CHAPTER VIII: MYTHS AND TALES OF THE CYMRY

*Bardic Philosophy*

The absence in early Celtic literature of any world-myth, or any

philosophic account of the origin and constitution of things, was noticed

at the opening of our third chapter. In Gaelic literature there is, as far

as I know, nothing which even pretends to represent early Celtic thought

on this subject. It is otherwise in Wales. Here there has existed for a

considerable time a body of teaching purporting to contain a portion, at

any rate, of that ancient Druidic thought which, as Caesar tells us, was

communicated only to the initiated, and never written down. This teaching

is principally to be found in two volumes entitled “Barddas,” a

compilation made from materials in his possession by a Welsh bard and

scholar named Llewellyn Sion, of Glamorgan, towards the end of the

sixteenth century, and edited, with a translation, by J.A. Williams ap

Ithel for the Welsh MS. Society. Modern Celtic scholars pour contempt on

the pretensions of works like this to enshrine any really antique thought.

Thus Mr. Ivor B. John: “All idea of a bardic esoteric doctrine involving

pre-Christian mythic philosophy must be utterly discarded.” And again:

“The nonsense talked upon the subject is largely due to the uncritical

invention of pseudo-antiquaries of the sixteenth to seventeenth and

eighteenth centuries.”(205) Still the bardic Order was certainly at one

time in possession of such a doctrine. That Order had a fairly continuous

existence in Wales. And though no critical thinker would build with any

confidence a theory of pre-Christian doctrine on a document of the

sixteenth century, it does not seem wise to scout altogether the

possibility that some fragments of antique lore may have lingered even so

late as that in bardic tradition.

At any rate, “Barddas” is a work of considerable philosophic interest, and

even if it represents nothing but a certain current of Cymric thought in

the sixteenth century it is not unworthy of attention by the student of

things Celtic. Purely Druidic it does not even profess to be, for

Christian personages and episodes from Christian history figure largely in

it. But we come occasionally upon a strain of thought which, whatever else

it may be, is certainly not Christian, and speaks of an independent

philosophic system.

In this system two primary existences are contemplated, God and Cythrawl,

who stand respectively for the principle of energy tending towards life,

and the principle of destruction tending towards nothingness. Cythrawl is

realised in Annwn,(206) which may be rendered, the Abyss, or Chaos. In the

beginning there was nothing but God and Annwn. Organised life began by the

Word—God pronounced His ineffable Name and the “Manred” was formed. The

Manred was the primal substance of the universe. It was conceived as a

multitude of minute indivisible particles—atoms, in fact—each being a

microcosm, for God is complete in each of them, while at the same time

each is a part of God, the Whole. The totality of being as it now exists

is represented by three concentric circles. The innermost of them, where

life sprang from Annwn, is called “Abred,” and is the stage of struggle

and evolution—the contest of life with Cythrawl. The next is the circle of

“Gwynfyd,” or Purity, in which life is manifested as a pure, rejoicing

force, having attained its triumph over evil. The last and outermost

circle is called “Ceugant,” or Infinity. Here all predicates fail us, and

this circle, represented graphically not by a bounding line, but by

divergent rays, is inhabited by God alone. The following extract from

“Barddas,” in which the alleged bardic teaching is conveyed in catechism

form, will serve to show the order of ideas in which the writer’s mind

moved:

[The Circles of Being]

The Circles of Being

“Q. Whence didst thou proceed?

“A. I came from the Great World, having my beginning in Annwn.

“Q. Where art thou now? and how camest thou to what thou art?

“A. I am in the Little World, whither I came having traversed the circle

of Abred, and now I am a Man, at its termination and extreme limits.

“Q. What wert thou before thou didst become a man, in the circle of Abred?

“A. I was in Annwn the least possible that was capable of life and the

nearest possible to absolute death; and I came in every form and through

every form capable of a body and life to the state of man along the circle

of Abred, where my condition was severe and grievous during the age of

ages, ever since I was parted in Annwn from the dead, by the gift of God,

and His great generosity, and His unlimited and endless love.

“Q. Through how many different forms didst thou come, and what happened

unto thee?”

“A. Through every form capable of life, in water, in earth, in air. And

there happened unto me every severity, every hardship, every evil, and

every suffering, and but little was the goodness or Gwynfyd before I

became a man.... Gwynfyd cannot be obtained without seeing and knowing

everything, but it is not possible to see or to know everything without

suffering everything.... And there can be no full and perfect love that

does not produce those things which are necessary to lead to the knowledge

that causes Gwynfyd.”

Every being, we are told, shall attain to the circle of Gwynfyd at

last.(207)

There is much here that reminds us of Gnostic or Oriental thought. It is

certainly very unlike Christian orthodoxy of the sixteenth century. As a

product of the Cymric mind of that period the reader may take it for what

it is worth, without troubling himself either with antiquarian theories or

with their refutations.

Let us now turn to the really ancient work, which is not philosophic, but

creative and imaginative, produced by British bards and fabulists of the

Middle Ages. But before we go on to set forth what we shall find in this

literature we must delay a moment to discuss one thing which we shall not.

*The Arthurian Saga*

For the majority of modern readers who have not made any special study of

the subject, the mention of early British legend will inevitably call up

the glories of the Arthurian Saga—they will think of the fabled palace at

Caerleon-on-Usk, the Knights of the Round Table riding forth on chivalrous

adventure, the Quest of the Grail, the guilty love of Lancelot, flower of

knighthood, for the queen, the last great battle by the northern sea, the

voyage of Arthur, sorely wounded, but immortal, to the mystic valley of

Avalon. But as a matter of fact they will find in the native literature of

mediæval Wales little or nothing of all this—no Round Table, no Lancelot,

no Grail-Quest, no Isle of Avalon, until the Welsh learned about them from

abroad; and though there was indeed an Arthur in this literature, he is a

wholly different being from the Arthur of what we now call the Arthurian

Saga.

*Nennius*

The earliest extant mention of Arthur is to be found in the work of the

British historian Nennius, who wrote his “Historia Britonum” about the

year 800. He derives his authority from various sources—ancient monuments

and writings of Britain and of Ireland (in connexion with the latter

country he records the legend of Partholan), Roman annals, and chronicles

of saints, especially St. Germanus. He presents a fantastically Romanised

and Christianised view of British history, deriving the Britons from a

Trojan and Roman ancestry. His account of Arthur, however, is both sober

and brief. Arthur, who, according to Nennius, lived in the sixth century,

was not a king; his ancestry was less noble than that of many other

British chiefs, who, nevertheless, for his great talents as a military

_Imperator_, or _dux bellorum_, chose him for their leader against the

Saxons, whom he defeated in twelve battles, the last being at Mount Badon.

Arthur’s office was doubtless a relic of Roman military organisation, and

there is no reason to doubt his historical existence, however impenetrable

may be the veil which now obscures his valiant and often triumphant

battlings for order and civilisation in that disastrous age.

*Geoffrey of Monmouth*

Next we have Geoffrey of Monmouth, Bishop of St. Asaph, who wrote his

“Historia Regum Britaniæ” in South Wales in the early part of the twelfth

century. This work is an audacious attempt to make sober history out of a

mass of mythical or legendary matter mainly derived, if we are to believe

the author, from an ancient book brought by his uncle Walter, Archdeacon

of Oxford, from Brittany. The mention of Brittany in this connexion is, as

we shall see, very significant. Geoffrey wrote expressly to commemorate

the exploits of Arthur, who now appears as a king, son of Uther Pendragon

and of Igerna, wife of Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, to whom Uther gained

access in the shape of her husband through the magic arts of Merlin. He

places the beginning of Arthur’s reign in the year 505, recounts his wars

against the Saxons, and says he ultimately conquered not only all Britain,

but Ireland, Norway, Gaul, and Dacia, and successfully resisted a demand

for tribute and homage from the Romans. He held his court at

Caerleon-on-Usk. While he was away on the Continent carrying on his

struggle with Rome his nephew Modred usurped his crown and wedded his wife

Guanhumara. Arthur, on this, returned, and after defeating the traitor at

Winchester slew him in a last battle in Cornwall, where Arthur himself was

sorely wounded (A.D. 542). The queen retired to a convent at Caerleon.

Before his death Arthur conferred his kingdom on his kinsman Constantine,

and was then carried off mysteriously to “the isle of Avalon” to be cured,

and “the rest is silence.” Arthur’s magic sword “Caliburn” (Welsh

_Caladvwlch_; see p. 224, note) is mentioned by Geoffrey and described as

having been made in Avalon, a word which seems to imply some kind of

fairyland, a Land of the Dead, and may be related to the Norse _Valhall_.

It was not until later times that Avalon came to be identified with an

actual site in Britain (Glastonbury). In Geoffrey’s narrative there is

nothing about the Holy Grail, or Lancelot, or the Round Table, and except

for the allusion to Avalon the mystical element of the Arthurian saga is

absent. Like Nennius, Geoffrey finds a fantastic classical origin for the

Britons. His so-called history is perfectly worthless as a record of fact,

but it has proved a veritable mine for poets and chroniclers, and has the

distinction of having furnished the subject for the earliest English

tragic drama, “Gorboduc,” as well as for Shakespeare’s “King Lear”; and

its author may be described as the father—at least on its quasi-historical

side—of the Arthurian saga, which he made up partly out of records of the

historical _dux bellorum_ of Nennius and partly out of poetical

amplifications of these records made in Brittany by the descendants of

exiles from Wales, many of whom fled there at the very time when Arthur

was waging his wars against the heathen Saxons. Geoffrey’s book had a

wonderful success. It was speedily translated into French by Wace, who

wrote “Li Romans de Brut” about 1155, with added details from Breton

sources, and translated from Wace’s French into Anglo-Saxon by Layamon,

who thus anticipated Malory’s adaptations of late French prose romances.

Except a few scholars who protested unavailingly, no one doubted its

strict historical truth, and it had the important effect of giving to

early British history a new dignity in the estimation of Continental and

of English princes. To sit upon the throne of Arthur was regarded as in

itself a glory by Plantagenet monarchs who had not a trace of Arthur’s or

of any British blood.

*The Saga in Brittany: Marie de France*

The Breton sources must next be considered. Unfortunately, not a line of

ancient Breton literature has come down to us, and for our knowledge of it

we must rely on the appearances it makes in the work of French writers.

One of the earliest of these is the Anglo-Norman poetess who called

herself Marie de France, and who wrote about 1150 and afterwards. She

wrote, among other things, a number of “Lais,” or tales, which she

explicitly and repeatedly tells us were translated or adapted from Breton

sources. Sometimes she claims to have rendered a writer’s original

exactly:

“Les contes que jo sai verais

Dunt li Bretun unt fait les lais

Vos conterai assez briefment;

Et cief [sauf] di cest coumencement

Selunc la lettre è l’escriture.”

Little is actually said about Arthur in these tales, but the events of

them are placed in his time—_en cel tems tint Artus la terre_—and the

allusions, which include a mention of the Round Table, evidently imply a

general knowledge of the subject among those to whom these Breton “Lais”

were addressed. Lancelot is not mentioned, but there is a “Lai” about one

Lanval, who is beloved by Arthur’s queen, but rejects her because he has a

fairy mistress in the “isle d’Avalon.” Gawain is mentioned, and an episode

is told in the “Lai de Chevrefoil” about Tristan and Iseult, whose maid,

“Brangien,” is referred to in a way which assumes that the audience knew

the part she had played on Iseult’s bridal night. In short, we have

evidence here of the existence in Brittany of a well-diffused and

well-developed body of chivalric legend gathered about the personality of

Arthur. The legends are so well known that mere allusions to characters

and episodes in them are as well understood as references to Tennyson’s

“Idylls” would be among us to-day. The “Lais” of Marie de France therefore

point strongly to Brittany as the true cradle of the Arthurian saga, on

its chivalrous and romantic side. They do not, however, mention the Grail.

*Chrestien de Troyes*

Lastly, and chiefly, we have the work of the French poet Chrestien de

Troyes, who began in 1165 to translate Breton “Lais,” like Marie de

France, and who practically brought the Arthurian saga into the poetic

literature of Europe, and gave it its main outline and character. He wrote

a “Tristan” (now lost). He (if not Walter Map) introduced Lancelot of the

Lake into the story; he wrote a _Conte del Graal_, in which the Grail

legend and Perceval make their first appearance, though he left the story

unfinished, and does not tell us what the “Grail” really was.(208) He also

wrote a long _conte d’aventure_ entitled “Erec,” containing the story of

Geraint and Enid. These are the earliest poems we possess in which the

Arthur of chivalric legend comes prominently forward. What were the

sources of Chrestien? No doubt they were largely Breton. Troyes is in

Champagne, which had been united to Blois in 1019 by Eudes, Count of

Blois, and reunited again after a period of dispossession by Count

Theobald de Blois in 1128. Marie, Countess of Champagne, was Chrestien’s

patroness. And there were close connexions between the ruling princes of

Blois and of Brittany. Alain II., a Duke of Brittany, had in the tenth

century married a sister of the Count de Blois, and in the first quarter

of the thirteenth century Jean I. of Brittany married Blanche de

Champagne, while their daughter Alix married Jean de Chastillon, Count of

Blois, in 1254. It is highly probable, therefore, that through minstrels

who attended their Breton lords at the court of Blois, from the middle of

the tenth century onward, a great many Breton “Lais” and legends found

their way into French literature during the eleventh, twelfth, and

thirteenth centuries. But it is also certain that the Breton legends

themselves had been strongly affected by French influences, and that to

the _Matière de France_, as it was called by mediæval writers(209)—_i.e._,

the legends of Charlemagne and his Paladins—we owe the Table Round and the

chivalric institutions ascribed to Arthur’s court at Caerleon-on-Usk.

*Bleheris*

It must not be forgotten that (as Miss Jessie L. Weston has emphasised in

her invaluable studies on the Arthurian saga) Gautier de Denain, the

earliest of the continuators or re-workers of Chrestien de Troyes,

mentions as his authority for stories of Gawain one Bleheris, a poet “born

and bred in Wales.” This forgotten bard is believed to be identical with

_famosus ille fabulator, Bledhericus,_ mentioned by Giraldus Cambrensis,

and with the Bréris quoted by Thomas of Brittany as an authority for the

Tristan story.

