut/Iltud in relation to the establishment of All Saints Church in Oystermouth. Finally, I find a much longer academic article by Andrew Evans which appeared in Folklore Magazine on 3 November 2008 (ed. Ronald Hutton) and is published online by Taylor and Francis. It is from this piece that most of the information in this article is taken.[4]

St Iltud (also spelled Illtyd, Eltut, and, in Latin, Hildutus), appears to have held a strong connection with the region of South Wales and Gower in particular. He is one of a long list of almost forgotten Welsh saints (Saint Cenydd is another) whose names live on through the Welsh towns and villages in which their shrines were established.

What little we know of St Iltud comes from an early twelfth century ‘Life of St Illtud’ written by Vespasian A XIV. According to this, Illtud was the son of a Breton prince and a cousin of King Arthur. He lived in the late fifth/early sixth century and was born in Brittany, leaving for Wales to run the household of Poulentus, King of Glamorgan. After a series of adventures, including an earthquake which swallowed up Poulentus and his household, Iltud abandoned his wife to take up holy orders and founded a religious school where, according to the legend, he trained the Saints Samson, Paulinus, Gildas and David.

The next incident in the story tells how a local king Meirchion the Wild plotted against Iltud and was ‘melted’ by God. Momentarily sidetracked by what looks suspiciously like an early incidence of spontaneous human combustion, I read on. Following Meirchion’s death, crowds of people visit Iltud, causing him to take refuge in the cave in Oystermouth:

“One day as he was sitting at the mouth of the cave, he saw a skiff coming and approaching the shore. When it had reached the shore, he saw two very honourable men in the skiff rowing, and one altar supported by the divine will above the form of the skiff. Saint Illtud went to meet it, uttering words of welcome with gladness. And they after a little conversation gave the sweet smelling body of a certain most holy man to saint Illtud, revealing his name, and after revealing [it] they forbade him ever to divulge it. And so, the body having been consigned to the blessed Illtud, they returned. These things done, he took the body and the altar which had been above the form of the most holy man, and buried it honourably in the cave, the altar being placed over the buried body held up by the divine will as it had been before, by means of which numerous miracles were performed on account of its sanctity.”[5]

So this appears to be a further source for the story of the Levitating Altar story, though there are clear differences. In this later account, no reason is given for the anonymity of the dead holy man. No attempts are made to test the veracity of the levitating altar. And no church is established over it.

Intrigued by the supposed connection between Saint Iltyd and All Saints Church, I decide to investigate further. The present day All Saints Church is an impressive Grade 2 listed building. Thomas Bowdler who cleaned up the language in Shakespeare is buried in the churchyard (this is where the term ‘to bowdlerise’ comes from). Perched on top of the hill at the far end of Mumbles village, the Church is reached via a precipitous stairway, and commands views over the clifftops and marina. Though the current site dates back to the mid-12th century, it is based on the site of a former Roman villa. The site’s Roman origins and the fact that tradition links the church with Saint Iltyd causes me to wonder if there might be a connection to the story of the Levitating Altar.

A chat with the church’s warden, however, draws a blank. He is as fascinated – and perplexed – as I am. We fall to discussing the potential religious symbolism of such an artefact – an altar held up by the will of God alone. In an era of global strife and financial struggle, it feels like an apt image, this idea that, in spite of everything, an invisible hand of the divine holds things afloat. I ponder the meaning of this. What is an altar anyway? An altar is a platform or structure where people make offerings to a god. The Hebrew word for altar is mizbeah, which means ‘to slaughter’. I remember once seeing a Roman altar on display in Swansea Museum, and pondering how many blood offerings might once have stained the surface of this innocent-looking item. Altars speak of obeisance, of offering, of sacrifice. A place where human longing meets divine intervention. A place where miracles might happen.

