Book: Irish Fairy Tales

J >> James Stephens >> Irish Fairy Tales




He reached the palace at sunrise.

On that morning all were astir early. They wished to see what
destruction had been wrought by the great being, but it was young
Fionn they saw and that redoubtable head swinging by its hair.
"What is your demand?" said the Ard-Ri'. "The thing that it is
right I should ask," said Fionn: "the command of the Fianna of
Ireland."

"Make your choice," said Conn to Goll Mor; "you will leave
Ireland, or you will place your hand in the hand of this champion
and be his man."

Goll could do a thing that would be hard for another person, and
he could do it so beautifully that he was not diminished by any
action.

"Here is my hand," said Goll.

And he twinkled at the stern, young eyes that gazed on him as he
made his submission.




THE BIRTH OF BRAN



CHAPTER I

There are people who do not like dogs a bit--they are usually
women--but in this story there is a man who did not like dogs. In
fact, he hated them. When he saw one he used to go black in the
face, and he threw rocks at it until it got out of sight. But the
Power that protects all creatures had put a squint into this
man's eye, so that he always threw crooked.

This gentleman's name was Fergus Fionnliath, and his stronghold
was near the harbour of Galway. Whenever a dog barked he would
leap out of his seat, and he would throw everything that he owned
out of the window in the direction of the bark. He gave prizes to
servants who disliked dogs, and when he heard that a man had
drowned a litter of pups he used to visit that person and try to
marry his daughter.

Now Fionn, the son of Uail, was the reverse of Fergus Fionnliath
in this matter, for he delighted in dogs, and he knew everything
about them from the setting of the first little white tooth to
the rocking of the last long yellow one. He knew the affections
and antipathies which are proper in a dog; the degree of
obedience to which dogs may be trained without losing their
honourable qualities or becoming servile and suspicious; he knew
the hopes that animate them, the apprehensions which tingle in
their blood, and all that is to be demanded from, or forgiven in,
a paw, an ear, a nose, an eye, or a tooth; and he understood
these things because he loved dogs, for it is by love alone that
we understand anything.

Among the three hundred dogs which Fionn owned there were two to
whom he gave an especial tenderness, and who were his daily and
nightly companions. These two were Bran and Sceo'lan, but if a
person were to guess for twenty years he would not find out why
Fionn loved these two dogs and why he would never be separated
from them.

Fionn's mother, Muirne, went to wide Allen of Leinster to visit
her son, and she brought her young sister Tuiren with her. The
mother and aunt of the great captain were well treated among the
Fianna, first, because they were parents to Fionn, and second,
because they were beautiful and noble women.

No words can describe how delightful Muirne was--she took the
branch; and as to Tuiren, a man could not look at her without
becoming angry or dejected. Her face was fresh as a spring
morning; her voice more cheerful than the cuckoo calling from the
branch that is highest in the hedge; and her form swayed like a
reed and flowed like a river, so that each person thought she
would surely flow to him.

Men who had wives of their own grew moody and downcast because
they could not hope to marry her, while the bachelors of the
Fianna stared at each other with truculent, bloodshot eyes, and
then they gazed on Tuiren so gently that she may have imagined
she was being beamed on by the mild eyes of the dawn.

It was to an Ulster gentleman, Iollan Eachtach, that she gave her
love, and this chief stated his rights and qualities and asked
for her in marriage.

Now Fionn did not dislike the man of Ulster, but either he did
not know them well or else he knew them too well, for he made a
curious stipulation before consenting to the marriage. He bound
Iollan to return the lady if there should be occasion to think
her unhappy, and Iollan agreed to do so. The sureties to this
bargain were Caelte mac Ronan, Goll mac Morna, and Lugaidh.
Lugaidh himself gave the bride away, but it was not a pleasant
ceremony for him, because he also was in love with the lady, and
he would have preferred keeping her to giving her away. When she
had gone he made a poem about her, beginning:
"There is no more light in the sky--"

And hundreds of sad people learned the poem by heart.



CHAPTER II

When Iollan and Tuiren were married they went to Ulster, and they
lived together very happily. But the law of life is change;
nothing continues in the same way for any length of time;
happiness must become unhappiness, and will be succeeded again by
the joy it had displaced. The past also must be reckoned with; it
is seldom as far behind us as we could wish: it is more often in
front, blocking the way, and the future trips over it just when
we think that the road is clear and joy our own.

Iollan had a past. He was not ashamed of it; he merely thought it
was finished, although in truth it was only beginning, for it is
that perpetual beginning of the past that we call the future.