*Conclusion as to the Origin of the Arthurian Saga*

In the absence, however, of any information as to when, or exactly what,

Bleheris wrote, the opinion must, I think, hold the field that the

Arthurian saga, as we have it now, is not of Welsh, nor even of pure

Breton origin. The Welsh exiles who colonised part of Brittany about the

sixth century must have brought with them many stories of the historical

Arthur. They must also have brought legends of the Celtic deity Artaius, a

god to whom altars have been found in France. These personages ultimately

blended into one, even as in Ireland the Christian St. Brigit blended with

the pagan goddess Brigindo.(210) We thus get a mythical figure combining

something of the exaltation of a god with a definite habitation on earth

and a place in history. An Arthur saga thus arose, which in its Breton

(though not its Welsh) form was greatly enriched by material drawn in from

the legends of Charlemagne and his peers, while both in Brittany and in

Wales it became a centre round which clustered a mass of floating

legendary matter relating to various Celtic personages, human and divine.

Chrestien de Troyes, working on Breton material, ultimately gave it the

form in which it conquered the world, and in which it became in the

twelfth and the thirteenth centuries what the Faust legend was in later

times, the accepted vehicle for the ideals and aspirations of an epoch.

*The Saga in Wales*

From the Continent, and especially from Brittany, the story of Arthur came

back into Wales transformed and glorified. The late Dr. Heinrich Zimmer,

in one of his luminous studies of the subject, remarks that “In Welsh

literature we have definite evidence that the South-Welsh prince, Rhys ap

Tewdwr, who had been in Brittany, brought from thence in the year 1070 the

knowledge of Arthur’s Round Table to Wales, where of course it had been

hitherto unknown.”(211) And many Breton lords are known to have followed

the banner of William the Conqueror into England.(212) The introducers of

the saga into Wales found, however, a considerable body of Arthurian

matter of a very different character already in existence there. Besides

the traditions of the historical Arthur, the _dux bellorum_ of Nennius,

there was the Celtic deity, Artaius. It is probably a reminiscence of this

deity whom we meet with under the name of Arthur in the only genuine Welsh

Arthurian story we possess, the story of Kilhwch and Olwen in the

“Mabinogion.” Much of the Arthurian saga derived from Chrestien and other

Continental writers was translated and adapted in Wales as in other

European countries, but as a matter of fact it made a later and a lesser

impression in Wales than almost anywhere else. It conflicted with existing

Welsh traditions, both historical and mythological; it was full of matter

entirely foreign to the Welsh spirit, and it remained always in Wales

something alien and unassimilated. Into Ireland it never entered at all.

These few introductory remarks do not, of course, profess to contain a

discussion of the Arthurian saga—a vast subject with myriad ramifications,

historical, mythological, mystical, and what not—but are merely intended

to indicate the relation of that saga to genuine Celtic literature and to

explain why we shall hear so little of it in the following accounts of

Cymric myths and legends. It was a great spiritual myth which, arising

from the composite source above described, overran all the Continent, as

its hero was supposed to have done in armed conquest, but it cannot be

regarded as a special possession of the Celtic race, nor is it at present

extant, except in the form of translation or adaptation, in any Celtic

tongue.

*Gaelic and Cymric Legend Compared*

The myths and legends of the Celtic race which have come down to us in the

Welsh language are in some respects of a different character from those

which we possess in Gaelic. The Welsh material is nothing like as full as

the Gaelic, nor so early. The tales of the “Mabinogion” are mainly drawn

from the fourteenth-century manuscript entitled “The Red Book of Hergest.”

One of them, the romance of Taliesin, came from another source, a

manuscript of the seventeenth century. The four oldest tales in the

“Mabinogion” are supposed by scholars to have taken their present shape in

the tenth or eleventh century, while several Irish tales, like the story

of Etain and Midir or the Death of Conary, go back to the seventh or

eighth. It will be remembered that the story of the invasion of Partholan

was known to Nennius, who wrote about the year 800. As one might therefore

expect, the mythological elements in the Welsh romances are usually much

more confused and harder to decipher than in the earlier of the Irish

tales. The mythic interest has grown less, the story interest greater; the

object of the bard is less to hand down a sacred text than to entertain a

prince’s court. We must remember also that the influence of the

Continental romances of chivalry is clearly perceptible in the Welsh

tales; and, in fact, comes eventually to govern them completely.

*Gaelic and Continental Romance*

In many respects the Irish Celt anticipated the ideas of these romances.

The lofty courtesy shown to each other by enemies,(213) the fantastic

pride which forbade a warrior to take advantage of a wounded

adversary,(214) the extreme punctilio with which the duties or observances

proper to each man’s caste or station were observed(215)—all this tone of

thought and feeling which would seem so strange to us if we met an

instance of it in classical literature would seem quite familiar and

natural in Continental romances of the twelfth and later centuries.

Centuries earlier than that it was a marked feature in Gaelic literature.

Yet in the Irish romances, whether Ultonian or Ossianic, the element which

has since been considered the most essential motive in a romantic tale is

almost entirely lacking. This is the element of love, or rather of

woman-worship. The Continental fabulist felt that he could do nothing

without this motive of action. But the “lady-love” of the English, French,

or German knight, whose favour he wore, for whose grace he endured

infinite hardship and peril, does not meet us in Gaelic literature. It

would have seemed absurd to the Irish Celt to make the plot of a serious

story hinge on the kind of passion with which the mediaeval Dulcinea

inspired her faithful knight. In the two most famous and popular of Gaelic

love-tales, the tale of Deirdre and “The Pursuit of Dermot and Grania,”

the women are the wooers, and the men are most reluctant to commit what

they know to be the folly of yielding to them. Now this romantic,

chivalric kind of love, which idealised woman into a goddess, and made the

service of his lady a sacred duty to the knight, though it never reached

in Wales the height which it did in Continental and English romances, is

yet clearly discernible there. We can trace it in “Kilhwch and Olwen,”

which is comparatively an ancient tale. It is well developed in later

stories like “Peredur” and “The Lady of the Fountain.” It is a symptom of

the extent to which, in comparison with the Irish, Welsh literature had

lost its pure Celtic strain and become affected—I do not, of course, say

to its loss—by foreign influences.

*Gaelic and Cymric Mythology: Nudd*

The oldest of the Welsh tales, those called “The Four Branches of the

Mabinogi,”(216) are the richest in mythological elements, but these occur

in more or less recognisable form throughout nearly all the mediaeval

tales, and even, after many transmutations, in Malory. We can clearly

discern certain mythological figures common to all Celtica. We meet, for

instance, a personage called Nudd or Lludd, evidently a solar deity. A

temple dating from Roman times, and dedicated to him under the name of

Nodens, has been discovered at Lydney, by the Severn. On a bronze plaque

found near the spot is a representation of the god. He is encircled by a

halo and accompanied by flying spirits and by Tritons. We are reminded of

the Danaan deities and their close connexion with the sea; and when we

find that in Welsh legend an epithet is attached to Nudd, meaning “of the

Silver Hand” (though no extant Welsh legend tells the meaning of the

epithet), we have no difficulty in identifying this Nudd with Nuada of the

Silver Hand, who led the Danaans in the battle of Moytura.(217) Under his

name Lludd he is said to have had a temple on the site of St. Paul’s in

London, the entrance to which, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth, was

called in the British tongue _Parth Lludd_, which the Saxons translated

_Ludes Geat_, our present Ludgate.

GODS OF THE HOUSE OF DŌN

Manogan Māthonwy

| |

| |

| +---------+------+

| | |

Beli-------+------Dōn Māth

(Death, | (Mother-goddess, (wealth,

Irish Bilé) | Irish Dana) increase)

|

|

|

+----------------+------+--+--------+-------+--------+--------+------+

| | | | | | | |

| | | | | | | |

Gwydion-----+----Arianrod | Amaethon | Nudd | Nynniaw

(Science and | ("Silver- | (agriculture) | or Ludd | and Peibaw

light; slayer | circle," Dawn- | | (Sky-god) |

of Pryderi) | goddess) | | | |

| | | | |

| Gilvaethwy Govannan | Penardun

| (smith-craft, | (_m_. Llyr)

| Irish Goban) |

+--------+---+---------+ |

| | | Gwyn

Nwyvre Llew Dylan (Warder of

(atmosphere, Llaw (Sea-god) Hades, called

space) Gyffes "Avalon" in

(Sun-god, Somerset)

the Irish

Lugh)

GODS OF THE HOUSE OF LLYR

Iweriad --+-- Llyr --+-- Penardun --+-- Euroswydd

(=Ireland--_i.e.,_ | (Irish | (dau. of |

western land | Lir) | Dōn) |

of Hades) | | |

| | |

+---------+---------+ | +--------+----------+

| | | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

| Branwen--+--Matholwch | Nissyen Evnissyen

| (Love- | (King of |

| goddess) | Ireland) |

| | |

Bran | Manawyddan---Rhiannon

(giant god | (Irish Mana-

of Hades | nan, god of Pwyll--+--Rhiannon

a minstrel; | the Sea, (Head of |

afterwards | enchanter) Hades) |

Urien) | |

Gwern Pryderi---Kicva

(Lord of

Hades)

ARTHUR AND HIS KIN

Anlawdd

|

+--------------------+----+----------------------------------+

| | |

Yspaddaden Custennin Kilwydd -+- Goleuddydd

| | |

Olwen +---------+-----------+ Kilhwch --- Olwen

| | |

Goreu Erbin Igerna -+- Uther Ben

| | (= Bran)

Geraint |

+-------+-----------------------+

| |

Arthur Lot -----+---- Gwyar

(=Gwydion) (=Llud) | (Gore, a

| war-goddess)

|

+--------------------------+-------------+-------+

| | |

Gwalchmai Medrawt Gwalchaved

(Falcon of May, (=Dylan, (Falcon of Summer,

= LLew Llaw later Sir later Sir Galahad;

Gyffes, later Mordred) orig. identical

Sir Gawain) with Gwalchmai)

*Llyr and Manawyddan*

Again, when we find a mythological personage named Llyr, with a son named

Manawyddan, playing a prominent part in Welsh legend, we may safely

connect them with the Irish Lir and his son Mananan, gods of the sea.

Llyr-cester, now Leicester, was a centre of the worship of Llyr.

*Llew Llaw Gyffes*

Finally, we may point to a character in the “Mabinogi,” or tale, entitled

“Māth Son of Māthonwy.” The name of this character is given as Llew Llaw

Gyffes, which the Welsh fabulist interprets as “The Lion of the Sure

Hand,” and a tale, which we shall recount later on, is told to account for

the name. But when we find that this hero exhibits characteristics which

point to his being a solar deity, such as an amazingly rapid growth from

childhood into manhood, and when we are told, moreover, by Professor Rhys

that Gyffes originally meant, not “steady” or “sure,” but “long,”(218) it

becomes evident that we have here a dim and broken reminiscence of the

deity whom the Gaels called Lugh of the Long Arm,(219) _Lugh Lamh Fada_.

The misunderstood name survived, and round the misunderstanding legendary

matter floating in the popular mind crystallised itself in a new story.

These correspondences might be pursued in much further detail. It is

enough here to point to their existence as evidence of the original

community of Gaelic and Cymric mythology.(220) We are, in each literature,

in the same circle of mythological ideas. In Wales, however, these ideas

are harder to discern; the figures and their relationships in the Welsh

Olympus are less accurately defined and more fluctuating. It would seem as

if a number of different tribes embodied what were fundamentally the same

conceptions under different names and wove different legends about them.

The bardic literature, as we have it now, bears evidence sometimes of the

prominence of one of these tribal cults, sometimes of another. To reduce

these varying accounts to unity is altogether impossible. Still, we can do

something to afford the reader a clue to the maze.

*The Houses of Dōn and of Llyr*

Two great divine houses or families are discernible—that of Dōn, a

mother-goddess (representing the Gaelic Dana), whose husband is Beli, the

Irish Bilé, god of Death, and whose descendants are the Children of Light;

and the House of Llyr, the Gaelic Lir, who here represents, not a Danaan

deity, but something more like the Irish Fomorians. As in the case of the

Irish myth, the two families are allied by intermarriage—Penardun, a

daughter of Dōn, is wedded to Llyr. Dōn herself has a brother, Māth, whose

name signifies wealth or treasure (_cf._ Greek Pluton, _ploutos_), and

they descend from a figure indistinctly characterised, called Māthonwy.

*The House of Arthur*

Into the pantheon of deities represented in the four ancient Mabinogi

there came, at a later time, from some other tribal source, another group

headed by Arthur, the god Artaius. He takes the place of Gwydion son of

Dōn, and the other deities of his circle fall more or less accurately into

the places of others of the earlier circle. The accompanying genealogical

plans are intended to help the reader to a general view of the

relationships and attributes of these personages. It must be borne in

mind, however, that these tabular arrangements necessarily involve an

appearance of precision and consistency which is not reflected in the

fluctuating character of the actual myths taken as a whole. Still, as a

sketch-map of a very intricate and obscure region, they may help the

reader who enters it for the first time to find his bearings in it, and

that is the only purpose they propose to serve.

*Gwyn ap Nudd*

The deity named Gwyn ap Nudd is said, like Finn in Gaelic legend,(221) to

have impressed himself more deeply and lastingly on the Welsh popular

imagination than any of the other divinities. A mighty warrior and

huntsman, he glories in the crash of breaking spears, and, like Odin,

assembles the souls of dead heroes in his shadowy kingdom, for although he

belongs to the kindred of the Light-gods, Hades is his special domain. The

combat between him and Gwythur ap Greidawl (Victor, son of Scorcher) for

Creudylad, daughter of Lludd, which is to be renewed every May-day till

time shall end, represents evidently the contest between winter and summer

for the flowery and fertile earth. “Later,” writes Mr. Charles Squire, “he

came to be considered as King of the _Tylwyth Teg_, the Welsh fairies, and

his name as such has hardly yet died out of his last haunt, the romantic

vale of Neath.... He is the Wild Huntsman of Wales and the West of

England, and it is his pack which is sometimes heard at chase in waste

places by night.”(222) He figures as a god of war and death in a wonderful

poem from the “Black Book of Caermarthen,” where he is represented as

discoursing with a prince named Gwyddneu Garanhir, who had come to ask his

protection. I quote a few stanzas: the poem will be found in full in Mr.

Squire’s excellent volume:

“I come from battle and conflict

With a shield in my hand;

Broken is my helmet by the thrusting of spears.

“Round-hoofed is my horse, the torment of battle,

Fairy am I called,(223) Gwyn the son of Nudd,

The lover of Crewrdilad, the daughter of Lludd

“I have been in the place where Gwendolen was slain,

The son of Ceidaw, the pillar of song,

Where the ravens screamed over blood.

