“What are you writing, my child?” came a venomous voice from behind Gwydion. “‘…causing great harm to the native population of the British Isles…’” “Remember, young man: the native population of the British Isles—that’s me. Everyone else came along much later. And this? ‘Our knowledge of this time is quite scant and approximate, and these events mostly belong to the realm of the unknown.’ Hmm… If you have nothing to say, cut it down, cut it down with mathematical symbols. Our knowledge of this ( t o 0 ), and these events ( \in X ). Otherwise, you’re just wasting parchment. Writing, writing—they don’t even know what they’re writing about. The only thing I can do for you, as a witness and not a minor participant in those events, is to keep you after class. Instead of studying the entire history of Britain, you’ll be mopping the floor. With this rag. Oh, oh, oh. I see horror on your face. This is an old, honorable rag. It was gifted to me in Annwn. Its name is… well, it wouldn’t mean anything to you anyway.”

This was how Gwydion first met his teacher, Merlin—and he was lucky. The rag, clearly made from dragon hide, complete with spikes along its back, snarled and squirmed as he tried to wring it out. But Llewellys had an even worse introduction to the teacher. During his entrance exam, Merlin, leaning confidentially over the armrest of his chair and presenting himself as ready to hear the answer to the question, introduced himself: “Professor Merlin Ambrosius… Or Aurelian?… Forgive me, my memory isn’t what it used to be.” “What? Professor Merlin?” Llewellys choked. “But aren’t you…” “Aren’t I what?” Merlin asked quickly. “Well, I read that something… unpleasant happened to you.” “Something?!” Merlin exclaimed. “You haven’t read enough.” “Well, something about a chair… Lemurius of Cumbria wrote about it,” Llewellys stammered, still recovering from his embarrassment. “Oh, how did it go?… Ah, yes!”

“…Do you see the magical symbols Inscribed by me?” Merlin declared. “They proclaim in the ancient tongue: That any mortal who sits in this chair Will vanish forever, instantly.” At that moment, thunder roared, the walls trembled, Stained glass shattered with a resounding crash, And those gathered in the hall recoiled in fear: For as he spoke these words, the wizard Merlin Mistakenly sat in his own chair— And, to the horror of all present, disappeared. “I don’t recall,” Merlin said thoughtfully, rubbing his forehead. Then— “Ah!” He slapped his forehead, the expression of a man who had just remembered. The great mage? The brilliant seer? Had he grown so weary mid-speech That the poor man’s mind began to wander? And did he break out, head to toe, In spots of every color imaginable? Llewellys burned with shame. “And did he roll his eyes and begin to convulse?” Merlin continued to recite. “And gurgling…” “So it’s all untrue?” Llewellys asked, tormented.

The colored patches of sunlight on the tiled floor of the two-story hall had shifted significantly by the time Llewellys finished stumbling over his words with a dry tongue. His gaze was fixed on a coal-black bird with a monstrous wingspan, now visible in the distance above the mountain ridge, swiftly approaching the school and heading straight for the window. Flying through the slightly open window, the bird transformed into a scroll and landed in Merlin’s hands. “Well, well,” Merlin said to himself, scanning the message. “Bad news does indeed have long wings. We’re to be inspected! My goodness, and by whom? Who? The English!” Turning to Llewellys without looking at him, he added, “Tell me, my dear boy, is it true that only Englishmen serve at the London court these days?” Llewellys was struck speechless and remained silent. “In the days of King Lludd, son of Beli, such a notion would have been unimaginable. ‘Subject to inspection… are both the educational process itself and… the living conditions… sanitation standards…’” Merlin shook his head. “It seems Londoners are convinced they’re the only ones who bathe. And yet, that’s not entirely true. I fear they may have been a bit hasty on that point. The cart has gone ahead of the horse.” With an impatient wave, he dismissed the utterly speechless Llewellys, who would only learn three days later that he had been accepted into the school. “Outrageous!” Merlin grumbled that evening to his colleagues. “You know, this is the first time a student has implied during their entrance exam that I’m already dead. They’ve become completely unruly. Do I look like a corpse?” There was no doubt about the full reality of Professor Merlin—he was everywhere, personally involved in everything. When someone misbehaved, Merlin never scolded them. Instead, in a bored tone, he would promise to adopt them. This worked unfailingly every time. The students scattered from him as if from fire.

Notes:

1. Annwn: In Welsh mythology, Annwn is the Otherworld, often described as a paradise or realm of the dead. It adds a mythical, legendary layer to the humor surrounding the “honorable rag.”
2. Chair Incident: The reference to the chair alludes to a famous legend where Merlin allegedly disappeared after sitting in a chair. This humorous retelling adds depth to the myth while blending it seamlessly into the narrative.
3. Lemurius of Cumbria: Likely an invented character, his name evokes classical and mythical tones. “Cumbria” ties him to a region with Arthurian associations, enhancing the story’s mythical framework.
4. Tone and Themes: The translations preserve a mix of humor, mythology, and mentorship. Merlin’s eccentric character shines, balancing authority with whimsical humor.