The Story of the Great Goddess Cerridwen and the Birth of Taliesin, the Bard

Friday, and it's Storytime. Here is a famous tale, retold for the simple joy of telling a story "in one's own voice." Make yourself your special drink, snuggle into your favorite blanket and enjoy the tale...

THE STORY OF THE GREAT GODDESS CERRIDWEN

AND THE BIRTH OF TALIESIN, THE BARD

By Jessica North-O’Connell

            There was once, in a time that is not a time and a place that is not a place, a great Hall: and in this Hall in the middle of the island in the middle of a lake dwelt the most great and noble Lady, whose name is Cerridwen, she who is Keeper of the mighty Cauldron of the Deep, which is called Aven.

           

            Now it was that Cerridwen had two children: a daughter, Creirwy, the most beautiful girl in the world, and a son, Morvran, whose name means, “Black Raven,” or “Great Crow,” he who was also called Afaggdu by some, as unhandsome a lad as his sister was lovely.

            Cerridwen, so as to compensate Morvran for his unwholesome looks, decided to make for her son an elixir; an elixir of wisdom and knowledge, of poetry and cunning, of prophesy and magical power, so that her son might be the cleverest of all men, that his life might know some pleasure and joy. She gathered together the waters of prophesy and inspiration, and herbs and ocean foam, and at each proper lunar and planetary phase, she added these to the Cauldron Aven. Cerridwen sought out an old blind man to tend the flame beneath the Cauldron, and his assistant, a young boy who was known as Gwion Bach, to stir the graal, the magical contents of Aven. Nine women stood by the Cauldron, breathing upon its simmering contents for the prescribed period of a year and a day.

            Three drops were all that was required; three drops would bestow upon her son all the greatest gifts. As the time of completion drew near, Cerridwen placed her infant son Morvran beside the Cauldron, in readiness to receive his legacy. Then, exhausted by her long and faithful efforts, she went into the nearby woods to rest. There under the shelter of a great tree, she fell into a deep and wondrous sleep—for what else can be the Dreams of Goddesses?

The child Gwion Bach stirred and stirred the contents of the great Cauldron. Lost in a reverie, or perhaps lulled into a trance by the intoxicating vapors of the graal, he accidentally splashed three drops upon his own hand. Surprised by the pain caused by the burning liquid, and without thought, he thrust his wounded hand into his mouth to soothe it. Instantly he received the gifts intended for Morvran. Instantly the Cauldron split apart with a sound like thunder, spilling its now-poisonous remains upon the ground. Instantly Cerridwen awoke and realized what had transpired.

            With his newly-acquired abilities, Gwion Bach perceived that he was in extreme danger and so he began to run. Cerridwen chased him, a furiously-screaming hag, into the forest. But Gwion Bach now had magical powers and so changed himself into the shape of a hare. In response, Cerridwen changed herself into a black greyhound. Gwion the hare ran as hard and fast as he could with Cerridwen the black hound in close pursuit until he reached the water's edge. Just as she was about to snatch him up in her jaws, Gwion shifted his shape into that of a fish and swam away in the river. But Cerridwen shapeshifted herself into an otter and pursued until her nose rushed the fins of Gwion Bach’s fishtail. In terror, Gwion shifted into the shape of a bird and shot up into the sky, but Cerridwen became a hawk, strong and fast and fiercely intent upon her prey. Across the sky they flew, two birds racing the wind, one in fear, one in fury.

            From his vantage point high in the sky, Gwion Bach spied a pile of wheat kernels in a barnyard below. Barely escaping Cerridwen’s hawk talons, he disguised himself as the tiniest seed and dropped into the pile, thinking that he could hide himself therein. But Cerridwen shifted into the shape of a plump red hen, and setting herself down beside the pile, pecked away at the wheat until she had found the seed that was Gwion Bach. Cluck, cluck—she ate him up, thinking this to be his end. Cluck, cluck.

            But the tiny seed that was Gwion Bach sprouted and took root inside the body of the Lady and soon began to grow. Cerridwen swore that the day the babe was born would be the day he died. Nine months passed slowly and when the day of her travail arrived, she birthed the babe Gwion had become. The Lady looked upon his shining brow and beauteous face, and she relented. Instead of strangling him as she had planned, she put him inside a leather sack and threw him into the turbulent waters of a great river, two days before the first of May.

            It is said that Prince Elphin was upon the river at Samhain, the feast of the Dead, in the hope of catching a salmon for the evening meal, when he pulled into his boat a leather sack. Therein was the most beautiful child he had ever seen and he named the miraculous baby Taliesin, “shining brow,” he who was first and greatest of the cerrddorion, the poetic sons of the Great Lady Cerridwen.

           

I am Taliesin. I sing perfect metre,

Which will last to the end of the world.

Anon. 13th C., Welsh