Before he joined the Fianna he had been in love with a lady of
the Shi', named Uct Dealv (Fair Breast), and they had been
sweethearts for years. How often he had visited his sweetheart in
Faery! With what eagerness and anticipation he had gone there;
the lover's whistle that he used to give was known to every
person in that Shi', and he had been discussed by more than one
of the delicate sweet ladies of Faery. "That is your whistle,
Fair Breast," her sister of the Shi' would say.

And Uct Dealv would reply: "Yes, that is my mortal, my lover, my
pulse, and my one treasure."

She laid her spinning aside, or her embroidery if she was at
that, or if she were baking a cake of fine wheaten bread mixed
with honey she would leave the cake to bake itself and fly to
Iollan. Then they went hand in hand in the country that smells of
apple-blossom and honey, looking on heavy-boughed trees and on
dancing and beaming clouds. Or they stood dreaming together,
locked in a clasping of arms and eyes, gazing up and down on each
other, Iollan staring down into sweet grey wells that peeped and
flickered under thin brows, and Uct Dealv looking up into great
black ones that went dreamy and went hot in endless alternation.

Then Iollan would go back to the world of men, and Uct Dealv
would return to her occupations in the Land of the Ever Young.

"What did he say?" her sister of the Shi' would ask.

"He said I was the Berry of the Mountain, the Star of Knowledge,
and the Blossom of the Raspberry."

"They always say the same thing," her sister pouted.

"But they look other things," Uct Dealv insisted. "They feel
other things," she murmured; and an endless conversation
recommenced.

Then for some time Iollan did not come to Faery, and Uct Dealv
marvelled at that, while her sister made an hundred surmises,
each one worse than the last.

"He is not dead or he would be here," she said. "He has forgotten
you, my darling."

News was brought to Tlr na n-Og of the marriage of Iollan and
Tuiren, and when Uct Dealv heard that news her heart ceased to
beat for a moment, and she closed her eyes.

"Now!" said her sister of the Shi'. "That is how long the love of
a mortal lasts," she added, in the voice of sad triumph which is
proper to sisters.

But on Uct Dealv there came a rage of jealousy and despair such
as no person in the Shi' had ever heard of, and from that moment
she became capable of every ill deed; for there are two things
not easily controlled, and they are hunger and jealousy. She
determined that the woman who had supplanted her in Iollan's
affections should rue the day she did it. She pondered and
brooded revenge in her heart, sitting in thoughtful solitude and
bitter collectedness until at last she had a plan.

She understood the arts of magic and shape-changing, so she
changed her shape into that of Fionn's female runner, the
best-known woman in Ireland; then she set out from Faery and
appeared in the world. She travelled in the direction of Iollan's
stronghold.

Iollan knew the appearance of Fionn's messenger, but he was
surprised to see her.

She saluted him.

"Health and long life, my master.".

"Health and good days," he replied. "What brings you here, dear
heart?"

"I come from Fionn."

"And your message?" said he.

"The royal captain intends to visit you."

"He will be welcome," said Iollan. "We shall give him an Ulster
feast."

"The world knows what that is," said the messenger courteously.
"And now," she continued, "I have messages for your queen."

Tuiren then walked from the house with the messenger, but when
they had gone a short distance Uct Dealv drew a hazel rod from
beneath her cloak and struck it on the queen's shoulder, and on
the instant Tuiren's figure trembled and quivered, and it began
to whirl inwards and downwards, and she changed into the
appearance of a hound.

It was sad to see the beautiful, slender dog standing shivering
and astonished, and sad to see the lovely eyes that looked out
pitifully in terror and amazement. But Uct Dealv did not feel
sad. She clasped a chain about the hound's neck, and they set off
westward towards the house of Fergus Fionnliath, who was reputed
to be the unfriendliest man in the world to a dog. It was because
of his reputation that Uct Dealv was bringing the hound to him.
She did not want a good home for this dog: she wanted the worst
home that could be found in the world, and she thought that
Fergus would revenge for her the rage and jealousy which she felt
towards Tuiren.



CHAPTER III

As they paced along Uct Dealv railed bitterly against the hound,
and shook and jerked her chain. Many a sharp cry the hound gave
in that journey, many a mild lament.

"Ah, supplanter! Ah, taker of another girl's sweetheart!" said
Uct Dealv fiercely. "How would your lover take it if he could see
you now? How would he look if he saw your pointy ears, your long
thin snout, your shivering, skinny legs, and your long grey tail.
He would not love you now, bad girl!"

