The Mabinogion (Oxford World's Classics) Read online

  THE

  MABINOGION

  THE

  MABINOGION

  Translated with an Introduction and Notes by

  SIONED DAVIES

  Great Clarendon Street, Oxford OX2 6DP

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  First published 2007

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  Typeset in Ehrhardt

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  ISBN 978–0–19–283242–9

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction

  Translator’s Note

  Guide to Pronunciation

  Select Bibliography

  Map: The Wales of the Mabinogion

  THE MABINOGION

  The First Branch of the Mabinogi

  The Second Branch of the Mabinogi

  The Third Branch of the Mabinogi

  The Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi

  Peredur son of Efrog

  The Dream of the Emperor Maxen

  Lludd and Llefelys

  The Lady of the Well

  Geraint son of Erbin

  How Culhwch Won Olwen

  Rhonabwy’s Dream

  Explanatory Notes

  Index of Personal Names

  Index of Place-Names

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  IN the tale of ‘How Culhwch Won Olwen’, we are presented with a roll-call of the Arthurian court, with characters ranging from Gilla Stag-Leg to Isberyr Cat-Claw. Judith Hawk-Eye would take her place well among these. I thank Judith Luna not only for her scrupulous editing, but also for her subtle reminders, her gentle prodding, and for her constant patience and encouragement.

  My debt to Brynley F. Roberts is immense; he read the entire manuscript and offered advice and insightful criticism. Ceridwen Lloyd-Morgan, together with my colleague Dylan Foster Evans, also made valuable suggestions which I have taken on board. I must thank colleagues at Cardiff University, and in particular the staff of the School of Welsh who have had to live with this translation for more years than they care to remember; I am particularly grateful to Cath Pugh for easing my administrative burdens and for being so supportive at all times.

  There are many others who have made this translation possible: my friends Manon Rhys and Christine James who have been a constant inspiration; my wonderful neighbours who would voice great concern at seeing the burning of the midnight oil; my parents—my father, whose gift as a storyteller first awakened my interest in these medieval tales, and my mother who commented on the entire translation; and finally, Smwt and Mao, who would curl up at my feet and purr whenever I settled down at my desk. Translating the Mabinogion has been a challenging, but one of the most rewarding experiences ever. Diolch o galon i bob un ohonoch.

  In memory of Yolande, who loved performing

  INTRODUCTION

  BROTHERS transformed into animals of both sexes who bring forth children; dead men thrown into a cauldron who rise the next day; a woman created out of flowers, transformed into an owl for infidelity; a king turned into a wild boar for his sins—these are just some of the magical stories that together make up the Mabinogion.

  The tales, eleven in all, deal with Celtic mythology, Arthurian romance, and a view of the past as seen through the eyes of medieval Wales. They tell of love and betrayal, shape-shifting and enchantment, conflict and retribution. Despite many common themes, they were never conceived as an organic group, and are certainly not the work of a single author. Their roots lie in oral tradition, and they evolved over centuries before reaching their final written form: as such, they reflect a collaboration between the oral and literary culture, and give us an intriguing insight into the world of the traditional storyteller.

  What is the Mabinogion?

  The Mabinogion is the collective name now given to eleven medieval Welsh tales found mainly in two manuscripts, the White Book of Rhydderch (Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales, MS Peniarth 4–5), dated c.1350, and the Red Book of Hergest (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Jesus College 111), dated between 1382 and c.1410. The term is a scribal error for mabinogi, derived from the Welsh word mab meaning ‘son, boy’. As a result, some have suggested that mabinogi was a tale for boys, or perhaps a tale told by young or apprentice storytellers; however, the general consensus is that its original meaning was ‘youth’ or ‘story of youth’, confirmed by the appearance of the term as a translation of the Latin infantia, and that finally it meant no more than ‘tale’ or ‘story’.

  The term Mabinogion was popularized in the nineteenth century when Lady Charlotte Guest translated the tales into English, between 1838 and 1849. She regarded it as the plural form of mabinogi,1 and an ideal title for her collection. As her translation was published time and time again, the title became established, and by now has become an extremely convenient way to describe the corpus. However, it needs to be emphasized that the term Mabinogion is no more than a label, and a modern-day one at that: the stories vary as regards date, authorship, sources, content, structure, and style. Having said that, ever since Lady Guest’s achievement the Mabinogion have taken on a life of their own, and earned their place on the European and world stage.

