This Penguin Classic translated by Jeffrey Gantz (not the same illustration as pictured here) is the third translation of The Mabinogion I have read, and it’s by far the best. The title is misleading, stemming from Lady Charlotte Guest’s use of it in her nineteenth century translation, but it’s now ”established and convenient”. In his introduction Gantz explains the misuse in detail.
The collection comprises eleven medieval Welsh folk tales, or, as I think of them, fragments, transcribed orally down the centuries and with consequent distortion. It must be that the significance of many of the details has been lost, details, and repetition of detail, that would have been expected and eagerly listened for as the tales were recited. Those clearest to understand are the three final tales, which are Arthurian, and are different versions of the tales in Chrétien de Troyes, Yvain, Perceval, and Erec and Enide, the last of which I have reviewed separately on GR. The Welsh equivalents of the heroes' names are Owein, Peredur and Geraint. “Peredur” is likened by Jeffrey Gantz to “Pryderi” in an earlier Welsh tale in the same volume, forming part of the first ‘branch’ of the tales. There are four branches, from South Wales, North Wales, tales from broader sources, and Arthurian. There are connections to and counterparts with early Irish tales, and even, in The Dream of Maxen, with Rome. The geography of the tales is fluid, which again reflects the borrowed or common elements.
Of course, there is magic and mystery, and later, with the Arthurian tales, chivalry. Jeffrey Gantz regrets that “as a repository of myth and history The Mabinogion is highly corrupt” but celebrates that “the tales preserve, albeit in garbled form, much of the primitive, fantastic, fascinating world of Celtic myth, and they exemplify the heroic, romantic, idealistic world of Celtic literature. If the beginnings of The Mabinogion remain a mystery, its continued appeal does not.”
This is what Gantz chooses, from Peredur, to tempt us with as he opens his introduction:
“On the bank of the river he saw a tall tree: from roots to crown one half was aflame and the other green with leaves”. . . .
“the green leaves symbolizing the rich and concrete beauty of the mortal world, the flames symbolizing the flickering shadowy uncertainty of the otherworld, and the whole emblematic of the tension and mystery which characterise all forms of Celtic art.”
It is not only this introduction, but Gantz’s brief explanations prefacing each story, that bring to life the tales and illuminate the actions of the characters, which are far from being plot-driven. In Math, Son of Mathonwy, Lleu is given for wife Blodeuedd, a girl conjured up from flowers. Her betrayal of her husband, whom she has been forced to marry, brings this comment from Gantz:
“The love of Blodeuedd (from blodeu, ‘flowers’) blooms and fades and has not the constancy of mortal feeling”.
You’re probably picking up that Jeffrey Gantz’s notes interested me more than the tales themselves, which I had already read, of course, but without much understanding. For me they were important because they are all we have of early Welsh literature. But coming to such a broad view of the interconnection of Irish, Welsh, Cornish, Breton and French medieval tales was something of a revelation for me as they reflect a society where the travelling story-tellers enabled a common foundation of belief and values, as well as facilitating the spread of trade, commerce and the arts, all of which flourished despite successive invasions of foreign peoples. Thus it is that the Celtic languages and culture have survived into the twenty-first century despite the dominance of English (I know, the language in which I am writing this review!). England does feature in The Mabinogion – Peredur, for instance, is a son of Earl Evrawg (York, from the Latin Eboracum) - and, in Branwen Daughter of Llŷr, even London comes into the story. Scotland would have come under “Northern Britain”, which it did until recent times. (My father had a brass whisky tumbler he had picked up in London, which had “Ben Nevis, Northern Britain” inscribed on it). But, to quote again from the introduction,
“Set largely within the British Isles, the tales (nonetheless) create a dream-like atmosphere by telescoping Saxon- and Norman-dominated present into the misty Celtic past of has been and never was.”
But still real to Celts, dream or not? Is not a dream real, in so far as it creates a myth that partakes of reality, that becomes reality? Is this not the true nature of the Celt, and thus the fascination of these mabinogi?