1,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
Lady Charlotte Guest's translation of 'The Mabinogion' offers an exquisite glimpse into the rich tapestry of Welsh mythology and folklore, capturing the enchanting tales that shaped the cultural identity of Wales. Written in the 12th to 14th centuries and founded on even older oral traditions, this collection encompasses interwoven narratives filled with romance, adventure, and supernatural elements. Guest's skillful prose resonates with lyrical beauty while remaining faithful to the original rhythmic storytelling, invoking the spirit of an age where legends intertwined seamlessly with everyday life. Her translation rendered these pivotal texts accessible to the English-speaking world, affirming their enduring significance within the broader context of medieval literature. Lady Charlotte Guest, a pioneering figure in her own right, was not only a devoted scholar but also an advocate for the preservation of Welsh culture during a period marked by rapid industrial change. Her deep passion for the Welsh language and literature, coupled with her academic rigor, drove her to undertake this monumental task of translating 'The Mabinogion.' As one of the first women to make substantial contributions to the realm of historical literature, her work signifies a crucial feminist voice in the 19th century's literary canon, bridging the past and the present. 'The Mabinogion' is a must-read for enthusiasts of mythology, medieval literature, and anyone seeking to immerse themselves in the surreal landscapes of ancient Wales. Lady Charlotte Guest masterfully illuminates these mystical tales, inviting readers to explore the complexities of heroism, kinship, and the interplay between the mortal and the divine. This translation not only enriches our understanding of Welsh heritage but also stands as a testament to the timelessness of storytelling as a vessel for cultural continuity. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
Ähnliche
The Mabinogion
Table of Contents
Introduction
Presented together under the name The Mabinogion by Anonymous, these works cohere through a shared imaginative territory: a sustained exploration of authority, kinship, and the obligations that bind a community. Across romances, dreams, and tales of princely rule, the collection repeatedly returns to the making and testing of bonds—between households, between rulers and those they govern, and between the visible world and forces that press upon it from the margins. The unifying thread is not a single storyline but a common concern with how identity and order are established, challenged, and renewed through action and speech.
The conversation among the texts becomes audible in their recurring dramatis personae and the echo of names across titles. Pwyll Prince of Dyved, Branwen the Daughter of Llyr, Manawyddan the Son of Llyr, and Math the Son of Mathonwy suggest a web of related figures and overlapping spheres of influence, while the presence of Geraint the Son of Erbin and Peredur the Son of Evrawc foregrounds lineage as an organizing principle. Even where continuity cannot be presumed, the patterning of patronymics and the insistence on naming situate each narrative within a broader social imagination in which family, status, and reputation matter as much as singular feats.
Several works present rule as an art practiced under strain. Pwyll Prince of Dyved and The Dream of Maxen Wledig place princely authority at the center, while Here is the Story of Lludd and Llevelys and Branwen the Daughter of Llyr imply that the stability of a realm depends on counsel, alliance, and the management of conflict. The Dream of Rhonabwy, by its very designation as a dream, proposes a different angle on political life: not simply decisions and consequences, but the uneasy interplay of memory, vision, and judgment. Throughout, governance appears inseparable from the ethical costs of power and the fragility of public order.
Romance, quest, and ordeal form another set of correspondences, most visibly in The Lady of the Fountain, Geraint the Son of Erbin, and Peredur the Son of Evrawc. Their titles alone indicate a focus on named individuals whose paths are shaped by encounters and testing, and their juxtaposition with Kilhwch and Olwen or the Twrch Trwyth suggests productive contrasts between intimate trials and more expansive, communal exertions. The collection thereby holds together different scales of striving: personal renown and self-mastery alongside the demands of wider undertakings. Across these modes, the dilemmas implied by devotion, reputation, and perseverance appear as recurrent pressures.
The supernatural is not confined to a single corner of the collection but appears as a pervasive horizon. The Dream of Rhonabwy and The Dream of Maxen Wledig explicitly frame experience through dream, inviting attention to ambiguity, symbolic pressure, and the instability of waking certainty. Kilhwch and Olwen or the Twrch Trwyth points, by its very naming of a formidable figure, toward the marvelous as a driver of action, while Taliesin signals a tradition in which the creative voice and inspired utterance stand as powers in their own right. These works together suggest that the extraordinary is continuous with the political and domestic, not separate from them.
If shared motifs create kinship among the texts, contrasts in tone and genre sharpen their meanings. Dream narratives offer a reflective, distanced perspective that can refract the concerns of princely tales, while romances concentrate on individual formation and the limits of personal conduct. Tales centered on daughters and sons, as in Branwen the Daughter of Llyr and Manawyddan the Son of Llyr, keep the household in view even when events reach outward, while the presence of named princes and legendary figures keeps public consequence close at hand. This mixture sustains a layered world, where the same values look different when filtered through intimacy, vision, or ordeal.