  Of the eleven tales, it is clear that four of them form a distinct group, generally known as ‘The Four Branches of the Mabinogi’. These are the mabinogi proper, as it were, so called because each one ends with the same formula in both the White and the Red Books: ‘and so ends this branch of the Mabinogi.’2 They are the only tales in the corpus that refer to themselves as mabinogi, divided into ‘branches’, a term used in medieval French narrative also to denote a textual division, suggesting the image of a tree with episodes leading off from the main narrativ
e or ‘trunk’. Even so, the link between them is fairly tenuous; the only hero to appear in all four is Pryderi—he is born in the First Branch and is killed in the Fourth. Resonances of Celtic mythology are apparent throughout these four tales, as mortals come into contact with characters who possess supernatural powers, from Gwydion the shape-shifter, who can create a woman out of flowers, to Bendigeidfran the giant, who lies across the river as a bridge for his men to cross; from Math the magician, whose feet must lie in the lap of a virgin, to the beautiful Rhiannon, whose magical white horse is impossible to catch. Yet, despite drawing on much older material, the author of the ‘Four Branches’ attempts to make the tales relevant to his own time, and indeed to any period, by using them to convey his views regarding appropriate moral behaviour, doing so by implication rather than by any direct commentary.

  Manuscript evidence does not suggest any particular groupings for the remaining seven tales, although scholars and translators have indeed attempted to classify them, based on certain critical judgements.Traditionally, the tales of ‘Peredur son of Efrog’, ‘Geraint son of Erbin’, and ‘The Lady of the Well’ have been known as ‘the three romances’, partly because they correspond to the late twelfth-century metrical romances of Chrétien de Troyes—Perceval, Erec et Enide, and Yvain. They have as their focus the court at Caerllion on Usk, home to the emperor Arthur and his queen, Gwenhwyfar. In each tale the hero embarks on a journey in order to prove himself; once he has moved beyond the parameters of Arthur’s realm, he comes across shining castles with grey-haired hosts and the most beautiful maidens who bestow lavish hospitality; threatening knights who must be overpowered and widowed countesses who must be defended. But in each tale the emphasis is different, so that although the three share common themes, which indeed set them apart from the other Mabinogion tales, they should not be regarded as an organic group, the work of a single author. Indeed, they have not been copied as a group in the extant manuscripts; neither do they share a common manuscript tradition. Moreover, although they exhibit some of the broad characteristics of romance, such as concerns regarding chivalric modes of behaviour and knightly virtues, they do not lie comfortably within that genre, so that the term ‘the three romances’ is both misleading and inappropriate; while they may well be very loose retellings of Chrétien’s poems, they have been completely adapted to the native culture, and remain stylistically and structurally within the Welsh narrative tradition.

  Of the remaining four tales, two are again Arthurian in content, while the other two deal with traditions about early British history. ‘How Culhwch Won Olwen’ portrays a world far removed from that of European romance, a world where Arthur holds court in Celli Wig in Cornwall, and heads a band of the strangest warriors ever— men such as Canhastyr Hundred-Hands, Sgilti Lightfoot, and Gwiawn Cat-Eye—who, together with Arthur, ensure that Culhwch overcomes his stepmother’s curse and marries Olwen, daughter of Ysbaddaden Chief Giant. The interest throughout is in the action, with the hunting of the magical boar Twrch Trwyth reminiscent of a fast-moving film as he and his piglets are chased by Arthur and his men from Ireland, across South Wales, and eventually to Cornwall. All characters are stereotyped—the beautiful Olwen, the handsome Culhwch, the treacherous Ysbaddaden; talking to ants, owls, stags, and salmon poses no problem as one of Arthur’s men, Gwrhyr Interpreter of Languages, is there to translate. Indeed, the story, with its rhetorical set-pieces and burlesque scenes, is a world apart from the restraint and control of the ‘Four Branches’, and is, without doubt, a tale to be performed—vocality is of its essence.

  Whereas all the other tales draw directly from oral tradition, ‘Rhonabwy’s Dream’ probably only ever existed in a written form, as suggested by its colophon which claims that ‘neither poet nor storyteller’ knew the Dream ‘without a book’. While the author is aware of traditional material, he uses this to create something completely new—a sophisticated piece of satirical writing which parodies not only the traditional storytelling techniques but also the Arthurian myth and its values. Indeed, as soon as Rhonabwy and his companions enter the house of a certain Heilyn Goch, and are up to their ankles in cows’ urine and dung, and try to get to sleep in flea-infested beds, we realize that all is not as it should be! Moreover, having slept for three days and three nights on the yellow ox-skin, neither Rhonabwy nor the reader is offered an explanation, leaving the tale open to a variety of interpretations. This certainly is the most literary tale of them all, satirizing not only the elaborate descriptions of Arthurian knights, their horses, and their trappings, but also the structure of medieval romance itself.

