Cronnie Wisdom

Crone is "a phase in which you can be more authentic, more capable of making a difference in your family and in the greater world. Life gives you experience, and when you draw from it, that's true wisdom. By the time a woman is in her crone years, she is in an amazing position to be an influence. To change things for the better, to bring what she knows into a situation, to be able to say, 'Enough is enough.' You don't have to just go along with things, which is often a part of the middle years. You're often something of a loose cannon."
Jean Shinoda Bolen


Thursday, November 28, 2019

“The Very Black Witch” from “How Culhwch Won Olwen”







The tale of the “Very Black Witch” is a story within a story. The story itself is found within the medieval tale of “How Culhwch Won Olwen,” a part of the Welsh Mabinogion.  In “Culwhch and Olwen,” King Arthur agrees to help his cousin complete a series of seemingly impossible tasks to win the hand of Olwen.  Arthur’s knights are managing quite nicely until a question is asked and the story takes another detour.  Arthur says, “Is there any one of the marvels yet unobtained.”  The answer comes, “There is the blood of the witch Orddu (that is, the word black in Welsh) …” The focus is now on Arthur’s battle with the Very Black Witch in an effort to obtain her blood. 



Here is the story as first translated by Lady Charlotte Guest in 1894. 


Said Arthur, “Is there any one of the marvels yet unobtained?”  Said one of his men, “There is—the blood of the witch Orddu, the daughter of the witch Orwen, of Pen Nant Govid, on the confines of Hell.”  Arthur set forth towards the North, and came to the place where was the witch’s cave.  And Gwyn ab Nudd, and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, counselled him to send Kacmwri, and Hygwyd his brother, to fight with the witch.  And as they entered the cave, the witch seized upon them, and she caught Hygwyd by the hair of his head, and threw him on the floor beneath her.  And Kacmwri caught her by the hair of her head, and dragged her to the earth from off Hygwyd, but she turned again upon them both, and drove them both out with kicks and with cuffs.

And Arthur was wroth at seeing his two attendants almost slain, and he sought to enter the cave; but Gwyn and Gwythyr said unto him, “It would not be fitting or seemly for us to see thee squabbling with a hag.  Let Hiramreu and Hireidil go to the cave.”  So they went.  But if great was the trouble of the first two that went, much greater was that of these two.  And Heaven knows that not one of the four could move from the spot, until they placed them all upon Llamrei, Arthur’s mare.  And then Arthur rushed to the door of the cave, and at the door he struck at the witch, with Carnwennan his dagger, and clove her in twain, so that she fell in two parts.  And Kaw, of North Britain, took the blood of the witch and kept it.

Women in medieval Welsh literature are not warriors.  They do not engage in battle or fighting.  Instead they passively await their knights’ return or cry in a survivor’s lament.  In the Mabinogion, however, witches prove to be the exception.  The witches in these stories are strong, and skilled in fighting.  They instill fear in men.   In “How Culhwch Won Olwen,” the Very Black Witch is identified with her mother, the Very White Witch.  As in many folktales, she lacks definition - whether she’s beautiful or hideous is unknown. The only important trait is her strength and fighting ability. Fiona Winward contends, “Within the patriarchal society, strength is regarded as a negative trait in a woman since it necessarily threatens gender definitions.” 

The Very Black Witch lives alone in an isolated region described as “the head of the Valley of Grief in the uplands of hell.”  Arthur was seeking a “wonder not yet attained.”  One of his men suggests acquiring the blood of the Very Black Witch.  It is unknown why she was hunted, what harm she caused, or whether her blood contains magical properties. There was a belief in the Middle Ages that it was impossible to draw blood from a witch. Doing so, therefore, might be considered a marvel or a wonder.  

