From the Cauldron to the Grail (Part IV)

Sir Galahad, the Quest for the Holy Grail by Arthur Hughes

In the first, second and third part of my essay, From the Cauldron to the Grail (Part I), (Part II), (Part III), I concentrated on the subject of the cauldron and its significance in the everyday life, mythology and literature of the Celtic peoples, showcasing the way it features in various Welsh and Irish myths.

I focused on its evolution/transformation to the Holy Grail of the Matter of Britain as it’s explained in the theory put forth by the Scottish journalist, poet, author, folklorist and occult scholar, Lewis Spence, in his magnus opus, The Magic Arts in Celtic Britain: one that proposes the sacred vessel is actually the cauldron we read about in Taliesin’a poem, The Spoils of Annwn.

In the fourth and last part, I’ll complete my essay with Spence’s final extrapolation regarding the origins of the Holy Grail and its close association with the Nilotic myth of the Egyptian god Osiris as well as with the way I’ve made use of the cauldron and other similar vessels in my own mythic fantasy novel.

Spence argues with full conviction the Grail legend meshed with that of the divine King and the ”Maimed King” is one and the same with Arthur, his legend of slumbering in an island or cave or in a resting place underneath a mountain of indubitable fame. Arthur is undoubtedly the wounded king who, trasported to the otherwordly isle of Avalon, is taken care of by nine supernatural enchantresses, resembling in this regard the Grail King.

Through his sinful deeds or the wound sustained in his thighs, he suffers the loss of his divine status and the land over which he rules becones barren until he breaks free from his enchantment. The tale of Amangons (about which I wrote in the third part) provides enough proof. In one of the Arthurian myths, wherever Arthur steps, the land becomes sterile for a span of seven years, a storyline related to the maimed/sinful king.

The arc of the holy receptacle was incorporated into the narrative of the divine king and through curious ways reached the British shores at a fairly early period and fused with native Celtic traditions of similar nature such as those of the salmon of knowledge and the Annuvian cauldron. Unquestionably, it has formed part of the mythical material that relates to the cultus and rituals of the divine king.

Throughout The Magic Arts in Celtic Britain, Spence explains the reasons why the myth of Arthur bears a strong resemblance to the tradition of the divine king, one that originated in the ancient times of the Nile country. He further stresses the legend of the Holy Grail can be traced back to the same Nilotic myth, which morphed into a melange with the tales of the native British cauldron.

The Nilotic myth was birthed during a terrible period of famine in the island of Elephantine. In the same fashion, another circumstance gave birth to the cauldron when Arthur braved the Annuvian depths and reached the fortress of Caer Pedryvan. Such myth served multiple functions, Spence claims, as it not only brought to life the legend of the Grail but possibly that of others, like the Fountain of Youth in the mythical land of Bimini whose waters the native tribes believed to gift a man with youth and longevity. In some versions of the Holy Grail, when the Fisher King is restored to health, the land once again flourishes and the rivers swell and flow.

All these enduring myths and fables later came to be associated with the Christian narrative of the Grail. Of course, the foundation had already been built in Britain as there existed already such beliefs, the fruit of fusion between Celtic and Egyptian conceptions.

Upon this amalgamation, the later French and English romances were added, all these lays attesting to the mixed descent of the Grail arc. That constitutes sufficient proof for Spence who contends the cultus of Arthur—a blend of British and Egyptian Neo-Platonic notions—must have held considerable sway over the Grail legend, especially considering the identification of Arthur with Osiris.

In a nutshell, the Arthurian cult, it appears, had wholly absorbed the character and attributes of the Egyptian god Osiris and transferred them to the British titular god, as is evidenced by every known segment of his myth.

What I’ve found most refreshing in Spence’s views is that, unlike other scholars and literary figures, he hasn’t made a series of painful and frustrating attempts to ground Arthur and the ancestry of the Holy Grail to historical reality. Even though he acknowledges there existed the cult of Arthur where he was worshipped as a solar and war deity—established by Ambrosius Aurelianus—he dispenses with such ideas from the beginning and dons the lenses of comparative mythology and literary tradition in order to unearth the truth of the matter. And he’s certainly erudite enough and possess a most lucid mind to make a strong case.

Herculean have been all the efforts throughout the centuries to disclose and decode the mystical origins of the Grail. With so many voices opining on the subject, it’s an impossible task to determine who is right and who is wrong. Perhaps every perspective may carry some truth, some more and others less. However, it’s an undeniable fact the majority of those who have seriously studied the Grail legend are convinced of its Celtic lineage.

Cauldrons, cups, dishes and other similar vessels—as has been indicated so far—are a staple of the Celtic literary tradition and mythology, their symbolic significance manifesting in various ways: feritility, wisdom, resurrection, knowledge etc.

My own mythic fantasy novel, currently titled The Fruit of Passion, heavily inspired by the atmosphere and the tales contained in The Mabinogion, couldn’t possibly remain aloof from all that magnificent lore. So, until now, there have been two instances where I’ve incorporated into my own work subplots that revolve around such fabled receptacles.