"Have you heard of Fergus Fionnliath," she said again, "the man
who does not like dogs?"

Tuiren had indeed heard of him.

"It is to Fergus I shall bring you," cried Uct Dealv. "He will
throw stones at you. You have never had a stone thrown at you.
Ah, bad girl! You do not know how a stone sounds as it nips the
ear with a whirling buzz, nor how jagged and heavy it feels as it
thumps against a skinny leg. Robber! Mortal! Bad girl! You have
never been whipped, but you will be whipped now. You shall hear
the song of a lash as it curls forward and bites inward and drags
backward. You shall dig up old bones stealthily at night, and
chew them against famine. You shall whine and squeal at the moon,
and shiver in the cold, and you will never take another girl's
sweetheart again."

And it was in those terms and in that tone that she spoke to
Tuiren as they journeyed forward, so that the hound trembled and
shrank, and whined pitifully and in despair.

They came to Fergus Fionnliath's stronghold, and Uct Dealv
demanded admittance.

"Leave that dog outside," said the servant.

"I will not do so," said the pretended messenger.

"You can come in without the dog, or you can stay out with the
dog," said the surly guardian.

"By my hand," cried Uct Dealv, "I will come in with this dog, or
your master shall answer for it to Fionn."

At the name of Fionn the servant almost fell out of his standing.
He flew to acquaint his master, and Fergus himself came to the
great door of the stronghold.

"By my faith," he cried in amazement, "it is a dog."

"A dog it is," growled the glum servant.

"Go you away," said Fergus to Uct Dealv, "and when you have
killed the dog come back to me and I will give you a present."

"Life and health, my good master, from Fionn, the son of Uail,
the son of Baiscne," said she to Fergus.

"Life and health back to Fionn," he replied. "Come into the house
and give your message, but leave the dog outside, for I don't
like dogs."

"The dog comes in," the messenger replied.

"How is that?" cried Fergus angrily.

"Fionn sends you this hound to take care of until he comes for
her," said the messenger.

"I wonder at that," Fergus growled, "for Fionn knows well that
there is not a man in the world has less of a liking for dogs
than I have."

"However that may be, master, I have given Fionn's message, and
here at my heel is the dog. Do you take her or refuse her?"

"If I could refuse anything to Fionn it would be a dog," said
Fergus, "but I could not refuse anything to Fionn, so give me the
hound."

Uct Dealv put the chain in his hand.

"Ah, bad dog!" said she.

And then she went away well satisfied with her revenge, and
returned to her own people in the Shi.



CHAPTER IV

On the following day Fergus called his servant.

"Has that dog stopped shivering yet?" he asked.

"It has not, sir," said the servant.

"Bring the beast here," said his master, "for whoever else is
dissatisfied Fionn must be satisfied."

The dog was brought, and he examined it with a jaundiced and
bitter eye.

"It has the shivers indeed," he said.

"The shivers it has," said the servant.

"How do you cure the shivers?" his master demanded, for he
thought that if the animal's legs dropped off Fionn would not be
satisfied.

"There is a way," said the servant doubtfully.

"If there is a way, tell it to me," cried his master angrily.

"If you were to take the beast up in your arms and hug it and
kiss it, the shivers would stop," said the man.

"Do you mean--?" his master thundered, and he stretched his hand
for a club.

"I heard that," said the servant humbly.

"Take that dog up," Fergus commanded, "and hug it and kiss it,
and if I find a single shiver left in the beast I'll break your
head."

The man bent to the hound, but it snapped a piece out of his
hand, and nearly bit his nose off as well.

"That dog doesn't like me," said the man.

"Nor do I," roared Fergus; "get out of my sight."

The man went away and Fergus was left alone with the hound, but
the poor creature was so terrified that it began to tremble ten
times worse than before.

"Its legs will drop off," said Fergus. "Fionn will blame me," he
cried in despair.

He walked to the hound.

"If you snap at my nose, or if you put as much as the start of a
tooth into the beginning of a finger!" he growled.

He picked up the dog, but it did not snap, it only trembled. He
held it gingerly for a few moments.

"If it has to be hugged," he said, "I'll hug it. I'd do more than
that for Fionn."

He tucked and tightened the animal into his breast, and marched
moodily up and down the room. The dog's nose lay along his breast
under his chin, and as he gave it dutiful hugs, one hug to every
five paces, the dog put out its tongue and licked him timidly
under the chin.