Surprisingly, the knights find the location easily.  Arthur sends two men into her cave to fight her. As soon as they enter, the Witch grabs one by the hair and throws him to the ground. When the other man attacks her, the Witch retaliates.  She thrashes them both, disarms them, and then sends them out shrieking and shouting.  Arthur agrees to send more men into the battle.   These men received an even greater beating.  All in total, the Very Black Witch fought and defeated four of Arthur’s men.  Although she does not kill them, their injuries are substantial.  The Very Black Witch’s strength is unlikely: her barbaric way of fighting, more humorous than skilled. Arthur ultimately defeats her, but not by engaging her.  He throws his knife from the entrance, cleaves her head in two, and gathers her blood. 

Angela Robinson claims the Very Black Witch is the perfect example of the “other.” She lives alone. “[L]iving near the border of the world and hell, she resists initial attacks but is defeated by a superior male, and she is then turned into a commodity.  Her attachment only to her mother also indicates that she is outside of the society created by Arthur.”  As the “other,” she is the exception.  The qualities of strength, and fighting ability make her an “unlikely female” character.

While the story of “Culhwch and Olwen” is a literary tale, it, like most of the Mabinogion, is influenced heavily by folklore.  Nevertheless, the tale of the “Very Black Witch” feels as if a common folktale has been dropped into a literary story.  Perhaps the medieval audience of this story (which was more often told than read) knew more about the Very Black Witch than the modern reader does.

And so, if I were to craft a variant of this story; one that might fill in some of those blanks yet still reference the genre, the story would go something like this.

Arthur and his knights continued to find the items the old giant requested.  As Culhwch said “it was easy for me to get that, though you may think it’s not easy.” That was especially true since Culhwch ne’er did anything at all. How he became the hero of this tale, this teller doesn’t know.  

Arthur said, “Is there anything else left undone?  Any wonder to seek?  Any marvel to find?”  “Yes, Arthur,” was the reply, “There is one wonder remaining.  We must acquire the blood of the Very Black Witch.”  They traveled to the north. Together they all made haste and soon found themselves before a cave in the Valley of Grief in the uplands of hell.  As you might imagine, this was not a place in which anyone would wish to linger.

Soon the knights began to argue among themselves.  What was the best way to get the Very Black Witch’s blood?  Do they simply wait until she leaves the cave?  Does someone go in to talk to her?  Should they storm the cave to defeat her?  Arthur thought Merlin had warned him about this witch, but he couldn’t remember any specifics.  That’s why it was decided that Arthur’s two attendants (who were brothers) would first enter the cave.  They would ask the Very Black Witch for a cup of her blood.  If she agreed they would leave her undisturbed.  It was safer that way.

The old witch was waiting inside for the young men.  When they asked for her blood she said, “If you can answer my question, I will give you my blood.  If you can’t, I will give you a thrashing.”  The brothers looked at each other and laughed.  “This old woman could be defeated by a child,” they thought.  She smiled and said, “What crawls on the earth, flies in the air and swims in the sea? You must know the answer, it’s the stuff of your master’s dreams.” The eldest brother stepped forward and spoke confidently. “A goose,” he said.

The Very Black Witch gave no reply.  Instead she caught him by his hair and threw him on the ground.  A fight then ensued, with clothes, hair and skin flying.  After a bit the two were tossed from the cave. Dazed and bleeding they said nothing to Arthur about what had happened inside.

Arthur was angry.  He was determined to go into the cave himself, but his advisors convinced him that it wasn’t a fitting activity for a king. This time he sent two knights inside.  The old witch was waiting for them when they entered.  When the knights asked for her blood she said, “If you can answer my question, I will give you my blood.  If you can’t, I will give you a thrashing.”  The knights looked at each other and laughed.  “This crone is so frail she could be tossed by the wind,” they thought.  She smiled and said, “What crawls on the earth, flies in the air and swims in the sea? You must know the answer, it’s the stuff of your master’s dreams.”  One knight stepped forward and spoke confidently. “A swan,” he said.

The Very Black Crone screeched and attacked the pair.  An even greater battle left the two knights bloodied and injured.  She threw them out of the cave as if they were sacks of floor.  Arthur found his two attendants and two knights sitting at the entrance to the cave, sad and defeated.  Unable to move, they were hoisted onto Arthur’s mare. 