In the first, Morella, the main character needs to help Anna, a close friend and knightess, who was badly injured in battle against the fairies. Both characters possess the gift of awen, which is the seed of all magic. Anna has healed herself as much as she can through her own magical abilities, but more has to be done to fully regain her former strength.

In comes their former mentor, Cyprianus, who tells them of a faraway island beyond the North Wind that cannot be traced in any map called Hyperborea. Here I made use of the existing legend of the Boreades tribe whom the ancient Greeks identified as Celtic, residing in the Northest corner of the Earth. As I made use of the second branch of the Mabinogi and the Pair Dadeni that plays an important role in the story, marrying the two myths.

The Pair Dadeni, literally the cauldron of rebirth, is a magical cauldron able to revive the dead that originally belonged to a pair of giants: Llasar Llaes Gyfnewid and his wife Cymydei Cymeinfoll. In my own novel, I rendered the pair rulers of the isle of Hyperborea and guardians of the Pair Dadeni, which is hidden in a double-mouthed, crystal cave. The cauldron of rebirth restores to life people heavily wounded in war or those on the throes of death.

But the cauldron doesn’t function on its own, for next to it I conceived the existence of a cluster of rocks where a stream bubbles, an amethyst goblet wedged into one of the stony clefts. The cauldron’s water possesses cleansing powers. Once the goblet is immersed within, it must be filled with blood and consumed twice for the rest of a person’s life from full moon to full moon.

If the consumer is a wounded warrior, the blood must flow from the veins of the enemy who caused the harm. If someone dying, the blood must flow from the veins of a loved one.

The second instance is actually the pearl-rimmed cauldron that doesn’t boil the food of a coward Arthur coveted in The Spoils of Annwn. Morella, like the British King, braves the depths of Annwn—the otherwordly residence of the dead—in order to reunite with her mother and find the answers she seeks. Before she completes her quest, though, she must pass a test: enter the isle’s ancient temple, encounter the nine otherwordly maidens who tend to the cauldron with their fiery breath and drink from its mead that is the very source of awen and consequently all magic.

Morella drinks the liquor with success, in the process flooded with powerful visions she had never before experienced as a seer, before she recovers and meets with her mother.

Whether in the form of a supernatural cauldron, a mystical cup or a sacred dish, the receptacle of the Celtic myths and legends is an object that still rouses the popular imagination and exerts considerable fascination over our imagined reality.

Perhaps because it represents humanity’s deepest longings and aspirations: the gaining of the world’s knowledge and the mysteries that govern it, the acquisition of wisdom that exceeds mortal boundaries and touches upon the divine, the healing of the body and the flight from death, the love of beauty and the chase of eternal youth.

But above all, the eternal celebration of life through the means of nourishment, abundance and fertility.

Protected: The Fruit of Passion: Chapter 27 – Part III

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Christina Rossetti’s ‘Goblin Market’- faery lore and art

Goblin Market  by Christina Rosetti is a narrative poem of stunning imagery and abundant sensuality. The drive behind its plot focuses on the actions of the goblin men and how the fruits they sell in the market affect the life of a pair of loving sisters. In this post, the fantastic aspects of the poem regarding the fairies are brought to light and discussed in depth.

British Fairies

ArthurRackham_GoblinMarket_100 Arthur Rackham, Goblin Market

Christina Rossetti’s poem, Goblin Market, which was published in 1862, is primarily a work of literary genius.  Its rich, intoxicating language and hypnotic rhythm and refrains carry the reader along irresistibly.  It is a long poem, too long to reproduce in full here, but I provide a link to the whole text and cite here the first few lines:

“Morning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
“Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpeck’d cherries,
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries;
All ripe together
In summer weather,
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy:
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and…

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Protected: The Fruit of Passion: Chapter 22 – Part IV

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Olwen: Myth and Religion in the Fantastic (Part I)

Ysbaddaden

Culhwch at Ysbaddaden’s court. An illustration by E. Wallcousins in Celtic Myth and Legend, Charles Squire, 1920

In my mythic fantasy novel, currently titled The Fruit of Passion, I’ve drawn extensive inspiration from various sources of Celtic myth and legend and incorporated many events and episodes of fabulous origin into my main narrative.

However, Celtic tradition is divided into several branches. Of particular interest to me is the rich and wonderful material pertaining to the Welsh, namely the Mabinogion (the earliest prose stories of the literature of Britain, compiled in Middle Welsh in the 12th–13th centuries from earlier oral traditions) and The Spoils of Annwn (Preiddeu Annwfn), a cryptic poem of sixty lines in Middle Welsh, found in the Book of Taliesin and  recounting an expedition with King Arthur to Annwn, the Welsh name for the Celtic Otherworld.

The stories contained in the Mabinogion are highly entertaining, providing a wide panorama of fantasy, romance, drama, philosophy, tragedy and humour. Beasts and giants, magic and illusions, kings and noble ladies, knights and fair maidens, quests and lasting friendships, battles and deceptions, mercy and valour are only a small sample of what one will encounter in the pages of this book.

Set in the dual worlds between the valleys and forests of Wales and the mysterious, shadowy realms of the Otherworld, many of the tales move within a dreamlike atmosphere that weaves a web of seduction all over the reader.