“I have been in the place where Bran was killed,

The son of Iweridd, of far-extending fame,

Where the ravens of the battlefield screamed.

“I have been where Llacheu was slain,

The son of Arthur, extolled in songs,

When the ravens screamed over blood.

“I have been where Mewrig was killed,

The son of Carreian, of honourable fame,

When the ravens screamed over flesh.

“I have been where Gwallawg was killed,

The son of Goholeth, the accomplished,

The resister of Lloegyr,(224) the son of Lleynawg.

“I have been where the soldiers of Britain were slain,

From the east to the north:

I am the escort of the grave.

“I have been where the soldiers of Britain were slain,

From the east to the south:

I am alive, they in death.”

*Myrddin, or Merlin*

A deity named Myrddin holds in Arthur’s mythological cycle the place of

the Sky- and Sun-god, Nudd. One of the Welsh Triads tells us that Britain,

before it was inhabited, was called _Clas Myrddin_, Myrddin’s Enclosure.

One is reminded of the Irish fashion of calling any favoured spot a

“cattle-fold of the sun”—the name is applied by Deirdre to her beloved

Scottish home in Glen Etive. Professor Rhys suggests that Myrddin was the

deity specially worshipped at Stonehenge, which, according to British

tradition as reported by Geoffrey of Monmouth, was erected by “Merlin,”

the enchanter who represents the form into which Myrddin had dwindled

under Christian influences. We are told that the abode of Merlin was a

house of glass, or a bush of whitethorn laden with bloom, or a sort of

smoke or mist in the air, or “a close neither of iron nor steel nor timber

nor of stone, but of the air without any other thing, by enchantment so

strong that it may never be undone while the world endureth.”(225) Finally

he descended upon Bardsey Island, “off the extreme westernmost point of

Carnarvonshire ... into it he went with nine attendant bards, taking with

him the ’Thirteen Treasures of Britain,’ thenceforth lost to men.”

Professor Rhys points out that a Greek traveller named Demetrius, who is

described as having visited Britain in the first century A.D., mentions an

island in the west where “Kronos” was supposed to be imprisoned with his

attendant deities, and Briareus keeping watch over him as he slept, “for

sleep was the bond forged for him.” Doubtless we have here a version,

Hellenised as was the wont of classical writers on barbaric myths, of a

British story of the descent of the Sun-god into the western sea, and his

imprisonment there by the powers of darkness, with the possessions and

magical potencies belonging to Light and Life.(226)

*Nynniaw and Peibaw*

The two personages called Nynniaw and Peibaw who figure in the

genealogical table play a very slight part in Cymric mythology, but one

story in which they appear is interesting in itself and has an excellent

moral. They are represented(227) as two brothers, Kings of Britain, who

were walking together one starlight night. “See what a fine far-spreading

field I have,” said Nynniaw. “Where is it?” asked Peibaw. “There aloft and

as far as you can see,” said Nynniaw, pointing to the sky. “But look at

all my cattle grazing in your field,” said Peibaw. “Where are they?” said

Nynniaw. “All the golden stars,” said Peibaw, “with the moon for their

shepherd.” “They shall not graze on my field,” cried Nynniaw. “I say they

shall,” returned Peibaw. “They shall not.” “They shall.” And so they went

on: first they quarrelled with each other, and then went to war, and

armies were destroyed and lands laid waste, till at last the two brothers

were turned into oxen as a punishment for their stupidity and

quarrelsomeness.

*The **“**Mabinogion**”*

We now come to the work in which the chief treasures of Cymric myth and

legend were collected by Lady Charlotte Guest sixty years ago, and given

to the world in a translation which is one of the masterpieces of English

literature. The title of this work, the “Mabinogion,” is the plural form

of the word _Mabinogi_, which means a story belonging to the equipment of

an apprentice-bard, such a story as every bard had necessarily to learn as

part of his training, whatever more he might afterwards add to his

_répertoire_. Strictly speaking, the _Mabinogi_ in the volume are only the

four tales given first in Mr. Alfred Nutt’s edition, which were entitled

the “Four Branches of the Mabinogi,” and which form a connected whole.

They are among the oldest relics of Welsh mythological saga.

*Pwyll, Head of Hades*

The first of them is the story of Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, and relates how

that prince got his title of _Pen Annwn_, or “Head of Hades”—Annwn being

the term under which we identify in Welsh literature the Celtic Land of

the Dead, or Fairyland. It is a story with a mythological basis, but

breathing the purest spirit of chivalric honour and nobility.

Pwyll, it is said, was hunting one day in the woods of Glyn Cuch when he

saw a pack of hounds, not his own, running down a stag. These hounds were

snow-white in colour, with red ears. If Pwyll had had any experience in

these matters he would have known at once what kind of hunt was up, for

these are the colours of Faëry—the red-haired man, the red-eared hound are

always associated with magic.(228) Pwyll, however, drove off the strange

hounds, and was setting his own on the quarry when a horseman of noble

appearance came up and reproached him for his discourtesy. Pwyll offered

to make amends, and the story now develops into the familiar theme of the

Rescue of Fairyland. The stranger’s name is Arawn, a king in Annwn. He is

being harried and dispossessed by a rival, Havgan, and he seeks the aid of

Pwyll, whom he begs to meet Havgan in single combat a year hence.

Meanwhile he will put his own shape on Pwyll, who is to rule in his

kingdom till the eventful day, while Arawn will go in Pwyll’s shape to

govern Dyfed. He instructs Pwyll how to deal with the foe. Havgan must be

laid low with a single stroke—if another is given to him he immediately

revives again as strong as ever.

Pwyll agreed to follow up the adventure, and accordingly went in Arawn’s

shape to the kingdom of Annwn. Here he was placed in an unforeseen

difficulty. The beautiful wife of Arawn greeted him as her husband. But

when the time came for them to retire to rest he set his face to the wall

and said no word to her, nor touched her at all until the morning broke.

Then they rose up, and Pwyll went to the hunt, and ruled his kingdom, and

did all things as if he were monarch of the land. And whatever affection

he showed to the queen in public during the day, he passed every night

even as this first.

At last the day of battle came, and, like the chieftains in Gaelic story,

Pwyll and Havgan met each other in the midst of a river-ford. They fought,

and at the first clash Havgan was hurled a spear’s length over the crupper

of his horse and fell mortally wounded.(229) “For the love of heaven,”

said he, “slay me and complete thy work.” “I may yet repent that,” said

Pwyll. “Slay thee who may, I will not.” Then Havgan knew that his end was

come, and bade his nobles bear him off; and Pwyll with all his army

overran the two kingdoms of Annwn, and made himself master of all the

land, and took homage from its princes and lords.

Then he rode off alone to keep his tryst in Glyn Cuch with Arawn as they

had appointed. Arawn thanked him for all he had done, and added: “When

thou comest thyself to thine own dominions thou wilt see what I have done

for thee.” They exchanged shapes once more, and each rode in his own

likeness to take possession of his own land.

At the court of Annwn the day was spent in joy and feasting, though none

but Arawn himself knew that anything unusual had taken place. When night

came Arawn kissed and caressed his wife as of old, and she pondered much

as to what might be the cause of his change towards her, and of his

previous change a year and a day before. And as she was thinking over

these things Arawn spoke to her twice or thrice, but got no answer. He

then asked her why she was silent. “I tell thee,” she said, “that for a

year I have not spoken so much in this place.” “Did not we speak

continually?” he said. “Nay,” said she, “but for a year back there has

been neither converse nor tenderness between us.” “Good heaven!” thought

Arawn, “a man as faithful and firm in his friendship as any have I found

for a friend.” Then he told his queen what had passed. “Thou hast indeed

laid hold of a faithful friend,” she said.

And Pwyll when he came back to his own land called his lords together and

asked them how they thought he had sped in his kingship during the past

year. “Lord,” said they, “thy wisdom was never so great, and thou wast

never so kind and free in bestowing thy gifts, and thy justice was never

more worthily seen than in this year.” Pwyll then told them the story of

his adventure. “Verily, lord,” said they, “render thanks unto heaven that

thou hast such a fellowship, and withhold not from us the rule which we

have enjoyed for this year past.” “I take heaven to witness that I will

not withhold it,” said Pwyll.

So the two kings made strong the friendship that was between them, and

sent each other rich gifts of horses and hounds and jewels; and in memory

of the adventure Pwyll bore thenceforward the title of “Lord of Annwn.”

*The Wedding of Pwyll and Rhiannon*

Near to the castle of Narberth, where Pwyll had his court, there was a

mound called the Mound of Arberth, of which it was believed that whoever

sat upon it would have a strange adventure: either he would receive blows

and wounds or he would see a wonder. One day when all his lords were

assembled at Narberth for a feast Pwyll declared that he would sit on the

mound and see what would befall.

He did so, and after a little while saw approaching him along the road

that led to the mound a lady clad in garments that shone like gold, and

sitting on a pure white horse. “Is there any among you,” said Pwyll to his

men, “who knows that lady?” “There is not,” said they. “Then go to meet

her and learn who she is.” But as they rode towards the lady she moved

away from them, and however fast they rode she still kept an even distance

between her and them, yet never seemed to exceed the quiet pace with which

she had first approached.

Several times did Pwyll seek to have the lady overtaken and questioned,

but all was in vain—none could draw near to her.

Next day Pwyll ascended the mound again, and once more the fair lady on

her white steed drew near. This time Pwyll himself pursued her, but she

flitted away before him as she had done before his servants, till at last

he cried : “O maiden, for the sake of him thou best lovest, stay for me.”

“I will stay gladly,” said she, “and it were better for thy horse had thou

asked it long since.”

Pwyll then questioned her as to the cause of her coming, and she said: “I

am Rhiannon, the daughter of Hevydd Hēn,(230) and they sought to give me

to a husband against my will. But no husband would I have, and that

because of my love for thee; neither will I yet have one if thou reject

me.” “By heaven!” said Pwyll, “if I might choose among all the ladies and

damsels of the world, thee would I choose.”

They then agree that in a twelvemonth from that day Pwyll is to come and

claim her at the palace of Hevydd Hēn.

Pwyll kept his tryst, with a following of a hundred knights, and found a

splendid feast prepared for him, and he sat by his lady, with her father

on the other side. As they feasted and talked there entered a tall,

auburn-haired youth of royal bearing, clad in satin, who saluted Pwyll and

his knights. Pwyll invited him to sit down. “Nay, I am a suitor to thee,”

said the youth; “to crave a boon am I come.” “Whatever thou wilt thou

shalt have,” said Pwyll unsuspiciously, “if it be in my power.” “Ah,”

cried Rhiannon, “wherefore didst thou give that answer?” “Hath he not

given it before all these nobles?” said the youth; “and now the boon I

crave is to have thy bride Rhiannon, and the feast and the banquet that

are in this place.” Pwyll was silent. “Be silent as long as thou wilt,”

said Rhiannon. “Never did man make worse use of his wits than thou hast

done.” She tells him that the auburn-haired young man is Gwawl, son of

Clud, and is the suitor to escape from whom she had fled to Pwyll.

Pwyll is bound in honour by his word, and Rhiannon explains that the

banquet cannot be given to Gwawl, for it is not in Pwyll’s power, but that

she herself will be his bride in a twelvemonth; Gwawl is to come and claim

her then, and a new bridal feast will be prepared for him. Meantime she

concerts a plan with Pwyll, and gives him a certain magical bag, which he

is to make use of when the time shall come.

A year passed away, Gwawl appeared according to the compact, and a great

feast was again set forth, in which he, and not Pwyll, had the place of

honour. As the company were making merry, however, a beggar clad in rags

and shod with clumsy old shoes came into the hall, carrying a bag, as

beggars are wont to do. He humbly craved a boon of Gwawl. It was merely

that the full of his bag of food might be given him from the banquet.

Gwawl cheerfully consented, and an attendant went to fill the bag. But

however much they put into it it never got fuller—by degrees all the good

things on the tables had gone in; and at last Gwawl cried: “My soul, will

thy bag never be full?” “It will not, I declare to heaven,” answered

Pwyll—for he, of course, was the disguised beggar man—“unless some man

wealthy in lands and treasure shall get into the bag and stamp it down

with his feet, and declare, ‘Enough has been put herein.’ ” Rhiannon urged

Gwawl to check the voracity of the bag. He put his two feet into it; Pwyll

immediately drew up the sides of the bag over Gwawl’s head and tied it up.

Then he blew his horn, and the knights he had with him, who were concealed

outside, rushed in, and captured and bound the followers of Gwawl. “What

is in the bag?” they cried, and others answered, “A badger,” and so they

played the game of “Badger in the Bag,” striking it and kicking it about

the hall.

At last a voice was heard from it. “Lord,” cried Gwawl, “if thou wouldst

but hear me, I merit not to be slain in a bag.” “He speaks truth,” said

Hevydd Hēn.

So an agreement was come to that Gwawl should provide means for Pwyll to

satisfy all the suitors and minstrels who should come to the wedding, and

abandon Rhiannon, and never seek to have revenge for what had been done to

him. This was confirmed by sureties, and Gwawl and his men were released

and went to their own territory. And Pwyll wedded Rhiannon, and dispensed

gifts royally to all and sundry; and at last the pair, when the feasting

was done, journeyed down to the palace of Narberth in Dyfed, where

Rhiannon gave rich gifts, a bracelet and a ring or a precious stone to all

the lords and ladies of her new country, and they ruled the land in peace

both that year and the next. But the reader will find that we have not yet

done with Gwawl.

*The Penance of Rhiannon*

Now Pwyll was still without an heir to the throne, and his nobles urged

him to take another wife. “Grant us a year longer,” said he, “and if there

be no heir after that it shall be as you wish.” Before the year’s end a

son was born to them in Narberth. But although six women sat up to watch

the mother and the infant, it happened towards the morning that they all

fell asleep, and Rhiannon also slept, and when the women awoke, behold,

the boy was gone! “We shall be burnt for this,” said the women, and in

their terror they concocted a horrible plot: they killed a cub of a

staghound that had just been littered, and laid the bones by Rhiannon, and

smeared her face and hands with blood as she slept, and when she woke and

asked for her child they said she had devoured it in the night, and had

overcome them with furious strength when they would have prevented her—and

for all she could say or do the six women persisted in this story.