Arthur looked aghast at the men strapped to his mare. “How could this happen?” he thought. “I don’t care what Merlin said.  I’m getting that witch’s blood.”  In anger he ran to the cave, pulled out his dagger and threw it inside. All was silent for a long time.   When he thought it was safe, Arthur sent an attendant in to gather her blood.  He found that Arthur’s dagger had cleaved her body into two parts.  She was lying bleeding on the ground.  The attendant filled a cup with her blood.  But before he could even retrieve the dagger, the Very Black Witch disappeared.  In her place was a white raven, glittering and shinning brightly in the darkness. The bird flew quickly out of the cave and landed at Arthur’s feet. “Caw,” the bird squawked. “The end is near,” it said, before flying away.

Arthur asked his knights. “What did that old hag ask you in the cave?” “It was a silly riddle with no answer,” one replied.  “Tell me,” Arthur implored.  “What crawls on the earth, flies in the air and swims in the sea? You must know the answer, it’s the stuff of your master’s dreams,” another one responded.  Arthur stopped his horse.  He held his head in his hands and a tear fell from one eye.  “I’ve been having dreams,” he said “of snakes and dragons and all manner of water beasts.  But how did she know?”  He pondered and thought until sunset.  Everyone waited quietly for him to resume the journey.  “Ahh, now I recall what Merlin told me about the Very Black Witch,” was all he said.  Even though many asked he would say nothing more.  He only looked at them sadly and pointed to the white crow flying home to Nimue.

           



Sunday, October 20, 2019

The Old Woman and the Three Bears

In this post, I’ll explore the portrayal of the old woman as found within Robert Southey’s “The Story of the Three Bears.” This 1837 variant is a literary tale based on the oral tradition.  In this version the character of Goldilocks is traded for that of an old woman.  Southey describes the old woman in this way:  a “little old woman,” a vagrant, an “impudent, bad old woman,” and as a “naughty old woman” who says “bad” or “wicked” words.  He writes that she has an “ugly, dirty head,” and “could not have been a good, honest old woman.”  Southey is clearly using folktale motifs in his work, by either recording, creating or borrowing from other versions of the “Three Bears.” His story, however, does not follow the traditional “old woman” motifs.  As of yet, I’m unable to find any tale type or motif that fits his version of this character.

All this got me to wonder whether Southey is reflecting Victorian stereotypes. But before we explore that topic further, it’s time to read the tale itself.


The Story of the Three Bears
By Robert Southey

Once upon a time there were three Bears, who lived together in a house of their own in a wood. One of them was a Little, Small, Wee Bear; and one was a Middle-sized Bear, and the other was a Great, Huge Bear. They had each a pot for their porridge, a little pot for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized pot for the Middle Bear; and a great pot for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a chair to sit in: a little chair for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized chair for the Middle Bear; and a great chair for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a bed to sleep in: a little bed for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized bed for the Middle Bear; and a great bed for the Great, Huge Bear.

One day, after they had made the porridge for their breakfast and poured it into their porridge pots, they walked out into the wood while the porridge was cooling, that they might not burn their mouths by beginning too soon to eat it. And while they were walking a little old woman came to the house. She could not have been a good, honest, old woman; for, first, she looked in at the window, and then she peeped in at the keyhole, and, seeing nobody in the house, she lifted the latch. The door was not fastened, because the bears were good bears, who did nobody any harm, and never suspected that anybody would harm them. So the little old woman opened the door and went in; and well pleased she was when she saw the porridge on the table. If she had been a good little old woman she would have waited till the bears came home, and then, perhaps, they would have asked her to breakfast, for they were good hears-a little rough or so, as the manner of bear's is, but for all that very good-natured and hospitable. But she was an impudent, bad old woman, and set about helping herself.

