Analysis: Translators of medieval romances reshaped stories to portray Irish women as more independent and proactive than their English counterparts
In the 15th century, Ireland experienced a remarkable wave of translations of Continental narratives. But the way these translations were produced differs sharply from modern practices. Like their European counterparts, Irish translators prioritised making texts accessible and appealing to their new audience rather than remaining strictly faithful to the source. Foreign stories were reshaped to suit Irish tastes and conventions, making them distinctly Irish.
A striking example is Beathadh Sir Gui o Bharbhuic, the Early Modern Irish version of the Middle English Guy of Warwick, itself a translation of the Anglo-Norman Gui de Warewic. The Irish text survives in a single manuscript, held at Trinity College Dublin, and textual evidence suggests it was produced in the last quarter of the 15th century by Uilleam Mac an Leagha, likely a member of the prominent Leigheas family of scribes and translators of medical texts.
Comparing the Irish adaptation of Beathadh Sir Gui with its English source reveals interesting differences between the two versions, as well as important aspects of the socio-cultural landscape of late-medieval Ireland. While structure and style were changed in the process of translation, the most telling cultural insights emerge from differences in content.
The plot remains largely the same: Guy of Warwick falls in love with Felice, the Earl of Warwick's daughter, and wins her hand by proving his worth in battles abroad. Soon after their marriage, burdened by his violent past, Guy departs on a pilgrimage of atonement, returning shortly before his death.
However, the Irish adaptation shifts the story’s focus by placing greater emphasis on piety, chivalry and tournaments. The most fascinating divergence, however, lies in the portrayal of women, especially in the figure of Felice. Across several key moments, the Irish text reimagines her role, making her more independent than her English counterpart.
This shift is first visible in Felice’s introduction. In the English text, she is a conventional romance female character, praised mainly for her beauty. The Irish version, however, presents a more nuanced figure. While her beauty is acknowledged, greater attention is devoted to her piety, gentleness, and skill in embroidery and handiwork. The focus on these practical skills reflects the social expectations for noblewomen in late-medieval Ireland, where weaving and embroidery were essential elements of their upbringing.
Moreover, the Irish Felice shows some agency in her marriage. In the English romance, her father arranges her marriage without her consent. In the Irish version, he consults her, framing the union more as a partnership between equals. This reflects long-standing Irish legal traditions, as early Irish law recognised forms of union such as lánamnas comthinchuir ('marriage of common contribution’), where both spouses contributed equally to shared property, and lánamnas for bantinchur (‘marriage on woman contribution’), where the woman brought most of the assets into the union.
Irish Felice’s active role in her marriage is also seen in how she expresses her love: she only declares her feelings once the marriage is being arranged, when it has legal and practical significance. By contrast, the English Felice, as a typical emotional romance heroine, expresses her love before any formal arrangement, about which she has no say anyway.
The Irish Felice channels her sorrow into action and devotes little time to weeping
Felice also emerges as more proactive at two of the story’s most dramatic moments: Guy’s departure for his pilgrimage and his death. In the English version, she is passive and driven by emotion. During her husband’s absence, she feels extremely hurt, with a brief mention of her engaging in charitable works. After his death, she is helplessly overcome by grief, isolates herself, and eventually dies of heartbreak.
By contrast, the Irish Felice channels her sorrow into action and devotes little time to weeping. During Guy’s absence, she commissions chapels and religious establishments to pray for his safe return. After his death, she sets aside her grief to found a monastery attended by 30 priests. Only after completing these works does she allow herself to die. This reflects a reality of late-medieval Irish society, where women could act as patrons of religious foundations and literary production.
Another crucial shift appears in the depiction of Felice’s burial. In the English version, she is laid to rest with Guy, but the Irish version specifies that she is buried alone. Significantly, the Irish word for ‘alone’, aentuma could imply widowhood, but primarily referred to unmarried women, who could enjoy a certain degree of independence.
This idea of women living alone with some measure of autonomy was embedded in early Irish law, notably in the law collection Senchas Már and the legal tract on marriage and divorce Cáin Lánamna. Widows could control dowries and joint property, make wills, enter contracts and act as heads of households without male guardianship. Unmarried women typically remained under male guardianship, but they could manage property if they stayed single past a certain age, usually around 20 years of age (especially if they inherited family land).
Although the absence of the exact source text forces us to treat these conclusions as speculations, the connection between the more independent Irish Felice and the socio-legal reality of women’s lives in Ireland is strong. It makes a convincing case that her characterisation was a deliberate choice by the translator. This portrayal reminds us that medieval translation was not just about language, but was also a reshaping of stories adapted to a new world, where women were more than just ‘faeries’.
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