The contemporary resonance of The Mabinogion lies in its composite yet coherent imagination, which continues to nourish cultural and artistic thought without requiring specialized frames. Its emphasis on names, bonds, and contested authority speaks to enduring concerns about legitimacy, belonging, and responsibility. The collection also models a capacious narrative intelligence: it accommodates dream, romance, and tale within a single moral and symbolic field, allowing readers and makers to draw on its patterns for storytelling, dramatic adaptation, and reflective inquiry. In bringing together Pwyll, Branwen, Manawyddan, Math, Maxen Wledig, Lludd and Llevelys, and Taliesin alongside the romances, it offers a lasting repertoire of forms for thinking about power and the human costs of order.
Historical Context
Socio-Political Landscape
Across these tales, authority is imagined as personal, negotiated, and constantly tested by kinship obligations. Pwyll Prince of Dyved stages sovereignty through alliances and measured justice, while Manawyddan the Son of Llyr and Branwen the Daughter of Llyr depict kingdoms destabilized by insult, coercive marriage politics, and the cascading costs of retaliation. The Dream of Rhonabwy, with its memory of famous leaders, frames political counsel as fragile amid faction and distraction. Even the Introduction’s framing of “old stories” implies a society preserving legitimacy through recited precedent rather than centralized institutions.
The narratives often treat borders and overlordship as lived realities rather than abstractions. The Lady of the Fountain, Geraint the Son of Erbin, and Peredur the Son of Evrawc organize conflict around courts, hospitality, and the honor economy that binds warriors to patrons. Kilhwch and Olwen or the Twrch Trwyth turns the king’s reach into a catalogue of obligations: a ruler’s power depends on gathering followers, compelling service, and distributing rewards. Here is the Story of Lludd and Llevelys casts crisis management as statecraft, emphasizing counsel, investigation, and policy solutions as tools of rulership.
Several works explore how order may be renewed without simply restoring the prior status quo. Math the Son of Mathonwy dramatizes succession, legal constraint, and the dangers of transgression within the royal household, suggesting that the stability of a realm is anchored in domestic discipline as much as battlefield success. The Dream of Maxen Wledig places imperial ambition beside local loyalties, implying that authority can be extended through marriage and negotiated consent. Taliesin, with its focus on voice and status, reflects a social world where reputation and patronage intertwine to secure protection and influence.
Intellectual & Aesthetic Currents
The anthology’s aesthetics assume a culture shaped by oral performance and later textual consolidation. Formulaic encounters, episodic quests, and layered marvels suggest stories adapted for recitation, where memorable scenes and parallel structures aid transmission. Courtly narratives such as Geraint the Son of Erbin and The Lady of the Fountain emphasize decorum, restraint, and public reputation, turning ethical dilemmas into staged tests of conduct. Elsewhere, Peredur the Son of Evrawc uses naïveté and instruction to explore how knowledge is acquired, implying a didactic interest in forming a competent noble self.
A recurring intellectual concern is the relationship between law, custom, and the uncanny. Pwyll Prince of Dyved and Manawyddan the Son of Llyr treat promises, exchanges, and compensation as binding even when otherworldly forces intrude. Math the Son of Mathonwy and Kilhwch and Olwen or the Twrch Trwyth use transformation, geasa-like constraints, and named tasks to dramatize how speech and ritual regulate action. The Dream of Rhonabwy offers a reflective mode: the narrative’s dream framework invites consideration of how stories themselves mediate political memory and moral judgment.
The anthology also exhibits a compositional taste for catalogs, triadic balances, and symbolic pairing. Kilhwch and Olwen or the Twrch Trwyth’s extensive lists display prestige through names and affiliations, while Here is the Story of Lludd and Llevelys prefers problem-and-solution clarity, privileging clever interpretation over brute force. Branwen the Daughter of Llyr and The Dream of Maxen Wledig weave private affect into public consequence, shaping a tragic register that dignifies suffering as historically meaningful. Taliesin foregrounds the power of crafted utterance, treating poetic authority as a form of social and metaphysical agency.
Legacy & Reassessment Across Time
Read together, these works have been repeatedly rebalanced in emphasis: as heroic history, as courtly romance, as mythic archive, and as political allegory. The anthology’s Introduction encourages such shifting frames by presenting the tales as inherited material, inviting later readers to treat them as evidence for social ideals rather than transparent chronicle. The “Four Branches” sequence—Pwyll Prince of Dyved through Math the Son of Mathonwy—has often been approached as a coherent artistic unit, while the independent tales prompt debate about genre boundaries and intended audiences within the same collection.
Scholarly reassessment has also centered on the anthology’s internal diversity. The Lady of the Fountain, Peredur the Son of Evrawc, and Geraint the Son of Erbin have been read for how they integrate foreign-seeming chivalric motifs with local ethical concerns, without requiring a single origin story. The Dream of Rhonabwy has provoked discussion about irony and critique, since its dream framing complicates heroic celebration. Here is the Story of Lludd and Llevelys is frequently cited as a concise model of wisdom literature, contrasting with the expansive, episodic sprawl of Kilhwch and Olwen or the Twrch Trwyth.