When the story was told to Pwyll he would not put away Rhiannon, as his

nobles now again begged him to do, but a penance was imposed on

her—namely, that she was to sit every day by the horse-block at the gate

of the castle and tell the tale to every stranger who came, and offer to

carry them on her back into the castle. And this she did for part of a

year.

*The Finding of Pryderi*(231)

Now at this time there lived a man named Teirnyon of Gwent Is Coed, who

had the most beautiful mare in the world, but there was this misfortune

attending her, that although she foaled on the night of every first of

May, none ever knew what became of the colts. At last Teirnyon resolved to

get at the truth of the matter, and the next night on which the mare

should foal he armed himself and watched in the stable. So the mare

foaled, and the colt stood up, and Teirnyon was admiring its size and

beauty when a great noise was heard outside, and a long, clawed arm came

through the window of the stable and laid hold of the colt. Teirnyon

immediately smote at the arm with his sword, and severed it at the elbow,

so that it fell inside with the colt, and a great wailing and tumult was

heard outside. He rushed out, leaving the door open behind him, but could

see nothing because of the darkness of the night, and he followed the

noise a little way. Then he came back, and behold, at the door he found an

infant in swaddling-clothes and wrapped in a mantle of satin. He took up

the child and brought it to where his wife lay sleeping. She had no

children, and she loved the child when she saw it, and next day pretended

to her women that she had borne it as her own. And they called its name

Gwri of the Golden Hair, for its hair was yellow as gold; and it grew so

mightily that in two years it was as big and strong as a child of six; and

ere long the colt that had been foaled on the same night was broken in and

given him to ride.

While these things were going on Teirnyon heard the tale of Rhiannon and

her punishment. And as the lad grew up he scanned his face closely and saw

that he had the features of Pwyll Prince of Dyfed. This he told to his

wife, and they agreed that the child should be taken to Narberth, and

Rhiannon released from her penance.

As they drew near to the castle, Teirnyon and two knights and the child

riding on his colt, there was Rhiannon sitting by the horse-block.

“Chieftains,” said she, “go not further thus; I will bear every one of you

into the palace, and this is my penance for slaying my own son and

devouring him.” But they would not be carried, and went in. Pwyll rejoiced

to see Teirnyon, and made a feast for him. Afterwards Teirnyon declared to

Pwyll and Rhiannon the adventure of the man and the colt, and how they had

found the boy. “And behold, here is thy son, lady,” said Teirnyon, “and

whoever told that lie concerning thee has done wrong.” All who sat at

table recognised the lad at once as the child of Pwyll, and Rhiannon

cried: “I declare to heaven that if this be true there is an end to my

trouble.” And a chief named Pendaran said: “Well hast thou named thy son

Pryderi [trouble], and well becomes him the name of Pryderi son of Pwyll,

Lord of Annwn.” It was agreed that his name should be Pryderi, and so he

was called thenceforth.

Teirnyon rode home, overwhelmed with thanks and love and gladness; and

Pwyll offered him rich gifts of horses and jewels and dogs, but he would

take none of them. And Pryderi was trained up, as befitted a king’s son,

in all noble ways and accomplishments, and when his father Pwyll died he

reigned in his stead over the Seven Cantrevs of Dyfed. And he added to

them many other fair dominions, and at last he took to wife Kicva,

daughter of Gwynn Gohoyw, who came of the lineage of Prince Casnar of

Britain.

*The Tale of Bran and Branwen*

Bendigeid Vran, or “Bran the Blessed,” by which latter name we shall

designate him here, when he had been made King of the Isle of the Mighty

(Britain), was one time in his court at Harlech. And he had with him his

brother Manawyddan son of Llyr, and his sister Branwen, and the two sons,

Nissyen and Evnissyen, that Penardun his mother bore to Eurosswyd. Now

Nissyen was a youth of gentle nature, and would make peace among his

kindred and cause them to be friends when their wrath was at its highest;

but Evnissyen loved nothing so much as to turn peace into contention and

strife.

One afternoon, as Bran son of Llyr sat on the rock of Harlech looking out

to sea, he beheld thirteen ships coming rapidly from Ireland before a fair

wind. They were gaily furnished, bright flags flying from the masts, and

on the foremost ship, when they came near, a man could be seen holding up

a shield with the point upwards in sign of peace.(232)

When the strangers landed they saluted Bran and explained their business.

Matholwch,(233) King of Ireland, was with them; his were the ships, and he

had come to ask for the hand in marriage of Bran’s sister, Branwen, so

that Ireland and Britain might be leagued together and both become more

powerful. “Now Branwen was one of the three chief ladies of the island,

and she was the fairest damsel in the world.”

The Irish were hospitably entertained, and after taking counsel with his

lords Bran agreed to give his sister to Matholwch. The place of the

wedding was fixed at Aberffraw, and the company assembled for the feast in

tents because no house could hold the giant form of Bran. They caroused

and made merry in peace and amity, and Branwen became the bride or the

Irish king.

Next day Evnissyen came by chance to where the horses of Matholwch were

ranged, and he asked whose they were. “They are the horses of Matholwch,

who is married to thy sister.” “And is it thus,” said he, “they have done

with a maiden such as she, and, moreover, my sister, bestowing her without

my consent? They could offer me no greater insult.” Thereupon he rushed

among the horses and cut off their lips at the teeth, and their ears to

their heads, and their tails close to the body, and where he could seize

the eyelids he cut them off to the bone.

When Matholwch heard what had been done he was both angered and

bewildered, and bade his people put to sea. Bran sent messengers to learn

what had happened, and when he had been informed he sent Manawyddan and

two others to make atonement. Matholwch should have sound horses for every

one that was injured, and in addition a staff of silver as large and as

tall as himself, and a plate of gold the size of his face. “And let him

come and meet me,” he added, “and we will make peace in any way he may

desire.” But as for Evnissyen, he was the son of Bran’s mother, and

therefore Bran could not put him to death as he deserved.

*The Magic Cauldron*

Matholwch accepted these terms, but not very cheerfully, and Bran now

offered another treasure, namely, a magic cauldron which had the property

that if a slain man were cast into it he would come forth well and sound,

only he would not be able to speak. Matholwch and Bran then talked about

the cauldron, which originally, it seems, came from Ireland. There was a

lake in that country near to a mound (doubtless a fairy mound) which was

called the Lake of the Cauldron. Here Matholwch had once met a tall and

ill-looking fellow with a wife bigger than himself, and the cauldron

strapped on his back. They took service with Matholwch. At the end of a

period of six weeks the wife gave birth to a son, who was a warrior fully

armed. We are apparently to understand that this happened every six weeks,

for by the end of the year the strange pair, who seem to be a war-god and

goddess, had several children, whose continual bickering and the outrages

they committed throughout the land made them hated. At last, to get rid of

them, Matholwch had a house of iron made, and enticed them into it. He

then barred the door and heaped coals about the chamber, and blew them

into a white heat, hoping to roast the whole family to death. As soon,

however, as the iron walls had grown white-hot and soft the man and his

wife burst through them and got away, but the children remained behind and

were destroyed. Bran then took up the story. The man, who was called

Llassar Llaesgyvnewid, and his wife Kymideu Kymeinvoll, come across to

Britain, where Bran took them in, and in return for his kindness they gave

him the cauldron. And since then they had filled the land with their

descendants, who prospered everywhere and dwelt in strong fortified burgs

and had the best weapons that ever were seen.

So Matholwch received the cauldron along with his bride, and sailed back

to Ireland, where Branwen entertained the lords and ladies of the land,

and gave to each, as he or she took leave, “either a clasp or a ring or a

royal jewel to keep, such as it was honourable to be seen departing with.”

And when the year was out Branwen bore a son to Matholwch, whose name was

called Gwern.

*The Punishment of Branwen*

There occurs now an unintelligible place in the story. In the second year,

it appears, and not till then, the men of Ireland grew indignant over the

insult to their king committed by Evnissyen, and took revenge for it by

having Branwen degraded to the position of a cook, and they caused the

butcher every day to give her a blow on the ears. They also forbade all

ships and ferry-boats to cross to Cambria, and any who came thence into

Ireland were imprisoned so that news of Branwen’s ill-treatment might not

come to the ears of Bran. But Branwen reared up a young starling in a

corner of her kneading-trough, and one day she tied a letter under its

wing and taught it what to do. It flew away towards Britain, and finding

Bran at Caer Seiont in Arvon, it lit on his shoulder, ruffling its

feathers, and the letter was found and read. Bran immediately prepared a

great hosting for Ireland, and sailed thither with a fleet of ships,

leaving his land of Britain under his son Caradawc and six other chiefs.

*The Invasion of Bran*

Soon there came messengers to Matholwch telling him of a wondrous sight

they had seen; a wood was growing on the sea, and beside the wood a

mountain with a high ridge in the middle of it, and two lakes, one at each

side. And wood and mountain moved towards the shore of Ireland. Branwen is

called up to explain, if she could, what this meant. She tells them the

wood is the masts and yards of the fleet of Britain, and the mountain is

Bran, her brother, coming into shoal water, “for no ship can contain him”;

the ridge is his nose, the lakes his two eyes.(234)

The King of Ireland and his lords at once took counsel together how they

might meet this danger; and the plan they agreed upon was as follows: A

huge hall should be built, big enough to hold Bran—this, it was hoped,

would placate him—there should be a great feast made there for himself and

his men, and Matholwch should give over the kingdom of Ireland to him and

do homage. All this was done by Branwen’s advice. But the Irish added a

crafty device of their own. From two brackets on each of the hundred

pillars in the hall should be hung two leather bags, with an armed warrior

in each of them ready to fall upon the guests when the moment should

arrive.

*The Meal-bags*

Evnissyen, however, wandered into the hall before the rest of the host,

and scanning the arrangements “with fierce and savage looks,” he saw the

bags which hung from the pillars. “What is in this bag?” said he to one of

the Irish. “Meal, good soul,” said the Irishman. Evnissyen laid his hand

on the bag, and felt about with his fingers till he came to the head of

the man within it. Then “he squeezed the head till he felt his fingers

meet together in the brain through the bone.” He went to the next bag, and

asked the same question. “Meal,” said the Irish attendant, but Evnissyen

crushed this warrior’s head also, and thus he did with all the two hundred

bags, even in the case of one warrior whose head was covered with an iron

helm.

Then the feasting began, and peace and concord reigned, and Matholwch laid

down the sovranty of Ireland, which was conferred on the boy Gwern. And

they all fondled and caressed the fair child till he came to Evnissyen,

who suddenly seized him and flung him into the blazing fire on the hearth.

Branwen would have leaped after him, but Bran held her back. Then there

was arming apace, and tumult and shouting, and the Irish and British hosts

closed in battle and fought until the fall of night.

*Death of Evnissyen*

But at night the Irish heated the magic cauldron and threw into it the

bodies of their dead, who came out next day as good as ever, but dumb.

When Evnissyen saw this he was smitten with remorse for having brought the

men of Britain into such a strait: “Evil betide me if I find not a

deliverance therefrom.” So he hid himself among the Irish dead, and was

flung into the cauldron with the rest at the end of the second day, when

he stretched himself out so that he rent the cauldron into four pieces,

and his own heart burst with the effort, and he died.

*The Wonderful Head*

In the end, all the Irishmen were slain, and all but seven of the British

besides Bran, who was wounded in the foot with a poisoned arrow. Among the

seven were Pryderi and Manawyddan. Bran then commanded them to cut off his

head. “And take it with you,” he said, “to London, and there bury it in

the White Mount(235) looking towards France, and no foreigner shall invade

the land while it is there. On the way the Head will talk to you, and be

as pleasant company as ever in life. In Harlech ye will be feasting seven

years and the birds of Rhiannon will sing to you. And at Gwales in Penvro

ye will be feasting fourscore years, and the Head will talk to you and be

uncorrupted till ye open the door looking towards Cornwall. After that ye

may no longer tarry, but set forth to London and bury the Head.”

Then the seven cut off the head of Bran and went forth, and Branwen with

them, to do his bidding. But when Branwen came to land at Aber Alaw she

cried, “Woe is me that I was ever born; two islands have been destroyed

because of me.” And she uttered a loud groan, and her heart broke. They

made her a four-sided grave on the banks of the Alaw, and the place was

called _Ynys Branwen_ to this day.(236)

The seven found that in the absence of Bran, Caswallan son of Beli had

conquered Britain and slain the six captains of Caradawc. By magic art he

had thrown on Caradawc the Veil of Illusion, and Caradawc saw only the

sword which slew and slew, but not him who wielded it, and his heart broke

for grief at the sight.

They then went to Harlech and remained there seven years listening to the

singing of the birds of Rhiannon—“all the songs they had ever heard were

unpleasant compared thereto.” Then they went to Gwales in Penvro and found

a fair and spacious hall overlooking the ocean. When they entered it they

forgot all the sorrow of the past and all that had befallen them, and

remained there fourscore years in joy and mirth, the wondrous Head talking

to them as if it were alive. And bards call this “the Entertaining of the

Noble Head.” Three doors were in the hall, and one of them which looked to

Cornwall and to Aber Henvelyn was closed, but the other two were open. At

the end of the time, Heilyn son of Gwyn said, “Evil betide me if I do not

open the door to see if what was said is true.” And he opened it, and at

once remembrance and sorrow fell upon them, and they set forth at once for

London and buried the Head in the White Mount, where it remained until

Arthur dug it up, for he would not have the land defended but by the

strong arm. And this was “the Third Fatal Disclosure” in Britain.

So ends this wild tale, which is evidently full of mythological elements,

the key to which has long been lost. The touches of Northern ferocity

which occur in it have made some critics suspect the influence of Norse or

Icelandic literature in giving it its present form. The character of

Evnissyen would certainly lend countenance to this conjecture. The typical

mischief-maker of course occurs in purely Celtic sagas, but not commonly

in combination with the heroic strain shown in Evnissyen’s end, nor does

the Irish “poison-tongue” ascend to anything like the same height of

daimonic malignity.

*The Tale of Pryderi and Manawyddan*

After the events of the previous tales Pryderi and Manawyddan retired to

the dominions of the former, and Manawyddan took to wife Rhiannon, the

mother of his friend. There they lived happily and prosperously till one

day, while they were at the Gorsedd, or Mound, near Narberth, a peal of

thunder was heard and a thick mist fell so that nothing could be seen all

round. When the mist cleared away, behold, the land was bare before

them—neither houses nor people nor cattle nor crops were to be seen, but

all was desert and uninhabited. The palace of Narberth was still standing,

but it was empty and desolate—none remained except Pryderi and Manawyddan

and their wives, Kicva and Rhiannon.