"Stop," roared Fergus, "stop that forever," and he grew very red
in the face, and stared truculently down along his nose. A soft
brown eye looked up at him and the shy tongue touched again on
his chin.

"If it has to be kissed," said Fergus gloomily, "I'll kiss it;
I'd do more than that for Fionn," he groaned.

He bent his head, shut his eyes, and brought the dog's jaw
against his lips. And at that the dog gave little wriggles in his
arms, and little barks, and little licks, so that he could
scarcely hold her. He put the hound down at last.

"There is not a single shiver left in her," he said.

And that was true.

Everywhere he walked the dog followed him, giving little prances
and little pats against him, and keeping her eyes fixed on his
with such eagerness and intelligence that he marvelled.

"That dog likes me," he murmured in amazement.

"By my hand," he cried next day, "I like that dog."

The day after that he was calling her "My One Treasure, My Little
Branch." And within a week he could not bear her to be out of his
sight for an instant.

He was tormented by the idea that some evil person might throw a
stone at the hound, so he assembled his servants and retainers
and addressed them.

He told them that the hound was the Queen of Creatures, the Pulse
of his Heart, and the Apple of his Eye, and he warned them that
the person who as much as looked sideways on her, or knocked one
shiver out of her, would answer for the deed with pains and
indignities. He recited a list of calamities which would befall
such a miscreant, and these woes began with flaying and ended
with dismemberment, and had inside bits of such complicated and
ingenious torment that the blood of the men who heard it ran
chill in their veins, and the women of the household fainted
where they stood.



CHAPTER V

In course of time the news came to Fionn that his mother's sister
was not living with Iollan. He at once sent a messenger calling
for fulfilment of the pledge that had been given to the Fianna,
and demanding the instant return of Tuiren. Iollan was in a sad
condition when this demand was made. He guessed that Uct Dealv
had a hand in the disappearance of his queen, and he begged that
time should be given him in which to find the lost girl. He
promised if he could not discover her within a certain period
that he would deliver his body into Fionn's hands, and would
abide by whatever judgement Fionn might pronounce. The great
captain agreed to that.

"Tell the wife-loser that I will have the girl or I will have his
head," said Fionn.

Iollan set out then for Faery. He knew the way, and in no great
time he came to the hill where Uct Dealv was.

It was hard to get Uct Dealv to meet him, but at last she
consented, and they met under the apple boughs of Faery.

"Well!" said Uct Dealv. "Ah! Breaker of Vows and Traitor to
Love," said she.

"Hail and a blessing," said Iollan humbly.

"By my hand," she cried, "I will give you no blessing, for it was
no blessing you left with me when we parted."

"I am in danger," said Iollan.

"What is that to me?" she replied fiercely.

"Fionn may claim my head," he murmured.

"Let him claim what he can take," said she.

"No," said Iollan proudly, "he will claim what I can give."

"Tell me your tale," said she coldly.

Iollan told his story then, and, he concluded, "I am certain that
you have hidden the girl."

"If I save your head from Fionn," the woman of the Shi' replied,
"then your head will belong to me."

"That is true," said Iollan.

"And if your head is mine, the body that goes under it is mine.
Do you agree to that?"

"I do," said Iollan.

"Give me your pledge," said Uct Dealv, "that if I save you from
this danger you will keep me as your sweetheart until the end of
life and time."

"I give that pledge," said Iollan.

Uct Dealv went then to the house of Fergus Fionnliath, and she
broke the enchantment that was on the hound, so that Tuiren's own
shape came back to her; but in the matter of two small whelps, to
which the hound had given birth, the enchantment could not be
broken, so they had to remain as they were. These two whelps were
Bran and Sceo'lan. They were sent to Fionn, and he loved them for
ever after, for they were loyal and affectionate, as only dogs
can be, and they were as intelligent as human beings. Besides
that, they were Fionn's own cousins.

Tuiren was then asked in marriage by Lugaidh who had loved her so
long. He had to prove to her that he was not any other woman's
sweetheart, and when he proved that they were married, and they
lived happily ever after, which is the proper way to live. He
wrote a poem beginning:
"Lovely the day. Dear is the eye of the dawn--"

And a thousand merry people learned it after him.

But as to Fergus Fionnliath, he took to his bed, and he stayed
there for a year and a day suffering from blighted affection, and
he would have died in the bed only that Fionn sent him a special
pup, and in a week that young hound became the Star of Fortune
and the very Pulse of his Heart, so that he got well again, and
he also lived happily ever after.