Modern readings have increasingly highlighted voice, gendered agency, and the costs of power as organizing questions. Branwen the Daughter of Llyr is often discussed for how personal injury and diplomatic failure become collective catastrophe, while Manawyddan the Son of Llyr foregrounds endurance, craft, and communal recovery. The Dream of Maxen Wledig has been reconsidered for how it stages desire and empire through negotiated relationships rather than sheer conquest. Taliesin’s prominence in the anthology has encouraged attention to authorship, authority, and the social work of poetry, treating the act of narration as a political instrument.
Synopsis (Selection)
Introduction
An orienting overview of a medieval Welsh story-world where heroic adventure, kinship obligations, and the uncanny coexist as everyday facts. It frames recurring concerns—honor, sovereignty, fate, and transformation—preparing the reader for how later tales echo and refract one another.
The Lady of the Fountain
A courtly-romance quest tests a knight’s valor and reputation, then turns to the harder problem of sustaining identity and love after public triumph. Its blend of chivalric spectacle and enchanted landscape resonates with the other Arthurian-centered narratives while spotlighting loyalty, pride, and renewal.
Peredur the Son of Evrawc
A youth’s rise from isolation into knighthood becomes a wandering education in etiquette, violence, and moral perception amid strange signs and half-explained marvels. Its dreamlike, episodic tone complements the more tightly patterned romances, amplifying the collection’s theme of learning what heroism costs.
Geraint the Son of Erbin
A celebrated warrior’s domestic life and public standing collide as suspicion and reputation strain a marriage within the orbit of Arthur’s court. The tale contrasts outward chivalry with private trust, pairing naturally with other romances that test whether honor can survive intimacy.
Kilhwch and Olwen or the Twrch Trwyth
A love-quest escalates into a sprawling catalogue of feats that mobilize Arthur and an array of legendary helpers against a formidable, otherworldly challenge. Its exuberant, mythic scale and comic edge broaden the anthology beyond courtly romance, linking heroic labor to communal effort and old magic.
The Dream of Rhonabwy
A framing journey slips into an extended vision that examines Arthur’s world from an oblique, often ironic angle, where games, councils, and omens carry as much weight as battles. It converses with the other Arthurian tales by questioning grandeur and highlighting the fragility of meaning in heroic history.
Pwyll Prince of Dyved
A ruler’s encounter with the otherworld becomes a test of judgment, restraint, and reciprocity, redefining what good governance looks like under supernatural scrutiny. As a gateway to the Four Branches, it establishes patterns of exchange and consequence that later branches intensify and complicate.
Branwen the Daughter of Llyr
A dynastic marriage meant to secure peace instead exposes how insult and pride can ignite calamity across seas and families. Its tragic, sweeping momentum amplifies the Four Branches’ concern with political bonds, while contrasting with the romances by emphasizing collective loss over individual glory.
Manawyddan the Son of Llyr
Survivors of catastrophe navigate a land under enchantment, where patience, craft, and ethical steadiness become heroic virtues. The quieter, restorative tone answers the prior branch’s devastation and deepens the anthology’s interest in endurance, humility, and the costs of reparation.
Math the Son of Mathonwy
Courtly power struggles, magical arts, and contested inheritances drive a story where shapeshifting and cunning expose the instability of authority and desire. It culminates the Four Branches by intensifying themes of transgression and consequence, mirroring earlier tales’ tests of honor in a sharper, mythic register.
The Dream of Maxen Wledig
An emperor’s visionary longing links distant realms through vow, journey, and the legitimizing force of narrative desire. Its romantic, expansive geography bridges the anthology’s mythic Wales with wider horizons, echoing dream-frames elsewhere while exploring sovereignty and chosen destiny.
Here is the Story of Lludd and Llevelys
A king seeks counsel to resolve a series of national afflictions, turning governance into a puzzle of strategy, secrecy, and wise speech. Its problem-solving structure contrasts with the more martial tales and reinforces the volume’s recurring motif that counsel can be as potent as force.
Taliesin
A poet’s origin-story celebrates inspiration as a transformative power, entwining wit, metamorphosis, and contested patronage. It reframes the anthology’s heroic energies through art and voice, resonating with other transformation motifs while asserting memory and song as forms of authority.
The Mabinogion
Introduction
Whilst engaged on the Translations contained in these volumes, and on the Notes appended to the various Tales, I have found myself led unavoidably into a much more extensive course of reading than I had originally contemplated, and one which in great measure bears directly upon the earlier Mediæval Romance.
Before commencing these labours, I was aware, generally, that there existed a connexion between the Welsh Mabinogion and the Romance of the Continent; but as I advanced, I became better acquainted with the closeness and extent of that connexion, its history, and the proofs by which it is supported.
At the same time, indeed, I became aware, and still strongly feel, that it is one thing to collect facts, and quite another to classify and draw from them their legitimate conclusions; and though I am loth that what has been collected with some pains, should be entirely thrown away, it is unwillingly, and with diffidence, that I trespass beyond the acknowledged province of a translator.
