The Story of King Arthur and Other Celtic Heroes

by Padraic Colum

  In the meanwhile came in Sir Ector, with an eager countenance, and found Ulfius and Brastias on foot, in great peril of death, which were foul defiled under the horse’s feet. The King Arthur as a lion ran into King Cradlemont, of North Wales, and smote him through the left side, that the horse and king fell down, and then he took the horse by the reins, and led him unto Ulfius, and said, “have this horse, mine old friend, for great need hast thou of a horse.” “Gramercy!” said Ulfius.

  Here is a fight, half sport, half massacre, that men of our day might engage in.

  V

  If “Mabinog” and “Mabinogion” were words that were familiar to us, it is probable that we should get from them a sense of youthfulness that is in the “apprentice-bard.” And if that sense of youthfulness came to us from it the title, “Mabinogion,” would be singularly appropriate; for no other book in all the world gives us better than this book youth and youth seen with youth’s eyes. We must think that it is the imagination of youth concerning itself glowingly with youth going forth that is in the description of Kilhuch riding to the Court of King Arthur, with the spears of silver in his hands “of an edge to wound the wind,” and with the grey-hounds bounding alongside him “like two sea-swallows,” and with his courser casting up “four sods with its four hoofs like four swallows in the air.” And no maiden was ever more radiantly of the dream of youth than is Olwen when she comes first upon us, with her head “more yellow than the flower of the broom,” and her skin “whiter than the foam of the wave,” and her hands and her fingers “whiter than the blossoms of the wood anemone amidst the spray of the meadow fountain.” The stories may differ in the manners they reflect, but they are at one in this that they tell of nothing but of youth’s appearance and youth’s adventure. The Knight Kynon comes upon two youths “with yellow curling hair, each with a frontlet of gold upon his head, and clad in a garment of yellow satin, and they had gold clasps upon their insteps. In the hand of each of them was an ivory bow, strung with the sinews of the stag, and their arrows had shafts of the bone of the whale, and were winged with peacock’s feathers; their shafts also had golden heads. And they had daggers with blades of gold, and with hilts of the bone of the whale.” We remember Peredur on his bony piebald horse saying to Kai, “Tell me, tall man, is that Arthur yonder?” And our first glimpse of Geraint is of “a knight upon a hunter foal of mighty size; the rider was a fair-haired youth, bare-legged, and of princely mien, and a golden-hilted sword was at his side, and a robe and a surcoat of satin were upon him, and two low shoes of leather upon his feet; and around him was a scarf of purple, at each corner of which was a golden apple.” In these stories we seem to see immortal youth moving through a world that knows no change or decay.

  If we turn from such glimpses as are in these stories to the most vernal scene in the “Morte d’Arthur,” to the scene where Queen Guenever goes a-maying, we seem to find ourselves in a world the youth of which has passed:

  And thus it passed on from Candlemas until after Easter, that the month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginnith to blossom, and to bring forth fruit. For, like as herbs and trees bring forth fruit, and flourish in May, in likewise every lusty heart, that is in any manner a lover, springeth and flourisheth in lusty deeds; for it giveth until all lovers courage that lusty month of May in some thing, for it constrain him in some manner of thing, more in that month than in any other month, for divers causes; for then all herbs and trees renew a man and a woman. And, in likewise, lovers call again to their mind old gentleness and old service, and many kind deeds that were forgotten by negligence. . . . Now it befell in the month of lusty May that Queen Guenever called unto her knights of the Round Table, and she gave them warning, that early in the morning she should ride a-maying in the woods and fields beside Westminster; “And I warn you that there be none of you but that be well horsed, and that ye all be clothed in green; and that I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every knight shall have a lady behind him, and every knight shall have a squire and two yeomen, and I will that ye all be well horsed.” . . . And those ten knights made them ready in the most freshest manner to ride with the Queen. And on the morrow they took their horses and rode a-maying with the Queen in great joy and delight.