So first she tasted the porridge of the Great Huge Bear, and that was too hot for her; and she said a bad word about that. And then she tasted the porridge of the Middle Bear, and that was too cold for her; and she said a bad word about that, too. And then she went to the porridge of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and tasted that, and that was neither too hot nor too cold, but just right; and she liked it so well that she ate it all up; but the naughty old woman said a bad word about the little porridge pot, because it did not hold enough for her.

Then the little old woman sat down in the chair of the Great, Huge Bear, and that was too hard for her. And then she sat down in the chair of the Middle Bear, and that was too soft for her. And then she sat down in the chair of the Little Small, Wee Bear, and that was neither too hard nor too soft, but just right. So she seated herself in it, and there she sat till the bottom of the chair came out, and down came she, plump upon the ground. And the naughty old woman said wicked words about that, too.

Then the little old woman went upstairs into the bedchamber in which the three Bears slept. And first she lay down upon the bed of the Great, Huge Bear, but that was too high at the head for her. And next she lay down upon the bed of the Middle Bear, and that was too high at the foot for her. And then she lay down upon the bed of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and that was neither too high at the head nor at the foot, but just right. So she covered herself up comfortably and lay there till she fell asleep. By this time the three Bears thought their porridge would be cool enough, so they came home to breakfast. Now the little old woman had left the spoon of the Great, Huge Bear standing in his porridge.

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE!" said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great gruff voice. And when the Middle Bear looked at his, he saw that the spoon was standing in it, too. They were wooden spoons; if they had been silver ones the naughty old woman would have put them in her pocket.

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE!" said the middle Bear, in his middle voice.

Then the Little, Small, Wee Bear looked at his, and there was the spoon in the porridge pot, but the porridge was all gone.

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE AND HAS EATEN IT ALL UP!" said
the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.

Upon this the three Bears, seeing that someone had entered their house and eaten up the Little, Small, Wee Bear's breakfast, began to look about them. Now the little old woman had not put the hard cushion straight when she rose from the chair of the Great, Huge Bear.

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR!" said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice.

And the little old woman had squatted down the soft cushion of the Middle Bear.

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR!" said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.

And you know what the little old woman had done to the third chair.

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR, AND HAS SAT THE BOTTOM
OUT OF IT!" said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.

Then the three bears thought it necessary that they should make further search; so they went upstairs into their bedchamber. Now the little old woman had pulled the pillow of the Great, Huge Bear out of its place.

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED!" said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice.

And the little old woman had pulled the bolster of the Middle Bear out of its place.
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED!" said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.

And when the Little, Small, Wee Bear came to look at his bed, there was the bolster in its place, and upon the pillow was the little old woman's ugly, dirty head-which was not in its place, for she had no business there.

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED-AND HERE SHE IS!" said the Little,
Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.

The little old woman had heard in her sleep the great, rough, gruff voice of the Great, Huge Bear, but she was so fast asleep that it was no more to her than the moaning of wind or the rumbling of thunder. And she had heard the middle voice of the Middle Bear, but it was only as if she had heard someone speaking in a dream. But when she heard the little, small, wee voice of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, it was so sharp and so shrill that it awakened her at once. Up she started, and when she saw the three bears on one side of the bed, she tumbled herself out at the other and ran to the window. Now the window was open, because the Bears, like good, tidy bears as they were, always opened their bedchamber window when they got up in the morning. Out the little old woman jumped, and whether she broke her neck in the fall or ran into the wood and was lost there, or found her way out of the wood and was taken up by the constable and sent to the House of Correction for a vagrant as she was, I cannot tell. But the three Bears never saw anything more of her.




The Victorian period’s emphasis on industrialization led to wide class disparity.  Those who were unable to work were treated as an underclass.  Living in poverty was a criminal offense. (Remember, debtors’ prisons?)  For women, children and the elderly, there were fewer options.  They could subject themselves to the local workhouse or live on the streets. During the Victorian age, the upper class viewed those living in the abyss of the underworld as the “criminal class.” We can see this criminal class represented in Charles Dickens’ novel “Oliver Twist.”