In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries there arose into general notoriety in Europe, a body of “Romance,” which in various forms retained its popularity till the Reformation. In it the plot, the incidents, the characters, were almost wholly those of Chivalry, that bond which united the warriors of France, Spain, and Italy, with those of pure Teutonic descent, and embraced more or less firmly all the nations of Europe, excepting only the Slavonic races, not yet risen to power, and the Celts, who had fallen from it. It is not difficult to account for this latter omission. The Celts, driven from the plains into the mountains and islands, preserved their liberty, and hated their oppressors with fierce, and not causeless, hatred. A proud and free people, isolated both in country and language, were not likely to adopt customs which implied brotherhood with their foes.
Such being the case, it is remarkable that when the chief romances are examined, the name of many of the heroes and their scenes of action are found to be Celtic, and those of persons and places famous in the traditions of Wales and Brittany. Of this the romances of Ywaine and Gawaine, Sir Perceval de Galles, Eric and Enide, Mort d’Arthur, Sir Lancelot, Sir Tristan, the Graal, &c., may be cited as examples. In some cases a tendency to triads, and other matters of internal evidence, point in the same direction.
It may seem difficult to account for this. Although the ancient dominion of the Celts over Europe is not without enduring evidence in the names of the mountains and streams, the great features of a country, yet the loss of their prior language by the great mass of the Celtic nations in Southern Europe (if indeed their successors in territory be at all of their blood), prevents us from clearly seeing, and makes us wonder, how stories, originally embodied in the Celtic dialects of Great Britain and France, could so influence the literature of nations to whom the Celtic languages were utterly unknown. Whence then came these internal marks, and these proper names of persons and places, the features of a story usually of earliest date and least likely to change?
These romances were found in England, France, Germany, Norway, Sweden, and even Iceland, as early as the beginning of the thirteenth and end of the twelfth century. The Germans, who propagated them through the nations of the North, derived them certainly from France. Robert Wace published his Anglo-Norman Romance of the Brut d’Angleterre about 1155. Sir Tristan was written in French prose in 1170; and The Chevalier au Lion, Chevalier de l’Epée, and Sir Lancelot du Lac, in metrical French, by Chrestien de Troyes, before 1200.
From these facts it is to be argued that the further back these romances are traced, the more clearly does it appear that they spread over the Continent from the North-west of France. The older versions, it may be remarked, are far more simple than the later corruptions. In them there is less allusion to the habits and usages of Chivalry, and the Welsh names and elements stand out in stronger relief. It is a great step to be able to trace the stocks of these romances back to Wace, or to his country and age. For Wace’s work was not original. He himself, a native of Jersey, appears to have derived much of it from the “Historia Britonum” of Gruffydd ab Arthur, commonly known as “Geoffrey of Monmouth,” born 1128, who himself professes to have translated from a British original. It is, however, very possible that Wace may have had access, like Geoffrey, to independent sources of information.
To the claims set up on behalf of Wace and Geoffrey, to be regarded as the channels by which the Cymric tales passed into the Continental Romance, may be added those of a third almost contemporary author. Layamon, a Saxon priest, dwelling, about 1200, upon the banks of the upper Severn, acknowledges for the source of his British history, the English Bede, the Latin Albin, and the French Wace. The last-named however is by very much his chief, and, for Welsh matters, his only avowed authority. His book, nevertheless, contains a number of names and stories relating to Wales, of which no traces appear in Wace, or indeed in Geoffrey, but which he was certainly in a very favourable position to obtain for himself. Layamon, therefore, not only confirms Geoffrey in some points, but it is clear, that, professing to follow Wace, he had independent access to the great body of Welsh literature then current. Sir F. Madden has put this matter very clearly, in his recent edition of Layamon. The Abbé de la Rue, also, was of opinion that Gaimar, an Anglo-Norman, in the reign of Stephen, usually regarded as a translator of Geoffrey of Monmouth, had access to a Welsh independent authority.
In addition to these, is to be mentioned the English version of Sir Tristrem, which Sir Walter Scott considered to be derived from a distinct Celtic source, and not, like the later Amadis, Palmerin, and Lord Berners’s Canon of Romance, imported into English literature by translation from the French. For the Auntours of Arthur, recently published by the Camden Society, their Editor, Mr. Robson, seems to hint at a similar claim.
Here then are various known channels, by which portions of Welsh and Armoric fiction crossed the Celtic border, and gave rise to the more ornate, and widely-spread romance of the Age of Chivalry. It is not improbable that there may have existed many others. It appears then that a large portion of the stocks of Mediæval Romance proceeded from Wales. We have next to see in what condition they are still found in that country.
That Wales possessed an ancient literature, containing various lyric compositions, and certain triads, in which are arranged historical facts or moral aphorisms, has been shown by Sharon Turner, who has established the high antiquity of many of these compositions.