And I was seduced in the twinkling of an eye. It was love at first sight for me. As soon as I finished reading the first page, I was bewitched. Deeply moved by the tales, I thought to transfer many of their motifs, themes, episodes, characters and general ambience into my own novel in an attempt to infuse my own work with the Celtic mentality and worldview, keeping as close to the original source but doing so in my own way so as to create a distinction between my narrative and the Mabinogion.

It’s my personal view that the creation of a new religion is one of the most intriguing and fascinating aspects of world-building in a work of fiction. Immediately, we writers are called to answer the question of how we can go about crafting a new system of divine faith. Do we rely upon preexisting religions? If yes, do we borrow elements and doctrines from one or are we to consider multiple at the same time? Do we blend facets of one familiar to us with made-up dogmas and creeds our imagination conjures? Or are we to give complete and free reign to our fancy and see where this path leads us?

I believe there’s no definite, clear-cut reply to that as the most important thing in fiction that eclipses all other ”rules” and ”regulations” is to write and incorporate that which best serves our narrative and story arc.

With that in mind, my own approach was to combine a few attitudes already found in a religion familiar to me with those found in paganism. So, I kept some Christian tenets like those of love, benevolence, truth and forgiveness and aimed for an amalgam with the concepts and tropes that abound in one of the stories in the Mabinogion, namely that of Culhwch and Olwen.

One of the most complex and celebrated stories in the collection, Culhwch and Olwen recounts the trials and tribulations the titular character face in order to enjoy their happily ever after.

After a difficult childbirth, King Cilydd, son of Celyddon, loses his wife, Goleuddydd. When he remarries, his son, the young Culhwch, rejects his stepmother’s attempt to pair him with his new stepsister. Offended, the new queen puts a curse on him so that he can marry no one besides the beautiful Olwen, the daughter of the giant Ysbaddaden Pencawr. Though he has never seen her, Culhwch becomes enamoured of her at the sound of her name, but his father warns him that he will never find her without the aid of his famous cousin, Arthur.

Culhwch sets off and finds him at his court in Celliwig in Cornwall. Arthur consents to aid him, and sends a number of his finest warriors to join Culhwch in his search for Olwen. The group meets some relatives of Culhwch’s that know Olwen and agree to arrange a meeting. Olwen is receptive to Culhwch’s attraction, but she cannot marry him unless her father agrees, and he, unable to survive past his daughter’s wedding, will not consent until Culhwch completes a series of about forty impossible-sounding tasks. The tasks completed, the giant is killed, and the lovers are free to marry.

Although the titular characters do not feature prominently in the tale, the challenges Culhwch undergoes in order to earn his happy end with his beloved are beyond fascinating. So Culhwch’s determination and Olwen’s limitless patience operated as a canvass for me in order to work on their personalities and make them both fully-fledged individuals.

My novel being highly character-driven, I couldn’t relegate these two into shadowy presences at the fringes of the narrative. I transformed them into characters of cunning and action and strength, motivated by their goals and desires. Populating my novel with a series of female characters of undeniable agency, I thought to add one more in the form of Olwen.

Assigning to her a much more active role than the one she enjoyed in the Mabinogion, I conceived her as an otherwordly maiden to be courted not by Culhwch this time, but by a strong warrior named Sil, the son of an eastern enchantress forced to flee her natal land and seek refuge in the isles of the North: thus bringing into the mix the legend of the ancient king Sil who is rumoured to be buried atop his horse with his golden armour in the mound of Silbury).

When Sil completes the tasks requested by Olwen’s father, King Pen, the couple marries and they flee with some of the maiden’s kin to the mortal realm, to the fictional island of Rumia where Sil and his kniswomen live. Now populated, the island begins to thrive and due to her innate kindness and her magical abilities associated with fertility, Olwen is venerated by the islanders and at her death, she acquires divine status and is worshipped as the goddess of the sun.

Etymologically speaking, Olwen means white footprint. In the Mabinogion, she was so gentle and fragile that white trefoils would grow beneath her feet. Something which I changed in my novel, opting for white lilies instead. Some authorities consider her to have been originally a solar goddess, based on the etymology of her name and light-related attributes. And that is the line I’ ve followed in my own novel.

Below follows an excerpt from the story of Culhwch and Olwen where the latter is described in exquisite, vivid detail.

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 sprung up wherever she trod. And therefore was she called Olwen.

 

Book Review: The Child that Went with the Fairies

Lilaia Moreli - Words Are Sacred

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Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s short story The Child that Went with the Fairies narrates the tale of a poor widow and her four children living in a sublime Irish landscape. While the three youngest are outside playing and the sister and mother are busy doing their tasks, the youngest of all the siblings, Billy, is taken away by the ”Good People” as the fair folk are called in the story. Little Billy returns to his family from time to time until one day he vanishes altogether, never to reappear, and is considered dead.

On the surface, The Child that Went with the Fairies, resembles a typical, supernatural tale where a child is kidnapped by some otherwordly folks under mysterious circumstances and is forever torn apart from his loved ones. But Le Fanu is an astute writer who knows how to add layers upon layers of meaning, rendering his work…

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