  Compared with the freely-moving figures in “The Mabinogion” the knights and dames of Malory move through a world that is, indeed, too much with them.

  VI

  In one of Mr. Havelock Ellis’s essays the suggestion is thrown out that “The Mabinogion” does not belong to the English people. The suggestion comes in an essay on Cornwall and follows a remark upon the courtesy of the people there, courtesy that marks them as having an older civilization than that which belongs to the bulk of the people of England. No, Mr. Havelock Ellis says, “The Mabinogion,” with its graciousness and its courtesy, belongs to a people of whom the Cornish people are a survival, and does not at all belong to the Saxon-descended English people. “Our hearts and souls are expressed in ‘Beowulf,’ and ‘Havelock,’ and more remotely in ‘The Chanson de Roland.’ ” A great scholar makes the suggestion, but somehow one cannot assent to it. The poem “Beowulf ” never became part of the English inheritance; and neither Beowulf nor any other Teutonic hero was able to take root in England. As for the Roland of the Normans, he is no more than a name to the English. Celtic Britain, after all, was the Britain to which the English looked back before the break in their tradition; and when Shakespeare made his plays about British history he made them about the Celtic Lear and the Celtic Cymbeline. If the tradition that Shakespeare was in had not been broken, the “Mabinogion” would have become part of the consciousness of the English people long and long ago.

  Through language and through law the English go back to the Saxon, but there was no Saxon consciousness in England until a bishop at the court of Elizabeth began a movement for a Saxon revival. This was in the interest of the religious change that had its origin in Germany. The movement ultimately brought about a complete Saxon consciousness; all that was Saxon was made seem near and all that was Celtic was made seem alien and remote. The Saxonism of the English people is now one of the most firmly established facts in the world. But before Saxonism became dominant, and in times since, the English and the English-speaking peoples have heard the birds of Rhiannon—the birds of Celtic enchantment. “And there came three birds, and began singing unto them a certain song, and all the songs they had ever heard were unpleasant compared thereto; and the birds seemed to them to be at a great distance from them over the sea, and yet they appeared as distinct as if they were close by.”

  PADRAIC COLUM.

  BEING THE HERO STORIES OF CELTIC BRITAIN RETOLD FROM THE MABINOGION

  I

  HOW THE YOUTH KILHUCH CAME TO KING ARTHUR’S COURT

  Thus the youth rode to the Court of King Arthur: the horse that was under him was of four winters old, firm of limb, with head of dappled grey, with shell-formed hoofs, having a bridle of linked gold on its head, and on its back a saddle of gold. In the youth’s hands were two spears of silver, sharp and well-tempered, of an edge to wound the wind, and swifter than the fall of a dew-drop from the blade of reed-grass upon the earth when the dew of June is at its heaviest. A gold-hilted sword was upon his thigh, the blade of which was of gold, bearing a cross of inlaid gold of the hue of the lightning of heaven, and his warhorn was of ivory. Before him were two brindled, white-breasted grey-hounds, having strong collars of rubies about their necks. And the hound that was on his left side bounded across to the right side, and the one on his right to his left, and like two sea-swallows they sported around him. His horse, as it coursed along, cast up four sods with its four hoofs, like four swallows in the air, about his head, now above, now below. About him was a four-cornered cloth of purple, and an apple of gold was at each corner, and every one of the apples was of the value of an hundred kine. And there was precious gold of the value of three hundred kine upon his shoes, and upon his stirrups, from his knee to the tip of his toe. And the
blade of grass bent not beneath him, so light was his courser’s tread as he journeyed towards the gate of King Arthur’s palace.