The more strictly Romantic Literature of Wales has been less fortunate, though not less deserving of critical attention. Small portions only of it have hitherto appeared in print, the remainder being still hidden in the obscurity of ancient Manuscripts: of these the chief is supposed to be the Red Book of Hergest, now in the Library of Jesus College, Oxford, and of the fourteenth century. This contains, besides poems, the prose romances known as Mabinogion. The Black Book of Caermarthen, preserved at Hengwrt, and considered not to be of later date than the twelfth century, is said to contain poems only.1
The Mabinogion, however, though thus early recorded in the Welsh tongue, are in their existing form by no means wholly Welsh. They are of two tolerably distinct classes. Of these, the older contains few allusions to Norman customs, manners, arts, arms, and luxuries. The other, and less ancient, are full of such allusions, and of ecclesiastical terms. Both classes, no doubt, are equally of Welsh root, but the former are not more overlaid or corrupted, than might have been expected, from the communication that so early took place between the Normans and the Welsh; whereas the latter probably migrated from Wales, and were brought back and re-translated after an absence of centuries, with a load of Norman additions. Kilhwch and Olwen, and the dream of Rhonabwy, may be cited as examples of the older and purer class; the Lady of the Fountain, Peredur, and Geraint ab Erbin, of the later, or decorated.
Besides these, indeed, there are a few tales, as Amlyn and Amic, Sir Bevis of Hamtoun, the Seven Wise Masters, and the story of Charlemagne, so obviously of foreign extraction, and of late introduction into Wales, not presenting even a Welsh name, or allusion, and of such very slender intrinsic merit, that although comprised in the Llyvr Coch, they have not a shadow of claim to form part of the Canon of Welsh Romance. Therefore, although I have translated and examined them, I have given them no place in these volumes.
There is one argument in favour of the high antiquity in Wales of many of the Mabinogion, which deserves to be mentioned here. This argument is founded on the topography of the country. It is found that Saxon names of places are very frequently definitions of the nature of the locality to which they are attached, as Clifton, Deepden, Bridge-ford, Thorpe, Ham, Wick, and the like; whereas those of Wales are more frequently commemorative of some event, real or supposed, said to have happened on or near the spot, or bearing allusion to some person renowned in the story of the country or district. Such are “Llyn y Morwynion,” the Lake of the Maidens; “Rhyd y Bedd,” the Ford of the Grave; “Bryn Cyfergyr,” the Hill of Assault; and so on. But as these names could not have preceded the events to which they refer, the events themselves must be not unfrequently as old as the early settlement in the country. And as some of these events and fictions are the subjects of, and are explained by, existing Welsh legends, it follows that the legends must be, in some shape or other, of very remote antiquity. It will be observed that this argument supports remote antiquity only for such legends as are connected with the greater topographical features, as mountains, lakes, rivers, seas, which must have been named at an early period in the inhabitation of the country by man. But there exist, also, legends connected with the lesser features, as pools, hills, detached rocks, caves, fords, and the like, places not necessarily named by the earlier settlers, but the names of which are, nevertheless, probably very old, since the words of which they are composed are in many cases not retained in the colloquial tongue, in which they must once have been included, and are in some instances lost from the language altogether, so much so as to be only partially explicable even by scholars. The argument applies likewise, in their degree, to camps, barrows, and other artificial earth-works.
Conclusions thus drawn, when established, rest upon a very firm basis. They depend upon the number and appositeness of the facts, and it would be very interesting to pursue this branch of evidence in detail. In following up this idea, the names to be sought for might thus be classed:—
I. Names of the great features, involving proper names and actions.
Cadair Idris and Cadair Arthur both involve more than a mere name. Idris and Arthur must have been invested with heroic qualifications to have been placed in such “seats.”
II. Names of lesser features, as “Bryn y Saeth,” Hill of the Dart; “Llyn Llyngclys,” Lake of the Engulphed Court; “Ceven y Bedd,” the Ridge of the Grave; “Rhyd y Saeson,” the Saxons’ Ford.
III. Names of mixed natural and artificial objects, as “Coeten Arthur,” Arthur’s Coit; “Cerrig y Drudion,” the Crag of the Heroes; which involve actions. And such as embody proper names only, as “Cerrig Howell,” the Crag of Howell; “Caer Arianrod,” the Camp of Arianrod; “Bron Goronwy,” the Breast (of the Hill) of Goronwy; “Castell mab Wynion,” the Castle of the son of Wynion; “Nant Gwrtheyrn,” the Rill of Vortigern.
The selection of names would demand much care and discretion. The translations should be indisputable, and, where known, the connexion of a name with a legend should be noted. Such a name as “Mochdrev,” Swine-town, would be valueless unless accompanied by a legend.
It is always valuable to find a place or work called after an individual, because it may help to support some tradition of his existence or his actions. But it is requisite that care be taken not to push the etymological dissection too far. Thus, “Caer Arianrod” should be taken simply as the “Camp of Arianrod,” and not rendered the “Camp of the silver circle,” because the latter, though it might possibly have something to do with the reason for which the name was borne by Arianrod herself, had clearly no reference to its application to her camp.