Two years they lived on the provisions they had, and on the prey they

killed, and on wild honey; and then they began to be weary. “Let us go

into Lloegyr,”(237) then said Manawyddan, “and seek out some craft to

support ourselves.” So they went to Hereford and settled there, and

Manawyddan and Pryderi began to make saddles and housings, and Manawyddan

decorated them with blue enamel as he had learned from a great craftsman,

Llasar Llaesgywydd. After a time, however, the other saddlers of Hereford,

finding that no man would purchase any but the work of Manawyddan,

conspired to kill them. And Pryderi would have fought with them, but

Manawyddan held it better to withdraw elsewhere, and so they did.

They settled then in another city, where they made shields such as never

were seen, and here, too, in the end, the rival craftsmen drove them out.

And this happened also in another town where they made shoes; and at last

they resolved to go back to Dyfed. Then they gathered their dogs about

them and lived by hunting as before.

One day they started a wild white boar, and chased him in vain until he

led them up to a vast and lofty castle, all newly built in a place where

they had never seen a building before. The boar ran into the castle, the

dogs followed him, and Pryderi, against the counsel of Manawyddan, who

knew there was magic afoot, went in to seek for the dogs.

He found in the centre of the court a marble fountain beside which stood a

golden bowl on a marble slab, and being struck by the rich workmanship of

the bowl, he laid hold of it to examine it, when he could neither withdraw

his hand nor utter a single sound, but he remained there, transfixed and

dumb, beside the fountain.

Manawyddan went back to Narberth and told the story to Rhiannon. “An evil

companion hast thou been,” said she, “and a good companion hast thou

lost.”

Next day she went herself to explore the castle. She found Pryderi still

clinging to the bowl and unable to speak. She also, then, laid hold of the

bowl, when the same fate befell her, and immediately afterwards came a

peal of thunder, and a heavy mist fell, and when it cleared off the castle

had vanished with all that it contained, including the two spell-bound

wanderers.

Manawyddan then went back to Narberth, where only Kicva, Pryderi’s wife,

now remained. And when she saw none but herself and Manawyddan in the

place, “she sorrowed so that she cared not whether she lived or died.”

When Manawyddan saw this he said to her, “Thou art in the wrong if through

fear of me thou grievest thus. I declare to thee were I in the dawn of

youth I would keep my faith unto Pryderi, and unto thee also will I keep

it.” “Heaven reward thee,” she said, “and that is what I deemed of thee.”

And thereupon she took courage and was glad.

Kicva and Manawyddan then again tried to support themselves by shoemaking

in Lloegyr, but the same hostility drove them back to Dyfed. This time,

however, Manawyddan took back with him a load of wheat, and he sowed it,

and he prepared three crofts for a wheat crop. Thus the time passed till

the fields were ripe. And he looked at one of the crofts and said, “I will

reap this to-morrow.” But on the morrow when he went out in the grey dawn

he found nothing there but bare straw—every ear had been cut off from the

stalk and carried away.

Next day it was the same with the second croft. But on the following night

he armed himself and sat up to watch the third croft to see who was

plundering him. At midnight, as he watched, he heard a loud noise, and

behold, a mighty host of mice came pouring into the croft, and they

climbed up each on a stalk and nibbled off the ears and made away with

them. He chased them in anger, but they fled far faster than he could run,

all save one which was slower in its movements, and this he barely managed

to overtake, and he bound it into his glove and took it home to Narberth,

and told Kicva what had happened. “To-morrow,” he said, “I will hang the

robber I have caught,” but Kicva thought it beneath his dignity to take

vengeance on a mouse.

Next day he went up to the Mound of Narberth and set up two forks for a

gallows on the highest part of the hill. As he was doing this a poor

scholar came towards him, and he was the first person Manawyddan had seen

in Dyfed, except his own companions, since the enchantment began.

The scholar asked him what he was about and begged him to let go the

mouse—“Ill doth it become a man of thy rank to touch such a reptile as

this.” “I will not let it go, by Heaven,” said Manawyddan, and by that he

abode, although the scholar offered him a pound of money to let it go

free. “I care not,” said the scholar, “except that I would not see a man

of rank touching such a reptile,” and with that he went his way.

As Manawyddan was placing the cross-beam on the two forks of his gallows,

a priest came towards him riding on a horse with trappings, and the same

conversation ensued. The priest offered three pounds for the mouse’s life,

but Manawyddan refused to take any price for it. “Willingly, lord, do thy

good pleasure,” said the priest, and he, too, went his way.

Then Manawyddan put a noose about the mouse’s neck and was about to draw

it up when he saw coming towards him a bishop with a great retinue of

sumpter-horses and attendants. And he stayed his work and asked the

bishop’s blessing. “Heaven’s blessing be unto thee,” said the bishop;

“what work art thou upon?” “Hanging a thief,” replied Manawyddan. The

bishop offered seven pounds “rather than see a man of thy rank destroying

so vile a reptile.” Manawyddan refused. Four-and-twenty pounds was then

offered, and then as much again, then all the bishop’s horses and

baggage—all in vain. “Since for this thou wilt not,” said the bishop, “do

it at whatever price thou wilt.” “I will do so,” said Manawyddan; “I will

that Rhiannon and Pryderi be free.” “That thou shalt have,” said the

(pretended) bishop. Then Manawyddan demands that the enchantment and

illusion be taken off for ever from the seven Cantrevs of Dyfed, and

finally insists that the bishop shall tell him who the mouse is and why

the enchantment was laid on the country. “I am Llwyd son of Kilcoed,”

replies the enchanter, “and the mouse is my wife; but that she is pregnant

thou hadst never overtaken her.” He goes on with an explanation which

takes us back to the first _Mabinogi_ of the Wedding of Rhiannon. The

charm was cast on the land to avenge the ill that was done Llwyd’s friend,

Gwawl son of Clud, with whom Pryderi’s father and his knights had played

“Badger in the Bag” at the court of Hevydd Hēn. The mice were the lords

and ladies of Llwyd’s court.

The enchanter is then made to promise that no further vengeance shall be

taken on Pryderi, Rhiannon, or Manawyddan, and the two spell-bound

captives having been restored, the mouse is released. “Then Llwyd struck

her with a magic wand, and she was changed into a young woman, the fairest

ever seen.” And on looking round Manawyddan saw all the land tilled and

peopled as in its best state, and full of herds and dwellings. “What

bondage,” he asks, “has there been upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?” “Pryderi

has had the knockers of the gate of my palace about his neck, and Rhiannon

has had the collars of the asses after they have been carrying hay about

her neck.” And such had been their bondage.

*The Tale of Māth Son of Māthonwy*

The previous tale was one of magic and illusion in which the mythological

element is but faint. In that which we have now to consider we are,

however, in a distinctly mythological region. The central motive of the

tale shows us the Powers of Light contending with those of the Under-world

for the prized possessions of the latter, in this case a herd of magic

swine. We are introduced in the beginning of the story to the deity, Māth,

of whom the bard tells us that he was unable to exist unless his feet lay

in the lap of a maiden, except when the land was disturbed by war.(238)

Māth is represented as lord of Gwynedd, while Pryderi rules over the

one-and-twenty cantrevs of the south. With Māth were his nephews Gwydion

and Gilvaethwy sons of Dōn, who went the circuit of the land in his stead,

while Māth lay with his feet in the lap of the fairest maiden of the land

and time, Goewin daughter of Pebin of Dōl Pebin in Arvon.

*Gwydion and the Swine of Pryderi*

Gilvaethwy fell sick of love for Goewin, and confided the secret to his

brother Gwydion, who undertook to help him to his desire. So he went to

Māth one day, and asked his leave to go to Pryderi and beg from him the

gift, for Māth, of a herd of swine which had been bestowed on him by Arawn

King of Annwn. “They are beasts,” he said, “such as never were known in

this island before ... their flesh is better than the flesh of oxen.” Māth

bade him go, and he and Gilvaethwy started with ten companions for Dyfed.

They came to Pryderi’s palace in the guise of bards, and Gwydion, after

being entertained at a feast, was asked to tell a tale to the court. After

delighting every one with his discourse he begged for a gift of the swine.

But Pryderi was under a compact with his people neither to sell nor give

them until they had produced double their number in the land. “Thou mayest

exchange them, though,” said Gwydion, and thereupon he made by magic arts

an illusion of twelve horses magnificently caparisoned, and twelve hounds,

and gave them to Pryderi and made off with the swine as fast as possible,

“for,” said he to his companions, “the illusion will not last but from one

hour to the same to-morrow.”

The intended result came to pass—Pryderi invaded the land to recover his

swine, Māth went to meet him in arms, and Gilvaethwy seized his

opportunity and made Goewin his wife, although she was unwilling.

*Death of Pryderi*

The war was decided by a single combat between Gwydion and Pryderi. “And

by force of strength and fierceness, and by the magic and charms of

Gwydion, Pryderi was slain. And at Maen Tyriawc, above Melenryd, was he

buried, and there is his grave.”

*The Penance of Gwydion and Gilvaethwy*

When Māth came back he found what Gilvaethwy had done, and he took Goewin

to be his queen, but Gwydion and Gilvaethwy went into outlawry, and dwelt

on the borders of the land. At last they came and submitted themselves for

punishment to Māth. “Ye cannot compensate me my shame, setting aside the

death of Pryderi,” he said, “but since ye come hither to be at my will, I

shall begin your punishment forthwith.” So he turned them both into deer,

and bade them come hither again in a twelvemonth.

They came at the appointed time, bringing with them a young fawn. And the

fawn was brought into human shape and baptized, and Gwydion and Gilvaethwy

were changed into two wild swine. At the next year’s end they came back

with a young one who was treated as the fawn before him, and the brothers

were made into wolves. Another year passed; they came back again with a

young wolf as before, and this time their penance was deemed complete, and

their human nature was restored to them, and Māth gave orders to have them

washed and anointed, and nobly clad as was befitting.

*The Children of Arianrod: Dylan*

The question then arose of appointing another virgin foot-holder, and

Gwydion suggests his sister, Arianrod. She attends for the purpose, and

Māth asks her if she is a virgin. “I know not, lord, other than that I

am,” she says. But she failed in a magical test imposed by Māth, and gave

birth to two sons. One of these was named Dylan, “Son of the Wave,”

evidently a Cymric sea-deity. So soon as he was baptized “he plunged into

the sea and swam as well as the best fish that was therein.... Beneath him

no wave ever broke.” A wild sea-poetry hangs about his name in Welsh

legend. On his death, which took place, it is said, at the hand of his

uncle Govannon, all the waves of Britain and Ireland wept for him. The

roar of the incoming tide at the mouth of the river Conway is still called

the “death-groan of Dylan.”

*Llew Llaw Gyffes*

The other infant was seized by Gwydion and brought up under his

protection. Like other solar heroes, he grew very rapidly; when he was

four he was as big as if he were eight, and the comeliest youth that ever

was seen. One day Gwydion took him to visit his mother Arianrod. She hated

the children who had exposed her false pretensions, and upbraided Gwydion

for bringing the boy into her sight. “What is his name?” she asked.

“Verily,” said Gwydion, “he has not yet a name.” “Then I lay this destiny

upon him,” said Arianrod, “that he shall never have a name till one is

given him by me.” On this Gwydion went forth in wrath, and remained in his

castle of Caer Dathyl that night.

Though the fact does not appear in this tale, it must be remembered that

Gwydion is, in the older mythology, the father of Arianrod’s children.

*How Llew Got his Name*

He was resolved to have a name for his son. Next day he went to the strand

below Caer Arianrod, bringing the boy with him. Here he sat down by the

beach, and in his character of a master of magic he made himself look like

a shoemaker, and the boy like an apprentice, and he began to make shoes

out of sedges and seaweed, to which he gave the semblance of Cordovan

leather. Word was brought to Arianrod of the wonderful shoes that were

being made by a strange cobbler, and she sent her measure for a pair.

Gwydion made them too large. She sent it again, and he made them too

small. Then she came herself to be fitted. While this was going on, a wren

came and lit on the boat’s mast, and the boy, taking up a bow, shot an

arrow that transfixed the leg between the sinew and the bone. Arianrod

admired the brilliant shot. “Verily,” she said, “with a steady hand (_llaw

gyffes_) did the lion (_llew_) hit it.” “No thanks to thee,” cried

Gwydion, “now he has got a name. Llew Llaw Gyffes shall he be called

henceforward.”

We have seen that the name really means the same thing as the Gaelic Lugh

Lamfada, Lugh (Light) of the Long Arm; so that we have here an instance of

a legend growing up round a misunderstood name inherited from a

half-forgotten mythology.

*How Llew Took Arms*

The shoes went back immediately to sedges and seaweed again, and Arianrod,

angry at being tricked, laid a new curse on the boy. “He shall never bear

arms till I invest him with them.” But Gwydion, going to Caer Arianrod

with the boy in the semblance of two bards, makes by magic art the

illusion of a foray of armed men round the castle. Arianrod gives them

weapons to help in the defence, and thus again finds herself tricked by

the superior craft of Gwydion.

*The Flower-Wife of Llew*

Next she said, “He shall never have a wife of the race that now inhabits

this earth.” This raised a difficulty beyond the powers of even Gwydion,

and he went to Māth, the supreme master of magic. “Well,” said Māth, “we

will seek, I and thou, to form a wife for him out of flowers.” “So they

took the blossoms of the oak, and the blossoms of the broom, and the

blossoms of the meadow-sweet, and produced from them a maiden, the fairest

and most graceful that man ever saw. And they baptized her, and gave her

the name of Blodeuwedd, or Flower-face.” They wedded her to Llew, and gave

them the cantrev of Dinodig to reign over, and there Llew and his bride

dwelt for a season, happy, and beloved by all.

*Betrayal of Llew*

But Blodeuwedd was not worthy of her beautiful name and origin. One day

when Llew was away on a visit with Māth, a lord named Gronw Pebyr came

a-hunting by the palace of Llew, and Blodeuwedd loved him from the moment

she looked upon him. That night they slept together, and the next, and the

next, and then they planned how to be rid of Llew for ever. But Llew, like

the Gothic solar hero Siegfried, is invulnerable except under special

circumstances, and Blodeuwedd has to learn from him how he may be slain.