  When he came before the palace, the youth called out, “Open the gate.” “I will not open it,” said the porter. “Wherefore not?” asked the youth. “The knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in Arthur’s hall, and none may enter therein except the son of a King of a privileged country, or a craftsman bringing here his craft. Stay thou outside. There will be refreshment for thy hounds and for thy horse, and for thee there will be collops of meat cooked and peppered, and luscious wine, and mirthful songs. A lady shall smooth thy couch for thee and lull thee with her singing; and early in the morning, when the gate is opened for the multitude that came hither to-day, for thee it shall be opened first, and thou mayest sit in the place that thou shalt choose in Arthur’s hall.” Said the youth, “That I will not do. If thou openest the gate for me, it is well. But if thou dost not open it, I will set up three shouts at this very gate, and these shouts will be deadly to all.” “What clamour soever thou mayest make,” said the porter, “against the law of King Arthur’s palace thou shalt not enter until I go first and speak with the King.”

  So the porter went into the hall. The King said to him when he came near, “Hast thou news from the gate?” The porter said, “Half my life is past, and half of thine. I have seen with thee supreme sovereigns, but never did I behold one of equal dignity with him who is now at thy gate.” Then said King Arthur to him, “If walking thou didst enter, return thou running. It is unbecoming to keep such a one as thou sayest he is outside in wind and rain.” Then said the knight Kai who was in Arthur’s hall at the time, “By the hand of my friend, if thou wouldst follow my counsel, thou wouldst not break through the laws of thy court because of him.” “Not so, blessed Kai,” said Arthur. “The greater our courtesy, the greater will be our renown, and our fame, and our glory.” And by this time the porter was back at the gate.

  He opened the gate before the youth who had been waiting before it. Now, although all comers dismounted upon the horse-block that was at the gate, yet did he not dismount, but he rode right in on his horse. “Greeting be unto thee, sovereign ruler of the Island,” he said, “and be this greeting no less unto the lowest than unto the highest, and be it equally unto thy guests, and thy warriors, and thy chieftains—let all partake of it equally with thyself. And complete be thy favour, and thy fame, and thy glory throughout all this Island.” “Greeting be unto thee also,” said King Arthur. “Sit thou between two of my warriors, and thou shalt have minstrels before thee, and thou shalt enjoy the privileges of a King born to a throne, as long as thou remainest here.” Said the youth, “I came not to consume meat and drink; but if I obtain the boon that I have come seeking, I will requite it thee.” Then said Arthur: “Since thou wilt not remain here, Chieftain, thou shalt receive the boon whatsoever thy tongue may name, as far as the wind dries, and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves, and the sea encircles, and the earth extends; any boon thy tongue may name save only my ship and my mantle, my sword and my lance, my shield and my dagger, and Gwenhuivar, my wife. By the truth of Heaven, thou shalt have it cheerfully, name what thou wilt. For my heart warms unto thee, and I know thou art of my blood.” “Of thy blood I am indeed,” said the youth, “for my mother was thy mother’s sister, Prince Anlod’s daughter.” Thereupon he told the King of his birth and his upbringing.

  “Greeting be unto thee, sovereign ruler of the Island.”

  Kilhuch he was called, and he was given that name because he was born in a swine’s pen. Before he was born, his mother became wild, and she wandered about, without habitation. Then she came to a mountain where ther was a swineherd, keeping a herd of swine; there she stayed, and in the swine’s pen her son was born. The swineherd took the boy, and brought him to the palace of his father, and there he was christened. Afterwards he was sent to be reared in another place.

  His mother died soon afterwards. When she knew she was going to die, she sent for the Prince, her husband, and she said to him, “I charge thee not to take a wife until thou seest a briar with two blossoms growing out of my grave.” And she asked him to have the grave tended, day by day, and year by year, so that nothing might grow on it. This he promised her, and, soon after, she died.

  For seven years the Prince sent an attendant every morning to dress her grave and to see if anything were growing upon it. But at the end of the seventh year he neglected to do that which he had promised to his wife. Then one day he went hunting. He passed by the place of burial and he saw a briar growing out of his wife’s grave. He knew then that the time had come for him to seek another wife. He sought for one, and he married again, and brought another lady into his palace.