Thoughtful, I make my way back down the steps, the scent of incense still hanging on my clothes. Back down to earth. Back down to reality…

So, if the Levitating Altar wasn’t to be found at All Saints Church, where was it? The earliest texts mention a cave – or a church near a cave. The present site of All Saints is too high up for that. Is it possible that an earlier church might have existed, closer to the coastline? One which had long since been inundated by the sands? Or perhaps it was not a church at all, but a shrine around which the original church was founded?

In the piece by Andrew Evans, two possible locations are cited. The first, least likely, is the cromlech known as Arthur’s Stone, in the centre of the Gower Peninsula. In favour of this theory is the fact that there is a local church at Llanrhidian, close to a cave, which is dedicated to Saint Iltud. The church is known for two other stones – a ‘leper stone’ of ninth to tenth century origin and the ‘beacon stone’, a block of stone on the top of the church tower. However, the clear reference in the original text to Llwyngarth – Oystermouth – makes this location unlikely.

The second suggested location is a cave near Knabb’s Rock known locally as Bob’s Cave.

So I am looking for a cave, not a church. A cave in which the relics of an ancient holy man might well be buried. Possibly – or possibly not – also containing a miraculous floating altar.

That night I dream that I am floating…I am floating in some space suspended between heaven and earth, body and spirit. What does it mean, to levitate? Levitation was by no means unheard of amongst the saints. St. Francis was said to have often floated in the air during spiritual ecstasies.[6] The 16th century mystic St Teresa of Avila wrote of her experiences:

“One sees one’s body being lifted up from the ground; and although the spirit draws it after itself, and if no resistance is offered does so very gently, one does not lose consciousness — at least, I myself have had sufficient to enable me to realize that I was being lifted up. The majesty of Him Who can do this is manifested in such a way that the hair stands on end, and there is produced a great fear of offending so great a God, but a fear overpowered by the deepest love, newly enkindled, for One Who, as we see, has so deep a love for so loathsome a worm that He seems not to be satisfied by literally drawing the soul to Himself, but will also have the body, mortal though it is, and befouled as is its clay by all the offenses it has committed.”[7]

Perhaps the most famous levitating saint is Joseph of Cupertino (1603–1663). During his spiritual ecstasies, he often levitated a few inches to a few feet off the ground. His levitations were so frequent that people started coming to see him for entertainment; during the investigation of his cause for sainthood, authorities corroborated at least seventy occasions when he levitated in the presence of witnesses…[8]

If God saw fit to lift up his saints, then surely a Levitating Altar is not out of the question? If such things are possible, the purpose of levitation must be this: to float, to be suspended, is to rest somewhere between the divine and the heavenly. It is an act of transfiguration. If the Levitating Altar exists anywhere, it must be somewhere like this – a thin place. Somewhere liminal.

Tomorrow, I shall stroll down to the path alongside the clifftops, down to Knabb’s Rock, where the water caresses the coastline. There’s a point at which you leave the safety of the pier with its buzzing amusement arcades, the incongruous rock music of the Big Wheel as it spins tourists skywards, the excited screech of seagulls whirling across the pier. There’s a point at which you step down onto the shingle path and it’s just you and the sea encroaching from either side, a thin slice of land on which you linger at your peril. There are signs everywhere warning of tide times, telling you not to cross over to the lighthouse at the wrong time, in case you find yourself stranded. Trying to swim your way back across is pointless with currents like these; you’d be dashed against the rocks or drowned. It’s a liminal place, a thin place, neither fully land nor fully sea. A place where one might cross and never return. Both beautiful and deadly.

The Evans piece recounts a ‘local legend’ associated with Bob’s Cave, close to the lighthouse. A legend which is strangely familiar:

“There is a legend that where the lighthouse now stands a holy monk, or a succession of holy monks, had charge of a small cell or chapel, tributary to one of the religious houses; and the legend tells of an aged monk who after sunset was telling his beads and looking across the waters to the opposite shore, when he perceived a boat rowing inwards. He watched it with the interest a lonely man always feels in the approach of fellow men, and seeing that it made direct for the small Mumbles rock, he descended to the shore to give it welcome.