OISIN'S MOTHER


CHAPTER I

EVENING was drawing nigh, and the Fianna-Finn had decided to hunt
no more that day. The hounds were whistled to heel, and a sober,
homeward march began. For men will walk soberly in the evening,
however they go in the day, and dogs will take the mood from
their masters. They were pacing so, through the golden-shafted,
tender-coloured eve, when a fawn leaped suddenly from covert,
and, with that leap, all quietness vanished: the men shouted, the
dogs gave tongue, and a furious chase commenced.

Fionn loved a chase at any hour, and, with Bran and Sceo'lan, he
outstripped the men and dogs of his troop, until nothing remained
in the limpid world but Fionn, the two hounds, and the nimble,
beautiful fawn. These, and the occasional boulders, round which
they raced, or over which they scrambled; the solitary tree which
dozed aloof and beautiful in the path, the occasional clump of
trees that hived sweet shadow as a hive hoards honey, and the
rustling grass that stretched to infinity, and that moved and
crept and swung under the breeze in endless, rhythmic billowings.

In his wildest moment Fionn was thoughtful, and now, although
running hard, he was thoughtful. There was no movement of his
beloved hounds that he did not know; not a twitch or fling of the
head, not a cock of the ears or tail that was not significant to
him. But on this chase whatever signs the dogs gave were not
understood by their master.

He had never seen them in such eager flight. They were almost
utterly absorbed in it, but they did not whine with eagerness,
nor did they cast any glance towards him for the encouraging word
which he never failed to give when they sought it.

They did look at him, but it was a look which he could not
comprehend. There was a question and a statement in those deep
eyes, and he could not understand what that question might be,
nor what it was they sought to convey. Now and again one of the
dogs turned a head in full flight, and stared, not at Fionn, but
distantly backwards, over the spreading and swelling plain where
their companions of the hunt had disappeared. "They are looking
for the other hounds," said Fionn.

"And yet they do not give tongue! Tongue it, a Vran!" he shouted,
"Bell it out, a Heo'lan!"

It was then they looked at him, the look which he could not
understand and had never seen on a chase. They did not tongue it,
nor bell it, but they added silence to silence and speed to
speed, until the lean grey bodies were one pucker and lashing of
movement.

Fionn marvelled. "They do not want the other dogs to hear or to
come on this chase," he murmured, and he wondered what might be
passing within those slender heads.

"The fawn runs well," his thought continued. "What is it, a Vran,
my heart? After her, a Heo'lan! Hist and away, my loves !"

"There is going and to spare in that beast yet," his mind went
on. "She is not stretched to the full, nor half stretched. She
may outrun even Bran," he thought ragingly.

They were racing through a smooth valley in a steady, beautiful,
speedy flight when, suddenly, the fawn stopped and lay on the
grass, and it lay with the calm of an animal that has no fear,
and the leisure of one that is not pressed.

"Here is a change," said Fionn, staring in astonishment.

"She is not winded," he said. "What is she lying down for?" But
Bran and Sceo'lan did not stop; they added another inch to their
long-stretched easy bodies, and came up on the fawn.

"It is an easy kill," said Fionn regretfully. "They have her," he
cried.

But he was again astonished, for the dogs did not kill. They
leaped and played about the fawn, licking its face, and rubbing
delighted noses against its neck.

Fionn came up then. His long spear was lowered in his fist at the
thrust, and his sharp knife was in its sheath, but he did not use
them, for the fawn and the two hounds began to play round him,
and the fawn was as affectionate towards him as the hounds were;
so that when a velvet nose was thrust in his palm, it was as
often a fawn's muzzle as a hound's.

In that joyous company he came to wide Allen of Leinster, where
the people were surprised to see the hounds and the fawn and the
Chief and none other of the hunters that had set out with them.

When the others reached home, the Chief told of his chase, and it
was agreed that such a fawn must not be killed, but that it
should be kept and well treated, and that it should be the pet
fawn of the Fianna. But some of those who remembered Brah's
parentage thought that as Bran herself had come from the Shi so
this fawn might have come out of the Shi also.



CHAPTER II

Late that night, when he was preparing for rest, the door of
Fionn's chamber opened gently and a young woman came into the
room. The captain stared at her, as he well might, for he had
never seen or imagined to see a woman so beautiful as this was.
Indeed, she was not a woman, but a young girl, and her bearing
was so gently noble, her look so modestly high, that the champion
dared scarcely look at her, although he could not by any means
have looked away.

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