  A day came when the lady he married went walking abroad. She came to the house of an old crone, and going within she said to the woman, “Old woman, tell me that which I shall ask thee. Where are the children of the man who has married me?” “Children he has none,” said the crone. “Woe is me,” said the lady, “that I have come to one who is childless.” “Children he has none,” said the crone, “but a child he has. Thou needst not lament.”

  Then the lady returned to the palace, and she said to her husband, “Wherefore hast thou concealed thy child from me?” The Prince said, “I will do so no longer.” He sent messengers for Kilhuch, and the youth was brought into the palace.

  Now when his step-mother saw him she was fearful that he would take the whole of his father’s possessions away from her own child, for it was predicted to her by the crone that she would have a son. So she said to him when she looked on him, “It were well for thee to have a wife.” The youth answered, “I am not yet of an age to wed,” but although he said this he was well grown at the time. His step-mother said to him, “I declare to thee that it is thy destiny not to be suited until thou obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden, the Chief of the Giants, for thy wife.”

  Hearing that name the youth blushed, and the love of the maiden named was diffused through all his frame, although he had never seen her. He went to his father and he told him that it had been declared to him that he would never be suited until he had obtained the daughter of Yspaddaden for his wife. “That will not be hard for thee to do,” said his father, “for King Arthur is thy cousin, and he will aid thee. Go to Arthur, therefore. And ask him to cut thy hair, as great lords cut the hair of youths who are dear to them. And as he cuts thy hair ask it of him as a boon that he obtain for thee Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden.” Then Kilhuch mounted his steed and rode off to the Court of King Arthur.

  “I crave it as a boon,” said Kilhuch, “that thou, King Arthur, cut my hair.” “That shall be granted thee,” said the King. “To-morrow I will do it for thee.” Then, on the morrow, King Arthur took a golden comb, and scissors whereof the loops were of silver, and he made ready to cut Kilhuch’s hair.

  All King Arthur’s warriors and chieftains were in the hall, and Gwenhuivar, Arthur’s wife, was there also, when the King did honour to Kilhuch by cutting his hair for him. And the chief story-teller of the Island of Britain was there, and to the King, and to the King’s warriors and chieftains, and to Kilhuch he told a story.

  THE STORY OF PUIL, PRINCE OF DYVED

  How Puil Went Into Annuvin, the Realm of Faerie

  One day in the summer it came into the mind of Puil, Prince of Dyved, to go hunting, and the place in all the seven Cantrevs of Dyved that he chose to go hunting in was the Vale of the Cuch. Early in the morning he went there; he unloosed his hounds in the wood, he sounded his horn, and he began the chase.

  As Puil followed his hounds he lost the companions who had come with him. Still he went on. He came in sight of a glade that was deep in the wood, and then he saw that he was alone. He heard the cry of hounds coming from a direction opposite to that in which his own hounds were going. And as his hounds came to the edge of that glade he saw a stag there; it was at bay before hounds that were not his. Then,
as he came on with his hounds, those other hounds flung themselves on the stag and brought it down.

  It was a great stag. Nevertheless, Puil did not examine it for a while, so taken was he with the sight of the hounds that had pulled the stag down. For these hounds had bodies that were shining white, and they had red ears, and as the whiteness of their bodies shone so did the redness of their ears glisten. Never in all the world had Puil seen hounds that were like these hounds. For a while he looked on them, and then he drove them off, and he set his own hounds to kill the stag.

  Then, just as he had done this, he saw a horseman come out of the wood, riding towards him. He was on a large, light-grey steed, and he had a hunting horn around his neck; he wore a hunting dress that was of grey woollen. And when the horseman came near he spoke to Puil, saying: “Chieftain, I know who thou art—Puil, Prince of Dyved—but I shall not give thee any salutation.”

  Then said Puil: “Art thou then of such great state that thou thinkest it beneath thee to give me salutations?” “I am of great state,” said the stranger, “but it is not the greatness of my state that prevents my giving thee salutations.” “What is it then?” asked Puil. “Thine own discourtesy and rude behaviour,” answered the stranger.