It appears to me, then, looking back upon what has been advanced:—
I. That we have throughout Europe, at an early period, a great body of literature, known as Mediæval Romance, which, amidst much that is wholly of Teutonic origin and character, includes certain well-marked traces of an older Celtic nucleus.
II. Proceeding backwards in time, we find these romances, their ornaments falling away at each step, existing towards the twelfth century, of simpler structure, and with less encumbered Celtic features, in the works of Wace, and other Bards of the Langue d’Oil.
III. We find that Geoffrey of Monmouth, Layamon, and other early British and Anglo-Saxon historians, and minstrels, on the one hand, transmitted to Europe the rudiments of its after romance, much of which, on the other hand, they drew from Wales.
IV. Crossing into Wales we find, in the Mabinogion, the evident counterpart of the Celtic portion of the continental romance, mixed up, indeed, with various reflex additions from beyond the border, but still containing ample internal evidence of a Welsh original.
V. Looking at the connexion between divers of the more ancient Mabinogion, and the topographical nomenclature of part of the country, we find evidence of the great, though indefinite, antiquity of these tales, and of an origin, which, if not indigenous, is certainly derived from no European nation.
It was with a general belief in some of these conclusions, that I commenced my labours, and I end them with my impressions strongly confirmed. The subject is one not unworthy of the talents of a Llwyd or a Prichard. It might, I think, be shown, by pursuing the inquiry, that the Cymric nation is not only, as Dr. Prichard has proved it to be, an early offshoot of the Indo-European family, and a people of unmixed descent, but that when driven out of their conquests by the later nations, the names and exploits of their heroes, and the compositions of their bards, spread far and wide among the invaders, and affected intimately their tastes and literature for many centuries, and that it has strong claims to be considered the cradle of European Romance.
C. E. G.
Dowlais, August 29th, 1848.
The Lady of the Fountain
King Arthur was at Caerlleon upon Usk; and one day he sat in his chamber; and with him were Owain the son of Urien, and Kynon the son of Clydno, and Kai the son of Kyner; and Gwenhwyvar and her handmaidens at needlework by the window. And if it should be said that there was a porter at Arthur’s palace, there was none. Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr was there, acting as porter, to welcome guests and strangers, and to receive them with honour, and to inform them of the manners and customs of the Court; and to direct those who came to the Hall or to the presence-chamber, and those who came to take up their lodging.
In the centre of the chamber King Arthur sat upon a seat of green rushes, over which was spread a covering of flame-coloured satin, and a cushion of red satin was under his elbow.
Then Arthur spoke, “If I thought you would not disparage me,” said he, “I would sleep while I wait for my repast; and you can entertain one another with relating tales, and can obtain a flagon of mead and some meat from Kai.” And the King went to sleep. And Kynon the son of Clydno asked Kai for that which Arthur had promised them. “I, too, will have the good tale which he promised to me,” said Kai. “Nay,” answered Kynon, “fairer will it be for thee to fulfill Arthur’s behest, in the first place, and then we will tell thee the best tale that we know.” So Kai went to the kitchen and to the mead-cellar, and returned bearing a flagon of mead and a golden goblet, and a handful of skewers, upon which were broiled collops of meat. Then they ate the collops and began to drink the mead. “Now,” said Kai, “it is time for you to give me my story.” “Kynon,” said Owain, “do thou pay to Kai the tale that is his due.” “Truly,” said Kynon, “thou are older, and art a better teller of tales, and hast seen more marvellous things than I; do thou therefore pay Kai his tale.” “Begin thyself,” quoth Owain, “with the best that thou knowest.” “I will do so,” answered Kynon.
“I was the only son of my mother and father, and I was exceedingly aspiring, and my daring was very great. I thought there was no enterprise in the world too mighty for me, and after I had achieved all the adventures that were in my own country, I equipped myself, and set forth to journey through deserts and distant regions. And at length it chanced that I came to the fairest valley in the world, wherein were trees of equal growth; and a river ran through the valley, and a path was by the side of the river. And I followed the path until mid-day, and continued my journey along the remainder of the valley until the evening; and at the extremity of a plain I came to a large and lustrous Castle, at the foot of which was a torrent. And I approached the Castle, and there I beheld two youths with yellow curling hair, each with a frontlet of gold upon his head, and clad in a garment of yellow satin, and they had gold clasps upon their insteps. In the hand of each of them was an ivory bow, strung with the sinews of the stag; and their arrows had shafts of the bone of the whale, and were winged with peacock’s feathers; the shafts also had golden heads. And they had daggers with blades of gold, and with hilts of the bone of the whale. And they were shooting their daggers.
