By Kit Treadwell (ct578@cam.ac.uk)
Dating from the middle of the twelfth century to the middle of the thirteenth, seven Welsh poems bear the title element dadolwch (appeasement, reconciliation).[1] These seven poems — unique enough to bear their own genre term — may well belie a larger but inextant tradition. Regardless, working with what we have reveals the pitfalls of being a poet to a prince. One, by the poet Gwilym Rhyfel (Gwilym Battle) to the Prince Dafydd ab Owain Gwynedd, implies that the poet has been exiled and is in hiding; another, by Phylip Brydydd (Philip the Poet), apologises for insults sung about his patron while working for a rival patron (the original figure’s nephew) with whom the former was feuding over land.[2] Two of the others refer to false accusations, although — perhaps prudently, given the request for reconciliation — neither mentions exactly what that accusation might be. All are liberally interspersed with praise that was the poet’s standard fare.
The dadolwch are a window into the traditional relationship between poet and patron, revealing it to be transactional. Welsh princes (and later the gentry) relied upon poets to proclaim their excellence to all and sundry. Poetry was an industry, for which poets expected to be paid; we are dealing with conscious propaganda. As one poet sings: ‘You without me; you could not speak / me without you, I could not speak myself’.[3] Yet poets clearly took their responsibilities more seriously than just as a source of profit, with their very public performances not only praising but creating and upholding expectations of behaviour. A prince was praised for their virtues, but those virtues were not inherent — they required upkeep.
Take, for example, the two dadolwch of Cynddelw Brydydd Mawr (Cynddelw the Big Poet) to the Lord Rhys. Not a man known for his modesty — he begins the first of the dadolwchau with the call ‘be quiet, bards: hear a real bard’ — his apology is unsurprisingly light on actual contrition.[4] Indeed, the closest he comes is denial: ‘I have not sung against you a complete expression of slander’.[5] This leaves open the possibility that Cynddelw has sung just a little bit of slander — and this perhaps is where the heart of the poem lies.[6] When Cynddelw praises his patron as ‘generous with critics’, before reminding him that Rhys ordered Cynddelw to be silent, the implication is clear: I have every right to criticise, your skin is too thin.[7] Thus the curtain is raised on the complicated tightrope that medieval Welsh poets had to tread: be critical, but not too critical, be vocal, but not too vocal, and if you praise someone else, well — lie through your teeth.
Illustration: The Black Book of Carmarthen, National Library of Wales, http://www.llgc.org.uk/collections/digital-gallery/digitalmirror-manuscripts/the-middle-ages/blackbookofcarmarthen/
[1] Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru, ‘dadolwch’.
[2] Rhian M. Andrews, ‘Cerddi Bygwth a Dadolwch Beirdd y Tywysogion’, Studia Celtica 41 (2007), pp. 120 and 131.
[3] Cynddelw’s Awdl Ddadolwch yr Arglwydd Rhys, lines 173–4. Translation my own.
[4] Cynddelw’s Englynion Ddadolwch yr Arglwydd Rhys, line 16. Translation my own.
[5] Cynddelw’s Awdl Ddadolwch yr Arglwydd Rhys, lines 19–20. Translation my own.
[6] Rhian M. Andrews, ‘Cerddi Bygwth a Dadolwch Beirdd y Tywysogion’, Studia Celtica 41 (2007), p. 127.
[7] Cynddelw’s Awdl Ddadolwch yr Arglwydd Rhys, lines 153–8.
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