This photo, “The Woman on the Steps,” was taken by John Thompson sometime after 1876 in a series called “The Crawlers.”  Along with Adolphe Smith (who wrote a commentary), the two recorded the Victorian life of the poor.  Smith writes, “Huddled together on the workhouse steps in Short’s Gardens, those wrecks of humanity, the Crawlers of St. Giles’s, may be seen both day and night seeking mutual warmth and mutual consolation in their extreme misery. As a rule, they are old women reduced by vice and poverty to that degree of wretchedness which destroys even the energy to beg.”

Later he describes her existence in this way: “They sit on the hard stone step of the workhouse, their heads reclining on the door, and here by old custom they are left undisturbed…When it rains, the door offers a little shelter if the wind is in a favorable direction, but as a rule the women are soon drenched, and consequently experience all the tortures of ague and rheumatism in addition to their other ailments. Under such circumstances sound sleep is an unknown luxury, hence that drowsiness from which they are never thoroughly exempt. This peculiarity has earned them the nickname of “dosses,” derived from the verb to doze, by which they are sometimes recognized. The crawlers may truly be described as persons who sleep with one eye open. Those who seem in the soundest sleep will look up languidly on the approach of a stranger, as if they were always anticipating interference of some sort.”

Robert Southey’s story sets a strong moral tone throughout.  He is not the neutral observer of the old woman’s actions but identifies her from the beginning of the tale as a vagrant and a thief.  Southey’s mother was an aristocrat and he was raised in that environment.  Throughout his life he was helped by those with power or money. Nonetheless, he had a desire for social justice and a more egalitarian way of life.  In his poem, “The Complaints of the Poor” he shares their plight with a rich man.  Nonetheless, the “Story of the Three Bears” appears to highlight the outrage of the upper class who saw vagrants as morally bereft robbers.  The sleeping old woman could easily be seen in his day as either a crawler or dosses.  Whether he was embracing the morals of his day or making a parody of them remains unknown.  Either is possible based on what we know of Southey.

With that said, I decided that I was called to set right Robert Southey’s highly defamatory version of the “The Three Bears.”  If this was a true and accurate recording of an oral telling I would be unable to do so, but because he so besmirched the reputation of this old woman it behooves me to explain how she came to the Three Bears house to begin with.

Epilogue

The old woman’s name was Sarah Collins and no beggar woman was she.  Sure, she had come by hard times.  Her husband was a ship captain who died at sea many a year ago.  Left without a farthing or a child, she worked at the local pub where she eked out a living.  Aye, poor but proud, she was.  Not long ago, they say, a strange man entered the pub.  Tall and thin he was with long hair and an even longer beard.  His cloak was purple but his vest, an emerald green.  Well, you’ll never guess what happened next.  That old man walked right up to Sarah and held out her husband’s wedding ring. That ring should still be at the bottom of the sea!  He said her husband freely gave him the ring with the promise he would care for sweet Sarah.  Well, naturally she asked what that meant. The old man pointed to the woods.  He said look for the cottage with a red door.  It would have the mark of the bear upon it.  If she could find that cottage all her troubles would be over, and she would live happily ever after.  What happened next you already know.  And yes, she had the sailor’s mouth about her but that was just her disappointment for what she found in that house.  You don’t serve whisky to sailors for 40 years without pickin’ up a colorful word or two.  But she was no theft!  Not our Sarah!  And scared she was I’m sure to be awakened by some bears.

What happened next is a mystery. Southey ne’er asked me nor any of the old wives who lived nearby if his story was true.  Here is what I heard.  Sarah ran through the woods until she found a tidy cottage with many children running and playing about.  Strangely, the cottage had a red door with the mark of a bear.  She knocked on the door and a young widow woman answered.  Next thing you know Sarah was living with the woman and acting as granny to those children. You can believe me when I say Sarah ne’er ended up in any jail for, she is living happily to this day. Next time Southey should take the time to get his story straight before he hurts the reputation of a poor and defenseless old woman!