“And a little way from them I saw a man in the prime of life, with his beard newly shorn, clad in a robe and a mantle of yellow satin; and round the top of his mantle was a band of gold lace. On his feet were shoes of variegated leather, fastened by two bosses of gold. When I saw him, I went towards him and saluted him, and such was his courtesy that he no sooner received my greeting than he returned it. And he went with me towards the Castle. Now there were no dwellers in the Castle except those who were in one hall. And there I saw four-and-twenty damsels, embroidering satin at a window. And this I tell thee, Kai, that the least fair of them was fairer than the fairest maid thou hast ever beheld in the Island of Britain, and the least lovely of them was more lovely than Gwenhwyvar, the wife of Arthur, when she has appeared loveliest at the Offering, on the day of the Nativity, or at the feast of Easter. They rose up at my coming, and six of them took my horse, and divested me of my armour; and six others took my arms, and washed them in a vessel until they were perfectly bright. And the third six spread cloths upon the tables and prepared meat. And the fourth six took off my soiled garments, and placed others upon me; namely, an under-vest and a doublet of fine linen, and a robe, and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin with a broad gold band upon the mantle. And they placed cushions both beneath and around me, with coverings of red linen; and I sat down. Now the six maidens who had taken my horse, unharnessed him, as well as if they had been the best squires in the Island of Britain. Then, behold, they brought bowls of silver wherein was water to wash, and towels of linen, some green and some white; and I washed. And in a little while the man sat down to the table. And I sat next to him, and below me sat all the maidens, except those who waited on us. And the table was of silver, and the cloths upon the table were of linen; and no vessel was served upon the table that was not either of gold or of silver, or of buffalo-horn. And our meat was brought to us. And verily, Kai, I saw there every sort of meat and every sort of liquor that I have ever seen elsewhere; but the meat and the liquor were better served there than I have ever seen them in any other place.
“Until the repast was half over, neither the man nor any one of the damsels spoke a single word to me; but when the man perceived that it would be more agreeable to me to converse than to eat any more, he began to inquire of me who I was. I said I was glad to find that there was some one who would discourse with me, and that it was not considered so great a crime at that Court for people to hold converse together. ‘Chieftain,’ said the man, ‘we would have talked to thee sooner, but we feared to disturb thee during thy repast; now, however, we will discourse.’ Then I told the man who I was, and what was the cause of my journey; and said that I was seeking whether any one was superior to me, or whether I could gain the mastery over all. The man looked upon me, and he smiled and said, ‘If I did not fear to distress thee too much, I would show thee that which thou seekest.’ Upon this I became anxious and sorrowful, and when the man perceived it, he said, ‘If thou wouldest rather that I should show thee thy disadvantage than thine advantage, I will do so. Sleep here to-night, and in the morning arise early, and take the road upwards through the valley until thou reachest the wood through which thou camest hither. A little way within the wood thou wilt meet with a road branching off to the right, by which thou must proceed, until thou comest to a large sheltered glade with a mound in the centre. And thou wilt see a black man of great stature on the top of the mound. He is not smaller in size than two of the men of this world. He has but one foot; and one eye in the middle of his forehead. And he has a club of iron, and it is certain that there are no two men in the world who would not find their burden in that club. And he is not a comely man, but on the contrary he is exceedingly ill-favoured; and he is the woodward of that wood. And thou wilt see a thousand wild animals grazing around him. Inquire of him the way out of the glade, and he will reply to thee briefly, and will point out the road by which thou shalt find that which thou art in quest of.’
“And long seemed that night to me. And the next morning I arose and equipped myself, and mounted my horse, and proceeded straight through the valley to the wood; and I followed the cross-road which the man had pointed out to me, till at length I arrived at the glade. And there was I three times more astonished at the number of wild animals that I beheld, than the man had said I should be. And the black man was there, sitting upon the top of the mound. Huge of stature as the man had told me that he was, I found him to exceed by far the description he had given me of him. As for the iron club which the man had told me was a burden for two men, I am certain, Kai, that it would be a heavy weight for four warriors to lift; and this was in the black man’s hand. And he only spoke to me in answer to my questions. Then I asked him what power he held over those animals. ‘I will show thee, little man,’ said he. And he took his club in his hand, and with it he struck a stag a great blow so that he brayed vehemently, and at his braying the animals came together, as numerous as the stars in the sky, so that it was difficult for me to find room in the glade to stand among them. There were serpents, and dragons, and divers sorts of animals. And he looked at them, and bade them go and feed; and they bowed their heads, and did him homage as vassals to their lord.