This she does under pretence of care for his welfare. The problem is a

hard one. Llew can only be killed by a spear which has been a year in

making, and has only been worked on during the Sacrifice of the Host on

Sundays. Furthermore, he cannot be slain within a house or without, on

horseback or on foot. The only way, in fact, is that he should stand with

one foot on a dead buck and the other in a cauldron, which is to be used

for a bath and thatched with a roof—if he is wounded while in this

position with a spear made as directed the wound may be fatal, not

otherwise. After a year, during which Gronw wrought at the spear,

Blodeuwedd begged Llew to show her more fully what she must guard against,

and he took up the required position to please her. Gronw, lurking in a

wood hard by, hurled the deadly spear, and the head, which was poisoned,

sank into Llew’s body, but the shaft broke off. Then Llew changed into an

eagle, and with a loud scream he soared up into the air and was no more

seen, and Gronw took his castle and lands and added them to his own.

These tidings at last reached Gwydion and Māth, and Gwydion set out to

find Llew. He came to the house of a vassal of his, from whom he learned

that a sow that he had disappeared every day and could not be traced, but

it came home duly each night. Gwydion followed the sow, and it went far

away to the brook since called Nant y Llew, where it stopped under a tree

and began feeding. Gwydion looked to see what it ate, and found that it

fed on putrid flesh that dropped from an eagle sitting aloft on the tree,

and it seemed to him that the eagle was Llew. Gwydion sang to it, and

brought it gradually down the tree till it came to his knee, when he

struck it with his magic wand and restored it to the shape of Llew, but

worn to skin and bone—“no one ever saw a more piteous sight.”

*The Healing of Llew*

When Llew was healed, he and Gwydion took vengeance on their foes.

Blodeuwedd was changed into an owl and bidden to shun the light of day,

and Gronw was slain by a cast of the spear of Llew that passed through a

slab of stone to reach him, and the slab with the hole through it made by

the spear of Llew remains by the bank of the river Cynvael in Ardudwy to

this day. And Llew took possession, for the second time, of his lands, and

ruled them prosperously all his days.

The four preceding tales are called the Four Branches of the Mabinogi, and

of the collection called the “Mabinogion” they form the most ancient and

important part.

*The Dream of Maxen Wledig*

Following the order of the tales in the “Mabinogion,” as presented in Mr.

Nutt’s edition, we come next to one which is a pure work of invention,

with no mythical or legendary element at all. It recounts how Maxen

Wledig, Emperor of Rome, had a vivid dream, in which he was led into a

strange country, where he saw a king in an ivory chair carving chessmen

with a steel file from a rod of gold. By him, on a golden throne, was the

fairest of maidens he had ever beheld. Waking, he found himself in love

with the dream-maiden, and sent messengers far and wide to discover, if

they could, the country and people that had appeared to him. They were

found in Britain. Thither went Maxen, and wooed and wedded the maiden. In

his absence a usurper laid hold of his empire in Rome, but with the aid of

his British friends he reconquered his dominions, and many of them settled

there with him, while others went home to Britain. The latter took with

them foreign wives, but, it is said, cut out their tongues, lest they

should corrupt the speech of the Britons. Thus early and thus powerful was

the devotion to their tongue of the Cymry, of whom the mythical bard

Taliesin prophesied:

“Their God they will praise,

Their speech they will keep,

Their land they will lose,

Except wild Walia.”

*The Story of Lludd and Llevelys*

This tale is associated with the former one in the section entitled

Romantic British History. It tells how Lludd son of Beli, and his brother

Llevelys, ruled respectively over Britain and France, and how Lludd sought

his brother’s aid to stay the three plagues that were harassing the land.

These three plagues were, first, the presence of a demoniac race called

the Coranians; secondly, a fearful scream that was heard in every home in

Britain on every May-eve, and scared the people out of their senses;

thirdly, the unaccountable disappearance of all provisions in the king’s

court every night, so that nothing that was not consumed by the household

could be found the next morning. Lludd and Llevelys talked over these

matters through a brazen tube, for the Coranians could hear everything

that was said if once the winds got hold of it—a property also attributed

to Māth, son of Māthonwy. Llevelys destroyed the Coranians by giving to

Lludd a quantity of poisonous insects which were to be bruised up and

scattered over the people at an assembly. These insects would slay the

Coranians, but the people of Britain would be immune to them. The scream

Llevelys explained as proceeding from two dragons, which fought each other

once a year. They were to be slain by being intoxicated with mead, which

was to be placed in a pit dug in the very centre of Britain, which was

found on measurement to be at Oxford. The provisions, said Llevelys, were

taken away by a giant wizard, for whom Lludd watched as directed, and

overcame him in combat, and made him his faithful vassal thenceforward.

Thus Lludd and Llevelys freed the island from its three plagues.

*Tales of Arthur*

We next come to five Arthurian tales, one of which, the tale of Kilhwch

and Olwen, is the only native Arthurian legend which has come down to us

in Welsh literature. The rest, as we have seen, are more or less

reflections from the Arthurian literature as developed by foreign hands on

the Continent.

*Kilhwch and Olwen*

Kilhwch was son to Kilydd and his wife Goleuddydd, and is said to have

been cousin to Arthur. His mother having died, Kilydd took another wife,

and she, jealous of her stepson, laid on him a quest which promised to be

long and dangerous. “I declare,” she said, “that it is thy destiny”—the

Gael would have said _geis_—“not to be suited with a wife till thou obtain

Olwen daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr.”(239) And Kilhwch reddened at the

name, and “love of the maiden diffused itself through all his frame.” By

his father’s advice he set out to Arthur’s Court to learn how and where he

might find and woo her.

A brilliant passage then describes the youth in the flower of his beauty,

on a noble steed caparisoned with gold, and accompanied by two brindled

white-breasted greyhounds with collars of rubies, setting forth on his

journey to King Arthur. “And the blade of grass bent not beneath him, so

light was his courser’s tread.”

*Kilhwch at Arthur’s Court*

After some difficulties with the Porter and with Arthur’s seneschal, Kai,

who did not wish to admit the lad while the company were sitting at meat,

Kilhwch was brought into the presence of the King, and declared his name

and his desire. “I seek this boon,” he said, “from thee and likewise at

the hands of thy warriors,” and he then enumerates an immense list full of

mythological personages and details—Bedwyr, Gwyn ap Nudd, Kai,

Manawyddan,(240) Geraint, and many others, including “Morvran son of

Tegid, whom no one struck at in the battle of Camlan by reason of his

ugliness; all thought he was a devil,” and “Sandde Bryd Angel, whom no one

touched with a spear in the battle of Camlan because of his beauty; all

thought he was a ministering angel.” The list extends to many scores of

names and includes many women, as, for instance, “Creiddylad the daughter

of Lludd of the Silver Hand—she was the most splendid maiden in the three

Islands of the Mighty, and for her Gwythyr the son of Greidawl and Gwyn

the son of Nudd fight every first of May till doom,” and the two Iseults

and Arthur’s Queen, Gwenhwyvar. “All these did Kilydd’s son Kilhwch adjure

to obtain his boon.”

Arthur, however, had never heard of Olwen nor of her kindred. He promised

to seek for her, but at the end of a year no tidings of her could be

found, and Kilhwch declared that he would depart and leave Arthur shamed.

Kai and Bedwyr, with the guide Kynddelig, are at last bidden to go forth

on the quest.

*Servitors of Arthur*

These personages are very different from those who are called by the same

names in Malory or Tennyson. Kai, it is said, could go nine days under

water. He could render himself at will as tall as a forest tree. So hot

was his physical constitution that nothing he bore in his hand could get

wetted in the heaviest rain. “Very subtle was Kai.” As for Bedwyr—the

later Sir Bedivere—we are told that none equalled him in swiftness, and

that, though one-armed, he was a match for any three warriors on the field

of battle; his lance made a wound equal to those of nine. Besides these

three there went also on the quest Gwrhyr, who knew all tongues, and

Gwalchmai son of Arthur’s sister Gwyar, and Menw, who could make the party

invisible by magic spells.

*Custennin*

The party journeyed till at last they came to a great castle before which

was a flock of sheep kept by a shepherd who had by him a mastiff big as a

horse. The breath of this shepherd, we are told, could burn up a tree. “He

let no occasion pass without doing some hurt or harm.” However, he

received the party well, told them that he was Custennin, brother of

Yspaddaden whose castle stood before them, and brought them home to his

wife. The wife turned out to be a sister of Kilhwch’s mother Goleuddydd,

and she was rejoiced at seeing her nephew, but sorrowful at the thought

that he had come in search of Olwen, “for none ever returned from that

quest alive.” Custennin and his family, it appears, have suffered much at

the hands of Yspaddaden—all their sons but one being slain, because

Yspaddaden envied his brother his share of their patrimony. So they

associated themselves with the heroes in their quest.

*Olwen of the White Track*

Next day Olwen came down to the herdsman’s house as usual, for she was

wont to wash her hair there every Saturday, and each time she did so she

left all her rings in the vessel and never sent for them again. She is

described in one of those pictorial passages in which the Celtic passion

for beauty has found such exquisite utterance.

“The maiden was clothed in a robe of flame-coloured silk, and about her

neck was a collar of ruddy gold on which were precious emeralds and

rubies. More yellow was her head than the flower of the broom, and her

skin was whiter than the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands and

her fingers than the blossoms of the wood-anemone amidst the spray of the

meadow fountain. The eye of the trained hawk, the glance of the

three-mewed falcon, was not brighter than hers. Her bosom was more snowy

than the breast of the white swan, her cheek was redder than the reddest

roses. Whoso beheld her was filled with her love. Four white trefoils

sprang up wherever she trod. And therefore was she called Olwen.”(241)

Kilhwch and she conversed together and loved each other, and she bade him

go and ask her of her father and deny him nothing that he might demand.

She had pledged her faith not to wed without his will, for his life would

only last till the time of her espousals.

*Yspaddaden*

Next day the party went to the castle and saw Yspaddaden. He put them off

with various excuses, and as they left flung after them a poisoned dart.

Bedwyr caught it and flung it back, wounding him in the knee, and

Yspaddaden cursed him in language of extraordinary vigour; the words seem

to crackle and spit like flame. Thrice over this happened, and at last

Yspaddaden declared what must be done to win Olwen.

*The Tasks of Kilhwch*

A long series of tasks follows. A vast hill is to be ploughed, sown, and

reaped in one day; only Amathaon son of Dōn can do it, and he will not.

Govannon, the smith, is to rid the ploughshare at each headland, and he

will not do it. The two dun oxen of Gwlwlyd are to draw the plough, and he

will not lend them. Honey nine times sweeter than that of the bee must be

got to make bragget for the wedding feast. A magic cauldron, a magic

basket out of which comes any meat that a man desires, a magic horn, the

sword of Gwrnach the Giant—all these must be won; and many other secret

and difficult things, some forty in all, before Kilhwch can call Olwen his

own. The most difficult quest is that of obtaining the comb and scissors

that are between the two ears of Twrch Trwyth, a king transformed into a

monstrous boar. To hunt the boar a number of other quests must be

accomplished—the whelp of Greid son of Eri is to be won, and a certain

leash to hold him, and a certain collar for the leash, and a chain for the

collar, and Mabon son of Modron for the huntsman and the horse of Gweddw

to carry Mabon, and Gwyn son of Nudd to help, “whom God placed over the

brood of devils in Annwn ... he will never be spared them,” and so forth

to an extent which makes the famous _eric_ of the sons of Turenn seem

trifling by comparison. “Difficulties shalt thou meet with, and nights

without sleep, in seeking this [bride price], and if thou obtain it not,

neither shalt thou have my daughter.” Kilhwch has one answer for every

demand: “It will be easy for me to accomplish this, although thou mayest

think that it will not be easy. And I shall gain thy daughter and thou

shalt lose thy life.”

So they depart on their way to fulfil the tasks, and on their way home

they fall in with Gwrnach the Giant, whose sword Kai, pretending to be a

sword-polisher, obtains by a stratagem. On reaching Arthur’s Court again,

and telling the King what they have to do, he promises his aid. First of

the marvels they accomplished was the discovery and liberation of Mabon

son of Modron, “who was taken from his mother when three nights old, and

it is not known where he is now, nor whether he is living or dead.” Gwrhyr

inquires of him from the Ousel of Cilgwri, who is so old that a smith’s

anvil on which he was wont to peck has been worn to the size of a nut, yet

he has never heard of Mabon. But he takes them to a beast older still, the

Stag of Redynvre, and so on to the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd, and the Eagle of

Gwern Abwy, and the Salmon of Llyn Llyw, the oldest of living things, and

at last they find Mabon imprisoned in the stone dungeon of Gloucester, and

with Arthur’s help they release him, and so the second task is fulfilled.

In one way or another, by stratagem, or valour, or magic art, every

achievement is accomplished, including the last and most perilous one,

that of obtaining “the blood of the black witch Orddu, daughter of the

white witch Orwen, of Penn Nart Govid on the confines of Hell.” The combat

here is very like that of Finn in the cave of Keshcorran, but Arthur at

last cleaves the hag in twain, and Kaw of North Britain takes her blood.

So then they set forth for the castle of Yspaddaden again, and he

acknowledges defeat. Goreu son of Custennin cuts off his head, and that

night Olwen became the happy bride of Kilhwch, and the hosts of Arthur

dispersed, every man to his own land.

*The Dream of Rhonabwy*

Rhonabwy was a man-at-arms under Madawc son of Maredudd, whose brother

Iorwerth rose in rebellion against him; and Rhonabwy went with the troops

of Madawc to put him down. Going with a few companions into a mean hut to

rest for the night, he lies down to sleep on a yellow calf-skin by the

fire, while his friends lie on filthy couches of straw and twigs. On the

calf-skin he has a wonderful dream. He sees before him the court and camp

of Arthur—here the _quasi_-historical king, neither the legendary deity of

the former tale nor the Arthur of the French chivalrous romances—as he

moves towards Mount Badon for his great battle with the heathen. A

character named Iddawc is his guide to the King, who smiles at Rhonabwy

and his friends, and asks: “Where, Iddawc, didst thou find these little

men?” “I found them, lord, up yonder on the road.” “It pitieth me,” said

Arthur, “that men of such stature as these should have the island in their

keeping, after the men that guarded it of yore.” Rhonabwy has his

attention directed to a stone in the King’s ring. “It is one of the

properties of that stone to enable thee to remember that which thou seest

here to-night, and hadst thou not seen the stone, thou wouldst never have

been able to remember aught thereof.”

The different heroes and companions that compose Arthur’s army are

minutely described, with all the brilliant colour and delicate detail so

beloved by the Celtic fabulist. The chief incident narrated is a game of

chess that takes place between Arthur and the knight Owain son of Urien.