The rowers drew in, and a man of grave aspect stepped on shore and gave the monk a sign, which he understood. He then caused a body to be brought up the path to a cave under the monk's oratory. The body was bravely dressed, like that of a man of high degree, and his still features were white as chiselled marble. The monk looking on him could not help saying, “So young and handsome!” He was laid in the cave, and money was deposited with the monk for masses to be said for the repose of the soul. The boat rowed away, and the holy monk was faithful to his trust, and said double the usual quantity of “masses”; but to this day it is believed that the spirit of the poor murdered man cries out from that cave for Christian burial in consecrated ground.”

And yes, the details are different (how did the holy man become a murder victim?), but it’s also too close to be coincidental, and I wonder, at what point does a piece of local folklore just cease to exist? At the time when nobody alive remembers to tell it? Or when people stop believing in it? And if nobody believes in it any more, does it simply remain buried, a hidden thing, waiting to be unearthed, rediscovered by a new generation of explorers?

That evening, I speak to my friend Jules about Bob’s Cave. He says he remembers visiting it one night after a visit to Cinderella’s nightclub and too many magic mushrooms. I ask him if he recalls seeing a Levitating Altar. He says ‘Maybe’.

I stroll up to the cave. Bob seems like a rubbish name for an anonymous saint. Saint Bob. I guess Dylan would be amused. Both Dylans. I pick up some pebbles, resolving to paint them later with Celtic crosses and return them. I feel like I need some sort of ritual. I squint into the darkness of the cave. I don’t see anything but rocks. Nothing suspended or mystical. But perhaps I feel it. In the whisper of the breeze against the hairs at the back of my neck. In the soak of the seasalt. Perhaps I hear it, too, in the cry of the gulls, in the wash of the tides. This place which is neither one thing nor other, this dangerous, beautiful spiritual place. Like stepping into thin air, losing yourself to the tides, abandoning your senses, becoming nothing – the via negativa – that inexpressible, still small voice. And suddenly it strikes me that I have been looking for the divine in the wrong places all my life – in churches, in pulpits, in books, when perhaps it was here all along, here in the darkness, the uncertainty, the doubt.

I pocket the pebbles. I begin the long walk home.

 

 

POSTCRIPT: I am seeking artistic responses to The Levitating Altar. Artwork, poetry, music, dance, sculpture, songs. I want to bring this legend back to life, perhaps even construct an altar, perhaps hold an exhibition or an event. Please get in touch at swanmedia@ntlworld.com

---

[1] Hall, Mr and Mrs S. C. 1861 . The Book of South Wales, the Wye, and the Coast , London : Arthur Hall .

---

[1] Evans, A. (2011). The Levitating Altar of Saint Illtud. Folklore, 122(1), 55–75. https://doi.org/10.1080/0015587X.2011.538569

[2] Färber, Beatrix, and Philip T. Irwin. The Irish Version of the Historia Britonum of Nennius. CELT: Corpus of Electronic Texts. Cork: University College Cork, 2002. Available from http://www.ucc.ie/celt/published/T100028/index.html(open in a new window) ; INTERNET [accessed 6 November 2008].

[3] Myths and Legends of the British Isles, by Richard Barber, pub. The Boydell Press, 1999. ISBN 0 85115 748 3.

[4] Evans, A. (2011). The Levitating Altar of Saint Illtud. Folklore, 122(1), 55–75. https://doi.org/10.1080/0015587X.2011.538569

[5] Wade-Evans , Arthur W. 1944 . Vitae Sanctorum Britanniae et Genealogiae , Wales University History and Law Series 9 Cardiff : University of Wales Press .

[6] The Little Flowers of St. Francis & Other Franciscan Writings
translated with introduction by Serge Hughes
Mentor-Omega Book, New American Library, New York, 1964

[7] The Life of Teresa of Jesus: The Autobiography of Teresa of Ávila, trans. and ed. E. Allison Peers, from the critical edition of P. Silverio de Santa Teresa, C.D.,

[8]  Mershman, Francis. "St. Joseph of Cupertino." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 8. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1910. 14 Feb. 2014