Marie Trevelyan on Elias

This slightly romanticised account appears in Chapter 13 of Marie Trevelyan's Glimpses of Welsh Life and Character of 1893

Like a giant both mentally and physically among the other preachers of Wales stands majestic John Elias, who held vast throngs spell-bound and silent under the solemn thunders of his sermons. In person he was strongly built, handsome and commanding in appearance, and his powerful voice could be heard distinctly at a great distance. He immediately riveted the attention of his congregation, and, as with an electric shock, he roused the people to the highest point of enthusiasm. He possessed the marvellous power of putting dramatic force into his sermons, and in words could vividly portray scenes that aroused admiration or struck terror into the hearts of the people.

In his time, harvest fairs were generally held on Sundays, when people from all parts congregated to buy and sell various kinds of harvest implements, including scythes, sickles, with very often dairy utensils and wooden ware. One Sunday Rhuddlan fair was crowded by a motley throng. There were noisy booth-keepers shouting their wares fruit and metheglin* sellers clamouring to the country folk and the makers of wooden ware, of which every kind was represented.

There were wooden spoons for use and for ornament, the former being plain and solid, while the latter were intended to go with polished pewter platters and dishes. These spoons were made of box or yew, ornamented with quaint and curious devices, including suns, moons, stars, hearts, darts, and charms. Then there were wooden bowls, ladles, clog-soles, and antique rolling-pins. Beside these were long rows of wooden pails and dairy utensils, with shining ranks of tinware and pewter platters and pots. Sickles and scythes glittered and gleamed in the summer sunshine, together with harvest implements of every description.

Above the hum of voices, the shouting of sellers, and the hoarse jeers and jests of horsedealers, the ballad-singer could be heard singing droll songs that roused the mirth of the people to the highest degree. Loud laughter followed each song, and a deafening roar of applause succeeded each repetition.

When mirth, music, and ribald joke were at their highest pitch, a strong tall man was hardly noticed threading his way through the dense throng. Going right through the fair, he ascended some steps near an inn, and, uncovering his head, began to pray. At first with trembling voice and tearful accent he acknowledged that the people in the fair were bringing the wrath of God upon their heads, by violating His holy day. He then proceeded to denounce in terror-striking words the desecration of the Sabbath. The solemn thunders of his rhetoric rolled from end to end of the fair; his voice reached the most distant listeners, and in an instant mirth and music, ribald joke and song were hushed, and the whispered words "John Elias" ran from lip to lip of the multitude with the rapidity of lightning.

It was a strange scene. The silence as of death held the throngs breathless and spell-bound, as John Elias thundered forth his anathemas, and warned them of the wrath to come. He put the people under a spell of abject dread. Some hid their faces in their hands, others allowed the pieces of money to slip out of their grasp, and the sellers of sickles and scythes hid their wares as if the judgment-day was at hand.

Towards the close of the grand and eloquent appeal, the people looked around to make sure that fire from heaven was not coming to consume them. The fair was broken up, and the people went quickly and fearfully home. So terribly effective and thrilling was the great preacher's denunciation of the multitude's laxity and sin, that one man imagined his arm, on which he held a sickle, was paralysed. He dared not venture to remove it to the other arm, lest that should also become powerless.

The story of Rhuddlan Fair ran like electricity through the length and breadth of Wales, and from that time the people ceased to hold such gatherings on Sunday, for fear of John Elias. Those who had the privilege and pleasure of hearing this great preacher, say that he was a profound reasoner and expositor, and could descend from the heights of fiery eloquence to the levels of sublime pathos and tender simplicity. He was once so moved by another and far humbler preacher than himself, that he felt compelled to acknowledge it.

According to the time-honoured custom of Wales, at all the great religious meetings two ministers are appointed to preach at each service. The lesser preacher takes the precedence, and is followed by the celebrated divine. Jenkin Harry, a simple and self-taught but much beloved minister, had to preach before John Elias in North Wales. This earnest though uneducated man was one of Nature's teachers, who in unfettered fervour proclaimed the love of God for man. Sometimes, when in the height of solemn enthusiasm, he felt unusually blessed in spirit. This was the case when he preached The Welsh " hwyl? or afflatus. His soul overflowed with thankfulness for the blessings of God, and in a chanting, almost recitative intonation, he cried aloud and repeatedly, "Gogoniad! Glory, glory be to God!" and added, "We thank Thee, Lord, for now and then a small cake of comfort in the cold and barren regions of the North!"

The sermon was a perfect specimen of those, fervent discourses for which the great Welsh preachers have ever been celebrated. These sermons possess an element that is rarely heard in England. It is the "hwyl," without which Welsh oratory is considered imperfect. This Welsh "hwyl" or afflatus, is said to be derived from the breeze-filled sails of a ship; hence people say, "He has the hwyl " that is, he is in full sail, he is full of feeling and fire.

When Jenkin Harry ceased, John Elias took his place, and, in touching accents, said his predecessor's sermon was so powerful as to overwhelm him. His pent-up feelings were eloquently expressed in a solemn and fervent "Thank God for the ministry of Jenkin Harry!". That tribute, coming from the greatest Welsh preacher of the day, melted people to tears, and it was only John Elias, and no other, who could have ventured to prolong the service. Grand, majestic, unique and unsurpassed, John Elias stands foremost in the roll-call of "such of my countrymen" to whom the legacy of John Penry descended.

*An alcoholic drink