While the game goes on, first the knights of Arthur harry and disturb the

Ravens of Owain, but Arthur, when Owain complains, only says: “Play thy

game.” Afterwards the Ravens have the better of it, and it is Owain’s turn

to bid Arthur attend to his game. Then Arthur took the golden chessmen and

crushed them to dust in his hand, and besought Owain to quiet his Ravens,

which was done, and peace reigned again. Rhonabwy, it is said, slept three

days and nights on the calf-skin before awaking from his wondrous dream.

An epilogue declares that no bard is expected to know this tale by heart

and without a book, “because of the various colours that were upon the

horses, and the many wondrous colours of the arms and of the panoply, and

of the precious scarfs, and of the virtue-bearing stones.” The “Dream of

Rhonabwy” is rather a gorgeous vision of the past than a story in the

ordinary sense of the word.

*The Lady of the Fountain*

We have here a Welsh reproduction of the _Conte_ entitled “Le Chevalier au

lion” of Chrestien de Troyes. The principal personage in the tale is Owain

son of Urien, who appears in a character as foreign to the spirit of

Celtic legend as it was familiar on the Continent, that of knight-errant.

*The Adventure of Kymon*

We are told in the introduction that Kymon, a knight of Arthur’s Court,

had a strange and unfortunate adventure. Riding forth in search of some

deed of chivalry to do, he came to a splendid castle, where he was

hospitably received by four-and-twenty damsels, of whom “the least lovely

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.” With them was a noble lord, who, after Kymon had eaten, asked of

his business. Kymon explained that he was seeking for his match in combat.

The lord of the castle smiled, and bade him proceed as follows: He should

take the road up the valley and through a forest till he came to a glade

with a mound in the midst of it. On the mound he would see a black man of

huge stature with one foot and one eye, bearing a mighty iron club. He was

wood-ward of that forest, and would have thousands of wild animals, stags,

serpents, and what not, feeding around him. He would show Kymon what he

was in quest of.

Kymon followed the instructions, and the black man directed him to where

he should find a fountain under a great tree; by the side of it would be a

silver bowl on a slab of marble. Kymon was to take the bowl and throw a

bowlful of water on the slab, when a terrific storm of hail and thunder

would follow—then there would break forth an enchanting music of singing

birds—then would appear a knight in black armour riding on a coal-black

horse, with a black pennon upon his lance. “And if thou dost not find

trouble in that adventure, thou needst not seek it during the rest of thy

life.”

*The Character of Welsh Romance*

Here let us pause for a moment to point out how clearly we are in the

region of mediæval romance, and how far from that of Celtic mythology.

Perhaps the Celtic “Land of Youth” may have remotely suggested those

regions of beauty and mystery into which the Arthurian knight rides in

quest of adventure. But the scenery, the motives, the incidents, are

altogether different. And how beautiful they are—how steeped in the magic

light of romance! The colours live and glow, the forest murmurs in our

ears, the breath of that springtime of our modern world is about us, as we

follow the lonely rider down the grassy track into an unknown world of

peril and delight. While in some respects the Continental tales are

greater than the Welsh, more thoughtful, more profound, they do not

approach them in the exquisite artistry with which the exterior aspect of

things is rendered, the atmosphere of enchantment maintained, and the

reader led, with ever-quickening interest, from point to point in the

development of the tale. Nor are these Welsh tales a whit behind in the

noble and chivalrous spirit which breathes through them. A finer school of

character and of manners could hardly be found in literature. How strange

that for many centuries this treasure beyond all price should have lain

unnoticed in our midst! And how deep must be our gratitude to the nameless

bards whose thought created it, and to the nobly inspired hand which first

made it a possession for all the English-speaking world!

*Defeat of Kymon*

But to resume our story. Kymon did as he was bidden, the Black Knight

appeared, silently they set lance in rest and charged. Kymon was flung to

earth, while his enemy, not bestowing one glance upon him, passed the

shaft of his lance through the rein of Kymon’s horse and rode off with it

in the direction whence he had come. Kymon went back afoot to the castle,

where none asked him how he had sped, but they gave him a new horse, “a

dark bay palfrey with nostrils as red as scarlet,” on which he rode home

to Caerleon.

*Owain and the Black Knight*

Owain was, of course, fired by the tale of Kymon, and next morning at the

dawn of day he rode forth to seek for the same adventure. All passed as it

had done in Kymon’s case, but Owain wounded the Black Knight so sorely

that he turned his horse and fled, Owain pursuing him hotly. They came to

a “vast and resplendent castle.” Across the drawbridge they rode, the

outer portcullis of which fell as the Black Knight passed it. But so close

at his heels was Owain that the portcullis fell behind him, cutting his

horse in two behind the saddle, and he himself remained imprisoned between

the outer gate of the drawbridge and the inner. While he was in this

predicament a maiden came to him and gave him a ring. When he wore it with

the stone reversed and clenched in his hand he would become invisible, and

when the servants of the lord of the castle came for him he was to elude

them and follow her.

This she did knowing apparently who he was, “for as a friend thou art the

most sincere, and as a lover the most devoted.”

Owain did as he was bidden, and the maiden concealed him. In that night a

great lamentation was heard in the castle—its lord had died of the wound

which Owain had given him. Soon afterwards Owain got sight of the mistress

of the castle, and love of her took entire possession of him. Luned, the

maiden who had rescued him, wooed her for him, and he became her husband,

and lord of the Castle of the Fountain and all the dominions of the Black

Knight. And he then defended the fountain with lance and sword as his

forerunner had done, and made his defeated antagonists ransom themselves

for great sums, which he bestowed among his barons and knights. Thus he

abode for three years.

*The Search for Owain*

After this time Arthur, with his nephew Gwalchmai and with Kymon for

guide, rode forth at the head of a host to search for tidings of Owain.

They came to the fountain, and here they met Owain, neither knowing the

other as their helms were down. And first Kai was overthrown, and then

Gwalchmai and Owain fought, and after a while Gwalchmai was unhelmed.

Owain said, “My lord Gwalchmai, I did not know thee; take my sword and my

arms.” Said Gwalchmai, “Thou, Owain, art the victor; take thou my sword.”

Arthur ended the contention in courtesy by taking the swords of both, and

then they all rode to the Castle of the Fountain, where Owain entertained

them with great joy. And he went back with Arthur to Caerleon, promising

to his countess that he would remain there but three months and then

return.

*Owain Forgets his Lady*

But at the Court of Arthur he forgot his love and his duty, and remained

there three years. At the end of that time a noble lady came riding upon a

horse caparisoned with gold, and she sought out Owain and took the ring

from his hand. “Thus,” she said, “shall be treated the deceiver, the

traitor, the faithless, the disgraced, and the beardless.” Then she turned

her horse’s head and departed. And Owain, overwhelmed with shame and

remorse, fled from the sight of men and lived in a desolate country with

wild beasts till his body wasted and his hair grew long and his clothing

rotted away.

*Owain and the Lion*

In this guise, when near to death from exposure and want, he was taken in

by a certain widowed countess and her maidens, and restored to strength by

magic balsams; and although they besought him to remain with them, he rode

forth again, seeking for lonely and desert lands. Here he found a lion in

battle with a great serpent. Owain slew the serpent, and the lion followed

him and played about him as if it had been a greyhound that he had reared.

And it fed him by catching deer, part of which Owain cooked for himself,

giving the rest to his lion to devour; and the beast kept watch over him

by night.

*Release of Luned*

Owain next finds an imprisoned damsel, whose sighs he hears, though he

cannot see her nor she him. Being questioned, she told him that her name

was Luned—she was the handmaid of a countess whose husband had left her,

“and he was the friend I loved best in the world.” Two of the pages of the

countess had traduced him, and because she defended him she was condemned

to be burned if before a year was out he (namely, Owain son of Urien) had

not appeared to deliver her. And the year would end to-morrow. On the next

day Owain met the two youths leading Luned to execution and did battle

with them. With the help of the lion he overcame them, rescued Luned, and

returned to the Castle of the Fountain, where he was reconciled with his

love. And he took her with him to Arthur’s Court, and she was his wife

there as long as she lived. Lastly comes an adventure in which, still

aided by the lion, he vanquishes a black giant and releases

four-and-twenty noble ladies, and the giant vows to give up his evil ways

and keep a hospice for wayfarers as long as he should live.

“And thenceforth Owain dwelt at Arthur’s Court, greatly beloved, as the

head of his household, until he went away with his followers; and these

were the army of three hundred ravens which Kenverchyn(242) had left him.

And wherever Owain went with these he was victorious. And this is the tale

of the Lady of the Fountain.”

*The Tale of Enid and Geraint*

In this tale, which appears to be based on the “Erec” of Chrestien de

Troyes, the main interest is neither mythological nor adventurous, but

sentimental. How Geraint found and wooed his love as the daughter of a

great lord fallen on evil days; how he jousted for her with Edeyrn, son of

Nudd—a Cymric deity transformed into the “Knight of the Sparrowhawk”; how,

lapped in love of her, he grew careless of his fame and his duty; how he

misunderstood the words she murmured over him as she deemed him sleeping,

and doubted her faith; how despitefully he treated her; and in how many a

bitter test she proved her love and loyalty—all these things have been

made so familiar to English readers in Tennyson’s “Enid” that they need

not detain us here. Tennyson, in this instance, has followed his original

very closely.

Legends of the Grail: The Tale of Peredur

The Tale of Peredur is one of great interest and significance in connexion

with the origin of the Grail legend. Peredur corresponds to the Perceval

of Chrestien de Troyes, to whom we owe the earliest extant poem on the

Grail; but that writer left his Grail story unfinished, and we never learn

from him what exactly the Grail was or what gave it its importance. When

we turn for light to “Peredur,” which undoubtedly represents a more

ancient form of the legend, we find ourselves baffled. For “Peredur” may

be described as the Grail story without the Grail.(243) The strange

personages, objects, and incidents which form the usual setting for the

entry upon the scene of this mystic treasure are all here; we breathe the

very atmosphere of the Grail Castle; but of the Grail itself there is no

word. The story is concerned simply with the vengeance taken by the hero

for the slaying of a kinsman, and for this end only are the mysteries of

the Castle of Wonders displayed to him.

We learn at the opening of the tale that Peredur was in the significant

position of being a seventh son. To be a seventh son was, in this world of

mystical romance, equivalent to being marked out by destiny for fortunes

high and strange. His father, Evrawc, an earl of the North, and his six

brothers had fallen in fight. Peredur’s mother, therefore, fearing a

similar fate for her youngest child, brought him up in a forest, keeping

from him all knowledge of chivalry or warfare and of such things as

war-horses or weapons. Here he grew up a simple rustic in manner and in

knowledge, but of an amazing bodily strength and activity.

*He Goes Forth in Quest of Adventure*

One day he saw three knights on the borders of the forest. They were all

of Arthur’s Court—Gwalchmai, Geneir, and Owain. Entranced by the sight, he

asked his mother what these beings were. “They are angels, my son,” said

she. “By my faith,” said Peredur, “I will go and become an angel with

them.” He goes to meet them, and soon learns what they are. Owain

courteously explains to him the use of a saddle, a shield, a sword, all

the accoutrements of warfare; and Peredur that evening picked out a bony

piebald draught-horse, and dressed him up in a saddle and trappings made

of twigs, and imitated from those he had seen. Seeing that he was bent on

going forth to deeds of chivalry, his mother gave him her blessing and

sundry instructions, and bade him seek the Court of Arthur; “there there

are the best, and the boldest, and the most beautiful of men.”

*His First Feat of Arms*

Peredur mounted his Rosinante, took for weapons a handful of sharp-pointed

stakes, and rode forth to Arthur’s Court. Here the steward, Kai, rudely

repulsed him for his rustic appearance, but a dwarf and dwarfess, who had

been a year at the Court without speaking one word to any one there,

cried: “Goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc; the welcome of Heaven be unto thee,

flower of knights and light of chivalry.” Kai chastised the dwarfs for

breaking silence by lauding such a fellow as Peredur, and when the latter

demanded to be brought to Arthur, bade him first go and overcome a

stranger knight who had just challenged the whole Court by throwing a

goblet of wine into the face of Gwenhwyvar, and whom all shrank from

meeting. Peredur went out promptly to where the ruffian knight was

swaggering up and down, awaiting an opponent, and in the combat that

ensued pierced his skull with one of his sharp stakes and slew him. Owain

then came out and found Peredur dragging his fallen enemy about. “What art

thou doing there?” said Owain. “This iron coat,” said Peredur, “will never

come off from him; not by my efforts at any rate.” So Owain showed him how

to unfasten the armour, and Peredur took it, and the knight’s weapons and

horse, and rode forth to seek what further adventures might befall.

Here we have the character of _der reine Thor_, the valiant and

pure-hearted simpleton, clearly and vividly drawn.

Peredur on leaving Arthur’s Court had many encounters in which he

triumphed with ease, sending the beaten knights to Caerleon-on-Usk with

the message that he had overthrown them for the honour of Arthur and in

his service, but that he, Peredur, would never come to the Court again

till he had avenged the insult to the dwarfs upon Kai, who was accordingly

reproved by Arthur and was greatly grieved thereat.

*The Castle of Wonders*

We now come into what the reader will immediately recognise as the

atmosphere of the Grail legend. Peredur came to a castle beside a lake,

where he found a venerable man with attendants about him who were fishing

in the lake. As Peredur approached, the aged man rose and went into the

castle, and Peredur saw that he was lame. Peredur entered, and was

hospitably received in a great hall. The aged man asked him, when they had

done their meal, if he knew how to fight with the sword, and promised to

teach him all knightly accomplishments, and “the manners and customs of

different countries, and courtesy and gentleness and noble bearing.” And

he added: “I am thy uncle, thy mother’s brother.” Finally, he bade him

ride forth, and remember, whatever he saw that might cause him wonder, not

to ask the meaning of it if no one had the courtesy to inform him. This is

the test of obedience and self-restraint on which the rest of the

adventure turns.

On next riding forth, Peredur came to a vast desert wood, beyond which he

found a great castle, the Castle of Wonders. He entered it by the open

door, and found a stately, hoary-headed man sitting in a great hall with

many pages about him, who received Peredur honourably. At meat Peredur sat

beside the lord of the castle, who asked him, when they had done, if he

could fight with a sword. “Were I to receive instruction,” said Peredur,

“I think I could.” The lord then gave Peredur a sword, and bade him strike

at a great iron staple that was in the floor. Peredur did so, and cut the

staple in two, but the sword also flew into two parts. “Place the two

parts together,” said the lord. Peredur did so, and they became one again,

both sword and staple. A second time this was done with the same result.