“Then the black man said to me, ‘Seest thou now, little man, what power I hold over these animals?’ Then I inquired of him the way, and he became very rough in his manner to me; however, he asked me whither I would go? And when I told him who I was and what I sought, he directed me. ‘Take,’ said he, ‘that path that leads towards the head of the glade, and ascend the wooded steep until thou comest to its summit; and there thou wilt find an open space like to a large valley, and in the midst of it a tall tree, whose branches are greener than the greenest pine-trees. Under this tree is a fountain, and by the side of the fountain a marble slab, and on the marble slab a silver bowl, attached by a chain of silver, so that it may not be carried away. Take the bowl and throw a bowlful of water upon the slab, and thou wilt hear a mighty peal of thunder, so that thou wilt think that heaven and earth are trembling with its fury. With the thunder there will come a shower so severe that it will be scarce possible for thee to endure it and live. And the shower will be of hailstones; and after the shower, the weather will become fair, but every leaf that was upon the tree will have been carried away by the shower. Then a flight of birds will come and alight upon the tree; and in thine own country thou didst never hear a strain so sweet as that which they will sing. And at the moment thou art most delighted with the song of the birds, thou wilt hear a murmuring and complaining coming towards thee along the valley. And thou wilt see a knight upon a coal-black horse, clothed in black velvet, and with a pennon of black linen upon his lance; and he will ride unto thee to encounter thee with the utmost speed. If thou fleest from him he will overtake thee, and if thou abidest there, as sure as thou art a mounted knight, he will leave thee on foot. And if thou dost not find trouble in that adventure, thou needest not seek it during the rest of thy life.’
“So I journeyed on, until I reached the summit of the steep, and there I found everything as the black man had described it to me. And I went up to the tree, and beneath it I saw the fountain, and by its side the marble slab, and the silver bowl fastened by the chain. Then I took the bowl, and cast a bowlful of water upon the slab; and thereupon, behold, the thunder came, much more violent than the black man had led me to expect; and after the thunder came the shower; and of a truth I tell thee, Kai, that there is neither man nor beast that can endure that shower and live. For not one of those hailstones would be stopped, either by the flesh or by the skin, until it had reached the bone. I turned my horse’s flank towards the shower, and placed the beak of my shield over his head and neck, while I held the upper part of it over my own head. And thus I withstood the shower. When I looked on the tree there was not a single leaf upon it, and then the sky became clear, and with that, behold the birds lighted upon the tree, and sang. And truly, Kai, I never heard any melody equal to that, either before or since. And when I was most charmed with listening to the birds, lo, a murmuring voice was heard through the valley, approaching me and saying, ‘Oh, Knight, what has brought thee hither? What evil have I done to thee, that thou shouldst act towards me and my possessions as thou hast this day? Dost thou not know that the shower to-day has left in my dominions neither man nor beast alive that was exposed to it?’ And thereupon, behold, a Knight on a black horse appeared, clothed in jet-black velvet, and with a tabard of black linen about him. And we charged each other, and, as the onset was furious, it was not long before I was overthrown. Then the Knight passed the shaft of his lance through the bridle rein of my horse, and rode off with the two horses, leaving me where I was. And he did not even bestow so much notice upon me as to imprison me, nor did he despoil me of my arms. So I returned along the road by which I had come. And when I reached the glade where the black man was, I confess to thee, Kai, it is a marvel that I did not melt down into a liquid pool, through the shame that I felt at the black man’s derision. And that night I came to the same castle where I had spent the night preceding. And I was more agreeably entertained that night than I had been the night before; and I was better feasted, and I conversed freely with the inmates of the castle, and none of them alluded to my expedition to the fountain, neither did I mention it to any; and I remained there that night. When I arose on the morrow, I found, ready saddled, a dark bay palfrey, with nostrils as red as scarlet; and after putting on my armour, and leaving there my blessing, I returned to my own Court. And that horse I still possess, and he is in the stable yonder. And I declare that I would not part with him for the best palfrey in the Island of Britain.
“Now of a truth, Kai, no man ever before confessed to an adventure so much to his own discredit, and verily it seems strange to me, that neither before nor since have I heard of any person besides myself who knew of this adventure, and that the subject of it should exist within King Arthur’s dominions, without any other person lighting upon it.”
“Now,” quoth Owain, “would it not be well to go and endeavour to discover that place?”
“By the hand of my friend,” said Kai, “often dost thou utter that with thy tongue which thou wouldst not make good with thy deeds.”
“In very truth,” said Gwenhwyvar, “it were better thou wert hanged, Kai, than to use such uncourteous speech towards a man like Owain.”
“By the hand of my friend, good Lady,” said Kai, “thy praise of Owain is not greater than mine.”
With that Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not been sleeping a little.
“Yes, Lord,” answered Owain, “thou hast slept awhile.”
“Is it time for us to go to meat?”
“It is, Lord,” said Owain.
Then the horn for washing was sounded, and the King and all his household sat down to eat. And when the meal was ended, Owain withdrew to his lodging, and made ready his horse and his arms.
On the morrow, with the dawn of day, he put on his armour, and mounted his charger, and travelled through distant lands and over desert mountains. And at length he arrived at the valley which Kynon had described to him; and he was certain that it was the same that he sought. And journeying along the valley by the side of the river, he followed its course till he came to the plain and within sight of the Castle. When he approached the Castle, he saw the youths shooting their daggers in the place where Kynon had seen them, and the yellow man, to whom the Castle belonged, standing hard by. And no sooner had Owain saluted the yellow man than he was saluted by him in return.