  The two short tales of ‘Lludd and Llefelys’ and ‘The Dream of the Emperor Maxen’ combine pseudo-historical traditions with folktale motifs, and offer an intriguing interpretation of British history. Lludd, who according to tradition was king of Britain shortly before Julius Caesar’s invasion, overcomes three plagues that threaten the land, with the help of his brother Llefelys, king of France. All three plagues have parallels elsewhere in Welsh literature, and can be seen as variants on the theme of the historical invaders who threatened the sovereignty of the Island of Britain. However, despite great potential, the treatment throughout is rather dull and unimaginative. Maxen’s story, on the other hand, is skilfully crafted, as he travels to Wales to marry the maiden he met in his love-dream. Maxen is the historical Magnus Maximus, proclaimed emperor by his troops in Britain in AD 383, and who became an important figure in Welsh historiography. The author of the tale clearly had antiquarian interests, for he then proceeds to give an onomastic account of the founding of Brittany by Cynan, Maxen’s brother-in-law. Both tales are heavily indebted to historical sources and, like ‘Rhonabwy’s Dream’, reflect a distancing from the oral tradition and a more conscious literary activity.

  The Mabinogion, therefore, are a ‘collection’ of independent and extremely diverse tales. They provide a snapshot of the storyteller’s repertoire, and give us an insight into the wealth of narrative material that was circulating in medieval Wales. Not only do they reflect themes and characters from myth and legend, they also show how Wales responded to conquest and colonization, and in so doing made a unique contribution to European literature.

  Storytelling and the Oral Tradition

  Although the Mabinogion have come down to us in written form, they clearly draw heavily on oral tradition and on the narrative techniques of the medieval storyteller. Of course, they are not merely written versions of oral narratives, but rather the work of authors using and shaping traditional material for their own purposes. Unlike the poetry of the period, none of the tales is attributed to an identified author, suggesting that there was no sense of ‘ownership’ as such, and that the texts were viewed as part of the collective memory. Indeed, on several occasions the final redactors (which may perhaps be a more correct term than ‘authors’ in many cases) draw attention to their sources, a common feature of medieval literature, but in so doing they distance themselves from those sources and set themselves up as merely the mouthpiece of tradition.

  Although we have some evidence regarding the performance of poetry in medieval Wales, together with references to musicians such as harpists, crowthers, and pipers, and entertainers such as tumblers and magicians, very little is known of the performance of prose narrative. There is little evidence within the tales themselves— there are no requests for silence, no introductory remarks to the audience, and very few authorial asides. However, the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi contains two passages that give a tantalizing glimpse of a storyteller in action. Upon entering the court of Pryderi, in the guise of a poet, the shape-shifter Gwydion receives a warm welcome and is offered the place of honour at table. When Pryderi asks some of Gwydion’s young companions for a story, Gwydion offers his own services:

  ‘Our custom, lord … is that on the first night we come to a great man, the chief poet performs. I would be happy to tell a story.’

  Gwydion was the best storyteller in the world. And that nig
ht he entertained the court with amusing anecdotes and stories, until he was admired by everyone in the court, and Pryderi enjoyed conversing with him. (p. 48)

  Later in the tale, Gwydion gains entrance to Aranrhod’s court, again in the guise of a poet, and after dinner he and his host talk of tales and storytelling—‘And Gwydion was a good storyteller’ (p.57).3

  In both examples, there is a clear indication of an integral relationship between the poet and storytelling. According to the medieval Welsh laws, there were three types of poet—the pencerdd (‘chief poet’), the bardd teulu (‘household bard’), and cerddor (joculator), a generic term for poets and musicians rather than the more specific ‘jester’ or ‘buffoon’. However, the laws make no reference at all to storytelling, implying perhaps that this was a secondary bardic function, given much less priority than elegy and eulogy, the predominant domains of the poet. Certainly, poets were acquainted with traditional stories, as reflected in the many allusions scattered throughout their work; yet it would seem from the surviving evidence that verse itself was not used for extended narrative in medieval Wales—the preferred medium, unlike most Indo-European countries, was prose. The situation, therefore, was not only a complex, but surely a dynamic one: despite the hierarchical legal structure, one could expect a certain degree of interaction between the various professional ‘performers’ as they entertained at feasts and gatherings. Moreover, there are examples within the Mabinogion themselves of personal narratives arising out of informal conversation at table, as in the Second Branch when Matholwch, king of Ireland, tells his table-companion Bendigeidfran the history of the Cauldron of Rebirth (pp. 26–7). It would appear, therefore, that storytelling was the domain of both the professional and the amateur, while the numerous words for ‘story’, as reflected in the tales themselves, point to a wide range of forms within the narrative genre.