The third time neither sword nor staple would reunite.

“Thou hast arrived,” said the lord, “at two-thirds of thy strength.” He

then declared that he also was

Peredur’s uncle, and brother to the fisher-lord with whom Peredur had

lodged on the previous night. As they discoursed, two youths entered the

hall bearing a spear of mighty size, from the point of which three streams

of blood dropped upon the ground, and all the company when they saw this

began wailing and lamenting with a great outcry, but the lord took no

notice and did not break off his discourse with Peredur. Next there came

in two maidens carrying between them a large salver, on which, amid a

profusion of blood, lay a man’s head. Thereupon the wailing and lamenting

began even more loudly than before. But at last they fell silent, and

Peredur was led off to his chamber. Mindful of the injunction of the

fisher-lord, he had shown no surprise at what he saw, nor had he asked the

meaning of it. He then rode forth again in quest of other adventures,

which he had in bewildering abundance, and which have no particular

relation to the main theme. The mystery of the castle is not revealed till

the last pages of the story. The head in the silver dish was that of a

cousin of Peredur’s. The lance was the weapon with which he was slain, and

with which also the uncle of Peredur, the fisher-lord, had been lamed.

Peredur had been shown these things to incite him to avenge the wrong, and

to prove his fitness for the task. The “nine sorceresses of Gloucester”

are said to have been those who worked these evils on the relatives of

Peredur. On learning these matters Peredur, with the help of Arthur,

attacked the sorceresses, who were slain every one, and the vengeance was

accomplished.

*The Conte del Graal*

The tale of Chrestien de Troyes called the “Conte del Graal” or “Perceval

le Gallois” launched the story in European literature. It was written

about the year 1180. It agrees in the introductory portion with “Peredur,”

the hero being here called Perceval. He is trained in knightly

accomplishments by an aged knight named Gonemans, who warns him against

talking overmuch and asking questions. When he comes to the Castle of

Wonders the objects brought into the hall are a blood-dripping lance, a

“graal” accompanied by two double-branched candlesticks, the light of

which is put out by the shining of the graal, a silver plate and sword,

the last of which is given to Perceval. The bleeding head of the Welsh

story does not appear, nor are we told what the graal was. Next day when

Perceval rode forth he met a maiden who upbraided him fiercely for not

having asked the meaning of what he saw—had he done so the lame king (who

is here identical with the lord of the Castle of Wonders) would have been

made whole again. Perceval’s sin in quitting his mother against her wish

was the reason why he was withholden from asking the question which would

have broken the spell. This is a very crude piece of invention, for it was

manifestly Peredur’s destiny to take arms and achieve the adventure of the

Grail, and he committed no sin in doing so. Later on in the story Perceval

is met by a damsel of hideous appearance, who curses him for his omission

to ask concerning the lance and the other wonders—had he done so the king

would have been restored and would have ruled his land in peace, but now

maidens will be put to shame, knights will be slain, widows and orphans

will be made.

This conception of the question episode seems to me radically different

from that which was adopted in the Welsh version. It is characteristic of

Peredur that he always does as he is told by proper authority. The

question was a test of obedience and self-restraint, and he succeeded in

the ordeal. In fairy literature one is often punished for curiosity, but

never for discretion and reserve. The Welsh tale here preserves, I think,

the original form of the story. But the French writers mistook the

omission to ask questions for a failure on the part of the hero, and

invented a shallow and incongruous theory of the episode and its

consequences. Strange to say, however, the French view found its way into

later versions of the Welsh tale, and such a version is that which we have

in the “Mabinogion.” Peredur, towards the end of the story, meets with a

hideous damsel, the terrors of whose aspect are vividly described, and who

rebukes him violently for not having asked the meaning of the marvels at

the castle: “Hadst thou done so the king would have been restored to

health, and his dominions to peace. Whereas from henceforth he will have

to endure battles and conflicts, and his knights will perish, and wives

will be widowed, and maidens will be left portionless, and all this is

because of thee.” I regard this loathly damsel as an obvious interpolation

in the Welsh tale. She came into it straight out of the pages of

Chrestien. That she did not originally belong to the story of Peredur

seems evident from the fact that in this tale the lame lord who bids

Peredur refrain from asking questions is, according to the damsel, the

very person who would have benefited by his doing so. As a matter of fact,

Peredur never does ask the question, and it plays no part in the

conclusion of the story.

Chrestien’s unfinished tale tells us some further adventures of Perceval

and of his friend and fellow-knight, Gauvain, but never explains the

significance of the mysterious objects seen at the castle. His

continuators, of whom Gautier was the first, tell us that the Graal was

the Cup of the Last Supper and the lance that which had pierced the side

of Christ at the Crucifixion; and that Peredur ultimately makes his way

back to the castle, asks the necessary question, and succeeds his uncle as

lord of the castle and guardian of its treasures.

*Wolfram von Eschenbach*

In the story as given by Wolfram von Eschenbach, who wrote about the year

1200—some twenty years later than Chrestien de Troyes, with whose work he

was acquainted—we meet with a new and unique conception of the Grail. He

says of the knights of the Grail Castle:

“Si lebent von einem steine

Des geslähte ist vîl reine . . .

Es heizet _lapsit [lapis] exillîs_,

Der stein ist ouch genannt der Grâl.”(244)

It was originally brought down from heaven by a flight of angels and

deposited in Anjou, as the worthiest region for its reception. Its power

is sustained by a dove which every Good Friday comes from heaven and lays

on the Grail a consecrated Host. It is preserved in the Castle of

Munsalväsche [Montsalvat] and guarded by four hundred knights, who are

all, except their king, vowed to virginity. The king may marry, and is

indeed, in order to maintain the succession, commanded to do so by the

Grail, which conveys its messages to mankind by writing which appears upon

it and which fades away when deciphered. In the time of Parzival the king

is Anfortas. He cannot die in presence of the Grail, but he suffers from a

wound which, because he received it in the cause of worldly pride and in

seeking after illicit love, the influence of the Grail cannot heal until

the destined deliverer shall break the spell. This Parzival should have

done by asking the question, “What aileth thee, uncle?” The French version

makes Perceval fail in curiosity—Wolfram conceives the failure as one in

sympathy. He fails, at any rate, and next morning finds the castle empty

and his horse standing ready for him at the gate; as he departs he is

mocked by servitors who appear at the windows of the towers. After many

adventures, which are quite unlike those either in Chrestien’s “Conte del

Graal” or in “Peredur,” Parzival, who has wedded the maiden Condwiramur,

finds his way back to the Grail Castle—which no one can reach except those

destined and chosen to do so by the Grail itself—breaks the spell, and

rules over the Grail dominions, his son Loherangrain becoming the Knight

of the Swan, who goes abroad righting wrongs, and who, like all the Grail

knights, is forbidden to reveal his name and origin to the outside world.

Wolfram tells us that he had the substance of the tale from the Provençal

poet Kyot or Guiot—“Kyot, der meister wol bekannt”—who in his turn—but

this probably is a mere piece of romantic invention—professed to have

found it in an Arabic book in Toledo, written by a heathen named

Flegetanis.

*The Continuators of Chrestien*

What exactly may have been the material before Chrestien de Troyes we

cannot tell, but his various co-workers and continuators, notably

Manessier, all dwell on the Christian character of the objects shown to

Perceval in the castle, and the question arises, How did they come to

acquire this character? The Welsh story, certainly the most archaic form

of the legend, shows that they did not have it from the beginning. An

indication in one of the French continuations to Chrestien’s “Conte” may

serve to put us on the track. Gautier, the author of this continuation,

tells us of an attempt on the part of Gauvain [Sir Gawain] to achieve the

adventure of the Grail. He partially succeeds, and this half-success has

the effect of restoring the lands about the castle, which were desert and

untilled, to blooming fertility. The Grail therefore, besides its other

characters, had a talismanic power in promoting increase, wealth, and

rejuvenation.

*The Grail a Talisman of Abundance*

The character of a cornucopia, a symbol and agent of abundance and

vitality, clings closely to the Grail in all versions of the legend. Even

in the loftiest and most spiritual of these, the “Parzival” of Wolfram von

Eschenbach, this quality is very strongly marked. A sick or wounded man

who looked on it could not die within the week, nor could its servitors

grow old: “though one looked on it for two hundred years, his hair would

never turn grey.” The Grail knights lived from it, apparently by its

turning into all manner of food and drink the bread which was presented to

it by pages. Each man had of it food according to his pleasure, _à son

gré_—from this word _gré, gréable_, the name Gral, which originated in the

French versions, was supposed to be derived.(245) It was the satisfaction

of all desires. In Wolfram’s poem the Grail, though connected with the

Eucharist, was, as we have seen, a stone, not a cup. It thus appears as a

relic of ancient stone-worship. It is remarkable that a similar Stone of

Abundance occurs also in the Welsh “Peredur,” though not as one of the

mysteries of the castle. It was guarded by a black serpent, which Peredur

slew, and he gave the stone to his friend Etlyn.

*The Celtic Cauldron of Abundance*

Now the reader has by this time become well acquainted with an object

having the character of a talisman of abundance and rejuvenation in Celtic

myth. As the Cauldron of the Dagda it came into Ireland with the Danaans

from their mysterious fairy-land. In Welsh legend Bran the Blessed got it

from Ireland, whither it returned again as part of Branwen’s dowry. In a

strange and mystic poem by Taliesin it is represented as part of the

spoils of Hades, or Annwn, brought thence by Arthur, in a tragic adventure

not otherwise recorded. It is described by Taliesin as lodged in Caer

Pedryvan, the Four-square Castle of Pwyll; the fire that heated it was

fanned by the breath of nine maidens, its edge was rimmed with pearls, and

it would not cook the food of a coward or man forsworn:(246)

“Am I not a candidate for fame, to be heard in song

In Caer Pedryvan, four times revolving?

The first word from the cauldron, when was it spoken?

By the breath of nine maidens it was gently warmed.

Is it not the cauldron of the chief of Annwn? What is its fashion?

A rim of pearls is round its edge.

It will not cook the food of a coward or one forsworn.

A sword flashing bright will be raised to him,

And left in the hand of Lleminawg.

And before the door of the gate of Uffern(247) the lamp was burning.

When we went with Arthur—a splendid labour—

Except seven, none returned from Caer Vedwyd.(248)

More remotely still the cauldron represents the Sun, which appears in the

earliest Aryo-Indian myths as a golden vessel which pours forth light and

heat and fertility. The lance is the lightning-weapon of the Thunder God,

Indra, appearing in Norse mythology as the hammer of Thor. The quest for

these objects represents the ideas of the restoration by some divine

champion of the wholesome order of the seasons, disturbed by some

temporary derangement such as those which to this day bring famine and

desolation to India.

Now in the Welsh “Peredur” we have clearly an outline of the original

Celtic tale, but the Grail does not appear in it. We may conjecture,

however, from Gautier’s continuation of Chrestien’s poem that a talisman

of abundance figured in early Continental, probably Breton, versions of

the legend. In one version at least—that on which Wolfram based his

“Parzival”—this talisman was a stone. But usually it would have been, not

a stone, but a cauldron or vessel of some kind endowed with the usual

attributes of the magic cauldron of Celtic myth. This vessel was

associated with a blood-dripping lance. Here were the suggestive elements

from which some unknown singer, in a flash of inspiration, transformed the

ancient tale of vengeance and redemption into the mystical romance which

at once took possession of the heart and soul of Christendom. The magic

cauldron became the cup of the Eucharist, the lance was invested with a

more tremendous guilt than that of the death of Peredur’s kinsman.(249)

Celtic poetry, German mysticism, Christian chivalry, and ideas of magic

which still cling to the rude stone monuments of Western Europe—all these

combined to make the story of the Grail, and to endow it with the strange

attraction which has led to its re-creation by artist after artist for

seven hundred years. And who, even now, can say that its course is run at

last, and the towers of Montsalvat dissolved into the mist from which they

sprang?

*The Tale of Taliesin*

Alone of the tales in the collection called by Lady Charlotte Guest the

“Mabinogion,” the story of the birth and adventures of the mythical bard

Taliesin, the Amergin of Cymric legend, is not found in the

fourteenth-century manuscript entitled “The Red Book of Hergest.” It is

taken from a manuscript of the late sixteenth or seventeenth century, and

never appears to have enjoyed much popularity in Wales. Much of the very

obscure poetry attributed to Taliesin is to be found in it, and this is

much older than the prose. The object of the tale, indeed, as Mr. Nutt has

pointed out in his edition of the “Mabinogion,” is rather to provide a

sort of framework for stringing together scattered pieces of verse

supposed to be the work of Taliesin than to tell a connected story about

him and his doings.

The story of the birth of the hero is the most interesting thing in the

tale. There lived, it was said, “in the time of Arthur of the Round

Table,”(250) a man named Tegid Voel of Penllyn, whose wife was named

Ceridwen. They have a son named Avagddu, who was the most ill-favoured man

in the world. To compensate for his lack of beauty, his mother resolved to

make him a sage. So, according to the art of the books of Feryllt,(251)

she had recourse to the great Celtic source of magical influence—a

cauldron. She began to boil a “cauldron of inspiration and science for her

son, that his reception might be honourable because of his knowledge of

the mysteries of the future state of the world.” The cauldron might not

cease to boil for a year and a day, and only in three drops of it were to

be found the magical grace of the brew.

She put Gwion Bach the son of Gwreang of Llanfair to stir the cauldron,

and a blind man named Morda to keep the fire going, and she made

incantations over it and put in magical herbs from time to time as

Feryllt’s book directed. But one day towards the end of the year three

drops of the magic liquor flew out of the cauldron and lighted on the

finger of Gwion. Like Finn mac Cumhal on a similar occasion, he put his

finger in his mouth, and immediately became gifted with supernatural

insight. He saw that he had got what was intended for Avagddu, and he saw

also that Ceridwen would destroy him for it if she could. So he fled to

his own land, and the cauldron, deprived of the sacred drops, now

contained nothing but poison, the power of which burst the vessel, and the

liquor ran into a stream hard by and poisoned the horses of Gwyddno

Garanhir which drank of the water. Whence the stream is called the Poison

of the Horses of Gwyddno from that time forth.